#superior silver speaks

[acakefilledwithrainbowsandsmiles]

starflight's crush on sunny was purely in a "i admire you for the dragon you are and i hope you admire me in the same way" and NOT romantic because please, they were practically siblings...

the only way i can comfortably look at starflight's crush is putting it in a "he didn't understand what romantic feelings were as he was cooped up in the cave" please don't ship them. they are siblings.

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: a wealthy older man with a starry-eyed younger woman — it’s a tale as old as time and a scene the saleswoman has seen countless times before … or is it?

The showroom gleams under harsh fluorescent lights, every surface polished to a mirror finish. Cars, sleek and expensive, are lined up like jewels in a case. The hum of quiet conversation fills the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of champagne glasses.

It’s another day at the auto show, and the saleswoman, tall and sharp-eyed, watches it all with a thin veneer of polite disinterest. She’s been here long enough to know who’s serious and who’s just here to gawk.

She spots them before they even step into her section. The man is hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that makes people step aside without even realizing it. His suit is tailored to perfection, probably costs more than her monthly salary.

And then there’s the girl — no, the woman — beside him. You’re much younger, that’s clear. You look out of place, wide-eyed and excited like a kid in a candy store, dressed in something trendy but understated, a deliberate contrast to the man’s sophistication.

The saleswoman’s eyes narrow as she watches you both approach. She’s seen this before — older man, younger woman, the kind of relationship that’s all too common in these circles. She doesn’t have to guess who’s footing the bill here.

“They’re all stunning,” you say, your voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as you walk beside the man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” the man says, his voice low, accented, and rich with an authority that’s clearly second nature to him. He’s smiling at you, and there’s a warmth there that the saleswoman finds almost disarming. Almost.

She steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place, and approaches the two of you. “Good afternoon,” she says, her tone perfectly neutral, though there’s an edge to it, just enough to make her feel superior in this little interaction. “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in today?”

You look up at the man, a slight question in your eyes, as if asking for permission to speak. The saleswoman notices this, of course, and it only confirms what she already thinks.

“The Porsche 911 S/T,” you say, your voice gaining a little confidence as you look back at her. “It’s — wow, it’s incredible.”

The saleswoman allows herself a small, condescending smile. Of course, you’d go for something flashy like that. “A beautiful choice,” she says smoothly. “Though it’s not currently available for sale. It’s more of a display model for now.”

You look disappointed, but before you can say anything, the man steps in. “Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite but firm. “And when will it be available?”

“Not for a few months, I’m afraid,” she replies, keeping her smile in place even as she feels a flicker of unease at the intensity in his eyes. “But we can certainly take your information and let you know the moment it is.”

You’re distracted by another car nearby — a sleek, silver Audi R8 — and the man follows your gaze. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says to the saleswoman, already moving toward the car that has caught your attention. She watches him go, a tightness forming in her chest.

You’re bending slightly, peering into the Audi’s interior, running your fingers over the smooth leather seats. The man is right behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a gesture that’s both protective and possessive.

“What do you think of this one?” He asks, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You smile, and it’s a real smile, the kind that makes your whole face light up.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice soft, almost reverent. “But I think I’m still in love with the Porsche.”

He chuckles, and the sound is deep, genuine. “You have good taste.”

The saleswoman doesn’t hear what you say next, but she sees the way you look up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. She almost rolls her eyes. Of course, you’re infatuated. Who wouldn’t be, with a man like that?

But there’s something else, something in the way he looks at you that makes her pause. There’s affection there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s something deeper, more complicated.

He straightens up, leaving you to admire the Audi, and makes his way back to the saleswoman. She steels herself, ready to resume the dance of negotiation, but his next words take her by surprise.

“I want to buy the Porsche for my partner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinks, momentarily thrown. “As I mentioned earlier, sir, it’s not for sale at the moment. But we can-”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. “I’m not asking if it’s for sale. I’m telling you I want to buy it.”

The saleswoman feels a prickle of irritation, but she keeps her expression neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr …”

“Wolff,” he says, his voice steady. “Toto Wolff.”

The name rings a bell, and she stiffens slightly. Of course, she’s heard of him. Everyone in this business has. But she’s not about to let him walk all over her just because he’s some big shot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolff, but even for you, the car isn’t available. It’s a prototype, and it won’t be released for sale until-”

He cuts her off with a low laugh, and there’s something almost dangerous in the sound. “For me,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child, “they’ll make it available.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. There’s a look in his eyes that makes it clear this isn’t a man who’s used to hearing the word no. And she realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s right. If Toto Wolff wants that car, he’s going to get it.

The saleswoman swallows hard, her professional composure beginning to crack around the edges. “I’ll need to speak with my manager,” she says finally, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence.

“Please do,” he replies smoothly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re still admiring the Audi, completely unaware of the tension playing out behind you.

She turns on her heel, making her way to the back office with quick, clipped steps. The nerve of him, she thinks, but even as she seethes, she knows what the outcome will be. No one says no to someone like Toto Wolff.

As she waits for her manager to confirm the inevitable, she casts a glance through the glass wall of the office, watching you and him from a distance. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand resting on his arm, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels a strange, unwelcome pang of something close to envy.

It’s not just the money or the power that he has — though there’s plenty of that — it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he would move mountains just to see you smile.

The manager finally appears, a mix of excitement and nerves on his face as he hurries over to speak with Toto. The saleswoman stays back, watching as they exchange words, her earlier confidence completely drained. She knows what’s coming, and sure enough, after a few minutes, the manager gestures for her to come forward.

“Mr. Wolff,” the manager says, his tone obsequious, “we’d be more than happy to arrange the purchase of the Porsche for you. It’s not something we typically do, but in your case, we can make an exception.”

Toto gives a small nod, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Good,” he says, then glances over at you, still absorbed in the Audi. “I’ll take care of the details later. For now, I’d prefer if my partner remains unaware of the purchase.”

The manager nods quickly. “Of course, of course. Discretion is our priority.”

The saleswoman feels a fresh wave of irritation as the manager all but trips over himself to please Toto. But what bothers her even more is the realization that she was wrong. This isn’t a simple sugar relationship, despite what she first thought. There’s something real here, something that makes her uncomfortable in ways she can’t quite put into words.

As Toto walks back over to you, the manager gives the saleswoman a sharp look, silently instructing her to follow his lead. She pastes on her best smile, swallowing her pride, and follows after him.

You don’t notice the shift in the atmosphere when Toto returns to your side. You’re too engrossed in the car, asking him questions about its specs and design, your enthusiasm infectious. The saleswoman watches the two of you interact, trying to reconcile the easy, genuine affection she sees with her initial assumptions.

“So,” Toto says, leaning in a little closer to you, “if you could choose any car here, which one would it be?”

You bite your lip, clearly torn, but finally, you sigh. “I know it’s silly, but I keep coming back to the Porsche. It’s just … it’s perfect.”

His smile widens, and the saleswoman feels a pang of something she refuses to name. “Then the Porsche it is,” he says softly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. "Toto, you can't just buy it because I like it. It's not even for sale."

He chuckles, a warm, deep sound that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “You’d be surprised what’s possible.”

The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably, watching as Toto brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long to be purely casual. You smile up at him, oblivious to everything except the man in front of you.

She clears her throat, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Actually, we can make arrangements for the Porsche. If you’d like, we can finalize the details and set up delivery.”

You blink, surprised. “Really? But I thought-”

Toto smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Then you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you mumble a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The saleswoman watches, the professional smile on her face feeling more like a grimace now. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand you or him, but she knows she was wrong.

You pull back, looking up at Toto with a softness in your eyes that’s almost too much to bear. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper.

“Just be happy,” he murmurs back, his voice tender in a way that makes the saleswoman want to look away.

And for a moment, she does. She turns her gaze to the gleaming cars, the reflections of the showroom lights bouncing off their polished surfaces. When she looks back, you’re both still there, lost in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The saleswoman feels a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest as she turns to finalize the sale, realizing that perhaps, despite everything, this wasn’t about money or power at all.

Perhaps it was just about love.

***

The estate in Oxfordshire is nothing short of palatial, its sprawling grounds stretching out in every direction, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oaks. The driveway is long and winding, leading up to a mansion that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a Jane Austen novel — grand, elegant, with an air of timeless sophistication.

The saleswoman sits in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. She’s never been nervous about a delivery before, but then again, she’s never delivered to someone like Toto Wolff before.

Beside her, the driver is humming along to a tune on the radio, completely at ease as they turn onto the estate’s private road. She glances at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Porsche 911 S/T, pristine and gleaming, with an oversized red bow affixed to the roof. It looks absurd, she thinks, a toy fit for a princess.

It takes several minutes to reach the front of the house, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. The saleswoman feels a knot tighten in her stomach as they pull to a stop.

She’s here to oversee the delivery, to make sure everything goes smoothly, but part of her wonders if this is all a colossal waste of time. Surely, she could’ve sent someone else. But she’d insisted on coming herself—perhaps out of some twisted sense of curiosity, or maybe it was just her bruised pride.

The driver cuts the engine, and there’s a brief moment of silence before the door to the mansion opens. Toto steps out first, his movements unhurried, as if he’s in no rush at all. And then you appear beside him, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you walk out together.

“Here we go,” the driver mutters, giving her a nod before he hops out to start the unloading process.

The saleswoman takes a deep breath, composing herself before she steps out of the truck. Her heels sink slightly into the gravel as she approaches, her professional smile back in place. Toto greets her with a nod, his expression unreadable, while you give her a warm, if somewhat shy, smile.

“I hope the drive wasn’t too difficult,” Toto says, his voice smooth and polite, but there’s a hint of something more behind his words. An expectation that everything will, of course, be perfect.

“Not at all, Mr. Wolff,” the saleswoman replies quickly, her smile tightening. “It was a pleasure, really.”

You step forward, your eyes wide with excitement as you look past her to the truck. “Is it …” you ask, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

The driver is already lowering the truck’s ramp, and as the Porsche comes into view, you let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, taking a step closer, your hand still clutching Toto’s arm. “I can’t believe it’s really here.”

Toto watches you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that the saleswoman has started to recognize as reserved only for you. “I told you it would be,” he says quietly, as if this moment is just as special for him as it is for you.

The saleswoman clears her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “We took extra care during the transport,” she says, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Everything is exactly as it was when it left the showroom.”

“Thank you,” Toto says, but his focus is already back on you as you approach the car, your fingers brushing over the sleek lines of the Porsche as if you’re afraid it might disappear if you touch it too firmly.

You circle the car slowly, taking it all in, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels like an intruder in this private moment. She watches as you turn back to Toto, your eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be happy.”

The saleswoman averts her gaze, the tenderness of the moment making her uncomfortable. She’s seen plenty of couples over the years, but there’s something about the way you and Toto interact that feels … different.

It’s not just the age difference, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and the way you look at him, like he’s your anchor in a storm.

The driver interrupts her thoughts as he finishes unloading the car. “All done here,” he says cheerfully, handing the keys over to Toto with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Toto takes the keys with a nod of thanks, but instead of pocketing them, he holds them out to you. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, a light, joyful sound that echoes in the evening air. “Now? I haven’t even driven a car like this before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replies, his tone teasing yet encouraging. “And I trust you completely.”

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the car and then back at Toto. The saleswoman can see the internal debate playing out on your face — excitement warring with nervousness. But then, with a deep breath, you take the keys from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do.

“Okay,” you say, your voice firming with determination. “Let’s do it.”

The saleswoman watches as you climb into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and running your hands over the steering wheel like you’re trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the car. Toto takes the passenger seat beside you, and for a brief moment, the saleswoman catches a glimpse of his hand resting on your knee, a gesture that’s both reassuring and intimate.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the driver nudges her, motioning toward the truck. “We should get going,” he says, glancing over at the car. “Looks like they’ve got everything under control.”

But the saleswoman doesn’t move. She’s rooted to the spot, watching as you and Toto pull away from the estate, the Porsche purring softly as it glides down the driveway. There’s something about the scene that feels almost cinematic, like she’s watching a moment that she’s not supposed to be a part of.

The car disappears around a bend in the road, and the saleswoman finally exhales, not realizing she’s been holding her breath. She turns back to the driver, who’s looking at her with mild curiosity.

“Everything okay?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

She forces a smile, pushing down the strange mix of emotions churning in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, though the word feels hollow. “Everything’s fine.”

They load back into the truck, the engine roaring to life as they begin the long drive back to the showroom. The saleswoman stares out the window, her thoughts racing, replaying the scene over and over in her mind.

She tries to tell herself that it’s just another delivery, just another rich couple flaunting their wealth. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the image of the way Toto looked at you, like you were his entire world.

The driver’s voice cuts through her thoughts as he asks, “So, you think they’re the real deal?”

She turns to look at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, a guy like him, a girl like her … you think it’s more than just the money?”

The saleswoman hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. She wants to dismiss it, to laugh it off and say that of course it’s just about the money. But the words stick in her throat, refusing to come out.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended. “I think it is.”

The driver nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they fall into silence once more. But the saleswoman can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that this delivery has left her with more questions than answers.

As they drive away from the estate, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the road. The saleswoman stares at them, lost in thought, wondering what it must feel like to be loved the way Toto loves you.

She knows she’ll never have an answer to that question, but as the truck rumbles down the road, she can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — there’s more to life than the things she’s always taken for granted.

And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself longing for something she can’t quite put into words.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non/con, extreme pet play, dehumanization, psychological/physical abuse, and unbalanced power dynamics.

commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.

Sometimes, you really do think Suguru thinks of you as a pet.

It shouldn’t be as difficult to believe as it is. Of course you’d be less than human to him, less than equal to the god-like status he has among his followers. But, Suguru knows he’s not a god, and while you might not be the only person he claims to be superior to, you are the only one he keeps locked in a steel-barred dog crate padded only by thread-bare blankets and distant memories of what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. You’re special – albeit, not the kind of special you’d like to be. You can disregard most of his grandiose speeches about ‘complete non-sorcerer elimination’ and ‘killing off those worthless monkeys’ as the self-indulgent rambling of a deranged cult leader, but he doesn’t seem to be phoning it in when it comes to you.

He doesn’t talk to you. Communication occurs solely through blunt orders (come, sit, bark, etc.) or sweetened, syrupy baby-talk, cooed as his fingers card through your hair and pet down the length of your spine. You’re expected (something learned purely through trail and error, reward and punishment) to follow him around happily, to sit at his feet and clamber into his lap whenever his eyes find yours and he taps his thigh, that expectant smile already tugging at the corner of his lips. Depending on the day, you’re either coddled and adored like a beloved pet, allowed to walk on two legs rather than four and fed treats out of his open palm, or treated like a stray who’d wandered in off the street and refuses to leave. You do prefer the former to the latter, but it doesn’t really make that much of a difference, not if you’re being honest with yourself. Either way, you always seem to end up on your knees between his legs as he sits above you, a fist curled around your collar as he tells you to lick, puppy, lick.

Speaking of – you’re not allowed to wear clothes. You used to hate it, to steal his shirts and hide in closets, to do anything you could to salvage what little pride you had left, but it’s hard not to get used to something forced onto you so constantly. The only thing Suguru’s ever given you to wear is a simple, black, leather collar – studded with silver spikes and drawn tight enough to bite into your throat when he pulls on it, which he does often. You’re thankful he doesn’t make you wear those cutesy animal ear headbands or, god forbid, a tail, but not as thankful as you should be. As unbearable as it’d be, having him dress you up like a cat or a dog or some wide eyed, sexed-up rabbit would take the edge off. Like this, it’s harder to believe he thinks of you as an animal, as something cute and small and vulnerable that he can love and care for. It’s harder to deny that he knows you’re human – he just doesn’t see why that would ever mean you couldn’t also be his pet.

You think, when you’ve exhausted all other silver linings, that it’s (partially, at least) his excuse to keep you. You know what he does to people who aren’t like him, you’ve seen what he’s like at his worst, and you know that, if you weren’t his pet, you’d just be another non-sorcerer, another nuisance the world would be better off without. If you’re a pet, you can’t be a person, and if you’re not a person, it means he’s not going against his warped ideals when he pulls you close to his chest, when he ghosts his lips over the top of your head, when he fucks you so softly and so gently, you can almost believe he cares whether or not you enjoy it. Pets are supposed to be loved, and so he’s not doing anything wrong by loving you.

You know what would happen to you if you weren’t his pet, too, if he couldn’t make excuses for himself. You’ve seen how wide his smile can be when he comes home with blood on his clothes, how little effort it takes for him to hook his hands under your arms and carry you to his bed, already muttering about how perfect he’s going to make the world for his pretty, precious pet. You’re not allowed to leave his cramped apartment, but he talks about putting you on display for his acolytes as he ruts into you with an almost animalistic brutality, about showing all of those filthy, degenerative insects what a well-trained mutt looks like. You know that you should do more to fight back, that your humanity should be worth more to you than a few half-hearted escape attempts and the occasional pained whine, but you’ve seen see what he can do, heard about the dismembered bodies he leaves to rot in a ditch behind his temple, and—

And, no matter how much you hate him for it, no matter how much you hate yourself for it, it’s true.

When it comes down to it, you’d rather be his pet than be nothing at all.

[robin374]

𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖕 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Alastor x reader, romatic

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: I think we all agree that Alastor would say this phrase. Maybe I got too carried away, sorry if it's too long. Unedited

Carmilla waited for all the overlords to arrive and take their respective seats. Her silver eyes serenely observed the situation, while she prepared her probable monologue in her mind. A war would be one of the worst options to choose. They had already lost many souls since the last extermination, and losing even more would serve no purpose, except to amuse the angels. All the powerful demons sat down and Carmilla waited a few seconds for the various conversations between them to end, seeing that she got nothing waiting she coughed to get the attention of her companions. "I have gathered you here today to discuss this year's brutal extermination..." She began to explain, her eyes full of determination with a subtle light of hatred, which was directed towards the cruel exterminators up there. 

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud bang and two shadows appeared; one taller than the other. The little fashionista Velvette, a member of the Vees, appeared first with a superior smile on her face. With her back stretched and chin held high, she pulled the metal chain around her hand, causing the other shadow to walk involuntarily. However, the big difference between the two demons was that one of them was walking with her head down, as if she had been defeated and humiliated in front of all Hell, as if she was going to be sacrificed. Carmilla scowled at Velvette which diverted the attention of the other overlords and they looked towards the fashionista. Y/N didn't look up, she had already felt too ridiculed on the way there to feel even more so under the gaze of the other overlords. Especially under his gaze, under that smile that conveyed no feelings at all. 

"Speaking of the exterminators..." Velvette's distinctive accent echoed through the room, no overlord daring to speak. Anyone could cut the tension in that room with a butter knife. Y/N didn't even flinch at the confident sound of the voice, she was now as vulnerable as a puppy just abandoned on a highway. A few thumps accompanied the fashionista's small laugh, thumps that sounded too soft to be a blow from a fist but too hard to be a single piece of flesh. A golden drop landed on Y/N's slipper, she swallowed dryly, feeling closer and closer to the permanent presence of eternal death. Ironic, isn't it? A dead girl being afraid to die. She didn't hear the next sentences of the argument between the two overlords, she was too focused on the pain of the silver chains around her wrists behind her back. Never in eternity had she thought that being in hell she would burn, let's just say those holy chains silenced those thoughts for her. 

Velvette needed only a single tug on the chain to smash Y/N's face into the long table in the living room. Her hand pressed her face against the hard material, it looked like she wanted to put her face through the table. Y/N's gaze jumped from overlord to overlord, she knew full well that none of them would help her. "She was the one who killed that flying rat." Velvette began. "If those...Things can die, we're in a whole different situation." She paused for a moment, "we could start a war..." She turned to look at Y/N, her gaze as callous as her actions. "Not without killing this bitch first, it wouldn't suit us well for a girl as normal as you to get all the fame, what would my fans say?" His voice became a bit sharper, clearly seeking more attention than he already had.

Y/N looked away, her eyes fell on a spot between the ceiling and the window of the room, she didn't want to see how the overlords looked at her as if she was a mere bug, which they had no intention of keeping alive. She noticed her vision blurring, she knew these would be her last moments, as Velvette kept her word whenever it would do her good. "Who's for killing her and dropping her body in the nearest trash? Right where she deserves." The room was filled with murmurs and different conversations, some agreed with the fashionista, while others did not. Y/N had stopped listening long ago, she had accepted her permanent death since Velvette found her near the angel's body. She hadn't done it, she was just being more noisy than she normally was, not everyone gets the chance to see a dead exterminator, no? It was just bad luck, she wasn't the culprit, "It wasn't me..." She whispered in an attempt to get someone to listen to her, but these were overlords we're talking about, they wouldn't hesitate to kill someone. That's how ambitious they could be to have more power in their hands.

The sound of radio static came on, which was getting closer and closer. The pressure on Y/N's head disappeared in less than a second, and for a moment she thought she had finally been killed and her thoughts were slowly leaving her head as she completely lost consciousness. However, one hand helped her up, and even with her hands still tied she met those red eyes she loved to stare into so often in the hotel. With the other hand, Alastor pushed Velvette away from her, "I'll take care of it." 

The last thing to go. That demon Y/N thought she loved was going to betray her as soon as she left the building. She felt his hand brush against her back as he silently guided her through the halls of the building until he was outside. Once there he began to walk towards a particular direction. Y/N stopped in her tracks, confused. Maybe what she was about to say would be a big mistake, maybe she shouldn't say anything to stay alive, though curiosity killed the cat, right?

