#return of the king 😌 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaryuppsala · 1 year

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Hello ❤ got a request. Can you please write about reader that used to be married to rollo and one day he just fucks off without telling the reader. Years later he got informed that the reader had gotten pregnant and that it was his child. Rollo wants to go back to be with his "family" but to do that he has to go through a trail of sorts. He agrees to it without knowing what it is. The trail being, him chained to the bed and having to watch as the reader gets fucked by everybody of the ragnarson family. He is close enough where he can hear and see everything but he is not allowed to touch the reader. And at the end he found out that the reader has gotten remarried to ubbe/bjorn/maybe even ragnar??? And that his child doesn't even know him and he gets kicked out 🤤😌

You can choose to do either just the men of the family including ragnar cause I want to see rollo suffer or you can choose to have the mothers/ wives with them.if you want to, have the reader blind folded so she has to guess who it is ❤

Basically make rollos life hell 😂

What a ride... I guess I never wrote something like that, I am THRIVING, it's filthy, it's messy, has a lot of fluids, and dude it took me forever to finish, like always... Anyways, I hope you like it AND YOU WATCHED THE PROCESS SO BE NICE TO ME! Thank you for your ask babe, have fun you pervert.

Warnings: ALL OF THE WARNINGS POSSIBLE, it's complete filth, pure smut, but with a little plot, not a lot, just a little to give context.

Minors, stay the hell away from this one, I'm not joking.

Sweet like justice, karma is a queen.

You were very young when you first met Ragnar and his brother Rollo. Your eyes crossed paths with them on one of their first meetings with your father, Horik. They were handsome, strong warriors, such a sight when you first saw them, caught your attention very quickly. The meetings ended up with an alliance, Horik and Ragnar decided to raid together in England, returning to Norway filled with treasures and a promise of land.

A feast was prepared to celebrate, the treasures were shared between everyone but Rollo wanted something else, he wanted more. You didn’t mind at first when his eyes caught yours in the middle of the night, didn’t mind when he approached you and offered a cup of ale, you talked until everyone else was already passed out around you and you ended up in his bed that night.

You really thought he loved you, he proposed to your father who gladly accepted and you married him just a few months later that night. He moved you to Kattegat, bought you a house and introduced you to his family until It became yours. But things changed, he changed. One day you heard about a woman he had in his life, someone he loved but died years before, and you thought that was the reason, that he couldn’t love you completely because part of his heart died with her and you learned to live like that.

But Rollo was a different man, to be married to him wasn’t easy, he was demanding, ambitious, always thought he should be doing greater things, that he should be bigger. After years of marriage he became very distant and despite having his way with you every night, you were never able to conceive, you thought to yourself that something was wrong with you, that the gods made you that way and that was another reason for your husband to treat you like that.

“I went to see the healer.” You told him one night. “She gave me a few herbs that can help.”

“The gods cursed me.” He mumbled. “An empty woman who can not give me any child.”

Ragnar was the one to always cheer you up, saying that you weren’t the problem, but his brother. He wouldn’t make a good father, he’d say, the gods won’t give him a child to raise. You never told Rollo about these conversations, he hated his brother and the fact that after Horik’s death, he became the king, something he thought belonged to himself.

“Your brother was looking for you.” You warned him as you put his plate in front of him at the table.

“He came here?” He asked without looking at you.

“Yes, he said It was important.” You continued. “I think it is about going back to Frankia.” You sat in front of him. “You should take me this time.”

“No.” He answered simply.

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, and you have no business in Frankia.”

“I’m a shieldmaiden Rollo, I wasn't made to sit back at home and take care of your children.”

“What children? You haven’t given me any.”

They left to Frankia the next morning, Rollo left without saying a single word to you and something in your heart broke that day. Months later they came back, you were at the pier waiting, your baby bump showing and a big smile on your face, a few days after their departure you found out you were with child, and you couldn’t wait to tell Rollo about It. But as the ship docked, your smile died on your face.

“Where is he?” You asked when Ragnar stood in front of you, his hand immediately touching your belly. He didn’t answer, but you knew, he stayed there.

Later you learned Ragnar was betrayed by Rollo and defeated by Frankia’s army and the last news he had before leaving was about his marriage with a princess. Rollo had abandoned you without a second thought.

Years later, you grew accustomed to a new life, your son was already five years old and growing stronger each day. Ragnar took care of you, accepting you in his house, he protected you and your child, who he named after one of his good friends, Leif, and he loved your boy, after his own boys grew into strong men, to have yours running around gave him life and so did you.

You weren’t blind to Ragnar’s affection towards you, after Aslaug’s death he didn’t have anyone in his life except for you and despite being a sight for sore eyes, you weren’t interested on the men in Kattegat, but both of you never tried anything, maybe you felt wrong about that even though Rollo was gone for so long. However, he wasn’t the only one, Bjorn and Ubbe, Hvitserk and Ivar, and even Sigurd, all had soft spots for you, but you brushed it off and ignored it as something simple as a crush.

One night, without a warning, a ship docked at the pier. People let Ragnar know about it, and he went there with both Bjorn and Ubbe, just to find a ship from Frankia, from where Rollo jumped. He frowned, confused by his brother’s presence, Rollo looked into his eyes and swallowed hard.

With a grunt Ragnar turned around, silently nodding for his sons to grab Rollo by his arms and drag him to the great hall. As soon as they got there, Ragnar took his place in his throne and Rollo was thrown on his knees, at his feet. You heard the noise from your bedroom in the back and walked towards It, standing in shock when you finally saw the man. Rollo seemed old, his once dark brown hair was filled with gray strands, so was his beard, he widened his eyes as soon as they met yours.

“Mama!” You heard Leif’s voice and heard his footsteps running towards you, looking for you. He hugged your legs as soon as he found you. You grabbed him in your arms, Rollo’s eyes focused on the boy and a tiny smile showed up on his face, but that was quickly wiped by a punch, thrown by Bjorn.

“Don’t look at him.” He grunted angrily.

It didn’t take long for Ivar and Hvitserk to join you in the great hall, none of them seemed happy to see the man in front of them, neither were you.

“What are you doing here?” Ragnar rasped.

“I want to come back…” He mumbled.

“Seems funny… After all these years…”

“I have every right to be here, to be with my family.”

“The family you abandoned…”

“I’m here now.”

“You say this like you’re some sort of treasure we should be proud to gain. Tell me, Rollo, what happened in Frankia to make you want to come back?”

“I heard about my son, I want to know him.”

You hugged your son, like you could protect him from Rollo’s prying eyes.

“He’s not yours.” You growled. “He’s mine, only mine. Didn’t your princess give you any sons?”

“Brother…” Rollo looked at Ragnar.

“Don’t talk to him, talk to me, I’m the wife you abandoned!” You insisted but lowered his head again. “This is unbelievable…”

“I want to prove myself.” He answered. “To you…” He looked at Ragnar then moved to you. “And to you.” He sighed. “To the gods… I deserve that!”

It took a few minutes of silence between all of you, Rollo looking around searching for any sign of kindness, but you weren’t one to pity that man, not after everything he put you through.

“Take Leif to the back.” Ragnar told you. “And come back here.”

You didn’t understand at first, but nodded and took your son to your bedroom, asking one of the servants to stay there with him.

“Don’t leave until I come back.” You told her under your breath, locking her inside.

When you came back you found Rollo tied up to a chair in the middle of the great hall, Ragnar was standing in front of him while his sons waited behind him. He looked over his shoulders and offered his hand to you, you frowned but took it, walking until you were standing by his side.

Ragnar grabbed you by your waist, startling you who quickly wrapped your arms around his neck for support when he took you in his arms, bride style, taking you to the nearest table, he sat you there, taking his place between your legs.

“Do you trust me?” He asked under his breath, only for you to hear.

“I do.” You whispered shyly and he smiled.

Ragnar took a cloth from his pocket and covered your eyes, your breath caught on your throat and you sighed heavily. You felt his hand feather touching your face before moving away from your body and you immediately felt the absence of his warmth. The next thing you felt was a pair of hands on your thighs and a warm breath against your cheeks, before you noticed, someone kissed you.

The kiss was feverish, filled with a hunger you never experienced before, you’ve never been kissed like that. Teeth and tongue, saliva gathering on the corners of your mouth, a pair of hands meeting the base of your spine pulling you closer to the edge of the table, his thighs between yours keeping your legs open. He stopped the kiss to murmur against your lips.

“Waited so long to do this.”

You recognized Ragnar’s voice before he kissed you again, your mind spinning when your hands met his hips, unconsciously pulling him into you. His hands roamed down your shoulders taking down the sleeves of your dress. You felt a little self conscious and your body tensed, Ragnar distracted you by taking his kisses down your neck and collarbones, making you shiver. A “what’s this…” growled by Rollo sounded in the back of your mind and something twisted inside you, you felt excited.

Ragnar kept kissing down your chest, taking down your dress until your breasts were exposed, your breath hitched and your nipples hardened on the cold of the great hall. His mouth latched at your nipple, sucking on the little nub, your hands met the back of his head and you pressed his face against your chest, wanting more of that sensation. He did the same to the other nipple, using his hand to knead at the free breast.

Between your legs, Ragnar found the skirts of your dress, raising everything up your waist “Open your legs for me.” He asked against your lips and you obeyed, suddenly he moved away from you and stood by your side, your pussy now in full display for Rollo’s widened eyes.

“What are you doing?” Rollo asked with gritted teeth.

“What do you think?” Ragnar asked back, one hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and making you whine. “I’m gonna fuck your wife.”

With that being said, Ragnar kneeled in front of you, hands rubbing on your calves before putting them on his shoulders. His lips brushed against the side of your inner thighs, his beard scratching the soft skin as he peppered kisses all around until he shoved his face into your bare pussy, licking from your hole to your clit. Your back arched and you gasped, putting your arms behind your back, on the table, for some support, throwing your head back.

Ragnar was something else while he was eating you out, with a little crowd watching, he wanted to give them a show. With his face buried into your cunt, he was nosing onto your clit while teasing your hole with the tip of his tongue, then he worked through your folds, long and slow licks like he was savoring you, drinking from you. You suppressed a moan, still self conscious of the others presence surrounding you, earning yourself a low grunt that sent vibrations through your core and a harsh slap on your thighs.

Rollo’s eyes were glued to your body, he was growling under his breath, trying to get rid of the straps binding him to that chair. Ragnar moaned right into your pussy, he moved his tongue quickly and you started to grind your hips on his face, gripping his hair and pulling it slightly. His beard was scratching against the soft skin of your pussy, you could feel it rubbing against you painfully while he started sucking on your clit.

Your moans became louder, your hips moved on its own accord, your body was working on automatic, the knot on lower belly forming and tightening. Suddenly, two of his fingers were knuckles deep into your warmth, thrusting up inside you and you gasped: ‘Ragnar’ knowing damn well Rollo was listening to you. Ragnar could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, so he increased his pace, dragging more mewls from your mouth until the knot finally snapped and you groaned loudly.

Ragnar stood up, turning on his side to stare at a nervous Rollo, his face glistening with your slick, he sucked his fingers clean off your juices and cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. Moving away from between your legs, he held your chin, your fucked out face on full display for his brother’s sight.

“Open your legs.” He ordered again, and you obeyed, showing off your puffy cunt. “Did you miss this, brother? Did your princess have a better one?”

Once again he was between your legs, shimming out of his slacks and pulling his cock out. His hands quickly held the back of your thighs and pulled you further to the edge of the table, his tip featherly touching your hole making you whine.

“See, Rollo…” He grabbed the base of his cock, rubbing it against your pussy and coating himself in your juices. “I don’t think you could ever have anything better.” He pushed himself in and both of you moaned in unison, fresh slick leaking out of you to coat his length.

Ragnar threw his head back, closing his eyes as he felt your warm walls engulfing him, sinking into you slowly until he’s fully sheathed. He pulled back completely just to slam inside you again, he did that slowly a few times, like he was savoring every inch of you, until he was thrusting up inside you and he didn’t hold back. Holding your hips with one of his hands, the other met the space between your breasts, pushing you back until you laid down on the table. You whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer.

“Gods…” You moaned, holding onto the table like your life depended on it.

With your eyes covered, you felt everything more intensely, Ragnar’s body on you, picking up the pace until he was pounding hard into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every thrust. You clenched down on him and he gasped, hand squeezing your hip hard while the other kneaded on your breasts that bounced with every movement of your body.

When he felt your thighs starting to tremble, he brought his hand to your aching pussy and found your clit, making quick work of your bundle of nerves with the tip of his fingers. You moaned again, loudly, feeling your orgasm approaching you, the knot on your lower belly starting to form.

“Let go for me.” He begged under his breath.

With a particular hard thrust the knot snapped, triggering Ragnar’s own release as he pushed himself to a hilt, his body tensing as both of you panted heavily. He leaned forward for a moment spreading kisses all over your stomach before moving away from between your legs, putting his trousers back and holding one of your knees to keep you wide open, his cum dripping from your pussy, onto the table and on the floor.

“That was...” Ragnar mumbled, three little slaps on your knee had you sitting up straight.

“Can I-Can I go now?” You heard as Rollo begged.

“What? No…” You felt when Ragnar moved away and heard some shifting around you, the thrilling feeling of not knowing what to expect had your pussy throbbing with need in a way It never did before. “We’re only getting started.”

You gulped, scared about what he meant, but excited at the same time. Next thing you knew, the space between your legs was occupied again, a bulky, slightly familiar body stood there like it belonged there, you shifted on your place, not able to close your legs and feeling again self conscious of your own nudity.

“Ragnar…” You mumbled under your breath, a pair of hands touched the sides of your face before you were kissed.

Even though you felt familiarity within the act, that wasn’t Ragnar, that kiss was different, passionate, but still unsure, It felt like he was claiming a new territory. His beard scratched the soft skin on your face, his teeth nipped at your lower lip, you couldn’t help but open up to let him in, you held his face and kissed him back.

“Can I do this?” He mumbled against your lips and you recognized Bjorn’s voice. You gasped, surprised.

“Bjorn…” You whispered, your hands started to shake.

“I’ll be gentle.” He assured you, one of his hands touching the side of your face. “I promise.”

You felt your heart sinking to your stomach, like it was beating there, the blood in your veins ran fast and your body quivered, your mind was spinning, when his hands found the swell of your pussy you whined in his mouth, turning your head to the side giving him room to work on your neck. Bjorn sucked and nipped your skin like an artist painting his masterpiece, taking his sweet time while his fingers worked through your cum wet folds.

He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that another man just fucked you minutes ago, by the feeling of it, he seemed turned on. Two of his fingers entered you when his mouth found your perky nipple and you moaned, arching your back offering him more of your chest. You were overstimulated from your previous orgasm and the sensations Bjorn was bringing to you, your peak wouldn’t take long so you clenched around his fingers and worked your hips in sync with his movements. With his thumb he started to nurse on your clit, rubbing the small bead in tight circles until you came on his fingers, a loud, long moan filling the great hall.

Bjorn wasted no time after this, you felt him standing up and shimming out of his trousers, sinking into you in one swift motion. You gasped, not used to the way he stretched you out, and threw your head back, making room for him to kiss on your neck. He sheathed inside you, not pulling out immediately, just grinding against your hips first, his hip bone teasing your clit.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and arched your back, leaning back over your hands. He used both of his hands to grab your breasts then leaned forward to catch one of your nipples with his mouth, sucking on the perky buds. It was messy. Wet with your own arousal and Ragnar’s cum, you could feel it dripping from your core.

Slowly, Bjorn pulled out completely, just to thrust back in. He did this a few times, dragging soft mewls from your mouth. With his hand between your breasts he made you lay down on the table once more, picking up his pace. You held onto the table while he started to rut against you with full force, your body jolting back and forth. His mouth was skillful on your nipple, going from one to the other and still using his hands.

“You feel so good…” He mumbled, one of his hands leaving your breasts and quickly finding your clit.

