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occamstfs · 3 months ago

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Follow Your Nose

Robin's not happy about visiting his student's frat house but with each heady breath he finds new pleasures to be gained from the experience.

Another Musk based Frat TF! Not breaking new ground but I like how this one turned out haha! Also in the wake of my contest I'm restarting the queue on my other blog so if you want to see what I read/have any burning questions send them over there! Hope you enjoy this little scent-centric romp! -Occam

Robin hated being on this side of campus; he doesn't know why on Earth he agreed to do a homecall for office hours. Totally unprofessional of course, but the grad student was simply so tired of sitting in his cold office for nary a soul to show up. When Carlos reached out asking for some one on one assistance the T.A. agreed to venture to what he was told was a common study area. What Carlos hid from Robin was that it just so happened to be his frat’s living room.

The researcher almost turned around and rain checked as soon as he saw. But after Carlos texted to thank him for his help, whatever scholarly version of the Hippocratic oath he took compels him to continue onward despite himself. It of course doesn’t hurt that the slightly younger man seems to have been made in a lab to attract Robin. Though the professional has done his absolute best to remain professional and push down the repressed desire. Though as he steps in this is made far more difficult.

Carlos welcomes him into the frat house clad in a far too tight, clearly stained, tee and what seem to be, impossibly gaudy, similarly tight, athletic shorts. Immediately Robin’s face sears with blush and the smirk that is almost always at home on Carlos’ face grows wider. Before the fratty fiend can get a word in the grad student speaks up, fighting through an embarrassing voice crack, “uHm- Mr. Esperanza if you wouldn’t mind, could you change into something more appropriate for our session?” Carlos tilts his head, deliberately exposes his midriff as he scratches it. After a moment he laughs and answers remembering why he’s dressed like this, “Oh sure sure no problema bro.”

Robin’s eye twitches as his student opts for bro rather than his title, name, or anything vaguely respectful. The T.A. hears the man’s hands scratching thick hair out of sight before he sniffs his hand and rubs his jaw, continuing, “It’s just uhhh, my laundry’s still in the machine so this is all I could throw on before you got in huhuh.” Robin holds his tongue from deriding the man’s shoddy planning, I mean for god’s sake they had an appointment!

So intent on hiding his attraction to, and irritation at, his student, Robin doesn’t quite catch the glint in his eye as Carlos offers an idea, “if you wouldn’t mind, uhhh, professor? You could go grab me some pants or somethin’” Not wanting to correct Carlos’ switch up to a title far loftier than his own and before he can even humor the idea that he’d wander deeper into the frat house, the bro thanks him as if he’s already agreed. “Thanks much lil bro- I’ll get us all set up here. It’ll be the third door on your right but you can probably just follow your nose hahah!”

Robin squints his eyes at the brazen assumption that he’d do anything of the sort. And yet, preferring anything to confrontation, he acquiesces with a sigh. The faster they start the faster Robin’s out of here. But a step down the hallway his nose wrinkles as he realizes that Carlos was not being cute, he can genuinely smell the laundry room far down the hall. Taking a deep breath and centering himself before the air is full of more musky sweat than oxygen, he shifts his jaw in irritation at the situation he stumbled himself into and presses onward.

Robin pushes open the unreasonably heavy door of the laundry room and enters. He hears the door slam but keeps his eyes forward as he endeavors to spend as little time in here as possible. Pushing down rational questioning of why he is doing this, in his haste he makes the mistake of opening the washing machine rather than a dryer that would presumably hold Carlos’ clothes. Before he even realizes his mistake he is almost blasted back by the potent musk spilling out of the drum. Choking out a ‘why wasn’t this run…” as his eyes glaze over and he is overwhelmed by the scent.

It’s as if there are more particles of sweat in the air than, uh, air. His mouth falls open to avoid smelling but that only heightens the experience and leads to him taking deeper breaths. Despite everything in him screaming to leave now, Robin feels himself drawn towards the machine that simply must have been intentionally compiled to smell as musky as possible. As the seconds pass Robin feels his body begin to move of its own accord, like an out of body experience he sees himself inch closer to the machine. There’s a struggled swallow as he is suddenly conscious that he is drooling at the scent of the frat’s dirty laundry.

When his hand reaches into the filthy load of laundry he feels his autonomy return and he quickly draws back. Clothes almost crunchy with sweat, and other substances, he stands stunned as he tries to understand what he just did, why he did that. Only then does he notice that he is so hard that anyone who glanced in his direction would notice. It almost hurts as his cock strains against his underwear and pulses with deep need.

Priority rapidly shifting to hiding his massive erection should Carlos stumble in Robin opts to adjust his pants. Rather than doing it surreptitiously as he would usually do, he shoves his hand directly in his underwear in a manner distinctly boorish. Notably he also plods around his underpants with his dominant hand, the same one that only just left the frat’s collection of their dirtiest tops, bottoms, and drawers.

Stained hand now touching his cock he is overwhelmed with the desire to never remove it from this spot again. Drool still pooling in his mouth, Robin almost forgets his surroundings as cock seems more impressive than it’s ever been before now. Or no, his hand seems larger, rougher, more powerful. He squints as the seconds pass and the sensations continue to shift before he looks down to find that his bulge is indeed larger than he has ever seen it. Biting his lip he glances at the door and, demonstrating his clearly fading rationality, decides ‘fuck it’ and pulls out his cock.

Haloed with pubes that are growing thicker, spreading further, with each quivering breath and graced touch from his stained hand. Pre drips from the head of his thicker cock as it stands high, beginning to rival the length of his forearm as it inches longer with each heartbeat, each uncontrollable pulse. He cups his balls to remove them from his underwear and is again struck dumb. God they’re itchy.

He scratches at them as his nails almost draw back into his hand, to the eye of an observer they shift from manicured to the deliberately uncared for, dirty nails of a frat bro. Thus he must dig even deeper to satisfy his itching balls as long, thick curls begin to spread across them. Each drag across finds them larger than they were less than a second before. Each mindless scratch they hang lower, stretch his sack larger as his balls begin to rival the size of eggs and churn to fill him with hormones that will make it all the harder for him to think his way out of this, or any, room.

Despite his mind awash, feeling his hand begin to mindlessly move to start masturbating in this frat’s laundry room he regains his senses. Fear suddenly overwhelms his lusts and need for pleasure as he tries to inspect his body. Looking down at his hands he finds they both have changed and the horrors have not stopped there. Thick dark hair and a haphazard tan have spread up his forearms and as he feels heat begin to burn on his bicep it’s clear this is a situation still ongoing. Robin struggles to stand and falls over on his face, squarely landing in some brute’s discarded briefs. Fighting back a smirk as he is inoculated with a direct dose of his frat brother’s musk, Robin rolls over in fear of the changes that must be about to begin on his face.

His nose adjusts as memories of breaking it twice assert themselves into his mind. Rob feels his biceps bulge against his forearms as he raises his hands to his face. Grunting and ignoring how much deeper his voice is as it echoes in the room, he talks to himself to begin his flight, “Mrgh, I gotta, get out of here.” Trying to pull his pants up, before they can even struggle to cover his monumental bulge and increasingly cushioned ass, his jeans are caught on his thighs. Muscle and fat press larger as they become two massive meaty trunks. Dropping the pants to inspect his suddenly impressive legs he flexes them and goes weak at the knees as desire tries to take over once more.

Rob only just fights these rising instincts and makes for the door. Then does he find the most clearly sinister aspect of this situation yet, it’s locked. His uhh, boy? His bro. Yeah his bro trapped him in here. Fuckin’ Carlos did this to him on purpose he bets. Leaning against the door he finds his breathing suddenly inhibited by the tight shirt that he’s been wearing. Seeing his waist has apparently filled out, his stomach quivers with butterflies. He’s always been envious of his bro’s forms but man he looks just as killer huhuh. His widening upper body sends tears through the shirt without his hands even needing to tear the top off.

Dressed in nothing but torn shreds on the floor of the, er his, frat’s laundry room Rob’s clouded mind observes the final touches of his new form. Weighty pecs pulse larger and hang over his new thick torso. Hamhock thighs frame a bulge that would make any mouth water. He scratches stubble growing thicker on his face while he begins to thoughtlessly masturbate against the laundry room door. Stretching his neck as it thickens to hold up a head growing thicker and mind growing duller, his mouth falls open and he appreciates the musk of his bros as if it's the most pleasant thing in the world to him. Were this the rest of his life the horny bro wouldn’t mind. Rubbing his torso as thick curls begin to decorate him like a beast. Treasure trail stretching from pubes thicker than foliage. He raises his free arm to bathe in his own musk.

His mouth waters as he realizes he doesn’t need to use these other’s fucker clothes to get off! He’s got the sweet stuff right here. Any shreds remaining of the prudish, frat-phobic teacher’s assistant vacate as he delights in his own pit. Thickening curls spread outward from deep in his pits as a truly voluminous mass begins to press out from under his arms. His tongue stretches out from his mouth into the jungle as it grows thicker, perpetually soaked in his new musk. And then Rob loses control. Decorating the walls and himself and finally adding his own mess to their little ode to locker rooms everywhere.

Tongue out enjoying himself in what is apparently his new home, sweat begins to pool under the man’s discovery of new delights. It seems like forever for him but in reality, a few minutes later he feels the door push into him, “Yooo bro what’s takin’ you so long?” Carlos opens the door and pinches his nose to avoid the stink of the room and the overpowering scent of Rob’s first time.

Rob’s dumb smirk and glazed eyes meet Carlos’ mischievous grin and the new brother speaks in his new bass, “Uhhh, didn’t you lock me in here bro?” His brother stifles laughter and ruffles Rob’s sweaty new haircut, “You dumbass huhuh- It’s a pull door.” It takes a few seconds for Carlos’ words to sink in but after realizing that he simply forgot how doors work he joins in laughing loud enough to shake the foundations of their frat house. “Brooo huhuh!”

“Now throw something on so we can figure this shit out!” Rob goes to grab clothes from some stray hamper filled with someone’s dirty laundry and heads out. Walking out of his musky captivity, Rob finds a new warmth fill him as he wanders into the house, into his house. The frat didn’t quite need a new member but Carlos is more than happy to make the most out of his new brother. Not all of them are so unabashedly into their own musk but judging by Rob’s changes and the already returning erection in his shorts, Carlos can’t wait to see what the two of them will get up to in their new lives together.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #muscle tf #dumber #hair growth #musk tf #jockification #frat bro tf #fratification

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writing-mlm · 8 days ago

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Will you love me again?

Summary: Simon’s returned home after 20 years but the suitors have finally grown restless of waiting for you to pick a new King of Ithaca. Pairing: King!Simon Riley x King!Ftm!reader Wc: 6.1k Tags/Warning: Canon-level violence, talks/planning of S/A, Epic the Musical Ithaca Saga spoilers! Most of the words are literally lyrics so ig song fic, oral (r!receiving), fingering, stomach bulge, reader has a vagina, no protection, creampie

His skin remembers the touch of your lips, the way they’d press against his tense muscles, the way they’d kiss his scars and carry soft whispers and songs. How your hands would touch him, run up his arms, cradle his face, and remove his helmet. He remembers the sound of your voice, how you’d talk to him while weaving against the window, your kingdom standing below your castle.

The castle he’d built all those years ago as a declaration of his love for you. A castle that grew colder as the years stretched on since he’s been there; taken away for a war.

A war, born from a greedy man kidnapping your cousin. A war Simon hadn’t wanted to participate in because, despite his oath to your cousin's husband, the Trojans have never helped Ithaca in their times of need. And even more so, he had you, his husband, and your newborn to watch over. To protect. He’d only agreed to help after he’d been tricked.

A war that was supposed to be no more than five years had turned into a twenty-year journey. He’d left a twenty-year-old, rising to power in Ithaca with a newborn son. Now he’s forty, his home just out of sight, and his son would be twenty. He imagines how you must look now. How your hair must’ve greyed, how you picked the hyacinths and bluebells from the garden.

He wonders how his son is doing, what he likes, and what he’s accomplished. How he’s missed his whole life.

Simon strains as he pushes the raft from the island, the goddess he left on the sandy shores crying for him. Begging him to stay; she loves him. He loathes her. He loathes the years he’s stayed trapped on that island, how she’d been persistent on loving him. Gods, provided she wasn’t a goddess, he would’ve killed her the first time she even hinted at such.

His head hurts when he remembers his fallen friends; Gaz, Price— and Johnny. He’d gotten his brother killed, he let all of them, all six hundred men die under his watch. The cyclops, Scylla, Circe— Zeus, Poseidon. He recognizes the pain turning into red-hot anger as he pushes past Charybdis. These past years cannot have been in vain. The souls that haunt his dreams won’t have died in vain.

He’ll make it home, he’s sure of that.

—

You stare at the suitors gathered at the palace gates, angry men eager to become the next king one way or another. All the while your son, Johnny, stands in front of them with a spear and your old armor. You know that look in his eyes, that Athena's determination he has because Simon had it, too.

You sigh, undoing the threads you’d made the day before. For the funeral shroud you’ve been making for ten years with the promise that once it’s done, you’ll pick from the suitors and give Ithaca a new king. You almost laugh when you remember how many years ago that had been now. How foolish the suitors had been to agree to your demand. How you fear you’ll have to finish it one of these days.

You look at your sword hung in the corner of the room. You remember your newly made armor, tucked in your closet, the new bow and arrow next to it. You remember the feeling of warm blood on your hands.

Even if you must finish the shroud they’ll never get their wishes. No one will rule alongside you and if you must, you’ll take a queen. Perhaps some common woman with nothing better to do; drown her with all the things a queen would desire all the while you continue your duties as king.

Standing, you close the curtains to the window and grab your sword. It feels like home in your hands, reminders of your time as a warrior of Sparta and then Ithaca. You’ve never forgotten your lessons, the teachings so ingrained in your very being they feel like second nature when you swipe the air.

It’ll need to be sharpened before tomorrow.

That night a storm rages on the coast of Ithaca. You watch from the balcony, the wind blowing your hair and clothes as you try to see inside of the storm. Poseidon fights, you can tell that much, and gods, you know in your bones. You know it’s time to set your plan in motion.

You call a maid to send the news; the Challenge you’d set up after five years of Simon being gone was happening. You rush to gather Simon’s old bow, carefully undoing the string while the servants gather twelve axes from the armory.

—

“I’ll be back soon,” Johnny promises the next morning. You stand at the pier, watching as he loads onto a boat; about to head off for a mission for the kingdom.

“I know you will,” You smile, giving him a dagger that he places on his thigh strap. You don’t pretend to notice the group of angry suitors hiding behind ships, watching as you watch your son leave. Leaving you alone for who knows how long, the mission shouldn’t take longer than a day, though.

As the ship leaves, you look at where the storm had raged, sure that you see a small object floating towards Ithaca shores. You smile, hanging your head before thanking whatever God had allowed him home and return to the castle. The suitors follow, ready for the challenge you’d sent messengers to talk about that morning. You ride your horse back, letting them climb the mountain to the castle as you prepare for what’s to come.

Their footsteps are heavy, echoing in the halls as a maid guides them to the throne room. You sit at your throne, the half-finished shroud draped over Simon’s throne. His crown sits under it, shining like the first day it was made. A reminder to them and yourself that your husband is out there, that they’ll never sit on that throne as long as you’re alive.

As you look around, you inhale and look over the crowd of men. There are dozens of them, some bigger, some smaller. All of them hungry for power, all of them greedy in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You stand, shoulders back and head held high as hold back a deep, etching frown.

“The Challenge,” You start as the murmurs die into a silence that had overtaken the castle all those years ago. You grip the bow, raising it in the air for everyone to see. “Whoever can string my husband's old bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly,” Your gaze travels to the axes, lined up in a straight line, the hole only just big enough to allow an arrow to slide through. “Will be the new king and rule with me.” Cheers echo through the halls and you hand the bow to the first suitor before you take your seat. Your throne.

You hope Simon knows that you’re buying him time; that you’ve bought him twenty years of time to return. That he’ll climb the mountain from the shores to the castle before they grow behind restless. Bloodthirsty with one goal on their mind. You hope your son doesn’t come back to see you in such a state if Simon doesn’t make it on time.

They grow more frustrated as the hours tick by and they find that no one can string the bow. Eventually, the sun sets and you tell them they can try again tomorrow. They all agree, with some grumbles and you take the bow back from a suitor who bares his teeth at you. He resembles a beast, a beast that you don’t dignify with a reaction.

—

“Screw this competition,” A man that Simon knows all too well, Graves, snarls as he tosses his old bow to the ground. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this; we don’t have the power. Screw this damn challenge!” He rakes his hands through his hair, the stress clear in his actions that make Simon proud. Of course, you’d set up something only he could do, of course, you’d waited all these years for him to return.

“No more delay. Don’t you see that we’ve been played?” Grave’s eyes travel amongst the men crowded around him. Men that are so easily swayed by simple words that it makes Simon seethe. “This is how he holds us down as the throne gets colder. Hold us down as we slowly age. Hold us down while the boy gets bolder.” Grave continues, daring to even hint about Simon and your son. “Where the hell is our pride and our rage?” A couple of the men agree, egged on by each other's stupidity.

“Here and now,” Another man says as Grave smirks; clearly his plan is working. Like a moth to a flame, they take his bait. “There’s a chance for action; we can take control. Here and now we can burn it to ashes.” Too big for his pants, Simon assumes.

He leaves for a moment, gathering their weapons and hiding them in the armory, making sure to leave it unlocked before he returns to their conversation. By that point more men had gathered; you’d long since left the throne room so Simon didn’t worry about you hearing their voices any longer.

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you notice the prince is not around? I heard he’s on a diplomatic mission and I heard today he's coming back to town.” Grave continues, and crosses his arms over his chest. Simon’s eyes dart down from his place in the room, overlooking the shores of Ithaca as a boat slowly approaches.

“So…?” A different man speaks from somewhere in the crowd.

“I say we gather near the beaches. We wait till he arrives, then when he docks his ship I say we breach it. Let us leave now, today we can strike!” Grave doesn’t feel the sharp glare that hits his head as he speaks. Unaware that his words have just set his fate into motion; a fate that Simon has become oh so familiar with these past twenty years.

“Hold him down, till the boy stops shaking.”

He counts the men; seventy in total.

“Hold him down, while I slit his throat.”

He’s taken down worse. More.

“Hold him down, while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones!”

He can’t wait to watch them bleed. The feeling of their blood on his hands; something he hadn’t realized could feel so good until now. He wanted to chase it like they plan on chasing you and your son.

“Cut him down into tiny pieces. Throw him down in the great below that way when the crown wonders where the prince is only the ocean and I will know.”

Watch their light leave their eyes; hear their screams. Beg him to spare them. The gurgling sound as they choke on their own blood.

“And when it’s done,” Grace smirks. “The king will have no one to stop us from breaking his bedroom door. Stop us from taking his love and more. And then we’ll…”

He’ll savor Graves the most, he quickly decides. He won’t dignify him with a fast death. He’ll hurt him, hold him down, and break his bones. He’ll drag him by his legs into town, parading him around to not only show he’s home to his throne, to his husband and his son but to show that anyone who had thought any different will face the same consequences.

“Hold him down.”

“While the gate is open.”

“Hold him down.”

“While I get a taste and we share his spoils. I will not let any part go to waste.”

He rises from his spot, his hand a deathly grip on his knife as the men try to leave the halls, one of them pointedly staggering behind. Drunk on wine. The perfect way to announce himself.

He doesn’t waste a second, stabbing the man in the throat and he watches as he gurgles on his own blood as he returns to his perfectly hidden spot. He watches with glee as the light leaves his eyes, staring down at him as his body goes limp.

The men stop at the door, having heard the noise. When they turn they only see a dead man and then nothing around him. Quicker than they can react, the torches around them snuff out one by one, and then the door behind them locks. Like rats they scramble, searching frantically on the ground for anything they can use to defend themselves.

“Twenty years,” Simon growls. “I suffered from the wrath of Gods and monsters to the screams of my comrades. Watched my men die like cattle. I come back to my palace, desecrated and sacked like Troy. Worst of all,” He reaches into the darkness, grabbing a random man who shouts, tugging at Simon’s wrist to be let go.

“I hear you dare to touch my husband and hurt my boy! I… have had… enough.” He snaps the man’s neck in three motions before stepping over his now limp body as he watches the men scramble in the dark. He supposes he should thank Calypso for living on such a dark island, now he can watch them as they scramble for torches. Lighting them with the nearby lighters.

He grabs his bow, stringing it with ease while the others run in the castle. The darkness that shrouds them is emphasized by the setting sun. Simon struts after them, listening to their footsteps and breathing like a predator.

