#truly the greatest red wedding of all time.

[slainfury]

we're so fucking back (tenebrae is ashes, mother and lunafreya are dead, i have no crown or heirs, ardyn is stabbing me to death)

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (12) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you can’t believe that this is truly a good thing. 

word count: 2,822 

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a hint of fluff, a hint of angst, pet name (petal), not proofread 

note: ok the smut isn’t the greatest bc i’ve been out of commission for a while but hopefully it gets better as the series progresses

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

You tried to time your breathing with each tick of the grandfather clock in a desperate plea to not have a meltdown on your wedding night. Your new lady���s maid had just left you after helping you remove your gown. Now, you were left waiting, wearing only a silky red robe, for Coryo to arrive. You fought the urge to bite down on your fingernails. Why had your mother said anything about what your wedding night would be like? With the way your nerves were grating on you, you almost wished you were going into this with blissful ignorance. 

You crossed the room and stood in front of the large window that overlooked the grounds. Breathing in time to the ticks wasn’t doing you any good, so perhaps occupying your mind with the outside world would help. But as you looked over the rose gardens and the stables and the distant pond, your mind kept trailing back to where you were, what you were wearing, and what was going to happen. 

A pair of cold hands settled on your waist. You yelped, jerking away. When you turned, ready to strike, your husband stood before you. Husband. What a strange thing to call Coryo now. You had known this day was coming, but now that it was here…It felt different. Not like you would have expected. 

Coryo raised his hands and took a step back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, petal,” he said. 

“I didn’t hear you come in,” you said, adjusting your robe to cover you more. It mattered little, of course, but it brought you some comfort. 

“My apologies,” he said. He sounded sincere enough. Could he be sincere? If you could believe your father, that Coriolanus had asked for your hand three times before he was told yes on the fourth, maybe he could. Unless it was all an elaborate ruse, some way for him to lord this final victory over your head. The one time he could truly win. 

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t. It was. How could one man—how could Coryo—scramble your thoughts like this? 

Satisfied that you weren’t upset with him, he took a step toward you again. You fought the urge to back yourself against the window, pray that it might fall out and take you with it. He raised his hand, caressing your face. You allowed yourself to lean into it. Your eyes fluttered shut as he stroked his thumb over the swell of your cheek. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

You fought to keep your mouth from falling open. Love? Did he truly? You weren’t sure how much you believed it. When you were still in school, you once told Sejanus you were sure Snow had a heart of ice. The idea that he could love anyone…It felt laughable. 

“I love you, my beautiful wife,” he repeated. 

Were you supposed to say it back? It would have aided your act, to be sure. But you were half-certain that if you said those three words with even an ounce of insincerity, he would know. He would know, and you would be left dealing with whatever horrible aftermath he would deal you. 

His lips pressed against your forehead. “I just wanted you to know.”

Maybe you should’ve said it back, if only to lessen the blow. Because Coryo looked stricken as you said, “Please…don’t hurt me.”

He pulled away, his hands falling your shoulders. If it was to brace himself, or to keep you from crumbling, you weren’t sure. “What? Why would you think I—?”

“My mama said that this…hurts. That it can hurt. That women seldom feel pleasure from it.”

Rage flickered in his pale blue eyes. “And she thought I would hurt you?”

“I…She just wanted me to be prepared for what might happen.”

“Petal, for as long as I’m alive, I would never let you be hurt, not by my hand or anyone else’s. I don’t ever want you to think otherwise. Am I understood?”

Words failed you, so you offered him a nod.

“If you are ever uncomfortable, if I ever cause you even the slightest bit of pain, you tell me. And if you even want to wait until you are ready, that is fine with me. Okay?”

Again, you nodded. This time, though, it wasn’t enough. 

“I want your words, petal.”

“I understand.”

You lifted your hands, letting them settle on Coryo’s broad chest. For the first time, you realized that he was dressed down, too. Instead of his usual red attire, he was wearing a loose, white linen shirt and trousers. The shirt was thin, so you could feel the muscles of his chest. It was hard to believe the scrawny boy you once knew at the Academy had become…this.

“…And I would like to…do this.”

The corners of Coryo’s mouth tugged into a smile. If he minded your awkwardness, he gave no indication. His hands fell back to your waist and he tugged you against him. His trousers were as thin as his shirt. You squeaked as you felt him against your thigh. “Oh, petal,” he sighed, “I am going to make sure you enjoy this.”

He pulled on the tie holding your robe together, letting it fall open. Coryo glanced up at you, watching for your reaction, as he pushed the silky material off of your shoulders. You found yourself reaching for hand, guiding him to caress your soft curves. His lips captured yours. Coryo kissed you like you were giving him air. Though you were already pressed against him, his arms wrapped around you, as though if he pulled you against him more, you might meld yourself into him, become a part of him like a lung or an arm. 

Your hand found itself entangled in his white blond hair. A low growl rumbled in Coryo’s chest. “Don't tease me, petal. Not tonight,” he said against your lips. 

That felt more like a challenge than anything. You weren’t sure if this experience would be enjoyable for you, even with Coryo’s promises, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t find your pleasure elsewhere. “Where’s the fun in that?”

When Coryo pulled away, his eyes were noticeably darker. “Oh, you’ll have your fun.”

He led you over to the bed, urging you to lie back. You expected him to climb over you, to lay with you, but instead, he settled between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. What was he doing? Your mother never told you about this. Why was he spreading you apart with his fingers and— 

“Oh god,” you cried out as he licked a long stripe along your intimacy. 

“Not god. Your Coryo,” he mumbled before pushing his tongue back inside you again. 

Your brain turned to mush as he found his rhythm, found out what made you cry his name over and over again. Your hand fell back to his hair, gripping it at the roots, pushing him impossibly closer to you. Fuck. Coryo wasn’t lying when he said you would enjoy this. Could you keep him here like this all night? Forget the rest of the act, the part that necessitated making an heir. With Coryo between your thighs, you could live the rest of your life a happy woman. A pleased woman. 

Something deep in your stomach began to tighten as Coryo pushed his fingers inside of you, too, stroking your walls. Your toes curled at the sensation. “Coryo, I feel—”

“Shh. Let go, petal,” he cooed. 

It felt like something erupted inside of you. As you let out a guttural scream, your legs shutting around Coryo’s head. What was that? Was this the pleasure that women so seldom get to experience? How could other men rob women of this? You had half a mind to stay in bed for the rest of your life with Coryo if it meant you got to feel like this again and again and again. 

Your thighs trembled as you released your hold on your husband. He lifted himself, pressing wet kisses up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, until he settled on your lips. Your arms wrapped around him, keeping him close to you. It was strange, wanting to be near him. Wasn’t it just a few months ago, a few weeks ago, that you wanted nothing more than to run away from this sort of life? To be anything other than the wife to a King? Oh, what you wish you could tell your (only slightly) younger self. Would she even believe you? Could you even believe it now? 

How could so much change? 

“You’re perfect,” Coryo whispered against your lips. “So perfect for me.”

He began to sit up, eliciting a whine from you. He gently pushed your hands away before reaching for his pants and undoing the ties. You were captivated as Coryo pushed the thin fabric down his thighs. And what lay between them…Oh, was this why it would be painful? Curious, you reached for it. Coryo guided your hand around him, encouraging you to give a few gentle pumps along his length. 

“Be gentle?” you asked as you dropped your hand, letting Coryo drape himself over you again. 

“For you, I’ll be anything you want.”

You let out a hiss as he guided himself inside you. God, the stretch. Your brows pinched together, your eyes screwing shut. It was too much. Yet, Coryo was slow, taking his time. It made you keenly aware of the feeling, but you supposed it was better than rushing into it. You shuddered at the thought of how painful that could be. 

Coryo pressed a kiss to your lips. “You alright, petal?”

All you could manage was a strangled whine. 

He grabbed your face, but didn’t say anything until you opened your eyes. He made sure you kept eye contact with him as he said, “If it’s too much, we can stop. Don’t think you have to do this just because it’s our wedding night. I would rather you want this than feel like you’re being forced.”

A part of you wanted to tell him to stop. But a greater part of you, the part of you that remembered the pure ecstasy you felt just moments before when his head was between your legs, wanted to experience that all over again. (Was that selfish? Maybe. But after this mess of an engagement, maybe you deserved to be selfish.) So you found yourself pulling Coryo down for another kiss, whispering against his lips, “I want you.”

Coryo kissed you as he rocked his hips into you. And, oh, if you thought the stretch was too much, you had no idea what was coming for you. You could feel him—every part of him. The entire world faded away until all that was left was your Coryo. Another whimper escaped your lips. You felt a question on the tip of his tongue. You kissed him harder, hoping that if you distracted him enough, he wouldn’t stop. Because, for as intense as this was, you were chasing that high and you would be damned before you let anyone get in the way of it. 

Slowly, though, the pain melted into pleasure. Your moans echoed off the walls, Coryo taking it as a sign to pick up the pace. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your fingernails digging into his back. You were sure you would be frightened by the sight of the marks, but that didn’t matter now. Nothing else mattered right now. 

You let out a strangled cry when Coryo hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside you. Stars dotted the corners of your vision. You almost convinced yourself it was a lie that women couldn’t feel pleasure from this. Or was this just because it was with Coryo? Coryo, who seemed to so genuinely love you? Was this why some women called it making love? The idea made bile rise in your throat. Could you love Coryo? 

You screamed as the pleasure overtook you. All of the other thoughts washed away. All that was left was you, and Coryo, and this oddly perfect moment. You were so wrapped up in the new sensation that you didn’t notice your husband pulling away until he was nearly gone. He paused as your hand gripped his wrist, urging him to stay. Why would he leave? 

“I’ll be right back, petal. I need to get something to clean you up. You made quite the mess,” he said, teasing lilt rising at the end of his sentence. 

You weren’t sure how long he was gone, but it was long enough for you to regain feeling in your legs. At least, enough feeling that you were able to push yourself up into a seated position. You tucked your legs against your chest and stared at the mess. Your mother hadn’t told you that this would be bloody. How could you not notice that? Were you that blinded by pleasure that you ignored your pain? You hadn’t realized that Coryo had that sort of effect on you. What happened to the girl all those months ago that would have spat in his face for touching her? Where had she gone? So much had changed in such a short amount of time.

The bile began to rise again. How could you have let yourself fall under his spell? You once laughed with Sejanus about how all the students at the Academy fell over themselves for a moment with the charming Coriolanus Snow. What had he done to you for you to ignore the beast inside?  

A cold hand on your knee made you jerk. When you lifted your head, you saw Coriolanus standing at the edge of the bed. He pushed your legs apart and dragged a wet cloth you hadn’t realized he brought between them. You flinched. It was too rough. He was too rough. Or was this all in your head? 

Coriolanus must have seen something on your face. “Are you alright?”

You pushed his hand away and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You glanced around the room, searching for your robe. The room felt like it was spinning. Where was the damned robe? Stumbling over to the window, you finally found it. You were too exposed. After plucking it from the floor, you wrapped it around yourself as tight as you could manage and tied the string into a knot. 

“What are you doing, petal?” Coriolanus asked. You heard him walk close to you, but you propelled yourself toward the door on the other of the room. The one that connected the King’s chambers to the Queen’s. “Come to bed. Please. Talk to me.”

“I’m going to bed,” you managed as you reached the door. 

“Then why are you running?”

You pushed the door open. “I don’t wish to sleep with you.”

He followed after you. His long legs brought him to you in a few short strides. Coriolanus captured your wrist in one hand, urging you to stop. “Did I do something wrong? Petal, if I did, it wasn’t intentional.”

“I wish to be alone.”

You couldn’t look at him. You were scared to see his beautiful blue eyes dotted with sadness as he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

You wrenched your hand away. “I’ve done my duty for the night. Now, I would like to rest. Alone.”

Perhaps it was cruel to say such a thing. Perhaps Coriolanus didn’t even deserve it. But hurting him was easy. Striking him where it hurt was easy. Coriolanus Snow might genuinely love you, and nothing in your life scared you more. 

“…If that is what you wish, I won’t push it. But I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re just a duty to me. You are the petals of the most beautiful rose. You are everything.” Coriolanus looked like he was near tears when you allowed yourself a glance at his face. “We leave in the morning for my family’s cottage. I thought you might like to spend our honeymoon away from prying eyes.”

You had already gone this far. “Don’t pretend you do anything for anyone but yourself.”

Coriolanus reeled back as if you slapped him. It might have hurt less if you had. Why were you being as cruel as him? “Everything I do is for you.”

“Then let me go.”

He took a step back. So did you. Two lovers, staring at each other, neither quite sure where they went wrong. Except, you did know this was your fault. But, dammit, he started it. Coriolanus confused your thoughts. You knew him as cruel and calculating for so long…How could you trust that anything he did was truly sincere? How could you believe that a man like him could love a woman like you? 

You shut the door. 

[cherriecove]

A Courtship of Politics and Passion (Part 5)

Jacaerys Velaryon x Hightower!Reader

Summary: Cannon divergence, Rhaenyra Targaryen is queen after the Dance of The Dragons. In order to secure peace and ensure her son is able to take his rightful place on the throne after her she decides to make allies out of previous enemies. Cherrie's Note: Masterlist | Previous Part |

Their wedding had been nothing short of a spectacle, the likes of which the Red Keep hadn’t witnessed in years. The grand hall glittered with gold and crimson banners, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. Lords and ladies from every corner of Westeros gathered to witness the union of House Targaryen and House Hightower. Their silver dragons and green towers hung side by side, a fragile symbol of peace after generations of bloodshed.

