#›› PRINCE OF RUIN AND SHADOWS ‚ face !

[valeskafics]

"Bewitched" - Aegon Targaryen II x Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

a/n: a request from @dreamfyre03 combined with one from @the-shadow-queen02 🤭🩷

Summary: Bewitching the men of House Targaryen and bringing them under your thrall proves quite easy.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, manipulation, mommy kink, dom!reader, breeding kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, face sitting, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, ass eating, anal sex, jealousy

Word Count: 1,625 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

When Aemond returned from Harrenhal, his mother could not hide her shock at who he had brought back with him.  He said he found you on the side of the road, thrown from your horse, bleeding from your temple with little memory of how you came to be there. He, of course, did the chivalrous thing and took you into his care. But Alicent can tell that it is far more than that when she sees how he looks at you. With care, affection, but something much darker as well. Possessiveness. Intense desire, hunger even. You were quite beautiful, disarmingly so, and it is no wonder her sweet boy was so taken in by you. Buxom with crimson red lips, eyes that seemed much wiser than the age you claimed to be, lined with kohl and framed by long lashes that you knew how to bat oh so prettily at the prince. Your gaze pulled people in. There was a mysteriousness to you, a danger she could not quite name. 

And she hated that Aegon seemed to be just as entranced by you the moment he saw you, descending from his throne to take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it, giving you his most charming smile. The dowager queen saw the way Aemond’s nostrils flared, the way his jaw clenched. You were going to be a problem. And you knew the way you had both the king and the prince wrapped around your little finger. Your smile was one that looked as if you were hiding some deep, dark secret. One that could ruin everything Viserys wanted her to do. A peaceful reign for Aegon, his legacy maintained.

But when she suggests that he send you away, back to the Riverlands where you belong, Aemond raises his voice at her, shocking her entirely. He glares at her, gnashing his teeth as he declares that you are to remain by his side. That you are his guest, his lover, and anyone that has a problem with that will be put to the sword. What sort of spell have you put on her son, she wonders? Are you some kind of enchantress? Some witch who has seduced him with false promises, with the affection he’s so desperately craved all his life? She does not know. But what Alicent does know is this - people are frightened of her third-born for good reason. She has never been on the receiving end of Aemond’s anger before. He’s always revered her, as one reveres the Mother herself. But it would appear that you have replaced her as the most important woman in his life. She watches as you rest a hand on his chest, looking up at him and calming him with a few honeyed words and a bat of your lashes, his eye fluttering shut as you caress him. A low moan escapes from his lips, one that she truly wishes she did not have to hear.

And it’s no wonder what the spell you’ve put him under is. The way he stares unabashedly at your breasts as they strain against the bodice of your dress, the way he licks his lips when you give him that coy little smile. You have seduced him into your grasp and she wonders if you will ever be willing to let him go.

Aemond watches as you move to get up from his bed, the moonlight shining through the window and reflecting upon your bare body as you walk. He stares without shame, admiring your full breasts, the curve to your hips, your soft thighs as you move to grab yourself a robe. He can already feel his cock twitching, imagining burying himself inside you once again, filling you with his seed, tasting your sweet, wet cunny-

His train of thought is cut off when you hand him a goblet of wine, having already poured one for yourself. You smile at him playfully, moving to sit in his lap, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh of contentment, leaning into your touch, feeling your nails scratching at his scalp. You do not judge him for it, the way he clings to you like a babe, his lips finding your breasts, suckling greedily, his tongue laving attention onto your pert nipple. You just continue running your hand through his hair, soothing him. Aemond’s other hand moves to squeeze at your neglected breast, only to have you wrap his knuckles, fixing him with a sharp glare.

“Do not be greedy, my prince,” you say in that silvery voice, scolding him affectionately, the sound making him grow all the harder, “Now, I must go see your brother.”

Aemond shakes his head, arms wrapping around your waist, “No. You have to stay here with me. You are mine. You belong to me. I will not let Aegon take you away from me. He has gotten everything he has wanted all his life. I will not let him have you.”

You run your fingers along the length of his scar, smirking slightly when his breath hitches at your soft touch, “My sweet, sweet Aemond. Surely you remember my vision. To make it a reality, I have told you what it is that I must do.”

“It does not mean I have to like it. Or even approve of it,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your soft skin, “You are mine.”

“Of course I am yours,” you coo affectionately, “When you sit the Iron Throne, I will be at your side. You will wield Blackfyre, the Conqueror’s crown upon your handsome brow.”

“And you will be my queen,” Aemond insists eagerly, letting out a groan as you sink down onto his cock, the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move your hips mesmerized him, “Oh Gods, you take me so well…”

Your fingers trace his throat all, squeezing gently, a grin spreading across your lips when he lets out a lewd moan of your name, “Yes, my king. I will be your queen. And you will breed me every night. Perhaps this is the night your seed will take and your heir will begin to grow inside of me.”

The thought of you, your breasts heavy with milk, your belly swollen as his child grows inside of you… It is all almost too much for him to bear. He feels you tense around him, his seed spilling inside you at the feeling as you milk his cock for everything he has. You always take him so perfectly, as if you were made for him and only him.

He hates watching you brush your air, applying some scented oil to your neck before taking your pitcher of wine and leaving the chambers you currently share with him. Aemond knows this is all for the greater plan, the vision you saw in the fire on the way to King’s Landing. Him on the throne, his babe in your belly. Aemond tries to stay in his chambers. He tries to play the part of the responsible, dutiful man. To let you do what the two of you planned. You will whisper in Aegon’s ear, bewitch him with promises of a life far away in YiTi. You will get him to abdicate his claim to the throne, allowing Aemond to take his rightful place. And to do all of this, Aemond knows seducing him, bedding him is necessary. But he cannot bear it.

So he storms into Aegon’s bedchamber. He sees you there, sitting atop Aegon, much as you did atop him mere hours earlier. Aegon’s hands hold your hips, his eyes blown wide with lust as you ride him. Aemond is transfixed by the sight. You look so beautiful, so powerful as you give his brother pleasure, as you take your own from him. You grab Aegon’s hands, pinning them above his head as you roll your hips faster and faster. Aegon moves to take one of your breasts in his mouth, whining pathetically when you smirk and move back just out of reach.

Aemond glowers at the two of you for a moment before storming up to you, gripping your hips from behind. You glance at him over your shoulder, a wicked smile curling on your lips as you pull him into a hot, wet kiss. Aegon watches the two of you, his lips parted as he continues bucking his hips up against you before finally spilling himself in your cunt with a pathetic whine of your name. You smirk at the two men before speaking in a cool, measured tone.

“There’s enough of me to share, darlings.”

The two stare at you in awe as you move to straddle Aegon’s face, turning to Aemond and glancing downward. Immediately, he knows what you expect him to do. Before you, he never would have thought of himself as being interested in this sort of depravity. But while you ride his elder brother’s face, his own tongue teasing your puckered hole before preparing you to take his cock, he realizes that he has very much grown addicted to you.

The night continues this way, the three of you losing yourself in your shared pleasure, each brother sound asleep on either side of you. You slip from the bed in the dead of night, putting your robe on once more and preparing to meet a figure, hidden under the shroud of darkness. He waits for you in King’s Landing, near Mysaria’s brothel, a smirk on his face.

“How is the plan progressing, little witch?”

Your lover pulls you into his arms, groaning against your lips as you palm at his cock, “The plan goes well, Daemon. Very well.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #my writing #aegon targaryen ii #aegon #aemond #aegon oneshot #aemond oneshot

[sapphire-writes]

Heya! Would it be possible to request a short story with Aemond and a painfully shy lady? Like where he thinks that she hates him or that she doesn't care about him just because she cannot bring herself to speak to him and it kinda turns him on when he realizes that she has a huge crush on him? Thank you very much, you are the best (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

Run From Me ~ Aemond x Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: sensual themes

note: love this request! was fun to write, and I needed some softness!

Aemond had always known he was not destined to be the prince the poets wrote songs about. Since the taking of his eye, he was cursed with the knowledge that he would always feared, always shied away from by the women of the court. 

He knew it was true, he watched how Helaena’s ladies drew away from him, quickening their pace when passing him the halls. Averted their eyes from his face. Even though he had taken it upon himself to hide his ruined eye beneath a patch, they still seemed fearful of the dragon prince. 

If they shall treat me like a monster, a monster I shall become. 

You were the shyest of them all, visibly shaking in his presence. Helaena’s favorite lady, nearly attached at her hip always. Aemond would make polite conversation with his dear sister and you would cling to her skirts, drifting behind her like a silent shadow, cheeks flushed, eyes downcast. 

Aemond did not know what to make of you. The disgust you must feel for him was too painful to imagine. 

Though after a particularly frustrating moment with you, Aemond decided to seek comfort from his sister. 

“She ran from me,” he told her, sitting in front of the fireplace.

Helaena stopped her needlepoint; she had been working diligently on finishing the jade-colored scorpion per Jaehaera’s request. Her lovely brow knits together at her brother’s words.

“Whatever are you talking about?” she asks. 

“Your lady,” Aemond tells her, rubbing the scarred tissue below his eyepatch.

The incident Aemond refers to happened earlier in the day. He had nearly walked into you as you hurried in from the stables. 

Aemond fervently apologized, earning a small squeak from you as you hastily turned on your heel and fled in the opposite direction. 

“I do not understand what else I must do,” Aemond says, closing his eye.

Helaena purses her lips together tightly, a smile threatening to overtake her. Aemond opens his eye, looking at her. He frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh Aemond,” she says, laughing slightly. 

“What is it?” he asks again, confused about what is laughable about this torment. 

“I should not be telling you this,” Helaena admits, “I have been sworn to secrecy.”

“But you shall tell me anyway because you are my sister,” Aemond says.

“I cannot.”

“I am your blood,” Aemond insists.

“Oh hush you dramatic fool,” she teases, causing Aemond to flush slightly at his elder sister’s scolding.

“Please, Hel,” Aemond begs, “I cannot stand it. This fear, this hatred-”

“She does not hate you, brother,” Helaena interrupts.

Aemond closes his mouth, then opens it again, his confusion is evident on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“She is rather fond of you,” Helaena admits, “She thinks you are roguishly handsome.”

Aemond is at a loss for words. Never in his life did he think a lady, especially one so beautiful as yourself, would think him handsome.  

“You jest,” Aemond says, brushing off her words.

Helaena raises an eyebrow.

“Shall I go on?” Helaena asks.

Aemond waves a hand, encouraging her to continue, but attempting to remain composed. He can feel his heart beating wildly against his ribs. You think he is handsome. 

“She told me she cannot bear to look at you,” Helaena admits. 

For a moment, Aemond’s heart sinks, he feels his worst fears have come true. You are afraid. You are disgusted. 

“She finds your mouth too enticing,” Helaena continues, “Every time you speak of your studies she cannot focus on the words that you speak.”

Aemond feels a blush blooming on his cheeks. 

“The rest I shall not tell you - do not look at me like that! It is a discussion only ladies may have in the safety of one another,” Helaena insists.

“About my mouth?” he asks.

“About things, a sister should not be partial in hearing about her younger brother,” Helaena says, shivering slightly, “Though I do adore her so much, I allow her to voice her lustful thoughts.”

“Lustful?” Aemond asks, and Helaena slams her mouth shut, “Surely we are not talking about the same lady.”

How could you be lustful of him? Of anything? You appeared so painfully shy Aemond doubted you wished for marriage or love at all.

“Women hold many secrets within them,” Helaena says, being careful with her words, “You must understand, women have desires as men do. We are just taught to hide them. To not indulge in them beyond the privacy of our chambers.”

“And what does your lady indulge in, exactly?” Aemond asks, desperate to know. 

Helaena purses her lips.

“She is fond of literature,” she admits, “Literature that should not be read outside of one’s quarters.” 

Aemond stares back at Helaena. She sighs dramatically. 

“Men,” she murmurs, shaking her head, “Stories, Aemond, erotic stories.”

“May the Maiden protect my lovely granddaughter’s virtue, along with all the sweet doves that reside within the walls of the Red Keep and those beyond,” Alicent finishes her prayer, and you feel your cheeks flush. 

You wonder how virtuous Queen Alicent would think you were, had she known what you were up to. You hadn’t meant to read it, you’d told yourself you were done indulging in such filth, but as you were scouring the library the previous afternoon, the title caught your eye. 

A Cautionary Tale for Young Girls.

Surely, it was a book you should be reading. A tale of caution, and you were a young girl. Innocent enough, perhaps? So you brought the book to your chambers and began reading when you returned from supping with the royal family. 

You had stayed awake, eyes wide, until all the candles in your room had melted to small nubs. Even then, you brought yourself to the window, squinting at the pages in the moonlight. Reading all about Lady Coryanne Wylde and her debauchery. The text was intriguing and left a dull ache between your legs that even sleep could not calm. Only when your hands drifted below your silk nightgown, stroking the wet patch on your small clothes did you find any semblance of relief. 

Your palms were sweaty as you were dismissed from the Sept. You needed to return the book before it was found in your chambers. As you returned you plucked the text from its hiding place below your bed, sneaking toward the library. 

The great room appeared to be empty as you crept towards the shelves that lay toward the back of the room. Pushing past scrolls, you found the empty slot where the book had been taken by you. Another title caught your eye as you held the book in the air. Sins of the Flesh. Blush blooms on your cheeks as you contemplate repeating your own sin from the previous night. 

“What are you reading?” Aemond says, plucking the book with the effort of yanking a flower from its stem.

Panic surges through you. A small whimper escapes your lips as you trail behind him. 

“Aemond please give it back,” you beg, following him through the stacks.

It is the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time he’s heard his name drip like honey from your lips. Aemond closes his eye at the sound of your small voice. He stops walking and you nearly collide with his back, before he turns to face you. 

You reach your hand up but he holds the book above his head, out of reach. Even standing on the tips of your toes does no good. 

“A young lady such as yourself should not be reading such debauchery,” Aemond chastises, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

Your cheeks burn, humiliation wrapping a fist around your throat as you desperately try to retrieve the book from his grasp. The hot feeling of shame curls in your stomach, and tears begin to form in your eyes, clouding your vision. 

“I was only looking,” you tell him, though the lie does not sound convincing. 

Aemond raises a brow at you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and you cast your eyes away from him. 

“It is alright, my lady,” he says, surprising you, “I myself am fond of literature.”

Your eyes flicker to his face. Aemond opens the book, picking a page. 

“Ah yes, here it is,” he says as if he’s found the page he wanted, “The tale of Coryanne Wylde should be read with caution, as it is known once a woman indulges in sin it is nearly impossible to recover.”

You stare at him, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged. Aemond glances up at you.

“Tell me, my lady, have you indulged in sinful behavior?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It is hard to breathe, your voice feels caught in your throat as it often does when you are in his presence. 

“M-m-my prince?” you manage, while averting your gaze. 

You choose to focus on a spot on the floor in front of you, heart thumping like a rabbit’s foot. You’re sure you’re shaking by now, and force yourself to clasp your hands behind your back. You wet your lips, as Aemond brings his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Have you indulged yourself?” he asks, voice a rough murmur. 

The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip, it’s almost too much to bear being under his eye this way. All his attention focused on you, those beautiful lips you’ve dreamt of, imagined doing such sinful acts to you. It’s too much. 

“I do not understand,” you whimper, as he caresses your cheek.

“Allow me to enlighten you, then,” Aemond purrs, before bringing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. 

Though you’re trembling against him he manages to wrap his hand around your waist, guiding you back against the bookshelves, deepening the kiss. You’re too nervous to move, you don’t want to ruin it, don’t want him to stop. Gods don’t let him stop. You’re holding your hands up in shock still, curled into fists near your head as he continues to kiss you. 

“Touch me,” he murmurs against your mouth, as his hand paws at your waist. 

You slowly lower your forearms to rest against his shoulders before succumbing to the desire to wrap your arms around his neck; fingers tangling in his silky, silver locks. His tongue darts through your lips, slipping into your mouth pulling forth a breathy moan. 

Aemond moves his lips away then, letting them dance along the line of your jaw, down to your neck. Kissing, nipping the tender flesh of your throat until you’re whimpering against him.

“Tell me,” he purrs, “Tell me what you want.”

Fire. There is fire coursing through your veins. Fire licking its way over your skin, flames consuming you whole. That’s what it feels like, what he feels like.

“Just you,” you sigh, as he connects your lips again. 

“Always you.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x velaryon!reader #aemond x strong!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd

[bowieandqueen11]

Strawberry and Black Tea / Sanji Imagine

Request: for the fluffy sanji request-- maybe sanji and the reader end up sleeping in each other's rooms one night because its hard for them to sleep apart. reader gives sanji a good night kiss and he just falls into a lovesick puddle on the floor.

Something short and sweet because this idea is so so lovely, thank you anon!! :)

Warning: mentions of child abuse!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

It was the Iron Mask that had left Sanji with such a distaste for the dark.

Even now, lying tossing and turning in his bunk on the Going Merry, the dark starlight that creeped through the lone porthole seemed to do nothing but shroud his eyes in a long-suppressed misery. It reminded him far too much of home. Of his father. Of nights spent trembling in dank corners: nothing but the touch of flimsy cobwebs against his outreached hands, and the ratchet of his own voice cawing off the empty stone chamber to ease the frightened child.

Until his paranoid eyes couldn’t tell of the receding monstrous shadow shrivelling up the tower was the receding form of his father, or the unyielding loosening of shrill’s death fingers rasping uneasily across the stone wall by his cage, finally come to fulfil her promise to take him away.

She grew closer and closer, until her liripipe seemed to crow through the bars as she leant down through the shadows to kiss his forehead.

He started scrambling back desperately along the dirty dust, still too young and inexperienced with the true hardships of his life to try and face them head on. Instead he buried his head into his crossed arms, tried his hardest to calm his panting breath, closed his eyes and squeezed. It was the only way, he thought in that tumultuous moment, it was the only at he would be able to hold onto his sanity. To pretend it was you. To pretend it was you. To believe it was you.

A rat scurried out of a hole between cracked shackles, sniffing the air as it noticed Sanji cowering in the corner: the same boy who had showed the rodent such kindness only e weeks before, feeding it leftover scraps of his mother’s favourite crumble, trying his best to clear the dish before his father realised it was missing. The poor thing ran over to Sanji’s shoe, it’s tiny claws pinching into the forgotten prince’s skin as it raised its little body up closer to him. But to that child - oh, that poor child - it was like bony fingernails biting into his bone and extruding coarse chills straight to the bone.

She had come. The wrong person had come. So he did what any young child would do. He started screaming.

He screamed your name. He screamed for his ma, until the screams died, choked by the wails sticking in his throat. Then he whimpered, clawing at the metal screwed against his cheeks until his fingernails were left stunted, jagged, bloodied.

He thought about how alone he was, but realised quickly that wasn’t what made him so sad. He thought about you: how you would react, how heartbroken you would be when his father announced to the world that the young Prince has perished in a terrible accident. He imagined your tear streaked face as you would watch the faux funeral procession parade in a cheerful solemnity down past the main market and into the sea, stealing away into the alleyway and seeing how alone you were.

Most of all, he felt guilty. Guilty that this was all his fault. That he had proved his brothers right. He was weak. He had destroyed his mother. He had ruined you. He was weak. And so he crumpled into a ball, falling onto his side and allowing the sweet embrace of the shadows to lap over him.

His cries had quickly fallen into pitiful whimpers. Then quiet sobs, jolting his body forward in convulsions that had left him gasping for breath every few minutes or so, only broken by the almost angelic sound of the iron wrought door being shoved unsteadily open, and the pained whisper from the top of the stairs. ’Sanji? Sanji! Where the- ow- are you?!’

'Y/-Y/n?' He clambered to his knees, and shoved his arms desperately through the bars, as if he could levitate you down towards him. 'I'm here! I'm here - please! Y/n!' His little fists began to bang on the bars as he scraped up to lean on his knees. 'Help me - get me out, please! She's going to kill me!'

It took you less than thirty seconds to scale down the remaining steps, nearly flying chin first down into the dirt. You didn't care though: not when Sanji's fingernails sliced desperately into your skin and burrowed into the meat of your arm, tugging your forehead against the cool metal of his own. You did your best to cup his face between the clunky mask, pressing your fingers down to his neck and pulling him even closer to you. 'It's alright - it's alright. I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here, Sanj. We're going to run, we're going to get away.'

He refused to let you go, even as you bit your lower lip in concentration and wiggled into your pocket to pull out a stash of bobby pins you had pilfered from Vinsmoke Reiju when you had slipped into the castle. Poor Sanji nearly flies backwards onto his behind when you finally manage to click the locked gate open, yet the realisation hardly seems to dawn on him; he's leapt on you in a second flat, knees knocking the wind out of your stomach as he tumbles his torso against your awaiting hug.

'You came', he heaved out between sobs, shoving his grimacing face into the throbbing pulse point on your neck, 'you came back for me... why would you come back for me.'

The absolute dejection in the final warble of his desperate plea made you bite down on your tongue so harshly, you had to shove it against the roof of your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from spluttering on blood. 'Because, Sanj... because you're my best friend. And I love you. And we made a promise, didn't we? We're going to go find the All Blue, but we're only going to do it together. Not one without the other, right?'

He head bobs quickly, desperately. Shaking fingers latch tighter into your back, and although he wants nothing more than to grab onto your fingers and fly to freedom up that winding staircase, he slides his legs to the side and comes to sit awkwardly on your lap like a frail bird. The soft tip of his nose tickles the shell of your ear as he whispers: 'like black tea and strawberry?'

You snort, but nod your head against the side of his curls, tightening your grip around the shaking expanse of his spine. 'Yes chef, like black tea and strawberry. Even though that sounds absolutely disgusting.' His laugh- god, his laugh was so warming, even if the sound cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up. What was less welcome, though, were the few pearly tears that slipped past the cracks slats covering his eyes and began to trace down an old bruised hollow that lay sharp and gaunt on his neck.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry-', he starts to panic again, one eye blinking open as he stares into the inky depths of the umbral shade gathering over your heads. 'This is my fault. It's my fault we have to leave.'

'No.' You grab onto his shirt, nearly making him wince, but both of you refuse to unlatch from the other. 'No. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault, and I don't want you to think that for a second.'

The authoritativeness behind your shaking words was almost enough to make him believe you.

He nods slowly, but you can tell he's doing it just to placate you. 'I love you too, by the way', he sniffles, finally leaning back enough so he could wipe what he deemed as an unsightly amount of snot away from his nose. More than you know. More than he could even put into words. More than his young, frightful heart could even yet understand. He's too bashful to look you in the eye, instead skimming his eyes quickly over the torn threads of his kneecap, but finally allowing himself a respite of calm in the knowledge that the love he had been so desperately begging for hadn't abandoned him.

Before the adrenaline could rush out of his body, he leant forward with his head still bowed, and kissed your cheek as best he could in the darkness.

