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fushitoru · 4 months ago

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chapter 4: the game a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary: satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)

a/n WARNING this chapter is suggestive. like always minors dni. not edited at all bc im sick of this chapter lol (like always i fear). see u at the bottom ;)

prev. the manor | next. the fall

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

It has come to the attention of This Author that Miss Itadori, the undeniable diamond of the season, has made her appearance at Gojo Manor a full week ahead of the rest of the ton. Such early arrival can only provoke speculation: might the tender buds of affection be blossoming in the Kentish countryside? Shall we soon witness Miss Itadori departing with more than just fond memories, perhaps even a ring upon her finger? These are the very questions now fluttering through the minds of young ladies and their ever-watchful mamas, who may find their carefully laid plans to ensnare Lord Gojo dashed before the house party has even begun.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Gojo leaned back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the armrest as he watched you fumble with the library door. The soft fabric of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, a glimpse of bare skin catching in the dim light⸺something not lost to Gojo’s eyes as he watched your figure disappear angrily. Your face was flushed, eyes wide and uncertain. Despite the flurry of emotions playing across your features, what struck him most was the way your hands trembled as you fought to maintain composure.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. You had come here⸺of all places⸺into his sanctuary, and for what? A part of him couldn’t reconcile the image of you sneaking into the library in the dead of night with the proper, composed lady you portrayed during the day. The whole encounter felt surreal, leaving a knot of confusion coiled tightly in his chest.

His gaze lingered on the empty doorway after you vanished, a strange hollowness settling in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like the shadows of the room. His fingers tightened around the armrest, knuckles whitening as if he could grasp onto something concrete⸺something that made sense. But all he was left with was the lingering echo of your footsteps in the hallway and the ghost of your flushed face in his mind.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. His mind kept returning to the way your nightgown had slipped from your shoulder as you fumbled with the door. The pale fabric had slid down so effortlessly, exposing the curve of your bare skin. It wasn’t scandalous, not really⸺not enough to warrant the way his thoughts kept circling back to it. And yet, he couldn’t shake the image, the unexpected flash of vulnerability. The sight of it stirred something in him, a quiet confusion that unsettled his usual composure.

What was it that made him notice? Gojo’s brow furrowed as he considered it, his fingers absently drumming on the armrest of his chair. He had witnessed plenty of women in far less modest circumstances (most of them courtesy of his friends, who forced him to go to ridiculous events), and yet, this felt different. There was something about the way you had tried to maintain your dignity, the way you had fought to compose yourself even as your face flushed and your nightgown betrayed you. It was... distracting.

The memory of your fearful expression gnawed at him. He had expected haughty arrogance or calculated charm, not genuine fear. You weren’t like the people who usually surrounded him, playing their part in society's grand performance, all vying for his attention. There was an intelligence in your eyes, a spark that made him feel something unsettlingly close to admiration.

He couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it matter that you were different? Why did he find himself enjoying your company, despite the fact that you seemed entirely uninterested in his? He drummed his fingers against the armrest, contemplating the possibility of pursuing you for the rest of the season⸺though he quickly dismissed the thought. You were uncooperative, difficult. A chase after you would be nothing short of exhausting.

And yet...

His attention shifted back to the desk, to the scattered papers you had left behind. Gojo reached for them, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the parchment as though handling something fragile. The numbers and diagrams were a mess of scribbled notes, and yet, they held a strange familiarity. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines with his eyes, piecing together the fragmented calculations. Then, like a puzzle falling into place, it clicked.

Venus. Of all things, you had been calculating the size of Venus.

Gojo’s hand froze midair, hovering over the papers. He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He had assumed⸺no, expected⸺you to be reading some frivolous romance, a book about love and passion, something fitting for a young lady sneaking into a library. But instead, you were working on complex celestial calculations.

He had pegged you for a typical young lady of the ton⸺someone more interested in the latest gossip or the affections of suitors than in the stars. It annoyed him, more than he cared to admit, that he had been wrong.

Gojo set the paper down, his hand resting on the edge of the desk as he leaned back in his chair. The flicker of irritation that sparked in his chest was unfamiliar, unsettling even. It wasn’t just that you had surprised him⸺plenty of people had done that before. No, it was the fact that he had misjudged you so completely. He prided himself on being perceptive, on seeing through people’s masks with ease. Yet here you were, slipping past his assumptions with nothing more than a few scribbled notes and a fleeting presence.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and for the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain. Gojo wasn’t used to feeling this way⸺unsettled, annoyed, and a little too curious for his own good. He tapped the papers lightly, lost in thought. What did it mean that you had gotten under his skin like this? That he found himself wanting to unravel the mystery of you, to see what lay beneath the surface of your carefully constructed facade?

A sigh escaped his lips, low and quiet. His hand finally left the papers, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t quite grasp. The world around him was filled with people who either fawned over his charms or remained blissfully unaware of his true nature. But you? You saw right through him. You challenged him, unsettled him, made him question things he had never thought to question before.

With a final glance at the empty doorway, Satoru leaned forward again, ready to dive back into his work. But this time, his thoughts weren’t solely on his family’s ledgers. They were on you⸺and the undeniable pull that had started to form between you.

And inevitably, because Satoru is distracted, he lets the lull of sleep sneak up on him, swathing him in its deep, heavy blanket.

No, Satoru hears himself think. You’re not supposed to be here.

You’re sitting on his bed, somehow made it up to his chambers. A part of Satoru comprehends⸺in all his sleep-deprived glory⸺that he is definitely dreaming, but there’s an overwhelmingly stubborn part of him that dominates his entire consciousness, refusing to accept the fact.

You’re leaning on your elbow, resting on your side on the foot of his bed. Part of him wants to believe that you are really here, sheer nightgown that seems to get shorter and shorter⸺slipping up your thighs⸺every time his consciousness paints an image of you. The sheer material drapes over your figure, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist and the fullness of your hips, painting a picture that torments him.

“My lord,” you whisper.

It’s just his title, but your voice carries a sweetness it never holds in reality, dripping with an unfamiliar softness that makes Satoru’s heart lurch. Panic takes root, and he scrambles back, trying to distance himself from the fantasy in front of him. His back slams against the headboard as he fights to resist⸺not just you, but the part of himself that aches to abandon all notions of honor. That part of him that craves to do things to you that are anything but honorable.

Then, he notices your smile. It’s not the polite, practiced smile you show at balls or to suitors vying for your attention. This one is sincere, warm⸺a smile that speaks of affection, the kind you’ve never shown him before.

Like you are in love.

And you are not helping Satoru in his restraint because you position yourself, crawling like a predator, straddling his lap. Satoru is suddenly breathing too fast, his chest tightening with the weight of desire and disbelief.

Your lips are at his ear. Your lips are so soft. “Touch me,” you say, trailing your lips down feather light across his jaw.

Right now, you are in love. With him. You are his, and Satoru desperately does not want to fight it.

He does not want to.

Your hands start trailing down his torso, and now he registers that he is simply wearing a linen shirt and underwear because you are tracing the edge of his underwear, touching his inner thighs, getting so, so impossibly close to⸺

“No,” he rasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am a man of honor.”

But that’s a lie. One that Satoru clings to, because admitting the truth would shatter everything he’s built. His identity, his values⸺they all rest on the lie he’s desperately trying to hold onto.

What he really wants is nothing between you and him.

He wants that flimsy nightgown gone, the one that barely covers your thighs and what lies between them. He wants to keep the candlelight burning so he can see every inch of you, learn every detail of your body. He wants to slip off your chemise and explore the softness of your skin, trace the swell of your breasts, the dip of your hips, and taste the sweetness of your lips.

Satoru can’t focus on anything except the fact you are utterly, scandalously close to him, sitting on his lap and staring at him as if you love him.

And his treacherous heart wants to abandon duty, honor, the dukedom, the royal family⸺everything⸺and simply take you. To feel the weight of you pressed against him, wrapped around him.

But just as his hands move to cup your face, you start giggling. “No, you are not.”

Satoru blinks, confused.

You laugh again, light and teasing. “You are no man of honor.”

And suddenly, your laughter echoes in his mind, filling the room with its taunting melody. It etches itself into his thoughts, leaving an indelible mark.

“You are a coward.”

You entered the drawing room to break your fast, Choso by your side, and immediately locked eyes with Gojo, who was already seated at the table with his mother. He quickly looked away, focusing on the toast he was slathering with an ungodly amount of jam.

As you moved to sit at the table with Choso, you couldn't help but study him. Gojo appeared more disheveled than usual, perhaps a bit fatigued, though any sign of vulnerability quickly vanished when your mother spoke.

“Lord Gojo, it is a fine morning, is it not?” she inquired with her usual warmth.

Gojo smiled, leaning back in his chair with his characteristic nonchalance. “Indeed, Lady Itadori, especially as I am blessed with such lovely company as yourself and your daughter.” His eyes flickered toward you, an arrogant glint in them before they shifted back to your mother.

You and Choso exchanged exasperated glances.

Your mother chuckled, clearly charmed. “Oh, my lord, you flatter me. Tell me, what do you favor for breakfast? I am always curious to hear of others' preferences.”

“Clearly, it is toast drowned in enough jam to satisfy an army,” you muttered under your breath, delicately spreading butter onto your own toast.

Gojo’s eyes flashed, and he couldn’t resist a retort. “At least I do not indulge in something as dull as butter.”

You stiffened. “Butter is far superior to such overwhelming sweetness. Jam annihilates the taste of the toast itself, rendering it pointless.”

“And butter,” he shot back, “adds nothing but blandness. It is unremarkable, simple, and tasteless.”

A surge of heat rose to your face, ready to deliver another sharp remark, but before you could respond, Duchess Gojo’s lilting laughter filled the room. “Oh, my dears, what a lively couple you make!” Her tone was teasing, her eyes alight with amusement. “Such spirited conversation at breakfast⸺how delightful!”

Both you and Gojo stiffened, your faces flushing, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, you couldn’t say. You hastily turned your attention back to your toast, while Gojo busied himself with his tea.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since we are all in such a lively mood this morning, I do believe a game of pall-mall is in order once breakfast is through. The garden is in full bloom, and the weather is perfect for it.”

Your mother smiled graciously. “A wonderful idea, Duchess. It has been some time since we last enjoyed a game.”

“Indeed,” the Duchess agreed. “And I daresay a little friendly competition will do us all good. What do you say, Lord Gojo?” She turned to her son with a knowing look. “I trust you are up for the challenge?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I never shy away from a challenge, Mother. But do be warned, I have no intention of losing.”

“Confidence is a virtue,” you remarked dryly, reaching for your teacup, “but do not let it cloud your judgment. Pall-mall requires more than mere bravado.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Ah, a challenge from you as well. This shall be an interesting morning indeed.”

“Let us hope your skills in the garden match your flair for words, my lord,” you retorted, your tone light (for the sake of preventing your mother a heart attack) but your gaze to Gojo sharp.

Duchess Gojo’s laughter rang out once more, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Oh, this will be most entertaining! Come now, let us finish our breakfast, and then we shall see who emerges victorious on the field.”

You took a sip of your tea, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo’s gaze lingered on you as you did so. The day had barely begun, and already, you felt the familiar tension of being in his presence. But if there was one thing you knew, it was that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge⸺whether at the breakfast table or in the garden.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now, we must let our diamond choose first. After all, she is the only lady participating today.”

You smiled warmly at her, a polite nod of appreciation. Gojo, however, frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced between you and the bag of mallets. “Are we not simply setting her up for victory?”

Turning to him with an innocent smile, you crossed your arms. “What’s that, my lord? Are you unable, as a man, to deal with the loss of your chosen mallet? I know some men depend heavily on certain familiars to win.”

Gojo held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he looked away. “Choose whatever you want. I will be sure to defeat you regardless.”

Duchess Gojo placed a warm hand on your back, encouraging you forward. “That’s the spirit, my son. Now, Miss Itadori, do choose which one you fancy.”

You approached the bag of mallets, your eyes scanning over the selection. They varied in subtle shapes and sizes, each one seemingly tailored for a different style of play. Your gaze settled on a mallet slightly larger than the others, painted a light blue shade. Its weight and shape seemed particularly advantageous for aim and control—perfect for directing the ball with precision.

As you picked it up, Gojo’s expression darkened, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes. “Of course, she chooses the best one,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well,” Duchess Gojo crossed her arms. “I suppose it’s only fair that you all let the lady go first.” She turned to you, nodding. “I will go join your mother for tea inside, my dear.” Winking, she adds, “Show these boys how real ladies do it.”

As the duchess took her leave, Choso, always the supportive brother, leaned over to you with a small smile. “Excellent choice, sister. Show them how it’s done.”

You gave him a grateful nod and positioned yourself for your turn. With a graceful swing, you sent the ball rolling smoothly across the lawn. Choso clapped in approval, but when you looked up, Gojo and Yuji were both glowering at you from the sidelines.

Gojo’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly not amused by your success. “Beginner’s luck,” he commented dryly. Yuji could only nod in mindless agreement to Gojo, and you graced him with a glower. Traitor.

Now it was Gojo’s turn. He stepped forward with confident ease, positioning himself with the mallet as though he had been doing this his entire life. With a swift, practiced swing, his ball shot forward and struck a target dead center. Yuji’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically beaming at Gojo’s skill.

Choso and you exchanged petulant glances, unimpressed by Gojo’s display. But Yuji’s excitement only grew, and he couldn’t resist praising his mentor. “Incredible, my lord! You never miss!”

Choso’s turn came next. With a focused look, he lined up his shot and knocked Gojo’s ball right out of position, sending it tumbling off course into a forested area. Gojo let out a forced laugh, masking his irritation as best as he could, and you clapped and let out a small, petty giggle. “Good shot, brother! I fear Lord Gojo will have to travel much distance to retrieve and get it on course.”

You would come to bite your words.

When it was Yuji’s turn, he aimed with all his might and sent your ball flying out of position. You gasped in outrage, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, you will pay for this.”.

Gojo, on the other hand, gave Yuji a hearty pat on the back, beaming with pride. “Well done, Yuji. Well done.”

It was now your turn, and you stomped your way towards the forested area where you and Gojo’s balls had traveled towards. Soon enough, Gojo was following after you.

The path was shaded by trees, and the coolness of the forest was a welcome relief from the heat of the sun. You could help but give each other glares until you finally broke the silence.

“How dare you bewitch my brother into turning against me?” you accused him, stepping over a stray root.

Gojo rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “It appears that Yuji’s blood is indeed not thicker than water,”

“Or maybe⸺just maybe⸺your charm isn’t as infallible as you think.”

Keeping pace beside you, Gojo scoffed. “And yet, here you are, still engaged in conversation with me. I must be doing something right.”

You shoot him an angry sideways glance. “I’m only here because my ball is, unfortunately, in the same direction as yours. Nothing more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it’s mere coincidence that fate keeps pulling us together.”

“More like unfortunate circumstance.”

The two of you continued bickering as you searched for your wayward balls. The back-and-forth banter echoed through the forest, neither of you willing to back down.

Finally, you spotted them⸺your ball and Gojo’s⸺resting precariously on top of a narrow stream of water. You both halted, glancing at each other, and then, without a word, you raced forward.

Gojo reached the water’s edge first, but you weren’t far behind. Neither of you hesitated as you waded into the shallow stream, your focus entirely on retrieving your respective balls. The bottoms of your clothes became soaked in the cool water, but neither of you paid it any mind, too busy grappling to reach your goals first.

Just as you managed to scoop up your ball, your dress snagged on something in the water. You stumbled forward, colliding directly into Gojo, who had just retrieved his own. The sudden impact sent both of you toppling into the water.

You landed squarely on top of him, the shock of the fall leaving you momentarily dazed. Gojo blinked up at you, his breath catching as his gaze dropped to your now-dampened bodice, honing in on your bosom. For a moment, his usually sharp and calculating eyes softened, confusion flickering across his face as if he didn’t quite understand the effect you were having on him.

You scrambled to find your words, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t mean to⸺”

Before you could finish, Gojo gently grasped your shoulders and helped you off of him. He stood up first, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he brushed off his wet clothing and offered you a hand. You took it, steadying yourself as you rose to your feet.

Gojo swallowed hard, clearly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closed it, shaking his head. “I must go,” he muttered,.

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving you standing there in the stream, confused and flustered as you watched him disappear into the trees.

“I am not impressed.” Nobara impassively stares you down with a glower.

You fluttered your fan, maintaining a delicate air of mock innocence. “Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?”

The two of you sat at a small table on the terrace, its stone surface warm from the midday sun. Before you, the expansive field served as Gojo’s personal training ground, scattered with targets and archery equipment. Gojo and his protégé, Yuji, had clearly been at it for hours, their bare skin glistening with sweat under the relentless sun. They moved with a practiced ease, their focus entirely on the task at hand.

Gojo was currently demonstrating a particular stance to Yuji, his voice carrying faintly over the terrace as he corrected the younger man’s posture and grip. Yuji, ever the diligent student, watched him with an intensity that bordered on awe. You couldn’t help but reflect that his expression now⸺determined and assured⸺contrasted much with his encounter with you at the game.

Nobara’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the scene. “Why are we here?” she asked flatly, her gaze lingering on the two men.

You turned to her with a smile, fluttering your fan with exaggerated elegance. “Why, to record in my journal, of course. One must capture the beauty of Mother Nature when it presents itself so generously from this terrace.”

