#shocked with a capital S

[blackbat05]

Not trying to be an overthinking or what others might call being “sensitive” but-

Because the whole saga of not being able to hire a librarian for 6 months basically had a domino effect, I have been doing after school duty for those kids who can’t leave the moment school ends. Last academic year had way more kids (this semester only had 3, 4 maximum).

So, yesterday I agreed to ply after school volleyball with the high school and it started at 3pm. Had to look for cover for the remaining time. There were only 2 kids because 1 was absent. TA 1 said she couldn’t because she was doing a webinar so I had to ask TA 2 which thankfully she was available. The story could have ended there lmao.

She comes in and proceeds to tell me which of the library decorations and arrangements were made by her and the previous library assistant before me (which by the way I heard her attitude wasn’t exactly great either) and comments how the library is packed with books (good or bad I don’t know). And I’m here like???

Sure we all like to walk down memory lane (myself included) but that just rubbed me the wrong way. Telling that to a person who had to cover TWO library operations for SIX months, having to endure that whole HR nonsense and basically just doing about everything else because there’s not exactly an abundance of staff.

I honestly felt like whipping out the file of activities that the kids did during library lessons (if I can call them that) and showing it to her along with my HS workshop schedule.

I mean I saw her covering the art class but that was like what only 3 days on a Friday because the Art teacher mysteriously took leave always on that day (hey we’re all entitled to it but you see my point).

My point is if she wanted to compare she could have said so I’ll gladly do that.

So glad it’s going to be break soon~

[tenderlady]

so the monkees are actually good

[wildfangz]

Grabbing my ipad and cracking open simblr like it’s the morning paper. But instead of coffee I am sipping a root beer

[reallyromealone]

Title: oh hey a mate(s)

Chapter: one

Fandom: obey me

Pairing: demon brother's x male reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, readers got truama, internalized gender hatred, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of being a breeding tool, self hate, reader doesn't really understand sex, sexual themes, omegaverse, male reader, mentions of mpreg

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

"HE STOLE THEM FROM ME!" (sisters name) Screeched out in a rage as she threw things around "they were supposed to be MY mates! And he stole them! That whore stole them!" She was hyperventilating at this point as her body shook, feeling robbed of her alphas.

Of her life, the thing she wanted more than anything.

"I know sweety but maybe we can set you up wit--"" I don't want someone else! I want the princes!"

And she was going to get them.

She swore it.

'fuck you (name)'

Holy shit this place was big.

God he felt under dressed, especially beside these alphas who were dressed so fancy and perfect.

The floors were marble and two grand staircases winded on each side and paintings that had to be centuries old hung on the walls "we will have one commissioned for you soon enough... Maybe one with us all" Belphegor yawned as he wandered the halls "for now, let's get you settled in" he said and looked to a nervous looking Leviathan who nodded.

(Name) Was nervous as he walked beside the demon who seemed to want to be anywhere but here "I-im sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting... I'll try and not step on your toes" (name) whispered, anxiously fiddling with his fingers and looked down "i-i dont-- fuck... I'm really nervous and anxious and just I don't really talk to omegas often so I'm just--" the demon seemed panicked and (name) felt relief flood through his veins as he pumped out calming pharamones for the Alpha "hey... I get it, if it's any consolation... I'm not great with people either-- hell I think this is the first time I ever left my families property!" He laughed a bit but Leviathan was shocked at his words "you never been into the capital or even your home town?" He asked genuinely and (name) shook his head "nah, my parents didn't trust me going out there-- you know how troublesome an Omega can be"

What the fuck? That's all Leviathan could think as he looked at the Omega worried "I- you're not troublesome?" He whispered and (name) just smiled "I try not to be" (name) giggled a bit as they continued to (name)s apartment, the Omega expecting a quaint bedroom but...

"I think we went to the wrong room.... This is awfully big" (name) said softly to the envy demon who looked confused "you like your apartment?" Asmodeus popped out from nowhere and pulled (name) close with a flirty grin "we had the butlers being your things in, don't worry we didn't let them unpack... Pharamones and all that ~" he pulled (name) into the apartment and (name) felt overwhelmed by all this "there's a nesting room there~ if you need help don't hesitate to ask"

"A-are you sure?"

"Sure of what?"

"That this is for me?"

"You are to be our mate, I personally wanted you with me but Luci wanted you to have your own space... Something about acclimating" his words teasing and (name) chuckled but cut short when his stomach growled and the two demons looked curious "oh yeah! Humans need to eat for survival!"

(Name) Felt embarrassed as he silently cursed his stomach for exposing him like this as the demons looked at one another in a silent conversation.

They were definitely having a sibling meeting later.

(Name) Dissociated during the rest of the evening, eventually ending back in the rooms he was given, the size of his old house if not a bit bigger...

Everything was pristine as he took out his belongings, his prized possessions and small hobbies to occupy him.

A few heirlooms and books and his childhood stuffed toy 'this will go in my nest' he thought as he looked at the nesting room doors, two ornate doors in a rose gold shade, the apartment all light colors unlike the rest of the palace.

It was a strange contrast, almost like they didn't know what to expect so they just made what they thought humans liked. It was funny really, demons trying to understand what humans wanted or needed as he was doing the same, wondering what these demons wanted or liked.

Getting up he went to the nesting room and was overwhelmed by the nesting supplies he was given, piles and piles of blankets and pillows and soft things, his purring could probably be heard from outside the apartment as he snuggled into them, a sense of safety he wasn't quite used to washing over him.

He was excited to make a large nest, spending half the night making it perfect for him to rest in and just not think about the fact he was to be mated on his next heat to seven strangers that were also fucking royalty! Well there goes not thinking about it because here he was!

Also his sister! Holy shit she was mad! And like at his wedding she will be there! Fuuck!

(Name) Was just sitting there head in hands as he processed the fact that within 24 hours he was now engaged and now in the public eye!

(Name) Curled up closer into his blankets and let out a shutter of a sigh, he wondered if he would be able to do the things he enjoyed before... Would he be allowed to garden? Would he have to dress more Omegan? Or would he be able to wear clothes that were comfortable?!

He needed to walk, movement to process this.

Getting up he walked out of his apartment and into the hall, dark and grand, ceilings at least 15 feet tall and paintings lined, some he recognized as the siblings and some unfamiliar as he walked around curiously.

Somehow he made it to the kitchen "I hope they don't mind..." (Name) Whispered as he sliced an apple, careful and gentle as his stomach growled a bit.

"Can I have some?" A voice startled him out of his thoughts causing him to slice his finger "shit!" The voice said and (name) looked to see Beelzebub who in turn looked a bit startled as he took (name)s bleeding finger and put it in his mouth, the Omega looking thoroughly concerned as Beelzebub sucked on the blood "I feel like this is incredibly unsanitary" (name) whispered worried and beez released his finger "demons saliva can heal amongst other things, depends on the demon really"

"Oh " (name) said dumbly as he looked at his wet but healed finger "what else does your saliva do?" He asked curiously and Beelzebub smiled at the others cute and curious expression "ah, well besides healing my saliva can work as an aphrodisiac if ingested!" (Name) Looked concerned and Beelzebub laughed "don't worry, it only works if I were to like make out with you or eat your ass!"

And now (name) was flustered as the gluttony demon kept laughing at his embarrassment "so why are you up so late?" Beelzebub asked after calming down and sealing some apple slices and cutting up some more, handing (name) an orange "just... It's stupid"

"Oh please!" Beelzebub pushed and (name) sighed "I'm just... I'm having trouble processing this stuff, it's stressful and like-- I never left my property let alone this! My sister wanted to be with you guys and she's already insufferable, this is just worse! I'm just paranoid that you guys are going to realize that like this was a mistake and reject me and like the fear of being an Omega in general! Will I be able to do the things i enjoyed before? Will I be a breeding tool?!" He was hyperventilating now as Beelzebub panicked "hey hey, calm down! It will be alright and-- no we aren't making you a breeding Omega.... shhh" beez tried to calm him as footsteps quickly made their way to the kitchen.

"What is happening?" Lucifer and the others seemed startled as the smell of distress was heavy in the kitchen "he's worried we will strip him of his rights and make him carry our young" Beelzebub explained as he lifted (name) into his arms and set him on the counter "were demons but we aren't monsters" Satan said disgusted and Asmodeus smiled "we would never do that unless it's what you're into~" he teased the Omega as they crowded him "I know it's an incredibly hard adjustment but know we mean well, it's literally impossible for us to not fall for each other" it's true soulmates would eventually fall for one another due to the bond "and we are sharing one mate so that means you have seven people to love you" mammon said in a rare moment of genuine care "what do you mean?"

"Oh yeah, he knows basically nothing about secondary gender or soulmates" Levi said softly and the demons looked horrified "well I know what we are doing tomorrow" Satan said simply and (name) looked ashamed and couldn't meet their eyes, feeling stupid for his lack of knowledge.

"Well his town is backwards" Belphegor yawned and wandered off back to bed now that the problem was solved "goodnight...."

(Name) Was led back to his room by Beelzebub and Asmodeus and looked confused when they put sweaters in his arms "the smell of your alphas will calm you~" Asmodeus said simply and the two wished him a good night.

And for once?

He sleped peacefully.

(Name) Spent the next few days learning about soulmates and secondary genders, the two interlocking "when your heat comes, it will be dangerous for you to not mate with your soulmate" (name) read the book in his off time, the book explaining how the bonding is key to not cause rejection symptoms or a drop, he definitely didn't want that. Fuck how does he have sex? Fuck.

Time to go figure that out, he really felt behind on this shit.

(Name) Made home in the library as he looked for any books that would aid him "Hmm? Looking for sex books ~ didn't know our omega was like that" Asmodeus seemed to love just appearing out of thin air and scaring (name) who dropped the book "i-i it's not like that!"

"Hmmm? And what is it about? Oh you're so cute when your flustered!" He cooed and (name) huffed "I am trying to figure out like, how sex works and stuff... I wasn't exactly taught... Just put on suppressants so my family could avoid it" he just constantly felt ashamed with them, their faces of realization and pity as (name) tried not to cry "well, if you like I could teach you~ don't worry I won't touch you where you don't like" Asmodeus could get used to his omega so flustered as he got closer, his alpha giddy at his mate being untouched "the first thing one should know is their body after all~"

"I- uh... I'm not sure..."

Asmodeus let his lips barely touch (name)s as he caged him against a bookshelf and smiled, his tail flickering and (name) seemed a bit startled by it All as the demon gently kissed him "that was... Uh.." "your first kiss?"

"Yeah..."

"Did you like it?"

(Name) Could only nod as the lust avatar giggled sweetly at his adorable Omega "oh, you're going to fit in nicely here~!" He doted on (name) a bit "don't worry darling, we won't do anything your not ready for but if you're willing... To experiment a bit, I'm always a summon away" and with that he was gone, (name) left with nothing more than the smell of his pharamones, sweet Jasmine and warm vanilla.

It wasn't till after lunch that Lucifer brought him to the gardens, a small greenhouse and a garden plot stood "we had it cleaned up, you said you liked gardening" he said simply and looked down at (name) who looked like he was given the potion of youth "really? Thank you so much..." (Name) Was releasing the happiest pharamones and Lucifer kept composure but god damn did that boost his ego as an alpha, making his mate happy.

"Just clean yourself off after you finish" Lucifer said calmly and (name) beamed at this "of course!"

(Name) Puttered in the greenhouse and began planting things, thankfully it was early in the season so he had time to make a nursery for plants "oh, sor--" (name) immediately shut up as he saw Belphegor sleeping in a sun beam, cozy and calm. Looking around (name) found his cape that Satan had made for him and covered the demon with it "it's still chilly" he whispered and went back to work, unaware the demon was awake and watching intently at the Omega who was carrying heavy pots and sacks of soil around.

(Name) Kept quiet for the Alpha, he must be so exhausted to fall asleep in a greenhouse of places so it would be best to let him rest! Eventually (name) moved outside, it was less chilly but a slight chill but movement will keep him warm! Using twine he found in the greenhouse he sectioned spots of the garden plots for various things like carrots and garlic amongst others, they were still in the nursery but it's good to get things ready now, he reasoned with himself.

"Your Highness! It's quite cold!" A servant panicked as she saw (name) in nothing more than a shirt and pants and apron, dirt on his cheek "don't worry! I'm alright!" He reasoned but she was not having it and removed her cape "it's not good for an Omega to be cold like this!"

Before she could drape the cape on (name), he felt fur on his shoulders as Mammon smiled with a warning "don't worry, he's warm" his eyes telling the servant to leave and (name) looked confused "oh hello!" (Name) Smiled at the demon who felt annoyed at how sweet the other was, his bond making his heart beat fast "Luci wanted me to take you into town so get ready" he grumbled and (name) nodded, a simple smile on his face as he wandered to the palace "where's your cape anyways?! It's freezing for mortals!" He chastised and (name) chirped "Belphegor was sleeping and I wanted him to be cozy!" (Name) Couldn't explain why he felt so calm and comfortable with the princes but they made him feel safe, even if they were sometimes like angry chihuahuas.

"You're weird" mammon said with no bite as they walked to (name)s area.

The tailors and seamstresses worked tirelessly to put together some clothes for (name) and his new class, the maids commenting about how the seamstress always kept embroidered sleeves on hand as the brothers always tore clothes during training--- well save for Asmodeus and Belphegor who couldn't be fucked to do stuff like that.

(Name) Felt regal, a beautiful vest made of silk and embroidered with birds and roses and a linen powers shirt and nice pants and expensive boots "you look wonderful your Highness!" A maid commented, (name) growing fond of his personal maids who cheered him in, them all being mated and married betas.

(Name) Was curious as he looked around the city, never really interacting with so many people who looked at he two in awe, the guards keeping a fair distance as he looked at stalls "you seriously never been in a city?" Mammon said incredulously and (name) looked confused "no? It's not right for an Omega to be by himself around alphas, I would be a temptation" reiterating his parents words and Mammon was horrified at the omegas genuine belief that HE was the problem and not alphas who couldn't keep their hands to themselves "well we are unpacking that later"

He didn't even want to get into the family thing, remembering the chat he had with his brothers when (name) had his meltdown and the acceptance that their Omega came from a very problematic living situation but he seemed to be acclimating well.

Or at least he hoped.

Mammon was confused as (name) handed him a stuffed bunny "what is this?" He raised an eyebrow from behind his circular sunglasses "well we didn't get to actually court because of being soulmates so I got you all courting gifts" he chirped out innocently, remembering what he was taught by Lucifer and deciding to put it in action though he seemed to have gotten it backwards as it was supposed to be the Alpha who gave the courting gifts.

"I- uh... Thank you?"

(Name) Seemed pleased as they continued their walk through the cities market, a giant hub of the equally giant city as Mammon stared at the bunny that was made of fabric the same color as his eyes, a small detail that made him flustered.

He noticed (name) budgeting, a soft smile on his face "you know we have basically endless money, right?" Well mammon didn't, he was cut off and put on a strict budget but (name)? He still had his money privileges "that's your money, this is so much!" To (name) it was a lot of money as he did the budgeting of the house back with his family, this was ten times of what they made in a year! "I am fine with this"

Hell, how did they get the exact opposite of them?!

A nervous Omega who was innocent and naive and sweet as honey!

"Oh you are absolutely precious!" Asmodeus cooed at the stuffed rabbit that fit in his hands "I hadn't even thought of courting!" He said with exaggerated sadness and (name) watched the others alphas reactions, though it wasn't the fanciest courting gift, it was a genuinely thoughtful one.

"He was worried about spending the money, he literally budgeted it" mammon groaned and Lucifer snorted "you could do well to learn that" he said as (name) seemed reminded and handed him back the coin bag, the Omega barely dented it "I got a few things for my hobbies but I brought back the change!" He said sweety and Lucifer had cute aggression at that moment as (name) looked at him with so much pride "you know you could have spent all of this right?" He said a little slow, (name) nodding "but that would be rude, I'm spending all your money without care... I don't like that"

Seriously, how did they manage to be fated with the sweetest Omega?!

"He didn't even but himself actual things for himself! He bought things to make us things!" Mammon groaned out but they all knew he equally swooned at the fact their Omega was so sweet.

But also he didn't buy himself anything, Asmodeus has had to bring him to eat and Beelzebub would put food on it.

"Rural Omega culture is different than cities, they're treated more as a commodity" a maid explained to Asmodeus one night as she helped him get ready for bed, she herself being an alpha from the boonies "an inconvenience would be a better word though, everything your saying shows he was treated like how my love got treated, need to make them feel genuinely valued" she went to explain how omegas need regular scenting and assurance to keep mentally regulated and (name) probably never had that.

Which would explain why he seemed like he was constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop despite growing used to them.

Like it was all going to go away.

His dreams were often that, every night he dreamt of waking up in his old room as his sister lived the life she wanted and he was stuck in that musty bedroom where he would rot.

"Your dreams are noisy" Belphegor mumbled as he crawled into bed with (name) and held him close, pumping out pharamones as he thought smugly about the fact he's technically been in bed with (name) before the others. (Name) Snuggled in his chest and physically relaxed, chirping in his sleep as he clung helplessly to him and he was hooked.

He wanted this more and was already annoyed he would have to share with his brothers.

(Name) Let his mates to be plan the wedding though he and Beelzebub thought of food together, the demon horrified at how little foods he got to experience and made him try everything for the wedding and smiled at his happy face with good food "these are mirangue cookies! Like eating plaster that loves you!" He exolained and (name) basically melted at now delicious it was.

Beelzebub was more than happy to share food with him, his alpha wanting the Omega to be well fed to carry his pups after all.

They were all anxious for mating, their bond slowly making them VERY intense about (name) who after weeks, finally sat close to Satan as he read with him though (name) did struggle a bit "omegas being taught to read is laughable, I taught myself as much as I could" he explained and that's when Satan decided he would read for (name), the two spending an hour or two in the library reading together like how Lucifer spent his time teaching (name) new things when he wasn't busy or just dragging him along with things.

