#[good lord I have way more these than I thought I did lmao]

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple finale - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: so um ignore how long every part of this took to come out. i have no excuse. anyways we are finally here at the end!! almost 10k words of proper regency soap opera type shit and it all ends happily i promise. i hope u enjoy because damn this was supposed to be a short one shot and ended up being over 40k lmao

wc: 9k

warning(s): angst, reader is a lil insecure, slightly steamy make out scene, happy ending<333

You’d never been this restless before. 

Your dreams had a part to play in it. They insisted on tormenting you, though not in the usual way. 

No, these dreams would have been pleasant had they come any sooner. For Anthony Bridgerton appeared in near every single one, with his charming smile and soft eyes and hair you always desired to run your fingers through. 

He would smile at you, offer his arm and walk with you all around the park and the city as you talked for hours. He would compliment you, and you would compliment him, and he would court you as a perfect gentleman would. 

He would kiss you, ravenously so. His hands would touch you where no one had touched before, leaving trails of fire in their wake, would unearth feelings you never could have imagined. He would revere you, near worship you, because in this world you never made such ill-advised choices. In this world, you never dragged him into a worthless scheme that ended with a ruined reputation and a broken heart.  

In this world, he loved you just as much as you loved him, and you never did a single thing to make him doubt that. 

But you were not there. 

You were here, in the real world. Where you were in the midst of reaping what you spent a whole season sowing. 

You were roused from that less than peaceful attempt at sleep—though thoughts of Anthony took longer to disappear—by the opening of your door, and despite your visitor attempting to be quiet, you found your eyes fluttering open against your will.

“Oh, dearest,” your mother lamented, “I did not mean to wake you. I apologize; I merely wanted to check on you. I will return later—please, rest.”

“No,” you murmured, and you rubbed your eyes as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Small movements were much easier, which at least meant a step in the right direction. “No, stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. When you nodded, she closed the door lightly behind her and sat on your bedside, laying her hand over yours. 

She whispered your name, her voice already thick with tears that she was trying to hide. “I am so glad you are alright.” 

“You say that every time you come in here,” you said.

“And I will continue to say it.” She shook her head. “You nearly perished. You should consider yourself lucky I am not in here at all hours of the day.” 

You managed a smile, and she sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “I am still sore, but much better.”

“Good,” she said. “All I can ask is that you continue to get better.” 

“The rest has certainly been nice,” you said. “Am I still a true lady despite my late wakings?” 

“You have always been a true lady,” your mother assured with a slight smile. 

“I believe you may be the only one that still thinks so.” 

“If you are feeling ready, there is a ball in a fortnight,” she said. “It could be a good way to garner good will again.” You gave her a look, and she held up her hands. “I understand how you feel, but your presence is important. There are… rumors floating about, and we must lay them to rest.” 

“Rumors,” you muttered wryly. “That your daughter is an ungrateful wench and will die a spinster?” 

She said your name sternly, and you shook your head. “I read what Whistledown wrote about me—she’s likely written a hundred more. I do not care what any of them think of me, Mother. I am only sorry for the pain it has caused you and Father, and the Bridgertons.” 

“The Bridgerton name is strong enough to weather scandal,” she said. “We have to work a bit harder. And making an appearance in society again, especially with Lord Cardew by your side, will help.” 

You suppressed a scoff at the mere thought of him. You’d been granted such a reprieve from Lord Cardew because of Anthony’s influence, and while you were recovering, no one but family was to see you. But soon—very soon—he would be your entire life. 

“That brings up another question,” your mother said wryly, and when you met her eyes she was giving you a very pointed look. “Are you still sure about this?” 

No, you wanted to say. You couldn’t be less sure about Jonathan Cardew. But you’d dragged your family into this mess of yours, so it was your duty to fix it. 

Plenty of women married much more dreadful men every year. You should have considered yourself lucky that a man of his breeding, of his standing was interested in you at all—especially after the season you’d spent distancing yourself from him and the scandal you’d caused. 

“...Yes,” you finally said. “I am sure.”

Your mother sighed and said your name. “You are sure? You have not reached out to Anth—” 

“There is nothing left between us,” you interrupted. “I know it is not the best situation, and I know it is my fault, but I am making the best of it. All I ask is that you support me. It is hard enough attempting to make my way through this world—I need my mother to be there for me rather than constantly pushing against it all.”

“...Of course,” she said quietly. “And I am so sorry that I have ever done differently. My dear, all I ask in return is that you understand me, as well as the decisions I make. All I want is the best for you, and I know that marriage is not what you desire, but there are things we must do.” 

“Of course,” you said, and your echoing words spurned a small smile from her. “I am sorry that I have always fought you so much. All I could see was my hatred for any kind of union, but all I managed was hurting you and Father, as well as myself, and— and I cannot think of any apology that will be enough.” You shook your head with a mirthless laugh. “I’ve no idea how you put up with me for so long, truly.” 

“I’ve never had to put up with you,” she said. “I realize I may not have done the best job at showing it, but— but I love you more than anything in this world. Everything I have ever done has been for you, my darling. You are the future of our name, and I know you will do an excellent job at carrying on our legacy.” 

“Truly?” you asked softly. 

Your mother nodded as she took your hands and smiled at you. “Truly. Nothing in this world can change my love for you. You are our greatest accomplishment.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat as you smiled as well, and you pulled your mother into a hug. She reciprocated, and tears filled your eyes. You’d missed the comfort of her presence so dearly. 

“I love you too,” you whispered. 

-

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

Your lady’s maid's words snapped you out of the stupor you’d found yourself in, and it was all you could do to attempt a smile. 

“Yes, Julia,” you said. “Quite alright.” 

Her brows furrowed as she draped a pendant around your neck, the cold metal turning your exhale slightly shaky. “Pardon my plainness, my lady, but you are not believable in the slightest.” 

“You have been around me for far too long,” you said dryly. “I request another maid, one that cannot read me so easily.” 

Julia offered a wry smile. “You are stuck with me for now, my lady. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?” 

You stared yourself in the mirror as you turned the question over. It was not as easy to answer as it should have been, not when everything was so out of order. Not when you hardly recognized the reflection staring back at you, wrapped in orange silk and adorned in jewels courtesy of Lord Cardew. 

You were not yourself—you were to be Baron Jonathan Cardew’s wife, a baroness and status symbol to hang off his arm and smile prettily, and Baroness Cardew was who stared back at you. 

Only a few more balls remained until the season came to an end, and though Lord Cardew was doing your family an immense service by giving you a second chance, he did not want to wait much longer to make it official. 

It was all planned out. Your relationship would truly enter the public eye tonight with your dances, you would promenade in open parks to have as many eyes on you as possible. He would call on you and your meager staff would be encouraged to spread rumors. Another ball would pass together, enough to hopefully weather some of the scandal you’d created, and then…

Then, he would propose. 

You would accept. 

And the fate you’d been so intent on avoiding would be sealed. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the impending tears. 

“I am nervous,” you admitted. “My decision didn’t exactly feel… real. Not until I was standing at the modiste getting fitted for this gown with one of Cardew’s maids. And all this jewelry…” Your fingers trailed across the raised designs on the pendant. “It makes it even more so.” 

“I can only imagine,” Julia said. “He has certainly put in effort.” 

“And yet it all feels hollow.” You moved away from the mirror and stopped in front of your vanity. The light blue reticule sitting near your jewelry box felt as if it was mocking you. 

Julia said your name with a sigh. “You made your choice. You pushed him away.” 

“I know,” you murmured, tracing the embroidery with your finger. “But feelings do not disappear so quickly.” 

