#there’s nothing so undoing as a daughter and a sister

[brionysea]

there's nothing so undoing as a daughter and jinx just lost her daughter-slash-little-sister and last time jinx lost someone she nuked the council so I guess you could say piltover's about to tilt over

[plutomn]

The Red; the anger, the fists embalmed in the stink of blood. One that protects, that feeds, instinctive. The Red; the flesh and the wine, and a soft name behind the grief. Violet— purple, supple and bruised.

The Blue; the calm, the quick and quiet motions in nature. One that takes and gives and gives. The Blue; the bubbling energy, dangerous, though whole and endless. A gentle name. Powder— subtle, delicate and reactionary.

Sisters;

One who lived a life of flames, knows only of fire and blood and the unbudging stains of red that seep into one’s life. Another who lived a life of water, reborn and purified, the memory of a past haunting, with its claws sunk in deep, the childhood sketches of a family now long melted and gone.

[sage-nebula]

No, I disagree. While Silco absolutely enabled Jinx's worst impulses and instincts, he was never the reason for her hallucinations. I mean, to begin with, Jinx's psychosis is genetic; she was hallucinating long before she ever met Silco and before she experienced the traumatic incident at the cannery, as evidenced by how she hallucinates when peeking through her fingers in the very first scene of the very first episode.

But after arc 1, and through the rest of the show? Vi and her past were / are the reasons for Jinx's hallucinations. They are the trigger every single time.

Let's take a look at when Jinx's hallucinations acted up the most in acts 2 and 3 of season one, shall we?

The first big moment is in Jinx's very first appearance in act 2; while fighting the Firelights during the shimmer transport, Jinx comes face to face with a girl who has pink hair. This girl reminds Jinx of Vi, to the point where she has difficulty telling them apart, and her hallucinations take over.

Later in the episode, after Silco benches her for ruining the shimmer shipment, Jinx has a conversation with her hallucinations while in her workshop. While the latter half of the conversation is her angry with Silco benching her while letting Sevika clean up the mess, the conversation (and hallucinations) start with her again focused on Vi — or rather, the girl she thought was Vi. She's arguing with the Mylo and Claggor hallucinations, insisting that the girl wasn't Vi, that she knows that, and that she just got confused.

Her insistence, too, that she isn't weak, is peppered with Mylo hallucinations. Because Mylo was the biggest voice in her childhood saying that she was a problem, and needed to be benched.

She's good for the rest of the episode, though. After she murders "half a dozen enforcers" to steal the hex crystal for Silco, she doesn't have a single hallucination, and instead rocks out in her workshop while happily working on Fishbones. So in the first episode of arc 2, we see that thoughts of Vi and her past trigger hallucinations, while her work for Silco does not.

Or at least, it doesn't until it reminds her of her past. In episode five, while studying the hex crystal, it causes a minor explosion reminiscent of what happened at the cannery. This once again triggers Jinx.

(Beautiful moment I captured here, I know.)

To be honest, I wouldn't even call these hallucinations; it's more like a series of rapid fire flashbacks to Mylo's and Claggor's deaths, which is pretty impressive when you remember that Jinx didn't actually see them die. Nonetheless, the explosion here triggers those traumatic memories, and she runs away in tears. If we wanted to tie this to her psychosis, we would say that, again, her trigger was tied to her past family, not anything Silco has done.

The next hallucinations (or actual hallucinations) she has in the episode are when she visits the old arcade. Specifically, when she fixes the boxing machine and turns it on, she remembers Vi's voice. And that's when we see it.

The sketch marks are Vi's name repeatedly, over and over, as she hears Vi's voice in her head. She screams and literally cries as she attacks the machine, hallucinating her sister all the while.

She doesn't hallucinate again for the rest of the episode, but she does talk about them to Silco. She says, "I keep seeing them. That day," when talking about why she can't crack hextech. Silco then takes her to the river for the baptism scene, and after, she's able to work on the hextech again, hallucination-free.

Episode six brings us a lot of hallucinations, though. The first happens when Sevika tells Jinx that Vi is in back in town.

My screenshot didn't catch all the sketchy bits, but they're there. Complete with the whispered voices.

Next is during my favorite scene to date in the entire series, when Jinx lights the flare and "Guns for Hire" plays. She first remembers / hallucinates Vi's voice, and then — after the flare is lit — hallucinates Mylo and Claggor at her back in their last moments.

You have no idea how hard it is to capture exact seconds with Fireshot, which is what I use to take screenshots due to Netflix's blocking, but trust, the sketchy marks are indeed there.

She hallucinates again when she thinks that Vi was tricking her, and was really just working with Caitlyn all along:

When Vi touches her arm:

And at the end, when Vi is taken by the Firelights:

In her first scene in episode 7, she's giving herself bad first aid (e.g. stapling her pants to her leg). She hallucinates Mylo taunting her through the entire scene, and what is he taunting her about?

Vi caring about Caitlyn more than her. Once again, all of Jinx's hallucinations are about Vi, triggered by Vi, and the exact opposite of what Silco instructed her to do. (Let it go by "letting Powder die" — i.e., kill the part of herself that saw that she needed Vi more.)

I can't capture the exact flashes of sketch across the screen no matter how hard I try, but the next time Jinx hallucinates she IS with Silco — talking about Vi. It's when Silco reminds her that Vi left her after the cannery (which was never actually an abandonment, but that's how Jinx perceived it), and that he gave her a home, that the hallucinations are triggered. Again — her sister, her past. I would show screencaps if I could, but it's really hard to capture when they're that fast, so I'm giving up for now before I'm here all night.

The next time is on the bridge of progress, when she's watching Vi and Caitlyn say goodbye.

And then again when she sees Vi run back for Caitlyn after Ekko was shot. (Side note, but — Ekko was the one shot. Why didn't Vi call out for him??)

And then again when she comes face to face with Vi helping Caitlyn after the explosions:

(For once I got the timing just perfect.)

After that, she fights Ekko and then blows herself up, and in episode 8 Silco takes her to Singed. Now, she does hallucinate a lot while undergoing the shimmer transfusions. And Silco did bring her there to undergo those transfusions. But if we're going to hate him for trying to save her life by any means necessary, then we also have to hate Jayce for doing the same with Viktor in season two. Additionally, although Jinx hallucinates Vi a lot during that process (as well as Caitlyn taunting her), I really do think it was just the pain of the procedure that was causing her hallucinations there, so I'm not going to include them. They weren't really triggered by Vi, as much as they were just triggered by pain.

Episode 9 is, of course, the cursed dinner party. And her hallucinations are going wild during that dinner party. The two biggest are when she shoots the Mylo doll ("shut UP! we're talking!") after Vi promises Jinx that she's on her side and isn't lying about it, and then, of course:

Now, to be completely fear: the sketchy lines started when Silco told Jinx to "finish it", referring to killing Caitlyn. But things only kicked into overdrive when Vi started shouting at her, calling in every single name that could possibly trigger her: Vander, Mylo, Claggor, their parents, and finally Vi herself. Jinx says "stop" and "no" but Vi doesn't hear her. And these hallucinations push Jinx to the ground.

Then it's all over. Jinx reacts to the sound of a gun, and kills Silco. Silco, according to the script, gives Jinx "the affirmation of love she's always wanted" just before he dies. Then she chooses the Jinx chair, because Silco did what Vi was (understandably) unable to do after the cannery: he gave her unconditional love after she had a fatal accident.

After choosing the Jinx chair, she says, "I thought maybe you could love me like you used to. Even though I'm . . . different. But you changed, too. So, here's to the new us." This is Jinx giving up on Vi, and any hope she had that things could go back to how they were before the cannery. This is why she isn't hallucinating her brothers anymore. This is why she's not tormented by thoughts of Vi. Because she gave up. She let it go. She killed the part of herself that saw that she needed Vi more.

That said, it's not as if Vi has completely lost the ability to make her hallucinate! Because as we see in season two:

She starts hallucinating again at the mere sight of Vi in that enforcer uniform. (And the glowing eyes and sharp teeth . . . just like the sketchy faces over the enforcers on the bridge of progress in the very first episode of the show. While she gave up on Vi, she still has enforcer trauma, it seems, made worse by her own sister becoming one of them.)

Jinx doesn't hallucinate Silco despite being the one who killed him because he forgave her for it, instantly. He told her he would have never given her to Piltover, and that she shouldn't cry, because she was perfect. So she isn't holding guilt over his death — just despair. But she held guilt over what happened at the cannery, and until Silco's death, couldn't let go of it. And that, plus all of her trauma surrounding Vi (abandonment trauma despite that Vi never meant to, inferiority complex, what she perceived as conditional love), meant that the surest trigger for her hallucinations was and is Vi.

It's always been Vi.

So are we all in agreement that Jinx is hallucinating less in season 2 two because Silco was making her worse?

[quartings]

The original Gravity Falls pitches and pilot just dropped!!

(Link for those who want it)

For those who don't wanna look through all of it, here are some highlights I found!

Interesting changes from the pitch (What Alex Hirsch showed Disney to make them greenlight the show):

Stan’s secret was that he’s secretly protecting the townsfolk from weirdness, nothing to do with Ford. No mention of Ford in the pitch at all. Stan also wanted Dipper and Mabel to be his successors in this version.

Mabel used to be the unhygienic one instead of Dipper.

Wendy was brunette and didn’t work as the Mystery Shack cashier, instead selling veggie juice out of her van.

As such, Soos (Jesús in this version) worked the register in addition to his handyman job in this version. He was a bit less of a hard worker here, watching telenovelas on the job sometimes, but still loves his job and is extremely loyal to Stan.

Robbie was almost exactly the same, parents’ backstory and all, but there’s an interesting note that he occasionally clashed with Gideon in this version (which we never got in the final show)

Speaking of which, Gideon’s last name in this version was Garrymore instead of Gleeful.

Gideon used to personally harass and prank Stan, going out of his way to vandalize Stan’s stuff himself.

Manly Dan was always planned to be Wendy’s dad. In this version, he hates the idea that his hipster daughter prefers conserving the environment instead of chopping down forests

(For those who wanted more Wendy episodes, I’m surprised Hirsch didn’t use this as a conflict for one of them- it makes her interesting without costing any of her “coolness”)

Sheriff Blubs was originally Sheriff “Blumps”. Durland has the same name likely because Hirsch said he’s named after a real guy.

With no Ford and no Journal mentioned, episodes were originally very different-

“The President’s Cabinet/Irrational Treasure.” Instead of via the journal, Dipper and Mabel find a record of Quentin Trembley in a box buried in the yard. No Pacifica mentioned here.

“Secret Dungeon” Dipper becomes obsessed with a recalled arcade cabinet. Mabel must try and save him by finding the original high scorer.

“Thtupid Thursday” One of the many ‘Shining Twins’ episode concepts Hirsch wanted to do. Dipper and Mabel learn ‘twin telepathy’ from some creepy twins, and soon regret it.

“Periodic Mabel” Mabel invents her own element for the science fair and Dipper is jealous.

“Only the Clonely/Boyz Crazy” The exact same episode just without Candy and Grenda. Sev’ral Timez is called “ReelBoyzzz” in this version.

“Big Dipper” With surprisingly no tie to Little Dipper, Dipper asks a fortune teller to make him older so he can win Wendy over. But she makes him 22, so he and Mabel have to undo the spell.

“Sweater off Dead” Mabel buys an antique sweater and is possessed by the soul of the granny who last wore it. Stan is terrified by the spirit because she reminds him of his ex-wife Marilyn (Deep Edalyn Clawthorne lore???) so Dipper must “Swexorcize” his sister and save her.

“Teed Off/The Golf War” With no Pacifica, this was originally a Dipper vs Gideon episode- No Lilliputtians, either. Instead, the 13th hole is cursed and traps the cast in a time loop.

Now, changes from the Production Pitch (I’m guessing for when the show was already greenlit and this was a way to brief crew members on what the show would 100% be about)

Stan’s secret (likely the portal) and the journal are now set in stone.

Emphasis on continuity and character development. Nothing gets “reset” by next episode. All plot developments are permanent.

All character names and designs are locked in. Pacifica has now been added, as well as Waddles, Gompers, Lazy Susan, Candy and Grenda, and McGucket (No mention or hint at his past here)

Interesting to note is that there is still zero outright mention of Ford and Bill in this version, even though multiple episodes were seemingly in production at this point.

Manly Dan’s conflict with Wendy from the original pitch is still here. Making it even more mindblowing that we never got it in the show

Blubs and Durland are described as a little more playful instead of mean like in the original pitch.

All episode examples made it into the show with no changes this time. They are Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Fight Fighters, Boyz Crazy, and The Land Before Swine.

[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (9/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, kissing, mutual masturbation, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"The day is beautiful." He whispered in her ear, placing a gentle, little kiss on her neck a moment later.

Her flesh was hot under his fingers, and he savoured the taste of her sweat on his lips – he sighed as he felt his hard manhood, already sore and all swollen with impatience, push hard against her buttocks.

She moaned quietly, tilting her head back, her mouth parted wide in a heavy breath, her hands clenched on his arm – his palm, sunk between her silky, smooth thighs was soaked from her wetness, her thirsty cunt pulsed greedily around nothing.

"– focus –" He commanded, feeling that her hips sought involuntary fulfilment, rolling back and forth in a joint rhythm with his long fingers.

The last few evenings had blended into one for him, turning later into nights full of her moans, the loud clicks of her moisture, her lips leaking with desire, her fingers clenched on his manhood.

Every time it came for him too naturally, too easily.

"– tubis – mmm – tubis issa gevie –" She mumbled, and he took his hand away, sighing heavily.

She squirmed, turning in his arms, looking up at him pleadingly, sitting down on top of him with her hands around his neck.

"– please –" She whispered, pressing her bare breasts against his tunic, combing her fingers through his long hair.

He didn't stop her when she pulled at the black ribbon at the back of his head, letting the front strands of his hair fall over his face.

"– right words, wrong order –" He said coolly, embracing her with one hand around her waist, the other clamping down on the plump skin of her bottom, the only part of her body hidden under the thin material of her nightgown, letting them rub against each other with the motions of their hips.

"– tubis gevie issa –" She breathed out, and after a moment his mouth was already on hers, hearing with relief that she had finally used the correct grammar and conjugation.

He thought with satisfaction that, indeed, she deserved a reward, as did he for being such a patient and good teacher, so he twisted himself along with her and threw himself onto the bed on which they had been sitting until now, pressing her body against the sheets.

They purred and panted loudly, letting their mouths devour each other in loud, sticky kisses full of their saliva and slick tongues, their hands wandering blindly over each other's bodies, wanting nothing more than to simply feel each other.

Something like a smile flashed across his face when he heard her nimble fingers undo the belt and buckles of his tunic, the motion of his arms helping her to pull it off him.

His hands followed her example, revealing her naked, graceful body, slipping her nightgown off her legs – he always stopped at that moment, at the sight of her exposed, bare flesh, her gaze full of joyful, hot anticipation, her glistening lips parted in a loud, deep breath.

She was always so eager, he thought with appreciation.

"– gevie –" He sighed, leaning lower to see that her teeth bit into her lower lip at that word, her thighs parted, allowing him to lie between them – his fingers untied the small knot binding the fabric of his breeches as his tongue ran from her stomach upwards, between her sweet breasts.

Beautiful.

Her fingers combed gently through his hair as his nose ran over to the side, with her quiet moan of pleasure closing his lips around her hard, puffy nipple. He murmured when, with her help, he managed to slide his breeches off his hips and raised himself up on his elbows, releasing her nipple with a quiet plop.

He pulled his linen shirt over his head feeling that his eye patch exposed his eye socket and scar – his heart pounded harder in panic, his lips parted in horror as he reached up and corrected it, but the damage was already done.

He saw in the shocked expression on her face that she had seen it.

"– daor –" She begged, propping herself up on her elbows, her eyebrows arched in pain at the sight of him trying to cover himself from her again. "– kostilus, lēkia – tubī daor –"

He looked at her with his mouth open in ragged breath, feeling that he had completely frozen, not knowing what to do, wanting it at the same time as being afraid.

Please, big brother.

Not today.