You hadn't left him. You hadn't: you never would. The revelation seems to shift the world around him, coaxing him into believing the sweet twilight sleeting across his eyes was sunlight instead; even though he still felt like his life was spent as a coin flipping through the air, so unsure of where it will land - of where it belongs - of the choices it will wrought, it felt a little easier afterwards, knowing he would eventually land. That it was your hand that would catch him.

He still hated the dark. And he still loved you more than life itself. Which is why you weren't surprised to find yourself running around your room at nearly one in the morning, trying your best to discreetly gather your bed sheets and sneak off towards the boy's cabin.

Before you could even finish gathering your pillow into your arms, the melodic rapt of Sanji's knuckles had rung out through the door. It took you less than thirty seconds to slide across the planks and fling it open, but it took the poor chef a lot longer to catch his breath and try to look more put together; he was doing his best to look suave by the way he was leaning his elbow against the doorframe, but the wind swept hair gave away the fact that he had come running over the side of the ship to get to you. The soft pant of his breath, the ruddy cheeks, the slight spasm of his abdominal muscles through his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, the scratch of his teeth against his inner lip line: you knew his tell-tale sings, his idiosyncrasies far too well. The man was flustered beyond belief, even if he did his best to cock his head and beam down at you.

What really gave it away - what really, really gave it away, though, was the fact that he literally had to clasp his hands together in front of his chest and wring them to stop them launching forward and grabbing onto you with the cloying, overwhelming power of eight octopus tentacles.

You almost have to shove your hand against your mouth to stifle your laugh at the way he flicked his head back to move the hair away from his eye: to anyone else, it would have seemed like an innocent tick. But he knew, and more importantly you knew too, that it was just so his glistening eyes could wander across your face, as if the lines and marks of your face mapped out the most beautiful treasure in all the seas.

'Well, my strawberry, I hope I didn't wake you from your beauty sleep. Not that you need it! But I, I was hoping, if you were to grace me with such luck, that I may come in-'

Before he can even finish, you've grabbed the knot of his tie and have hauled him across the door line like a fisherman reeling in his hook. Sanji goes flying, landing safely in your open arms, and flopping his back down pleasantly into your hammock. Sanji's eyes widen as he comes sliding down the material towards you, headfirst, stopped only when his chest does the job for him. His arms thump clumsily around your back, using his fall as an excuse to pull you as physically close to him as he can. He huddles up against you, his hand spreading across your shoulder blade and guiding your ear down to rest comfortably just above his right pec. You flush, pretending you don't feel the firm ripple of his tense muscle: don't hear the pounding shudder of his tell-tale heart.

'I'll take that as a yes, ma chérie.'

Distracted by the way your arm falls around his stomach, idly reaching up to curl back the stray edges of his fringe behind the corner of his eye again, his legs inch closer... and closer... and closer... until his left one has plunked down above your own. You have to bury your head into his neck to stop yourself from laughing at how incarnadine his face spreads, warm pink waves radiating off his cheeks as you lift up your knees and slide your free leg in between the heavy weight of his thighs. Bless his heart, it must have taken some exertion to hold it the way he did, making sure not to place his full weight on you, but just enough that the contact was physically there.

'You know', Sanji starts, once he has calmed his heart from beating so rapidly he feared it may have flopped out through his throat, 'Zeff used to give me a kiss goodnight.'

You lift your head to stare at him incredulously. 'No he didn't. I was there for only... uh...', you lift the arm hanging over the soft skin of his bellybutton to ostentatiously count on your fingers, waving them in front of his face. 'Hm, look at that - fifteen years!?'

He leans his head down until his chin is tucked into his neck, and does his best to try and hide the way his lips are warbling into a grin; he tries to play it off as him finding your antics amusing, as he strokes his fingers tenderly over the warm cotton on your shoulder, but inside he's just so beyond giddy to know that you remembered. To know that you had been together so long. To know that after all this time, after all the two of you had been through, he would gladly dredge through the unspeakable caliginosity again, if it meant he could always arrive at this moment. If it meant, no matter what his life threw at him, he could spend every moment of it by your side.

Even if the shadows are juddering up the walls of the girl's cabin too: even if your stroking fingers can't mask the memories of death's sharp knuckles stretching out across the walls. Even if he were to land, right now, in the waves: if he were to capsize and drown, he would be happy. He would be happy, because it was your hand instead. Your hand.

Too timid still, too apprehensive to admit that which had been a heavy weight holding down the flight of his sweet heart, he hides his love behind canorous tease.

'Yeah, well, Zeff did it when he could be arsed. Which I’m pretty sure was never.'

You snort, and he delights at the sound that he had drawn out. His vice like grip on your side tightens, but you decide better than to tease him for the way he begins squirming himself against you. He finally settles properly on his side, the bridge of his nose so dangerously close to yours that you can feel the shallow warmth of his breath brush over your bottom lip.

'Well-', he starts, trying to distract himself from your proximity. He was failing horribly, of course, because his eyes kept falling down to stare blankly at the seam of your lips. 'This does sure beat sleeping on the dungeon floor, even if we do have to put up with Luffy's snoring.'

'Hm, the dungeon wasn't too bad. Cosy', you say teasingly, letting your finger dance down the shell of his ear, pointing the tip against the jut of his chin and lifting his gaze with a smirk.

'How'd you figure that, sweetheart?' The feel of your finger against his skin, no matter how miniscule the touch, was enough to make the fibres of his body burn with such a want that it almost scared him.

'Because... it was the first place you ever kissed me.'

Sanji starts, eyes widening as he feels his limbs turn to stone.

He can't hide in the shadows anymore. Now, he has to come into the light. Has to let himself be free.

'Yeah, well strawberry', he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue, and folds himself further down the hammock so his knees are drawn warmly up against your own. The shaking of his torso is only overshadowed by the widening of his eyes, so full of deep wonder the dams might have burst and drowned you if he hadn't spent so years cautiously restraining himself. You draw a finger down the pulse point of his neck, and he feels that resolve weaken.

He feels like that frightened boy again, but he knows it has to be now. He knows he's been lucky to have had the luxury of borrowed time, but the bell has tolled: the bill has come due, and now he must admit the truth of his life - of his soul - of his heart, for he doesn't know when it will become too late.

He wanted to kiss you. God, he had wanted to kiss you so badly for fifteen years it hurt. Now, now he was going to create his own light: he was going to thrive, in spite of it all. He was going to allow that child to live. The cage was open. He was free. His choices were decided by nobody now but by his own ruling, his own compassion, and he had wasted far too many years training himself to be sceptical, precise, composed.

'... If you may be so kind as to permit it... I think this beautiful ship might end up being the second.' He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He suddenly becomes hyperaware of it all: of the closeness of your thigh against his own: slick, naked, vulnerable below your pyjama shorts. Your warm breath, inching closer and closer to his trembling mouth as he juts his head back to look warily at you, so afraid he's messed everything up.

But then you surprise him; you rush forward, overwhelming and crushing in the way your lips pliantly slide over his own, licking against the inside of his bottom lip as it drops open, breathlessly.

He had been waiting for this - over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you back: heartily, heavily, with a slipping mouth awaiting your tongue, and clawing fingers coming up to rapt into your cheeks as if you were something fleeting: as if he were still spinning in mid-air, waiting for the shadows to snuff the light out again.

When you finally find the strength, the resilience to pull away, neither of you seem to be able to muster the courage to just finally admit the truth you had both always known. Sanji, instead, looks youthfully shy as he tries to hide his wanting - god, so longing gaze behind his fringe once more, although his tongue can't help but prod against his bottom lip as if in disbelief.

'Like strawberry and black tea, right?', he finally asks against the side of your mouth, nudging his nose against your own and smiling fondly.

'Like strawberry and black tea.'

#one piece #sanji #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #one piece imagine #opla #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla imagine #sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji fluff #one piece x reader

[blayresmuses]

what the heart wants

summary: daemons jealousy gets the best of him as he watches you dance with someone else.

warnings: jealousy/possessiveness, alludes to sex, this is literally just daemons inner monologue

your hair is piled around your head in a beautiful weave of braids and curls that closely resembles a crown. he could give you one, daemon knows, the lannister fool who was currently trying to court you could not.

daemon rolls his eyes from the place he keeps amongst the shadows, watching you dance and laugh and blush. truly infuriating. the dress that adorned your body was nothing short of ethereal, a cream number decorated with so many pearls and jewels he had to wonder how much your father had splashed out on it. the thought went leaden in his stomach as he realised he wasn’t the only other person with their eyes glued to you.

your father, daemon noticed was watching you like a hawk. you were supposed to impress, he realised then. he’d heard the whispers, you were to be wed and who better to have your hand than one of the richest lords in the seven kingdoms?

it made him feel ill, the room suddenly too stuffy and crowded. briefly daemon wondered how much of a scene it would cause if he simply cut the oafs hands off of you. he wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress. his jaw clenched, the sudden idea of that dress on his chamber floor only heightening the deep jealousy he was feeling.

it wasn’t a feeling he felt often. one occasion that stood out was when viserys was handed a sword before him, the anger building in him then as he sat on the side watching him fail, he knew even then he make a better swordsman than his brother. never for a woman however, except for you.

you laughed again, so loud daemon could hear it over the drums and the pipes. the thought made him sick but he wanted to dance with you then, he wanted to make you flushed and giddy like you were now. this possessive inner monologue only continued as your partner laid a hand on your lower back and began leading you off the dance floor to a nearby table where the two of you continued conversing over drinks.

you were glowing, angelic in your slightly sweaty, cheerful state and before daemon knew it he was tumbling ever deeper into his thoughts and your current dress was replaced with one of white lace, the train flowing behind you for metres. he could see it all then, you’d smile so beautifully for him as he’d place a cloak of targaryen red and black around your shoulders, you’d be well and truly his. his beautiful bride.

the steps he was taking barely registered in his mind until your father met his gaze, a brief look of confusion taking over his features before he looked right back at you. ‘what do you want daemon,” he sighed, clearly not keen on the interruption. daemons fingers itched for the knife he kept on him but kept a straight face. he was the prince, for gods sake, not someone you’d pass over for a lannister. he would swallow the insult, for you.

‘your daughter,’ daemon answered calmly, confidence rippling from his every move as he flicked a speck of dust from his tunic. he had to be calm even though his heart was fluttering in his chest but he could already sense in that moment that you would be his. ‘i want her hand in marriage,’

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fic #daemon targaryen fanfic

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 9 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: magical near-death experience, language, confrontation wc: 4.3k

Back in your rooms, you and Namjoon stand, each processing quietly and a bit lost in thought.

“You should try to get a little more sleep,” he finally suggests. “You need to be at your sharpest.”

You nod absently, but your mind is flying through everything you’d uncovered in the ritual.

“I need to write down what I found,” you say, but your eyes are closed and you feel yourself swaying a little. “Before I forget.”

“Sit down,” Namjoon instructs, moving to the table to find paper and a pen in the mess you’d left strewn there. “Tell me what you found and I’ll write it.”

You do as you’re told and then head to your room for a few hours to sleep, making sure to keep the lamp - which has been replaced already since your mishap this morning - lit as you do.

Not that light does anything to keep an Infracti away. But it helps your mind to not create monsters out of shadows.

You emerge hours later, a bit groggy but certainly steadier on your feet. Namjoon isn’t in the main rooms and his door is closed, so you leave him be.

You check the time - it’s late afternoon, the seconds ticking you closer to early evening - and settle onto a cushion near the papers you and Namjoon had been writing on.

You’re almost through writing a more organized document of what you’ve discerned since the beginning - the threads you’re absolutely certain of, the counters you think most likely to be fruitful - when Namjoon emerges from his room, eyes squinting against the light and one hand raking through messy bedhead.

“What time is it?” he mutters, making his way towards one of the couches.

You glance at the clock and realize that dinnertime has come and gone. “Late,” you say. “I forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

You send for dinner and start to go over what you were working on while Namjoon slept.

“With the ritual done, I’m more confident that we’ve identified every thread,” you muse, eyes scanning the pages spread out before you. “So now it’s really a matter of finding the correct counters.”

“That’s a relief,” Namjoon says.

You run a finger down the page, looking for a note you’d made. “I was thinking about the end of life thing,” you tell him. “Weren’t you saying, back when we got here, that life and death magic can be used to weave other threads? Do you think the person who cast the curse used the end of life thread to… make it cleaner - simpler to cast?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer this right away, but keeps tapping his finger on the table, a sign that he’s thinking hard about this. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, eyes still on the paper. “Definitely a possibility. So then, would they not have meant that they wanted him to die? Was that choice simply for casting purposes?”

It’s clear that Namjoon is simply thinking out loud, but you answer, “You’re the death magic expert. You tell me.”

He shakes his head. “There are dozens of other ways. It had to be deliberate.”

“Does it matter? In terms of the countercurse?”

He grimaces. “If they intended the end of life, we have to directly counter that. If it was chosen for casting only, we could work around it.”

He slides to the floor to sit opposite you, and you look together at the papers, and for a while you work like this - pointing at certain lines of text, jotting notes, crossing others out, drawing arrows connecting ideas - until the paper looks like a complete disaster. But it makes sense to the two of you, and that’s what matters.

You’re just about to wrap it up for the night when there’s a knock at the main door. Before you can rise, Satuel opens it and tells you, “The Prince would like a word.”

Prince Taehyung steps around her, and she retreats into the corridor, closing the door behind her. He looks drawn, troubled, but you’re struck - as usual - by his otherworldly beauty.

“I wanted to speak to the two of you,” he says quietly. He perches on the arm of the closest couch, long legs stretched out before him. “About what happened today.”

You and Namjoon exchange an uneasy look.

“My father sent a diplomatic team to the Scores,” he reports. “Their directive was to express that there was some sort of magical attack on the royal family, and to gauge the reaction. But it is not a direct accusation.”

You nod slowly, listening.

Prince Taehyung takes a deep breath and continues. “He also sent a team of spies,” he says carefully. “To see what they can uncover. The diplomats… their information may be useful, it may not. But if we are knocking on their front door to make inquiries, it will hopefully distract them from who is climbing through the window. So to speak.”

“Do you really think it was them?” you ask, hushed.

Prince Taehyung twists his mouth. “They do seem to be the most likely,” he admits. “But my personal feelings are more complicated. At any rate, I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on. An accusation was not made… but it would appear that they read it as one anyway. None of the families from the Scores attended our dinner tonight.”

You and Namjoon look at him in silence. You’re not sure you’re understanding - is it such a big deal that a few families didn’t show up for dinner?

“Invited guests haven’t just not shown without at least communicating in… my entire life, so over six hundred years,” Prince Taehyung clarifies.

“Oh,” you utter, feeling your stomach sink a little. “That’s… pretty bad, right?”

Suddenly the prince’s grim demeanor makes sense.

“It’s certainly a sign of trouble brewing,” the prince admits. “I wanted to let you know just… I don’t want you to be more frightened, and I promise you’re safe in these rooms… but you should know what’s going on.”

You take this in silently, glancing sideways at Namjoon. He looks just how you feel - nervous, on edge, but trying to keep a blank face in front of the prince.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Taehyung says emphatically, and you turn back to him. “I know you were already uneasy here. I don’t want to make it worse. But I felt very strongly that you should be kept informed.”

“No, I appreciate it,” you assure him. "We’ll be… even more careful. I guess this means no more trips to visit Potato?”

He smiles at this, a bit wryly. “I’m afraid not. At least for a few days. Let’s see how this shakes out. Maybe they’ll let tonight’s insult speak for itself, and we can all move on.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic about that possibility,” Namjoon remarks.

Prince Taehyung shrugs. “I wasn’t alive for any of the wars for power,” he admits. “But my parents, and those older than them - they remember. Thousands of years of bitter fighting, all for the throne.”

He sighs. “It was foolish of us, I’m sure, to think this peace would last - that one little pebble wouldn’t send the whole pile toppling. But it isn’t your problem. Where do we stand with the curse, after this morning’s ritual?”

You hurry to fill him in - that you’re feeling more confident that everything has been identified, and that your task now is to determine all the proper counters.

“How soon do you think you could make a reasonable attempt?” he asks, seeming to grasp without being told that the countercurses will come through trial and error.

You look down at your papers, as if they might provide an answer to this. It stings a little, that he’s hurrying you along. But you know how ridiculous it is for you to feel that way - of course he wants you to hurry. He wants the curse to end, he wants his life back, he wants to send you home to safety as tensions rise between the Infracti families.

“A day or two?” you guess finally.

Prince Taehyung nods. “Very well. I’ll be quite busy tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to check in.”

He wishes you both goodnight and departs through the main door, leaving you and Namjoon in tense silence.

“We do need to hurry,” he says quietly after a minute or two. “I have a feeling things are only going to get worse, here.”

“We can’t rush the process,” you argue, though at the heart of the issue you know you agree. “Sloppy magic equals death.”

“I’m not suggesting we do it sloppily,” Namjoon clarifies slowly, as if he is speaking a second language to you and needs to mentally translate each word first. And, in a way, that might be exactly what’s happening. “I’m not saying we have to be ready to go tomorrow. But things are becoming less safe, and that’s me saying that - not the team member who currently can’t sleep with the lights off.”

You feel your face heat. He’s right - of course he’s right. Things weren’t safe to begin with.

“I’m just saying that we need to keep trying to make forward progress,” he says seriously. “We can’t just spin our wheels.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still embarrassed. “So… come on. Let’s figure out what we’ll try first.”

You settle back at the table, grabbing a pen, refusing to look up at Namjoon, who still watches you from where he’s standing. Eventually he joins you, and you work until near midnight, not stopping until you have three potential countercurses to try.

And then, when Namjoon disappears into his rooms, you slink into your own and practice defensive spells until you’re tired enough to curl up and try for sleep.

—

When you wake, late morning, you ask Satuel to inform the prince that you have countercurses you’re willing to try.

She comes back with your breakfast and news.

“The royal family will allow you to conduct an attempt at a countercurse in about an hour,” she tells you. “I’ll escort you when it’s time. They’re a bit wrapped up right now.”

You latch onto this, looking at her sharply. You don’t expect her to divulge anything, and you’re surprised when she glances over her shoulder and then lowers her voice as she sets down your breakfast tray.

“The Scores’ diplomatic team returned early this morning with a message,” she whispers. “Essentially, publicly objecting to any implication that they would, or did, orchestrate any kind of attack against the Runes.”

“Of course they object,” you say, reaching for the pot of coffee before she’s even placed the tray down. “Why would they admit it, even if it was them? They aren’t that stupid.”

“Maybe they are,” she mutters, voice even quieter. You strain to hear her. “They also made a public statement against the King.”

You sit back, coffee pot forgotten, looking at her with wide eyes. “They what?”

She nods, her own black eyes wide like yours. It seems this news has rattled her - something that’s shocking to see.

“What kind of statement?” you ask.

She glances towards the door again, and then smiles sheepishly when she notices you clocking this. “It isn’t a secret,” she explains. “I just don’t want to be misunderstood as gossiping. You are living here, for now. This affects you, too.”

She takes a deep breath and tells you, “The Scores, backed by the Cleaves and two other powerful families, have sent a joint statement accusing the crown of conspiracy, corruption, and the unlawful murder of humans.”

Your blood runs cold, and you press your palms to the tabletop to ground yourself. “Could… Do you think there’s truth to it?”

Satuel presses her lips together. “I am loyal to the crown,” she says, which is not an answer at all.

Or maybe it is.

You’re thinking, suddenly, of those videos your students had been watching back home, how they had been explaining a newsroom theory that there were orchestrated attacks happening.

You’re thinking of Prince Taehyung telling you his family had covered up his murders, wiped memories and erased entire lives from the world’s history.

You’re thinking that such accusations could not possibly be lightly made.

You’re thinking of Namjoon, back in Dr. Kim’s office on campus, saying the words Infracti Civil War.

Your skin crawls.

Satuel seems to understand.

“You’re safe as long as you’re in your rooms,” she promises. “As long as you’re with me, or Dansoo, or the prince - you’re safe.”

You note that she doesn’t list the King or Queen.

An hour later, you and Namjoon follow her through the palace, with Dansoo bringing up the rear. They take you back to the room where you’d tried the first cure, less than a week ago, when Prince Taehyung had been very nearly knocked out.

It feels different this time. You feel the weight of expectation as the King and Queen watch you impassively. You’re sure they’re remembering the last attempt - their son’s legs giving out, your own meager attempts to explain why it hadn’t been a complete failure.

That’s fine - you don’t care if they trust you. You don’t trust them - you barely did to begin with, and that sliver has only gotten smaller and smaller in the time you’ve been here.

The last time you’d tried a countercurse, you’d known that the chances were very slim that it would work - the best you’d been hoping for had been more information.

This time, it could work. It could.

Prince Taehyung faces you, frowning slightly.

“It won’t hurt you this time,” you promise him quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirks, amused at being read correctly.

Do you trust him? The question pops into your head unbidden.

You flatten your hands over the paper in front of you, scanning the list of incantations meant to call forth his magic, his healing, his life and twist them into a weapon. You double-check that each thread is accounted for. You repeat the trickier phrases, letting your tongue get accustomed to them.

You watch the prince shift nervously, still frowning slightly, his hands defensively shoved into his pockets. When he notices you still watching him, he gives a tiny, sheepish smile, something almost shy in it.

Yeah, you think. Maybe it will be your undoing, maybe it will be your downfall. But you do.

You wish you could talk to him before this - alone, without the audience of his parents and Namjoon. You want to ask him about the Scores, you want to reassure him that he’s going to be okay.

“Are you ready, Maiesti?” you ask gently, doing your best to pretend it’s only you and him.

He licks his lips nervously and nods, stepping closer.

You glance at Namjoon, suddenly nervous, and he gives you a reassuring nod. You ignore the King and Queen, wishing they weren’t there at all.

“Okay,” you whisper, holding up a hand. Taehyung presses his palm to yours, cool and solid. “Okay, let’s go.”

You begin the series of spells a bit unsteadily, your voice small and nervous. But it takes less than two minutes for your magic to rise up, filling you with warmth and purpose and confidence. You continue, emboldened.

You feel your magic touch Taehyung’s, a bit hesitantly at first, and then entwining itself easily and happily, as if they fit perfectly together and only needed to settle in.

You continue chanting, eyes scanning the words slowly so you don’t mess up. You can feel it working, can feel the curse resisting - but your choices seem to be correct, and you can feel the curse unraveling, weakening, thread by thread as the countercurse peels them away.

You feel a thrill within you as you recognize success, and you struggle to remain calm, lest you slip on a word and let it all go to waste. Taehyung’s hand twitches against yours, and you wonder if he can feel it too - the curse loosening its grip, bit by bit. You want to watch his face, want to watch him realize it, want to see him the second he’s set free.

You want to smile at him, victorious, proud, so happy to give him what he needs.