“He wrote letters,” she said. “After you moved from Bridgerton House to recover here, after I refused his calling on you for the hundredth time, he wrote letters and delivered them by hand.” 

You picked at a loose strand of white thread on the purse, jaw clenched so tight you thought your teeth might crack. 

“He told me he did not care if you didn’t want them,” Julia continued softly. “He just needed you to know how he felt.” 

“This is how it has to be,” you finally said, voice shaking. 

“And what makes you think that?” Julia challenged. “You believe you have to live a life of misery simply because half the ton does so in the name of reputation and riches?” 

“Two things I no longer have any of,” you murmured. “Cardew’s pedigree is enough to get both back for my family. It is my duty, Jules, and I can no longer hide from it.” 

Your lady’s maid looked at you with desperation in her eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by your mother calling your name. You nodded your permission and she opened it.

“Lady Worthing,” she said, curtsying just so to your mother. “I’ve finished getting her ready—I’ll give the two of you some time alone.” 

“Thank you, Julia,” your mother said with a smile. She turned back to you, her eyes softer than ever as she moved forward and set her hands on your shoulders. 

“My darling,” she said, “you look so beautiful. I did not lie when I called you the crown jewel of our family.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Thank you, Mother. I’m glad I can make you proud.” 

She murmured your name, turning you so you faced the mirror. You saw yourself more this time, feeling more assured with your mother standing behind you holding all the stars in her eyes. 

“I have always been proud of you, darling,” she murmured. “Even if I did not show it in the best way. I love you more than words can express. I meant it when I said you are our greatest achievement.” 

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against her. She allowed you to sink into her and you felt the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“...I’m afraid, Mother,” you whispered. “To marry. To be a wife.” 

She was silent for a moment, busying herself with adjusting your jewelry before she spoke.

“I was afraid too,” she admitted. “I hardly knew your father outside of a few promenades, and one lovely bouquet of flowers. It was almost fully arranged by our parents. But when he proposed, he vowed to always be my friend, and to always take care of me.” 

“Has he?” you asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “We did not love each other on our wedding day. But he has always been kind to me, and he has always advocated for me, and we have always been there for each other. We love each other now, in our own way. And,” she smiled, smoothing down the lace on your sleeves, “together, we brought you into the world. I would do it all over again if it meant I would get you in the end.” 

You could not imagine considering Lord Cardew a friend, nor the opposite. He saw you as just another pretty jewel to adorn himself with. 

Anthony saw you as a friend— as more. He always listened to what you had to say, always entertained your jokes with some of us own, never talked down on you. He saw you as an equal. 

 “I do not know if any woman is prepared to marry,” she finally said. “Even those that marry for love still have initial doubts. There are so many expectations of our behavior when we are told so little of what we must actually do.” 

“How do you do it?” you asked. “You married a man you didn’t know. You raised a child. You held face against a society that shamed you for only having a daughter.” 

“All you can do is trust in yourself, and in those around you,” she said. “If you are with the right person, everything will feel as natural as breathing. You will not care what anything thinks of you, because there is only one opinion that matters.” 

There was one man you felt natural around, one who you felt you could speak your mind around and not be judged. One man that you’d fallen in love with, that surely hated you in return for what you’d done to him. 

Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. “What should I do, Mother?” 

“You know what you must do,” she said softly. “All I can do is support you.” 

-

You’d rubbed your palms on your dress at least fifteen times since you’d arrived. A fruitless effort, considering you were wearing gloves, but you could not stand still. 

Your conversation with Lord Cardew had taken everything out of you, your dance with him even more so—an especially damning fate seemed ahead of you. But you could tune him out well enough, at least. 

It was an entirely different deal when the Bridgertons showed up. 

Violet walked in arm and arm with Anthony and Benedict, and Colin had a loose hold on Eloise. And to make matters worse, Daphne Bridgerton, alongside her husband the Duke of Hastings, were making an appearance. What an honor, to have the chance to embarrass yourself in front of such highly ranking nobles. 

Eloise branched off immediately after they passed the threshold, much to the protests of her mother, but your mother immediately pulled you in their direction. You could only imagine her thoughts—if she could get the Duke of Hastings touting for the Worthings, that would make things much easier.  

Anything for the optics, you supposed. But when you met Anthony’s eyes for the first time, you had to avert your gaze. He just looked so damn sad. 

“It is good to see you again, Violet,” your mother said. “And it is an honor, Duke and Duchess Hastings.” The both of you curtsied, and you could see the Duke’s slight smile. 

“I consider it my honor to meet the woman who has been the center of such conversation this season,” he said. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and thankfully Violet stepped in. 

“It is good to see you as well, Cecilia.” Violet smiled as she looked at you. “Especially you, my dear.” 

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, Duke Hastings. I am grateful to be here.” 

Benedict smiled, the notion warmer than anything you deserved. “You look lovely, Miss Worthing. Especially for someone who escaped death with such recency.”

Anthony’s eyes remained on you the entire time, and more than anything you wished you could read this mind. The man probably hated you, and he had every right to do so. You just wished your feelings for him weren’t so insurmountable. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled as believably as you could. “Thank you, Mister Bridgerton. You also look well.”

Your mother nudged your shoulder and your gaze met Anthony’s once more. He still hadn’t looked away from you. 

You bowed your head once more. “Lord Bridgerton. It… is good to see you.”

No wonder you actually ended up falling in love with Anthony. It was the only way anyone could believe this ruse—you were quite an awful actress. 

Anthony lowered his head as well, his poise stiff. “A pleasure, Miss Worthing.”

“We’re glad to see you’re doing well,” Violet said, her smile a bit thin. You could only imagine the conversation that would occur between her and your mother later. “You caused us all quite a scare.”

“Oh, Anthony was so worried,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m thankful we have the chance to attend this ball so I could see you in person.” 

“I’ve recovered well,” you nodded, and you looked at Violet. “My family and I thank you immensely for your kindness and your doctor’s care. We’ll be in your debt endlessly.”

“There is no need for that,” Violet said. “It is enough that you are still here.”

Your cheeks burned but you tried to smile anyways. You wanted to burrow into a hole and never come out. It seemed the Bridgertons were capable of endless grace in public when they surely had to despise you. 

“Eloise has run off somewhere over near the strings,” Benedict provided in the silence. “I’m sure she would appreciate your companionship tonight.”

You glanced at your mother and she nodded, and your smile at Benedict was much more genuine. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to talk with her.” 

You mouthed thank you to him when your mother could not see, and he nodded. He’d always been so decent to you. 

You could not help but glance at Anthony as you went, and his gaze followed you. He would resent you if he had any sense, but it seemed the opposite—the sadness in his eyes was fatal.

You took a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table when you passed it, needing something to do with your hands. You found your way to Eloise’s side soon enough, and her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you.

“It is so good to see you,” she breathed. “I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already had to fend off suitors. They just cannot seem to understand I hold such little care for them.” 

“I am just as glad to see you,” you admitted. “I do not think I can get through this night alone.” 

“I cannot imagine why,” Eloise said sarcastically. “I’ve heard the news. And I must say, it is your poorest decision this season.”

Your laugh was mostly out of surprise, and you nearly dropped the flute of lemonade you were holding. You were on edge far more than you expected—you almost wished your glass was full of champagne. 

“At least somebody is speaking plainly,” you murmured, your gaze distant and unfocused. “I think the rest of your family must hate me, but they’re all too kind to say it.” 

Eloise frowned. “Why would any of them hate you?” 

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Because I caused an immense scandal and then ended things with Anthony?”

She huffed a laugh, her eyebrows now rising. “Our family has weathered many a scandal, and we are still here. Or have you forgotten how Daphne’s dearest husband chose to court her?”  