Queen Rhaenyra sat at the head of the hall, her face impassive as she watched her son, Jacaerys, take his vows. This marriage, her careful strategy, was more than a mere joining of two houses; it was a lifeline for a realm still reeling from civil war. Her son’s marriage to Y/N Hightower, a descendant of their greatest enemies, was a gamble—one that could either bring lasting peace or unravel everything she had fought for.

Jacaerys stood beside Y/N, reciting his vows with practised solemnity. Yet, even as he spoke the sacred words, his thoughts were scattered. The murmurs of the court had plagued him for weeks—whispers about his bride’s true loyalties, questions about whether the old grudges could ever truly be buried. He scanned the crowd, catching sight of both smiling faces and hidden frowns behind masks of feigned courtesy. Was this the beginning of peace, or merely a brief respite before more bloodshed?

Y/N, clad in a gown of shimmering silver and green, wore her duty well. She was poised, regal, every inch the noble bride expected of her. But beneath her composed exterior, she felt the weight of a thousand eyes. They were watching her closely, some hopeful for peace, others eager for her to slip and reveal her true allegiance. Could this marriage really heal the wounds between their families? Or would she forever be viewed as a foreigner, a Hightower in the den of dragons?

When the vows were spoken, and the Septon declared them husband and wife, the hall erupted in applause. The realm celebrated, but for the couple at the heart of it all, the true challenges were just beginning.

Later that evening, as the festivities carried on below—laughter, dancing, and toasts in their honour—Jacaerys and Y/N slipped away to a quiet balcony high above the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded hall. The sky stretched above them, dark and clear, the occasional silhouette of a dragon cutting through the stars.

Jacaerys leaned against the stone railing, his hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s, though his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Do you think this marriage will truly bring peace?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with the weight of uncertainty. "Or have we merely delayed the inevitable?"

Y/N turned to him, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s the only path forward,” she said softly. “But peace isn’t something that just happens with vows. We’ll have to fight for it. Every day.”

Before Jacaerys could respond, a distant commotion from the courtyard below caught their attention. Shouts, growing louder, broke the quiet of the evening. The flicker of torchlight illuminated a small crowd that had gathered, and two men—dressed in the colours of their respective houses—were at the centre of it. 

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed. “What now?” he muttered, already moving toward the source of the disturbance.

Y/N followed quickly, the skirts of her gown sweeping behind her as they descended into the courtyard. By the time they arrived, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. The two men—minor nobles, likely too far into their cups—stood nose to nose, shouting over each other. The air was thick with tension, and it was clear the situation was moments away from turning violent.

“He insulted Lady Y/N!” the first man, clad in green, a distant cousin perhaps, his face red with anger. “Called her a traitor—said she should be sent back to Oldtown!”

The Targaryen soldier, just as enraged, barked back, “He threatened me first! Your kind should know their place—this is Targaryen land!”

Jacaerys strode forward, his voice cutting through the noise. “Enough!”

Both men turned to him, suddenly sober in the presence of the prince. The crowd fell silent, eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.

“What is this?” Jacaerys demanded, his tone sharp and commanding. “This is a wedding, a celebration of peace. And yet here you are, ready to spill blood over petty words?”

Y/N stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “You disgrace yourselves and your houses with this behaviour,” she said, her gaze hardening as she looked between them. “We are here to unite, not to tear each other apart. If you cannot hold your tongues, perhaps you should leave.”

The men exchanged glances, their anger deflating under the weight of their prince and princess’s disapproval. Slowly, they bowed their heads, muttering apologies.

Jacaerys sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the crowd began to disperse. He turned to Y/N, shaking his head. “Even at our wedding feast, there are still those eager for conflict.”

She smiled, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. “It’s only the beginning, Jacaerys. We’ll face this again. And again. But we’ll face it together.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet promise that resonated deeper than any vow spoken earlier that day. They stood there for a moment, watching as the last of the crowd melted back into the night.

Jacaerys turned to her, his expression softening. “You handled that well,” he said quietly, admiration lacing his words.

Y/N gave a small smile. “We’re going to have to handle a lot more than drunk nobles if we’re going to keep this peace.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers once more, though this time with intent. His gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the weight of politics and expectation seemed to fade. “Then we’ll do it together,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

Her eyes met his, and in the stillness of the night, with the distant hum of the city beneath them, something shifted between them. It was no longer about the marriage their houses had demanded or the fragile peace they were trying to maintain. It was just them—two people standing at the edge of an uncertain future, bound by more than duty.

Y/N took a step closer, her breath catching as Jacaerys’s hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her gently toward him. “Together,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she lifted her gaze to his.

Without another word, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender but filled with the promise of something more. It wasn’t just a kiss born of obligation or expectation—it was a quiet declaration that, whatever lay ahead, they would face it side by side.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against one another, the world felt just a little bit smaller, the weight of their responsibilities just a little bit lighter.

Jacaerys smiled softly, his hand still on her back. “Come,” he said, his voice filled with warmth as he pulled away slightly, offering her his hand. “Let’s return to the feast.”

Y/N took his hand, allowing him to lead her back inside. As they re-entered the grand hall, the music and laughter of the celebration enveloped them once more. But this time, as they stepped onto the dance floor, the eyes of the court no longer felt like a burden. Instead, they danced together, not just as husband and wife, but as partners—ready to face whatever came next, together.

Taglist: @rafslytherin

[harocat]

The Greatest Wedding in the Three Realms

After five hundred years, the Goddess of Xishan and the Moon Supreme of Cangyan Sea finally wed.

Commissioned from @bog-mommy. Shared with permission.

First off, thanks so much to @bog-mommy for making my dreams come true by taking this commission. They were so amazing to commission from. They listened to all my suggestions and offered a ton of great input, and they kept me really up to date on the process at all times. Truly a wonderful artist to commission, if you are able to.

A few notes:

I was looking up references for weddings in other xianxia dramas, and I noticed that a lot of the fantasy weddings we see don't go with the red you see in traditional Chinese weddings. Even in LBFaD, the Shuiyuntian wedding we see in episode thirty-six is in all white. I thought to ask the LBFaD discord their thoughts on a color scheme for them, and we decided on deep blue and gold. It turned out so gorgeous!

Of course Xiao Lanhua put flowers in her Phoenix Crown, as she said she would, and she managed to get Dongfang Qingcang to wear some as well (not that it was hard, as he'll do most anything she asks).

The gazebo is meant to be the one Xiao Lanhua proposed at. You can imagine them going up to after the ceremony, just to spend some time alone together and take each other in. 💜

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Things I Wish I Got To Say~

(Reader is GN, I tried hard not to give a lot of descriptions. This is cathartic writing. I usually write really positive, cute stuff that is a little steamy and romantic. This, however, is just Agnst. This is to release some emotions in me for a long time. I hope you guys will appreciate it as much as I do, and if not, I totally understand. The idea came from a tiktok I watched a few days ago where a man taught his wife how to dance for their wedding day, but she sadly passed before they could have their dance. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.) P.S. I would not oppose writing a happier ending if you like this. I know how much we all love those. TW: DEATH, Angst, Executions, Depression, Hurt

Alastors POV

I thought nothing of it the day I first saw you; You were just another person wasting my time in this infernal hellscape. Yet, had I known that you would have wormed your way into my undead heart over time, I wouldn’t have even allowed myself to set eyes on you in the first place.

The day I first met you, I thought you were kind and reserved, yet like everyone else in my life, I saw you as a pawn who could help me achieve my ultimate goal. Had I known that your voice would bring me such peace, I would have never introduced myself so formally to you.

The day I spoke to you on a deeper level than pleasantries for the first time, I was amazed at how well you kept up with my humor and quips. It was a fantastic feeling to hear and see for the first time since my mama had passed. Yet, had I known you would have given me these feelings, I would have never sat at the bar that night.

When I realized the need to be by your side grew day in and day out as you flourished in the hotel, I was taken aback. I had never experienced such emotions as this, and at first, I saw it as a weakness, but instead, you were my greatest strength. However, if I had known this would be the turn of events that happened, I would have never asked you to dance that night and confess my feelings.

I remember it like yesterday when you walked into the hotel. Not too long after my arrival and fight with Vaggie, you appeared chipper and eager to learn more about the princess of hell. However, you didn’t stay long, seeing as you had people you still had to protect. How foolish to safeguard people in hell. It was the most dangerous and deranged place to exist, and you had to protect people.

Days and weeks went by, and as we gained more notoriety, you kept coming back, helping in small ways. One particular day after I had battled with Vox, you came running in, smiling so wide, congratulating the hotel on the amazing victory. There was no real battle, just wits and quips between two old friends turned rivals, but you made it seem like I had slayed Lucifer himself. 

When I introduced myself to you after Charlie eagerly pulled me in, I couldn’t tell the feeling that I had in my chest. Your smile radiated heat from it onto my face, and I was astounded at how powerful you didn’t know you could be. With a bow at my waist and a kiss on your hand, I grew your smile even more, and the cutest color of red dusted your cheeks.

You left again that day, saying you had things to attend to but would be back soon. Soon—what a funny word people use to describe time. It could mean tomorrow or months from now. Yet you showed back up like clockwork the next day.

You made quick friends with the hotel staff, your permanent palace being made not too long after Pentious joined us. You found solace at the bar most nights, talking to Angel and Husk. How you enjoyed their conversions was beyond me, but your light laugh and gentle smile lit something in me. That’s when the day came that you had no one to sit with.

Taking this opportunity to explore this uncharted territory, I sat there with you and spoke to you truly for the first time ever. We talked about everything and nothing, the strangest of things occurring, and I felt like I could go hours without leaving your presence. Yet as your eyes drew closed from exhaustion, I couldn’t help the pride that washed over me that you chose to talk so long that you fell asleep with me.

I gently took you to your room, placed you in bed, and gave you a gentle kiss on the head. I was shocked. I had never done something so childish and unclean before, yet I felt the need to give you more. I was going insane with these feelings, which overran my mind. So, I sought solace in the best person I knew to help the situation. 

On my trip to Rosie’s, I heard a beautiful tune that reminded me of you, a sweet melodic vibe that sounded sweet to dance to, too. I let myself wonder how it would feel to dance by your side, swinging you through the night and getting lost in the songs that came from the radio. That was something that always amused me. You enjoyed the radio ever since I explained my distaste for TV. Could it be that you had the same strange feelings that I had?

At Rosie’s, I poured my heart and soul out to my dearest friend: “I don’t know what to think anymore. I am going crazy around them. Every time they smile or talk, I want to be there to bask in it. How could someone as strong and powerful as me succumb to someone so small and less than me? No, they aren’t less than me. They are everything to me, but that is what scares me.”

In that omission, I had Rosie laughing. She had never thought the day would come when someone would take my fancy. I listened to all her words about love and romance, things I had heard of but never experienced once in my life. Then she asked the dreaded question to solidify this ‘Love’ I had for you: “If your momma was around, would you take them to her?”

Yes, yes, I would have in a heartbeat. You would have made her so proud and happy if I had you on my arm. In that instant, I knew I needed you to be the other half I was always missing—someone who was on my level in mind, body, and soul. 

As I trekked back to the hotel, I bought a new crimson suit and matching outfit to ask you out tonight. The shadows took your gifts to your room with a note asking you to join me in the ballroom at 8 o’clock. I waited eagerly for your arrival, ready to face this path of uncertainty as long as you were by my side.

As you made your way over to me, I must confess I was tongue-tied. I had no idea what to say or do, so I let the music guide me. You seemed to not know how to dance, but after a few encouraging words and some leading by me, you were a natural. We danced the night away; it was perfect, and a simple, slow song started to play as the night ended. 

Holding you close to me, my hands around your waist as yours clung to my neck, I felt at peace. You were my peace, and that excited me and scared me all at once. Then I let it out on accident in the least romantic way possible: “I think I am in love with you.”

You laughed gently, that laugh that cured my ailments and healed my soul—the laugh that made hell worth living in again. Your simple reply, “I know.” was all I needed to hear, as a simple laugh also left my lips.

We were inseparable from then on. You were always there in my radio tower, cheering me on with a simple ‘I love you’ on your lips—something I grew so fond of so quickly. I knew you would conquer the world with me if given the chance, yet I also knew I wanted nothing more than to protect you until my own dying breath. Over time, even your dancing skills rivaled my own, and I was eager to take you to Mimzy’s club after all this execution business was handled. I wish I got to.

Then the dreaded day came, the day that would end my unbeaten heart and relinquish me back to a cold, miserable hell—the day of the execution at the hotel led by none other than Adam himself. I begged you, pleaded with you to leave the hotel and hide elsewhere, but you were so strong and spirited that you wanted to stay and fight. How could I say no when blood was my favorite color, too?

How I wish I told you to stay back harder. Because as the dust settled and the rubble cleared, there lay your lifeless, cold body, a sword through your chest. I had never transformed as fast and violently as I had that day. While everyone mourned you and Pentious, I was mourning just you, the love I had always told myself I never needed. 