You cannot take your eyes off the paper. You cannot miss a syllable.

Something tugs low in your stomach, and the thrill vanishes faster than light. You continue speaking, following the words on the page, but you feel your eyes widen.

The tug comes again.

The curse is fighting back. The unraveling you could feel suddenly feels stuck, snagged. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

You’ve made a mistake, you’ve missed something.

You hear your voice catch and freeze as your limbs go rigid. The curse crawls into your magic, digs its claws in. You cry out in pain, eyes squeezing shut.

You think you hear someone call your name - you can’t tell. You’re trying to unravel your magic from Taehyung’s, to get distance between yourself and the curse, to wiggle free from those claws of ill-intent.

You can’t seem to. You can feel it taking over and you try to force your eyes open, to ask for help, but you can’t see anymore - the room is black, and all you hear now is the roar of static in your ears.

You feel the room shift, a pain in your shoulder. You may have fallen - you can’t see so you can’t be sure. You gasp for breath, but you’re finding it harder. You’re not sure it’s working, you can’t tell if you’re inhaling, you can’t feel the exhale.

Then, the pain stops, the panic stops, the static goes quiet.

You can’t feel anything anymore, good nor bad.

All you can hear is crashing ocean waves, the wild whinnies of amarisca as they gallop into the sea.

—

Taehyung sits at your bedside - the side of his bed, technically - your fragile, mortal hand in his.

Mostly, you seem to be sleeping peacefully, and Taehyung tries to have faith in his own healing abilities, in Namjoon’s promises that he’d severed the magical connection in time. But every now and then your body shudders, as if working hard to expel a poison, and it makes Taehyung’s chest clench every time. He hunches over, smoothing back your hair, listening to your heart thump faster and then quiet again as your body stills.

All he can do is listen to your heart.

–

It was a year ago, when he’d found everything out. He’d been nauseous, damn near dizzy from the knowledge: his own father, orchestrating attacks on the human world. Covering the tracks. Framing other families.

How many innocent lives had he allowed to be lost? Knowingly - purposely?

The better question was why. And Taehyung hated unanswered questions.

He’d found his father in his wing, luckily alone.

King Sunjae had raised his brows, surprised to see his son, unannounced.

“What brings you here?” he’d asked.

Taehyung had felt hollow, heavy. This truth was too terrible to bear. He didn’t want to lay this accusation at his father’s feet. He didn’t want to argue against denials. He didn’t want to demand answers, reasons.

He wanted to be able to turn back time, to never let this happen at all. He wanted to sleep comfortably at night knowing his own negligence wasn’t to blame, that his inattention hadn’t let this come to pass without his knowledge, for who knows how long.

He couldn’t make himself speak, couldn’t force the words off of his tongue. In the time he was silent, the King seemed to piece it together, his expression darkening.

“Don’t make trouble, Taehyung,” he’d warned.

Taehyung had closed his eyes, shook his head. He’d wondered if ghosts were real, if his father could be haunted by the humans he had lowered into prey.

“I want to know the reason,” he’d finally said, his voice effectless.

His father had seemed thrown off that Taehyung had bygone any actual accusation. It wasn’t necessary, Taehyung thought. They both knew what they knew.

The King laughed once, sardonically. “You’ve always been innocent,” he’d scoffed. “That’s why I never involved you in this. Go back to your rooms, Taehyung, go back to playing piano and riding amarisca and whatever else it is you concern yourself with. I’ll handle the matters of state, as I always have.”

Taehyung swallowed against the assaulting words, the weight of their truth. He shook his head. “I need to know the reason.”

The King was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he turned away from his son, pacing closer to the window, which overlooked much of the valley below.

“For us,” he’d answered, and Taehyung had stared at his back, trying desperately to understand. “For the throne.”

“That’s bullshit,” Taehyung had said, nearly gagging over the word, stomach twisting with disgust and regret and horror and devastation. “Our power is not in danger. Our throne is not in danger.”

“You’re naive. It’s not your fault - you’re young. You weren’t alive for the wars - thousands of years of war, Taehyung, the crown bouncing from Cleave, to Score, to Rune, around and around - but I was. They were bloody, they were unending. Humans died for our wars as much as Infracti. The throne is always in danger, my son. It will always be in danger.”

“How can you think that?” Taehyung demanded hotly. “The law is written entirely in our favor - the crown stays in our bloodline. There’s no wiggle room, there’s no loophole. And our bloodline is fine.”

“Is it?” the King retorted. “After me, the crown is yours. Then, what? You’re over six hundred years old, Taehyung, and you’ve never brought forth a serious consideration for your queen.”

“Is that what this is about?” Taehyung had cried, even more aghast than he’d started. “I’ll marry - is that what you want? I’ll marry tomorrow if it means you’ll stop.”

The King had scoffed again, finally turning to face him, his expression radiating disappointment. Well, Taehyung was no stranger to that - not after six hundred years. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Taehyung had said, and meant every word. He’d beg if he had to beg, he’d cheat if he had to cheat, he’d marry if he had to marry - anything to stop his father. “It has to stop. This can’t be what we stand for. You can end it, or I will end it - and I don’t care how that happens.”

“Quit talking nonsense,” the King had snapped, eyes narrowed.

“I mean every word,” Taehyung had said, his undead heart galloping in his chest. “Our people were once only animals. Time and time again through history we have wavered, flirting with becoming simply the animal again. You want to secure the Runes’ hold on the throne? I want to secure the Runes’ humanity. If you need me to marry, I’ll marry. You have to stop this. Swear it.”

The King had looked at him for a long time, appraising, evaluating. Finally, very seriously he said, “If you’ll start looking for a wife - seriously looking - then I’ll put a stop to it today. But I have to see you trying.”

Taehyung had spent the next year courting the girls his father picked out. He’d meant his promise, but none of them touched him, none of them spoke to his soul.

Then you had shown up - braver than anyone he’d ever meant, so powerful it was scary, humble, and mouthy, and foolish, and alive - and when his father had suggested he keep you around… he hadn’t hated the idea.

He could see you as queen. He could see you by his side.

He just had to keep you alive long enough to see how you’d feel about the idea.

It was proving to be harder than he’d thought.

—

You come back bit by bit.

You can feel again first. Your shoulder throbs, and your head is splitting. You feel unbearable thirst, like you haven’t had water in days.

You feel someone’s hand clutching yours, feel their grasp tighten when you wiggle your fingers in theirs.

Then, you can hear again - the ocean waves are still breaking, distantly. The murmur of low, familiar voices. You hear someone say your name, deep and sweet, like your own little song.

Then, not much later, your sight returns - blurry, coming into focus as you blink against the sudden brightness.

At first, all you can see is purple sky. You turn your head to see your hand resting on top of the heavy comforter.

It occurs to you that this is not your bed. It is large, comfortable, facing a wall of windows - this is how you could see so much sky.

The hand holding yours retreats, and you follow the movement as you flex your now-empty fingers.

Prince Taehyung peers at you, face drawn. There is no one else in the room with you.

For a moment, just for a second, you feel like you are looking at each other simply person to person - your roles, your duties, your prejudices, your wants and needs, your fears… all the things that you each carry every time you spend time together, they seem to be held at bay. Just for now.

“Is it true?” you ask him. You’re not sure why this is the question you ask. “Is any of it true?”

His eyes - humanlike, as always, although it is a lie - stay on yours as he slowly nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “But don’t worry. I’ve been trying to fix it since before you came. I’m going to make it better.”

You’d said almost the same words to him, about his curse.

He takes your hand again, and you inhale sharply.

He lets out a huff of a quiet laugh. “I really thought we’d lost you,” he murmurs. Then, he brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips gently to the back of your hand.

For one terrifying, lightning-quick second, you thought he was going to bite you.

This is your last thought before things go dark once again.

<;- Prev | Next ->

thanks so much for reading!!! the next few chapters are among my faves :') looking forward to posting!

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts supernatural au #bts royal au #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung x you #taehyung x y/n #kim taehyung fic #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung angst #supernatural au #royal au #s2l #magic au #fic: of ruin

[separatist-apologist]

My Whole Life Is Ruined

Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange

Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."

--

Insomnia was nothing new. 

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.

It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.

She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.

Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.

That was exhausting, too.

Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too. 

It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.

And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment. 

A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.

Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.

They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat. 

Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.

A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.

Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin. 

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family? 

Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.

“I’m not.”

And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home. 

Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

Careful, she warned herself. 

It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.

She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted. 

The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.

Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.

She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.

I don’t mind waiting.

Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign. 

“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her. 

Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”

She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”

“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.

“Maybe. But what a way to go.”

“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.

Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.

Or if it meant something else.

Something more.

“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.

“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”

Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”

She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s predictable.”

“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him. 

“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”

“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”

“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.

It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he? 

Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.

And possibly sleep in it.

Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why. 

If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.

“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.

And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.

And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”

Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.

Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.

He could pull you into his lap if he wanted. 

Which, of course, he didn’t

Didn’t he?

“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place. 

“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat. 

“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.

“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response. 

Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”

She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.

Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.

“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”

A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest. 

“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel. 

Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond. 

Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”

“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him. 

“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.

Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.

“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—” Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.

“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”

“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”

Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”

That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap. 

“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long? 

“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”

“Rhys knows?”

“And Cassian—”

“So Nesta, too?!”

Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”

“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.

She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”

“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”

“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.

“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.” 

In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”

His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.

Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?

Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers? 

There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”

Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.

Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth? 

The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.

“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch. 

And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.

Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.

What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him. 

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?

Nesta and Emerie. Catrin. 

Azriel.

“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”

His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving. 

And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing. 

“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.

He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.

Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.

How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides? 

Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.

And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.

His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.

“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.” “You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own. 

“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”

“Please?”

One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.

“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”

He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors. 

Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him. 

They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”

Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him. 

He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve. 

Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.

“Please,” she added.

Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.

Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century  reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.

Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?

“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.”

Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.

Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.

And between his legs…

Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in. 

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.

“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was? 

“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked. 

Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”

“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.

Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.

“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”

She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms. 

“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”

“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs. 

“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed. 

Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies. 

Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art. 

“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good. 

Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it. 

All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t. 

Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…

“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain. 

Unbreakable.

A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.

Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake. 

“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.

Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.

Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”

His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.

“Az—”

“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”

“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”

Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it. 

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first? 

Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself. 

Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.

Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.

She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit. 

It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.

He didn’t move. 

Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.” He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness. 

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”

She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”

“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”

As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever? 

Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”

He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her. 

Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.

Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings. 

“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been. 

Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway. 

He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.

Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.

Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.

“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly. 

“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.

“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”

Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too. 

Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”

“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”

A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice. 

“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.

“In a minute.”

Strange how a minute could stretch.

Into lifetimes, even.

#gwynriel #I DID IT

[melancholymetropolis]

PillowTalk

plot: A normal breakfast takes a steamy turn.

pairings: Aizawa Shota x Pregnant!Reader

genre(s): Marriage of Convenience AU; Shameless Smut

warnings: MUTUAL PINING. former boss/assistant. mansion in the middle of the woods. stay-at-home wife (kinda). CEO husband. ROLEPLAY. reader is a book nerd. chasing. lowkey beauty & the beast au. toxic ex. library sex. PIV SEX. rough. table top. mentions of voyeurism + masturbation. pet names (princess, little wife, beast, prince charming etc) light breeding. teasing. Aizawa is a simp for his wife. y/n is a dirty -talker. BOTH OF THEM ARE REALLY HORNY FOR EACH OTHER

w.c: 4.4k

Aizawa Shota lowered the newspaper from his view and lifted the coffee cup to his lips. He took a hefty gulp of the cool drink and I felt myself squirm in my seat. 

My kinda-husband was simply too hot for words and I was beginning to lose my mind. His dark hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head, but a few (selective) strands framed his face. He decided to grow out his facial hair a bit, sporting a deviously dark five o’clock shadow. The white dress shirt framing his chest was seconds away from breaking at any sudden movements. The black suit he wore was tailored to his body perfectly— framing his butt and thighs gorgeously. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones or the lack of pleasure I had acquired in recent months— I wanted him. I wanted him badly. 

I wanted my fake husband to toss me to the table and devour me, just like how he did our breakfast.

I wanted him to mount me like the sexual beast I knew he was and pound me into the table.

I wanted him to ruin other—

“How are things?” He asked, snapping me out of my reverie. 

“Uh. . . what things?” I asked absentmindedly. 

His black eyes flicked onto my face, taking in my flushed expression. “Are you hot? Do you want me to turn down the thermostat?”

Oh, I am hot. Hot and ready for you to slurp me like—

“N-No,” I stammered, bringing my iced tea to my lips. I took a slow sip before setting the glass back on the table. “And everything is fine! The doctor said my blood pressure and cortisol levels were not as high as before and were leaning toward normal. She also told me to start drinking okra water and to work on my breathing, since I reaching the end of my trimester.”

Aizawa nodded. “Seems to be all good news. I am happy to hear it.”

“Well, there is only good news because of you and your support,” I said sheepishly. 

The statement was very true, if it weren’t for Aizawa I probably would’ve been dead by now. That was not an exaggeration whatsoever.

We didn't marry for love, nor was this union arranged. It was a simple matter of convenience. I was his secretary and he was the CEO of the company. I was already engaged to another man prior, but he left me mere weeks after I had fallen pregnant. My fiance cleared our joint account and fled the country. Leaving me with nothing. I was forced to consider going back to the united states and sleeping in my childhood bedroom with a newborn.

Aizawa, out of the blue, presented the possibility of a marriage between us. He would pay for everything. The medical bills, food, car payments, baby supplies— all I had to do was manage the house staff: sign off on repairs, oversee their daily tasks, and inform him of anything out of the ordinary. He was basically paying me to be a housewife, without the strenuous duties of cooking, cleaning, and tending to the kids. Plus, Aizawa suggested I get a night nanny so I could rest a little better.

The deal sounded a little too good to be true. But, given the two years we spent working together, I knew he was trustworthy. I took the leap and ended up living an absolute fairytale life for the past 5 months. I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Although, deep down, I wished we explored a little past our new normal.

Maybe even find ourselves entangled in the sheets and trying out all kinds of positions.

I’m pretty sure I can still get my leg over my head if I really tried. Giving him enough room to dig deep in me and rearrange my guts.

"You don't have to thank me every chance you get," a small smile stole his face. "In fact, I should be thanking you."

"Oh really?" 

The smile widened and the brunette adjusted his position in the chair. His arms crossed against his broad chest and the buttons strained from the action. The muscles in his forearms flexed underneath his rolled-up sleeves. His biceps bulged a little against the cotton fabric. The longer I looked at him the wetter I felt the seat of my panties become. If he kept being so absentmindedly attractive, I would soon find myself sprayed out on my bed, fingers probing my slick walls, wishing he were on top of me.

Damn, I have it bad.

“Y/N!” Aizawa said in a raised voice. 

I blinked several times and cleared my throat. “Y-Yes?”

“Are you sure you okay?” He asked, leaning forward. 

“Yeah! It’s just the. . . hormones!” I blustered. “You know, all those raging, sweaty hormones that make it hard for me to focus.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are sure it's only the hormones? And not some other factor?”

“Uh. . .” I stammered. 

Aizawa, suddenly, rose from his seat and walked around the round table. His eyes never left my face and a smirk was forming on his lips. He appeared next to me in an instant. He pressed one hand on the table and another on the back of my chair. Aizawa leaned forward until our faces were mere inches apart. 

“I heard you the other night,” he stated, a certain hunger in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” I gulped.

“You cried out for me,” he said, plainly. “Begging me to. . . how did you say it? Oh! ‘Split you apart with my thick dick’.”

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. It had been the night he had come back from a run around the block. He was shirtless and the shorts were low on his hips. His sculpted v-line was on full display, along with his sensual muscles. He was breathing so heavily, panting and mewling from the strenuous exercise. He claimed to have “overdid” it this time. He ran at full speed for the last few blocks and all the way up our long driveway. His long hair was, again, pulled into a messy bun, highlighting his sharp jaw and rugged features. 

He looked so hot. So fuckable. I wanted to mount him like the stallion he was and ride him into the sunset. 

". . . Oh," I murmured, turning away from him.

"'Oh' is right," he chuckled. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but you were so loud and luscious that I couldn't help myself." Aizawa leaned forward, his lips brushing against my earlobe. "And saw you too. Your door was cracked open just for me to see."

Shivers ran down my spine and my womanhood throbbed. His hot breath was caressing my ear, whilst his mouth did the same. His body was so close, yet he wasn't laying a finger on me. The temptation was swiftly sending me over the edge. I hated the slow, seductive game he was playing. I knew the ending would not be in my favor. He wasn't the type of man to spread me open like a Thanksgiving feast, nor was he the type to treat me like an animal. He wanted me begging, weeping for his touch. Despite the rather x-rated thoughts running through my mind at the moment, I couldn’t allow myself to succumb to his game so easily. 

“Who knew you were such a little perv,” I giggled, lifting my mug to my lips. I took a small sip of the hot tea and hummed sweetly. “But, I guess, if I was holed up in my office for 40+ hours a week I’d be a little… frustrated as well.”

His fingertips brushed against my arms, tickling me the same way a feather would. “You are playing with fire, little wife.” Aizawa groaned and gripped the back of my chair. “Ever since that faithful night, I have not been able to think straight. Seeing your legs shake and your toes curl, while you work yourself with that sparkly pink toy—” He sucked in a breath and released the back of my chair. He pushed his body away from mine. 

Immediately, I rise to my feet and turn to face him. The brunette placed a significant distance between the both of us. His breath was labored and his hand was balled at his side. There was an oblong shape intensely prominent near the zipper of his slacks. The member was only semi-hard and I could already tell that was quite massive. Probably bigger that the sparkly pink dildo I had in my nightstand, certainly thicker that the toy as well. 

My assumption was right. 

He did have a long, thick dick.

“I like to think myself a patient man,” he started. “A respectable man. I tried my best to keep my distance from you and to give you all the space you need to grow. To heal from whatever happened before our union. I never wanted to force myself or my desires onto you. I never wanted you to think you owed me anything because we were simply married and living together." Aizawa’s brown eyes bore into mine, just as the morning light gracefully captured his face. It gave him an ethereal glow. Made him look even more beautiful that he already was. “I promised myself that I would not touch you or make any advances toward you until I have obtained your explicit consent. However, being near you, feeling your luxurious presence and capturing your delicious scent, while trying not to press my mouth against that gummy pussy is pure agony. ”

Aizawa was so eloquent with how he spoke, sounding like a pure gentleman. Up until that last bit. 

“So, from what you’re saying,” I said, tilting my head to the side a little bit. “The beloved prince charming I married 5 months ago is gone? And he was preplaced by a horny, insatiable beast?”

A smirk pulled at his lips. “That’s not exactly true, princess. Charming was always a beast, at least during the night. It took a very special lady to set him straight by morning.”

I hummed once more and pulled my braids into a messy bun. I hiked up my dress and gave him a smile. “Where is the closest soundproof room in the house?”

“A few doors down,” he replied. “It’s the library.”

I took off in a swift jog toward the room, turning my head back to say “You can’t catch me, you fearsome beast.”

His laughter was explosive. “Are we roleplaying, princess?” Aizawa shouted after me.

I was already halfway down the hall, the double doors of the library were swiftly approaching. “Only if you want to,” I shouted back. 

“You cannot hide from me, young damsel!” He boasted, as heavily footsteps came stomping my way. “I will capture you one way or another!”

I giggled at the sound of his “beastly” voice and proceeded to quicken my pace. “Please do not harm me, furocious beast. For I am innocent in this matter.”

I have no idea what possessed me to put on this whole act.  Maybe I was watching too much Bridgerton or reading entirely too much erotica, but the idea of being chased by a massive man, just to be savagely fucked in the library was exhilarating. The book nerd in me was jumping with joy.

I pushed through the library doors and sped over to the nearest flat surface. A wide table with several wooden chairs surrounding it. I shoved the chairs aside and hopped right on the table. Anticipation ran through my veins. The big, hulking man burst through the room with a loud grunt. The smile on his face was undeniable. My little charade had done its job perfectly: it had taken us out of earshot of the bustling maids in the house and eased the thick tension between us. Aizawa’s playful mood was igniting something within me. Something I didn’t recognize. It had been a while since I had seen him actually enjoy himself. His smile was so wide and genuine that I thought he was a different person.

Not the stressed-out, sleep-deprived spouse that I often avoided.

But the bubbly, fun husband that I always wanted.

His immediate acceptance and active participation in my game showed me that there was a chance. A chance for us to have a real, authentic marriage. A union where we love and cherish each other.  One where I didn't have to question whether or not he felt the same way.

“Sweet, delicate princess,” Aizawa groaned, inching close to me. “Please allow me the opportunity to voice my desires without prejudice or ridicule.”

I looked away from his face for a moment and tapped my chin. “Fine, you may.”

“I want you. In every way possible,” he confessed, closing the distance between us. “I have wanted you from the sheer moment you opened your heart to me. From the moment you started staying up a little late to have dinner with me, or when you made it a point to pack me lunch on a particularly long day. When you made Sunday nights my favorite time of the week and got me addicted to Outlander.”

“Since when were you into Outlander?” I asked in disbelief,

“Since you started screaming at the TV, cursing out Sir Jack Randal,” Aizawa chuckled. “I never heard you use so many curses in a single sentence.”

“I still can’t believe he did that to Jamie,” I grimaced.

Aizawa nodded in agreement but carried on with his statement. “You have been the object of my desires and the capturer of my heart for months now. I go to sleep dreaming of your big brown eyes and beautiful smile. I hear your sweet voice in my mind all day long and wish I could spend every moment with you.”

I reached out to grab his hands, which he gladly handed to me. I brought them to my thighs and allowed them to hike up my skirt. The beige fabric lifted from its place at my ankles and exposed the bronze skin underneath. Aizawa settled at the small space between my thighs and gently placed his hands at my sides. His brown eyes bore into mine. The older man looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. Like nothing else mattered but us at this exact moment. His gaze was so pure I could almost cry on the spot. 

I hooked my arms around his neck and started to lean closer to him. My eyes fluttered closed and my lips slightly parted. He captured my mouth moments later and his arms swiftly wrapped around my plum form. Aizawa moaned against my lips as if marveling at the sensation. His mouth danced across mine gracefully, following my lead and patiently waiting for the next step. 

My hands were in his hair and my thighs rested against his hips. I gently rolled my damn center over his semi-hard front. The lust was quickly growing the long he kissed me and soon I  wouldn't be able to contain it. The confession had provided me with all the information I needed— our feelings were mutual. He wanted to give this fake marriage some authenticity and turn it into a real one. I was beyond excited.

I tore my lips away from his searing embrace and whimpered as he dragged a tongue along the side of my neck. 

"Take me," I gasped, clawing at his back. "Right here. Right now."

The brunette lifted his head from my neck and immediately started fumbling with the buttons on my blouse. Seconds later, he exposed the lacy number underneath and growled at the sight. His skilled fingers undid the finicky clasp in the back, exposing the plump mounds to his eager eyes. 