(Name) Was always well behaved, he thought of (name)s family and how they were... How did this come out of THAT.

But now, (name) had one worry...

Would he invite his family to his wedding?

[novaursa]

Flame Kissed

- Summary: As you and Aegon never had a problem expressing your desires openly, neither did your dragons. And as both of you just tormented the inhabitants of the Red Keep, your dragons kept the whole capital awake for weeks.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has same violet eyes as Aegon, and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 1 773

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening light filtering through the tall windows of the Red Keep. Your shared laughter filled the room as you playfully pushed him onto the bed. His platinum blond hair, tousled and wild, framed his handsome face, and his eyes, the same striking violet as yours, glowed with mischief and desire.

"Y/N, you can't just pounce on me like that," Aegon teased, though he made no effort to push you away.

"You love it when I do," you retorted with a smirk, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his lips.

He groaned appreciatively, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Gods, I do. What would I do without you?"

"Be bored out of your mind," you quipped, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face.

Aegon’s touch was fire against your skin, his lips tracing a path down your neck now, setting your nerves alight. The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, lost in the fervor of young love and unrestrained desire.

"Y/N," Aegon whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "do you think they'll hear us again?"

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the distant mating roars from the Dragonpit. "Only if we’re louder than Starfyre and Sunfyre."

His eyes sparkled with determination, and he pulled you closer, his hands roaming with a possessive hunger. “A challenge, then?”

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours with a fervor that left you breathless. Your bodies entwined, you gave yourselves over to the heat of the moment, each touch and kiss a testament to the connection you shared. 

The two of you lost yourselves in each other, your movements becoming more urgent, driven by the undeniable bond. The heat between you was mirrored by the dragon fire coursing through your veins, the primal connection of your dragons, Starfyre and Sunfyre, heightening your senses.

Just as your passion reached its peak, the door to your chambers burst open. You barely had time to pull a sheet around yourself before Tyland Lannister stood gaping at the doorway, his face a picture of shock and horror.

"My apologies, Your Grace, I—" Tyland stammered, his cheeks flaming as red as his house's banner. He quickly averted his eyes, but not before muttering, "The dragon cries, the city can't find any sleep for days now... Queen Alicent wanted me to inform you..."

Aegon, always the quicker thinker, burst into laughter, his voice rich and full of amusement. "Tyland, you have the worst timing imaginable."

"Clearly," Tyland managed, his voice strained and his eyes widened further, if that was even possible, and he turned on his heel, muttering under his breath about the improprieties of royalty. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to it, then,” he stammered, practically tripping over his own feet as he fled.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you and Aegon erupted into fits of laughter, the awkwardness of the moment melting away. “Well, that’s one way to scare a Lannister,” Aegon says as he pulls you back to him, his hands sliding beneath the sheet to find your skin once more.

"Where were we?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Right about here," you replied, your own hands eager to resume their exploration of his body.

Tyland Lannister hurried through the corridors of the Red Keep, his face still flushed from the scene he had stumbled upon. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. The sound of the dragons' mating cries echoed in the distance, a constant reminder of the intense bond shared by Starfyre and Sunfyre, and by extension, their riders.

Reaching the king’s chambers, Tyland paused to compose himself before entering. Inside, King Viserys lay on his bed, looking pale and frail, with Alicent and Grand Maester Orwyle attending to him. The room was heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs and the tension of unspoken worries.

"Your Grace," Tyland said, bowing deeply. "I bring news."

Alicent turned her sharp gaze on him, her brow furrowing. "What is it, Tyland? And why do you look so flustered?"

Tyland cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. "I went to fetch Prince Aegon and Princess Y/N, but... they are currently indisposed."

Viserys coughed weakly, his voice barely a whisper. "Indisposed? Explain yourself, Tyland."

Tyland shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Alicent, whose eyes had narrowed even further. "I found them... together, Your Grace. In a rather... intimate situation."

Alicent's lips pressed into a thin line, her annoyance palpable. "This is hardly the time for such distractions. The entire capital is on edge with those dragons of theirs. It’s been a week of incessant noise, and now this?"

Viserys managed a weak smile, his eyes glazing with a hint of amusement. "Young love," he murmured. "At least they are well-matched."

"Well-matched or not," Alicent snapped, "they have responsibilities. We cannot afford for them to be so... preoccupied, especially now."

Grand Maester Orwyle stepped forward, his expression grave. "The king's health is of paramount concern. Prince Aegon and Princess Y/N must be made aware of the urgency of the situation."

Tyland nodded, still feeling the lingering embarrassment of his earlier encounter. "I will speak with them again, Your Grace."

"No need," Viserys said softly. "Let them be, for now. They will come when they are ready."

Alicent huffed, clearly dissatisfied. "Very well, but they should be reminded of their duties."

As Tyland bowed and exited the chamber, the sound of the dragons outside seemed to grow louder, their cries a reminder of the powerful connection that mirrored the one shared by Aegon and Y/N. The whole of King’s Landing was indeed on edge, the unrest within the castle walls reflecting the unease of the city below.

Back in their chambers, you and Aegon lay entwined, the earlier intrusion by Tyland a distant memory as you lost yourselves in each other once more. Aegon’s fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, his breath warm against your neck.

"Do you think Tyland will ever recover from his shock?" Aegon asked with a chuckle.

You laughed softly, your fingers running through his hair. "He might need some time. But we should probably make an appearance soon."

Aegon sighed, his hold on you tightening. "I know. But for now, let’s just stay like this a little longer. The world can wait."

You nodded, closing your eyes and savoring the warmth of his embrace. For a few precious moments, the worries of the world faded away, leaving only the love and passion that bound you and Aegon together. 

A week later, the dragons' cries had finally ceased, bringing a blessed silence to the Red Keep. The sunroom, bathed in morning light, was a tranquil haven where you and Aegon enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. You sat comfortably in his lap, sharing food and laughter, the ease of your affection evident to anyone who might see.

Aegon's fingers lazily traced lines on your thigh as he fed you a piece of fruit, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I think I could get used to this," he murmured, his voice a low purr.

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I’m sure you could. But we both know we have duties to attend to eventually."

Just then, Tyland Lannister appeared behind the servants, his expression a mix of determination and apprehension. Aegon’s gaze flicked up, and he grinned, his amusement clear. "Well, if it isn’t our dear friend Tyland. Come to join us for breakfast?"

Tyland cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "Your Highnesses, I, uh, need to speak with you both."

"Do you now?" Aegon replied, his tone light. "Well, don't just stand there. Have some breakfast first. We wouldn’t want you fainting from hunger, would we, Y/N?"

You smiled, playing along. "Of course not. Please, sit, Tyland."

Tyland hesitated but ultimately sat across from you, trying to maintain his composure. "Thank you, Your Grace. But I’m here on a matter of importance."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, his hand never leaving your thigh. "Importance, you say? Do tell."

Tyland struggled to find his words, clearly flustered by your and Aegon’s casual intimacy. "The Queen has requested that I remind you both of your responsibilities. The King’s health is fragile, and your presence is required more frequently at court."

Aegon leaned back, his expression one of mock seriousness. "Responsibilities, hm? And here I thought my only duty was to ensure my dear wife’s happiness."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning into Aegon. "It seems we’ve been neglecting our duties, my love."

Tyland’s face grew redder by the moment, his discomfort evident. "Your Highnesses, this is no laughing matter. The Queen is quite insistent that you both... focus."

Aegon’s eyes twinkled with defiance as he picked up another piece of fruit, offering it to you. "Did you hear that, Y/N? We need to focus. Perhaps Tyland has a point. Maybe we should focus on finishing our breakfast first."

You took the fruit from Aegon’s fingers, your gaze never leaving his. "I think that’s an excellent idea."

Tyland groaned inwardly, running a hand through his hair. "Please, Your Highnesses, I beg of you. The King’s condition is worsening, and the Queen is at her wit’s end."

Aegon’s demeanor softened slightly, though his playful spirit remained. "Alright, Tyland. We understand. We’ll make more of an effort to be present. But you must admit, we’ve earned a bit of time to ourselves, haven’t we?"

Tyland sighed, seeing a glimmer of hope. "Yes, Your Highness. But please, remember your duties. The realm depends on it."

Aegon nodded, his tone becoming more serious. "We will, Tyland. You have our word."

Relieved, Tyland stood to leave. "Thank you, Your Highnesses. I will inform the Queen."

Aegon’s playful mood returned, and he leaned in to whisper something in your ear that made you giggle. Tyland cleared his throat again, looking as if he might bolt from the room at any moment.

“Is there anything else, Tyland?” Aegon asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence.

Tyland shook his head quickly. “No, Your Grace. That will be all.”

As Tyland hurried out of the room, Aegon’s laughter filled the space. “Poor Tyland. I think we may have traumatized him.”

You smiled, turning to kiss Aegon softly. “We should probably behave, at least a little.”

Aegon sighed dramatically. “If we must. But only for you, my love.”

The two of you continued your breakfast, the weight of your responsibilities momentarily lightened by the shared laughter and love that bound you together. The sunroom seemed brighter, the food tasted sweeter, and for a little while longer, the world outside could wait.

[angelwonie]

ME AND THE DEVIL || coriolanus snow

PAIRING: coriolanus x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers, angst (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Coriolanus Snow is a difficult man to please. And yet you have overtaken his mind—you, the only person in the academy who seems to have no interest in him. But he is also a persuasive man, and he usually gets what he wants. There's only one problem: falling in love wasn't a part of the plan.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degradation, praise, overstimulation, manhandling, edging, crying, breeding kink, brat taming?, coryo is mean but down bad], canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and guns, morally gray coriolanus

It started with a change of seats.

In the academy, students were assigned a study partner meant to last throughout the year. The partners were to sit together in the lecture rooms, write each assignment together and support the other in weakness. The goal of this premise was to keep all students attentive and growing—the academy hardly accepted laziness and not at all incompetence. In the top class which consisted of, as the name suggests, the academy’s finest students, the hunger for success stood stronger, and tolerance for failure—lower. Therefore study partners were as close to a lifeline as a student could come.

Coriolanus had no problem with that. Working with others, as vexing as it could be, brought on more pros than cons, especially when he was allowed to take the lead. And if anything went wrong, he was free to blame someone else for the outcome—though Highbottom never really believed him. 

The Problem, which currently he referred to with a capital P in his mind, had begun when Dr. Gaul suddenly announced a change in the seating arrangement. 

It came as a shock to everyone and frankly, turned the whole orderly system on its head. Livia was moved away to sit with Festus; Gaius with a clearly disdainful Arachne; and he—with you, a girl just recently having joined the top class and taken the spot of a guy who had moved down in ranks. 

Originally, you had seated yourself next to Sejanus, in the only empty seat in the room. When Dr. Gaul walked into the room, they all stood. She told them not to bother sitting again and began reading the names of what was to become new partnerships.

Coriolanus could hear Clemensia letting out a groan of frustration upon her name being read out alongside Sejanus’. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at the misfortune he had evaded.

But it didn’t last long, this state of contentment, because soon his own name was read aloud—with yours. 

Your face, as he noticed upon looking in your direction, had no distinctive emotion written across it. Your brows were ever so slightly raised, the corners of your mouth straight. You spared a single glance in his direction—glimmering eyes meeting his blue ones—then, without much reaction, strolled towards the seat which Clemensia had yet to vacate. 

“I think you’re in my seat.”

It was the first time he heard your voice. It was far from gentle, but not exactly rough; clear, but not exactly loud. You were standing with your back straight, your bag at your side. 

The sound brought Clemensia’s attention to your figure for a solid second before she turned to Coriolanus, brows furrowed. 

“This is so stupid. Why would she separate us when she knows how well we work together?” 

He didn’t have time to answer before you took a step closer, this time letting your lips spread in a smile. It revealed your teeth, but no cordiality. “You’re still in my seat. You can question the authority of our teachers another time, right?”

Clemensia, a little stunned, stood unmoving until Dr. Gaul shouted at her from the other side of the room. She took her things and with a last look of disbelief cast Coriolanus’ way, moved towards her own designated seat.

You placed your bag by the desk and sat down, legs crossed at the knees. Coriolanus did the same, although his eyes drifted to his right just a little. You looked a bit like a Greek statue, with your posture and expression so much like his own. 

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands anew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce yourselves!”

Coriolanus cleared his throat and you turned to him, a somewhat bored look in your eyes. 

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said, extending a hand. 

You didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.” 

You didn’t speak to him any more that day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

All he had was your name and the (maybe feigned) looks of boredom you seldom sent him. And a growing annoyance which came about each time he politely told you good morning and you replied in a dull tone. 

Nobody knew much about you, which resulted in what students do best when met with lack of information—they make up their own. Livia Cardew claimed you were from district 1. Clemensia whispered to Coriolanus about how your place in the academy was most certainly bought by your parents. Festus Creed was utterly convinced your arrival was a test to see how long they would last alongside a girl who showed no interest in anyone and yet walked with her head high.

But the only rumor which held any truth to it at all was Arachne’s hesitant scoff about how she knew you before. 

Livia immediately picked up on the statement and leaned forward in her chair. “You did? So she isn’t from district one?” 

“No. But she might as well have been.” Arachne looked to the rest of them for a dramatic effect. “She’s a total bitch, anyway. That’s all there is to say.” 

That ended the discussion. 

One day, perhaps a week after you and Coriolanus had become study partners, you walked into the academy wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. It was the academy’s uniform, only altered to be shorter and tighter, framing your hips perfectly and ending just about halfway of your thigh.

Coriolanus heard Clemensia scoff from where she stood by his side. 

“Attention seeker.”

“Is that even allowed?” Festus asked, though it was unclear whether he meant vandalizing the academy uniform or how otherworldly your legs looked in the skirt. 

Whichever it was, the answer was probably no. 

On a daily basis, you were already pretty. He knew it and he was well aware the other boys also knew it from the way they eyed you like hawks when you weren’t looking. And, let’s be honest, you were never looking at any of them. So there was a whole lot of staring which Coriolanus caught every time, while you remained either oblivious or too stubborn to acknowledge the attention. 

Now, he thought, you must be aware of it—at the very least.

He, personally, was painfully aware of it. Like an embarrassing Victorian man whose mouth waters at the sight of a woman’s ankles, he felt his pants were suddenly too tight. It was in a state of panic that he adjusted himself, clearing his throat. His hand squeezed the desk he was leaning against as he mumbled an incoherent reply that was just enough for Festus and Clemmie to continue their conversation without his input. 

From over Clemensia’s shoulder, he could see Volumnia Gaul and Casca Highbottom strolling into the room. 

“Dr. Gaul’s here,” he said, pointing with his jaw.  

“Oh, right.”

The two of them walked away and Coriolanus closed his eyes, rubbing his nose bridge. 

Once he opened them again, he was met with your frame approaching—and he almost jolted in surprise. Your hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders, pinned back on one side to reveal golden earrings. You took a step in his direction and he wondered what for—the distance between you was close to nothing. 

“Move.”

Taken aback, he fought the urge to look around and see if anyone else had heard. But no, you were too far and class was almost starting; everyone was busy with themselves. 

“Sorry?” he asked with a strained smile.

You sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. “You’re blocking my way.” 

He grit his teeth, moving aside. You sauntered past him and into your seat, which he only now realized he had been standing in front of. Your skirt flowed behind you; when you bent down to place your bag on the ground he almost caught a glimpse of your panties. Almost. But what he saw was enough to fill him with rage that didn’t subside for the rest of the lesson—along with his boner. 

“I personally think she’s nice,” Sejanus offered when Coriolanus mentioned your poor behavior towards him during lunch. Of course, he said nothing of his dick hardening—oversharing wasn’t his forte. 

“Well, you don’t sit with her.”

“I did. And she was nice to me.” 

He sent Sejanus a death glare which worked effectively to shut him up. 

Coriolanus didn’t really care about your demeanor. It didn’t mess with his work—when you had to be cooperative, you were. And outside of class, Clemensia was more than happy to cling to his arm like a koala. The same went for Sejanus. What bothered him was that look—of disdain, boredom—the lazy way in which you displayed your distaste, like he wasn’t even worth an effort to hate. Because you didn’t hate him.

You just… didn’t care. 

You terrified him. You made him see red. You made him react physically, for God’s sake. And he had spoken to you all of twice. How pathetic was that? Enough to stay forever in his thoughts, that much was certain. He was never going to say a word about this to anyone. 

But worst of all was this: you liked Sejanus. 

Whenever he saw you talking to anyone, it was either your friends from your old class or him. Sejanus Plinth, from district two, with nothing but irritating opinions and a fortune to offer. He saw you laugh at his half-developed jokes, look at him in total focus while he spoke. 

One day, about a month after it all, when Highbottom showed no signs of letting them switch seats ever again, he decided to ask you about it. Dr. Gaul was currently strolling about the lecture room, monologuing, which gave him enough time to lean to the side, towards you. 

“Seems like you and Sejanus have gotten quite close,” he said, loud enough for only you to hear. 

If you registered his words, you made no signs of it. His eyes trailed lower, to your tiny, tiny skirt and the plushness of your thighs which he was free to look at but not allowed to touch. He clenched his jaw and tried again. 

“What is it you want? His money?”

At this, your head whipped in his direction. His cool, blue eyes bore into yours and he could see anger, clear like black on a white piece of paper, in your gaze. Your shoulders were tense, lips barely parted. But this only lasted a brief moment—a glitch in your composure—before you straightened your back and grit your teeth into a feigned smile.

“And you? What do you want from him?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Dr. Gaul’s piercing voice. 

“Miss L/N and Mr. Snow! Perhaps the two of you will answer my question since you’re so deep in discussion.” The woman looked at the two of you sternly. “What is the point of the hunger games?” 