“That is different,” you insisted. 

“I think it is worse, actually,” Eloise said plainly. “Simon is a duke, and Anthony nearly killed him before Daphne knocked some sense into him.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Truly, it was a disaster. We Bridgertons have a knack for them.” 

“As do I,” you said with a loose laugh. “I was stabbed, Eloise. I nearly died in your brother’s arms.” 

“And we nearly died in our drawing room,” she said. “Anthony, most of all. He cares for you immensely.” 

“Surely he cannot,” you insisted. “Not after what I’ve done.” 

“I am not blind,” Eloise said, “and neither are you. So do not demerit our intelligence and pretend as if you do not see it.” 

“I— I know.” You wrapped your arms around your midsection, and you grimaced as the jewelry on your wrists brushed against your skin. You were covered head to toe in finery that didn’t belong to you, and you itched from the inside out. “But I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Eloise looked across the room, where Lord Cardew stood talking to your mother, and then over at her brother, who couldn’t have been less interested in the lady trying to strike up conversation with him. Then her gaze fell to you. “You’ve got a choice to make.” 

“I’ve already ruined things,” you murmured. “I— I can’t just back out of this.”

“I can tell you that you certainly haven’t ruined things with my brother. And Lady Whistledown’s speculation is the only thing binding you to that lecher.” Eloise shrugged. “You’ve already broken off one courtship. What’s another?”

Your eyes met Anthony’s from across the room. Once again, he’d already been looking at you. You averted your gaze quickly, feeling the heat rush to your face, and you tried to steady your breathing. He had no right to still have such an effect on you. 

“I need some air,” you murmured. “Will you—”

“Of course,” Eloise said. “You are simply touching things up in the powder room.”

You nodded your thanks and slipped out of the ballroom, finally able to drop the facade you’d been trying to uphold. You truly felt as if you were overheating, and the cool air was hardly of aid once you reached the outdoors.

Everything was all wrong—your dress, this damned tiara, the bracelets and the necklaces and every jewel that Cardew thought he could buy you with. 

It all belonged to him. You would not be another prize on his shelf. 

You couldn’t help yourself. You began to shed the jewelry as your pace sped up, ripping bangles from your wrists and pendants from your neck—by the time you reached a deserted area of the gardens, you were considerably lighter and considerably close to tears. 

You let out a frustrated sob as you slammed your fists against some artistic stone structure. It earned you nothing but pain, but it grounded you in some strange way. You tore off your gloves and threw them to the ground, a shaky breath escaping you as you screwed your eyes shut and  pressed your palms to your forehead. 

You could not marry traditionally, you could not follow through with your feelings for Anthony, and now you could not follow through with this ill-advised plan. 

Were you truly this useless? To bring ruin to two families with your knack for destroying things for it all to amount to nothing? You waxed poetic about the life you thought you deserved to live, about going to university and gaining your independence and never marrying, and yet here you were, near tears in the gardens of the ball you were meant to reenter society at. 

“Miss Worthing.”

The whispered words blared through the silence, and you knew who it was without having to turn around. It still sent a shock through you, your breathing faltering for a moment. Your eyes stayed shut. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice watery. 

“You do not know me if you think there is anywhere else I would be,” he said. 

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the trail of jewels. You’ve left an awfully expensive path in your wake.”

“All of it is worthless,” you mumbled, finally letting your hands drop. “It all belongs to Lord Cardew.”

“You’ll have made a magpie very happy.” 

“Enough with the jokes,” you said. “Why are you here?” 

“Why do you think?” Anthony asked with a slight laugh. 

“I do not know,” you responded. “That is why I asked.” 

“I am here because I want to talk to you,” he said. “You cannot just avoid me for the rest of the season.”

You turned away. “I can try.”

“I will not let you,” Anthony enunciated. “I will not let you make the biggest mistake of your life because you believe it is your duty.”

“If you are here to change my mind, you are wasting your time,” you said stiffly. 

“I don’t believe I have to do anything,” Anthony said. “It looks as if you’ve come to the conclusion yourself.” 

“And what makes you think that?”

“You have not even glanced in Cardew’s direction this entire night,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me instead.” 

“Because I have felt your eyes on me with every moment.” 

Anthony huffed. “Can you blame me? This is the first time I have seen you since that night.” 

“Then you should remember my words from that night,” you bit out. 

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away?” Anthony begged. 

You scoffed. “Why are you so intent on bothering me?”

“Because I cannot stand here and watch you marry another!” he exclaimed.

Your brows furrowed and you turned around. Anthony stood in front of you, his outfit impeccable but not at all looking put together. Desperation colored his eyes, and you saw how truly undone he’d become. 

“I— I thought I could, but I cannot.” He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he glanced away. “Every moment you are in the vicinity of that man is a test of my strength. And I do not know how strong I am.” 

“I don’t understand,” you said hollowly. “You should hate me.” 

“I could never hate you,” Anthony murmured. “I thought I could, when you first told me of your plans, but— but I could hardly even dislike you.” A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “My mother had been bothering me for nearly a decade to find a wife and settle down, but I thought love was a fool’s game. I would have my fun as a bachelor, and then settle down with the most advantageous match. There was no need for further emotional baggage—when you love, you can lose. And I refused to lose again.” 

For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. He lost his father, he nearly lost you, and then you pushed him away like he meant nothing. 

“Anthony—” you whispered, but he shook his head. 

“Please,” he said. “I have a lot to say.” 

You nodded, and he did as well. 

“Our deal was perfect for that. You were nothing but my sister’s nuisance of a friend—a bad influence that I could never see as more.” You could not help your soft laugh, and Anthony’s smile turned a bit more genuine. 

“But then we spent more time together. I… truly began to know you.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You shattered every preconception I had of you. I began to look forward to our meetings, to our promenades—I would get home from calling on you and could think only of the next time I would see you.” 

“Throughout it all, you made me realize I was worthy of love,” he said. “You— you made me realize that I wanted it. That I wanted you.” His throat bobbed, and you could see his eyes glistening. “That I loved you.” 

You could hardly find the strength to speak. You felt as if you could melt into a puddle at his feet just from his words. You were so intent on avoiding Anthony because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him anymore— you believed he would be better off without you, without the scandal you’d dragged him into. 

But he… he loved you. 

He loved you just as you loved him. 

“I do not expect you to share any of my notions, and I know you value your freedom more than anything,” Anthony murmured. “So if it is not me you wish to be with, I understand, and I will accept it without complaint. I just beg of you—do not become that wretched man’s wife.” 

All you could do was stare at him for a moment more, words beyond your reach before you finally managed to speak through your emotions. 

“I tried to tell myself the exact same thing,” you said softly. “That you could not be happy with me. That I could never be happy chained to another—truly, that I could never love. Not when freedom is what I have always desired most. But Anthony…” you moved forward until you were mere centimeters apart, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through you at the proximity, “I have never felt more free than when I am with you.” 

“Miss—” Anthony started, but he paused and shook his head before saying your first name instead. His eyes were softer than anything. “Are you truly…?” 

“I could never fathom you sharing my feelings,” you said thickly. “That is why I pushed you away. But I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I think I have loved you for quite some time.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, turning away so as to not betray the fullness of your emotions, and though you opened your mouth to provide some excuse, you were not granted the chance. 

Anthony’s hand encircled your wrist, pulling you back around, and just as soon did you feel his lips against yours. The tightness in your chest dissolved almost immediately as you all but fell into him, Anthony wrapping his arms around you to support you as your hands found purchase on anything they could. 