“We have the advantage; we’ve the numbers and the might.” A man says, clearly not knowing who he’s up against.

“No!” Shouts a man who does, he wonders if they fought together before. Somehow that makes him all the more angry as he grabs an arrow from his quiver. “You don’t understand! This man plans for every fight.” An arrow flies through the air, stabbing him through the neck and the others shout, watching as he drops and the torch rolls away from his limp hand. Everyone scrambles away, fleeing down the hall.

“Where is he? Where is he?” Someone shouts, his eyes as wide as they can go and he looks into the darkness.

“Keep your heads down, he's aiming for the torches!” Someone else hisses and they all duck, holding the torches as high as they can manage without dropping it.

“Our weapons! They’re missing!” Simon grins at the fear in the man’s tone, stringing another arrow.

“We’re empty-handed,” Someone says, the realization that they’re fucked dawning on him. “Up against an archer.” He mutters, looking around the dark room.

“Our only chance is to strike him in the darkness. We know these halls our odds can be titled.” Someone tries to comfort him before flinching at the sound of Simon’s snicker.

“You don’t think I know my own palace? I built it!” Another arrow flies, hitting a man in the head. He walks after them as they run away.

“It’s the old king!”

“No! Our leader is dead!”

“Old king forgive us!”

“Let’s have open arms instead!” He stops walking, notching yet another arrow as he’s reminded of Gaz. His chest tightens when he remembers his friend, his brother.

“No,” The arrow flies, he doesn’t care to see who it lands inside of. He knows Graves isn’t with this group and heads the other way; towards where he’d hidden their weapons. He’ll deal with the others later, for now only one person has a giant target on their back.

“Dammit,” Grave hisses as he opens the door to the armory. “He’s more cunning than I thought. While we were plotting he hid our weapons in here.” He waves the torch through the room, each weapon highlighted by the burning flame.

“I find it hard to believe that the sharpest of kings left his armory unlocked,” A man mutters, his frantic eyes looking outside of the room because he knows what’s out there, waiting for him.

“So what?” Grave scoffs as he grabs his sword. “Let’s make the bastard rot.”

“Behind you!” He spins, watching as Simon stabs a man through the chest with a sword, his piercing eyes glaring at Graves over the man’s shoulder. The man collapses to the floor while Simon takes the sword out, flicking the blood onto the walls.

“Put the weapons down and I’ll spare you,” He tells the men and immediately they do but Graves doesn’t. Simon tilts his head, eyes flickering to the ten men around Graves.

“How do you dare? Haven’t you seen what he’ll do to us?” Someone asks him, his hands held up in fear.

“The prince!” Someone shouts and Simon makes the mistake of looking behind him. The men in the armory jump on his back without hesitation, shouting to attack the prince that way he’ll have to stand down. Simon struggles against them, his sword clattering to the ground when he sees the torches illuminating his son.

He chokes as he sees his son falling to the ground, scrambling to his dagger that had gotten thrown in the fight.

“Stop struggling and we’ll show you mercy,” Grave whispers in Simon’s ear, holding his hair in an iron-tight grip.

“Mercy?” A voice cuts and Simon feels blood running down his cloak. He hears the sound of someone being impaled and then another in quick succession. The weight on his back lessens and he charges forward.

“Mercy?” Simon bellows, taking harsh steps toward the now-fallen Graves. Unable to find his footing again as more men die around him. “My mercy long since drowned. It died to bring me home. And as long as you're around my family's fate is left unknown. You plotted to kill my son.” In one motion he scoops Graves up, bringing him to his feet and then against the wall. The tip of his blade presses against the man’s neck as his eyes squeeze shut, feet trying to find purchase aside from the tips of his toes on the cold marble floors.

“You planned to rape my husband! All of you are going to die!” He stabs Graves six times, huffing as the body slumps against him and then against the wall when Simon shoves him away.

He stands tall, listening to the shouts of the scared, trapped men as their fates quickly find them. He knows who is fighting at his side; he knows so well but he doesn’t register it until everyone is dead. Until the torches line the walls and he sees his foes splayed on the floors.

“Father?” The sword in his hand clatters to the ground as he spins around. Johnny stands where he was once pinned down, blood dusting his tunic and his face. None of which is his own, Simon thanks the gods for that fact.

“Son,” His voice cracks as he takes a step forward. His chest heaves as he looks at his boy, and how he’s grown into a man. Johnny rushes forward, pulling him into a hug.

“I’ve waited my whole life for you. Twenty years,” He cries into Simon’s chest, his sobs growing as he feels his father's tight embrace.

“Oh my son, look how much you’ve grown,” He whispers, fighting back his own tears. “Oh, my boy. My sweetest joy. I captured the wind and sky for you.”

“My son, I'm finally home.” He finally cries, looking at his son's face for the first time in twenty years. He sees you in him, he sees himself. Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s, holding the back of his neck as he cries. He cries and he weeps, relief, something he hasn’t felt in years, floods his body as all of the suffering he’s endured has been worth it.

“My love?” He hates to look away but he does, his chest tight when he sees you removing your helmet. Your sword stuck in some man’s chest as your feet carried you across the hall and into his arms.

He calls you, your name falling from his lips and you cry into his neck. You’d nearly forgotten the sound of it on his tongue.

“Is it you?” You ask, pushing away from him after the initial shock. He’d warned you all those years ago, not to trust anyone who looked like him. He knew the Gods and their tricks; you knew them, too. “Have my prayers been answered? Or am I dreaming again?”

“I am no’ the man you fell in love with,” He admits as your eyes scan over him. You pick apart everything about him that’s changed over the years as doubt creeps in the back of your mind. “I am not the man you once adored; I am not your kind and gentle husband and I am not the love you knew before.” You frown as he takes your hands, falling to his knees before looking up at you. With a gaze, you tell Johnny to leave the two of you for now.

“Would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I’ve done? The things I cannot change. Would you love me all the same? I know that you’ve been waiting for love.” He begs, his bleary eyes unable to look at anything but you.

You nod, holding his face before guiding him up to his feet. “What kind of things did you do?” His head dips down in shame as the two of you move to stand outside in your garden. Free of blood and bodies as you sit under the olive tree he’d planted for you all those years ago.

“Left a trail of blood on every island. I traded friends as though they were objects. Hurt more lives than I can count. But all so I could come back to you.” He cries, holding your face, his cries growing as you lean into the touch. “Tell me, please. Would you fall in love with me again?”

“If that’s true,” You start, moving his hand from your face and he falters, eyes darting between yours as if they’ll reveal your choice before your voice does. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” He nods.

“Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace. See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far from here?” You ask, your eyes darting between his own as you wait. Wait as you’ve done for twenty long years.

“How could you say this?” He asks, his hand moving from your face. “I built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. Carved it into the olive tree where we first met. A symbol of our love everlasting! Do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!” He shouts, almost standing due to the anger bubbling in him.

“Only my husband knew that!” You sob, holding his hands again. “You’re real! My Gods, you’re real!” He calls your name as you shudder. You shake your head, pulling him close as your hands search his body, holding him impossibly close.

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine. Don’t tell me you’re not the same person, you’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting for you!” He blinks, brushing your tears from your face before he kisses you.

You crumble under his touch, your hands shaking as you cradle his face. He holds you tightly, pressing your armored chest flush against himself. You pull away first, tucking his now long blonde hair behind his ears to see his face properly.

—

You don’t get a chance to admire the new Simon, not between the kissing and his insisting that you share the bed with Johnny for the night. You agree, of course, the two of you squishing Simon while he happily holds the two of you in his arms as the night draws on.

Simon wakes up first, he’s gotten so used to being forced to share a bed with Calypso that he’d made his body wake up early to escape her. He looks at you and Johnny for a while, softly crying as he knows he’s home. Eventually, he gets up, hating the way the two of you whimper at the lost feeling between the two of you.

He doesn’t venture far, just far enough to grab a bowl of water and a blade. Settling in front of a mirror, he shaves his face for the first time since he set out to Troy and then cuts his hair. He’s never seen his grey hairs before. Despite knowing that he was aging while he was out there he hadn’t realized he was aging. He wasn’t twenty anymore, he certainly didn’t look it either.

He has scars on his face, he has grey hairs, he has the starts of wrinkles, eye bags— he could list them for hours.

He looks back at you as you sleep. At your grey hairs, at your wrinkles and he smiles. You’re just as beautiful as the day he met you.

Stepping towards the window he sees the castle workers dragging the bodies out of the castle and into a carriage. Tossing them unceremoniously and he makes his way down.

“Load them and wait. Do not touch them any further,” He tells one of the maids without looking at her, his gaze locked on the men who had dared to try and defile his family. “Send word to the people of Ithaca. Meet at the pier by noon.” She nods, waiting to be dismissed by the king but he turns on his heel and returns to your room.

You’re awake, rubbing your eyes as your sleepwear slips from your shoulder.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, crawling into the bed and kissing the exposed skin. You roll your head at the feeling, holding the back of his head to keep him in place.

“No,” You murmur, head against his. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” He pulls you onto his lap and you let him, too tired to fight back as he lays down again. “Trust me, ‘m not leaving ever again.”

“I like the sound of that,” You yawn, rubbing Johnny’s hair as he reaches out for the two of you. “We need to get up, though. Clean the halls,”

“Already taken care of, love.” You hum, head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing against his skin.

“You cut your hair,” You point out.

“Mhmm, like it?”

“Ask me later; ‘m too tired.” He chuckles and pets your cheek with his knuckles.

“Rest my love, I’m not going anywhere.”

The next time you wake up, he’s engrossed in a conversation with Johnny. He’s still holding you, but now it’s sitting up on the bed while Johnny all but bounces around the room. He talks about his own adventures with Athena, how he’d almost beat up Graves this one time, how you always kept a place for him. He talks about the stories he grew up hearing about the great King Simon of Ithaca.

Simon listens, committing his son's voice to memory while he inhales the smell of your hair.

A knock at the door stops their conversation and Simon calls for whoever it is to come in as he pulls the blanket over your body.

“It is nearly noon, King Simon.”

“Thank you,” He nods, watching the door close before he looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” He chides upon seeing your very much awake eyes on him.

“Long enough,” You respond but make no action to move. “What’s at noon?”

“You’ll see.” He lifts you with ease, picking himself up in the process and you laugh, holding onto his shoulders while Johnny gags and rushes out of the room.

In the tub, Simon sits first, letting you slowly sit with him before he kisses you. His lips and teeth pull and suck at the skin of your neck while you coo, squeezing his shoulders. The cold water wakes you up more than the kisses do, but when his hand dives between your legs you swear you’re more than awake.

“Mmm-mm,” You shake your head as you reluctantly push his hands away, he pouts but doesn’t fight it. “I want it to be in bed. To reclaim it,” His pupils dilate at the idea, you feel his pulse against his wrist and you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I can do that,” He nods, instead moving his hands to start washing the two of you.

The two of you dress together in your finest tunics, adorning yourselves in the royal jewelry and colors before getting Johnny from his room. Again, Simon finds himself between the two of you as you head down to your horses. Even more so when you’re all squished into a chariot.

The wagon of dead bodies follows behind you, the smell of death present as the townspeople watch. People gasp at the sight of Simon, and whispers of the long-since departed king's return echo throughout Ithaca.

Simon steps onto the platform, bringing you up with him and you stand next to him while Johnny stands in front of the two of you.

He starts a speech, making a point about the dead men. He talks of the disrespect to his house– to his family. He dares someone else to try to ruin his family, to hurt his son, his husband. He declares himself back, the two kings of Ithaca ruling again. Merciful, he calls the act of bloodshed the two of you had committed the night before. He calls the men’s mothers, their fathers, their wives, their children. He tells them they can weave their funeral shroud for them. Or else he’ll burn them to keep your room warm.

He watches as they collect their sons, their husbands, and their fathers. He holds you close, fingers a bruising grip against your waist.

The two of you head back; Johnny stays behind to venture around the kingdom. You think it’s so the two of you can be alone for a little while.

—

“I’ve missed you, husband,” Simon says, his head between your legs. He’s thrown them over his shoulders, his hands kneading the flesh of your stomach. He’s dreamt of this sight for two decades and yearned to dive his head between your legs again. Savoring the taste, feeling the way you’d clench around him.

“I’ve missed you, husband,” You parrot, reaching down to hold his chin. He leans into the warm touch, eyes closing as he savors it. You trail your hand up, holding his hair as he dives down. You gasp when he presses his tongue flat against you, slowly dragging up and down while watching you.

“I’m yours,” He murmurs, pressing sloppy kisses against your warmth while you twitch under his hold. “Only yours.” You pant, holding the cotton sheets for a reprise as his tongue makes figure eights around you, how he sucks and nips at your sensitive bud. He moves, sliding a finger into you; his eyes stuck on your face as your back arches. It’s an adjustment, just as it had been the first time you’d done this.

Your body had almost forgotten the feeling of his fingers inside of you, how skillful they’d been during your marriage. How he knew your body inside and out, what points to press on, and how fast to go. He maintains a rhythm that makes you cry, your arm across your eyes as you try to compose yourself. Not let yourself come undone so fast.

“Simon,” You breathe, trying to get to your elbows but he starts moving his finger. He's pushing and pulling, curling inside of you and it makes you fall back on the bed. He shudders, that tone in your voice, that feeling on his finger, the taste on his tongue. It’s all he’s ever wanted; it’s what kept him going all these years. “I need you,” You cry, eyes closed as your stomach tightens. He adds another finger, the added pressure makes your jaw drop.

“You have me,” He swears. “Look at me, please,” You try, honestly you do, but the tightness reaches a high and your eyes screw shut. Your fingers tighten around his hair, your voice echoes in the room and Simon feels you clench around him. He almost laughs, not because it hadn’t taken much to push you to the edge but because he’d already come. It hadn’t taken anything, all it took was you saying his name and he spilled into the bedsheets.

“You okay, moon?” He asks while crawling on top of you, his lips leaving scattered kisses across your body. You nod, face blissed out and eyes watery. “Can you take another?”

“I can take a million more,” You breathe and he laughs, head dropping between your neck. You laugh along, legs raising as he bites your skin. He moves so he’s holding himself up with one hand, his other grabs his dick as it hardens again.

“You sure?” He asks and you nod, kissing his shoulder.

“I can take it,” You moan, feeling the tip move across your folds. It slips and prods before he eventually pushes inside in one fluid motion. Your back arches, pushing your chest against his as he fills you.

“Full, ‘m so full,” You pant against him and he nods, moving your hair from your face.

“Full ‘n’ tight f’ me, yeah?” He teases, slowly rolling his hips against yours. He relishes in watching your expressions, how your mouth drops open and you’re unable to control the sounds you make. “Waited so long f’ me, didn’t you?” As he’s speaking, he raises up from you, his right hand holding your stomach down while the left starts rubbing soft circles on your clit. “So patient, my love. Thank you.”

His eyes dip down, looking at the bulge in your stomach as he slowly enters and exits you. He moans at the sight, eyes closing for a brief moment as he begins to pick up pace. You struggle to look at him, one hand holding the wooden headboard behind you while the other loosely holds the wrist that’s circling you.

“Missed you s’much,” He moans. “Missed all of you.” He slurs, leaning down to kiss you. He bites your bottom lip before his lips capture yours, his hips pressing against your own with each thrust. “Gods, you’re so tight.” He grunts as he pulls away, moving your left leg to be over his shoulder while the right leg sits at his hip. He speeds up, twitching as your moans only grow louder. Your nails drag against his chest and circle to his back.

He feels his scars under your nails, the sensitive skin prickling hot as you open his flesh. He hisses, the pain far easier to manage than anything he’s faced while away but so different. So loving.

“Inside me,” You moan, finally able to look at him as you bite your bottom lip. It’s throbbing from the pain of him biting it but you don’t care. “Inside me, Si, please.”

“Who am I to deny you, my king?” He grins and then drops his head down to your neck, feeling your walls tighten around him. You hear him whimper and moan against you and it only eggs you on. He’d chased that feeling for years, spilling inside of you as your high starts approaching. He continues for you, continuing his bruising pace until your body stops moving, your mouth falls open and your breathing goes ragged. Tenderly, as he always used to do, Simon holds you close to him. Your head rests against his chest so you can listen and feel his heart beating against your ear.

His hand stops circling your clit as he slowly pulls out from inside you. The sounds that come from him and you spur him on more but he contains himself. Instead, he watches as his cum leaks from you. On instinct, he pushes it back inside, loving the way your legs twitch when he does.

“Do you need a break?” He asks, eyeing the sweat on your brow. You inhale, thinking about it before shaking your head.

“I can take more,” You swear and he raises his eyebrow. “Please, Simon.”

“Your wish is my command.”

#x male reader #x reader #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x ftm reader #ftm reader #simon riley x trans reader #trans reader #simon riley smut #ftm reader smut #simon riley x you #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x y/n

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transrevolutions · 11 months ago

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french revolution dashboard simulator

🐀 ami-du-peuple Follow

uh actually man has the right to deal with his oppressors by devouring their beating hearts. hope this helps.

🎩 departicle Follow

Hold up. Okay. Actually, fuck this. This sort of violent rhetoric should not be tolerated on here. Do you seriously think this sort of thing is going to make the nobility give you more rights???? You must be out of your minds! Reported.

🧵 seamstressproud Follow

reblog to devour this guy's beating heart

#username checks out lmao #politics #everybody point and laugh #common adp w

6,178 notes

organt-deactivated06151792

update: new canto out now!!! go check it out 😈😏🥀 (remember don't like don't read <3)

📜 sacredhostreceipts Follow

@centuriesandskies this you?? not such a great look for a convention rep ngl

🌄 centuriesandskies Follow

listen. I wrote this a long time ago, before I went into serious politics. the account is deactivated for a reason.

I was twenty. I did poorly. I can do better.

#sj.txt #if this is the worst dirt you can dig up on me #i'm way less corrupt than half the people in the convention these days #at least i'm not doing fucking. embezzlement. #also sacredhostreceipts if you're who i think you are #don't you have better things to do rn?

231 notes

🌎 landscape-showdown Follow

why the fuck is everyone tagging this with french??? political figures?

#what the hell is going on over there #also maybe cool it with the death threats #I don't want this blog to get taken down #what's a girondin #is this some joke I'm not french enough to understand #showdown update

5,012 notes

⛪ progressivepriest Follow

Unpopular opinion but why is everyone so up in arms about the new Civil Oath? Literally all it's asking is for you to promise not to commit treason just because the Pope tells you to? I can see where people are coming from with the whole violation-of-religion deal, but can you blame the Assembly for trying to make sure the people aren't forcibly subjugated by the wealth of the nobility?

faith-first-alwaysdeactivated03011791

Sounds like something a heretic would say. To betray the Pope and king is to betray the will of God and your eternal soul! You should pray for forgiveness and pledge loyalty to the monarchy or have fun burning in hell. Sorry not sorry.

⛪ progressivepriest Follow

L + ratio + iirc the Bible says "it is easier for a rope to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven" (Matthew 19:24)

🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow

occasional based catholic moment, go off OP!

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

looked the faith-first-always guy's blog, he's like a massive anti-huguenot too 🙄 why is it always the prot-exclusive radical catholics smh

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

LMAOOOOO HE DEACTIVATED

#religion tag #percs fuck off #anyways op makes a valid point #reblog #percs dni

3,719 notes

🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow

she committee on my safety til I can't go public

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

I don't understand the joke, can someone explain please?? 🙂 Thank you!

🧵 seamstressproud Follow

is that fucking MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE?!!?!?!?

🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow

oh my god citizen robespierre I'm so sorry this was not meant to break containment lol I didn't even know you were on this site please forget you saw this

#this is the most embarassing moment of my life #literally sobbing rn #the original post is /j i prommy #i cannot be known as the citizen who had to explain this to the government

19,853 notes

🪓 indulgentsfuckoff Follow

fabre d'eglantine is NOT your poor little meow meow citizens he literally falsified decrees from the national convention and embezzled money to line his own pockets. I don't care how uwu babygirl you think he is he is a CRIMINAL who should be ARRESTED

💛 i-give-people-bread Follow

🥖🍞🥐

#baguette #loaf #croissant #i-give-people-bread #indulgentsfuckoff #silly

2,011 notes

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

fucking fed up with the constant threat of the swiss guard, I think it's time we got some gunpowder and weapons and took things into our own hands yknow what I'm saying

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

I'm no longer joking about this btw

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

update:

hopital

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

ok bc I've gotten like 50 asks about this: I am not injured and I am not in need of medical care. the punchline was that we stormed the fucking hotel des invalides to get guns and powder. didn't want to clarify the joke before now for security reasons but everyone knows about that and the bastille thing by now. please direct your money to people who actually need it.