You moaned loudly. With two of his fingers he pinched your clit, then dragged his finger around in tiny circles. The pressure on your belly started to build and you squeezed your eyes shut, even though you weren’t actually with them open to start with. Your mind could only focus on his movements, you clenched around his cock and he growled, speeding up his fingers and his thrusts. Bjorn was fucking the air out of your lungs as he fucked you like his life was on the line, his cock throbbed inside you, the sound of skin slapping against skin was filling the great hall and was so loud.

“Enough.”

Somewhere, on the back of your mind, you heard Rollo’s beg, but as your climax approached you could only think of this. Bjorn’s thrusts started to falter, he became sloppier as he chased his own release and you were right behind him, feeling the pressure on your body finally explode. You came around his cock, clenching down on him with a wanton moan. He came right after you, feeling you to the brim with his seed, grunting raspily.

He wobbled away from you and you whined at the sudden emptiness. He leaned against the table trying to catch his own breath, eyes still on your fucked out body on the table. Unconsciously, your hands went to the cloth on your eyes, almost getting out of the way but a cold hand on yours stopped you. You whined impatiently but before you had the chance to complain, the same hand grabbed a handful of your hips, dragging you out of the table until you stood on the ground.

There was this silence, the only thing in your mind being the amount of pleasure going through your veins, you could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly while you tried to ease your body. Your hands traveled to the body in front of you, holding his shoulders while he kept his firm on your hips.

You had no idea who he was, you felt his body against yours, the familiar scent you were used to feeling but couldn’t recognize him. His hips met yours and you felt his hard cock against your core, making you moan. Taking your face with both of his hands he kissed you. His kiss was calm, soft even, nothing like the sexual spiral you just got out of. His hands explored the sides of your body with care, like you would vanish from his sight at any moment.

The mess between your legs made you painfully aware of what just happened, either way his fingers found their way to your core, his tips exploring your folds, he coated his fingers in the your slick, the mixed cum inside your pussy, then he pushed his middle one all the way in, til he was knuckle deep inside you. You sobbed and threw your head back when he started to kiss down your jaw so you could give him more space.

His kisses met your neck, he circled your clit and that made you jerk in response. Suddenly his fingers were inside your mouth and you whined at the taste on your tongue. You started sucking on his fingers, obscenely licking through it and he groaned when under his breath, you licked him clean.

He stretched you out with his fingers, pumping in and out of you as he kissed down your chest, your body arching, right thigh rising up his waist opening up a little more for him. He curled his fingers up finding your sweet spot and making you see stars behind your eyelids. You started to grind down on his fingers while the sound of your moans resonated around the great hall. He licked down your collarbones and your legs started to shake, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

You felt like your body was on fire, shaking violently until the knot snapped and your orgasm hit you like a punch. You clenched hard on his fingers, body falling limp on the table, but before you had the chance to ride your own high, your body was pushed and turned around, your back hitting his chest, you could feel his hard cock on your behind, listening while he struggled with his trousers, pulling down his legs til the middle of his thighs, just enough to free his cock from its confines. He teased you with the tip between your ass cheeks and you teased back, grinding on his hips, silently begging for him to just slide in.

He lined his cock to your wet folds, enticing another moan from you and then he pushed in, his tip stretching your walls. You gasped, fingers holding the table for support while you felt him sliding only a few more inches in. His hand rubbed up your back until he grabbed the nape of your neck, you grunted feeling him leaning your body forward, your breasts pressed against the head of the table while he started to thrust up into you.

He was fully inside you when he used his free hand to pinch on your clit, making your body jolt, your walls fluttered around him, a choked whine slipped through your lips as he went deeper. He picked up his pace quickly, hands now on your shoulders tugging your body back to meet his thrusts, your body trembling when you felt the pleasure building up once again, extremely sensitive from everything that already happened to you. You both moaned loudly, he was lost on you just like you were on him, every thrust was powerful and deep, stroking every nerve ending inside your pussy. His hips slapped against yours, the table shaking with his movements.

“Gods…” You cried out, feeling the pressure on your lower belly.

He cursed under his breath, feeling your walls clenching hard around his length, his own climax coming through while you felt the first impact of your orgasm. Your entire body froze as he fucked you through the haze, coming inside you a few seconds later.

“That’s your idea of punishment?” Rollo growled, his voice far away like It was in another room, your mind still dizzy with pleasure. “Are you punishing me or her?”

“Her?” Ragnar scoffed. “I’m not punishing her, brother. Watch It… She likes it. She wanted It.”

You felt a pair of hands wrapping around your waist and your body was gently sat on the table again, the mess between your legs just growing by the minute, staining the soft skin of your thighs and leaving you slightly bothered. A kiss on your forehead had you trembling even more, so you raised your hand trying to hold his.

“Who…?” You couldn’t finish the phrase, but your hand was softly removed and you were left alone.

“It’s done, I’m done!” Rollo tried one more time.

You heard Rollo’s begs one more time, his voice was shaky and you imagined his face. If you remembered correctly at this point he would be all red and sweaty and your tummy twisted with excitement, you shouldn’t like this as much as you were.

“Well… We’re not.” Ragnar answered carefully.

For a moment nothing happened, you sat there with your body trembling. The line between pleasure and pain was thin and your body had started to complain about It. Suddenly you felt someone taking the place between your legs one more time but despite being so tired, your mind seemed to have other plans, your skin prickled at the warmth engulfing you, another familiar scent wrapping your whole body.

He didn’t waste any time, he kissed you… Kissed you like he craved you, feverishly. His lips moved in sync against yours while his hands roamed through your sweaty body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugged him with your legs feeling his hard cock against your abused cunt. You were too sensitive, your body was hot all over, and even though It was telling you It couldn’t take it any longer, your fucked out brain wanted more.

You grinded against his hips and started to fumble with his trousers until you freed his cock from its confines. You grabbed at his length and he moaned in your mouth, waiting for you to align the head of his cock against the pulsing entrance of your pussy and you cried out at the new intrusion, feeling incredibly sore.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, you started to grind against his hips again, urging him to fuck you. With both of his hands on your hips, he set an excruciatingly slow rhythm, distracting you with his mouth on your neck, he started to paint your skin in dark bruises. You cried again, threw your head back while letting your hands on his shoulders, digging your nails into his shoulders to anchor yourself, like his body was the only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you from floating away.

With one of his hands, he started to play with your clit, massaging the sensitive nub between his fingers, dragging more mewls from your lips, making you writhe against his strong grip. His cock was unrelenting, picking up his pace as he started to fuck you hard and deep, your sensitivity only amplifying the waves of pleasure that crossed your veins. Your pussy fluttered around his length and he knew you were close, hips bucking to meet his thrusts, the spongy head of his cock was pressing directly against your g-spot and you moaned loudly.

You felt his hand snaking up your chest until it found your neck and he pressed for a moment, your breath hitched, caught up in your throat and you clenched down on him. You got lightheaded and his thrusts became sloppier, you could feel he got lost in yourself very quickly and arousal twisted in your stomach, you felt flattered.

He gave a chucked off groan and for a moment you imagined who it could be, which one of them was fucking you this time, the great hall was filled with his grunts and the wet squelch of your pussy.

“Faster… Please…” You managed to mumble.

Your pussy was clenching desperately around his cock and he was throbbing inside you, he was close too, you could feel it. He fucked you hard and faster until he sheated tightly into your pussy holding you in place as he came, triggering your own orgasm. You came so hard your mind went blank, your body spasmed and you went limp in his arms. He held you strongly so you wouldn’t fall, your head on his shoulders as you breathed heavily. He rubbed your back for a minute before he pulled out and after making you sure you were firm, sitting on the table, he left.

“I-I… Ragnar…” You raised your hand blindly and seconds later you felt his fingers intertwined with yours.

“You’re doing great for me, my love.” He whispered, lips on your sweaty forehead. “Can you give me one more?”

“I don’t know…” You breathed.

“I know you can, you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He kissed your lips. “Give me one more so we can take care of you.”

We. You noticed the weird choice of word and felt him when he kissed your knuckles. We. What did he mean by that? Your thoughts were cloudy when his warmth surrounded you again, he picked you up in his arms and you immediately wrapped yours around his neck, laying down your face on his shoulders, letting him carry you wherever.

Ragnar sat you down on someone’s lap, when you felt a pair of shaky legs right under your body and nervous hands wrapping around your waist. He turned you around, made you put one of your knees on each side of that body and just like that he left. There was a nervous silence between you two, but you were close enough to feel his shaky breath against your cheeks.

Suddenly, he used one of his hands to take off your blind fold, you blinked your tears away, trying to get used to the new brightness. You focused on the image in front of you and met Ivar’s widened eyes staring back at you. Ivar was nervous, but you could sense his arousal in the way that he watched you, intently following down your body, from your face to your collar bones and your chest, your soft belly and your exposed core, he gulped.

You stayed like that for a moment, only looking at each other like you were trying to read each other’s minds, you almost forgot about the little crowd watching you two but as his eyes wandered over your shoulders you were reminded.

“C-Can I kiss you?” He stuttered and you nodded dumbfounded. His lips touched yours slightly, shaky and cold, you didn’t kiss him back at first, then he pulled back, looking at you with a frown and a little pout. “You don’t want to…”

“No!” You were quick to respond. “I want to. I really want to, Ivar.” You reassured him and his expression softened.

You cradled his face between your hands and kissed him, this time deeply, your tongue teasing his as you felt his hands pressing on waist, pressing your body down. When you pulled away, he was gone, glossy eyes staring back at you as he choked out a whimper, following your face with his eyes still closed, reaching for your lips.

He sighed and opened his eyes, he frowned again, so impatient. You touched his lips with your thumb, fluffy and wet from your last kiss and he licked the tip, you shuddered. Being that close he seemed so young to you, kinda lost in his own feelings and sensations, so different from the Ivar you knew, he always seemed so sure of himself.

Ivar opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but as you rolled your hips down his lap he gasped, that seemed to erase every trace of thought in his head, he just closed his eyes and whimpered, throwing his head back. You used the chance to latch onto his neck, groaning quietly against his skin. Gods, you were soaked. It was definitely not like you hadn’t been fucked into oblivion by four men already, you were ready to get lost one more time. You licked his skin, sucked and nipped, leaving behind tiny red marks, basking in the sounds he was making.

“Can I?” You asked him and he nodded, that was the only permission you needed to come back to his neck, to start rolling your hips over again.

The rumors about the young man not being able to satisfy a woman were the biggest lie, you thought to yourself. You could feel him getting hard under your body and the thought of having him inside you was driving you mad.

“I’m so wet for you, Ivar.” You murmured against his ear, only for him to hear you and he whimpered again, thrusting up his hips a bit.

“For me?” He whispered breathlessly and you nodded, tracing his lips with your thumb again before kissing him feverishly.

“Yes.” You grabbed his hand and put it between your bodies, his fingers met with your core, rubbing the mess of fluids on your pussy. “Will you help me?”

He nodded, dumbfounded. You used your hand between your bodies to grab his cock and started jerking slowly, his lips parted as he gasped for air. The fact that these small touches were bringing so much pleasure to him was even more exciting to you. Your faces are so close you can feel his breath against your cheeks, your lips almost touch and his fingers trembled between your legs, nervously moving between your folds.

Abruptly, you intensified your movements, he choked out a groan and closed his eyes, precum was leaking from his tip, making it easier for you to slide your hand up and down his cock, that pulsed and twitched in your hand. Quickly you moved it away, standing up a bit to line up his cock with your entrance, he looked at you like you were some sort of goddess, silently worshiping you, shaky hands wrapping around your waist as you sat down his length.

“Gods… Please…” He groaned when he felt your warm walls engulfing him.

You placed your hand on his shoulders as you fucked yourself over his cock, slowly moving your hips up and down. You brought his hand back down your body and started to use his fingers to massage your clit.

“Like this?” He asked in awe.

“Yes…” You answered under your breath.

Quickly you started to bounce on his cock, riding him like your life depended on it. The great hall was filled with Ivar’s small grunts and your breathy moans. You squeeze at his shoulders and threw your had back, he kept his fingers in your clit, drawing hard circles on your little nub just like you taught him and you could feel him twitching inside you, you knew he was close and so were you.

You moaned with every thrust, you hunched over and kissed him, his arms wrapped around your waist and he pushed you down on his cock. You felt his release and he moaned loudly against your mouth. Your own high coming down hard on you as you clenched on him, cumming for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

You laid down on his shoulder for a moment, trying to ease your breathing as you came down from your orgasm. He hugged you tightly, thumb drawing small circles on your back and you could fall asleep right there, you closed your eyes and your consciousness almost abandoned you for a moment, that’s when you felt someone taking you up from Ivar’s lap and you whined, feeling empty and sore.

“I’ll take care of you.” Ragnar mumbled in your ear. “Take him out, we don’t want him here.”

You imagined he was referring to Rollo who was finally silent, or maybe you just stopped listening to your surroundings. In Ragnar's arms you did fall asleep, waking up again only when you felt a warm cloth between your legs, you quickly moved away from the touch but was stopped by a pair of hands on your legs.

“I’m just cleaning you up.” Ragnar told you and you opened your eyes, finding him sitting by your side, you looked around and recognized his bedroom, the furs were soft against your skin and you were extremely tired.

“Was I good?” You asked under your breath, reaching out for his hand, which he really took, taking it to his lips, spreading kisses all over it.

“So good...” He said it against your skin and you smiled tiredly.

After cleaning you up he snuggled by your side, covering your bodies with fur and putting your head on his chest, rubbing your hair as you slowly fell back to sleep.

“Our best girl.” Was the last thing you heard before drifting into slumber.

***

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humanpurposes · 3 months

Text

We're Born At Night

Chapter 2

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war, Aemond is a bit of a dick but that's his job

Words: 5.9k

A/n: I was aiming to post this on Sunday (but a pretty girl said I was cute and I went a bit insane 😌)

“Cheat!”

Rhaelle conceals her delight as she claims the ivory King piece from the cyvasse board. “It is not cheating, dear sister, it is strategy.”

Sunset is not long away. Rhaelle and Daena have spent most of the day in their chambers, waiting, flicking through the small collection of books from the shelf, playing cards and games of cyvasse which all end in the same way, a decisive victory for Rhaelle.

She cannot stomach the thought of food or sweets, cider or wine. She just feels her heart drumming in her chest, pulsing through the blood that runs under her skin. Aemond’s voice is still a whisper in her head and the other faces in the throne room are a blur, like trying to remember details from a dream. She should have been more attentive. The number of potential allies at court might be few but they will be invaluable if they are to advance here.

So they wait. Wait for Lord Corlys to give them some indication that the King has acknowledged their cause, that he has even heard it.

She glances down at her fingers wrapped around the King piece, at the hand he kissed a matter of hours ago. Aemond had been rather welcoming in the throne room, she supposes, at least publicly.

“But you tricked me!” Daena protests, looking in despair over the few pieces she has left on the board.

“I acted within the rules of the game,” Rhaelle says simply.

Daena makes a disheartened but determined huffing sound and starts to set the pieces out again, when there is a knock at the door. Morra answers and returns with Ser Willis, donned in his white cloak, with his helm under his arm and a broadsword proudly by his side.

Rhaelle taps her fingers on the table in front of Daena to get her attention and rises. “Lord Commander,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Rhaelle,” he greets with a small bow of his head. “I have a request from the King.”

Her heart leaps. Finally the waiting is at an end, but she contains herself. “Which is?”

“His Grace often takes his niece and nephew for a walk about the gardens in the evening, before the Prince and Princess are put to bed. He is unable to fulfil this duty tonight and asked if yourself and Lady Daena would like to take his place?”

She catches Daena’s eye for a moment and sees the same brightness in her gaze, the same hopefulness.

Aegon, her heart whispers to her. Aemond has invited them to meet with their brother.