"Your breasts are so full and round," Aizawa groaned.

His thumbs gently ran across the pebbled nipples and a hiss left my lips. 

The older male immediately paused his actions. "Did I hurt you,  princess?" 

A blush flickered on my cheeks as I sheepishly looked away. "No. . . They're just really sensitive."

"Well, I'll try to be more careful with them," he stated, lowering his body until his face was directly staring at the bosoms. 

His hot tongue tenderly flicked the right nipple several times before giving it a long seductive lick. Shivers ran down my spine as he kept giving sloppy kisses to the sensitive bud. The seat of my panties was drenched. My arousal practically glued them to my lower lips. My legs were vibrating with anticipation. The hot mouth moved over to the left nipple and I thought I ascended to heaven. Aizawa moaned as he sucked on the breast. He was enjoying the lewd act and it was intriguing to see. 

He released the bud and a long string of drool connected the two as he pulled away. He brought his lips to mine and gave me a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers dipped between my thighs as we made out. He pressed two fingers against the wet area and started to rub small circles right at the top of the slit. My poor clit was already throbbing from the foreplay and it seemed to pulse after that action. I moaned against his lips and pulled away. The area was so wet and sensitive that I knew it wouldn't take long to push me over the edge. Especially after he gave my nipples such delicate care. 

"What a cute face my little princess is making," he purred, pressing his forehead to mine. "Looks like she wants to cum."

I nodded, keeping direct eye contact with the seductive man. "I do, you beast. I want to cum all over your pretty cock and gorgeous face. Will you let me?"

The older man groaned and removed his hand from my panties. "Coming on my face is just gonna have to wait until our next rendezvous. I'm afraid if I don't slip into that dripping wet pussy I'm gonna burst. And we wouldn't want that, right?" 

"We sure wouldn't," I said absentmindedly rubbing my baby bump. 

Aizawa smirked before slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He threw the cotton garment aside before fiddling with his belt. His eyes never left my face and that seemed to make his actions even hotter. He pulled his pants and boxers down in one swift motion; leaving the thick, long member to spring free. 

My eyes widened at the sight. He was certainly bigger than I imagined. Definitely bigger than my ex, who could barely last 5 minutes without busting. Aizawa was indeed a patient man, a kind man. That was the only reason I could gather for why God would bless him with such a beast. Maybe I too was God's favorite, since he allowed me to marry such a good man. 

Not only was he fine as hell, tall and rich— his dick was big. I had no doubt I had hit the lottery in the husband department. 

"Are you okay, princess?" He asked. "Would you like to take a breather?"

"I breathed enough," I shot back. "Come take these panties off and pound me with your long, thick dick." 

Aizawa chuckled and hooked his thumbs under my waistband. He pulled the cotton panties down my plump legs and tossed them to the side. He aligned the head of his cock with my womanhood and just before easing himself in, Aizawa paused and gave me a final look, as if to ask me ‘are you sure?” I nodded immediately and widened my thighs a little bit more. The thick member sunk right into me with little resistance, on account of how wet my womanhood was. Pregnancy amplified all my bodily functions to the hundredth degree, including how soiled my underwear became anytime I saw something that appealed to me. Or, anytime I saw my husband.

The brunette helped me lay flat on my back against the table and adjusted the position of my legs. He hooked my limbs over his forearms and continued to push into me. I gasped when every inch was nestled into my greedy pussy and my eyes fluttered closed. I placed one hand above my head, gripping the edge of the table and the other underneath my belly. I braced myself for impact. Aizawa started off slow, rolling his hips against my pelvis gently. I could feel every inch inside of me. The slow thrusts softly pushed against my sensitive spots, causing me to squirm and wiggle underneath him. 

"Can I move a little faster, princess?" He grunted, tilting his hips a little bit. 

"Please move faster, beast," I panted, digging my nails into the table. "I cannot take this teasing any longer." 

Aizawa took a firm hold of the table and chuckled quietly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

 The older man’s hips gradually began moving faster against mine. At first, my little mewls remained relatively uninterrupted by the change. I pretended to be disinterested in the movements, rolling my eyes and telling him to move faster. To fuck me harder. Informing him that I was displeased by his treatment, Aizawa’s persistent behavior of treating me like a delicate flower was starting to frustrate me. I was a woman above anything else. This pregnancy had almost everyone in my everyday life view me as fragile. Something that could easily be broken with little force and it struck anger in my being. Since my body is sturdy enough to grow an entire human being, I was pretty sure it was strong enough to handle some power thrusts from a man.

“Come on, beast,” I teased, a smile kissing my teeth. “Don’t tell me this is all could do? Some half-hearted pumps and expected me to be satisfied? I thought you were more of a savage than this.”

Without a word, Aizawa started to snap his hips against mine harshly. A good portion of his force was colliding with my body and it made my heart sing. My breath was caught in my throat and my legs started to tremble. I rested my body on my elbows and looked into his dark eyes. He was already looking at my face. The smile on his lips was stirring something within me. Almost like he knew I wouldn’t last long or I couldn’t handle the power of his thrusts. There were two words lingering on his tongue that I was dying to hear him say. Something that would definitely send me over the edge.

The man towering over me tilted his hips once more and a squeal shot out of my mouth. My back fell right back onto the table and I raised both arms above my head to grip the edge. The plush head of the cock was hammering the underside of my cervix, a very sensitive area deep within my cunt. My body started to tremble in response and my breathing became hollow. Pressure started to build in my abdomen and a pool started to form. My walls started to pulse against his massive cock and I couldn’t string together a single thought. My body started to tingle and my mind started to blur. Drool spilled from my lips as my eyes started to roll back. 

The orgasm was slow, deep, and damning. My body twisted and contoured into various weird positions as I rode the hot wave. I said my husband’s name like a prayer, chanting it over and over again. I begged him not to stop, to keep going, to take me to heaven. And he did just that. Aizawa kept his hard, sharp pace. He continued to drill that girthy dick into my snatch like he became addicted to the feeling. My body completely succumbed to the pleasure, not wanting to do anything else but relish in it. It wasn’t long before another orgasm began to build and my legs started to tremble all over again. 

“Fuck!” I cried, arching my back against the table. 

“Come on, princess,” Aizawa cooed. “Give beasty another one. I know you have it in you.”

The older man’s hips started to sputter and twitch, indicating to me that he was next to reach his peak. But, like the respectable man he was, Aizawa continued his sickening pace. Eventually, my eyes gradually opened and I took in the scene before me. A hulking man with rippling muscles and a gorgeous face was looming over me. Drilling his cock in me at a record pace with a smile on his face. He held my legs nice and wide in a seductive ‘v’. He was watching my every expression, movement and taking in my sounds. Aizawa was fully invested in pleasuring my horny, pregnant self and I was grateful. I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to feel the weight on his body forever. I never wanted to part from him. I needed to be with him as long as humanly possible.

The second orgasm was harder than the last. It tore through me like lightning and forced my toes to curl. My eyes were wide open for this one. I watched Aizawa lean forward and gather me desperately. He held me close and proceeded to rut into my creamy pussy. He pressed his hot mouth to mine while his hips trembled and spasmed. His head fell on my shoulder when the pleasure became too great and he couldn’t hold out any longer. Hot cum shot into my awaiting womb, gradually filling me to the brim. Aizawa’s slow and rhythmic thrusts made the feeling even more sensual. It was as if he was fucking the semen into me, hoping to make me pregnant all over again. 

I never thought I’d have a breeding kink, but his actions convinced me otherwise.

Soon, it was nothing but our labored breathing filling the library. Our bodies were still one and his chest was still pressed against mine. My fingers were slowly running through his hair while his arms were tightly wrapped around my back. It seemed like the older gentleman had no intention of letting me, even though we were both sweaty and panting. It made me feel special.

“Is this okay?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Me holding you like this?”

“It’s fine,” I replied with a sigh. 

“Okay. Just let me know if I am crushing you or the baby.” 

“Alright, Aizawa,” I giggled.

Suddenly, he lifted his head from my shoulder and pressed his forehead against mine. 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me, princess,” he acknowledged. “I am your husband, not some stranger on the street.”

“Than what am I supposed to call you then?”

He thought for a moment. “I think Shota would be fitting.”

“Shota?”

“And Beast/Charming on special occasions,” he said with a wink.

----------

a/n: there are hints in the story letting you know what kind of fic I'll be posting next. let's see who can guess it before sunday.

Also, a little update, I will be posting FULL SMUT SCENES from this point forward. So get ready for 2k - 4k worth of filth. Good luck going to sleep at night.

Finally, let me know if you would like to be added to my official taglist. I will be alerting you everytime I upload!

bye for now!

#mha #bnha #mha imagines #mha smut #mha fluff #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha headcanons #bnha smut #bnha fluff #black reader #chubby!reader #bnha x chubby reader #x plus size reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #mha aizawa #mha shouta #shouta aizawa #aizawa x you #aizawa x chubby!reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x poc!reader #aizawa x chubby reader #aizawa x black!reader #aizawa imagine #plus size reader

[thedeviltohisangel]

Can you do a request for John Egan where a new recruit calls the reader “the major’s girl” in front of them both despite the fact that they aren’t together, just obviously in love with each other?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): A Feeling I Want To Get Used To

chapter 1 chapter 2 interlude 1 chapter 3 interlude 2 interlude 3

a/n: ok tooth rotting fluff. john egan is literally holding on by a thread. which also means my brain wants to put him through hell. if anyone is feeling devious and wants to talk about a spook/bucky disagreement please reach out. let me know your thoughts, interlude requests still open!

Cass was used to whispers and shadows. Sought comfort in them even. You’d be surprised what you learn when people think you’re not around. It was how she learned she’d been given the nickname of Spook. How she had learned Colonel Huglin was coughing up blood. It was also how she learned that, apparently, she belonged to Major John Egan. 

She was sorting through her mail at Mary’s desk when her ears prickled with the sounds of whispers coming down the hall. When she heard her name, she paused her sorting momentarily but regained herself. 

“...and then apparently he laid her down on top of the table and kissed her right there!”

“No! Lieutenant Cooper would never be so public.”

“Maybe Major Egan is driving her that crazy.” There was giggling that drifted away as they turned down a separate hallway away from Cass. It was not like her and John were trying to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret. He would bring her flowers every morning and they sat together in the mess hall for almost every meal. But they hadn’t been dancing at the base social club or kissed each other on the airfield for all to see. She was certain John would if the idea crossed his mind. Was certain he would do it right this very second if she asked. But she didn’t like being the topic of gossip. 

“Find everything you were looking for, Lieutenant?” The secretary came from around the corner and sat back at her typewriter.

“Yes, Mary, thank you.” Cass turned to go but stopped short, unable to help herself. “Mary, I do have a question for you. Were Major Egan and I a topic of conversation amongst the girls last night?”

“Lieutenant-” Mary, for her part, was blushing furiously. 

“I’m not asking because I’m upset. Just curious.” 

“I didn’t confirm or deny anything, promise ma’am. But the girls all have such a crush on Major Egan and they’ve noticed you two spending time together. And someone mentioned maybe seeing you two at the pub in town and before we knew it, we were planning your happily ever after.”

“Oh.” Cass’ words were catching in her chest. Her heart hammering at the notion that not only had people noticed the something between her and John but that they were writing their own fairytale of it. “Well, on his good days, I do suppose he has a certain Prince Charming quality to him.” They both giggled. 

“I promise, Lieutenant, it was just girls chatting.” Cass tapped the stack of envelopes on the desk a couple times.

“Thank you for your honesty, Mary. Enjoy the rest of your day, will you?” She slid her own pair of aviators over her eyes as she stepped out into the morning sun. “John, John, John.” Even the sound of his name put a smile on her face. Happily ever after indeed.

----

John was antsy. Gale was watching him with a toothpick between his lips. The rest of the boys were either dancing with a girl, talking about dancing with a girl or huddled together laughing over training stories.

“I don’t understand, Bucky. She said she wasn’t feeling like going out tonight. You shouldn’t be surprised she isn’t here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it.” 

“Your pouting is ruining the night for the rest of them.” John scanned the room and they all seemed fine enough. 

“Where’s that girl we were looking at the other day?” Two younger men walked past Bucky and Gale and took a spot at the end of the bar. 

“James told me they call her Spook.” John’s eyes whipped to the side so quick it made him dizzy. “If she shows tonight, I’ve got to have enough of these to ask her to dance.” 

“I’m not sure, Robbie. That nurse I was dancing with said she heard Spook is Major Egan’s girl.” 

“Well, if that was my girl, I’d make sure there were no questions about it.” Gale readied himself to intervene in whatever was about to ensue.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s get a couple of things straight.” John squared his shoulders and held himself to his full height. His threatening words were never able to make it out of his mouth as he watched the two plebeians in front of him look over his shoulder in both shock and awe.

Cass had decided that no one was going to wonder about John and her after tonight. The entire time he had been giving her all of him. Open and honest about what he wanted and willing to go at whatever pace she dictated. In return, Cass had interpreted their dynamic as him trying to find a crack in her armor. To expose the real her. She had been fighting to regain the upper hand. Barely treading water trying to work through the feels he stirred up. But she didn’t want there to be any ambiguity. For him or for anyone else. John Egan was hers. And she was his.

The whole room had gone silent, even the saxophone squeaking out a wrong note, as she stood in the doorway in a red dress looking like a pin up they would paint on the side of a fortress. It was slightly off her shoulder, John drooling over the sight of her bare collarbones, the fabric hugging every inch down to her hips before flaring out into a skirt. 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she whispered to herself as her heels carried her over to the bar. She waved away the Coca Cola he went to place in front of her. “Something stronger tonight. A double.” It went down in one go, Cass afraid to turn around and face the crowd again.

“Cassandra Ann Cooper, you are the most phenomenally beautiful, gorgeous, angelic woman I have ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.” John had love in his eyes. That was the only way she knew how to describe it. And, God, if she didn’t think her eyes were showing love right back. 

“Thank you. I’m not used to all these eyes on me.” His eyes flicked down to the empty shot glass on the bar before flickering back to her. 

“We can get out of-” His hand was running from her bicep to her wrist to her hand, ready to whisk her somewhere far, far away if that is what she wanted. She shook her head.

“No. That’s the exact opposite of the reason why I came and wore this dress.” She thought back to the hyperbolic version of her date she had heard this morning. Thought back to Mary saying someone thinks they might have seen them. Cass worked in the shadows but she didn’t have to live in them. “Dance with me?” She grabbed his hand before he could answer, as if he would have ever thought to say no, leading him out onto the floor just as the band was beginning to switch to something slow. 

“Cass, not that I’m complaining, but did I miss something?” One arm wrapped and settled around the small of her back and the other held their interlocked fingers to his chest. 

“Have you noticed people whispering about us?” He thought back to the airmen at the bar.

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it’s my fault for not being as forward or open-”

“Cass-”

“-but I want everyone to know you’re mine.” She felt his heart skip a beat under her hand. “That is, if that’s okay with you.” Words failed him so he chose action. Afraid the word he felt and meant but couldn’t say would slip out.

John held her face between his hands and groaned at the first sweet release of her lips on his. Even with heels on, she pressed onto her tiptoes to get all of him. Cass gripped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer and closer and closer. She could hear the whistles and the cheers but they were muffled by her heartbeat echoing in her ears. He kept her bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away, Cass whining and chasing his lips for more. John obliged her with a laugh, a genuine and happy laugh, barely able to oblige her kissing antics around his smile.

“I’m holding onto my last strand of fucking sanity, Cass, but I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.” She smiled wickedly and kissed him again in the hopes of branding his words onto her skin. John lost himself in her easily. Easier than breathing. Easier than flying. Easier than singing the words to his favorite song while he drove down an open road on the perfect summer evening in Wisconsin.

“You’ve got a little bit of lipstick on, Major.” He looked downright sinful with his swollen lips and blown pupils and her red lipstick smudged against his skin. Cass nuzzled her nose against his sweetly, her eyes closing with the warmth of being with him for all to see. “Hey, John?” He kissed her forehead and held himself there.

“Yeah, angel?”

“I’m yours if you’ll have me.” He wanted to say something cool. Be suave and charming and impressive. 

“Never letting you go.” Instead he was truthful. They both just had to get through this damn war first. “Cass, I have to tell you something.”

“Can tell me anything.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek and kissed him again, insatiably high on her feelings for him. Cass knew the word to describe them. But she couldn’t say it. Not when it would devastate her.

“I lov-” His declaration was interrupted by Meatball’s barking as he ran towards them. She dropped to embrace him with a giggle, accepting his kisses and scratching behind his ears. “You’re a horrible wingman, Meatball.” John quickly recovered from his near declaration of his love for her. The word and the feelings that went along with it were simmering in his soul the past few days. He was desperate to tell her. Desperate for her to know the truth behind what she meant to him. John didn’t know how much time they truly had but knew they had to make the most of it. 

“Sorry, you were going to tell me something.” She stood back up and twisted her fingers with his. John brought the back of her hand to his lips as he shook his head. 

“Not important.”

“Everything going on in that beautiful head of yours is important to me.” 

“Don’t let Gale hear you say that,” he mused as he leaned in to kiss her again. Cass looked around and noticed they had been swaying to their own beat as the music had changed around them. “I told him I was jealous that he and Marge were able to create their own world whenever they were together.”

“I think we’ve created our own solar system, John.” One where she was the sun he revolved around. One where he hung the stars in the sky just for her. One where they could build a life together and live forever. 

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He let the way he kissed her and held her and danced with her express the words he had tried to say. Let the way he carried her back to her billet and brought her flowers the next morning, as he always did, express his promise for tomorrow. Wrote the words on a piece of paper and put her name on the envelope before tucking in his trunk. If anything happened to him, he wanted Cass to have it. Wanted her to know he was hers as long as he had known her. That he had dreamt of an after with her. That as long as he was here, that is what he was fighting for. 

John could only hope the universe deemed him worthy of having it.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE JAE YEOL (JAY HONG) HEADCANONS

You were the new student at the Jaewon High school and the teacher asked you to introduce yourself to everyone in the class. A certain blonde haired guy with his bangs covering his eyes surveyed you with slight interest. He could feel slight warmth settling inside him as he looked at you and your features. Your smile was enchanting and captivating. You sat next to him and extended your hand out to him with a warm friendly smile on your face. He simply blushed slightly and turned away without shaking your hand. You could tell he wasn't trying to be rude, he was just shy. You got to know later on his name was Jay Hong and was given the nickname of being the prince of the fashion department

Apart from Daniel, you're the other person who could understand Jay. Whenever you'd ask him if he'd like to go out with you somewhere he'd nod with a slight smile. You've never heard him talk but it doesn't bother you too much since you could understand him. You make him feel so...warm and contended, you make him feel heard despite not talking out loud. He loves it when you smile, he always wants to see you smiling and being happy, he doesn't like seeing you sad or upset. The other day you got a lousy score on one of your tests and you were down in the dumps. Not even the incessant needling from Zack telling you to cheer up since it's a stupid test worked on you and you were pretty bummed out about it. After the lunch period was done, Jay strode over to your desk and handed you a bag and as you opened inside it and looked in it, you saw your favorite chocolates, goodies and treats along with a heartwarming little encouraging note from him. You thanked him and ended up giving him a hug and he felt like his heart would stop beating at the moment. He wanted to hold you in his arms forever and never let go of you

He'll fall for you real fast and real hard too. When he does, he catches obsessive feelings for you quite quickly too which will result in him getting rather sulky and pouty when you talk to other people, excluding Daniel. You had to work on an assignment with Zack once and the entire time, Jay sat right smack in between you both despite the complaints from Zack on how he had to deal with an annoying blonde the whole time. However Jay didn't give a damn. He'd rather shoot someone than have them steal you away from him. Just because he's quiet and shy and nice to YOU doesn't mean he has to be nice to the other annoying people who try to steal you away from him. It annoyed and frustrated him to no end when the teacher refused to let him be your partner even after asking him to change your partner so he could be with you. However he couldn't do anything about it since you actually liked the teacher and he knew you'd be sad if the teacher left and he doesn't want to see you sad

You can bet your allowance he will stalk the absolute daylights out of you and will always have your location one way or another. Say goodbye to your privacy since there'll always be someone or the other in the shadows to ensure your safety. He has FILES of your likes, dislikes and his assistant gives him an update of everything that happens in your life. He knows you better than you know yourself by now and he takes great pride in that and could probably write a freaking thesis about you and your personality. He has unfinished love letters that he wanted to give you but couldn't bring himself to do so because he didn't want to ruin your friendship with him. Poor guy would be devastated if you started ignore him, something in him will just break. Look, he can tolerate insults and anger and people hitting him but you ignoring him is much worse

Like I mentioned before, don't underestimate the way he fights just because he never really interacts or fights on common occasions, there's a reason you should always watch out for the quiet ones. He would never forgive someone trying to hurt you, he'd send them a one way ticket to the hospital with zero remorse and empathy. Have you seen the way he fights? His moves are fast and quick and it's all thanks to his training with the one and only Alexandra Sophia herself, learning a variety combination of mixed martial arts which he'll put to good use so he can protect you. If Logan ends up picking on you or making disgusting lecherous comments about you, he'll just walk over to him silently without even saying anything and just break his hand like it's nothing. Logan will have a natural hatred for blondes now thanks to him lol

Jay will get slightly pouty and jealous and sulky when you receive gifts from someone else. He'll quickly find a way to one up them because...he's Jay Hong after all. Oh, someone gave you a nice dress for your birthday? Well, here's 5 duffel bags full of the most fashionable clothes that are trending these days. Someone gifted you a new gadget? You'll have plenty more from him. He'll just walk up to you with a smile on his face and set the bags down for you. Of course, he finds it rather endearing and cute when you end up getting flustered and embarrassed like this and will not accept a no from you. You're going to accept his gifts and tokens of love for you and no, you don't get to have a say in this

Like the others he doesn't want you getting involved in gang stuff. The last thing he needs is for you to get targeted by some gang member but he's not really worried though even if that happens because he'll probably just murder them and find a way to cover up the body. Hey, when it comes to you, he's willing to do anything to make sure you're safe. What's a few dead bodies and gang members going to do anyway? He insists on dropping you off home on his bike and this is something you don't get to have a say on either. He'll just silently stand there and put his helmet on your head and gesture for you to get on his bike. He'd rather not take any chances when you're walking down the streets. He gets quite flustered when your arms are wrapped around his torso though, he'll be a blushing mess under his helmet and will be smiling smiling to himself, basking in the warmth and your soft gentle touch

He's not someone to play mind games with you or gas light you, he's too pure for that. He doesn't want to hurt you. However if your safety is being threatened, he won't hesitate to snatch you up from your life faster than you can even blink. You'll find yourself in a well furnished room on a soft large bed as you wake up. You'll of course, be quite confused as to what's happening and Jay will silently come into the room with a tray of your favorite things and set it down on the table beside the bed for you. When you ask him whether you can leave, he'll simply shake his head and refuse to let you go. You might not be bound by ropes or chains to the bed but that doesn't mean you'll be able to escape either. His loyal assistant is always there to observe you and snitch on you the moment you try anything funny

The security systems and the locks will be quite advanced and you won't be able to leave. By mistake even if you end up leaving, he'll just bring you back. He'll look at you with a slightly hurt look on his face and is sad that you tried to leave him but he understands why you'd leave him, you probably feel trapped and he gets your feeling. Which is why he'll take you out for private little outings to places he knows you'll enjoy. Just don't leave his hand, he needs to prevent you from running away again. However when it comes to someone stealing you from him...he won't have any mercy or remorse for them. They'll either get blacklisted from a company or their social status would be ruined or something. He'd do it secretly of course, without you ever finding out about it since he doesn't want you thinking that he's some sort of monster

He'll be quite hurt and devastated when you initially try to withhold yourself from eating anything and refusing to eat food. He'll look at you with the expression of a kicked puppy and a small tear will roll down his eye as he silently pleads and cajoles you to eat. He doesn't want anything happening your health, he loves you too much for that. Would you like for him to feed you because he's ready for that too. Just please eat something

He'd be flustered whenever you hug him or show him even the slightest of affection but he still loves it nonetheless. He loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, he'll let out a soft hum and look at you with a soft smile, like he has the world in front of his eyes. He'd like to touch your hair too and caress your cheek lovingly if you'd permit him too of course. He wouldn't do anything you're uncomfortable with since he's quite the gentleman. He likes holding your hand too and entwining and wrapping his fingers in yours as he kisses the back of your hand ever so gently. Overall, as a yandere, he'd be a nice one to have. Pretty chill and laid back who would ensure you're always by his side no matter what...