You looked at Coriolanus, who seemed perfectly content in his seat. He had no intention of answering. Bastard. You folded your hands into fists and stood up. Everyone was looking, but only Coriolanus’ gaze made your heart thump against your chest. It felt as if you had something to prove. 

“To keep the districts at bay.” With a glance towards Sejanus, you bit the inside of your cheek. “In a highly unethical way, of course. It hardly takes killing twenty-three children to prove a point.” 

“District children. Remember that,” said Dr. Gaul. “You may sit.” 

You obeyed, suppressing a sigh of relief. 

At least it was relief until you felt a hot breath on the side of your neck, paired with Coriolanus whispering, “Liar.” 

You looked at him, seemingly unphased, and let out a soft scoff. “If you didn’t like my answer, you should have said something instead.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was a lie. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think Sejanus can tell.”

Your jaw tightened indiscernibly. The boy whose curls were falling into his forehead gave a smirk, eyes trailing to where Sejanus was sitting and then back again. You just looked at him, unwavering. 

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me,” he said, lips spreading to reveal his teeth. “Now we’re both liars.” 

***

On the third of the month, the Plinths threw a party.

It was a large gathering, consisting mainly of the academy’s students and their immediate family. The occasion was unclear—unofficially, it was said the Plinths wanted to scout the students to see who was fit to win the Plinth prize. But it was just rumors. Officially, it was a celebration of the academy’s fiftieth anniversary.

After all it had endured—the rebellion, the war, Coriolanus Snow—a party seemed in order.

On the topic of Snow—you were terribly irritated by the way his words were swarming around your head like bees. Somehow, you had managed to remember his voice down to every shiver and for whatever reason, your brain wouldn’t let go of it. Even as your mother, with her eyes fixated on the mirror, smoothed out the length of your silky dress and asked if you liked it. Even as the two of you left the apartment. Even as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the academy’s ballroom. 

“Nervous?” your mother asked. 

“No.” 

She pushed the doors open. 

Coriolanus had showed up to the party in a fitted, dark suit along with his grandma’am right on time. Upon his arrival, he had scouted Sejanus somewhere in a corner with his overbearing parents, while Clemensia stood with Livia and her sister. You were nowhere to be seen as far as his eye could reach. His grandma’am dragged him around the room in search of conversation partners and somehow ended up deepening into a discussion with Mr. Plinth, leaving her grandson to fend for himself with Sejanus by his side. The farce lasted for about half an hour; he felt himself growing weary. 

Then, you came in.

Fashionably late, as always, with your mother at your side, you strolled in like the entire party was thrown in your honor. And truly—he might’ve believed you if you said so, with the way your strapless dress sat around your curves.

In his peripheral vision, he could glimpse Sejanus swallowing hard. Coriolanus fought the urge to outright laugh at the ludicrous hope swimming in the eyes of his ‘friend’. He was reaching too high. Way too high. 

“Y/N! What a relief, you’re here!” 

It was the voice of Strabo Plinth that made you turn your head in the direction of their little clique. A smile spread over your face, but disappeared as soon as your gaze landed on Coriolanus. He watched carefully as you approached with your mother, the pearls on your neck glistening in the overhead light. Sejanus was still staring like a fool; Coriolanus felt his blood turn the slightest bit warmer, the tips of his fingers tingling. 

“Mr. Plinth, Sejanus.” You sent the two of them a sweet smile, then cast a look at Coriolanus with your lips pulled tight. “Coriolanus.” 

He nodded at you. “Sweetheart.” 

You didn’t comment on his choice of word, but he could see your jaw tightening and your chest fluttering, pressing against the restraints of your dress.

Thankfully, it seemed nobody else had heard—Mr. Plinth was too busy gushing over yours and Sejanus’ friendship to notice anything else. Coriolanus’ shoulder bumped into yours and you shuddered. The conversation dragged on until Mr. Plinth was beckoned over by another group of people who looked like politicians, and wandered off with a cranky Sejanus in tow. 

Left alone with Coriolanus and his grandmother, you began to plot your and your mother’s escape. 

“Look, mom, there’s Livia. We should go say hi.” 

You had taken less than five steps before Dr. Gaul’s voice reached your ears. 

“Not so fast, miss L/N,” she said, a menacing smile on her face. She waved you and your mother over to where she was standing—right between Snow and his grandmother. “Surely your mother wants to meet the only gentleman whose grades are as good as her daughter’s.” 

Your mother took the bait immediately, forcing you to follow her back to where you wanted so deeply to escape. “Oh, gosh, really? Coriolanus Snow, is it?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, sending your mother one of his disgustingly gorgeous smiles. 

“Now, Coriolanus and Y/N are my best students.” Dr. Gaul, more enthusiastic than you had ever seen her, pulled you and Coriolanus to either side of her, squeezing your shoulders. “And study partners, too. They work so well together. How about the two of you go for a dance?” 

“Oh, I don’t dance—”

“Yes, Y/N,” your mother obliviously interrupted, “don’t let those five-year dancing lessons go to waste.” 

Your face formed into a half-smile, half-frown. “Right.”

Coriolanus sent you a triumphant smile as he stuck out an arm for you to take. You hesitantly snaked yours through it, heart hammering as he led you onto the dance floor.

The song playing was irritatingly slow, and Dr. Gaul’s smile too wide for all this to be a coincidence, but you decided to let it slide—it wasn’t like you really had a choice. Coriolanus positioned you in front of him. From over his shoulder, you could spot Sejanus, to whom you mouthed a silent plea for help, but the boy proved useless when all he did was send you a smile and a shrug. 

Coriolanus placed his hands on your waist appropriately and you hesitantly placed your own atop his broad shoulders. Although you made sure not to touch him more than you had to, the hardness of his muscles was prominent against your fingertips.

The distance between you vexed Coriolanus to no end—especially when he had seen you in a skimpy, tiny black dress all pressed up against Sejanus at Arachne’s birthday party. His fingers harshly tugged at your waist and he smiled in satisfaction at the way your body pliantly molded into him. A gasp threatened to escape you, but you held it back, instead swallowing quietly. 

It turned out both of you were excellent dancers. Coriolanus sensed exactly when you were to make an unexpected move and was always able to maneuver you however he wanted. 

Finally, you decided to speak—a five-minute song danced in silence would last an eternity. “Clemensia’s staring daggers into my back. Am I in danger?” 

The blonde smiled. “Not at all.” 

“How come?”

“I’ll protect you.”

You smiled incredulously, shaking your head. “I hope you have a knife underneath your blazer, then, because she looks dangerous.” 

“I could snap her neck in half with one hand.” 

The way he said it—no hesitation and total seriousness—made you choke on the laughter that was supposed to come out, replacing it with a burning sensation somewhere in the depths of your stomach. His hand, on the small of your back, fiddled gently with the lacing of your dress, then lazily moved back to your waist. 

You cleared your throat. “I heard your father was a great man.” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve also heard he was a terrible person.” You tilted your head to the side, putting on a curious expression. “So, which one is it?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” 

At that, you laughed. Real laughter, with your head tipped back—laughter he had never heard before, not even when you were around Sejanus. Something swelled proudly inside his chest. 

“Only you could say something so bizarre. But no, I suppose they’re not.” 

He swayed his hips along with yours, then brought your hand up, signaling he wanted for you to spin. Whilst he swirled you around, you felt the tips of his fingers against your cheekbone, tucking something behind your ear. Once you were in front of him again, you brought your hand to touch the soft surface that felt like a flower. 

“What is that?”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “A rose.” 

“And why, pray tell, are you giving me a rose?”

He swirled you again, this time his fingers grabbing at the flesh between your clavicle and throat, pulling you against him. You felt his very fingertips, cold and soft, against your muscle, his hot breath against your left ear. 

“To mark my territory.” 

With that, he swirled you back and resumed the ordinary dance, with a deadpan expression and shining eyes, emitting an unidentifiable emotion. 

Your cheek trembled, although you tried to hide it by tightening your jaw. “It’s picked from your garden, then, I suppose.” 

“Grandma’am’s.”

“Really?”

Before you could do anything, he leaned forwards so the tip of your nose grazed his pulse. You stood stunned, taking a breath and being met with the strong smell of roses. You caught a glimpse of his collarbones, peeking out from underneath the two buttons he had undone in his shirt. He drew back before you could think to push him away, lips spreading into a smile. 

“Those are also from our garden,” he murmured.

“Coriolanus…”

He liked the way you said his name this time.

Not arrogantly or carelessly, but like it was the most important thing in the world; a bar of gold in your hands. And the shiver in your voice—the thought it must’ve been the most delightful thing he had ever heard. He wanted— no, he deserved to hear it again, but it would have to wait. You were looking up at him the way he yearned you would, like he was impossible to ignore. 

“Hmm?”

You smiled a strained smile, chest heaving. “The song has ended. I believe I should go dance with somebody else.”

Without awaiting a response, you released yourself from his grip and turned your back on him. He stood in somewhat of a silent shock.

And he felt it again, this immense anger because how dare you wrap your arms around Sejanus and convince him to a dance, when he’s standing right here, ready to rip anyone’s throat open to feel your body against him again. 

After your dance with Sejanus, you scurried off to the bathroom, silently inspecting the rose sitting neatly in your hair above your ear. It was a piercing red, matching perfectly with your dress. You sighed into the mirror, rolling your eyes. 

The rest of the evening was spent drinking champagne—too much of it, definitely, but who was counting the glasses which you picked up and later discarded?

Coriolanus, of course, but he was much too embarrassed to say anything and much too agitated and proud to even consider asking Sejanus to look after you. No, he’d rather see you pass out drunk than have Plinth take care of you—he could do that himself. But he didn’t. Not that day, anyway. He left the party somewhat early, assisting his grandma’am down the stairs although she claimed she didn’t need his help.

“What has gotten into you today? You’re too eager to help and you’re looking around like a lost district child.”

“I’m not, grandma’am. Get into the car.” 

But before he could follow in her footsteps, he heard laughter—the same laughter he had heard for the first time just an hour earlier.

He turned automatically, without much thought, and felt rage well up in him as he saw you and Sejanus leaving the hall shoulder-to-shoulder, your respective parents in tow. You were clearly drunk, your steps unsteady. 

Sejanus said something to you, apparently something you found funny, because you slapped his shoulder and laughed again. Unfortunately for you, the heels you were wearing weren’t exactly wasted-proof and gave out from underneath you when you moved your ankle to the side. 

It took the slip of a second for you to tumble down the remaining four steps of the stairs, and another two for Coriolanus to catch you, his arms knitting tightly around your waist. 

“Coriolanus,” you mumbled, at a loss for anything better to say. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, but he went out of his way to sit you down on the stairs and inspect your ankle anyway. 

“Stupid girl,” he said, landing a barely discernible slap to the side of your thigh as he stood, having concluded you were alright. “Why drink more than you can handle?” 

“I have a habit of getting in over my head.” 

He looked down at you, the disheveled hair and still present rose which you hadn’t taken out yet, and smiled. Slowly, Sejanus and the rest of them descended down the stairs and Coriolanus turned to get in the car. But first, he sent you a smirk over his shoulder. 

***

Dr. Gaul’s experiments were always interesting.

In the best cases, they were innovative and in the worst—fatal. None of the academy’s top class knew which one this one would turn out to be when they followed Highbottom into the laboratory. 

“What if she kills us?” Livia, who wasn’t particularly fond of you but neither did she feel a particular distaste for you, whispered.

“She won’t,” you whispered back. “We have the president’s son in our class.”

“Right.”

The lot of you walked inside, scattered randomly until Gaul reminded everyone to stick to their partners. You heard Clemensia let out a prolonged sigh upon Coriolanus escaping her grip and approaching you instead. 

He smiled self-importantly. “Y/N.”

“Snow.” 

The smile faded marginally.

Dr. Gaul ushered everyone closer. A servant dragged off the thick, two-meter long piece of fabric covering what at first sight looked like an aquarium, but later revealed to be a cylinder of rainbow-colored snakes. Someone gasped.

You furrowed your brows and took a glance at Coriolanus, who in turn looked back at you. You were quick to avoid his gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss it. 

Dr. Gaul sent you a half-enthusiastic, half-manic smile. “Now, everyone give me something of yours. Come on, I don’t have all day.” 

Coriolanus moved first, which you didn’t mind until he grabbed hold of you and pulled you along. 

“What are you doing?”

“What, are you scared?” 

His eyes twinkled and you tore away from his grip. But it was too late; the two of you were standing right in front of the open snake habitat. You swallowed hard.

He reached into his pocket and fished out a pencil—golden and engraved with his last name—before handing it to Dr. Gaul. You followed suit, albeit hesitantly, and handed her an embroidered handkerchief. 

The rest of the class did the same. Dr. Gaul received all the items, stacked them and instructed everyone to sit. Then she gathered it all into one big pile and threw it into the cage. Immediately, the snakes swarmed around the items, licking and slithering. 

“These snakes,” Dr. Gaul said, “are lethal only when met with a taste they don’t know. Meaning right now, when they’ve touched your things, they are harmless. Come say hi.” 

Nobody, including you, moved a muscle.

Obviously, everyone was busy figuring out why this was even an experiment if they were harmless—from what Dr. Gaul said it sounded more like a visit to the zoo. Next to you, Coriolanus furrowed his brows and stared the cage down with his icy eyes, inspecting. 

“No volunteers?” Dr. Gaul sighed. “How about Y/N and Coriolanus?” 

You froze, looking at Coriolanus with wide eyes. “You first.” 

He tilted his head. “Ask nicely.”

Forcing a smile, you swallowed your pride.

“Please.” 

He stood from the seat and you forced yourself to disregard his grin and the way his uniform strained around his back muscles. 

Just then, as your eyes followed his steps, you saw something by Dr. Gaul’s feet, something shimmering in gold. You squinted at the object. It was barely visible, currently hidden in Coriolanu’s shadow. Coriolanus walked up to the cage and the overhead light fell onto the object, revealing what looked like something engraved. The letter S. The letter N. The letter… 

“Coryo, wait!” You shot up from your seat. Coriolanus looked at you in bewilderment as you grabbed his wrist roughly. “You can’t touch them. Your pen isn’t in there.” 

“What?” His gaze dropped to the golden pen at your feet. 

You looked at his face, as if to make certain he was whole, then at his wrist in between your shaky fingers. How embarrassing, the way your body had grown so hot and how tragic, the way you had made a scene. You wondered what Coriolanus was thinking, with his mouth parted and eyes on you. 

Dr. Gaul clapping her hands together brought you back to reality. “Quite impressive, miss Y/N. I must admit, your reaction time was even faster than predicted.” 

You turned to her in disbelief and maybe a bit of anger. “You did it on purpose? Why?” 

“Why, to see if you were willing to save Mr. Snow here.” 

“That’s absurd, I would have done it for anyone!” Your face grew hot as you ripped your hand away from Coryo’s wrist, as though burned by his skin. “And what if I hadn’t noticed?”

“Then I would have known I made a mistake letting you into the top class. Regard this as a little test, if you will.” She sauntered happily over to you, where she stopped to whisper in your ear: “And for your information, miss Y/N, yesterday these snakes got familiar with mr. Snow through an assignment. I would never put him in danger, so calm your heart.” 

Dr. Gaul proclaimed the class dismissed and left—left you to stand in utter shock for at least ten seconds. Then, before any words could escape Coriolanus’ mouth, you followed in her footsteps, practically running out of the room. 

After this incident, you avoided him.

He noticed immediately, the lack of you in the hallways when he walked through them and the tenseness of your expression in class. Every time you showed up in those tiny skirts and paid him no mind, he resisted the urge to throw you over his shoulder. You had to be put in your place, certainly so—with the way you were messing with his head. A threat, but he chose to look past that, just this once. What he couldn’t look past were your plush thighs, pretty lips and addicting aura. 

Once, after school had finished, he cornered you in an empty classroom in which you were rummaging through your bag, clearly searching for something. 

“Looking for this?”

You jolted back, looking at him over your shoulder and at the kays dangling from his fingers. As your face grew hot, you turned your back to him again, suddenly not so keen on finding the keys. 

“They must have fallen out of my bag,” you mumbled. 

He inched closer, until his chest was against your back and he could drop the keys into your bag. They rattled—the only sound in the room spare for your breathing. 

He craned his neck to mumble against your earlobe, “How come you’re avoiding me, my sweet?”

You turned again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” You huffed at him, raising your head high. “Why would I avoid you? I simply don’t care for your presence.”

The side of his lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have class. I need to go,” you said, before realizing in terror that you’d both just had the last lesson of the day—of which he was fully aware. “I mean…” 

He took a step and you went silent. His hand cupped your jaw harshly, pointer finger and thumb on each respective side of it. He pulled you closer by his grip. 

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he said, squeezing your cheeks. “Did it not register in that pretty head of yours?”

Your lower lip trembled deliciously, eyes tinted with a hint of fear. “Coriolanus…”

“Call me Coryo. Like you did that day with the snakes.” 

There was a change in your expression: widened eyes turning normal again, lips curving into a soft smile as you pried his hand off. He let you, god knows why. Maybe because everything turned uncalculated when he was around you or maybe because he wanted you to listen to what he said. 

But you just said, “I’ll call you that when you earn it.” 

His blood boiled. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“Sejanus is waiting for me outside, Coriolanus,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder teasingly. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.” 

He grit his teeth. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Is it?” 

He held his outburst enough for you to leave—then, he punched the nearest surface and let out a loud groan. A threat, definitely. A dangerous one. But he’d tear it out of you—these sensations similar to his that he knew you felt.

And how could you be of real danger to him when he was just as much of a threat to you? 

***

When Dr. Gaul and Casca Highbottom announced an ‘educational school trip to district eight’, everyone thought they were joking. 