Ser Willis leads the way, Morra following behind as they head towards the courtyard, to the lowered drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. The halls here are closer than inside the rest of the castle and the windows are smaller so the light is lower. Ser Willis leads them through locked doors and flights of stairs, until they come to a series of apartments that are bright and grand, with wide open rooms and paler stone walls that reflect the light.

At last they come to a room where pale blue is the most prominent colour. The stonework is adorned with images of flowers and dragons alike, and a fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth.

There are two settees in the centre of the room. On the one facing the door, a little girl with silver hair in a light blue gown stares intently at the book on her governess’ lap. Her lavender eyes follow the words as the woman reads to her.

And perched on the windowsill is a boy, a little older, with a wooden knight in his hands. He turns his head when he hears the door open and stares right at them, with his lips downturned and his violet eyes wide and unblinking. He looks like Daena did when she was small, with neatly combed silver hair instead of her dark brown curls.

The governess closes the book and gathers the children to stand before their visitors. “Forgive us, my Ladies, we have been waiting patiently for you, haven’t we children?”

The girl clings to the woman’s hand, staring up at them like she is holding back tears, while the boy stands straight with his hands behind his back.

“Princess,” the governess says, ushering the girl forward, “these are your cousins, the Lady Rhaelle, and the Lady Daena.”

Jaehaera, the orphan Princess, the last of her family save for her uncle Aemond. She had a twin once, and a baby brother. Prince Jaehearys was beheaded only a short walk away from this room, before the eyes of his mother, his grandmother, and his siblings. It was in the early days of the war, a son for a son, at the order of Daemon Targaryen.

The little Princess takes a tentative step forwards, clinging to the sides of her gown as she curtsies steadily and gracefully.

Rhaelle curties low and rises to offer the girl a sympathetic smile, because losing a mother is a terrible thing, a lonely thing, which she knows all too well.

“Prince Aegon,” the governess says next, ushering him forward, “these are your sisters.” There is no warmth to her voice like she has for Jaeheara, but no contempt either, just an unsure sort of bluntness.

Aegon looks between them. “My father’s daughters,” he says softly.

Rhaelle extends a hand to him. Those eyes are so precious, she thinks, the eyes that had to see his own mother burned and devoured by his uncle’s dragon. Her heart shatters for him, for both of them, that they have had to witness so much horror.

“We have wanted to meet you for some time,” she says.

Aegon nods and holds her hand tightly. In the corner of her eye she sees the governess watching them.

Ser Willis and another Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Belgrave, accompany them to the gardens. When the governess goes to follow, Rhaelle holds up her hand. “No need,” she says, “my sister and I should like to acquaint ourselves with her family. We will be no longer than an hour.”

Neither the governess nor the guards protest.

The gardens are nothing like the countryside around Runestone, gravel paths and fountains, rows of carefully trimmed hedges, walkways covered in red ivy and trees that have begun to shed their golden leaves. They stay in sight of the castle, and Ser Willis and Ser Gyles are never far behind them.

Daena is delighted with young Aegon. She runs her hands over his hair, kisses his cheek, asks him about his favourite books and if he has held a sword yet.

Jaeheara was quiet at first but has warmed up, letting Rhaelle take one hand and Morra take the other. Her hand is small, soft and delicate, so much that Rhaelle worries she might break her if she holds her too tightly. She babbles on about the things children do. She says her favourite colour is blue, like her gown and like the sky. She says her governess is teaching her how to read, count and dance, but she wants to learn to sew.

“What would you sew?” Rhaelle asks.

Jaeheara knits her brow in thought. “Butterflies,” she says, “and spiders, and ladybirds.”

“You like insects?” Morra says.

“I can’t decide,” says Jaehaera, “but mother liked them very much.”

Rhaelle so desperately wants to bring her into her arms and hold her close to her chest. “Did your mother sew too?” she asks.

“Oh yes, she had a gift for us every day.” She keeps her eyes on the gravel shifting beneath her feet. “That means she was kind, doesn’t it?”

Rhaelle stops and turns to Jaehaera, bending her knees a little so their eyes meet. A flash of silver catches her attention instead, back towards the castle. She looks past Jaehaera’s shoulder, to a balcony overlooking the gardens. She knows it’s him, if the hair doesn’t give him away the black eyepatch against his pale skin does.

“Your mother was kind to me, when I knew her,” she says, gently.

Jaehaera’s eyes widen. Rhaelle worries she might start to cry but instead she smiles. “Uncle Aemond says she was kind.”

Her heart is humming again and her hands are starting to tremble. He must be watching them, watching her.

A little further down the path, Aegon and Daena are picking blackberries from a bramble bush, giggling as they place them in their mouths.

Rhaelle can hardly help herself but cup one of Jaehaera’s plump little cheeks. “We might find some insects in the bushes, what do you think, little Princess?”

“I often see ladybirds on the bramble bushes,” Jaehaera says. “I think they must like blackberries.”

Aegon calls his cousin’s name and waves at her with one hand, while cupping something in the other. He has found a caterpillar and shows it to Jaehaera. She stares down at its little green body with an endearing wonder, before deciding she wants to hold it too and show Morra.

While the children are distaced, Rhaelle steps close enough to Daena that they can speak softly to each other, without having to lean in too obviously.

“He said he knows all about us from Alyssa,” Daena says, “she used to tell him about us, about Runestone. Then he asked me if she was dead too.”

Rhaelle almost flinches.

“He is not yet seven years old and he has watched most of his family die,” Daena whispers bitterly, glancing towards the guards, out of earshot.

Rhaelle watches them too, far too busy with their own conversation to be listening to them and only sparing occasional glances towards the children. Then she looks back to the castle, hoping Aemond is still there, and he is.

When Ser Willis says it is time for the children to be taken back to the Holdfast, Rhaelle and Daena oblige. Jaehaera’s hands and mouth are covered in purple fruit juice and she is delighted with herself.

They pass under the balcony where Aemond stands as they reenter the castle. Daena and Morra are walking arm in arm. Aegon and Jaeheara are excitedly talking about caterpillars and butterflies and all the places they would fly to if they could grow wings.

Rhaelle sees him though, and catches his lone eye. His face is unreadable, stern and soft, dark and light.

Instinct, a reckless urge that she justifies as a risk, drives her towards a doorway leading off from the entrance hall. Daena and Morra will wait for her in their chambers once the children have been seen back to the nursery. The doorway leads to a hall, then a small winding staircase. She hitches her skirts and climbs it quickly, ensuring not to lose her footing in haste. She feels like she is chasing something intangible and follows it along a gallery, then to the balcony beyond that.

Aemond is still standing there with his hands behind his back and his head tall, looking south, over the gardens and Blackwater Bay beyond that. The noise of the castle does not reach her ears here, only the sound of the wind and the waves rolling over the shore beneath the Keep. In the west the sky burns like fire and in the east it is already getting dark.

She approaches him slowly, her shoes making enough of a noise against the flagstone floor to alert him of her presence, but softly enough so as not to disturb him. She comes to stand beside him on his seeing side, keeping her head straight but watching him, always watching him. “Your Grace,” she says quietly.

The corner of his mouth is curled. Is he smirking? Or is he irritated by her presence? “My Lady,” he returns.

Her hands are shaking. She brings them before her, clasping them together so she cannot fidget. “I had assumed you had other business this evening.”

“You assumed,” he says without looking at her.

“Ser Willis said you invited us to see the children.”

“I thought you might like to.”

“I did,” she insists, turning her head to face him. “I did. I am grateful. Daena and I are both grateful.”

Aemond hums, low and cryptic. It makes her feel weightless for a moment. He finally turns his head towards her. “The boy has mentioned you before, his Royce sisters, each of you.”

Coming from any other’s lips she might have taken her mother’s name as a compliment, and it could almost be that given the softness of his voice as he says it. But something else is written in the way he holds himself, the intensity in his eye, the striking gleam of silver hair falling over black leather: he is a true Targaryen, and she is an outsider.

Perhaps if she looks into his eye for long enough she’ll be able to read his thoughts. She finds nothing, save for an unsettled feeling in her chest and stomach. So she looks away, back out over the gardens. “I am glad my brother is being treated so well,” she says.

“Why should that surprise you?”

She tilts her head and gives him a rather pointed look. She asks herself if she would dare answer that question seriously. He still has the knife on him, maybe he’ll draw it and cut her throat for treason if she presses him hard enough.

Instead he hums a small laugh. “Prince Aegon is my heir until I have sons of my own. You needn’t fear if your brother is being mistreated.”

For now.

Then he adds in a quieter voice, “he is good with Jaehaera.”

Aegon was an older brother after all, and meant to have a younger sister of his own until the outbreak of war.

“The Princess is a delight,” Rhaelle says, “she is easy to love.”

Aemond’s eye lights up and he almost smiles. “She’s a sweet little thing, just like her mother was. Jaehaerys was the same…” he seems to regret this train of thought when he takes a slow breath and frowns to himself.

Rhaelle watches his chest rise and fall, this formidable man, a King forged in a time of war, determined not to crumble in the face of his own grief. She can almost pity him, and perhaps she does when she feels a gnawing sort of feeling knotting and twisting inside of her. She aches for him, for his losses and for her own.

“I see my own mother in many ways,” she says, taking a step into him. Aemond looks to her again, darkly but patiently. “I see her in my sister when she is stubborn. I see her in myself sometimes, all the times I thought she was being overbearing. I see her when I ride through the hills at Runestone. I feel her hovering over my shoulder when I draw a bow.”

Aemond has turned his body to face her now, not completely, just a little. One of his hands rests on the balustrade brought into a gentle fist, and he’s standing close to her, enough that she can hear each breath he takes and smell the leather of his jerkin.

“Because we don’t truly lose them,” she says, “at least I hope not. I can scarcely remember my mother’s face but I still know her love.”

“And that gives you comfort?” Aemond says.

“It does.”

“And what of your father, what love do you have for him?”

His question steals the air from her lungs. What love does she have for him, the man she hardly knew? The man her mother hated. The man who gave her his name and the burden of his legacy. Daemon’s blood runs through her veins as much as Rhea Royce’s does, life beyond death, enduring and damning.

Aemond is watching her intently, waiting for her answer, searching her face for a sign of weakness, but always with that gleam of amusement. Did he look for weakness in Daemon before they mounted their dragons at the God’s Eye? Did he find the fear he seems to feed off?

“The same all girls have for their fathers, I suppose,” is her answer.

“And do all girls love their fathers?”

“As best we can.”

“How diplomatic of you,” he says, smirking. He’s toying with her, testing her like a hunting trap.

“You distrust me,” she says.

He tuts. “I would very much like to trust you.”

“Yet you do not.”

“Do you trust me, cousin?”

It’s like asking if she would trust a snarling beast with a taste for her blood. “You are my King,” she says.

“And as King, it is my duty to identify threats, to my rule and to the realm.”

His gaze does not falter, and so she will not allow hers to either.

“Am I a threat, Your Grace?”

He considers her for a few moments, like he did in the throne room, studying her as closely and thoroughly as a scholar studies an ancient tome. All the while he curls his lips like he has a secret. “My brother was King before me,” he says in a low voice, taking another small step into her. “You are aware of the end he met?”

“Poison,” she says.

“And I took Larys Strong’s head for it, a man who served my mother for many years, who saw Jaeheara to safety during the war, who helped Aegon return to King’s Landing when it was taken from him. I could have all manner of enemies in these very walls, those who might seek to replace me with a child, more easily controlled than I am. Wearing a crown did not spare my brother from death and it will not spare me.”

He can trust no one, he means. A crown has become comparable to a death sentence as of late, and Kings and Queens are perhaps not as invincible as they once seemed.

“You are not your brother,” she says.

“No. What am I then?”

She parts her lips to respond, but she cannot give him an answer. In truth, the thought of being face to face with him, to ask for his mercy had terrified her when she first left Runestone. Aemond Targaryen, the man who started a war when he killed his nephew, who burned armies and put innocent men, women and children to the sword, who killed her father.

She has often wondered how he did it, if the battle was quick, or if it was long and bitter. She has wondered if the dragons tore each other to pieces, or if Aemond had been able to look his uncle in the eye as he claimed his life.

Before all of that he was a child with a gruesome gash in his face, who had tried so hard to hide his pain from her.

He hums cryptically and she feels him lean in closer to her, coming close enough that she can see the imperfections and the details in his face, the lines around his mouth and the texture of his skin. The edges of his scar appear as thin lines now. It is a striking element to his appearance, but other than that, she supposes he is merely a man.

“I have asked you once but I shall ask again: have you come to ask something of me, Lady Rhaelle?”

Lord Corlys would warn her to be patient. There is a strategy that must be employed, a set order in place for making a request of the King. She must be delicate, for Alyssa’s sake.

She spots his hand on the balustrade and places her own over it, barely tracing her fingers over his. She feels his gaze on her all the while. “Our house has been divided for too long. Shouldn’t we seek to heal this rift between our families?”

He watches where their hands meet and lifts them until their palms are against one another. Rhaelle’s fingertips press into the grooves of his fingers, against his warmth and the rough calluses of his skin.

“Hmm,” he says, threading his fingers through hers, closing over her knuckles. “You have a way with choosing your words carefully.”

Naturally. Her survival depends on it. “As must we all, Your Grace,” she says.

He mutters under his breath, like she’s played a winning move in a game of cyvasse, “very good.”

She can still feel him when she returns to her chambers, the gentlest brush of his fingertips and the heat of his hand against hers. She can mistake a gentle draft or breeze for his breath ghosting over her face, the sound of the wind beyond the window as the sound of his voice.

Lord Corlys visits them after dinner. She offers him some of the leftover roast beef but she shakes his head and instead asks for a cup of wine as he makes himself comfortable in an armchair before the hearth.

Rhaelle joins him, bringing two cups with her while Morra carries the decanter of wine. Daena gathers a fur throw, a pillow and a book, and settles on a chaise by the window. She doesn’t usually like to read, especially not at night when she can scarcely see the words.

Rhaelle smiles at her, sceptically. Daena shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the page.

“I have news from Driftmark,” Lord Coryls says, “Baela and Rhaena have accepted their invitation to the King’s Tournament and will set sail for King’s Landing in three days time.”

This is supposed to make her happy. From what she remembers at their mother’s funeral and the wedding feast, her half-sisters were agreeable enough but still unfamiliar. Baela, the older twin, was a little more forward than her sister, a dragonrider from a young age and it showed. Rhaena was far quieter and more cautious. They must be changed now, being right in the heart of Rhaenyra’s war.

“The King’s Tournament?” Daena’s voice calls from the window.

“Tourneys, feasts, dancing; a celebration to mark the betrothal of the King to Lady Floris Baratheon,” Corlys says, raising his glass.

A romance for the ages: he barged into Storm’s End looking for an army to support his brother’s claim, and she was the most agreeable of four sisters.

“The eyes of the realm will be on the two of you,” Lord Corlys says.

“I do not see why we would attract such interest,” Daena says.

“Aemond still needs to secure his rule. His heir is a child and the son of his brother’s rival. After that his closest competitors for the throne are his uncle’s daughters.”

“My sisters and I have no desire for a crown, Lord Corlys,” Rhaelle says.

“You are Targaryens and you have a claim to the throne whether you desire it or not. That invites challenge. Half the country has been devastated by war and the rest will struggle through winter. I’m afraid your matter will take time.”

“How much time?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You will appear before the King tomorrow. You will renounce your father, your step-mother and your late betrothed. The King will accept, and you will ask only that Lady Alyssa be spared from the headsman.”

“He would have her killed?”

“It is a matter of contention amongst the members of the Small Council, but as I understand it, His Grace has little desire to spill any more blood than is necessary.”

Daena chuckles quietly to herself.

Lord Corlys’ brow raises, but he does not comment on it. “In return for your loyalty, I expect the King to welcome you wholeheartedly into his court. When Aemond and Floris are wed you may be given positions in the Queen’s Household. You’ll be able to stay here permanently, you’ll get to see your brother and sisters often, and eventually you’ll make good matches to rich and powerful husbands, as befitting your royal blood.”