Her expression remained unimpressed. “Is it truly Mother Nature that has captivated you, or Lord Gojo’s bare skin?” She glanced down at your unopened journal, its quill resting untouched beside it. “And how much progress have you made in this recording of yours?”

You couldn’t suppress a laugh, caught in your own half-hearted excuse. “Well, even you cannot deny that he presents a rather fine figure, can you? And I will get to my writing in due time. Inspiration must first strike, after all.”

Nobara sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I cannot fathom how you find pleasure in looking upon a man who has caused you so much distress. Many times, in fact.”

You glanced back toward the field, watching as Gojo effortlessly pulled back his bowstring, the muscles in his back rippling with the movement. His form was impeccable, each action a demonstration of his skill and strength. Yuji, in contrast, struggled to replicate the motion with as much ease and accuracy, though his determination was evident.

"He’s clearly enjoying himself," you commented dryly, turning your attention back to Nobara. "Torturing me, that is. I might as well make due of my harrowing and demeaning stay here and enjoy some aspects of Gojo. I swear, he delights in the fact that I’m stuck here."

Nobara’s eyes narrowed, and she snorted. "Oh, absolutely. Men like him don’t get much amusement in life unless it involves making someone else miserable."

You shook your head, remembering the library encounter all too vividly. Gojo had seemed genuinely surprised to find you there, and yet he had taken to taunting you with his usual smugness. That infernal smirk of his had been etched into your memory.

"I almost wonder," you mused, "if he was actually shocked to find me in the library. Perhaps I caught him off guard for once."

Nobara raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Looking for a book on how to survive insufferable dukes?"

You chuckled softly. "No, I was reading about Venus, actually. But Gojo⸺he assumed I was indulging in some silly romance. Imagine his surprise when he realized I was working on calculations instead."

Nobara’s lips twitched upward in amusement, but before she could respond, a loud thud! echoed across the terrace. Both of you looked down just in time to see Gojo's arrow hit the target dead center.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would show off. That insufferable man never missed an opportunity to flaunt his skills. Yuji, predictably, looked like he was about to faint from admiration.

Gojo notched another arrow, his back muscles rippling as he drew it back with practiced ease. His abs tightened with the effort, and though you told yourself you were merely observing his technique, your gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. The tautness of his form was, undeniably, impressive.

“It is a shame,” Nobara remarked, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “He does present a rather fine figure. If only his character matched his appearance.”

You blinked, realizing that your gaze had lingered on him for far too long. “What?”

Nobara glanced at you, her expression half-amused, half-pitying. “I merely observe that if his manners were as well-formed as his physique, he might be a most agreeable companion.”

You opened your fan again, waving it lightly in front of your face. “Perhaps. But we both know that appearances can be deceiving.”

Nobara’s expression turned serious as she looked at you. “You must find yourself a husband who is both well-formed and well-mannered, my dear. Else I shall be forced to gouge out my eyes every time I am called to attend on you.”

You sighed dramatically, closing your fan with a soft snap. “Whatever you say, Nobara.”

Yet, even as you dismissed her words, your gaze drifted back to the field. Gojo was a puzzle, indeed. And whether you liked it or not, he had captured more of your attention than you were willing to admit.

Satoru is sweaty and hot, and therefore he must rush back to take a cold bath.

The weather is quite warm, he must admit to himself. Teaching Yuji had been nothing sort of pleasurable; the boy’s physical prowess was quite impressive, and he learned things very, very fast. If Yuji were to keep learning and working on his skill, he would easily be up to Gojo’s level or even surpass him.

As he climbs up the stairs to the terrace, he wipes his brow, which has budded with sweat. When he crosses a table that overlooks the field, he notices a book. His mother and him wouldn’t expose any books like this⸺a fine and intricate design covering the top⸺to the harsh, humid weather, so he picks up the book, frowning.

Frowning, he picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. The book felt unfamiliar in his hands, and as he opened it, the words within seemed to swim before his eyes. Annoyed, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead and squinted, finally making out the fine, neat handwriting on the page.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

Satoru's eyes widened, and a flicker of intrigue sparked within him. He flipped to the next page, where the writing grew messier, more hurried.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

His eyes widened. If he had been intrigued before, now he was thoroughly captivated. This had to be you. His heart began to beat faster as he quickly turned to another page, where the ink was still fresh, and a pressed leaf lay nestled between the pages.

If I were to base my choice of husband solely on physical appearance, I must confess that Lord Gojo would be a most compelling candidate. However, to consider him without regard to his character would be a grave disservice to myself and to dear Nobara, who would bear the consequences of such a choice daily.

I hold out hope for a suitor with a similar strength of physique, one whose form displays power and grace, much like Gojo. His muscles, so clearly defined, speak of formidable strength and control—his back rippling with every pull of the bowstring, his breath labored as he steadies himself.

Alas, such attributes, though appealing, are not enough…

His fingers hovered over the delicate page, the words sinking in. A part of him wanted to laugh at your sharpness, your refusal to fall prey to his charms, but another part⸺one that kept resurfacing and resurfacing against his will, showing up even in his slumber⸺felt something else entirely.

…What a pity, indeed.

prev. the manor | next. the fall

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a/n i feel like the only important plot point in this chapter is that gojo is a boobs guy

sorry if this chapter was a little icky :( i prefered publishing this than having to subject my dear beta reader to having to edit this mess or even me having to think about it further. i will rest so that the next chapter is better <3 (lots of fluffy moments to come in the next one)

gojo when you spawned in his bedroom

will finally treat myself to answering asks after I wake up since i'm done with this dreadfull chapter <333 jesus it's 3am

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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jingyuans-precious · 23 days ago

Text

the moon was still out, getting ready to greet the morning sun in a bit. your lover came home not too long ago, finding you fast asleep in your shared bed. even though he was tired, he did not want to miss out on an opportunity to admire your beauty, tracing your delicate face with his precious fingers. gentle enough not to wake you up, yet so loving that even in your sleep you managed to nuzzle into his touch.

“my beloved, you’re so incredibly beautiful” he whispers quietly as he continued to caress your face slowly.

“you know.. i would give you everything you would ever want and more… but you always say you only want me” he muses to himself quietly, reminiscing to the times where you said you only wanted him and his love and affection.

“but even then, i will still give you the entire world, just because you deserve that and more. even if you insist you only want me and my love, i will work endlessly to give you everything you deserve. my beloved, i hope you won’t scold me too hard for that when we wake up together in a few hours.” your lover says quietly with a grin on his face, blinking slowly, like a feline.

“though i know i may not always be the best at showing you affection, i hope you will let me make it up to you tomorrow, darling mine. we do have some lost time to make up for after all. but for now i shall rest”

as your lover dozes off, he imagines what romantic activities he will do with you when you two are awake. though not before pulling you against his chest, just so you could hear how his heart beats for you only, even in your sleep.

— ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE, WRIOTHESLEY, AYATO, Diluc, Sylus, Jing Yuan, Zhongli, Kaeya, Aventurine, Zayne + your faves ♡

a/n: wrote this while dozing off yesterday, don’t know if i like it :]

#hsr jing yuan #genshin x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #ayato x reader #diluc x reader #sylus x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #aventurine x reader #zayne x reader #lnds x reader #hsr fluff #genshin fluff

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enchantressiren · 20 days ago

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❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲.. 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭.. 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮.❞

Which sex position is your future lover’s favorite and why? (Detailed)

Masterlist

Author's note,

It's been a while since I last posted, hi everyone. I hope you enjoy your Christmas coming up!

Divider

Pile I.

“I want to devour the sweet nectar of the sin that lies beneath me. To feel it dripping on the sin of my fingertips, the graze that will melt us into ecstasy burning in the brain of our subconscious, such a beauty that I only get to see—for how lucky I am.. a lucky bastard.. that I am.”

Your future lover’s energy puts me in a calm trance, the calmest one could be. I feel like I am sleeping or walking on a path of water that will lead me to paradise. They are so soft with you, their love, or shall I say devotion, to you is something they cherished tremendously, and they could not bear losing that with you. To lose you would simply be their death, and they cannot have that done, and that is why their favorite sex position is all over the place. They do not have one and could never dare; they want to feel you everywhere, in every position, and want to see your beautiful face move and show pure pleasure as they please you with the utmost respect. “That is something you deserve, you deserve the utmost respect one could bear, and that is the one thing you never have to ask or prove with me—it will be with you the minute you are my lover, though I am sorry it was not done when we were fighting.”

Enemies to lovers, or rivals to lovers, is your trope with them. You honestly made them want to fall in love, and made them understand what it was to actually love. Their ex, (or multiple, energies are flying around like crazy), were nasty. That’s really it, so awful, but they used that to improve on what they wanted, which was building walls around until you had the audacity to break them and make them fall for you, “shame on you!’’

(I can feel them next to me, they are so animated, so damn loving, it’s like they want to grab you right here and right now and pull you to their future).

Aside from your “audacity,” they are very happy that you did because they were spiraling into something darker and started to use something dangerous, not illegal or self-harming (it’s not my place to tell you), as a coping mechanism, yet now.. you are their drug. Not literally, but you basically saved them from this impending doom of shame and guilt. I believe you should get ready to heal your inner child (even if you have) with them because they will be spoiling you .. like crazy, maybe a bit too much? I see a vision with an insane amount of gifts, teddy bears, jewelry, sports gear, food, or something to do with your religion. Also art supplies or crystals that are insanely expensive, but if it is for you, then “fuck it, right?” That is how their attitude is with you.

Ten of wands.

I took a break because something was missing from them, and they could not tell me. Meaning they kept focusing on the positive aspects when it comes to your relationship and sex with you. However, with the ten of wands, they actually do not know how to have a favorite sexual position. In a way, they thought it was off-putting that others always picked a favorite; if you picked a favorite, then you lost the chance to explore around and make your lover feel sexual pleasure. So, intuition tells me they feel overburdened and overwhelmed picking a favorite, but at the same time, they feel pressured to pick one.

They know that you would not give a damn whether or not they had one, but their colleagues, co-workers, a boss, or some type of group pops up with how they think about sex, and it is affecting your future lover right now, and when you meet; they will feel insecure throughout your sexual journey with you thus why the relationship with them will be enemies or rivals to lovers. I believe it's peer pressure with them. My intuition tells me this is the reason why you saved them and why they would do anything for you.

I feel a lot of anxious energy with them, a part of me wants to hug them and tell them they are okay, okay to love and show their pleasure in their own way, but I already know this is how you feel with them and what you will tell them. And when you do, they will confess you saved them.

As I was editing, I had to give you a message and also saw 777. Listen here. You are absolutely allowed to love whoever you want, you are allowed to be spoiled and pampered, you are allowed to be kissed in the most romantic ways, and you are allowed to have someone help you take showers. No, this person will not treat you in a bad way because you struggle with mental health problems. And no, they will not let anyone laugh at you even when you guys are not together because you do not deserve that, and they also think someone who does that is a "fucking asshole.'' You are so so so .. and many so worthy of love and I hope each day you tell yourself that, because it is true or else I would not have said it nor left this message, understood? Allow yourself to have the happiness you deserve and stop being your own blockage because, at the end of the day, it is not worth it, and seeing you struggle to have your happiness, do you think your kid self would like that? Would that be okay with them or is that okay—to have yourself struggling to make amends with your past, forcefully giving yourself guilt for something that should have been forgiven a long time ago? Let it go, it is seriously okay, let it go. Yes, what you did was awful, and should not have happened with them, but let it go and do and become better for the mistakes you caused and for yourself so it does not happen again. So as I said before, if I didn't mean it, I would not have mentioned it in your pile, so let it go.

Masterlist

Pile II.

Your future lover's favorite sex position is face sitting. They love, and I mean this very heavily, love eating you out, giving you oral, sucking you off, whatever the case is, they are very addicted to your private parts. “All you, all you, and .. all you, you are so fucking delicious baby, fuckkkkk.” I see a scene where they are covered in your juices, your cum, everything about you, and they are still eating you out as you grab their arms, body parts, or hair. Gripping for dear life, begging for relief, but nothing happens other than using their tongue in or on you faster, swirling it until it hits that sensitive spot of yours and, as well, as they are filled to the brim with your essence. The whole idea of eating dessert does not appeal to them UNTIL it is yours.

I hope you are ready for a very smutty scene since I cannot channel anymore other than their fantasies.. for you. I will address you as Y/N (your name), and them as F/L (future lover).

Scene A)

Your F/L will grab your leg and flip you over as they crawl towards your body, grabbing your skin to feel your skin. To feel the heat of your body because of how aroused you are. They will crawl towards your lips and greedily suck your top lips, nibbling the bottom to feel the taste from the last meal you ate, and chew softly. Then they will roughly thrust their tongue into your lips, sucking and grazing their tongue on yours and your teeth; they want to feel everything about you. Then they will pull out, grope your jaw and spit into your mouth as they crawl down and then sensually drag their tongue down to your chest area, sucking on them, and then to your private part as they blow air on it, seeing you twitch, whimper, groan, moan, etc. They will lean down and then give you oral.

Scene B)

Y/N is focused on doing their work, finishing up a coming project, and their deadline is coming within a week or two. F/L comes waltzing in as if they own the place and gazes at Y/N, smirking at their inconvenience. Though it would have been better if they could have helped Y/N, but no, it did not fit their shenanigans or their agenda. They stride over to Y/N as they massaged Y/N's shoulder, building trust with them. Once gaining their trust, they forcefully kiss Y/N, tasting their sweet nectar and feeling their tension dropping down until they remember their work as they push away F/L. But no, you would assume F/L will hold back and respect that push, yet they will not (still consent here). F/L will pick Y/N over their shoulder despite the weight of Y/N, and walk towards a countertop or over a table and bend them over. F/L will look at Y/N, and undress them as they crouch down and tease Y/N’s undergarment until they see a wet spot and then take it off only to tease Y/N with a toy, waiting for them to release but not cum since it is not allowed.

It will last for 2 hours straight, and once Y/N has had enough, they will face Y/N over their shoulders, similar to someone sitting on someone’s shoulder, only in this case, Y/N is sitting in front of F/L. F/L will suck or eat out Y/N until they are cumming over.. and over again and sobbing for F/L to stop. But it will not happen until Y/N uses their safe word(s) and once that does happen, pampering aftercare will erupt and leave Y/N comforted to the highest degree possible. With an insane amount of kisses, "because you deserve that and you deserve me to eat you out more!''

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mydadleft471 · 6 months ago

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A Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Messmer decides to surprise you in more ways than one.

Spoilers for both Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings tho, just me loving my fiery redhead.

MESSMER LOVERS COME EAT!

I finally got the courage to upload the fic I was working on! Everyone was so nice (and starving for Messmer content) so I folded lmao. Please enjoy and understand that I have never written anything like this, especially with ye olde English. It's a pain.

“I have something I wish to show thee.” Messmer’s low voice cut through the silence reverberating in his chamber.

“What is it?” You look up from patching a hole in one of his cloaks.

“I cannot say. It is a surprise.” His eye twinkled with something akin to mischief. You put down your needle and gently fold his cloak, putting it on your chair to finish later.

“A surprise for me? Are you feeling alright, My Lord?” You smile at him from where he towers above you.

“Shush. Wilt thou follow?”

“Always,” you say.

He leads you down countless flights of stairs and through the castle’s corridors. Down a hallway, you follow him as he steps into a lift that takes you to a part of the castle that is unfamiliar to you. You assumed you had explored everything by now, but it seems you were wrong. Messmer had given you permission to freely roam the castle, and you had spent a lot of time exploring the various rooms. You had gotten lost many times within the many twisting and confusing hallways, but the castle staff always led you back to your quarters.

The path from the lift leads out to a part of the castle almost entirely flooded. This seems like a place that hasn’t been occupied in many years. Some of the buildings you can see appear to be collapsing and debris litters the area. The water churns uneasily below you, as if something lurks in the depths. Taking a few steps away from the ledge, you stare out into the water that swallows surrounding buildings.

“What is it?” Messmer asks. He senses your trepidation in going any further, though you don’t think you have much to worry about with a powerful demigod at your side. Still, this place sets your nerves alight and has you on high alert.

“I’ve never seen this place before. Where are we?”

He speaks as if it’s common knowledge. “The Church District.”

“What happened here?”

He takes a second before he responds in a flat tone. “It does not matter.” Noticing your face falling slightly, he gives you a small smile. “Thy surprise is near. Come.”

You continue to follow him, your footfalls mere echoes of his much heavier ones. You wonder where he is taking you, and why he decided to surprise you. Though you have gotten much closer to him throughout your time in the Realm of Shadow, you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he wants to show you something himself. So many unanswered questions, though Messmer brings about many of those. Still, you cannot complain about how well he treats you now after you’ve earned some of his trust. You are safe within his walls, and you are welcome.

Though you wish he’d let you into his heart and mind more often, you take what you can get.

Finally, he stops in a room with a large, and complete, statue of Queen Marika. Many throughout the Realm of Shadow have been beheaded, sending icy chills through you when you first arrived, but this one is intact. The only signs of damage have been from the apparent age of the statue.

“Dost thou trust me?”

His question catches you off guard. Looking up at him, he looks vulnerable and almost uncomfortable.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have followed if I didn’t.” You smile at him to ease his tension.

He relaxes slightly. “Of course. I will ask thee to trust me again.”