Your focus became devoted solely to the feeling of him, his soft lips against yours even as they plied for access. Anthony held you as if his only desire were to protect you from the world, and it made you feel a way you’d never even imagined. Only when air became a necessity did he pull away, his labored breaths in contrast to the pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Never in a thousand years did I think you would feel the same,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face on either side as he gazed into your eyes. “I thought myself a fool, falling for the one woman I could not have. You’ve no idea the relief it brings to hear you share my feelings.”

“I suppose I am just as foolish as you,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it could burst. 

The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. “I cannot imagine what my mother would think—that after so long spent searching for a wife, I fell for the one woman who never wanted the title.” 

You let out an airy laugh, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. “Nor did I see myself falling for the one man who resented the chains of marriage as much as I.” 

Anthony pressed his lips against yours once more, and your hands traveled up until they tangled in his hair. You kissed until you were nearly breathless, but Anthony still managed to pull a very unladylike sound out of you as he bowed his head, kissing down the line of your jaw, your neck, until his teeth nipped your skin just above your decolletage.

“Anthony,” you gasped, clenching your fingers as they buried themselves further into his dark locks. You had never been this close with a man before, never this intimate — you never thought you would even desire it. 

But Anthony lit a fire inside of you that only he could quench, and yet the only thing he seemed to do was stoke it further. It was equally maddening and dizzying, the control he so effortlessly had over you. 

“I never knew how much I would delight in hearing you say my name,” he murmured, his lips trailing against your skin. “No more Lord Bridgerton, I beg of you.”

“I should think I’d like to hear you beg—” you breathed, but Anthony cut you off yet again as he pulled you into another searing kiss. You could hardly stand it anymore as your hands fell down to his shoulders, and you pulled away for just a moment as you began desperately undoing his waistcoat, Anthony taking the hint and removing his jacket. 

“These buttons were not designed with the needs of a lady in mind,” you huffed in frustration, fumbling fingers failing to make progress, and Anthony chuckled breathlessly.

“Have we finally found something I best you in?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Just take it off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

You groaned as you looked at him. “If you insist on teasing me this way, Lord Bridgerton, I shall go back inside and act as if nothing has happened.”

“There is no need for idle threats,” he defended, and you bit back your smile. Anthony made deft work of his waistcoat, and the second he tossed it aside he was back on you. 

“Besides,” his voice was a whisper a millimeter from your ear, and warmth blazed in your core, “I believe I told you to call me Anthony.”

“And I believe you should have to try harder than that.” You smiled into his kiss as you trailed your nails down his back, the thin fabric of his dress shirt doing little as you felt his involuntary shiver. 

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me,” he groaned, once again dipping his head as he peppered even more kisses down your neck, sliding down the sleeve of your dress to allow himself better access. 

The night air on your newly freed skin did little for you, any coolness of the breeze instantly negated by the heat of Anthony against you. Your nails dug into his back as he moved down, each spot where his lips touched your skin erupting with fire. 

You gasped out his name, barely able to handle it—the feeling was so foreign yet familiar, as if you had been waiting all your life for Anthony in this way. 

You could hardly believe you nearly lost it of your own accord. 

“It appears I do not have to try hard at all,” he said, “the way you cry out for me.” 

You laughed breathlessly, though his words were indeed true. You knew, in this moment, that you would do anything for Anthony Bridgerton—and he would do anything for you. “How I fell for a man as irritating as you, I haven’t the slightest.” 

You caught the slightest glimpse of his grin before he ducked his head yet again, and he had only just begun pushing both sleeves of your dress down when a woman’s voice could be heard behind you. 

“Anthony— oh!” 

The unfamiliar voice struck fear into your heart you had never felt the likes of before. Anthony moved away from you quicker than you’d ever seen, you just as hasty as you tugged the sleeves of your dress back to where they belonged and attempted to smooth out everything that Anthony had so easily sullied. 

You’d never imagined this was how your reputation would be ruined, with Anthony Bridgerton in the gardens of some ball, but when you finally had the sense to look and see who had caught you in a most uncompromising position, you could hardly stifle your incredulous laugh. 

“Sister?” Anthony questioned in disbelief, so many emotions warring on his face you had to turn away to cover up your growing grin. 

“Anthony,” Daphne greeted in kind, fighting to conceal her smile as her eyes drifted to you. “Miss Worthing.” 

“Your Grace!” Your shaky fingers were hardly of use to you as you pulled your gloves back up to where they belonged and once again ran your hands down the skirt of your dress to smooth out the wrinkles. Your cheeks burned under her gaze and you were innately aware of the fire underneath your skin brought about by Anthony’s touch in contrast to the cool night air. “What brings you here?” 

“Mother was quite… nervous about tonight,” she explained. “She indulged in one too many glasses of champagne, so she is taking her leave with Benedict for aid. She requested I find you to alert you of her departure, but it seems she was not the one whose disappearance should have been questioned.” 

“I’m sure you know this is quite compromising.” Thinly veiled amusement crossed Daphne’s face as she eyed you pointedly. “I am afraid you must marry him at once Miss Worthing, else I shall have to duel you to protect my brother’s honor.” 

You laughed breathlessly as Anthony looked up at the sky, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you had ever seen. “Your Grace, are you suggesting that I have ruined him?” 

“Indeed I am,” she confirmed, and you could see how it took every muscle of her being to retain a serious image. “This is not a light matter, miss. I do not understand why you are laughing.” 

“Daphne,” Anthony groaned, avoiding her eyes as he occupied himself with his jacket. “Why do you insist on being a nuisance?” 

“Anthony,” she inflected his name the same way he did hers, “I cannot have this woman sullying your name! I know it was of no will of your own, but this can not stand as is. But do not worry; I am prepared to defend your honor to my last breath.” 

“My sincerest apologies for what I have done, Duchess Hastings,” you responded gravely. “I am prepared for pistols at dawn.” 

Anthony huffed as he buttoned his waistcoat back up then went to retrieve his jacket from the bushes. “You exaggerate, the both of you. This cannot be what I was like last season.” 

“You were worse, brother. But do not worry,” Daphne said with a grin, “I should think a taste of your own practices is only fair after all you put Simon and me through.”

Anthony sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “I… suppose… that it is what I deserve.” 

“Thank you, brother,” she said. “I only wish we had a witness just so your confession is forever remembered.”

“I wish Mother had not sent you to seek me out,” he responded dryly. 

You and Daphne exchanged smiles with each other before your expression sobered slightly. “ I ask quite a bit of you with this, Your Grace, but… may I count on your discretion? I know we jest, but my reputation truly could not handle something like this. I do not know if…” you glanced at Anthony before looking back to her, “if we are yet ready to seal our union.” 

“Of course,” Daphne nodded, and a relieved smile tugged at your lips. “I shall not tell a soul.” 

“Thank you eternally, Your Grace,” you expressed, but at your short curtsy she shook her head.

“Please, call me Daphne.” She offered a smile of her own, slightly coy. “After what I have just witnessed, I’ve no doubt you will be joining our family soon enough.” 

“Sister!” Anthony scolded, and when you glanced at him his entire face was dusted pink, even the tips of his ears. It was enough to make you swoon. “You cannot just say things whenever you see fit.” 

Daphne merely shrugged, joyfully indifferent to her brother’s protests. “I outrank you now, dearest brother — I believe I can say whatever I see fit, particularly when it is the truth.”

“You are truly impossible,” Anthony muttered as he shook his head. 