She wouldn’t have her mother’s cousins pestering her about the absence of the Lady of Runestone, eyeing the seat that belongs to her sister. Hers and Daena’s futures would be secured.

“And what of Alyssa?” she asks.

“I will ensure she is kept alive and well, and in time, we may convince the King to release her.”

May convince. The thought does not feel particularly assuring, but what else can she do?

She wakes at dawn the next morning, dresses and readies herself for court as she had done the previous day, taking her sister’s arm as they walk into the throne room. There is no grand entrance this time, they are led to an adjacent chamber and enter through a small doorway that leads them to the far end of the hall.

She and Daena stand to the right, below the steps that lead to the throne, behind the members of the Small Council, Lord Corlys, Lord Tyland, Maester Orwyle, Lord Unwin Peake, Martyn Hightower and his brother, Garmund. These men have no doubt argued over the matter of her sister’s imprisonment. “A matter of contention,” as Lord Corlys had said.

Aemond sits upon the throne again, comfortably poised, and she is amongst the first to lobby him.

Lord Corlys steps forward to announce her as she approaches the Iron Throne. She comes to her knees before him and allows herself to look up. She half expects to find him smiling, but his lips are in a thin line, not amused or prideful, but curious, his eye fixed upon her face.

“Your Grace,” she says, mustering all the courage she can to give her voice a clear demand without pushing too far. “I come before you once again as your loyal subject, to speak for myself and for my sister, Lady Daena.”

Aemond crosses one of his legs over the other, with his arm resting upon the throne, amongst the sharp edges of the blades. He brings his fingers to his chin and tilts his head, a command to continue.

She feels her pulse quicken, the words threatening to catch in her throat as they had done before, but she forces herself through it. “I renounce my late father, the traitor, Daemon Targaryen. I renounce my late step-mother, Princess Rhaenyra and her attempt to supplant the true line of succession. I renounce my former betrothed, the late Prince Joffrey. I–” she catches Lord Corlys’ eye and he nods to her.

She thinks of Alyssa, her brave, beautiful sister, who held her and soothed her when Ser Gerold explained that their mother would never return to them, whose wisdom she worshipped and whose arms she sought comfort in until the day Daemon took her to Dragonstone. Once the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now condemned to death if Rhaelle does not save her.

“I come before you again, to pledge my loyalty to you, and to our house,” she says, keeping her head down, waiting for the sound of Aemond’s voice or his footsteps.

“Come to me,” he says.

It’s like her body is set alight, heat, fury and excitement rising in her belly, her blood running hot beneath her skin. There is anger too, because she cannot read him, because she cannot tell if this is a show of favour or if he means to insult her somehow. She resents his incessant staring. She resents his cold, impassive nature. She resents the light feeling in her limbs as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

He rises to meet her, his hand outstretched and his lips threatening to break into a smirk.

Most of what she had heard of her father was that he was a jealous and ambitious man. He coveted this seat, held by his brother, promised to his niece, ultimately claimed by his nephew. Daemon killed for it, he died for it, and now she is close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

She places her hand in his and he holds her gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She clenches her jaw as she tries not to shudder.

“I accept your pledge,” he says, then loudly, so the others in the room may hear him. “It is not my wish to punish you for the sins of your family.”

The room hums with curious murmurs, nods of approval and whispers.

“Forgive me,” Rhaelle says quietly, as if this were a private exchange, as if they were not on display before the court. “You asked me yesterday if I had something to ask of you, and the truth is I do.”

Aemond’s brow raises, but the rest of his face is solemn. “Go on,” he says.

“My sister, Alyssa, is currently your prisoner, declared to be a traitor by your brother’s order. Spare her life, cousin, I beg you.”

Suddenly the silence in the hall is tangible. What must they be thinking, the Lords and Ladies before them, the men of the Small Council, Lord Corlys?

She does not spare a glance for any of them. She tightens her grip on Aemond’s hand and when she looks into his eye she does not plead for pity or sympathy. She is a Targaryen just as much as he is, with fire in her blood and pride in her heart.

“Lady Rhaelle,” Aemond says, “you are the acting Lady of Runestone.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“You do a fine job of it, so I understand?”

She hesitates. She ensures the castle, its lands and people are kept well. She advises Lady Arryn when it is required of her. “As best I can, Your Grace.”

He leans in closer to her, close enough that she feels his breath on the shell of her ear and her neck. “Do away with modesty, it is a waste of my time,” he mutters. When he pulls away the corner of his mouth is curled so that it could almost be a joke. “Lady Rhaelle,” he announces, addressing the room, “in return for your loyalty to the crown, I hereby grant you the title of Lady of Runestone and all its inheritance.”

The room applauds this decision but Rhaelle is struck by dread. She looks to Daena, equally surprised, equally powerless. She looks to Lord Corlys, who seems to accept this too. The faces of Lord Tyland, Lord Unwin, and the Hightowers are less pleased.

She turns back to Aemond and keeps her voice low, “Your Grace, I cannot accept–”

His grip on her hand becomes a painful one as he turns his face in towards her. “You will accept,” he says with a cold fury. “While I am moved by your devotion to your sister, she must remain a prisoner and forfeit any and all claims she was previously entitled to.”

His face is dark and severe and her stomach drops like she is standing at the edge of some great height, one step away from a fall. She might be wise to fear this side of him, she thinks, but she is tempted to refuse him, to take that final step from the edge if only to see what anger he can truly unleash. She’d take pride in it, and maybe it’s her Targaryen nature, but suddenly something in the back of her mind thirsts for chaos.

It is her choice to make, but her life and the lives of her family will be at risk if she makes the wrong one.

And so she must choose her words carefully, unsure if it will bring her closer to her goal or drag her further from it.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

Rhaelle and Daena dine alone that night. She is starving, but then the meat is brought out, a cut of roasted lamb, rare meat still on the bone that bleeds when Morra starts to carve it for them. It repulses her. She cannot even look at it. She downs a cup of apple cider instead and manages a mouthful of bread.

Daena can see that something is wrong, but does not question her.

Morra, on the other hand, offers her more cider and something that might be softer on her stomach. “Blackberries?” she suggests with a kind smile.

“Please,” Rhaelle mutters.

Morra brings her a small bowl of them, dusted with sugar. At first she is thankful for how refreshing the taste is on her tongue, until she looks down at her fingertips and sees them stained red.

She forces her hand away from her lips in a sudden jolt of movement, and in her haste knocks her fork to the floor with a jarring clatter of metal against stone.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, starting to wipe her fingers against her napkin, but the red will not fade. She tries harder, dragging the fabric against her skin until it almost burns, but it won’t come out, it will not–

“Lady Rhaelle?”

She throws her napkin down on the table and covers her mouth, fighting the urge to gag. “I’m fine,” she tries to whisper, “I feel unwell is all.”

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Morra says.

Rhaelle shakes her head. “No, I just…” but she cannot find the words. She cannot decide what she needs.

“Come, sister,” Daena says, having risen from her seat and come to place her hand on her shoulder. “I think you need to rest.”

Rhaelle lets herself be led away into her bedchamber. Daena helps her to remove her jewellery and lays out a night shift on the bed for her. Once Rhaelle has undressed, she reaches for the pins in her hair.

“Let me,” Daena says softly, and Rhaelle’s hands fall away. Daena’s touch is unsure but gentle. She would never have had as much practice at doing another’s hair, not as the youngest sister, but it is a welcome comfort.

Rhaelle stares at her reflection in the mirror as Daena brings a brush through her hair. She watches candlelight and shadows flicker over her face, over both of their faces. Their eyes look dark in the lowlight, almost black, like their mother’s, not the striking violet that makes them their father’s daughters.

“Do you think the Gods will punish me for this?” she utters.

“Punish you? Whatever for?”

She swallows thickly, her vision starting to blur. “I offered a hundred men at arms to Lady Jeyne to fight in the war. I could have offered more. I could have mounted a horse myself and met our father at Harrenhal. I could have written to Rhaenyra and asked her to send Alyssa back to Runestone. I could have offered men to defend King’s Landing, or to hold Dragonstone. There is so much I could have done, and now I have forsaken our family, our own blood because I was too weak to do anything before–” she gasps to catch her breath. The tears have spilled from her eyes now, they sting against her cheeks and taste salty and bitter on her lips.

Daena’s hands vanish from her hair. Rhaelle instead finds herself cradled in her sister’s arms.

“Alyssa is our family,” Daena says. “It was not Daemon Targaryen who protected us when mother died, it was our sister, it was our cousins, it was House Royce. We remember, you taught me what that means.”

Daena presses a kiss to her head and strokes her hand over her hair, like Alyssa used to when they were girls, like the way she has always imagined her mother would. “Aemond will favour our cause,” she whispers. “He has to. He has to.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #hotd fandom

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meowzfordayz · 6 months

Text

when you forget to close the door while using the bathroom

Author’s Note: this isn’t nsfw, but it’s ~explicit for other reasons. 🚽🧻💩 #shitposting #literally

when you forget to close the door while using the bathroom

Hashira x Reader, Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~800

CW: explicit language, poop references

~faqs~

Do you even love him ????? 😭😭😭

WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN?!?!?! 🫠😵‍💫🤢

Haunted by your little gasps for air 🙃

Can’t take intimacy srsly for a while

Bc whenever you gasp ~cutely into your kisses 🥰

Zenitsu just flashes back to you doing your best to take a shit 😮‍💨🥴

Highkey takes it as a challenge 😏

A display of dominance, if you will 😎

Nods in approval (not that you can see him)

And takes ~notes for later (aka yes, he is listening closely 💀)

You don’t know it yet

But Inosuke’s already planning his move

Drink a ton of coffee (he’ll have to ask Tanjirou how to brew it) ☕️

Eat a ton of dairy 🧀🥛🍦

Make sure you’re home 😌

Take a shit (w/ the door open, ofc) 🤗

THAT’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S BOSS !!!!! 😤😤😤🫡

King of the Toilet anyone??? 🚽👑

Wonders why everything sounds louder??? 😬

A respectful gentleman tho ☺️

Will go upstairs to avoid the plops 🫢

Too bad his hearing’s phenomenal, even when hiding on top of the roof 😃

A little irritated 🙄

But whatever

You prob just reeeally had to go

He understands 😶

Will nonchalantly ask you about it the next time you’re out w/ friends 🤨

Is getting ignored for the rest of the night worth it? 🙃

Kinda 🥲

Obanai has regrets 😞

Can smell the situation from a mile away 😅

Tbf, closing the door wouldn’t have helped much 😬

Has to contemplate whether it’s worth embarrassing you over

Like, does he gently ask, “Love, would you mind closing the door?”

Or does he wince grin and bear it

Unfortunately, the toilet paper he would use to plug up his nose is currently unobtainable 🧻☹️

Should he just knock himself out for now? 🤗

You’d prob be upset if he didn’t wake up in time… 😒

Hm… 😔

😵 <— Tanjirou inhaled too deeply

“BAAABE, YOU FORGOT TO CLOSE THE DOORRR!!!!!” 🩷💕💞💓💗💖💘💝

Giggles to herself as the door slams shut 🤭

(you’re not mad, but you had to kick it closed bc it’s a lil far from the toilet seat 😅)

Holds it against you 😌

“Shinobu, could you get me a glass of water?” ☺️

“I don’t know, my dear, could you close the bathroom door?” 😃

“Shinobu, I want a kiss.” 🥺

“Mm, and I want to forget your pooping noises. I guess we can’t always have what we want.” 😃

Chuckles to himself, at first 🤭

And then becomes concerned 😕

Is it supposed to sound like that? 🙁

Or take this long?? ☹️ Should he intrude? 😖

It’s not like there’s a closed door for him to bust down…

He could just, waltz in-

Internally scolds himself: Bad idea, [y/n] would not appreciate that!

Returns to the drawing board

And settles on a careful (once you’ve returned to him), “So, my love, are your bowels feeling okay?” ☺️

🧐😒😠 <— you

😶😬😁 <— him

“They just, uh, sounded wonderful earlier?!”

“Next time, how about closing the door?”

*Sanemi is casually leaning against a wall near the bathroom entrance*

You shriek 😳

And smack his shoulder 😡

“Sanemi!!!!! Do not wait outside the bathroom like that!!!!!” ��

“Did you wash your hands?” 😏

“SANEMI!” 😒

“... well?” 👀

You are not amused 😐

He acquiesces 😅

“Okay, okay, I confess, I heard the sink running.” 🤓

“I hate you.” 🥲

“But you trust me enough to shit with the door open.” 🥰

“Piss off.” 🙄

“I’m about to!” 🫡

(bc, y’know, he’s about to go… piss… 😆)

Doesn’t really mind

Will prob forget to remind you about it later 🙃

Until the next time you do it

…

By the fourth incident, Muichiro gives up

If anything, he’s flattered you’re so comfortable around him ☺️

Altho he is a lil worried about your ability to use a public bathroom 😶

Def uncomfortable 😕

But even more uncomfortable at the thought of discussing ~it w/ you ☹️

Giyuu knows you wouldn’t be upset

Or even embarrassed

You have like, 0 shame, as he’s both lovingly and unfortunately come to learn ☺️😬

Which means

If he mentioned it, then you’d likely end up teasing him 🫠

“Love me so much, you’ve even gotta listen to me poop?” 😉

*shudder shudder* 😭

(I mean, yes, he does love you that much, but when you put it like that 🥴)

Giyuu settles on hoping that it was a one time mistake 🤞🙏

Good luck 😃

Tengen’s never letting you live it down 😝

Will write out instructions on “How to Use a Bathroom” 🤓

And stick ‘em on both sides of the door

Step 1: Open the door

Step 2: CLOSE THE DOOR

Step 3: ��Do your thing✨

#hashira x reader #kamaboko #headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #zenitsu x reader #inosuke x reader #gyomei x reader #obanai x reader #tanjiro x reader #tanjirou x reader #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #kyojuro x reader #sanemi x reader #muichiro x reader #giyuu x reader #tengen x reader

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babyjakes · 1 year

Text

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | april '23 ddlg-themed blurb night

requested by @brandycranby | ahhh bb eu 🥺 was just thinking of ari and his thick beard aaaa 💕✨️🩷🍒 for ur blurb night if u have room, soft!daddy!ari + crying?

warnings | ddlg. ari is soft and little dark, pushing baby way past her limits (dub/noncon). oral (f receiving). clit play, real puff puff behavior. overstimualtion. mocking/degredation, praise, dumbification. forced orgasms. squirting.

word count | 531

as punishing as the trash stache is, i’m of the controversial belief that ari is probably the oral king when it comes to facial hair. like there’s just so much of it, and he totally knows how to weaponize it against you and your poor little pussy.

maybe he’s got you spread out on the couch, arms resting over your knees and big hands holding your thighs right in place. you’re not going anywhere, no matter how much you beg and cry😌

he takes his time with you like always, teasing you with his lips and fingers, enjoying your soft moans and hums of initial approval. the first orgasm is of course a fine and grand ordeal, though it’s not the main event.

that would come after, as he’s overworking your poor, puffy folds. after cumming so hard, you’re a drippy, drooly mess, your little clit now fully exposed and engorged with blood. ari knows, he knows it’s so sensitive now. throbbing. hot. achy. needy, as your daddy puts it. which justifies what comes next: the torment of your overstimulated pussy, especially your precious little button that ari loves oh so much.

“c’mon baby, just look at it. so swollen n’ angry lookin’, needs daddy to take care of it.” using a hand to pull back the skin around it, bringing his tongue down to dip into your sore cunt as his nose and mustache scratch against the aching bead of nerves. dragging the wetness of your last orgasm up to roll over it, earning soft sobs from you as you cry into your hands.