"You're not going to kill me? Kill me and then drop me in the middle of the street?" She watched as the Radio Demon's back tensed, and so did his ears. As much as she didn't see his face, she knew that smile twisted into an irritated one. He turned around slowly, and that annoyed smile softened the moment their eyes connected. He laughed softly and moved closer to the girl, his free hand coming to her cheek. "Only a fool would drop a girl like you." He smiled. That sentence made Y/N ironically feel like she was in heaven, a strange warmth rose to her cheeks. She heard the laughter of the overlord who was now offering his arm to walk beside him, "Alastor, my hands are chained." Y/N began, "I can't hold your arm."

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐏𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 1: CAMGIRL!READER

simon riley x camgirl!reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words

summary: a new client sends a request for a solo-cam performance. his lack of detail and scarce details leave you unprepared.

cw: f!reader, sexwork, dirty talk, breast-play, m & f masturbation, use of sex toy, use of honorific 'sir' but no real power dynamic.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 2: TOUCH STARVED ⇾

❝On Deployment. Don’t be afraid.❞

Cryptic in its context, the message that popped up from your new client in the lower right corner of your computer screen made you smirk at the time. However, gazing at the skull-faced mask that materialised on the pixelated video screen when you answered the video call that swiftly followed, your amusement slips from your lips. Username ‘Ghost’ hadn’t been making some kind of arcane joke about the size of his dick being too much for you… 

“Oh,” you let out a weak laugh, eyes slipping over the grainy footage as ‘Ghost’ leaned back in his seat, immense, bulging arms crossing over the plane of his chest, “When you said… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Can’t take off the mask,” the gruff, northern accent that rumbles through the computer speakers sends a ripple down your spine– a concoction of a nervous chill and delighted arousal. It metastasises in your guts when you watch him spread his legs, the blackness in the eye sockets of the skull burning through you even behind a screen. “The URA don’t take kindly t’people contactin’ cam-girls.”

URA. United Republic of Adal.

“You’re– On a military base?” The question passes your lips before you have the opportunity to think better. The plain black t-shirt stretched across his humongous frame gives little away, but the khaki-camo pants and the silver dog tags glinting in the low light of the room seem to corroborate his claims. 

“Can’t divulge that information.”

Of course he couldn’t. Obviously. 

“Y’can call me sir.” ‘Ghost’ clearly had experience contacting cam-girls, leading with his preferred address. It’s impossible to ignore that tingling arousal creeping into the pit of your stomach again, knowing you were in for a ride– so to speak. 

“Yes sir,” you answer to his demand, watching as ‘Ghost’ rubbed his palms over the top of his camo-clad thighs. You note the grainy blackness across the back of his hands; a tattoo. Most clients were secretive in their own camera-exposure, focusing the frame on their head and shoulders while pleasuring themselves off camera. ‘Ghost’s’ whole body was on display, offering just as much of a show for yourself. 

It was thrilling. 

“Lose the bra.” 

“Yes sir,” you nod, compliant to his demands. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp the lacy bra you’d chosen specifically for this cam-session. Your contact with ‘Ghost’ had been minimal, limited in the information he would reveal to you. It was entertaining this way, guessing at what you should wear like taking a crack at an enigma code. A shot in the dark; you’d gone for simple black. Slowly slipping the unadorned bra from your arms, you made a note of your victory when you hear–

“Fuck, that’s it,” ‘Ghost' mumbles beneath his breath, and you’re unsure if he was unaware of the sensitivity of his microphone, or if he’d meant for you to hear his whispered praise. You can’t find it in yourself to warn him when his palm settles over his crotch, inhaling sharply as he lifts his hips up to grind into it. 

Cupping your breasts in your hands, you squeeze the supple flesh so it bulges slightly between your fingers. It’s as natural as breathing now, a learnt behaviour after months of cam-work. Nothing special, but it gets ‘Ghost’s’ attention. 

“Hmm, fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans softly, quick to work himself out of the khaki uniform trousers. You have half a mind to inform his superior that one of his soldiers had stolen a weapon from the armoury, watching him wrap his hand around his throbbing cock in a tight fist. “Get real close to the camera. Wanna see you fuck yourself, love.” 

You remember his initial request, much like his communications with you; simple and lacking detail. ‘Fuck urself w/ ur largest toy. Panties on’. Though, gazing at the image of him on your computer screen through heavy lids, you weren’t sure even your largest dildo compared to the girth he held in his hand. The ruddy tip is shiny, and you can just barely make out the shadows of bulging veins where his palm couldn’t reach. 

“Fuckkk,” ‘Ghost’ groans when you ease the tip of the toy in, camera angled just right to see you clench around the silicone but also to show your eyes rolling back. “That’s it. Greedy cunt’s swallowin’ it all. Look at you creamin’ around it–”

For a man so unwilling to talk much in any other set of circumstances, ‘Ghost’ was particularly mouthy now. Even as the head of the toy touches something mind-numbing inside of you, a delirious, breathy giggle escapes you at the thought. 

Beginning to push the toy in and out of your cunt, you watch ‘Ghost’ begin to fist his cock with a grunt. His eyes stay glued to the screen, enraptured by the way your walls squeeze the toy so tightly. It’s hard to miss the way his lungs rattle with unsteady breaths, the sheer size of him making a slight tremble appear like a shudder so violent it could trigger an avalanche. 

“Christ, I’d fuckin’ ruin you. Fuckin’ split you open and flood that cunt with my cum,” he moans, the sound wanton and wholely unmatching his intimidating size. It takes you a moment for your vision to focus before you note the slow, methodical rise of his fist, matching the strokes of the toy inside of you. 

Like he was imagining fucking you. 

Your own arousal spiking with the realisation, you thrust the toy inside of you quicker, more eagerly. It's ecstasy, the head of the toy spearing something inside of you that has your legs quaking. “Ugh– hhahah, ohmygod, oh fuck–” 

‘Ghost’ continues to talk you through your squeals of delight, his gruff voice particularly throaty now as he matches the violent thrusts of the toy. “Good fuckin’ girl, love. If you were here I’d fuckin’ paint your face with it– fuck!”

It’s like a chain reaction, the usually stoic man’s filthy comments causing a visible clench of your cunt when you cum around the toy. It makes ‘Ghost’ cum. White floods your vision, but the static sound in your ears can’t drown out the gruff, choked sounds that play from your speakers. 

When your blurred vision finally centres, ‘Ghost’s’ fingers are drenched with thick ropes of cum, the creamy spend dropping from his knuckles onto the khaki of his trousers. Leaning his head over the back of the chair with a shaky exhale, the black hem of the ski-mask rides up slightly, exposing the bulging veins beneath the pale, rosy skin of his neck. It’s a tantalising glimpse of the man behind the obscure username, underneath the skeleton-veil. Instantaneously, you’re like an addict– desperate for more, one hit isn’t enough to satiate the screaming need inside of you for another inch of skin. 

It’s why you leap out of bed at 04:27am when you receive a message weeks after you’d hit ‘end call’, the promise of your next fix delivered in a cryptic message deposited in a private messaging chat that had lay dormant since the footage went black. 

‘Want u on ur knees this time. Panties in ur mouth, fingers in ur cunt.’ 

Biting on a grin, you rush to answer. He was still in the URA, the digits on the clock in the top right of your phone evidence of a timezone difference. It was still relatively early there– like he’d finished his shift and immediately contacted you. Like he couldn’t wait to jack off to the image of you stuffing your cunt with your fingers and whining his name. 

Fuck the four figure amount he’d deposited into your bank as thanks for the last video call, the thought alone is enough to urge your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, circling your clit as you clumsily type with one hand to respond to his demand. 

‘Yes sir x’ 

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[arabellasleopardcoat]

A challenge (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: In which you are in a search for identity, and Aemond is in search for a way to prove his superiority to your father. Somehow, you find each other.

Warnings: Fluff. Chaotic family dynamics. Royce! Reader. Angry! Reader. Sword-fighting in dresses. Mature language. Unkind thoughts. Deeply violent thoughts. Eyefucking. Aemond’s toasts ™

A/N: I tried! Feral reader to match Aemond.

THE PETITION FOR Driftmark is none of your concern. Your castle sits in a different region altogether, but you still show up a few days before it is meant to take place.

The years spent trying to turn into bronze have not served you well. Hard metals are also brittle, after all. The fact that all these years have passed, and you still wish to meet your father shows it.

Your ears in King’s Landing are paid handsomely enough to provide you information that allows you to beat him there. It allows you to avoid the riffraff, and settle into the unknown territory before the confrontation.

Not knowing the terrain well enough had killed your mother. You wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Daemon should have raised you. Taught you how to hatch your dragon egg and speak the tongue of your ancestors. But it isn’t like the Rogue Prince to raise daughters. You have heard he has also sent one of the replacement ones to foster at Driftmark. He only raises other men’s sons.

The same could be said for his brother. King Viserys had kept a steady stream of correspondence with you when you had been a child, perhaps feeling guilty for Daemon’s behavior. Not enough to stop it, or bring you justice for your mother’s death, though. It was why you had no qualms about using the flimsy connection to convince the Queen to host you.

The day of your arrival is perfectly sunny. You have always liked the outdoors, a fact that your cousin Tobar attributes to your mother. It is why you decide to explore the grounds instead of supervising your trunks being taken inside.

The Red Keep has grand gardens and a Godswood, but what really catches your eyes is the courtyard. Some knights and squires are training in groups, and it has your blood pumping. After hours copped up in a carriage, your hands itch for the chance to unsheathe Lamentation.

Tobar had gifted you with it when you had turned six and ten, claiming you had become proficient enough to be trusted with it. The same age your father had been knighted, and given Dark Sister. A woman's sword, just as you carried a man’s one. The symmetry amused you.

You stood to the side, arms crossed over your chest. There was a cluster of men in the center, watching a fight. The rhythmic smacking of steel against flesh could be heard, hinting at proficient swordsmen, even if their bodies didn’t allow you to see what was actually going on.

“Smaller than I remember.” Someone shoves you, making you stumble. You turn to glare, and meet the back of a brown haired boy. Another one, smaller, follows him. They are already moving past, without even apologizing.

The courtyard is a big space. It’s only rudeness or hurry that leads them, and you incline towards the first one. With a scowl, you move towards the fight instead.

The crowd parts easily for you. Most of them are knights and squires, and your dress identifies you as a noble lady, with the intricate stitching and heavy velvet. They are practically trained to be polite.

One of the fighters has dark coloring, and wears a Kingsguard’s gambeson. He is handsome, but the one that really catches your attention is the other man. He has long, silver hair, and moves gracefully in the ring. Your traitorous heart gives a lurch.

Daemon. You step closer to the front, and one of the knights places an arm before you, as if to protect you. Your father. He is so slight, and he is deeply-

He is not Daemon. His waist is too trim, his limbs longer. And as he shifts around his opponent, you notice an eye patch on his face. Must be the King’s second son.

Aemond? Daeron? You cannot recall. He prances around with all your father’s arrogance, as if he were certain of his victory. You assess him with a critical eye. His confidence is unwarranted. His footing is slightly askew. He leans too much forward when lunging, trying to overcompensate and add strength he lacks to his blade. He would benefit from focusing on speed rather than brute force.

Despite all the unconventional techniques he employs, he seems to be winning. The crowd makes awed noises when he manages to land a hit, and cheers as the Kingsguard is pushed back.

The duel ends quickly. He disarms the Kingsguard with a quick flick of his wrist, his sword sent flying. You frown, finding it sloppy, but the crowd breaks out into applause.

“Well done, my Prince.” The Kingsguard says, confirming your initial thoughts. This is one of your cousins. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” The man says, and you fight a smirk. The profanity is amusing, for someone so tightly wound. You step closer to them, but he spots the rude brown haired boys before he spots you. “Nephews… Have you come to train?”

The boys look like they are about to shit themselves. It makes you smirk.

“They haven’t.” You answer, only realizing the words once you speak them. You had not planned to make a challenge, nor had you intended to part from the crowd. But often, your body reacts before your mind can do so. “But I have.”

Some squires laugh. The younger brown haired boy fights a smile. It doesn’t anger you. You know what you look like to them, in your heavy velvet dress with bronze embroidery. The skirt is full and pleated, covering the sword strapped to your hip in a sea of cloth.

The only ones who do not laugh are the Kingsguard, who is too busy wiping blood from his mouth, and your cousin. Instead, his eye meets yours.

He stalks towards you, every movement calculated to look intimidating. He moves like a predator, all graceful and long lines. It is clear he is used to using his height as a part of the routine, so it amuses you that he can’t quite loom over you.

Because you stand tall. You always do.

“And who are you, who dares defy a Prince so openly?” His voice sounds amused.

You look at him. It is true you have not met him before, but you would expect at least a hint of recognition in his eye. Even if you look more Royce than Targaryen. The runes embroidered on your dress practically scream your identity.

“No one who wishes you harm.” You smile, picking up the hem of your skirts. Most of your dresses have been cleverly designed, to allow you to turn the lower part of them into breeches by tugging on a few ribbons and securing some knots. The sword at your hip is revealed as you do so, and you revel in the attention the dramatic display gathers.

“I welcome all challengers.” Your cousin bows his head to you. “If they dare face me.”

“My prince I do not think…” The Kingsguard advises, wisely. Perhaps he senses the sharpness of your grin doesn’t forebode anything good for his pupil.

“Oh, Cole. Let the lady try.” The Prince answers, dismissively. “And we can go on with our days after I disarm her. It’s not as if I will hurt her.”

You unsheathe your sword. While the thought is gallant, he won’t hurt you because you are the superior swordsman. But it’s sort of cute that he worries.

“Of course, Ser. The prince will not harm me.” You slide into the proper stance, Lamentation held loosely by your side.

Your cousin studies you, in silence. He must know as well as you do that the person to make the first move is always at a disadvantage. He is handsome, you think. His jaw is so sharp, you could cut your hands while trying to hold him.

You are better at the waiting game. You have waited years for a chance to meet your father, you can wait a few minutes for him to become unsettled.

He lunges at you, a smug smile on his face. Hoping to force you into blocking. Instead, you move aside, allowing him to tumble forward. Your assessment of him was right. He put too much force behind his blow, sure it would connect.

Someone snickers, and you turn slightly towards the sound, recognizing it as made by the Strong boy. A sudden smacking sound and a flash of heat against your arm forces you focus on the fight. Your cousin has taken advantage, and managed to hit you with the flat of his sword.

Lamentation remains held by your side, but you tighten your grip on it, feeling the ridges on the pommel dig against your palm.

He lunges again, a frown marring his handsome face. You twist away. Once again, he repeats the same mistake.

“Are you aware…” Your cousin shouts. “That swordplay involves using a sword?”

“Oh, I am.” You grin at him, hoping to goad him into making more mistakes. Your arm still feels warm from his blow. For such a slight man, he sure is strong. You had underestimated him too much. “It’s just… You are such a poor swordsman I thought we were dancing.”

The rest of the knights and squires fall silent after you speak. It allows you to hear the change in his breath, exertion yielding to rage. He can't take a joke, it seems because his next cut is aimed at your neck.

Were you not ready to meet him, he could have killed you. But fortunately, you are done playing with your food. You lift Lamentation and smack the flat side against his wrist, hard enough to make him drop the sword.

Had you not swung flat side first, he would not only be missing an eye. By the look on his face, and the way he stares at his wrist, he knows it too.

His eye lowers to the fallen sword, perplexed. He seems unable to believe how it has betrayed him.

You unmake the knots and lacings of your skirts, releasing them back into their normal state. You fluff them up, just for show.

“Nice match, cousin.”

You prance back inside.

“HOW GOOD IT is… to see you all tonight… together.” You are sitting next to your decaying uncle, the place of honor having been afforded to you thanks to your supposed stream of correspondence. You are deeply regretting that lie, since King Viserys smells strongly of herbs and rotting flesh. It’s putting you off your appetite.

Lately, the Queen confesses, he seems lost in the past. He seems to have a hard time remembering your latter letters, instead having a fixed image of you as his little niece who sent him drawings and questions about Valyrian history. You do not mention further letters do not exist.

Your father sits with his new family, studiously avoiding your eyes. He has chosen a seat on the same side of the table you are in. Your heart aches. You wonder if after all these years, he has given any thought to what he had done.

The day he killed your mother, she was just two moons shy from birthing you. Had he known, you wonder? Did he intend to kill the both of you, or just her? After robbing you from your mother, he had fled the Vale, and married another woman. He had had two girls not even a couple of years later, the ones that now sat with the Strong boys.

They had the Valyrian coloring you lacked. You wondered if he loved them more because of it.

You have zoned out enough that when you come to be, King Viserys has grabbed your hand. His head is lowered, as if about to pray.

You imitate him.

“Don’t worry, niece.” He whispers, kindly. “I didn’t know how to pray before either.”

Queen Alicent grabs your other hand, gently.

“The Gods listen to us regardless.”

Someone snorts. Your other cousin, the uninteresting one. Aegon, you think he is called. As you look around the table, you notice only the Lord Hand and your cousin Aemond have bowed their heads. No one else is a believer here.

You lower your head.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.” The Queens says, and you try not to think of how unlikely her words are.

Your bond with your father cannot be fixed. He is a murderer. Your bond with your uncle cannot be fixed either. He has protected the man who killed your mother, and weakly tried to make amends during the first years of your life.

As for your father’s new wife, new sons, new daughters, you look around and all you see is weakness. They are pathetic. Lowly. Baseborn. You despise them all. Had you owned a dragon, you would watch them all burn.

Your teeth make an awful, creaking, sound. You cannot burn them, but oh, how you wish to.

Someone is watching you. You know it instinctively. There is an odd prickling on the back of your head, you cannot sit still. You try not to look up, knowing it is not your father, but soon it feels like the stare is boring a hole through your skull, opening it up. Watching your most secret and inner thoughts leak out.

You shift on your seat. As you look up, Aemond meets your eyes without shame. He gives you a smirk.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes… and their betrothed.” The King toasts. You raise your cup, feigning a smile.

“Hear, hear!”

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” Aegon whispers, but not low enough for you not to hear. You have to take a sip from your cup to hide your snort. You look towards your father, but he avoids making eye contact with you, eyes firmly ahead.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.” The King continues, and you return your attention towards the dramatics taking place in front of you. The Strong boy is starting to look offended.

“You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon leans in, a mean little smile on his face. He is a cunt, but an entertaining one. “At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin.” One of the new daughters interjects. You do not know which one she is, and frankly, you do not care to learn. They are named something ridiculous, like Bela and Rhaela or Rhaenys and Laena, you are not sure. It’s some sort of Valyrian name.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.” The Strong boy threatens. You fight your smile. While Aegon looks smug, the Strong boy looks ready to fight. His hands are formed into fists, his face red with a mixture of humiliation and rage.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.” The mask the King is wearing falls down, and you wince. His face is a ghastly sight, full of holes left behind by festering wounds. The illness has claimed his eye, leaving an empty eye socket behind.

Your eyes dart towards Aemond. Does he look like that under the eye patch too? Perhaps you should reconsider your thoughts on his attractiveness.

He lifts an eyebrow at you, amused to be the one catching you looking this time. You feel your face heating up, but force yourself to lift an eyebrow back at him.

He smiles, and lifts his cup to you, almost imperceptibly.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight… I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a king… but your father. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

This time, you roll your eyes. It’s an unavoidable reaction to hearing someone spit such bullshit. The day you died was the day you forgot all the slights committed against you. The only way of erasing them was getting your pound of flesh from each of them.

You cannot believe what you are hearing. Only Aemond and the Lord Hand seem as resentful as you are. Everyone else seems either neutral or taken by the words of the King.

To your astonishment, the most taken are the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. You grab your goblet, and chug your wine like there is no tomorrow.

“Everything alright, Lady Royce?” The Strong boy asks you, very politely. You want to grab him by his awful chamberpot-shaped haircut and smash his face against the table until his mouth is bloody.

Instead, you banish the violent image from your head and smile, as fake as you can.

“Just thirsty. Pass me the pitcher?”

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

You sigh. These people are delusional, and it makes you fear for the future of the realm. You have no idea what you were thinking by coming here. The hopes for a confrontation with your father seem absurd now, when he has done his best to hide from you and avoid you during your stay in the Red Keep.

He had never answered your letters, either.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Aegon leans towards the replacement daughter, whispering in her ear. If someone has drank more than you tonight, it’s him.

“I, um… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

The Strong boy springs up from his seat as if his pants were on fire. He clears his throat.

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. To you as well.”

“Beware… beneath the boards.” You don’t quite catch what Helaena says.

“Well done, my boy.”

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Helaena makes her own little toast, and you frown. She is married to Aegon, if you recall correctly. She also seems… Quite odd.

Some laugh at her. You do not. You cannot wait for this dinner to be over.

“Good. Let us have some music.”

Much to your dismay, the Strong boy asks Helaena to dance. His brother looks at you, and you give him such a murderous glance, he doesn’t dare rise from his seat.

You engage in quiet conversation with your uncle and the Queen. He calls her Aemma several times.

“I have a niece.” Viserys tells you, very softly. “She has hair like you. Dark. One day, she will grow to rule the Vale. We write letters.”