They were, in fact, not. They took the train for almost ten hours—by the end of it, everyone was weary and irritable. Dr. Gaul told everyone to pay special attention and care to their partners and make sure they were safe, and despite the tiring trip, Coriolanus took on his task with the utmost importance. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him as he, for the third time, slung his arm around you to pull you away from passing wagons. 

“Protecting you, like Dr. Gaul told us to.” 

You snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t mean from horses.”

“Horses can be dangerous.” 

You just rolled your eyes. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders for the rest of the walk. When you arrived at the inn, Coriolanus leaned close to you abruptly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Before you got the chance to even think of protesting, he was gone. 

The next day all of you were to join Highbottom in his speech in front of the district people.

It was a simple stage made of wood—the people stood spread out on a small square in front. There were almost too many to fit. 

You, as students, were not supposed to do anything in particular other than stand there and look pretty. Coriolanus made the effort to assure you you were splendid at it already, his fingers fanning over your waist. It sent shivers down your spine, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. You cursed him for his perceptiveness as the two of you walked onto stage. 

Coriolanus was far from relaxed as his eyes scanned the crowd. You just had to wear that godforsaken skirt in front of a bunch of starved men. If he could, he’d tear all their eyes out. Starting with that brown-haired asshole in the first row. As Higbottom began his speech, Coriolanus walked up to you and stood purposefully a bit in front, as though to cover you. 

“Is it not impractical to wear a skirt today?” he asked, sending you a pointed look.

“It’s quite warm,” you replied, blinking up at him. “Do you not like it? I wore it for you.” 

He clenched his jaw, heart swelling in pride. Of course he liked it—a little too much to be considered appropriate—but not for everyone to see. He leaned down almost indiscernibly, but you felt his hot breath fan your lips. 

“When I’m president, nobody is going to see you in that skirt except for me.”

You grinned. “When you’re president? What exactly is the extent of your ambition, Mr. Snow?” 

“You are.”

His pupils were expanded, fingers snaking to hold you by the waist. If anyone noticed, he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter anyway. His fingers found their way under your uniform and he observed attentively as your eyes widened, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he caressed your bare side. 

“Okay, everyone, let’s go,” Highbottom said, signaling his speech was finished. 

Coriolanus let go of you. The lot of you moved, surrounded by peacekeepers until you reached the truck ramp. You walked first, carefully placing your steps. 

But you only managed to take three of them before something—someone, to be precise—pulled your leg to the side and you fell.

Your brain barely registered the pain of your bare knee hitting the ramp before you were no longer on the ramp, but the ground. An ache spread along your side. Coriolanus shouted your name as he jumped down from the ramp, despite Highbottom’s screams at him to stay but.

The man who had pulled you down, who Coriolanus recognized as the hungry-eyed man from the first row, pulled out a knife from his pocket. He lounged just as you froze, unmoving spare for the trembling of your lips. Coriolanus grabbed him and pushed him down; but not before he had managed to sink the knife into your calf. He heard you scream. 

“Help her!” he roared at the peacekeepers, who had their weapons raised at the man who was trying to get up from the ground, but weren’t firing. 

Coriolanus, enraged, ripped out the gun from one of the peacekeepers’ hands. He heard some words of protest but ignored them entirely as he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. And again. Until the man was more holes than flesh. 

“Help her, for fuck’s sake!” he roared again; this time they listened and gathered around you. 

He spared only a glance at your bleeding figure, then turned to the rest of District eight’s crowd—the part of it that hadn’t thought to flee the scene—and fired again. He heard Sejanus shouting, he heard Highbottom shouting, he heard Dr. Gaul shouting, and the peacekeepers gathered around him like flies, but he listened to none of them. He fired and fired until the magazine was empty and someone tore the weapon out of his hands. 

“Coriolanus,” you whispered. 

Only now did he fully look at you, at the cut in your leg and at your frightened face. He ran over, relieved nobody tried to stop him, and kneeled next to you along with a clearly useless peacekeeper. There was blood on his white shirt, but not on his fingers when he ran them over your thigh gently. It didn’t look like a deep cut, but it was bleeding a lot. 

“It’s okay, Y/N, you hear me? Listen to me!” He grabbed your tear-stained face with one hand and turned it so you were looking into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t close your eyes.” 

When you didn’t reply, he shook you a little bit. “You’re alright, okay?”

“Okay, Coryo,” you said meekly. 

He nodded and tore a piece off his shirt to wrap it below your knee. He was angry, unbelievably so, and felt if he didn’t look at your face now and then he might kill all of them: the peacekeepers, his fellow students, Highbottom. He bore a hatred for them all. But you were the priority; you needed saving.

He heard you whimper, using one hand to hold at his shoulder. 

“Why did you…”

He cut you off. “Don’t talk. I’m gonna fix this. You’re okay. Keep your eyes open.” 

You obeyed for as long as you could, for as long as it took for the medics to arrive and carry you away; then, you let yourself drift off. 

***

When you first woke up, you were met with Coriolanus’ perceptive eyes staring back at you.

“Coryo?” you asked. 

“How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

You wanted to answer, but your mouth felt as if it were made of lead. Coriolanus shouted for the nurses to bring you water, yet before he had even turned his head to you again, you were fast asleep. He sighed. 

***

The cut wasn’t deep. 

That’s what the doctors from district eight said, their heads hung low in shame. You were alone upon waking this time, spare for the nurse they had left to take care of you. 

“Coriolanus,” you said. “Where is he?”

“He just left to get some rest, ma’am. We sent him away for an hour fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sitting here all night.” 

“I want to see him.”

“It would be unwise to deny him his sl—”

You stood up and walked out, much to the nurses’ dismay. 

After a ride to the inn in which all of you were staying, you walked into the hallway that you knew belonged to the boys.

You had no idea where Coriolanus’ room was, but thankfully you met Sejanus just as he was leaving his room. 

His eyes lit up as he saw you. “Y/N! You’re okay, thank god. I was so wor—”

“Where is Coryo?” 

He stopped, smile falling the littlest bit. “Last room to the left.” 

You smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

You knocked on the door three times and stood silent, waiting. After half a minute, you heard his voice—husky and deep—telling you to come in. 

He was standing by the window, looking out at the desolate district eight. The back of his new shirt was just barely holding out the strain his muscles created as he crossed his arms. 

You cleared your throat. “Coriolanus.” 

Clearly not expecting it to be you, Coriolanus turned on his heel, sporting a smile as he saw your face. You had changed clothes—another tiny skirt and shirt adorned your body. You were walking without difficulty, just like the doctors had foreseen, perhaps even more confidently, with your head high.

He expected you throw yourself into his arms, or maybe pull his hair and kiss him, but he absolutely didn’t expect you to cross your arms over your chest and ask him: 

“Have you lost your mind?” 

“Sorry?” he asked, frowning. 

You took a step back, biting the inside of your cheek. “What have you done? What have you done, Coriolanus?” 

He looked into your eyes in search of disgust, terrified, but found only worry. You were worried for him. Not them, not that man, not your reputation and the rumors—you were worried for him.

His gaze flicked down to your bare legs, no scar left from the incident, and then up to where your stop was squeezing your tits together. Did you come in here to scold or seduce him? He really could not tell. 

He took a step in your direction, reveling in the way your resolve was starting to fade, lower lip trembling. “I was protecting you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! You didn’t have to kill them all like animals!” 

At this, something switched. He snorted, almost mockingly. Against your will, you felt your panties getting sticky when he walked closer and closer, until he had you backed against the wall. One of his hands rested next to your head while the other he ran over your cheek, stopping to cup your jaw. 

“You don’t think he would have aimed higher if he’d gotten the chance? You don’t think you’d be dead if it weren’t for me?” His hot breath landed on your lips and you swallowed. He dragged his finger along your lower lip and you opened your mouth obediently, making his lips curve into a smile. “Now be a good girl and say thank you.” 

Your legs rubbed against one another subtly. “Thank you, Coryo.” 

“For what?” He slapped the inside of your thigh, making you jolt. 

“For protecting me.” 

His fingers crawled up your thigh to soothe the place he had slapped, rubbing small circles against your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing, how damp your panties were and how you had to press your lips together in order to avoid letting a whimper slip. The poor lighting cast shadows on his face, blonde curls falling just above his eyes.

He was devouring you even though he’d barely touched you. 

“You’re trembling,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

“It’s the cut.”

He tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Liars don’t get rewards, sweetheart. I thought I’d made that clear.” 

He saw your nipples straining against the thin fabric of your shirt and tightened his jaw. You were here to seduce him, definitely. His desperate little girl. Funny how you had such a dirty mouth until his hands were on you—then, you seemed to go entirely limp and thoughtless. One of his hands snaked to the back of your head, the other stayed touching your thigh—too far away from the place you wanted it to be. 

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, standing on your tiptoes to reach him, but he just pulled you down by your hair. 

“No. Not until you beg me for it.”

You scoffed shakily, reclaiming the very remnants of your dignity. “I won’t beg you for a kiss.” 

He pressed his chest against your sensitive tits, pulling at your hair so your noses were touching. 

“Don’t I deserve it after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“But you liked it,” he remarked, sliding his warm hand up your shirt, until he could fiddle with the hem of your panties. His fingers tapped against your clothed pussy only once, making you jolt, before returning to the spot between your hip and leg. “You liked having someone kill for you. Just as you like when I touch you and when I care for your attention.”

“I don’t—” 

“I think you’ve had a little too much being a brat, though. Now it’s my turn.” He slapped your pussy through the fabric and this time, you didn’t manage to hold back a whimper. “Beg. Me.” 

“Please,” you whispered, face hot. 

“What was that?” He pretended not to hear, leaning down even more. You wanted to punch him for his self-importance, for his cruelty, but it was what you craved, too—you’d take everything he gave you, although you’d never say it out loud. 

“Please kiss me.” 

His hands left you entirely before they cupped either of your cheeks. Your heart hammered in excitement watching Coryo’s eyes feeding on the sight of you. He lowered his head slowly, connecting your lips so softly you almost didn’t feel it. You tried to grab his collar and bring him closer, but then he just pulled away and sent you a pointed look which made you retract your hands. 

Then, he kissed you again—this time pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut. His fingers held you softly, as though you could break any moment, but his lips enveloped yours like he had been waiting for the opportunity for years. 

You opened your mouth immediately as he licked at your lower lip and he hummed in appreciation. His fingers tilted your head as he slipped his tongue inside. He was hot against your own tongue, swirling and exploring, not letting you breathe out anything except small, timid whimpers. He smelled like roses, tasted like them too.

Your hands wandered to his broad shoulders, then down his clothed chest, his solid muscles against your fingertips. They flexed underneath your touch, a throaty groan of Coryo’s disappearing in your conjoined mouths. Your mouth watered at merely the thought of seeing them bare, seeing him. 

Coriolanus pulled away only when he had to take a breath—angry at this humane obstacle in his way but soothed upon seeing your swollen, parted lips.

“You’re nothing without me,” he rasped out, trapping your jaw between his thumb and pointer. “Say it back.”

You looked at him through hazy eyes. “I’m nothing without you.”

He pushed you against the wall, lips against your jawline. He sucked a mark into your neck and you mewled out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair. His tongue ran over your throat, then swirled around your collarbones as he pressed wet kisses to them and your stomach. 

Once he reached the waistband of your skirt, he dropped to his knees, looking up. You felt something turn in your stomach; the heat between your legs intensified tenfold.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs languidly. Once gone from your body, he picked them up and dangled them in front of your face. You tried snatching them from him, but he just stuffed them into the pocket of his pants. 

“For later,” he said, smiling. “To remind me what a desperate little girl you are.” 

“I’m not—”

He cut you off by bunching your skirt up around your hips. The cold air made you shiver lightly, but his eyes set on the most intimate part of you like he was about to eat you didn’t really help, either.

Before you could look away from embarrassment, he dragged his nose through your slick folds. You let out a choked gasp as he came in contact with your clit. His hands slid up to your upper thighs, squeezing and prying them apart so you weren’t in the way for him to take his time. And he did take his time—painfully so. 

After almost five minutes of aimless fingers trailing over your cunt but never touching for too long and never on your clit, you let out a loud whine, legs fighting against his grip to close. To no avail, of course—Coryo was much stronger than you and very intent on keeping you in place. 

“Be patient,” he murmured into your heat. His eyes flicked up as a warning and you instantly stilled. 

His tongue finally touched you in the form of small kitten licks on your clit that made your breath ragged and fists tighten. He saw you tightening around nothing, heard you whining pathetically for more and mercifully let his tongue enter your warmth. You clenched around him immediately. 

He pulled his mouth off of you momentarily to look up at your pretty face twisted in clear rapture. 

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” 

When you didn’t answer, he brought down his hand to swat at your clit disapprovingly. You squirmed at the contact, slick practically dripping out of your cunt. His eyes met yours and you quivered, suddenly afraid he’d stop. 

“Yes,” you whimpered. “So much.” 

As a reward, he pushed two fingers into your pussy, watching as you gasped for air, furrowing your brows. He scissored them a little bit, then dipped his thumb into the arousal coating your cunt and let it rub small circles into your already puffy clit.

Your legs felt weak already and he must have sensed this, because he grabbed your thigh and positioned it on his shoulder. This way, he could curl his fingers enough to hit the spot which made you whimper so loudly it was shameful. 

Soon, his thumb was replaced with his mouth that sucked your tiny clit into his mouth.

He heard you moan his name and felt his pants tighten significantly. Part of him hoped everyone could hear the noises you were making, while another part of him felt the urge to murder anyone who dared even overhear these sounds that were innately his possession.

From his position, he could see your tits brushing against your thin shirt and cursed himself for not being in a spot that would allow him to play with them. He’d have to settle for playing with your cute little cunt. 

Your legs started shaking when he added another finger to pump in and out of your dripping hole. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face. “Feels so good, Coryo, thank you.” 

A guttural moan of his vibrated through your body and you cried out his name. A warm coil began tightening in your lower stomach. It was clear you were close—from the way your whimpers had grown unabashed and squeaky, the way you clenched around his long fingers, the way your hips stuttered against his tongue. 

“Oh my god, Coryo, I’m so close— Can I come?” 

So polite, he thought. Shame you only acted like this when his tongue was flicking at your clit. 

His eyes glimmered as he looked up at you. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, let me come, please, Coryo.” You let out a broken moan as his teeth grazed your clit. “Please.” 

Your legs spasmed around his head as you felt it close, so close, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure.

But then it was ripped from you, this bliss, as Coriolanus pulled out his fingers and retracted his tongue, leaving you empty and stunned. You stared at him, lips parted, and at the self-satisfied smile adorning his features. 

“What, you really thought I’d let you come when you’ve been acting like a brat?” He licked his fingers and something throbbed between your legs. “Stupid girl.” 

He stood up, turning his back on you. You couldn’t see it, of course, but he was silently counting the seconds it took for you to protest against the treatment. Finally, you retrieved your consciousness in full and pushed yourself off the wall. 

“Wait, Coryo,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He turned, raising his brows. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a good girl now, I promise.” Your lower lip quivered; he saw the promise of tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

At this, you sank to your knees—a sight which made his adam’s apple bob. But he was getting impatient; his cock was aching painfully and when you looked at him with eyes widened and teary like this, he was willing to give you anything in the world. 

“Get up,” he demanded. 

You did as told, thighs trembling slightly, and his hands cupped your cheeks. Coriolanus led you to the bed in the middle of the room, hovering above you with his forearms on either side of your face. His hardened cock rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He laid it against your plush thigh for relief, but all he got was a slutty mewl from you and more precum leaking from his tip. 

“Sejanus is next door, you know. You don’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head eagerly. “I don’t care. Just want your cock.”

The side of his mouth lifted as his hands slipped under your shirt. You gasped as his fingers found your nipples and pinched them, tantalizing your poor clit to start throbbing harder. He pulled the skimpy shirt over your head and threw it away somewhere, letting out an audible groan at the sight of you. Next to go was your skirt. 

He stayed staring at you for some time before he suddenly landed a slap to your cunt, making you jolt with a whimper. Then, he leaned to press open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking the skin that covered your pulse into his mouth. 

His lips grazed your jaw. “You want him to hear, then? Is that it?”

“N-no,” you whispered shakily, feeling the tips of his fingers teasing your perky nipples. “No, Coryo, just want you.” 

“Say it again.” 

“I want you, Coryo, only you. I’m yours.” 

Coriolanus let your fingers slip under his shirt, letting out a shaky breath as you traced his abdominal muscles. He helped you pull it over his head, then he pulled down his pants and briefs as well. You watched hazily at his cock free from its restraints, certain if he’d tease you anymore you would start drooling for real. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing—he slapped his dick against your clit once, twice, watching you squirm, then positioned himself at your entrance.

Your foreheads touched as he pushed inside agonizingly slowly.

“I’m yours, too,” he whispered against your mouth. 

He was decently thick and longer than average—even lying still in your cunt, he reached places your fingers couldn’t dream of. Your eyes had a hard time staying open in facing the fullness which came with having him inside, but he was having none of it. 

“Look at me when I fuck you,” he said.

“But you’re not even fucking me.” 

You felt his cock pulse inside you before his hands roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest. This newfound angle was overwhelming in itself—when he additionally began thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt, you saw stars. You let out small noises, but he paid them no mind, leaning forward to have a good look at your face.

“Who knew the academy’s best student was such a fucking slut?” he tilted his head, ignoring your nails clawing at his biceps. “Guess words aren’t enough, hmm? I need to fuck that arrogance out of my sweet girl?” 

You didn’t reply; he didn’t expect you to. His cock found that spot that made your toes curl faster than you could have expected. When he hit it for the first time, you let out a whimper close to a shriek in volume. Instead of slowing down, he just went harder, his hips slapping against yours in the otherwise silent room. He thought Sejanus probably was able to hear it all. 