“please daddy, t-too much, please don’t—”

he pulls back to look at you with false concern. “honey, daddy’s just taking care of you. know your little baby pussy gets so sensitive after you cum, doesn’t it?” he brings a single finger up to rub over your poor nub as he speaks, worsening your tears to his delight. “see? can feel it throbbing against me. think you need to cum again for me, sweetheart. your body’s begging for it”

you struggle against his hold but it’s no use 😖 he coos at your pathetic attempt, soothing, “shhh baby, don’t cry. daddy’ll be real gentle, promise” but he’s not fooling either of you, you both know he’s loving this. the tears, the resistance, the abuse of your poor cunt

his mouth returns to its spot between your trembling legs, his tongue licking a fat stripe up from your dripping hole to your clit as he circles in on it with skillful precision, eventually easing the bud back into his mouth as he presses two fingers against your opening

“that’s it, baby. i know, i know sweet girl,” his voice comes out so patronizing through his sucking and kissing. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your whole body’s tensing up in preparation for your next climax. “almost there, angel,” he breathes against your burning button, nursing lovingly on it as you tumble over the edge. he groans and moans against you as you cum, the vibrations of his deep voice sending pleasure and pain shooting up through you as you squirt into his awaiting mouth—

yuh huh!! yum!!😌🫶

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maerinhearts · 1 year

Text

King

Part II.

You hate Tsukishima Kei. With a passion. Seriously. But what happens when you, the manager of his college volleyball team, get stuck in a hotel room with him? For an entire week... With only a king bed for both of you to sleep on...

Warnings: fem!bodied reader, choking, unprotected sex, bullying (on both sides), one bed trope (lol).

Word Count: 4900+

Minors DNI, please and thank you. All characters are 18+.

A/N: I'm back with another Tsukki drabble 😌 Let's fucking go.

Smut is below the cut, as always.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” the coach was saying on the other end of the phone, “but because we added Jiro so last minute this week, I’m going to have to put you with one of the guys on the team. I already called the hotel, and they don’t have any more rooms available.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. Of course. You didn’t think of this when Jiro unexpectedly transferred into the program and made the volleyball team this past week. You had been so wrapped up in your own excitement for the tournament that you forgot you wouldn’t get a room all to yourself this time.

“It’s no biggie, Coach,” you reply. But it is a biggie. “I don’t mind.” But I do mind. “Put me with whoever is willing to room with me!” Don’t you dare put me with that bastard Tsukishima.

“Y/N, I really can’t thank you enough for being so understanding. I’ll make sure to be extra careful next tournament so I can give you your own room like normal! Can’t wait to see you Monday morning!”

After you hang up the phone, you find annoyance bubbling up in your chest. It would be your luck that the hotel is fully booked, but then you should have expected that considering what tournament was happening this upcoming week. As you shove stuff into your suitcase, you try to come to terms with who you might room with. Jiro would be fine, since you didn’t really know each other. You’d even be fine with the team captain, Yuuji. Anyone but Tsukishima.

Before you went to sleep for the night, you prayed to any God out there that you’d get paired with anyone else on the team.

But your prayers go unanswered.

“Everyone was too shy to room with you, Y/N,” Coach was explaining to you as he walked you to your room. You had a glare plastered on your face at him. “And no one wanted to room with Tsukishima either. So, the best thing I could have done to make sure my team gets along for this tournament is-”

“To put Tsukishima with me?” you say with disgust.

“I’m not happy about it either,” Tsukishima says from beside you, glare also evident on his face. Only it’s directed at you.

You turn a harsh look on him. “No one was speaking to you, four eyes,” you snap.

“You little…” he mutters, turning to tower over you.

“Okay, you two,” the coach interrupts. “Here is your room.” He scans the key card and ushers Tsukishima in. He turns to you, handing you the key card before ushering you in as well. “Don’t lose that. I want you to be in charge of it.” You nod along as you step into the room.

“WHAT?” Tsukishima yells from inside.

You feel your annoyance bubbling up to the surface again. “Oi, Tsukishima, pipe down,” you scold.

“Y/N,” he says to get your attention. You finally glance up at him, glare ready, eye twitching to find him looking worse for wear. “There’s only one bed.”

You feel your face drop and whirl yourself around to tell coach.

“Uh, I gotta go check on the others!” he says as he dashes out of the doorway, letting the door come to a close.

So, you stand there, next to the bastard Tsukishima, at the foot of the bed, both of you in utter disbelief as you stare at the one king sized bed in the center of the room. It’s silent for a long moment.

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

“What?!” he exclaims. “The floor is hardwood, Y/N! I have a tournament to play in this week! You’re the one that is going to be sleeping on the floor.”

You turn to him, a look of utter disgust on your face only to find he is returning the look. “You’d really make your team manager sleep on the hardwood floor?” you ask, hoping to bait him into saying no, he wouldn’t do that to you.

“Yes.”

“What?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes, I would make my snotty team manager sleep on the hardwood floor.” He sneers down at you.

Before you can stop yourself, you raise a fist, ready to punch him, but he just sticks an arm out, hand pressing against your forehead as he continues to push you away, laughing as you struggle to get a hit in. This bastard and his ridiculously long monkey arms…

You huff out as you straighten your clothes, and he crosses his arms. “I’m going to take a shower,” you tell him. “And when I come out, I better see your bed made up on the floor.”

He scoffs and waves you away with a roll of his eyes. You feel your eye start twitching again as you close the door to the bathroom and turn the water on. As you step into the shower, you feel your anger spike again. How dare he try to make you sleep on the floor?! Didn’t his mother teach him any manners?!

You were hoping the warm water would calm you down, but as you step out onto the towel outside of the shower you find that, in your annoyance, you forgot to get your clothes from your suitcase. You curse yourself underneath your breath before wrapping a towel tightly around your body.

You crack open the bathroom door and peek out. You can see Tsukishima lounging on the bed in the reflection of the mirror right outside the bathroom door. He’s playing on his phone. Thinking you could get to your suitcase quickly without him noticing, you pad out to the living area only to come to a halt when you realize your suitcase is on the side of the bed he is currently laying on.

“T-Tsukishima,” you stutter out, nerves getting the best of you.

“What is it now?” he says as he lowers his phone to glare at you.

Your face reddens as he makes eye contact, his glare falling into a look of awe and disbelief. His own face begins to redden before he turns quickly away.

“Have you lost your mind?!” he damn near shouts at you.

“I forgot my clothes, you asshole!” you shout at his back. “And my suitcase is by you!”

“Well, hurry up and get your clothes, for Christ’s sake!”

You hesitate. “Don’t look at me,” you tell him, voice soft. “Promise you won’t look at me and then I’ll be able to get my clothes.”

He takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. “I won’t look,” he promises, voice surprisingly gentle. “I closed my eyes.”

You get to your suitcase and quickly throw it open. As you’re rummaging through its contents you glance up to see that his eyes were, in fact, closed. You feel your heart skip a beat at that, for whatever reason, and speed walk back to the bathroom with your clothes in hand.

Tsukishima waits until he hears the bathroom door close again before he blows out the breath he was holding. He turns to look at the space you just occupied outside of the bathroom door and feels his face heat up again. He knew you were pretty. Hell, everyone knew you were drop dead gorgeous. Other teams would make comments before, during and after games. It drove him and his teammates nuts. Though, they would all be lying if they said they never fantasized about you before. Him included. He would often find himself being dragged into locker room talk about you after practice, after games, during team study sessions that you were never invited to. He never participated simply because he respected you too much to talk about you in that manner. His teammates thought it was just because he hated you.

The way you two interacted never went unnoticed by anyone. Perhaps putting you two together in a room was the coach’s way of telling you two to get over it. It felt like Coach was telling him he had to be friends with you. The only problem is that Tsukishima didn’t want to be friends with you in the first place.

And so, he finds himself setting up a wall of pillows in the middle of the bed. He doesn’t want to sleep on the floor, and he certainly doesn’t want you to. As he is placing the last pillow, you exit the bathroom, wet hair dripping onto the oversized tee shirt you were wearing. When he turns to look at you, he notices that the tips of your cheekbones are still a light shade of pink. Then he glances down.

“Oi, Y/N,” he says lowly, voice laced with annoyance.

“What?” you snap back.

“Where are your pants?” He points at your bare legs.

You feel your face heat up at ten times the speed. “I am wearing pants!” you exclaim, hoisting your shirt up past your navel in anger. “I’m wearing shorts!”

In your haste, you didn’t realize just how high you had yanked the shirt up.

So, there you were, shirt held tightly in your hands showing off your short sleep shorts… and the bottom half of your breasts.

“Put your shirt down!” he shouts, nearly tripping over his own suitcase as he runs over to you, grabs the hem, and yanks your shirt back down over your body.

You turn your face up at him, brows knitting together as you frown at him, completely unaware of just how much you were showing him. “I was just showing you that I had shorts on underneath this shirt,” you tell him.

“Yes, yes,” he responds, “you’ve made your point.” But I didn’t need to see that, he thinks to himself. Now how will I be able to sleep knowing they’re right next to me? And they look like that?

His hands fist into your shirt at your waist and you suddenly become very aware of him touching you.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking a giant step away from him and pushing his hands off of you. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

As Tsukishima is brushing his teeth, you walk around the room to shut lights off, leaving the bedside light on, and adjust the thermostat. You come to a halt as you lift the covers to get into the bed. You stare blankly at the wall of pillows in the center.

Tsukishima exits the bathroom, then, yawning loudly, stopping when you turn an annoyed look on him.

“I told you to sleep on the floor,” you ground out.

“And I told you, not happening,” he answers, voice snide.

“So, your solution was to put pillows between us?”

“I felt like it was a fair compromise,” he answers. “I don’t want to touch you; you don’t want to touch me.”

“And you think pillows are going to keep us separated? All night?”

“I do. Oh, and you’re sleeping closest to the wall.” He moves to where you’re standing, pushing you aside and climbing into the bed.

You stand there in disbelief. He must have lost his mind. You turn to glance around the room and notice that the side closest to the wall is farthest from the door. You feel your heart skip a beat again.

“Tick tock, Y/N,” he says as he reaches to shut the last lamp off. “What will it be?” He sneers up at you before he flips the switch, and the room goes black.

Before you can think too much about it, you stomp over to the other side of the bed.

“Stay on your side,” you tell him as you settle in.

“That won’t be a problem,” he answers back.

You turn on your side away from him, staring at the wall for what feels like forever until sleep finally pulls you under.

A knock on the door wakes you up the next morning, a voice outside telling you to come get breakfast before the bus leaves in two hours for the games.

But it’s so warm, you think as you burrow your head deeper into your pillow. You could get away with five more minutes, right? But another knock sounds on the door, signaling that it was, indeed, time to get up. You forgot coach made two rounds just ten minutes apart.

As your eyes flutter open, you realize why you feel so warm.

Tsukishima’s arms are wound tightly around your waist, your head comfortably tucked underneath his chin, face pressed into his chest. Your own arms betrayed you in your sleep as well, you notice, as you become painfully aware of their position around his body. The pillows that were meant to keep you separated are nowhere in sight. You feel your anxiety spike when you realize he has you practically trapped.

“Tsukishima,” you say trying to wake him.

He groans before his arms tighten around you. “Five more minutes,” he pleads, voice groggy. If you weren’t so anxious, you would think he sounded somewhat hot.

“Tsukki,” you try again, opting for his nickname.

He groans again, body shifting slightly before sighing, still not awake.

“Tsukki,” you say, louder this time.

He finally opens one eye to look at you, annoyed. You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, pleading with him silently to let you go.

“Uhm,” you start.

“Why are you so close to me?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

Instead of answering, you move your eyes down to look at his arms currently wrapped around your waist. It takes Tsukishima a long second to realize why you’re so close to him. Then he is shoving you away from him as if he had touched a hot stovetop. You shriek as he launches himself away from you and off the bed, waist throbbing in pain from where he had hastily shoved you away. You rub the spot with a hand.

“What the hell, Tsukishima?” You glare at him. “You didn’t have to push me that hard.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” he suggests before turning on his heel and heading into the bathroom.

So, you decide to ignore what happened. For days. If the team advances every single day, you could be sharing a room with him for the next seven days. Lo and behold, they do. You had been avoiding each other since you woke up somehow encased in his arms, eating meals separately and coming back to the hotel room at different times.

But the night before the championship game, the coach makes everyone go to their rooms early, saying something about how everyone needs to get a good night of sleep.

And so here you are, at 10:00 PM, wide awake next to the wide-awake Tsukishima whom you haven’t spoken to in days simply because you haven’t had to. Nor did you really want to, for that matter. You’re separated by pillows, but it feels like he is closer than ever to you. If you concentrated hard enough, you could hear his breathing.

“Ugh,” you finally groan. “I can’t sleep.” You frown up at the ceiling.

“Maybe if you changed your attitude, you’d be asleep by now,” Tsukishima says from beside you.

You sit up to glare at him. “I don’t see you sleeping either,” you point out.

“I’m not sleeping because I’ve chosen not to sleep yet,” he replies.

You scoff. “Yeah right, I bet its because you’ve had to sit the bench the last two games.” You were taking a low blow, you knew that. But still, you said it.

He shoots up into a sitting position on his side of the bed now, returning your glare with just as much fervor. “It’s not my fault I’ve been off my game the last couple of days. It’s because I have to share a room with the most aggravating person on the planet!”

“Oh yes, because it’s certainly not the fact that you suck at volleyball.”

Suddenly, he’s in your face. “Say that again,” he dares you.

You swallow thickly before shaking your head, glare nowhere to be found now.

“Funny how you think I suck at volleyball, but I must be good at something else in your dreams.”

You feel your face heat up. “W-what are you talking about?” you stutter.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t been dreaming of me every single night since that first morning?”

“No,” you answer, a little too quickly. You avert your gaze away from him.

“You trying to tell me you aren’t the one I hear every night moaning ‘Yes, Tsukki, right there, Tsukki’?” His voice goes up an octave as he imitates your voice and you’d very much like to crawl in a hole and die.

You had had dreams about him this week, yes, you couldn’t deny that. But were you really moaning for him in your sleep?

“You’re lying,” you accuse, voice shaky.

“Am I, though?” His hand finds its way underneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. When your gazes meet, you find that he is suffocatingly close to you. One wrong move and your lips could be touching. “Look me in the face and tell me I’m lying.” His voice oozes confidence.

Suddenly, your tongue feels too big for your mouth. You can’t even form words as you try to look away from him. To be honest, you didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you can’t exactly hear yourself while you sleep.

“Huh, look at that,” he muses as his hand moves from your chin, gliding across your jaw and into your hair at the nape of your neck. “Cat got your tongue?” He’s mocking you now. His hand fists into your hair as you avert your eyes again and he yanks your head back to look at him. You gasp out, surprised. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” When you make eye contact with him again, he smirks. “Good girl.”

You feel your face heat up at his words, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as butterflies erupt across your chest.

“Oh? Did you like that?”

You try to shake your head no but find that you can’t move because his hand is still in your hair.

“Use your words, Y/N,” he tells you, voice stern.

You swallow. “N-No,” you stammer.

Suddenly, his lips are by your ear. “Liar,” he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. The feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear has your sex throbbing. God, you feel like such a virgin right now.

He chuckles as he pulls back to look at your face, lips tilting up into another smirk. Your eyes are wide and doe-like, shining with a few tears, almost like you’re begging for him to take it a step further. Your bottom lip is quivering slightly, and he thinks it’s cute. He searches your face as he shifts onto his knees in front of you, hand loosening in your hair as he cups your head in his hands, thumbs underneath your jaw to direct your face up to his.

“Tell me if I’m taking things too far,” he murmurs, voice suddenly soft.

You don’t even have time to react when he crashes his lips roughly into yours. You gasp out of surprise, and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. As his tongue strokes yours for the first time, you let out a soft moan at the feeling and finally return his kiss.

Tsukishima almost sighs in relief as you come alive beneath him, and he begins shoving you down onto the mattress. You let him, back hitting the mattress as he moves his mouth to your neck. You part your knees to accommodate his body as his hips make contact with your own. You crane your neck to give him more access as he sucks a bruise right into your jugular. He’s pushing your shirt up and grabbing both of your breasts roughly in his hands. Involuntarily, you thrust your hips up into his, causing his clothed cock to rub right up against your core.