I was so devastated, red clouding my vision. I had killed and eaten half of the districts in Pentagram City when the others finally calmed me down enough. Lucifer tried everything he could to bring you back, but it was too late; we all knew it was too late. They showed me your cleaned-up body, and I lost a small fragment of my identity.

I held you so close to me and cried, really, honestly, at the love I had lost. 

What I would give to tell you the things I wish I got to say……

To: My Lost Love

From: Your Radio Demon

[hwanchaesong]

☞🍹Fifth Drink: Nursing his old fashion all night isn't something that he usually does, but he's willing to go through it to observe your beauty. 🍸

🎧: The Weeknd - Too Late

wc: 582

genre & warnings: angst, fluff if you squint, flashbacks, wedding, no happy ending you have been warned, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The After Hours Bar series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

Jaemin gulped, watching the wooden door open to reveal your stunning mien.

Clad in a white, sparkly gown, holding a bouquet of white roses, the tulle veil covers your face but he doesn't need to remove it because he knows that you are gorgeous under it.

The live ensemble plays a tune that you have meticulously chosen for the wedding march.

A love song that you and your lover listen to, sharing earphones together while on a bus ride and giggling like teenagers whenever a cheesy line comes out.

The violin and piano mix together to create a beautiful harmony, and you take a deep breath before walking down the aisle covered with a red carpet.

Jaemin's heart is about to burst as you walk towards the altar, his eyes getting glossy and he thinks he needs to steal the fan that your bitchy cousin is using so he could utilize it for himself.

He thinks he needs some air because his lungs are begging for oxygen, his pharynx closing up and it feels like choking.

Every second is like waiting for a lifetime. Every step you take is like an earthquake that sends tremors down to his very core.

Oh, how he wishes he could stop time right then and there so he could stare at you more. So he could engrave your elegance and diaphanous countenance in the back of his head. Something that he can return to whenever he needs something to ground him back on earth.

He remembers when he first saw you in a fast food restaurant.

You entered like a gentle breeze, a smile so radiant that the sun should be embarrassed by your presence. You literally lit up the environment, well, at least in his point of view.

Then you came into his life like a storm. Causing chaos in his heart that it beats a tad bit faster when you're near him. His brain turns into mush when you speak to him.

You run in his mind all day, all night. You are his greatest daydream and most exquisite night dream.

Near, you are so near him and you stopped in front of him. He can now see you clearly under your veil, and he sees you mouth some words that he barely made out because of how teary he is.

'Thank you.'

Then you proceed to walk again, your father turning you in to your future husband.

Is Jaemin allowed to cry?

Is he allowed to regret the things that he should have done but never did at the end of the day?

The chances that he gave up because his wimpy ass couldn't confess to you.

He knows that you expected him to tell you his feelings, your hopeful eyes that turn into disappointment whenever he pulls back haunt him to no end.

You, his safe haven, has now been swept off by a guy who can show you what a true lion looks like.

He is happy that you have found the person that you want to spend your life with, but in turn, he is burning in hell for being in denial about the reality that he wasted.

When all he wanted was to drown in your arms, but what he got was him descending through his sorrows.

He watches you marry the man of your dreams. He sees the way you lovingly smile at your groom, eyes speaking so much louder than your vows.

Truly, he was too late.

taglist:

@sunghoonsgfreal @yeosayang @mystverse @shakalakaboomboo

[pursuitseternal]

Give young Astarion “Everything” in this nsfw, loss of innocence update to “Our Blood is Thicker”💞🗡️

Astarion xF!OC (Cordehlia) |E| 3.8K to lose their virginity

Summary: flashback dream to their last night together, their first time together, and the gift they give one another of everything…

CW: losing virginity, outdoor sex, flashback angst, present day wet dreams, and elven recall returning.

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 12: Everything

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Astarion!” Cordehlia called, leaping off her couch in her antechamber and flying into his outstretched arms. He strode in, so comfortable and welcome in his intended’s home. Cutting a fine figure in his doublet of blue and burgundy. The colors Cordehlia always said brought out his violet eyes. He stopped quick as she saw him, waiting and braced to hold her the moment the door to her chamber opened.

He only gave that low, lingering chuckle as he spun them both around. “My darling,” he caressed her ear, planting a kiss on her smile, always so big to see him.

Even five years later since their betrothal. She was just as happy, nay, happier now, than the day he said she would be his.

He breathed, a self-satisfied smirk on his full and handsome face. Releasing her from his arms, he clutched her hands, both in his. Those fingers so smooth and tender and refined. Like the silks and satins she wore. “I just received word…”

“I just got…” she said at the same time.

“You go, my lady,” he faked a gentlemanly bow, pressing her fingers to his lips. “I shall wait with my news.”

“My dress, it has arrived, all the way from Baldur’s Gate. I think even your parents will approve of it. I can’t wait for you to see it, the stitching, the colors, the jewels, it’ll be perfect for our wedding…”

His eyes narrowed, brows softened. Guilt and regret twisting his face in ways he could not hide. Not that he had ever really been good at masking his strongest feelings.

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” Cordehlia held her breath until it burned.

“I… just received word…” his long, pale fingers held a neatly rolled scroll, red wax seal already slit and message already read. “They want me to start my studies to be a magistrate…”

“No…” she shook her red braids so hard, one fell. “I thought they didn’t accept you.” Her smooth voice choked.

“Mother and Father called in a few favors…” he kept his eyes on her face. “This will be good for me, for us. The chance to forge my own way, to make a name for myself out of their shadow. To gain connections and power and perspective so I’ll be twice the High Lord they are once they…”

“Good, cause you sound just like them,” she spat, folding her arms. “And you come bursting in here like that’s astounding news. Like I’ll be happy.”

His hands grabbed for her again, and despite the frown on her beautiful face, she let him. “Don’t you see, I’m doing this for you too. First, my beautiful betrothed, then my wife, the spouse of the most powerful Magistrate in the greatest city in Faerûn, and finally, High Lord and Lady of our people,” he gave one of his sultry, velvety smirks. “There won’t be a soul who wouldn’t kneel at your feet then, my love.”

She stayed rigid before him, those sweetened words teasing at more brilliant hopes and dreams than she dared to envision. “Astarion,” she warned.

“Just think, my darling, you’re in awe of one beautiful gown from the City,” he purred, bringing her closer into his arms again. “Now imagine a whole trousseau, a whole wardrobe brimming with the same or finer clothes for you, one for every day of the year…”

She stepped closer without truly realizing it. Or resisting it. Stopping only once they were belly to belly, hip to hip again. “Perhaps,” she breathed, her tone softening again.

“You would be the talk of the Patiars, the envy of all, my beautiful bride on the arm of the most powerful Magistrate, a title I finally deserve, deciding life and death, freedom and punishment…” his hands stole over her smooth, silken skirts, pressing her pelvis against his, pressure on the sweet curve of her ass in his hands until she could feel his growing arousal.

His desire for her, and for the future he had long dreamed of. It made him… hungry.

“I suppose my gown will hang waiting happily to be joined by other such finery. It’ll only take you a small matter of time to complete your studies and begin, I do not doubt,” she smiled again. Smaller and fainter, but brimming with pride in him.

“No doubt,” Astarion flashed his toothy smile back at her. “But…” he paused, growing still again. “…I leave in the morning.”

Her fingers clawed into the thick fabric at his elbows. “What?” she snipped.

“Term has already started, I can’t delay any longer,” he replied so matter of factly, her stomach sank to her toes.

“So, you’ve come to say… goodbye,” she breathed, face falling into despair before she buried her face into his chest.

His hand swept into the mess of braids on her head, petting through them softly. “We have tonight,” was all he could say, trying hard not to make his voice waver as it was wanting to as well.

She sniffled, hiding her slightly swollen eyes from his sight. Not that he had never seen her cry before, but… tonight felt different. Solemn. Significant.

“Well,” she swallowed, suddenly feeling very warm, very close to his body. “I don’t want to waste a minute of it then getting your clothes all wet.”

That rakish grin curled his lips. “Not with tears, anyway…”

Cordehlia choked on a laugh. “Maybe… we do something… special,” she barely spoke above a whisper. “Maybe… just maybe…”

“What do you have in mind?” he purred, hands sweeping over her back, down her ass to hold her by her hips against him again.

“You sneak into the larder, grab us a feast,” she flicked half a smile in his face. “I’ll take care of the rest. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

“So short a time,” he face screwed in humor.

“I said we won’t waste a minute of it.”

And she disappeared through the door to her inner chambers.

Astarion hurried on light and silent feet. He knew every inch of her house, the fastest ways in and out, the way to the pantry least likely to be seen. And just where the General kept all the good stuff. He grabbed a cloth, stuffing it with dried sausages and cheese, fruits and finally a bottle of Ithbank to share. Enough to sustain them… if they were about to do what he thought.

What he hoped. And indeed, it would certainly be… something.

His heart pounded, hands, usually so skilled, fumbled to tie the cloth into a sack without dropping a thing. Peeking around the corner, he slunk quicker and quieter than he ever had.

Despite the way his cock had grown stiff down one of his trouser legs at the mere thought of what this… something… might be.

He beat her back to her chambers. Setting down his parcel, he took a moment to… adjust himself. Swallowing the groan that came out as he pulled his length against his belly instead, he had to wipe his hand from how much he was already leaking. “Gods,” he cursed to himself.

“Something the matter?” she softly called from behind. He turned slowly, breath catching and eyes wide as he saw her. And he giggled. Her arms were full, blankets and flint box and a bundle of kindling weighing her down. But underneath, she wore that dress…

“You look so… beautiful,” he breathed, and he rushed to her to relieve her of those goods.

So soft as he brushed against her sleeves, the palest green of spring, studded with little pearls and gems bright and small like the stars. Thread, silver like her eyes, wove in patterns all about her body, like little clusters of constellations in the sky.

Cordehlia blushed as he met her gaze, her look was eager, excited, and… nervous, he thought.

“By the looks of things, we are going camping, roughing it, sleeping in the dirt?” he taunted mischievously, arching one of his rakish brows.

“Well,” she purred, clutching the blankets against her breasts and grabbing the pack of food he prepared before heading to the door, “I wouldn’t dream of giving you this… gift under my Father’s roof…”

Astarion groaned, hiding its source by shifting the weight of the kindling and flint box in his arms. But really it was the way her words sent the sharpest, hottest pang right to his groin. And he prayed to every one of the gods he wasn’t leaking into the cream of his tunic before he got to remove it at this rate.

Swallowing he followed her silently, recovering what senses he could as he trailed behind her hem. Once they slipped from the kitchen door, he took a breath of cooling summer air. “So, my darling, where are you absconding with me?” he crooned over her shoulder as they made their way through the gardens towards the trees.

“Not totally sure… maybe just a little patch of nowhere, just for us…”

Not as if she didn’t know every mossy bed in the trees around their homes, as if they hadn’t already stolen kisses and pleasured each other under almost every tree’s boughs in their five years together. As if the grasses hadn’t all been flattened by one or both of their backs as the other sucked or licked their lover in the moonlight…

But such thoughts were not helping the increasingly damp stick inside his trouser’s waistband.

She cut sharply to the left, deeper into the forest, just as he thought she would. Her favorite little spot, a gentle stream nearby, ready access to waters for when they would have to clean up after themselves. This time, he let his heavy-breathed sigh sound for her to hear.

Cordehlia turned, a knowing and desirous smirk on her full and pink lips. The moss here was extra lush, and she quickly began spreading her blankets around in a neat little bed. “Why don’t you start us a fire to keep warm?” she grinned, starting to lay out the provisions he had snatch.

He had never stacked wood or struck a flint faster in his life. Once the fire had taken hold, he wiped his hands together and turned. She stood bathed in starlight and flickering flames, her back to him, hair parted over one shoulder, her eyes soft and beckoning.

A silent ask for him to help her disrobe.

“Oh, my love,” he breathed, closing in on her, hands clasped at her bare shoulders where her gown already began to slide down her ivory skin. He lingered his lips against her neck, pulling her back and rear to brace against his stomach. His hips gave an unbidden roll against her ass. “What will it be then…?” his voice dripping with his desire as his fingers quickly tugged lace after binding lace from the stitching down her back. “My tongue between your legs?” he purred, a heavy sigh making her shoulders rise and fall beneath another tender kiss from him. “Your pretty, pink lips sucking my cock?”

This time she moaned, helping ease her dress from her arms and over her hips. Step by step, she turned to face him, kicking her dress out of her way. “I thought I said something special, something I haven’t done with you before, but… I’d like to…”

He wrapped his arms around her bare back. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said, steadily gazing in her eyes. “I would hate to leave you tomorrow with… regrets.”

“I think I would regret it more if I didn’t give you my…” she paused and blushed and turned to hide her sheepish smile against her shoulder. “My everything. Especially if we will be parted for a time.”

Astarion let his held breath ease slowly, his belly clenching at her coyness, his cock throbbing at her words. “Well, then, my love,” he stroked the breadth of his palm down her supple curves and rounded hips, “your… maidenhead is a gift I have been waiting for, and one I will cherish forever.”

“Cut the silken words, Ancunìn, and disrobe,” she giggled. She turned and thrust her chin at him, that same taunting, defiant smirk on her face he recalled from their youth.