Looking at her flushed face, at her long eyelashes and sweet, full lips, he caught himself thinking that if he had pretended that she had always lived in the Red Keep, there would have been nothing inappropriate about their closeness, their caresses and the nights they spent together.

Her eyes, though darker and bigger, as much as her hair could be inherited from his mother after all, similarly soft and smooth, her gaze as warm and tender – her calmness and thoughtfulness was much like his father's, and only when he was by her side did he realize how much resentment lay within him that his King had devoted so little attention to his own son.

Their fictional relationship, created by him only to subdue her, was slowly becoming a truth of which he himself became a victim.

He swallowed hard as she raised herself up on her hands and sat in front of him, looking him straight in the eye, his lips pressed together into a thin line as her fingers rose to his face, slowly pulling his eye patch off his head.

He looked at her, feeling that his face was stony �� he didn't want her to see anything that was happening inside his mind – he felt that she had no right to reject him, no right to mock him or laugh at him, no right to look at him with compassion, but he dreaded it anyway.

Humiliation.

She, however, seemed to sense his tension – as soon as she put his eye patch aside her hand lifted uncertainly back to his scarred cheek, and her fingertips ran over the pale, long line that adorned it, looking at him intrigued, her doe eyes large and warm, full of some kind of understanding.

"– kasta –" She whispered with a sweet, gentle smile devoid of anything but tenderness.

He felt a squeeze in his throat.

Blue.

His sapphire.

He sighed quietly as she threw her arms around his neck, as she moved closer and let his long, swollen erection push against her abdomen, her hard nipples pressed against the bare skin of his torso. Their fingers sank into each other's soft hair as they leaned towards each other, and their swollen lips met in a strangely quiet, uncertain, gentle kiss.

It was a sweet kiss, he thought, and each kiss that followed was just as lazy and soft – their lips clicked from their saliva each time they became one, her breath hot and full of desire.

As his hand slid down her waist, hers slid down his chest, seeking the same thing.

They sighed quietly and stopped, not pulling their mouths away from each other, simply breathing as their fingers found what they wanted – he closed his eyes as her smooth hand clenched gently on his thick, throbbing manhood, dripping with desire, while his hand slid between her thighs from the side of her buttocks, meeting her soaked, hot womanhood.

He pushed her onto the bed, holding her in his arms, and lay on his side with her, throwing her thigh over his waist – their bodies clung to each other in an embrace close and full of affection, their lips meeting in the need for intimacy and understanding.

Her dark, long curls were wonderfully soft and smooth under his fingers, his hands seeming to sink into her warm, bare skin, the scent of her sweat and oils filling his lungs like a morning breeze.

Her body was different from Madam's – her curves were more girlish, her breasts wonderfully plump and swollen, her hips soft and silken to the touch, her lips and womanhood just as moist and delicate, thirsty for his caresses.

He twisted and forced her to lie on her back, brushing her sweet lips with his, panting louder and louder as her smooth hand caressed his cock, all sore with desire.

The touch of her hand on this intimate part was never perverse and animalistic – no – she squeezed his hard length with slow, gentle strokes, turning a simple, primitive reflex into something almost tender, as if she thought his manhood was not something dirty, a source of sin and embarrassment, but something she respected.

It was only by being with her that he understood the difference between caressing and satisfying.

Madam was satisfying his needs.

His little sister was caressing his body, almost embarrassing him with how pleasurable it was.

He pulled away from her lips, thinking that although they were usually limited to touching each other with their hands, now, this night, when she finally saw all of him, he wanted to reward her for her devotion, for not asking questions, for not demanding, for not commanding, for letting him touch her every night even though he had no right to do so.

"– ah – what –" She muttered as he lifted himself up on his knees and gently took her thighs in his hands, shamelessly spreading them wider.

Her lips parted as he leaned over her, already knowing subconsciously what he was trying to do, her hips wanted to move back involuntarily, but he didn't let her, pushing her close again.

"– daor, hāedar – your brother longs to taste you –" He said and before any word left her throat, he leaned lower and let his face sink into her warm, leaking cunt – he heard her loud, surprised moan, her spine arching in ecstasy as his lips ran shyly over her soft folds.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, clasping her fingers in his white hair as the tip of his tongue began to fondle with her swollen slit, teasing it lazily, while his thumb found her little bud, trailing around it, making her hips begin to roll back and forth, rubbing against his face.

He himself began to rock his hips, rubbing his painfully hard cock against the bed beneath him, trying to find any source for an escape from his tension, thinking only of how wonderful she tasted and looked – his lips and tongue swept over her thirsty cunt while his gaze was fixed on her face, her mouth wide open and her eyes closed, her cheeks red with exertion, glistening with sweat.

"– so needy – soaking wet for her big brother –" He hummed contentedly and felt her whole body tremble, her eyes opening, meeting his gaze – she started to pant, spreading her thighs wider, pressing his head closer, as if she wanted him to simply melt into one with her body – his short nails dug into the soft skin of her buttocks as she cried out loudly, throwing her head back, feeling his slick tongue suddenly burst deep inside her, mercilessly hitting the same wonderful spot within her again and again.

"– ah – mghmmm – f-fuck, gods –" She babbled, writhing before him in pleasure, surprisingly innocent and vulnerable now as he devoured her cunt like there was no tomorrow, feeling her sweet wetness melt on his tongue.

The tip of his nose along with his thumb traveled around her pearl, feeling her entire womanhood begin to pulsate, his tongue hitting her fleshy walls just above her opening, feeling the tiny bud that made her quiver with pleasure.

"– Aemond – Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, Aemond –" She panted as if she was pronouncing the words of a prayer.

A shudder shook them both as she came with a girlish cry of pleasure, rocking her hips so that they rubbed against his face, her fingers clenched in his hair as if she was never going to let him go again, her breath heavy and uneven, her thighs quivering all over in his hands.

"– please – please, no more –" She begged, trying to push him away as the last waves of pleasure surged through her body, while he continued to lick what was flowing out of her, teasing her over-sensitive, weeping cunt anew.

"– nothing can go to waste – it's all mine –" He cooed, and she sighed, giving in, trying to endure his treatments with quiet moans on the edge of pain and pleasure.

"– me too – I want – I want to kiss you there, lēkia – let me –" She mumbled, looking up at him with eyes hazy with disbelief at how pleasurable the experience was.

His cock pulsed painfully hard, leaving him with no resistance.

"– mmm – come here –" He exhaled, laying down beside her on his back, tossing his hair away so that it didn't bother him, thinking with shame that it was a feminine gesture, not a masculine one.

She, however, seemed not to mind, for the eagerness with which she shifted over to him and lay between his thighs amazed and embarrassed even him.

He sighed, tilting his head back, unable to get a word out when her hand gently grasped the base of his cock in her fingers, while her lips ran over the pink, fat head of it.

"– guide me –" She hummed sweetly, making the whole act seem absurdly innocent to him, despite the fact that his erection was so swollen that he felt like he was about to just reach his peak on her face.

There was something tempting about it, but he couldn't deny himself the warmth of her lips.

"– tease it –" He whispered, running his thumb over the tip of his cock, smooth and slick from his own wetness – he threw his head back and closed his eyes, surprised when she leaned in immediately, running her sticky, warm tongue over that part of him.

"– fuck –" He exhaled, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest – this time it was his hands that clenched in her hair, holding her close as her lips roamed and brushed over the tip of his erection, her palm squeezing its root.

This is too much, he thought with desperation, I'm about to come.

"– put it in – open your mouth –" He breathed out, forcing her head to lean lower and let him simply slide his erection deep into her lips – they both moaned loudly – she from exertion, feeling the head of his cock hit her throat, and he from pleasure, her palate warm and moist, safe, welcoming him home.

"– suck –" He commanded, panting and groaning loudly, with ruthless, sharp thrusts slamming deep into her throat, her squeal telling him that she was unable to keep up.

"– ah – breathe through your nose – mmm – just a moment longer – fuck, fuck, oh, gods, swallow, swallowswallowswallow –" He mumbled out and moaned like a little boy, throwing his head back when he felt his seed spilling over her tongue – he forced himself between convulsions of his body to look at her and saw her face red from exertion and tears, her closed eyes, the curls of her dark hair stuck to her sweaty face, the base of his throbbing erection in her hand, a trickle of his release dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"– gods, you look perfect like this –" He gasped, feeling completely relaxed, filled with nothing but relief and that wonderful, pulsing, tingling sensation that was spreading in final waves through his loins.

His fingers loosened their grip and she pulled away, sliding his half-soft length out of her mouth with its loud splat against his lower abdomen, gasping for air loudly, panting heavily, all drenched in tears.

"– māzigon kesīr, hāedar (come here, little sister) – māzigon kesīr (come here) –" He said, extending his hand to her, and she immediately fell into his arms, laying between his thighs, her womb and breasts pressed against his naked body, while her face, as usual, found refuge in the hollow of his neck.

"– gōntan nyke ōdrikagon ao, zaldrītsos? (did I hurt you, little dragon?) –" He asked softly, placing a warm, loud kiss on her forehead, wiping with his thumb the remains of his seed from the corner of her mouth, feeling her whole body tremble in his embrace.

She shook her head.

"– n-no – just – it was so much –" She mumbled, and he sighed in relief, running his fingers down her bare spine.

"– I know, sweet girl – you've satisfied me – now it's time to rest –" He said and leaned towards her face, allowing their lips to meet in the wettest, most tender, softest kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.

He thought it would have been every man's dream to be kissed like that by a woman as they spread out comfortably, his hand covering their naked bodies with thick furs, letting her lie on top of him as she had so far.

He knew he should send her away, he knew everyone was already gossiping about them spending nights together in his chamber, but he couldn't do it.

He could not, after what they had done, stay in the cold bed or condemn her to the same fate.

Each time, she would fall asleep and wake up in his arms.

"– you fight better than ever, my Prince –" Criston Cole exhaled after another round of their sparring together. "– you're more focused and precise –"

He nodded, turning his face to the side, thinking with shame that it was because ever since she'd stayed in his bed, ever since he'd fallen asleep sunk into the warmth of her body, listening to her calm breathing, he'd experienced true rest at night and only been awakened by birdsong at dawn.

"– however, your mother is concerned about the nature of your relationship with your cousin –" Cole began uncertainly, but fell silent seeing the grimace of displeasure on his face.

He thought with frustration that the last thing he needed was lecturing.

"– if Queen Alicent wants to tell me something, she should do it in person –" He said coolly and nodded, taking the right position to attack, wanting to end the subject and move on to the next duel.

They both swung, and their blades collided in the air with a loud clink of steel.

"– your mother is worried about her future marriage – about her dignity –" Criston continued between blows, causing him to push against him with even more fury.

Her peaceful, sleeping face snuggled into his chest in the morning, her soft hand lying on his heart, the warmth and smell of her bare body, her sex, her hair, the sound of her calm breathing and birdsong outside the walls of the keep, his fingers running lazily down her spine, watching her with serenity.

I am her future, he thought furiously, but he didn't dare say it out loud.

They both stopped in mid-step when they heard the swish of an arrow, which, a moment later, hit straight on target – his cousin was standing on the other side of the courtyard, pointing her bow again towards the big straw shield, and once again she hit the centre.

After the incident with Floris, Aegon had assigned her a larger chamber and agreed that she could move around the fortress without guards, and he had not objected.

She spent most of her day in his company anyway: in his bed, in the heavens or, as now, practising at a similar time to him.

She never interrupted him or approached to speak to him, respecting his private space and the fact that he preferred what went on between them to stay behind the closed doors of his chamber.

However, this did not prevent him from admiring her graceful figure from afar and sinking into his own fantasies, from which his manhood swelled all over in his breeches.

"– my Prince – this is a dangerous game – the Queen and I just wish to spare you disappointment –" He said, and he only pressed his lips together without answering him.

He decided that it was beneath his dignity to discuss it with him.

"It occurs to me that Criston Cole has no love for me. I can see it in his look full of disapproval cast in my direction." She said lightly, massaging his back with her soft hands after their intense pleasure that same night, his muscles all tense and sore from the physical exertion.

He hummed under his breath, hearing her smile, lying on his stomach while she straddled him – he opened his eyelids lazily, feeling himself begin to slowly fall asleep.

He thought more and more about how her touch, her closeness, her scent had subconsciously calmed and relaxed him.

"He and my mother are trying to lecture me. As if I'm a fool who doesn't understand the consequences of his actions." He murmured resentfully, feeling tired and uncomfortable at the thought that they both still saw him as nothing more than a little child who refused to submit to their rules.

"They are the last people who should be instructing anyone in these matters." She said amused, and he froze, wondering why she had said that.

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously, thinking that perhaps Cole had a mistress he didn't know about.

He figured that he could use it against him if he wanted to moralise him again.

He turned onto his back when silence answered him, wanting to look at her – he blinked when he saw that she was pale, her eyes open wide in horror.

"What is it? What is that look?" He asked anxiously, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

She swallowed heavily and shook her head, her lips parted slightly in a deep breath.

"– it's just gossip – I shouldn't have said that –" She muttered, trying to smile and turn it into a joke.

His hand slid into her hair and his fingers clenched warningly in her soft curls.

"– hāedar –" He said coldly, letting her know that he was about to lose his patience and it would not be pleasant for either of them.

"– you shouldn't have heard it from me – gods, I was convinced you knew –" She mumbled, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

"– speak –"

She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes filled with warmth and a plea for him not to make her do it – he longed to kiss her, longed to sink into her lips with the thought that this was surely nothing, her naked body at his fingertips.

"– Ser Criston – he broke his vows of chastity with a woman who is close to you – and whom you hold in the highest regard for obvious reasons –" She whispered in a trembling voice, looking at him in pain, her lips parted in a loud, heavy breath.

He felt his lips press together in a thin line as his heart froze in his chest for a moment, his eye red from burning tears of rage and humiliation, cold disappointment and bitterness running through his veins.

His mother.

His mother had no words of understanding for him, no time to embrace him, to squeeze his hand, to comfort him and soothe his suffering after he returned from Storm's End, but she had time to take care of herself and her delight in the arms of her sworn protector.

A man he treated as a friend, as a role model, whom he trusted, with whom he spent long evenings in discussion, believing they shared a bond.

And he, as soon as he left his chamber, headed for his mother's quarters and fucked her, lecturing him brazenly the next day about the nature of his relationship with his cousin.

He felt himself grow sick at the thought, his stomach squeezed into a knot as if he was about to vomit.

"Get out." He said coldly and let her go, feeling himself quivering all over, his chest rising and falling in rage and pain. "I want to be alone."

He only saw out of the corner of his eye that she nodded, her hands trembling with nerves as she put on her nightgown and robe, looking at him once more, as if she hoped he would change his decision.

He, however, simply sat and looked at his fingers, pleading in his mind that she should just leave.

When he heard her get off his bed and quietly head towards the door, opening and closing it behind her, he broke out into a silent cry, burying his head between his knees.

Alicent had humiliated him, abandoned him, forgotten him, but she had time for her lover, found opportunities to give him her warm gaze and tenderness, her closeness, leaving him, her son, alone.

He swallowed hard, choking on his tears, and lifted his face as if he suddenly realised what he had done, horrified by the silence around him.

"– hāedar? – come back – come back, sleep in my bed –" He called out towards the door, for some reason believing that she was still there, that she had not left him.

He sobbed when no sound answered him and hid his face in his hands, thinking that he didn't want to sleep alone, wondering in a reflex of despair whether to flee to the brothel again, ready to find shelter anywhere as long as he could feel the warmth of another body beside him.

He shuddered and sighed when he heard the door open again, her head peeking in.

She stood in the corridor.

She had not left him, his little sister.

Never.

He held out his hand to her and she closed the door behind her and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

It was the first time he had burst out crying in front of someone – the warmth of her body, her familiar arms, her familiar scent made him feel so wonderfully relieved that tears began to run down his face on their own.

He was panting heavily when, with greedy, impatient movements, he tore her robe and nightdress from her shoulders, exposing before him her sweet, plump breasts, between which at last he dared to press his face, like a child seeking refuge, sinking his fingers into the soft skin of her naked back.

He struggled to catch air in his lungs as her arms enveloped him tenderly, pressing him against her warm, smooth skin – her fingertips combed through his hair, allowing him to calm down.