He moves his mouth down quickly to capture a nipple. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from moaning as his tongue flicks across the hardening bud, hips grinding down into you to rub his hardening dick against you again. You moan at the feeling, essence leaking out into your panties as he switches sides, giving the same treatment to your other nipple, hands holding your hips in place as he relentlessly grinds against you.

Your hands are in his hair, back arching to push your tit further into his mouth as you moan out a soft call of his nickname.

His weight leaves your body as he moves to loom above you, hands planted by your head to hold himself up. He’s looking down at you, annoyed, sizing you up. Your chest is heaving, tits on full display with your shirt pushed up past your chest. Your lips are swollen, and your face is flushed.

“It’s Kei to you, right now,” he informs you, voice low. “Got it?”

You nod at him as you try to catch your breath.

Before you realize what he is doing, he has a hand in your sleep shorts and two fingers buried knuckle deep in your dripping hole. You gasp out, hand reaching to wrap around his wrist.

“Words, Y/N,” he reminds you as he watches your face contort in pleasure beneath him.

His fingers begin to pull out. “Ye-” you begin, but he shoves his fingers right back into you, smirking as you finish the S, the sound somewhere between a hiss and a moan.

“Thatta girl,” he praises as he slowly begins fucking you with his fingers, mouth finding its way back to your left nipple.

He sucks the bud into his mouth harshly, ripping a loud moan from your chest as he hooks his fingers up inside of you to hit your g-spot at the same time. He pulls his fingers from your shorts as he begins kissing down your body, fingers moving to pull your shorts and underwear off as his tongue glides across your navel. He sits up and tosses the garments to the floor. Suddenly feeling shy, you close your legs off to him. He makes eye contact with you as his hands find your knees and roughly push your legs apart, baring your pussy to him for the first time.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his hands glide down your inner thighs, body moving to settle his face right where you wanted him the most.

He makes eye contact with you as he brings his mouth closer to your sex, tongue darting out to lick a stripe right between your folds. He groans, eyes closing for a moment.

“Just as I thought,” he comments, “taste so fucking sweet.”

Your face heats up at double the speed, but before you can respond he dives right in, eating you like a man starved. His tongue makes figure eights over your clit, and you tangle your hands in his hair, shoving him deeper into you.

“Yes, Kei,” you moan out as he sucks your clit into his mouth. The sound of his first name falling from your lips like that sounds so hot to him that he finds himself leaving your core in favor of quickly pulling off his own clothes.

You watch as he settles over you, now naked, cock finding its home right between your folds as his lips find yours in a searing kiss.

“Let me fuck you,” he begs as he pulls back, voice almost coming out as a whine, lips millimeters away from yours. He grinds his hips into you for emphasis, cock head bumping into your clit.

To answer him, you reach down to grab up his dick in your hand, eyes never leaving his. You give it a few good pumps before guiding him into you. Your mouth falls open as he slowly pushes past your entrance, small gasps leaving your lips at the feeling of him filling you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he grounds out. “Relax, Y/N.”

You groan as he continues to push into you. Relax? How can you relax when the man you’ve been secretly pining for is currently all over you? Not to mention in you.

You reach up and pinch his bicep.

“Ow, what the hell?” He rubs the spot you pinched, glaring down at you.

“Oh, good. I’m not dreaming,” you reply, voice shaky, breathy laugh pushing past your lips. Without thinking, you bury your hands back into his hair and yank his face back down to yours, planting a kiss on his lips and licking into his mouth when he opens it to you.

His hips begin moving of their own accord, slowly rolling into you as your kiss gets more and more desperate. With each roll of his hips, it feels like he keeps reaching deeper and deeper inside you. You pull away from his lips to let out a load moan as the head of his cock grazes your cervix. His mouth heads south, licking and nipping at the skin on your jaw, neck and collarbones.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says into your skin before he’s reaching to push your knees up into your chest, effectively reaching a new depth inside of you.

You gasp out, finding it hard to catch your breath as your hands reach out to press against his abdomen. It does no good, though, as he relentlessly continues fucking you with a smirk plastered on his face.

“W-wait,” you gasp out, head falling back as stars find the edges of your vision when he picks up the pace. You feel the pleasure building up in your abdomen.

“No,” he tells you simply, voice breathy.

“No, wait,” you try again as the pleasure nears its peak. You want to hold out for as long as possible, but you don’t think you’ll be able to at the rate you’re going.

He shoves two fingers into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“Shh,” he shushes you.

You’re too stunned to push him away, but at the same time the action has your pussy clenching around him, and he curses from above you. With every thrust, the cord pulls tighter and tighter in your belly. It becomes almost painful trying to keep it at bay.

“Come on,” he encourages you, fingers leaving your mouth and opting to wrap around your neck. “Cum for me.”

At his words, you let yourself go, cumming around him as he continues fucking you, slowly pushing in and out of you while he tries to slow his own orgasm.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as you come down, letting your feet fall back to the bed and planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

Before you can react, Tsukishima suddenly flips over onto your stomach and pulls your hips up, putting you on your hands and knees. You look back at him with wide eyes as he prods your entrance with his still hard cock before fully sheathing himself back inside you in one thrust.

Your back arches at the action, head falling back as a moan escapes your throat. He takes the opportunity to fist his hand into your hair and yank your body up so your back is flush against his front. He wraps his free arm around your waist, the hand that was wrapped in your hair coming around to find its home back around the column of your neck.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder as he continues fucking you, small gasps of “yes” leaving your lips as he builds you right back up to the edge.

“Look at you,” he comments. “You’re so fucking hot. It’s almost a shame I get to be the only one to see you like this.”

You can’t form a single coherent thought as you warn him of your approaching orgasm. He presses you right back down into the mattress to pick up his pace, slamming into you from behind as you bury your face into a pillow, crying out as you teeter right over the edge.

He fucks you through it again, pulling out at the last second to pump his length a few times before spilling his seed right onto your bare ass.

You both stay still as you come down, catching your breaths. It’s suddenly silent in your hotel room as the reality of what just happened dawns on both of you. You wait a few more beats, giving him a chance to break the silence before you do.

“Oi, Tsukishima…” you start, usual tone settled back into your voice. “You better clean that up.”

“Right…” he mutters. He leaves the bed to get a wet cloth, coming back to thoroughly wipe his cum off your ass.

You settle back onto your side of the bed as Tsukishima tosses the rag back into the bathroom. When he settles back onto his side you finally speak.

“Let’s… not talk about this,” you suggest.

He’s silent on the other side, probably in agreement, you think. So, you close your eyes in an attempt to fall asleep, tears hot on your cheeks as they silently stain the pillow beneath your head in the dark.

Only you don’t know that Tsukishima is on the other side of the bed, hoping just as much as you are that that meant as much to you as it did to him.

#tsukishima kei smut #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #you have no idea how at home I feel writing for this bastard #he's just so much fun

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glorf1ndel · 4 months

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Happy 20th anniversary to The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King! This lovely man has been ruling over Gondor for 2 decades of peace and prosperity! We have no choice but to stan 😌

#lotr #lord of the rings #the return of the king #aragorn #lotrweek #lotr20

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rius-cave · 2 months

Note

Adam getting insecure about his weight whenever Lucifer carries him but forgetting that Luci is the literal king of Hell is adorable.

Adam: ...Do I even weight anything to you? 😟

Lucifer, carrying him in bridal style: No darling, it's like holding a couple of grapes. 😌

Adam: 🥹

Some time later on, Adam carries Lucifer the same way to return the affection.

Let 👏 them 👏 carry 👏 each 👏 other

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #ask

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badbatcher-99 · 2 months

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‼️Imagine the bad batch taking down an AT-AT ‼️

It would be so chaotic!!!

Hunter would probably climb it with his knives like legolas climbs the oliphant in Return of the King 😭

Tech and Echo would somehow get inside it and squabble about controls before causing hell on the other ATs

Crosshair shooting out the pilots through the tiny window holes like the king he is 💅

And as always 😌 wrecker gets the honor of blowing it up

#the bad batch #star wars #star wars tbb #tbb #bad batch #crosshair #tbb crosshair #tech #hunter #omega #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb tech #sw tbb

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b1rds3ye · 9 months

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Of Dreams and Legends

In the middle of the night you have a heart to heart with the legendary Gromsko. You learn what inspires him to keep fighting, and somehow, that includes you.

Pairing: Sobiesław “Gromsko” Kościuszko x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Confessions, Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 3.1k

Warning: My interpretation of Gromsko’s character, Reader doesn’t know Polish

A/N: Something about Gromsko’s voicelines and bio just makes him seem like an old heroic story in the making to me, so I wrote about it a lil 😌

The air held a chill tonight, lightly nipping at the exposed skin on your neck and face. Zipping up your jumper you laid with your back against the cold surface to look up to the skies. It probably would be for the best that you head back inside, but it wasn’t every night the sky would be this clear. To admire the sublime in the stars as they twinkled down at you. These days they are known as nothing more than gargantuan balls of gas, the unwanted remains of the universe, but how could one not romanticise the sight above you? Up in the expansive skies, every battle paled in comparison. These mundane balls of gas have been unchanging for millenia, the skies you are looking up now, how many others are admiring it? Not just tonight but in the years of yore. Battle armour, weaponry, nation borders and all would have changed, yet when all was done and dusted, you would all be looking up at the same skies.

A bang and a foreign curse had you jolting out of your reverie. Gaze upside down, you shot a glare at who was intruding, only to relax at the welcome sight of a familiar face.

“Sobiesław?”

“Serduszko, you do not make it easy to find you,” he grunted, grabbing his leg to manually get it over the railing.

“I just wanted to admire the night skies.”

“On the roof of our base?”

You shrugged. Sobiesław walked towards you, each footstep heavy against the roof panels, sending reverberations that vibrated rhythmically against your back with a pleasant hum.

He stood beside you, feet by your knees as he followed your gaze to the skies. Hands as fists on his waist, he made a startled noise before turning to you again.

“Did you not wish to be found? I will return to the others, alone time can be good for a soldier.”

“No, no. You’re always welcome,” you grinned.

Sobiesław’s face always held a slight scowl, it was intimidating until you realised it was unintentional. He says it was because he has spent years surrounded by skurwysyny (a word he has refused to translate for you but given how freely he says it to the enemy, you got the gist of it). Still, despite his natural frown, it softens at your words.

“It is hard to see but there is a star formation, named after a Polish king.”

You offer an inquisitive tilt of the head at his comment, wordlessly inviting him as you shift to the side to make space for him. He situated himself down beside you with a grunt of effort and you were lost for words as he adjusted to get himself comfortable against the rough texture of the roof. Sobiesław wasn’t the tallest nor the most imposing of soldiers in your company, but he managed to become a member of SpecGru for a reason. His frame was broad and sturdy, the breathing image of the quintessential soldier, postered on walls as propaganda to rouse even the most reluctant to action. His form emanated a comforting and welcome heat that soothed the bite of the night air. All of a sudden you felt rather sleepy.

Sobiesław raised an arm, pointing at the night sky. Even under his clothes you could see the curves of his muscles stretch out the wrinkles of his sleeve. The boulder that was his shoulder leading to the chain of muscle that was his bicep, linking to his forearm that was slightly flexed with the angle of his hand. Even his finger, relaxedly pointed to a dark patch in the sky, seemed determined.

“It is hard to see, but it should be there.”

Sobiesław pulls himself closer to you so that you can follow his directed hand better, a move that made you far too conscious that you were with him, alone and isolated from the rest of the company. And with the slight quirk of his lip, you were sure he was aware too.

“Scutum Sobiescianum, Shield of Sobieski. A Polish king who defended Vienna from the Turks. This was centuries ago, but I still feel great pride when I hear such an achievement.”

You stay quiet as you squint, trying to look into the supposed darkness to find this supposed constellation of defence. After some investigating you let out a sigh of defeat. You dropped your head onto the roof, creating a light thud. Sobiesław let out a hearty chuckle, turning his body so he can reach over with his far arm, offering you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. You responded with a pout, his sheer strength meant that your body shook slightly with each pat.

“Do not worry, you do not have to see it, just know it is there,” Sobiesław reassured, giving your shoulder an extra squeeze before retreating his arm. “Aiding as a shield for allies is honourable, even if he was only abiding by a treaty.”

“You’ve always liked your history, haven’t you?”

“Greatly. Learning about the victories of the past is motivating.”

You’re not surprised. Sobiesław was not an old man and he didn’t carry himself as such, but he conducted himself in a way you have not seen in anyone else, especially on the battlefield. In combat, a soldier is selfish out of the primal need for survival. One follows orders because that’s the best chance they have of keeping their head attached to their shoulders. To deny themselves the responsibility of atrocities committed, even complacency and teamwork is just a desperate act of self-preservation, one that everyone is guilty of and can not condemn.

But Sobiesław was different. He never seemed to fight for himself. On missions, even under the glare of his signature glasses, he was always looking past the objective, over the horizon and to something greater. No matter how long he spent on foreign soil, he left the stamp of his motherland under his boots as he marched onward. Whenever you fell in battle, body unrecognisable in a coating of blood that you’re not sure is yours or the enemy’s, he is there to pick you up. Not only literally but spiritually as he rouses you to keep fighting with words of encouragement that strike the cords of your heart. Words that you swore were taken from an ancient scripture with how they unleash reservoirs of energy lost deep in your soul. His words were loud and panicked, but not once is it out of concern for his own well-being, or how the mission or his military career could be jeopardised if anything else goes wrong. In those moments, he was fighting and breathing for you.

“Did it motivate you to enlist?”

“Yes. It motivated me before I realised.”

You frowned at his odd answer.

“How so?”

“I had a dream,” he stated, nostalgia warming his voice. He pulled his head in, craning his neck at an odd angle to speak to you quietly, like he was giving you the secrets of the universe. With a wave of the hand he ushers you in and you entertain him.

“When I was little, I always dreamt of a hussar before I even knew what they were. I think it was fate, a sign from above for me to enlist.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“There was actually a painting of a hussar in the living room of my babcia… I don’t tell anyone that last bit, it is more fun that way.”

You failed miserably at stifling a laugh, in return he smiles as he pulls away. Even with the extra tidbit of information, his motivations still felt almost fable-like, like a myth in the making.

“I can see it,” you giggled, lifting your arms up in the air as you gestured animatedly. “The old wives will be talking about the legendary Gromsko. The quintessential soldier, called to action by the restless spirit of an old warrior in his dreams. He becomes the inspiration for all the future generations. The story of the chosen one who saves the world!”

“I tell you too much,” Sobiesław groans.

“They should make a movie out of you.”

“I am too boring.”

“You’re too humble.”

Sobiesław laughed, but you did not. Leaving the sight of the stars - you had still been half-heartedly trying to distinguish the shield of a king from the darkness - you fully turned to him. You ignored the dull throb of your arm now squished between your body weight and the roof, far too distracted by how close you were to him now that the two of you were facing each other.

“Truly. Even without the dreams I think you’re an inspiration.”

You didn’t realise how sentimental you sounded until you released your words into the air. You consequently chewed at your lips, forcefully sealing them. Your voice didn’t have to fight against the midnight breeze, instead your words settled comfortably in the small space between the two of you, warm and festering in the silence.

Sobiesław was unresponsive, eyebrows far more furrowed than usual. Feigning your embarrassment as getting comfortable against the ceiling, you dipped your head down to avoid seeing his reaction.

“Do you still have that dream?” You asked hurriedly.

“... No.”

It wasn’t everyday you heard Sobiesław hesitate. He had a gruff voice that was quick to speak his mind. It was so honest that his thoughts were often unfiltered in Polish and accompanied with colourful curses to add some extra honesty. There was even the odd, throaty, unintelligible sound as his mouth worked quicker than his mind. But here he was, strategising his next words to you.

“I stopped having that dream when I joined SpecGru.”