You shoot him a puzzled look. How could you trust him any more than you already have?

“Close thine eyes. I shall lead thee, hand in hand.”

The prospect of him holding your hand makes heat rush to your cheeks, but you comply. Closing your eyes, you hold out your hands, and a few seconds later, he grabs them in his much larger ones. He holds them delicately, as if you might break if he dares to squeeze your hands. His skin is surprisingly smooth and warm.

“I will ensure thou dost not fall and injure thyself..”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He chuckles at your comment, a sound so rare and pleasant you want to hear it again and again. He begins walking, gently guiding you down a hill and you soon feel sunlight on your skin. The air feels lighter and there is a pleasant smell of lavender and fresh grass in the air. You wonder where you could possibly be. You haven’t seen much greenery in the Realm of Shadow.

After a few minutes he stops and lets go of your hands. You instantly miss his warmth, but you soon feel the heat of him behind you. You keep your eyes closed out of obedience and trust; you know he would not harm you.

His hands gently find your waist and he moves you a few steps to the left. Satisfied, he lowers a hand over your eyes to ensure you will not open them prematurely.

“This place is sacred. Inviting thee here was not a spontaneous act.” His voice is a mere whisper in your ear. You can’t tell whether to be scared or excited for what he will soon allow you to see.

He moves his hand away from your eyes, but they remain closed. You will not sully his trust.

You can hear the smile in his voice. He’s pleased by your obedience.

“Open thine eyes.”

You do, and you are immediately greeted with a grassy field speckled with vibrant flowers. You’ve never seen so many in one place. You think it would take all day to identify them. Trickles of gold sit suspended in the air like shattered stained glass and the sunlight kisses your skin sweetly. Not far up a hill is a small village made up of a few wooden houses. They look old and mostly abandoned. You take in the beauty before you. Not even Leyendell was this spectacular.

“Thou’rt pleased, I take it?” His voice wavers slightly with uncertainty.

“This is a most wonderful surprise, My Lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” You look up at Messmer, whose golden eye seems to shine brighter in the sanctity of this place.

“Forget formalities here.” He sits down in the soft grass and you are soon to join him. He looks relaxed, even happy, here.

“May I ask where we are now?” You idly skim your fingertips over the silky petals of the flowers swaying in the breeze around your skirt.

“Mother’s home. Her village before she became a God.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. It takes you a few moments to gather yourself enough to speak. “Queen Marika lived here?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Long ago.”

You wonder if Marika wanted Messmer to guard her old home, or if he does it out of love for her. You’ve seen the state of other Shamans within his infirmary, his medics working day and night to try and reverse the torture they’d went through. You knew Marika was a Shaman herself, but you’d never realized this place was originally her home. Your heart hurts for the God-Queen. Behind all her power was a girl who wanted her people safe.

You sigh, and Messmer shoots you a curious look. “This is the first time I’ve seen Marika as a person. Knowing she lived here, knowing she suffered… I understand now.”

Messmer reaches up and takes his helmet off, gently placing it to his side. “Mother desired revenge for her peoples’ suffering, and I became her instrument to do so here, in the Land of Shadow.”

“Did you want this?”

He closes his eye. “Mother has endured what a thousand people could not. I will ensure she receives her long-awaited deliverance.” He dodged the question. He does not want this, but he desires to avenge Marika.

“I know you won’t answer me truthfully, and we don’t have to talk about this anymore. But know this: you are not ‘The Impaler’ to me.”

“Thank you.” His response is so quiet you almost can’t hear it, despite being right next to him.

As promised, you change the subject. “Have you brought others here?”

He looks away and you can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I have not. The first to lay eyes on this place is thee.” He admits.

“Why?”

“I-“ he begins. “Surely thou must know thy importance to me, yes?”

The realization hits you.

This is his way of saying he loves you.

You scoot closer to him and lay your head against his arm. You feel him tense, then slowly begin to relax. One of his snakes gently perches itself on your shoulder. You smile.

“You can touch me, you know.” You reassure him. “You won’t break me.”

Silence hangs in the breeze as you wait for him to respond.

“Dost thou understand my reason for bringing thee here?”

You nod against him. “I think so.”

He moves away from you, earning himself a confused look, then he slowly grabs your hands and pulls you closer until you are comfortably sitting between his legs. You look up at him and see that his face is almost as red as his hair. He is adorable when he blushes.

You could get used to this.

“You will forgive me if I am too presumptuous. I am… not accustomed to touch, yet I want thee closer.” His soft, silky voice makes your heart melt.

“I want you closer too. It’s okay.” You cup his face with both hands, and though it’s a simple gesture, he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. His eye closes and you try to memorize the look of peace etched on his face.

“With thee, I am content.” He whispers to you.

“Then I’ll see to it that we’re never separated.”

His eye flutters open and he hazily looks down at your lips. His hand engulfs your cheek and you feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

So many have met their demise from the man sitting in front of you now, content and complacent, and that thought sends shivers down your spine.

“No man nor God could tear thee away from me. That is a promise.”

He leans forward and kisses you. His lips are soft and he pulls you closer to him and his hands are splayed possessively over your face and back. You don’t want to pull away, and you get the feeling he doesn’t want to either.

You are his as he is yours.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #messmer x reader #elden ring x reader #i love him your honor #he's so pookie

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randomgurl2326 · 6 months ago

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the love of a blackwood is meant only for a bracken

benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken!reader

warnings: angst at the beginning, major fluff, overall happiness

summary: the love of a bracken is meant only for a blackwood part 2

the wound of heartbreak still fresh in your heart as you lay in the pillowy mattress of your bed. you haven’t left in days. aeron not having come to see you, your father refusing to look at you, cousins having shunned you; the only ones to see you in two weeks were your handmaidens. even then only speaking when absolutely necessary.

your eyes have dried of tears but your eyes still sting at the thought of your past lover. the rift only growing everyday as the blackwood boy’s raven being ignored as sent back each day as it comes.

a hesitant knock sounds through your chambers. you turn over at the noise “go away.” you sniffled as you heard a sigh. aeron speaks to you through the door “y/n… listen, I’m sorry. but you have to understand-“

at the sound of aeron’s voice you’re quick out of bed and open the door. the splotches of red on your face haven’t dimmed in days, your eyes sad and full of lost love. “what, aeron? what do I have to understand?” exasperation clear in your voice as it croaks out the words. he looks down at you with guilt in his eyes. you can still see the remnants of bruises that benjicot left in your honor “you know the history, y/n. after everything we’ve told you, you still go behind our house’s back”

“do you even understand the feud in between our families. do you even know what our family did to the balckwoods? do you?” tears are no longer able to sting your eyes with how much you have cried in the past weeks.

aeron’s sad eyes look into yours as he speaks “sister, I didn’t come here to fight. father wants to see you, says he needs to speak about something important with you.”

your heart rate rises as he says those words, worry quickly befalling you “do-do you know what he needs to speak to me about?”

“you know as much as I. but I could only think—“ I nod “the blackwoods” aeron nods and turn to leave. you grab his shoulder before he’s out of reach “I never meant to hurt you when it happened. you know that, right?”

“I know, sister. I-i overreacted, I know that. you’re my sister. I protect you. you know that.” his words calm your heart and smile for the first time in weeks. the smile sending too many words in a small action. the bracken boy smiles back at you and pats your shoulder “you should probably get dressed. father’a expecting you soon.”

with those last words he leaves and sends your handmaidens in. the girls raid your closet as you turn at your door. “my lady, are you alright?” the sweet girl named stellane. “of course, stellane. let’s get me dressed, shall we?” as she brings out yellow and brown dresses for you to choose from you smile as you realize your brother has forgiven you.

once stellane is finished dressing you you head to your father’s meeting room for his bannermen. as you reach the cracked door your knees start to wobble and breath shortens at the thought of what he wants to say to you. finally, you gather your temporarily lost bearings and enter “father, you wanted to see me?”

as you enter you look down and see two pairs of feet. confused, you look up. as your eyes slowly trail up the figures of your father and the mystery person you recognize who it is. your breaths start to quicken, your bosom rising and falling with your heart beat. benjicot blackwood on bracken land inside the bracken house. no wounds touched him, no bruises darkened him.

you turn to your lord father quickly, eyes wide “father?”

“daughter, come” lord bracken beckons you over to him and the young lord blackwood. as you walk up to the men yours and benji’s eyes meet. two weeks. no returned ravens. two weeks of complete silence and he still looks at you as if you hung the stars and the moon.

the six feet it took to walk towards your father and lost love felt like years when only it took mere seconds. as you reach your father and the unexpected guest your look lord bracken in the eye and take a deep wavering breath. your lord father speaks with a low baritone “y/n, my only daughter. I know of your transgressions and false loyalty of the bracken name…”

“father—“

“you will let me finish… you have forsaken our house and tainted your body with the likes of a blackwood…” you see benjicot’s jaw lock as he takes a deep breath ��…however, I have come to the realization that even with your… crooked actions you have given an opportunity to fix the centuries long rift of our houses.”

your eyes widen and look to benjicot. the implications of your father’s words swim through your mind. the dark gray eyes of your lover’s eyes give you all the confirmation you need. “father, surely you don’t mean…”

he raises a hand to silence you, “yes, daughter. the deal is in place and lord blackwood has accepted.” his next words mumbled as he spoke, “no surprise as he’s already defiled you.”

at his words ben clicks his tongue and his hand clenches and unclenches; clearly trying to compose his temper.

your reaction different. your heart stopping. marriage. to benjicot blackwood. an end to the suffrage of your families. two lovers returned to one another. a realization hits you as you stand there. your lover willing to fight for you, move mountains for you, end a war for you just to see you again. no matter whether you wanted to see him again. bwnjicot blackwood, lord of raventree hall, and the man who you wanted to kiss fucking stupid right now.

as your heart returns to its natural rate your father speaks “I believe you two would like to speak about our decision.” as he leaves you look back at him and he squeezes your shoulder. an action that wouldn’t mean much to others, but as heartfelt as a stark oath.

benjicot speaks first, “y/n—“ you interrupt him with a searing kiss as you pull his tunic down. the passion the same if not stronger as the last time you met. tongues dancing like dragons in the sky, and sparks running through your veins as he cups your face. as you two part he rests his forehead on yours. as you catch your breath you speak “I love you. I was stupid, a-and I want thinking. I didn’t mean it, I swear it. I love you.”

your betrothed interrupts you with another searing kiss “shut up. you weren’t stupid. you may have broken my heart but you weren’t stupid…” his stupid huff of a laugh escapes him as he says those words “…you had every right—“

“but I was wrong. I shouldn’t have told you to go away. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—“

“you should’ve done exactly what you did. I was wrong for what I did, but I don’t regret it.”

you rub your noses together and play with his collar “you shouldn’t. I was mean…”

“I like it when your mean,” you smack him at his jests.

“I was mean and selfish… so selfish,” your confession hitting his ears with a ping to his heart. ben moves his hand from your jaw to your cheek as his other hand plays with your hair “you were allowed to be selfish. I should’ve brought it up differently o-or just left. but I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. I couldn’t keep letting gmy love be torn from me because of some stupid war that no one knows what it’s for anymore. I needed you then and I need you now. I came to your father because I needed to see you, whether you wanted to see me or not. I needed to hear your saccharine voice because I need you just to continue living. to continue breathing. and I love you, and I would keep loving you even if you didn’t love me.”

tears brim your eyes at your blackwood boy’s words. and they fall as you store his words into your heart. he wipes your tears as they fall. “I do not deserve you, benjicot blackwood. how could I when you love me so and I couldn’t even bring my self to return your ravens?”

“you didn’t need to because I knew. I knew even if you wouldn’t see me because I can feel it” he takes your hand into his and bring it to his heart. his throat tightening as he speaks “I feel it.”

you rest your forehead against his chest and you feel the rise and fall of it. finding comfort in your lover’s slow heaves of his chest. you raise your head to look into his stormy eyes, your voice hoarse “I love you, benjicot blackwood. from the walls of stone hedge to the snow of castle black, I love you.”

the blackwood boy steals your lips in a passionately slow kiss. the salt of your tears mix together. when he pulls back he murmurs against your pillowy lips “i am going to marry you, y/n bracken. you will be mine, and i yours forever. mind and soul, I belong to you. if you will have me.”

your smile as wide as the seas in essos as you laugh “you, lord blackwood are a fool if you think I would ever refuse you.” your hands thread through his coarse, black hair.

his eyes trail down to your lips “it’s a good thing I secured a betrothal with your father then.” his jest rings through the room as it mixes with your laugh. “yes, lord blackwood, it is” you lean up to kiss your love again, this time harder than the ones before. this kiss solidifying your love for one another. lips meld together, teeth clash, and tongues dance as you express your love for one another. as the kiss come to an end he rests his nose on your cheek as you pant.

“I should go tell oscar and kermit” you pull back and slap him up the head. “is that really what your daft head is thinking about right now? after we pour our hearts and souls out to one another?”

benjicot pulls you by the waist to bring you back to him “only a jest, my love”

“not a funny one” you murmur. the boy leans his head down as he speaks “I believe you used to quite like my jests.” “only the funny ones—“

your quips were cut off at the sound of the door creaking, revealing your brother. aeron’s eyes trail down to benji’s hands on your waist and rolls his eyes. nonetheless he keeps his composure and clears his throat “I hear a congratulations are in order.” your brother’s eyes still focused on where your betrothed’s hands are placed and he finally takes a hint as he removes them.

“aeron, if you’re going to start something—“

“relax, sister. I mean it. I’m… happy for you” he looks you straight in the eye to convey that he only means the best. aeron moves his eyes from you to benji “and I guess you’re marrying my sister…”

benjicot nods sternly, still not used to your brother being nice. they stare at each other for who knows how long before you pipe up “should I leave?”

“no” the word said by both boys at the same time and they clear their throats. after your brother’s embarrassment he speaks “i have to go.” he leaves the room before any more embarrassment can reach him.

your lover turns to you “I still don’t like him.” you pat his cheek “I know, my love.” you turn to leave and he still stands there and calls out to you “don’t think I’ll ever be friends with him!”

once you’re out of earshot he lets out a little ��shit’ knowing that once you’re married you’ll try to make them befriend one another. once benji realizes that he’s alone in the bracken’s fortress—stone hedge—he runs out to try and find you.

“y/n!”

a/n: here’s part two to the love of a bracken meant only for a blackwood. I didn’t expect so many people to like the last part, however I do have a part three in store. It may or may not be smutty😏 and it totally doesn’t haven’t simp benjicot. No way. No siree

anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it, love you💚💜

|| series taglist ||

@minaxcarter @whiteoakoak

@cypherpt5fttaehyung @rebeccawinters

*bold means I couldn’t tag you*

#x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #bloody ben x reader #benji blackwood #ben blackwood #ben blackwood x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd spoilers #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon

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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago

Text

off-guard — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: what happens when the trio follow their teacher once again? will they end in another maid cafe or find some very worthy tea? 👀

“okay, this is the plan: we will follow gojo-sensei to see just what the hell is up with that guy.”

megumi sighs, “last time we did that—the results weren’t exactly ‘pleasing’, itadori.”

yuuji huffs, “I beg to differ!”

“paintbrush is moving! I repeat! paintbrush is moving!” they hear nobara say through the walkie talkie.

yuji and megumi look at each other before nodding and stealthy following their teacher. each one is wearing his respective disguise of wigs and huge glasses.

meanwhile nobara, with a disguise of her own, is following gojo closely, who seems to be going into a certain café. she grumbles before whisper-yelling into the walkie-talkie, “where are you guys?!”

“we’re here, calm down!” megumi huffs.

itadori nods, “yeah! we’re going to get our cover blown like this.”

the three glare at each other before focusing once again on the moving paintbrush. the moment he opens the door, they notice his gaze searching for someone specific.

nobara covers her mouth so she doesn’t audibly gasp. does he perhaps have a lover? if so then she shall welcome the tea with open arms.

nobara, itadori, and megumi are lined outside the window of the café which makes them, undoubtedly, look suspicious. so, to save grace, megumi drags them inside into a table far from gojo who seems to have sat alone.

there is a hint of melancholy yet excitement in his eyes. each of the three prop up the menus to conceal their faces further.

nobara eyes gojo before speaking up, “who do you think he is waiting for?”

“maybe a lover?”

“or a friend,” megumi mumbles, but he rules out that possibility quickly. gojo looks nervous or at least as nervous as he could.

there is the light tapping of his feet and the way his eyes snap to the door every time the bell rings only for his eyes to brim with disappointment when it isn’t the person he is waiting for.

barely a minute passes by, but nobara and yuuji are getting impatient and nobara snaps—as quietly as she can— “where is that person?!”

“just when are they going to arrive?!” itadori joins in.

megumi sighs in the background, “we’ve been here for 2 minutes guys, please.”

their wait ends fairly quickly when they hear the excited gasp of their teacher, who stands up abruptly before eagerly waving at someone, “y/n! sweets! I am here!”

they look towards the door at the same time and they are met with a sight to be seen.

you, someone that was so pretty that yuuji passed out, are waving back at satoru before skipping over to him.

he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and peppering your face with kisses, “you look as pretty as ever!”

“and you’re as flirty as ever, satoru,” you pet his hair softly, “how have you been?”

he sighs, happily, before responding, “I’ve been fine, but I feel even better after I saw you,” he slowly pulls back so he can pull your chair out, “have a seat, m’lady,” he winks, “we have a date to go through.”

you roll your eyes before sitting, “isn’t chivalry dead, satoru?”