It was easy for him to slip his thumb between your parted lips; even easier to coax you with a gentle slap to your slack jaw to suck on it. Your mouth wrapped around it and he groaned, pushing your thighs further against your tits. He saw your eyes glossing over, felt your poorly suppressed moans against his finger.

And god, you were so compliant to his touch, so perfect. 

“Spread your legs,” Coryo said, moving his hands away.

You obeyed to your best ability, practically letting your thighs fall limply at your sides. He spread them further and sank deep into your dripping pussy. Your slick had made a mess of the sheets below, creating a small puddle in the white material.

His fingers grabbed both of your wrists and placed them on your lower stomach. One of his hands kept them in place while the other played with your sensitive nipples, twisting them until a couple tears escaped your eyes. 

“Don’t move your hands.” 

When you nodded weakly, both his hands grabbed your waist, guiding you back and forth to meet his relentless thrusts. He could see the vague outline of his cock in your stomach, your tits bouncing deliciously before him with each abusing rut into your cunt. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled, lightly tapping at your clit. 

Your walls sucked him in like it was all you were made for, fluttering around his cock and leaving a creamy ring at the base of it.  He wanted to fill you up—not only with his cock, but with his cum, wanted to watch it leak out onto this bed, wanted to hear you beg him to stop. Him, only him. He wanted you forever. 

Coryo leaned down to connect his lips to yours, teeth napping at your lower lip. You were whimpering, mewling his name, and he tightened his grip on your waist. He pushed you further down on his cock, again and again. 

“How does being the first lady of Panem sound, huh?” 

You just nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks in reaction to his cock bullying the gummy spot in your cunt.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, rubbing tight circles into your clit. “I’d give you everything you want. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything.” 

His hips rutted into you so roughly your vision was hazy, but clear enough to grab at his sturdy shoulders. You had disobeyed what he said, but it seemed he was unaware, chasing his own high.

His cock was thrusting into the right spot repeatedly, fingers maneuvering your clit so that you almost screamed, slick practically gushing out of your hole.  

“Fuck,” you whined out, feeling your pussy pulsating. “Coryo, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know. Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You let go and so did he—seed spilling into your cunt as you clenched around him. You sobbed his name and in an attempt to soothe you, he planted kisses along your collarbones. He let you ride out your orgasm against his hand before he pulled out.

Vaguely, you could see his cum spilling out of you and onto the sheets. 

Before you could even make an attempt at calming down your heart rate, he stuck two of his fingers into you again. 

“Too much,” you whimpered, but he paid you no mind, stuffing his cum back into your swollen cunt. Too tired to move, you let him do it, only mewling his name softly from time to time.

Once he was done, he licked his fingers clean and smiled alluringly. You scooted closer to kiss him—he tasted of you and him combined. His hands cupped your face as you both lay down, facing one another. 

“You’re nothing without me, either,” you said, running your finger down his exposed chest. “Mr. President.”

His grin widened. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST: @peterpan-neverfails @urfavevirgoo @sayyysss @hwajin @hoshiseon @atrwriting

also big thank you to kathy, kiza and lex for being my enablers! ilyy

[voxslays]

MISTLETOE

Featuring >>> Lucifer, Alastor, Vox, Velvette, Valentino, & Charlie x Reader; In which, you kiss them under the mistletoe~

A/N: TY GUYS SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS! It means the world to me!

Lucifer

This man is shocked. It has been so long since he has been kissed—let alone under the mistletoe. The two of you are alone in the lobby when this happens, only adding the cozy holiday mood. He kisses back even more passionately.

Not only will Lucifer be talking, thinking, and dreaming of that kiss for weeks—if not months—he will be pulling you aside and growing more mistletoe around the hotel. This becomes a very frequent activity between the two of you.

He will be very sad once the holidays are over…no more kisses from hubby/wifey under the mistletoe…*sigh* but don’t worry, he WILL find a way...

Alastor

Is shocked and maybe a little uncomfortable…? Alastor is on the ace spectrum, which doesn’t necessarily mean he hates getting kisses from his S/O, but probably not long passionate ones. But let’s assume he does like it…he better.

If Alastor does approve of this ‘silly’ holiday tradition, he will never seek it out. He will simply expect you to do it. It’s like he thinks you can read his mind! (You can’t…unless you can?) After a while you find out that he actually does like it, after assuming otherwise. Why couldn’t the silly deer man just tell you??

This will not be the last kiss you share under the mistletoe. And hey, maybe if he is desperate enough, he will seek it out and pull you under the mistletoe!

Vox

I’d like to think that while yes, Vox is a man of the future, he can never forget his 50’s roots. He is a huge romantic, and completely believes in the old-fashioned idea of courting. That being said, he is not above making out with his S/O before marriage. In fact, that’s what makes it even more fun, or thats what he thinks.

I can see Vox being very festive, that being said, he would be all for the classic tradition of mistletoe. Say goodbye to your ability to speak, all your lips will be doing is kissing for the month of December. Good luck girlie.

Valentino

Oh man…girlie what is going on inside that brain of yours? *sigh* You will regret.

Before you can even pull Val under the mistletoe, he has already kissed you. This man may not even be that into the holidays. He doesn’t care though, even if he is. All he wants to do is make out and…yeah. You know what I mean.

Whenever the two of you kiss it always leads to something more. No little innocent pecks of the lips like with everyone else on this post. No this man makes sure you basically can’t even walk half the time! So I wish you the best girlie!

Velvette

Ah, the holidays, such a great way to get more money from hell’s capitalism. This stylish Brit is totally looking for inspiration. One day, she has a brilliant idea—to make a fashion line inspired by Christmas plants. God she’s so smart…right?

One day, while sewing the finishing details onto the mistletoe insipired dress—with real mistletoe—You walk in. There is one more mistletoe (leaf? Branch?) left. She pulls you close and holds the mistletoe above your heads as you kiss.

Will not openly talk about it—you are only for her eyes and ears—but will force you to wear the mistletoe gown in her runway show as a reminder of the night you shared together. Yeah, she may not talk about it, but you are never living it down.

Charlie

Definitely the most wholesome of everyone in the show. She is extremely innocent and could never think a single bad thought. Plus, she is the one who came up with the whole idea of celebrating Christmas at the hotel. She did so much research, and eventually found the tradition of mistletoe. She begs you to try it out with her.

Like Lucifer, she cannot get the moment of your guys’ kiss from out of her head. She will keep bringing it up in conversations. Like ‘I just love kissing under the mistletoe’ or ‘y/n and I kissed under the mistletoe last night.’

[la2yn0va]

Heya! May I request a self-aware hsr with a streamer reader? More specifically, the reading being a massive simp for the characters and chat enabling them.

"Chat, I'm not down-bad, but I would let Blade break my nose and I would thank him for it."

"Guys, type 2 in chat if I should try to pull Jade E1... it is decided!"

———

Characters: Blade, Jade. (Was planning to do more but I’m too sleep deprived)

———

Blade:

M/n: God he’s so hot.

He swings the camera around, looking at blades back, front, sides, face, hands, eyes.

M/n: I don’t think I’ve ever been this down bad before—Jesus Christ.

He covers his mouth and laughs, clearly embarrassed. He looked over to his chat who were either simping with him or enabling him.

Chatter 1: would. With a capital W-O-U-L-D.

Chatter 2: You’d let him break your nose… same bro.

Chatter 3: Slice me uuuup~

M/n: I would most definitely let him break my nose… and I’d FUCKIN like it!

He laughed abit harder, not noticing the smug smile on the face of the swordsman. Although blade despised the parasites that were your ‘chatters’ he liked how they enabled your attraction to him.

Blade would give you ‘sneaky’ glances. His eyes looking into yours in a unique way when you stare at him.

He speaks to you subtly. He doesn’t wanna freak you out and scare you away. So when he’s not in battle he speaks “I’ll handle these weaklings…my dear”

Chatter 4: MY DEAR!!? AHHHH!!!!

Chatter 5: Wait is that an actually voiceline!!!?!

Chatter 6: Holy shit this guy is playing the sagau of hsr!

M/n: Oh please do you sexy fuckin—HAHAHAHA!!

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. His embarrassment already gripping onto him deathly, his head flopping onto his keyboard and laughing manically.

Luckily, the camera was facing blades back, blocking his genuinely shocked face and the blush on his face.

He chuckles after a good minute, crossing his arms smugly. He could feel the others jealous and hateful glares.

“He’s corrupting his grace!” Your other characters yelled in unison, all they can do is glare at blade as he turns to give them a shit eating grin.

Jade:

M/n: I don’t think a woman should be making me feel like this

Chatter 1: I’m un-shamefully simping :)

Chatter 2: NAHHHH, it’s fine s/n (streamer name) she’s hot. Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about.

Chatter 3: Would. With her AND you.

M/n: Jesus…

He covers his face, hiding the red dust building up on his face. Blocking his view from a jade that yelled an amused glint in her eyes.

Jade: Naughty Child~

She said teasingly, watching you break more into the pit of embarrassment. She quickly pulls out her binder(whatever that thing is) and writes in it before making it disappear.

She can’t wait to see your pretty face light up when you see how much credits she just sent you. Not to mention those precious stellar jades you’ll use to E6S5 her. Right~?

Jade: Be a good boy and get to work, my dear~

—The End—

I promise I wanted to make this longer, but I haven’t slept since 9 P.m yesterday.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

[hannieehaee]

ahh i dont know if this is weird but i was just curious abt how you think svt would react to their s/o using a safeword during sex???

18+ / mdi

their s/o using the safeword during sex

content: mentions of sex, assumed established relationship, mentions of using the safe word, mentions of reader getting hurt, etc.

wc: 873

a/n: thank u for requesting!! i made it kind of ambiguous as to why the safe word was used so u can just use ur imagination for that<3

masterlist

seungcheol -

freaking out internally at having hurt you but!! externally he'd immediately jump into comforting mode and do everything in his power to ensure your safety and comfort. he'd apologize endlessly for having delayed even on second in detecting your discomfort and would spend the rest of the night cooing and pouting at you as he babied you.

jeonghan -

for once in his life he'd be caught so off guard and enter a state of shock, stopping immediately and unsure of how to proceed. even though things didnt go too far and you hadnt gotten hurt or anything, he'd still feel sooo fucking bad. wouldnt be able to joke to lighten the mood either bc he'd just feel so bad to have hurt you in such an intimate setting. would coo at you and caress you the rest of the day.

joshua -

soooo worried and apologetic. the apologies would be endless as he held onto you and ran his hand up and down your back. sex would be the last thing on his mind as he made sure you felt safe and calm. would make sure he knew what made you use the safe word so he'd never do it again.

jun -

he'd go from 0 to 100 super quickly with his brain completely disregarding what you guys were doing just a few moments ago to make sure you were okay. would ask a million questions as he checked with you. if you pointed out his still massively hard dick, he'd grab a pillow and cover it, claiming it was 100% off his mind at the moment.

soonyoung -

super apologetic lol would just mutter apology after apology after apology and hold onto you so tightly whenever you gave him the green light. he would barely even allow you a word in at first bc of how many apologies he'd be blabbering. would thank you for letting him know before things got too far bc it wouldve absolutely broken him if he had actually harmed you in any way.

wonwoo -

he'd be slow at stopping, knowing that if he suddenly were to stop he might run the risk of hurting you or scare you off. he would continue to be slow in his movements as he pulled you closer and held you in his arms, always giving you time and space to create a distance or move however you pleased. he'd apologize if he hurt you and try to do anything you needed to make sure you were comfortable.

jihoon -

irrationally scared he might've hurt you beyond forgiveness at first. this was a first for him, so he'd feel beyond apologetic and like he had committed a capital crime at having hurt you, even if it was an accident. once you both caught your breaths he'd comfort you (and himself) as he held onto you and made sure you were okay, apologizing for whatever it was that caused you to use your safe word.

seokmin -

stops immediately and becomes extremely apologetic about it to the point where he almost cries. he'd NEVER want to let his lust go so overboard to the point of even giving you the slightest discomfort so this instance would stick to him. you'd have to come to him next time u wanna have sex bc he'd wanna give you space to decide if u wanted sex again on ur own.

mingyu -

jumps off you so quickly he knocks himself off the bed with a huge tud, making himself become the actually injured one. the tables would turn, making you have to take care of the bruise he gave himself but would be consistently interrupted by him wanting to tend to you in case he had somehow hurt you.

minghao -

he'd take it so seriously even if you told him it wasn't that big of a deal, that you just felt off for some reason. none of your rebuttals mattered when he entered a zone of utmost worry for you. he'd switch things up completely, telling you to lay down while he made you a warm drink and prepared a bath for the two of you.

seungkwan -

really loud lol. he'd get scared at the situation, having never been through it and not knowing what to do. he'd end up going overboard and overcompensating in trying to tend to you after having accidentally hurt you.

vernon -

another member who would be too shocked to react at first, simply pulling away from you and blanking on what to do. after a few moments of staring blankly, he'd finally move and ask if you needed anything, checking if you were okay or if you were hurt in any way. he'd feel kind of awkward but would still be sincere in his worry for your wellbeing.

chan -

jumps back immediately, eyes wide as he freezes in place. would take him a few moments to actually get close enough to you to check what was wrong and offer his comfort. would feel soooooo fucking bad. would also feel embarrassed that he had somehow hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. you'd somewhat have to comfort him to make him realize it was fine since he listened when you used your safe word.

[doritochoi]

Ex-Husband Encounter | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x ex-husband!san

genre: smut

warning: public sex, unprotected sex, sexual tension, blowjob, hard fuck, eating cum? ( kinda idk)

word count: 3,7k

tags: @roguehongsami ( you can message me if you want to me tagged in my post!)

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you walk into his office and see the shocking scene before you. "S-san?" you manage to stutter, feeling a sharp pain shoot through your chest. Your husband, with whom you dreamed of spending the rest of your life in happiness, is sitting on a chair, and one of his employees is sitting on his lap, kissing him with a passion that takes your breath away. You are destroyed. You just wanted to be a good wife, bring him lunch like every day, and now you feel like everything is falling apart around you. Your lunch tray dropped on the floor, the plates are broken into a thousand pieces, the crumbs are scattered on the floor, but to you it is only a mute decoration in front of your pain. Inside, a storm of feelings floods your mind and soul - sadness, anger, helplessness. You can't take your eyes off them, the image that tears your heart to pieces. You feel betrayed, abandoned, and at the same time you are tormented by questions that hurt more than anything else. Why? How could you not see? You try to keep your composure, not to collapse in front of them, but you feel tears fill your eyes and your voice is choked with pain. You immediately walk out the door, heartbroken, getting into the car not caring if he calls you. You need distance, space, time to collect your thoughts and understand what you are going to do. You're too hurt to go back, too confused to listen to excuses or explanations. All you want now is to run away from the unbearable pain.

You arrived home sad and angry. Even if you didn't want to do that, you couldn't stay with San anymore. You wanted to wait for him to come home, to discuss, to solve what happened, but your mind stopped thinking. So you went to your shared bedroom. When you got there, you sat on the bed and started to cry, not knowing what to do. The tears flowed even more, making your eyes red and swollen. Looking up, you saw on a small table next to the bed a picture of you and San from the wedding. Looking at the photo, you felt memories begin to flood your mind. The moment was captured into your memory, and every detail came alive again in front of your eyes. You saw San's smile again, the tenderness in his gestures, and you went back in time, reliving the moments of happiness you spent together. The picture was one of your favorites, San holding you by your tiny waist, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek. While you stared at the photo, a surge of rage and betrayal washed over you. In a fit of anger, you grabbed it and threw it to the ground, listening to the sound of it shattering into pieces. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the broken fragments, feeling a bitter satisfaction in the act. It was a release, a way to express the pain and anger consuming you. You packed your bags, not caring whether San would see all your belongings gathered when he came. You blocked him everywhere so he couldn't find you, and you left, tears streaming down your face as you looked back at the house where you two had shared happy moments.

It has been four years since that incident, and you haven't heard from San since. In truth, you hear about him almost every day, as he is now the richest man around with countless business ventures. He's everywhere, but you’ve tried to ignore everything that happened to avoid feeling lonely. Your best friend, Nayeon, has been a rock, helping you get through it all. She has always been by your side, and with her support, you have become a fairly popular model after a long period of healing and rebuilding your life. You’ve graced the covers of several fashion magazines, walked on runways in major fashion capitals like Paris and Milan, and built a strong social media presence. Your style is admired, your confidence radiates through every photoshoot, and your fanbase grows daily. Today was an important day. You were walking the runway in Sardinia, Italy for the Dolce & Gabbana fashion show. It was a beautiful, long-awaited dream come true. Nayeon was there beside you, helping you into your dress. It was a stunning black gown with a daring cutout at the back, accentuating your figure perfectly. The dress was exquisite, made of the finest silk that flowed gracefully with every movement. The cutout at the back revealed just enough skin to be alluring without being too revealing, perfectly balancing between chic and sensual. As Nayeon adjusted the final touches, she smiled at you, her eyes filled with pride and excitement. "You look breathtaking," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. You turned to look at her, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Nayeon. Thank you for always being there.", she squeezed your hand gently. "That's what best friends are for. Now go out there and show them what you're made of."

As you stepped onto the runway, the lights blazed down, illuminating the room and the captivated audience. The black gown flowed elegantly with every step you took, the back cutout adding a touch of allure that drew gasps of admiration from the crowd. While you walked, a figure in the audience caught your eye. Instantly, the smile on your face vanished as you saw your ex-husband San in the crowd. He wore an exceptional white suit, making him easy to recognize, almost glowing amidst the sea of spectators. His hair was perfectly styled, and his piercing gaze, those fox-like eyes, made you freeze. He looked directly at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to maintain your composure, reminding yourself to focus on the walk. Every step felt heavier, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. "Keep it together," you whispered to yourself. "Just a few more steps." San's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable, and it took all your strength to pretend you hadn't noticed him. You felt a swirl of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—threatening to break through your composed exterior. But this was your moment, and you were determined not to let his presence overshadow it.