Daphne just smiled before she looked back at you. “I believe it best if the two of you leave at separate times, so as to not allow room for any rumors. Miss Worthing, you should go first and return to your mother; you can claim you simply needed fresh air. Anthony and I will stroll around the grounds for a bit before allowing ourselves to be seen — we are simply catching up after such a stretch spent at Clyvedon.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smoothed your mussed hair and wrinkled dress for the last time. Anthony certainly did a number on you, in more ways than one. “Thank you again, Your—” you caught yourself, correcting your error with a small smile, “Daphne. 

“You may count on me in the future whenever I am in London,” she reassured. “It is my hope anyway that I shall be able to welcome you to the family officially.”

“Daphne!” Anthony exclaimed yet again, glaring at her. “Might you take your leave so we may have a moment alone?” 

“I believe you just had quite a few moments alone,” Daphne said, but a pointed look from her brother had her conceding with a smile. “Alright. I will be by the trees when you need me.” 

Anthony turned to you with an odd look in his eyes when Daphne was out of hearing distance, and when he did eventually speak, his voice was far softer than usual. 

“Do you truly believe I would not marry you?” he asked, and the underlying hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Even if there were not the risk of a scandal, I would not hesitate. My entire heart lies with you.”

“It is not you, Anthony,” you sighed with a slight shake of your head. “I do not… I do not know if I am even capable of marriage.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I have spent my entire life running from it,” you said, chuckling softly, “and yet, here I am, the one thing I never thought I would be.”

“In love,” Anthony realized, and you nodded. 

“It has always been easy enough to denounce marriage when I’d never experienced anything of the like. The union of my parents was for convenience rather than love, and for as long as I’ve been alive my mother has tried to drill it into my head that my feelings did not matter — so long as the man had the means to provide for me and was not completely awful, he was satisfactory.”

“A future like that— it was so completely absurd to me that denouncing it all was the easiest thing in the world. And then I nearly died and my entire world changed, and I decided that Cardew was the best option to allow myself to completely separate emotion from marriage, but now…” you looked at Anthony, feeling more vulnerable now than ever. “I have found a love in you I’ve never thought possible, and I cannot stop imagining a life with you. And that terrifies me more than anything.” 

“But…” you trailed off again and you turned away from him as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “But I do not know how to approach my future, especially one where we are so closely intertwined.” 

Silence hung in the air for a noticeable period before Anthony cleared his throat, and it was obvious the care he put into his words. 

“You know I never imagined I would marry for love. Truly, I never intended it—I expected to be miserable in marriage. I saw it as nothing more than another duty to take care of. I believed that love was trivial, a ridiculous distraction. You are the one who made me see differently.” 

You turned around with slightly wide eyes, your arms wrapped around your midsection doing little to ward off the cool night air that seemed far colder than it was before. Anthony’s gaze never left yours, the softness in his own at odds with the pure, unbridled passion. 

“I love you. Though I have only just allowed myself to accept the fact, you are someone that I cannot imagine living the rest of my days without. There was…” his throat bobbed as his voice crackled slightly, “there was a moment when I feared the worst, that you would permanently disappear from my life. And ever since you were all but brought back from the dead, I have known that you are the only woman I wish to be with. It is why as soon as I left you, I asked my mother for this.” 

Anthony took a box out of his pocket, and you gasped as he got down on one knee, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. 

“This is the ring my father proposed to my mother with, and their love was beyond anything I have seen before. But it is the love that I feel for you, something so strong, so overwhelming— something I never thought I would experience. And yet here I am, madly in love with the one woman who scorned me with every word, and only pursued me because of my brand as a lesser evil.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound slightly muffled through your gloves, and you could not help it as your eyes began to fill with tears. 

“I admire you; all of you. The part that loves her family with every part of her being, that looks out for those with less than her when those more fortunate turn a blind eye. The part that fights for the rights of her sex when it is so much easier to just bow one’s head, that puts her happiness on a rightful pedestal— the part that is so terrified to share herself with others and yet deserves a love of the purest form.”

“And I am aware of how the unknown is a fear of yours, as it is one of mine. But I assure you—” Anthony’s voice was filled with such passion, his eyes with such love, that you could hardly stand it, “—I will be there for you every step of the way. We will face our fears as one, and we will shape the future ourselves, not to be bound by anyone or anything.” 

“I do not know where my future will lead me, but I know I do not want to face a single second of it without you. If you do not feel the same, I understand, but I will not be able to live with myself if I do not at least try. It is why I ask you,” Anthony said your name with more love than ever before, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, a smile breaking across your face even as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!”

Anthony let out a sigh of relief as he grinned, and after he slid the ring on your finger he stood up and pulled you into a breathless kiss. Nothing picture perfect like you’d heard about as a young girl, the kind of effortless gentleman’s act— Anthony kissed you with pure passion, love, desire, and it nearly brought you to your knees. You thought it would have, were it not for Anthony’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him and supporting you. 

You could hardly believe the same man who treated you as if you were glass after your injury was the one standing before you now, the one who handled you in such a way that could get the both of you exiled were anyone to see—the one that you thought hated you.  

And you were more than willing to allow it to continue, to surrender yourself fully to your baser instincts, when you remembered something that made your eyes widen.

“Your sister,” you murmured between kisses until you finally managed to pull away, albeit reluctantly. “Daphne is still waiting.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back in, and your earlier protest was shown to be completely nonsensical. “Let her wait.” 

You grinned as he peppered kisses down your neck, enjoying the sensation until you pushed him away. “Anthony.” 

He groaned. “Why must you be a better person than I?”

“Believe when I say it pains me,” you said. “But the last thing we need is yet another scandal by my hand.” 

“Let them know,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Let all of London know that I love you, that we will be wed. I do not care what we have to face so long as we face it together.” 

“The thought has never been so tempting,” you murmured. “But you should at least alert your sister. It would be improper to make her wait out here all night for nothing.” 

His grip tightened on your hands. “So you do wish to leave together?” 

“Anthony, I just accepted your proposal,” you said with a laugh. “I wish to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

“I believe tonight is a good place to start, then,” he grinned. 

Anthony would not let you leave his side, so you went to Daphne together. First she saw your smile, then her gaze drifted down to your hand—she looked knowingly at her brother, though she could not hide her smile either. 

“It would appear as if I was right,” she mused. “I am always right when it comes to you though, Anthony, so it is not much of a surprise.” 

“Do not mock me,” Anthony said. “I could have left you waiting by the bushes all night.” 

“If you had not proposed to her after the conversation we had the other day, I would have questioned your sense,” Daphne said. “Trust me, I would not have been here long.” 

Your eyebrows rose. “What conversation?” 

“We do not need to start on this,” he said with a pointed look at his sister. “I have already bared my entire soul tonight. I do not need my sister embarrassing me further.” 

“Oh, I would never,” Daphne drawled. “After all, there will be plenty of time for us to gossip together when I come to visit you all.” 

“Won’t you be busy with your child?” Anthony asked. 

She shrugged. “You may be busy with one as well by the time I see you again.” 

You looked at Anthony only to find his gaze was already on you. There must have been some shred of doubt in your eyes, because he only took your hand in his. 

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We will take things as slowly as you desire.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and nodded as you squeezed his hands—you knew what was expected of you as a wife, and you wanted it with Anthony, but you could not lie and say that his reassurances did not bring you relief. 

“My best wishes to the new Viscountess Bridgerton,” Daphne said, her voice full of affection as she clasped her hands together. “It is an honor to have you join our family.” 

“It is an honor to be accepted,” you said, bowing your head. 

Daphne smiled. “I assume you want to reveal this on your own terms.” 

You nodded. “I’ve dealt with enough attention from the ton lately.” 

“I am afraid to say that will not go away,” she said wryly. “But I will cover for the two of you.” 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Thank you.” 

“It is only proper to welcome my sister in such a way,” she said with a wink, and you could not help but smile. “Now run along, you two. Before rumors start.” 