"– I'm so sorry –" She whispered, and he simply closed his eyes, thinking that it wasn't her fault after all.

"– all my life she's been telling me about the value of virtue – of sacrifice – instilling in me a belief in principles and morals – and she's fucking her own guard –" He howled regretfully, the touch of her fingers, her hands trailing over his body bringing him relief.

"– I know –" She whispered, sinking down onto the soft cushions along with his body – his hand found her sweet breast, wanting to touch something warm and pleasant that would give him comfort.

He closed his eyes as she locked him in the tight embrace of her arms, and he curled up, lifting his knees almost under his chin, wanting her to be able to give shelter to his whole body, being a little boy again.

"– no matter what I do – no matter how hard I try, what I sacrifice – I'm not able to please her –" He confessed in shame, his voice shaking with sadness and regret, feeling tear after tear run down his cheek without the participation of his will.

Everything he held inside just flowed out of him.

He sighed quietly, feeling relieved when she simply leaned over and kissed the top of his head with a sweet tenderness, running her fingers through his long, white hair without saying a word.

He thought he deeply appreciated that she didn't do what Madam did – every time he was vulnerable in her embrace, Sylvi showered him with advice and guidance, trying to manipulate and direct him, as if he didn't understand that she wanted him to simply do what would be better for her.

However, she, his little sister, was silent, coexisting with him in his suffering, focusing only on giving him solace, on gentle and innocent gestures full of affection, from which a pleasant warmth melted inside his chest.

He thought, nestled in the soft embrace of her familiar, sweet arms, that what his mother was doing didn't matter.

Now he had someone all to himself.

His little dragon.

His hāedar.

"You could hide better with your weakness for our cousin. The servants no longer even whisper but openly speak of her walking into your chamber in the evenings and leaving it only after sunrise." Said Aegon, pacing around his room while he sat comfortably in one of the chairs, feeling absolutely nothing at his words.

You'd be surprised to hear what our mother is doing, he thought, but didn't dare to say it out loud.

He decided that it was better to keep this information to himself.

It might have been useful to him at some point in the future.

"It takes her a long time to learn. She is making progress, but she is very…mmm, eager to bring the language of our ancestors to perfection." He said with a wide, cold grin, cocking his head to the side.

He didn't feel like confessing to him.

Aegon raised his eyebrows and walked over to the empty chair on the other side of the table, sitting down in it with a heavy sigh, reaching, of course, for the wine jug.

"I thought you hated bastards. Do you desire to beget your own now, brother?" He asked, and he smiled even wider.

"A maiden will not bear a child. Anyway. That's not why I invited you here." He said, unfolding one of the maps he had prepared earlier, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

His hāedar had begged him endlessly to tell him of his and Criston's plan, and as the battle of Rook's Rest was about to take place and possibly determine the fate of the war, he decided that this once he would yield to her, knowing that her fears were justified.

Aegon could not think that he was plotting behind his back.

She longed to participate in this conversation with him, but he did not agree to it.

These were matters between them.

Between brothers.

"Criston Cole and our army are not heading towards Harrenhal." He said, and his brother laughed, as if he had heard some foolishness.

"And where the fuck do you think he's heading? To his home in Dorne?" He asked amused, taking a loud sip from his cup.

He licked his lower lip, trying to remain calm and not show his frustration.

"To Rook's Rest."

Aegon looked at him in disbelief and shook his head, as if hoping his younger brother would tell him he had not meant it.

"WHAT?" He hissed and stood up, placing his hands on his hips, circling around the table, as usual unable to sit still.

"Why? That wasn't the plan. We wanted to destroy Daemon and take back Harrenhal. What has changed? Why don't I know anything about it?"

"Now you know. Cole and I thought it best to cut Rhaenyra off from the land first. To block her ability to support Daemon in the future with her army other than by sea. We must plan a few steps ahead. Be patient, brother. That is all." He said, raising his hand over the map of the Seven Kingdoms, recalling the words his little sister had used when suggesting what he should say to him. "What we are doing is for you. It's not hard to throw an army and lose – this map is a chessboard, and we need to plan well for the whole game, not just the end. I ask you to trust us and agree to our attack."

Aegon blinked and furrowed his brow, as if something in his words troubled him.

"Yours?"

He swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off him, wondering how he should convey this to him.

He decided he would just be honest.

"We're planning an ambush. This whore will surely send dragons to Rook's Rest to help defend the fortress. Then me and Vhagar will step onto the battlefield and take the lives of both the beast and its rider, whoever it may be." He said, and his brother pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Very well. I will fly with you then."

He looked at him dully, wondering if he was really such a fool.

"The King cannot die. You and Sunfyre will guard the Red Keep. Our cousin will accompany and support me." He said, and Aegon slammed his fist on the table, startling him and making him jump up in his seat.

"No. She is less experienced and she will protect our family in the Red Keep. I will fly by your side to fight like a man. I am the King and that is my final decision." He said, and he looked away, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

He thought that perhaps it would be better this way and closed his eyes.

Maybe this way his problems would solve themselves.

His brother had ordered a meeting of the Small Council later that afternoon, intending, as he understood it, to convey to the assembled members the change of plans and his decision.

He knew their mother would be furious.

They all turned their heads towards the door when their cousin walked in – he thought, looking at her, his little sister, at her warm gaze directed towards him, at her full, glistening lips, at her graceful, soft body hidden beneath her leather riding attire, that Aegon wanted to inform her that it was he who would be setting out at his side to fight.

"What is this important matter that could not wait any longer?" Their mother asked, looking at his brother with a weariness he knew well.

He wondered if she had prayed for Cole and his return before falling asleep, feeling discomfort and frustration in his chest at the thought.

Aegon nodded, ready to speak.

"I wish to relieve our subjects who live in hunger. This fucking blockade has gone on for too long and I have decided to take measures to remedy it. Greyjoys are tactically avoiding choosing sides in this conflict, and only their fleet could face the Velaryons. In such situations, things are usually resolved through marriage. Lord Greyjoy has two sons, Toron and Rodrick, who are looking for a suitable candidate to marry. My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements."

Silence fell all around him; he had the feeling that his body, although frozen in stillness, inwardly fell into some kind of panic attack, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he felt like he was dying.

My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements.

They wanted to marry her off.

They wanted to take her away from him.

He looked at her, at the woman who had brought him into the world, feeling deceived, betrayed, abandoned.

Alicent shook her head, her brown eyes big with sadness and regret, her lips parted slightly, as if she herself was suffering.

"You knew it would end like this. Your irresponsible behaviour forced us to take the right steps." She whispered, lowering her gaze to her fingers, with which she scratched the cuticles around her nails.

He thought that in that case his brother should marry her off too, since she was so eager to open her thighs before men, but he was unable to say such words about his own mother.

How would that testify to him?

He was her son.

Her behaviour, her sins would be a burden and a humiliation to him, Aegon, Helaena and Daeron.

He heard his hāedar at his side inhale sharply, as devastated as he was.

"– here is my home, my King – please –" She mumbled pleadingly, but his brother interrupted her.

"It would happen sooner or later. Better sooner, given the rumours that reach our ears about where you've been spending the last nights. My brother did not deny it, conversing with me today, that he is taking advantage of your…kindness. I want to put an end to this sinful practice."

"No." He heard his own voice, feeling rage, fury, despair, regret, anger, shame, fear.

No.

Not her.

"She is a Targaryen. 'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand." He said coldly, feeling his nostrils flutter in a heavy, deep breath.

His mother twisted in her seat, looking at him in disbelief as his brother smiled piteously at his words, making a drop of cold sweat run down his neck.

"You can bed whomever you want, brother. But it is I, as King and her protector, who will decide who she marries, and sooner Vhagar will fit into the Dragon's Pit than I'll give you her hand." He exclaimed.

"Why?" He asked like a little boy, feeling that the tone of his voice, the way the word suddenly ripped from his throat was just pathetic.

It made him want to cry.

Aegon froze, looking at him in disbelief.

"Good gods. Since when can the Kingdom afford marriages out of the need of the heart? Your subjects are starving. This agreement can make us break the blockade. Are your desires more important than the sake of the Realm?" His brother asked and he heard her loud sobs – out of the corner of his eye he saw that she hid her face in her hands.

"My decision is final. I will have the crow sent to the Iron Islands with our generous offer later today. That is all." He said and slammed his palms on the table, rising and left the room, leaving them with his words.

"– no – please, don't let him do it, don't send me away, don't send me away, don't send me away –" She wept like a little child as soon as he walked into her chamber, throwing herself into his arms – he cuddled her into himself as if he longed to merge with her into one, feeling his heart in his throat.

Don't send me away.

"– shhh – shhh, sweet girl – I won't –" He whispered, placing loud, soft kisses on her temple and cheekbone, stroking her back and neck with his hands, trying to calm her, to soothe her, her body trembling in his embrace.

"– you're lying – you're going to sell me, you're going to abandon me like he did –" She wailed, choking on her own tears, falling into complete hysteria, her fingers clenched painfully tight on his back.

He grabbed her by the hair and tilted her head back, wanting her to look at him, doing it, however, so as not to cause her pain.

"What did I tell you? Back then, when we were lying under the stars. What did I promise in return for you taming a dragon?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, her pretty face all swollen from tears, her dark eyes big from the sadness and grief that squeezed her heart, her lips parted wide.

"– that my place will always be by your side – that you will protect me – that I will be your little sister –" She mumbled out with difficulty, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking at him pleadingly.

She closed her eyes and sighed as his thumbs brushed the moisture from her red, hot cheeks, his forehead pressed against hers exactly as it had been then.

That night.

"– and you are –" He hissed, clamping his fingers in her hair. "– you are fucking mine –"

[lemonlover1110]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo NSFW Week 2023 Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Day 5: Breeding Kink, Lactation

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Nipple Play, Lactation, Breeding Kink, Vaginal Sex, Creampie

Summary: After the birth of your second daughter, everything seems to be chaotic. Luckily, you have a night where you can relax and unwind with your husband.

❤︎ Gojo NSFW Week Twitter - AO3 Collection ❤︎

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There’s nothing Satoru enjoys more than to come home to his wonderful life. He has a simple routine: get home, greet his wife and daughter, help his wife out with as much as he can, spend time with his daughter, eat dinner, put his daughter to sleep, and finally spend the rest of his free time with his wife before going to bed. The routine changed though when his second daughter was born.

Everything was much more… Hectic. He comes home and he can’t properly greet his wife and his daughter because there’s a screaming baby and you’re trying to calm it down while your eldest daughter tries to drown out the baby’s screams. His eldest is so engulfed by the television that she doesn’t bother greeting her father properly, and you’re just trying your best.

Your first was so calm, really nothing like her little sister. It prompted you to have another, but unfortunately, she’s not as calm. You get adjusted though, and your youngest becomes calmer. Until she’s finally an angel baby, just like your eldest was. 

It makes Satoru want another baby. Even though your baby is only six months old, he wants to try for another. But he knows if he just springs the question up on you, you’ll refuse to have another baby. So he plans a very special date night, leaving the kids with your parents and then taking you to an expensive restaurant then taking you to a five star hotel to spend the night. 

You’re barely in the room when Satoru’s lips land on yours, his tongue not wasting a minute as it swipes your bottom lip and then enters your mouth. His tongue presses against yours while his hands look for the zipper of your dress. God, he just wants to rip the dress off your body but he knows you spent a fortune on it– Well, technically he did, he pays for your cards.

“I need you so fucking bad.” He says, pulling away from the kiss. He finally finds the zipper and undoes it. You let the dress fall to the floor while you move to the bed. He’s kissing your neck while his hand unhooks your bra. He slides it off before throwing it elsewhere. His lips kiss your neck, and they attach and suck on that sweet spot that makes you weak. 

You lay down on the bed, and he continues kissing down your body. Just as he’s about to kiss your breasts, he notices some milk fall from your teat. Satoru bites down on his lip before he licks his lips. He licks up the milk, his fingers then pinching your nipple to watch as more milk comes out. His lips kiss yours before he asks, “Can I suck on them, baby?”

“They’re all yours tonight.” You answer, and he kisses down until he gets to your nipple. His tongue circles around it before his mouth wraps around it and he begins to suck. He doesn’t know why, but as he sucks your tit and gets to drink your milk, his cock gets so fucking hard.

You bite down on your lip, holding back on moaning as your husband sucks on your breast. His index finger and thumb pinch your other nipple. Your hand moves down, pushing your panties to the side to play with yourself as Satoru unlatches from your puffy nipple and kisses to latch onto your other.

You run your finger through your folds, gathering your slick before you begin to play with your clit. You feel your husband’s moans vibrate on your breast. God, if you had known that he’d be enjoying this so much, you would’ve let him suck on your lactating breasts sooner. 

Satoru can’t seem to get enough, going back and forth between your breasts, but he also needs to fuck you so bad. He’s in pain, he needs to feel you wrapped around his cock. He continues sucking while his hand goes to his belt, unbuckling it. Your hand goes into his pants, wrapping around his length and slowly stroking it and his hips twitch. He moans more and more and it feels so fucking good.

When he finally unlatches, he pulls his pants and briefs down. His tip is leaking precum, and your thumb spreads it before your hand strokes his cock. Satoru bites down his lip before he tells you, “I need to feel you so fucking bad.”

“Fuck me, Toru.” You tell him, removing your hand from your clit. Satoru’s tip runs through your folds before slowly inserting his cock into you. You shut your eyes and bite down on your lip as his cock stretches you out. When he bottoms out, he gives you a minute to adjust to him, until you say, “Please move.”

Satoru begins to move his hips, moving slowly but steadily picking up speed. You look so fucking pretty while you’re taking his cock, especially when you finally part your lips to let your moans into the air. You feel so fucking good around him, he can’t control himself.

There’s nothing Satoru loves more than the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. Satoru loves it so much. His only thought in mind right now is knocking you up, and he mutters, “Need to knock you up, baby.”

“Toru…” You moan, your back arches as you take it all. He hits all the right spots and it’s driving you insane. Your hands grip the bed sheets as Satoru’s thrusts get faster and faster. “It’s so fucking good!”

“I need to make you a mommy again.” He says, one hand goes down to play your clit. Your walls begin to squeeze around him, and he swears he’s in heaven. He watches some milk drip down from your breasts and he makes it his mission to lick it up. His mouth latches onto your tit again.

“Fuck!” You get louder and louder, and you feel as your orgasm approaches. You shut your eyes as you take it all. Satoru unlatches, and focuses on just fucking you as well as telling you how much he wants to knock you up.

“Need to see you all big and round with my baby, please.” He sounds whiny as he begs, and you get tighter around him with his every word. You moan loudly as you finally reach your climax, and he nearly comes right there but he can contain himself. “Let me knock you up, give me another baby.”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. His thrusts begin to get sloppy, and you know that he’s near his release. It’s not going to be your only round of the night, you have the entire night free, you’ll obviously keep going.

“Gonna knock you up, baby.” He says, and with that his cum fills you up. And the man doesn’t pull out until he makes sure every drop of his cum is inside of you.

When he pulls out, his lips meet yours in a short kiss. Two fingers are pushing the cum that drips out of you, and he tells you,

“Let’s have another baby.”

[writingsofwesteros]

The idea of Alicent sending her youngest daughter to Oldtown with Daeron to protect her from the keep, and from her older brothers, only to put her right in the hands of Gwayne. Daeron watches his older sister spend more time with Gwayne, naively thinking they’re bonding as uncle and niece. And the truth is that they are, only they’re bonding like Targaryens. Gwayne can’t resist his sweet niece and soon the two are spending every night together. Just imagine if they’ve been carrying on together for more than a year when a now-grown Daeron stumbles across them in the corridor.

Sweet Daeron had been feeling so bad for the lustful feelings he’d been developing for his older sister, only to see her crying out in pleasure as his uncle’s hand moves rapidly under her dress. Daeron is even more shocked when Gwayne invites him to his chambers one night to talk, to instead see his sister on her knees in front of the Hightower, his cock in her mouth. He tries to hide his hardening cock from his uncle, who grins at him, telling him to take a seat. Young Daeron thinks he’s died and gone to heaven when Gwayne ushers his sister over to him, her soft hands beginning to undo the laces of his breeches.