You don’t mean for it to happen, but a sudden wave of pity for the old man hits you. He is lost in memories, thinking Alicent is Aemma, and you are still a young girl. He had seemed so lucid before, even like he was doing well. Happy, with the merriment taking place around him. And then, a switch had been flicked, the conversation had started to become more stilted, and he was winded and lost.

“Guards.” Alicent calls out, and they rush to assist the King, who groans. They take him away as he orders for you to go back to dining.

You do, chewing your food in absolute silence. You can feel eyes on you. The conversation is stilted, the people gathered at the table both uncomfortable with your presence and with each other.

The awkwardness doesn’t deter you. You relish on it. You want them to suffer in your presence. Want the replacement daughters to feel guilty for getting to have a father, the Strong boys to be frightened by you, the whore he has for a wife to wonder if she will die next.

And your father? You want him to die a slow, agonizing death. But you will settle for his wife having a massive row with him tonight.

As the main course is placed on the table, the Strong boys and your male cousins exchange glances. Suddenly, Aemond slams his fist on the table and gets up. His expression is icy.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”

You snort. The Queen doesn’t seem to think it as amusing as you do.

“Aemond.” She complains.

“Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.” Aemond smirks, and you lift your goblet, eyes full of malice. Anything that hurts them seems nice to you.

“I dare you to say that again.” The eldest Strong boy, the one with the awful haircut, jumps up.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Aemond goads, emboldened by your attention. “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The boy lunges and punches Aemond. Rhaenyra screams. Aegon gets up and slams the other Strong boy into the table.

Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra try to separate them. So do the guards.

“Jace!”

“That is enough!”

You want to jump in, want to smash a wine jug on his face. Break a plate, strangle your father. But as you are reaching forward, ready to seize one of them, someone grabs your wrist.

The hand is warm, and holds you gently but firmly. A man’s hand.

Your father’s.

You look at him. His eyes are dark. This man, who you once thought larger than life, who killed your mother, who almost killed you. His eyes are dark, and wide, and so much like yours.

His other hand goes to your jaw. He brushes it, tenderly. For a second, you lose yourself in the thought. You are no longer the angry woman, but the little girl who wanted her father so desperately.

“You have…” His voice breaks your spell. Grown? Your mother’s eyes? Face? Hair? You never got to meet her, thanks to him.

You jerk out of his grip and flee the room.

THE PAIR OF breeches and a shirt feel much more comfortable against your skin than the dress you had worn to dinner. It wasn’t one of your modified styles, and so, had felt suffocating against your body. Too tight on your ribs, too heavy against your legs. You had not noticed it when wearing it, but taking it off had been an immediate relief.

Unfortunately, your anger doesn’t subside as easily. Your shoulders ache from swinging Lamentation over and over again, but you still want to scream. Scream and scream, until you wake the whole Keep.

When the moonlight illuminates a tall figure, you only feel more anger. Aemond’s face now has a bruise, a mark left by Jacaerys’ fist. You hate when other people dare touch what is yours. Much less, when they dare mark it.

He has no claim to him, this Strong boy that can barely lift his sword. Aemond is yours. The audacity astonishes you.

“My lady.” Aemond bows his head to you. He carries his sword on his hand. “Shall we dance?”

“I fear I might have gotten enough disappointments for a day.” You set Lamentation down on a bench. In truth, your arms are too sore, and you fear you might lose if you face him. Aemond is smart. He will not underestimate you a second time, and while you are good, you lose your advantage when exhausted. “Your brother has the smallest cock I've ever seen, and you are a poor swordsman. Are the Strong boys really the best House Targaryen has to offer?”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He stares at you in disbelief, a hint of anger briefly crossing his features, before barking out a laugh. He sets his own sword aside.

“You wish to goad me again. It won’t work.”

“Goad you into what? Mud wrestling?” You say, gesturing to your lack of a sword.

“Don’t jest.” Aemond rolls his eye. “There is no mud here.”

“Plain wrestling, then?” You arch an eyebrow.

“You are infuriating.”

“I live to please.”

“Have you given marriage any thought?” His voice is casual. Far too casual.

“No.” You say, plainly. “I wish to never marry, and let Tobar’s brats inherit everything.”

“Your abilities with the sword do not correlate to your abilities with deception.”

“You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?” You step closer to him, feeling your amusement ebb into annoyance.

Aemond smirks. He is a bit taller than you, and seems to enjoy that fact greatly.

“I am a good prospect.” He captures your chin in his hand, and makes you tilt your head up.

You despise that you get a bit unfocused by how warm and big his palm feels against your face. It feels so good, you could close your eyes and melt into it. But instead, all that comes out of your mouth is…

“Your blood is unsavory, your manners lacking, and your skill with the sword could use work.”

“My, that almost sounded like a compliment.” Aemond laughs.

“It wasn’t.” You complain because you hate that he is starting to understand you. How when you feel scared about the too big feelings in your chest you lash out, and say things you do not mean.

He grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“I’ll ask for your hand in the morrow.”

“Do try.”

He does. Much to your dismay, Aemond asks his father for your hand, openly slighting yours. King Viserys finds the whole thing delightful. No one else but you seems to share his joy.

[rosieswriting]

Barty Crouch Jr x Hufflepuff!reader

Summary: After the birthday of your dear friend, Pandora Rosier, Barty doesn´t seem as bad as he did before

Note: I took one of the request of reader "tutoring" barty not knowing he doesn´t need it by @treefairy-28 thank youuuu. And english is not my first language so it probably has some mistakes! And i will do a part 2 to where things get really interesting

Words: 3,2K

You’d always hated Barty Crouch Junior. Everything about him grated on your nerves—the way he spoke too loudly in class, yet still managed to top every exam; the infuriating pet names he used for you; his smug belief that being a Slytherin somehow made him superior, especially to Hufflepuffs like you. His walk, his talk—everything about him seemed designed to annoy you. Luckily, you’d always managed to ignore him. Until now.

You’d recently been paired with Pandora Rosier for a Potions project, and to your surprise, you’d quickly grown close. How had you not been friends before? She was sweet, caring, and easy to talk to—similar to you in so many ways. When her birthday rolled around, she invited you to a small celebration at the Three Broomsticks with her twin, Evan, and a few of his friends. Including him. You’d thought long and hard about it, knowing you’d have to deal with Barty, but in the end, you decided to go. After all, it was for Pandora, and you could always try to ignore him.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, busier than you’d expected. It seemed half of Hogwarts was out celebrating. Just as you were scanning the room, you heard Pandora’s cheerful voice calling your name.

“Happy Birthday!” you said warmly, pulling her into a hug and handing her a small box containing a silver necklace.

Pandora’s eyes lit up as she opened it. “Oh, I love this! Thank you so much,” she beamed, hugging you again. “Come on, we’re over here.”

She led you through the crowded room toward a cozy corner table. And, of course, as you approached, you saw Evan Rosier, Regulus Black and Barty leaning back in his chair, already watching you with that familiar smirk.

“Hi” you mumbled a bit shyly to the slytherin as you sat next to Pandora, and to your luck, Barty was seated right in front of you. Regulus and Evan gave you a slight nod of acknowledgment and continue their conversation.

“Look who decided to join us” Barty teased raising his eyebrows “Dindt think you would show up, Treasure”

“Barty” Pandora said with a warning tone to his friend, trying to shut him up. But he only raised his hands in self innocence and exuse himself with a poor “just trying to start a conversation”

“I wouldn’t miss Dora´s birthday just because I have to deal with you, Junior” you said with a fake sweet smile to him.

“Deal with me? You wound me Badger” he said and you rolled your eyes at the nickname.

“If its any consolation, im actually impressed that your ego managed to fit through the door” is the last thing you say before turning to talk to Pandora and ignore him.

You and your blonde friend talk for some time, she telling you about how her birthday has been and all the presents she got. At some point you start to get thirsty.

“Im gonna ask for something to drink, ill be right back” you say kindly as you stand up from the chair.

“I’ll go with you” you hear Barty says as he stands up as well.

“Great” you whisper under your breath as you start to make your way to the bar, him following behind you.

You ordered a butterbeer, and Barty, naturally, ordered the same, positioning himself so close that his shoulder brushed against yours. The warm, subtle contact sent an unexpected flutter through you, though you tried to ignore it.

“I must admit,” he began, leaning down just enough to speak directly into your ear, “when Evan told us Dora would invite you, my expectations for tonight went up higher.”

“Good for you,” you muttered, turning to face him with an eye roll, only to find his face so close that you could feel his breath on your cheek. You quickly turned your gaze forward again, pretending to study the bottles lined up behind the bar. He chuckled, catching the slight blush that had crept up your cheeks “When Dora mentioned you were coming, I almost declined her invitation” you continued, doing your best to sound unfazed

 “If you say so. But, can I just say, you show up here looking like this, put me in my place with that sweet, sassy voice of yours… you’re killing me here.”

Despite yourself, you feel warmth creeping up your cheeks.  Thankfully, the bartender hands you both your drinks before you have to answer. You turn to make your way back to the table, but Barty steps in front of you, forcing you to stop short as he smirks down at you, close enough that you catch the faintest spark in his gaze.

“You know, I think you secretly like driving me a little mad,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It’s cute, really—seeing you pretend to be so above it all.”

“Pretend?” you scoff, raising an eyebrow as you try to sidestep him. “Trust me, Junior, I’m not pretending anything.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, following you smoothly, keeping pace as you try to dodge around him. “Then explain why you look so flustered.”

“I’m not—” You stop, realizing he’s caught you, the faint blush on your cheeks betraying you. You try to shrug it off, holding your head high. “In your dreams, Junior”

He grins, leaning in close enough that his voice is a murmur just for you. “Oh, Treasure. In my dreams we are doing more than talking. Belive me”

You huffed, finally brushing past him and making your way back to the table. “Idiot,” you muttered, though you couldn’t ignore the faint thrill left in the air.

Sliding back into your seat next to Pandora, you tried to steady yourself as she happily dove back into conversation, thankfully distracting you from the lingering heat in your cheeks and Barty’s lingering gaze across the table.

As the night wore on, you and the slytherins stepped out of the warm, bustling atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks into the chilly night air. The sharp bite of winter nipped at your skin, making you shiver as you wrapped your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. You hadn’t brought a jacket and now you were regretting it.

Pandora was chatting animatedly with Evan and Regulus, blissfully unaware of your growing discomfort. Barty walked alongside you, his familiar smirk already playing on his lips. You knew he was about to make a comment, and you braced yourself.

Without warning, Barty slipped off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around you before you had the chance to protest. “Here, wear this,” he said, his voice low and smooth, ignoring your startled expression. “You look like you’re about to freeze to death.”

You blinked at him, flustered. “You don´t have to-” you start but he cuts you off.

“Please, like I’d let you suffer while I stand here all warm and toasty.” He chuckled. “You show up looking all stunning, and I won’t let you ruin it by turning into an icicle.”

Your cheeks flushed at the unexpected gesture, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you like a shield. You tried to regain your composure, shivering slightly as you adjusted the jacket to fit more snugly. “Thanks, but I don’t need your charity, Junior.” You weren´t willing to give up that easily.

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? Charity?” he teased, falling into step beside you again, his grin infuriatingly charming. “I thought it was more of a gentlemanly move, if you will.”

“Gentlemanly? You?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You must be joking.”

“Why so skeptical? I can be quite the gentleman when the mood strikes me,” he said, leaning in closer again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I can’t have my favorite Hufflepuff catching a cold now, can I?”

You felt a rush of warmth flood your cheeks at his words, and you tried to deflect, “You’re just doing this to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied, a cheeky glint in his eyes. “But I also happen to enjoy the view when you’re flustered. You should see your face right now. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” You repeated incredulously, fighting the urge to smile. “You really think you’re charming, don’t you?”

He leaned back slightly, feigning deep thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say charming. More like irresistible.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you shot him a glare. “Keep dreaming, Junior.”

“Trust me, I will,” he shot back with that devil-may-care grin.

Pandora turned to you both, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh my gosh, you two are so cute! You’re practically flirting!” she gushed, completely unaware of your desire to bury your face in your hands.

“Flirting?” you exclaimed, turning to Barty in disbelief. “This isn’t flirting; it’s sheer torture!”

Barty chuckled, his gaze locked on yours, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Torture? Maybe I’ll have to keep it up then. Can’t have you getting too comfortable, can we?”

As you walked back to Hogwarts, you could feel the weight of his jacket around your shoulders, and though you’d never admit it, the warmth was more than just physical. Despite the banter and the bickering, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your stomach. Barty Crouch Junior might drive you mad, but maybe—just maybe—there was something nice about having him around after all.

You arrive to Hogwarts and everyone makes their way to their common room, the boys to Slytherin´s, Pandora to Ravenclaw´s and you to Hufflepuff´s. You get into your dorm quietly, because even if it was a Friday night, your roomates were sleeping.

As you began to undress, you suddenly realized you still had Barty’s jacket draped over your shoulders. Great, you thought with an eye roll. Now I have to see him again. You sighed, folding it neatly and placing it in your wardrobe alongside your other clothes.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash off your makeup and change into your pajamas, you settled into bed. The comfort of your blankets enveloped you, but no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, the memory of Barty's teasing grin lingered in your mind.

You hated that the last thought before sleep was that goddamn smirk of his—so infuriating yet somehow captivating. With a frustrated huff, you turned over, determined to banish thoughts of him, but the image of his charming arrogance persisted, a playful reminder of the night’s events.

You woke up the next day, the soft sunlight filtering through the windows of your dormitory. The quiet of the weekend morning was a welcome contrast to the usual hustle and bustle of school life. You moved through your routine slowly, knowing you had no classes to rush to today. After freshing up, you dressed casually and made your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. You decided to take Barty´s jacket with you, so you could return it as soon as possible.

And thanks to Merlin, when you enter the Great Hall you immediately spotted him at the Slytherin table with his friends. You wave at your own friends and make them a signal to wait for you as you approached the green table, your friends staring at you like you had gone crazy.

“Junior” you call out softly from behind him.

Barty´s head whipped around, his grin widening when he saw you “Treasure!” his voice was full of amusement as he looked you up and down “Miss me alredy?”

You rolled your eyes and extended his jacket over him “Im here to return this, and to say thank you again” even if he was insufferable, you were always polite.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased by your words, as he took the jacket from you “You know, I was hoping you would keep it for longer. You did look amazing in it. Not that I didn’t like you in your top, of course”

You felt the heat increasing in your cheeks at his words but try to hide it with a scoff, your hands instinctively moving to fold your arms across your chest. “Whatever” you muttered, stepping back and already starting to turn away “Goodbye”

Some days later you were sitting with your friends in the courtyard, laughing as you discussed the latest mishap in Potions class, when you noticed a familiar figure making his way toward you. Barty Crouch Jr, in all his swagger, had that unmistakable smirk as he approached your small circle, his eyes already fixed on you.

"Treasure," he greeted smoothly, nodding to your friends before focusing entirely on you. "Got a minute?"

You raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback that he’d be seeking you out in broad daylight, in front of witnesses no less. “Depends. What do you want, Junior?”

He chuckled, unfazed by your tone. "Pandora said you’re somewhat of an expert in Magical Creatures. Thought maybe you could help a struggling Slytherin with a few... basics.”

Your friends exchanged glances, one of them biting back a smile as they elbowed each other. You tried to ignore it, focusing on Barty. “Struggling?” you echoed, skeptical. “You’re one of the top students. Why do you need my help?”

He shrugged, managing to look both innocent and mischievous. “Call it an off week. I could use some extra guidance.”

One of your friends couldn’t resist chiming in, “Are you sure you don’t just want to copy her notes, Barty?”

“Oh, I’d love to copy,” he said, giving you a pointed look, “but I think I’d learn more if we… studied together. Say, this afternoon?”

“Fine,” you said, ignoring the snickers from your friends. “The library at six?”

“Or my room?” he suggested, not missing a beat. “Much quieter. Comfier too.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your friends burst into laughter. “Nice try. The library will do just fine.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning disappointment. “Heartbreaking, really. I was hoping for a more… private lesson.”

“Guess you’ll just have to settle for learning in public,” you replied, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “See you at six, Junior.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his smirk widening.

With that, he turned and sauntered off, leaving your friends barely containing their laughter.

“Oh, Merlin,” one of them said as soon as he was out of earshot, “did Barty Crouch Jr. just ask you for a tutoring session?”

You sighed, trying not to show the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “Apparently. And he’d better actually need help with Magical Creatures.”

But even as you turned back to your conversation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this “study session” was going to be anything but ordinary.

That evening, you made your way to the library with a stack of notes on magical creatures and a determination to focus—no matter how distracting your “student” might try to be. When you arrived, you saw Barty lounging at a back table, idly flipping through a book that looked suspiciously unrelated to magical creatures.

“Good, you’re here,” he said with a grin as you sat down. “I was starting to think you’d stand me up.”

You rolled your eyes as you sat in front of him “Almost did” you mumble under your breath as you opened your book and notes. The library was quiet as you huddled over a hefty tome on magical creatures, quills and parchment spread across the table between you. It seemed like he was genuinely focused—or at least, he pretended to be.

“Alright, Junior” you said, pointing to a section in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, “why don’t you tell me everything you know about hippogriffs?”

He gave you a thoughtful look, scratching his chin as if deep in concentration. “Hmm… majestic creatures, proud, can be very dangerous if approached incorrectly… does that sound right?”

You tilted your head, eyeing him suspiciously. “So you do know about them, after all. That’s a decent start.”

“Well, I have the basics,” he said with a little grin, “but I wouldn’t call myself an expert. That’s where you come in, Treasure.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, nudging the book closer to him. “Alright, fine. Hippogriffs are proud, but there’s more to them than that. They’re highly sensitive and require respect—bowing to them before approaching is essential.”

He nodded, trying to keep a straight face, though you could tell he was amused. “Bowing. Got it. Sort of like dealing with you, isn’t it? Respect, admiration…”

You huffed, fighting the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Keep it up, and I’ll leave you to fend for yourself next time we have a test.”

“Anything but that,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t fade. “You’re far too charming when you’re lecturing me on magical creatures.”

You ignored him and went over a few more creatures, each time finding him surprisingly attentive. He asked questions—good ones, actually—and seemed engaged in a way you hadn’t expected. You started to think maybe he genuinely did want to learn more about the subject.

As the library began to empty, you glanced at the time. “We should probably get some dinner before the house-elves clear the tables,” you said, gathering your notes.

You started to walk to the Great Hall, still in conversation about the finer points of bowtruckles, when something slipped out from under his arm and fluttered to the ground. You instinctively bent down to pick it up, and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the parchment. It was an essay titled “The Lifecycle of Thestrals” with “A” scrawled at the top in red ink. The neat handwriting and the perfectly structured points left no doubt: Barty had known exactly what he was doing in Care of Magical Creatures all along.

You blinked, looking from the essay to Barty, who wore a guilty-but-unbothered grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, his smirk widening.

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Unbelievable. So you wasted my time?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. “Come on, can you really blame me?” His eyes held that familiar glint. “When Pandora mentioned you were the go-to expert on magical creatures, I knew I couldn’t miss the chance. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a few hours with someone as pretty as you, Treasure?”

Heat crept up your cheeks, and you looked away, trying not to let him see how flustered you felt. “You are unbelievable,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Unbelievably charming? I’ll take it,” he said, grinning as you approached the Great Hall. “I had a great time, by the way. Maybe next time, we can have a... more private study session.”

He threw you a wink before sauntering off toward the Slytherin table, leaving you standing there, cheeks flushed, speechless, and—if you were being honest with yourself—a bit confused. Because somehow, despite his insufferable arrogance, the idea of spending more time with him didn’t sound half as annoying as you’d expected.

[archangeldyke-all]

Reader who's been hired as more muscle for the gang? Maybe Sev is a bit jealous and/or is mean to reader, but the reader plays this off by flirting/teasing Sev. And ends up topping her.

Jfdjhggj I need more bottom Sev in my life lmao

bottom sevika is the loml actually

men and minors dni

you cannot, for the fucking life of you, figure out why sevika hates you so much.

you've been working for silco for about six months now, and it's been great. the best job of your life. sure, you're constantly committing crimes and dodging punches, but silco pays well, you get unlimited drinks at the last drop, and you've found a great group of friends in all his other goons.

well, all of the goons except sevika. she despises you, and you've got no fucking idea why. you've been nothing but pleasant and respectful toward her, but lately your patience is starting to wear thin.

"everyone was great at the dropoff today, boss. ran saved us half an hour with some quick thinking and knife skills, and deckard was surprisingly accurate with his math."

"that's what i like to hear. any issues?" silco asks from his desk, where he's puffing on a cigar. your stomach sinks-- you know what's coming.

sevika's silver eyes flick over to you, a small smirk on her lips while she speaks. "the fuckin' rookie forgot to fill the van with gas." she says.

you scowl and scoff. "i did not! that was your fucking assignment-- i was in charge of driving!"

sevika's smirk turns into a grin-- it seems like the only thing she likes more than bothering you is when you fight back. "are you seriously speaking to your superior in that tone right now?" she asks.

"my 'superior'?! as far as i'm aware you're just the bitch at work who makes my life fucking miserable."

all the air gets sucked out of the room, and behind you ran mutters something under their breath. "wrong move, rookie."

sevika's sneering at you, and you get exactly one second of warning before she's grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and is dragging you out of the office, a series of 'oooooh's following behind you.