Anthony chuckled, and the two of them embraced before you started on your way.

“Viscountess Bridgerton,” Anthony murmured in your ear. “I love the sound of that.” 

You hummed in agreement. “As do I.” 

You laid your head on Anthony’s shoulder as you walked back with your hands intertwined—not to the ball, but to a carriage for the promise of time alone. You glanced over at Anthony and he smiled, and you pulled him to a stop as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with hunger, the same vigor he displayed when you first stepped into the gardens together, and you could hardly believe he still had it left in him. 

Far too many minutes passed as you kissed and kissed and kissed, not a single care in the world of someone catching you. What could they do? You’d already endured enough scandal to weather anything, and there was no way to punish you and Anthony — you were already engaged. 

Your lips were sure to be bruised once you finally pulled away, Anthony gazing at you with complete adoration as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my wife,” he murmured. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my husband,” you breathed. “When will we reveal it?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said, intertwining your hands with his own. “Tomorrow, we will tell everyone, and we will deal with everything that comes along with it. But tonight…” 

“It is our secret.”

Anthony nodded. “Tonight, we start the rest of our lives together.” 

“The rest of our lives together,” you murmured. 

Truly, it sounded like a dream. Months ago you could not even consider the thought of marriage without an air of disgust—now, here with Anthony, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were to be his wife. 

The rest of your life with Anthony would be anything but simple.

And yet, somehow, you could not think of anything more perfect.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

[bangcakes]

.

[wanderingaroundwithmysoul]

I think you're the only RP blog I follow that has unique character tags for every character in reblogs lol. How do you remember them all?

-🚬

Idk, I just think it's fun haha. And the thing is, I... don't remember them. I mostly rely on Tumblr to suggest the tag when I start typing a character's name.

I mean, look how many I can get to pop up :P

{glad to see you're still kicking} Alice Abernathy

{you look way too familiar} Alicia Marcus

{what's your problem, man?} Albert Wesker

{alf? shut it} Alfonso Warner

{we're gonna get you outta here} Angela Ashford

{what's your goal?} Ada Wong

{nice work} Abigail

{he was twice the man you are} Bad Carlos

{you don't deserve the same respect as him} Bad One

{bastard} Bennett

{thanks... yeah, yeah, I'll be more careful} Betty Grier

{you've gotta let me see that gun, dude} Barry Burton

{we'll keep you safe, kid} Becky

{can I bum a smoke offa you?} Carlos Oliveria

{I'll leave all that tech shit to you} Chad Kaplan

{I respect you, redfield} Claire Redfield

{I'm always down to talk guns} Chase McAvoy

{that's gotta be a stage name} Crystal Waters

{I like your gunwork} Cobalt

{what's your whole deal?} Chris Redfield

{would rather not see that} Dead Rain

{god... again?} Doc

{sir?} James Shade

{I'll never forget you, man} J.D. Salinas

{you're with s.t.a.r.s., right?} Jill Valentine

{we don't got time for you to get cold feet} Kim Yong

{I like you, kid} K-Mart

{my brother was a fan of you} Luther West

{matt's sister, huh?} Lisa Addison

{the platin' on those deagles is nice} L.J. Wade

{I'm gonna deck you} Leon S. Kennedy

{sorry for slapping you around back at the mansion} Matthew Addison

{you kinda remind me of someone} Mikey

{I'm all good... appreciate it} Olga Danilova

{infected, huh?} Peyton Wells

{who let this asshole have my face?} Rain Melendez

{your aim needs work, hippie} Rain Ocampo

{homicidal bitch} Red Queen

{what're you wearin'?} Suburban Alice

{you're a real asshole} Spence Parks

{get that camera outta my face} Terri Morales

{he ain't a talker} Vance Drew

{your sister killed my team} White Queen

[sanguineterrain]

for the dc prompts you reblogged:

can i request jason todd x reader "someone likes being pinned down" + A flirting with B while sparring to throw them off their tracks

where reader is also a vigilante??

thank you so much 🩷

very sexy prompts thank u 😌

jason todd x gn!reader. r and robin!jay were friends, r doesn't know jason is alive/red hood but jason knows r is a vigilante. r's alias is 'nocturne' (if that's already in use oh well lmao). fighting/sparring, jason is mega in love with you as usual!!

all fics at @sanguinelibrary

****

"Still blindly following the Bat, huh?"

You land in a crouch on the rooftop, just like how Nightwing taught you. The Red Hood doesn't look at you, digging through two duffel bags. He doesn't even draw his gun, like you've seen him do with virtually every other vigilante in Gotham.

You wait, ready to spring into action. But Hood doesn't stop what he's doing. Slowly, you rise.

"What... do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean, why are you traipsing around Gotham as a bat-adjacent? Who are you s'posed to be anyway? Goth Bat? Alternative Scene Bat?"

"I'm Nocturne," you say, shoulders rising to your ears. Rude. You thought the chunky boots and star over your suit's eye mask were inspired.

Red Hood lifts a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I dig the threads. I'm just surprised B didn't have an aneurysm over the sequins. Then again, Discowing did do it first..."

Your first two meetings with the infamous Red Hood have been similar in that he's never very concerned about you stopping him (ouch), but he also isn't callous or cruel with you like he is with the other vigilantes.

Case in point: the last person who cornered Hood on a roof was Red Robin. Hood shot him in the shoulder before he could land.

In short, he's perplexing as hell.

Batman's forbidden the rest of the team to confront Hood without backup. And you're technically not supposed to be on patrol tonight. But if you can intercept Hood, that'll be a huge win.

Hood keeps on packing the duffels. You hesitate, then step forward.

"Get away from the bags," you say. "I won't ask twice."

Hood looks at you. "Nocturne's a pretty cool name, I'll admit. And I like the boots. But I still think you oughta call it quits."

He zips up the bags, stands, and kicks them to the corner of the roof.

"Because you're just that unstoppable?" you ask, hands curling into fists.

"Yeah. But mostly 'cause I know you're made for so much more than this, sweetheart."

And that is the third and perhaps most bewildering thing about your encounters with Red Hood: you've gotten the creeping feeling that he... likes you.

Which is ridiculous, and if you ever breathed a word of that to anybody, Batman would probably check you into Arkham.

You take another careful step forward. Hood leans against the railing and folds his arms.

"This the part where you apprehend and hogtie me for innocently packing a duffel bag?" he asks.

You glare. "Innocent? I know you're making a weapons delivery because I know you've been waiting for Batman to be off-planet to make it."

"Clever. Told ya you're too good for this," Hood says. "Should be in college with those smarts, not playing maid for Batman."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"I'm advising you as your friendly neighborhood drug lord. Lecturing makes me sound like a guy who's got too much money and too big of a savior complex to understand that the way he fights injustice is fundamentally flawed."

"Sounds personal."

Hood laughs. "Honey, you have no idea."

You strike.

Hood parries your first attack easily, which you expect. The truth is that whoever trained Hood cut no corners and you're still relatively new at vigilantism. It's only by the grace of God that Hood hasn't left you to bleed out on a roof.

You kick his shin, but Hood turns on the instep and blocks. You go for his shoulder, where his armor separates to give him more movement. But Hood's ready for that too, and he catches your arm.

"Gotta keep that right arm up," he says. "Surprised no one's trained that outta you yet."

You elbow Hood in the throat. He coughs and lets go.

"Like that?" you ask, muscles tense with adrenaline.

Hood makes a sound that might be a laugh, still choked from your hit. "Just like that, honeylove. Good job."

"I don't need feedback," you snap, immediately going back in for another hit.