“With pleasure,” he leered back at her, those deep violet eyes locked into her stare as his fingers flew through his clasps and buttons. He watched her chest rise and fall, her own gaze sinking down his front the more of his chest came into view.

She breathed his name the second those long fingers started to free his cock, already the thick pink head prodding out of his waistband.

“Cordehlia,” he returned the amorous tone. One hand tugged off his trousers and kicked off his boots. The other wound into the back of her head, pulling her panting lips slowly to caress his own.

He nearly tripped on his own pants, hurrying to get freed. Especially once those smooth, gentle hands of hers wrapped around his cock and softly palmed his balls. All at once. Tugging up, she steadied him with a laugh that tickled down his throat. “Easy, Astarion,” she whispered into his mouth, “we have all night, remember?”

“One we will never forget…” he growled, his voice so thick, it even surprised himself. They melted as one into the blankets, the scent of her skin and woodsmoke filling his every breath. Her body seemed to cradle him, wrapping him in her arms, clenching his middle with her thighs. That ivory skin even smoother than the Baldurian silks she stripped off just for him.

He wanted to taste her every lick, inhale her every breath, wanted to watched her every reaction to his touch all at once. His mind raced, years of waiting to finally join like this, and he couldn’t help but wish he had read more… done more to ready himself.

But her hands were already pulling him over her hips, her mouth already panting greedily for air as she bucked against him. This embrace was nothing new, he knew the press of her body, the warmth of her mouth and the grip of her hand. He was ready for more. She was ready to give him more.

Everything.

He stole his hand between her thighs, catching her drenched folds, wetter than ever as he parted them. But this time, after a few languorous circles of his thumb over her clit, he delved two long fingers inside her.

Her pulse raged, her muscles clenched taught at the welcome intrusion. They had played little games in their passion, just the brush of his cock against her entrance, just a shallow dip into its heat and warmth once or twice each time before she would squeal nervously.

But not tonight. He groaned to feel her shifting inside, around his fingers, hotter as he sank them deeper, as he withdrew them to thrust them back in a little faster.

As he joined a third finger to stretch that virginal thightness just a bit more before he…

“Gods,” he groaned, resting his head for a moment on the pillow of one breast.

“How does it... feel?” she sighed, her own voice shaking almost inaudibly as he kept a slow and steady pump of his touch.

“Perfect,” he groaned. “Tight and perfect…”

“And all yours,” she breathed and laughed. Her fingers gripped into his ass, urging him closer, so close his cock pressed into those seeping folds. He coated his length in her slick, holding his breath as he guided his own drenched head against her entrance.

He paused, looking into her face, her eyes half-shut, her teeth biting her lower lip, sight glued to watching the small space where they would join. “Please, Astarion,” she moaned, a slight buck of her hips, “I’m ready.”

He gave a slight nod, a gentle kiss into her panting belly, and then rolled his hips. Slowly, her wet and heat swallowed him. The pressure of her core on his head making his breath hitch in his throat, gripping him so tightly, he stopped. Glancing up, he drank in the blush on her cheeks and neck, the way her face squinted in that twist he had seen every time she came undone.

Cordehlia groaned, breath rapid. “Mmm, just a moment…”

He pulled back an inch, slowly sliding in more… and more. His thighs shook, his hips and body craving to fuck deeper, to bury himself to his balls and thrust until he felt nothing but her warmth and wet and pressure was his whole world.

Her hands braced on his shoulders. “Slowly,” she panted, hips screwing beneath him, wriggling for release. “But don’t you stop,” she moaned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he managed to reply, sliding back easily once more. Half-way in, and he pushed against that pressure that resisted on his head one last time.

Until it eased.

Until she sighed, arching her back, wrapping her legs. “There now,” she panted, trying to steady her voice as if she wasn’t being split apart by his cock. “All mine… all yours…”

Until morning… She pushed the thought from her wandering mind. Easy to do as he hung his head between her breasts and began to gently roll his hips once. And again.

His throat shook each time, little growls as he dragged inside her, back and forth. His breath was hot on her skin, shaking and unmeasured. As if he had been running uphill, but instead he gave little undulations of his hips that sent her careening toward pleasure so quickly through the stretching pain, that fire in her nerves as his cock split her thighs impossibly wide just to fit him inside.

He restrained himself, she could tell, fighting hard to control every little roll of his body between her thighs, every rock of his hips and slide of his belly across hers. Every thought in her mind focused on matching his movements, letting her muscles heat and open and relax to be finally so completely filled.

To ride one another so naturally, fit perfectly, pleasurably.

Arms wrapped around his neck, leveraging her strength as she arched when he hit some spot inside her channel. The cry from her lips made him pause, eyes wide at first in terror, easing to a smile and low laugh as he noticed how her own lips hung slack in a grin. Totally enthralled and consumed.

It was enough to throw him over the edge. But first….

He lowered his mouth, catching her nipple in his lips to give her a long, teeth-dragging suck.

“Ah…” she gasped and quirked and bucked as her whole body shook beneath him. Around him.

Every spasm of her channel squeezed him, sucked him harder than her mouth. Divine pressure that he fucked against, all control, all restraint gone. His own breaths deafened his ears, his own body riding into the ground beneath her, the pulse of his cock against her walls as he finally reached his climax. Too much to control now.

He groaned so loudly, chest collapsing on hers as he spilled into her, groaning and shaking and sweating until every last drop of cum emptied at last.

Still so hot and tight and wet. She sighed, grieving that splitting pressure the moment he pulled away. But he clung to her tightly, face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of meadow grass and sweet flowers that covers her skin. He managed to purse his lips on her collarbone for a kiss between dry pants. “I never want to do that with anyone else… not in this lifetime or the next,” he rasped, and he could feel her smile bloom across her face.

“Me neither,” she whispered a reply into the soft silver curls near her face. “But I do want to do it again… now…”

He barely lifted his head, that cunning, desirous smirk canting his handsome features. “Let a man get a drink first, insatiable vixen that you are…”

Astarion jolted awake, the thick air of the Cursed lands still in his nose. Not sweet meadow and woodsmoke. His back was ridged with scars, not nail marks from her clinging to him. His stomach growled in perpetual hunger for blood, not just the aching throb that did still exist between his legs.

But somethings were just like his dream… or was it his memory… was it her memory?

Cordehlia still laid beside him, their skin pressed against one another as they rested in trance. And then, there was the stick of his cum that covered his stomach and thighs.

Cum from his sleep, from his dream of their first time.

Silver eyes batted open, a smile on her face until she looked at his embarrassed grimace. “Oh, Astarion…” she cajoled softly, “did you… did you see my dream too?”

“What do you think?” he tried not to snap, hand trying to hide the way his erection still seeped his seed onto his belly. “That was… our first time…”

“Mmhmm, and I’m ever so glad it wasn’t our last,” she purred, flashing him that same little smirk of seduction before she stuck out her tongue, licking that trickle of cum from where it hung midair from his slit. He groaned, so close to needing more than that to find his release if he wasn’t careful. But Cordhelia gave him another sly little glance as she got up. “Let me help you get cleaned up, my love.” She went for the basin and a rag, wringing out the water before kneeling at his side.

The mighty vampire was still too mortified to watch, to take his arm from where it hid his face in the crook of his elbow. “I can’t believe I just did that…. Last time this happened was the last morning you had snuck into my rooms in the manor… how you had to borrow my cloak that morning to hide yourself as you snuck back after dawn since we got so carried away that morning after…” he waved his dexterous hand over his hips, “…this.”

“Astarion Ancunìn,” Cordehlia froze, rag mid-swipe over his balls, “are you… remembering?”

It smacked him from the inside. The perfect recollection of that morning, covered in his own cum, burning off his morning lust with her lips sucking him clean until he came again…

“Yes,” he replied, lifting his arm and sitting upright. “Yes, I am remembering…”

A sad, relieved, joyous smile danced over her lips. She fell on his body, trapping his face between her palms. Kissing him until he couldn’t catch a breath between her lips, not that he needed one to survive.

Not in the same way he needed her to survive now.

But he had one last little memory. “You never did give me that cloak back, did you?” he chuckled low in his throat, feeling her answering smile.

“Guess I can’t lie now that you are remembering…” she teased, keeping his face so close to hers, she never wanted to let go.

“No, you can’t, my love. You can’t…”

[lexsssu]

Hope (Uchiha Itachi)

TAGS: Itachi/Dragoness!reader, aged-up characters, canon divergence, pregnancy, parenthood, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“So soft...so beautiful...and all for me…”

“Mmmm...I’m yours, Itachi…”

Something dark within the Uchiha heir purred in delight at your admission, a side of himself that he refused to release and even acknowledge for it was everything he believed he was not. 

Sprawled against the feathery soft futon of your new marriage bed, the young man allowed himself to drink in your full beauty as his sharingan spun and copied your very image, a remembrance of the first night you’d laid together. An eternal memory of the night he will take your maidenhead and fulfill your promise to commit yourself to one another for eternity.

Your snowy strands were spread across the bed, your wedding kimono having been opened mere moments ago by his own hands to reveal the pillowy mounds on your chest that seemingly taunted him with each breath you took. But what truly mesmerized Itachi was the blissful smile on your face and the tenderness in your eyes as you gazed up at him, making him feel so vulnerable and exposed even if he was still fully-clothed. 

The Curse of Hatred meant that every Uchiha was capable of the greatest love and friendships, but also the most severe animosity. Itachi himself knew that should anything happen to you, even he who dedicated himself to the Will of Fire can so easily fall into the Curse of Hatred that plagued every Uchiha.

“Husband...You’re my husband now, Itachi. That means no one else can have you,” your full lips were set into an adorable pout, the aggrieved expression only serving to further send blood into his loins. “All of you is just for me, which means that all of me is only for you.”

When a man is presented with such a cute wife, how can he even hope to resist her charms? 

As rigid as Uchiha men may seem, they still bled the same red that everyone did and loved just like everyone else. All that differs is that love can make them the greatest or the worst men.

And like all men, what else can he think of during his wedding night other than thoroughly loving the woman he pledged his very existence to? 

“I love you…”

Whispers of love were exchanged between you two when the man finally slid the thickness of his length into your weeping pussy after preparing you thoroughly with skilled hands and a relentless mouth. You watch with hearts in your eyes as Itachi’s cock seems to split your untouched cunt wide open, drool dripping down your open mouth with each high-pitched moan he coaxes out of you.

The pain of one’s first time is easily ignored, seeing as you weren’t human anymore ever since transmigrating to this world and that the one you were engaging in this act of love with is the man whom your heart rejoices in. Instead, you were only panting, whining, and whimpering with how slowly he was going inside of you as if you’d break.

When your lower lips finally meet with the short dark hair at the base of his dick, Itachi pulls out until only the tip remains inside of you before thrusting back in and setting a steady pace. Your whole body shook and shuddered with each precise stroke and movement, obscene amounts of your own fluids dripping from your center and wetting his length.

Itachi’s sharingan remained active throughout the night as he fucked you into the futon. Trying position after position and practically saturating you with his essence with how much cum he’d given you.

“I know that it is not easy to change the way Uchiha’s think or regain the trust of the villagers, but I know that I want to try. I know that I want to make a difference so that all our future descendants can walk with their heads held high and hand in hand with everyone in Konoha.”

He whispers as if sharing a secret while you were seated on his lap, his cock still nestled inside of your oversensitive cunt as if to plug it in and keep all the cum he’d so graciously given you inside. You were facing him as you sat, tender breasts squashed against a firm chest while your hands anchored themselves on his strong shoulders.

“I want this child to grow up with not just love and support from the clan, but also everyone in the village that my ancestor helped establish,”

“And they will. Slowly but surely, we’ll make everyone understand each other.” 

As you gaze down at him with golden orbs filled with hope and cradle his face with warm hands, Itachi feels that his dream of peace may not be so far fetched after all.

[besaya-glantaya]

While the previous exorcism was fairly sucessful, new brain gremlins appear with repeated rewatches. So, here's another incomplete list of my rambling thoughts and favourite moments from the Red White and Royal Blue movie:

1. Breaking doors down to get a wedding cake through - actually a thing that happened. Well, almost. Prince William and Kate Middleton's gigantic 8-tier wedding cake was so large a palace door had to be removed to allow it through. Apparently the Queen was "unimpressed".

2. Henry snubbing Alex in the reception line at the wedding is hilarious. Way to ensure Alex doesn't fixate on you for the whole party, Henry. A+ job.

3. Alex drunkly navigating the wedding reception, swiping drinks, petting rich people and hiding foul smelling canapés behind furniture. Adorably comedic.

4. HeNnrrYyy!

5. Aww. I wanna see pictures of Jonathan the Shih Tzu too.

6. Shaan's scathingly dry wit is everything - I can see why he's such a great match for Zahra.

7. "No-one is more mystified than I" is another phrase I am stealing for people who exist purely to vex me.

8. Shaan shoving Alex bodily through the low hanging branches of a chestnut tree to stand beside Henry for a photo op. That had to be at least partially improvised on location.

9. Dogs in jumpers. This must be some British thing that I have simply failed to notice. Is this a thing Americans associate with the UK?

10. The ridiculously small child's costume that Alex is wearing for the puppet show in the hospital.

11. Alex saying "WRONG!"

12. Henry, on the phone, opening with "Good God, man, what have you done?" Honestly, is there any other response when your crush sends you a picture of a caged turkey, in their bedroom, in the small hours of the morning?