Finally reaching the end of the runway, you posed, turning with practiced grace, and began your walk back. You kept your chin up, eyes forward, channeling every ounce of professionalism. Nayeon's encouraging smile flashed in your mind, giving you the final push you needed to finish the show with the same elegance and confidence with which you had started. Backstage, as the applause echoed from the runway, you took a deep breath, your heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. Nayeon rushed to your side, sensing something was off. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her features. "I... I saw San," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Where?" "In the audience," you said, glancing back towards the runway. "He was watching me the whole time." You tried to discreetly wipe away your tears, not wanting everyone to see you cry. After a while, when everything had finally wrapped up, you and the team started preparing for the after-party to celebrate the successful show. Your mind wasn't fully present; you were acutely aware that San would be there. You all headed to the most luxurious and opulent restaurant nearby, a sight of pure elegance and sophistication. The exterior was adorned with intricate architecture, lit by soft, ambient lighting that gave it a warm, inviting glow. As you stepped inside, a gracious hostess greeted you, leading your group to a large, round table elegantly set for the occasion. The table was adorned with elegant place settings, sparkling crystal glasses, and a centerpiece of fresh flowers that added a touch of natural beauty to the luxurious setting. Despite the stunning surroundings, your thoughts remained clouded. You tried to engage in the celebration, but the anticipation of seeing San again kept you on edge. The laughter and conversations of your colleagues seemed distant, almost as if they were happening in another world. You noticed that right next to you was the only empty seat at the table, and your eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent name card that read "Choi San". Your heart skipped a beat, realizing the possibility of sitting right next to him. Taking a deep breath, a mix of anticipation washed over you. Was it mere coincidence or a subtle intention from the hosts? As you carefully placed your clutch on the seat, you felt the curious glances from other guests intensify, adding to the pressure of the moment. You took another deep breath, the air thick with anticipation, and when you opened your eyes, there it was—a hand you recognized instantly by its touch, its grip, adorned with rings that spoke of refinement. San had just settled into the seat next to you. He exuded an intoxicating scent, and as he leaned in slightly, you noticed the impeccable tailoring of his suit, revealing a hint of his well-toned chest underneath. "Apologies for being late," he murmured with a respectful nod, his smile bringing back every memory you had of him.

Throughout the dinner, tension built between you and San. You felt his gaze on you constantly, and every accidental touch sent a shiver down your spine. It became overwhelming, and you knew you needed a moment to collect yourself. "Excuse me," you said, standing abruptly. All eyes turned to you as you walked away from the table, your cheeks burning. You hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath. You splashed water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After a few moments, you felt composed enough to return to the table. Just as you opened the door, you walked straight into a solid chest. You looked up, knowing instantly who it was. San. You froze, your eyes meeting his stunning gaze. You wanted to move, to walk away, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back. "San, I need to go," you whispered, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pushed you against the wall, his body close to yours, creating an electrifying closeness. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice low and filled with need. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt the tension between you. Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. His hand moved to your waist, holding you firmly in place. You could feel the heat radiating from him, making your pulse quicken. Your gaze remains fixed downward, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes, But San cups your chin with his hand, gently lifting your face to meet his intense stare. "What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling. His eyes burn into yours, filled with a mix of desire and determination. As you try to pull away, his grip tightens, holding you in place. "Stop struggling. I'm not letting you go," he says, his voice low and husky, filled with a dangerous edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice a whisper, laden with both fear and excitement.

Without another word, San pushes you back into the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click behind you. Your back hits the cool tile wall, the contrast with his heated body making you gasp. His hands are on you again, sliding down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. "I want you," he growls, his voice rough with need. "Every inch of you." San's lips crash against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body. His touch is demanding, possessive, and it ignites a fire inside you that you've tried to suppress for so long. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving visible marks. His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your dress. "God, I've missed these," he growls, his voice thick with desire. You can feel his cock pressing against you, hard and insistent. He pulls the dress down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends, sucking on your nipple while his hand kneads the other, making you moan with pleasure. "San," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devours you. "Don't stop." He bites down gently on your nipple, making you cry out. "I won't," he promises, his voice a low growl. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak before sucking it into his mouth. His free hand moves down, lifting your dress higher until it's bunched around your waist. He slips his fingers under your panties, finding you wet and ready for him. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, sliding a finger inside you and making you arch against him. "Please," you beg, needing more. San grins against your skin, adding another finger and thrusting them in and out of you. His thumb circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "You like that, baby?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Yes," you moan, your hips moving against his hand. "More, San, please." He withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and desperate for him. He grabs your hips, lifting you up and pressing you against the wall. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice rough with need.

You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. He pushes inside you in one hard thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he begins to move. San fucks you with a desperate intensity, each thrust harder than the last. His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer as he drives into you. "God, you feel so good," he groans, his pace relentless. You can barely breathe, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. "San, I'm gonna—" , "Come for me," he demands, his voice harsh and urgent. The words push you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you trembling. San follows moments later, his release spilling inside you as he groans your name.

For a moment, the world stops, the only sound your ragged breaths mingling together. San lowers you back to the ground, his arms still wrapped around you as you both come down from the high. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are filled with a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper. "This isn't over," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I meant what I said. I want you. Every inch of you." You nod, your heart still racing. "We'll see," you whisper, knowing that despite everything, a part of you wants him just as much. San’s eyes darken with a renewed hunger, and he gives you a wicked grin. “On your knees, now,” he commands, his voice low and authoritative. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine as you drop to your knees in front of him. His erection is right in front of your face, and you can see the desire in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling its heat and hardness. You begin by kissing the tip, your tongue darting out to taste him. San inhales sharply, his hands tangling in your hair as you take him into your mouth. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening as you start to move. You take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in tandem to pleasure him. You hollow your cheeks, creating a suction that makes him curse under his breath. Your other hand moves to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you bob your head up and down his length. San’s breathing becomes ragged, his hips thrusting slightly as he struggles to control himself. “You’re so good at this,” he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. You look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze as you take him even deeper, pushing yourself to your limits. The sounds he makes, the way he tenses under your touch, spur you on. You increase your pace, taking him in as far as you can before pulling back and swirling your tongue around the head. “Just like that,” he moans, his eyes closing briefly as he loses himself in the sensation. You can feel him getting closer, his body tensing, his grip on your hair almost painful. With one last, deep thrust, he comes, his release filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not letting a drop escape, your eyes locked on his as he rides out his orgasm. When he finally opens his eyes, there’s a look of deep satisfaction mixed with something more. He pulls you up to your feet, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your lips. “Love, I missed you,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands still holding you close. You can’t deny the electric connection between you, the intense chemistry that still burns so bright. “I missed you too,”.

You both quickly dress, but as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize just how disheveled you are. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are wrinkled, and your makeup is smudged. San doesn't look much better; his suit is rumpled, and his hair is tousled in a way that screams what you've just done. As you step out of the bathroom, the hallway feels like it's a mile long. Just as you turn the corner, you run straight into Nayeon. Her eyes widen as she takes in your appearance, then flicks over to San. The realization dawns on her face, and she crosses her arms, looking between the two of you with an incredulous expression. “Really? Here? Now?” Nayeon exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. You blush furiously, trying to smooth down your dress. “It just… happened,” you mumble, avoiding her piercing gaze. San, trying to regain his composure, clears his throat. “Nayeon, it’s not what it looks like,” he starts, but Nayeon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing at San before turning back to you. “And you? After everything, you just let this happen?” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her disappointment. “It’s complicated, Nayeon. We were just talking and then…” Nayeon throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. “Talking? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like you two were just talking.” San steps forward, his expression earnest. “Look, I know it looks bad, but this is between me and her. We need to figure this out ourselves.” Nayeon’s eyes soften slightly, but she still looks skeptical. “Fine. But you,” she points at you, “better think long and hard about what you’re doing. And you,” she turns to San, “don’t you dare hurt her again.” San nods solemnly. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice firm. Nayeon shakes her head, sighing deeply. “I hope not, for both your sakes.” She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there with San, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. You know Nayeon is right; there are a lot of things to consider, and this isn’t something that can be resolved easily. San looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and determination. “We’ll figure this out,” he says softly. You nod, but inside, you’re not so sure. There’s a lot to unpack, a lot to discuss, and it’s going to take time. But for now, all you can do is take it one step at a time.

[celestemona]

WHERE YOU’RE HIS BELOVED S/O

but you keep more than a card up your sleeve

pairing: lyney x fem witch! reader

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

if you ask Lynette who fell in love first and who fell harder between you and Lyney, she wouldn't even hesitate to point to her twin as the answer to both questions.

the first time you and Lyney met was during one of his public performances where after you caught his eye, he asked you to be his special guest during the show.

truth to be told, he had noticed you even before you approached the crowd surrounding him, and how could he not? you weren't just a pretty new face roaming around the hydro capital, but it was your charming aura that made all heads turn towards you that aroused his curiosity.

from Lyney's point of view, you were fascinating.

and that's why, taking the opportunity to approach and perhaps get to know you better, the magician shamelessly chose you among the dozens of people as an excuse to put his plans into practice.

the chosen act couldn’t be as simple as a deck of cards trick could be. you were instructed by the young magician to choose a card among the dozens offered, memorize it and put it back in the deck.

“this time, however, i propose that we do something different”, suggested the young man. Lynette eyed him suspiciously.

“oh yes?”, you smiled sweetly and Lyney almost found himself losing his composure, “what do you propose, monsieur?”

Lyney coughed, “the person in charge of shuffling the deck won't be me but my lovely assistant, Lynette!”

the younger twin sighed. although as his assistant the girl didn't mind being in the spotlight as long as her brother was the star of the show, Lynette didn't like the spontaneous acts her brother suggested especially knowing that it was merely to impress someone — a girl. you.

even so, she agreed and approached you, the audience only growing and the euphoria of each spectator vibrating with an energy of anticipation and expectation.

“besides, i’m somewhat confident that i’ll have your card. as a reward for my success i humbly propose a dinner for two, belle. on me, of course”. the crowd whistled and you stared at him with a twinkle in your eye.

“do your best then, darling”

Lyney, blinking excitedly and determinedly in your direction, offered the deck to his sister and walked away.

it only took a few seconds for the anemo girl to shuffle the fifty-two cards and another few seconds for you to choose yours.

Lynette not only return to shuffled the cards again as quickly as the eye could follow, but in the middle of the process she played a brief solo by throwing them in the air in which the entire deck turned to white petals, leaving only one card behind which Lyney deftly caught between his index and middle fingers. it was an exciting act and the crowd roared with excitement.

“very well, belle. i have your card in my domain. i hope you are as excited for our dinner as i am,” the magician declared revealing its front.

you watched him silently for a few seconds before smiling.

“oh my dear, it was an amazing performance i must admit. but… that's not my card”, you laughed mockingly.

Lyney stared at you confused, “impossible. i know you chose the seven of clubs.”

raising an eyebrow you said, “do you really think so? see it for yourself.”

and Lyney did, only to stare dumbfounded the queen of hearts who stared back at him.

to say you took everyone there by surprise would be an understatement. even Lynette herself who was known for rarely expressing her emotions couldn't hide the gleam of shock, and perhaps even a hint of humor, in her purple eyes. it was the first time anyone had managed to cheat the famous prince of cheats and it was uncertain for the twins to say what they felt about it.

after that, the show ended as no one understood how the professional magician had his trick broken and not even Lyney had the heart to continue the show.

one by one left until only the three of you stand there.

“well… that was unexpected i must say,” the young man nervously scratched his tear-marked cheek, “this has never happened before so i’m surprised.”

“you did well”, you praised.

“thank you belle, your words comfort me. however, i believe i need to practice again,” Lyney declared with a defeated sigh. Lynette looked at him sympathetically.

even if his statement was true, the magician still wondered what the chances were that he was mistaken during the performance. after all, he couldn't say he was rusty either when he's done the act more times than he could remember, therefore the muscular and psychological movements were as automatic to him as breathing.

moreover, he felt ashamed that not only had he been mistaken in front of so many people, but also for the “invitation” that he had done to you.

“i also apologize if i ever made you uncomfortable”, he smiled shyly “i don't think that dinner will happen anyways.”

after long minutes in silence you faked a melancholy sigh.

“that’s pity. i really was looking forward to sharing a glass of champagne with you,” you said.

“yes, a pity- wait, what... really? like really really?”

you laughed and this time the sound of your laughter was so melodious that the magician didn't even hold back the flush that rose hot from his neck to his cheeks.

“why, of course. there are few men or women who have managed to approach me so confidently and then ask me out without further ado,” you winked at him, “however, to our chagrin, i’m a woman of words. you missed the proposal so you missed our little date,” you smirked, Lyney swallowed hard.

“fair enough.”

“i hope i get to see more of your shows though, darling,” you say as you approach him, “i’m looking forward to finding out what else you hide up your sleeve. if you know what i wanna mean."

and with a bittersweet farewell, you disappeared among the Fontanian citizens, leaving a pair of twins behind with the eldest of them too confused to even think of anything to say.

“apparently you didn't fail at all this time,” Lynette commented, “what does she mean by finding out what you hide up your sleeve?”

“i have no idea, dear sister. the only thing i can tell you right now is that i am deeply in love,” the magician declared with a dreamy look on his face as his sister stared at him blankly. Lynette, having no desire to deal with her older brother's ramblings, walked away to start cleaning up the place.

it was only minutes later when Lyney had already joined his sister that the boy felt a slight discomfort in his covered right arm, as if an unknown object scratch the skin there every time he moved.

curiosity and annoyance caused him to roll up his sleeve only to be replaced by shock, confusion and a faint hint of anticipation.

there in his hand, a seven of clubs was mockingly displayed, but what really got the magician's heart racing was the message stamped in black and the imprint of the bright red lipstick you wore.

“you had my card, you just didn't know where to look for.

p.s. i'll be waiting for you tomorrow’s evening next to Hotel Debord. dinner is on me.”

needless to say that after that trick of yours Lyney just fell more in love with you.

the date couldn't have been more than perfect either, even if during all hours you were together, the magician found himself cornered by your charm and stuttering when you dazzled that cheeky smile that seemed to be characteristic of you. it was rewarding for him to finally have your name even though you refused to give him more information like “what trick did you use to have the card suddenly appear up his sleeve”.

“you have your secrets and i have mine, darling,” you replied.

after that, Lyney gave up on it and didn't ask about the subject anymore, preferring to spend the seconds he had left enjoying your presence and eliciting harmonious laughter from your lips at the expense of his nervousness.

and thanks to the gigantic compatibility between the two of you, there was a second, third and even a fourth date.

however, it wasn't until one of the dozens of nights you spent together that you finally revealed your abilities with spells and arithmancy through witchcraft — making Lyney finally understanding the reason why you seemed to know more than you let on, or how all his tricks seemed like just child’s pranks.

although he superficially understood the concept of it, the magician only grew more and more fascinated by you, his own heart warming as you lovingly explained the function of your abilities.

“chérie, you are without a doubt the most amazing woman i’ve ever been lucky enough to meet,” Lyney remarked after watching you create a small blue flame from water droplets in the air, “i seem to have gotten lucky in my numerology. without it i wouldn’t have the happiness of meeting the most beautiful, intelligent and talented woman in all of Teyvat.”

you blushed slightly.

“don't be fooled, Lyney. you are as amazing as i am.”

Lyney narrowed his eyes cheekily and glared at you, “oh yeah, belle? tell me why then, because only one of us here has the power to conjure up fascinating things just by reciting a few words.”

you smiled genuinely and looked him deep in his eyes. it wasn't even a surprise for you to find yourself thinking about the magician more times than you could count and looking forward to your dates. Lyney was nothing but one of the most genuine, charming and passionate person you’ve ever met. you loved every second in his presence and weren't ashamed to admit that you were counting down the seconds to go to the next step between you and him.

“well, only those who understand and respect human nature and everything around us can perform magic, dear. be it a spell or just an illusionary trick,” you explained, “and you perform your magic so well merely for the purpose of bringing happiness and smiles to your spectators. to me, there is nothing as noble as that.”

you took his hand in your and intertwined your fingers.

“i— um… damn, (Y/N). you never fail to leave me speechless, do you?” Lyney stuttered while stared at your hands together.

“only doing my job which is to exalt the work of the guy i like.”

Lyney stared at you wide-eyed and open-mouthed, his heart pounding so loud it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. if he had been standing up, he would surely have passed out by now on the lawn.

“i like you too. a lot,” he finally confessed and you smiled happily.

leaning slowly towards him you placed a peck on his lips only making Lyney's blush redder than it had been seconds before.

“i know, my love. you're not very subtle about it, which i think is incredibly cute.”

and it was that night, under the gaze of the moon and stars, between kisses and caresses, that you made your relationship official.

now, if you ask Lynette if anything has changed since your first meeting to the current state of your relationship with her brother, the girl would deny it. so far you were a unique yet happy and healthy couple, and even if she didn't show it, she was happy that her twin brother had finally found someone who could fit him as much as she once did.

even if Lyney became an unbearably passionate and romantic fool in your presence, she couldn't have been lucky enough to have a better sister-in-law than you.

[schmergo]

Today I learned a fact that kinda blew my mind, and I'm almost astonished I didn't know this before as someone whose chief interests include zoo animals, the U.S. Presidency, true crime, and D.C. history. What an opener, right? How could those topics possibly combine?

Well, buckle up and get ready to hear how negligent National Zoo leadership potentially could have killed a US President or started a local epidemic. Spoiler alert: They didn't. But only because luck was in their favor.