#shouldve clarified the last post was /j #however I assumed yall knew this joke already #anyways #revolution #personal #500 #1k

1,930 notes

�� nopain-nograin Follow

got so high at the festivial 2day i thnk i saw hte suapreme being

#robespiere speech was prboably 🔥 #unforntuately i camt rember any of it #grainposting #oipum ehre is somtehing else thes days #memes

8,256 notes

🎨 jldavid-real-moved Follow

incredible speech from @springtimeofgovernment today at the jacobin club. nobody should be permitted to use their positions as civic leaders to commit crimes against the people, even under the guise of revolutionary fervor. if it comes to it, I too will drink the hemlock with him. for france. 🤝🤝

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

Thanks for your support, @jldavid-real

The situation over here is deteriorating really quickly, the representatives are getting violent and abandoning due process entirely. Anything you can do to stand with us now would be very appreciated. You do a lot of great work for the revolution, and I trust you completely.

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

@jldavid-real are you still there? We could really use your help right now.

🌄 centuriesandskies Follow

boosting @springtimeofgovernment here, can confirm he's been injured in a skirmish at the hotel de ville, they're passing summary death sentences without trial, @jldavid-real where is the help you promised us??? the people of paris are our only hope now.

edit: of course he moved blogs. coward.

#sj.txt #disappointed yet unsurprised #marat would be ashamed of you #9 thermidor #update

15,794 notes

🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow

DNI if you support any of these groups/people or their actions: m0narchists, f3uillants, br1ssotins/g1rondins, th3rmidorians, b0napart1sts, h3nri du v3rgier (also goes by c0mte de r0chjacquelin), charl0tte c0rday, or lafay3tte

(h3bertists and dant0nists you're on thin ice. behave.)

#censored so they dont show up in the tags #dni #get your nasty ass ideologies off my page #won't hesitate to block and/or report any violators #pinned

52 notes

gracchus-babeufdeactivated05271797

reblog to make the directoire choke to death on their stupid fucking outfits

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

hey staff. yeah you. where did this blog go?? notfishgoujon and prairial-95 are gone as well?? cowards too afraid to show your faces lmao especially after the fucking mess the directoire's made of the country. bet you anything that staff are on their fucking payroll too iykwim at least the republic didn't tolerate fucking bribery

#this site's gone to the dogs since thermidor yr 2 #following the trend of the rest of the country tbh #i'll probably get nuked for posting this #if so i'm not making a new account #i'll just make a paleocities or smth #politics tag #reblog #don't play with me ik full well gb didn't delete his blog of his own free will #they also zero note glitched it #just when you think they can't stoop lower

0 notes

📕 spectrehauntingeurope Follow

it's been 50 fucking years since gracchus-babeuf (and the other CoE blogs) were deleted without warning and still no response from staff, the govt, or anything. the site's gone through a fuckton of ownership changes and still nothing.

we're working on a bit of a project (some of you might know abt it already), it's gonna be out prob in the next year or so. remember '89. remember '93 and '94. remember '97.

the people will rise again. it's only a matter of time. 🚩

-mod karl

#french revolution #pigeon.txt #shitpost #frev #frevblr #robespierre #saint just #marat #oof this was. a project.#dashboard simulator #funny #meme #unreality #just to be safe

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onlycosmere · 5 months ago

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The Kickstarter goes live tomorrow!

When Brandon Sanderson began working with Brotherwise Games on the first adventure for The Stormlight Roleplaying Game, he considered how it could help him fix holes in the narrative of his bestselling fantasy series. He settled on a mystery from the first Stormlight Archive book, The Way of Kings, that will have big implications for the fifth book in the series, Wind and Truth, which will be released in December.

The Stormlight Archive is set on the planet Roshar, where 10 heroes known as Heralds spent millenia protecting humanity with the help of highly magical swords dubbed Honorblades. All of them abandoned their duties except Taln, the Herald of the Common Man. Despite Taln’s best efforts, the forces of the vengeful god Odium have returned. Taln was left maddened by his ordeal and soon after he first appears in the books, his Honorblade goes missing. Its whereabouts remain unknown.

“The adventure is answering that question,” Sanderson told Polygon. “What happened? Where did it go? What’s going on? And you get to be part of the story. We were looking for an adventure you could do that would intersect with the canon of the books in an interesting way, and allow you to fill in a hole yourself.”

The Kickstarter for the d20-based game goes live on Aug. 6 along with a beta preview of the rules and a first level adventure meant to walk players and game masters through the setting and core mechanics. The hardcover Stonewalkers Adventure, where players encounter Taln and learn what happened to his honorblade, will be released in 2025 along with the Stormlight Roleplaying Game Handbook and World Guide.

...

Players will hunt for Taln’s honorblade across Roshar, from the Shattered Plains where much of The Way of Kings is set, to the magical forest of the goddess Cultivation, where bold souls can receive both a boon and a curse. There are a mix of dungeon crawls, puzzles, chase scenes and prison breaks. As they choose how to approach the problems they face, player characters will be able to attract the attention of spren, spirit-like beings who can bond with like-minded people to bestow them with incredible abilities. Completing the mission can allow them to join the newly re-founded ancient order known as the Knights Radiant.

...

The PCs can meet major antagonists from the books, including the twisted Herald of Justice Nale and the traitorous General Meridas Amaram, and learn how the talking sword Nightblood first featured in Sanderson’s 2009 book Warbreaker wound up on Roshar. As they move through key moments from the series, like the emergence of a raging storm that brings Odium’s most powerful lieutenants back to the world, Sanderson welcomes players to reshape his narrative.

...

“There’s a lot of cultural details being filled in, but at the same time, we dig a little bit further into what each order of Radiants’ oaths, spren, and motivations are,” Sanderson said. “There’s some new stuff there that I think fans will really enjoy.”

#wob #the stormlight archive #cosmere #brandon sanderson #wind and truth #the stormlight archive rpg #cfsbf #root #cosmere future #long post

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justhereforxreaders · 5 months ago

Text

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part One: The Oath

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: after three years of peaceful living on Dragonstone, Prince Jacaerys stumbles upon an answer to his growing anxieties of mastering dragonriding. But when this new companion is discovered prematurely, how will the Princess respond?

Warnings: mentions of blood loss and wounds

soundtrack

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part six: pieces and players

part seven: the rift

You stand silently in the throne room of Dragonstone awaiting judgment while a storm rages outside the black stone walls. Two kingsguard are posted at the large doors opposite the throne. Their eyes fixed on your small, shivering frame. A flash of lightning followed closely by the crack of thunder causes you to jump and one of the kingsguard calls out to you from across the room.

“We said be still!”

You nod curtly and continue to stare out the windows at the rain. Tears begin to flow against your will as another bolt of lightning strikes nearby and you try your best to remain still.

This is not what I wanted. You think to yourself, reflecting upon the events that led you to be separated from your dragon and now, possibly, from your closest friend.

Jacaerys Valeryon had discovered you and your dragon living within the natural caverns beneath the fortress of Dragonstone nearly four moons. The two of you became quick friends, meeting in secret to train one another. He had witnessed your skills on dragonback firsthand when he and Vermax happened upon you and your dragon one morning before the sun had risen. Your deftness alone would have been enough to impress the young Prince but after watching the two of you dive into the sea to escape their curious pursuit, he knew he needed to seek you out. In exchange, he had offered you the chance to hone your skills in combat. Being common born, your abilities with a blade were much more crude than those of the knight trained prince. You relished the opportunity to learn how to properly defend yourself.

You are pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the ornate doors swinging open. A small procession of colorful lords file into the great hall surrounded by armored knights that begin to peel off in pairs to stand along the walls as they approach. The last two take positions on either side of you. Once the guards are in their places, a caller steps forth to announce the silver haired woman standing alone in the doorway.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, heir to the Iron Throne!”

The caller bellows throughout the room while the woman walks with purpose through the grand hall to take her place upon the throne. Once seated she meets your gaze. You cast your eyes down to the black stone below.

“This council has been brought together to address the matter of this child’s involvement in the endangerment and injury of my son, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” her voice becomes shaky when she says his name but she does her best to gain her composure before addressing you directly, “What do you have to say in your defense?”

You hesitate for a moment, steadying yourself with a breath while trying to remember what you had intended to say. But when you look up to see tears welling up in the Princess’s eyes, only one thought fills your mind.

“Is Jace going to be alright?” You ask timidly.

“That does not answer the Princess’s question, child,” snaps a silver haired man standing below the throne. “We want to know how this happened.”

The Princess’s eyes remain fixed on you. She examines you carefully as you wipe the lingering tears from your face and begin recounting everything.

“The Prince and I have been training together for quite some time.” The Princess raises an eyebrow at this but you continue, “We flew out to practice on dragonback this morning when the wind rose up quickly around us. We couldn’t outrun the storm and when it consumed us, we were both thrown into the sea. The dragons were nowhere to be seen, whisked away by the tempest, so we began making our way to shore but-” you shutter and grow silent, remembering the deep wounds carved into your friend’s shoulder. “Jacaerys had been injured. I believe Vermax may have tried to take hold of him as he fell. He lost consciousness during the swim and I carried him the rest of the way.”

Once the words leave your mouth there is a beat of silence before you begin to sob, the horror fresh in your mind of Jace going limp in your arms. You can barely hear the low murmurs that flurry around the room until the Princess brings them all to a halt.

“How could you be training on dragonback? Were you both astride Vermax?” The Princess calls down to you from the throne, her tone shifting from sorrow to accusatory.

You freeze while the tears continue to pour. Jace had recently begun trying to convince you to reveal yourself to his mother. He was certain you would be offered a proper bed to sleep in but when the subject of revealing your dragon was brought into question, he was unsure of how the Princess and her second husband would respond to someone outside their blood to being bonded to a dragon. The discussion ended shortly after expressing this to you.

Now faced with this dilemma, without Jace’s guidance, you decide to remain honest. Still holding onto the glimmer of hope that you will find acceptance and refuge among this family.

“No, Your Grace, I was riding my own dragon.”

Amidst the uproar, the man with silver hair draws his sword and storms down the steps toward you.

“Who are you to have claimed one of our dragons? We should have your hands you thief!”

“Daemon, no!” The Princess shouts and the room falls silent once again.

The man stops his advance but his sword is still drawn in your direction.

“I am no thief,” you manage to say with a quivering voice. “My mother was an acolyte of the priests of R’hllor on the outskirts of Asshai. When I was six years of age, a lord came to our temple to enlist the help of the red priests in hatching a dragon egg.”

Another round of concerned whispers echo throughout the hall.

“I know not who the lord was or where he acquired the egg. It made no difference as during the ritual the temple caught fire, leaving myself and my dragon as the only survivors to emerge from the ashes. We had been traveling west across Essos together for nearly eight years until she finally led me to this island four moons ago.”

The man, who you now identify as Daemon, looks you up and down and begins speaking a language you cannot understand. When he meets your eyes and sees your confusion, he scoffs and turns to Princess Rhaenrya. They have a brief exchange in the foreign language before they are cut off by a frantic man in robes entering the room.

“The prince has awoken,” he exclaims, out of breath.

Rhaenyra immediately stands and makes haste to the door, followed closely by her guard. However, Daemon stays put in front of you.

“We shall reconvene at a later time,” the Princess calls over her shoulder as she exits the room. “See this child placed in a room under watch until-“

“Wait, no!” You cry out, interrupting the Princess. With the relief of knowing that Jacaerys is alive and conscious, the fear of your dragon’s safety fills the entirety of your being. “Please let me return home! I need to know if my dragon is safe.”

Her and Daemon make eye contact above your head.

“We cannot allow you to leave until a decision can be made,” she says plainly, a slight look of remorse flashes across her face, before she disappears out the door without a second glance.

The lords disperse around you. All except Daemon who still stands with his sword drawn.

“How do you command a dragon of you do not speak High Valyrian?”

“I don’t,” you reply, confusion evident in your voice, “I have been at her mercy since she grew large enough to ride. I have simply trusted her instincts.”

He chuckles lightly, “I wonder then, if you were to make a command of her, would she return that sentiment? Would she trust your instincts? Is she truly bonded to you? Or were you a convenient mean for survival?”

He sheaths his sword and walks away from you, taking a seat on the steps below the throne. The guards at your sides escort you out of the hall, leaving Daemon’s questions to rattle around in your mind.

- - - - -

Dragon-riding was an art that did not come naturally to Prince Jacaerys. He had been so relieved when his family left King’s Landing, as it meant he no longer would be sharing dragon keeper lessons with his spiteful uncles. This relief was short lived however, as once Vhagar had been claimed by Aemond, a frantic drive to master the sky filled his entire being. Once Vermax became large enough to ride, he trained often and obsessively, stealing the joy from what was previously a childhood dream of the young prince. Until he began training with you.

Although he initially approached your training with the same urgency, he soon found an unexpected solace riding alongside you. With you, it never felt like a burden or duty. It felt like freedom. It felt like peace. You had turned the sky into a safe haven.

Which is why the sight of you being thrown from your dragon in the middle of that storm was on an endless loop in his mind while he fell in and out of consciousness. Despite the pain of the maesters working on his wounds, he wouldn’t allow himself to be pulled into sleep until he knew you were safe. Thankfully, once their work was complete and the discomfort from their treatment had ended, he was able to fully recover his mind from that haunting vision.

He sat up slowly in his bed, head still spinning, to see the maesters cleaning up their instruments.

“What happened? How did I get here?” He mutters.

The maesters whip their heads towards the prince at the sound of his voice and the room buzzes back into action.

“Inform the Princess!” Grand Maester Gerardys commands to the room before taking place at Jace’s bedside. “Steady, my Prince, the wound is freshly stitched and you’ve lost much blood.” He attempts to help the boy back down but Jace protests.

“No,” he mumbles, using his good arm to weakly bat away the Grand Maesters hands. “Tell me what happened.”

Gerardys sighs. “You were found wounded on the beach with a stranger who refused to leave your side.”

The rest of the memory flashes through Jace’s head. The gust of wind and rain that ripped him from his dragon’s back, the pain of Vermax’s claws in his shoulder, finding you in the cold water, your arm around his body as he grew even colder.

“Where is y/n?” His eyes snap open.

“Taken before the council to face judgment for your endangerment.” The maester gives up the fight with his stubborn patient and returns to his supplies laid out on the table.

“But-” Jacaerys begins before being cut off by his mother.

“Jace!” She cries as she burst through the door and runs to his side, embracing him as gently as she can manage.

“Mother, where is y/n? They have done nothing wrong, they saved my life.” He takes a moment to catch his breath after the words tumble out of his mouth. Still struggling to keep his grip on the waking world.

Rhaenyra releases her son and she looks over him. Her face grows stern at the mention of your name, which she had neglected to ask for.

“And why was your life at risk in the first place? Who is this dragonrider that you’ve kept secret from me? And why trust a stranger to train you over Daemon or myself?”

Jacaerys turns away sheepishly, trying not to dive too deeply into the sliver of joy he had found in your presence. “Y/n is my friend, not a stranger. As well as a skilled dragonrider.”

“How could you know that Jace? How do we know this isn’t a trap set by our enemies?”

He considers this briefly. Trying to determine how he can convince his mother that you are not a threat to them. Wishing desperately to cite the countless occurrences of your trustworthiness and honor that he has already witnessed. But he knows that it is not just his mother that he is speaking to. He is also speaking to the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the Queen cannot afford to place that much faith in the feelings of a young man. So instead, he decides to respond like a future king.

“Why would our enemies want us to gain such a powerful advantage? Supplying our cause with a large dragon and a masterful rider does them no favors.” Prince Jacaerys states.

Rhaenyra is taken aback by Jace’s strategic thinking. She looks over his face and ponders his words while tracing the healed scar down her arm. A bitter reminder of her own betrayal by someone she once held dear.

“Do you trust this person with your safety? With the safety of your family?” Rhaenyra questions, her eyes momentarily welling up against her will.

Jacaerys meets her gaze and nods solemnly. The Princess grabs her son’s hand tenderly.

“If this to be our decision; to allow an outsider to inherit the power of our house…” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “Then this not an ally we can afford to lose. And we must ensure their loyalty to my claim to the throne, as well as your own.”

- - - - -

The room you are placed in offers little comfort while you wait for your fate to be decided. Housed high in the tower, it sways ever so slightly with the wind. Exhaustion from the events of today combined with the gentle motion of the room threaten to lull you to sleep but the distress at being away from your dragon for the first time in years keeps you from finding any rest. You sit on the hard floor with your back up against the wall, facing the door, counting the seconds between lightning strikes and rumbles of thunder.

A knock on the door startles you and you spring to your feet as a kingsguard steps through the doorway followed closely by Princess Rhaenyra. You notice her face appears less grim than it had been in the throne room. She examines you from head to toe then finds your eyes. They soften ever so slightly before she speaks.

“Jacaerys is resting and the maesters are confident he will make a full recovery.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod at the Princess’s words but the worry still lingers on your face. She continues.

“We have also received word that Vermax has returned to the dragonmont with a large black dragon in tow. Both weary but seemingly unharmed.”

You gasp as though this is the first real breath you’ve taken all day and place your hands over your eyes as tears flow freely down your face. Their intensity dies down, however, as you recall the Princess’s final words to you in front of her council. A new dread fills your stomach.

“And what is to be done with me?” You ask in as neutral a tone as you can manage, dropping your hands from your eyes but still staring intently at the stone below.

The Princess lets out a heavy sigh and takes a step closer to you.

“We would ask that you swear an oath of loyalty. Declare fealty to House Targaryen and to myself as heir to the Iron Throne. And for this you will be granted permission to serve our house as a dragonrider.”

You shake your head, trying to comprehend her words.

“And what would my service entail? What would be expected of me?”

“The same that I ask of every lord and lady sworn to me. As well as every member of my family that commands a dragon; that should this house become threatened, they will heed the call to arms and meet the enemy with fire and blood.” Her voice becomes foreboding as she recites the words of her house. Indicating to you that this is less of a choice you are being offered, and more a sentence that you are being served.

“Though I hope such a need will never come,” she adds, trying to lighten her tone.

Your thoughts turn to your dragon and the years you have spent protecting each other. You may not speak the same language but you know you trust her with every fiber of your being. And, although the gods may have left a foul taste in your mouth for prophecy and purpose, you do believe she chose you as her rider for a reason. If taking this oath is the only way you can continue to be allowed to live alongside your dragon, then so be it.

You raise your head, sparing a quick glance at the kingsguard, before your eyes meet with the Princess’s. “I am at your service, Princess.”

“We are glad to have it, y/n.” She says with sincerity. “The hour has grown late, let us see you to a more suitable chamber.” She turns and begins walking out the door, beckoning you to follow.

You fall into line behind her down the winding stairs.

“Once you are settled,” she calls over her shoulder, “if you are not spent, I can take you to the dragonmont.”

You nod fervently and small smile flashes across her face.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x you #jacaerys valaryon x reader #jacaerys x y/n #friends to lovers #slow burn #queer yearning #nonbinary reader #dragon rider

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blingblong55 · 4 months ago

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Crossing the line -141& König

Picture credit: @ave661 (middle)

Based on a request: I have recently crossed over and I think I may becoming a Konig girlie! I don’t know if you write for him, and I’m sorry if I sent this and you don’t, but what do we think about Konig dating someone who’s in the 141. They don’t see each other very often with work but 141 and Kortac get paired up to do a mission against Makarov and reader introduces Konig to the team?again sorry if you don’t write to him! But I just wanted to say I love your writing and I’m obsessed with your blog!!! Have a great day! ---- F!Reader (don't know what else to write here...so...yeah) ----

-This is written before the death(s) of any character(s) in the franchise-

A/N: welcome to this side love and don't worry, he is on my list of who I write for and apologise for barley doing this for you

A relationship that can only be described as unconventional and riddled with unanswered questions is precisely what exists between you and König. You're part of Task Force 141, while your boyfriend works for KorTac, a Private Military Company, and a rival to your team. Naturally, you've kept this under wraps; no one in 141 knew about him or where he's employed. But today, of all days, was the day you had to bring him into the fold, thanks to Price asking you to introduce your partner so there could be a record on hand should he ever need to be placed under protection.

As members of Task Force 141, there's always a record – whether they're enemies, allies or even partners of either side. So, when the day finally arrived and you intordiced him, you made it clear that if they respected you, they wouldn't pry into his life. Out of respect for you, they didn't dig into his background, but you knew that trouble was brewing, especially when both Task Force 141 and KorTac had to join forces against a common enemy: Makarov. He'd betrayed KorTac months ago and was now squarely in the crosshairs of Task Force 141.