13. Nora strutting into the NYE party in that head turning, jaw dropping, red outfit. Stunning.

14. Henry's face after Alex tells him he's going to do "very bad things to him". Every single fantasy he's ever had about him and Alex is flashing rapid-fire through his brain and he just... overloads a lil' bit. Error code 54 [NETWORK_BUSY].

15. The emotional connection between Alex and Henry when they are making love in Paris. The eye contact, the unspoken communication. Ugh. Hats off to all involved - especially Robbie Taylor, the movie's intimacy coordinator - for creating this scene.

16. Alex, talking about being someone his father never had: "You can't know what that means." Henry responding with a heartfelt "I'm learning". Just... yes. All the yes.

17. In the mood for love might be one of the swooniest movies of all time, but it's heartbreakingly sad. It's a doomed romance - two people who are irrevocably in love but can't be together, trapped as they are by the pressures of societal expectations and their own psychological barriers. That this is a version of romance that Henry holds dear is telling and painful to think about.

18. Alex's bloodshot eyes when he's laying on his bed with Nora, hugging that cushion for dear life, pining hard for Henry. Did they do that scene after another intense emotional one? Were there lots of other teary takes of that same scene? Did they rub onions in Taylor's eyes? I need to know.

19. I often think that the core of who we are as teenagers - our hopes, our desires, the things we cherish - are the beings we settle back into as older adults after we're done trying to fit in or live up to other people's expectations. One of Alex's greatest gifts is helping Henry to reach out and reclaim those seemingly distant hopes and dreams. To dance with the person he loves, in a place of beauty that brings him peace.

20. I love the Perfume Genius cover of "Can't help falling in love". It hits you squarely in the feels.

21. God, the casting of this movie was a stroke of genius. Taylor and Nicholas truly become Alex and Henry on screen.

22. On the private air-field: Henry's little overwhelmed smile when Alex squeezes him in the tightest hug and tells him, "I love you, I'll be as patient as you need."

23. Immediately after 22, Alex leaning in for a kiss goodbye but pulling back quickly as he reads Henry's discomfort. Alex might not always understand Henry's reasons but (if he's paying attention), he's so very good at reading Henry's needs and responding to them.

24. In the aftermath of the email leak, Alex has been "hanging in there" - he's had people supporting him, with agency over how to respond. But Henry is understandably not OK - he's been put back in his box, and the Firm has taken over in all matters. There's one scene where you can see Henry shrinking, literally making himself take up less space at the table.  Poor baby.

25. Zahra to the rescue. Truly the MVP.

[sansacherie]

the gods in their madness

(What sin could Aemma have possibly committed, for the gods to subject her to this absurdity? If they did this to let her cheat death, she wanted no part of it.)

Aemma Arryn becomes 15 years old again, and marries Viserys Targaryen for the second time, wearing the colors of House Hightower.

I.

Aemma wondered how long it would take her to drown in this tub.

All she needed was for her ladies to leave.  With that, Aemma could slip under the water and wait.  In the warmth and silence.  No blood.  Nothing but a peaceful end, she hopes.

Even if she was wrong about it being painless, it did not matter.  Aemma was not frightened of the pain of dying. She was more frightened of what was to come, her wedding.   She’d done her level best within the past month to hide from her fear, but it was still here, nonetheless.

Aemma watched Lady Casella through the mirror as she intently combed Aemma’s hair.   She would give almost anything to be in her place instead.  To be the one looking forward to all the festivities that beckon.   The Red Keep had not hosted such a wedding in so long.   After all, none of them were alive to see the Conciliator wed.

A royal wedding, where Aemma will bring her family the greatest honor a woman can bring her family.

A way to the Iron Throne.

Last night, Aemma was told how proud her mother would be.   Aemma had never known her.  Princess Daella died in the birthing bed, as Viserys and Daemon’s own mother, Princess Alyssa.  It was Amanda,  Aemma’s older sister, who told her how their lord father had loved Daella Targaryen so much that he begged Queen Alysanne herself to bury her in the Vale.   But the queen had refused, bringing Daella’s ashes back to Dragonstone.

When Aemma was just a little girl, she resented her grandmother for it. Queen Alysanne already had memories of Princess Daella; did she truly need her bones as well?  At least Aemma could look at the painting of her mother in her father’s solar whenever she pleased.   Lord Rodrik commissioned it just after they wed.  In it, Father smiled lovingly at Mother.  Mother was seated, wearing a splendid gown that paid respect to both Arryn and Targaryen.  Her smile was shy and sweet.   They said she had smiled when she held Aemma, after bringing her forth.    And Aemma’s late mother had been so happy there in the Vale as well.  That is what her lord father said, and Amanda too.  Even Grandmother concurred, although her blue eyes were oft sad to say it.

But now Aemma understood her grandmother’s actions better.  Daella Targaryen was the blood of the dragon, even if being the blood of the dragon hadn’t done her much good in the end anyway.   Her ashes belonged on Dragonstone, the true seat of the Targaryens.   Her place was there, but not Aemma’s.  When the Stranger came for her, Aemma would be buried in the Vale.

That would never be, now.  No thanks to Viserys.

“There,” Lady Casella smiles in proud satisfaction.  Lady Talya and Lady Rosamund compliment her on how well she’s styled Aemma’s hair.

And she has, indeed.  Her auburn hair is styled in an intricate updo.  Aemma had something very similar, on her first wedding day.   The Vale and the Reach were quite similar when it came to bridal fashions.

“Come, Alicent.”  Lady Daena tells her, gently taking her by the hand.    Alicent’s ladies dress her.   Her gown is undeniably beautiful, even more so than Aemma’s had been, she will admit.   But that is not surprising.  Aemma was not marrying a king like Lady Alicent was.    And the Hightower's were as rich as their line was old and proud.  

When the ladies complete their work, they bow their heads, as if Alicent is queen already. 

II.

Aemma had kept to her bed during those first few days, pleading illness.  That was because she hoped she would find herself in her old life when she woke up.  Her old life, where she was Rhaenyra’s mother.

Oh, and gods help her, the life she had with Viserys.  Aemma and her cousin had wed for duty, as so many of them did.   As Aemma had grown up in the Vale and her Targaryen cousins had grown up at King Jaehaerys’ court,  Viserys and she had seen each other only at important events like the king’s name day, so Aemma had not known him well.   He was also five years her elder.

And twenty to Alicent Hightower’s. 

But they built something out of their duty.  Their marriage never burned with passion, but you did not need passion to have a good marriage. Of the two sons sired by Prince Baelon, Aemma knew she’d been fortunate to be wed to the elder.   While she did not think Daemon would dare treat her with such outrageous disrespect as he did the Lady Rhea,  Aemma had never felt true regard from him when wed to his brother.   Aemma could not help but think her being only a cousin, and a half-Valyrian one at that, was the fault of it.   Targaryen custom meant that Viserys’ ideal match would have been a sister.   Perhaps Daemon wished that Viserys was born a girl so they could marry.  

Well,  Viserys was Aemma’s husband, and he was a good one in some ways.  He was gentle and generous.  He did not dishonor her, by being careless about his relations.  Aemma knew it was happening, thanks to one of her ladies-in-waiting, but she knew nothing of the women he bedded, except they were of common birth.  Truthfully,  Aemma did not know whether she preferred these bedwarmers to be highborn or not.   A common girl would only have power in Viserys’ bed, and as open-handed as Viserys was, he would not hesitate to put them in their place when necessary.  He had dismissed one proud mistress once, after all.    As for someone highborn, well her power did not only come from the King needless to say.  But most houses would not suffer such an insult to their daughters, anyway.    At least nobody in the Vale did. There was no security, no honor in a noble lady being a man’s mistress and not his wife.   

What sin could Aemma have possibly committed, for the gods to subject her to this absurdity? If they did this to let her cheat death, she wanted no part of it.   Why could they not have saved her little boy?   When Aemma had first realized – and it had not taken her very long- what became of Prince Baelon,  she was torn between sorrow and resignation.  Sorrow, as she’d been wrong to doubt Viserys’ confidence about him being a boy.  Perhaps if Aemma had matched Viserys in this, perhaps Baelon would be in the nursery right now.  If Baelon lived, perhaps Rhaenyra would still have her dear friend and Alicent Hightower her freedom.

Resignation, because Aemma had been through this dance before.  Over the 15 years of her marriage to Viserys,  Aemma had eight children.   Of the eight, only Rhaenyra was spared.   That was why Aemma hated Rhaenyra flying Syrax, as much as she knew it was unfair to her daughter to discourage it.  But Aemma could not help it, sometimes inventing excuses such as her being heavy with child. 

She wondered how Alicent Hightower would feel about having dragon riders for children.  

Aemma thought Viserys cruel to not only be marrying Rhaenyra’s childhood companion but to have named her heir.   Aemma understood it, of course.  In fact, she and Ser Otto were of the same mind when they urged Viserys to appoint Rhaenyra and not his brother, his successor.    If Viserys died suddenly with a son, his closest male relative would be one who encouraged war and did nothing for the Faith, nothing for the people.  Daemon Targaryen would do nothing but what pleased him.   Worst of all, if he was king,  Aemma knew he would put aside his marriage to Lady Rhea.  That was to be expected, but Aemma did not like the thought of whom he would favor as his queen.    

But anyway, Viserys should never have named Rhaenyra his heir when he was going to remarry.   Aemma did not believe for a moment that Rhaenyra would remain first in line if Alicent Hightower had a son.   

Viserys would think nothing of the succession changing for a son, as he thought nothing of Aemma’s stomach being cut into for one. 

III.

Aemma had no memory of the pain, praise the Seven.

But she remembered well what Viserys had said to her before the end.  

I love you. 

As if that made what he commanded better.

IV.

Aemma wondered if the horror of what Viserys did drove her actions with Ser Theo. It must have.   The fear of being accused of a witch if she dared say she was in fact a dead queen, was greater than the fear of a discovered dishonor.

But they were not discovered.    Ser Theo slipped into her chambers, as he did Lady Elinor’s.  Aemma would have preferred someone her age or a little older, but she was not a woman of thirty- at least not in body.  But Ser Theo was no green boy at least, twenty-four and handsome.    

As Alicent or Aemma chased her pleasure on top of the knight she had never done the same with Viserys, their coupling always missionary, as the maesters said it was best for conception- she thought of the maidenhood that would never be Viserys.  Not now.    

Aemma could not bear the thought of Viserys taking her maidenhood again.  So, she took her pleasure. 

She fucked.

She would have fucked in front of Viserys if she could get away with it.  Fucked his pride. Fucked those stupid dreams.  Oh, you dreamt our son wearing a crown, you say.  That is what happens when your father is a king, you fool. 

V.

Aemma sat on the dais, tasting nothing of the food set before her.  Beside her, Viserys was in a high mood and toasted everyone from his new wife to the singers. 

Rhaenyra looked as lonely as Aemma felt.   It was agony, sitting so close to her dear girl.  The devil of it is that if there was anyone Rhaenyra would have confided as her father remarried, it was Alicent Hightower.   Viserys ruined that, with all this.  Gods, the girls were only 15.

Aemma’s mind fell upon the Velayrons then.   They were absent from the celebrations, even though Viserys was Rhaenys’ cousin. 

Laena of course.   The Velayrons would have been on the top of the list wanting their daughter to marry the king.  Undoubtedly, Rhaenys and Corlys would have considered themselves to be the only ones on that list.    They had never forgotten that council.

VI.

They were alone.   Viserys reached for her, and Aemma pulled away.

“Alicent?”  He asked with concern.

“I,”  Aemma began.   She could herself sweating.   She could not bear him touching her, just yet.

She smiled sweetly at him.  “I’m so tired, Your- Viserys. The celebrations, they- they were overwhelming.  Could we not sleep instead?”

Viserys looked half relieved, half dismayed.  “They will except a consummation,” he said.

Aemma drew herself to Alicent’s full height and looked him in the eye.   “They can wait.  It does not need to happen this very night.”   Thankfully,   Viserys nodded at this,  and that night they only shared a bed.

Aemma accepted that this was only a temporary refuge, just as she accepted there was no possibility of making Ser Theo her lover once she wed.   Whenever it was lust or expectation, Viserys would consummate the marriage.

VII.

That was the very topic three days later, as Alicent broke her fast with the Hand of the King.  Viserys preferred to sleep in, and Rhaenyra who had eaten with Aemma every morning, had her meals brought to her own apartments now.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Your Grace?” Aemma wondered how long it would take for Ser Otto to grow used to calling his daughter by this title.  Aemma was already used to it.  She had already been queen once before.

Aemma shook her head.

“Alicent.”  Aemma hid a grimace.  She doubted she would get used to being called Alicent.   Ser Otto frowned.  “You cannot allow this to continue. You are a wife-,”

“I have not forgotten that.  You made me one.” Ser Otto looked taken aback, and Aemma realized that Lady Alicent would never challenge her father like Rhaenyra did Viserys.  Aemma’s own father had spoiled her, but Aemma’s daughter even more so.  Viserys indulged Rhaenyra.  But indulgence was not what Rhaenyra needed from her father.   That was why she encouraged Viserys to take Rhaenyra as his cupbearer when she turned ten.  “She might not ever rule from the Iron Throne, but she can learn much from listening to your meetings with the small council,”  Aemma had said.  “She can use that experience to guide her husband or sons, in time.”