"oh, great, now she's gonna fuckin' kill me before i can even get paid for today's work." you mutter to yourself as sevika drags you to her office, slamming the door shut behind her. she shoves you against the wall hard, and you grunt. "fuck! what is your fucking problem!?" you shout, shoving at sevika's shoulders. she barely budges.

"you talk too much for your own fuckin' good, y'know." she growls.

you sneer up at her. "and you'd be a lot more attractive if you learned to play nice."

sevika freezes, her anger melting into a shocked expression. you giggle a little-- it looks like you've finally found a way to fight back with sevika-- flirting. "sh-shut up." she mutters eventually. you snort.

"what's wrong, sev, got you tongue tied? that's all it takes, huh? a little compliment and you lose all that bite?" you tease.

sevika doesn't get angry like you expect her to, though. instead, she gulps, and her eyes get wide. you burst into giggles and sevika blinks, her shoulders hunching up. "shut the fuck up." she tries to sound scary, but her voice is too shaky for it to work.

"oh, shit!" you laugh. sevika hunches in on herself even more. "holy shit! you've got a crush on me!" you cackle, pointing an accusing finger at sevika. you watch in fascination as a blush creeps all the way up her neck to the tip of her ears.

"n-no i don't." she tries to deny. you're still reeling from your discovery, giddy and flabbergasted.

"you totally do! holy shit how did i not realize this before!? you're an emotionally constipated shithead, of course you don't know how to flirt! you probably didn't even realize, did you? just wanted to tug my pigtails and get my attention somehow huh?" sevika blinks at you owlishly-- more surprised than you've ever seen her before. you snort. "everything makes sense now." you chuckle to yourself.

"f-fuck off." sevika mutters eventually. you cackle and smack her on the shoulder.

"i've got you all worked out, hah! monday's gonna be a breeze." you laugh to yourself as you make to leave. sevika reaches out and spins you back around before you can open the door fully. you raise an eyebrow at her. "yes?"

sevika looks flustered and confused and slightly scared of you. you giggle a bit as you watch her try and fail to come up with anything to say, before rolling your eyes and giving her a little help.

"figure out a nicer way to flirt with me and you might be surprised, sev. until then, leave me the fuck alone unless you want me telling the gang why you've been picking on me so much." you say, then turn to leave again.

this time you make it halfway out the room before sevika's pulling you back in the room, slamming the door shut and shoving you against the wall again. for one horrible second you worry that you've read the whole situation wrong and you've only managed to enrage sevika even more with the suggestion that she might like you-- especially when sevika's hand wraps around your throat-- but then she freezes and takes a shaky breath. her fingers unwrap from your neck, slowly trailing up to cup your face.

"shut up." sevika whispers at what must be the cockiest, pleasantly surprised smile on your face. you just snort.

"make me." you demand.

sevika swoops forward to kiss you, and you giggle against her lips.

she's like putty in your hands, letting you guide her hands up and down your body, moaning against your lips. when you sink a hand into her hair, she shivers, and you manage to flip the two of you so you're pressing her against the door.

sevika's panting and staring at you with stars in her eyes. you snort at the sight-- endlessly intrigued with her now that you've figured her out. "oh, you're sweet aren't you?" you tease.

sevika tries to glare at you, but it falls flat with her eyes blown so wide they're black and her hands desperately clutching at your hips. "no, i'm not." she denies. you giggle and lean forward to start sucking a hickey against her throat-- the idea of sevika wearing your bite on her throat in front of the gang tomorrow making you dizzy.

"you are." you say. "bet you're fuckin' soaked for me, too, aren't you?"

sevika whimpers. you have to kiss her again to keep from laughing at her. she's pathetic. it's so fucking hot.

sevika grabs your hand and tries to shove it down her pants. you laugh, pulling away from her and grabbing her chin-- forcing her to look at you. "sevika, take a breath, babe." you request. she moans at the petname, and you laugh. "fuck, you're cute."

"fuck off!" sevika growls. you snort.

"i need you to use your words before i can take care of you, honey."

sevika shivers, her voice shaky as she speaks. "fuck... please fuck me."

you raise an eyebrow at her, and sevika actually stomps her foot. you laugh. "and why should i?" you ask.

sevika sputters, then cringes. you watch her mentally debate whether or not she's horny enough to communicate-- and you're surprised when she takes a deep breath, rolls her eyes, and then speaks. "b-because... because i've got a stupid fuckin' crush on you, okay!?" she shouts.

you grin and lean forward, kissing her cheek. "okay." you say simply, shoving your hand down the front of her pants and boxers. sevika whimpers, leaning forward to bury her face against your shoulder as you gasp. "oh, baby-- you're soaked." you coo.

she bites your shoulder. "would you just-- shut the fuck --ah!" she gasps at you sink two fingers inside her. "f-f-f-fuck!" she whines. you laugh.

"you better shut up or everyone's gonna know what's goin' on in here." you tease. sevika whimpers, and leans back-- shoving a fist in her mouth. you snort and lean forward, nudging her hand out of the way with your face. "move that. i got a better way to shut you up."

sevika's hand wraps around you, clawing at your back as you start to kiss her. it's uncoordinated and sloppy-- both of you too focused on her cunt to care much about your lips-- and it's the hottest kiss of your life. especially because sevika keeps whimpering into your mouth.

you manage to muffle most of her moans and groans, but when she cums, sevika leans back and shouts. "oh, oh, oh fuck!"

you giggle against her throat-- there's no explaining that away-- but you think sevika might've done it on purpose. you have a sneaking suspicion that sevika's going to be a possessive lover if the way she's clinging to you as she catches her breath is any clue. you don't mind.

"you're a fucking mess." you tease. sevika grunts and pinches your ass.

"shut up."

"that's rich coming from you. think the walls shook with how loud you were squealing."

"shut up!" sevika growls. you laugh.

"you don't scare me, baby. 'specially not when your cunt's still squeezing my fingers." you say, wiggling said fingers just a bit. sevika growls and bites your shoulder again, and you giggle. "are you gonna go back to bein' a bitch to me now or have we moved past that?" you ask.

sevika huffs and picks her head up, peeking up at you with puppy eyes. "i'm... sorry." she mutters. you smirk, raising an eyebrow at her, and sevika groans and straightens up. "i am!" she whines. "i just-- y'know." she says, waving her hand at you. you giggle.

"i do know." you say, nodding. "you're a mess."

sevika huffs. "yeah, basically."

"it's okay, sev. you're a hot mess." you tease. she snorts.

"i can't believe i like you." she groans. you just laugh. sevika huffs and you pull your hand out of her pants and straighten her out a bit. you make to leave and sevika squeaks. "wait!" you pause in the doorway, and sevika gulps, cringes, and groans. "fuck. fuck! fuck, i don't... just-- what're you doing tonight?" she asks.

something inside you flutters and you shrug. "you tell me."

sevika smiles a bit, her eyes darting away from you as she reaches up to rub the back of her neck. "...i won a shitload of money in cards last night... i could take us up to the promenade?" she asks. you grin.

"pullin' out all the stops, huh?" you ask. she shrugs.

"'s an apology."

"i like it. you've got yourself a date, sev."

sevika grins.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

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@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

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[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧

didn't really wanna write this in the first place, considering my faith, but ugh it was too good of an idea to resist😅

Summary: Aemond was always God's favorite creation, that is, until He made you.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), ROUGH NONCON, Lucifer!Aemond x Eve!Reader (does this count as monster fucking?), a whole lotta blasphemy going on here, guilt, degradation, humiliation, corruption, taste of the forbidden fruit (aka oral, m!receiving), painful loss of virginity, blood, creampie, Aemond is very very mean

word count | 2.4k🤙🏻

As soon as Aemond was created, he knew he was made for greatness.

Aemond was the most beautiful out of all of the angels, the most beloved and cherished. God put a lot of effort into sculpting him out of the finest materials, making him appear ethereal, almost as much as Him. It shouldn’t have been much of a shock when some of the angels preferred his company to God’s, telling him how much better he could run things, what things he could achieve if the Creator simply…ceased to exist.

Aemond tried, and Aemond failed, forcing God’s hand to banish him and his fallen angels from paradise, making Aemond lose his eye in the process. He refused to bow down and blindly obey what claimed to be a superior being than everything else, and he was thrown into Hell for wanting his own independence.

Aemond grew bitter and angry, what kind of Father did that to his beloved creation? 

He vowed from then on that he’d try to spurn his Creator at every moment he could, devoting himself to make God have a perpetual headache as revenge. He’d destroy anything and everything He loved and wanted to protect, burn Heaven’s gates to the fucking ground. 

So when Aemond saw God had made such fragile little toys to roam what he called Earth, he took every opportunity to maim and kill each creature. But that only made God create beings that could take care of said creatures.

Aemond and his demons could only laugh at the smooth skinned being that God created out of dust. Dust, he thought derisively, how inferior this so-called human is compared to me to be made out of something so quaint.

Aemond attempted to push all sorts of dangerous thoughts into the human’s head, wanting the man to destroy and self-destruct, but all he managed to get through was the feeling of loneliness.

Then, in response to the human man’s loneliness, God created a similar being to keep this human company; you, whose beauty almost matched Aemond’s, and he suddenly came to the realization that he wasn’t God’s favorite anymore.

God didn’t walk with Adam as much as he did with you, little Eve, doting on you and granting you whatever you wished without you even having to ask. No, no, no, this won’t do, Aemond thought maliciously, only he could be God’s favorite. No…Aemond had to ruin you.

Watching you and Adam live in blissful ignorance, speaking and being in the presence of the Lord, boiled his blood, hotter than he had ever felt before. But one silver lining, the Tree of Knowledge.

God told you and Adam that you could eat from any tree or plant you wished, just never the Tree of Knowledge for you would surely die. Aemond smirked to himself as he devised his plan. He would make damn sure one of you would eat the forbidden fruit.

Aemond came to you when you were by yourself, disguising himself in the appearance of a serpent, the only form he could take in your presence, which irked him, but he’d make do.

You eyed the serpent carefully, watching as it slithered across the grass towards you, seemingly just watching you as you worked in the garden…until it started to speak.

“Did God really say you must not eat from any tree in the garden?” The serpent spoke.

“We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but the Lord God did say, you must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.” You answered hesitantly, still very confused why a snake was speaking to you like it was a man. But a part of you were intrigued, his voice was soft and alluring; entranced, you had to listen to what it had to say.

The serpent seemed to scoff. “Surely you will not die.” The serpent climbed up the tree, taking a bite from the lowest hanging fruit, a loud gasp eliciting from your own lips as you saw the being swallow and didn’t immediately fall dead. “See? Who is He to tell you what you can and can’t do, hm? Aren’t you supposed to be free?”

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of your stomach, feelings of rage and betrayal encompassing you. “I-I…I am free! You have forgotten your place, beast!” You snapped, “The Lord God loves us and wants the best for us. He must have a reason!”

“You think everything is perfect, silly girl?” The serpent giggled, circling around you like the predator he was, eyeing your naked form, finding a reluctant feeling of gratefulness that God chose your features so well. “There’s so much wonder here right in front of your eyes, all you have to do is simply take a bite of the fruit.”

You shook your head defiantly. “No. He said we’d die. Why would He lie?”

“Because, if you eat from the tree, your eyes will be opened for what the world really is. You’ll understand right from wrong. You will be like Him. Consider, for just a second, if God truly loved you, He wouldn’t keep all this knowledge from you, right? Why would He keep something so simple from someone so innocent? Maybe He wants it all for Himself because He doesn’t think you deserve to feel all the joys He feels, that you’ll never feel. Ask yourself, why does He give you less when He takes more? How being free is being locked inside this place? Maybe you're weak or a mistake or too emotional. Maybe you're not good enough for His world, maybe you never were…”

Aemond could see the hesitance slowly leave your face, finally considering what he was saying to be the truth. Yes, little Eve, eat. “He’ll never know, sweet little lamb. I’ll never tell, you have my word. You deserve to know, you deserve to be free.”

The serpent’s poisonous words penetrated into your mind, making your mouth water from just the thought of finally eating from the forbidden tree. You had to admit, the tree was pleasant to the eye, the fruit it bore looked so delectable, like water on a hot day, maybe it would have always come to this? If not now, then definitely later.

You picked the same piece of fruit the serpent had bit into before, the skin of the fruit so soft and ripe, you were practically drooling as you brought it to your lips, taking a considerable bite.

As soon as the sweet yet bitter flavor hit your tongue, it felt like all the walls came down and the heavens opened. It was the best thing you had ever tasted in your life, the taste almost making you moan aloud. And you weren’t dead, in fact, you had never felt more alive. But your skin prickled at the breeze hitting your skin, and you realized you were naked. How long have you been naked? And the serpent was no longer with you, instead, a tall figure stood in front of you now, transformed as soon as the fruit traveled down your throat.

Unlike the serpent, the being in front of you was too beautiful to be any sort of beast, or human for that matter. You teared up instantly, the sight being too amazing for your human mind to comprehend. “Who…who…?” Was all you could get out.

“I am called many names, little lamb. Lucifer, Satan, Devil, Father of Lies, and much more…but you may call me Aemond.”

Your stomach dropped, the fruit sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone, burning from the inside out; you wanted to vomit. What have you done? You almost screamed when he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you close to him, your chest touching his, your breasts pressed uncomfortably against the leather of his clothing.

“You just had to give into temptation, didn’t you? You just had to taste it.” The Devil disapproved mockingly, an evil grin decorating his face, making his visage all the more menacing.

“You…you deceived me!” You sobbed, “You lied! You-!”

“Ah, ah, ah, can’t claim yourself to be innocent now, little girl. Now, the trust is broken. How will your God ever love you now?” He purred, licking up your free flowing tears from your cheeks and moaning at the salty taste. You tried to pull away, but he was too strong, holding your head in place, his fingers digging into your skin, once never blemished nor tainted now marked by the beast. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Besides, I’ve got something else for you to taste.”

You begged for him to stop as he forced you on your knees, the grassy floor that once felt so soft now cutting up your flesh, itching and burning. “Please, don’t do this to me!”

Aemond only snickered, “Poor girl, you have no idea how evil this world really is, huh? This is just a taste of what’s to come. Be grateful this is all I want…for now.” Aemond forced your mouth open, squeezing your cheeks together and forcing his fingers into your mouth, choking you until he replaced them with his cock. “Ah, such a sweet, innocent, unused mouth. Adam never made you do this, hm?”

You couldn’t force back your tears, copiously flowing down your cheeks along with the drool on your chin. The head of his cock kept hitting the back of your throat over and over, you gagged and almost vomited until he gave you a breather, pulling back and looking over your tear stained face with a sickening awe. “So pretty…prettier than me, I must admit.” His eyes darkened in jealousy. “That bastard can’t possibly love you more than me once I’m finished with you.”

In one swift movement, Aemond had you on all fours, shoving your face into the ground, dirt and grass covering the side of your face uncomfortably. You screamed as he shoved his cock inside you in one thrust, filling and stretching you almost impossibly wide. The pain had your ears ringing and vision going white, sweat beading out of every pore in your skin as he forced you to take all of him. “Fuck, so tight. Did Adam never take you to bed? I figured as much, such prudish creatures. Don’t worry, my sweet little lamb, I’ll break you in for him.”

As if you thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, his brutal thrusts had you sobbing, the amount of tears you shed causing the soil to turn into mud beneath you, grass getting underneath your fingernails with how hard you were holding on to keep yourself from passing out. “S-Stop, please, mercy!” You begged.

“Mercy?” He growled. “I’ve begged for mercy too many times to count, I never received any. Neither shall you. Now shut up and take my cock like a good little lamb.”

“God…please…make this end…” You whispered into the ground, only to get a mocking laugh in return.

“He can’t save you now.”

Aemond’s thrusts were wild, trying to make it as painful for you as possible, watching your blood drip down your inner thighs and making a little puddle on the ground, staining the grass. But along with the blood, an almost white fluid made a ring around the base of his cock. “Oh, starting to enjoy this now, are you?” He grinned evilly, gripping your hair to pull you back against his chest, his other hand reaching around to hold your neck.

As much as you hated to admit it, yes. The pain slowly went away, all that was left was an achy pressure in the pit of your stomach, a burning that seemed to grow in intensity with every harsh thrust he made. “S-Stop…”

Aemond hummed in disapproval. “Why do you resist the pleasure you feel? Give in to sin and you can have anything you want in the world.”

“No…” You said to yourself. “No!”

Aemond chuckled. “So defiant, I like that. Makes it more fun to break you.”

You gasped as Aemond reached down to rub circles around a spot you didn’t even know existed, the sensation overwhelming but you didn’t want it to stop, though you’d never admit this. It made the pressure in your stomach only grow faster, moans escaping you and getting louder the more he touched you. “What’s happening?” You cried, panicking.

“You’re about to reach your peak, little lamb. You’re about to feel one of the most pleasurable of sins, and all because of me.”

“No, stop! Don’t make me, please!” 

But it was too late, you reached the point of no return. It felt like you were going to die, the feeling was so intense, your whole body convulsing and spasming around Aemond’s cock. And with it, a dark feeling overtaking you. 

You groaned loudly, an almost growling noise, as you reached your peak, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, only to come back as black voids. There was no white in your eyes nor color, just darkness. Your fingernails pushed out, being replaced with claws. Your canines fell out, being replaced with fangs. A brutal ache in your skull had you crying out, blood dripping down your face as a horn on either side of your head grew from beneath your skin.

“Yes, dark little lamb, give in to me.” Aemond cooed, and for the first time, you listened to him.

Aemond flipped you onto your back, looking down at you in a mocking admiration, grinning as your skin grayed and veins went red, beginning to resemble one of his demons.

He was taken by surprise as you flipped him onto his back with a shocking amount of power, shoving his cock back inside you and began to ride him violently. “There she is, there’s my fallen angel.” He groaned as his cock began to pulse, your walls squeezing him just right as you made yourself come around him as many times as you could, the feeling addicting to you now. “Fuck, do you want my seed, little Eve?”

“Don’t call me that.” You growled, scratching up his chest with your new claws, drawing copious amounts of blood, your now forked tongue lapping up the red fluid. The added pain made Aemond reach his peak quickly, his cum filling you to the brim. With one more cry, you sprouted dark wings, fluttering softly but just enough it brought you to your feet. 

Aemond stood up with a grin, watching as his cum dripped down your shaky legs, mixing with your blood. “You’re mine now, understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Hm, now what shall I call you, if not Eve?” You pondered his question for a brief moment, before ultimately deciding your new name and your new fate.

“Lilith.”

hey y'all, thought i'd post a little something something for Valentine's Day. I wrote the first half of this months ago and then i got a boyfriend and stopped writing but i really liked this idea and decided to finish it. Hope you enjoyed!

[writingwenches]

Princess Aemma Velaryon

summary: The first child of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, born not long after her marriage to Lord Laenor Velaryon. An unknown dragon dreamer, the girl experiences all the horrors inflicted on the world by Old Valyria while she sleeps, while during waking hours prays for the forgiveness of the Seven. She dreams of becoming the perfect mother, something her mother most certainly is not. She worships the ground Queen Alicent walks on. She is filled with dragonfire and rage.

themes: tried to think up a version of a Rhaenyra's Team Green daughter OC and she slowly warped into Rhaenyra's worst nightmare and my new fav. Part of my HOTD fanfic universe.

warnings: religious nonsense, eternal damnation, sexism

Part One of Unknown // ~5k word count

On the day of her birth, King Viserys was the first to speak her name, as a gift to the woman he loved. He had informed his small council when the news of a healthy female babe came to them, that the babe was to be called Princess Aemma Targaryen. 

Queen Alicent, debilitated from her labors, spent the days following the birth with her mind controlled by milk of the poppy. Her seventeenth nameday came and went. She couldn’t be sure, as her mind frolicked with the dancers painted on her chamber walls, but Alicent did not recall the kitchens preparing her traditional cinnamon cake to mark the celebration. 

Queen Alicent first heard the babe’s name from her father, the Hand of the King. And right then, her recovery ended. 

Princess Helaena Targaryen was announced at court that every afternoon, with the king’s approval or presence.

It was not long after that Princess Rhaenyra was in need of a name for her own healthy baby girl, and Aemma seemed fitting. 

Princess Aemma Velaryon was born the Realm’s Delight. Aemma was perfection personified from the moment she was born, two moons early, but weighing more than any of the king’s children. Her skin was healthy, but would not be described as dark. Disregarding the Maester’s astrological based predictions of the birth, it was foretold that the babe would be of sturdy health, and as a babe her favorite thing to do was scream. 

It was not something she would grow out of.

Aemma Valyrian was born at the onset of winter, and the Maesters predicted her ill temper would cool once the springs come again. Just as they had vastly miscalculated the child’s birth, they predicted incorrectly.

The babe would fight sleep, and be calmed by nothing. Additional nursemaids were hired, as the babe was taken away from those tasked with looking after the Queen’s newly born second son.

Princess Rhaenyra swore off ever birthing a babe again, after nights and nights of sleepless waiting. Leanor had honored her with his help, bearing the burden of misery at her side. Queen Alicent could barely speak with her childhood friend without biting words and curses cast in her direction. 

Eventually, Rhaenyra allowed the Queen to take the babe, to allow herself much needed sleep. Helaena helped calm the babe, Alicent found, the year older child fascinated with the new sounds. Aemma could find sleep, tucked aside her aunt Helaena. 