First, the part that I DID already know. In 2004, Lucy Spelman stepped down as the director of the National Zoo after a spate of controversial zoo incidents, including a string of unfortunate (and often preventable) animal deaths, misleading and missing zoo records, and other signs of negligence. The AZA even "tabled" renewing the National Zoo's accreditation for a year until they made some significant improvements. Spelman was also a vet and some of the cases she was accused of bungling happened at her own hands, not just under her supervision. It was a major disgrace for a zoo that was meant to represent the nation's capital.

I was in elementary school during these fraught years and I remember devouring articles about this in the newspaper, riveted with shock and dismay. Some of the deaths were just bad luck, but others were obviously negligent. The most infamous case was two red pandas killed by rat poison shallowly buried in their enclosures as a slapdash solution to the zoo's pest problem. A young zebra died of starvation and hypothermia after Spelman ordered the zebras' feed be cut in half, an orangutan was euthanized due to a recurrence of cancer that didn't exist (she actually had salmonella), a lion died after being administered over twice the usual amount of anesthetic, and more. I remember the names and details of these animals from when I first read these cases 20 years ago. But the one I'm talking about today is that of Nancy the elephant.

Nancy was a 46-year-old African elephant whose health had been steadily declining for several years. She suffered from a bone infection in her foot that seriously affected her mobility and quality of life. She had lost a lot of weight, she was fatigued, she even lay down at times. Nobody could be blamed for deciding to euthanize the obviously ill animal.

But they could be blamed for what was discovered in the necropsy after she was euthanized. While she did indeed have a diseased foot, the bone infection was only "moderate." Why, then, was she so obviously unwell? Her lungs had been destroyed by the effects of untreated tuberculosis. It was the tuberculosis, not the sore foot, that most contributed to her decline in health.

Here’s the scary part: nobody knows how long she'd had it because she hadn't been tested for tuberculosis, a known concern for zoo elephants, in TWO YEARS. All this despite the fact that it's MANDATORY for all zoo elephants to receive a tuberculosis test once per year-- and in fact, it was a National Zoo staff member who pushed for that reform in the first place. And the elephant was on Prednisone for her foot issues, which zoo staff noted in her records made her more vulnerable to illnesses like TB. In fact, none of the zoo's elephants had been tested recently, which meant any of them, including one who was pregnant, may have had tuberculosis, too.

There are documented cases of humans catching tuberculosis from elephants. Now, Nancy the elephant had bovine tuberculosis, which seems to be less contagious to humans and which elephants haven't so far spread to humans... BUT it has spread to humans from black rhinos, a fairly close relative, so it seems likely that elephants COULD spread it. It can also take a while for TB for incubate (and can also be latent without symptoms), especially for elephants, so the elephants OR keepers who were around Nancy were at serious risk for TB.

NOW HERE IS THE PART THAT I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT UNTIL TODAY:

Spelman actively tried to COVER UP the situation, potentially putting many more people at risk. The elephant house was closed to zoo guests, but they were only told it was for "renovations." (The actual renovations, incidentally, were to improve ventilation so that illness would be less likely to spread.)

A BBC news crew that came to film the elephants was asked to keep a healthy distance from the elephants for their emotional health and the crew's safety-- the explanation given was that the elephants' group dynamics had been thrown off by Nancy's death. Spelman instructed zoo staff not to mention the TB situation to the BBC crew and, if asked why Nancy died, they were to respond that it was for multiple reasons and that the official test results weren't all back yet.

And here's the most shocking part of all, the part that made me GASP out loud. Spelman still personally gave some special VIP behind-the-scenes tours of the elephant house during the months that the elephant house was closed, a time when the remaining elephant inhabitants could potentially still develop active TB.

One VIP who received an elephant house tour was PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON and five family members!!!!

BILL. CLINTON. THE GOSHDARN PRESIDENT.

While zoo staff says that the tour was deliberately distanced and nobody got close to an elephant, there are photos of Bill Clinton's nephew about a foot away from an elephant's trunk. You know, their nose. The part they can spread disease with. So, uh, definitely in the danger zone there.

Hillary Clinton's brother, Tony Rodham, was on the tour and he said that nobody in the party was warned about TB risk or asked if they had any medical conditions that might (a. make them susceptible to communicable disease, or (b. be contagious to the elephants. This is especially egregious because according to zoo guidelines, all behind-the-scenes tour participants MUST be asked these questions-- not just when there's a very real possibility of a TB outbreak at the zoo.

Fortunately, none of the zoo's other elephants OR keepers ever tested positive for tuberculosis. But it was certainly a close call! And imagine what would have happened if a US President caught TB from a close encounter with an elephant thanks to poorly managed zoo staff.

Presidents meet a lot of people. In fact, this zoo visit happened only 2 weeks before the inauguration of President George W. Bush, which Clinton attended. He very well could have started a TB outbreak there. Heck, TWO US Presidents could have been infected!

Now THAT is something I will be thinking about for a long time!

[medlarmeadows]

Hi! My special interest is photo booths...can you do Charlie x fem reader where they take goofy pictures in a photo booth?

If thats too specific, i'd love headcanons or fluffy drabbles about amusement park or arcade dates.

Anon, your request is so freaking cute! The idea of going to photobooths with Charlie is so endearing to me, you got me so excited to write this!! It’s a bit more of a drabble, a little tiny one, but packed with so much fluff. Hope you enjoy!

-

photobooth shenanigans

cc!Charlie Slimecicle x fem!reader

Synopsis: Photobooths have been a special interest of yours for a long time, but where’s the joy in going to photobooths alone? Luckily, your boyfriend is there to indulge in your interests.

Warning(s): tooth-rotting fluff, Charlie calls reader baby/babe, established relationship.

Word count: 866

masterlist || request guidelines

You’re walking down the street with Charlie, your hands swinging between the two of you. Comfortable, peaceful silence surrounds you two, when something catches your eye.

The excited squeal you let out bursts the quiet bubble you’re in.

“Charlie!” you exclaim, pointing towards your object of interest. “Charlie, look!”

“What, baby?” he asks, trying to follow your line of sight. He squints his eyes as if the action would help him spot what you were pointing out.

“Babe, the street’s pretty crowded,” he starts, eyes slightly furrowed as he tries to work out what caught your attention. “What’re you pointing at?”

You’re bouncing on your toes now, excitedly shaking his hoodie sleeve to expel the excess excitement that has built up in your body, before pointing again, exclaiming:

“Photobooth!”

This time, Charlie’s eyes immediately latch on to the photobooth you’re pointing at. It was sitting on the side of the street and was a dull grey booth with a cream curtain and bright blue letters on the side reading PHOTOBOOTH in all capitals. It’s almost impressive how you managed to spot it as it nearly blended into the side of the building.

He’s turning back to you, drinking in your form that was practically buzzing with energy. Your excitement was contagious, and he can’t help but smile fondly at you.

“Do you wanna take a photo together?” Charlie asks, even though he already knows what your answer would be –

“Yes!”

That’s how the two of you end up crammed into a photobooth that looked as though it had seen better days. There was a small bench inside of it, so small that you had to prop one leg on Charlie’s thighs in order for both your butts to fit on the bench.

But of course, it didn’t stop your combined joy from filling up the small photobooth.

You’re quickly inserting a coin into the slot to start the photobooth. You were given three poses, so you and Charlie reacted as quickly as possible between each camera shutter to come up with the goofiest poses you could think of:

The first pose the two of you strike is one of utter seriousness. You both keep a straight face and stare straight into the camera, even if the façade of seriousness was broken by the fact that one of your legs was still propped up awkwardly on Charlie’s lap.

The second pose contains Charlie squishing your cheeks together with his other arm slung around your shoulders, while your hands reach up to muss up his hair. One of your hands don’t quite reach the top of his head because of your awkward position, which sends both of you into a fit of laughter.

The final pose has you both making the funniest faces you could think of. Charlie’s pulling the Zoolander face (cough Edward Twilight cough) while you try your best to contort your face weirdly.

When the photo strips are printed out (you managed to print two to your delight), you’re shocked by the quality of the pictures. The photobooth looked so old you honestly thought that the pictures were going to turn out pixelated, but the photobooth managed to catch every last goof in HD.

“Oh my god,” you say in between laughs, “your Zoolander face has been immortalised in high definition.”

You turn to your boyfriend, admiring the way a spark lights in his eyes as he studies the photo strip in his hands.

“But look at you!” He gestures at the second picture. “Your cuteness has been immortalised too, babe.”

You’re giggling again, slapping Charlie across the bicep.

“Shut up!”

“I’m not lying! You’re so cute here.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“Nobody else is in here but us. Who am I embarrassing you in front of?”

You’re quiet for a beat, before a shy smile forms on your face.

“You.”

Charlie’s expression immediately turns cheeky as he leans impossibly closer to you.

“Oh? Do you, perhaps, maybe, have a – ah – crush on, moi?”

What should have probably been a sweet moment is completely ruined because as he says that he pulls the Zoolander face, speaking in an exaggerated tone.

You’re shoving him with more force this time, barking out a laugh at his outlandish expression and tone.

“Stop that! You’re going to give me stitches from laughing so hard – ”

“I’ll stitch you right back up, baby.”

“Charlie!”

The two of you end up goofing around for a bit longer in the photobooth and eventually decide to take another photo. This time, it’s a lot calmer and sweeter, each pose being either a hug or the two of you looking endearingly into each other’s eyes.

And, of course, it ends with a sweet kiss.

Which was promptly ruined by Charlie pulling the Zoolander face when you pull away. You smack him again before snatching up the freshly printed photo strips and bolting out of the photobooth before he can stop you.

You’re sprinting down the street, Charlie hot on your heels. Neither of you care that passers-by are giving you two weird looks. Neither of you notice them.

Because you’re both caught up in the little joys shared between you two that came from a simple photobooth.

[novaursa]

Legacy (bloodlines)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: golden roses

- Next part: sun over the capital

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The memory drifted back to you like a ghost, stirring from the recesses of your mind as you sat alone. The journey through memories was an ache you seldom indulged, but tonight, you found yourself slipping back to that long-ago time at Winterfell, when grief still clung to you like a heavy, suffocating cloak.

It was early morning when Lord Eddard Stark returned to Winterfell, bringing with him a bundle in his arms—an infant, quiet and blinking against the harsh northern light. Snow dusted lightly the ground, falling softly from the sky, blanketing the familiar courtyard you had come to know as your refuge. You’d been taken in as a ward, but you were still a stranger in these halls, a Targaryen displaced from the south, grieving the family you had lost and wrestling with the weight of exile.

You’d heard the sound of horses clopping, the quiet murmur of voices, and the muffled shouts of men and women gathered to witness the return of Winterfell’s lord. You’d stepped out into the cold, your breath visible in the frigid air, just as Eddard Stark dismounted, a small, swaddled bundle in his arms.

Lady Catelyn was already there, her face pale with shock, her gaze fixed on the child her husband held. You could see the strain in her stance, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her cloak, her eyes blazing with an anger she tried to keep in check.

“What… what is this, Ned?” Catelyn’s voice was taut, barely concealing the hurt that laced each word. “What have you brought home?”

Lord Stark looked at her, his expression steady, though there was a flicker of regret in his gaze. He glanced down at the child, who was silent, his small eyes wide and curious, wrapped tightly against the chill.

“This is Jon,” Eddard replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “He is my blood.”

Catelyn’s face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “Your blood?” she repeated, her voice tight. “You bring him here, to Winterfell, without a word? And expect me to… accept him?”

Eddard looked away, his face heavy with an unspoken sorrow. “This is the way it must be, Cat.”

But her eyes narrowed, her voice trembling. “And what of my own child? What of Robb?” She shook her head, her expression hardening. “I… I will not raise him as mine.”

You had lingered nearby, uncertain whether to approach or retreat, caught between your own mourning and the scene unfolding before you. But Eddard’s eyes found yours, something quiet and resolute in his gaze.

“Lady Y/N,” he said gently, his voice carrying across the cold air. “Will you come here?”

You took a tentative step forward, and then another, feeling the weight of his request settle heavily on your shoulders. When you reached him, he carefully extended the bundle toward you, his expression softening as he placed the infant in your arms.

“This is Jon,” he repeated, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and hope. “He will need someone to care for him, someone with kindness and strength. I believe he’ll find that in you.”

You looked down at the baby nestled in your arms, his small face framed by a tuft of dark hair, his eyes bright as they looked up at you with innocent curiosity. In that moment, something inside you softened, the grief that had clung to you easing just slightly. You’d lost so much, but here, in your arms, was someone new—a child who, like you, was displaced, cast into a world he did not yet understand.

Catelyn looked away, her expression unreadable, her shoulders rigid with hurt and anger. The strain between her and Eddard remained unspoken, a crack in the air between them, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned and walked away, her footsteps brisk, leaving the two of you standing alone in the courtyard.

Eddard watched her go, his face shadowed by a sadness he didn’t speak. After a moment, he turned back to you, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Winterfell is a place of family, of loyalty. I want Jon to know that, even if… even if some find it difficult to accept.”

You nodded, understanding the depth of his request. “He will know loyalty,” you promised, looking down at Jon’s small, peaceful face. “I’ll see to that.”

Lord Stark gave you a small, weary smile, his gaze filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. “I know you carry grief as well… but perhaps Jon will bring some light to you, as I hope he will to this family.”

You glanced down at the child in your arms, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest as he shifted, his tiny fingers reaching out, gripping the fabric of your cloak with surprising strength. In that moment, you felt the beginnings of something new—a connection, a purpose that anchored you to this strange, cold place.

You raised your gaze to Eddard, meeting his solemn expression with a soft smile. “I will look after him, Lord Stark. I promise.”

Eddard inclined his head, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Winterfell is his home now. And yours, if you’ll accept it.”

The memories wash over you anew, vivid and warm, pulling you deeper into a time when Winterfell had truly become your sanctuary. You remembered those early years, watching Jon grow from a tiny, curious infant into a spirited young boy with eyes that held wisdom beyond his years. In him, you saw a reflection of yourself—someone caught between worlds, shaped by loss yet untouched by bitterness.

You remembered the nights spent sitting by the fire, telling him stories of your family, of dragons, of Valyria. He’d listen with wide eyes, clutching your hand as though each tale held him spellbound. You would hold him close, feeling his small heart beat against you, a reminder that, though your family was gone, life continued. With Jon, you found healing, and in return, you gave him a mother’s love, fierce and unbreakable.

Then there were the other Stark children—children who grew to see you as family as well. Arya, with her boundless energy and mischievous spirit, often dragged you outside to chase her across the training yard. She’d laugh wildly, hair flying, challenging you to keep up, her small fists swinging as if already preparing to become the fighter she so longed to be. “Catch me, Auntie!” she’d shout, her voice ringing through the stone walls.

Then there was Sansa, delicate and careful, who would sit with you in the godswood, mimicking the embroidery you taught her, her tiny fingers fumbling with the needle but never giving up. “Is this right?” she’d ask, her blue eyes filled with wonder, watching your hands move in practiced, graceful patterns.

Robb, already showing signs of his father’s steady strength, would sit at your feet by the hearth, asking questions about the South, about knights and battles, his mind ever curious and eager. He’d watch over Jon protectively, even as a child, as though sensing the weight Jon carried.

And Jon himself, with his solemn gaze and his quiet determination. You’d watch as he grew older, learning to wield a wooden sword, determined to prove himself worthy. “I’ll protect Winterfell one day,” he’d say with a quiet conviction, as if he already knew his path, though uncertain where it would lead.

You’d loved them all, but Jon held a special place in your heart, a bond forged not only by duty but by the healing he’d unknowingly given you. He was your light, your purpose, and in those years at Winterfell, you found the family you’d thought forever lost.

Then, like lightning piercing through the warmth of memory, flashes began to break your reverie—a vision that felt both familiar and strange.

You saw Brandon Rivers—the Three-Eyed Raven. His face was calm, wise, as he looked at you, his pale skin half-shrouded by darkness, his eyes distant yet focused, as though he saw beyond what lay in front of him. He spoke to you warmly, his voice deep and resonant, echoing in a way that felt like it came from both near and far.

"Y/N," he said, his tone carrying a kindness that surprised you. “You have always walked a path between two worlds—one foot in the past, the other in the future. You belong to both the fire and the ice.”

You tried to respond, but words failed you as his image flickered, shifting between shadows and light. He stepped closer, the air around him tinged with an otherworldly power, his presence overwhelming. You felt a strange warmth spreading within you, a sense of understanding, of something connecting you not just to the past but to a future yet unwritten.

“Be wary, and be steadfast,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You have always held more strength than you realize, and it will be tested. But remember… love and loyalty are the true gifts that time cannot touch.”

His voice faded, and you felt the world around you shifting, as if pulled away from the vision like mist dissipating in the morning sun.

The memories vanished, leaving you seated alone in your chambers in the Red Keep. The familiar coldness of the stone walls crept back, and the echoes of laughter, the warmth of children’s voices, faded like an old song carried away by the wind.

You sat there in silence, the ache of longing filling your chest, as though Winterfell itself had drifted out of reach, leaving only the weight of duty and loss. But you took a steadying breath, reminded of Bran’s words, reminded of all that had made you strong.

As your hand rested on the arm of your chair, you whispered to the empty room, your voice soft, yet filled with resolve. “For them, I’ll endure. For Jon… for all of them.” And in that quiet promise, you felt the strength of Winterfell once more, a thread of warmth that even the coldest of stone walls could not steal.

The candlelight flickered gently on your desk as you carefully folded the letter, its edges crisp and neat. You’d taken time with every word, each stroke of ink on the parchment deliberate and filled with unspoken emotion. When you finished, you pressed the wax seal firmly, marking it with your insignia, knowing this small mark would carry your words across leagues of ocean to a distant land.

The letter was for her—your little sister, Daenerys. You don't even know her face, but the thought of her, alone and so far away, left a deep ache in your chest. This letter, filled with words of guidance, caution, and perhaps even a hint of hope, was the only way you could reach her from the walls of the Red Keep.