Ser Otto cleared his throat.  “You must not forget your duty.   The kingdom holds its breath for a son-,”

“I have been married for three days!”  Alicent, or Aemma snapped.  “Let them hold their breath.”

VIII.

It was just shy of a fortnight when Viserys called her to his chambers.   He was tired of waiting.

She felt numb, as Viserys took his rights.  She wanted to refuse, but-

He lasted longer with Alicent than Aemma could remember he did with her.  Which is to say, not much.

She lay beside Viserys in the bed, listening to him catch his breath.

“Viserys?” Aemma said as they grew ragged.  She looked at him and felt cold all over.   He was clutching his chest, and the sweat- the sweat was not just from their marital duties.  

But it was his eyes that spoke the truth of it. 

Viserys had the eyes of a dying man.

Of course, Aemma had hers closed.    She had closed them, as if that would stop what was happening to her.

She knew that she needed to shout for help, to alert the maesters. 

Instead, she waited. 

Waited for him to die.

Aemma would offer him no comfort, nothing. 

IX.

Ser Harrold Westerling was on guard duty outside their door.  

She must be strong, Aemma knew.   

"The king is dead," she tells Ser Harrold, who freezes.  "His heart gave out." 

"He is truly gone?"

"Yes,"  Aemma nods.   "Long live the Queen."

[stumped-on-bennington]

Pick You Out part 2

Summary: The day has finally come for your wedding! A brief continuation of "Pick You Out".

Paring: Pete Wentz x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 861

You smiled with Pete’s mom as the photographer took your pictures. Just days ago you were being proposed to in front of hundreds of fans, and now you were about to walk the aisle and officially become Mrs. Y/N Wentz. You could hardly believe it. 

Just as the photographer snapped the last picture of you, Pete’s dad was knocking on the door.

��Ready, Y/N?” He asked. You nodded softly as you placed your hand on his arm and he led you out of the room and towards the chapel.

You took a deep breath as you both stood before the closed doors. The organ started playing as they began to open, revealing the small room that had just enough seats for 4 people to sit. Joe, Andy, and Pete’s mom had stood up as you entered the room, leaving just 1 more empty chair for Pete’s dad to sit in after he walked you down. At the opposite end of the aisle stood Patrick, who would be officiating, and your stunning soon to be husband, Pete. 

You slowly walked down the aisle while still holding onto Pete’s dad’s arm. Each step feels like an eternity. As you walked, you took in Pete's every detail; The way he had his hair nearly covering one of his eyes, the eyeliner he had on, the way he was wearing all white to contrast your all black dress, and his red converse that matched yours. Everything about him was perfect, and you were going to be each other's forever. 

Finally, you reached the end of the aisle, where Pete’s dad handed you off to him, and the organ stopped and Patrick began the ceremony. 

“Dearly beloved, and Joe,” 

You hear Joe let out a quiet “Hey.” at Patrick’s joke. 

“We are gathered here today to bear witness to the union of Pete Wentz and Y/N L/N. To begin they will exchange vows.” Patrick says, allowing Pete to begin.

“Y/N, since the first day we met I knew you were something special. The way you didn’t seem to care how people perceived you and took on life in your own way, the sparkle you get in your eyes, and the way your first instinct in any situation is to check your eyeliner. I promise to always be your rock and your light in this world, as you have been mine. I vow to always protect you, mentally and physically, as you have for me. And I promise to love you until the end of time and beyond. ” Pete says, a single tear falling from his eye.

You then begin your vow, “Pete, you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. We see each other for who we truly are, even when others don’t. I vow to always be with you through any hardships we may face. I promise to always be your moon to guide you through the darkest nights, and to be the stars to help you navigate the rough seas. I promise to be yours for eternity and through a thousand life times.” 

You can hear Pete’s mom already fighting tears, as well as Andy loudly blowing his nose. Patrick smiles at the both of you before speaking again. “Now they will exchange rings.” He says, pulling in front of him a cushion with two rings on it. Pete takes the smaller of the two and lifts up your left hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. You follow by doing the same for him. While still holding each other’s hands and looking into each other’s eyes, Patrick says the last line.“With the power invested in me, I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Wentz. You may kiss the bride.” 

And with the passion of a thousand suns, Pete crash’s his lips into yours. He kisses you as if it is the first and last time he will ever do so. You feel as if you are walking on the clouds with all the joy, excitement, and love that you feel at this very moment. You can feel for certain that this is where you're meant to be, here with Pete.

You are only reminded where you are when you hear Joe over the clapping of the other’s.

“Wrap it up guys, we have reservations at 4.” He says.

Pete pulls away from the kiss, “Thanks for the reminder, Joe.” He says with a slight chuckle and an eye roll.

You and Pete run out to the car, excited to begin your new life as Ms. Wentz. Pete drives away as the rest of the band and his family cheer and wave you off. 

Bonus!: 

“I can’t believe you two tied the knot so quickly.” Patrick told Pete, as they were in the middle of a writing session.

“I just knew she was the one. And it felt like he had known each other for centuries, so it only felt right.” Pete said.

“I swear I’m going to blink and you two are going to have like 5 kids.” Patrick chuckles.

“Oh, trust me, I’m wasting no time on that.” Pete says, with a sly smile.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Lord Flea Bottom's Heir: A Silver Dragon Story

Word Count: 1334

Story Summary: Daemon had expected to be welcomed with the news of his wife's demise when he returned to King's Landing. Instead, he is greeted with the decidedly unwelcome news that the Bitch was to give him an heir. His plans to finally take Rhaenyra to wife thoroughly dashed, he leaves the Red Keep behind to wallow in his own domain: Flea Bottom.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

This is a spin-off POV from my main Aemond/OC story, The Silver Dragon. But it can be read as a one-off, standalone look into Daemon's mind.

Warnings: Allusions to rape. Daemon being a dick.

Author's Note: Oof, it was hard to write such mean things about Rhea. Forgive me!

Series Masterlist

Lord Flea Bottom's Heir

The stench of Flea Bottom was invigorating. The competing smells of ale and wine and sweat and sex sent a thrill through his blood. Even the reek of tallow candles and vomit in the streets was as comforting to him as the smell of a warm fire and a hearty meal was to most. It made him want to drink until he finally felt full, fight until there was no more blood to spill, and fuck until there were no virgins left in all of King’s Landing.

It was, after all, his domain. He was Daemon Targaryen, Lord Flea Bottom.

So why could he not get his ass out of this godsdamned chair?

He had sat down over an hour ago and had yet to finish even his first pint of ale. The gold cloaks he had brought along with him – only the handful that remained that hadn’t been corrupted with “righteousness and honor” by their insufferable new Lord Commander Strong – had already provoked various brawls, but none tempted him enough to join. And while several lovely whores had come his way, he had turned them all down.

Daemon couldn’t get his mind off his Bronze Bitch.

He would never get hard so long as she was in his head.

She had sapped him of his desire to drink, as well. There was no telling where his mind may go should he let himself get drunk while thinking of her.

And though he would like nothing more than to pummel the next person to look at him wrong into the ground, he couldn’t.

The last time he had tried to break someone – to break her – he had failed spectacularly.

It was supposed to be quick and easy. He would fly to the Vale one last time, when he was sure she would be alone, and rid himself of the bronze shackles of his marriage. Finally, he would be free to take the wife he truly wanted. The wife he deserved.

But then the fucking horse hadn’t done the job. There was no reason why not; it was an obscenely large beast. It had certainly made quite the meal for Caraxes.

He had been content to let her die where she lay. To allow the elements of her beloved Vale to take her. Her boring, soggy, primitive, sheep-ridden Vale.

Gods, what an agonizingly dull place. He had only lasted weeks in her pitiful excuse for a castle before he went out of his mind with boredom. The Bitch had been smart enough to give him leave to do as he wished.

She hadn’t been smart enough to keep her mouth shut, however.

“I knew you couldn’t finish.”

A Bitch indeed.

He had run hot enough with anger that he’d gotten hard, a feat he never thought to accomplish when faced with his wife.

That had been the greatest disappointment when they finally met on their wedding day. She was old and ugly. At least ten years older than him – he’d never bothered to find out exactly.

Her many hours spent in what little sun appeared in the Vale had aged her prematurely, so her painfully plain face was tanned and rough, and bore many lines. Her dull gray eyes were too far apart and framed by thick, bush brows, her lips too small, and her nose pointed up like a pig’s. Even her hair was unappealing. As bushy as sheep’s wool and the color of burnt wood.

In short, she was precisely what a virile young man of twenty, a Prince of the Realm and the Blood of the Dragon, did not want for a wife. And yet, he was stuck with her.

He still was.

Dropping her off at her pathetic keep was supposed to be the final insult. To paint the “Warrior Lady of Runestone” as no more than a damsel in distress. So that in her last hours, she could wallow in the knowledge that she would only be remembered as the poor girl rescued by the Prince.

But she hadn’t. Fucking. Died.

Maybe there was some magic in those stupid little Runes.

And still, that wasn’t the worst of it.

He was supposed to be free, and now, he had never been more shackled to the cunt.

“I hear congratulations are in order, my Prince,” Mysaria’s accent was perhaps the most gentle thing in Flea Bottom. But today, it grated in Daemon’s ears.

He took a great gulp of his ale. Bitter, but bracing. “Condolences would be better appreciated.”

Mysaria took the seat across from him. She had continued to do well for herself, judging by her clothes. Only the most influential whores showed that little skin. “As I recall, you were once quite eager to have children of your own. Heirs to strengthen your claim.”

“Heirs, yes,” Daemon conceded. “Bitch-spawn, not so much.”

“I see,” she smiled politely, but he could tell his words bothered her. For a woman who assured her own barrenness, she was quite protective of children. “So, you are not here to steal another egg, then.”

“No. If she doesn’t die before the runt is born, it can claim a dragon for itself – if it’s worthy of it, which I doubt.” He chuckled as a dark thought entered his mind, the kind he could only voice here in his vile little kingdom. “Sheepstealer may be a good fit. Though for a child of the Vale, ‘Sheepfucker’ would be a more apt name.”

Mysaria did not laugh with him.

“Oh, come on,” he sighed. “That was funny.”

She only frowned. “No matter your opinion of the mother, this child will still be yours. Your family, Daemon.”

He scoffed, turning away from her. But she did not relent.

“You have always been so careful not to leave bastards in your wake,” she insisted. “Yet now that you have the chance of a trueborn heir, you have no interest. I know you better than perhaps anyone, my Prince. But I do not understand this.”

Daemon scowled, his brow forming a hard line over his violet eyes.

“Whatever this child is, it’s worse than a bastard. Because it’s hers, and I hate her. I don’t want to live my life being forced to look at whatever crawls out of her wretched cunt. I don’t care if it is the very image of me – of a trueborn Targaryen. Because it will be, and will always be hers.”

He leaned forward, close enough that even the White Worm showed a glimmer of fear. “I have spent nine years of my life chained by my ‘marriage’ to that Bronze Bitch. The very worst thing I can imagine is having to live the rest of my life tied to her because my seed somehow found purchase in the arid desert of her womb.”

Even after all the years he had spent with her, he could not tell whether it was pity or disdain that now sparkled in Mysaria’s eyes. Perhaps both.

She stood and refilled his mug. “If she makes it through the pregnancy, she will not survive the birth.” When he raised an eyebrow in question, she clarified. “I have heard vivid accounts of her wounds. Tell me, was that you or Caraxes?”

“Bit of both, I suspect,” he snickered. “It is dangerous to ride a dragon without being properly strapped to the saddle. I must have forgotten.”

“I have only one last question.”

He gestured for her to go on. However personal and maddening this had gotten, it was at least mildly entertaining. A vent for his frustrations.

“Why give her your seed? Even to humiliate her, why take that risk? Why not just kill her?”

Silence fell in their little corner of the brothel.

“That was three questions.”

“Yes, but I seek only one answer.”

Daemon’s eyes grew ever dark. It was a darkness only a Targaryen with dragonfire in his blood could muster. The darkness that had made Visenya and Maegor, and many of his ancestors before, so fearsome.

“She mocked me.”

[dragonbanexxi]

The Great Bronze Conspiracy

Aegon II x OC Targaryen Royce

***!!!NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two very different men sit across from each other, with calculating eyes studying the other diligently.

One dressed in an earthy emerald doublet, with the aurora a poised peacock. The other adorned in his bronze armor encrypted with sacred runes for protection and good fortune.

Two very different men with one distinct mutual hatred for the infamous Rogue Prince.

“You’re a fool if you think there isn’t any better offers for my grandsons hand.” The Hightower man drawls. Eliciting a tight smirk on his companions face.

“You’re a fool if you think if you think you can crown the little princeling king with only Lannister gold and very few allies.” Ser Gerold rebuttals back.

“Marry the prince to niece.” The Bronze Knight says gruffly. “The boy will become King and my niece his queen. She is also just as much of the blood of the dragon as the rest of her paternal family. Wed them and together we will finally put an end to Daemon Targaryen once and fore all.”

The Lord Hightower’s eyes shine with contentment at that last statement. It’s been his greatest desire to get rid of the Rogue Prince for years now. A cocky smile breaks out on his face as he offers his hand to Ser Gerold .