“It’s time to make you a man, young nephew,” Gwayne says, his hands stroking the princess’s hair as she struggles to undo the last lace, “and it’s only right for a Targaryen to indulge in their own flesh.”

(Gwayne corrupting not only his niece but his nephew as well is just so yummy)

!!!!!!!

Oh he corrupted her as soon as he could!

Poor thing was completely under his control as his soft touches drove her wild.

Daeron does not last long; her soft mouth was like nothing he had experienced before. He could not stop his hips from rocking but Gwayne had taught her well as her head pushed down against his stomach - taking him in completely

[avatarkv]

IV ! Mom, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing. ( First | Second | Third | Fourth | Fifth )

Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! (wc; 4070)

Song: Class of 2013, Mitski.

A mother’s love is of all things.  

“You start from here,” Her gentle hands moved across the cloth as she showed you how to make the first stitch, her voice encouraging as she patiently talked you through every step. You listened to her instructions, your tiny fingers following every gesture, but your mind drifted off to somewhere and Neytiri was well aware of that. 

"Mama, how much longer will this take?" You whined, your lips pursed in a pout as you discarded the rag. It was taking far too long for your liking and you were more than ready to be finished, but your mother's stern gaze was enough to stay put.

“Until you finally get it.” She sighed, knowing well that you wanted nothing but to run to your father and Neteyam. Neytiri could see clearly that you wanted nothing more than to train with them, learning all that Jake had to teach, and while she was relieved that you were so eager, she couldn't help but feel a little left behind.

You furrowed your brow as you looked down at the mangled fabric in front of you, feeling frustration coursing through your veins. "I don't like sewing," You sighed quietly to yourself, trying to undo the mess of stitches and start again from scratch.

A mother’s love could be quite petulant. Neytiri could feel the insecurity settling at the pits of her stomach, thinking about how his mate was doing a much better job at parenting. She was never able to keep you in one place, always wriggling uneasily on your chair and asking for the time so you can go, so she was often left with no other choice than to give into your demands and watch as you ran away from her.

It was silly, you were just a child– what child wouldn't want to be outside where the world was theirs to explore?

With another sigh, Neytiri placed a hand to your shoulder in understandment. She gave you a gentle squeeze,  “You know where your father is, go on.” 

A mother’s love could be fiery– burning brightly like a wildfire in her heart. It was a force that drove her to do anything she could to ensure the wellbeing of her children, even if it meant making difficult decisions that brought pain to herself.

When you once came home, battered and bruised, of course she did not relent. 

“What was the only thing I asked?” She carefully tended to your wounds, despite the frustrated tears streaming down your face. With a sigh of exhaustion, she reminded you in a rough whisper, “To be careful!” 

“I don’t let you run off with your father and Neteyam for you to carelessly train yourself,” She continued to scold you, “Now look at you, do you know how long these bruises will heal?” you hung your head low in shame, not wanting to meet her angry gaze. You felt guilty for making her worry and were immediately overcome with remorse.

“For this, you are not allowed to train for two weeks,” She said sternly, “Not until these heal, you understand?”

“But mama,” You tried to change her mind, but the look she gave was enough to let you know that she wasn’t going to tolerate any argument on the matter. You begrudgingly nodded your head in agreement with a frown. 

“I love you, ma’ite,” When you didn’t reply, her heart sank a little. She knew you would resent her for this while the duration of your punishment stretches on, but she was only looking out for you– besides, there was no way she was going to let you train all sore. You’d understand when you’re older. 

Neytiri would do anything if it means everyone would be safe. 

A mother’s love is of all things, but above all, the love she had rooted from no other else but her own children. 

When you once came forward with a present, she was curious. It wasn’t like you didn’t lend any gifts at all, if anything, you were the most thoughtful with giving; always coming home with trinkets from your training, colorful beads from a lazy stroll, or even rocks with the weirdest of shapes. But you were most excited with this one, a smile growing every second as you waited for Neytiri to grab the wrapped box. 

“What is this?” She had her eyebrow quirked up high in curiosity, a tiny smile fighting to stay suppressed.

“Open it, come on!” You squealed, trying hard not to open it yourself. 

“You made this?” She said, looking at the well-made shawl– actually, it was messy. The stitches weren’t as straight and there were holes larger than the others, a few smaller, but the ornaments sewn between the threads were no doubt from you. To her, it was the most beautiful thing ever; it was from you. 

“I did!” You beamed, chest puffing out proudly, “Well.. maybe I cheated a little. Grandmother helped me, but all the beads there are from me! See those?” You excitedly gestured to each and every trinket, going with great detail into how and where you got them. She asked questions along the way, marveling at how eager you were to tell her of your adventures. 

While you were keen on your work, her eyes were only on you, listening intently. 

“So.. do you like it?” 

Neytiri burst into a fit of giggles as she embraced you tightly, her head resting against the little space on your neck. “I love it, Ma’ite– I love you.” she whispered softly.

You returned the hug, “Does this mean I’m done with sewing?”

“Don’t push it.” 

It didn’t matter whether you were with Jake most of the time– she wanted to tell him how wrong he was to tell her you were a daddy’s girl. Neytiri received a shawl from you– a shawl. It’s safe to say that maybe you loved her a bit more than Jake. 

While her love was indescribable, there were no exact words for her anguish too. When Neteyam died, it was nothing but loss. No mother should have to bury their child. It weighed heavily on her– so heavy, a piece of her died along with him. Neytiri felt it in every pore of her being, a dull ache that could never be filled no matter how much time passed. 

Neteyam, her first born and first loss. 

The same anguish was apparent on you too and she wasn’t blind to that fact. 

You were carefully tending to the different herbs on the corner of your pod. You placed them in the mortar, crushing it with a pestle between your fingers and frowning with concentration. You had asked Neytiri if you could stay behind and help with chores and while she did need an extra pair of hands, it was also an excuse to get out from training for the day.

Neytiri knelt beside you, her grip on your hand preventing you from mashing the already mashed ingredients in the bowl. She looked into your eyes with genuine concern, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “What’s troubling you, ma’ite?” She asked softly. You sighed heavily in response while setting the bowl down slowly.

When you didn't answer, she asked again. “Neteyam?” Your breathing hitched and that was all the answer she needed. 

“It’s been over a month already,” You started, unable to look at her, “I don’t wanna mourn anymore. I don’t wanna cry– Tuk, she,” 

“I know. I heard.” You were struck with a wave of embarrassment as you abruptly turn to face her, realizing now that you weren't as silent as you had wished that night. You shook your head, trying to push down the shame. 

“I’m the eldest now and she’s tougher than me, it’s really a slap on the face.” 

Neytiri sits in front of you, taking both your hands in her own. She looks at you steadily with a piercing and gentle gaze, “Have you ever thought that maybe the reason why it isn’t letting you rest is because you haven’t mourned him properly?” Unable to process her words, you look up to her with a confused expression, beckoning her to continue. “All you have ever done is cry– blame yourself for what has happened. That is not mourning, you are simply wallowing in self-pity.” 

“It’s not easy,” You quickly interject, shaking your head with a hint of frustration.  

“And it’s not supposed to, but you’re here trying to stop yourself from feeling.” She soothes the skin of your hands with gentle rubs, trying to calm you down. “Have you ever visited him after what had happened?” 

She was met with only silence and again, it was all the answer she needed. With a heavy sigh, Neytiri gently pulls you closer to her, “Ma’ite, maybe it’s time you talk to him. You aren’t letting his soul rest either,” She whispers, “You’re making him wait.” 

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, burying your head into your mother's arms. Despite feeling a little embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion, you can't deny the comfort it brings. Neytiri holds onto you tightly, as if she too needed this moment just as much as you did. 

After a few more minutes, she nudges you softly, “I’m going to get more herbs,” With another kiss to your temple, she squeezed your shoulders and stood up. 

Neytiri’s words hit you hard– she was right. You have never put an effort to visit your brother, let alone talk to him. The realization was like a punch in the gut; while you were trying so hard to put as much space between you, Neteyam remained waiting. 

You had to talk to him, had to tell him everything before your heart could hold no more. It didn’t matter if he was angry anymore, nor if he would have blamed you for what had happened. You missed your brother– missed him like a little kid.

You stood up, taking your woven satchel– but before you could take another step out the door, Jake enters with a disheveled Lo’ak behind; it was clear that he got into a fight, the bruises on his face and body was enough to tell. “What was the one thing I asked?” Jake asks, scanning the area to check if anyone had followed them, “The one thing!”

“Look, dad. Ao’nung was picking on Kiri,” Lo’ak defends himself, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “They called her a freak.” 

“And you! Where were you? Weren’t you supposed to be training?” His tone is harsh and demanding, cutting off any chance to interject. Jake turns to you, livid,  “I catch you over here slacking off while this knucklehead is giving them a passage to kick us off the island– Jesus Christ, you’re the eldest now!” 

“I’m sorry, sir, this is my fault.” You replied, unable to meet his gaze. “I should’ve been keeping an eye on everyone.”

“Damn right. I catch a break for one second– one second!” He continued to berate and you could only hang your head low. “You’re supposed to be like Neteyam, but ever since we got here, all you’ve done is disappoint me. You disappoint me, __.”

“But I wasn’t just slacking, I was helping with–” 

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He immediately turns back to Lo'ak. He badly wanted to come to your defense, but something about Jake's steely gaze made him think twice. His lips quiver as he struggles against the urge to speak, feeling frustrated. “Go apologize to Ao’nung.”

“It’s not fair, dad! They were–”

He quickly dismisses him like he did with you, “Go make peace. I don’t know how, just go.” 

Lo’ak was the first to move, his footsteps heavy as he walked out. Before you followed, you glanced one last time at Jake, trying to look for any trace of remorse in his eyes. All you found was the same stoic expression. With a sigh, you trudged behind your brother.

Once you both were far enough from your Marui, you quickly grabbed Lo’ak’s wrist, stopping him from walking further. “Stay here,” 

He gave you a perplexed look as you firmly held him, “I’m supposed to be making amends.”

“I’ll do it myself so for once, stay here and  just do nothing.” Your mind was clouded, absolutely heavy from your father’s words. With another frustrated sigh, you let go of him. “What were you thinking?” 

“What do you mean?” His tone was laced with a mixture of guilt and defiance, shoulders tense. 

“You know damn well, Lo’ak.” The laugh that erupted from your mouth is menacing– mean. You grabbed his shoulders and spun him, forcing him to look at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He quickly shrugs your grasp away, his gaze downcast. Lo’ak couldn’t bear to even glance at you, not when you’re looking at him like that. It was so unlike you to be angry, usually you were the most patient– understanding. Right now, your eyes held nothing but exhaustion and it was like you were a different person yourself, morphing into someone he terribly misses. 

God, he misses his brother. Now that he’s gone, things are a lot worse– he didn’t even know that it was possible to feel more alone. There was no one who’d put on an effort to cheer him up despite him royally fucking up, no one to mess with his hair, or to stand up for him. With Neteyam, he was sure he understood him so well– with Neteyam, he was still a child. Lo’ak swears he also died that night, heart buried along his back at home. His younger self has not stopped crying ever since, shouting at him, asking, “It’s our fault again, is it?”

“You would have done the same,” He tries to reply with the same fierceness, but his voice is breaking. “Maybe if you were there, you would have even thrown in a punch too–” 

You spun him again irritatedly, “But I’m not like you. It’s different here, you understand?” Your voice was getting louder– growing absolutely desperate with every word. “You aren’t thinking!” That stunned the both of you and you couldn’t help but feel a nauseating deja-vu the moment it left your mouth. It was familiar, oh so familiar it hurt.

“What has gotten into you?” Before he could wait for a reply, you had already stormed off, leaving him right in the open.

It wasn’t hard to find Ao’nung, being the olo’eyktan’s son made him stand out easily. They were at the shore and unlike Lo’ak, you could see how they’ve gotten the end of the punches more badly. You tried not to visibly wince at the huge deep-purple bruise forming on his face and the others littered all over his body– yikes. 

You knew he deserved this. Ao’nung wasn’t the kindest ever since you had seeked uturu so you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Despite this, he didn’t relent. 

 “I’ll forgive you once you are able to ride an Ilu,” he said, and his friends snickered from behind, “But you still can’t, right? What would father do if he hears that none of the Sullys’ had gone out to apologize.” 

You clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms as they continue to ridicule you; you wanted to retaliate with the same harshness Lo’ak had, but you knew you had to keep composure. Oh Great Mother, the urge was strong. “All I have to do is ride an Ilu?” 

“Don’t bother,.” He scoffed, harshly jabbing his fingers into your chest, “You’re funny if you think that I’ll ever save you again– it would be one less freak from the clan.” Everyone broke out into a fit of loud laughter, taking turns in mocking you. 

“Consider us forgiven then.” You said firmly, pushing past them and marching towards the sea. 

He called for you to stay back, but you couldn’t just stop now– not when you have already mounted your ilu. The salty ocean air filled your lungs as you surveyed the horizon, the waves crashed on the rocks and it was evident that the water was fiercer. It should’ve been enough sign for you to pocket your pride and relent.

As you made the bond, you embraced the creature, trying to steady your breathing. “Just this once, please? Please, please. Save me from embarrassment.” 

It was a foolish decision to act out of spite, especially after you had been trying for well over a month with no success. You knew there was little chance that this time would be any different, but the impulse drove you forward and you just couldn't let go. As the ilu surged ahead with reckless abandon, you held on more desperately than before.

You were struggling to keep the creature in check. The strong waves made it even more challenging to stay on top of the situation, but you pushed ahead determinedly with an iron grip that was sure to leave your hands sore. Suddenly, your hard work seemed to pay off as the ilu started slowing down under your control, enough that you could relax a little. 

As you emerged from the water, you couldn’t help the shout escaping your throat as the other’s stood ready near their own ilus. Whether the smirk from Ao’nung’s face was of disbelief or if he had been genuinely impressed didn’t matter to you, all you could feel was a surge of pride burning through your skin. You flipped him off, peppering your ilu with much deserved kisses. 

“Come on, let’s go further,” You talked to her, encouraging her to keep moving forward, where she replied with an eager yip. 

You were absolutely thrilled– it had been a grueling month and the anticipation was nearly too much to bear. The thought of finally riding an ilu was almost too exciting for words. Although you preferred the forest, you’d be a big fat liar if you denied the beauty of Awa’atlu. You’ve been dying to explore– you felt like a kid again.

As you continued to ride forward, with not a thought in mind, you would not have expected to be found so easily.

It was almost night time and everyone was getting ready for dinner inside. Jake waited at the entrance of the Marui, sharpening his dagger as he waited for you.  He glanced around impatiently as he tried to ignore the spiraling  uneasiness in his stomach. 

“It’s getting cold, ma Jake.” Neytiri called for him, rubbing his back soothingly. “Wait for her inside, she’s probably on her way home.” She had noticed how anxious he was growing as the sun started to set and the dark night began to creep closer. It was even more obvious when he hadn't moved from his spot in front for hours already, frown deepening. 

“I failed as a father, Neytiri,” His voice emerged from his throat, strained and raw. He had done all he could, but it seemed that his luck had truly run out.  Now that he faced the truth of his failures, he was filled with bitter regret and a deep sadness for what could have been– of what he had to lose. “I look at them and I feel like I’ve already lost everyone.” 

Neytiri kneeled beside him, curling her arms around him in a comforting embrace. “You only did what you thought was best,” she whispered softly.

“And yet, I managed to make things worse.”  

“Just talk to them, ma Jake,” She gave him a stern look, squeezing his shoulders, “It hasn’t been easy for them either.”

“I know that, but–” The crackling of the line made Jake wince, but he could make out his daughter's voice beneath the static from the other line, and the urgency in your voice made his body jolt– a familiar dread that brought him back to that fateful night when you desperately called out for Neteyam. 

“Can someone hear me?”

The searing heat was unbearable, even when you were surrounded by nothing but water, it scorched your skin the same. The village was rising from the ashes of an unforgiving fire, the island surrounded by familiar ships. Your eyes mirrored the flames that engulfed the area and you were unable to look away— unable to move.