A soft knock broke the silence, and you straightened, composing yourself before calling out, “Enter.”

The door opened, and Barristan stepped inside, nodding respectfully before allowing Varys to enter. The Spider moved with his usual quiet grace, his robes sweeping the floor as he approached, his expression calm but curious.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth and polite. “You requested my assistance?”

You nodded, extending the sealed letter toward him. “Yes, Lord Varys. I need this delivered, but… discreetly. Your network is more than capable, I trust?”

Varys’s eyes glinted with interest as he took the letter, his fingers brushing over the wax seal as he inspected it. He seemed to understand the weight of the task without needing to open it, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “I assume this letter is intended for someone of great importance across the Narrow Sea?”

You met his gaze evenly, your voice steady. “Yes. It’s for my sister, Daenerys. I need her to receive this without any interference. There are… words she must read.”

Varys inclined his head, his expression thoughtful, though there was a faint smile playing on his lips. “A most delicate task, my lady, but one that is well within my means. Rest assured, the letter will reach its intended recipient without delay.”

You watched him carefully, noting the subtle curiosity in his gaze. Varys was not one to let opportunities for information slip by, yet he was also wise enough to know when not to pry too deeply. “I trust you understand the importance of this remaining… undisclosed,” you added, your tone firm. “Not even Tywin is to know.”

He gave a small nod, his voice soft yet reassuring. “Of course, my lady. My discretion is as much a part of my service as my knowledge. Your secrets are safe with me, as they have always been.”

You felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that Varys, for all his cunning, was a master at weaving delicate threads of information without breaking them. “Thank you, Varys. You’re doing a service that reaches beyond mere loyalty.”

He allowed himself a slight smile, bowing his head. “I consider it my duty to serve the realm in ways that many may not understand. And if this letter reaches a distant Targaryen across the sea, then perhaps… the realm will be the better for it.”

The hint of sentiment in his words surprised you, but you chose not to question it. Instead, you watched as he tucked the letter away in his robes, securing it with practiced care. He looked back at you, his face unreadable, though his voice held a quiet reverence.

“Your sister is fortunate, my lady. Few would extend such care from so far away.”

Your expression softened. “She is still my blood, Varys. She carries the legacy of our family, one that I fear she doesn’t fully understand. This letter… it’s a reminder that she is not alone, even if she believes herself to be.”

Varys nodded, his gaze turning contemplative. “The world is often less forgiving of those who carry a legacy. But sometimes, reminders like these are the very things that can sustain one through trials they cannot yet foresee.”

With a final nod, Varys inclined his head and took his leave, slipping through the door with the same quiet grace he had entered. Barristan, ever vigilant, offered you a respectful glance as he resumed his post outside, closing the door behind him.

Alone once more, you allowed yourself a deep breath, feeling the weight of the task settle over you. You had done what you could; now, it was up to fate, and to Varys’s many hidden connections. Somewhere across the sea, your words would find Daenerys, your sister, the last thread connecting you to the family you’d once known.

And though miles stretched between you, you hoped your words would serve as a reminder to her that the blood of dragons was never truly alone, that somewhere, family still held her close—even if only in spirit.

The dining hall was aglow with the warm light of many candles, casting a soft, golden hue over the long table adorned with lavishly prepared dishes. You sat beside Tywin, with a place set for you among the Lannisters and Tyrells—a “family dinner,” as Tywin had announced it, though the atmosphere in the room suggested anything but familial warmth.

To Tywin’s left sat Joffrey, who looked distinctly unimpressed, though his fiancée, Margaery, wore her usual gracious smile as she conversed with him. Across the table sat Cersei, her face set in a strained smile, her gaze occasionally flickering to you with barely concealed irritation. Next to her, Loras sat with his own quiet dignity, and beside him, Mace Tyrell was in high spirits, making conversation with Tyrion, who sat at the far end with a smirk that showed he was observing everything with keen amusement. Tommen and Myrcella, seated beside Tyrion, seemed enchanted by the occasion, their young faces lit up by the feast before them.

Myrcella, in particular, had drawn close to you throughout the evening, leaning over to engage you with shy questions about your family’s history and tales of dragonriders. Her soft, eager whispers reached you as she asked, “Lady Y/N, is it true you lived in the South when there were still… dragon eggs in the Red Keep?”

You gave her a warm smile, charmed by her interest. “Yes, Myrcella. There were indeed dragon eggs kept in the Red Keep, though they were said to have turned to stone. Still, they were a reminder of a time when dragons soared above Westeros.”

Her eyes sparkled with awe, and she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think… do you think dragons could ever return?”

You paused, giving her question the weight it deserved. “One never knows, dear,” you replied softly, your voice filled with the warmth of shared secrets. “Dragons are creatures of magic, and magic has a way of returning when least expected.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched her daughter’s rapt attention on you. She said nothing, but her displeasure was unmistakable, her posture stiffening with each whispered exchange.

Meanwhile, the conversation around the table had turned to the approaching wedding of Margaery and Joffrey, with Mace Tyrell boasting proudly about the preparations in place.

“It will be an event for the ages,” Mace declared grandly, beaming at his daughter. “Nothing but the finest for my Margaery and the king.”

Joffrey looked indifferent, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he glanced at Margaery. “I would hope so. A king deserves nothing less.”

Tyrion chuckled under his breath, though he concealed it quickly when Tywin shot him a warning look. “Indeed,” Tyrion added, raising his cup. “To Joffrey and Margaery. May their union bring prosperity to the realm.”

As the servant boy moved around the table, pouring wine into each cup, he approached you and reached to fill yours. But before he could pour, Tywin’s hand stopped him, his fingers resting firmly over the rim of your cup.

“She’ll have water,” Tywin said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tywin with a hint of playful mischief in your eyes. “Hardly fair, my lord. You drink the finest Arbor Red, and I am given only water?”

For a brief moment, Tywin’s eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement, though his expression remained stern. “Fairness is rarely a factor in what’s best for one’s well-being,” he replied, glancing at the servant. “And I, too, will take water tonight.”

The servant hesitated, but with a nod, he poured water into both your cup and Tywin’s. Across the table, Olenna Tyrell observed the exchange with keen interest, her lips quirking in a smile.

“Well,” Olenna said, her voice light with amusement, “it seems I’ve learned something new. The mighty Tywin Lannister drinks water when he dines with his Targaryen wife. Quite the show of solidarity.”

Tywin gave her a brief, cool look but allowed himself a rare, faint smirk. “It’s called leading by example, Lady Olenna. Something I’m sure you understand well.”

Olenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I do, Lord Tywin. But I daresay you’re indulging in more than a noble display of moderation.”

Cersei, clearly irritated by the exchange, looked pointedly at her father. “I wasn’t aware we were taking lessons in abstinence, Father,” she said with thinly veiled annoyance. “Especially at a family dinner meant to celebrate an impending wedding.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a slight tension in his jaw. “Moderation has its virtues, Cersei,” he replied. “And it does no harm to remind us all of them now and then.”

Loras exchanged a quick glance with Margaery, a slight smirk crossing his lips as he observed the dynamic unfolding across the table. Meanwhile, Joffrey watched the conversation with an expression of distaste, clearly disinterested in the subtleties of restraint and virtue.

Tommen, sensing the shift in the mood, turned to you and asked innocently, “Do you think dragons drank wine, Lady Y/N? Or just water?”

You laughed softly, meeting the young boy’s curious gaze. “Dragons,” you replied, “likely drank whatever they pleased, Tommen. They were free creatures, beholden to no one.”

Myrcella beamed at this, clearly delighted. “I like that idea. A creature as free as a dragon.” She glanced at you shyly. “You… you remind me of that, Lady Y/N.”

Your heart warmed at her words, and you smiled down at her, touched by her innocent admiration. “Thank you, Myrcella. That is a very kind comparison.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze darkened as she observed her daughter’s fascination with you. Her expression grew colder, her smile forced as she watched Myrcella lean closer to you, her eyes filled with warmth and admiration.

Olenna, watching the interaction between you and Myrcella with her sharp eyes, leaned over to Mace and whispered, though loud enough for most to hear, “It seems the young princess has taken to our Lady Y/N. How delightful to see that even dragons can charm the younger generation.”

Margaery smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Myrcella. “It’s refreshing to see Myrcella so captivated,” she commented, casting a subtle glance at Cersei. “A new bond forming, perhaps.”

Cersei’s face tightened, her eyes narrowing as she forced a smile. “Myrcella’s affections are… easily won, it seems.”

You felt Tywin’s hand rest over yours briefly, a rare gesture that conveyed his support, as he cast a steadying look toward his daughter. “Affection isn’t a weakness, Cersei,” he remarked coolly. “It’s the ties we build that keep us strong.”

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the echo of footsteps as Tyrion fell into stride beside his father, who walked with his usual measured pace, his gaze fixed ahead as he made his way toward the Tower of the Hand. The evening had been tense yet full of its own intrigue—a careful balancing act between allies and rivals. Tyrion, ever observant, had noted more than a few things that piqued his curiosity, and as they walked, he couldn’t resist finally voicing them.

“Father,” Tyrion began, his tone casual, though there was a glint of mischief in his eye. “I couldn’t help but notice certain… developments at dinner tonight. Ones I’m certain not everyone at the table grasped.”

Tywin’s gaze remained forward, his expression unreadable, but there was a slight tightening of his jaw. “Speak plainly, Tyrion,” he said curtly, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

Tyrion gave a small, knowing smile, keeping his pace alongside Tywin as they walked. “Well, as plain as I may, Father. I can only assume that Lady Y/N is with child.”

Tywin didn’t break his stride, though there was a slight pause, barely perceptible, in his gait. He did not look at Tyrion, nor did he respond immediately, the silence stretching between them.

Tyrion, undeterred, continued. “I gather as much from certain… subtle shifts in your behavior,” he explained, his tone still light but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “For instance, the incense at the wedding, your insistence that she avoid it, not to mention your particular refusal of wine tonight. And let’s not forget the look you cast the boy when he brought wine to Lady Y/N.” He paused, watching Tywin’s expression, though his father’s face remained stony. “All signs, shall we say, that point to a rather… hopeful condition.”

Tywin’s silence was absolute, his face an impassive mask that betrayed nothing, but the corners of his mouth tightened ever so slightly, a warning for Tyrion not to press too far.

Undeterred, Tyrion gave a short laugh, the sound echoing softly in the empty hall. “You don’t need to confirm anything, Father. I understand the value of discretion,” he remarked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “But should this news prove true, I must admit it is… quite the development.”

Tywin came to a stop, finally turning to face Tyrion. His expression was one of measured calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze that brooked no further questioning. “If there were such a development,” he replied in a low, controlled voice, “then it would be a matter of considerable importance. One that requires discretion—discretion I expect from you, Tyrion.”

Tyrion raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Father. My lips are sealed. I simply wished to express my… congratulations, should congratulations be in order.”

Tywin regarded him with an unyielding stare, his eyes hard as steel. “If Lady Y/N is indeed carrying my child,” he said slowly, his voice cold and purposeful, “then understand this, Tyrion—it will be the future of House Lannister. And I will not tolerate anything that jeopardizes that future.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened, a flicker of genuine respect in his expression. “As well you shouldn’t,” he replied quietly. “But, Father, surely even you must understand what this means. A child… a child of Lannister and Targaryen blood.”

Tywin’s face remained unyielding, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze, a glint of something unreadable that Tyrion caught but could not fully decipher. “If the child is born,” Tywin said, his tone colder than before, “they will be raised as a Lannister, and they will understand the weight of that name.”

Tyrion nodded, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. “I have no doubt, Father. But perhaps there’s more to a legacy than the weight of a name. A child of such lineage… there’s a power in that, a power that neither gold nor iron alone can command.”

Tywin’s gaze narrowed, his voice steely. “Power, Tyrion, is not something that comes from blood alone. It is something built, something earned. And if Lady Y/N does indeed bear my child, that child will be raised with the discipline and honor that befits the House of Lannister. Do not mistake sentiment for strength.”

Tyrion inclined his head slightly, conceding the point. “Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The silence between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words, as Tywin resumed his stride toward the Tower of the Hand, leaving Tyrion standing in the dimly lit hall. Tyrion watched his father go, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He understood the weight of what he’d uncovered tonight, and though Tywin’s silence had spoken volumes, it was enough.

A child, he mused, one who would carry the blood of two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. And in that child, he sensed a future that even Tywin Lannister could not fully control.

[mentally-gone002]

summer swims

summary: the whole gang is at steve pool to evade the heat. 

warnings: a teeny tiny bit of an innuendo

a/n: y’all… i’m on my steve harrington obsession time again (he’s my pookie🤭) so don’t be afraid to send me requests for him!!!! also i mean to not capitalize everything!

———————————————————————

“good afternoon hawkins! i’m your weatherman john kingston, and today is the hottest day of the year, with a high of 101 and a low of 95 degrees. apply that sunscreen and stay safe out there…” 

the weatherman spoke over the radio in cheerful sentences while i laid outside in the sun. my sunglasses were sliding down my nose due to the light sheen of sweat covering my body. 

the kids were down in the pool, laughing, sometimes screaming, and jumping into the pool. i smiled at them. 

“hey gorgeous !” my attention was dragged away from the page when i heard robin address me from the back door. 

i jumped out of my chair when i saw her. “hey beautiful!” i hugged her quickly. “was he nice to you?” i wondered, looking behind her at steve as he put his car keys on the kitchen counter and then ran up the stairs out of my sight. 

“he’s a dingus, as always.” she tells me while rolling her eyes. “how long have they been here?” she nodded at the kids. i looked back at them as lukas and dustin jumped into the pool at the same time, making max and el scream as water splashed them in the face. mike as will sat on the edge of the pool away from the group, chatting together quietly.

“maybe two hours? they just showed up and came out here.” i shrugged with a small chuckle. “i had to literally fight, and i mean fight, all the boys to put on sunscreen.” 

robin laughed. “it’s easier to work with girls isn’t it?” she winked and i playfully hit her with a laugh. 

“are you hitting on my girl?” steve asked robin as he wrapped an arm around my waist. he’d changed into his swimsuit.

robin shook her head with crinkled brows. “that’s classified information, harrington.” she winked at me again and walked into the house. “i’m gonna get into my swimsuit.” she told us over her shoulder. 

steve turned to stand in front of me with his hands on my waist. “hi.” he smiled, leaning down to kiss me. “sorry we were late, the other employees forgot they had to come into their shift.” 

i shook my head. “it’s alright. it’s been fun to watch the kids for once.” my arms went up to rest on his shoulders. “just listen to me when i tell you to wear sunscreen because i’ve already wrestled four of the six little shits. i’m tired.”

steve looked me over, eyeing how my bikini shaped me. “i wouldn’t mind wrestling you.” he grinned cheekily and i smacked his bare chest with a shocked laugh. “what? it’s the truth!” he grinned, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “you look sexy.” 

i moved my head slightly to look at the kids who haven’t even noticed that id moved or that steve and robin are here. “keep talking like that and you won’t get any sleep tonight.” 

steve chuckled lowly. “i’d like that.” he told me. 

“move it, dingus.” robin walked past us onto the patio with the bottle of sunscreen i’d put on the counter in her hand. 

steve glared at her from behind. “give me a second.” he kissed my cheek quickly before jogging up behind robin to pick her up and toss her into the pool. she let out a loud shriek before hitting the water. 

all the kids laughed as they looked over at steve.

i put my palm over my mouth to stifle my laughter as robin broke the surface with a gasp. her hair covered her face. “you okay rob?” i asked, walking to the edge of the pool to help her out. 

she pushed her hair from her face. “i’ll be okay after i get my revenge.” she glared at steve who had his arms crossed over his chest with a proud smile. 

i shook my head. “you shouldn’t have done that.” i warned. 

he opened his mouth in disbelief. “she called me dingus!” he said in an attempt to justify his actions. 

i scoffed. “have fun then. she’s scary.” i whispered the last part as i walked past him, patting his shoulder. “don’t forget sunscreen.” 

“yes ma’am.” he grinned. 

i went back to my chair and watched from afar as robin tried to drag steve to the edge of the pool. she groaned in disappointment. “y/n, tell your boyfriend to just except his fate and get in the pool.” 

i smiled as steve looked at me. “just let her push you in the pool.” i told him. 

“but my hair.” he pointed to his head of perfectly styled hair. 

“just jump in!” i yelled at him. 

all the kids were sat on the edge of the pool watching in anticipation for steve to be pushed in. 

he dropped his head back and sighed, stepping onto the edge so that the fronts of his feet hung off over the water. 

robin grinned and ran with her arms in front of her so that she got all the leverage. 

i laughed when his exclaim of surprise was cut off by the water. white bubbles surrounded his spot of submersion until he came back up again, spitting the water from his mouth. 

all the kids cheered, chapping their hands and robin bowed. the kids all got up and jogged carefully to jump in all together around steve. 

“woah! guys-“ steve tried to stop them but got a wave of water in his face instead. 

i laughed.

“in what way was that funny?” steve asked, hoisting himself out of the pool so that he could walk over to me with a sly look on his face. 

i dropped my smile. “hey, no! don’t you dare!” 

he hooked his arms under my legs and back, picking me up. “you’re the only one who’s dry here.” 

i looked at him in annoyance. “steve harrington, don’t you dare throw me in!” i told him sternly. “i’ll kill you.” 

“no you won’t.” he laughed before tossing me into the pool. 

i yelped before being enveloped by the cool water, making the heat of summer feel more bearable. i got my head above water and blinked, feeling the water burn my eyes. 

steve was squatting on the edge as i swam up. he offered me his hand and i took it before planting my feet on the pools wall to pull him back in. 

“fuck you.” steve sputtered while pushing his hair out of his face. i laughed along with the kids as they swam around like they were minutes ago. “that was low.” 

i shrugged and swam to the ladder. “you’ll get over it.”