“Very well.” They shake hands firmly.

“Let us join our houses. My grandson with your niece.”

“Long may they reign” Ser Gerold says with a large smile.

“Long may they reign.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Amélia

Every year on the eve of the incoming summer, the Vale’s great noble houses take turns to host the Diamond Ball in Gulltown. An unofficial competition between the noble houses. For each ball hosted is always grandeur than the previous one.

This year the Redfort’s happen to the designated hosts. The Gulltown Venue had been decorated in their house colors. Scarlett red and silver. Beautiful roses placed poised against white roses. The diamond chandeliers sparkling their pretty light throughout the hall. Yet what truly stood out were the striking ice statues carved into various different animals standing stoically over the guest. Such ice no doubt was imported from beyond the wall.

Amélia had been gawking at their beauty when her Uncle Gerold grabbed hold of her arm.

“Let’s us greet Lord Redfort lass.” The girl nods in agreement. Making their way to the strapping lord, who was dressed in a fine black doublet with silver chains hanging from the neck to the shoulders.

“Lord Ashton” Ser Gerold greets his old friend in good spirits. Bowing respectfully. Amélia follows his lead curtsying gracefully.

“My Ser Gerold! Glad you could make it old sport!” They share a brotherly hug, patting their backs heartily.

“Your niece is growing prettier by the day Gerold.” The Lord says taping his finger on the pretty maidens nose.

Amélia hates the gesture but would never be so crass to openly show it. Instead the Lady Royce gushed, and smiled prettily at the old Lord Redfort.

Said lord is quickly swifted away by the incoming noble house of Grafton. Amélia was about to make her way to where the lady Tina Belmore was sitting. A maiden her age with dirty blonde hair and the warmest brown eyes that Amélia is sure she stole from a baby fawn. The Lady Belmore is a close friend of Amélia. Having had fostered two years with the Royce’s at Runestone. They had been attached to the hip in their shared childhood. Even when the time came for them to part, their friendship proved to be as strong as Valyrian Steel.

“Look it’s the little lass of the Redfort” Her uncle said tightening his grip on Amélia’s arm. “We should greet her.”

“Oh I can’t stand that Scarlett!” The beauty whispers poutingly to her uncle-papa. “Papa, you should see the way she throws herself at cousin Yorwick.”

“Now now, that’s your cousins business. You must remember your civilities child. Her family is hosting, it would be rude not to say hello.”

“Lady Scarlett!” Her uncle says jovially. “Good evening.”

The raven haired beauty smirks in her usual lady like charm. Her Scarlett dress’s cleavage showing a generous amount. Just enough for it to be acceptable. A daring dress for a daring girl.

“Ser Gerold. Thank you from coming.” The Redfort girl then gives a faux girlish gasp. “Amélia Royce” sticking her hand out.

The Lady Royce accepts it hesitantly “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Bullshit Amélia thinks to herself. Both she and Scarlett had a weird affinity for each other, their senses always alerting each other when the other is nearby. The Royce beauty opts to act dumb as well. Now isn’t the time to be picking fights, especially not when there’s an audience.

“Lady Scarlett” Amélia beams with faux cheerfulness. “What a stunning dress, I just can’t keep my eyes off it.” She drawls.

The Redfort girls snake like eyes spark with mischief, yet she lets the Royce’s be on their way. Finally Amélia can go greet her dear friend Tina.

“Millie!” She cries enveloping Amélia in her arms. The Heir of Runestone hugs her friend back happily.

“By the Gods you look beautiful Amélia!” She says. “Powder blue definitely is your color.” Amélia says her thanks you.

The Lady Royce had this gowned specially commissioned for this ball. Though she hadn’t told Ser Gerold that. It was cut in the High Garden style, puffy sleeves, a low neck line that showed off her elegant collar bones and neck. It had embroidered silver flowers throughout the bodice, and pearls sewed throughout the skirt. It was admittedly a pretty penny but if she was going to be the Queen some day, Amélia had to be ahead of the ever changing fashion trends.

The ambience of the venue was booming. Music playing beautifully, many chivalrous men dancing with beautiful maidens. A great many drinking, others gambling. The Lady Jeyne Arryn sitting in the makeshift throne, staring at all the attendees stoically.

Her bored blue eyes locking with Amélia’s brown. There was a hint of disdain in the older woman’s eyes. The silver haired beauty looks away quickly, hoping the Wardeness doesn’t think she was staring.

“There seems to be more people present.” Amélia notes offhandedly.

Her friend Tina smiles in agreement, “There’s a few Westernlanders present.”

“Oh… have you been asked to dance already?”

“Yes actually. A golden haired westerner by the name of Joff Lefford asked my father if he could dance with me.” A blush creeping on the Belmore maidens round face.

“He promised me another.”

“Ooooo” the Lady Royce says childishly. Causing her friend to blush harder.

“Well I bet my shimmy he’ll end up falling in love with you.”

“Amélia” Tina says in horror at her friends crudeness but still manages to laugh.

Later in the evening more lady’s join them, all of them chatting amicably, laughing boisterously every so often. Lady Belmore’s Westernlander finally takes her to his second promised dance. Amélia could see the goofy grin the young man sports while talking to her friend. Lord Lefford is totally smitten with Tina. Gods be good and match between them could be made. Tina deserves a happy life with a good lord husband.

Amélia also accepts a few dances of her own. She dance with a few boys her age and an almaring amount of old men. Her Uncle- Pa had to whisk her away from a few rakish men. With these rake like men she tries her best not to flirt with, not wanting to give the wrong impression. Especially since Ser Gerold had said that her betrothal would be announced soon. She would still allow herself to enjoy these moments however. Knowing well that her time as a youthful maiden will soon come to end.

The beauty steps out the venue for some fresh air, and stretches her arms above her head.

“Psst” she hears a voice to her right. She turns to face who’s trying to get her attention.

“Psst Amélia!” She sees a gloved hand peeking out a wooden door.

“Over here!”

Slowly she makes her way to it. Knocking softly.

“Hello? Who’s in the-“ she couldn’t finish her sentence as she’s pulled into the small shack roughly.

“Ooff” she huffs out. Looking up to see the snakish blue eyes of Scarlett Redfort.

“What are you doing in here?” She whispers. Scarlett puts a little hook through a loop connected to the wall, locking them in.

“I’m bored.” She says shrugging her shoulders. “You’re the only one among that flock of frightens hens who knows how to have fun.”

Amélia purses her lips but doesn’t say anything. Scarlett opens a bottle, taking a swig and handing it to Amélia.

“Northern Whiskey” she says simply, with a coy smile.

Amélia bring the bottle to her nose scrunching her face at the pungent smell. She braves herself to take a swig. A burning sensation trails down her throat.

“It gets better with practice.” Scarlett muses.

Amélia takes another swig. Handing the bottle to Scarlett once more. They sit there in the shack for another five minute passing the bottle back and forth until both girls begin to feel lighter. Amélia wouldn’t say she’s drunk but if she continues she will be.

“That’s enough for me.” She says “the last thing I need is Uncle Gerold berating me in front of the whole canteen for being drunk.”

The Lady Redfort however takes a few more swigs. Her sleeves falling off her shoulders exposing more cleavage. Her devilish eyes notice Amélia’s eyes on them. Scarlett grazes her slender fingers over them teasingly. Like a cat on the prowl, Scarlett makes her way to where Amélia is sitting and sits herself upon her lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. Nuzzling their noses together tenderly.

“Kiss me.” Scarlett Redfort says in a seductive whisper.

Amélia didn’t have to be told twice.

[moonrainbowfish]

Pokémon Matchup for @tolkien-fantasy

Leon would be, without a doubt, an excellent partner. He's confident, considerate and strong!

I don't even think any words in the english language exist to describe how much I literally ship you guys!

The relationship tropes I'd use to describe it would include: Jock x Nerd, Tall x Small (I love relationship with height differences), Mutual pining, and Friends to Lovers

Speaking of strength.. should you ever get tired, Leon would happily carry you around all day. He really adores the flushed look on your cute face every time he picks you up💕

He's really amazed at how smart you are like holy Miltank! Your intellect is really attractive to him, and he loves showing you off to others

Of course, he'll never push you too far. He's a very respectful man and always makes sure to never cross your boundaries

While I don't think learning a language is easy for him, he'll definitely want you to teach him some german or any kind of language you're currently learning. Oh, and no, it's definitely not because he wants to be close to you and loves it when you info dump, oh no... well, okay! Maybe a little bit, but he has to admit when he hears you speak about your passions, he can't help but fall for you even more than he already has 💜

When you playfully call him pet names in german, he can't help but grin like a total idiot. Even if he doesn't know what it means at first. His favourite word being "Liebling" 🩷

He enjoys giving you all sorts of terms of endearment just as much, from babe, sweetheart, little champ, his cheerleader, sunshine, you name it!

You're his biggest and greatest motivation everytime he goes to battle in the arena. Leon can't help but chuckle at the thought of you sitting somewhere in the ranks and cheering for him

And even if you can't, he'll be just as happy to meet you after his match and tell you all about how it went. He doesn't want to overwhelm you, so he makes sure to give you space at needed times

Out of all his Pokémon I think his Dragapult would totally adore you. The ghost/dragon type just loves to float around you, you being an expert in ghost types after all. It's really adorable.. no matter who it is you're faced with, how much your presence alone makes anyone adore you, no matter man or Pokémon

You just have that endearing vibe. That makes people feel cozy and at home. Drawing them in like a moth to a warm flame. It was also that side of yours, which made Leon fall for you, very hard

Even his brother Hop looks up to you and secretly is already picturing Leon and your wedding inside his head

Leon would always be there to remind you to take care of yourself. He's your partner, buddy, and shoulder to cry on. Your rock and protector. Always there to defend you, should the time ever call for it. Even though he knows how truly strong you are yourself, he can't help but get a little overprotective at times. I mean, being the significant other of a champion sure is exhausting at times, but he's very understanding

When Leon settles for someone, that being you, he wants to be with them for life. He'd be incredibly loyal, always by your side, whenever he has the time and also because you're there to guide the way since usually this himbo has no flipping sense of direction whatsoever, haha

He's so enamored with you, Tori! One day, you gave him a little bracelet you handcrafted yourself, and he's been wearing it with pride ever since. He wears it as a good luck charm to Pokémon battles... even when he goes to sleep. This guy almost never takes it off! (Dude, I really wish I was able to draw this. Awww, this is so cute💖)

Your writing is really fascinating to him. The way you're able to describe the characters so well and how each story you write makes want to him read all about your stuff even more

Don't even get me started on your drawings. Leon will frame them and hang them all around the house until your face is as red as a tomato from all the praise you're getting

He'll totally shower you in compliments and leans down to give you forehead kisses. He loves how small you are compared to him, gently taking your smaller hand in his bigger one, or giving you piggy back rides, if you feel exhausted.

From time to time, when he feels really like being cheesy, he even kneels down and kisses your hand, like those knights in movies do with the princess. Loving the way your face immediately flushes red. The way your beautiful brown locks frame your gorgeous face and the blue eyes that sparkle at him in pure love and adoration. He simply can't get enough of you, Tori! ❤

[redvdress]

thinking here...

takami keigo who never thought of having children, but as soon as he met you, the idea grew strong on him. marrying, living together and later having a baby...

takami keigo who promises himself to give all he have to both you and your kid, promises himself to be a better father for his kid than his father was for him...

just... takami keigo... (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

- 🫐

SMALL RED WINGS

A/N: hii anon thank you for your request, send as many as u want, don’t be shy!! here is my way of picturing it all, unfortunately i haven’t read the manga so i tried to look for as many information i could about the time skip, because yeah i think that if hawks wanted a family, he would build it in the afterskip. warning: spoiler for season 7 ep. 18 (idk which manga chapter is that, sorryy)

Imagine being with Keigo Takami, known to the world as Hawks, that never once thought about having a family.

The idea of a child, a home—those were luxuries he couldn’t afford. After all, being the Number Two hero was more than just a job; it was a constant, dangerous responsibility. Every day, he risked his life for people who adored him, but deep down, he knew the truth: being with someone like him wasn’t easy.

Yes, he was charming—everyone said so. Handsome, funny, strong, and caring, with a smile that could disarm anyone.

But all that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t made for relationships, at least not the normal kind. Dates? Days off? Those were foreign concepts to him.

The very thought was laughable. In truth, anyone with him would have to accept that his work came first, always.

Even if he loved you—God, did he love you—his duty was to the people in danger, the lives he could save. So when the phone rang in the middle of the night, and he had to slip out of bed, leaving you behind, it wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation.

He hated it.

Every single time.

What he wanted more than anything was to stay, to watch you wake up in his arms, to share those quiet mornings that he never got to have. But the call of duty was louder than his heart.

Then, everything changed. After the final battle with All for One, Keigo lost his quirk.

His wings, once his greatest symbol, were gone, stripped away along with the fierceness that made him Hawks. To the public, he was still a hero, even without his red wings. But no one ever truly saw Keigo, the man underneath.

Until he met you.

You knew who he was—of course you did.