#yandere lookism characters x reader #yandere lookism characters #yandere lookism x reader #yandere lookism #yandere jay #yandere jay hong #yandere jay hong x reader #yandere jay hong scenarios #yandere jay hong oneshots #yandere jay hong imagines #yandere jay hong headcanons #yandere jae yeol #yandere jae yeol x reader #dark lookism characters x reader #dark lookism characters #dark lookism x reader #dark lookism

[sarahscribbles]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐚'𝐬 𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨…𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖.𝟒𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟏𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The cut crystal glass in your hand was already half drained, but the deep burgundy liquid inside was still as warm as when you had picked it up and felt like Valhalla clasped between chilled fingertips. Obstinately - and foolishly you would now admit - you had ignored your mother’s advice to wear the soft satin gloves that perfectly complimented your gown, wishing to show off to anyone who looked in your direction the large ruby ring that your uncle had gifted you for Yule. It was a thing of beauty - a single large square stone set in three diamonds progressing in size on each side - but the frigid Ylir air had wrapped around your fingers like the hand of Hel herself when you had stepped from your carriage, almost instantly making you curse your vanity. 

In your mother’s own words, your vanity would be your downfall. 

It wasn’t as though you were hoping to catch the attention of a future husband - much to your mother’s neverending chagrin - but you did enjoy the envious glances that were thrown your way when you accessorised your finery with exquisite jewellery. Tonight was no different, and you had already lost count of the number of green eyed stares you had been on the receiving end of. Mixed with the roaring fire spitting and crackling behind you and the excellent food from the palace kitchens, it made throwing yourself on the mercy of the Asgardian winter worthwhile.

You took another small sip of wine, savouring the subtly sweet taste, and casually glanced around the Great Hall of the Royal Palace. The music had been playing ever since you had first arrived, but only a handful of couples were drifting around the dancefloor. Towering above them all, big and blonde and looking every inch the Crown Prince, was Thor. He held Sif in his arms and was moving completely out of time with the music, not that Sif even seemed to notice. She was looking at Thor with such affection - affection that was clearly obvious even with the vivid red mask concealing most of her face - that you couldn’t stop a genuine smile from crossing your own. Feeling the weight of your gaze, Thor eventually glanced up in your direction, breaking into a grin and waving at you over the heads of those around him. You raised a hand in silent greeting but made no move to cross the floor to them. Sif had been waiting for this night since Samhain. You weren’t about to ruin even a second of it for her. 

More couples steadily began to fill the large, open space of the floor - you even caught sight of Odin leading Frigga in a dance - and your feet were itching to join them, though you were also loathe to leave the comforting warmth of the roaring fire in the grate behind you. The chill from the carriage ride from the North District to the palace still hadn’t fully melted from your bones, but you would allow yourself only a further five minutes by the flames. After all, you hadn’t spent a small fortune on your gown to spend the night in the shadows. 

The glass in your hand now only contained the final dregs of wine and you glanced around the Hall for a passing servant, eager to free your hands for a night of dancing. With the crowd now thick with guests as the lesser nobility had filtered in, it was near impossible to catch sight of the dark brown uniforms of the palace staff, though even over the joyous melody of the music and the gentle murmur of the crowd one voice drifted easily and smoothly over it all.

“I specifically instructed the guards not to let any riff raff through the doors tonight.”

Loki. 

Still with your back to him, you rolled your eyes. “This was clearly after you bribed your way in then?” you said, turning to give him a lazy glance. “Did they even recognise you outside Thor’s shadow?” 

You saw his lip twitch beneath the deep black silk of his mask and bit back a smirk. “I could ask the same of you. How did you manage to get in tonight without your father? You’re so irrelevant I sincerely doubt anyone in this room knows who you are without the Duke.”

It was a barb meant to cut, but it only had you laugh softly into your glass. You didn’t care for fame or notoriety, didn’t care that no one in Asgard outside the nobility likely knew your name. Your father was the Duke, the one who sat on Odin’s security council and was likely up to his eyes in the blood of innocents. You couldn’t care less if people didn’t make the connection between you and him. In fact, you almost welcomed it.

“Perhaps I prefer it that way. Not all of us crave the attention of strangers because daddy doesn’t love us.” You took a final sip of your wine, turning your eyes from him and back to the crowd gathered in front of you.

You swore you heard him hiss quietly through his teeth, but otherwise, he remained silent. There was little more than a foot between you both - the soft scent of cedarwood and patchouli filled your senses with every inhale - and you despised how your heart skipped at realising just how little space separated you from him. All you really had to do was reach out your fingers…

But you didn’t. Because it was Loki. He was your lifelong annoyance. 

And your greatest love. 

A man in brown uniform drifted past and you set your glass firmly on the tray he held aloft, eagerly scanning the crowd for the first person who would ask for your hand, something that Loki’s keen eyes didn’t miss. 

“Perhaps you would like to dance?” he asked. Behind the heavy sarcasm you almost swore you heard a genuine question. 

You cocked one eyebrow at him. “With you?” you replied, and adopted the sweetest smile you could. “I’d rather be Odin’s groom of the stool.” 

“We are feeling rather feisty tonight,” he replied instantly, a bite beginning to creep into his voice. 

“I blame it on the company I’m being forced to keep,” you shot back. Across the way, you caught the eye of some minor noble - all blonde and big muscle and so completely not your type - but you smiled coyly at him in invitation. He quickly began to weave through the crowd and you turned to Loki with a smug little grin. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend some time with someone who doesn’t turn my stomach.”

You didn’t pause to see his reaction, but let the man sweep you into his embrace and only half listened as he introduced himself as Frode. Up close, you realised that he wasn’t as handsome as you had first believed. Even with the mask, you noticed the deep, jagged scar that ran down his right cheek and when he smiled, you saw that he was missing a tooth. 

“A beautiful gown, my lady,” Frode commented, his voice rough and gravelly. You bristled when his eyes lingered a little too long on your cleavage. 

His hand was large and clammy in yours and you fought the urge to grimace as he clutched you. He didn’t possess the refined elegance you knew Loki would have shown if he had been the one turning you around the floor. A glance over Frode’s large shoulder showed Loki still with his eyes locked on you both, so you gave the man your most winning smile. 

“It suits the season! And compliments your own outfit perfectly!” you added, tracing a hand along his muscular upper arm while keeping Loki pinned in the corner of your eye. 

He still hovered along the edge of the floor, eyes glued to you and Frode, but standing a little more rigidly than when you had left him. You may have been able to convince yourself that he actually cared, but when Frode twirled you around in his direction again, Loki was nowhere to be seen. 

Desperately, you tried to ignore the pang of disappointment that echoed in your chest. 

Frode continued moving you both haphazardly around the floor, colliding with a few other guests and talking about the Norns knew what. You laughed when you needed to but otherwise failed to listen to a single word he said. You were too focused on trying to locate Loki in a sea full of guests. A difficult task given how he could master the art of being invisible in a crowd until he wanted to be seen. 

You were only half listening as Frode’s rough voice continued to drone on relentlessly. He could have been warning you about an imminent invasion from Midgard, or telling you of his perverted fantasies involving the Dark Elves, but you only gave him a simpering little laugh whenever there was a pause in the conversation. The man likely thought you were simple but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wanted nothing more than for the song to end so you could escape. Hel, you’d dance with Odin himself if it meant you could be free from Frode’s clammy grip and the stench of ale that seemed to permeate from his every pore.

How had this seemed like a good idea?

“The younger prince is headed this way,” Frode suddenly growled, his blue eyes growing dark while he tightened his grip on your hand. You fought the urge to yank it from his grip. “If I were Odin I’d cast the little runt out. What use is he to the Court?” 

The ghost of a smirk that appeared on his face indicated that he was waiting for you to agree or simply laugh at his remark, so it was entirely unexpected when the sole of your foot landed roughly on the tip of his boot. He abruptly relinquished his hold on you and his deep groan of pain caused a passing couple to look on in alarm. 

“My apologies, my lord!” you cried out, biting back a smile at the deep grimace of pain he still wore. “I do get very clumsy after a few glasses of wine! Are you well?”

A quiet rumble of laughter from behind told you Loki was now at your back and you ignored how inwardly pleased you were that he had seen the whole spectacle. 

“Perfectly!” Frode replied, sounding somewhat strained as he righted himself. 

The music had come to a sweeping end and he looked to you in silent expectation that you would join him for another dance, but Loki quickly interjected before he had the opportunity to speak. 

“You should rest, Bjørson. That looked like it hurt,” he said smoothly, and you saw Frode’s cheeks grow slightly pink. 

“I’m fine, Your Highness,” he practically spat out the words.

Loki hummed and outwardly looked completely unfazed, but his cool fingers wrapped around the bend of your elbow and sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. “Perhaps, but the lady promised her next dance to me,” he said quietly, the words sounding vaguely like a threat. 

“I did no such thing!” Instantly, you rounded on him, but for the life of you you didn’t know why. You’d sooner dance with anyone than return to Frode. 

Loki looked at you the way one would look at a child that’s said something mildly amusing. “Poor thing.” He clucked his tongue. “You’ve had so much to drink already that you can’t remember. Unsurprising, really, when daddy isn’t here to keep watch over you,” he taunted. 

Your cheeks were burning and you wanted nothing more than to rip his beautiful head from his shoulders, but you still let him lead you easily to the middle of the floor as the music began to play again. From the corner of your vision, you saw Frode stalk off towards the barrels of ale, begrudgingly accepting that he had been outranked. 

Loki’s grip on your elbow was firm and unyielding as he lead you further into the crowd, but you found that you didn’t want to give up the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how furiously the anger was bubbling inside you. “At least my father trusts me to socialise alone!” you snapped at him when he suddenly stopped. “Tell me, my prince, who has been charged with babysitting you tonight?” 

He didn’t bother to answer, only swung you into his arms so that you were pressed snug against his chest. “The brute looked like he wish to devour you. I should make you thank me for rescuing you,” he said, splaying his fingers possessively along your back and gripping your hand tightly in his.

You hated how you noticed every little detail about him. How he was holding you so tightly against him that you could feel the rigid planes of his stomach beneath his tunic and how it pressed into you with every breath he took. You noticed the shift of his shoulder blades beneath your fingers and how his eyes were the same shade of green as your favourite blanket draped across your bed. He was so solid and strong and fingers curled around yours so perfectly…

But you couldn’t think about that. He was your lifelong annoyance. 

“You won’t make me do anything,” you said sweetly as he turned you effortlessly around the floor. For a brief second, you were caught up in how perfectly his emerald green evening wear complemented your golden gown as it swirled around his feet, caught up in how perfect the two of you must no doubt look to anyone who may look your way. 

It was a shame, almost, that you were what you were. 

Loki’s lips twitched at your comment and his eyes darkened over as they held yours. A pleasant tingle thrummed between your thighs. “That sounds like a challenge, darling,” he purred, pulling you even tighter against him. He rested his cheek against your temple until his lips were grazing your ear. “And I do love a challenge.”

Your hand twitched only a fraction in his, but you knew Loki would catch a movement even that tiny. You prayed he hadn’t caught the sharp intake of breath or could feel the frantic pounding of your heart with how tightly you were pressed against him. He couldn’t know how his words only fanned the ferocious flame that was flickering between your thighs, or how badly you wanted him to press you against the nearest hard surface and have his way with you. 

You loathed him, yet you wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against yours.

“You’ll have to find someone else to challenge, my prince. I have no interest in second sons,” you replied, sounding steadier than you felt and desperately trying to ignore the feel of his firm thighs moving against yours.

How would they look kneeling between your spread legs? How would they feel beneath you as you straddled him?

Loki twirled you firmly around the floor, cocooning your legs in a twist of gold and making you briefly dizzy. “Is that so?” he purred. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I sought my pleasure in one of the lovely ladies or gentlemen here tonight.” 

Something twisted sharply in your gut, something that felt alarmingly like jealousy, but you refused to acknowledge it. You knew he’d had many partners - likely as many as you - but you had never before been so consumed with envy at those who had been his lovers, who had seen him in the throes of passion and had felt his hands wander over their skin. 

You refused to let it rise to the surface and kept your features as blissfully unaffected as possible. “Be my guest,” you replied simply, throwing a glance around the hall to signify just how much you didn’t care. “Lady Kari looks particularly beautiful tonight. Why don’t you carry her off to your dungeon?”

His lips twisted in a smirk and you knew he had caught the slight bite to your words. “Careful, darling. It’s beginning to sound like you would like me to carry you off,” he replied, his voice dripping with such smug self-assuredness that you wanted nothing more than to slap his perfect cheek.

Despite how much you absolutely didn’t want it, you allowed yourself the brief luxury of imagining what it would be like to be hoisted into his strong arms and flung upon his bed. How it would feel to have his lips claim every part of you, his hot breath fanning over your bare skin, the sound of his moans filling the quiet of the chamber…

But you didn’t want it. 

“I’d rather Frode take me in one of the servant's passageways. I’d rather one of the servants themselves take me in the passageways. You’re at the bottom of a very long list, my prince,” you threw back haughtily. 

Loki didn’t even blink. “As are you, darling,” he replied smoothly. The hand resting on your back pressed you closer, though there was barely a breath of space remaining between you both. 

You caught the familiar, musky scent of him with each inhale and resisted the temptation to bury your face in his chest and breathe him in. You could feel the silky strands of his hair brushing across the back of your hand and wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in it. Briefly, you wondered if he enjoyed having it tugged…

Desire was written clearly on your face, you knew, and you were suddenly thanking Valhalla for the golden mask that partially shielded you from view. It gave you the chance to study him, but even behind the half covering of silk his face remained as passive as ever, though when the music once again began to come to an end, you didn’t fail to notice how his hand remained firmly against your back.

“Good,” you said primly. “Then we understand each other.”

The smile he gave you in return was nothing short of wolfish and emerald eyes narrowed behind black obsidian. “Oh, I believe we understand each other perfectly,” he murmured, holding your gaze as the music ended and he brought your hand to his lips. 

It was an act of chivalry you would have expected of any gentleman you danced with tonight, but with Loki it felt strangely intimate, as though he were showing you a part of himself that he kept firmly locked away. His lips lingered just long enough for you to appreciate how warm and soft they were against your skin, long enough for you to imagine how they might feel elsewhere, and then, without another word, he left your side to melt easily into the crowd of guests. Like a shadow in the dead of night, he quickly disappeared, leaving you with a thundering heartbeat and an ever increasing tingling between your thighs. 

How desperately you loathed him.

Before you had the chance to begin scanning the crowd in search of him you were quickly pulled into another dance. He was a great hulk of a man with muscles to rival Thor’s and, you would admit, he was attractive, even behind the royal blue mask that concealed half of his face.

“Hagen, my lady,” he introduced himself with a broad smile that revealed perfectly straight white teeth. 

You smiled in acknowledgment, told him your name, and only half listened as he chattered on, your attention firmly on locating Loki. It was no easy feat given the sea of people who were twirling around the hall, and only made that much harder with the addition of decorative masks, but you finally did catch sight of him through an eventual parting of the crowd. He was also dancing again, only this time his partner was a vapid little thing who didn’t appear to have a single thought behind her eyes.

A fresh surge of searing jealousy, sudden and entirely unexpected, swept through you like a winter storm. You didn’t even know her name or where in Asgard she hailed from, didn’t recall seeing her on any previous occasions, yet here she was gazing at Loki with big doe eyes that made you want to slap her childish little face. 

Hagen hadn’t noticed your sudden distraction and continued twirling you around the Great Hall until it felt like you were inside a kaleidoscope, but you never once lost sight of Loki, pinning him with your gaze like a predator in the final moments of the hunt. When he felt your molten gaze burning into him, he glanced over the ornately decorated head of the girl in his arms, and, to your absolute fury, he winked.

It was as quick as the space between heartbeats and he was turning away again as though it had never happened, but already your blood had been set aflame. With renewed vigour you turned your attention back to Hagen, smiling and simpering like a fool and laughing at every comment like it were the funniest thing you had heard in centuries. His eyes lit up and he immediately began retelling a story of some battle he had been involved in decades ago.

“...and at the end of it all, I pushed the poor soul into a barrel of mead head first! He screamed like a pig caught in the mud until he realised it had been long drained by his own hand!” he finished a few minutes later, eagerly scanning your face for approval. 

The laugh you forced was so loud and so obviously fake that a few couples twirling by gazed intently your way. You didn’t care. With Hagen so distracted by winning your approval, he hadn’t noticed how you had managed to manipulate his movements across the floor, having glided effortlessly through the crowd until you were within touching distance of Loki and the preened little poodle in his arms. He noticed you instantly, but you steadfastly ignored the smirk that flicked across the face and gave Hagen the full force of your attention. 

Surprisingly, it worked. 

The longer you ignored Loki the more he tried to catch your attention. Every expert twirl perfectly in time with the music had his half concealed face turn towards you, green eyes sparkling as he hoped to see you looking back at him. It was entertaining, almost, to watch him desperately seek the attention you refused to give him. 

Hagen remained the sole focus of your attention as you waited, waited for the perfect moment to do what you had guided him half way across the Great Hall to do. Loki twirled around again until the girl in his arms faced you - though not without throwing another glance towards you to see if he finally had your attention - and when you got close enough, you subtly kicked a foot out from under your gown to catch her ankle, sending her stumbling forward until Loki caught her fall. She gave you a look of pure, unadulterated outrage, but you only smiled sweetly at her.

“Oh, I am sorry! I’ve lost my footing a little after that third glass of wine!” you called over your shoulder as Hagen continued to whisk you through the crowd, not missing the tiny grin growing on Loki’s lips.

With satisfaction casting a warm glow through your chest you let Hagen continue to twirl you around the floor until the music again began to slow. Over his broad shoulder, you caught sight of Loki, still with that dull little thing in his arms, and you grinned. Letting one hand slide suggestively down Hagen’s upper arm, you held Loki’s gaze while you whispered in his ear. All you had said was “I’d like to go outside,” but, coupled with a light laugh and Hagen’s hand dropping an inch lower on your back, it was enough to make Loki’s expression darken. 

You saw the instant deep frown and set of his strong jaw, saw his brief apology to the girl he had been dancing with, and he was quickly striding across the hall with purpose. Something deep in your stomach twisted with excitement.

He was before you both in a matter of seconds, towering over Hagen and staring at the man with cold eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to impose, but I must steal the lady from you,” Loki said, his voice perfectly calm and collected. 

Hagen’s fingers tightened around your waist and you fought the overwhelming urge to grin. You could feel him bristle, could feel the clouds of an almighty argument begin to darken the spiced air of the Great Hall as he stared Loki down. Even with half his face obscured behind a mask of black obsidian, you could read his intense displeasure in the set of his jaw and in the dangerous glint in his green eyes.

You turned to give your thanks to Hagen for his dance - a dance you had surprisingly enjoyed - but before the first syllable had even crossed your lips, Loki had twirled you out of his grip so swiftly that your skirts twisted around your ankles in a quiet whisper and you clamped a hand on his velvet clad arm in order to stay steady. 

Or that’s what you told yourself. 

Once righted, and with your hands tucked securely within the folds of your gown, you became very aware of the firm solidness of his chest against your shoulder, almost shivering at the feel of the soft material of his evening wear brushing enticingly against your exposed skin. It was a teasing reminder that all that separated you from him was tulle and velvet. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides. 

On your left, Hagen was making his irritation known, but his voice was nothing but a dull drone in the near distance, comparable to the incessant buzzing of a fly on a warm summer evening. Your focus had long since drifted from him, shifting solely to the feel of Loki’s curls ghosting gently against the base of your neck. 

The familiar intoxicating scent of him - cedarwood and patchouli and something vaguely sweet - washed over you once more, so inviting that you wished you could drown in it.

His warm breath fanned against the skin below your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. “With me, darling. Now.” The words were uttered so quietly, so dangerously in your ear that your heart sped up like a wild hare darting through a spring meadow. Resisting him would be pointless.

“Of course, my prince,” you replied sweetly, a thin layer of coyness wrapping around each word.

Without another word, he placed a firm, heavy hand on the curve of your waist, expertly weaving you both through the sea of colourfully clad guests. His imposing stature, coupled with the displeased scowl that not even his mask could hide, cleared an easy path through the hall until the vast mahogany doors leading to the balcony grew before you.

Perhaps it was the third glass of mead you’d knocked back not too long ago, or perhaps you were merely feeling playful at finally being cornered, but in the final few feet before the heavy wooden doors were right in front of you, you made a weak attempt to twist out of Loki’s firm grip. You were met with a firm curl of his fingers into the soft silk of your gown to keep you tight against his side, a silent promise that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. 

His boots continued to hit the floor with rhythmic thuds, each step bringing you closer to the balcony doors and sending a shot of pure adrenaline shooting through your blood. You worked to keep up with him, taking two steps for each one of his, and when the double doors were right in front of you, you feared the purpose underlying Loki’s every step would have you both collide with them. At the very last minute a shimmer of vibrant emerald green, emanating from both everywhere and nowhere, pushed the magnificent double doors open, allowing Loki to guide you both through them without so much as a pause in his stride. His hand remained firmly on your back as he lead you onto the wide, open space of the sandstone balcony and when you shivered, it had nothing to do with the coolness of the night air. 