“then I must be a ghost,” he hums before sitting down as well.

“I would believe that, honestly,” you chuckle at his offended face before pointing at the top of his head, “you have the white hair and everything.”

the two of you soon get lost in your bickering and conversation. meanwhile, megumi is smacking the shit out of itadori so he wakes up and nobara is gaping at how pretty you look, “how is she even real?!”

megumi spares poor itadori, who finally woke up, before looking nobara, “I really don’t know why she would settle down for someone like him.”

itadori nods, “literally, out of everyone.”

but nobara sighs with a smile which gets the two boys’ attention.

she looks up at her teacher conversing with you, “but they look pretty in love; I mean look at the way they’re looking at each other.”

the boys turn their heads to look at the both you and they have to admit: nobara’s right. both of your eyes speak a magnitude of feelings and all of them are as gentle as a cloud.

it seems that you’re both so preoccupied by the other that you forgot everyone around you.

there is also the way gojo is holding your hand and rubbing circles on it as you talk. he is smiling so contently and so quietly like the only thing he wants to hear is you.

no wonder he didn’t notice them. he is so absorbed in you.

and the way the feeling is mutual just makes them feel very happy for their teacher even if he is annoying as hell sometimes. it’s nice how the both of you are so openly infatuated with the other.

megumi stands up before pulling itadori by the scruff, “let’s go, they need some privacy.”

Itadori struggles as he is dragged away, “why am I always treated like this?! what about nobara?!”

nobara glares at itadori before megumi stops to look at her.

she raises her fists, “don’t you even dare—“

a loud screech is heard from her as megumi drags her and itadori back to jujutsu high. a lot of passersby are staring, but megumi has seen way too much in his life to care at this point.

on the other hand, satoru is sipping his drink as you watch the kids getting dragged away, “these are your students?”

he nods excitedly before grinning, “yup! so, what do you think about them?”

“they certainly take after you,” you snicker and he narrows his eyes at you, leaning forward so his face is directly in front of your own.

“and what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug pushing him away with your index finger to his forehead, “it means whatever you think it means; you’re a smart guy.”

he tilts his head, a smirk instantly plastered on his face, “oh, two can play this game.”

meanwhile, in jujutsu high, the first years are sitting in their beloved classroom.

itadori pulls out the camera, “I got pictures!”

nobara snatches it, “great job itadori!” and megumi gives the boy a small thumbs up.

they browse through the many pictures he had taken and the one that catches their attention the most is a photo of you two smiling at each other, so lost in the other’s eyes, so in love.

but nobara quickly gets over it and continues browsing through the photos.

“itadori, did you get the picture?” nobara whispers to itadori and he nods eagerly.

she takes a hold of the new obtained treasure, a photo of gojo beaming without being a smug bastard, and smirks, “we’re going to get so rich after we sell this.”

“I also got this,” megumi says as he shows off a photo of gojo, somehow, getting attacked by a squirrel with you trying to help him despite laughing your ass off.

nobara gasps, “when did you even get this?!”

“a couple of moments after we left? squirrels hate him for some reason.”

nobara cackles, an evil glint in her eyes, “blackmail, baby!”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots

do not copy or plagiarize or I will send the trio after you

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mingtinys · 8 months ago

Text

lost for words

pairing : lee jihoon x gn!reader

fluff , drabble , ultimate simp jihoon

warnings : none

word count : 0.6 k

requested ? no

a/n : this is what i imagine it would sound like if woozi wrote his own "shall i compare thee to a summers day"

Jihoon is nothing short of talented. A maestro amongst artists and a musical prodigy to his peers.

He can pluck strings until they sing and make his fingertips fly across piano keys in a way that makes them melt together into a symphony. He can breathe life into a school child's recorder that could charm a brewing storm and he can fit together words like a jigsaw to reveal a lyrical masterpiece worthy of the Louvre. Trust, Jihoon has no qualms over his musical competence.

But how is it that he struggles to find any combination of words suitable to the occasion? Why now does his brain falter when it thinks of ways to encompass just how much he loves you? Not a dictionary in the world would be adequate enough to measure that of which he feels.

Because what he feels for you could not possibly be contained to ink on paper, you're much too special for something as archaic as that. Everything about you is so breathtaking. An enigma he's simply been blessed to experience in this lifetime. Jihoon could carve your likeness into crystal under the moonlight and it wouldn't be nearly as mesmerizing as the real thing.

Jihoon believes you outshine even the brightest stars against a jet-black sky. He'd choose the ones in your eyes to stare at for hours over the Milky Way in a heartbeat. Your voice sings a sweeter melody than Apollo's harp on a warm summer day. One he wishes he could capture and play on a loop for all of eternity. If all of history's greatest composers put their minds to one piece, still, they could not conduct a symphony worthy of your essence.

And, oh, how you call his name has him hearing bells. You light a fire inside him like flint dragged across steel— like a bow across strings. Your hand fits into his palm like the bout of a violin and he can't get enough of the harmony you bring to his life. Just your presence alone grounds him in ways he never knew possible.

When he kisses your lips, Jihoon can taste a song so decedent it leaves him full for days. Soft and delicate touches that crescendo into passion personified pluck at the strings of his heart in the late hours. The feeling of his arms around your waist as you sleep provides an indomitable security. Your even breaths fan against his collarbone like a lullaby, easing him to sleep. Then, when he wakes, you're still there, greeting him like a songbird.

You are his muse, his life, and everything more.

Jihoon understands now why so many of history's greatest ballads are written for lovers. Because the human language is a fickle thing. Always changing, never quite perfect, unsatisfactory in the eyes of man. Music lives on for centuries beyond their composers. It is, by all definitions of the word, immortal. There will always be someone to enjoy its tune and pass it down for years to come.

A song is but a time capsule of the memories that brought it to life. And Jihoon is not a man selfish enough to deny future generations of your beauty. He would write a song a day if it meant cementing your memory in history.

If only he could find the words.

"Are you ready?" Seungcheol's deep voice pierces through the thin silence.

"Not at all." Jihoon inhales as deeply as he can in his suit that feels one away thread from being too tight, then exhales slowly. The parchment with his vows crinkles and folds at the bend between his fingers.

The words in his palm are no soliloquy, but his heart bled them with every ounce of love he could muster through shaky hands. And the gold band on his finger is a gentle reminder he has a lifetime to spend writing ballads in your honor. There are only two words he needs to worry about right now.

I do.

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pascaloverx · 12 days ago

Text

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

preview one

TWO

Days, perhaps more, have passed. You and Hanno have been meeting in secret, seizing moments when there was no sign of General Acacius. All that you were permitted to know was that he was recovering in the company of his beloved wife, Lucilla, who made it clear she wanted no trace of your presence near her husband. The absence of Acacius weighed upon you more than you cared to admit. To be denied access to him felt akin to holding your breath for far too long. Yet, your clandestine encounters with Hanno had proven to be a welcome distraction, enough to keep your mind from lingering too deeply on what you could not change.

"Your gladiator is requesting your care, Y/N. And while we are on the subject, your encounters under the pretext of physical care will soon spark rumors," Ravi remarks as he steps into the chamber where he keeps his healing tools. "General Acacius will be the first to rage if he learns of your escapades. Should Emperors Geta and Caracalla grow suspicious, they may presume you are seeking a new lover. Not to mention the possibility of Macrinus taking offense at your growing closeness with his gladiator." You remain crouched, organizing a collection of herbs, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Hanno needs you—or rather, he has summoned you for yet another session of personal defense training.

"Ravi, believe me, I am well aware of the risks I take in daring to draw close to Hanno. Yet, I choose to take them—something no one of sound mind would do. General Acacius will not always be there to save me in the future. Lucilla has made her stance on my involvement with him abundantly clear. You do not see him here, concerned for me, do you? Precisely for that reason, I must think of the future." You speak as you search for the garment General Acacius once left at your disposal, should you ever need to fight.

"Since you are so determined to take such risks, be cautious. The guards will bring Hanno to be treated, and you will have only that time to practice—whatever it is you two practice," Ravi warns, much as he does each time you and Hanno meet, repeating the same cautions.

"I shall change my attire. If you would, dear friend, make Hanno comfortable until I return," you say, rising and moving toward the exit of the space where you and Ravi have tended to countless gladiators. "If all goes well today, I shall be one step closer to becoming more than a healer or a lover. I shall be the closest thing to a warrior I can aspire to be." Ravi nods, though a hint of worry lingers in his expression. He is the closest thing to an ally you have.

Time rushes by when one is on the brink of doing something forbidden, but you no longer concern yourself with the consequences. You are resolute to take control of your destiny, even if that control is but a sliver. Once dressed, you secure the dagger Acacius once gifted you in a hidden compartment of your attire. It is your small but vital secret, and you are steadily improving in its use.

With purpose in your stride, you make your way swiftly to where Hanno is awaiting you. When you arrive, his eyes brighten at the sight of you. "I see your delay is justified; you look prepared for battle. Let us see if you can land a blow," Hanno says, advancing toward you with a predatory gait meant to intimidate.

You meet his gaze with an unflinching smile. "Save your words for when we’re truly facing off, gladiator," you reply, following him to the familiar training grounds. It is the very arena where countless gladiators sharpen their skills, preparing for the moment they will stand before the emperors in the grand coliseum.

As soon as you step into the center of the training grounds, Hanno strikes without warning. His sword arcs toward you, narrowly missing as you instinctively step back. At the start of this combat practice, both of you wield swords, though your grasp on its use remains novice.

"Have you lost your sanity, Hanno? I wasn’t ready," you exclaim, fixing him with a glare of irritation. He advances on you again, silent and relentless, as if transformed into a stranger intent on attack. His gaze is unwavering, his resolve sharp.

"When you’re defending yourself, no one will wait for you to be ready, nor will they show you mercy. I want you to see me as you would see any foe who dares strike at you," Hanno declares, his sword slashing toward you again. You react, relying on your defensive maneuvers, retreating step by step until a strategy for counterattack begins to form in your mind.

"I’m not so sure; you seem to be enjoying this far too much," you retort, timing your movements before landing your first offensive strike. It catches him off guard, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. The gap between you narrows, charged with the thrill of the fight and something deeper, more electrifying.

"I am enjoying it just as much as you enjoy patching me up with that brute strength of yours, healer. Now, focus," Hanno says, parrying your blow with unnerving precision. It’s like a dance—each movement perfectly countering the other. You attack; he defends. He strikes; you block. The rhythm between you is almost hypnotic, an eerie harmony born of tension and skill. But then, in a risky maneuver, Hanno manages to disarm you. Your sword flies from your grasp, landing far out of reach. Now standing mere steps apart, your eyes meet, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like the end for you, so why not take a chance?

With a surge of reckless determination, you rush toward him, channeling all your strength into an attempt to topple him. In your mind, it isn’t Hanno you’re facing—it’s an enemy, someone who would do you harm. Your unexpected move catches him off guard, and he falls to the ground. By sheer luck or fate, his sword slips from his grip as well. Now, you find yourself on top of him, both of you unarmed. The air between you is charged, your breaths mingling as silence envelops the space.

"It seems I have bested the great gladiator of Macrinus," you say, pressing your body lightly against his, a triumphant smile on your lips. Hanno smirks, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he swiftly reverses your positions, pinning you beneath him with effortless strength.

"Do not be deceived, healer," he murmurs, his piercing gaze locking with yours. But you are not so easily subdued. With a practiced movement, you draw the hidden dagger from your vestments and press it against his neck, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Your presumption is touching, gladiator," you retort, your tone both teasing and sharp.

"What will you do next, healer?" Hanno asks, his breath warm against your face. The tension between you ignites instantly, palpable and undeniable. Before you can respond, he pulls your face closer to his, his lips capturing yours with a fervent intensity, as though he means to consume you entirely. At first, you almost resist Hanno’s kiss—it feels forbidden, a boundary you should not cross. Since your husband’s passing, Acacius was the only man you had kissed. Yet, as Hanno’s tongue ventures into your mouth, you find yourself surrendering, the kiss quickly becoming mutual.

In truth, Hanno is devouring you, but you refuse to let him take the upper hand so easily. You tug at his hair with force, pulling him closer, demanding his full attention. The kiss deepens, its intensity increasing to the point of no return. You want him to feel your hunger, to know that you wish to consume him just as much. For all its forbidden allure, you crave this moment—not because of duty or obligation, but because you want it. You want to know what it feels like to kiss someone you shouldn't, to rebel against every expectation tethering you. Your husband was not forced upon you, but your marriage had been a safeguard. Becoming Acacius’ lover served a similar purpose. But with Hanno, nothing feels safe. And perhaps that is why you let this moment unfold. There is no security here, no veil of protection. If you and Hanno are caught, Acacius could kill him, both the Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla could execute you, and the repercussions would be endless. Yet, none of that matters as your lips clash with his in this reckless, intoxicating dance of defiance.

The kiss is all-consuming, so intense that, for a moment, it steals your breath. You pause, pulling away to recover the air you desperately need. Yet Hanno seems unsatisfied, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that threatens to unravel your resolve.

His hand cups your face, fingers tracing over every detail as if committing you to memory. When his thumb brushes over your lips, he murmurs softly, "Your lips remind me of hers, my beautiful Arishat." Reality strikes like a sharp blade. He is with you, yet his mind lingers on his late wife. The weight of that truth is unbearable. As he leans forward, seeking your lips once more, you push him away, creating the distance you now desperately need.

"I will not be her replacement," you think, your resolve firm. "Nor Lucilla’s substitute." Avoiding his gaze, your shame and frustration burn within you. Rising quickly, you make your way toward your quarters. You and Ravi must always be prepared to tend to the wounded, so your rooms are close to where the gladiators train and where Ravi keeps his healing tools.

"Healer," Hanno calls out behind you, his voice firm yet laced with something softer. He follows after you, refusing to let the moment end so abruptly.

"Gladiator," you say, turning to face Hanno. Your body nearly collides with his, but you take a step back, halting the chase that had ensued. "Our training is done. I think it would be wise for us to part ways now, so as not to confuse..." You pause, searching for the right word to define what you might be confusing, only for Hanno to step abruptly closer, almost closing the space entirely.

"I am not confused about anything, healer," he says, his tone firm yet sincere. "I was lost momentarily in a memory, but I assure you, I knew exactly who I was kissing." He takes another step forward, his presence overwhelming.

"The act itself is already a problem, gladiator," you reply, struggling to maintain composure under his intense gaze. "We should not have kissed." Before he can respond, both of you hear footsteps approaching. In an instant, Hanno’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you behind him as though to shield you from whatever danger may come. Ravi appears, nearly running toward you, his face etched with worry.

"General Acacius has been seen heading this way," Ravi announces, his voice hurried and panicked. "The guards are murmuring that he’s coming to see you, Y/N. I suggest we get Hanno out of here immediately, and you prepare yourself to receive him."

The mention of Acacius sends a cold dread through you. Him encountering Hanno now would spell disaster. "Tell the guards who brought Hanno to retrieve him from here," you instruct, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "Hanno and I will change out of these combat garments, and I’ll distract Acacius while the guards take Hanno back to his cell. Ravi, I’ll need your speed."

Without hesitation, Ravi nods and rushes off to summon the guards. You, in turn, push Hanno toward a secluded area where he can change out of his training gear. "Change in there and wait for me," you instruct firmly. Noticing the swords in his hands, you swiftly take them from him despite his protests. With no time to spare, you carry the weapons back to your quarters while Hanno remains in the area where you and Ravi usually tend to injured gladiators. In the quiet urgency of your chambers, you hastily change your attire, your mind racing with the precariousness of the situation. Hanno waits silently, the gravity of the moment clear to both of you.

"Do you fear what might happen should General Acacius discover your association with the gladiator who recently sought his life?" Hanno asks as you enter the room where he waits patiently to be taken back to his cell.

"I do not fear for myself," you reply, adjusting your tunic with calm precision. "I fear that if you and he meet, there will be unnecessary bloodshed. As I’ve told you before, if you wish to kill him, do so in a duel—before the people of Rome. Sate the appetite of Emperors Geta and Caracalla as they watch you strike at each other in a frenzied battle for glory in the name of the gods."

Hanno listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he steps closer. Without a word, he helps you smooth the folds of your tunic, his touch deliberate yet gentle. "Will you tell him of our association, then?" he asks, finishing his adjustments and letting his hand linger briefly as it grazes your cheek.

"What is there to tell?" you counter, meeting his gaze with resolve. "Our association is no one’s concern." A smile spreads across Hanno’s face, slow and satisfied, as if your answer pleased him greatly.

Moments later, Ravi appears, his expression tense. "The guards are near," he informs, his tone clipped. His gaze shifts between you and Hanno, briefly noting the closeness between you, though he chooses to remain silent. With a small nod, Ravi turns to Hanno, gesturing for him to follow. Hanno casts you a lingering look before allowing Ravi to lead him toward the guards, leaving you behind with the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest.

You wait patiently for General Acacius to arrive, though his delay stretches longer than anticipated. The thought suddenly strikes you—he might already be in your quarters, as he has been on previous occasions.