"König?" Gaz blurted out the moment he laid eyes on him. It's hard to miss a man his size and Gaz, with his sharp memory, had clocked him straight away, nudging Soap and Price. Before you knew it, Price had pulled you aside, and a wave of dread washed over you. "Your boyfriend... where does he work?" Price asked, his tone demanding the truth. You could only stare back, silently pleading with him not to push it. "Price, don't do this—" you began, but he cut you off. "Where. Does. He. Work?" he pressed, and with a sigh, you gave him a look that said, 'Don't be mad." "He's in the military... KorTac, to be precise,": you admitted, bracing yourself for the fallout.

Before Price could respond, Ghost was on you, his voice dripping with fury. "You're dating the fucking enemy? You know what they did to us, who they are, and why they do what they do," he snarled, his teeth practically clenched. You turned to face him properly, "Lt, please... don't make a scene out of this," you implored, but he just shook his head in disbelief. "Make a scene? A fucking scene?! What have you told him, kid?" he barked, shoving your shoulder. "Nothing," you insisted, trying to keep your cool. "You're a fuckin' idiot." His tone was filled with anger and disappointment. "You know why we don't pair with them, why this thing is just a one-off, so don't give me this bullshit, don't fucking––" Ghost raged.

"That's enough," Price interjected stepping in.

"I love him. I know he'd never betray me. I took an oath when I joined this team, I made a promise to be a good partner to him, but I take my oath seriously, the same one I took when I was brought into this team. I'd never betray the team that's like family to me, but I also can't help loving him," you explained, your voice wavering slightly as you looked between Ghost and Price.

"You're... in love?" Soap said, sounding almost incredulous. You sighed, wishing this nightmare would end. "Yes, I am," you confirmed. "With that KorTac bloke, yeah?" Gaz added, and you nodded, meeting their questioning gazes. "I'm sorry, alright? I know it's not ideal, but i swear he'd never betray or harm any of you. He knows how much I care about you all. He loves me, and we promised each other we wouldn't do that," you told them earnestly, hoping they'd understand. They exchanged glances, clearly conflicted. "If he hurts you—" Price started.

"I won't," König said firmly as he walked into the room, and you couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh.

Someone ought to lock the door before anyone barges in, you thought wryly.

"I'll be looking into your personal life," Price warned, his gaze fixed on König. "You're welcome to. Investigate all you want, I've got nothing to hide," König replied, meeting Price's stare without flinching.

As the tension in the room thickened, you could feel the weight of every gaze on you and König. The air was heavy with unspoken doubts, but also a glimmer of something else—perhaps understanding, or at least the hope of it.

Price took a step back, his expression unreadable. "We'll see about that," he said, his tone softer but still laced with authority. "But understand this: if he steps out of line, if he puts any of us in jeopardy, I won't hesitate to act. Love or not, you're still a part of this team, and this team comes first." You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "I understand, and I wouldn't expect anything less," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

Ghost was still fuming, but he kept his distance, his eyes narrowing as he looked between you and König. "Don't make me regret this," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

König, to his credit, didn't flinch. "You have my word," he said simply, his voice calm and assured.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, and Soap finally broke the silence with a half-hearted grin. "Well, this is going tomake for an interesting debrief, eh?"

The tension in the room eased slightly, the corners of Gaz's mouth twitching in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "You always did know how to keep things lively," he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You allowed yourself a small smile, feeling the tightness in your chest begin to loosen. "What can I say? Never a dull moment." Price nodded, his eyes still on König. "Alright then. We'll take it one step at a time. But remember, we're watching."

With that, the meeting seemed to unofficially adjourn, the mean dispersing with lingering glances at you and König. As the door closed behind the last of them, you let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. König turned to you, his eyes softening as he took your hand. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "Yeah. It could've gone worse." He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "They'll come around."

"Maybe," you said, leaning into him slightly. "But even if they don't, we'll figure it out. Together." He nodded, pulling you close. "Together," he echoed. And as you stood there, the two of you alone in the room that had just moments ago been filled with so much tension, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

A/N: fixed my writing style so...I hope you enjoyed?

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frazie99 @katybaby00 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @Llelannie @Macnches2 @skelletonwitch @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @luvecarson @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @tuihiatus @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @vampsquerade @azkza @VampyTheGoth

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silverwingxox · 5 months ago

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I Am Yours - Harwin Strong

Paring : Harwin Strong x Targaryen!Reader

Summary : After the wedding of your sister Rhaenyra to Leanor Velaryon, your father has been breathing down your neck about you finding a suitable husband. You turn to seek comfort in your sworn sword.

Warnings : 18+, MDNI, SMUT, P in V, Oral (Fem R), throat grabbing, talks of arranged marriage.

“I swear, if I have to look upon one more fat lord old enough to be our father then I'll feed him to Vermithor.” You mumbled to your elder sister as she came and stood by your side, linking her arm with yours. Rhaenyra chuckled as she looked over the poor gathering of men who had come to seek your hand in marriage. “I will admit these aren’t the most handsome bunch.” You sighed as your (e/c) eyes looked around the room, trying to see if any of the wanting lords had potential. “I never got to thank you by the way..” You grumbled to Rhaenyra. Since her wedding to Laenor Velaryon, your father, The King has been breathing down your neck about finding a suitable suitor.

You and Rhaenyra had always been close, there being only a two year age gap between yourselves, you were practically best friends, always sneaking into each other's chamber’s at night to gossip about the handsome lords at court or to gossip about the snooty ladies trying to woo said lords. People called your sister ‘The Realm’s Delight.’ and due to your beautiful appearance, you had earned the nickname ‘Queen of Beauty.’ It had been said you rivaled your great aunt Viserra when it came to looks.

Your silver hair cascaded in lovely curls, whereas Rhaynera’s hair fell straight. Your eyes wide and sparkling, as though they reflected the night’s moon, a small button nose and lovely plump lips. You were simply beautiful. You had heard stories created by the common folk, claiming you to be a goddess, the maiden herself. Stories you laughed at, as ironically, you had lost your maiden head a good while ago.

“Sister, I apologize profoundly.” Rhaenyra apologized with a grin, rolling your eyes at your sister playfully. “As I love you dearly, I will let you off.” You turned to your sworn sword, Ser Harwin Strong, finding his blue eyes already on you. “I am done for the day. Please escort me to my chambers.” The tall, strong knight bowed his head to you. “Yes Princess.” As you turned on your heel and headed towards the exit of the throne room you heard your sister tell the lords to return tomorrow as you had tired yourself, causing you to snicker.

You walked to your chambers, Harwin merely two steps behind you, nodding your head politely at the lords and ladies who would greet you and step aside with a bow of their heads. “Did any of the lords strike you as husband material?” You asked your close companion, turning to head to look at the Strong man. Harwin scoffed, his brown curls bouncing with each step he took. “None of them, I would deem worthy to wed to Realm’s Beauty, Princess.” He spoke teasingly, a smile on his handsome face. Your eyes met his, a beautiful smile graced your face. “With words like that I will have to release you from your duties and take you as my lord husband.” you teased your sworn sword.

Harwin had been your personal guard for almost a year, you could admit he had taken your fancy when you first met him, he was like no other lord at court. He was tall, kind, handsome, strong, deserving of his surname. Although he was kind, he could be cruel to anyone who had crossed you, he was a fearsome fighter, earning himself the nickname ‘Harwin Breakbones.’ It was only shortly after he became your sworn sword when the stolen glances, lingering touches and the flirting began, you knew you wanted him and you knew he wanted you. However, it was forbidden, Harwin had sworn an oath.

“It would be a great honor, Princess.” Harwin replied as you walked the hall towards the large oak doors leading into your personal chambers. “Did you know my father is going to wed me to one of the Lannister twins? If I don't pick myself that is.” You told Harwin as he opened the door to your bed chamber, you walked inside towards the floor length mirror. You began to take out the gold hair pins, your curly silver hair falling down your back, just above the curve of your bum, you left your door open, inviting Harwin inside.

The knight closed the door behind him softly, before he turned to face you, standing guard in front of the wooden oak door. “The Lannister twins? That is unfortunate, both are obnoxious fuckers.” Harwin stated with distaste, he couldn’t stand the thought of you marrying anybody, not that he’d say it aloud, but the thought of you marrying Tyland or Jason Lannister brought a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach.

You laughed at Harwin’s words, he wasn’t wrong. Both brother’s were known for being obnoxious and in love with themselves. “They’d be in love with themselves more than they would me.” You replied with a grin as you ran your fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. Harwin watched you intensely and found himself wishing it was his fingers running through your long curly hair instead of your own. “Any man would be a fool not to love you Princess.” Harwin stated, his words lingered in the air as you turned to look at the man, a warm sensation had taken over your stomach as you played over his words. Upon hearing no reply, Harwin stood tall. “Forgive me, Princess. That was inappropriate.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip softly, before you walked over to your knight.

“Do you mean it?” You asked quietly, Harwin had remained rooted in his spot, having no desire to move. “I do.” You were now standing directly in front of him, you noticed his eyes looking your body up and down, before his gaze fell to your plump lips, after a few seconds, Harwin brought his gaze up to meet your sparkling eyes. “Would you love me? If you were my husband.” You asked.

“I would worship you.” You saw Harwin’s eyes darkened with lust as he thought of having you as his lady wife, your stomach round with his child, your breasts full. The sweet moans which would come from your mouth, the same noises he had heard come from behind your door when he’d stand guard on the night time, as you pleasured yourself whilst thinking of him. You brought Harwin back to the present, as you stood on your tiptoes, your hands resting on the cold armor, Harwin brought his head down, his lips meeting your soft plump lips in a forbidden gentle kiss, one of his hands held your waist gently and the other held your neck. Harwin pulled away slowly, the two of you locked eyes, both wanting this. Before you knew it, Harwin had brought his lips back to yours, the kiss rough and wanting, His hands gripped tightly at your waist, you were sure you would have his fingerprints imprinted into your soft pale skin on the morrow.

Your hands reached up and tangled themselves in Harwin’s curly locks, his lips made their way to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin. A moan escaped your lips at the sensation, you had often wondered what this moment would be like, feeling Harwin’s hands all over his body, how his lips would feel against your own. Harwin’s lips once again found yours as his hands grabbed your arse, before they slid down the back of your legs, pulling you up, your legs wrapped around Harwin’s waist as he walked towards your awaiting bed, your lips battling for dominance.

Without any effort, Harwin pulled at the lace on the back of your dress, the fabric falling loose, your breasts falling loose. You moved your hands from Harwin’s hair to the back of him, unhooking the white cape that was attached to the back of his armor. Harwin placed you down gently, kissing your neck as he did so, before standing tall and ridding himself of his armor. You lifted your arse from the bed and pulled the red soft fabric down, once the dress was off you threw it on the floor somewhere, Harwin’s eyes trailed over your body as he removed his trousers. “You really are a Goddess.” He said in disbelief, he couldn't believe his luck and would be pinching himself to wake up for years to come.

Looking at Harwin, you took in every inch of his body, looking at his hard member, you were sure there were two reasons he was nicknamed ‘Breakbones.’ You licked your lips nervously, you had lost your maidenhead a while ago, it was a feast in honor of your sister’s name day, you and Gwayne Hightower had stolen a barrel of Dornish Wine from the kitchen, you had taken him to the Dragon pit to meet Vermithor, Afterwards, the two of you hid in an empty room, drinking and laughing and before you both knew it, you were fucking on the cold hard stone.

Harwin placed a hand on each one of your knees and opened your legs wide, making room for him to crawl between, his lips pressed against your forehead before lovingly pressing a kiss on each cheek, then the tip of your nose, then your lips, then he brought his lips to your neck, before playfully biting at the soft flesh. Gasping at the sensation, your hands pulled at the hair at the top of his neck, causing the knight to release a deep groan.

The noise sent wetness straight to your clit. Harwin pressed kisses between the valley of your breasts and continued his trail, moving down the bed, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, putting them over his shoulders, he pressed two wet kisses to each of your thighs before he looked up at you, it was a sight to behold, his dark curls messy, his eyes dark.

The sight of Ser Harwin Strong between your thighs would forever be etched into your mind. “I need your words Princess.” Harwin said, the warmth of his breath hit your heat, causing you to shiver. “Please Harwin, please.” You practically whined, Harwin let out a breathy laugh as you begged. Without warning, He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “let me hear you princess.”

Harwin’s fingers joined his tongue as they entered and pressed against the soft but sensitive spot inside you, your hands tugging at Harwin’s hair once more. “Harwin..” you whined, the knight not slowing his pace as he thoroughly wanted to remember this moment forever. Your hand wrapped round Harwin’s wrist between your legs as you felt your end come close. You could feel his broad shoulders flexing as he used his strength to keep you in place. Licking up all the fluids that leak out of you. Harwin rose with haste and wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck before pulling you upright quickly.

Harwin slips inside you and moves his hand so that he is gripping your throat as he snaps his hips into you firmly, groaning sinfully into the side of your neck, squeezing your neck a little tighter with each delightful noise you made. You loved it, this was nothing like how it had been with Gwayne, this was hot, passionate, rough. You forced your hips to meet Harwin’s thrusts. His groans got louder, more animalistic. Both of you meet the thrust of each other, causing utter bliss, You both make a steady rhythm, Harwin’s thrusts hitting a spot deep inside you, your (e/c) eyes roll to the back of your head, it’s pure pleasure, you moan loudly, Harwin’s trying to holdback, restraining himself, savoring every moment as he doesn’t know if this will be his only chance to see you come undone.

“Harder Harwin, please. I can take it.” You beg him, your nails scratching their way down his back, your legs wrapped around his hips. “I want it.” Harwin lets out a large groan at your words, picking up the speed of his thrusts, the headboard of the bed banging loudly against the stone wall. You moaned as you felt the knot in your stomach release at the new speed and deep thrusts, your walls clenched around Harwin’s cock, causing the man to shut his eyes tight. “Fuck.” Harwin growled, his forehead rests on yours, his curls wet from the sweat.

“You take my cock so good, Princess.” He groans as you move your hand down rubbing your clit, adding extra friction. Harwin comes undone, his thrusts getting sloppy, before he can think about pulling out, he is already coming deep inside you with a shaky groan, His seed buried deep within you. Your hands move to cup each side of Harwin’s handsome face, the two of you lock eyes before you share a passionate kiss, Harwin slowly pulls out of your warmth and falls next to you on the bed, his chest lifting up and down and you both try to regain your breath.

Harwin turns to look at you, your protector drags his thumb along your jawline, admiring your beauty and how you look so much like a goddess in your current state. “I love you, I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” Harwin admitted, your heart swelled, you looked at him as though he had given you the world. “I know we’re forbidden, I know we cannot be. But, I am yours. Truly.” Harwin promised as he brought you close to his chest, your face nestled into his neck, peppering light kisses. “I am yours.” You agreed, coming to the realization that you were comparing every possible suitor to your sworn sword. “I will always be yours.” and with that, began your love affair, one which would make the history books.

#house of the dragon #ser harwin #harwin breakbones #harwin x reader #harwin strong #house targaryen #targaryen reader #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong imagine

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janearts · 1 year ago

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I couldn't help myself from referencing Highlander. There can be only one [wielder of the Netherstones]!

Proper answer (and some character analysis for Roisia) under the read-more.

Roisia was surprised by Gortash, but pleasantly so. In the first place, as far as Roisia is concerned, Ketheric and Orin recall their respective gods in their appearance: Ketheric is withered, a husk of a person, but indomitable, and Orin... well, Orin looks like a flayed corpse with meat-suit clothes, but close enough. Roisia would have expected Bane's Chosen to be more... physically domineering. Terrifying. Intractable. ...Loud? Instead, here's this charming handsome fellow who is really rather ordinary. If Roisia met him on the street, he'd just be another debonair noble lusting for power. (Join the feckin' queue!)

And neither does Gortash behave as Roisia would have expected Bane's Chosen to behave. She would have expected a Banite to be a tyrant, a Faerûnian-version of the Machiavellian prince, who instils a terror of himself and who rules through fear. Instead, Gortash gently curates among the populace not a fear of him, but a xenophobic fear of The Outsider (whether that outsider is a cult like the Absolute or a group of people like the Coast's refugees).

Roisia—by all accounts an oppositional force to his own—encounters a man who is genuinely, fully, confidently willing to partner with her to achieve a common goal and is willing to swear a divine oath to secure that partnership...

Poor man. What a fool.

You see, Roisia is something of a Machiavellian prince. She would despise to think of herself in that way were she to read Il Principe, but she has within herself some (but not all!) of the traits and qualities that are described within. She is frequently a mirror: where she meets evil, she wields evil with aplomb. ("You desire me to kiss your foot? I think not. You shall kiss mine.") She would very much prefer to offer mercy, but if her mercy is rejected—like when Ketheric imprisons Dame Aylin once again before yeeting himself into the primordial soup—then she will dole out cruelty in equal measure. Most importantly of all, Roisia is a liar and a deceiver, all while appearing compassionate, guileless, and true to her word. Roisia only really keeps her word when it suits her purposes. Were she otherwise, she would have found that Gortash would have been faithful to his word to the last. But as the Machiavellian prince, she betrays and slays him.

Actually, having written all that, Roisia is more of an embodiment of the Machiavellian prince than I originally thought: she is virtuous and good, sure, but she is also intimately familiar with baser behaviours (lying, cruelty, conspiracy, etc.) and wields those base behaviours like a tool when and where she feels it is needed and necessary.

Which is why I was absolutely thrilled when I had her do what was only natural to her and had her speak to Gortash post-mortem. Roisia is a character who believes herself to be godless: damned and/or abandoned by Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead and Judge of the Damned, for being a Necromancer. She had a sliver of hope that she would find favour with Myrkul, but Myrkul thought only of the Chosen stolen from him. She thought, perhaps, that she might find favour with Bhaal because, let's face it, she had slaughtered and bloodied so many in her long journey to Baldur's Gate, but the skull only wept blood and that was that. Bane, however, actually speaks to her, acknowledges her, validates her. She won his favour the moment she betrayed and slayed Gortash. She is in her very nature a stellar Banite. Incredible! And absolutely absurd. Thank you to Larian for programming that opportunity in. 😂

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #BG3 Spoilers #Gortash #Enver Gortash #BG3 Roisia #Act III Spoilers #Roisiacanons #rosecanons #roisiacanons

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meiieiri · 1 year ago

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water’s edge | concept dump

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ warnings: mean!gojo (but that’s not even the worst of it oh my god what monstrosity have i created), arranged marriage, illness, allusions to criminal activity that may include reckless homicide, physical battery and attempted murder. mentions of depression, cheating, physical and emotional abuse, trauma, adultery. fictional depiction of the japanese imperial family, etc.

LINK TO FULL FIC MASTERLIST HERE!

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who is the only son of the emperor and empress of Japan, the beloved and long-awaited child of his parents. As a child, he had been showered with endless praise and veneration as the one, true, legitimate heir to the chrysanthemum throne. The entire imperial household had expected the prince to inherit an unwavering sense of duty to the crown and to his people much like his fore-bearers, only to be severely disappointed when the prince turns out to be a pathological card shark with ambiguous morals, and a serial womanizer who has slept with countless women from aristocratic backgrounds during the height of his bachelor years.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who finally incurs his father’s wrath after a nasty bar brawl that leads to him getting unceremoniously arrested and is stripped of his title and properties as crown prince, favoring his half-brother, Prince Suguru Geto, who had been born of the emperor’s affair with one of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting. This incident has prompted his mother, the empress, to help in ratifying his public image by arranging Satoru to marry a commoner with an impeccable standing in Japanese society in a bid to re-portray Satoru as a responsible, married man. The empress, in turn, offers to grant you, Satoru’s future wife-to-be, anything your heart could ever desire.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who engages in a pantomime act of being a loving husband to you during a state banquet by showering you with endless praise in his speech addressed to all the world leaders in the Akasaka Palace’s reception hall. When he was asked to introduce you, his new wife, the honeyed words came so easily to him. “You see, the princess (Y/N) is no ordinary woman,” he chuckles into the microphone causing the guests to giggle at the sight of what looks to be a bashful newlywed.

“Other than being the first breath of fresh air our family has ever had the pleasure of knowing in so long, and the most active member in our family when it comes to supporting the many royal charities and foundations, she is…” he trails off. You dared to follow the wandering gaze of your husband, who seems to be searching for another pair of eyes in the room. His eyes eventually stop their search, softening at the sight of the one he loved. For a second, you think he is looking at you, and your heart naively skips a beat in your chest as if all these months of inattention and animosity were finally coming to an end.