At least for a while.

Helaena did not mind standing in the shadow cast by Aemma all her life, honestly she preferred it. It kept her well shaded from the brightness of the court’s stares. 

Even though Helaena was older, Aemma was the leader, even of their nursemaids. It was not long before Helaena’s gate slowed as she allowed Aemma to to lead herself away. She had no use for Helaena, not really, Helaena was not good at sitting motionless in the Sept, or picking apart her every action to find her central flaw that needs solving. Helaena just wanted to be. Aemma wanted to be superior. 

The princess’s hair was her greatest treasure. Pale white, with flecks of silver under the sun, she had grown down to her hips, and she wore it unbraided. Each night, requiring two maids to brush it to her satisfaction. She did not appreciate inefficiency, only inspecting after twenty additional brush strokes. 

Gifts from her grandsire birthed her collection the man was a sailor that traveled the world, something that Aemma had interest of doing herself, but applauded the man for his great bravery. The elder captain enjoyed Aemma’s excitement with every exotic trinket he returned with, as his wife and daughter had grown tiered of his treasures and absence. 

Her favorite treasures were the princess’s vast collection of combs and brushes from around the known world. She had comb made of a single jewel from the mines of Casterly Rock, a comb of pure frozen fire from the markets of Asshai, the small folk call it dragon glass, and her most prized possession, a brush that is said to be made of hair and human bone from north of the Wall. 

Every night she would pick her two tools, one for each maid, as a sort of prayer for the next days blessings. Her mother hadn’t ever understood her obsessions. 

Her mother never understood anything. 

Aemma screamed. Rhaenyra screamed back. A chair is thrown from her balcony and Queen Alicent enters the young girl’s room without introduction. Aemma cried and threw herself at the Queen’s mercy. 

“I simply suggested,” Rhaenyra started, “that we visit the dragon pit so that we might––“ 

“You wish to sabotage any chance I have of ever finding a husband!” Aemma’s words bit like the heat of dragon fire grazing skin. “No man shall have me if I stink of dragon!” 

Aemma’s tear stained eyes fell on Helaena, hiding behind her mother’s skirts. Her eyes hardened at the sight of her niece, Helaena’s clothes were plain and made of leather. The King’s first born grandchild looked at the King’s second born daughter like she was some disgusting creature, covering herself in the dried skins of dead animals, like a true monster. 

“…just like you.” Aemma bit her words at Helaena, the unwanted woman that smells of sulfur that no man had any use for. 

Helaena did not mind Aemma’s words, for she knew the root of them. Helaena had been present when Aemma proposed marriage to Aegon, the first time. 

Aemma upon the siblings breaking their fast one morning, she had not yet reached ten. She informed Aegon that he would need to start attending her daily prayers in the Sept, to cleanse his mind in preparation for their eventual wedding. 

Aegon did not bother to finish swallowing his meal before he responded, “I would marry Helaena before I would ever marry you,” he laughed, juices falling from his open mouth. He would not marry Helaena either, but he had paid enough attention in the training yard to know the most efficient place to strike. 

Aemma saw to it that the rest of Aegon’s meal ended up in the dirt. She made sure to break the newly turned teen’s favorite cup.

Aemond would sometimes hear Aemma’s screams marking another spat with her mother from the training yard. Aemond had not expected to see his niece, there, in the flesh, she tended to avoid the entire side of the keep, complaining of the smell. 

Aemma’s hand wrapped itself around Aemond’s wooden sword, mid strike. Ser Criston’s feet left the pit in freight at the sight of the young girl. She was the disgusting bastard snake, the proof of all his failures. With every glance at her pale lavender eyes, he questions if he should not have ended himself that night instead of…

“Uncle, you shall be my husband, prepare yourself,” she released his weapon back to him. 

“Oh–“ was the only sound that left the child’s mouth, allowing the heavy sword to fall into the earth, his eyes passed to his teacher, Ser Criston, hoping he would speak up to inform her that she was mistaken. 

“That is, of course,” Aemma’s hand’s folded sweetly, as her silver hair cascaded to the floor, wrapping her in its aura. She bowed politely, lowering her head ever so gently. 

Aemond watched her efficiency of her actions, every motion pointed and proven to get the reaction she desired. How Aemond longed to play the strings of others with the ease that she managed to. He supposed their children would grow strong, and she did not have the look of a bastard that marked her brothers. Still, he did not like the idea of more unity with that family.

“That is only because I can not possible marry you, Ser Criston,” she mused. “For how I do wish to,” Aemma sighed into the fantasy of a picturesque life as the lady wife of a proper knight. Aemond could feel the sun from her words. 

Criston looked away. 

High Valyrian was out of the question for Aemma, why speak the language of a civilization not competent enough to remain living amongst some ‘falling volcanic ash’, She believed that the gods only act their vengeance on those who deserve his wrath. If one never sins, one will always be kept in the favor of the gods.  

Her mother spoke blasphemous contradictions, always downplaying the gods judgement. 

“We of Old Valyrian were only saved from Doom by the grace of the Seven,” Aemma’s hands rose in praise, “and we must honor them in the way that they demand.” Her daily trips to the Great Sept surpassed that of the most pious at court. 

At the mere suggestion, from Rhaenyra, for Aemma to spent time away from her constant, quiet, contemplation, the young princess would drop to her knees while loudly begging the gods forgiveness of her mother’s trespass. Her hands rose to the ceiling, her calls shouted to their exhalation, to cover the heretical words of her mother. 

Rhaenyra eventually gave up, and allowed the girl to do as she pleased. Aemma’s eyes were shut closed for her endless prayers before meals, her calls were loud enough to cover the rest of them picking at their plates. 

“May my every action be guided by your grace, and let me praise your name with all my actions.” 

Sometimes, Rhaenyra thought her daughter was doing these things simply to irritate her mother. Laenor, her father, thought she was simply fascinating. 

Aemma believed in eternal damnation, neither her parents knew where the thought had stemmed from. She was still a child, in her nursery room, when she told of dreams from the eternal burn of dragon fire that awaits those that displease the gods. Not even the Septas could talk the girl from her heading. She viewed her life as a test, and she would not allow herself to fail it. 

There was a world, that Aemma visited in her sleep. For as long as she could hold memory, she could feel herself falling and slipping and drowning into the darkness of slumber and awaking somewhere far, far away. It was a place where gods ruled the sky, and those who tamed them ruled the world. 

The towers of the city spiraled up past the clouds, towards the sun.

That was not where Aemma would find herself. She would land hard, by the skin of her knees, against the broken stone of the iron mines, deep below magma bellowing flames. It was hot, too hot, too hot to breath. The air was thick with metal dust and human wails. She would know she was alone, her family slain long ago in a place that no longer existed, turn to ash and salt by the gods as punishment for her trespasses. 

It was too hot. And the wailing. Aemma was forced to her feet and made to continue, her small hands wrapping around the broken rocks and shuffling them away with the other tiny hands that worked the floors of the mine. Iron, they called it, it was precious and wanted by the gods to make more tools, to dig deeper into the mines. Her hands burned at every new touch of rock, the gloves covering her hands were not enough, never enough. Her feet and knees were blistered and burned, she could not even remove her sandals, as the flames merged them into her skin. She breathed in toxic fumes and smelled of brimstone and bile. 

With every new crack of rock, with every clash of metal came the ending. The vile ending of choking on airless voids, of molten steam breaking free and burning and melting, of the rumble of a wyrm, picking her off for wondering too far down the darkness.  

Every night she dreamed, Aemma suffered and died in the mines of Old Valyria, suffering the wrath of her people’s empire, though she did not know it. She was a child, and the child only saw death and destruction and fire.

In her waking hours, the Septas read the young princesses tales of the Seven, and their constant fight for moral righteousness. It was what gave the Reach their fine knights and perfect ladies, just like the Queen. 

Aemma knew what it meant to be virtuous, it was able to be taught. And from her dreams, she knew what happened to those who were wicked. Eternal fire and blood and damnation. 

Aemma had always enjoyed the silence of the Sept, as soon as she was old enough to enjoy it. She could breath amongst the endless quiet flames, they all breathed together as they marked the ones lost to the past. It was a peaceful place, the Septas silent pondering and whispered prayers brought her calm. It was the only thing that did, the promise of a just reward and eternal peace for living and just and pious life. 

She was given a heading at a young age, that she could know true peace if she followed the path before her. She was determined to reach her destination.

Of course, Princess Aemma Targaryen was not going to become a dirty, old, Septa, she was born with a grander purpose. She knew she was to be a mother from her playing with dolls. She knew she was to be a great mother one day. 

Something that she knew her own mother was not. 

As the princess aged, her dreams changed, mirroring the souls that called to her from across the Narrow Sea. One such dream of odd sensations and things she could not understand, coincided with lessons putting the upmost importance on a future bride’s chastity. 

Her mother was displeased when she refused to remove her shift before climbing in the bath. 

“Aemma, sweetling, I do not think this is what the Septas meant–“ Rhaenyra tried to remain calm for her daughter’s sake. 

“I am responsible for protecting my chastity mother! What if–“ the young girl gestured around the room, filled with her brothers and their nursemaids. 

It was wrong, but Rhaenyra could not stifle a laugh. “They are infants, and I am your mother!” she argued, “These woman have been taking care of you since you were a babe, we all love you so–“

“Love will not protect me,” was Aemma’s final answer. The girl bathed in her thin cotton shift, to protect her modesty, even from herself.

Rhaenyra was fraught. Queen Alicent thought the behavior odd, but seemingly harmless. Once becoming Queen, Alicent’s own staff grew seven fold, she had not been used to bathing in a room filled with people without Rhaenyra in their youth. Alicent too longed for the days were she could bath in peace. 

“Perhaps, she simply wishes to be alone?” the Queen offered, her back straight as she sipped her mid-morning tea. “She is growing, she might find the boys…an annoyance?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, slouched into a cushion, one of her feet propped up on the chair beside her. “But, what if we’re missing something?”

Alicent let out a sigh, she knew when her childhood friend wanted to talk freely, to work through an idea that plagued her in such a way she could not be swayed. “What do you mean?” Alicent asked, after picking a particularly beautiful (and large) cake from the tea offerings, it was covered with berries and cream. 

Rhaenyra leaned herself forward, with the look in her eye when recounting ancient war strategies, “Laenor, once, told the children a favorite war story of his and both Aemma and Jace were frightened for days, so never again. But, that was years ago, and Jace does not even remember it ever happened.” Rhaenyra said. “I have spoken with her Septas, about what they could possibly be teaching those girls. It’s all falderal and men exchanging dutiful wives and stories about how rain once covered the entire earth.” 

The Queen attempted to allow her words to flow past like a gentle steam, Rhaenyra had always had a contempt for the teachings of the Seven, and Alicent had agreed to the tea in good faith. Alicent was a woman in control of herself, and would not leave the table over a slight so simple, no matter how much she wished to.

“Well, it is not all,” Alicent began, “as you say, falderal. Many of the stories are great examples of honor and responsibility…” Alicent could tell that Rhaenyra was losing interest in her speaking, “And perhaps, a daughter wanting to protect her own innocent is not the worst thing to be faced with.” 

Alicent sipped her tea while the two shared a silent look.

“Helaena is similar, I must admit,” Alicent changed the subject. “I find she prefers not to be touched. I thought it was by my own failing, but she seems to not wish it from anyone.” Alicent shrugged. “Perhaps, she too wants to take control of her own innocence and chastity? There is nothing wrong with that.” 

“But, what if there is something wrong?”

“You worry too much,” Alicent offered something small, a hand reaching across the table. 

“I never imagined having a daughter would be so tiring,” Rhaenyra laughed, not taking Alicent hand but offering a smile at the gesture. 

“Well!” a new voice entered the room. “Isn’t that a sentiment I have been waiting to hear all my life!” Viserys entered the room with his cane first, Rhaenyra noticed a new missing tooth amongst his smile. 

“You would make your mother proud,” the King offered, his daughter taking his hand.

Alicent swallowed, a deep breath, and then joined the smile herself. “Yes, step-daughter, Aemma is in good hands, with us all.”

Outside of the castle walls, Aemma Valyrian was the Realm’s Delight. Since a young age, the little girl would wave towards the crowds on her daily trip to the Great Sept. She carried flowers to gift other children during the springs, and bread to offering during the winters. Helaena joined along, but preferred the serenity of the wheelhouse over the roar of a crowd. 

Helaena’s eyes were always elsewhere, the skies, the dirts, her own mind. Aemma refused to enter the dragon pit, so Helaena was rarely afforded the opportunity. Aemma complained the smell made her sick, and would heave until they either left or she became sick and they were both taken back to the palace, where Aemma would spend endless hours pampering her hair.

Before Aemma was even old enough to understand, she could read it on the faces of those at court, there was something wrong. The Queen had never spoken ill of her mother in her presence, but Aemma suspected she had always just finished speaking before the young girl was close enough to hear. 

Aemma devoured every drop of information she could find from those around court. Queen Alicent had packed the halls with any second born noble that wished a chance at the presence of power. They all had something to say. Aemma had learned to hide around corners and disappear into shadows in order to hear. 

She learned and she knew. 

And in the aftermath of the birth of her brother Joffrey, Aemma was ready to strike. 

“Oh, so now you care about who I am to marry!” Aemma spoke as if she were a woman grown, as Rhaenyra had thought since she was first born. “You speak to the Queen about wedding me to Aegon after he had already refused me!” 

Rhaenyra was taken aback. “You have asked him? Aemma you are a child! You–“

“And I would never have such a leacher as my betrothed! Aemond has already agreed–“

“Aemond?” Rhaenyra’s head was spinning at the information coming. “Fine, fine,” she finally relented. “Either way, we are returning to Dragonstone, we have–“

“You shall to whatever you like, I shall be remaining with my betrothed, as we are to be married!” 

“Aemma, my sweet, you are still a child! You shall marry, but for now we are going home–“

“THIS IS MY HOME!” 

...the tableware shook at the ferocity of her words, along with goblet she threw. 

Rhaenyra did not like when her daughter stopped speaking, for she had no way of knowing what was going on in her mind. She watched as a smile stitched itself across Aemma’s mouth. Rhaenyra never wanted to speak ill of her precious child, but the girl’s teeth were too large for her mouth, it created a smile stretching across her cheeks like a jackal.

“If you make me go, I shall tell everyone,” Aemma spoke softly, pulling the air out of the room.

“Tell them what?” Rhaenyra tried to keep her breathing stilled. 

“I shall tell them about father,” her smile only grew. 

Rhaenyra’s breathing halted. 

“He’s….he’s…a buggerer of men! I have seen it with my own eyes, the King’s nameday last, as he was tending to those Bracken horses, and you’re protecting him!” Aemma enjoyed being right, it was simply the only way to be. “How could you ever lie with a man like that?” she asked, disgusted. “But, I supposed. You did not lie for him long.” 

Aemma’s eyes wondered to the dark haired babe asleep in his cradle. 

“I suppose, I should thank you, Mother. You managed to at least produce one heir,” Aemma’s spoke what she had never spoke before.

“Heir?” Rhaenyra’s forced a laugh, “You have always been content with your brother, Jacerys, taking on the mantle after me.” 

“You dare suggest someone like him sitting the iron throne?” 

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh, for the girl knew not what she spoke. It would only take a few words to cut the girl down, drown out every candied dream that filled her stupid head. “You wish to rule?” the heir-to-the-throne asked.

Aemma’s words were spitting, hissing venom at her birther, “There is no Queen amongst the Seven! I wish to honor The Mother, and to fulfill the only purpose for which I was brought down from the stars! I pray to the Crone to guide me to the path of fruitfulness and to The Maiden to protect by virtue from peoples like YOU.”

Food and plates and chairs and jewels flew through the room, leaving a path of destruction matching a dragon in a herding pasture. 

“Fine! Remain here, be the ward of the Queen, for she is the mother you have always wanted!” Rhaenyra gave in, and left the girl to her own devices. 

Queen Alicent had not been prepared to see Aemma breaking her fast the next morning. “Aemma! What are you–” she exclaimed, the girl had been seated alone in the large room used for family meals, always the first to arrive. 

“Mother left me here,” Aemma sighed into the words, sipping her morning tea. 

The Queen made a sound showing that she had heard the young girl’s words. She had heard of the aftermath left behind in Rhaenyra’s chambers, and Alicent was sure she now found the cause. 

“You are to…?” Alicent sat near the child. In all of the Queen’s dreams of Rhaenyra taking her spawn and fleeing, she had never imagined one staying behind. Though, she now knew it had always been the only possibility.

“I am to remain here as your ward, my queen!” Aemma threw back her chair, and supplicated herself before the queen. “Allow me to learn from you! You, a true virtuous and pious woman. You are the portrait of The Mother, who I shall model my every action to glorify her name."

Alicent had seen this look before. The eyes glazing over, looking past and through. The same way those worshippers looked at the dragons of Old Valyria, the reverence in the presence of a god. Alicent was Aemma’s god. 

“I shall be faithful to you, as my lord paramount, you shall guide my every action and I shall become whatever it is that you want me to be so that I can avoid the endless firey pits of damnation that awaits all those sinners that I shall seen––“

“Enough! Enough, that’s enough, dear,” Alicent hushed her, shaking her out of whatever trace had taken over. “It is fine, you may stay. Just, please no more–” 

“Um! What is she doing here?” Aegon was never up this early, and all the thanks he received was being greeted by the Realm’s Annoyance. “Why can’t she go back to Dragonstone with the b–” 

“Aegon!” the queen hissed.

Neither Aemond or Helaena were excited to see her that morning, but it was clear she would need to be removed from the castle in chains, if at all. 

Aemond supposed having a betrothed was fine. He had known from birth that his marriage was to be arranged, and that he supposed he was prepared to do whatever duty the crown demanded but, this felt different. 

He had not spent much time imagining what his future bride would look like, but the time he had, his mind wondered to that of Cinda Lannister, his mother’s closest lady. When she peppered his face with kisses, it wasn’t wet and revealing like some of the older women of court. Her hugs were warm and long, and he was almost tall enough to be face height with her chest. 

Aemma always had ill words to say about Cinda’s wardrobe, always finding something despisable about how she showed her body, complaining about the slightly elder Lannister’s overly exposed skin. Aemond was not sure if they were always speaking of the same dresses, for Aemond could always imagine Cinda in more scandalous clothing. 

“You aren’t thinking about Cinda Lannister’s breasts, are you?” Aemma gasped, as she caught his mind drifting off in the wheelhouse ride to the Sept. 

Aemond could feel every drop of blood rushing to the tips of his ears, it was almost painful. “No!” he lied. 

“Good,” Aemma said, knowing she had picked the right choice of betrothed. 

She had close to him during meals, moving their chairs to almost be touching. There was a part of him that hungered for the attention, and he knew that his prayers had been answered. Although, hallow. 

She gifted him small things, she once sowed a silver trinket dragon into his sleeve. “Now you shall not need to go to the dragon pits any longer, for here if your own dragon.” 

Aemond enjoyed when she dumped wine on Aegon when his brother mocked him. But, he did not like their mandated walks through the gardens and her constant questions about the state of his mind. 

It was not Aemma’s words that haunted Aemond from the night be lost his eye, it was the imagined droves of ladies at court that would soon he saying the same thing.

Aemma shouted at her child brother, Lucerys, from her place at the Queen’s side, “I can not marry him now that he has one eye!”

Aemond was honestly glad to get rid of her, she had completely ignored his existence during his healing process, though she informed him that he was in her prayers. 

“Thanks,” he would respond flatly. 

“Perhaps someone with a large castle,” Queen Alicent mused, trying to think of that to do with the leftover princess. “She needs something to constantly busy herself.” 

“Harrenhal is the largest of castles,” Lord Larys offered, from across the sitting table filled with their scheduled warm meal.

"Say that again, and I shall make her marry you,” Alicent buffed back.

“Then I shall be sure to never speak of it again,” Larys assured. 

Ser Criston waited patiently outside the Queen’s chambers, and never interrupted her meals. Though, he knew the topic of discussion. The cunt princess’s actions were always so cutting towards the Lady Queen, and she needed to be cut down to size.

Ser Criston offered the plan late one night, he could tell that his Queen was drained from the girl’s constant will and talks of a world being engulfed in endless flames. 

“My Queen, if it please you,” he started. “The Princess Aemma has grown…fond of me,” he was not sure how to proceed. “If you ever would want me to…” 

They both stopped, neither green enough to need it said fully. 

Alicent’s hands wrapped themselves around the stone railing, digging the grit into her palm. “You, the man who once asked me to order your death, hear me now,” she said, “If I hear of such things again, I shall take your hear myself. You will treat the princess as her station demands, you will be cordial and nothing more. Or I shall see your white cloak run red with your own blood. Am I understood?” 

She was understood.

Somewhere deep, across the barren fields that wrapped around her mind, down a dark corridor, a tunnel of darkness, a moat of unpassable waters, there was a box under the floor boards that held a small wooden box. And inside that box was were Alicent kept what she knew to be true. That Princess Aemma was no ward, but a sacrifice Alicent was willing to make, and heir for an heir, if it were ever come such blows. And it was Alicent alone who could give that order.