The quiet thud of the doors sounded behind you and the sudden shift in the energy betrayed how Loki was using his magic again, though for what you had no idea. Slow, lazy steps carried you away from him, the quiet click of your heels against the smooth stone floor being the only sound filling the quiet as you reached the intricately carved stone of the balcony. Guests trickled around the gardens below, enjoying the seasonal display of flowers that Frigga had so lovingly cultivated and admiring the small orbs of light that floated just out of their reach, each one appearing like a snow flake that had been frozen mid fall. You would never not be captivated by the effort that the Allmother placed in making the palace look magical no matter what the occasion. 

In your brief distraction admiring the grounds Loki still hadn’t spoken, and when you turned quickly to look at him, he was still standing silently by the double doors. His black mask was still on, but it didn’t obscure the glint of raw hunger shining in his eyes as they rested on you. You felt your heart speed up and swallowed thickly, practically vibrating with the anticipation of what you knew was about to come. Loki remained watching you, appearing to search for some small sign or signal.

Your silent, knowing grin was all it took.

Four large strides, silent as the night, brought him swiftly towards you. The black mask was ripped easily from his face before his strong arms were around you to pull you tight against his chest, his lips crashing down onto yours with such fierceness that it knocked the breath from your lungs. You returned it easily, parting your lips to meet his tongue with your own and tangling your hand blissfully into his black curls. 

They were softer than you even imagined. 

The kiss was deep and frantic, as though the whole world around you both was going up in flames and the last thing you both would ever do was taste each other. Without breaking away, Loki walked you backwards until you collided with the smooth stone, both arms tightening around you until you were all but crushed between the smooth surface of the balcony and his warm chest. 

You were lost in him, lost to him. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him; it was everything you had imagined it would be and more. 

The fingers of his right hand drifted from where they had been clasping the base of your neck to untie the silken ties of your mask, letting it fall away like smoke in the wind. He pressed you tighter against him and you moaned quietly against his lips. You felt him smile against your mouth, an innocent gesture that was quickly followed by a roll of his hips against yours, letting you feel just how badly he wanted you.

His lips left yours and you fought to contain a whine at the sudden absence of him. “Touch me,” he murmured between shallow pants, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I am touching you,” you replied, bringing a hand to rest against his cheek, You knew what he was asking, of course, but you kept your hand firmly on his cheek. 

Loki lifted his forehead from yours and you could see the fire blazing in his green eyes, a burning, searing flame of desire for you. He pulled your hand from his cheek and guided it down to rest on the prominent bulge in his leather trousers. 

“Touch me,” he repeated softly. 

You twisted your free hand into his hair, using it as leverage to guide him back to your lips. With the other, you teasingly stroked the outline of his cock, palming him firmly while his lips continued claiming yours. He groaned deeply into your mouth, sending a flutter between your thighs, and pulled back from your kiss once again. 

“Your hand feels so much better than my own, darling,” he half moaned into the darkness. 

“Oh?” You smirked and pulled your hand back. “Then maybe I should make you beg for it.” 

Something in his eyes darkened and he curled two fingers under your chin to hold your gaze. “Darling, I can assure you that I won’t be the one begging tonight.”

The confidence of his words, the suggestion dripping like honey from every syllable, sent a rush of heat surging through you. Your gaze dropped to his lips, kiss swollen and stained a faint crimson red from your lipstick. It was barely noticeable under the pale moonlight, but it still made something in your stir, as though that delicate sheen of red was your mark on him.

A warning to everyone else that he was yours. 

Your fingers still resting at the base of his neck curled into his soft skin, sharp nails scratching him gently and sending a slight shiver down his spine. “Kiss me again,” you said, not caring about the faint rasp that now edged your words. 

Loki laughed quiet and low, the sound a soft rumble in the quiet of the night. “An excellent start,” he purred, not giving you a second to even glare at him before his lips were back on yours, kissing you just as frantically as before. It was as though that first kiss had shown him what he had been missing and now he wouldn’t be sated until he tasted every inch of you. 

You welcomed the warm force of his mouth against yours once more, locking your arms around his neck while your hands scrambled for purchase on the rich velvet of his tunic. You couldn’t get close enough. The force of his renewed assault made your back hit the smooth curved stone of the balcony so hard that for a second you were briefly bent over it. While your hands were tangling in his hair - and you were delighting in the quiet growl of appreciation that came from your experimental tug - his were frantically bunching the golden skirts of your gown around your hips, all the while still kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen.

The cool night air wrapped instantly around your bare legs but did nothing to ease the searing burn of arousal pulsing in your core. Loki’s fingers trailed over your thighs and you whined into his mouth, the barest hint of his touch lighting tiny fires beneath your skin and making you crave him like rain in a drought. One strong hand rested against your stomach to secure layers of golden tulle out of his way while the other dipped between your thighs to run a finger firmly over your cunt through the thin layer of your underwear. You rocked your hips against it, already desperately seeking more, and he gently nipped your bottom lip. 

“Something wrong, pet?” he asked, pulling back from your kiss but still running his finger tormentingly along the length of your cunt. 

It was such a simple action, but you felt the sharp tendrils of pleasure right down to your knees. It wasn’t enough. “Need more,” you said, still attempting to grind down against his finger. 

“Oh?” Loki replied, cocking one perfect eyebrow at you. You felt him slide his finger to the side of your underwear, using it to pull them aside and run it lightly through your slick folds. “Is this enough?”

It felt good, it felt almost blindingly good, but it wasn’t enough. You needed his cock, needed him to fill you to the brim and fuck you so hard that you felt it for days. You needed to feel him spill inside you and claim you completely as his.

 Because you were. 

You had always been his. 

“No,” you breathed out, fingers digging firmly into the back of his neck in an effort to ground yourself. The other rested low on his hip, slowly snaking around to cup his ass through the soft black material. 

You heard his quick intake of breath and saw the exact moment his eye darkened with fresh, undiluted lust. “Good.” It was almost a growl. “Because I’m losing what little self control I have left.” 

His hand retracted from between your thighs and an immediate complaint was dancing on the tip of your tongue, until both rested back on your hips, stealing the breath from your lungs with the sudden surprise of being swiftly turned and bent over the balcony edge. Yards of tulle fell in a sweeping whisper to cover your legs, only to be just as quickly bunched back up in his hands. This time he folded them back carelessly onto your back, leaving you almost fully on display for him. 

His cool fingers rested around the curve of your hips, the silken pads of his thumbs tracing tiny circles along your exposed skin. “Beautiful, darling,” he murmured behind you, no hint or trace of mockery in his voice.

Your witty reply melted into a sigh of contentment when his hands moved to ghost over the swell of your ass and you felt him kneel between your legs. Teasingly, his hands ran down the backs of your thighs, long fingers dancing so close to where you ached for him, had ached for him for centuries. 

“Loki…” His name was barely a whisper into the blackness of the night and was chased swiftly by a quiet moan when you felt his teeth hook into the band of your underwear. 

You could almost hear the smirk on his face as he expertly pulled them down your legs, the gentle rub of his nose against your skin having your fingers curl against the sandstone. They were quickly pooling around your ankles and Loki was just as easily ripping them away and tossing them aside. 

You yelped when his teeth then sank into the flesh of your ass.

“So responsive, darling,” he purred while getting to his feet, the cool tips of his fingers running soothingly over the area he had just bitten. “I wonder what other little noises I can get you to make for me.” 

“Why don’t you fuck me and we’ll find out.” You had meant it as an attempt to goad him, to infer that he could have what he wanted if he would just fuck you, but the sharpness of your tone and the obvious pleading behind it betrayed nothing but your own impatience to have him inside you.

Something that, of course, Loki didn’t miss. “I told you I wouldn’t be the one begging tonight, didn’t I?” he taunted, a firm hand creeping beneath the layers of tulle to lie against the naked skin of your back. “Say please.” 

The swell of pleasure between your thighs at his quiet command was instant, but you fought to ignore it and remained stubbornly quiet if only to see what your refusal to answer would make him do. Below you, guests continue to mill around in the gardens, their quiet laughter and conversation drifting upwards on a phantom breeze. They were only a matter of metres below and if any decided to turn their gaze upwards towards the palace, little would stop them from seeing you bent over the balcony with Loki between your legs. The thought alone had you swallowing a moan.

Loki clicked his tongue quietly, his fingers dipping back between your thighs to teasingly stroke your cunt. This time, you couldn’t prevent the curse that slipped from your lips at how good his fingers felt. “Say please,” he repeated.

Stubbornly, you continued to try and hold your silence, but the steady ripples of pleasure he was granting you had you desperate for more within a short matter of seconds. “Please! Please, Loki!” you eventually cracked, the wet need between your thighs surpassing any desire to press his buttons.  

He slapped your ass just hard enough for you to feel a sting. “Good girl,” he said, and you heard the quiet shuffle as he freed himself from his trousers. “Do you know how often I touch myself to the idea of you begging for me?” he continued, lazily dragging the tip of his cock through your dripping cunt, coating himself with your arousal. 

The sound that tumbled from your lips was so lewd that you felt your cheeks flame, and you dropped your head low between your shoulders at the exquisite torture that he was subjecting you to. Over and over he dragged his cock through your folds, each time stopping just short of hitting your clit, so teasingly short that eventually, you began to squirm.

“Loki…please…,” you repeated, now freely giving him what he wanted in a voice practically hoarse with desire.

The languid roll of his hips came to a sudden stop, but his cock remained firmly against your cunt. “You sound so lovely when you beg, darling, I’m tempted to not give you what you want,” he taunted. “But I’ve waited too long to have you.” 

“Then, for the love of Yggdrasil, take me!” you all but screamed at him, the unrelenting ache between your legs crying out for release. 

At your plea, he curled one hand around the curve of your hip and with the other aligned himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by beautiful inch until he had filled you to the brim. He stretched you beautifully and you briefly lost the ability to speak while you adjusted to his size. It was nothing short of exquisite. 

When he got comfortable and began to roll his hips steadily into you, both hands now gripping your hips like a vice, you saw the remnant wisps of emerald green in the night air. Likely, Loki had cast come illusion to conceal you both from the guests still wandering below.

Something you had no doubt you would be thankful for in a short matter of minutes. 

Already, his cock was brushing wondrously against that sweet spot inside you, having your toes curl in your shoes. His hands held your hips in a punishing grip that you knew would leave bruises the following morning, and a stream of moans - the most glorious sound you had ever heard - tumbled freely from his lips with each thrust. Loud, forceful moans that you were sure could be heard from the gardens down below, but no one so much as glanced towards the balcony where you both stood. 

Then it hit you. The soft whirls of green magic had been a silencing charm. 

For the first time in your long life, you were saying a silent thanks to Loki. 

“Fuck, Loki!” you cried out, feeling as though a weight had been lifted to allow you to vocalise your pleasure. “You feel so good!” 

You were close to losing yourself in the pleasure, to let it wash over you while you screamed to Valhalla, but two quiet voices from below drifted up softly to your ears and made you go rigid. 

“Did you hear that?” A deep male voice asked. “Someone with Prince Loki, perhaps?” 

“I saw the Prince inside a few moments ago. It’s likely someone else,” another answered, sounding incredibly bored. 

Loki’s arm looped around your middle, pulling you upright and tight against his chest. “You’ll have to be quiet, darling, unless you want the attention of all those guests on this balcony. What would they think if they could hear you, hmm? Perhaps that you’re here pleasuring yourself to the thought of me?” he whispered lowly in your ear. 

A groan bubbled low in your throat, one that you fought valiantly to contain. “But…you’ve…you’ve been moaning like a whore and no one has spared a second glance!” you said. 

His teeth sunk into your earlobe, pulling gently and making you go near limp in his arms. “Oh, dear. Did I forget to place that silencing charm over you? I do apologise, darling,” he purred, sounding anything but sorry. “I hope you can stay quiet.” He punctuated his sentence with a firm, forceful thrust that made you bite your lip to contain a cry. 

It melted into a whimper with each continued plunge of his cock into your cunt. You could feel every inch of him as he moved, each drag only sending ripples of building pleasure washing over you. While he kept one strong arm locked securely around your waist to anchor you to him, the other was effortlessly gathering up layers of gold to dip his hand beneath and find your clit.

It was almost your undoing. 

He could play your body like a violin and the unbroken rhythm his fingers played on your clit had you clamping down hard on his arm to contain shameless moans. Your head dropped back against his shoulder and your free hand desperately curled around his thigh in an effort to do something, anything, to channel the burning waves of pleasure crashing through you under his touch. He continued thrusting roughly into you, continued moaning and cursing freely right by your ear, all the while your nails were digging so hard into the top of his thigh you feared you might draw blood, all in the effort of having to stay quiet.

You wanted to scream his name to Valhalla, wanted to curse and scream in the face of the pleasure he was bringing you, yet all you could do was grip him like he was a liferaft and grind shamelessly against his fingers.

It was blissful torture. 

Blissful torture that he had seemed in no rush to end.

A thin sheen of sweat was forming along your hairline from both the effort of staying quiet and the brazen way in which you were rolling your hips against his hand. You wanted the release more than anything you had ever wished for before, wanted Loki to be the reason you came completely undone, and with the way he was playing your body as though it had been made for him, it wouldn’t take long until you saw stars.

His breathing was coming hard and fast in your ear, his warm breath hitting you in time with every thrust. “I thought you wanted this, darling?” he taunted you. “I can’t hear any sounds of pleasure coming from you. Perhaps you’d prefer it if I stopped?” he asked, dropping his hand from your cunt and slowing down his frantic thrusts until he was doing nothing but languidly rolling his hips into you.

Your hips arched into the balcony in a fruitless attempt at chasing his hand and you turned your head against his jaw, almost panic stricken at the threat. “No, please!” you begged him. “Please don’t stop!”

The satisfied smirk crossed his face instantly. “Then you need to let me know how good I’m making you feel,” he said and turned his head so his lips were just brushing the crown of your head. “Because I’m not letting you come until I can hear you.”

“Loki…,” you whined pitifully. 

He ignored you, instead returning his fingers to play with your swollen clit and beginning to forcefully thrust his cock back into you. “You better start singing for me, darling.” 

You cursed his name to Hel, but you were teetering so close to that wonderful freefall into pleasure that you sang easily for him, letting his name tangle with sharp breathy moans as he pushed you steadily towards release. 

You were so blissfully close when his hand unfurled from your waist to sharply slap your ass again. “Louder,” he growled, his hips now colliding repeatedly with yours as the wet sound of sex filled the quiet of the night. 

Clammy hands fell to brace against the smooth stone of the balcony while his cock hit that sweet spot over and over, and his long fingers only pushed you right to the teetering edge. You moaned for him, you whined and whimpered for him, squeezing your eyes shut so as not to see the looks of shock and open disgust on the faces of those below as he sent you soaring over the edge, his name ripped from your throat in a scream as you saw stars. 

His thrusts were erratic, his grip on you bruising as he chased his high. Your name was the only sound he could make as he spilled inside you, claiming you completely as his. His arm returned to loop around your waist and pull you back against him, all while he continued plunging into you, not allowing a single drop of his seed to go to waste. 

“Mine,” he growled in your ear, giving a final few shuddering thrusts of his cock before going still. 

You were boneless in his arms, panting loudly and falling forward to desperately grip the balcony in the wake of your release. You didn’t dare open your eyes, couldn’t make yourself open them and see the gaze of so many people who had watched you tumble into pleasure in the open like a common harlot. Your stomach began to turn at the thought. 

“Open your eyes, darling,” Loki encouraged gently, still inside you and still claspiing you tightly to him. 

After a brief hesitation, you slowly cracked them open, only to see the guests down below still in conversation amongst themselves, not a single face turned in the direction of the balcony. Instantly, you calmed.

“Do you really believe I’d do that to you,” Loki murmured, nuzzling his face into your neck. “They didn’t hear or see a thing. I promise you.” 

You released a breath and laughed at your own stupidity. Of course he wouldn’t. “You…are an asshole,” you said, still panting. 

He hummed against your neck. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “And perhaps later you’ll punish me for it,” he said, licking a light stripe up your neck. 

You closed your eyes again, allowing yourself to bask in his affections and at the surety that there was so much more yet to come. “Perhaps I will.”

Tags: @sailorholly @joyful-enchantress @muddyorbs @ozymdias @fandxmslxt69 @trickster-maiden @lokixryss @silverfire475 @wolfsmom1 @lokisgoodgirl @cake-writes @vickie5446 @lokidbadguy @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @all-envy-suyu @erynion-rogueofthegreenwoods @gortycs @katehawke @123forgottherest @fictive-sl0th @lovingchoices14 @peanutbutter-y-jams @wintermischief @gigglingtigger

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki imagine

[storydays]

Radio Killed Video Star P1

(3rd POV)

(Y/N) sat in his favorite seat as he continued drawing in his sketchbook, listening as Charlie paced nervously back and forth, and rant. He snickered as KeeKee paced back and forth with his sister.

"Okay. So the extermination is coming in 6 months instead of a year. No big deal, just a little setback. Nothing we can't handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right? And next time, when they cut time in half again and again, we'll just handle it, right?!" Charlie asked manically.

"Yes. We will." Vaggie caught Charlie gripped her arms soothingly.

"Oh, please, ya had less than half a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit." Angel waved his hands around. "And now..." he paused as his phone buzzed angrily. "Ain't no silver lining this time, toots." He muttered.

"Sure there is. We just have to look a little harder for it." Charlie tried to remain positive. "Well, while you're lookin', the rest of Hell is going nuts. People are already freaking out about the news." Angel waved his phone in the other's faces. "Look at what's happenin' in the Doomsday District." The tech revealed a demon screaming, as another message appeared on Angel's screen.

"Uh, what's a donkey show?" Charlie asked, squinting her eyes at the message. (Y/N) grimaced as he eyed Angel suspiciously.

"Aah, heh, nothing," Angel wouldn't dare ruin the princess's innocence. Especially not with her brother right fuckin' there! "My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too." He covered his phone from curious, (or suspicious) eyes, before shrugging his shoulders. "Like I said, everyone's losing their shit."

Vaggie looked up from where she was watching (Y/N) sketch. "Yeah, that's true. Sinners are desperate." "Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the extermination?" (Y/N) thought aloud, tapping his pencil against his lip.

Charlie gasped, breaking into a wide grin. "This is the perfect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!" Angel raised an eyebrow. "Cute idea and all, but you really going out in all of this?"

"Well, it's not like people are just going to show up on our doorstep." Charlie shrugged before yelping as an loud explosion disrupted the hotel.

"Show yourself, Alastor!" hissed a snake demon dramatically. "Come and face--" He paused looking for the Radio Demon, before catching sight of him sipping coffee, wearing a giant grin as usual. "Oh, there you are." The snake murmured. "FACE MY WRATH!" He hissed, over the speaker.

"Who are you?" asked Alastor raising an eyebrow.

"Who am I? Who am I? I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villan extraordinare!" During this introduction, Alastor melted into his shadow before appearing next to the Hazbin crew. Charlie looking in shock, Vaggie in annoyance, Angel with a raised brow, and crossed arms, and (Y/N) with a curious look.

"Woo! You tell 'em, boss." came a goofy voice over the loudspeaker.

Niffty gasped excitedly, as she popped on Alastor's shoulder. "Ooh, he's a bad boy."

Alastor huffed, as he gently set her down. "Huh, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you. Have you heard of him, (Y/N)?" The prince side eyed the red clad demon, sending him a look that said, 'Bitch...leave me out of this.'

"I attacked you literally last week." Pentious deadpanned, feeling irate as Alastor tilted his head in thought, narrowing his eyes. "We've done battle, like...20 times." the snake prompted.

"Well, you must be really bad at this." snarked the deer demon. "Silence! Now cower! For when I've slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!" Pentious laughed.

"Ooh!" exclaimed Niffty as she found her way back on Alastor's shoulders. "Wait, who are the Vees?" she asked. "Oh, nobody important." Alastor rolled his eyes, a slight twitch in his brow at the thought of the Overlords.

*Meanwhile in the city*

"New VoxTek designer voyeur scopes. Peeping on the neighbors have never been more stylish. VoxTek. Trust us with your money." cooed the TV announcer as demons ran into the stores. "This week's episode of "Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? is brought to you by VoxTek. Trust us with your entertainment. VoxTek. Trust us. Trustustrustustrustustrustus...." The phrase continued to repeat a TV demon grinned from the electrical shocks coming from the tech in demons hands.

"Hahaha! Now that's good television!" His laughing fit was cut short by a phone call coming in on his screen. With a grin, he answered the call to reveal a scowling demoness.

"Hello there, Velvette. How are you this hellish morning?" He grinned into his coffee mug, turning away to another screen, working on something.

"Oh, cut the shit, Vox. I need you up here now!" Velvette snapped.

"Whatever could be the problem, my dear?" Vox asked. "Your little boy toy is wrecking my department while I'm trying to pull together a show and--" She was cut off by a male voice yelling, "Fucking bitch!"

Scowling deeper, she turned towards the screen. "Just get your ass here. Now! Dammit Valentino!" Velvette screeched, hanging up.

Vox's smile dropped as he sighed in irritation. "Oh God, here I go. Valentino. Just another fuckin' day with Val." He crossed his arms behind his back as he walked towards the lift. "Hey, hey, hey. Fuck my life." Vox scowled.

As the lift took him up to the main floor, he plastered a fake smile on his face. "Mr Vox! Mr Vox!" called multiple reporters as he approached. "Mr Vox! Over here!" They called before one demoness caught his attention, "Mr Vox, what are your thoughts on the new extermination deadline?" she asked.

"My dear people, we at VoxTek Enterprises have always been at the forefront of innovation. And now with this oncoming threat, we are shifting our focus to your protection. We are pleased to announce VoxTek Angelic Security is coming soon! Trust us with your saftey." Vox grinned, hypnotizing the crowd.

"Sir? Uh, when did we begin working on Angelic Security?" asked an assistant nervously. "30 seconds ago. " Muttered Vox as he walked pass the press, the assistant following.

"Try to get that bitch Carmilla on the books and cancel all my appointments today. I have a fire to put out upstairs." Vox rolled his eyes before disappearing into a camera to travel faster.

*Up on Velvette's floor.*

"Ugh, no. Unacceptable. You're fired." Velvette hissed at the designers, before zeroing in on one dress. "What is this? Wrist ruffles? Is it 1750? Burn it like the witches who wore it." The designer scurried away.

"Oh, Velvette." chuckled Vox as he appeared, watching the social media fashion designer demoness rub her temples. "I can see you're busy.Tell me where's our hot headed friend now?"

"Up in his tower, waiting for a flat-faced prince to calm him down. " She shrugged. Sighing deeply, Vox put a grin on his face. "And uh, what's got him so out of sorts today?"