"Sorry. I'll make this quick then. I do have a delivery."

On the next strike, you advance, using a technique Nightwing drilled into your head for bigger opponents. Hood goes down and you land atop him.

"Oh, that's a Nightwing takedown if I've ever seen one," Hood says beneath you.

You're close enough that you can hear his breathing through the decoder. Pride swells in you at taking him down. Not even Batman has managed such a thing.

Hood is warm and big. His shoulder span alone dwarfs you. When you'd seen him from afar, fighting Batman or Nightwing, you'd been terrified.

But now, perhaps stupidly, you feel comfortable. Annoyed, but safe. Something about him reminds you of home. Makes your stomach flip in a good way.

Which is terrifying.

"You're coming with me," you say, reaching for your cuffs.

"If only. Unfortunately, you've forgotten a teensy weensy detail, dearest."

Hood bucks you off, legs first. Your feet fly into the air, which allows him to flip your positions. You wince, preparing for a concussion upon impact as you go down. But Hood cushions your fall and neatly rolls you over. Your back is pressed into the concrete, hands locked over your head. Hood's weight holds down your hips and legs.

He looms over you, easily holding you down. Your face grows hot.

"How did—" You squirm in his grip. "I had you!"

"Weight distribution, sweets. Tell Al—one of the Bats to add weight to your boots. They keep you light on your feet, but you were depending on them too much to hold me down, and we ain't evenly matched there."

You thrash in his grip. "Hood, I swear to fucking—"

"Easy. Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You haven't been doing this for very long. That was a good takedown, regardless. I'm impressed."

"Screw you."

He hums. You can tell he's smiling under the helmet. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't like feedback."

Hood strokes the inside of your wrist. You aren't sure he's aware he's doing it. His grip is firm but light. He's not trying to hurt you. Your pulse is in your throat.

For a moment, you're both still. Hood seems caught in a trance, like even Superman couldn't tear him away from this moment. From you. And it's not that you're afraid, you're just... you're...

"How do you know so much about me?" you blurt, because it's puzzled the whole team. "You been spying on me?"

"'Course not. Unlike your boss, I respect privacy. No, I did research. I recognized you from when you'd hang around that second Robin. Shrimpy little guy. What'd ya even see in him?"

The grief overtakes you before you can control your mouth.

"You don't know anything about me or him," you spit. "Don't fucking talk about him. He had more skill and goodness in his pinkie than you'll have in a lifetime. And you could learn a thing from him about changing a city. He'd tell you that fear alone never works."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks.

"Where's your distress signal?"

"Why would I tell—"

Hood shifts over you, cutting off your reply. He pulls a ziptie around your wrists. They're not even a little tight. You could probably slip out of them if you had five minutes.

"I know you're not s'posed to be out tonight," he whispers in your ear. "'S not your patrol night. Good thing you're my favorite."

You nearly swallow your tongue. "How do you—I don't—"

"Uh-huh. So you be good from now on, yeah? Wouldn't wanna have to keep tying you up like this."

You lift your chin. "We'll switch positions soon enough."

Hood snorts. "Okay, I know you heard how that soun—"

"I heard it," you say grumpily. "Just get on with it. Jerk."

"As you wish. Distress signal?"

"Collar."

Hood presses the button under your collar. Your breath hitches as his gloved fingers graze your neck.

"Oh? Does somebody like getting pinned down?"

"In your dreams."

Hood laughs. He zipties your ankles last, then sits you upright against the railing.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asks. "I know you've got a circulation problem."

You squint. "You seem to know a lot about me. Not fair that I don't know much about you, Hood."

"'S just business, honeylove," he says, scooping up his duffel. "Now I don't wanna see you in a suit anymore, comprende?"

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

Hood pauses, eerily still. He turns those glowing white eyes upon you. Your heart picks up.

"No," he says, so serious it startles you. "But someone else might. And I don't want you to face the same fate as your good friend Robin."

He vaults over the railing before you can respond. Your head thunks lightly as you lean back and wonder if you're really just business to the Red Hood.

(pt 2)

[bluexiao]

#your highness, do you love me?

—how do they treat you with favor if you’re the tsaritsa’s heir

CHARACTERS. fatui harbingers (Tartaglia / Childe, Arlecchino, Pantalone, La Signora, Sandrone, Scaramouche, Il Dottore, Columbina, Il Capitano, Pierro); Tsaritsa’s heir! Gn! Reader

THEMES. Can be platonic/romantic, it’s on you; fluff; crack on some

WARNINGS. reader is a simp for everyone /hj; sandrone is gaslight gatekeep girlboss; obv tsaritsa is your mother here… biological or not is not really implied

NOTES. You are free to think what’s the reader’s age or appearance as i did not really specify those things here~ p.s. i tried to write for pulcinella… but i really can’t lmao

Archons, in general, do not pass down their divinity to their own blood. But for you and the Fatui, this was different. For them, the Tsaritsa was the one that built them and made them who they are now—giving them power and the ability to conquer the world of Teyvat.

…

TARTAGLIA, being the newest member of the Fatui Harbingers, is expected to do what newcomers do: be too showy with their loyalty—however, this is already quite apparent with his personality all the more, which made him stand out for you as he was twice as showy as the others than you’ve ever seen.

He was not exactly a good person, but he was the Harbinger that did not mind talking to you casually, especially after your permission. And you liked it. It was a breath of fresh air, and it gave you a sense of being one with them, not just someone who had a position just because you were their Queen’s heir.

“Are you leaving?” you question, catching him along the hallways, on th way out of your mother’s throne room.

“Hm? Why? Are you going to miss me?” he lets out a sly smirk to which you chuckled—how he can make you laugh in amusement within seconds still amazes you up to this very day.

“You’re so funny, Tartaglia.”

“So… you won’t miss me?”

You could only smile and send him look, “You’re free to guess, Eleven.”

ARLECCHINO gives you the same respect as she does with the Tsaritsa. She knows her place and her role, and she may not talk to you unless you talk to her first.

“Knave, Knave, have you heard? I heard Tartaglia went to look for Scaramouche. Would you be going as well?”

“I am not,” she answers, “not unless the heir wishes for me to go, then I shall-”

“Ah, no! Don’t!” You immediately interrupt her, “How about spending time with me instead?”

“If that is what you wish, Your Highness.”

“Knave…” you gave her a look—and for her, it was a look she often saw from the Tsaritsa, whenever she is displeased, that is—“I told you to call me by my name, did I not?”

A shiver runs down her spine, bowing her head down, “I apologize, Yo—Y/n.”

She feels a flutter in her stomach when she catches you smiling brightly—as bright as the sun that does not dare to peek in the land of Snezhnaya—what was this? Is this of worry that she had displeased the heir? Or was this because it’s you? Either way, both do not go well with her—this could jeopardize her standing as a Harbinger as well.

“Good! Now, accompany me? Knave?”

“Very well… Y/n.”

PANTALONE treats you quite handsomely (just like he is…) actually. He has a ton of gifts for you, especially when he came to realize how you liked being given one. He’d shower you with material things, and would even give them personally quite a few times—your birthdays most likely.

To be frank, he only did this at first to earn your favor, at the very least, make you have a good word to say about him to your mother just in case.

But things got out of hand.

“Ah, be careful! Lord Pantalone is fond of Your Highness’ heir. He would not tolerate it if he heard you say anything about them!”

Even the others had noticed the (not-so) subtle actions of the Harbinger, and yet it was him who thought that all this time, he was only doing this for such a simple reason.

But why does he find it infuriating just by hearing others say your name? Or whenever he sees you act more friendly to the other Harbingers.

He certainly has to find a reason why.