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! as always~ I posted a bit of her earlier this week, hated it, took it down, and re-wrote some of it LOL Anyone want more? Any suggestions or requests? Lol she needs to have a ultra religious girl-gang lol

tags: @targaryenswhxre sorry for the mult tags Im a mess LOL

[detectivestucks]

Brat Taming

18+ Content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Modern AU Kakashi is your arrogant and creepy step brother. One night while your parents are out of town you come home from a night of partying only to find Kakashi in your room, ready to make you pay for all your cheeky comments

Warnings: NSFW, NONCON, Stepcest, Toxic Kakashi, brat taming, oral, fingering, unprotected penetration, choking, anal play, facial, hair pulling, harsh spanking, under age drinking.

Word Count: 4.6k

Anon Ask

When your mom married Sakumo three years ago you thought your Clueless fantasy was about to come true. Your new step brother, Kakashi, was stupid hot. He was blessed with a gorgeous angular face, deep brown eyes, thick silky silver hair and a mouthwatering scar over his left eye. He loved to walk around the house either in fitted muscle tanks or shirtless with only loose gray sweats, showing off his chiseled frame. On top of that he had big masculine hands with perfectly manicured fingers that you would daydream about grazing your most sensitive areas. He was going to be your Josh and you were Cher waiting for him to fall madly in love with you. 

Only it turned out he was a complete and total ass.

Soon after your parents got together he had been accepted to Harvard and loved to lord over everyone what a genius he is. You quickly grew a distaste for the prick and got cheeky whenever he felt the need to remind you of his superiority. 

Currently you are a freshman in college starting your second semester at UMass. You chose to live at home to keep your mom company since you didn’t like the idea of living in a tiny dorm room with some random roommate you didn’t know. Kakashi on the other hand, just got kicked out of the dorms last semester and was finishing his Junior year at home with you and your parents. 

It turns out you were not the only person he liked to mouth off to. He got into several arguments with many of his dorm mates and the RA. Eventually he was banned from on-campus housing and now you were left to suffer through daily interactions with the world's most annoying step brother. 

Always his insufferable self, recently Kakashi has been extra creepy. He seems to have forgotten what a shirt is and rarely had one on his back. Sometimes you thought you caught him palming himself out of the corner of your eye and you would catch him staring at you when you get ready to go out with your friends. Most annoyingly, sometimes he’d hang out in your bedroom when you were trying to get ready for bed.

“Can I help you?”

“Just making sure you’re not so brain dead that you forgot how to put on pants. I know it can be hard for some people.”

“Oh is that so? Cause I was just making sure you didn't forget how to shut your mouth. I know it can be hard for some people.”

“Careful, now. You should really mind who you’re speaking to that way.”

“Sorry, I don’t take kindly to creeps who think I’m too stupid to put on pants. Is that why they kicked you out? Cause you were trying to show girls how to put on their pants?”

Kakashi furiously charged up to you and got right in your face. You were scared but you weren’t gonna show him that. Instead you glare at him. 

“Watch it kid or you’ll find yourself in a world of trouble.”

“Threats don’t work with me big bro. Try again some other time.”

Angry, he left the room. Closing his door with a snap. 

It had been like this for weeks. His unwelcome presence always looming around. You hated the way he looked at you. It was like he was hunting for a reason to tear you down. Whether it was your degree, your ‘public university’ education, or your slutty outfit choices. The guy needed a life. Most of the time you’d quip back but sometimes you just didn’t have the energy and instead roll your eyes. Tonight was one of those nights. Sakumo and your mom were out of town on a romantic getaway so you were going out while Kakashi tried to lord over you as the ‘man of the house.’

“Ah you going to see your boy toy? You know you’re never going to get a respectable man dressed like that.”

“I’m not going to see any boy toy, I’m going out with my friends.”

You see him give a smug smirk at your answer

“Besides, it’s not up to you if I’m looking for a respectable man or not. Maybe I’m not looking for one at all.”

“So just looking to be a little whore. I see how it is.”

You glare at him before rolling your eyes.

“I’m out. See you later, loser.”

You catch Kakashi’s face paint in fury as you leave. He hated how you constantly try to undermine him. He hated that you were such a brat. And he truly hated how no one ever put you in your place. 

********************************************

You loudly came home at 2am from partying with your friends. You were a little inebriated and stumbled to the kitchen to get water before heading upstairs to bed. You make your way up the stairs, tripping over your high heels. You get to your bedroom and when you turn on the light you see Kakashi already laying in your bed. 

“Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“I have no problem. I’m not the one getting home at 2 am after a night of underage drinking.”

You were hit with a wave of sobriety at his words. If he told your mom, you’d be screwed. Seeing your expression, he knew he had you cornered. Kakashi stands up and walks past you as if he’s leaving the room, putting himself between you and the door before changing his mind and closing it.

“Remember when I said you should watch it?” 

He turns to you, taking a step forward. You begin to stumble backwards towards the bed.

“You’re such a filthy brat” he spits.

You continue to stumble backwards, your heels slipping off your feet. 

“And there's nothing I love more than putting a brat in her place.”

Your eyes widen in fear as you see a dark smile stretch across his face. Calves hitting the bed, you fall down to the floor and Kakashi weaves his strong hands into your hair, pulling it back so you’re forced to stare up at him. Your mind hazy, you begin to realize exactly how he imagines putting you in your place and it causes you to tremble. 

He tugs down his sweatpants and pulls out his length. Its weight slaps you in the face with a heavy thud. You flinch in his grasp but his fingers tighten in your locks as he begins beating you with his manhood.

“Drunk little girls like you don’t deserve to brush their teeth with a toothbrush. They only get to brush their teeth with cock. Now open that brat mouth for me.”

“No!”

Kakashi spits on your face. “I said open”

In your outrage you open your mouth about to hurl an insult at him when he shoved himself between your lips and pushed your head all the way down to his stomach. You were gagging and retching around him. You pushed against his thighs with all your might but your pathetic drunken arms were no match for his robust muscular physique. 

“That’s it. Choke on my cock you twerp.”

He groaned as he feels you constrict around his tip in an attempt to swallow air. Your eyes were tearing up from oxygen deprivation and your entire body was rigid in your struggle. He roughly pulls you up and down on him, pummeling your throat with a manhood much too large for your mouth. You feel your jaw lock as you open wide, tears falling freely from your eyes. 

He pulls you off of him and slaps your drool and tear drenched face. 

“Look at you. Just a little slut swallowing me so good. It seems college has at least taught you how to swallow dick so I guess your tuition has been put to good use.”

Your chest is heaving as you gulp down fresh air, seeing two of him with inebriated eyes while the pain of your hair being pulled registers in your hazy mind. 

“Again.”

He plummets into your mouth once more, fucking your face while you choke. Drool dribbling past your lips and down the front of your dress. He threatens you,

“Don’t even think about running to mommy. I’ll tell her all about how drunk you were and how you came onto me and you’ll be grounded and not allowed to see your little friends for the rest of the semester. Got it?”

He shakes your head with the hand grasping your hair. You whine ‘yes’ with a full mouth as you cry out from the pain. He retreats from your throat and you cough while he shoves you face down on your bed. He bends you over its edge, ass facing him. You desperately bring your hands to the back of your head, trying to pull off the hand tangled in your hair. He pushes you down into the mattress with force majeure and you sob from your dishonorable predicament.

“Resisting is futile little sis. This is what happens to brats who don’t know their place.”

He pulls up the skirt of your mini dress and yanks down your strappy thong. 

“Who are you wearing this slutty underwear for, huh? I thought you weren’t going to meet up with any boys” you hear a hum of amusement from his chest. “Did you wear this for me?”

“Fuck off” you choke.

“Ah, you see? You shouldn’t have said that.” He spreads your legs and brings his hand up to forcefully slap your sex. You yelp and flinch. 

“This is the very attitude I was talking about sis.” He slaps you again, this time harder.

“Someone’s gotta beat this out of you.” He slaps you again, this time with significant strength. 

Kakashi catches some arousal dripping out of you when he removes his hand from your folds. He lets out a chuckle. “Seems like you’re enjoying this.” 

His words burn you with embarrassment and reignite your struggles till he plunges his fingers inside of your gummy cunt. You gasp at his uninvited intrusion. He feels around, stroking in and out, coating his knuckles in your secretions. As he toys with you he hits your sweet spot and an involuntary groan spills past your lips. 

“Oh, you like that, huh?”

You shake your head ‘no’ but when he does it again you moan once more, walls tightening around his fingers. He pulls out of you and spanks your cheek causing you to cry. 

“You’re not supposed to enjoy it brat.” he snarls before sinking his fingers into you again. 

He maliciously milks your sweet spot, driving you to a crazed state. You struggle to refrain from moaning but if you fail and a cry slips past your lips be brings a heavy palm down on your rear with so much force that the red handprints quickly turn purple. He repeats the torturous process till you are thrashing in his grasp and he has to pull you up by your hair to pin you down on the bed with his body weight on top of you to stop your struggle. 

Kneeling on either side of your arms, weight on your chest, he can see the mascara run down your cheeks. He swells with pride seeing you made messy by his hands. He shoves himself back into your mouth. You kick and try to push him off of you but he has no patience for your misbehavior. He reaches behind himself and gives you a slap between your legs. 

Your resulting squeal vibrates along his shaft. A pleasured growl rumbles from his chest so he continues to reach around, beating against your cunt while he thrusts in and out of your mouth. 

Your fingers begin to dig into him, scratching up his legs as you desperately try to get him off of you. He rips himself from your mouth and grabs you by your wrists.

“You wanna play rough, sis? I can give you rough.”

He gives you a shit eating grin as he leans all his weight on your restrained wrists and uses his knees to spread your legs. You feel the heat of his length rub against your folds as he gets his body into position. You quickly realize you’re losing the war and he’s going to get exactly wants. You squirm and wiggle your hips trying to stop him from sinking in. In his frustration he pulls down the top of your dress and slaps your tit. You feel the sting as your arm goes to his chest but he quickly recaptures your wrist.

“Stop moving” he warns

“Fuck you loser!”

“Gladly”

The most sickening smile splits his face as he sinks himself deep into you. A loud groan is pushed out of you as he shoves your organs out of the way with his fat cock. 

“Wanna say that again?” he croons in your ear

You look up at him with doe eyes, not ready for how he is about to tear you apart and shake your head ‘no’

“That’s what I thought.”

He glides into you slow and deep, making sure you feel every vein as he violates you. He loves watching your eyes go wide every time he bottoms out, pausing to feel the full effect of him stuffing you. You whimper and groan stretched more than you thought possible, helplessly trapped. There was no running, no way out. You were alone and defenseless.

Nevertheless you struggle under his weight, trying to free your wrists. Annoyed by your incessant struggle he decides to bring them above your head and pin them together, freeing up his hand so he can grab your nipple, squeezing it between his index finger and thumb. You squirm as he applies pressure. 

“Keep resisting and see what happens” Kakashi threatens as he pulls up with your bud trapped in his pinch. You draw breath through your teeth, the pain consuming your thoughts. Not even registering that he hasn’t stopped rutting into you the entire time. 

“Gahh!”

“Understand?” You’re so focused on the pain in your nipple that all you do is whimper. “Answer me!” he barks with a twist of your nub

“Nggh! Fine!” Your eyes are screwed shut. You begin to open them when he releases your captive bud but you flinch when he slaps your tit again. 

He grabs your face, smushing your cheeks together. 

“See, I knew you could follow directions. That’s a smart girl”

You loathed him but you couldn’t help how your walls were restricting around him. His size massaged your sweet slit in such a gratifying way. Your body completely betrayed your mind. It seemed completely out of touch with the gravity of your situation. He left you breathless, your lungs forgetting how to breathe, as he pummeled into you. 

Anger on your mind, you watched him as he watched you. You pan over his stinging brown eyes, his angular features, and the mole that sits just below his drool inducing lips. He was hot and you hate him all the more for it. 

Disgust written on your mug as he studies you, anxiously waiting to watch you break. He picks up a little speed and you groan into it. You immediately regret the noise when you see a smug simper stretch on his face. You try to give him a glare but he hits you with a particularly sharp thrust and your face betrays you as your mouth falls open and your profile softens from pleasure. 

“I knew you were just a weak little slut.”

“Shut up.”

He slaps your face. “Wanna try that again?”

You attempt another glare at him but he thrusts up into you in a way that hits a sweet spot and you mewl for him.

“Ah! Thank you, ah.”

His chuckle makes your stomach twist as you realize what you said. 

“Ahh, she has manners.” condescension thick. You truly hate him.

He continues to thrust against the same spot making you pant under him. You cry pleasured screams from the sensation. He kept going, enjoying the view of you coming undone against your will. 

The sounds of your submission were getting a touch too loud. Trusting that you would behave, he strips off his shirt to reveal his well defined muscular frame beneath. He balls up the hem and shoves it in your mouth before returning a hand to your wrists, obediently still crossed together, waiting to be restrained again. 

You hated how good it felt. The recognition of him pleasuring you made you feel slimy on the inside, and desperate to get him off of you. He was your brother. Your arrogant asshole of a brother, yet he had you panting and crying beneath him. He was such a sick fuck. 

He gains speed. Beginning to bang the headboard into the wall. The sound thundering through the quiet night. Good thing the parents weren’t home to hear you cause he was beginning to lose his composure. He had been so careful to conceal his hunger but it was evident in his eyes that he was wild with lust. You sing into your gag, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. His unrelenting pace, his careful aim, and his grunts combined into a euphoric melody that had you spasming around him, calling his name through the gag. Your body stiffened as the orgasm tore through you.

“That’s a good brat. See how good it is to behave?”

You dumbly nod your head as the aftershocks course through your system. He strokes slowly allowing you to fall limp before he barks at you again.

“Get on your knees” he says, lifting his weight off of your wrists. He helps you flip over on your stomach and his hands pull up your hips so they are aligned with his pelvis. You attempt to support your weight on your arms when he pushes your head back down, roughly shoving you into the mattress. 

“Brats get fucked like whores. Lift your slut face off the sheets and there will be consequences..”

You cry out as you obey his command. He pushes in just the tip and you anxiously close around it before he pulls out again. You hate the way you whined from how empty you felt. He pushes in just a little deeper before retreating again, toying with you to prove his point. This time when he begins to line up his tip you rock your hips all the way back so he ‘s buried inside of you. You hadn’t anticipated how the angle would overstimulate you and you gasp about to pull away but his hands grab your hips and hold you steady. He begins to chuckle. 

“Such a twerp, complaining about something you did to yourself.”

You loathe yourself for how you sought him out just now. He was assaulting you and you were practically begging him to fill you. It was all a game to him and your pathetic response was exhilarating.

He  brings his hand down on your backside that was already bruised and purple from his earlier battery. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, cries muffled by his shirt. He strikes you more. Every time you try to tuck your tail under to avoid the abuse he pushes down on your back. You were not running away from him. You were a mouse trapped in the maze. 

He begins to ram into you, the plush tissue of your behind rippling violently as his hips collide into you on repeat. Your fingers spread and grip onto your duvet for dear life as he bullies himself deep into you. 

You can’t handle the feeling. He’s too big! You lift yourself up trying to change the angle, trying to find relief, when his formidable hands sweep across your neck and choke you. He pulls you up just enough that your arms couldn’t reach the mattress and your entire body weight was supported by his grip on your neck. His hands sink into your trachea with every plummet into your slick cavern. 

You claw at his hands on your neck, trying to get under his fingers to lift the pressure from your windpipe so you could breathe. Your attempts were futile. Eventually your hands grip his wrists, giving up on being allowed to breathe.

“I told you not to lift your face. Here I thought you were learning your lesson.”

Seeing the gag start to fall out of your mouth, he lifts one hand off your neck to stuff it deeper before returning it to your throat. You spasm around him, tears spilling from your eyes, back involuntarily bowing, allowing him to push against your diaphragm. He knocked the wind out of you without allowing you to catch your breath. His cruelty leaves you putty in his hands, pliable and bending to his will. Gushing around his girth, broken and winded.

“Now you’re starting to get the picture.”

Pleasured cries permeate through the fabric in your mouth. He doesn’t plan on letting up any time soon either. He’s enjoying the view too much. Your glutes shake with each thrust while they’re spread wide open. He hones in on your puckered rear when he remembers what he found when he was snooping in your room. 

He pulls out of you and grabs you around the waist, pulling your back into his cut chest, possessively holding you so you can’t run away as he drags you across the bed where he can reach into your nightstand drawer. He pulls out your tiny black plug with a blue gem on the end. You look over and through your dazed state you realize what he grabbed and you start to protest. 

“No, no, no, no” you say through the cloth.

He shoves you down pulling your hips up once more and shoving your face back into the bed so your cries cannot be heard. His spit falls onto your rear, pooling over your sphincter where he pushes down on the tapered tip of your plug. You begin to wail.

“What’s all the fuss for? This is your’s, is it not? I thought whores liked having their holes stuffed.”

You tried pulling away but his grip on your hips tightened and he slammed back into you enjoying the friction of where the plug encroached on the space in your tunnel. 

You looked so beautiful with the blue gem protruding out of your dirty hole. He was definitely going to do this to you again. He was going to make you beg him for it once he was done putting you in your place. 

The thought of you coming to his room, plug in place, to get another taste of his fat cock made him ravenous. He rails into you using every drop of athleticism he has. You start to scream and go dizzy. His heavy balls slap into the bundle of nerves swelling between your legs. Eventually they swing into you with so much voracity that you twitch with each stroke of his hips. Your face began to melt into the mattress from his pounding and you are certain he will break your neck from the force. 

He flips you over, pushing your hips up so your knees are by your face, ass high in the air. He stands on the bed and sinks himself between your lips, thrusting down into you with all his might. Abdominals flexing with each thrust, passionate grunts bending you in half. The impossible positions shredding what was left of your once tight pussy. 

“Take it little slut.”

He can see the helpless tears leak from your eyes as you feel every inch of him being swallowed up by your soiled cunt. 

“Fuck Kakashi” you moan between labored breaths. 

He smirks. He had you just where he wanted you. He only needed to push you over the edge. He reached down and begins whirling circles around your clit. You shriek and knock your knees together. But his silky chuckle cuts your mind like a knife. The fucker was laughing at you. You squirm but your current position was so compromising you couldn’t move. He plays with you rubbing more vigorously. You scream and holler under him unfamiliar with such intensity as this.

“Ple-Pl-ease” you dumbly whine. 

“Please what, sis? You’ll need to speak up”

“M-may I c-cu-mm?”

He pounds into you without relenting. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that”

He was such an abhorrent ass but the heat in your lower belly was boiling over and you needed to release. You try to phish your voice from the back of your mind but it’s swimming and the way he drags along your ridges while swirling your sensitive bud has you desperate for him. 

“Gah! Please l’me cum!”

The glint in his eyes sickened you but you didn’t have the strength to care as he readjusted his stroke to pound into the sweet spot he found earlier. Your entire body convulsed under him as you had the most intense orgasm of your life. 

Kakashi, pleased with his successful session of taming you, feels his own gratification on its precipice.

He pulls out of your quaking cunt with a slap to your sensitive clit causing your hips to fall to the mattress with a cry. Your destroyed state was erotic. Helplessly shaking, sweat all over your body, dress bunched around your stomach, hair knotted and messy, ass still plugged and tears drenching your face. His fingers seek out your hair to hold you still while he paints your face white. 

“That’s a good girl. Take your reward.”

You tremble in his arms. When his seed can no longer shoot from his tip and simply oozes from his slit Kakashi presses himself against your lips. You part them slightly to give it a kiss leaving him to shutter from sensitivity. 

“Yes, very good”

He brushes your cheek with his thumb pad smearing his cum along your skin. You look up at him pathetically and he smiles down on you. 

“There we go sweet sister. That’s much better.”

You make a little whine that he finds so precious. 

“Go clean yourself up little one.” he pets your head before pulling on his sweatpants and tucking himself away. “I’m going to bed. Feel free to join me if you want.” 

He grabs his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder before lacing both hands together behind his head as he walks away. 

Your lip quivers as you entertain the idea, realizing you were hopelessly hooked.

Shakily you get up, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and walk naked to the bathroom. Kakashi glances over from his bed as he sees you through the crack in his bedroom door before exhaustion lulls him to sleep. 

He wakes up a half hour later to your weak-willed body slipping into his bed completely naked. He opens his arms, letting you settle into his chest before he closes them around you. You exhale with a small sigh and in your mind you know you would be yearning for the next time the two of you are home alone so he could tie you up and brutally defile you again. 

He plants a kiss on your forehead, mind flooded with gratification at finally breaking you down into such a needy state. 

He reaches down between your cheeks to see you kept your plug in tact. He gives it a small tug and you look up at him with a whine. He nuzzled your nose and whispers to you in his silky smooth voice before gently pressing a kiss on your lips. 

“Such a filthy brat”

Masterlist

[acakefilledwithrainbowsandsmiles]

just want y’all to remember that throughout the events of the darkstalker book, he’s about five-six years old. in human terms, that’s the equivalent to a young 13-16 year old boy. imagine a 13 year old comes marching into the palace like “hi miss queen i am here to kill some icewings for you.”

[goddessofvalyria]

SUPERMODEL | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is a famous supermodel. However, he treats his assistant so badly that they reach a breaking point. She leaves him and he, for the first time realize how much he needs her. Not only in works but in his life too.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, kissing, sexual themes, oral (f receiving), fingering, SMUT, sex, squirting, age gap (Aemond is in his early 30s and she is in her early 20s). This is a modern Aemond in modern AU, he doesn’t have his disability (his eye).