"Who knows? But he tore up my best female model!" Velvette grabbed a dismembered arm and used to start pointing at the TV demon, making him grin as he watched the pink haired demoness throw the arm. "And you know the show can't wait for that unlucky bitch to pull herself together."

"Melissa, get over here!" she called her next best female model. "No,no. Hideous, I want to do. Eww." Using her magic, she shuffled the outfits until a box with a bow appeared in front of Velvette. She quickly read the card, "Vel, sorry I can't make the show, but here are a few inspirations. ~ (Cute Nickname).❤️"Velvette grinned before using her magic again to put the newer designs on. "Yes, that's the one!"

"Well, it looks like you've got everything under control here." Vox grinned as Velvette playfully rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. Fuck you. Now shoo! Take care of the piss baby." She rolled her eyes again, before opening her phone to send a thank you text to a certain blond prince.

*Up by Valentino's office.*

Vox eyed the two assistants as they opened the door, before walking into the penthouse, raising an eyebrow at the figure sitting in a red cloud of smoke. The figure took notice of Vox's arrival, and sat up, glaring. "FUCKIN' FINALLY!"

The red figure threw a drink at the wall, turning to the assistant , "Kitty, another drink!" he demanded, the robot smiled before disappearing, and returning with a drink.

"Can you believe what that piece of shit did? The ungrateful whore!" He smashed the drink against the wall, making Vox simply step side the incoming glass.

"Um, which whore are we talkin' about this time?" Vox asked, boredly. "Fucking Angel Dust." He hissed. "Who the hell else would I be talking about?" Vox attempted to answer before Valentino stormed off. "That fucking slut walked out on me. Me. I fucking made him." The moth turned towards the window, while Vox pulled out his phone, checking his cameras.

"Without me, he's just a bag of meat with some mildly entertaining holes." Valentino squeaked as he made hand gestures.

"Angel quit?" Vox asked happily with a giant grin.

"No, he didn't fucking quit. It's worse; he moved!" roared the Moth as he threw Vox's phone against the wall, ignoring the annoyed look the TV demon sent at his hand as if realizing what happened. "He thinks he can just walk in here, work, and then go home somewhere else? Can you fucking believe that?"

"He thinks he can run off and shack up with Lucifer's bimbo daughter." Val grumbled as he stalked to a closet. "Angel is living with Lucifer's daughter now?" questioned Vox, as he turned towards the other overlord.

"Yeah, that bitch. Chalkie or Chandler, or I don't know. Something mannish like that. She's got this hotel--" Valentio paused before turning around with a pair of guns in his hands. "And which of these makes me look sexier?" he purred with a smirk.

Vox forced a laugh through his teeth. "What are you doing, Val? You're not going over there." He said firmly, using his hypnosis power.

"That slippery twink is going to remember who owns him. I'm going to fuck everyone on the rancid shithole, I swear to God." hissed Valentino.

Vox snapped grabbing the pimp by his fur, face lit up, a scowl on his face. "VAL!"

Plastering a smile on his face, he chuckled, as they walked together to look out the window. "Think about it: Our brand is perfection. And what do you think chasing whores around town will do for our image?" He asked,snatching the guns from Valentino.

"Uhh...fuck it up?" Val questioned. "Right!" grinned Vox, using a game show sound effect of cheers. "Do you want people thinking you can't control your employees?"

"No!" snapped the moth.

"Exactly. And hey, you still have him under contract, he isn't going anywhere. So you should....?" prompted Vox.

"Do nothing?" replied Val, hesitantly.

"Great idea! Now that's why they pay you the big bucks." Vox patted the moth's cheek, closing his eyes and placing his hands behind his back.

"But I really wanted to shoot someone." sighed Val as he held out a cigarette, waiting for Vox to light it.

Vox peeked an eye open before lighting the cigarette with a heart. "Well, let me call up the lowest earners this month." he compromised.

"Ooh, you know me too well." Valentino purred, chuckling darkly.

As Vox rummaged through the drawers, Val smirked. "You know, Angel isn't the only one spending time at this ratty hotel with the devil's princessa." "Oh, who else is there? Someone who owes you money?" Vox asked boredly.

Chuckling, Val continued, "Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there."

Vox glitched, digging his nails into the desk, before chuckling lowly. "Hahaha, what did you just say?" He asked, darkly, his hypnosis eye glowing, 3 lines on his face, showing his anger.

"You heard me."

"Alastor came back and he is with Lucifer's daughter," Vox started softly, slowly getting angry, "and that wasn't the first fucking thing you told me?!" He screamed, grabbing the moth's fur again.

"Hey, killing Alastor is your thing." grinned Val, as he watched the TV overlord zoom over to his cameras.

*Back at the hotel*

Sir Pentious yelled out in pain. "Arrgh. Oh! Please! Stop!" he begged as Alastor used his shadows to torture the poor demon.

"Um, Alastor?" called Charlie nervously. "I think he's had enough." Alastor continued to laugh loudly. Angel narrowed his eyes as if thinking before smirking, "Nah, he's got a few more hits in 'im!"

Alastor tilted the blimp so the snake fell out and on the floor. "Thanks for another forgettable experience." Alastor swung his can around before leaning on it, looking at the snake mockingly.

"Thank you...for letting your guard down! Haha! Yah!" laughed Pentious as he snagged a piece of the Radio Demon's coat, before cowering. "Oh shit." He yelped seeing Alastor's shadow grow.

An explosion sent Sir Pentious flying, his scream echoing. "Arghhhhhhh!!!!"

Alastor watched with a grin before turning towards the rest of the Hotel members.

"Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor. Best of luck, chums." He waved before walking away.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Vaggie asked, "Alastor, we need your help! We need you to do your job."

"We need a wall." Angel deadpanned, gesturing to the broken wall.

"Of course. Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?" The deer asked, snapping his fingers before walking away. In his place, were a bunch of shadow demons with tools in their hands.

(Y/N) perked up, seeing the shadows. "Yo, Tommy, wassup, man?" He grinned, fist bumping another shadow who grinned back.

"Oh!: Angel giggled, shoving Vaggie to the side, before sashaying over to (Y/N) and the shadow demon. "Hey, sweet cheeks, who's your friend?" Leaning on the shadow's shoulder, he grinned. "Whatcha doin' later? I love me some men with giant....tools." Angel used his second pair of hands, to caress (Y/N)'s waist, and pull at his belt loop, suggestively, and his upper hands resting on Tommy's shoulder.

(Y/N) squeaked, cheeks a bright red, matching Charlie's before teleporting somewhere else in a vortex of shadows. Angel smirked to himself, 'Prince-y is so easy to rile up; and he's so cute when he's all flustered.' Angel didn't even realize how his own cheeks were a faint pink.

*Back at the Vs tower*

"See? Look how he flirts with those guys, and their not even paying! Who is that shadow dude? I'm gonna fucking kill his whole family! And the Lucifer's bastard son is there too? What the fuck?! Vox? Vox?!" He snapped, slamming a hand on the desk.

Vox continued to ignore him, as he buzzed with electricity, as he watched the Radio Demon walk away.

"That fucker is back!" He hissed.

"Yeah, I thought he was gone for good, too." replied Val as he continued to rile up the TV demon.

"It's been seven years." Vox growled.

"You still pissed he almost beat you that time?" cooed the moth.

"Uh, fuck you." spat Vox.

"Just saying," sang the heart themed pimp, as he leaned against the desk.

"Things have changed a lot since he left town." monologued Vox. "That's for sure." Val agreed.

"I've gotta send a message of who's really in charge now." Vox and Val chuckled darkly.

*With (Y/N)*

Hidden away in his bedroom, (Y/N) stood, staring at nothing before grabbing a pillow and screaming into it. (Y/N)'s dog, Rocco, watched lazily from the prince's bed.

After his screaming fit, (Y/N) grabbed one of his sketch books, and leaned against his bed, and flipped through the pages, smiling at the multiple sketches of Angel Dust, and just thinking. (Y/N)'s dog, Rocco, barked happily before curling next to his boy.

(Y/N) would rather have his wings cut off with Vaggie's angelic spear then ever let the spider see this journal. Even with all the sexual innuendos and comments, (Y/N) was still intrigued by Angel, and wanted to see what was underneath.

He just wish he wasn't so damn easy to fluster. Angel 100% took advantage of that fact, but he couldn't help it. Yes, he grew up in Hell, and always had admiring fans wherever he went, but they only wanted the tittle.

Angel hadn't even known he was the prince until he'd appeared at the hotel after the failure that was the interview Charlie had with Katie Killjoy.

At the thought of the bitch, (Y/N) scowled.

Charlie told him what she said about the gays, and the next day, Katie's hair was burned off, and she was missing a few limbs, (they'll grow back...eventually...painfully 😈 ). When Charlie found out, she cast a look at her brother, who gave her a devilish grin, briefly showing her his demon form he kept carefully hidden.

It sucks that people don't give Charlie the respect that they give (Y/N); but Charlie also knew her brother had a darker side that an even greater respect to his name.

But Charlie introduced him as (Y/N), and Angel treated him like a normal person. Well, normal as it is for Angel. Even when Alastor greeted him as 'Prince', Angel continued to talk shit and flirt with (Y/N).

"Just because you got dat crown on your head, don't mean that's all you are. You'll always be (Y/N) to me." The Italian explained, seeing as (Y/N) was confused. When people realize who he is, they act completely different. But Angel acted like they were long time friends....(Y/N) hadn't had that since he was a helling himself.

Ever since then, the Spider had slowly made his way into (Y/N)'s heart.

When Angel didn't think anyone was watching, he would reveal a softer side, especially when it comes to his beloved pig, Fat Nuggets.

Sighing, (Y/N) curled on his side, Rocco, rumbling lowly before curling in (Y/N)'s outstretch arms, snuggling closer for warmth.

"One day, I'll tell him~❤️."

*A/N: Sorry for the delay! My dad is in the hospital, so I went to check on him and hang out; will keep you guys updated and see y'all next time!*

@avatar-lover

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lucifer #viziepop #storydays

[bonniebird]

Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader  

Requested by Anon

Request: Anonymous asked: "You make it sound so bad. All I did was withhold a little information." Aemond Targaryen and a Fem!Reader please. He doesn't tell her that someone else was in love with her.

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You stared at the woman who smiled and turned away. The lord you had pined after. Who you had tried to pursue had loved you? He had wanted you. He had told Aemond as much.

You felt a hot fury claw its way up your throat and lodge itself as an angry ball. Going to sit alone for a moment you spotted one of Lord Corly’s nieces. She smiled and came to sit with you. “So? Are you excited for the wedding?” She asked. Her face fell when you scowled at her. “Did your lord not… oh seven…! Tell me I have not ruined the surprise.” She said quickly. You shook your head and when tears welled in your eyes she glanced around and swiftly stood, arm linked in yours, pulling you away. The two of you talked quietly together as you explained everything that you knew. Her face twisted with emotions as you explained. “Treachery.” She whispered sympathetically. You huffed and nodded. “After all he has said. There shall be no hope now.” You muttered and looked rather mournful. She left you having been called away. She would depart for Driftmark but promised to write to you once she arrived. You spent the day wandering the Keep’s grounds. Avoiding the glances and whispers about what had happened. When evening drew closer and began darkening the sky you decided to retreat to our rooms. A fus was made when your maids found you and you refused to have something to eat, telling them you were going straight to bed. “All this fuss over one lord.” Aemond said. He made you jump as you turned and found he had been silently walking behind you. There was no need for him to be on the side of the Keep that your rooms were in. There wasn’t anything of interest for him bar your rooms. Huffing you turned away and stomped in the direction of your rooms so your angry footsteps echoed around the halls. He chuckled which made your anger bubble and grow.

“A fuss you created!” You snapped. You found he had kept pace with you. Meaning that when you stopped and turned as you shouted he was suddenly alarmingly close. “There will be others I am sure.” He sounded as if he were teasing a child. His tone was light and amused. “How could you!” You said after a long pause. It was a weak feeble sound that had attempted to sound furious and fearless. It died as a whisper as you stepped back and sniffed, trying to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your tears.

"You make it sound so bad. All I did was withhold a little information." He said and smiled cruelly. It seemed cruel in the dim torchlight, his eye glinted and his dark green clothes seemed black making him some sort of wicked shadow crowned in white gold, tormenting you. “Withheld! You lied!” You accused and he tutted his tongue. “All I did was avoid telling the lord exactly who it was you held affection for. It is not my fault if he was so fool headed that he moved to propose marriage to another Lady within the day.” Aemond spoke as if he had practised what he was saying. He sighed out his words patronisingly looking down as he spoke, feigning innocence until he looked up at you, cold and unforgiving as he stepped closer to you. You tried to hold your ground and not give in to the urge to back away.

“You knew a match was being made. You ruined it because you are selfish. Seven knows I hate you! I never want to see you again! I have never hated anyone so…” Your fury reached its peak and before you could see sense your hand raised to slap the prince. A firm hand grasped your arm painfully tight and you were pulled against Aemond as his other hand came down against your face, holding it painfully tight between his fingers so that no matter how you fought you couldn’t escape.

“You do not hate me, my Lady. Even if you did it would do you no good to attempt to resist me. I am a prince of the house Targaryen. Who would allow you to escape my clutches? Certainly no Lords of the realm. Do you think your sweet lord would rescue you? All it took was one word from me and he abandoned you for another woman.” He paused and leaned closer you could feel his breath on your face as he continued to speak, refusing to let you loose as you squirmed. “Truly did you think I would allow another to have you? If you run from me, I would find you wherever in the world you chose to hide.” When he was finished he pushed against you and you crumpled to the ground. Mercifully he let you get to your feet and flee. One of your maids, who had been with you since you were a child was waiting for you. You told her everything that had happened. She sat you down, made you eat and whisked herself around your rooms. When the darkness roosted itself firmly over King’s Landing she led you carefully through the corridors of the keep and out to a small gate. The path she followed suddenly became thin and when you looked down you could make out a sheer, deadly drop into the ocean. Slowly the two of you skirted along. When she turned at the end of the path she reached out.

“Quickly my lady. The horses are waiting.” She whispered. Her hand was warm and comforting as she pulled you off the last of the ledge and towards two horses. She handed a bag of coins to a man who shook it a few times before nodding. Mounting your horse the two of you managed to make your way out of King’s Landing.

“There is a boat not too far from here. It should be able to take us to Driftmark. Your friend is still there. Her Uncle should be able to help us get away…” She trailed off as if her plan went no further. You were just glad to be away. Aemond had been a constant pressing presence and now you felt hesitantly free. Turning the horse in the direction your maid pointed out the two of you urged them on and hurried through dark side roads. As morning began to threaten to wake the sky and expose the two of you to anyone who might be passing by the sound of the sea in the dim light of the early morning you looked up, exhausted and looking forward to the boat that your maid kept mentioning. Your poor horse sighed with exhaustion but continued forwards. As you looked up you noticed a darker cloud among the others.

“It looks like it shall rain. Will the horses be alright?” You asked. There was a tut from the woman ahead of you. “My lady there are more important things to worry about.” She said quickly. With a shrug, you looked back up towards the sky. Your eyes widened in horror as the dark cloud moved and twisted in the air, growing impossibly large until it consumed the others, taking on the shape of a massive dragon.

Aemond tag list:

@gillybear17@ravennoore14@the-caravello-post@killing-gremlin@aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18@lchufflepuffcorn @geekyandgay98@lightqueen16@savagemickey03@kaitieskidmore1

@sashawalker2

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #bonniebird

[aerkame]

Prwincess Wookong & The Dark Prince Macaroni

Everyone is having a great princess tea party until things go rogue. Hopefully you can save the day. (Slight Wukong and Macaque x reader)

A pile of books fell to the floor as a heeled shoe stomped onto the table. "As your princess, I demand a fair trial-no-I ORDER you to give me a fair trial!" Princess Wukong brushed down his messy fur with his hand, it was a mess from lack of care, all of these responsibilities as a princess really wore him down.

Placing his teacup down in confusion, MK spoke "I haven't even said anyth-" "Ah bup bup. Not a word from you traitor!" Wukong held his tail to MK's lips to keep him from speaking. "I trusted you as my loyal lady in waiting and here you are, framing me for the murder of my own scholar!" He pointed to a now 'dead' Tang who was lying on the floor slurping away at noodles. "I simply can not stand this heartbreak!" He fell to his knees dramatically, bringing his hands together in the shape of an imaginary knife as he hit his chest with it before falling off the table, bringing everything else with him down to the floor. Pigsy sighed, leaning further into the couch. They were going to have to clean that up later. He looked down at the small child they were babysitting, at least she was entertained enough to stay still and quiet.

Reflexively looking over to you, Wukong gave a wink before continuing his over-the-top acting.

"If...if only there was some brave and noble knight that could take me away from this terrible situation." He brought his hand to his forehead in a woeful display.

Laughter filled the living room as the little girl kicked her feet happily while you had to stop yourself from giggling to stay 'in character'. You stride over to kneel at Princess Wukong's side, holding his hand. "I am here my princess." You smiled down at him, giving the most heartfelt look you could muster. Beaming up at you he continued "Oh my, I must have been blessed by heaven itself to have such a beautiful knight at my side! Please fair knight, take me away from this situation!" You were about to answer when another presence made itself known.

Falling through a shadow behind you, The Dark Prince, Macaroni made himself known. "Not so fast my sweet knight." Your face grew hot as hands were upon your waist within seconds, pulling you away from the princess who was now fuming. "I, Dark Prince...Macaroni...can not let you ruin my plans!" Macaque didn't like the name, but everyone agreed to just go along with what the kid wanted. He twirled your body around to face the kid on the couch "Prepare yourself, for you must face my terrifying dragon if you want to save your princess!" Before anyone could say anything, a green dragon popped out from behind the couch to attack you, pelting you with it's deadly pillow breath, it's cardboard tail flailing around as it moved.

Observing the knight and dragon fighting, Macaque let the smallest of smiles grace his lips... which promptly disappeared when Princess Wukong gave him a small push with his tail, having gotten off the floor to stand near him.

"Oh. Hey 'Prwincess Wookong." Mimicking the way the kid talked, the dark-haired monkey gave a push back, ignoring the small glare aimed at him. Silence fell between the two as the rogue tea party continued on in the background. "I thought I made my intentions clear the other day." Wukong was first to break the silence. "And I never agreed to stop my pursuit." Macaque shot back. Stretching a bit as he picked up a stray pillow, he threw it onto the Monkey King's face chuckling...until it was thrown right back at him. "wha-Hey!"

Looking around the couch area, both you and Mei searched for more pillow ammunition but found none. You looked at MK and the others who were now seated by the TV for help, they pointed to the opposite side of the room where your gaze followed. The two celestial monkeys were now having their own pillow fight, wrestling on the floor once either of them ran out of something to throw. A stray pillow managed to knock off Wukong's plastic tiara, leaving the monkey man offended. "How dare you! That was my favorite tiara-" Another pillow nailed him in the face, cutting off his sentence. "That's your only tiara dumba-" Now it was Macaque's turn to be cut off with a pillow to the face, this time by you.

Sitting up, both monkeys calmed down enough to face you. Wukong stood up to embrace you, nuzzling his face into your side. "Oh my dear knight you have to save me from this terrible, evil, man! I simply can not bare to have my feelings tortured like this!" Before you could answer, another more rougher hand grabbed yours, pulling you into a close hug. Kneeling down in front of you, Macaque smirked at the princess's glare. "Sweet knight, you have bested my dragon and landed a daring hit on me. Truly, no one greater or better suited than you exists to stay by my side. So will you do me the honor of becoming my future queen?" The room went silent, Wukong went ape mode.

#Lady Bone Demon forced me to write this #Imagine Wukong wearing high heels and a princess dress #this is canon in another universe to me #No beta we die like The God Emperor of Mankind #I used up all my braincells today writing this #Princess Wukong #Dark Prince Macaque #crack fic #shrek x reader #lmk #lego monkie kid #sun wukong #monkey king #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid mk #mei dragon #lmk mei #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #lmk redson #lmk monkey king x reader #sun wukong x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lego monkie kid sun wukong #lego monkie kid monkey king x reader #lmk macaque x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque #lmk six eared macaque x reader

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 5: The Withering of Hearts (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 5: The Withering of Hearts

The Seven Kingdoms is plagued with a succession crisis, and drunken impulse never leads to a good end.

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Extreme slow burn, angst, Daemon being an ass, excessive costume detailing 

Word Count: 3.4k words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: thank you guys for the comments you left on the last chapter! it was really nice to see you guys theorising about what would happen next haha 👀 most unfortunately, the slowburn must keep slow-burning, and Daemon isn’t done stirring up shit yet lol. happy reading! PS, please see the end of the chapter for an extended A/N to get a rough grasp of how the next two chapters will be like! 

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​  !  

Scarce had a week passed since the funeral of Queen Aemma, and the Red Keep was once again abuzz with a new scandal. 

Prince Daemon had been caught at a brothel, raising a drunken toast to the late Queen and her ill-fated babe. 

He had toasted Baelon as the Heir for a Day. 

That fucking bastard. 

Fuming, you lurked in the shadows of the secret passages by the throne room, listening as Viserys denounced his brother in an angry tirade. ‘How dare he?’ your eyes were shining with ferocity as you paced the halls, eyes fixed on the proceedings in the throne room. You had guessed the truth after all: Daemon only wanted to use the power vacuum left by the death of Aemma and Baelon to instil himself as the heir to the Iron Throne. You couldn’t believe you actually thought the advice he offered on the cliffs was an act of goodwill. That maybe, Daemon was not the vicious, annoying little bastard you once knew. 

Alas, you were wrong. And what a fool you felt. 

Your lips were pressed in a thin line as you watched Viserys disinherit Daemon permanently from the line of succession, and watched with your very eyes as the relationship between the two brothers deteriorated into ruin. 

What you didn’t know however, that you had also just witnessed a part of Daemon’s heart wither away into nothing but coldness, as he heard his brother’s proclamation. ‘Was this what grief felt like?’ Daemon bitterly pondered. ‘At long last, I understand how she felt that day.’ 

You moved to navigate out of the secret passageways as soon as Daemon turned his heel to leave the throne room, intent on cornering him for an explanation, or to scream at him. Perhaps both. 

Daemon was lost in a flurry of furious thoughts as he saw a familiar figure step into his way, obstructing his path. Her chin was jutted out defiantly, and the expression of anger on her face was visible. For a moment, Daemon thought she looked like a true Targaryen, with fire and blood running through her veins. He held up a hand to stop whatever reprimand she had for him, eyes dark, “You saw everything that happened in the throne room. I have no need for you to parrot whatever words my dear brother has already bestowed upon me.” 