"Would you care to explain," his voice calls out, smooth and laced with quiet reproach, "what reasons led my beloved healer, whom I hold in such high regard, to abandon me to the care of Ravi instead of tending to me herself?" Turning toward the source, you find him stepping into view, pulling back the mantle that had concealed his face and form. His approach is measured, deliberate, and his gaze briefly flickers to the swords you had left behind without considering they might draw his notice.

"You should have sought explanations from your wife, General Acacius," you reply, your tone calm but firm, though the effort to keep it so is greater than it seems. "It was she who instructed me, in the presence of the guards no less, to withdraw from tending to your care." His footsteps pause near the swords, his attention drawn to their gleaming edges. The air between you grows heavier as his eyes shift back to yours, narrowing slightly as he regards you. You remain steadfast, though the distance you keep from him feels tenuous, as if he could close it with the simplest of steps.

"I was not informed of such a decision; I would never have allowed my care to pass from your hands to another's," General Acacius speaks softly, his tone a mixture of calm and yearning as he moves toward you with deliberate caution, yet there is a palpable hunger in his eyes.

"General, whether you authorized it or not is irrelevant," you reply, holding your ground though the weight of his presence begins to press upon you. "Lucilla no longer wishes for us to remain close. Surely, you remember that when all this began, you told me that if your wife were ever to object to our association, even if it was merely for appearances, it would end."

Your words are firm, yet the truth they carry sinks heavily into your own heart. You know now, with certainty, that the chapter of your life entwined with Acacius is nearing its inevitable conclusion.

"Those words were spoken before we became what we are today," Acacius responds, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet intensity. "Surely you know I have no intention of abandoning you." He steps closer, his gaze unwavering, his nearness suffocating in its allure.

"Do not worry for me. Your pity is no longer necessary, Acacius," you say, though the ache in your chest betrays the pain these words bring. Deep down, you have long feared that what he felt for you stemmed from nothing but pity.

"I have never pitied you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with conviction. "Perhaps I felt empathy for your pain in the beginning, but after that—everything was real. Your presence makes me a better man." His hand reaches up to touch your face, tenderly tracing its contours as if to soften your resolve. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, an intimate gesture meant to draw you back to him, to coax you into his embrace once more.

"You owe your loyalty to your wife, not to me," you say, your voice faltering slightly under the weight of his gaze and the warmth of his touch. "We must no longer allow ourselves to feel anything beyond what is proper, Acacius." Even as you speak, your resolve weakens beneath his touch, his words a balm and a temptation all at once. He seems heedless of your protest, intent only on closing the distance between you.

"Lucilla has my loyalty, but you... you have my protection. I will not leave you unguarded," Acacius says, his lips almost brushing against yours, his voice weighted with emotion.

"Then you should know that my loyalty is no longer yours exclusively," you reply, steadying yourself as you deliver the words. You feel the sharp recoil in Acacius as he steps back, his expression hardening, though disbelief flickers in his eyes.

"I am involved with another," you continue, forcing the lie to your lips with a strength you did not know you possessed. "It may mean that I will no longer require your protection in the future." Your words are a dagger you wield with precision, for you know that to continue as his lover would jeopardize his marriage—a risk you cannot allow, no matter the desires that linger within you.

"Who would dare attempt to claim you, knowing that you are mine?" General Acacius demands, his voice edged with irritation that betrays a rare crack in his calm demeanor. His gaze narrows, his presence no less imposing, but the fury brewing beneath his words sends a shiver through you. You realize the fire you have kindled within him may burn brighter than you anticipated.

"Someone who does not fear the wrath of General Acacius," you say, your voice steady despite the undeniable pull of his proximity. You desire him, undeniably so, but you know you must not have him.

"It is clear that our involvement must end—now. Before it concludes in disaster," you declare, watching as Acacius processes your words, his gaze shadowed with an intensity that seems both pained and unyielding.

"Then let it be clear to you," Acacius responds, his tone laced with an unwavering authority, though no threat lies in his words. "Whoever dares to encroach upon what is mine will meet the edge of my sword without delay. Our bond will not be severed while either of us draws breath, Y/N. Keep that in mind." His declaration is resolute, not spoken as a plea but as a statement of his immutable commitment to you. It leaves you breathless, the weight of his words pressing against the fortress of your resolve.

"You cannot protect me forever, Acacius. Just as I cannot heal you forever," you murmur, stepping closer, your desperation palpable as though silently begging him to release you—to let you go before you both reach a precipice from which there is no return.

"Mea domina," he whispers reverently, stepping closer and pulling down the fabric covering your shoulder with deliberate care. His lips press softly against the exposed skin, lingering as if to seal a silent vow. The tenderness in his touch conveys more devotion than desire, a gesture that leaves you caught between longing and regret.

"I would die if necessary, but I will not abandon those I hold in the highest esteem. You and Lucilla are my priorities, and I will relinquish neither of you. If you place so much faith in this new interest of yours, let him come to me bearing a sword, and he shall find his end," he declares, his voice unwavering and resolute, his words resonating like a solemn oath.

Acacius lifts his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his lips trace a path of soft kisses along your temple, down to the curve of your jaw, and finally your forehead. His lips linger as if memorizing each contour of your face, avoiding your mouth deliberately—a clear boundary, or perhaps his way of expressing silent reproach for the words you have spoken. The kisses feel like a claim, yet also a farewell—his way of both cherishing and punishing, of reminding you of his commitment while withholding the one intimacy he knows you yearn for. The intensity in his gaze as he pulls back speaks volumes, as though he is willing you to see the depths of his resolve. "At times, it feels as though battle is all you truly understand, Acacius," you say, holding his gaze with a penetrating look, as if unraveling the depths of his thoughts.

"I am a man of honor," he replies, his tone firm yet measured. "I will not seek out the man who dares to involve himself with you, but neither will I stand idle should he attempt to take what is rightfully mine." His presence remains close, commanding and resolute, as though he seeks to claim not just the space but the moment itself. With deliberate care, Acacius reaches out, his hand brushing your face in a touch that is at once gentle and laden with unspoken meaning. It lingers, as if he wishes to commit every contour of your features to memory.

Without another word, he steps back, retreating from your chambers with the disciplined stride of a general accustomed to carrying the weight of empires. His departure leaves the room heavy with unresolved tension, the air thick with the echoes of what cannot be spoken. Alone, you are left to ponder the tangled web of emotions and loyalties binding you to both Acacius and Hanno. The weight of your entanglement bears down upon you, as inevitable as the arena’s call to blood and glory.

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eggtargaryenii · 1 month ago

Text

EAST OF THE SUN | PART V

Aemond leaned down then, looking at the man as if he were a pest—a stain beneath his boot. “My justice is not a lenient one, ser,” he murmured. A red glow pulsed on his left periphery, in the spot where he was blind: a phantom vision from his missing eye, the absence of which he felt everyday. “The next time you lay your hand on my lady, I shall cut it off myself.”

6k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for sexual harassment/misogyny. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

SERIES SUMMARY & MASTERLIST.

X. JUSTICE

Aemond had never liked the way men looked at you.

He noticed this from a young age, watching as his brother’s eyes roved over your body. Aegon looked at you as a man would view a decadent feast or wine rather than a human being. Something to be owned. Something to be devoured. Aemond did not know entirely what it meant until after that day in the tourney stands, listening to his brother explain what a whore was, and what his brother wished to do with you—to debase you as he would a woman on the Street of Silk.

As soon as he understood this about Aegon, he understood it about other men as well. You were aware of it too, had likely been aware of it your entire childhood. You never did explain to Aemond, growing up, why you were so often upset, but he pieced it together eventually. You always ran to the dragonpit after some lord eyed you too hungrily, after some squire or guard or knight tried to put his hands on you, after Aegon did put his hands on you to squeeze at whatever part of your body he could. And of course no one helped you. His mother could not stop Aegon’s impulses to dishonour you, his father was too neglectful to care, and Aemond—

Aemond had been too weak.

It incensed him beyond thinking. He had been a powerless child, unable to defend himself, so of course he could not defend you either. He would be patronised by the grown men he ordered to stop, who always smiled politely at him and claimed that they were only being friendly. Aegon was worse—Aegon did not feel the least bit ashamed of his desires and repeatedly told Aemond that he would do the same to you if he were a real man. (Never, Aemond always thought viciously, never would he touch you like that, never would he make you cry like that.) He felt a vicious anger in those moments that he could barely contain. It was nearly as terrible as it was after he lost his eye and he realised that he could not defend his mother from either Rhaenyra’s manipulations or his father’s wroth.

While Aemond was weak though, you eventually began to retaliate. First by kicking his brother in the shin, then by throwing things at him. It already shamed Aemond that you had to do this for yourself, but what made it worse was that his mother punished you for defending yourself, lecturing that your family should always show unity before others. It was not so different from how she advised Aemond to tolerate his brother’s mistreatment of him in both public and private.

Aemond was never upset with Alicent over his own misgivings, but your hardship was something else altogether. It was easy to for Aemond to swallow public humiliation for himself, for he loved his queen mother and considered himself a loyal son—but for you?

He could not swallow it for you. He could not bear to let you suffer the indignity of being treated like an expensive cut of meat by the entirety of the court.

Aemond resolved to put an end to it when he was older—just as he resolved to put an end to his own torment, and just as he resolved to put an end to his mother’s worry. She had a precarious position with a King who did not love her or her sons, and you had a precarious position with the men at court who felt entitled to touch and insult you as they pleased. It was natural that he wanted to protect you both, and he could only do so if he gained power.

So power he did obtain. Aemond honed himself into a weapon, and he did not hesitate from using his blade’s edge. His presence around you became constant, imposing. Whenever men demanded your presence, he made sure to smile sharply and make it known that you were under his protection: “Return her to me once you are done,” he always commanded. Return her to me whole and unharmed, or else face my wrath if she is hurt, he always left unsaid.

When he was only newly a man, having seen ten-and-six name days, there were occasionally those who chose to defy him anyway. The most egregious was a visiting lord of the Stormlands who made it known that he found you quite comely. “No wonder kings and lords often go to Lys to find their concubines,” the lord had said, his eyes greedy upon you. “The women of their pillowhouses appear to be quite beautiful.”

You could not afford to offend him, for you could not afford to offend Otto Hightower. You only smiled stiffly, taking the hand he'd offered you. “Thank you, my lord,” you replied. “You flatter me too much. I was born in the Red Keep, and I was raised among the noble houses of Westeros. I am, in truth, as Westerosi as you.”

It did not matter to the Stormlands lord, just as it never seemed to matter to any other man. He took you to dance, and Aemond saw what he did to you, what you could not defend yourself from in the middle of a banquet hall filled with oppressive, heavy gazes. Stinking of Arbor gold and perfume, the older man openly grabbed you, pressed his body against yours, manhandled you like the Great Hall was a pleasure house and you were his preferred whore.

You were going to strike him, Aemond saw. Your brow twitched and your arm wound with tension, the way that it always did before you slapped Aegon. You were going to hit this lord and the consequences would be dire, for it would be a disgrace to House Targaryen for one of its ladies to conduct herself with such violence and inhospitality.

But Aemond was a man—and men are not so easily punished for violence.

He moved quickly, serpentlike. Not even Ser Criston, who had begun to cut a path toward you, could match Aemond’s pace. He placed a hand on the offending lord's shoulders, and suddenly the oaf was thrown like a ragdoll, body sliding across the marble floor as the crowd parted around him. Aemond’s boot crushed the chest of the drunken fool, pinning him down. Screams teared from several throats; an angry yell from the lord.

“How dare you,” he snapped. “Is this how House Targaryen comports itself to other nobles?”

Aemond only smiled. Steel flashed like lightning under the chandelier, and the edge of his blade pressed neatly against the wrist of the lord, drawing a thin, red line across his skin.

“House Targaryen,” Aemond declared loudly, “does not tolerate dishonourable behaviour toward any of its princesses or ladies. I imagine that your liege lord would not either, nor any of the other nobles in the Stormlands.”

He leaned down then, looking at the man as if he were a pest—a stain beneath his boot. “My justice is not a lenient one, ser,” Aemond murmured. A red glow pulsed on his left periphery, in the spot where he was blind: a phantom vision from his missing eye, the absence of which he felt everyday. “The next time you lay your hand on my lady, I shall cut it off myself.”

Ser Criston escorted the man out, and the lord departed from court the next day. Suddenly every lecher who had ever pestered you kept a wide berth from you, and every man you encountered was nothing but polite. You moved with so much more ease after that: less tense, less small, less sombre. You were no longer afraid of existing in the presence of others, Aemond observed. You even seemed to laugh and smile more openly, the sight of which he would never tire.

“I am grateful for what you did,” you said after the fact, “but I still think it was very extreme. Your mother was quite unhappy with you, you know, and your grandsire was displeased as well.”

“Alicent was indeed startled,” he admitted, “and the Hand prefers to keep his relationships cordial for the sake of his own plans, but this was the only way to ensure your safety. If men do not fear, then they do not obey. Sometimes it is necessary to demonstrate one’s might for the sake of order.”

You gave him a long look. “Such is the way that our ancient house thinks, but I am unsure that it is always true. Sometimes it helps to exercise self-restraint.”

Aemond’s mouth curled. He wondered if you knew how gentle your disposition could be, how naive you could be.

“My lady,” he replied, “I was exercising self-restraint. I was even being merciful. He kept his hands when he should have lost both, did he not?”

XI. THE STAR, REVERSED

Alicent seemed apprehensive on the night before the tournament, just as Aemond thought she would be.

He sought her out in Maegor’s Holdfast: one of the few places in the castle free from eavesdroppers by way of servants and listeners within its walls. If any whispers came from the tower, it was due to the folly of the people residing there, and Alicent would not err in this matter. She would stay tight-lipped to everyone but him—for he was his mother’ son, and he knew how to appeal to her weaknesses.

“You intend to wed my cousin to Ser Arthur Tyrell,” he said. His voice was soft, a statement rather than an accusation.

She swallowed. “Yes. The Tyrells are a great house—a match nearly unimaginable. And you met Ser Arthur: the man is dignified, handsome, and cares not for the girl’s origins. She will be treated well.”

“It may seem that way outwardly,” Aemond said, “but I must inform you of some devastating news I heard from Ser Criston.”

“News?”

“Yes. It seems that Ser Arthur is a raper—Ser Criston saw it for himself during his time in the Dornish Marches. Acts that were an affront to the Seven. Crimes to the Mother, Maiden, and Crone alike.”

Alicent was almost certainly aware that he had deduced she'd already known this. The flicker of doubt in her eyes and tension in her body gave it away. Still, she quickly donned a mask of surprise and revulsion. “A raper?”

“Yes.” The corner of his mouth turned down. “You must know, Mother—I worry for my cousin. You know how dear she is to me.” Everyone in the Red Keep seemed to know it except for you, Aemond thought dryly. “I would not be able to live with myself if I did not plead for you to stop this match.”

She breathed in deeply, tried her best to look reluctant and fretful. “I know how much this must worry you, but the matter has already been settled, Aemond. We cannot offend the Tyrells by dissolving this betrothal. But your cousin is quite resourceful—I am sure she will find a way to stay safe. Doubly so, since the Tyrells will not want to offend us.”

“But my grandsire has a greater wish not to offend them,” he said softly. “He needs their support when we claim the throne, and he intends to trade her body to secure it. It leaves her without any leverage.”

It was difficult to keep his voice gentle when the thought drove him mad. Always, always—people wished to buy and sell you, to treat you like a bed slave to be used. He would cut off the hands of every man in the Red Keep if it meant that no one would ever try that with you again. Sometimes, he even believed that he would cut off even those hands belonging to his own brother.

Alicent would never consent to such violence just to protect you, but she sounded earnest when she replied, “It is not easy for me to do this to your cousin.”

“I know it is not.” Aemond kept his face solemn. “It is already difficult for you to turn a blind eye to all those maids that fall victim to my brother’s impulses”—except it was not difficult for her at all, he thought, for Alicent staunchly needed her family to maintain the appearance of unity—“but I imagine it is unbearable to watch it happen to a girl you raised and cared for as your own. You were practically a mother to her.”

A subtle frown. “I am hardly anything like her mother.”

Are you so blind as to think you are not? he thought. For Alicent tried to teach you the values that she taught to her children, and she struck you for your disgraces as hard as she struck Aegon, and she told you to swallow your humiliations as often as she did Aemond. And she resented you as much as she resented all of them—for giving birth to them when she was still yet a child, for being saddled with the responsibility of raising them, for doing it all alone because his father did not love her nor any of them.

Aemond considered himself a loyal son, but he had no delusions about any of this. It was so obvious that not even Aegon was fool enough to miss this fact: his mother did not love either of the sons she had raised.

And just as equally, she did not love you.

“But even if I am not a mother to her,” Alicent mused, “you are right in thinking I mislike this. I find it unbearable… but sometimes we must do unbearable things to protect the people important to us.”

“Yes—truer words than any. Sometimes we must do the worst to protect the ones we love.”

His mother knew him well. He watched as Alicent’s eyes flickered with understanding. She took a deep breath and regarded him as if he was something to fear: a threat or a monster, rather than her own son. The moment was brief, but Aemond noticed it just as he had noticed it all the times before. He could not help the sharp knife of disappointment in his heart.

“What are you planning, Aemond?” she asked.

His mouth curled, and he did not answer her question. She likely already knew.