Your fingers frantically felt for the device tucked on your ear, pressing on its button, hoping someone would answer– pride be damned, you even hope that it would be your father. 

He stood up, instinctively grabbing the gun from his side, “__? What’s wrong, baby girl? Talk to me.” 

“Dad, Sir, a village!” Your voice nearly drowned out, inaudible from the deafening sound of waves thrashing towards you and your ilu. You were holding onto her for dear life as the salty water stung at your eyes, blurring your vision, “A village is on fire!”

“What? Where are you?” 

Neytiri stood sharply beside him, her eyes wide with fear as she desperately tried to hear your voice from the intercom. “Jake, what’s happening? Where is she?”

“I don’t know– I don’t know! I rode my Ilu too far. Dad, there are ships! Sky-people ships, plenty!” You spoke rapidly, your words tumbling out of your mouth faster and faster as the panic built up inside of you. You were becoming increasingly anxious, with every passing second more fearful than the last. “They’re here sir, they found us.” 

Jake’s heart plummeted there and then. 

“They’re hurting them– they have them at gunpoint, what do I do?” You continued to hurriedly talk, explaining the severity of the situation. It was nauseatingly terrifying, a sickening sensation that had taken root in his stomach and clouded his mind with nothing but overwhelming fear. “I– I have to do something, anything! Please, tell me what to do.”

“Listen to me, listen to Sempu alright?” His voice is gravelly, like he hasn't been able to catch a breath in what feels like days. Jake was desperate as he wanted to tell you this wasn’t about you proving yourself anymore, acting on behalf of your brother’s loss. This was solely about him wanting his sweet daughter back, safe and sound. “Don’t look at them, for the love of– please, get out of there now.” 

“But dad, I–”

“I need you back here, please baby girl, please.” 

However, you and him did not stand on the same ground, hearts paced on different pages. All you saw were the people; their safety and well-being had to come first and foremost. You had to save them, had to do something to avert the danger. They were innocent and above all, helpless. 

To Jake, all he could think was of you, his sweet daughter, caught in a wildfire. 

“This is an order, __. Turn back now,” It was the only thing he could do, instill authority in hopes it would make you deter. “I’ll alert Tonowari of the situation. It’s not a good idea to barge into face-first and vulnerable, you hear me? What are you gonna do with all their guns and people? Turn back. Now.” 

And it worked. Only now were you able to let out the breath you kept for so long, finally averting your gaze and looking down in shame. “I hear you, sir, I’m,” With one last look, you gulped. “I’m heading back.” 

“Good. Don’t let them see you.” 

As you reconnected with the Ilu, you pleaded it to take the lead and guide them both back home. You could feel her emotions racing through your veins, her fear undeniable as she witnessed others of her kind slaughtered mercilessly by the shoreline. The bond between you was overwhelming and unsteady, so much that it almost took all your energy just to keep yourself from dissociating from her.

Before you could submerge below the safety of the waters again, your ilu begins to bellow loudly in distress. Its body thrashes around, making it hard for you to hold on. “Mawey, mawey!”

More static could be heard from Jake’s intercom, the noise turning more and more deafening. He tried to make out anything from the sound, but all he could hear was white noise. You called out for him one last time, before the pager turned off.

“Jake, please, where’s my daughter?” 

When Neytiri lost her eldest, she didn’t think she’d lose another one so soon.

☆ mauve here! this was such a pain in the ass to finish, so hopefully i did this chapter justice !!!! i would love to interact w everyone here, so please don't hesitate to drop by my asks! i also accept requests <3 i would very much appreciate it. lots of love!

Tags: @eywas-heir @aonungsmate @cappsikle @dearstell @minkyungseokie @wwwellacom @aleracrovn @fangzyz @bobojojoba69 @alohastitch0626 @gcldtom @dumb-fawkin-bitch @navs-bhat @jo1818 @ladylovegood-69 @kahlowy @neteyamforlife @mochiivqi @heart-an0n @strnqer @abbersreads @historygeekqueen

© avatarkv, do not repost.

[g0thnico]

Things that if I were Rick Riordan I would make more dramatic:

Percy and Gabe's relationship. I understand that it's a children's series so it's normal not to be explored as much, but if PJO was written by me, I would be turning this into one of the main points of Percy's traumas

Percy's mortal life. The only times this is introduced in PJO is to show something divine next, usually monsters or new problems. I would have shown more of what Percy was like at school and his relationship with mortals (or lack thereof)

Percy's powers. Okay, Percy is super powerful and doesn't have any conditions for this?? Nico has nothing more fair. For me, Percy's healing should 2hurt, a burning sensation for cuts and the feeling of bones going back into place when he needs to fix them. In addition, his ability to control water will cause hunger that varies according to how much he used his powers

Ares. Okay Ares is the god of war, but also the protector of women, don't you think he would have at least conflicted feelings about Percy because he was abused along with his mother? I think he would have at least a little empathy for him because of Sally

Percy's romantic life. Okay Rick, we already understand that you definitely don't know how to write romance novels, so leave it to me. Your development of Percabeth was crap and Perachel manages to make it worse, don't even talk to me about Percalypso, he accidentally ended up making Percy's romantic development with two of Hades' sons better than the canon couples. Yes, I'm talking about Bianca di Angelo because it seems like no one noticed the way he talked about Bianca (she was different from the other girls and easy to talk to), Nico (he felt a great sense of protection towards him and couldn't stop thinking about the boy who ran away) and HADES (he was amazed by Hades' dark form and would like to sleep at his feet????)

Grover and Percy soul connection. The fact that Grover and Percy are bonded and feel each other's feelings and the fact that if one dies, the other dies with them, has only been explored 2 or 3 times and that is absurd!!!! I would do at least 5 dramatic scenes where Percy feels an indescribable sadness and can't show anything but Grover cries and breaks down in helplessness just by feeling his friend's emotions. Maybe another one where Grover almost dies and Percy spits blood and faints and everyone has to find a way to save both of them or simply undo the bond before one dies, or even take care of one through the other's body (if that's possible) ok I have a lot of ideas

finally, the older brother complex coming from Sally (feeling like the experiment that went wrong and watching what went right grow). Long title, I know, but it's necessary and self-explanatory. Sally had Percy and went through a lot of hardships because he was a demigod and she was practically a single mother (having Gabe as a husband is the same as nothing) so Percy grew up with a lot of trauma and somewhat neglected by his parents and society (don't be fooled, Sally is an excellent mother, but they were a poor family and she had to work, leaving the boy to fend for himself and become somewhat independent too soon). He did everything possible to avoid causing trouble and in Sally's eyes, he really didn't! She sees all the problems they went through as the fault of the gods or monsters, not her son (the victim). So Sally gets rid of Gabe, moves out, marries a good man who understands her and accepts her "we have to deal with half-blood stuff" lifestyle, and has a normal, mortal daughter who has a perfect family. Percy never had that, and when he does, he feels like he's second best in this butter-business family. So he wants his sister to have the best life possible but realizes it's too late for him to live that

and the younger brother complex from Poseidon (feels like he must exceed his expectations, become the hero everyone expects, become as good as all the other sons of Poseidon). Percy is a demigod, accidentally a son of Poseidon and that shouldn't be a big deal. But suddenly there is a prophecy and he is the chosen one, so he is Poseidon's favorite son, strongest demigod, hero of Olympus and he needs to be strong, more than ever Percy needs to be not only good, but the best. Never in his life was he expected to do anything, not even get past the 6th grade so dad God Almighty puts all this weight on his back and he almost dies more times than he can count

[aingeal98]

More act 2 thoughts but I really do love how this show does generational trauma. The Medardas are the strongest example of this but it's also so clear from this act how Vi and Jinx inherited the worst parts of Vander and Silco respectively.

Vander was a community oriented man with a big picture focus and a dream of freeing his people from oppression until he lost one of the people he loved most and the guilt caused him to turn insular, to prioritise protecting the remaining family above all else because it's all his fault, all his responsibility. Vi started the series rightfully furious at Piltover, made one decision to steal from them, and the knock on effects from that decision left her with so much guilt that all she could focus on was her responsibility to her remaining family. All that mattered was Powder and then Powder died and there's a monster called Jinx in her place and it's still Vi's fault, Vi's responsibility, nothing else matters except fixing her family mistakes.

Except it doesn't work for either of them! By rejecting their principles and drive for justice they fail to protect their loved ones. You cannot sacrifice everything on the altar of protecting your family, not when you're from Zaun. You do not have that luxury and you never will.

Meanwhile Silco and Jinx are in the complete opposite situation. Silco is driven at first by that same community justice as Vander, his dream for a greater Zaun comes from collaboration with his loved ones. But then his loved ones reject him, Vander tries to kill him. And so Silco turns ruthless, amoral, rejecting the community that rejected him. Zaun is no longer a dream of uplifting the entire community but simply a dream of a nation with Silco in charge, no matter how much suffering he must inflict on fellow Zaunites to make it happen. His vision is self centred, focused only on himself, and it's never going to last. You cut yourself off and pretend you're too good to feel except whoops you have a daughter now and those emotions you've repressed will be your undoing.

Enter Powder/Jinx. They're in the exact same situation at the end of s1 act 1, a child who was rejected by the village and will now burn it all down to feel it's warmth. Only unlike Silco and his dream of Zaun, Jinx's only dream is to be valued by her loved ones. But she's the same as Silco when it comes to that insular, self centered drive. In S2 all of Zaun is rallying behind her and she literally does not give a shit! These people mean nothing to her, they never have. Her close personal bubble is all that matters. She pretends she doesn't care about anything to lessen the hurt of being rejected except whoops people are genuinely grateful when she breaks them out, sincerity that she doesn't feel worthy of and doesn't know how to handle. Also congrats you have a little sister now and those emotions you've repressed will be your undoing.

It's kind of fascinating how despite how Vi and Jinx made good progress towards healing in act 2, I don't think either of them have managed to escape the unhealthy mentalities their fathers passed down to them. Nor has Caitlyn escaped the unhealthily mentality her parents passed down to her, although that ones a little more obvious. All this to say shout out to Mel Medarda I'm looking forward to whatever you do in act 3 to defeat your mother. Break that toxic cycle girl you seem to be the only one capable of doing so right now.

[celaenaeiln]

i mean this in the most neutral tone, but, im genuinely confused with this eldest daughter syndrome dick thing? as far as i know, he never lives in the manor with other batsiblings and personally take care of them except damian, and just "yeets" from any possible trouble or tension within the siblings or when they have issues with bruce

No worries I totally get it! And I'm here to deliver!

First, to be fair to Dick, no one lives in the manor aside from Damian and sometimes Tim.

Dick lives in Bludhaven, Steph lives in Gotham U? She's been in and out of comics but otherwise her own house. Cass lives in Leslie's clinic, Tim alternates between the Titans and the manor, Jason lives anywhere that doesn't have Bruce, and Duke lives with his uncle.

However that doesn't mean they don't all rely on him.

I think the confusion comes from scenes like this-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Where it seems like Dick just left Tim to deal with Bruce on his own. But-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Dick called him. When Tim when to him for advice, he gave him advice but also knew it couldn't just stop there. So he called Bruce to get it through his thick head that he's allowed to be happy. If there's anyone that can change Bruce's mind on anything it's Dick.

Which brings me to my next instance of Dick acting as the mediator and emotional burden lifter of his family. When each batkid dies (or almost dies in Dick's case), Bruce grieves in a different way. With Jason he took it out on criminals, with Tim he took it out on himself, with Dick he took it out on criminals and heroes, and with Damian, he wanted to undo what happened. He torments Jason about it, goes too hard on the criminals, gets worsened by Barbara, gets helped a little by Selina but also feels a billion times worse about Damian's death so-

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He locks himself in a simulator for days trying to see and fix where he went from when Heretic killed Damian. Nothing gets through to him so Alfred pulls out the Big Guns - he calls in Dick.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

"Richard just came in from Chicago to--"

"Talk some sense into me?"

"Yes, I've implored you to shut this...thing off and join the living, but you have turned a deaf ear for days."

"This calling in the cavalry routine is getting old, Alfred."

Since the dawn of Batman and Robin, Dick has always acted as the mediator for Bruce and the family. Always.

With Dick's help, finally, after days, Damian's saved.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

And Dick finally brings Bruce back to life.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He took a destructive, dead-man-walking and breathed life and hope back into him to stop him from taking his grief and anger out on his family and criminals.

Also-

LOOK AT THE WAY THEY'RE SEATED. DICK IS LITERALLY BRUCE'S THERAPIST.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

Calling in the cavalry always works.

Of course there's times when Dick doesn't help mediate. But the issue is not that he doesn't want to or he pushes it off, it's that he can't. What the hell are you supposed to do when the mediator who mediates all your problems is themself broken?

Dick really wants to help Tim but he can't. He can't find it in himself to barely live right now because Donna-his platonic soulmate-is dead.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

He really can't.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

She was his sister too. Pretty much blood.

I actually think the fact that Dick doesn't live in the manor makes the fact that he still takes care of all his siblings and their problems with Bruce even more important. To calm and rationalize down Bruce and take care of his siblings, he's constantly flying or driving back and forth between different cities, dropping his cases and work, ignoring his problems, just to be there for them.

For another example, when Dick hears that the newest Batman is causing problems in Gotham and Bruce just abandoned Tim to deal with everything and Tim nearly got hurt, he comes all the way back to Gotham to rail Bruce out for doing that to him.

Robin (1993) Issue #8

When Bruce teams with Damian their relationship so tumultuous but once again Dick steps in.

Batman: The Return

"I need a partner who can stay focused and keep up."

"Bruce, come on! I made a career out of not doing anything I was told when I was Robin. He gave up everything for this. You can't just take it away...you can't cut him out."

He keeps Robin from being fired and continues being Damian's support system.

It's not just mediating though, Dick fully steps in to take care of the batfamily whenever Bruce absconds or there's trouble.

Batman and Robin Eternal Issue #24

He's like the command center of the family.

This picture just embodies his role.

Batman (2011) Issue #15

And as Bruce once said-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #22

He's really the eldest daughter and caretaker.

[chairwritexv]

Fem Reader is another adopted kid silco took in (because young jinx insisted on it). The two are super close and deeply care for each other. During the statue scene she tells silco she'll offer herself up and take full blame for jinx if it means her sis stays safe and free. This way zaun is free, jinx is safe, and her dad finally gets his biggest wish. This is enough for silco to basically go "fuck that. You are my children and I will not give either of you away. Not even for Zaun. We'll think of something but I refuse to sacrifice either of you." And Jinx overhears all this.

the statue scene is when silco’s talking to vander’s statue, right? lol, my memory sucks…

tw ❦ angst

platonic ❦ romantic ❦ neutral

fandom ❦ arcane

character(s) ❦ silco, jinx

“is there anything so undoing as a daughter?” silco’d asked as he took a sip of alcohol. you’d peeked your head out of the shadows as you listened to your adoptive father’s conversation with vander’s statue, knowing what you had to do. “dad,” you said as you walked up to him, your hands swaying by your side. silco immediately turned to you, slightly startled. “Y/N.” you took a deep breath. “i’ll do it.” “what?” “i- i’ll offer myself to the enforcers, so that jinx will be safe and-” you were only halfway through your sentence when silco started shaking his head, standing up, but you didn’t notice as your eyes were closed and your head was down. “-and then zaun is free and you’ll have your biggest wish and-” “No.” at this you looked up, staring your adoptive father in the eyes. “but-” “No. i am not giving either of my children away, not even for zaun. i’ll figure something out but i am not losing you or jinx.” you stood there for a moment, unsure what to say before you tackled silco in a hug, almost knocking him over. he flinched, but hugged you back. neither of you noticed your blue-haired sister hiding in the shadows, having heard everything. ☽ 【┘】 ☾ "jiiinnnnxx,,” you dragged out your sister’s name as you called her, your feet dragging behind you as you entered her “lair”. however, the place was empty, much to your surprise. you looked around, making sure she wasn’t hiding to scare you as she’d done so many times before. “jinx?” which is when you noticed the note scribbled on the desk. “ not letting you sacrifice yourself for me n dad. luv you, tell dad i love him too ꨄ ” you cursed and ran out of the room, running as fast as you could all the way to the bridge connecting zaun and piltover. after reaching the bridge you immediately spotted jinx’s bright blue braided hair, and the enforcers surrounding her with their guns raised. “JINX!!” you yelled out, catching jinx’s attention as she turned to you, her eyes widening. “WAIT!!” you yelled out, coming in between jinx and the enforcers, half of whom now had their guns trained on you. “wait, she’s-” “Y/N, no-” “she’s just covering for me,” you spat out, still panting heavily from the long run. “it was me. i did everything. jinx was innocent, she did nothing wrong. she’s just covering.” and that was all the enforcers needed to hear. they handcuffed you and forced you away from jinx, dragging you toward piltover. you looked back at jinx with tears in your eyes, giving your sister one last smile.

hope you enjoyed! ♡ debating a part two lol

[rekaning]

Painful Silence | The Originals x Mute!Child!reader

CW: Canon-typical violence, implied/referenced abuse of a child

Summary: Takes place after the events of "Not A Peep". A bit of backstory of Mute!reader from an unexpected source.