You have never wanted to slap a man so badly. “Have you no shame?” you demanded, temper flaring. “How could you have been so cruel?” “it was a drunken jape, made of impulse. Why does no one understand that?” Daemon seethed. Your jaw dropped at his audacity, and you stepped forward to jab a finger into his chest, “You, Daemon Targaryen, are truly the scum of the earth. Your nephew has just died. Your sister-in-law has just died! And here you are, making drunken japes with poor taste. Are you so utterly boorish that you would stoop so low to mock the dead?” 

Daemon listened to her, an impatient look upon his face. “Are you quite finished, my lady?” Your eyes widened in outrage, and suddenly, it was like you lost control. You lifted your hand to slap him, but he caught it with a vice grip, eyes narrowed. “Let me go!” you struggled to twist out of his grip, but it was futile. Daemon took the chance to drag you to a more secluded corner of the castle, eyes blazing as he braced himself to confess the truth. 

“If you would just shut up, and listen to me, you daft woman, then I would’ve told you that I didn’t do it!” Daemon snapped. Your jaw sagged, “And now you’re lying to evade your responsibility? Seven Hells, Daemon, you never cease to surprise me.” 

“I didn’t!” Daemon nearly yelled out. His brother would not listen to the truth, but he had a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, Y/N would be the exception. That she would be the only person who didn’t constantly see the worst in him. 

“Aemma was my sister-in-law, and while I did not cross paths oft enough with her that we would consider each other close, she was still dear to me. She was kind to me. Why would I dishonour her memory so? And my nephew. I harbour no grudge against his memory. He was a babe who perished tragically. Do you think I would’ve stooped so low to the point where I would mock my family? Think rationally, byka zaldrizes.” Daemon stared deep into your eyes, an almost pleading look in his eyes. Please, Daemon thought, please believe me. Don’t see as the monster everyone sees me as. Please. 

You bit your lip, looking into Daemon’s violet eyes, glinting orange in the firelight, and pondered on his words. It was true, Daemon had never shown any ill will towards Aemma, and they had always treated each other respectfully. How could you have never considered this possibility? You felt a little ashamed that you had assumed the worst of Daemon, although it had felt like habit by now, but you had grown up with him. You’d like to believe, that under all his brashness and arrogance, that he was still that same boy who snuck out with you nearly every night when you were both children to the kitchens, giggling as you munched on lemon cakes and strawberry tarts. That underneath all his brutality and his lusts, he was still a good person. Your eyes softened as you saw the look in Daemon’s eyes, beseeching you, to believe him. 

Daemon felt his hope dwindle away as he watched you hesitate for a long time, and his eyes began to darken again. So she is the same as everyone else, he thought with much gloom. But your next words took him by surprise. “I...believe you,” you said quietly. 

Daemon stared at Y/N after the words left her lips, lilac eyes filled with disbelief. Then he threw back his head as a hoarse laugh burst from his lips, and he let go of your wrist. You watched uneasily as he continued laughing like a crazed madman, but you said you believed he didn’t do it, and it was always difficult to sway you from your convictions. 

Daemon finally stopped laughing, though a twisted smirk still painted his lips, but it looked more pained than amused. “How is it that you always seem to have faith in me, while even my own brother cannot seem to conjure up the slightest hint of trust for me?” “I know the calibre of your character, Daemon,” you said quietly. “You may be many things, but even you would not be predisposed to such innate cruelness.” 

There was a pause as the both of them eyed each other, Daemon with some disbelief, and you with faith glittering in your eyes. Daemon sometimes had a hard time reconciling how you could both be so naive and wise. “If only,” Daemon muttered bitterly, breaking the silence, “Someone like you was the Hand of the King, instead of that power-hungry leech of a Cunttower.” “The Hand was the one who slandered you?” you blinked in surprise. Daemon let out a snort at your reaction. “You do know that that cunt would never stop until he turns my brother against me, do you not?” 

“But-” you inhaled sharply, “The Hand serves the realm. Otto Hightower might hold a strong dislike for you, but he is not one to let his pettiness blind his judgement-” 

“And what do you know of that cunt’s nature? Do not act as though you know him well,” Daemon spat out, hand running through his hair in frustration. “Would you be so dumb as to believe it is not in his nature to concoct such a scandal to sow discord between me and my brother? He has done so many times, and he will not cease until he has what he wants: which is uncontrolled access to my brother so that he may sway him with the venom he spouts from his lips.” His purple eyes were dark with rage, and his fists were clenched as he gritted his teeth. 

Suddenly, without warning, he swung and struck his fist on the wall. You covered your mouth to stifle your gasp, wide eyes watching as he breathed heavily and withdrew his fist from the wall. A sheen of scarlet covered his knuckles. For a long moment, the air was filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing. 

“House Targaryen cannot stand like this,” his voice was more tempered now, yet more steely. “We were raised with the belief to stay together. That no matter the circumstances, the house of the dragon cannot divide.” His voice grew more agitated as he began pacing around in circles, while you observed him warily and listened, knowing that no good would come out of interrupting him. “What happened to preservation? What happened to ensuring our dynasty lasts for eternity?” he snapped, banging his fists on the walls once again in frustration. “My dearest brother always stressed the importance of family. Yet he continuously allows those scum on the Small Council to rule his kingdom, and worse still, he allows that Hightower cunt to guide him.” 

In a heartbeat, he was in front of you once more, seizing your shoulders in a vice grip. You stiffened at the sudden gesture, but there was no stopping him now. “He should’ve made me Hand. I am his kin, I am of his blood,” he nearly shouted out those last two words. “I would never steer my brother in the wrong direction. If he would have more faith in me instead of those lickspittle lords, House Targaryen could surpass even the noble dragonlords of Old Valyria at the height of their power. Yet he is blind to all that, preferring to stew idly.” You were unsure of what to say, however Daemon paid no heed to your speechlessness, turning away from you and muttering, “He will see that without me, he would not be able to run this city, much less the realm.” 

It was then you finally found your voice once more. “What are you planning to do?” He turned to you, with a baleful gleam in his eyes. In that moment, he looked like Balerion’s fury reborn once more. Your heart filled with dread at his next words. 

“Wait.” 

You watched pensively as he stalked down the halls, his demeanour much like a predator stalking its prey. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he stilled, and said coldly, “You should wisen up, you know.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” 

He didn’t turn around, yet you could picture the menace on his face as he spoke his next words. “Just think, if court gossip was enough to get me, a Targaryen prince, to be disinherited and banished, what exactly do you think it can do to you, a mere lady of no status and influence at court?” 

“I’m not like you-” Daemon didn’t let you finish. He knew his words were cruel, but with the fire pumping through his veins and the roaring in his ears, seven hells be damned if he was still going to be polite. You needed to know, you needed to understand, that survival was a treacherous thing here in the Red Keep, how relying on the power of people above you for protection was foolish. People with power are oft mercurial, and once the tide of their favour turned against you, like it had with Daemon…

He needed you to see just how much danger you were in staying in this court of vipers. 

“Who knows, maybe you would end up ordered home by your lord father and forced to marry by the morrow. Seven Hells,” he chuckled darkly, recalling your conversation at the cliffs, “Maybe you might even be ordered out of court by the King. He can barely stomach the sight of my niece after Aemma’s death. What will he do to you, who was so close to my dear late sister-in-law?” He heard a shocked gasp behind him, but he didn’t pause in his tirade, though a twinge of something like guilt filled his chest. But he wanted you to know, to see, how this court was filled with nothing but vicious schemers who would not care a fig about her. And so, with malice in his voice, he forced out the final crushing blow. “Mayhaps you will end up like my dear sister-in-law even, her belly cut open as if she were nothing but an animal. Even if she had been Queen, that did not save her regardless.” 

You stared at Daemon’s back with wide eyes, a mix of rage and horror seeping through your bones. Somehow his words brought about such a chill in you that even the coldest winter nights were incapable of. “Have a good night, Lady Y/N. Think about what I said. I trust that you are clever enough to come to your senses.” ‘You have to tread carefully now, Y/N,’ was Daemon’s final thought as he stalked away from your still frame. 

You waited until his heavy footsteps faded away, before slowly sinking down onto the floor, mind in a daze. 

You stayed there for a long time, unable to move a muscle. Daemon’s cruel last words had conjured up a sleight of images in your head, each more horrific than the last, and all of Aemma, of being forced to wed, your freedom snatched from your very eyes. Eventually, the sound of footsteps approaching made you aware of your whereabouts once more, and you quickly stood up before a servant wandered across your despairing frame and asked you some awkward questions. Numbly, you made your way through the halls, back to Aemma’s apartments. You paused in front of a familiar door. Aemma’s bedchambers had been left untouched since her death, save for the removal of her blood soaked sheets. You thought you could not bear to even be in the place where your dear friend had breathed her last, painful moments in this world, but you needed the company tonight, even if it was the company of a woman long dead. You inhaled shakily before opening the doors. 

The room was quiet, the stench of blood having not quite dissipated yet, which sent a wave of nausea rolling through your gut. You ventured towards the lounge where Aemma used to sit, where you had fed her grapes and laughed with her no less than a week ago. You took a seat gingerly. Your gaze wandered across the room, before it fixed grimly on Aemma’s deathbed. 

Moonlight streamed through the windows, and you wrapped your shawl tighter around you as a cold gust of wind enveloped the room. You had been winded and horrified, and even angry at Daemon’s words when they were first spoken. You wanted to ignore his words as that of someone who was bitter and raging, but your thoughts kept spiralling into terrifying scenarios of your freedom being snatched right in front of your eyes, and being utterly powerless to do anything to stop it. You had spent so long, relishing in the freedom of being home at the Red Keep, and now, you realised darkly, that you had taken it for granted. 

Tracing your fingers along the soft material of the lounge, you bit your lip as you imagined the wide smile Aemma always reserved for you and her soft voice, like she was still here, sitting right next to you. “Aemma…” you thought mournfully, tears clouding your vision, “You always knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do. What course of action would you have advised me to do?’ You tilted your head back, resting your head on the lounge backing, letting your tears fall freely. ‘I wish you were here,’ you sniffled, ‘I wish I had saved you.’ Mayhaps the thought was utterly ludicrous, but you felt guilty and pained that you had allowed yourself to get distracted by the tourney. ‘I should have insisted on staying by your side,’ your thoughts tumbled out bitterly, like a violently raging storm. As wishful as it was, but you thought, maybe you could’ve prevented it all. Maybe you could have pleaded with Viserys that the effort was useless or fiercely declared that you would snatch the Maester’s own blade and slaughter whomever dared harm Aemma. However, even you could not change the gods’ plan: the babe had been in breech, and Aemma’s time in this world was fated to be cut short no matter what. But you didn’t even care to think of that fact, too lost in your self-loathing and blame. 

Just then, you felt a soft hand on your shoulder, jolting you out of your reverie. Startled, you looked around the room. There was no one there. But you could’ve sworn that for one moment…there had been a presence here. Could…could it have been Aemma’s ghost? 

Heart thumping, you stood up with shaky legs and began to tidy up the various misplaced items in Aemma’s room, like you had done so many times before. The familiar ritual calmed you down, and allowed for you to gather your thoughts and circumstances coherently again. Perhaps it was coupled with the strange phantom presence you swore you sensed in the room somehow, but you pulled yourself out of your grief long enough to settle on a resolute thought. 

‘Daemon was right. I do need to wake up. It’s time I stop relying on the grace of those more powerful than me and start fighting to protect myself.’

In that moment, even the Seven would be taken aback by the fierce fire that shone in Lady Y/N Tyrell’s eyes. The naive girl of 23 was gone, and someone more hardened had replaced her. 

‘No matter the cost, I must stay at the Red Keep. I will not end up shoved into a fate I do not desire. I refuse.’ 

‘I have a plan.’ 

The bells tolled in celebration as all the lords and ladies of the realm were gathered before the Iron Throne, save for one. The Rogue Prince soothed his mount, the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes, as the figure of Lady Mysaria approached. 

Meanwhile, a lady with a mind of steel and heart of determination stood with her hands clasped, next to the Lady Alicent and Lord Hand, where the King had insisted for her to be. The lords who were acquainted with her whispered to themselves, having known of her hot-tempered past and rivalry with none other than the Rogue Prince himself. “The Rose with Thorns of Fire,” some whispered. “The third head of the dragon,” some chuckled, referring to the affectionate nickname the late Prince Baelon had given to your rather unusual trio: you, Daemon and Viserys. 

The lady heard them all, but she was silent as she watched each of the great lords of the realm swear their fealty to the new heir, the first Princess of Dragonstone. Clad in a dark blue gown of silk and brocade with a square neckline, the dress drew whispers for its visible opulence, even compared to the other ladies who were decked out in their finest. The bodice consisted of intricate diamond patterning with beading, and the gown had puffed sleeves that were banded with a few stripes of rocaille brocade, and the ruffles of her chemise were visible at her neckline and at the end of her puffed sleeves. Underneath the ruffles, however, were long fitted sleeves that were strangely reminiscent of…dragon scales? It was a look that undoubtedly signified the allegiances of Lady Y/N to House Targaryen, as well as her close bond to their reigning monarch. It was a look that exuded power. 

Far away in the Dragonpit, Daemon took one last look at the Red Keep, lips pursed as his mind lingered on that one person. But then he shook his head, and bade Caraxes to soar through the skies. 

As the lords and ladies in the throne room burst into applause and bowed for their new heir: The Realm’s Delight, no one but you could hear the distinct screech of the Blood Wyrm as it lifted into the skies. 

You lifted your head, and smiled encouragingly at Rhaenyra, who, while visibly looked startled, returned a genuine, warm smile. 

The game of thrones had gained a new player, forged by Daemon Targaryen’s hand, and time would only strengthen her mettle.

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Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​ 

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist for this fic or for my other hotd characters in the comments or through this form! thank you for your support 💗

translation: byka zaldrizes - little dragon 

also, a sketch i did of y/n’s gown at rhaenyra’s investiture :)) uncolourised because I’m lazy 😭 hopefully it’ll give you a better visualization though (also a/n below! pls scroll to read :))

y/n about to become the fashion icon of westeros 💪🏻

A/N (pls read!) : and that makes chapter 5! chapter 6 will unfortunately, we will not be focusing a lot on daemon for the next 2 chapters as we will be delving more into how Y/N attempts to navigate court politics and keep herself at the red keep. in other words, character development for y/n and more moments with alicent and rhaenyra, as well as viserys (ugh). this fic is titled se zaldrizoti’ prumia for a reason, after all, it’s the dragons’ heart, not the dragon’s heart, so Y/N needs her other relationships with the other characters. i hope you guys will be as excited for the other chapters as i am though, because i love writing about politics and character dynamics outside of romantic relations. thank you for your support! 💗

#se zaldrizoti prumia #sezaldrizotiprumia_masterlist #aureliawrites #daemon targaryen #prince daemon #prince daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #daemon x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x fem!reader #prince daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fandom #hotd fic #hotd x oc #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n

[screebyy]

A something about Warlord's Ruin dialogue and Petra's exile and Uldren and Petra's relationship

“Petra, I’ve… never apologized to you. For what you’re still going through.”

The somber tone of Crow’s voice echoing through her radio sends an all-too-familiar jolt of unease down her spine. It’s uncanny how much the guardian sounds like him sometimes.

With a grimace, she shakes off the sensation, and clicks on her mic. “There’s no need,” she says, tiredly. “It wasn’t you.”

“I’m sorry,” The guardian radios back anyways. “He is too. Completely.”

She flinches again. He’s so much like the prince, it makes her nauseous sometimes - so self-obsessed he can’t help but shoulder the blame for any misdeed he can find some tangential reason to feel guilty over. What does Crow have to be sorry for? 

And what exactly does Uldren have to be sorry for? For the thousandth time she replays all the decisions she made during Mara’s years-long absence, all the mistakes she made. Uldren’s arrest, and the cold, cramped cell she left him in, because she didn’t know what else to do with the shell of her former prince, her former friend. The prison break, the hunt, the squeeze of her trigger finger…

Her hands curl into tight fists, her fingernails digging painfully into her palm. There was more she could have done. She knew there was something wrong with him, she knew that he was sick. Even before Mara’s sacrifice - after the Garden, she could tell he was no longer himself, that a darkness she still does not understand had burrowed into his heart, and taken root. She could have found a way to help him, to save him maybe - but… after Saturn, the Reef, it was all too much, she wasn’t enough, not on her own. If only Mara had been here, the Queen would have been able to…

“If I could wish it away…” Crow’s voice over her radio snaps her back to the present. A wish - he’s such a fool, she could almost laugh. Almost. She clicks on her mic.

“No,” she says, sternly. She won’t let him take the blame for this - not for Uldren’s mistakes. Not for her own. “You’re helping break the cycle. That should be more than enough.”

She kills the connection before he can respond. She suspects her words will do nothing to ease his misplaced sense of guilt - they never helped Uldren much, either. And she’s in no mood to listen to him find new ways to twist the lingering stain of Uldren’s mistakes into his own responsibility.

They are so much alike, more-so every day. She leans heavily over her desk, and closes her eye, remembering another apology, a lifetime ago…

—

The sun is so much brighter on Earth. Especially this time of year, mid-summer - it hangs high in the cloudless sky, just beyond the Traveler’s looming figure, and it’s so bright that the white concrete and iron railings of the Vanguard's Tower shine like marble and silver. Somewhere deep down, Petra knows it must be beautiful - but allowing herself to admit that feels like a sleight on her true home, the gentle golden rays of a sun always sitting low on the horizon, the refraction of purple light off the amethyst-studded walls of the Dreaming City. 

With a frown she sinks deeper into the shadow of the awning she's standing under, and squints against the blinding light. This place is a prison, she reminds herself - nothing here is beautiful. 

A hand on her shoulder startles her out of her musing - she whirls around, her knife whizzing up to the intruder’s throat, and finds Uldren Sov smiling ear to ear, hands held up in mock surrender.

“Your highness-!” She stammers, jumping back in surprise. “You shouldn't be here!”

“I'm not,” Uldren grins, pulling the hood of his cloak further forward to obscure his face. “Come on, let's get something to eat.”

—

They sit at a rickety metal table, in a cramped alleyway un-befitting a prince, with two bowls of hot noodles in a delicious, savory broth between them. It’s humble, but the noodle shop is one of the few places Petra has come to enjoy during her exile to the Tower - and discreet enough that Uldren is unlikely to be recognized.

“Everybody misses you back in the Reef,” Uldren says, picking absently at his bowl with a pair of chopsticks. “Jol says hello.”

“He isn't with you?” Petra asks, squinting up at the rooftops around the alley shop - searching for the silhouette of Uldren's shadow.

“No,” Uldren answers as he carefully pulls a few noodles up with his chopsticks, regarding them suspiciously. “He doesn't care for the Last City.”

Finally, he takes a bite, slurping the noodles into his mouth. He considers it, then scowls - Petra thinks for a moment it must not be to his liking, but the glimmer of irritation in his eyes betrays his true feelings. It's not the taste of the noodles that bothers him, but where they were made - he must be furious that such a delicious dish could possibly have come from the Vanguard’s Tower.

Petra smiles, and shakes her head. She wonders if he even bothered to tell Jolyon about this little excursion, or if he had just assumed he was doing the man a favor by leaving him behind.

“Anyway,” Uldren sighs, pushing his bowl across the table towards her. “When are you coming home?”

Her smile breaks, her heart twists with grief.

“Uldren,” she stutters. “You know, this isn’t-.... Queen Mara, she said-...”

Emotion wells up in her throat, sharp as knives, and she bites her tongue to keep it from spilling into her voice. This position is an exile, a punishment for her mistakes. She's never going home again.

“I know what she said,” Uldren sighs, waving his hand dismissively. “But do you really think she meant it? Come on, you're smarter than that.”

Petra stares at him blankly, mind racing. What does he mean? Did the Queen say something to him? About her? Uldren rolls his eyes, and leans forward.

“Petra,” he says seriously. “How long have you been away - five years? Six? This is a waste of your talents, and everyone knows it. You belong back home, with us.”

“All this-” He gestures around at the bare concrete walls, which look nothing like marble in this dark, dingy alleyway. “It's just a stupid show Mara had to put on, a political farce to stay in the Vanguard’s good graces. It doesn't mean anything, and it’s high time the show ended.”

He looks away, brow furrowed as he considers his next words for a long moment. Finally, he looks back at her, eyes flickering with emotion.

“I'm… I'm sorry, by the way,” he says. “For all of this. It's my fault you're here. For-”

“No,” Petra cuts him off, raising her hand. She will not allow him to debase himself, not for this. “I was the one who called for the bombing run, it was my decision that killed them. And this is my punishment.”

“But I was the one who dropped the bombs,” Uldren hisses, eyes burning. “I should have seen those guardians, I should have noticed-...”

He breaks off, biting his lip angrily, then slumps back in his chair, sulking. Petra looks down at his bowl of noodles, delicious and untouched.

“If you had seen them,” she starts, cautiously. “Would that have stayed your hand?”

Uldren frowns, and looks away.

“If I had known what would happen? That you'd be the one to take the fall for their deaths?” His frown tightens, the corners of his lips curling down in disgust. “Yes.”

Emotion swells in Petra’s chest again, but this time the feeling is warm and bittersweet. Pride, and gratefulness, for a prince who acts earnestly as a friend, not a sovereign. A friend so fiercely loyal he would try to take her guilt from her, and wear it himself.

“This isn’t your fault,” Petra says, quietly. “It was my mistake. My decision.”

“It was the right decision,” Uldren says, eyes snapping back to her with renewed ferocity. “It may have been an accident, but it was no mistake. You know that, Mara knows that. And she knows you don’t deserve to be rotting away in this tower for making the right call.”

Her eye opens wide, she sucks air into her lungs as she considers the truth in his words. He’s right. Of course he’s right. The Queen, she knows everything, so she must understand the depth of Petra’s loyalty, the veracity of her fervor. She must understand that there was no other call Petra could have made, there was no way to predict the guardians’ interference, no reason to believe they’d be anywhere near that valley. She must understand…

Uldren leans forward again, prodding his finger declaratively into the table.

“Write to my sister, plead your case, and she will listen, I promise you that,” he says. “The City’s had their pound of flesh from you.”

“If you truly believe the Queen will hear me…” Petra starts, but treacherous hope flutters wildly in her chest, sending a smile bursting across her face before she can finish the thought. She laughs, suddenly giddy. Of course, Mara will understand. The exile, it’ll be lifted, her guilt absolved, and she’ll finally, finally-

“Come home, Petra.” Uldren smiles, lifting his finger to point directly at her. “That’s an order.”

#i like them all soooo much #i wish we had a better sense of the timeline for uldren going to the garden but in my mind it's fairly recent. after all this shit at least #though i didn't play much of d1 so the timing of petra's exile to the tower is also pretty loosey goosey to me. we bend the canon here #the premise of petra's exile though is pretty grim oops lol we love a war crime queen. girlboss behavior ig #petra venj #uldren sov #crow destiny