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy the fic <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 5800

Aemond Targaryen strides through the glass doors of the high-rise studio, exuding confidence. His tall frame is perfectly complemented by the tailored designer suit hugging his form, his silver-blonde hair slicked back impeccably. His assistant, a young woman trails behind him, her eyes downcast and her steps hurried to keep up. She clutches a clipboard close to her chest, filled with Aemond's schedule for the day.

"Assistant!" Aemond barks, not bothering to look back at her. "Have you confirmed the Vogue shoot for next Tuesday?"

"Yes, Mr.Targaryen" she replies quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And what about the interview with Vanity Fair?" he demands, his tone sharp and impatient.

"It's been moved to Thursday afternoon, as per your request" she answers, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Aemond clicks his tongue in annoyance. "I hate Thursdays" he mutters, more to himself than to her. He finally glances back at her, his expression one of disdain. "Why do you always sound so meek? Speak up! Or do you think my time isn’t valuable enough for you to bother?"

Her assistant swallows hard but doesn't respond to the insult. She knows better than to defend herself. Her job is to keep his life running smoothly, not to make waves. She simply nods, making a note on her clipboard.

They arrive at the studio, and the room buzzes with activity. Photographers, makeup artists, and stylists swarm around, all eager to cater to Aemond's whims. He thrives in this environment, basking in the attention, his arrogance palpable.

"Do they have my preferred brand of water here?" Aemond asks loudly, looking around with an air of superiority.

She nods quickly. "Yes, I made sure to have it stocked" she replies, already anticipating his needs.

Aemond scoffs. "You better. Last time, I had to suffer with that cheap swill they dared to offer me." He rolls his eyes dramatically before striding over to the makeup chair.

She moves to stand in the corner, her presence almost ghostly. She knows her place—always in the background, always silent. The makeup artist begins to work on Aemond, who lounges back, closing his eyes.

"You know, assistant" Aemond says suddenly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You could learn a thing or two from these people. They know how to do their jobs properly. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment."

Her cheeks burn with humiliation, but she nods again, keeping her expression neutral. She can’t afford to lose this job, not now, not ever. She watches as Aemond is transformed, his features highlighted and contoured to perfection, ready for the camera. The photographer signals that they're ready, and Aemond stands, adjusting his suit jacket.

"Stay out of the way" he hisses to her as he walks past, not even sparing her a glance.

She steps back, blending into the shadows, her eyes following his every move. She can see the allure he has, the way he commands the room, but she also sees the cruelty that lurks just beneath the surface.

The photoshoot begins, and Aemond is in his element. He poses effortlessly, each click of the camera capturing his sharp features and confident stance. The photographer shouts directions, and Aemond complies with a fluid grace, his every movement calculated and precise.

During a brief break, Aemond saunters over to her assistant, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I hope you're taking notes" he says mockingly. "This is how a real professional operates. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Her fingers tighten around the clipboard, but she nods once more. "Of course, Mr.Targaryen" she replies softly.

The day drags on with more of the same—Aemond’s arrogance, his cutting remarks, his constant demands. She endures it all in silence, her face a mask of calm. She organizes his meals, prepared by his personal chef, making sure they’re exactly to his liking. She liaises with journalists, manages his social media, arranges his travel—all while bearing the brunt of his contempt.

Finally, the photoshoot wraps up, and Aemond is ushered to a private room for an exclusive interview. She follows closely behind, ensuring everything is in order. As they enter the room, Aemond turns to her, his expression icy.

"Make sure you don’t embarrass me during this interview" he snaps. "I don’t need you messing things up like you always do."

She nods, standing just outside the frame of the camera, ready to jump in should anything be needed. She watches as Aemond slips effortlessly into his charming persona for the interviewer, his smile charismatic and his voice smooth.

The next day she stands outside Aemond Targaryen's lavish penthouse, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. She checks her phone, her breath visible in the cool air. He should have been up an hour ago. She takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. She presses it again, more insistently this time. Finally, she hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

The door swings open to reveal Aemond, shirtless, his hair disheveled and eyes heavy with sleep. He looks at her with an annoyed expression, clearly displeased to see her so early. "What the hell are you doing here so early?" he grumbles.

"You're late" she says firmly, not backing down from his glare. "You were supposed to be at the Versace photoshoot an hour ago." She pushes past him, entering the penthouse. The place is a mess, bottles from last night’s party littering the floor.

Aemond runs a hand through his hair, looking irritated. "I wasn’t aware you became my alarm clock" he snaps, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

She ignores the remark and heads straight to his bedroom. As she pushes open the door, she spots a young woman in his bed, her red hair sprawled across the pillow. Her full lips press into a thin line. Another one of his conquests, no doubt. Probably someone he met at that Vogue party last night.

"Get up!" she says sharply, her patience wearing thin. "You’re late, and I’m not covering for you again. If you don’t move, someone else will take your place." Her voice is louder now, more insistent.

Aemond smirks, clearly amused by her boldness. "Relax. I’m Aemond Targaryen. No one is taking my place," he replies arrogantly, but he gets out of bed anyway, stretching as he does.

"Where’s the chef?" he asks, referring to his private chef, as he pulls on a pair of pants. She sighs, already anticipating his reaction. "Andre has the day off" she replies. "I’ll make you breakfast."

Aemond rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight. "Fine. Just hurry up," he mutters.

She heads to the kitchen, quickly whipping up a simple breakfast— toasted bread with Nutella and coffee. She works with practiced efficiency, her movements quick and precise. As she cooks, the girl in his bed stirs awake, realizing where she is. The young woman gets dressed quietly and slips out of the bedroom, clearly embarrassed. She avoids Elara’s gaze as she leaves the apartment.

Aemond strolls into the kitchen, yawning. "Again?" he complains, though he sits down at the counter and starts eating. "Couldn’t you have managed something more… sophisticated?"

She clenches her jaw but doesn’t respond to the jab. She’s used to his criticism by now. "You need to eat fast and I'm not your chef" she says instead, her tone neutral. "You’re already running late."

He finishes his breakfast leisurely, seeming to take pleasure in making her wait. Finally, he grabs his jacket, and they head out. By the time they arrive at the studio, Aemond is over an hour late. The crew is waiting, the tension palpable. The Versace representative looks irritated but relieved when he finally arrives.

Despite being late, Aemond still manages to charm his way through the photoshoot. His arrogance seems to evaporate in front of the camera, replaced by that effortless confidence that has made him a star. The photographers and stylists gush over him, forgiving his tardiness in exchange for his flawless performance.

As the shoot wraps up, she stands off to the side, making notes for the next appointment. She glances up and notices a young man, tall with curly black hair and green eyes standing near her, looking nervous. He introduces himself, and her face lights up. She laughs, a rare, genuine sound, and nods as he talks. It's clear they’re making plans—he’s asking her on a date, and for the first time in a long time, she looks truly happy.

Aemond catches sight of the exchange, his expression darkening. As they leave the studio, he confronts her in the car. "What the hell was that?" he demands, his tone harsh.

She blinks, taken aback. "What do you mean, Mr.Targaryen?"

"That pathetic guy" Aemond snaps. "You were all smiles and giggles. You do realize you're supposed to be working, not flirting with some random kid."

Her face hardens. "His name is Kai."

Aemond scoffs. "Don’t make me laugh. You don’t have friends. You have a job. My job."

They arrive back at his apartment, and Aemond storms inside, clearly in a foul mood. She follows, her patience finally wearing thin. "You know" she says, her voice trembling with anger. "Just because you have everything handed to you doesn’t mean you can treat everyone around you like garbage."

Aemond turns on her, his face twisted with rage. "You’re just a fucking virgin, unsatisfied with your fucking life!" he yells, his words cutting deep.

She flinches as if slapped. Her eyes flash with hurt and anger. "At least I have a life, Aemond. All you have is this—your fame, your arrogance. But none of it makes you happy, does it?"

Aemond’s face contorts with fury, and in a blind moment of rage, he raises his hand and slaps her hard across the face. The sound echoes through the apartment, and his hand flies to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Aemond’s chest heaves, his breath ragged, as if realizing what he’s done. She, however, doesn't wait for an apology. She takes a deep breath, her decision clear in her mind. She walks over to her bag, pulls out a folder, and slams it down on the kitchen island.

"What’s this?" Aemond asks, his voice uncertain now.

"My resignation" she says quietly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "I’m done, Aemond. I’m fucking done with you."

She turns on her heel and walks out of the apartment, leaving Aemond standing there, stunned and alone. The door slams shut behind her, the finality of the sound echoing in the empty room. For the first time, Aemond is left alone with the weight of his actions, the silence of the apartment deafening in her absence.

Aemond Targaryen has had a miserable week without her. His new assistant, a well-meaning but utterly incompetent woman named Lisa, tries her best, but she’s no her. She fumbles over simple tasks, double-books his appointments, and worst of all, she can't anticipate his needs like her always did. Aemond finds himself snapping at her constantly, frustration boiling over.

“Lisa, for the last time” he growls on the fourth day, “I said black coffee with no sugar, not some fancy vanilla latte nonsense. Can’t you get anything right?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Targaryen” Lisa stammers, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll get it fixed right away.”

Aemond waves her off, already regretting his outburst. But the truth is, he's angry because he misses jer. He misses how she could keep everything in order, how she never made mistakes, how she seemed to know what he needed before he even did. He hates to admit it, but he misses her presence—the silent, steady strength she always carried.

By the end of the week, his patience is worn thin. Exhausted and frustrated, he decides to drown his stress in a drink. He heads to a dimly lit bar, tucked away in one of the city’s quieter neighborhoods. As he steps inside, the familiar hum of low conversation and clinking glasses greets him. He heads to the bar and orders a whiskey, neat.

As he sips his drink, he spots a familiar face across the room. His breath catches in his throat when he sees her, sitting at a small table with that boy named Kai. The sight of her laughing, her face lit up in a way he rarely saw when she was with him, sends a surge of jealousy through his veins. Kai leans in closer, saying something that makes her laugh again, her hand brushing against his. Aemond’s grip tightens around his glass. She is wearing a silver slip dress, loose hair and seems to be... happy.

Without thinking, he gets up and makes his way over to their table. She looks up, her smile fading the moment she sees him. “Aemond” she says, her tone flat. “What are you doing here?”

“Just out for a drink,” Aemond replies smoothly, his eyes flicking to Kai. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

Kai shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, maybe I should—”

“No” she interrupts, her gaze never leaving Aemond. “You don’t have to leave, Kai.”

But Kai is already standing, sensing the tension in the air. “It’s fine” he says awkwardly. “I’ll call you later.” He shoots Aemond a wary glance before quickly leaving the bar.

She watches him go, her face hardening as she turns back to Aemond. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, her voice low but seething with anger. “You can’t stand to see me happy, can you?”

Aemond smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was just saying hello” he says innocently. “No need to get so worked up.”

She stands abruptly, grabbing her coat. “I’m leaving” she snaps. “And for the last time, I’m not working for you anymore. Find someone else to boss around.”

Aemond follows her out of the bar, his expression darkening. “Wait!” he calls after her. “You still need to pick up your last paycheck.”

“Make me a wire transfer” she retorts over her shoulder, not bothering to stop. “I don’t want to see you again.”

But Aemond isn’t willing to let her go just yet. He watches her storm off down the street, her pace quick and determined. He knows she lives somewhere near the Flea Bottom district, a rougher part of town on the outskirts. Without thinking, he jumps into his car and starts following her, keeping a careful distance as she navigates through the winding, narrow streets.

She finally reaches her building, a run-down apartment complex with flickering lights and peeling paint. Aemond pulls up and gets out of the car, his heart pounding. He watches her disappear inside, and for a moment, he considers leaving. But something pushes him forward, an inexplicable need to see her, to talk to her.

He takes a deep breath and presses the buzzer for her apartment. It takes a few moments, but eventually, the door buzzes open. He heads up the creaky stairs to her floor, where she’s waiting, her arms crossed and her expression furious.

“What do you want, Aemond?” she snaps. “Say whatever you need to say and then get the hell out. I have work tomorrow.”

He steps inside, the space small and cluttered but cozy, filled with personal touches—a stark contrast to his own sterile, minimalist apartment. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his eyes searching hers. “I—” he starts, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn’t know what he wants to say.

“You’ve said enough already” she cuts him off. “You’ve insulted me, belittled me, hit me—what more could you possibly have to say?”

“I’m sorry” he blurts out, the words surprising even himself. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms tighter. “Is that it? You think an apology makes up for how you’ve treated me?”

Aemond takes a step closer, his voice softening. “I miss you. I miss the way you always managed everything, the way you put work before anything else—before your own life. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I can’t stand seeing you with… with someone else.”

She laughs bitterly. “Of course, it’s about you, isn’t it? You don’t care about me—you just don’t want anyone else to have me. You’re jealous, Aemond. That’s all this is.”

“Maybe I am” he admits, his eyes intense. “Maybe I can’t stand the thought of you with him because I—”

“Because what?” she challenges, her voice rising. “Because you think you own me? You don’t, Aemond. I’m not your possession.”

“Because I care about you!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around. Because I—”

Before he can finish, he closes the distance between them, his hands gripping her arms. He kisses her roughly, desperately, his lips crashing against hers with a force that steals her breath away. For a moment, she resists, her hands pushing against his chest, but then something breaks inside her, and she gives in.

The kiss is fiery, filled with all the pent-up emotions between them—anger, frustration, longing. Aemond pulls her closer, his hands moving to her back, and her fingers curl into his hair, pulling him even deeper into the kiss.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Her eyes are filled with confusion and anger, but also something else—a flicker of desire, of something she’s been trying to deny for too long.

“Get out” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Aemond’s grip on her tightens. “No, I—”

“Get out!” she yells, pushing him away. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want this… I don’t want you.”

Aemond takes a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows she doesn’t mean it—at least, he hopes she doesn’t. But he can see the determination in her eyes, the resolve. He nods slowly, backing away towards the door.

“I’ll leave” he says quietly. “But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

She doesn’t respond, just stands there, her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze distant. Aemond turns and leaves, the door closing behind him with a soft click. He stands outside for a moment, his heart racing, trying to process what just happened.

Inside, she sinks to the floor, her head in her hands. She’s exhausted—physically, emotionally. She doesn’t know what to do, what to think. But one thing is clear: nothing will ever be the same between them again.

Another week passes, and Aemond is nearing his breaking point. He’s more irritable than ever, snapping at everyone around him. His new assistant, Lisa, has quit after a particularly harsh comment about her incompetence, and he’s cycled through two more assistants since. No one can seem to fill the void she left behind. The thought of her is always at the edge of his mind, a constant, nagging presence.

Everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of her. The perfect organization of his closet, her sharp but efficient handwriting on his schedule, the way she always knew how to calm him down when he was in one of his moods. He’s tried to forget, tried to move on, but nothing works. He’s come to a stark realization: he doesn’t just miss her work ethic or her efficiency. He misses her. He needs her.

She, meanwhile, is struggling in her new job. She’s started working at a small startup as an assistant, but the pay is a fraction of what she earned with Aemond. Her first paycheck is a harsh reality check—only $400 for month. It doesn't covers her groceries, let alone rent or bills. She’s been wearing layers to bed to keep warm, unable to afford proper heating. She misses the stability, the security of her old job ($4000 for month)—even if it came with Aemond’s impossible attitude.

Despite everything, she can’t help but think about him too. She remembers their last encounter, the way he’d looked at her, the desperation in his eyes. And that kiss. She’d tried to forget the way his lips had felt on hers, tried to convince herself it meant nothing. But she can’t. The memory lingers, making her restless.

One evening, as she’s sitting at her small, wobbly kitchen table, trying to figure out how to stretch her last few dollars, there’s a knock at her door. She freezes, heart pounding. No one ever visits her here.

She opens the door to find Aemond standing there, looking worn and tired. For a moment, they just stare at each other, the silence heavy between them. He says her name, his voice rough. “Can I come in?”

She steps aside, letting him enter. He’s holding a folder, and she knows immediately what it is—a contract. “What do you want, Aemond?” she asks, her voice guarded.

“I want you to come back” he says simply, handing her the folder. “I’ve drawn up a new contract. Better pay, more benefits. And I promise, I swear, I’ll treat you better. No more… no more of what happened before.”

She hesitates, her fingers brushing the edge of the folder. “Why now?” she asks quietly. “Why come back now, after everything?”

Aemond sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Because I can’t do this without you,” he admits. “Because I’ve realized that I… I care about you. More than I should, maybe. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Her heart skips a beat at his confession. She looks down at the contract, flipping through the pages. The terms are better than before—much better. But it’s not just about the money. It’s the way he’s looking at her, with a vulnerability she’s never seen before.

“I don’t know” she says softly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Please” he says, his voice almost breaking. “Just give me one more chance. I promise I’ll make it right.”

She studies his face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all she sees is a man who looks lost without her. Against her better judgment, she finds herself nodding. “Okay” she whispers. “I’ll come back but only because my payment is good.”

Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding his features. “Thank you” he breathes. “Thank you”

The next evening, Aemond invites her to his apartment for dinner. He insists it’s to make peace, to start fresh. She’s hesitant at first, unsure if she should put herself in that position again, but eventually, she agrees. Part of her misses him too, misses the life she had working for him, even with all its complications.

When she arrives, the apartment is dimly lit, a soft, warm glow emanating from the candles placed around the room. It’s surprisingly intimate, and she feels a flutter of nerves in her stomach. Aemond greets her with a tentative smile, gesturing for her to sit at the elegantly set dining table.

Dinner is a quiet affair, the tension between them palpable. Aemond is uncharacteristically quiet, his usual bravado subdued. He serves a simple meal, one he’s prepared himself, and she’s surprised at the effort he’s gone to. As they eat, they talk—cautiously at first, then more freely, memories and old jokes breaking through the awkwardness.

“I’m sorry” Aemond says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. “For everything. For how I treated you. I was… I was a complete asshole.”

Elara looks up, meeting his gaze. “Yes, you were” she agrees, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “But I’m not exactly innocent either. I should have said something sooner, stood up for myself.”

Aemond nods, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You’re right. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

There’s a moment of silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Then, Aemond stands, moving around the table to kneel beside her chair. He takes her face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm take off her glasses with thin montature. "I cant'.... I can't see" she whispers, but Aemond doesn't care.

“I’ve missed you” he murmurs, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

Before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her. It’s softer than their last kiss, but just as intense, filled with a longing that’s been building for weeks. She melts into him, her hands sliding up his chest, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair, and she gasps against his mouth.

He pulls her up from the chair, guiding her backward until they’re against the wall. “I want you” he breathes, his lips moving to her neck, kissing a trail down to her collarbone. “I want you so fucking much.”

She moans softly, her fingers curling into his shirt. “Aemond…”

He cuts her off with another kiss, his hands moving to the hem of her dress, lifting it slowly. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, his touch sending shivers down her spine. He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Tell me you want this too.”

“I—” She hesitates for a moment, her mind racing, but then she looks into his eyes and sees the raw, desperate need there. “Yes” she breathes. “I want this. I want you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He lifts her into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom. The room is dark, the only light coming from the city outside. He lays her down on the bed, his lips never leaving hers, his hands roaming over her body, exploring, claiming.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve tried to deny it, but I can’t anymore.”

He begins to undress her slowly, reverently, as if she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to break. His hands are gentle but firm, his touch electrifying. She arches into him, her body responding to his every movement.

As he presses her into the mattress, his body warm and solid against hers, she realizes that maybe—just maybe—this is where she’s meant to be. Here, with him, despite everything that’s happened. And as their bodies come together, the last of her reservations melt away, replaced by a deep, all-consuming need for the man holding her so tightly.

Aemond’s hands move over her body with a newfound tenderness, as if he’s discovering her for the first time. He slowly undresses her, his fingers deftly unzipping her dress, until it falls open. He slides the fabric down her shoulders, his lips following the path of his hands, kissing the exposed skin. She shivers under his touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he murmurs against her neck, his breath hot on her skin. His hands move to her back, expertly unclasping her bra and tossing it aside. He takes a moment to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, before leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue brushes against hers, and she responds eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He pulls back slightly, his lips hovering just above hers. “You're so pretty” he whispers, his voice rough with need. He lowers his head, trailing kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, and then lower still. His lips find her breasts, his mouth hot against her skin as he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She moans, her back arching off the bed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

Aemond moves lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his hands sliding on her tights. He pulls her lace panties down in one swift motion, leaving her completely exposed. He takes a moment to admire her, his eyes drinking her in. Then, without warning, he lowers his head between her thighs, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

She cries out, her hands flying to his hair, her fingers twisting in the silvery strands. His tongue moves skillfully, licking and teasing her clit, his fingers pressing into her thighs to keep her still. She feels a wave of pleasure building, her body tensing with anticipation. Aemond groans against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her.

He flicks his tongue faster, his fingers joining in, sliding inside her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. She’s close, so close. He seems to sense it, increasing his pace, his tongue moving in circles, his fingers curling inside her, hitting just the right spot.

“Oh, God, Aemond—” she gasps, her voice breaking. Her hips buck against his face, her body trembling. He doesn’t let up, driving her higher, pushing her closer to the edge. She feels the tension coil tighter, tighter, until she cries out, her body spasming as she squirts, the intense pleasure ripping through her. Aemond doesn’t stop, his tongue and fingers continuing their relentless assault, milking every last drop of pleasure from her. She’s panting, her body slick with sweat, her mind hazy with bliss.