“Do not resent me for this, Mother. You have said it yourself: this marriage isn't something you want, either. Allow me to do what you cannot.” And let me free you from the guilt that will burden you should you condemn your daughter to this match that Grandsire has orchestrated.

Alicent gave him a long look. “You ask for me to allow it, but I cannot stop you.”

He hummed, still smiling—guiltless. For Aemond considered himself a loyal son, and that meant that he must do all the things that his mother was too gentle to know she should do. It meant that he must make men fear their family when she was not capable of it. It meant that he must show might when she was weak.

It meant that he must maintain order when no one else would.

“No,” he agreed. “You cannot.”

XII. KNIGHT OF CUPS

You were not fond of tourneys when you were younger.

Social pariahs do not do well at social events. While tournaments and feasts were a source of joy for everyone else, they—like every other celebration—only served to highlight how friendless you were. At first you tried to enjoy them with Helaena, but her mother eventually forbade it, so worried she was about your influence on her daughter. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. You then tried spending the time with Aemond, but Aegon was always made to sit near him, meaning that he also sat near you. It quickly became intolerable: Aegon’s hands would always curiously end up on your body—your lower back, your thighs, your bottom, and so on.

Aegon’s behaviour used to make you cry from the discomfort (privately, for you would have rather died than showed weakness before him), but after a time you grew tired of the crying and you started to kick him in retaliation. While this effectively kept his hands off you, it also meant that Alicent eventually also forbade her two sons from sitting near you. She could not have Aegon making a fool of himself during every tourney, yelping as you defended yourself.

In the end, you were left to sit alone in every tourney, which was simply uncomfortable. You loved a good joust as much as anyone else, but it was not nearly so fun when you had no one to spectate with or speak with between rounds. You would only sit there alone, with a favour that the septa had forced you to make, for which no one would ask, acutely aware of the gazes of other people. You always squirmed in your seat, trying not to think of the judgements being passed upon you: how lonely you were, how pathetic you were, how few people of noble standing would ever want your company except to touch you as if you were a bed slave like your mother.

All of this changed when Aemond grew up.

As soon as he was old enough to have the freedom, he began to accompany you during any festivities, sitting next to you in the stands. And when he began to join the listings, you always looked forward to seeing him cut down his opponents, knocking them brutally off their horses or making them yield to his sword. Even though you sat alone, you were never lonely, for Aemond spent the idle time between rounds with you, smiling in genuine amusement as you leaned over the barrier to jest and speak with him, once so deeply that you nearly fell over.

Eventually, you got into the habit of sitting in the front row, not hoping to bless anyone with a favour, but simply so you could speak more easily with him. You sat now in the same spot as always—but for once, you were not alone. Jacaerys was next to you, and Lucerys next to him. It was their first tournament in King’s Landing, and their excitement for it was evident.

You could not have asked for a better day for a tourney: the sky was a rich blue and the wind tempered the heat of the sun. The banners and shields all seemed so vivid in the bright daylight, stags and bears and towers and wolves emblazoned across them all. Jace and Luke recognized every house sigil, of course, but it did not stop you from pointing out every knight in the tiltyard. You gave a particular pause to the knight that carried a green shield blooming with a golden flower. “My betrothed,” you said. “Ser Arthur is apparently quite the splendid knight.”

“Ah.” Jacaerys’ expression was unreadable, his tone neutral. “I'll need to keep an eye on him.” He glanced down at the favour on your lap: a ring of golden blossoms with a green silk ribbon woven through it, obviously inspired by the Tyrell coat-of-arms. “Did you prepare that for him?”

You nodded. “No one ever asks me for my favour, so I stopped making them long ago, but I made one this time in case he thinks to request it in courtship. It was the Queen’s recommendation.”

“A good one,” Jace admitted, though he looked neither happy nor approving. “What do you think are the chances that he’ll win the crown of love and beauty for you?”

“None at all, I hope. I’ve bet quite a bit of coin on Aemond,” you said neatly. “Tyland Lannister will lose a great deal of money today.”

Jace’s mouth was slanted with something that might have been amusement. “Are you always so confident in my uncle’s victories?”

“Well, he does always win,” you replied, grinning.

“So I've heard,” he said, sounding exasperated, and you had to stop yourself from feeling embarrassed. Over the years, you had mentioned occasionally in your letters about how much time Aemond put into training, and which tourneys he had won, and all the things you were learning about warfare from him. You did not think that Jacaerys would have minded it, but he currently looked distinctly sour.

“Sorry.”

“No, it's all right.” He studied the yard carefully. “I look forward to seeing what sort of fighter my uncle has become.”

His dark gaze landed upon Aemond then, a silhouette of night-black armour chased with gold. His helm was off, revealing his silver hair and sharply carved features. You did not often think about how handsome your cousin was, and typically you thought of him too frightening to be gallant, but you could not ignore it today: Aemond Targaryen was a very beautiful man. You had to remind yourself that he was Alicent Hightower’s son, which was a fact that never failed to stop you from admiring him. If ever you should lose your wits and find yourself besotted with Aemond, the Queen would instantly banish you from the capital. Though Aemond, himself, was far too ambitious to enter a marriage as politically useless as yours would be.

Rather than lingering on your undesirability, you instead turned your focus to the two knights about to joust, a Tarth and a Dondarrion. You'd seen both the year before, and you were unsurprised when the Dondarrion brutally unseated the former. Every house of the Dornish Marches had fierce warriors forged by true battle, and Dondarrion was no exception. The nobles around you clapped politely; the smallfolk in the commons cheered.

More rounds. Caron against Frey, then Tully against Stokeworth, then Dayne against Lannister. Then, finally—Aemond Targaryen.

As a prince, Aemond was allowed to choose his opponents. Never one to be craven, he stopped and pointed his lance at the knight carrying a brown shield with three stalks of wheat: the emblem of House Selmy of the Dornish Marches. Their knights were on par with the Daynes, and just as battle-hardened.

Though Aemond was skilled, he had never seen war unlike his opponent, and you could not help but feel anxious as you watched him guide his courser into the lane. He was starting out with Ser Selmy on his left. No matter how many times you watched Aemond joust, you always felt a sense of apprehension about his blind side. You did not know how he saw without his missing eye; you only knew how much he struggled after losing it, training with Ser Criston day and night, determined to regain his balance and aim, determined to take back what he'd lost…

Both warriors readied themselves. Selmy did not hold his reins, but Aemond did, so certain of his victory. Their lances were in hand, the ends rounded but no less dangerous.

The horses cried as they began.

Your heart pounded nearly as loud as the hooves beating against the ground. They race past one another and their weapons glanced against steel: Aemond’s lance on Selmy’s shield, splintering and bursting on contact; Selmy’s on Aemond’s arm. Neither faltered. As soon as your cousin was given a new lance, they resumed, with Selmy now charging on Aemond's right.

This time, Aemond’s lance crashed right into Selmy’s neck, just beneath his chin. The knight’s destrier screamed, nearly toppling over as Selmy was thrown off. The commons roared with delight, while all the nobles clapped politely—except for you. You could not help but stand on your feet and cheer in a distinctly undignified manner. When you looked down, Jace was studying you with amusement, and you could only grin.

Aemond, as always, rode over to where you sat. He looked up at you, mouth curled into a satisfied smile. You waved at him, practically hanging over the edge of the balcony.

“Well done, my Prince!” you exclaimed. “A splendid show as always! And against such a fearsome opponent, too!”

“Thank you, my lady, but you need not congratulate me yet. Other opponents equally fierce await me.”

“And you will best them as well,” you shouted, “for I have a great number of gold dragons staked on you! You are not allowed to lose!”

Aemond seemed amused. “If my lady wishes for my victory, then I would ask her for her help.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “My help?”

He held out a hand. “Your favour.”

You stared at him.

The nobles around you went quiet. You could feel the gazes of Queen Alicent and the Hand boring into you. Aemond One-Eye had never once asked a lady for her favour. To think that he was now asking for it—and asking it of you, a woman betrothed to another man—was pure scandal.

You glanced at Ser Arthur, whose gaze on Aemond was nearly piercing. This could only be part of Aemond’s play, you determined—an attempt at humiliation, and perhaps a feigned declaration of his intent to court you? The Tyrells could hardly ignore a Targaryen prince competing with their offer, even if he was doing it without the consent of his queen mother. If Aemond challenged Ser Arthur for your hand, it would complicate matters for them. You were unsure, though, if such a complication would deter them.

But Aemond told you to play along, so play along you did. You tossed at him your ring of blossoms and ribbon, and felt something in your chest twisting oddly as he caught them. No one had ever asked you for your favour before, and even though Aemond was doing it only as a ploy, it still made your heart pound to see someone wear your flowers.

“I don't imagine Ser Arthur will be happy about that,” Jace remarked after you sat down.

“Aemond is trying to slight the Tyrells.”

“I figured. Bold of him.”

“As is his disposition.” You settled back into your seat, trying to seem normal. “Well, now he has to win. I’ve bet a hundred gold dragons and my favour on him.”

“A hundred gold dragons?”

“I have inherited enough money to own half the city of Lys. A hundred gold dragons is nothing, especially when I will double it. A Lannister always pays his debts, you know.”

“You seem to have your father’s gift for making coin.”

“I only know when to hedge my bets.”

You both went quiet as several more rounds of jousting occurred. Ser Arthur was as fierce as the whispers told; he knocked a knight of Swann clean off his destrier, and even unhorsed the Dondarrion. Aemond eventually rode against Dayne and sent the great warrior crashing into the stands. They drew swords following the unhorsing, steel dancing and clashing violently. Aemond eventually forced the Marcher knight to yield.

The next time Aemond rode, he chose Ser Arthur for his opponent.

The commons cheered raucously, and every eye in the audience was heavy upon them. All throughout the stands, you heard people making their bets, and you sent Tyland Lannister a smile in reminder of your own. All the while, the two frontrunners for the tournament positioned themselves on opposite ends of the tiltyard. Ser Arthur was on Aemond’s left, you noticed, and your heart raced as the horses galloped.

Ser Arthur was formidable, and while Aemond was renowned for his skill, all the knights he'd chosen had still challenged him. He required two, three rounds to unseat most of them. Everyone expected a fight, an equal match of several rounds, perhaps even a swordfight—

But in a single, savage motion, Aemond’s lance speared right through Ser Arthur’s neck.

It took several moments for people to realise what had happened. Once they did, chaos gripped the crowd. Deaths happened occasionally during tourneys, but typically during melees, for the jousting lances were intentionally designed not to kill. And rarely was a death so stunning nor swift. Several women screamed at the sight of the bloodied lance, at the corpse that was falling from its horse; many of the men roared and cheered. Across the stands, you noticed Lady Tyrell sitting still and quiet.

You did not react yourself. You only sat there, numb with disbelief. You could think only of one thing:

“Did”—you swallowed thickly—“H-how did he do that? Was that on purpose?”

“I don't know,” Luke replied, voice trembling, but Jace sounded confident when he replied, “No. It was an accident.”

You turned to him. “How are you so certain?”

He seemed stoic when he replied—not cold or cruel, but solemn. Dignified in the face of death. “Aemond has a habit of aiming for the upper chest or neck when he jousts,” he explained. “You saw it for yourself, didn't you, with that knight of House Selmy? It is a brutal move, but not fatal. The gorget protects the opponent. But”—Jace frowned—“did you see the gorget on Ser Arthur? It wasn’t fastened correctly.”

You did not know what a gorget was or how one would see that it was loose, but you trusted Jace. “And Aemond would not have noticed?”

Jacaerys looked troubled. “I might have. But Ser Arthur was on his left…”

Aemond’s blind side, you realised.

“Then,” you asked, “who exactly is to blame?”

“I did not think the day would ever come that I would defend my uncle, but I don't believe that Aemond is at fault. It would be Ser Arthur’s squire, if anyone were to be held accountable—though such blunders are not unusual for an inexperienced squire. It was strange that Ser Arthur himself did not notice. He is—was—an experienced knight. He should know how his armour feels.”

“Aemond goaded Ser Arthur to anger,” you said, thinking not only of the favour, but their incensed conversation the night before, “so he was likely too distracted to notice. People are stupid when they're angered.”

The thought unsettled you, but Jace seemed unbothered. “You're speaking true. That is precisely why anyone would try to anger their foes before a battle—a stupid opponent is a weak one. It is not foul play that Aemond did so.” He gave you a pitying look. “Still, this is a tragedy. I am sorry for the loss of your betrothed.”

“You need not be,” you said, and you nearly added I had no desire to marry a raper anyway, until you remembered that you were in a crowd. “It is no one's fault, as you said,” you recovered. “I cannot blame anyone. I only mourn for Ser Arthur and his family.”

You tried not to wince as you remembered them. It was an accident, Jace had explained—but the death of a Tyrell son at the hands of a Targaryen prince would still be cause for strife and offence. You dreaded the consequences, and they loomed over you for the rest of the jousts.

The crowd, however, moved quickly past Ser Arthur’s tragedy. They cheered as the last several rounds finished, and by the time Aemond Targaryen unhorsed his final opponent, it was as if he had not just killed a knight. The commons cheered for him raucously, the nobles clapped and nodded in approval. It felt like you were alone in your discomfort—the only one suspicious of the incident.

You were so deep in your musings that you nearly did not realise it when Aemond was given his crown of winter roses to bequeath upon his chosen queen. The crowd murmured in curiosity as he drew toward them, though you watched almost with boredom. Aemond was utterly disinterested in the pageantry of tournaments, and nearly skipped the crowning the first time he won one. It was only at the urging of the crowd that he crowned his sister in his first year, then his mother in the next—with the least enthusiasm possible both times. Doubtlessly, he would crown one of them again.

You almost thought he made a mistake when he stopped in front of you.

“Who else should I crown as the queen of love and beauty,” he declared, a nearly roguish smile on his face, “other than my lady cousin?”

Although the crowd gasped in equal parts shock and delight, you only stared at him, aghast. “Me?”

He raised a brow. “Are you so surprised? You are the loveliest and most beautiful here to my eye, my lady. The title suits you well.”

You were stunned. Dumbstruck. You could not match this bold flattery to the Aemond you knew: a man who focused only on duty and politics, and who seemed utterly dispassionate about both marriage and women. Staring at the man before you, you wondered if he had been replaced by a changeling—or perhaps he had been possessed by some kind of demon?

But where you were confused, the younger girls around you seemed only excited. Cheers and giggles erupted around you. Ladies who had never in their life wanted to speak with you were now suddenly enamoured with you—or perhaps enamoured with Prince Aemond, who was known for his cold behaviour and complete disinterest in matters of courtly love. But right now Aemond was the very image of a gallant prince rather than a terrifying killer, and all the girls around you must have been excited by it.

Several of them urged you forward:

“Go on, my lady! Go on!”

“You can't turn down a prince!”

“Especially not Prince Aemond, of all people!”

“Who knew he was such a romantic!”

“Who knew! He must be serious in his intent to court you, my lady!”

“Yes, yes—he is always seen with you, is he not? Oh, I know the whispers were false, but he must truly wish to be your lover!”

“It is as they say, my lady. He wishes so badly to crown you, just see how he is looking at you! Do not keep him waiting!”

Never had you gotten so much approval from strangers. It was as foreign and unfamiliar as the experience of receiving attention from a man that was not absolutely repulsive and violating. You had never once imagined in your life that someone would ever want to crown you at a tournament or display such gallantry toward you, and it deeply affected you. Rather than feeling the butterflies of a newly discovered love, however, you were so overwhelmed that you only wanted to throw up.

Giving Jace a mildly terrified expression, you made your way down the stands. You tried not to look at Queen Alicent as you did, trying to avoid what you were sure was a gaze of complete wrath.

When you were finally on the tiltyard, facing Aemond, he dismounted from his courser. Even standing before him, you were convinced that he was confused, that this was some kind of error, that he was unwell or mad or had some other lady cousin you did not know of. Nevertheless, he laid the crown of roses upon your head, its blooms so blue and rare that the crowd exclaimed at their beauty.

Even though the masses were unrepentant in their delight, you could only give Aemond a blank look.

“What are you doing?” you asked in Valyrian, and he replied in kind.

“Courting you—was that not obvious?”

“Of course it is obvious. I am asking why.”

“It will be difficult for another house to request your hand if it means angering the Targaryen prince who rides the largest dragon in the world.” He looked self-satisfied. “Our family is known for madness, after all. People generally do not want to provoke it in us.”

You felt a headache coming on, disbelieving that this was his brilliant plan. And it still remained to be seen whether he had meant to kill Ser Arthur—for despite Jace’s staunch belief in his uncle’s innocence, the thorns upon your head led you to doubt him.

“You are mad for doing this, cousin,” you said.

“Perhaps. But have I not solved the problem of your betrothal?”

“For now. But we will be forced into this ruse of courtship, and once we stop, we will once again face the same problem.”

He smiled. He took your hand into his, and even though this was not his first time doing this, you were still startled when he pressed his lips to your knuckle. This time, your heart pounded in reaction and there was a mildly concerning flutter in your stomach.

Aemond replied only once he returned your hand to you, his expression as amused as it was cunning.

“Why need we ever stop?”

END PART V

hiii thank you for reading <3 i hope everyone enjoyed aemond's freak behaviour in this!

now that this chapter is out of the way, I would like to discuss a major shortcoming of this story. I did not have the foresight to write the earlier chapters in a way that expanded on the psychic damage that years of gendered microaggressions and sexual harassment has had on the reader. it was something I didn't want to focus on because I just wanted to have fun writing about some court politics and romance lol, but I've realised that it's going to play a very big role in the future of this fic (rip).