“…My better half, the keeper of my own heart.”

Many of the ambassador’s wives who sat beside you nudged you in congratulations for being so blessed with such a devoted husband. You crane your head back to smile warmly at them for the kind words only to have ice coat your veins instantly when you see his Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, sitting about two seats behind you, staring directly at your husband with a wistful look in her eyes, exchanging words of love in a silent oath — one that is far more certain than the rising and the setting of the sun as each day passes with your husband hating you a tad bit more than yesterday, and one that is far more truthful than the wedding vows you shared.

Of course, writing this godforsaken death march-like speech was easy for Satoru, simply because these words of devotion and love were never intended for you anyway; this poetic spiel was written with another woman ensnaring his mind.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who sneaks out of bed during your wedding night, sparing one last cold glance at your sleeping form before he saunters out the imperial villa to meet his girlfriend in a nearby mountain resort, about half a mile away from the villa. His personal chauffeur had been sworn to secrecy, else, he would incur the wrath of the crown prince.

“I thought you couldn’t get away,” Himiko moans wantonly into his mouth as he roughly takes her from behind, the lewd wet sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the room. He had taken the liberty of secretly bringing Himiko along to your honeymoon, by booking the most expensive suite in the resort for her under another name.

“The bitch is too fucked out to even notice I’m gone— mmph—“ he throws his head back, releasing a pleasured groan when Himiko meets his sharp thrusts, grinding teasingly on his cock as she does so. He grips her hips tightly, readjusting his hips to pound into her from another angle, the muscles on his abs tightening as he gets lost in the feeling of her tight, luscious walls. “Sh-shit, ‘m-m gonna cum—“

“—Ah! S-Satoru,” she was close too, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the fat tip of his member roughly prods at her cervix.

He half-expected Himiko to be angry with him for engaging in intimate acts with you, but she simply acts like she didn’t hear him. And even if she was upset, why should he, of all people, apologize? She should have known that becoming his mistress entailed having to endure these kinds of things as these were simply Satoru’s marital duties, and by extension, his duty to the crown.

His high washes over him like a tidal wave crashing into the rock shore, grunting as he involuntarily thrusts as he releases inside her, Himiko collapsing onto the pillows as he does. “O-oh, haaa- agh,” his deep tenor moans into her long black hair as his seed paints her walls, holding her close to his form, their heartbeats racing a million miles an hour.

He pulls out his flaccid cock, plopping down next to her, pulling her small frame for her head to rest on his chest. “I just need to have father reinstate me as heir apparent and return all my estates, then,” he kisses her once, his lips moving in sync with her soft ones.

“…We’ll get rid of her.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who blatantly and publicly humiliates you by bringing along Himiko Zenin to a state visit to the imperial family’s counterpart in Monaco rather than you, his rightful wife. And when asked of your whereabouts, Satoru simply replies with a casual shrug, his hand squeezing Himiko’s smaller ones as she usurps the banquet thrown in your honor by the Monacan royal family while you watch the horrific scene unfold on your television screen, your heart shattering into a million pieces as Himiko and Satoru uncaringly waltz with one another in front of the watchful eyes of the entire world throughout the evening.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who crucifies you for your acts of sincere charity, believing you to be actively humiliating Himiko despite having no intentions whatsoever resembling his baseless accusation. “Did you honestly think your little publicity antics would go unpunished? I bet you were just itching for the attention, weren’t you?” he snarls at you the second you come back from a visit to one of the hospitals you had commissioned for the treatment of children with rare diseases, a compassionate act which had been heavily televised by national broadcasting stations and even international news agencies. “If you wish to compete with Himiko, wife, then, by all means. But I swear to you, I will do everything — everything I can — to make the entire world know just how much of an opportunistic whore you are—”

You gaze up at your husband with fear in your eyes. “…I was not competing with Himiko, can I not care for our people — your people? I’m sure they need someone to promote their interests when their own prince couldn’t be bothered to do so!” you retaliate but are quickly shot down when he throws his scotch glass at the wall, causing you to flinch when it shatters on impact.

“I will make sure this humiliation you dealt to Himiko will return to you tenfold, (Y/N),” he dangerously seethes, coming to the aid of his mistress. “Celebrate your victory all you want, wife, but make no mistake, this is far from over.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who indifferently scoffs when you crumble into a sobbing mess after yet another argument with him. “W-what can I do to make you not hate me so much? P-please tell me, Satoru.” The only response you receive is your husband dangerously moving closer to you, his eyes, dark with pure loathing. Instinctively, you step backward, only to be met by the cold wall of your shared bedroom. “S-Satoru—“

“—Here’s what you can do: do exactly as I say, without question,” he traps you between his arms, his breath hot on your skin, his lips dangerously close to yours, his voice dripping with the venom that could turn every silver thread in your heart into a hue that resembled charcoal black. “If I tell you to kiss me, you kiss me. If I tell you to get out, you get out. If I tell you to shut up, you sew your mouth shut or rip your tongue out, I really don’t give a damn. If I tell you to die…”

…

“…You drop dead.”

a/n: meh, just wrote this at the top of my head to get rid of this stupid writer’s block since hehe i have like eighteen drafts of jjk smut and drabbles in my tumblr folder rn help :’)

might turn this into a multi-chapter fic depending on how it is received. so lemme know your thoughts by reblogging, liking or commenting on this post!

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo x reader

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bootleg-nessie · 1 year ago

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Things that will happen in the future (based on my own experiences with time travel):

***FAQs at the end***

*All of these observations are copied directly from my notes in roughly the order I took them in

*Don’t ask about the interchanging use of past/present/future tense, you know how that stuff is with time travel

Women just started all growing three boobs instead of two. Scientists baffled

Genetically engineered catboys (no literally)

The great pyramid of Giza has been converted into a Bass Pro Shop

The entire state of Rhode Island was bought by some rich tech CEO who promptly dug a 500 foot wide trench around the entire state so that it could in fact be an island. It was soon converted into the world’s largest parking lot

Pollution has gotten so bad that fresh oxygen is now delivered straight to most homes via a subscription service

Basic necessities such as food, water, and housing are now provided for free by the government, but only for the top 1% of wealth holders

Insulin now costs twice as much as rent. “Get fucked,” say pharma companies

92.6% of new electronic appliances now have smartphone integration and require a monthly subscription to use

Most billionaires have real estate on earth’s moon

As an ongoing film experiment, Taika Waititi successfully convinced a Nebraska man that he’s been raptured and is now in heaven. He actually got Truman Show’d and now millions of viewers tune in every week to watch God (played by John DiMaggio) manipulate Robert into confronting his own views, battle cognitive dissonance, and face the realization that he might not have been as good of a person on Earth as he thought he was

Carrots have gone extinct, as have highland cows

Species of extinct animals and plants now are being posthumously renamed after the billionaires and elites most directly responsible for killing then off

Researchers discovered a sentient colony of fungus off the coast of Chile, it prefers to go by Fleebo and appears to have a incredibly complex intelligence far greater than any other observed organic being

Nobody knows where Ireland went. It literally just disappeared off the face of the earth one day and nobody bothered to question it. The story couldn’t compete in the news cycle with the recent news about a company in China that made the first real life pokemon. An entire civilization of people gone and I’m the only one who seems to remember it or even care

Fleebo and its offspring have annexed Madagascar and are threatening any retaliation with nuclear warfare and “making The Last of Us a reality.” Nobody knows if Fleebo actually has the capabilities to do this, but after the Lovecraft incident we’re all TOO goddam scared to fuck around and find out

Large snails have replaced cats and dogs as the most common household pet. Snail culture has largely taken over the world, especially Japan

The president of the United States is now decided with an oiled up twerking competition. Most people were hesitant at first but this has produced vastly more competent leaders so now everyone just kinda goes along with it

With the cost of living crisis only worsening with time, selling tattoo space on your body to advertisers has become common as people struggle to afford rent and pay their bills

North and South Korea have reunited into “Korea 2.0”

Germany has split up into East and West Germany again

Belgium and France have been annexed by West Germany and renamed “Wester Germany” and “Westest Germany” respectively

The entirety of Florida is now underwater. Most of Kansas is too for some reason that scientists refuse to explain because they’ve “sworn an oath to the eldritch gods” and that “much worse things would happen” if they did

The melting ice caps in Antarctica unveiled a lost civilization of intelligent creatures descended from a species of lungfish, predating human civilization by millions of years. They planned on hibernating for another 10-15 million years to observe the course of evolution on Earth and are very very angry at humans for waking them up prematurely and ruining all of that with global warming

The politically correct term for lungfish people is “Dipnoid” but most people refer to them by a variety of slurs, such as “finwalker” and “kelp muncher” (not that they even eat kelp)

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch has now increased to nearly half the size of what was formerly known as Canada and has been colonized entirely by pirates (the flag is actually pretty cool). The pirate nation has the 17th largest economy in the world and is projected to surpass the United States in GDP

Africa is about 2% smaller. Nobody knows why. Most people point to Fleebo, who denies having any involvement

All human-Dipnoid interaction was promptly banned by most world governments, except for the GPGPRP (Great Pacific Garbage Patch Republic of Pirates), whom the Dipnoids rely upon extensively for trade

Scientists have used DNA from fossils to recreate other species of humans. We now live alongside them like we did for thousands of years before everyone besides Homo sapiens went extinct. Racism is at an all time high

Class C and above robots are now legally recognized by most progressive countries as people

The United States government has been exposed for secretly funneling billions of dollars into the GPGPRP and using it to fund terrorist operations all over the world.

A new major religion revolving around Dave Grohl has skyrocketed in popularity. Grohilsm is now the world’s largest religion, second only to Fleeboism

Scientists discovered a new continent in the Pacific Ocean, and then promptly lost it again. Most people are convinced this was just an elaborate practical joke, but scientists “swear it definitely happened”

For a brief period of about 30 years, everything in George Orwell’s 1984 happened almost exactly as written in the book. Literally 1984

It was revealed that Jeff Epstein didn’t kill himself. He actually faked his death and spent the next few years in a drug-fueled episode of psychosis making sock puppets in a cave in Italy and then molesting said sock puppets until he died from a sock puppet related illness

Bigfoot was discovered off the coast of Georgia doing cocaine with a congregation of alligators. When questioned, he said he normally lives in Montana and was only there on vacation. He is now a celebrity, and has been featured in a number of tv shows and films, two of which he won an Oscar for. Last I checked, he was a washed up actor living in Hollywood with a reanimated Neanderthal woman

The GPGPRP raided most of England’s museums with the object of “doing exactly what they did for the last few centuries” England was understandably furious, but the rest of the world found it rather amusing

England declared war on the GPGPRP, which it promptly lost after hackers brought down the entire country’s military overnight. Much like in the 21st century, England is the world’s laughing stock

The entirety of Luxembourg relocated itself to the moon

Russia attempted to take over most of Eurasia. In retaliation to the full global effort to stop them, they launched nukes at the world’s 600 most populous cities outside of its current territory. Most of the warheads were stopped in time, but a few major metropolitan areas got hit pretty badly, including Los Angeles, Hong Kong, Chengdu, Mexico City, and Istanbul. Japan was understandably super pissed that Hiroshima and Nagasaki got nuked for a second time

In the wake of the nuclear holocaust, Canada assumed control over what was formerly Russia and assimilated many of its citizens and leaders into its own society and government. Under the new rule of formerly Russian leaders, Canada became a puppet state for the second coming of Russia. It annexed much of the United States, Mongolia, China, and a handful of other countries, becoming “the world’s first megacountry.” Crungolaska now controls a majority of the northern hemisphere

As part of a practical joke by Adam Sandler, Tom Hanks was actually marooned on a desert island like in Castaway. He lasted less than a week before he died. When I left this era of the future, Adam Sandler was serving a lifetime sentence in prison for murder

Fringe groups of crows with above-average intelligence have started popping up around the world. So far they have been observed forming small communities, crafting relatively complex tools, using rudimentary speech, performing rituals, and creating music

Aliens visited earth and had a formal meeting with many of our world leaders, but decided to leave us alone for a few thousand more years because humanity is “not yet mature enough to handle the responsibilities of interstellar travel.” They have incentivized us with a the blueprints for an Alcubierre Drive and a means to produce the exotic matter to fuel it once they deem us as being ready

The original colony of settlers on Mars has declared independence, officially becoming the first country not on Earth

We sent Tom Cruise back to space but this time we just left him there

The tether for the space elevator broke. The town known as Vatorville, famous for being the location of the takeoff point of the elevator shuttle on Earth, was completely decimated as tens of thousands of miles of steel cable came crashing back down. There were no survivors

Most people in first and second world countries have mandatory microchip implants that serve as a personal ID

Last Thursdayism has been largely denounced by quantum physicists. Current theories now revolve around “Next Thursdayism,” the belief that the entire universe was created in the future and that we all exist as a memory in the past

Synthetic organ farms for transplants and research have become a massive industry worth billions of dollars. However, there is still a huge black market for organically grown human organs, as they’re much cheaper to acquire and aren’t taxed at the exorbitant rates that lab-grown organs are

China dug a hole all the way to the center of the Earth. Turns out it’s hollow and there are people living inside. Who knew?

A university reconstructed the entire city of Rome as it was in its early days during the Roman Empire. It’s actually pretty historically accurate, except for the fact that there’s a lot less sex because it’s run by a bunch of sweaty history nerds

After Rome 2 resulted in the creation of a cult revolving around the Roman god of the dead that gained traction as a minor religion, Pluto was officially reinstated as a planet by NASA when cultists picketed their headquarters every day for nearly 3 years straight. “Fine, we’ll give these fucking virgins what they want so they’ll finally shut the hell up,” said NASA’s administrator in chief

In a display of the biotechnical prowess of Disney’s Imagineers, all the animatronics in Disney’s Hall of Presidents were replaced with clones of the originals, which went about exactly as well as you’d expect. After reports of the presidents hurling a series of racial slurs and other obscenities at the first black family to enter surfaced, the project was shut down almost immediately after it had opened. Minority admission to Magic Kingdom plummeted to 2.3% of its numbers from the previous year, making it the second whitest place on earth after a taylor swift concert

Plastic now makes up about 3% of every organism on earth by weight

Public officials are now required by law to take shrooms before running for office

Trees are considered a rare and highly sought after commodity, and are usually only owned by public institutions and the rich (the vast majority of oxygen farms use algae to produce oxygen)

FAQs:

FAQ: What time period(s) did you go to?

A: I have no fucking clue. The world stopped using the Gregorian calendar in 2063 after a gamma ray burst hit the sun. The GRB led to stellar ablation, which changed the length of a year on Earth. The sun would continue to lose mass at an accelerated rate for several more years, with the length of the year changing slightly from year to year. The world adopted a variety of different calendars which kept being updated frequently and were often super confusing and contradictory. I traveled to about a dozen different points in time, which based on my best estimates spanned within a few millennia of the current date.

FAQ: How did you obtain a time machine?

A: I think it was the 17th or 18th of June, 2055? That night, a large sci-fi looking box thingy roughly the size of a VW Bus appeared a few hundred yards away in the open field in front of my house. I tried to take a picture of the box, but for some reason the closer I got, the more the image on my camera started to become fuzzy, and by the time I got close enough to take a decent picture, the camera had stopped working altogether. I pulled open a door to reveal a corpse inside that was charred beyond recognition, who appeared to have suffocated and/or burned to death during a fire that damaged most of the interior. I also noticed a number of strange tumors and growths on the body. I pressed a random button on the remains of what I believed to be a control panel, expecting nothing to happen, but the door closed automatically and I suddenly lost consciousness. When I came to, I exited the box, expecting to still be in the field in front of my house, but instead found myself a ways outside of a small snowy village that based on my best estimates, was somewhere in northern Asia around 2-3 thousand years ago. The villagers started coming after me with spears, so I quickly ran back to the box and pressed another button, hoping it would return me to from whence I came. This time, the people I found (who were thankfully much nicer and spoke a dialect of English that I could mostly understand) told me that it was the year 506 of the PGRB-Δ4 calendar (the calendar that the United Territories was using at the time). I repeated this maybe a dozen more times trying to get home until I landed in 2023, which as far as I could tell, was the closest I had gotten back to my original time so far. It was at this point that I decided to stay and seek medical attention, as I was rather concerned about some nasty new growths on my arms and legs similar to that which I had seen on the corpse.

FAQ: Where is the time machine now?

A: No idea. It disappeared a few days after I landed in 2023. My best guess is that some poor sap found it and ended up sometime else.

(I never ask for likes/reblogs but I literally spent fucking WEEKS on this one so if you liked it pls show me some love <3)

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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Ok but what if I had to continue this story about Knight!Ghost and Presumptuous maiden!reader

She can still feel his breath on her, but the huge body pinning her to the wall ceases to move.

"...What?"

It’s pure shock.

She’s dropped so quickly she has to take support from the stones behind her.

She wouldn’t have to: Simon grabs her by the arm and prevents her from falling forward and back towards that plated chest. His eyes search for hers, and she looks up at the knight who almost raped her – in the corridor of all places like she’s nothing but a common whore. But for the first time ever there’s genuine shock, even fear in his stare. The remnants of lust flicker back alive every now and then, but mostly he looks like she just hurled a powerful curse at him when she told him she’s a virgin.

"I'm sorry,” she tries. “I’ll–I’ll never do it again. I promise."

"Bloody fucking…"

He looks her up and down, the leather straps of his armour wailing from his still heaving chest. She should bolt, now, when Simon has taken a step away from her and is clearly puzzled and confused. But she can’t: those eyes rise to hold her captive again. And now, there’s anger in them.

"You should be whipped."

"For what...?"

Her chest is heaving, too. She never knew how low her voice could get when there's want in the air and in her veins.

"You attacked me, sir. I should have you whipped," she continues like an absolute fool.

"Don't test me, girl," he slurs behind bared teeth. She finally remembers how to shut up.

"Tsk."

Simon nudges his head towards the stairway leading to her quarters. Get out while you can, the gesture says, and she gathers the hem of her heavy woollen dress and flees.

She never believed her miserable begging would stop or sway him. Simon is bound by oath and honour, or then he doesn’t want his master’s wrath upon him. Her worth is between her legs; they both know it. Defiling the king’s daughter could lose him his head.

She climbs the stairs, slips into her room and bolts the door. It should probably be strange that she’s left aching by what just happened. It should make her wake up from her silly dreams, that the only thing stopping this man from raping her is other men, not her feelings and sensibilities.

It should be considered a doom, not fate, that she only wants him more.

…

Simon never participates in the tournaments, but this time, rumour has it that he’s planning to join.

In a distressed hurry, she makes preparations for the great day. There can be no other reason for him to joust other than the wish to win her favour back. His actions speak louder than any words, and just for the sake of that, she has kept her promise. She walks the halls as if the knight called Simon never even existed. She won’t look his way even when he has his back turned on her. She only dreams about him when the moon is full and there are no more candles burning in her lonely room.

But it’s hard.

It’s difficult, and it’s a horrible fate she has to suffer, because now it’s he who can’t keep his eyes off her. Now it’s Simon who has suddenly caught her scent, who is suddenly interested in dangerous, stupid sports such as jousting that could injure or kill a man. But he’s willing to do the thing he apparently hates most – along with the fevered attention of insufferable, flirtatious maidens – because he needs a token of her favour. She’s sure of it: that’s why she embroiders a tiny ‘S’ on her finest, most precious handkerchief.

The tournament day is as beautiful as can be. Her heart is about to rend itself out of her chest when Simon approaches her, riding across the field in his heaviest grey armour. He’s surrendering himself at her mercy, and at the mercy of other people’s ridicule, rumour and gossip by making it known that he thinks himself worthy of her blessing. She wonders if she’s the one being played now: she can’t decipher why he would refuse her one day, then fight to gain her favour the next.

He accepts her silken handkerchief with a blank expression, but his eyes betray the inner turmoil when he sees the embroidery. A plain, simple token would have sufficed – the adorned ‘S’ is a bit too much, it's a clear sign. It’s ten times more clear than her earlier games, ten times more blaring than her vivacious little flirt. She could've embroidered the sentence “If you come up to my room at nightfall, I will let you in,” on it and the meaning would've been just as obvious.

He tucks it under his breastplate and gives her a sideways look that is filled with both distaste and longing. Only Simon can speak entire sentences through his eyes. They say, “You’ve gone too far,” and “If I come out of this alive, you’ll get whipped, or fucked, or both.”

And one thing she never knew about Simon was that he could joust better than anyone. There’s one dead, three wounded and five humiliated by the time Simon is declared the winner of the tournament. Everyone understands now why he never joins these things: he will only rob the fun of other knights by toying with them.