"I—I'm sorry" she whispers, trembling. "It—it was the first time... I don't know..."

Aemond finally pulls back, his face glistening, a satisfied grin on his lips. He crawls back up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips. “You’re incredible, fuck” he murmurs against her mouth. “You don't have to apologize”

Without breaking the kiss, he positions himself above her, his hard length pressing against her slick entrance. "Aemond" she stops him.

"You were right, I'm a fucking virgin"

He holds her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, something almost tender. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.

She nods, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “Yes” she breathes. “I’m sure but... I...don't know, I'm not your type... I—” she is worried and Aemond notice that.

"I'll be gentle, now kiss me"

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes into her, filling her wet pussy completely. She moans, her head falling back, her eyes closing as he stretches her, filling her in a way that feels both new and familiar. He sets a slow, steady rhythm, his hips rolling against hers, his movements deep and controlled.

He leans down, capturing her lips in another kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth as he thrusts into her. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body moving in perfect sync with his. Every thrust, every movement, is a delicious friction that sends waves of pleasure coursing through her.

Aemond increases his pace, his breath ragged against her ear, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained with effort. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She moans in response, her fingers digging into his back, her body arching up to meet his every thrust. She’s close again, the pleasure building once more, and she can tell he is too, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Come for me” he whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. “I want to feel you come around me”

His words send her over the edge. She cries out his name as she comes, her body tightening around him, pulling him deeper. Aemond follows moments later, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he spills into her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

“Don't worry” she whispers. “I'm on the pill”

They collapse together, a tangle of limbs and heavy breaths, their bodies slick with sweat. Aemond holds her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her neck. For a moment, they just lie there, catching their breath, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their lovemaking.

She feels a strange sense of calm wash over her, a feeling of contentment she hasn’t felt in a long time. She turns her head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “What now?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability she’s never seen before. “Now...” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You're mine....and....”

Fuck, he is hard agin.

Before she can catch her breath, Aemond lifts her effortlessly, pulling her onto his lap. He positions her over him, his hard length pressing against her slick entrance. She wraps her arms around his neck, her body still buzzing from her orgasm, her mind hazy with desire.

“Ride me” he growls, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her down onto him. She gasps as he fills her, stretching her, the sensation sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through her. She moves slowly at first, her hips rolling against his, finding a rhythm that makes them both moan.

Aemond’s hands roam over her body, gripping her hips, her ass, guiding her movements as she rides him. He leans in, capturing her lips in a rough, hungry kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, matching the rhythm of their bodies. She moans into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans against her lips, his hands tightening on her hips. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moves faster, her hips grinding against his, her body moving in perfect sync with his. “I...I feel... everything.” The pleasure builds again, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust, every roll of her hips. Aemond’s head falls back, his eyes closing, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips.

She feels the edge approaching again, her body straining, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She rides him harder, faster, her body desperate for release, her mind lost in the pleasure. Aemond’s grip on her tightens, his hips thrusting up to meet hers, driving deeper, harder.

“Yes, just like that" he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. “Come for me again.”

His words send her over the edge. She cries out, her body tightening around him, her orgasm crashing over her, a wave of pure, unadulterated bliss. Aemond follows her over the edge moments later, his body shuddering as he comes deep inside her, his release hot and intense.

They collapse agin together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Aemond holds her close, his arms wrapped around her. For a moment, they just lie there, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their lovemaking.

Elara’s heart pounds in her chest, her mind spinning, her body spent but satisfied. She turns her head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Aemond lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability she’s never seen before. “Now” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Together.”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. Despite everything, she feels a flicker of hope. Maybe this is the start of something new, something real. And as they lie there, tangled together, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they can make it work.

[annwrites]

— jacaerys velaryon quotes ⊹⊱♛⊰⊹ | a call to arms

❝You there—girl—do you know how incredibly rude it is for you not to stand and curtsy when in the presence of royalty?❞

❝You are to look at me while we're speaking. Do you understand?❞

❝From now on, you will wear more suitable clothing when outside your private chambers—which means conservative in nature; not whatever men found desirable upon the Street of Silk. You are a representative of our house now. A dragonrider. A soldier to our cause. You will look the part.❞

❝You will watch your tongue, you insolent little wench.❞

❝You are being too gentle with her—too patient—she requires a firmer hand, elsewise she will never properly learn.❞

❝Just as soon as you can give such commands in High Valyrian, I shall consider. Now, do as you are told.❞

❝Is this what it's going to take, then?❞ (...) ❝Me manipulating you like a ventriloquist does its doll to get you to do what I need you to?❞

❝Rȳbās,❞ he then says with a smug look. ❝It means obey.❞

❝You've silver hair, purple eyes, pale skin. Men would pay handsomely to pretend at having a Targaryen princess or lady for an hour or two, would they not?❞

❝Everything to do with you concerns me!❞

❝I do not answer to you, but you will to me: your superior. Now.❞

❝You will address me properly, and you will hold your tongue. You speak only when spoken to, is that understood?❞

❝If you ever raise a hand to me again,❞ (...) ❝I will take it. What you just did is treason.❞

❝Go on, then. Try me. See how far I let you get after such a stunt. You think me weak? Easy to strong-arm?❞

❝I doubt it. You've no idea who you're testing. I am your future king,❞ he spits. ❝And you will obey me, you little bitch.❞

❝You think your comely looks make you special? Think they're all you need, so as to easily fool and take advantage of men? To get your way?❞

❝There is a screen, and I hardly intend to look. Now, do as your prince commands.❞

❝I won't allow any harm to befall you, you have my word, Y/N! As long as you are with me, you are safe!❞

❝Do you think she enjoys being trapped in here all hours of the day? Do you know how long it's been since someone has ridden her? Let her show you the skies. Allow her that privilege.❞

❝I want us to experience this together.❞

❝It is possible,❞ (...) ❝To change your mind about that which you think you want. If you only consider other options.❞

❝Gods, you're fucking impossible, aren't you?❞

❝Teach me how to please you. Allow me to show you how truly sorry I am in this...other way.❞

❝I have taught you much these last few days. It is time, mayhaps, you return the favor.❞

❝Allow me to please you.❞

❝You have me on my knees. Begging you to allow me to pleasure you. You need more reassurance that you have me at your mercy now?❞

❝I would use my mouth, Y/N, if it please you.❞

❝I know what I want. And I know that it is you. Here. Now. Will you not allow me this most singular indulgence?❞

❝May I untie my breeches, My Lady?❞

❝Gods,❞ he mutters against your mound. ❝You're so beautiful. Mm, and delicious.❞

❝I did not need even touch myself to finish at your hand.❞

❝In truth, I would very much like…❞ (...) ❝For us to begin sharing all our meals together. To walk together, when you choose to on the beach. To ride together.❞

❝But I do not burn for her. Not as I do you. You fill my every waking fucking thought now. All I wish is to be near to you. To touch you. To hear your voice.❞

❝Was it fair to her when I had my face shoved between your thighs as you finished upon my tongue?❞

❝I don’t want to lose you,❞ he whispers. ❝When I’ve only just found you. When I am with you, I don’t feel so afraid anymore. Please…please don’t take yourself from me. Please.❞

❝We’ve fondness, but a fire does not rage within me when I’m near her as it does for you. A fire I am desperate to keep fanning the flames of. Because if it were to burn out—now—I know not what I would do.❞

❝When I am with you, I feel fearless. Not a coddled princeling. Not some royal betrothed where everything must be prim and proper. I feel… I feel alive. I have the attentions of a woman grown, and I would be remiss to shirk them out of the sake of propriety.❞

❝It is why I ask you—if you can find it within yourself to consent—to let me have you, at least in private. Let us live while there is still time for it.❞

❝I mean for us to share more than just meals and walks together, you know?❞ (...) ❝Such as my bed, and yours. Perhaps baths. The rug before my hearth. The dining table chairs. The windowsill. My settee…❞

❝Only for you, my little dragonseed,❞ he replies, kissing you tenderly. ❝You see: I can be quite generous.❞

❝I deign we shall need moontea in large supply.❞

❝If you wish to quiet my tongue, you will need to find other uses for it, then, my sweet.❞

❝I want you…to be the first.❞

❝I want for you to… Tell me what to do. Use me for your pleasure. Please.❞

❝Command me.❞

❝Gods, I want to touch you.❞

❝Yes, mistress.❞

❝Let me instead. Please, I beg of you. Let me tend to your needs.❞

❝Do I have your permission?❞

❝Thank you, Y/N. For making my first…❞ He trails off for a moment. ❝For being my first, and for making it perfect.❞

❝I wish to be inside of you.❞

❝Do whatever you need, My Lady. Manipulate me how you must to pleasure yourself.❞ (...) ❝I am at your complete disposal.❞

❝I want to be sore and wanting for you, but not be allowed to do more than watch.❞

❝Please, my darling love, please let me tend to you.❞

❝I think I’d like to spill myself inside of you. Then clean the mess I’ve made after.❞

❝I know. It’s wretched. The things I beg for from you. But you’ve at me at your utter mercy.❞

❝I exist now to serve you in whatever way may please you.❞

❝I know. I’m unworthy, aren’t I? Of having you, my lady.❞

❝The Gods brought us together.❞

❝You lighten the load.❞

❝I love you.❞

❝I would not be here at all, were it not for you.❞

❝I burned how many ships, all because one dared launch a scorpion bolt at you? And just like you, it felt like the right thing to do, because I was protecting that which I love.❞

❝Let us be together—the way we are meant to be.❞

❝I’m begging you. You’re all I want. I can’t do it without you.❞

❝You’ve changed everything, and for the better. I love you.❞

[llolianarchives]

The Prefect and The Draconia

A short overview of the Ramshackle prefect and their strange (but kind) horned fellow friend: as seen through the eyes of outsiders.

(A/N: #Malleyuu notes with an OC but feel free to project. We're all delulu here ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭ )

His Henchman is crazy.

Or at least, that's what Grim thinks when he's woken up at sunrise to Yue's bizarre ramblings. Something about the time being 1 AM, then fireflies at night, and a tall, horned figure – is what he takes from their babble amidst his own groans and pleas to return to sleep. He'd think them delirious from slumber, mumbling about another dream, if it weren't for the way Yue's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. Grim yields, in the end, for one of the many things he's learned about his reliable servant is that they can be awfully enthusiastic when it comes to this world's curiosities.

“He told me to call him whatever I want,” Yue continues, ruffling Grim's fur dry with a clean rag. Before he could insert magnificent ideas of his own, they beat him to it with a soft smile on their lips.

“I'm thinking of naming him Nyx: the personification of the night. What do you think?”

“What? Because he only shows up at night?” Like some wacky cryptid.

“Yup.”

He hears his henchman forgo the brush, letting it clatter loudly against the table.

“Hm... Nyx, huh...” Grim falls into thought, testing the name on his tongue like premium quality tuna. He doesn't even notice how Yue ties the striped ribbon around his neck. Triumphant, he turns to them with a grin.

“That's not half-bad, Henchman! It's cool and mysterious. Not as cool and mysterious as me, of course, but I'd say it's a close second!”

“Naturally. I wouldn't dare bestow a name mightier than the Great Grim's.”

Despite the stream of praise his henchman delivers (which he pleasantly basks in), Yue eventually derails, returning to speak of the horned man yet again. What Grim's superior brain gathers is this: One, this Nyx guy is super weird. Two, Yue's interest has been piqued like no other before.

He'll demand some omurice as payment for his counsel later on.

. . .

Malleus has made a friend.

The news was dropped onto Lilia's lap rather unceremoniously when one night, the Young Lord—having just returned from another evening excursion, went to sit with him in the Diasomnia lounge. This time, however, the quaintest of smiles adorned his face... It was an unusual sight but certainly not unwelcome. And much like any doting parent, his curiosity led him to ask.

Malleus had replied with a question of his own.

"Lilia, do you know of the Prefect that resides in Ramshackle Dorm?"

"Yue? Why yes, of course. I've spoken to them once or twice. They made quite a show during the Ceremony."

Yue— Lilia soon comes to learn— is completely unaware of Malleus's identity as a prince and a figure of authority, of power. As such, they bear no fear for him, even going so far as to bestow him a pet name, of all things.

(“Nyx? As in the night spirit? How fitting.")

Thus began the pattern of Lilia covering for Malleus's nighttime absence, not daring to ask nor scold when the prince would return in strange and stranger states.

When he would return to the dormitory partially caked with dirt and mud (a consequence of helping the prefect with their little garden of life.) Or when he would return with a box of homemade cake, a pretty stone from their walks, a drawing of him supposedly made by the prefect's beast, and with inquiries of the complexities of human nature.

Sometimes, Lilia can't help but feel a bit guilty, constantly boring witness to Silver and Sebek's searches into the night.

Yet that sliver of guilt fades, in the end, when Malleus smiles more often than before, when he approaches Lilia in the winter with the request of delivering a Holiday Card.

As he watches the magicless human rush into their abode, card in hand, ghosts and Grim awaiting their entrance...

he has never felt prouder and more grateful for fate.

. . .

From a distance, Vil watches.

He watches as the feared Briar Prince lets a small, feeble human talk his ear off, calm and unresisting, a hand on his chin as he ponders along Yue's barrage of words. He gives the prefect full reign of the conversation. He lets himself be taken away by their stories and details. He lets them speak, which they do.

Just after the horrors, highs, lows, and thrills of the VDC, the two chat as if nothing even happened. The onslaught of it all feels like a fever dream to Vil. First, the mental toll of overblotting, then their loss to RSA's nursery rhyme performance, and now the shocking reveal of Yue (innocent, bold, mundane little Yue) and Malleus Draconia's relationship.

He isn't even sure what to make of it. They're clearly friends, yet Vil can't bring himself to chalk it up to just that. His years and years of showbiz cinema has taught him the ins and outs of body language. He watches. He sees:

There's the smiles on both their faces; cheeks raised taut, dimples carved with genuine laughter. There's that glimmer in Yue's eyes and the odd tenderness of Malleus's own, both gazes locked onto one another with an undisturbed focus. There's the fact that Yue had given him an invitation to the VDC, or that Malleus had fixed the stage partially to show off to the magicless human, or that their hands are currently mere centimeters away from each other.

In the end, Vil averts his gaze, weariness crashing into him all at once and he feels a pair of hands grasp onto his shoulders, keeping him standing. Rook smiles, gentle, knowing, annoying. Vil resigns to his whims and lets his Huntsman guide him back to the Pomefiore Dorm, the chatter of Yue and Malleus and everyone else fading away.

[empresskylo]

would you do headcanons if price was readers boyfriend?! 🫶🫶😮‍💨

↳ yuuhhh i gotchuu 🫶

⋆｡°✩ CONTENT WARNINGS | afab!reader, she/her pronouns used, feminine pet names used, smutty content at the end

cod masterlist | main masterlist

♡ such the gentleman. he asked you out on a proper date when he realized you both were feeling something for one another. even tho it’s really hard to do/find the time whilst working, he managed to do something cute for you.

♡ possessiveeeee! even before you were dating, when he knew he liked you, he’d act all possessive over you. all the other men knew to stay away from you or they’d get on price's bad side (they’re so dramatic). so even now, he likes to have his claim over you and makes sure everyone knows you’re his.

♡ that doesn't mean the men didn't tease him a lil bit--and by men, i mean gaz. he would team up with you a lot, or be a lil extra touchy with you in front of price, just to see him get pissed. but price couldn't really do much about it because you two weren't dating and you didn't even know he was into you like that. ♡ gaz looked at you, smirking, and you felt one of your eyebrows raise. he walked closer to you and decided to help you get situated for your upcoming mission. he was giving you a hand in securing your tactical gear, making the process go faster, when price approached. "I think she's got it." gaz looked up at him and gave him a knowing smile. "just trying to speed things up, cap." price's jaw tightened, having no choice but to keep moving unless he wanted to explain just why he was annoyed at gaz doing something so innocent as helping you.

♡ speaking of being possessive, he is also very proud to be with you. he doesn’t find the need to keep your relationship a secret even if he knows people will judge you both for it (you’re so much younger, he’s your superior, etc). he wants everyone to know.

♡ and he’s not afraid of some pda. he’ll give you little kisses randomly that catch you off guard (especially if you’re a soldier under his rank). there have been times when the others teased you about it. obviously, price didn’t care, but you always got flustered. “i’ll be back at the barrics,” price directed to you and soap who both gave him a curt nod. price leaned down towards you and before you could question him, he placed a kiss on your lips. he smirked when he pulled away, your eyes wide, your face warming. price turned to leave and soap burst into a fit of giggles. “ugh, how old are you?” you asked soap irritated, but your cheeks were inflamed and your heart was racing with something similar to embarrassment. ♡ he’s possessive, but not in an over-the-top way. like he’s not gonna freak out if he sees you talking to another guy, or if you’re wearing something skimpy. my guy is secure in himself (maybe even a little too much sometimes) and he knows no one is quite as good as him. he doesn’t worry about you leaving him.

♡ uses all the pet names for you. you were honestly impressed he managed to find so many to call you. love, doll, baby, sweet girl, baby girl, princess, lass, honey, babe, little one, brat, pet, kitten (you may have threw a shoe at him when he called you that), queen, lovely, sweetness, sweetheart, sunshine. the list goes on.

♡ he also began to call you such random shit that makes you laugh. munchkin, cutest lil lady, little foot, shorty, pipsqueak. (basically anything silly that gave off dad energy)

♡ keeps polaroids of you in his wallet <3

♡ had your name engraved in his favorite knife. also has your name engraved on a simple silver bracelet that he always wears.

♡ speaking of jewelry, he got you a locket with a picture of the two of you in it. you gave it to him to wear once when he was gonna be away from you for quite a while. he never took it off.

♡ he likes to get you flowers all the fucking time. roses, peonies, tulips, the whole lot. you’ve run out of places to put them.

♡ has been known to squat when he sees you getting tired and refusing to move until you get on his back so he can carry you.

♡ whenever he wraps his arms around you--usually when he’s spacing out--he pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head. his fingers will fiddle with the hem of your shirt and give you goosebumps at the tiny tickles on your skin.

♡ really likes to cuddle. he’s always reaching for you when you sit or lie down together. he wants to pull you into him. he likes to be the big spoon. you always wake up tangled in each others arms.

♡ he always lets you wear his clothes. he actually prefers it when you do. you sleep in his t-shirt. you’ll wear his hoodies. if it’s cold out he’ll take his coat off and wrap you in it. or sometimes he’ll let you wrap your arms around him and then he’ll wrap his coat around the both of you.

♡ he always falls asleep first. he'll have you pulled into his chest as you both watch tv and honestly, like 10 minutes will go by and you'll say something and he wont respond. when you tilt your head up you notice he's already out cold.

♡ and even tho he's asleep, like a superpower he can sense when you move away from him. so if you try to get up, his grip on you tightens and he'll pull you into him, rolling over with you trapped in his arms.

♡ he is always up first too. and he will often times bring you breakfast or coffee in bed. if he has to leave before you, you'll wake to find a hot coffee or tea sitting on your nightstand waiting for you.

♡ he is obsessed with your hair. he's always stroking it, or tucking it behind your ear. he likes to run his fingers through it when you're cuddling or when you're hugging him tightly. he loves when you let him wash it too.

♡ you asked him to brush it for you once while you were getting ready one day and he was just standing there watching you. he did so and was very gentle and took his time. ever since then, he loves when you let him brush your hair. it's such a random but intimate act for him.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

♡ pleasure dom! he is super dominant in bed but is also really in tune with your body and making sure you're always enjoying yourself. he gets off by getting you off.

♡ he’s really good at making you come. like, you'd think he made it his life's mission to make you feel good. and seeing you in pleasure is what always gets him going. he cant finish unless he watches you finish first.

♡ he’s so good at what he does that he’s been known to get you off over your clothes. it takes him no time at all to make you come if he wants. usually he likes to drag it out tho. and he likes to overstimulate you.

♡ nights will oftentimes consist of you fully naked while he fingers you, having already orgasmed once, and him still fully clothed. something about that power dynamic drives him crazy.

♡ he softly degrades you. “look how fuckin’ desperate you are for me, love” “this what you’ve been thinkin’ bout all day? my fingers thrusting inside you, hm? nothing else going on in that pretty little head of yours.” “oh, com’on princess, you know you have to come at least twice before i’ll give you my cock. so are you gonna be a good girl and come on my tongue one more time? yeah, i know you can handle it.”

♡ likes to hold your hand during sex. he’s eating you out? his hand is laced with one of yours. you’re sucking his dick? he grabs your hand and traces patterns aimlessly, trying not to come too fast. he’s fucking you missionary? either one or both of his hands are locked with yours. he’s fucking you from behind? he’s pulled you up against his chest, covering your hand resting against your stomach with his own.

♡ he likes when you give him blow jobs. and he enjoys praising you during it, watching as you clench your thighs from his panting words.

♡ you’ll have his cock in your mouth and he’s muttering how good you feel. he hunches over, his arms lazily resting over your shoulders, his forehead resting against the top of yours. he’ll groan and grunt, “fuck, baby, that feels so good.” “god, don’t stop, love.” “look what you do to me.” “i’m gonna fuck you so hard after this, baby.”