I've tried to introduce some of it here through aemond's pov, but I do want to emphasize how much of an influence it has had on the reader's mentality. it actually has even passively influenced the narrative even though I was actively trying to avoid writing about it - for instance, it's partly why she has zero expectations for ever having a romance, why she has no romantic/sexual experiences even though she gets a lot of attention, why she is very pragmatic about marriage, why she has no plans to have sex beyond a purely political marriage, etc... the trauma response does run even deeper than all of that though!

anyhow - thanks again for reading! please let me know if you enjoyed this. reblogs are greatly appreciated too! ^^

#aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #wow im crossposting on time and not a week late for once LOL

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dez78 · 26 days ago

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You seduce Astarion

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairings: Astarion x GN!Tav

Summary: You decide to use Astarion's lines to seduce him back. (Post Cazador)

Author's Note: Saw this on a post and wanted to write it!

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"Astarion. I was just thinking about you." You said in a sultry voice as you sauntered over to your lover. He looked up lazily from his book. His lips curling into a mischievous smile,

"Oh, you mean-" His sentence was cut short, when your finger rested on his lips.

"Shh shh. Let me speak, darling." You told him. He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard.

"You know there is nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips." You whispered devilishly. Astarion's eyes widened. His recent consumption of your blood, made his cheeks immediately flush red.

"Darling." He whispered, shyly.

"Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation." You said with undeniable charm, Astarion bit his lip as his blush made it to the tips of his ears.

"It's as if the gods made you, just to ruin me." You let your breath linger on his skin.

Your lips grazed his skin, ever so delicately, like a soft caress of an unsure lover. Your hot breath on his ear was intoxicating,

"I love you." Your words were soft and coated with honey. Astarion let out a whine but cleared his throat soon after. As if it to keep his composure.

Then you flicked your tongue along the curve of Astarion's ear, he closed his eyes and shivered delightfully. Your lips moved with grace as you nibbled on the tip of Astarion's ear.

He let out a yelp and covered his mouth,

"No, no, darling. Let me hear you." You cooed as you took Astarion's hand and slid it away from his mouth.

"You want to be known; you want to be tasted. Don't you, lover?" You purred, Astarion was at a loss for words.

He didn't think his own pick-up lines would sound so delicious from your lips. It's no wonder you fell for him. If you felt this exact way when he did it to you, then he understood you completely.

"Look at my little treat, with his cheeks all flushed." You purred as you ran your fingers alone Astarion's jaw. The man was clearly flustered and attempted to keep his cool but was failing miserably.

"Why don't we slip away this evening, just the two of us, hm?" You whispered.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? To get lost in me." Your voice was seductive and ever so delicious. Astarion was officially seduced.

"I would." He murmured as he got lost in your eyes. You smirked.

"Then, I shall see you tonight. Lover."

You smiled beautifully before walking away, leaving Astarion under your spell, he was flushed bright red and clearly aroused. You disappeared into your tent.

Astarion seemingly coming out of his trance, blinked his eyes a few times, looking at the ground, his voice laced with confusion as he spoke.

"What in the sweet hells, just happened?"

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #female reader #baldurs gate tav #astarion romance #astarion x y/n #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #male reader #gender neutral reader

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heartfullofleeches · 9 months ago

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Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and Executioner Deity Reader-

Whereas the og Executioner Reader is an axe for hire, this Executioner wants nothing more than the emperor's head on a spike. They've dealt with many of his kind before- Lawless tyrant, unruly beast. His crimes have gone unpunished long enough - They are the judge, jury, and executioner fated to give him his sentence and punishment. They have heard the pleas of those in his captivity who are aware of their legend and the only power capable of stopping them from taking the emperor's head is their forgiveness.

Titus has heard of the executioner in passing. He's lost a fair amount of... acquaintances to that old fairytale. He doesn't believe a word of it - deciding that it was some servant gone berserk who terminated his allies in such a brutal fashion. Sure, it is bizarre that they seemed to have been killed with the exact same blade, but Titus is certain fabled savior is nothing his guards can't handle themselves.

"Your Majesty, we have reports of a cloaked individual breaking into the easy wing of the castle. Several guards have already been dispatched, more have been sent to collect their bodies. Thankfully, they are only unconscious, but it is no longer safe for you here-"

"Tyrant....."

A hushed slithers down the walls - hoarse and raw like the throat of a parched soul without a lick of water to satiate their thirst. The Executioner staggers into view - weight elevated by their tool of trade.

"Tyrant.... For the crimes you have committed there is no salvation beyond your immediate execution. Pay for the blood you have spilled with your own. Lay down your own head as atonement for yours sins."

The remainder of Titus guard form a wall of defense around their king. The Executioner's teeth clench in rage. All while the emperor stares on at his adversary. Those muscles, toned from the heavy swing of their blade. That unwavering, cold stare. Had he been a lesser man that glare alone would have shot his still beating heart. Instead, it only increased the steady hammering of that feeble organ against the cage of his chest.

"I....must have them."

Titus tries shoveling past his guards. The less experience members assume their king to be taking first action. Those who know the tyrant for what he truly is can see the pure enlightened in his eyes.

"Executioner.... Is that what I may call you? Your title matters not to me so long as you are mine. Allow me to take you in my arms.... Surely a life such as yours has had scarce room for the touch of another. Allow me to free you of that burden.

The Executioner spits.

"Mock me as you will. I will grant you three nights for you to give yourself to me willing. For each night I shall return to you with the same question. Should you agree, you will face a swift death, unlike those you have associated yourself with in the past. Do not disappoint me."

Three nights. That's more than enough time for Titus to get them to come around. Then again, he'd love to see what torments they have in store for him. If they see to wrap that chain latched at their around his throat all they had to do was ask. He's just received a shipment of his favorite wine as well - what impeccable timing for love to bloom in the air.

Tangerine [Executioner Maid] is hiding in the vents speedrunning a 150k enemies to lover fanfic of her boss and his new obsession-

#Titus my oc #yandere emperor #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere alien #yandere drabble

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yuri-is-online · 3 months ago

Note

Crewel when some kid has the same last name as his ex-lover that he's TOTALLY MOVED ON FROM:

Yuu being an absolute shit to their father to make up for lost time:

The staff watching as Yuu tries to bitch slap Crewel for talking about their mama/daddy like they're anything less than absolute perfection:

NRC when another portal opens and a grown ass adult comes out and gets into a weirdly charged staring contest with their alchemy teacher:

Yuu watching his parents avoid each other instead of immediately falling into each other's arms like they VERY CLEARLY want to do:

Crewel watching Ace fall in love with Yuu knowing damn well the risks:

Trien watching his two former students once again fumble the bag on each other:

A mood board for our beloved y/n of memes I have on my phone:

The reactions of the other students has been some of the most fun to write, the one thing Azul and Jamil can agree on is that it's fun to tease their professor's about their love lives. Especially considering how... unaffected Crewel is when y/n tells him he's being a homewrecker. What does he mean that didn't stop him last time? Sounds like he was the bad boy all along, woof woof.

Also I've been writing Yuu as y/n's adopted child... would you lovely folks want me to change it so that Crewel is Yuu's bio dad? He's getting harassed either way. Yuu does know who he is even if he doesn't realize it at first.

I'm also considering changing Yuu's love interest for the fic but we shall see as it takes more form. I had to do some re-writes.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #divus crewel x reader

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galesleftearring · 1 year ago

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Sleep Well

Gale x Reader (Baldur's Gate 3)

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only.

CW: AFAB reader, no pronouns or names used. Graphic descriptions of oral sex. Mentions of p.i.v.

Since I hit 69 followers on this blog, you all voted if I should celebrate by writing something, and I did. Enjoy! This is my first time writing for Gale and I don't expect it to be my last.

Gale sighed and put down the book he'd been reading. He yawned and stretched like a cat, his fingers finding your hairline and gently stroking. "Shall we go to bed, my love?"

You nuzzled your cheek into his thigh where you lay. "Mm, I think I could stay like this forever."

He chuckled, tracing the line of your cheekbone with his thumb.

"As could I, but we have a long day of travel ahead of us. We need to be well rested for whatever tomorrow will bring."

You pouted, nestling your face further into his lap. "But I'm so comfortable here," you complained, only half in jest. "And I'm not sleepy."

Gale sighed. "The rest of camp is surely asleep by now. We have already stayed up a bit too late reading. We should-"

You cut him off. "Well, if the others are all asleep..."

You turned your head ever so slightly, meeting his warm gaze. You could get lost in those deep brown eyes. The look in them was one of pure adoration, no secrets swimming in their depths. From the moment he had confessed his love to you, any reservations he had held had melted away at the assurance of your hand in his. He loved you.

A smile teased at his lips. "Oh, I see. Perhaps you want me to, erm, wear you out? Make sure you sleep well tonight?"

You nodded, blushing slightly.

He hummed approval, easing you off of his lap as he pulled off his tunic. His broad chest, tattoo tracing its way from his heart to his cheek, was softly illuminated in the candlelight.

"Come here." His voice was thick with arousal, somewhere between an order and a plea. He could have been begging, he could have been demanding. You stood, shucking off your own nightclothes, before kneeling, straddling his head, but not lowering yourself fully. Close enough for him to smell your arousal but not letting him taste you yet.

He groaned, hands rising to your hips as though to pull you onto him, hold you steady while you rode his tongue as you had many times before.

You grasped his fingers before he could pull your hips down, close the distance between your slick cunt and his warm mouth. He let out a small whine of protest. He was hungry for you.

"Is this what you want?" You teased, "do you want me to sit down? Do you want to taste me?"

Gale let out a low moan. "You know that's all I want, all I've ever wanted. I crave your nectar." So poetic, even with his pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed.

"Then you're going to have to let me taste you first." A wicked grin spread across your face as you lifted up, gently pushing his hands down to his sides.

"My love, you know you never have to--that I never expect you to--Aah!" Gale gasped sharply as you unlaced his breeches and pulled them down, exposing his already hard cock to the night air filling his tent. Running a finger up the vein on the underside, you smiled. "Good boy, already so hard for me. You know exactly what I want, don't you?"

Pressing a kiss to the head, you scooted down so that you were resting on your stomach between Gale's thighs. You knew that if you didn't take him like this, he would be content to make you cum against his mouth again and again, only seeking his own pleasure once you were a mewling mess begging for him to fill your sensitive, twitching pussy. You loved that about him--how could you not be damn near addicted to such a generous lover?

But as delightful as it was to watch him shudder with desire just from giving you orgasm after orgasm, you found that there was a very real part of you that wanted to do the same for him. Make him squirm and whimper your name, bucking his hips into your hand as you stroked him. Take his cock into your mouth until you were choking on it, tears streaming down your face. See, you would think, see how completely undone I am for you? How I worship you every bit as much as you worship me?

This was one of those nights. Just as you were lowering your head about to start sucking at his cock, Gale placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. "No, not like this."

Immediately, you sat up. "What's wrong? We can stop if you're uncomfortable or too tired or--"

He cut you off with a low laugh.

"No, no. What you were about to do is.... delightful. Please, do not think that the feeling of your lips around me does not drive me wild. It does, most assuredly. I simply want--I still want to taste you. In fact, I'd prefer to taste you while you do that, if it's all the same to you."

You felt your eyes widen. "Absolutely," you choked out, "I would love that."

Rising from between his legs, you crouched above his face once more, this time facing his crotch. The moment you lowered yourself fully onto Gale's lips, his cock twitched and a small bead of precum bloomed from the tip.

You rocked your hips slightly against him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure along your clit. Moaning, you leaned forward, gently pulling his thighs toward you for balance. With his feet flat on his bedroll, Gale spread his legs. You bent forward, taking his tip into your mouth and licking the precum from it. Gently, you flicked your tongue across the slit there, widening the circle until you were tracing the flare at the base of the head with just your tongue.

He moaned into you and the vibration of the sound made you let out a whine of your own, muffled by your mouthful of cock.

As your pace quickened, the careful patterns Gale had been tracing along your folds became more frenzied. His fingers, usually so gentle, dug into the flesh of your hips as he pulled himself deeper into you, tongue flicking into your vagina with a desperation you'd never felt from him before, even on your first few nights together. If you hadn't had your mouth full, you thought you would have been screaming his name.

Instead, you moaned louder against his shaft as your head bobbed, taking every inch of him if only to stifle the sounds he was rending from you as he tonguefucked you. It was too much. You came with a gasp, needily grinding against his chin as he kept licking and sucking you through your orgasm.

Even though you had stopped working him as you came, the sound and taste of your orgasm sent him rutting up into your mouth again, rougher this time, thrusting up into your mouth while you held your head still and came down from your high. He was close, you could tell from his whimpers that he was about to spill. Once you could breathe again, you pulled a hand from his leg and began to stroke him, his shaft slick with your spit, as you ran your tongue along the head. Faster, faster, until he came, his load spilling down your throat with a beautiful moan.

You swallowed, your throat contracting as you licked the last of his cum from his still twitching dick.

Gingerly, you rolled off of him and resituated so that you were lying on the bedroll beside him, your faces only inches apart. Gale rolled onto his side and kissed you, deeply, sloppily. You tasted yourself on his tongue and knew he must taste the salty tang of his semen in your mouth as well.

Satisfied and slightly out of breath, he pulled back. "Was that...what you...had hoped for?" He gasped.

"Oh Gale," you murmured as you buried your face in his chest, "I don't even know where to start." Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

Gale raised one big hand to cradle your face. "Start with sleep, my darling."

#gale dekarios #bg3 gale #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale x afab!reader #gale x gn!reader #gale x reader #gale x tav #gale bg3 #bg3 x reader #gale #mine #gale smut #bg3 smut

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twola · 3 months ago

Note

Okay, I was ABSOLUTELY obsessed with In The French Way II. It's too hot I need another Arthur anal fic😔✌ PLEASE I love the way you write ❤

In the French Way III

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous

cw: in the natural progression of things - anal sex, cowboy receiving.

“Ma Cherie - now that you have given him a taste, you must- you must give him more.”

The Frenchman’s hand clasps your shoulder as he pulls you closer to the alley. You have no idea why now of all times was the time to discuss your sexual proclivities. Now, when Arthur was currently beating a man a few feet away who had threatened Châtenay’s life for sleeping with his wife, or mother…or both?

“Not now-” You whisper harshly, as the conversation is interspersed with the sound of Arthur’s fist connecting with the man’s face.

“Non- if not now, when? I will tell you - there is no more beautiful pleasure than -mph- getting fucked. In that, I am jealous of le beau sexe.” Châtenay swirls a finger around the edge of his mustache as he swings the leather bag from over his shoulder to the ground. He roots around in the bag, muttering choice words in French before finding what he was looking for.

“Ah-ha, here we are.”

He shoves a small box into your hand with a wink. You open the box, finding a neatly wrapped piece of wood, smooth and polished to perfection. It’s strange, this cylinder of smooth lacquered wood, tipped with a gentle curve…almost… phallic?

Oh Jesus Christ.

You snap the box shut again as your eyes widen.

“What in God’s name-”

Châtenay shakes his head. “Non, non, mon ami. You have seen the joy you have already brought your lover. This will heighten it still.”

“Charles-!” Arthur barks from the alley, having dispatched the most recent of the man’s attackers, “Think you should be gettin’ lost for a bit.” The cowboy wipes blood from his knuckles as he rejoins the two of you.

“Ah! That I shall do. Au revoir!” Charles grasps your shoulders and gives you a kiss on each cheek, and moving faster than even Arthur could comprehend, he does the same to the gunslinger before exaggeratingly bowing, before ducking out of sight.

Arthur frowns and wipes his beard, “There is somethin’ wrong with that man.”

You nod, shoving the small box into your satchel. Arthur snickers, and grabs your hand, “C’mon, I don’t feel like riding all the way back to Shady Belle t’night.”

“Woman, I know you got somethin’ on your mind.”

You frown, knowing you can’t hide anything from him. In this fancy hotel room, you have kicked off your boots and he’s unwound the gunbelt from his hips.

Arthur looks you up and down, raising an eyebrow. “So?”

You sigh, and pull the box that Charles gave you from your satchel before you toss the bag to the floor amongst the other things. Placing the box atop the bedspread, you take the lid off of it to show its contents.

Silence.

“Is that supposed to be a cock?” Arthur asks after a moment.

You also look down at the box, unwilling to meet his astonished gaze, burning fiercely red.

“I…uhm, ah… it’s a-another French thing…” you stutter, unable to look at him.

Your chin is pulled up by his pointer finger, and you finally find his eyes, those blue pools that show such depth.

“I trust you.”

“Arthur-”

“I- I just- ” You stumble over your words as you turn and take the wood in your hand, heavy, solid. You wrap your fingers around it and all you can think about is how warm Arthur’s cock is when you have it in your hand.

“If it’s somethin’ I end up hatin’, we stop.”

What utter trust this man has in you. You’re unsure of how on God’s green earth that you managed to find someone like him. “You sure you want to be…fucked?”

Arthur sheepishly scratches the back of his head, “I… mean… if it’s you doin’ it.”

“I…” You grip the cock again, staring down at it.

The rustling of fabric garners your attention and you look up. Arthur has completely unbuttoned his shirt and has one arm pulled out of its sleeve. His suspenders dangle against his thighs.