Her chosen one accepts the king’s words and the crowd’s applause with a stern but slightly painful expression. Simon would rather be anywhere but here, but endures being the centre of attention for the rest of the afternoon like a good, patient dog. Then he disappears somewhere, done with being the sudden pet of the people. The next time she sees him is in the morning as she descends the stairs.

“Fawn.”

She flinches from the now familiar dark voice. He’s been waiting for her, and almost prowls forth from the shadows when she’s floating down the steps. There’s a good few feet between them, but she can feel the heat emanating from him. Simon is always blazing like the sun, and he's always tired, downright exhausted, encumbered by pain or something worse.

“Do you always forget your promises so quickly?”

She corrects her posture under his tall shadow; she should’ve known there would be consequences for that handkerchief.

"What crime have I committed now?"

Simon never expects it when she fights back. Long, pale lashes cover the brief bafflement in his eyes, then he reaches for something under his tunic. Her heart skips a beat – he has kept it against his skin, right over his heart, instead of under the plate where he tucked it at the joust.

"This belongs to you," he holds it between them like it’s nothing but a piece of dirty cotton he wants to get rid of. Or then he doesn’t want to stain it with his hands – who knows? This man is so full of contradictions she’s having a hard time getting to the bottom of his soul. She has all the time in the world to study different characters here in the castle, but Simon remains a tightly locked mystery.

"No,” she lifts her chin proudly. “It belongs to you."

His nostrils flare for a moment – a sign of anger or exhilaration; you’d need a powerful witch to tell.

“A knight should return the lady’s favour if he survives the joust,” he mutters, clearly trying to make an effort to speak finely to a fine lady.

“You don’t have to. I made it for you.”

He grunts with frustration, then shoves her gift back inside his tunic. Then he tilts his head. A strange, dark little smile rises on his lips.

"Fawn. Did your father ever beat you?"

It’s only morning, but Simon makes it feel like they’re having this conversation in the cold, damp dungeons. Her heart shudders at the foul words, and yet, she fights to maintain eye contact. She fights both tooth and nail to look straight into the abyss.

"No."

"I can tell."

Insolent bastard, is her first thought at such audacity, but two can play this game, is the second. She takes a slow step forward and rejoices silently when Simon struggles to remain still.

"If I was your wife…" she starts softly, "Would you beat me?"

His nostrils flare again as he looks for a trap where there is none. She’s standing before him without any shields, with no weapons, and he still can’t tell, the poor man.

"I don't beat women," he finally spits. Then he succumbs to the impulse to get away from her, although it looks like he’s struggling to do so, too. He has to wrench himself free, and it gives her more power to rise rooted: to meet his crude manners, the arrogance of a dog.

"You'd never be my wife," is the last thing he says, so quietly that it’s nothing but a mutter; a sullen whisper. The birds have fallen silent, or then she can’t hear them anymore. The golden light that pours from the narrow windows makes it suddenly seem like this morning could last an eternity.

"Why not?" She whispers back.

The moment shatters – her knight escapes like he’s the fragile little fawn now. The clatter of his armour makes it known how much of a hurry he’s in to get away from the golden light... And from her.

#not so dark as the first one but still kinda dark #medieval au #knight!ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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royal-wren · 6 months ago

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Hestia, goddess of the hearth (of flame/fire), of the home, sacrifices, of buildings, of architecture, of festivities/parties/feasts. The Goddess found at the center of every room sadly does not have a lot of remaining epithets to her name, so I will attempt to give her more that ties into her domains.

Aidios - Eternal

Kloomorphos - Verdant

Polymorphos - Multi-Formed

Polyolvos - Rich in Blessings

Potheinotati - Beloved

Prytaneai - Of the Prytaneion/Prytaneis (Prytaneum, Town Hall)

Basileia - Queen

Boulaia - Of the Council

Rheia eukomos thugater - Daughter of rich-haired Rheia

Parthenos - Maiden

Khrysothronos - Golden-Throned (Of the Golden Throne/With Throne of Gold)

Pyribromos - Roaring with Fire

Pyrimarmaros - Sparkling Like Fire

Pyristephēs - Fire-Wreathed/Fire-Crowned Xenia - Hestia of Hospitality, Hestia of the Guest, Hestia of Friendship, Hestia of the Foreigner, Hestia the Protector (of Protection). The goddess that looks after everyone, who is generous, benevolent, she who is epichthonic in nature, closest to man who dwells closest to us and supports us endlessly in all our endeavors, she who gifts and gives without a second thought with much joy. Everyone will find her presence so warm, peaceful, and calming.

Philia - Hestia of Friendship.

Agathe Thea - The Good Goddess.

Arkhitríklinos - Lit. The Superintendent of a Banquet. Governer(Ruler) of the Banquet/Master of the Feast/Director of a Feast/Who Presides at the Table

Panakhaia - Of all the Greeks. Common to, or worshipped by all the Hellenes. While in the modern day we aren't any of the above for a good chunk of worshippers, I think we can all agree to apply the sentiment and use it simply as "Common to all and Worshipped by All."

Hypate (Hupátē)/Hypsistos (Hypsiste) - Supreme, Most High.

Ktêsia - Of the House/Property

Ekkleisíā/Ekklēsíā - Hestia of the Political Assembly. Lit. Gathering of Those Summoned, basically an assembly of the people convened at the public place of the council for the purpose of deliberating. In place of Guardian of Parliments

Prôtogonê - First Born

Presveira - Oldest/The Oldest

Próti kaì Eskhátēs - First and Last (Chances are that I did butcher this one, I'm just trying my best here)

Mêkhanitis - Skilled in Inventing. As the one who provides a roof over everyone's heads, the gift to make buildings and homes to live in and dwell in. The one who shares the gift Hermes created with so many of us, and the means to avoid the harshest of storms and weather.

Sekos - Of the Courtyard, or Of Sanctuaries. A Sekos (plural: Sekoi) was a sacred enclosure, sanctuary, or cella in a temple.

Lā́ïnon - Made of Stone/Rock

Líthos - A Stone, or a large rock or stone block, used as a seat to a speaker's platform, especially in the Assembly or in the Athenian agora, where archons, arbitrators and certain witnesses swore oaths

Pyrônia - Of the Fire

Pyrphóros - Fire-Bringer or Fire-Bearer

Pyrkaeus - Fire-kindler

Polias - Of the City. Polioukhos - Protector of the City. Poliatis - Keeper of the City.

Anêsidôra - She who Sends Forth Gifts

Thermasia - Of Warmth, of Heat

Pronaia - Of the Fore-temple

Sources/Further Reading:

terpsikeraunos' tumblr

Theoi.com's epithets pages

gone-arai's Hestia info dump

#hestia #hestia goddess #hestia deity #hellenic polytheism #hellenic paganism #hellenic polytheist #hellenic pagan #hellenic deities #hellenic gods #hellenic worship #helpol #yw everyone

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

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Roped In

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer is a man on the run, a man who you turned in for countless murders. What happens when he shows up at your new home after you’re placed into WITSEC?

Content/Warnings: Dubcon (I’m just putting this just to be safe), mild gore descriptions, blood, restraints, fingering, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Five: Bondage

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You never really pictured yourself running away from everything you’d ever known, to pick up and leave without as much as saying a word. Witness Protection changed that for you. You missed your friends, your coworkers, your family.. Spencer hadn’t ever been a violent person before prison. He was sweet, had a smile on his face and a playful gleam in his eye. After being framed for murder and locked up though, it was like something snapped inside of him.

He’d been faced with horrific sights behind bars, not to mention that after tampering with drugs he was supposed to move behind those cement walls, he actually enjoyed hurting the inmates who had fallen prey to the batch. He could feel a warmth flood through his veins, a blood lust clouding his vision.

He’d lost all his previous morals, the oath that he’d taken going down the drain after the first kill. It was a list of offenders who had gotten out of prison early. People like rapists, child abusers, a lot of it. He’d marked himself as an injustice collector. The only reason he got caught? Because of you. You’d walked into a scene you had no business being in. You were supposed to text him before you made it to his apartment, to let him know you were on the way. Instead, you had the bright fucking idea to walk in when he was wrist deep in some rapists intestines.

He fell off the map after that. He tossed his phone, left town, and left absolutely no trace behind. The problem with Spencer Reid becoming a monster similar to the ones he’d spent over a decade hunting down was that he knew how to get away with it. He knew how to avoid Garcia’s tracking, how to live off the grid with strictly cash and keeping his head down.

However he had connections. Knowing that you were gone and in WITSEC, he knew he’d spend as much time as he needed to find you. After all, this was your fault. All he wanted to do was get rid of the bad men and women who did unspeakable things to the innocent people of the world. He did the prison system a favor. Overcrowding was too common, so why not let a silent helper take care of the issue? Too bad nobody looked at it logically.

He’d spent months searching for you. He’d gone through so many states, so many cities. It was exhausting. The payoff when he saw you though? Oh, it felt fucking good. You’d been relocated to Tennessee, hidden off in the mountains in hopes of hiding from the man who was on the news nationwide.

You foolishly believed you were safe, under a new name and in a new city, it was hard to track you. Besides, Spencer didn’t have the assistance of Penelope anymore, that would be his main factor in finding you. You were safe. Soon the BAU would find Spencer and this nightmare would be over.

Or you thought that to be the case.

You were getting ready for a night out with a few new friends you’d made over the past few months, actually quite happy with the relocation. You’d gotten a job as an administrative assistant at a paper company, so you were quite content with an office job. It was actually a blessing, you had a good paying job with benefits.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the news within these past two weeks, every outlet in the nation reporting on the search for the dangerous Spencer Reid. You’d vaguely heard a mention in the office, however you weren’t tuned in to hear about your psychopathic ex boyfriend.

You’d been upstairs in your bathroom when you heard the sound of your door opening and closing, about to call out to your friends before you were stopping dead in your tracks. “Y/N?! I know you’re home!” The familiar voice boomed through the house, causing you to quickly and quietly push the bathroom door shut before locking it. You couldn’t jump from the second floor window, you’d break something and make it even easier for him to hurt you. You didn’t even have time to think of your options whenever you heard the sound of heavy footsteps. “Are we playing hide and seek?” His voice was getting closer, your body doing its best to camouflage behind the sink, however, you weren’t small enough to hide behind the tiny sink.

The doorknob turned, your heart in your throat. This was it. He was going to kill you, show the BAU that they didn’t help you in the slightest. It could be a taunt, showing that he’d always find you. “Oh, are you hiding in there?! Y/N, my angel, I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice was dripping with insincerity, fist angrily hitting against the door. “Don’t make me kick it in.” He said in a simple tone, a frown now on his face.

There were a few moments of silence, something that gave you a false sense of safety. He gave up. You have lived to fight another day. However, you had to cover your mouth with a shaking hand as tears welled up in your eyes when you could hear some shuffling behind the door. You were paralyzed in fear as you watched the door fall soon after, the door falling off the hinges.

“This is silly. I can’t believe you made me do that!” He huffed, tossing the screwdriver to the side. He’d come prepared with tools hidden in the trunk of the car he’d swiped. “Now, come here..” He gave a faux pout, approaching your cowered frame. You’d made a snap decision to punch him in the face when he was caught off guard, scrambling out of your hiding place before hurrying out of the bathroom.

You hadn’t gotten far though, all of the screaming for help being useless whenever you felt one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise and a hand smacking against your mouth to muffle your screams. “Shut up!” Spencer snapped, using his arm wrapped around your body to lift you.

Once you were in your room, he didn't waste time to use the rope he’d thrown on your bed to tie your wrists tightly, making you sit on the bed while he was grabbing your phone. “I already texted your friends. They are so sorry that you aren’t feeling well. Don’t worry too much, honey. We will be gone before anyone gets suspicious.” He cooed and cupped your cheek, causing you to flinch.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He sighed, patting your cheek with his hand while pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Sorry that I tied you up so tight. I didn’t trust you as much as I was willing to earlier after you punched me. That’s a killer right hook, by the way. Surprised you didn’t break my nose.” He chuckled. He was acting like this was normal, two people catching up after being apart for a few years.

“What are you planning here?” You’d asked, finally mustering up the courage to speak. “A-are you gonna kill me?” The next question came out much more shaky than the first. “I’m not gonna kill you. I’m here to talk. I know you’re scared because of what you saw but I promise that it was for a good cause.” He breathed. Yes, brutally murdering and disemboweling a man on his living room floor was okay. “You know what that guy did? He was notoriously breaking into women’s houses and raping them. I think we can both agree that he got what was coming to him.”

“He should’ve gone to prison..”

“Just for him to get released again after a few years? It’s a waste of police resources, not to mention everyone’s time.”

The part of Spencer that used to share the same sentiment as his girlfriend had died a while ago. “Look, just..” He huffed and brought his hands up to roughly tug at his own hair from frustration. “Trust me. You’re okay.”

You were staring at him, the shock wearing off of seeing the man who you assumed would’ve murdered you with no cares in the world. Now you were just confused. You assumed there would be some sort of revenge plot, a fate of suffering. Instead, you watched as he put his hands against your cheeks. “It’s so good to see you.” He spoke softly while running the rough pad of his thumb over your smooth cheek.

“I thought you left the country for a moment there. I searched everywhere. Then I landed here.. Funnily enough, I was giving up.” He hummed while eventually leaning forward to press a few soft pecks against your lips.

You wanted nothing more than to back away, to run and get help. Instead, your body gave in while your lips were pressing kisses against his lips in return. He’d reeled you back in all over again with little to no effort. Of course.

As the small kisses were escalating, your lips were sloppily slotting along with his as he took the opportunity to try and show you just how much he missed you. “My pretty girl.” His words were sweet like honey as he was pulling away. “Why don’t you let me show you how much I missed you?” The words made you shudder. “P-please do.” You breathed out, unable to help the blush spreading across your cheeks from his gaze. It was like he was a lion in the savannahs and you were a gazelle, peacefully minding your business while he plans to bounce. Plans to eat you alive..

“I’m keeping the ropes where they are, remember that. You have to prove yourself. No matter how much I adore you.” He stated. He couldn’t make any chances. He’d been to prison once and he wasn’t planning on going back anytime soon. You seemed to understand how things were going to go, willingly going along with his plans of keeping you as his.

“Perfect.” He breathed while moving to press one more kiss to your lips. His hands were tugging you to the edge of the bed while he was reaching for your hips, tugging you to the edge of the bed while offering a grin. “Now, just relax.” He cooed, hands now working on the jeans you were wearing for the night before tugging them down your legs with ease. “You had to pick the tightest pants imaginable, didn’t you?” He asked, an eyebrow raising. “I’m not surprised. Although it’s a good thing that I stopped you from going out in these. Didn’t need any obstacles in my way.” He murmured, hands ripping the panties you had on without any care.

Before you could complain, Spencer had already dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. His nose nuzzled against your inner thigh as he pressed a few kisses, biting down on the thick flesh as you let out a surprised yelp. His tongue ran over the fresh teeth marks in your skin before the muscle trailed up your inner thigh, a series of goosebumps spread over your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to take him by the back of the head and push his face into your weeping cunt, however the rope tying your hands together didn’t give you the opportunity.

Thankfully, he’d gotten the hint as he left his tongue lick a stripe up your slick slit, a low groan falling from his lips as he finally got just a little bit of a taste of what he was missing. With his hands gripping your supple thighs, he was letting his tongue flick over your throbbing clit, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. “You taste so good, pretty girl. God, I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered against your slick pussy, making you unsure if he was talking to you or your sex.

His tongue had given a few more licks to your clit before his tongue was teasingly licking around your slit, his nose positioned to bump against your sensitive nub with each movement. “Spencer..” you huffed from frustration, which didn’t seem to deter him.

You’d gotten antsy, wiggling in place in an effort to urge him onward.

When he’d had enough of the teasing though, he was letting his tongue devour your pussy. He was drinking up any slick arousal that you were willing to give him, fully intoxicated on your essence as the sinful sounds of his slurping noises were filling the room alongside your moans and begs for more.

His hand was moving up your torso before gently pushing your body to lay back against the mattress. His hands came back down as he was letting one finger replace his tongue, a low chuckle leaving his lips as soon as your walls were tightening around the long digit. “Look at this greedy pussy. Take my finger so well.” He groaned, slipping in a second finger while working on your cunt. He didn’t have enough time tonight to fully fuck you, knowing you both had to hit the road soon in order for him to get the hell out of dodge.

However, he was gonna make this count. As his fingers were pistoning into your soppy cunt, he was curling them deep inside of you, causing his fingertips to brush against the spongy button deep inside of you that made a squeal fall from your lips.

“How would you make it without me? God knows that any other guy isn’t gonna know how to make you cum the way that I do. I bet you’ve been thinking about me ever since you left.” He spoke lowly, continuing to fingerfuck your pussy at a quick pace, your velvety walls closing in around the two digits. Judging by the way they were spasming and the way your body was shaking from euphoria, he knew he had you right where he wanted you. “Gonna cum.” You warned, head thrown back against the pillow while your eyes were screwed shut.

His efforts weren’t letting up, instead surprising you by adding a third finger into the mix as he continued his assault of your leaking cunt. It only took a few strokes of his fingers before your head was tilting back, mouth wide open as you let out a loud moan. Your cum was decorating his hand now, the slick arousal trailing down his hand to his wrist before he was pulling his fingers out of your used pussy.

“Alright. I’m gonna pack you a bag and then we will get you cleaned up. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Now you were along for the ride, unable to escape. Although you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love it.

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seravphs · 1 year ago

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Act One, Chapter One: half agony, half hope

Knights are bound by duty and honor, but Gojo is more devoted to his princess than he ever was to his oaths.

Main Masterlist | AO3

wc — 10k

tags — royal au, knight gojo, princess reader, forbidden love, ballroom scene, dancing, court politics, blood, minor character death, period-typical misogyny, complicated relationships with fathers, secret meetings, flouting social etiquette by sneaking out to meet your childhood best friend who is also your loyal knight, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Next: the beginning of devotion (coming soon)

He was so still Shoko almost mistook him for a dead body. It was a common misunderstanding in her line of business, but not one she was usually startled by. As a poisoner, legally and officially a herbalist, the occasional corpse on her table wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. A lord, on the other hand, was.

Especially if it was him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t just a lord. He was the son of the former Hand of the King, the greatest swordsman in living history, and connected to the princess. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the Gojo name. It was synonymous with the royal house itself as the clan that had produced scores of advisors to the king. In nearly every generation, the heir to the throne was accompanied by a Gojo, acting as a living sword and shield.

But even with that storied history, this one was special. A young man who had risen to prominence during The Silent War, he returned home from hell as a knight unlike any other. The bards would adore him. They already did.

Most generals earned their titles by leading campaigns. Gojo hadn’t needed one. He turned the tides of the war as a single man army. They had started calling him a grim reaper, a god of death.

Shoko disliked him on principle, but she couldn’t kill a man like that. They’d have her head on a pike. She didn’t mind the idea of dying so much. What she did shrink from was the idea of dying painfully.

The princess was known for abstaining from most decisions involving the crown despite being in line to inherit it, but Shoko somehow doubted that she would remain so passive if her favorite knight was murdered. Thankfully, Gojo let out a soft breath to show her that he did remain among the living.

“I thought you died,” she remarked.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

She said something else, but Gojo wasn’t listening anymore. He was floating through a shapeless world again, chasing that moment. It slipped away from him despite his redoubled attempts to capture it. He remembered the tang of iron in his mouth. Blood spraying in the air, a mist that he could smell and taste. The leather grip of his sword in his hands, slippery with sweat.

He was trying to win back enlightenment, briefly attained and lost again just as quickly on the battlefield. A feeling of deep and solid peace had settled over him as he hacked through bodies, as if that was what he was meant to do. It should’ve concerned him. He already confused the ever thinning boundary between man and monster. That bloodshed brought him such euphoric tranquility could only mean it was growing worse, but he hated things he couldn’t understand.

He needed to experience it again. Just one more time, so he could make sense of it. The smell of blood. Wading through the dead and the dying, thigh deep in gore - it was no use. Frustrated, he let it go.

There was something soothing about the cracks in the ceiling. He stared up at it, letting his breaths come as shallowly as they had while he had been immersed in his meditative state. Shoko’s basement was chilly and dark, but it was necessary for the illegal autopsies she performed at his request. Those, and the poisons she crafted for him, were its primary purpose. It was only a stroke of luck that these qualities were also helpful for his attempts to recover his short-lived state of grace.

He was tempted to try again, but not today. There was someone too precious to keep waiting if he delayed any longer. He wouldn’t impose upon her the way he often imposed on the elder lords who tried to remind him of his place by pulling rank. While they deserved his spite, she didn’t.