You blinked, almost fully flinching away from him in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Ah…”

You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself, drawing your knees close to your vitals. While you did not regret joining SpecGru, you knew for a fact it was not for the faint of heart. What made waking up at base easier was the people there, with a certain Polish man heartily hollering good morning to you on the daily at 6am sharp with a voice that consequently woke up the rest of the barracks. The fact he never failed to give you a pat on the back, still having the energy to look optimistically to the next day even with the losses of a mission gone south. Even on quiet nights like these, while few and far between, you would be able to catch a glimpse of the man under the near brutish exterior. Behind the mythos and acts of altruism was a human with their own selfish needs and doubts. A sensitive man who related to you and brought you comfort when the darkness of battle bled over to your consciousness.

You had only hoped you could have done the same for him.

“I take it SpecGru didn’t meet expectations?”

You couldn’t stop the waver in your voice.

“Huh? No, it exceeded them, Serduszko.”

He turned away, back flat on the roof. Once again he looks to the cosmos, honing in on something beyond your comprehension.

“I am not done yet. I still wish to see the glory of Poland, but I want my own happiness.”

“Naturally,” you nod. Out of all the soldiers you knew, no one deserved a happy ending more than him. One where the monster is slain, peace is restored, and the hero lives happily ever after.

“I dream of returning home, I will bring my friends of new to the land of old.”

You offered a light hum of approval. It was such a simple wish, but wasn’t that the case for all heroes? To wish for something so mundane but to naturally bring greatness? Even when their dreams are supposedly selfish, their innate kindness brings glory to the good and delivers swift justice to those necessary.

“You are there,” Sobiesław murmured. Like a dream you question if he even spoke, voice so airy it blended with the rush of the breeze against your ears. Even the coarse edges of his voice become one with the low tones emanating from a nearby ventilation unit.

“You are in all of my dreams.”

Sobiesław is not looking at you, attention still trained on the stars, perhaps waiting for one to shoot across the sky. To make a wish, any little bit of aid to make a dream come true and you’re tempted to try and shoot one down for him with a rifle. Anything for him. Perhaps it was possible to fight selflessly, to bring another’s dream to fruition. Was there such a thing as staying alive for someone else? To spend your missions ensuring you return to base not for your own self, but so Sobiesław will have someone to bring home? But you can not guarantee your own life. You refused to make empty promises - Sobiesław absolutely hates them - so instead, you only offer your flimsy honesty.

“I think that dream is doable.”

“You are the hardest part about it.”

“What?”

You sat up immediately. You shot a light-hearted glare but your heart genuinely felt a pang at the sadness invading Sobiesław’s voice. How his nose twitches, trying to prevent a frown from settling on his face.

“But I’m right here!” You brought both hands to hammer at your chest, nailing in your point. “I better not be kicked out of SpecGru anytime soon. I’d love to be one of the friends you bring back home-”

“Ha!”

Sobiesław lets out a singular laugh, all air escaping his lungs to create a foreign sound that is as bitter as it is loud. You were sure he frightened a couple birds in a nearby tree who decided to migrate early from the disruption. You hoped none of the operators went to bed early else they would have had a nasty wake up call as his voice travelled in all directions, invading any of the open windows in the base.

When the echoes of his laugh settled to the ground, it dragged the warmth in the air with it. A sombre coldness came tenfold, you started to wrap your arms around your form, entering a foetal position as you looked at Sobiesław.

“It is my fault,” his confession comes out in a low groan, bringing up a hand to rub at his face. In between rubs he lets out a few quiet curses, words strained. When he is done, he still isn’t looking at you.

“I do not want to bring you back to Poland as just a friend.”

He dared to look at you and the light in his eyes snatched the air out of your lungs. Even under furrowed eyebrows his pupils were blown wide, taking you in as if you were the stars themselves. All seeing, all knowing. Even though you thought nothing special of yourself he turns to you with reverence as if you were the one who could make all his dreams come true.

You bring your gaze up to the sky, in hopes that the infinite expanse of the universe could do anything for your pounding heart. But they did little to settle your heart or your hasty breaths. The stars above really weren’t anything of wonder, were they? A shooting star is only a meteor, a large rock that will disintegrate in due time. The heroes of the past were often only average joes that were in the right place at the right time. Dreams were only the remnants of memories and experiences being fired off by neurons, to be forgotten in the void once one wakes up.

And yet you couldn’t help but romanticise it all the same.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just like how Sobiesław keeps prancing around the base telling everyone his childhood dreams of a hussar were “fate”, couldn’t you make this fate too? Magical, like a prophecy. A promise that could survive any time or mission, that holds strong even against fate itself. The tale of Sobiesław’s recurring dreams that guide him to glory and consequently to you. A legend of your own.

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

“Take me to Poland as your lover.”

You didn’t think Sobiesław could look at you anymore in awe than before, but tonight was full of surprises. A heavy pause stills the air as he takes just a moment too long to understand your words. You couldn’t help but smile at how his face contorted with shock and confusion, he probably didn’t expect you to reciprocate so suddenly. But just like him, you had been dreaming of a scenario like this.

“You always have such good ideas,” Sobiesław chuckled. His boyish grin is roughened by his ragged features, but it doesn’t make it any less endearing. Pure and genuine, it had been a long time since you had seen such an expression on him. Sitting up, he reaches over to slide you across to him and again you find yourself ogling his impressive musculature. The fibres of his body swelling and flexing, his every move seemed to embody the strength of a hundred warriors. Such power and potential devoted to little old you as Sobiesław pulls you flush to his own body.

He’s like an overgrown heater, his body warmth emanating even through the thick wool of his jumper. Warm as though he was the very campfire that soldiers lit up for peace and respite at the end of a day of bloodshed. But not as warm as the lips that pressed against yours when you tilted your head to look up at him. His lips were a little chapped, the remnants of his celebratory vodka adding a crisp tang to the kiss. His actions driven by sheer passion, an arm now circling your shoulder blades and pulling you impossibly tight to him. You were trapped in his embrace, whole body entranced by his. All that was on your mind was the feeling of his being surrounding you. His calloused hands gripped onto you with a pleasant burn. Even as you struggled to breathe through your nose, your senses were filled with his cologne spiked with the smell of gunpowder and wilderness.

He let out a disapproving huff as you reluctantly pull away from him for some air, but Sobiesław still looks ever the victorious soldier.

“You make me indulge too much, Serduszko,” he exhaled.

You pressed your cheek into the fabric of his jumper, breaking into a fond smile as you cuddle into him.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that meant.”

Sobiesław took a moment to pull his head back far enough to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“It means ‘sweetheart’,” he replied smugly.

You froze.

“You mean, you called me that on missions? When we were talking to our contractors? Our direct superiors?!”

“Uh… Good thing no one else speaks Polish here, yes?”

With a joyous laugh like his, you can’t bring yourself to be angry.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #gromsko x reader #gromsko x you #sobiesław kościuszko x reader #sobieslaw kosciuszko x reader #call of duty #gromsko #gromsko mw2 #mw2 x reader #/*avery actually writes*/

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thornsnvultures · 1 year

Text

bending the rules

older!dilf!Steve Harrington x plus size!fem!Reader

summary: Robin convinces Steve to take a yoga class only to bail on him at the last minute.

cw: alt universe/non-canon, awkward!divorced!Steve (he's been out the game for a minute), fluff, 1.7k words

an: I have like half of a smutty bit for this fic written but it felt kind of tacked on so I left it off. if enough people enjoy this I'll post that bit later. also thank you to @hellfirehottie420 for the yoga class idea and to @ozarkthedog for gassing me up and encouraging me to keep going when I wanted to give up! It's not a big fic but we celebrate little victories here. (divider by @/saradika)

an 2: the model in the moodboard is not representative of the reader insert. there's no physical descriptions in the fic. I just didn't want anyone giving me a hard time with that "fat people can't do yoga" shit. every body is a yoga body. thank you 😌

After Steve's marriage fell through he resigned himself to never doing that again. He made a mess of things the first time around anyway. And not knowing what a happy, stable marriage looked like growing up sure didn't help either.

So when things finally imploded he took it on the chin and vowed to be the best dad he could be. He wouldn't let his failed marriage take that away from him. Dating was off the table and for a long time casual hookups were too; it never felt like the right time.

Robin had insisted on him getting out there, doing something for himself that didn't involve kids or work. Steve used to have fun, he was the king of fun! Now he was sure he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face with a bat. And he sure as hell doesn't know how he let Robin talk him into taking a yoga class at the town rec center.

She was supposed to be here, to help ease him into having some semblance of a social life, but she bailed at the last minute blaming a mix up in her schedule.

"I forgot I already told Nance I'd take her out tonight. Just go! I'll come with you next week, I promise."

Steve sighed, standing outside the classroom doors with his hands on his hips. He can see a few people milling around, chatting and rolling out mats as he hesitates there in the hallway.

"It'll be fine. Just go in, stretch out some old joints and go home. Easy. Nothing to be afraid of. You're not afraid," Steve shook his head. Standing outside and talking to himself wasn’t a good look. Not with this mustache on his face.

He looked through the windowed doors and swallowed, "It's just a room full of women in spandex. You're not a creep, it's exercise, you're here to exercise."

"First time?"

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you standing there smirking at him. Your eyebrows rise and you gesture to the rolled up mat under your arm when Steve takes a little too long to respond.

Shit, should he have brought his own mat?

"Yeah,” Steve croaks and you smile. “I mean, yes. This is the beginner's yoga class, right? My friend was supposed to do it with me but she bailed."

“Ah,” your smile falters a little but you nod and open the classroom doors leaving Steve to wonder what he said wrong.

"They have mats over there if you need one," you point to the stack on the other side of the room then introduce yourself. Steve knows he's staring at you like a hapless idiot but he successfully remembers to give you his name in return, along with an awkward handshake.

"Thank you," Steve doesn't want to let go of your hand, so warm and soft it's messing with his head. "Sorry, I'm, uh, I'm a little nervous. I haven't done anything like this since my 20s."

"What, exercise?"

Steve feels a twinge of pride at the way you glance down at his arm muscles. You furrow your brow and bite your lip and Steve knows you can tell by the way they swell under his short sleeves that you know that can't be true.

"No, I mean going out,” he shrugs, wiggling the mat in his arms, “trying something new."

"Ah," you nod your head and smile again and Steve wonders if you can hear how fast his heart's beating.

You're walking towards the front of the class now with your mat and Steve in tow, asking him what made him want to try yoga of all things. Steve admits his friend Robin had signed him up for the class and that he rarely gets out of the house these days.

“Oh, same,” you nod in understanding and Steve sighs in relief. “I’m so busy between work and going back to school that I barely have time for myself. The yoga studio is my happy place.”

Steve smiles and is about to ask you what you’re going to school for when he's stopped by the teacher suddenly clapping her hands together and calling for everyone to get settled so they can start.

"Can I?" Steve gestures at the spot next to you and you smile again.

"Absolutely."

---

The class passes in a sweaty blur. Steve thought he was in decent shape. He lifts weights in his garage at home, runs a few days a week, and generally takes care of his body. He was an athlete for god's sake, he's familiar with all that jazz. Nope. Steve nearly pulled a few muscles in his back he didn't know he had.

It also didn't help that the shorts he wore to class might've been a little too short. He hoped, for the sake of the woman behind him, that his thighs were the only things he was showing off during downward dog.

You, on the other hand, were a champ. Graceful in your movements and barely breaking a sweat. You admitted to him halfway through the class, as the teacher made her rounds correcting poses, that you usually took the more advanced class but liked to hop in on beginner class days as a refresher on basic poses.

"You're doing great!" You shoot Steve a thumbs up and he feels his face heat at your encouragement but sends a shaky thumbs up back.

Sweat lines his forehead and he pushes his flop of hair back when it falls in his face before moving on to the next pose. His glasses had slid down his face enough times that Steve stopped fussing with them and put them off to the side, but his hair he couldn't do anything about, unruly as it was.

He catches you watching him a few times, once in warrior pose when Steve accidently put the wrong foot forward and wound up facing the opposite direction as the rest of the class. The way you tried to hide your laugh when he pretended like he was surprised to see you there lit him up inside.

The next time he caught you was when he turned his head towards you while tucked in child's pose. It seemed like your eyes were on his legs, maybe checking to see if he was doing the pose right? When you realized he knew you were watching your eyes went wide. Steve smiled and you quickly turned your head back down to the mat. Maybe you weren't checking his form after all. Or maybe you were? Steve couldn’t wrap his head around it. Were you just being nice or had you been checking him out too?

As class wrapped up Steve rolled up his mat and thanked the teacher for her help, promising to not only come back next week but to bring a friend too. He couldn’t wait to make Robin suffer through an hour of this. And you, he had to thank you for making tonight one of the most enjoyable nights he'd had in a long time.

"So I'll see you next week?" You adjust your bag over your shoulder. Most of the rest of the class had left but you didn't look like you were in much of a rush.

"Yeah, I'd love to. I mean, I’ll be here. I had a lot of fun."

"Glad you tried something new?"

Steve swallows at your teasing smile, suddenly feeling like "something new" didn't mean yoga anymore. His eyes drifted down to the light sheen of sweat dotting your chest and he quickly pulled his gaze away.

"Definitely."

"Good," you nodded.

You were starting to walk away. Robin would kick his ass if he didn’t make a move.

"Hey! Uh," you turn around to see Steve reaching out for your arm before pulling his hand back. He stops and scratches the back of his head. "Do you, I mean, would you like to get coffee sometime? As a thank you for…y’know, helping me with my poses."

Steve smiles and hopes he doesn’t look like a dweeb when he fidgets and pushes up his glasses.

"Walk me back to my car?"

The corner of Steve's mouth tilts up and he motions for you to hand over your gym bag. Once it’s tucked into the crook of his arm he nods towards the door at the end of the hall.

"Ladies first."

---

"You looked like a lost puppy. But honestly, it wasn't the first time I've seen a man looking intimidated outside of a yoga studio."

Steve gapes at you as you laugh.

"I was...making sure I had the right room."

"Sure, big guy," you chuckled as you patted Steve's arm.

The two of you finally reach your car and you tap the unlock button but stop before opening the door.

“Thanks for walking me.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you out here by yourself this late at night.”

A group of teens on bikes ride past the rec center a moment later, probably on their way to the well-lit basketball court on the other side of the building where a few other kids are already playing.

“Mhm. All these ruffians around. Why, a girl just doesn’t feel safe ‘round these parts anymore,” you tease in a shy southern belle accent.

Steve chuckles and ducks his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I'm glad you came tonight."

“Me too.”

Steve found himself inching closer to you as your back pressed against your car. "So will you? Get coffee with me, that is?"

You looked up at him through your pretty lashes and Steve didn't care about his age or his creaky joints or his fear of fun. He wanted to find himself again in your eyes. If you'd let him.

"What about your friend? The woman that was supposed to come with you tonight?"

"Hmm? Oh, Robin? I think she'd say you could do better," Steve grimaced, shaking his head. "Her girlfriend would say the same thing."

"Oh," you laugh into your hand. "Gotcha."

"Why'd you ask?"

"No reason. Coffee sounds great," you whisper and lift your chin to press a kiss to Steve's stubbled jaw.

He stands there in the parking lot long after you gave him your number, hastily scribbled on the back of a receipt pulled from your purse, and drove away.

He has to call Robin.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x plus size!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #dilf!steve harrington #older!steve harrington #older!reader #my fics #too much preamble for a relatively short fic #lol

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abibliophobiaa · 10 months

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for your one word prompts i’m going to cheat and pick two, sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’d like a smutty steve harrington with the words : good girl 😌

fwb king!steve harrington x fem!reader. p in v smut and a little angst if you blink because unrequited feelings slipped in. 18+ (900 words)

——

It happens like this more often than you would like to admit.

You and him at a party.

Him, with his dumb ass sunglasses on, peering out over the crowd—in search of you, if you’re honest with yourself.