She had never been a vocal child.

Her Papa had voiced his concerns about that when Mama was still alive. Mama had merely smiled gently down at her three year old, quietly playing with a hummingbird figurine set.

"Nothing wrong with a little silence," Mama softly told her Papa, running a loving hand over her daughter's hair. "Her silence allows her to perceive the world so much more. She's an observant child. She listens, rather than just hears. And that is a precious gift for a bloodline like mine."

Her Papa still had his reservations, but he trusted his wife. Magic and witchcraft still confounded him but his lover's carefree attitude eased his worries for his daughter's lack of vocalization.

As the days went by, her Papa had felt more and more at ease, having heard several peels of laughter and grunts of frustration erupt from his daughter at times when he was at home. It was only a matter of time before she would begin to speak, he'd told himself.

Their household had been a happy one.

Until it wasn't.

It happened in the middle of the night. Papa had was at his usual night shift at work, with only her and Mama at home.

She had been woken from a rather lovely dream of talking pelicans and flying penguins.

Angry voices coming from the living room downstairs had her creeping slowly off her bed, making sure to grab her pastel green throw blanket with baby chicks printed in patterns, and tiptoed over to the second floor landing to find out what was going on.

When she peeked in between the banister, she could see her Mama with two other women in the living room.

"The laws of the coven no longer apply to me, sister. I renounced my position when I did." Mama said calmly.

One of the women, who had a very similar resemblance to her Mama, stepped forward, voice forceful, "The child is of our bloodline, tainted, though it may be, but ours nonetheless. She must be with her people."

Mama took a step forward, her face hardened, eyes alight with fury, "You will not touch a hair on her head. I left because I no longer believed in the covens ideals and practices. What makes you think I'd let you take my daughter to the very thing I cut ties from?"

The third woman, aged beyond the years of her Mama and the other woman, spoke, "The elders will not allow one of our kin to grow outside of the coven. She must come with us."

Her Mama looked at the older woman pleadingly, eyes stinging with unshed tears, "Mother, please, please, you can't take her from me. She is everything to me."

The old woman, the child's grandmother, held herself with poise and looked down her nose toward her pleading daughter, "I am sorry, child."

Her Mama's sorrowful face quickly morphed into rage and before the young girl could blink, her mother had let out a vicious cry, lifting her hand toward the woman that looked like her, Mama's sister.

The child felt the hairs on her body raise from the electricity in the air. The air seemed to vibrate and the girl stared in wonder as she saw lines of color and light dance around her mother.

An audible, sickening crack broke the girl out of her awestruck wonder and she gazed down at the still figure of her mother's sister, her auntie, on the floor. Her neck was at an odd angle, eyes open in shock, glazed over, seeing nothing.

"What have you done!" Came the shrill cry of her grandmother.

A rumble coursed through the foundation of the home in response.

Her Mama yelled back, "Leave! You are not welcome in this home!"

Her squeak of shock was her undoing. Both her mother and grandmother looked toward the banister and spotted the shaking form of the child.

Her mother's eyes went wide with fear, "My little Bluebird, please, go back to—MOTHER NO!"

The young girl felt the magic before she saw it. Flames erupted to the girl's left, barring escape from the stairs. The child squealed in terror as the fire nipped at her feet. It got close enough that her blanket, trailing limply at her feet, caught fire. The girl quickly let go of the cloth.

"Sweetheart, run!"

She obeyed her mother and stumbled shakily away from the growing flames. She didn't dare to look back, but she could hear the cries and yells coming from both her mother and grandmother in the living room, could feel the magic like static shocks to her skin.

She took refuge in her room, grabbed the penguin stuffy that she had and hid herself under her covers.

Blasts and yells could still be heard. Her room was getting hotter and hotter. A chocked sob erupted from her throat, and the only word that spilled from her lips was, "MAMA!"

The only thing she could hear was herself, her guttural screams for her mother, her pulsing heartbeat in her ears, her ragged coughs as she inhaled smoke.

The door to her room burst open after a few moments. The blankets were ripped from her, and she was brought into the familiar and warm embrace of her Mama.

"You're going to be alright, little Bluebird. Mama's here. She will always be here."

The child, exhausted from fear and panic, fainted in her mother's hold.

Her mother didn't have the sufficient power to calm the inferno raging in her home. Only enough to block it from spreading into the child's bedroom for now.

There was not much she could do. Her own mother and sister lay dead in the living room and she herself would not survive this night. The hex her mother placed on her before her death would complete its task within a few hours.

She looked down at her daughter's sleeping form. Tears welled in her eyes knowing this would be the last time she would see her. Her trembling lips gently kissed her forehead, "I love you, my little Bluebird. Mama loves you."

With the last reserve of power she held, she cast a protective spell over her little girl. Although her mother and sister were dead, the coven would not rest until they had her kid. The spell would deter any unwelcome eyes, keeping her girl safe for a few years at least.

As she lay at the foot of her daughter's bed, clutching the girl safely within her embrace, her last thoughts were of her baby and her husband. She hoped he would not resent her for this mess. He knew her coven was coming for their child. He never liked the whole witch aspect of her life and she could only pray that his hatred of it would not consume him after this.

Her gaze flitted down to her little Bluebird. Hearing her child cry out for her had filled her with so much joy and so much anguish. She had no idea how this night would affect her. She could only hope that her father would help her recover. As she closed her eyes for the last time, she could only hope.

Let my little one find happiness in this life.

***

The three Original's stared down at the child in the woman's lap.

The child's mother stroked her hair soothingly. The girl snuggled further into her mother's touch, a smile forming at the nostalgic ministrations.

Klaus turned his wary eyes to the woman.

Her presence in their home had been unexpected. He had found out that the Veil, which acted as a barrier between the physical world and the Other Side, had been brought down due to the goings-on in Mystic Falls. Because of this, supernatural entities that had previously died, could now interact with the physical realm.

The Mikaelson siblings had been skeptical of the woman's identity when she had appeared before them. All doubt about who she was had been dashed the moment their little Bird had caught sight of the mystery woman.

It had been a shock to the three ancient vampires when the girl, whom hadn't uttered a single sound since meeting, had let out a wail so primal, so heartachingly hurt. The three siblings could still hear the haunting cries in their ears.

The woman had scooped the little girl in her arms, rocking her soothingly and muttering sweet words into her ear, "I'm here my little Bluebird. Mama's here. You've been so strong, sweetheart."

Klaus was loathe to admit that he felt a pang of envy roll over him, seeing his Little Wing being soothed by another, but he had to reign in his ire, reminding himself that it was her mother and that ripping the two apart right now would not go over well. With his Little Wing, nor with his siblings.

"Thank you." The woman's voice broke through the Mikaelson's thoughts.

Each of their questioning looks at her gratitude caused her to smile as she explained, "For looking out for her." Her eyes strayed back to her daughter, "You have no idea how agonizing it was to see the aftermath of my death. To see her detach from what happened, see that she blamed herself for it, and even seeing my husband hurt her the way he did."

Her eyes shot back up to them, brimming with tears. "Thank you," she said again.

Rebekah huffed, irritated, "Your husband was a worthless, wretched wanker. Good riddance, I say. How could you even stand to stay with him?"

"I make no excuses for how he treated our daughter after my death, but he was never that way when I was alive. He worried for our little Bluebird. He knew about my being a witch and he knew that my coven would be coming for her." She gestured to the sleeping girl. "I truly loved him, but what he did...the neglect he subjected her to was..." She stared off into the distance her eyes glazed before she turned them to Klaus and Rebekah, silent fury burning bright in her gaze, "I do not condemn what you did to him. My only regret is that I could not partake in his judgment."

Her admittance eased Elijah's mind. He was pleased to know that their Baby Bird's mother had the proper motherly instinct to eliminate any threat or harm to their child, regardless of who the cause of it was.

Klaus grunted and crossed his arms, ire still simmering within his chest, "Your blessings regarding that brute's death aside, what else did you hope to accomplish with your limited time?"

Elijah rolled his eyes at his brother's rude attitude. He understood his irritation, he could see the jealousy festering in him, and he would be lying if he said that he didn't feel similar himself. The three of them had come to care for the child. At this point, she was a Mikaelson in all but blood.

Rebekah tsked at her brothers tone, "Honestly, Nik."

The witch, however, seemed to find the hybrids tone amusing as she chuckled softly, a knowing smile spreading on her lips, "Niklaus Mikaelson. I thank you for your concern for her, but there is nothing more that I want than to spend what little time I have left holding my daughter."

The hybrid narrowed his eyes at her, cold gaze studying her carefully, "I find that quite hard to believe. Any sane parent would fight tooth and nail to drag their child away from a monster like me."

The witch regarded him warmly, "Hm. It seems I have yet to witness this monster you speak of. The man I have seen with my daughter has been nothing but gentle and sweet; aquiescing to her needs when the situation called for it."

She turned her gaze to Elijah, "She has been under the protection of the one they call the Noble Brother. Who has treated her with equal care as you, Niklaus."

She finally turned to Rebekah, "Besides, this beautiful spitfire that is your sister has shown that she has the instincts of a mother bear when it comes to the protection of my child."

Her eyes went right back to Klaus, "Tell me. Why would I take her from a family that has prioritized her happiness and safety?"

The three Originals said nothing.

There was no sense in denying her observations, it was clear that she had been there for all their interactions with her child, invisible to the from her place on the Other Side.

The mother said nothing further, merely continuing the soft caresses on her little Bird's hair.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 24: The Devil At Your Back

Content warning: Angst, vivid dream, wounds, blood, slightly suggestive.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

House Of Self-Undoing - Chelsea Wolfe Bad Weather - Stomper (feat. Lucy Tops)

* * * * *

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

* * * * *

You’re nine years old, and the cat’s fur beneath your hand is soft. It purrs affectionately as your tiny fingers trail its velvety coat, feeling the rounded bumps that make up its spine. You laugh softly, smiling, as it comes to—

A hand shoves into your hair and yanks you back. Your shuffling feet try to run, try to pull away, but your scalp is screaming. A cry pours out while your father’s face appears. The skin sagging at his neck wobbles with each angry exhale.

Hands that should protect take away so much.

“You stupid, useless girl! I should have had sons to carry this clan’s weight. Instead, I’m cursed with two fucking daughters!”

Crack!

The strike hits your cheek with a stinging burn, forcing your watering eyes shut. When they blink open, you suck in a breath. Your sister stands before you in the corridor, in the shrine.

“Sister, it’s time to go.” She extends a hand.

You reach for it but stop and look down.

A bone-white kimono with dark blue edges hangs around you. Matching him. The thing you’ll be bound to.

“No. I can’t. I can’t do this.”

You step back.

She smiles softly, taking your hand, skin to skin.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You must stay. You have to do this.”

No!

Somewhere, a baby’s cries reach your ears. You snap your head to the sound. It wails as if it were in pain. It wails as if it were frightened. 

Make it stop.

It doesn’t stop.

You shut your eyes and— 

Blink.

Opening them, your sister is gone. 

Down the darkened corridor, you start to walk, your body heavy, disoriented, not your own.

Reaching the end of the passage, there’s a door. You slide it open, a little ajar and slip in sideways.

Inside the room, is a futon, and there in the center of it lies your mother, split open, guts spilling from her swollen belly, eyes flickering, breath fast and shallow. She looks at you, mouth trembling, eyes wide, shock all over her face. A cry takes you over as she melts in a rupture of crimson meat and bone.

Nothing more than a pile. Nothing more than rot.

Somewhere, that baby still cries, and no one comforts it.

Blink.

There’s a glow on the horizon, and something’s burn—

Screaming. Homes on fire. People running in all directions. Bodies, so many bodies, some partially eaten, and others not. The scent of blood, searing fat and skin clogs your throat.

Blink.

From behind, four hands slide across your stomach, a black band encircling the wrists. One climbs to your breasts, another to your cunt, the next slowly comes to wrap around your throat, while the last presses flush to your abdomen.

“Let me see you.” A deep rumbling voice at your back, warm breath on your neck, before a hot tongue licks a path to your ear. “Let me see you, my winter flower.”

A nudge along the side of your throat before teeth sink in, breaking skin and muscle. Blood rolls down your neck to shoulder, soaking your yukata red. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, there’s only pleasure.

Leaning back into touch, into warmth and solidity, you moan, something denied for so long.

“Sukuna.” Your breathless voice reaches him, and fingers squeeze harder, gently choking you.

At your back, the King of Curses groans, shoving his face deeper into the wound he’s made, licking, sucking, trying to swallow skin and—

The air suddenly splits, breaks, and falls apart on a sensation that sends the whole world vibrating. 

Blink.

Walking with dirt on your feet, cool grass between your toes, you turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

You turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

Turn, pace, turn again, lift your head. 

Death is here.

It’s going to kill me.

A flame opens and slithers across your eyes. Muscles tense, muscles straining.

Red everywhere.

That’s all there is.

Red, red, red—

“Oi, brat! Time to wake up!”

CRACK!

“Mother!” you scream, pushing your body up, hearing the sound echo off the stone walls of the dark overhang.

Panting, your breaths arrive in short, small gasps, chest heaving, the world around you a blur.

Breathe.

You do.

Breathe again.

You do, and then blink.

It’s strange, but you must still be lingering between sleep and waking because four glowing eyes hover close, staring into your tear-streaked face.

But you’re not. You’re awake.

Sukuna crouches beside your mat, his upper right hand planted on the ground next to your hip, massive body leaning in, almost framing you, close enough for his warmth to seep in. The firelight from the dying coals silhouettes him, casting a small glow across the dim shelter.

It’s late, you realize—still the middle of the night. 

“What’s going on?” you rasp, finally coming to.

You hate waking like this. Screaming. But at least being awake means no dreams. Awake means no nightmares. Just… looking into the King of Curses’ face.

“My Lord,” you whisper, staring at him, eyes squinting slightly. “What are you doing?”

How long has he been next to you? And why does this feel familiar?

Sukuna pulls back a bit, staring down at you. Even crouching, he looms so tall that you must tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“You were crying out in your sleep,” he grumbles flatly, clicking his tongue. “You know how I feel about that. It disturbed my rest.”

A sudden weight presses around your neck. His energy. It drags over it like a phantom hand—like in your dream, and it leaves a surprising amount of goosebumps in its wake, making you shudder softly, though not entirely out of disgust.

Far from it.

Sukuna’s scarlet orbs drift down, lingering on your throat and chest, then lower.

“Also, this fell.”

Swallowing a thick knot, your eyes drop to his second pair of hands, where he lifts your crumpled blanket from the ground and tosses it carelessly into your lap. Then he stands, rounds the fire and returns to his mat, settling himself with a glance at the dying flames. Quietly, he lies down, propping his upper arms behind his head, eyes drifting to the stone ceiling. After a moment, he turns onto his side, offering you his back.

You can’t help but watch him as the nightmare stays fresh in your mind—the look on your mother’s anguished face.

Leaning into a slouch, you wipe the dampness from your eyes, your nose stinging as fresh tears threaten to escape.

Was that what she looked like before you took her life? The dread that was there, the betrayal, the fear on her face.

Your heart begins to pound.