Even Shoko was surprised by his sudden desire for punctuality. “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have a princess to rescue,” he said. “Dragons to slay, things of that nature.”

Shoko scoffed. “You are the dragon they have to save princesses from.”

Well, Gojo thought as he hurried down the corridor, she wasn’t wrong. He was sure others agreed with her. He didn’t waste his time with children’s tales anymore, but he remembered his mother’s voice whispering to him in the dark, curled around him in his bed. A dragon was a tool to lock princesses away. His presence deterred anyone from coming too near to his princess, so by that definition, he was most certainly a dragon.

Gojo found that he was a little proud of himself for that. Thinking of his mother had made him nostalgic. He thought she might be proud too, that he had taken such good care of the princess she herself had looked after. A dragon might trap, but it also guarded and hoarded. He had polished his princess like a treasure, lavishing her with attention until she had become a gem.

She was beautiful.

He was a soldier, so he had long since rid himself of the ability to lose his breath, but if he still could, he would’ve choked at the sight of her when he broke past the doors. She was seated so that the eye of anyone who entered the ballroom would be drawn to her first, but he would’ve found her regardless. He had promised.

Wherever you were, he would always find you.

It’s difficult to hide, being as tall as he is, but Gojo managed. He didn’t want you to see him coming. Already, he has to bite his lip to fight down his smile as he draws closer and closer. A few more steps, a detour to duck behind some random noble, and he’s in front of you.

“May I?” You don’t have a chance to speak before he’s already dragging a chair closer.

The smile on your face doesn’t match the harsh delivery of your words. “The next time you leave me alone with these miserable fools, I’ll order you to fall on your sword.”

Gojo laughs, unfazed. “Good choice. You’re too pretty to get your hands dirty. Although, you are a bit more murderous than expected for a princess.”

“You try putting up with Naoya’s simpering gibberish for an hour.”

“I don’t have to.” He slips into the chair beside you, avoiding you neatly when you try to trip him. “Watch your feet, my lady. People like me don’t have to put up with Naoya.”

People like you shouldn’t have to, either. You’re both higher ranking than he is, a princess and a lord each, yet Gojo’s the only one who gets to escape his painful-to-witness affections.

It’s only natural. A royal dowry comes attached to you. Any eligible man would have to be an idiot not to fight for your hand, but really, they’re vying for a chance at kingship. You can’t go one day without someone reminding you that you’re a physical embodiment of the crown, something to want and own.

Gojo pours himself water with a heavy hand, bypassing the wine. Watching him sip at it, you realize you’ve actually never seen him drink.

“Come now,” he says, a little softer. “Don’t look so desolate. What will I do if everyone sees you pouting? You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“You don’t have a reputation to ruin.”

“Don’t underestimate the things I’d do for the smallest sign of joy from you. Shall I procure one right now to destroy for your amusement?”

You know he wants you to smile, but you can’t. Even if Gojo can usually pry laughter from you with the ease of a trained jester, this time, your sadness weighs over you like a heavy wool cloak. It’s your birthday, but it’s not a happy occasion. Every passing year tightens the noose around your neck.

You’re a princess, and that means your life was arranged for you before you breathed your first breath. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve never had a choice.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make that face,” he says. “I’d marry you. If it came down to it, I’d take care of you.”

His words nearly cause you to spill your drink all over your finely embroidered dress. If it set in, it would never come out. He grasps your hand just as the cup begins to tip, saving you.

“Did you mistake your water for wine?” It’s a genuine question from you.

He waves his goblet around carelessly. You’re worried he might be actually drunk, but you smell no alcohol on him. He couldn’t get inebriated from just a sip, anyway. Whatever wild whims have overtaken him tonight are entirely of his own design.

“Better me than Naoya, no? I’d keep you safe.” He cracks a crooked smile in your direction, like you’re sharing a secret. “Admit it. I’d be a good husband. If I were around, you’d be untouchable.”

He’s telling the truth. If Gojo Satoru was your husband, no one would dare anything with you, but you chase the idea from your mind as quickly as Gojo plants it. You’re your father’s daughter, raised on his practicality. You don’t waste time on pipe dreams. Better the hideous truth than a lie costumed in beauty - the bite of thorns was infinitely preferable to the impermanent fantasy of petals.

Instead of answering him, you push your plate in his direction. You don’t even have to ask. Gojo dutifully takes your knife and fork in hand to cut up your meat. “Not even going to consider it, princess? I’m hurt. That was a serious offer, you know.”

“You’re insufferable. Be quiet and eat.”

Gojo’s mother used to say that the more adamantly someone denied something, the closer to the truth it likely was. You can only hope Gojo doesn’t remember, because she was right. The reason you won’t give him even an inch on the topic of marriage is because a proposal from him is the only thing you want but can’t have.

Predictably, he ignores you. He’s never known when to quit. With so little that can genuinely stand in his way, Gojo has difficulty understanding the concept of a limitation. You’re both spoiled in that sense, noble children who had never been told no.

“Think about it,” he says casually. “We’d be invincible. What other house could stand before our union?”

“I said- hello, father.”

“A little early to be calling- oh, hello, Your Majesty. You look well tonight. Is that a new ring?”

Your father cuffs Gojo around the ears. “Brat.”

He’s in a good mood, then.

“My little girl,” he says to you. “How pretty you look. I’m surprised no one has stolen you away from me yet.”

You’re not so little anymore, but you forgive him. It’s just the two of you, ever since the queen died. He’s the reason you are what you are, as cultivated as a rose in a greenhouse. The climate that nurtured you is one carefully tailored by his own hand.

“Not for lack of trying,” Gojo says brightly.

“Boy,” your father calls him, despite the fact that Gojo isn’t a boy either. A deep sigh escapes his lungs. He looks truly sorrowful for a moment. “You look just like your mother.”

Gojo’s smile freezes on his face. It’s true, he does. Through him, the king’s former hand lives again, but you know Gojo doesn’t want to be seen as an extension of her, even if he misses her more than anything.

You’re familiar with the way your father knows exactly what to say to make you feel small again. The king is someone who exudes power. His uncanny ability to pick out what you’re most sensitive to and exploit it makes even the most proud of noblemen revert to children in his presence, as if they’ve been scolded by a nanny for stealing tarts from the kitchen. It’s strange that you feel the need to protect Gojo, the strongest person you know, from that.

He reaches out and pats Gojo’s cheek now that he’s reduced him to silence. “Enjoy the night, my dear child.”

When he leaves, Gojo slumps back in his chair with a tick in his jaw. Even if the king is your father, he can’t help himself. “Nasty old man,” he mutters.

You pinch his thigh beneath the table. “Smile and look pretty.”

“Ugh, who is it now?”

“Lord Zenin and his son haven’t gotten their fill of tormenting me.”

“Hm,” Gojo says. “I wonder.”

“If you have a plan to avoid them, hurry. They’re nearly here.”

“I don’t know,” he teases. “I don’t think you’d like it very much.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like conversation with Sir Zenin very much either.”

He grabs your hand. “Then you’ll forgive me for anything that happens tonight?”

“Anything is questionable, but do as you please.”

He tugs you from your seat, pulling you through the crowd of people. Caught in his wake, you float past faces familiar and unfamiliar until the patriarch of House Zenin and his infernal spawn fade behind you.

When you turn to face him again, he’s dipped into a bow. His smile is sweet, boyish. It’s as if you’re children again, and he’s stolen you from your lessons to waltz in an empty ballroom, motes of dust that you’ve stirred up floating in the sunbeams.

He extends his hand, a sapphire burning on one finger. A dragon curls around the silver band of the ring, a nod to his heritage. Though the Gojos are a powerful and ancient house, in this moment, Gojo looks young, foolish, and all the better for it.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

You giggle, wishing you had a fan to pretend to hide behind. You’re playing pretend again, acting as if you’re characters from a storybook.

“I’d be delighted to, my lord.”

The music swells. Gojo takes your hand and presses a kiss to your bare knuckles. His lips are soft against your skin, temptation incarnate. In his grasp, your fingers tremble slightly, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away.

You’re terrified by how much you want him.

If you let him in for one second, you can imagine how easy it would be to never stop. He’s every one of your desires and hopes made manifest, tied up in a single person. Although it’s impossible, you still feel the heat of him. The warmth of his lips linger on you, a stolen moment before he sweeps you up in his arms.

This is how you remember he’s a boy no longer. The breadth of his shoulders is wide. He’s lost the roundness of youth, his face growing angular and cunning. There’s solid muscle underneath your hands as he pulls you with him, his feet beating a steady rhythm that you have to fight to keep up with.

He’s doing it on purpose, you know, testing how much you still retained all of those years of tutoring. You’re determined to show him they weren’t for naught.

When you catch your breath and master the music once more, gliding with him rather than being tugged along, he smiles like he always expected you to. He’s been like this since you were young, dangling challenges in front of you that he’s equally as excited to see you pass as fail.

The music slows. All around you, the frantic steps melt into slow swaying. You’re feeling brave tonight, so you step closer. You allow the arm curled more tightly around your waist, the tender look in his eyes. When you steal a glance around, no one is watching the two of you, but how far can you go before you lose it all?

“Don’t talk to Naoya again,” he murmurs against your skin. It tickles, and you squirm until he presses so close it petrifies you. “I don’t like the rumors around him.”

“What rumors?”

“Bad ones. He tumbles girls and leaves them with nothing. Hurts them, takes whatever he wants, and ruins their lives. I don’t trust him, and especially not with you.” His hand smoothes over a stray ruffle on your petticoat, the gesture impossibly loving. “Never with you, princess.”

You shudder at the way he says princess, feeling cut open, exposed. What has gotten into him tonight? You don’t understand. It feels like drowning, your brain always three steps behind, struggling to break the waves of your confusion.

You know you’re weak. It’s your name that protects you, the threat of your father and the royal house behind you. Alone, you’re a lamb to slaughter. You’ve been spoiled your whole life, leaving you naive and helpless.

Gojo is someone you trust implicitly. He’s always protected you. You’ve relied on him for as long as you’ve been alive, but perhaps that’s conditioned you to feel comfortable putting your hand into the mouth of the beast. Even at the chance of exposing how poorly you’ve been trained for the court’s schemes, you don’t hold back when you’re with him. He makes you feel at ease to speak freely without fearing how much you’ll reveal of your own vulnerabilities.

“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “House Zenin is one of the Three Great Houses. I can’t refuse Naoya without good reason.”

“Then marry me,” he says softly. “Marry me and be done with all of this. They don’t deserve you, anyway. They won’t treat you like I will.”

You close your eyes, feeling the telltale hotness of incoming tears burn behind your eyelids. Why did he do this to you? He was so gentle it hurt, even though you knew he was capable of terrible things. Somehow that made it worse, the knowledge that he was choosing to be kind.

“You should go,” you say instead.

Marriage between you and Gojo would never happen. Forget your father. An alliance between the strongest house and the royal house? It would be akin to tyranny. There would be blood in the streets before any of the other nobles would allow it. It’s better not to dream about impossible desires.

Thorns, not petals, you remind yourself. You can suffer the truth.

“Why?” He says. “I want to stay with you. I want to be good to you.”

“This isn’t something to joke about, Satoru.” He looks like he’d rather you have slapped him. “Never talk to me about this again. Find someone else to dance with.”

There. Your brain snags on something to distract you. You’ve been dancing with him for too long. It’ll reflect poorly on your reputation to give an unmarried man so much of your attention.

“Pick another partner,” you urge him.

His brow creases. Stubbornly, he holds onto you even tighter. “Don’t want to.”

“You have to. Everyone will whisper. I’m surprised they aren’t already.”

“Then let them,” he pleads. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Regretfully, you pull away. Darkness clouds his beautiful face. It’s unnatural. When you remember him, he’s always smiling. The instances when he directs a genuine frown at you are few and far between, but you’ve already made your decision.

Gojo stalks off in search of a new partner. Somehow, even though you were the one who forced him to leave, your heart stings to watch his back fade into the distance. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have said anything. This is what you hoped for. Still, it’s painful.

You want to find somewhere to rest after your spat, drained from a rare argument with him, but nowhere is secluded enough for you to let your guard down. Suddenly, you feel a wave of hatred for your stupid, glittering palace and the stupid, glittering fools infesting it. You just fought with your best friend and you’re tired, but you still have to keep up appearances.

Somewhere nearby, Gojo is spinning another girl, her skirts flaring out around them. You wish you could press your palms to your eyes, letting the pressure relieve your headache, but you’ve shown enough weakness tonight. Instead, you tilt your head back and breathe, trying to appear calm and in control.

It’s a good thing you restrained yourself, because Naoya is the one that finds you. His shoes are the first thing you see, black leather with steel accents. Steel, not silver, because he wants it to hurt when he kicks.

You know. You’ve heard the stories.

“Abandoned by Satoru, my lady?” You hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Gojo makes it sound so intimate, like it’s for you and him only. Naoya’s version is a bastardization, much like the man himself.

You’re too tired to deal with him, and yet, you’ll have to. House Zenin is important to your father and thus, important to you, especially when you inevitably replace him. “What are you insinuating about your princess, Sir Zenin?”

You use the proper address, the way he should’ve spoken about Gojo. They’re not close enough for him to be calling the other man by his first name.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “Don’t get defensive now.”

You want to tell one of the knights stationed around the hall to drag him away. Instead, you smile and let him prattle on. Court politics. If you ever want to prove to your father you deserve everything you’ve been born into, you have to play the game. No matter how terrible some of the players are.

“Since you graced Satoru with one, I hope you wouldn’t mind another dance.”

Turning him down isn’t an option, but when you see that everyone’s watching, you realize even more how much it really isn’t an option. He probably arranged it that way too. Demonspawn. You’d curse his house if you could, instead, you offer him your hand, cringing internally when he tries kissing it.

You can’t help but compare the two. Gojo did it better.

Like any son of a high born house, Naoya’s a good dancer. It’s the one compliment you’re willing to grace him with, as everything else about him, especially his personality, is hideous. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room. It makes you want to scrub yourself clean, even under the layers of clothes.

You’re doing this for your house. Your throne. This is nothing. None of your mantras diminish your desire to shove Naoya’s head in the cake waiting at the banquet table.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you.

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.”

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. One is enough. “I find myself rather dizzy.”

Naoya’s lips whiten with anger. He tries to grab your wrist, but someone steps between you. “Watch your hands with Her Royal Highness, Zenin. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.”

Naoya’s eyes flash, but the interloper is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction.

“Sir Getou, what are you doing?”

Getou looks down on you in amusement once you’re a safe distance away. “Satoru sent me to rescue you, of course. I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would get into trouble without him.”

“Trouble finds me,” you reply archly.

“Yes, yes,” he placates, sparking annoyance even though he just saved you from Naoya. “Are you tired of dancing yet, or do you have room for one more? I’m hoping to make an impression on potential wives by dancing with the princess.”

You’re smart enough to know that one more is rarely truly one more, but Getou did save you from Naoya. Besides, if you’re busy with him, no one else can ask for your hand.

“I suppose I can spare you a dance.”

Like Gojo, Getou is an adept dancer. He is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are unusually predisposed to the arts in any case. If the Gojos are known for their strength, the Getous are known for their crafts.

Getou doesn’t flinch from your unwavering gaze. If anything, he seems to find it amusing, although in the way one would find a puppy amusing. Gently, he leads you around the ballroom.

“Stay alert, my lady. Someone’s watching you,” Getou warns.

You follow his gaze to Gojo. There’s a beautiful woman in his arms that takes you no time at all to place, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear.

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge each other like they could.

Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. Getou is gentle with you, each movement as delicate as lilies floating across the surface of a pond. In contrast, Gojo and Yuki dance like they’re fighting, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them.

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but the pair itself seems disinterested in the crowd around them. Yuki’s eyes are closed but Gojo-

Gojo’s looking at you. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His stare is intense, eyes half-lidded. Every move is prowling, almost predatory. His eyes remain fixated on your face as he and Yuki move in a complicated, sinuous series of circles. There’s something impossibly filthy about his gaze. It borders on indecency, combined with the way he barely seems to be paying attention to dancing, giving you all of his focus instead.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.”

You’ve never been trained in statecraft, but you’ve been given the very finest of tutors in the elegant manners of the court. A show, as Getou puts it, is more than within your capabilities. You close your senses to the rest of the world, focusing on the shift of your skirts and Getou’s quiet voice as your steps weave intricate patterns across the floor.

He’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each peak in the music. Although he’s friends with Gojo, your social circles rarely overlap enough for you to spend much time in Getou’s company. You’re almost surprised by how much you enjoy it.

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone takes his place. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were placed appropriately on your upper back down to your hip. You drag them back up, ignoring his pout. He’ll be your last dance of the night.

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs.

“It was only one turn,” you tell him.

“And I never want to do it again,” he says. “The other girls don’t dance like you do.”

He’s an unrepentant liar. You might have been tutored by the best dancers your father could find, but at this level, first and second place might as well be interchangeable. He’s only saying it so you know that he wanted to come back to you, despite the fact that you forced him away.

Gojo’s a contradiction wrapped inside a paradox, at once sadistic and merciful. No one’s capable of making you feel as much as he does. Without the guidance of formal tutors to give you the education of a prince, you have no idea how to navigate the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals, war and peace. Once, you clumsily blundered through diplomacy, watching your father’s disappointment grow by the hour. You’ve since learned that complete silence is preferable to gaucheness. At least that is something your education as a princess has taught you.

But Gojo knew you before you grew into the woman you are now. He still remembers how to pull smiles and tears from you, how to push you to the brink of exasperation and coax you into brilliant happiness. He has a key to all the gates you’ve erected. No matter what you do, he always slips past your defenses.

If you keep letting him do as he pleases, you’ll be the only one who loses. Gojo is a man. If he’s rumored to be attached to the princess, it’ll elevate his reputation. He’s already the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Being thought of as a profligate would only make them worship him more. People love a little hint of degeneracy to their heroes - not too much to make them immoral, but enough to make them attainable.

A princess is not a hero. You’re not someone to attain, you’re someone to obtain. When people look at you, they only see the crown. If you’re thought of as a ruined woman, it would prevent you from finding a husband. It would destabilize the entire kingdom.

It hurts to realize that you’re that selfish. Gojo would’ve chosen you over anything, but you’re letting something as empty as reputation displace him.

Not that it’s exactly a choice. Your life has been forfeit since you were born. You don’t belong to yourself, but to the royal house. As the only child of the king, you can’t allow yourself any mistakes, not when even the barest twitch of your fingers is scrutinized.

When Gojo offers to escort you back to your chambers at the end of the night, you swallow down the desire to agree. His eyes are hopeful, mirroring your own expression. It could be like back then, when you were children, running through the halls of the grand palace without a care in the world. Except you know you can never return to the halcyon days of your childhood, before your mother died, before his mother disappeared, before everything went wrong. You try not to let the disappointment on his face bother you when you allow the knight your father sent to bring you back to your rooms instead.

You attribute the strange feeling you get in the morning to the leftover melancholy of last night. Sunlight trickles across your face lazily, not enough to raise you from your bed but just bright enough to remind you that morning was here.

You’ve never slept long enough for the sun to warm your face while you were still entangled in your sheets before. The window faces your bed at such an awkward angle that the sun has to be high in the sky before it can light across your pillows.

Usually a maid wakes you by now if you aren’t up already. Where were they?

A gentle knock at the door only makes you more apprehensive. It can’t be Utahime. You know the sound of her steps. The pacing is stilted, awkward, as if whoever was behind the door was nervous.

“Hello?”

“Oh, princess!” Definitely nervous. Not a voice you can recognize. A new maid, perhaps? But why would they-

The door bursts open. You scream as a cloaked figure lunges at you. She throws herself on top of you, trying to pin you to the bed so she can run you through with the knife she has raised in her left hand.

She’s crying. “You weren’t supposed to be awake!”

Crying and angry. Fluffy white down bursts into the air, obscuring your vision as she stabs a pillow so brutally it vomits its contents. She’s not very good, which explains her terror. Unfortunately, you aren’t very good either, and you’re pinned underneath her. Thrashing doesn’t work - at the very least, she’s stronger than you, if badly trained.

When she finally immobilizes you, she has a growing bruise over her arm from a terrible punch you had thrown, trying to mimic the way Gojo does it. Keeping your thumb outside your fist was all you remembered, and it went wide. You barely managed to hit her, and it came with a cost. She snags your wrist and pins it down.

The knife plunges towards you. It’s rusty, which terrifies you almost as much as the implement itself. If by some miracle you survived, you’d be at risk of infection.

Blue eyes flash before you. In this moment, an inch away from death, you wish you had gotten to say goodbye to him. Fear robs you of rationality. You don’t know anything but that you want to see him one more time and feel the warmth of his embrace.