Bodies shift to and fro with the music around you, hands full of red cups, bathing suits of all kinds on full display. In the pool you catch the beginnings of a game of chicken; two girls on the cheerleading team on the shoulders of some of the basketball boys.

But your eyes always end up on one boy.

Steve Harrington.

Annoyingly full lips, those two kissable birthmarks on his tanned face, bare chested and gleaming in the sunlight. As if he attracts the sun itself, bathing him in a golden hue that dances off the line of his abdominal muscles.

On your right, Tina is telling you about her current dating escapades. All waving hands and frantic movements, lip gloss freshly applied glistening off her rapidly moving lips. And even so, your eyes wander. Her voice fades into the background, muddling with the music spilling out from the speaker system in the backyard.

Steve tips his cup and dips his head toward the garden gate. A sign, if you’ve ever seen one. Lip curling into a grin, he slips out the gate and you return your focus to Tina, offering her words of encouragement before asking her to hold your drink.

After that, it’s a rush across the front yard. A rapid tap of flip flops as you dart around the side street, finding Steve Harrington leaning his back against his car door, head pointed up at the sky. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground, fingers carding through his hair, and folds his arms across his chest.

Waiting.

“They’ll be looking for us soon,” you mutter teasingly.

His eyes watch your hips sway as you approach, roam along your form as your fingers reach down to loosen the top button of your jean shorts. Steve’s arms drop from their position across his chest, barest brushes of his fingers curling around your hips, tugging you flush against his frame.

“Just means I’ll have to make the most of the few minutes we have.”

“You seem so sure of yourself,” you whisper, breaking off into a groan as he cups the back of your head in one hand, and wedges his fingers into your bikini bottom with the other. At the first teasing circle of his middle finger at your clit, he smirks, relishing in the moan that punches it’s way from your chest.

“What was that?”

“Fuck o-o-off.” Another moan, head rolling forward into his chest at the feeling of his thick fingers sinking into your slick center.

“Back seat,” he murmurs lowly, tipping your chin up and kissing you soundly. “Now.”

This part you know. The scramble out of your shorts. The toss of them onto the floor. The quick untying of his bathing suit bottom and a harsh tug downward to free his cock. The velvet feel of him, hot and heavy in your palm. The huff of his breath, the low groan, the whine as you sink down on him inch by inch.

“Always look so pretty like this,” he rasps, a kiss brushing your collar bone. It’s a slow grind down on him. The tops of his thighs hitting the backs of yours, that perfect thumb of his rolling practiced circles over your clit, always knowing what you like. “Fuck. Yes, baby. Just like that.”

Your pace hastens. Eyes on the watch he wears around his wrist, knowing you only have minutes. But then again, that’s all you’ve had these months. Stolen kisses in alleyways, under bleachers at games, in the locker room after his games. Frantic fucks in his BMW after class, late at night when everyone goes to bed on the weekends, at Lover’s Lake, hidden away amidst the trees.

Because it’s Steve.

Steve Harrington who doesn’t date.

Not really.

And neither do you.

Too focused on getting the hell out of Hawkins, trying to make it out there in the world, spread your wings and fly.

His breath is hot against your ear. A rapid pant of his praises and curses against your skin. The sound of your slick with every upward thrust up from beneath you. The tips of his fingers clutching at your hips, leaving those pretty bruises he’ll kiss better tomorrow.

But it’s these moments you pretend.

It’s in these moments, where your palm reaches out and slaps against the window, hips undulating, body rocking, head falling back, that nothing else exists but this feeling.

Whatever this is.

“Oh—oh, mmm, I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” Steve rasps, palm splaying over your bathing suit top. Over your heart. Then slides beneath, gliding over sensitive flesh, mouth swallowing your moan as he rolls your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

The words have their desired effect, your orgasm striking like a bolt of lightning, his arm immediately coming up to hold you tight to his chest as he fucks up into you through it, his eyes pinching shut as his own release rushes through him.

Tomorrow, you’ll continue on with your normal lives. Him passing you in the hall, nodding his head, maybe flashing you a smile. Tomorrow you’ll slide a note in his locker, something cheeky, something flirty, doused in your favorite perfume. Tomorrow you’ll fall into his arms, and then his bed.

Today—today, though, you’ll pretend you don’t wish for more.

Because this is what you agreed on.

No feelings, just feeling.

——

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington blurbs #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you

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brielledoesastrology · 2 years

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How to check if you are going to be famous using your solar return chart 📸✨

Lets get straight to the point here 😌

We are going to use 4 of these asteroids, which is :

- varuna (20000) 🌷= varuna represents fame that is immortal and bigger than "fame", it represents global fame, fame that is immortal and fame that last for a long long time, fame that makes you considered a "king" or a "queen" of something. Fame that is going to be in history forever. (Example : Eminem had varuna conjunct his midheaven in the year 2000 when he released the song "stan" and his biggest album "the real slim shady")

- pholus (5145) 🌷= pholus represents small or basic things you do going big. This can indicate viral fame. (Example : Naomi campbell had a pholus conjunct venus in her solar return chart in the year 1991 when she started to get hugely famous.)

- fama (408) 🌷= fame.

- klio (84) 🌷 = fame that is in history.

If each of these 4 asteroids is conjuncting (only use orb from 0 - 3) your midheaven, ascendant, sun, venus, mercury, mars, moon in your solar return chart then i wish u luck and success.

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anxiousnerdwritings · 2 years

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YanDad!Daemon Targaryen vs YanMama!Rhea Royce?

The custody battle that everyone thought they never wanted but needed it.

They baby daughter who was a result of a reluctant consummation of their wedding night- the child they thought they’d never wanted until they’d finally met them in the flesh after birth. She Targaryen and Royce altogether which I don’t doubt Daemon will smugly say his bby is all Targaryen which will lead to Rhea giving him a snarky comeback in return that they’re definitely a full-on Royce while clinging into their confused bby.

And the best part- Daemon gives her the biggest dragon egg he ever finds from the dragon pit. Then boom! Three dragons comes out of that egg which makes everyone shooketh. 😌

I imagine their child being the result of the one and only time they ever consummated their marriage and Daemon was probably drunk off his ass at the time too. Even if Rhea didn’t like Daemon, she was dutiful in her part of the marriage and that was to give him a child and that’s what she did. It wouldn’t be a surprise of Daemon wanted nothing to do with the child, he did his part in lending his seed, what more was there for him out of this arrangement.

You are right though, it wouldn’t be until their child is born that both of them have a change of heart. They still don’t care for each other and have no need for either to be in their company but having their precious child in the picture would only cause for Daemon and Rhea to be more estranged. Viserys or even Alysanne when she was still alive probably forced Daemon to be there when Rhea was giving birth. Daemon was most likely annoyed and would have rather been literally anywhere other then there but the moment he does set his eyes on his child, he utterly adores them. It’s also probably due to Alysanne that their child has an egg to begin with, she most definitely handed him an egg she picked out herself before sending him off to the Vale.

I imagine their child looking mostly Targaryen except for maybe their eyes, them having Rhea’s eyes or something. This would definitely give Daemon the impression that his child is all Targaryen and no Royce, only for Rhea to bite back that they have her eyes and that when they get older they’ll see him for who or what he really is because of it.

Daemon would want to leave with his child as soon as possible and show them off to everyone and celebrate. Not to mention get away from his wife. He would really not want to leave his bby with Rhea knowing damn well she’ll shit talk him to their child. He’d rather be a single father and raise his child to his standards then leaving them to be raised by Rhea. And no them co-parenting together is not even a thought nor would it be a good one.

It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that once Daemon sees and holds his child for the first time that’s when he decides for sure that Rhea needs to go. Doesn’t help that she probably made a comment about their child being the only good things he’s ever done or something that would rub him the wrong way.

Given when Daemon and Rhea get married it wouldn’t be a surprise if their child and Rhaenyra were childhood friends, Daemon would especially ensure that it happens, whether Rhea allows him to leave with their child and take them to King’s Landing or not. And we all know Daemon would totally take their child without Rhea’s knowledge or permission.

As their child grows up I think Daemon and Rhea will come to the unwanted realization that their child is the dangerous mix of both of them. And neither particularly likes that the other is so prominently ingrained in their child’s development. But that doesn’t make them care for their child any less, if anything it makes both of them want to further bring out their own behaviorism and tendencies out of their child.

In regards to their child’s dragon egg, I think it would be even better if instead of three dragons hatching from the same egg, it is instead a three headed dragon. It would be even cooler if the three heads breathed a different color of dragonflame.

#anxious answers #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere rhea royce #yandere house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon concept #yandere game of thrones #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

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dawninlatin · 1 year

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Can I have a sketch with Manorian where Manon is pregnant and Dorian is taking care of her??😭 I love these vanilla

Hiii anon🌞

By sketch, I sincerely hope you mean drabble, bc I absolutely cannot draw🫣 I can write tho, so I hope you enjoy this teensy tinsy snippet since I’m currently on vacation in Copenhagen without my laptop😌 (yes i’m just typing on my phone so pls forgive all errors lmao)

Hi this is me again two days later, at home with my laptop:) As usual what started out as a drabble turned into a whole-ass fic, but I hope you still enjoy it:):) Also I've never been pregnant (and thank god for that) so I take no responsibility for any inaccuracies....

~~~

Manorian one shot, canonverse, 1,5k words

Manon slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the morning sun shining through the curtains. She wasn’t sure what had woken her up this time, but the sunlight meant she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, at least.

With a sigh, she tried to get comfortable, even if that was impossible these days. Next to her, a still-asleep Dorian shifted, throwing an arm over her middle and snuggling close.

He mumbled something Manon couldn’t make sense of, but she just shoved at him, hissing «Don’t touch me.»

«I just wanna cuddle,» he murmured, his lips caressing her neck in a way that usually would have had Manon wanting and ready.

Instead, she let out a huff, and gave a weak attempt at swatting him away once more, when he didn't move. Manon was usually strong enough to just push him away from her, but right now she couldn't find the energy to bother.

«Just cuddling is what got us in this situation in the first place.» Manon looked at her round belly as she spoke, the thing so big she resembled a beached whale. She couldn’t fathom how she still had a month and a half left to get even bigger.

Safe to say, Manon wasn’t particularly enjoying pregnancy. In fact, she hated it, and couldn’t wait for it to be over so she could have their witchling and her body back.

She was nothing like the insufferable ladies at court, though, who only spoke in hushed voices about avoiding strechmarks and staying tight down thereso that Dorian would still desire her.

Yes, she missed sleeping comfortably and moving freely, but in the end, the only thing that mattered was that their witchling was born alive and healthy.

And her current state did nothing to quell Dorian’s desire, it seemed, given by the stiff cock pressing against her thigh at the moment.

That’s his problem to deal with, Manon thought grumpily as she once more pushed his shoulder.

There had been a few months in the middle of her pregnancy, after she’d stopped puking all day and night but before the constant fatigue and body aches, where she’d been insatiable, jumping Dorian at any opportunity, but sex these days required too much moving on her part, so their couplings were few and far between.

«Dorian, move. I’m too warm and clammy for cuddling.» It sounded more like a whine than she’d like, but whining seemed to be her default mode for communicating lately.

Manon also really had to pee, but she always really had to pee, so the heat was the most unbearable at the moment.

They had arrived in Rifthold three days ago for the King’s upcoming birthday celebration, but given that Dorian had been born in the middle of summer, it had been three days of bright sun, no wind and a much too high temperature.

Already, Manon longed to return to the Witch Kingdom. Yes, it may be summer there as well, but it’s location on the western coast of Erilea meant a constant, cooling wind blowing in from the vast ocean. She would give anything right now to feel that wind on her face.

The plan had been to stay for two weeks to attend the royal birthday celebration, and then return to the Witch Kingdom together, where they would remain until well after their witchling was born, but Manon’s hips and pelvis had been aching for days now, the pain only increasing, and she wasn’t sure she could make the trip back to the Wastes if it got much worse. The mere possibility filled her with anxiety.

They had discussed this long ago, how important it was to Manon that their child was born in the Witch Kingdom. Both because she wanted the comfort of being surrounded by her own, but also because while the curse had been lifted, witches were still wary of giving birth on the previously barren land, fearing it would lead to a stillborn witchling, so if their heir was born on foreign soil, it would send the wrong kind of message.

Manon couldn’t lie still for a moment longer, so she gave the still-sleeping king one final shove, glad that he actually moved this time, then rolled out of bed and waddled her way to the bathing chamber, as she’d done so many times earlier that night.

After what seemed like an eternity, Manon returned to their bedchamber to find Dorian awake and out of bed, pulling on a shirt. It annoyed her to no end that he could look so good after just waking up.

How miserable she felt must have been written on her face, because the king gave her a look filled with sympathy. «How was your night?»

Stopping in the middle of the room, Manon sighed «Terrible.» The day had barely begun, but she could already feel tears trying to escape. That was another thing she hated with being pregnant. There were so many emotions. All. The. Time. In one moment, she could storm out of a room in anger simply because Dorian’s presence annoyed her so much, but then in the next she could come back crying, needing to be in his arms, sobbing that «she was sorry for being so mean».

It truly marveled her, how she’d gotten to this point. Standing in the bedchamber she shared with the King of Adarlan, her husband, whom she had married not for alliance or plotting, but love, wearing a loose linen dress, the only item of clothing comfortable enough and big enough to fit her enormous belly because she was so very pregnant, and trying not to burst into tears in front of said husband, which was no worry, really, since she did it all the time now, but she still tried to keep some of her dignity.

Sensing that she neared another breakdown, Dorian came over to her, standing behind her. Manon leaned against him, her back to his front, and his hands immediately went to her belly, caressing it. «How can I make it better?»

Manon didn’t answer him, only closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his arms. How clingy she’d gotten had been one of the first signs of her pregnancy, as it was common for witches, along with the nausea.

Then Dorian did something incredible. He placed his hands underneath her belly and lifted it, taking almost all the weight off of her hips and pelvis.

Feeling her whole body straighten, Manon let out a moan, her head falling backwards to rest against Dorian’s shoulder.

When in addition, an ice-kissed wind summoned by the king’s raw magic caressed her face, the relief was so great Manon did start to cry.

«What’s the matter, witchling?» Dorian asked as silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

She merely leaned into him further.

Manon had spent 117 years of her immortal life locking every emotion, every fear, deep within herself, never showing any weakness or vulnerability, so getting to a point where she could be real and raw with Dorian had been hard, and she still struggled with communicating her needs at times.

Dorian pressed a light kiss to her jaw. «Talk to me, love.»

«I want to go home.» The words came out as a whisper, but Dorian heard them. He hummed, a phantom hand brushing her hair out of her face. The pure love in those simple gestures urged her to go on.

«I can’t take the heat here. I’m always uncomfortable now, but the heat makes it unbearable! It feels like I’m suffocating. And what if I can’t make it back to the Wastes in two weeks? What if I’ll have to give birth here?»

«Then we’ll go back now,» Dorian said, his calm voice grounding her, if only a little. «I need a few hours to arrange things, but if you need to go back, we’ll go back.»

Even if it was exactly what she wanted, Manon shook her head, feeling selfish for making him drop everything just for her. He was a king, after all, and while they had spent as much time together as possible throughout her pregnancy, he still had responsibilities here.

«We can’t just go back. You need to stay here for your birthday celebration, and I don’t want to go back alone.» She let out a sob at the thought. Witches going into labour early wasn’t uncommon, and the thought of giving birth to their witchling without Dorian there scared her more than anything.

«Fuck that. The people care more about the celebration in itself than what they’re celebrating.»

Manon was about to protest, but Dorian stopped her.

«What’s most important to me, is you, Manon, and our witchling,» a phantom hand stroked her belly at that, «and if traveling back to the Wastes is what’s best for you right now, that’s what we’ll do.»

Placing her hands over Dorian’s, Manon nodded once, feeling a little less scared, a little more ready for what was to come. «That’s what we’ll do.»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @celestialams @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn@sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane @zoyalovesbooks

#ask #manorian #manon x dorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass

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