“Well?”

And in that moment, you remember the last time you had broached this idea with him. You remember his stained cheeks and blown pupils, his heavy panting and the moans… you remember the hot splash of his spend on your belly as he came - all from pressing your finger inside him.

For the first time all night, you smile back, and toss the cock to the bed as you start to undress yourself. Clothes end in a pile on the floor. Arthur grabs the balm he used last time from his satchel and hands it to you before laying down on the bed.

“Warm you up like last time?” You smile as you place the tin on the bedside table along with the wooden cock, climbing into bed and into your lover’s embrace.

He nods, pressing his lips to yours as he guides your hand to his hip. As your tongues press against one another, your hand slides across his hip, gently caressing before dipping down to press against his puckered opening. You gently slide your pointer finger inside that ring of muscle and he shivers, moaning into your mouth. Unwilling to have it over so soon, you do not press further inside to hunt for the spot that drove him wild before, but instead swirl your finger around to prepare him for something more. After a few moments of him groaning and you feeling him harden against your hip, you draw back and turn around, reaching for the balm and the wooden cock.

You open the tin and swipe your fingers to collect the balm, then slather it all over the head of the cock and down the shaft, glancing backward as you notice Arthur turning to lay on his stomach.

You turn to sit next to him, holding the cock in one hand and the other gently caressing his lower back, “You sure you’re ready?”

“Woman, do it now or don’t-”

He shuts up completely as you press the cock against his ass. The tip breaches him and he hisses as the curve of the wood pushes past the ring of muscle. You press it inward slowly, letting a breath out of your own.

“You alright’?” You whisper, your other hand rubbing gently across his hip bone.

He nods into the pillow, and you see his fingers tighten on the fabric of the bed as you push the cock in another inch. Arthur is beautiful there, sprawled on the bed. Breath heaving, his large, muscled body completely under your spell. Under your control. He gave this of himself, something that men never do.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly again, the wooden cock halfway buried in him. He nods into the pillow, seemingly unable to speak, but raises his hips toward you the smallest bit in silent assent.

Around that curve of his hip, the smallest visage of his cock is visible to you, blood swollen and hard against the bed. Your concern is assuaged - certainly, if he wasn’t enjoying it, his cock wouldn’t be so damn hard.

Your other hand runs gently up his back to his shoulder, squeezing as you lean up on your knees next to him. Ever so slowly, gently, you press the cock down into him. Arthur groans, muffled by the pillow as the sheets are crumpled beneath his grip.

Finally, the flared base rests snug against his ass. you gaze upon him, breath heaving, and he starts to rut his hips against the mattress, trying to find some relief for his cock. The sight has your cunt wet as you sit on the bed next to him. Arthur raises his head to look up at you, breathing heavily through his nose. A fierce blush dances over his cheeks as he grunts, pushing himself up to his hands and knees.

“Get o’er here.”

He grabs and forces you underneath him and pulls your legs apart with a fervor like a wild animal. In the flash of movement, you are instantly reminded of the strength held within his body - there was no escaping his grasp - no fighting against any way he were to manipulate you.

“Fuck- next time ‘m gonna stick this in you - make you feel how good it is -” he growls as he roughly pumps his cock, panting as he lines himself up with you and pushes inside with little warning.

Your arousal eases the way, but your lover is well-endowed, and you gasp at the stretch of him as he buries those hot inches of flesh inside you. A broken wail claws its way from your throat when his hips find yours, buried as deep as he can go.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Havin’ this in you along with my cock, filling you up both ways at once?”

You moan your response as he thrusts down into you hard, digging your nails into his back. Your ankles cross over his lower back as he pummels you into the bed, red-faced and positively feral.

At a thrust that moves your whole body, your heel slips downward and bumps against the base of the wooden cock, and Arthur immediately jolts, grunting loudly as he shoves his head into the pillow.

“You -hah- like that?” You pant into his ear and he groans needily in response.

Snaking your hand underneath his arm, you’re just able to reach the base and grasp it, pulling the cock out a few inches before pushing it back in.

Arthur nearly collapses on you, barely able to keep himself from crushing you as he shoves his cock as deep as it can go into your cunt, shuddering as you repeat your motion.

“Fuck, fuck - oh - ngh - Jesus…” His teeth worry your ear when you pick up the pace, pushing and pulling the wooden cock in his ass.

“You gonna come for me?” You pant back at him and he raises himself unsteadily to his forearms, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, yeah - ‘m gonna come -” he rumbles, his pupils blown and skin flushed red, “g-onna gonna -ngh-”

You lean up and kiss him hard as you shove the cock into his ass to the base and he yelps into your mouth and mashes his hips into yours as he comes. Hot spend fills your cunt as you mewl to the sensation, throwing you over the edge as Arthur bucks again, making a pitiful sound you thought nigh impossible from the fearsome outlaw.

It's several moments, Arthur panting, shaking over you, before he’s able to regain control of his senses. He rolls off of you onto his side, one hand reaching behind himself to slowly pull the cock from his body. He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses as it slowly leaves him, biting his lower lip against the feeling of his hole having been stretched out. He tosses the lacquered wood into the pile of clothes on the floor, it lands with a loud clunk.

You gawk, astonished at him as you feel his warm spend drip from your cunt. Squeezing your legs together to stymie the flow, you wait for him to right himself, laying on his hip opposite you in the bed.

He finally opens his eyes to find you looking concerned, upset even.

“What - what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Are you alright?”

“Am I… darlin’-” he chuckles, reaching toward you and easily pulling your body into his embrace, “I’m more than alright.” He laughs, kissing your forehead as you loose a bated breath.

“That another French thing Châtenay tell you about?”

You look up at him in surprise, “What, how -”

“You think he hasn’t told me of a few crazy things either? Keeps sayin’ that the best thin’ for you is takin’ two fellers at once.”

You redden, burying yourself into Arthur’s chest to avoid making eye contact. You feel, along with hear the chuckle emanate out from his ribcage as he tightens his grip around you.

“I’m a possessive sonofabitch. You ain’t ever takin any feller but me-”

He squeezes your ass covetously.

“But think we just found a way to remedy that.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic #voluptatem

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starogeorgina · 5 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.06

Gwayne searches your face until he meets your eyes. You offer him a reassuring look, then glance back up at the ceiling. His panting becomes heavier as he quickens his thrusts. Gwayne wasn’t a bad person; there was just no passion or love between the two of you. Laying together was nothing more than an act of duty.

“Gods,” he groans.

Seconds later, Gwayne drops his body down on top of you. He pecks at your cheek before pulling out and rolling onto his side. You lick at your dry lips, then get to your feet, and immediately start pushing your nightgown down. Gwayne appears to have enjoyed himself a lot more than you did, then again he got to reach his peak, which was disappointing considering you used to enjoy having sex.

“Do you want me to escort you back to your chamber?”

“No, but thank you for the offer.” You pull the thick robe that resembles a coat on and tie it at the front, making yourself more presentable to walk through the castle halls. “Gwayne, are we going to address what your family is saying?”

Sighing, Gwayne gets up from his spot on the bed, his body bare for all to see, and begins pouring himself a goblet of wine. “If you are desperate to have another babe I’m sure the gods will grant you one.”

“I am not desperate to have another child. Pregnancy and childbirth are both horrid experiences; it’s a matter of performing our duty. The weight of having a child weighs more heavily on me than it does on you. The blame always falls upon the woman. It will be me they will whisper about and call a failure.”

“Dear wife,” he says. Shaking his head, Gwayne walks over to you with a small smile pulling on his lips. “I do believe there is a way to make this more simple. The unspoken issue is the fault may lie with me, but you can bear another child, so if needs be, a possible solution is you seek out the company of another.”

“Are you suggesting I take a lover to impregnate me?”

His jaw clenches ever so slightly, but Gwayne nods. “The babe would still have the last name Hightower. I would fiercely claim them as my own.”

“Would you be able to love them if they were from another?”

“Love,” Gwayne inhales sharply, “a foreign concept to some. I’m not suggesting we stop trying, but just explore other ways of getting what we both want.”

“I would be breaking the vows I made at our wedding.” A man could break his vows and nobody batted an eyelid, but seven hells rain down on any woman who did. “I know this is not a match we made for ourselves, but I didn’t think you would be so eager for me to bed another.”

“I also have my father breathing down my neck, continually insisting our family legacy continues. Not to mention all the snide comments from my sister.” Sighing, Gwayne swirls his drink. “I’m just saying if you thought laying with another would improve your chances of having a child sooner, it wouldn’t be an issue with me.”

“It would not?”

“No.”

You didn’t know what else to say; your mind was racing trying to process everything he just said. "Goodnight, husband, I have much to think about.”

—

You are so lost in thought you almost walk by Ser Criston and into your chambers without even acknowledging him; it’s not until he opens the door and speaks that you come back to reality.

“Goodnight princess.”

You spin on your heels and speak quietly. “Can I ask you something? The other night... do you judge me for what I did or said?”

He thinks about it before answering, “No, I don’t.”

“...thank you, Ser Cristion.” You want to say more, but taking in the knight's appearance, you can see exhaustion weighing him down and decide it is best to leave it for another time. “You can retire for the night. Another member of the king's guard can take over. I shall see you in the morrow.”

—

You hear your daughter wail before you see her. Her cheeks flushed red as she cries hysterically while Raya holds her.

“Meera, my sweet,” You tuck the thick book of your family's history under your armpit and hold your arm out, taking your daughter from Raya. “What is the matter?”

The moment she’s in your arms, Meera clings to you. You had gone to the godswood to read while it remained dry outside. The feeling of your warmth and soft voice soothes your daughter, and soon she starts to calm down. You look to Raya and quietly ask, “What has upset her so much?”

“They were talking about houses and their sigils during her lessons, and when they mentioned House Stark, she got upset.”

You sigh. Meera misses her father, and unfortunately there wasn’t much you could do to remedy that pain. “Your cheeks are awfully warm.” You place Meera back on the ground and take her hand. “Come, let’s get you back inside.”

You briefly lock eyes with Ser Criston; there hadn’t been a chance for you to have a private conversation with him yet, as there was always someone else nearby. The godswoods may have been your chance, but there was now a more pressing matter.

“Do you want me to do anything else for her?” Raya asks.

You nod, “Have a cool bath prepared; hopefully that will stop her from being so flush. Thank you.”

As you walk back towards the halls of the red keep, serval lords and ladies have looks of disgust on their faces as Meera continues to sob. At the heart of the congregation of ladies sitting by the archways is Alicent, with an almost mocking smile pulling on her lips. You felt judged, as if your daughter crying somehow made you a bad mother.

“Princess,” Ser Criston’s voice is softer than usual. “Pay no mind to their glances. Most ladies at court children are raised by handmaidens; I doubt many of them would be able to say what brings comfort to their child, let alone enjoy spending them with them.”

“Thank you, Ser.”

—

As you leave your father's chambers, Rhaenyra links her arm with yours and whispers, “I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

“Which one?”

She giggles, “aōha valzȳrys's suggestion hen ao taking another naejot bed.” (Your husband's suggestion of you taking another to bed.)

“Rhaenyra!”

“Shhh,” she pulls on your arm tighter and continues the conversation in High Valyrian. “I know there will be no shortage of men who would be honoured to bed you, but I definitely think I know the one.”

“Who?”

She subtly moves her eyes in the direction of your sworn shield, who was walking not far behind you beside her own. You pray to the mother that neither of them had secretly learnt High Valyrian.

“A man who takes a vow of chastity values honour above all else.”

“He’s swore an oath of loyalty to you, sister. The way he looks at you goes beyond duty.”

“Enough of that. I value—” you pause before saying his name out loud. “Him too much. Besides, if I was desperate, I’d ask Daemon.”

“Gods no...” Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. “Daemon has probably slept with all the whores in the keep.”

“Yet, there are still some who would find themselves drawn to him,” you say teasingly. “I would do no such thing. The temptation to rub it in Otto’s face would be too great for him.”

She nods in agreement. “I am being serious though; your shield would be willing if you asked. Also, father wishes for him to join you in your travels.”

You swallow thickly. Your father had reluctantly granted you leave from the keep to return to Winterfell with Meera for a short time; however, you had no intention of having a full party of knights and handmaidens accompanying you. Flying on Dragonback would be much easier for everyone.

As you reach the far end of the royal quarters, you switch back to English. “Let’s speak no more of this. I’d rather visit my sweet nephews in the nursery before Meera finishes her lessons.”

—

The rain was relentless; each gust of wind would have threatened to unseat you if you weren’t strapped into your saddle so tightly. The wind whips your unbraided hair into a tangled mess that sticks to your face. Despite the heavy downpour, Lady pressed on, knowing that every moment spent in the sky was another moment of freedom for you both.

You’re ready to wait for the passing storm to end, but as lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the darkness, Lady plunged down towards the forest floor, sheltering herself under the thick trees.

While landing, she knocks over a few small trees and is boisterous while doing so. The spot was near the cave she had claimed and had begun showing signs of nesting behavior. You couldn’t see any knights, but you could hear the sound of rhythmic galloping getting closer.

Climbing off Lady, you say, “Ao sagon ȳgha kesīr.” (You’re safe here.)

Lowering her head for her customary sniff, she nudges you with her nose, and you embrace her, resting your forehead against her damp peach scales.

“Princess!”

“Don’t come any closer, Ser Criston,” you call back. “Be careful not to startle Lady; she’s very protective.”

In High Valyrian, you speak in a soothing tone to Lady, lovingly rubbing your hands over her scales until she retreats back in her cave. When you mentioned she had made a den for herself outside the dragonpit, your father had ordered knights to guard the cave at all times, so there was some light in the darkness of the forest by the torches hung up against the trees.

“Ser Criston?” You glance around, trying to figure out where he was.

Hearing the snapping of branches, you spin fast and are taken by surprise seeing his is so close to you and stumble backwards. You find yourself in the arms of the knight as he catches you before you hit the ground.

Instead of wearing his armor, Criston was dressed in his own clothes, with a thick black cloak shielding his body from the rain. “Your shift was finished hours ago, Ser, why did you come?”

“I saw the weather was worsening and was worried. I wanted to make sure you returned safely, princess.”

You hold his gaze; there were more than a dozen knights on guard; any of them could have been your escort home. “Don’t speak half-truths.”

Criston leans into you, his breath warm against your ear. “You have not been yourself of late. And in truth, it made me nervous knowing you are out here, in the storm with so much on your mind.”

“Scared I’d fly away and not return?”

He laughs, “The king would most definitely have my head if you did. I was worried you’d get hurt.”

Your heart races as you feel the knight's strong grip on your arms. With a sudden movement, your lips met his. Criston’s lips were warm and firm against yours, sending shivers down your spine. As you pull away, you couldn't help but feel a longing for more. “Forgive me,” you say as you step out of his grip. “That was inappropriate; I should not have done that.”

“There is no forgiveness needed.” Criston’s hand rests on the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw. “What is troubling you, princess?”

“I’ve found myself in a position I thought I’d never be in. Gwayne wants me to bed another so that we may do our duty to our houses.”

“To bed another?” He repeats this while guiding you to gain shelter underneath a tree. You were thankful the night was so dark that even with the torches, no other knight would be able to have witnessed what you just did.

“Yes, and I just—I understand his trail of thinking, but I cannot expect another to go along with a lie like that.”

“I’m sworn to you, princess. My sword and shield are yours.”

“Ser Criston, I cannot ask you to—”

“Love you in secret?” Criston presses into you until your back hits the tree. Your noses gently brush together, and his lips lightly ghost over your own. “I’m afraid it may be too late to stop that from happening.”

You give in and lean forward, kissing him. Tangling your hands in his damp hair, his fingers caress your ribcage. “This is wrong,” you whisper. “We should stop.”

“Tell me to stop, princess, and I swear we’ll never mention this again.”

“No, Criston, I don’t want you to stop. And that is what’s wrong.”

He kisses you again, but this time it becomes more heated and all doubt disappears. You move his hand that’s resting on your ribs up to cup your breast, silently signaling you want more for this to go further.

Criston moves his leg to open yours further and presses his knee against your core. “Do you want this, princess?”

“Gods, yes.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when Criston repositions himself and grinds against you, his lips pressing into the sweet spot on the side of your neck. He bunches your skirts up, giving him easier access; he spits on his fingers before rubbing circles on your clit. After a few moments, he steps back to lower his trousers enough for his cock to spring free.

Wrapping his arms around you, Criston lifts you high enough that your legs hook around his waist. “You’ve no idea how badly I desire you, princess.”

Desperate to feel him, you pull your skirts and small cloth to the side and line the head of his cock against your cunt. Criston muffles your moans with a kiss when he pushes inside you with ease.

“Fuck,” you whine against his lips.

“Shh,” he starts to thrust slowly. “Nobody can see us, but if they hear us, they will come looking.”

Biting your lower lip, you bury your face into the side of his neck. Doing your best to not make any more noise, as all primal urges take over. You dig your nails into the back of Criston's, keeping him close as he thrusts into you amongst the wind and rain.

#house of the dragon #criston cole fanfic #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x you #criston cole x you #ser criston cole smut #ser criston cole x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #criston cole smut #the blood between us #house of the dragon fanfic #ser criston cole #ser criston cole/reader #criston cole #the blood between us 1.06 #HOTD smut

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