“Princess, it’s okay. I’m here.”

You crack an eye open. The girl is no longer visible. The only person leaning over you now has white hair and the characteristic Gojo eyes, impossible to fake. You decide you must’ve died already. This is heaven, where your wishes have been granted.

Gojo pulls you up. His hands are warm and solid. Vaguely, you realize that you’re trembling with the same nonchalant distance that you would use to catalog the color of the pillows.

“You’re not dead yet.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

He chuckles. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “No, I could just tell by the look in your eyes.”

“The girl…”

“Dead.”

You scramble to the edge of your bed and peek over. Sure enough, she’s lying in a pool of her own blood. Her throat has been cut so surely her head is nearly separated from her body.

You gag.

“Wait,” Gojo says. He kneels to tear off her cloak and holds it in front of you. “Here, princess.”

You don’t want to give in to your queasiness, especially not when he himself is so stoic, so you shake your head. More insistently, he pushes it towards you.

“It’s only natural,” he soothes. “I’m used to this. You’ve never seen a dead body before.”

“Just come here,” you say weakly. “No, actually. I’ll come to you.”

“Give me a second,” he says, dropping to his knees. Under the bed, he retrieves your silk slippers. He slips them onto your feet gently, standing when he’s finished with his task.

Obligingly, he waits as you gingerly step over the girl. When your slipper threatens to dip into the red stain spreading across your floor, he simply grabs you underneath the armpits and lifts you over it.

Even though it’s a horrific scene, you can’t look away. Her face is frozen in a still mask. Bile fills your stomach. Gojo gently turns your head in another direction with two fingers, the touch delicate. “Don’t look.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I told you not to restrain yourself,” he says disapprovingly.

“You’re not- you’re-“ You can’t figure out the right way to finish your sentence. “Does it really get that easy?”

His laugh is short and brutal. “Easy? I didn’t even think about it. All I know how to do is kill. I don’t mind it, for you.”

You shake your head. There’s nothing to say, with a body between you and blood pooling around both your shoes, but still, your heart aches. You had known him when he was a boy. It would always be hard to see him with calluses where once his hands had been chubby and soft.

He chucks you under the chin, the gesture fleetingly affectionate. “Don’t be so despondent, princess. I’m glad to do it. That’s what knights are for.”

Knights and maids, all meant to lay down their life or other lives for you at your convenience. Utahime was too loyal to have let an assassin into your chambers by choice. Your breath catches. It concerns him that you’re teetering into upset again, just when he’s calmed you down.

“Satoru, is Iori-“ The thought is too horrible. You can’t finish it.

“She’s not dead,” he says.

Noticeably, he doesn’t say that she’s alright.

Utahime will be scarred forever. They found her slumped at the bottom of the stairs, her body dumped unceremoniously after they stole her from outside your bedroom. A massive gash opened her right cheek up, crossing just slightly over her nose bridge.

You almost can’t bear to look at her. Not because her scar makes her hideous - far from it. Utahime will always be beautiful to you. The scar is only a reminder of how you’ve failed her.

You’re a princess without any power. All you can do is fuss over her after the fact, unable to change the past.

“Princess,” she hisses, jerking away from you for the third time in as many minutes. “You must stop! I’m your lady-in-waiting, not the other way around.”

“You got hurt for me,” you say, hands balled helplessly at your side. You refuse to touch her more aggressively, for fear of aggravating her wound. The bandages wrapped around her cheek are an ever present reminder of how much she’s sacrificed for you. So are the whispers. The looks. She holds her head high, acting as if it doesn’t bother her.

“I was glad to do it. I didn’t want to be shipped off to some far away baron anyway. Be grateful,” she cracks a smile you don’t feel. “I certainly am. At least I could still join the church, if anything.”

Why do the people around you insist on destroying themselves for your benefit?

“You don’t need a baron.” Loyally, you vow, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Be careful, my lady. Some would take that as a marriage proposal, and then I’d have twice as many death threats.”

“I’d protect you.”

“You, princess? I doubt that,” Gojo calls.

You’ve been watching the knights move in and out of the arena from your vantage point on the royal balcony, but very few of them have dared to address you, much less speak to you so casually. They’re all too focused on the tourney you’re set to watch this afternoon. Only he would be so familiar with you and so unconcerned about the sparring, knowing his chances.

Utahime lets out an aggressive sigh with no regard as to whether or not Gojo could hear her. In fact, she’d probably prefer it if he had overheard. Gojo, for his part, ignores the chance to antagonize her for once in his life in order to focus on you.

“You know, my lady, I’ve heard an interesting rumor going around.”

You walk to the edge of the balcony and peer over the railing. Utahime gasps in fear and grabs onto your petticoats, afraid that you’ll tip over the fencing. “Go on, Sir Gojo,” you say.

“If a fair damsel grants a knight her favor, he’ll fight ten times as well. Twenty, even. And all the more so if it’s the princess, who everyone knows is the fairest in the land.”

Unwillingly, a smile twitches to life upon your lips. “Is that so?”

“Won’t you grant your most loyal knight a token of your affection?”

“Don’t,” Utahime gripes. “What has he done to deserve it?”

A scrap of pale blue fabric flutters in the light breeze, reminiscent of doves. Gojo catches the ribbon you’ve loosed from your hair, his fist enclosed in armor. He brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss he can’t place upon you. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching.

“I’ll win this whole thing,” he says. “I’ll defeat every knight here for you.”

The trumpets blow, calling the contestants. He’ll be wanted. Utahime shakes you lightly as he leaves your sight. “Get yourself together,” she says sternly.

“But mama, I love him!” You joke.

Her frown can’t last in the face of your teasing smile. She fixes the lace on your sleeve and collar, though they’re hardly ruffled. She can’t help herself. It’s her second nature to dote on you.

“Ah, my princess,” she sighs. “You worry me.”

You poke her uninjured cheek, trying to get her to smile. “It’s not me. You worry too much.”

Another voice cuts in. “I feel the same way sometimes, my dear Lady Utahime, but I trust no one more than you. Her mother left her to your capable hands, after all.”

Your father has arrived. Utahime smiles as the king kisses her cheek, but you can’t. You know he means it lightheartedly, but it galls you all the more that he says it so blithely. When your mother fell ill, Utahime had been the one who took charge of looking after you.

Not your father.

Not your only living parent, the man who was supposed to feel all the closer to you for your loss. Instead, he pushed you away.

You knew you weren’t being fair.

The king had been wracked with grief over the passing of his beloved wife. Along with his other royal duties, he couldn’t possibly have been expected to watch over an infant as well. You know better than anyone the toll the crown takes on a man. Stewardship of this land asks a heavy price. It’s not an easy role.

No, you can’t blame your father for choosing the country. It’s his duty, as it is yours.

You only wish it hadn’t been Utahime’s burden to carry instead. She was just a few years older, a child still when she had raised another child. In many ways, she had been a mother to you. Only now that you’ve grown older than she had been back then do you understand how much responsibility she had accepted at such a young age.

Your father turns to you. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”

“It’s barely started. Only the squires have been jousting. We haven’t seen any of the real knights yet.”

“Those squires will become knights themselves one day. Watch carefully, and you may discover a treasure worth keeping.”

As he speaks, you finally find someone worth watching, as if your father only had to say it to cause it to happen. A boy with rosy hair lunges towards his opponent. He disarms him and forces him to the ground - only to offer him his hand in exchange.

The other squire hesitates. Doubt crosses his face. Finally, he accepts the proffered hand like someone expecting an attack at any minute, but all the other boy does is pull him to his feet and dust him off. He’s more honorable than most of the knights of the realm you know, too focused on humiliating their opponents to flaunt their own glory.

Your father doesn’t notice your distraction. He’s still speaking. You bring yourself back to the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Sukuna, the King of the Curses.”

“Sorry?” You laugh.

“It’s no laughing matter, I’m afraid,” your father says gravely. “He’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom, the land where the sun never sets. Perhaps he’s grown tired of his arid land and seeks gentler climes, for his invasions have earned him the title ‘King of Curses’.”

Utahime’s lip curls in disgust. “King of Cruelty is more like it. I’ve heard of what he’s done to his prisoners. That man has no honor.”

“None,” your father agrees, “and yet it is necessary not to antagonize him. We are small if prosperous. We can’t afford it.”

Utahime looks as if she wants to speak, but she holds her tongue. She’s always been good at navigating the court. Trained under her, you wait as well. Taking your cues from her is something you’ve done since you were a child.

“Yes,” your father says, his eyes distant. He’s ruminating over something he won’t share. “He can’t be provoked. The representative he sent us for this tourney must be carefully attended to.”

That representative, Uraume, doesn’t fight like any knight you know. Their sword is wider than most of those found in your country, and half as tall as a man. Precision is lost in favor of brutality. They wreak havoc with the brutality of a butcher, tearing through the ranks of your best and strongest. Of course, he’s not the only strong fighter. There are other knights to watch as well.

“That Lady Tsukumo is doing quite well for a woman,” your father notes in surprise. “What prodigious talent. I don’t think her house has produced a fighter like that in years.”

“She’s better than half your knights,” you remind him. “Lady Tsukumo already defeated most of her bracket.”

“Yes, yes,” your father laughs. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m simply admiring her.”

As the day progresses, clear victors emerge in each division of the tournament. Uraume is one of them. Gojo is another.

They placed him against Getou for his penultimate match, knowing the crowd would go wild for a contest between not only two of the best knights of the realm, but sworn brothers. Although Getou is better than most, Gojo is more of a natural disaster than a real, human adversary. At the end of their round, Getou smiles even as Gojo brings him to his knees.

The next round is even more hotly anticipated than Getou and Gojo’s.

Gojo strides into the center of the arena with the classic arrogance he’s known for. He delights in riling the crowd up. They cheer louder and louder on each circuit he laps around the arena on his silver stallion, pale as moonlight. By the last, they’re nearly delirious with passion for him.

Uraume has no such pretenses. They’re a cold creature, as frigid as they come.

It matters not. Gojo beats them so easily that it can only be described as disrespectful. He rides past Uraume and thrusts the hilt of his sword into their stomach with such force they fall off their horse. Gojo dismounts casually. He hadn’t even used his blade. He flips Uraume onto their back with a boot and steps onto their breastplate, pinning them in place. His sword hovers underneath their chin, a whisper away from death. “Yield,” he says pleasantly.

You, remembering your fathers speech about Sukuna’s chosen representative from that morning, glance to the side. He’s smiling as gently as ever. Underneath his cloak, where only you and Utahime can see, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

After the match, you recognize one of the men rushing Uraume off to be one of your father’s most trusted advisors. He must be doing damage control, but then again, when is he not when Gojo’s around?

Your father stands, as composed as if he had never been upset in the first place. You envy that self-control. You’ve always aspired to your father. In your eyes, he was the perfect ruler - perhaps because he was the one who taught you what a ruler should be.

Gojo waits in the center of the arena. He’s beautiful as always, as fierce as an avenging angel. There’s a fine sweat beading at his temples in a way that makes you want to wipe it off with your handkerchief, but you abstain, knowing thousands are watching.

Gojo has no such scruples.

When it’s time for him to be awarded his laurel crown, he kneels - not to your father, but to you. A gasp rises from the crowd. You stifle your own shock. Here, where every sign of weakness is clearly visible and easily taken advantage of, you can’t reveal that this wasn’t planned. The royal family’s control over its retainers must appear immaculate - even if Gojo had always been uncontrollable.

Wordlessly, your father passes you the laurel. You know something is brewing. He can only tolerate Gojo’s outlandish behavior so many times. But this isn’t the place to worry about your father’s incumbent wrath, so you take over the duties of honoring the victor. It’s easy. You’ve seen your father do it enough times to be able to replicate it in your sleep.

Gojo rises from his knees, a hungry smile on his face. “I told you I’d win.”

“That you did,” you reply noncommittally, trying to figure out how you’re going to discreetly get him out of the arena without your father attempting to try him for treason.

He frowns. Knowing him and the type of maneuvers he’s likely to pull, you put a respectable amount of distance between the two of you as you mark his brow in gold paint.

When you grasp his hand to lift his arm into the air, he presses something into your palm. Years of sharing secrets and playing pretend at espionage have trained you not to flinch. When you lower your enjoined hands, you slip the shred of paper he’s passed you into your pocket.

People are cheering. You notice with warmth that he looks heroic, like he’s stepped right out of an old legend. Your father doesn’t seem to agree.

Arguments between the two of you used to be few and far between, but lately it seems like you can’t do anything right. You’d forgotten what it was like to retreat to your parents’ bedroom for a scolding. It hadn’t happened since you were a child, yet here you were again, studying the fabric of the draperies to avoid eye contact with your father, just like you had when you were younger.

“He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you start. But that’s not true, and you know it. So you try again. “He wasn’t trying to cause problems. He cares about the kingdom, father. He was just trying to show off his - our - strength.”

“Gojo is a liability.” How easily your father casts him off, marks him as defective. He’s always been like that - clinical in his appraisal. You lacked that precise, indifferent ruthlessness. You’ve tried.

“He’s a good man, a good knight. House Gojo has always been loyal to us, father. Remember his mother? Remember Sorashi? She wouldn’t want you to treat her son like this.”

Your father flinches. First comes sorrow, then, anger. “Don’t speak to me about Sorashi.”

“You can’t just pretend like they never existed! Sorashi, my mother-“

“Child, you are testing my patience dangerously.”

You fall silent, hating yourself for it. Always a child. Never someone worth listening to.

“You don’t understand anything,” he says more gently.

“I don’t understand anything because you won’t tell me anything!”

“You’re a princess,” he snarls. “You’re not supposed to know anything!”

You reel back, stunned. You had always been afraid that this was how your father truly felt.

“You have no sons, so it’s me or no one else.” Disgust fills you at the fear in your own voice. Weak. Pathetic. After all these years, the lessons your father gave you still haven’t sunk in. Perhaps he’s right, and you’re not fit for the throne after all. You’re still begging for what you want instead of demanding it like it’s what you deserve. A prince wouldn’t act like this, but you’re not a prince - only a girl who was never taught how to rule.

He throws up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about sons. See, you’re too young and inexperienced. This is why I won’t let you in yet. You’re not ready to rule.”

“But I will?”

He gives you a wan smile. He’s tired. Guilt seeps through you. These days, all you do is fight. You miss the times when it felt like you had worked together. At the end of all of it, you love your father. You hate that it’s been like this.

“All in time, my child. I love you, I really do. But you’re not ready.”

Mutiny curls under your tongue. You’re not ready because he waited too long, hoping for a male heir until your mother died. By then, it was too late for you to catch up on years of lessons you should’ve had. Regardless of what he says, you know how he feels. You were never the one he wanted but-

He’s still your father. When he reaches out to stroke your cheek, a peace offering, you close your eyes against his hand and don’t give voice to your treasonous thoughts. It’s nothing to suffer the humiliation of your status for a while longer. You have all the time in the world to earn your place.

Your father is right, in the end. You can be patient.

Back in the privacy of your room, you unfurl Gojo’s note. Gojo’s mother had him trained in elegant cursive that he uses for formal documents and letters. In his messages to you, it degenerates into chicken scratch. It’s a lucky coincidence that it’s all but unreadable to anyone else, making it a code only you can decipher.

The gardens at midnight. - S.

Only a place and a time. Is he trying to tempt fate?

You indulge in the idea of not going, especially since things are already tense with your father. All the way up until the hour you need to leave, you let yourself believe it’s not happening. It’s too risky. People are already suspicious of you as it is. The minute passes, and if you go now, you’ll be late, so you won’t.

You grab your shawl with a huff of annoyance. You’re going. You were always going to go, from the very moment you got the note.

You aren’t used to sneaking through hallways you usually glide through. There are several close calls as you make your way closer and closer to the gardens. Multiple times, you’re forced to make a run for the nearest door or drape to hide behind.

You’re barely two feet away when you’re finally caught. A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence.

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.”

You bite him.

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why would you do that? You scared me!”

“You’re not careful enough, princess. Did you even notice the maid coming up the left hallway?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t. It’s lucky that he was there to save you.

Gojo has always been there to protect you. The tension bleeds from your body. You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it.

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?”

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.”

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. His very presence is the promise of security. It makes it too easy to relax when he’s with you.

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he remains silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. “Satoru?”

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You raise it to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised to release the scent into the air.

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease.

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s too.”

You freeze.

“If not marriage, then knighthood. Let me be yours, in whatever way I can have you.”

“You have me,” you tell him. “You always have.”

You don’t know how to answer such devotion. Besides the obvious political ramifications of being wedded to Gojo when your marriage is meant to be a bargaining chip used for the sake of your kingdom, you don’t want it. Not like this.

Gojo has been your dedicated shield for so long, the two of you have forgotten a life where he wouldn’t give up everything to protect you. He’d do anything for you - even that which he should hold sacred for himself. His very body is littered with scars that he’s received on your behalf. How much more can you take from him?

Does Gojo really want to marry you or does he want to protect you? Will he play the part of the devoted servant for the rest of his life?

“You don’t have to…” You realize you don’t know how to say it. Or that you don’t want to. Selfishly, a part of you can’t bear to release him from the oath he gave you when you were children, though he couldn’t have known. Neither of you could have understood what it meant for him to kneel at your feet and swear his life to you. It had all been in good fun, the way children understand things. “I don’t want you to- Oh, Satoru. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done enough for me.”

For a second, your imagination plays tricks on you. The cobalt of his eyes kindles into a terrifying flame, like the lightning in the town he hails from. It’s as if the draconic blood his ancestors claimed still lives within him.

He continues as if he hadn’t heard you. “I’m going to ask your father tomorrow. I want to be your dedicated knight; I won’t wait any longer. I’ve waited enough.”

His pushiness feeds your annoyance. You cling to it, preferring it to the dreadful hopelessness inside of you. The right thing is not always the easy thing. Gojo deserves his freedom after wasting his youth on keeping you safe, yet letting him go feels as difficult as willingly driving a nail through your hand. You want to cling to him forever, reassured by his strength.

“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm.

“At the ceremony,” he says determinedly. “When he gives me captainship in the army. He’ll have to say yes if I ask him then.”

“Satoru, please-” Your voice wobbles embarrassingly, and you have to pause. Silently, you beg your tears not to fall. The way he disarms you is humiliating. You turn away, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you has taught him a lot. He bandaged the scrapes that you refused to cry over and avenged your honor after you pretended your pride hadn't been hurt. He can see right through you. “Please don’t.”

You see the frustration on his face. He’s not a man used to holding himself back, and yet he does.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.”

It’s just another number to add to the tally of favors you owe him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-”

“I know. Though I do think the king will ask me anyway, so this is all pointless.” He looks away. “I just wanted you to- Nevermind.”

“Really?” Doubt colors your voice.

“I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?”

“He doesn’t like you,” you point out. “No, he does, but it’s a very begrudging like. I don’t get it.”

It makes you smile, thinking about the way your father can’t stand Gojo but won’t allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. He’s still a Gojo after all, no matter how much trouble he causes your father, and your father loves Gojos. The royal house has always held their house dear. They had been close for decades. Always, they were something to the other, no matter what form that something took.

“There you are,” Gojo murmurs. His fingers trace the arc of your mouth. “So pretty.”

You glare at him through tears. “And whose fault is it that I cried?”

“Your father’s?”

You scoff. “You see? This is why he doesn’t like you.”

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him for it if I have to.”

“Don’t do that,” you gasp.

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor.”

You look at the crushed violet in your hand.

Who else but Gojo?

He breaks you down so easily. You press the flower back into his palm. “I know you’ll do what’s right.”

His eyes soften. He leans closer.

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?”

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever.

You nod, fearing your voice will give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. Does it look like a real kiss from afar? Did he mean it to?

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.”

“A new plaything?” Asks Yaga. “I’m not so scary, am I?”

Gojo notices you tremble harder as the voice registers. Lord Commander Yaga is close to the King. As the captain of the kingsguard, he could ruin everything.

Gojo lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face. He pulls you towards him, arranging your legs around his waist. A soothing hand traces a warm path up and down your back. It calms you as much as it shames you. You’ve never been this close to any man, not even him, and now you’re cuddling only for the sake of protecting your secrets.

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard,” he says casually, as if the two of you aren’t trapped in an extremely compromising position. As if your father wouldn’t demand his head on a pike if Yaga realized who it was.

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?”

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully.

That night, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yaga gave no sign he recognized you. He acted as if he normally would upon encountering any soldier of his on a late night escapade, profoundly disinterested and deeply desirous to get away. Only in the morning do you begin to doubt your deception.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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