Why can’t you remember how that night unfolded? Not that you want to, but still. It’s all a blank space, forgotten and stripped away. Perhaps for good reason.

Because in that dream, she looked terrified.

A tremor runs through your hands. Throat thick, palms slick. The beating muscle in your chest pulses faster and faster.

Instinctively, you dig your index fingernail into the cuticle of your thumb, hoping the pain will ground you, but it’s useless.

Thankfully, there are still a few sticks near the fire. Needing a distraction, you lean forward, pick one up and push it into the coals. Sparks flutter up, the tip glowing a faint red. 

Better.

With your mind beginning to settle, you grab a bit of moss, pressing and rolling it between your fingers. It’s still damp, giving off an earthy smell. Fingertips pushing in more, you explore the texture—soft but slightly coarse, cold against your skin—until, all at once, it fades.

You stop and look down.

The tuft blackens in your hands—lush green fading to a putrid brown, then a brittle gray. Tiny tendrils shrivel up, curling and recoiling from your touch.

“What the… hell…” you breathe.

Hands flying apart, you quickly drop it to the ground, watching it disintegrate into dust on the stone floor.

Lifeless.

Panting softly, there’s a scent that creeps into your nose. One, you know well.

Rot.

Your eyes move to your fingers, and your heart trips over a beat.

The tips up to the knuckles are a bruising colour, with thin, web-like veins spreading from the cuticles, branching unevenly. It looks as if a creeping blight infects your skin. 

You rub your fingers together, scraping a nail along the surface. The sensation is still there, reassuring you that you aren’t decaying, that the flesh isn’t dead. Another rake, and gradually, the discoloration fades, your skin returning to normal.

You’ve never done anything like that before. Killing animals… people, yes, but plants? And it happened so quickly, with no sense of restraint.

The rocky walls of the overhang suddenly feel choking.

You rise quietly, moving smoothly despite the wobbly feeling in your legs, and walk past Sukuna. Judging by his stillness, he must have fallen asleep.

At the mouth of the hollow stone, you stop, needing air to steady yourself, feeling too out of control in your own body.

Tipping your head back, the clouds from the downpour are gone, leaving only the sky and its inky black curve and stars. You admire it for a moment, but the expanse and the moon sitting lonely overhead stir a familiar ache.

At this moment, you crave your mother’s presence, her comfort.

Dropping your gaze, you spot Ayana’s white-dappled coat in the dark. She rests beside Sukuna’s horse, whose massive form nearly engulfs hers. The two creatures stand so close that their nearness brings a small sense of ease.

Keeping your hands in tight fists, careful not to touch, you step toward her and rest your forehead against the soft surface of her neck. Her ears flick, and she lowers her head, sensing your tension, and gives a gentle nudge.

A trace of a smile tries to form on your lips, but it doesn’t quite settle.

Warmth suddenly flares at the bend of your neck—whether intentional or not, malicious or not—your eyes drift shut. You know Sukuna is not asleep but quietly watching you from behind.

You stay like this for a while until you sense him withdraw, and eventually, you do the same.

Turning, you move back to the shelter, catching his lower eyes as you pass but saying nothing. When you reach your mat, you glance down at the remnants of the moss once more.

You’ll have to worry about it later; there are other priorities above your own.

Sister, protector, tool.

Lying down, you pull the blanket over your body as the space falls into stillness. Only the soft hiss of the crumbling embers remain, lulling you back into drowsiness.

Your eyes shut.

A flicker of your mother’s dying face presses against your eyelids.

You snap them open.

“Lord Sukuna?” you suddenly murmur.

Silence follows, but then you hear him shift.

“What?” he grunts, sounding annoyed.

You pause, rolling to your side to take in his profile, the right side of his face, his mask. You still can’t quite place what it is.

“I never did thank you for the mare,” you say quietly, watching him focus on the stone ceiling.

The fire hisses again as it cools.

“Thank you…” you continue, the words sincere yet hesitant. “She’s perfect… and I’ll treasure her forever.”

The embers release one last dying breath.

His lower right eye slowly falls over at you. The upper one joins it a heartbeat later.

Even in the black, with only a pocket of waning glow, you catch the corner of his mouth twitching into the softest smirk you’ve ever seen on him.

Your foolish heart aches at the sight, and you mentally kick that feeling into some dark corner.

“Get some rest, brat,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side again. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Pulling the blanket up, it takes a long time before you realize the corners of your mouth are curving into a smile. Smothering it, you roll onto your side, mirroring his back, and drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky when you and the King of Curses finally ride into the Kasai compound. Yesterday's weather delayed your journey, and when you arrive, the place is already bright with activity.

People—family members, guests, attendants, other clans. There’s so much noise, so much chatter. Laughter, singing, jeering. If you listen closely, you can even catch the occasional shameless moan of a man enjoying himself a bit too openly with his concubine.

It’s going to be a long night.

Your eyes wander ahead, trying to decipher what Sukuna might be thinking. When you woke this morning, he was already up—less agitated but still contemplative. His energy seemed more subdued, enough that even Ayana allowed him to water and feed her.

Something has shifted on your journey, though you can’t quite name it. Perhaps it was the time away from the shrine or the moments spent alone.

But the sense of something being broken between you two remains.

There’s also a nagging voice inside insisting that something is wrong despite the countless reasons that could explain it.

As you approach the stables, you watch him closely. He surveys the surroundings—the gaudy estate, the limestone barrier, the tops of the yew trees forming the grove along the perimeter—studying everything in great detail before finally turning his attention to the stables.

Inside, retainers and attendants mill about, drinking and chatting as they tend to a slew of horses—likely their way of passing the time while whoever they’re here with spends the day getting properly shitfaced.

But as you enter—more precisely, as he enters—everything comes to a standstill.

You expected Sukuna to draw attention—his reputation, appearance, energy. Today is no exception. As you ride further inside, every weary eye falls on the four-armed creature. Then those eyes shift to you. And any hope of going unnoticed while here, gone.

Your jaw tightens, muscles coiling.

When Sukuna dismounts, the stables fall into a cage of silence, broken only by the restless movements of the tethered horses. They sway and knock their hooves in agitation as conversations die to murmurs. It almost feels like that night seven years ago when deranged whispers spoke of a demon’s arrival in the north.

Now, that same demon is here again, but this time, he’s among them.

Sukuna’s red orbs sweep the stables, making most avert their eyes, a few bow their heads, and some turn away completely. 

“Fucking fools.” A deep cackle erupts from his chest, and from atop Ayana, you spot a grin sneaking across his face—pleased with their fear and likely pleased with himself.

Hell, this is going to be a long night.

With one last twisted flash of his teeth and a glare that skewers the onlookers, he turns, pushes back the strands of his wind-tousled hair and locks eyes with you.

One side of his mouth curves up smoothly. This man is a terror, but damn it, you were so blind before, only seeing the cruelty in his face. Terrifying, even.

Now, you couldn’t deny it—you see what else he is—breathtaki—

Gods, fucking take me. 

Large hands slide around your waist, fingers crowding into the curve of your spine as he lifts you from the saddle.

“Oy! I can dismount on my own!” you snap, feet thudding into the hay-covered floor.

Disregarding your protests, Sukuna draws you in until his mouth brushes your ear, a stream of warm breath tickling your skin. Inwardly, you curse yourself because, for a moment, your eyes flutter at the contact.

“Remember, we made a deal,” he murmurs, voice low, just for you. “We’re here now, and I want that name.”

Your heart pounds.

Impatient.

You’d barely touched solid ground, and he’s pressing for it already? What will he do once you give it up—or if he drags it from you? Though you might know the answer to this, and it’s bloody.

You turn, finding his face close to yours. Instinct makes you lean back, but he cocks his eyebrow and hauls you closer, unfolding to his height and gripping your wrist.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself,” he growls through his teeth, digging his fingertips into your skin until it hurts. “You may think you see me, but you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Lord Sukuna, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lived in these parts the entire time you’ve been destroying them,” you hiss quietly while flexing the hand he grips. “So I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Or most of it.

You’re not sure you want to know the rest.

The pressure on your wrist increases while his jaw tightens as if he were gnashing your words around with his teeth.

“Yes. And isn’t fate just a cruel bitch that you were?”

Your nose wrinkles at his words.

“Lord Sukuna!”

Multiple footsteps thud inside the stables, and a loud, boisterous voice draws your and the King of Curses’ attention.

“Welcome!”

One of your father’s attendants steps forward and bows, lifting her head. Despite her magnanimous welcome, there’s a nervousness in her eyes.

“Please, this way.” She gestures toward the stony path leading away from the stables. “And my Lady, your father will expect to see you before you settle in.”

Great.

“All right. Thank you,” you reply.

She steps outside, leaving two other attendants to handle your trunks and tether the horses. Sukuna glances once more at the two mounts as if assessing them before stepping onto the path.

Following the attendant, she leads you through a screen of hedges. The route winding discreetly along the estate’s perimeter, skirting the front gardens and leading into the compound. No doubt she’s been instructed to bring you inside through quieter means, a poor attempt to keep the King of Curses out of sight as much as possible.

Once inside, the attendant brings you to a secluded room. Bowing once more, she slides the door open. You follow Sukuna inside, kneeling on the floor as the door closes behind you, sealing in the quiet, leaving you both to wait.

Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes feel like an eternity. Your mind starts pacing like a chained dog. Every sound—footsteps passing by, distant drunken laughter—sets you on edge.

You pick at your gloves and shift your posture, knees bent, feet tucked underneath you.

“You’re tense,” Sukuna points out. Your eyes peek over at his relaxed stance. “Any stiffer, and you’re bound to snap in half like a twig.”

He sinks back into his lean, sitting casually, his upper arms resting at his sides, one knee bent, and his lower arm draped over it, fingers tapping idly.

“I’m fine,” you say, squirming to find a more comfortable position.

Sukuna huffs.

“Idiot.”

More time trickles by, and under your growing impatience, you begin to warm. The multiple layers of clothing draw sweat to the surface of your skin. You move your hands to your cloak, ready to remove it, when fingers clamp around your wrist and pull them away.

“Leave it,” Sukuna growls.

You shoot him a bewildered look, preparing to utter a curse at him, but he jerks his head to the door, listening intently, straining for something just out of reach. You’ve seen him do this before, and it’s never a good omen. The last time you saw that expression, a polearm had been hurtling toward you moments later.

Outside the room come soft sounds. Delicate footsteps and a whisper of fabric brushing against the floor.

A pause.

Four red eyes dart back and forth.

The hand at your wrist tightens.

The door slides open, and your sister steps inside. Sukuna’s hand slips away.

“Yuna.” A smile spreads across your face, lifting your cheeks until they ache.

“Sister!” White silk swishes at her ankles. “You came.”

She’s outfitted in a beautiful pale kimono, and her hair and makeup are perfectly done for the festivities. The gem of the Kasai clan, indeed. Compared to her, after three days on the road, you feel like a ragged, unkempt toad.

Grinning, you start to rise to your feet, ready to go to her and gather her in your arms, but a snag at the back of your cloak holds you in place—Sukuna’s lower right hand. You stop moving. It shifts, sliding up to the top of your spine before trailing slowly down, vertebra by vertebra, until it passes over your obi and settles at the small of your back.

The possessiveness of his touch has a shiver spiralling through you.

Suddenly but carefully, he unfurls himself to his towering height, pulling you up and not letting go.

Yuna’s eyes hover between you and the King of Curses, her expression one of rapt attention.

“Hello, my Lord.” She bows formally, eyelashes fluttering. Then she lifts her head, and a graceful smile touches her painted lips. “It’s always lovely to see you.”

Sukuna says nothing.

A horrible silence descends upon the room.

The three of you remain in place.

They stare at each other—her features unreadable, his a challenging one, head cocking to the side in a sharp, smooth motion.

You feel the muscles in his arm tensing behind you, his fingers gripping the fabric of your garment with more force.

Yuna’s smile widens, eyes brightening with a strange recollection.

And then, ever so softly—

“I knew it…”

“Ah! My daughter!” Your father’s loud announcement cuts through the increasingly crowded room. The pungent scent of alcohol reaches you even from where you stand. “You’ve finally made it. I was getting worried something may have happened to you.”

Lying to your face, how refreshing.

He turns to the King of Curses and bows. Sukuna doesn’t return it, making the balance of power unmistakably clear.

At the door, another figure enters, your attention swinging to them.

Onishi, with his swollen face and all.

Hideous bruises snake out from below the cotton strips, trying in vain to hold the nose you had broken into place. It looks hastily treated, an effort to appear decent in public.

A tinge of satisfaction curves your lips.

He moves across the room and takes a spot behind your father, leaning against the wall. His eyes meet yours, glinting probably from the memory of when he had you pinned against the limestone barrier, hands touching your breasts, invading your space. Almost as if reading your thoughts, the bastard gives you a discreet wink.

The fucking audacity.

Your hands curl into fists, leather gloves creaking softly.

Calm down.

Your eyes shift away, only to find Sukuna watching. A quick glance shows his lower eyes trained on you, while the others settle firmly on Onishi’s bruised, crooked face.

Knowing him, he’s bound to piece this together without a word from you.

With more pressure, the hand at your tailbone splays across the small of your back. Surprisingly, it grounds you.

“Yuna,” your father says, pulling your attention from the warmth flooding you. “Why don’t you go back to our guests? I’d like a small word with your sister.”

“Of course.” Yuna bows and heads to the door. Halfway there, she flicks you a look. “I’ll find you at some point tonight, all right?” she whispers.

You give her a soft nod.

“Oh, and daughter.” Your father adds, making her pause. “Send them in.”

A tight smile replaces her easy one. She leaves, but taking her place are three beautiful women, by their well-kept clothing they’re attendants or—

"Our guest should be made comfortable,” your father states, gesturing to the trio before turning his gaze to Sukuna. “They’re yours. Do what you wish with them.”

What?

A sour taste churns your stomach.

Sukuna eyes them as they approach. Their pupils odd, blown wide.

“This way, my Lord,” they chime in unison, coaxing him toward the door.

A sharp, needling sensation splits you sternum to chest, dragging with it an emotion you don’t want. Sukuna’s hand slips away from your back, and the entire room seems to stutter as you desperately try to catch his eyes. But he doesn’t look your way.

You’ve never been in a relationship���real or otherwise—but something is there. That sticky, unforgiving emotion that feels like swallowing fire, burning deep and spreading through your body, making your skin prickle with heat.

Jealousy. This is jealousy.

You watch, unable to tear your focus away. Their nimble fingers trace up his arms, gripping his clothing, smoothing it, touching the contours of his muscles. Cooing and preening. One of their fingers skims the ink on his wrist, peeking out from his kimono. And it's that touch, that brief skin-to-skin contact, so simple and insignificant, that stings more than anything else.

He claimed to regret what he did to you when you first met, and now here you are, stumbling all over yourself.

Pathetic.

Look away.

Your eyes shift to your father, who is watching you closely. Is this a test? A trap? A scheme laid out for you to fall into?

Has he charmed you, daughter?

His words ring out inside your head.

So what if he had? What if—

No.

But deep down, you knew you were well and truly fucked. This monster has started taking that tiny sliver from you that you once promised you’d never surrender.

A sudden urge to laugh squeezes your lungs fiercely.

One of the women giggles, and Sukuna’s mouth pulls into a sneer.

Say something.

“We’ll give you a bath, my Lord.” Another of them hums, making your heart lurch while they pull him towards the door.

Do something.

Brows pinched, Sukuna leaves, his upper arms folded across his chest while the lower ones hang at his sides, the women clinging to him like parasites.

A glance back and four fiery orbs find yours, brimming with intimidating annoyance, deepening the crease above your nose.

“I’ll see to you after,” he says, giving you a sidelong glance before he steps from the room, the women trailing closely behind.

“He probably won’t fit in the bath. My Lord’s body is too big,” one of them complains, their voices fading down the corridor.

“Perhaps we can use our mouths instead.”

More tittering, more giggles.

The door falls shut.

You stare at the spot he just stood for too long, long enough to hear your father clear his throat. You lift your eyes, pushing away those raw, unwanted emotions, though the place where he had touched your back still burns.

Focus.

You straighten.

Your father scrubs his jaw, his attention settling on you, and you keep your expression neutral. No cracks, nothing.