But when you looked at him, you didn’t see Hawks, the hero. In those golden eyes of yours, he was simply Takami Keigo, the man. It was that look that made him trust you completely, enough to open up in a way he had never done before. He let you see the boy he once was, the one who had been hidden away behind the mask of a hero for so long.

Becoming the President of Hero Public Safety meant Keigo no longer had to be on the front lines, though his work remained demanding. But with you by his side, he began to entertain a dream he’d never allowed himself to have: a family, a real one. One he could build with you—the kind of family he never had growing up.

The idea didn’t come from you, surprisingly. You had always hoped for a future with him, but you were too considerate to push.

It was Keigo who brought it up, late one night after a long and exhausting shift. When he told you about his small dream, you could hardly believe it, wrapping him in your arms so tightly he could barely breathe. He was ready, and so were you.

The wedding that followed was intimate, just as Keigo wanted. He didn’t want the media frenzy that would come with announcing Hawks’ marriage, so it was a quiet ceremony in a secluded garden, surrounded by only the closest of friends.

Even Endeavor showed up, much to your surprise, muttering under his breath “How did someone as silly as you managed to find someone like her?”

Yet, there was a softness in his words, a hint of approval he rarely showed.

Keigo stood at the altar in a simple suit, his eyes never leaving yours as you walked toward him. His smile was brighter than the sun, and when you exchanged vows, his hands trembled slightly as he slipped the ring onto your finger, a deep red stone set within it, like a piece of his lost wings.

“I promise to love you for the rest of my life” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “To protect you and the family we’re going to build together. Even without my wings, even without my quirk, I’ll protect you.”

For a man who once believed he was destined to be alone, that moment felt nothing short of miraculous.

Time passed, and one day, while Keigo was at work, you called him. Breathless, your voice shook with excitement as you told him the news: you were pregnant. Keigo, sitting behind his desk at the Hero Commission with a cup of coffee in hand, couldn’t believe his ears. He bolted from his chair and raced home so fast you’d almost think his quirk had returned, bursting through the door, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked, breathless with excitement.

When you nod and show him the positive pregnancy test, his grin would turn into a full-blown smile, the kind that makes his eyes light up and crinkle at the corners. You’d probably expect a more composed reaction from someone like him, but instead, he’d move faster than you’ve seen him move in a while.

Without warning, he’d scoop you up, twirling you around effortlessly despite his exhaustion. You’d both be laughing as he holds you close, pressing his forehead against yours. “We’re going to have a baby?” he’d ask again, his voice barely above a whisper, still making sure he isn’t dreaming.

The disbelief would quickly fade, and his excitement would bubble over. “I’m gonna be a dad?” His laugh would be a mix of nervousness and joy.

Hawks, who was always so confident on the battlefield, would suddenly seem a little more vulnerable, maybe even a bit shaky from the emotional rush.

Then, in his fashion, he’d playfully add, “Does that mean I have to, like, baby-proof the whole house? Or maybe teach them how to fly?” His words would be teasing, but the glint in his eyes would show how serious he is about wanting to protect both you and the baby.

As the initial excitement dies down, there’d be a softer moment. He’d sit you both down, still holding your hand, his thumb gently rubbing circles against your skin. There might be a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—Keigo never had the best upbringing, and deep down, that would probably stir up some quiet fears about whether he could be the kind of father your child deserves.

But he wouldn’t say that out loud, not immediately. Instead, he’d look at you, his expression softening, and say something like, “You know, I’ve always been good at flying solo, but…I think this is the one mission I want to be part of a team for.”

The months that followed were a whirlwind. Keigo was more protective than ever, fussing over your comfort, making sure you ate well, and attending every doctor’s appointment.

His eyes were filled with awe as he watched the ultrasound screen, hearing the steady heartbeat of the tiny life you had created together.

But with that joy came anxiety. Late at night, as he lay beside you, those old fears crept in. His father had been a terrible man, filled with anger and violence. What if Keigo had inherited that darkness? What if he wasn’t good enough? One night, the weight of it all became too much, and in the dark, he whispered his fears.

“What if I mess this up?” His voice trembled. “What if I’m not a good father?”

But you reassured him, and slowly, he began to believe that he could be different—that he already was.

Because he knew all too well what a horrible childhood felt like—he had lived through it firsthand—Keigo was determined to ensure his child would experience something entirely different. He had endured the fear, the loneliness, and the pain of growing up in a broken home, with no sense of love or stability. And now, more than anything, he wanted to give his child a life they could be proud of.

He wanted them to grow up feeling safe, loved, and cherished, surrounded by the warmth of a family that supported them. A family built on love, not fear. He was determined that their childhood would be nothing like his. Instead of the cold indifference he had known, his child would be embraced with affection, and instead of shame, they would feel pride—pride in their family and in the love their parents shared.

Keigo wanted them to see what a strong, healthy relationship looked like. To know, from the very start, that they were wanted and adored by both of their parents. He wanted to raise them with the sense of security he never had, so they could grow up confident, knowing they were part of something whole and good.

Above all, Keigo wanted his child to look at their family with pride, knowing that their parents loved each other deeply and fought for the life they were building together.

The day your baby was born was the happiest of Keigo’s life. Sitting beside you, watching as you held your newborn, he felt the ache of his missing wings. He wished he could wrap them around you both, shelter you from the world. Tears filled his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your baby’s forehead.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered, overwhelmed with love and gratitude, leaving the gentlest kiss on their little forehead.

In that moment, Keigo Takami—the man who once thought he could only be a hero—realized that he had everything he had ever dreamed of. He had you, his partner, his love, and now, his child, a symbol of the future he had dared to hope for.

Though he would love his child unconditionally, deep down, my personal headcannon is that he secretly hoped for a boy.

Someone who could grow strong and protect you, just as he had vowed to do.

And while no one could say for sure if his quirk was truly gone forever after All for One stole it, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, a pair of small red wings appeared on your child’s back!

After Hawks became a pro hero he had his own plush, so imagine your child holding it as baby Keigo held the Endeavor one, this is extremely cutee

bonus super cute scene!

One afternoon, Keigo was sprawled out on the living room floor, lazily flipping through a magazine while your toddler crawled all over him, tugging at his hair and poking at his face. It was one of those rare, lazy days where he didn’t have to rush off for work, and he cherished every second of it. Even if it meant being turned into a human jungle gym.

Your child—who had inherited Keigo’s striking golden eyes—giggled as they clambered onto his back, grabbing handfuls of his messy blond hair and pretending to ‘fly’ like Hawks used to.

“Whoa there, little bird,” Keigo laughed, turning his head slightly so he could see the mischievous look on his child’s face. “You’re not old enough to be flying yet, and besides…” He gave an exaggerated sigh, dramatically slumping onto the floor as if in defeat. “Daddy’s wings are still in the shop.”

Your child squealed in delight, bouncing up and down on Keigo’s back as if they didn’t care at all about the missing wings. “Fly! Fly!” they chanted, pulling on his shirt like reins.

Keigo groaned playfully, shifting his body around as if preparing for takeoff.

“Alright, alright, but this flight is gonna cost ya,” he teased, glancing up at you with a wink. “One kiss for the captain, and we might just make it to the couch in one piece.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics but couldn’t help smiling as your child leaned over and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Keigo’s cheek. He beamed, as if that kiss gave him all the power he needed. With a dramatic grunt, he pushed himself up on all fours, his child clinging to his back like they were riding a mighty steed.

“Hawks Airlines, taking off!” he announced, crawling around the living room with exaggerated movements, making airplane noises and tilting his body from side to side as if navigating through invisible turbulence. Your child shrieked with laughter, their tiny hands gripping his shoulders.

Keigo made a few loops around the coffee table before finally collapsing in a heap of mock exhaustion. “Phew! Rough landing, folks. We’ve reached our destination—couchland,” he said breathlessly, rolling onto his back and pulling your child into his arms. “Thank you for flying with the best retired hero-slash-dad in the world.”

Your child giggled and snuggled into his chest, their small body rising and falling with Keigo’s soft laughter. He looked down at them, his golden eyes warm and full of love, then glanced up at you with a goofy grin. “I gotta admit, I may have lost my wings, but I’ve gained a pretty cute co-pilot."

[ongolecharles]

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 Group, Wed Oct 02nd, 2024 ... Wednesday of The Twenty-Sixth Week in Ordinary Time, Year B/Memorial of the Holy Guardian Angels

Reading 1

------------

Jb 9:1-12, 14-16

Job answered his friends and said:

I know well that it is so;

but how can a man be justified before God?

Should one wish to contend with him,

he could not answer him once in a thousand times.

God is wise in heart and mighty in strength;

who has withstood him and remained unscathed?

He removes the mountains before they know it;

he overturns them in his anger.

He shakes the earth out of its place,

and the pillars beneath it tremble.

He commands the sun, and it rises not;

he seals up the stars.

He alone stretches out the heavens

and treads upon the crests of the sea.

He made the Bear and Orion,

the Pleiades and the constellations of the south;

He does great things past finding out,

marvelous things beyond reckoning.

Should he come near me, I see him not;

should he pass by, I am not aware of him;

Should he seize me forcibly, who can say him nay?

Who can say to him, "What are you doing?"

How much less shall I give him any answer,

or choose out arguments against him!

Even though I were right, I could not answer him,

but should rather beg for what was due me.

If I appealed to him and he answered my call,

I could not believe that he would hearken to my words.

Responsorial Psalm

-------------------

Ps 88:10bc-11, 12-13, 14-15

R. (3) Let my prayer come before you, Lord.

Daily I call upon you, O LORD;

to you I stretch out my hands.

Will you work wonders for the dead?

Will the shades arise to give you thanks?

R. Let my prayer come before you, Lord.

Do they declare your mercy in the grave,

your faithfulness among those who have perished?

Are your wonders made known in the darkness,

or your justice in the land of oblivion?

R. Let my prayer come before you, Lord.

But I, O LORD, cry out to you;

with my morning prayer I wait upon you.

Why, O LORD, do you reject me;

why hide from me your face?

R. Let my prayer come before you, Lord.

Alleluia

--------

Ps 103:21

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Bless the LORD, all you angels,

you ministers, who do his will.

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

-----‐‐----

Mt 18:1-5, 10

The disciples approached Jesus and said,

"Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?"

He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said,

"Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children,

you will not enter the Kingdom of heaven.

Whoever humbles himself like this child

is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.

And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.

"See that you do not despise one of these little ones,

for I say to you that their angels in heaven

always look upon the face of my heavenly Father."

***

FOCUS AND LITURGY OF THE WORD

In the presence of the Angels I will praise you, my God”(Psalm 138)

The Memorial of the Holy Guardian Angels

Joy surrounds this memorial for me. Remembering the always present love of God manifest in the guardian angels brings me such comfort. Of course you probably think of these holy beings as something from your childhood and perhaps have discarded the thought of your own guardian angel as a product of youth and innocence. Comes to mind the holy card of two small children crossing a dangerous chasm while hovering gigantically over them in protection is a winged being. Hard to put that image into your adult life.

What do you imagine when you think of the angel assigned to you? Perhaps a fluffy little cherub floating with tiny wings on a fresco somewhere in a cathedral in Rome? Or a magnificent figure, grand in stature, serious, humble, made truly awesome by its always beholding the face of God, yet there just for you? Always there to whisper God’s loving will to you, His message of grace and joy and warning and guidance. Not just a cute figure perched on your right shoulder counterbalanced by an equally harmless little red devil with horns and a pitchfork on your left shoulder, both prodding you to good or evil, as depicted in so many cartoons. No, a serious, loving meeting with our very Lord, assigned to each of us even before our birth.

Children used to be regarded as chattel, tools to be used,  small versions of adults without unique needs and gifts. As human consciousness evolved, we grew to see children as they are - simple, humble, with special complexities and needs. Jesus showed his disciples a child as a model of the greatest in the kingdom of heaven when they argued who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven. I try to place myself back there when I was a child, trusting simply in the goodness of God, knowing there is a special angel there to bring me all of God’s love and care. A being I can communicate with, ask favors of - as when I asked my angel to nudge the angel of another to delay evening Mass for five minutes so I wouldn’t be late…..and it happened! When I told the celebrant what I had asked and the amazing result - he was never late celebrating Mass - he said that was the best thing that had happened to him in quite a while. To know the joy of God’s love manifest in our guardian angel.

So I invite you to remember your guardian angel with thanks and awe that there is a conduit to the face of God.

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SAINT OF THE DAY

The Story of the Feast of the Guardian Angels

Perhaps no aspect of Catholic piety is as comforting to parents as the belief that an angel protects their little ones from dangers real and imagined. Yet guardian angels are not only for children. Their role is to represent individuals before God, to watch over them always, to aid their prayer, and to present their souls to God at death.

The concept of an angel assigned to guide and nurture each human being is a development of Catholic doctrine and piety based on Scripture but not directly drawn from it. Jesus’ words in Matthew 18:10 best support the belief: “See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.”

Devotion to the angels began to develop with the birth of the monastic tradition. Saint Benedict gave it impetus and Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, the great 12th-century reformer, was such an eloquent spokesman for the guardian angels that angelic devotion assumed its current form in his day.

A feast in honor of the guardian angels was first observed in the 16th century. In 1615, Pope Paul V added it to the Roman calendar.

Reflection

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Devotion to the angels is, at base, an expression of faith in God’s enduring love and providential care extended to each person day in and day out.

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