Onishi, still leaning against the wall, retrieves an object from his kimono to fiddle with. It's small, a box, and fits perfectly in his palm. He rotates it repeatedly, each side catching the light as it turns, his eyes never leaving yours. For some reason, you’re certain he must not have told your father about your encounter weeks ago; otherwise, you would have been reprimanded by now.

As he turns the object again, you notice the sides are decorated with hooded slits.

He turns it over again.

And again.

And—

“Well.” Your father’s voice pulls your focus back to him. “You’re here, and you managed to bring the creature with you. Well done.”

He pauses.

You can hear the unspoken words: Lured the creature here.

There’s a genuine smile on his face, as if, for the first time in his life, he’s proud of you.

Proud of you.

The thought leaves you conflicted because there’s another look there, one that’s not entirely tinged with contempt but carries a glimmer of care, as if he’s seeing you differently.

“You have your extra month,” he grants. “Your sister is safe once again.”

It’s a simple statement that should bring relief. A long time ago, you might have leapt at that look, like a dog waiting for scraps of affection. But now, all you feel is numbness.

“Thank you, Father.” The words carry no real sentiment.

You bow, and he smiles.

“Good. Now go.” He flicks two fingers toward the door. “Get washed up and dressed. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself.” His hawkish eyes lock onto you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl with disgust. “For once, you’ve earned it.”

* * * * *

Knock, knock, knock.

“My Lady? Are you decent?” A female voice calls from the other side of the door.

An hour has passed since you returned to your old chambers to prepare for the festivities.

It didn’t take long to bathe, slip into your new kimono, tie your obi, and slide your concealed scabbard into place. The makeup you applied—powder, kohl—was simple, nothing elaborate.

During your time alone, your mind continually replayed the earlier encounter with your sister, the three women, your father, Onishi… Sukuna.

Something feels wrong, but you’re unable to slide what that is into place.

Mind churning chaotically, you were in the middle of combing your hair when the knock interrupted your preparation.

Now, as the sun sets, a lantern sits beside you, it’s light flickering on the wooden floor. Red fires the edges of your garment to black.

“Yes,” you call out. “You may enter.”

Resting your hands on your thighs, comb in hand, your eyes shift to the door.

It slides open.

One of the women from earlier stands there, anxious, chin cast down. Your mouth twitches with barely concealed disappointment. She bows and quickly steps aside.

The King of Curses steps unexpectedly into view, blackening the doorway, his eyes locking onto you kneeling on the floor.

“Oh, Lord Sukuna.” You rise, the clack of your footwear echoing on wood.

A soft bow of your head, then you lift it. He’s dressed in colours matching yours: a deep, muted purple kimono, like a swollen bruise, nearly black, painful in its intensity, and perfectly moulded to him. Your gaze drops to his waist—his obi is a burnt umber, again, like yours, though his attire is stark, without embroidery. One more glance shows his hair swept back, all controlled chaos.

His eyes rake over you from head to toe, a muscle in his neck pulsing. At his side, all four of his hands tense, then release, as if he were restraining the urge to use them for something.

It’s hard to breathe when he looks at you like this—hungry. He is hungry.

“Leave,” he orders, flicking a hand dismissively at the woman. She bows and retreats, eager to put space between herself and him.

Without tearing his eyes away from you, Sukuna steps inside and shuts the door, dimming the room, making his scarlet eyes glow in the low light.

“Continue.” He grins, nodding his chin at the comb in your hand, then circles you.

Watching him, you sink back to the floor, resuming your kneeling posture and sliding the comb through your hair. His mouth twitches as he observes. This close, you catch the clean scent of him—no blood or ash, but something fresh. Cypress, perhaps.

“Did you need something, my Lord?” you ask quietly as he steps away, choosing to scrutinize your room in far greater detail than you’d like.

“Do I need a reason to see my wife?” He pulls a scroll lined with poetry from the shelf, inspects it, and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff before sliding it back. “Besides, I told you—you’re not leaving my side.”

But you did.

The image of the trio of women taking him into their mouths flashes through your subconscious. Anger has you pulling the comb through your hair with more force.

He glances over, catching your expression before you can look away.

“No, you don’t need a reason. I just thought perhaps you would be too preoccupied with other company,” you say, striving to keep the bitterness out of your voice. But it’s there.

The comb continues to move, your fingers following it.

A calm settles over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern's flame, until Sukuna chuckles. The sound breaks the silence, swelling into loud, insidious laughter that makes your teeth click together.

“You really are fucking stupid, you know that?” He steps around and comes to stand in front of you, the earlier grin on his face gone. “You can barely see what’s right in front of you, even when it’s still. It’s pathetic!”

You glare at him, the comb stilling in your hand before you set it aside and look away.

“I see just fine,” you mumble, picking up a hairpin with a pearl inlay.

Sukuna sinks to his haunches. Two fingers slide slowly across the underside of your chin, hooking and guiding your face to his.

“Oh, she sees just fine, does she?” he mocks, cruelly mimicking your voice.

A weight settles on your chest while your body silently begs you to turn away from him.

“She sees everything? Even what hides in plain sight?” he continues, then pauses.

Three heartbeats later, he tilts his head, squinting at you as his expression shifts from pity to seething hatred. The sudden flare of anger in his eyes disarms you.

“No… that’s not it, is it?” His gaze narrows, searching for something you can’t comprehend.

The air between you tightens.

Jabbing his fingertips into your chin, he forces you to straighten and lean toward him, so you must brace a hand against the floor between his knees.

“There are so many hooks in you…” he rumbles quietly, his thumb crawling up to smooth over the swell of your cheek. “So many pulling, all at once.”

He traces up to your temple, applying more pressure. Nervousness climbs into your throat, but despite it, you roughly pull your chin from his grip.

“What are you even rambling about?” you mutter.

A split breaks between his eyebrow and mask and his hands fall to his sides.

He clicks his tongue in agitation.

“Nothing, brat,” he grumbles, before reaching into his obi and suddenly pulling out a pear.

You quirk an eyebrow at it.

He takes a bite, the juice glistening on his lips as he leans back, letting go of your jaw.

You sit up straight, readjusting your posture.

“Where’d you get that from?” you ask, hands reaching to the crown of your head to part the silky strands of hair and twist a section, weaving the hairpin through it.

Sukuna moves to lean against the wall.

“The kitchen,” he replies, tracking your hands and the precise movements of your fingers. “I was hungry.”

As always.

He takes another bite.

“So, you’re just walking around here like you own the place?”

“Anyone who sees me coming usually shits themselves. Here, with all your kin wandering around, it’s easy enough to get a simple piece of fruit.”

Of course, they’re afraid. He’s been eating and killing them for years.

Another bite.

“I can understand why,” you say, letting your eyes trail down the length of his body.

His teeth flash.

“Nearly two months at my shrine, and my wife is still frightened of me?” he asks, amused.

Your eyes dart away, focusing ahead as the cool texture of the pin grazes your scalp.

“Your appearance… no.”

Your actions, yes.

With the hairpin in place, you reach for your comb and draw a few strands forward to frame your face—or to shield yourself.

“Oh? If my appearance doesn’t scare you, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts about it.”

After tapping the pin one last time to ensure it’s secure, you lower your hands to your lap and glance over at him. The piece of fruit already eaten and gone.

“You want to know what I think about… your appearance?” You arch an eyebrow, features folding into soft confusion.

He crosses his upper arms over his chest, tapping a finger impatiently as he waits for an answer.

“You’re…”

A pause. He taps again.

You’re unwilling to admit how he’s begun to haunt you, how he’s slipping into your dreams, your thoughts, and worse into your—

“You’re adequate, my Lord.”

His chest swells, as if he’s about to burst into laughter, and you quickly turn away, grabbing your dark leather gloves from the floor.

“Adequate.” His voice fades into a condescending chuckle.

Through the curtain of hair, you see him push away from the wall and step toward you.

“Is that truly the grand assessment my wife can offer? Adequate?” He bends slightly. “But perhaps 'adequate' suits you just as well.”

You scoff.

“And here I thought I was uglier than you expected,” you mumble, fiddling with one glove as you slide it on, trying not to relive the first words he ever spoke to you.

Sukuna leans in further, forcing you to look up.

“I lied,” he hisses in your face, eyes flaring wide.

“What?” You shoot him an exasperated glare as you get to your feet.

For reasons you can’t quite place, your instinct is to punch him in the throat, knee him in the cocks, curse him into oblivion—and judging by the smirk growing on his face, the bastard knows it.

“Tch, don’t look at me like that.” His orbs brighten, as if this reaction brings him pleasure. “Your fragile emotions are so easy to fuck with.”

Another scoff. You start slipping on your second glove.

“Then—” You don’t know why you’re asking, but the words come out. Maybe some self conscious part of you just wants to know, even from him. “What… do you think of me?”

His grin falters, and you avert your gaze, a flush of embarrassment shading your features at how vain you sound.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” One last soft tug, and the leather fits snugly over your fingers.

Sukuna steps closer, exhaling sharply.

You turn back to face him.

His lower eyes stare at your hands.

“You’re—”

“A sickness?” Your barb interrupts him.

“Fucking trouble,” he growls roughly, stepping closer. The palm of his upper left hand moves to your waist and slides to your obi, making you jump at the contact

“A nuisance.” Softer this time. His fingertips slip beneath, finding the scabbard hidden there.

“Something unexpected.” The pads of his fingers trace over it slowly, his four eyes following the movement as if mesmerized.

“Perhaps… something pleasant.” His voice turns to a deep purr, and when his hooded eyes lift, your cheeks threaten to warm. Then, with a flick of two fingers against the scabbard, a sharp sting jolts your abdomen. You wince. It’s such a subtle tap, yet it carries so much force. Grinning, he thumps it again before pulling back and striding to the door.

“Come.” He slides it open and steps out, demeanour turning severe. “It’s time to go.”

A heavy exhale punches past your lips.

Spilling into the corridor, you watch Sukuna step into the throat of the right passage instead of the left, the one that would discreetly shuffle you into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” you ask wearily.

He stops and glances over his shoulder at you, then to the left corridor.

Understanding washes over him.

“You expect me to sneak in there?” He turns, his face twisting into one of annoyance. “Is that what you expect of me?” 

“No,” you say.

It's less about him and more about yourself—an unwillingness to face all those judgmental eyes leering at you. The last time you were here, the insults and gawking looks had been draining.

Demon’s whore. Cunt. Oni bitch.

“Ah, I see.” Sukuna folds his lower arms at his torso. “The little snake is afraid.”

Your mouth twitches.

He gives you a mocking pout, then raises his upper right arm.

“Left—” A finger points down the corridor ahead. “—and you can sneak in like a mutt, with your tail tucked between your legs. Or, you can go right—” Another finger points toward the passage where loud voices trickle out. “—and walk through those insects with your head held high.”

Doubt creeping in, you glance to the corridor on the right. The idea of stepping into the heart of the hall feels daunting. Years of being cast aside and mistreated keep you from doing something so rash.

But perhaps, just this once, you will be brave.

Eyes glittering, you look back at Sukuna.

He lifts his eyebrow.

“It’s your choice.”

My choice.

For so long, choices have felt like sand passing through your fingers, never truly yours.

Elusive. False.

A persuasion to live a life that isn’t your own.

With a controlled inhale, you lift your head and incline your chin. Your sandals tap softly as you step toward him, choosing right.

You pause.

“It’s only proper for you to go first, my Lord.”

Tradition dictates that men of his status lead the way, and you to follow. Yet the King of Curses steps behind you, bending down to lean over your shoulder.

“Mhm, no,” he husks calmly. “I prefer the view from here.”

A hand gently pushes into your hair, pulling the strands back to your shoulder and exposing the scar he left on your neck.

A reminder.

“I’d hate to miss the look on everyone’s face when they see you, of all people, march in there like you own the place.” He pauses, hand moving, he traces your nape with a finger before circling the bone at the base of your neck. “The dutiful daughter, the shadow of the Kasai clan—”

A beat.

“The one given to me so willingly.”

The hair lifts on the back of your neck.

Your eyes dart to him, catching the smirk in his voice.

The nagging voice in your head cuts through, louder this time, screaming that something is deeply wrong.

His other hand moves, curling under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his scarlet eyes.

“Besides,” he hums arrogantly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 25

[tinkerbelle05]

Just Loc it

Characters: Sully family x fem!reader, jake x daughter!reader, neytiri x daughter!reader, neteyam x sister!reader, tuk x sister!reader, kiri x sister!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none :)

Translation: Sempu = Father, Sa’nok = Mother, Tsumkes = Siblings

Summary: Jake is trying (and failing) to get his childern to loc their hair. Based on personal experience.

“Gah! Kiri, not so rough,” you groaned and flinched your body away. You were fighting back a hiss and a snarl at your sister, but your pouty lips and glare sent the message clear enough.

“It is not my fault that you keep moving and fidgeting. Maybe sit still for once-“

“Kiri it’s been hours,” you said and couldn’t keep the whine out of your voice.

Kiri was currently “braiding” your hair and doing a pretty shitty job at it. You missed the delicacy and precision of your mother's hands. You missed the songs she’ll hum and the cool oil she’ll apply to your hair.

But she was out with the hunting party and Kiri insisted that she can do your hair just fine. Obviously she was overly confident in her nearly non-existent braiding skills.

“We left in the morning,” Neteyam says, “how is she still braiding your hair?”

You jumped out of your seat and ran to your Sa’nok, “Thank Eywa, your back, please re-do my hair.”

“Oh my poor child,” Neytiri cooed and reached to touch a braid.

“It is not that bad, you're just overreacting,” Kiri astonished with an eye roll.

“It's not that bad,” Neytiri agreed, “but it could use some work. It's a good first try.” She takes your hand and pulls you onto the ground where the braiding supplies were laid. “You can watch, Kiri.”

Kiri groaned but went to sit near both of you and began undoing the braids with Sa’nok. Eventually Tuk decided to join the un-braiding circle. After a while though, Tuk took a break complaining about her fingers cramping and then Kiri stopped as well because her legs started to cramp.

You envied them so much, your back was starting to ache and your neck was getting stiff too. But Sa’nok wouldn’t allow you to take break because “then nothing gets done.”

“Y‘know all of this would’ve been avoided had you locked your hair,” Sempu reminds you, handing you a bowl of berries.

“Really?” You sneered up at his smug expression but took the bowl. For the past few months, he’s been trying and failing, at getting you and your tsmukes to lock their hair like he did.

You remembered when Lo’ak was loudly complaining about his braiding being too tight and that he’ll start balding.Sempu started convincing him to loc it, and even going so far as to bribe him with a later curfew if he did.He definitely got in trouble with Sa’nok for that ploy though.

Maybe it’s a pride thing, or purely a Jake thing? You didn’t know but you had no plans to join, even if locs were looking pretty good right now.

“Jake-“ Sa’nok started but was interrupted.

“Hey,” he puts his hands up in surrender, “all I’m saying, babygirl, is that it would be so much easier if you loc your hair. Just do a retwist and detox ever couple of months, and your good. So what ya say?”

Locs were looking soo good right now but he will not break you. You lasted much longer than this.

“Sa’nok, can I stretch first and then we can get back to braiding, please?” You asked and looked up with her.

“Oh my Eywa, can I put my new beads in your hair, please?” Tuk came running up and pleading. “They would look so good on you.”

“Okay, okay fine. Go stretch and pick out some beads but 35 minutes, got it.”

Both you and Tuk nodded at her request and left but before that you gave a bright smile to Sempu slump expression. You didn’t see the sly smirk Neytiri gave Jake while she was tidying up the braiding supplies.

And you definitely didn’t hear her whisper, “Good luck with…that Jake. But as you can see, braids are far superior to locs.”

You did see Neteyam patting Sempu’s shoulder in comfort.

“So Sempu, if I loc my hair, you think I can get extra hour?” He asked with a big smile.

Sempu opened his mouth answer but was promptly shut down by the murderous expression on Sa’nok’s face.

Tags: @cupcaykes, @athenajh, @adrunkskeletonsduck, @theycallmesia, @nyababymao, @iwaslikeblah, @dontknowwhatmynameshouldbe2,

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