And the only way is to go and find you and have a nice chat.

Yes… just a chat.

LA SIGNORA is known for being one of the Tsaritsa’s closest aides, and that was how you came to know her as well.

As she is closer to your mother than the others, you’ve seen her far too many times and was able to also converse with her as well.

However… she’s quite…

“Ah, well it isn’t you, little one.”

“I… why do you always call me that?” you purse your lips, almost pouting in front of the Eighth Harbinger, to which she could only giggle.

“Why? Are you displeased with such a thing? Would you rather I call you…” she paused leaning in ever so slightly and making you lean back… but she didn't say anything else—just giving you a knowing smirk and look.

“C-call me… what?” You tried to question, entertaining her response, whatever it is.

“Hmm,” she hums yet never answers the question. She stays in that position a moment longer before she leans back and crosses her arms.

“Seeing as you couldn’t propose a new name, I’ll continue calling you the same, little one.”

SANDRONE does not really speak to you much, but people could feel that she truly favors you, probably much more than the other Harbingers and even the Tsaritsa.

Yet that favor seems to have come from somewhere else.

“I see you all are unaware, yet unawareness is not an excuse for this treachery. Your Highness, if you may allow me to punish them for their disrespect towards you,” the woman bows her head with a hand on her chest, making the Fatui members tremble at their leader’s words.

“T-the heir themselves! Please have mercy-!”

“They are my subordinates and yet they do not know who the heir of Your Majesty is. I am disgraced by such,” she raises her head and sends a look at you, eyes gleaming, “Your Highness should not let themselves be treated this way.”

Is she… urging you?

“I…”

“Have mercy, Your Highness-!”

You looked away, closing your eyes with a sigh.

“I’ll leave it to you, Sandrone.”

She smirks—which you failed to see—and replies, “As you wish, Your Highness. You truly are a great fit to the throne.”

SCARAMOUCHE is not favored by everyone, and maybe that’s why he does find satisfaction whenever you show your kindness to him.

Like a lone moon in the middle of the dark.

Not that he’d ever admit to such a thing.

“Scara!”

He grits his teeth, jaw and shoulders tensing at the way you referred to him—and at the mere sound of your voice. He bit back the words he so wanted to blurt out, aware of his surroundings—the eyes and ears that your call had caught attention of.

After all, it is not that usual for you, the heir of the Tsaritsa, to call someone—let alone a Harbinger with a nickname.

“Your Highness,” he hisses, and pauses just as soon as he had faced you, glaring at you as he mutters in a low tone, “do you love me?”

“W-what?!” You staggered and instinctively looked around. It was a good thing he had questioned you without letting others hear or else—

“I said—”

“I heard you for the first time, Sixth.” Your firm voice made him halt, as well as probably caught more attention from the people around you. It was not that usual for you to talk seriously in front of others—especially to SCARAMOUCHE.

He raised a brow at your tone, only to let out a scoff when you drop the serious look on your face and smile at him again.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No! But you got my heart!”

He makes a disgusted look on his face, only to face away with a huff, crossing his arms. Ah, he should really make you stop… but it’s not like he could—or that he’d want to.

IL DOTTORE… Well, you probably found him scarier than Pierro honestly. At first.

As time went on and you continued to observe him, you realized that...

Just as much as someone like him craves for things that are interesting for him, he was the one who you found interesting.

“Ah… you’re here again, Your Highness! A pleasure for you to join us.”

You found yourself smiling at the grin that the Doctor gave you, standing at your usual place and placing your arms on the desk—one that is quite far from his workplace, as he’d one time told you it was “dangerous to come near”.

“What is it that you’re up to today, Dottore?”

“My, my, aren’t you a curious little cat?” He hums and turns to face you, “this time will be a secret, however. Fear not! Your expectations will be granted once I present to you what this experiment is about.”

“Oh? A surprise? I didn’t know you like surprises.”

“Oh I don’t” he smirks, “but I know you do.”

You adored COLUMBINA’s voice the moment you heard her, and it was you who gave her her name.

“Damselette, truly fitting, isn’t it?”

“I am grateful, Your Highness.”

Anyone could tell that there is something going on between the two of you—either you favor her greatly or that she follows whatever you say as if it is law.

“Isn’t she the Harbinger that the Heir is fond of?”

“I bet that she only became a Harbinger because of the Heir.”

“What are you saying?! That Harbinger is terrifying! Did you not hear what she did on her most recent missions?”

“What? What did she do?”

You were passing by with COLUMBINA when you caught the voices of the Fatuus not too far away from both of you, before they could say any more, you halted from your tracks and reached for your companion’s ears, cupping them and preventing her from hearing anything.

She perks her head but does not say anything. You could still hear the others’ voices, to which prompted you to signal from the guards that were accompanying you, and they knew full well what the look on your face tells.

Removing your hands from COLUMBINA’s ears once the guards had taken the talkative Fatuus’ away, your heart swelled on the smile that she flashed onto you, bowing her head and letting you hear her sweet voice.

“Your Highness is always there for me, and this humble servant shall always be by Your Highness’ side.”

You scoffed, smiling back.

“Good.”

IL CAPITANO… he knows his place—his title as a Fatui Harbinger, but he also would have tendencies where would show some human kindness that probably very few of his colleagues do possess… every once in a while. And honestly, that was what you liked about him. That regardless of his strength and title, you could see an ounce of humanity in him—despite there being a chance that he’s not anymore.

You’d never know.

Nonetheless, it shows whenever he was with you—or when you see him, actually. You two are not that close, it was difficult to. You are the heir of their Queen, who were you to make friends with technically her subordinates? Your mother would not permit you to, nor would she let them do the same.

One day, however, changed it all.

It was the day that you had seen IL CAPITANO training on his own. Ever since, you were mesmerized. It’s quite unknown to you whether it was because of him and his movements or was it your desire to fight.

But nonetheless, it broke all the walls down and prompted you to ask “Could you teach me?”

You caught his attention—maybe way before that day.

“I mean… could you train me? To be as strong as you. You’re strong… right? I’ve heard Eleventh ask you to spar with him before. Maybe… you can teach me that too. To spar.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. '' You could hear the grin in his voice, but you can’t really see it with his mask on.

Actually, you think to yourself, you shouldn’t, you replied to him in your mind, only to merely smile.

Not that he’d ever know.

Not now, that is.

You cannot really remember when was the first time you met PIERRO, as he was already there when you were born, and he had been a constant in your life. Maybe you almost forgot a time where he wasn’t present and by your side.

Nonetheless, you’ve always seen him as quite intimidating, but also somewhat of a protector. At one point, you had heard your mother tell him to guide you on the right path. And since then, you’ve always noticed him whenever he was near.

And one time, you had the courage to walk up to him and actually talk to him.

He was… rigid, so to speak, but he entertained your talk and the conversation, so it didn’t stop you from trying to speak or have a chat with him every once in a while, sometimes even in his office where you just talk his ears off and he listens. He indulges you, you think. And honestly, you were just there because you were quite curious if he’ll ever tell you off or scold you in any way—just like your mother would whenever you try to initiate long nonsense chats with her.

But he doesn’t.

And maybe�� you’re still trying up til this day, and he already knew your intentions whenever you try to talk to him.

“Your Highness… you’re here,”

“Ah, yes, I have another story to tell you!”

“I have reports to finish but,” he pauses, sending a look to you, “I shall listen to whatever you have to say.”

Reblogs and comments are appreciated~

Taglist is on the reblogs!

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮 - Aemond Targaryen

i got a job so now i don't have any time to write, but i'm still trying to find the time on my days off but all i wanna do is sleep lmao. But here's this, it turned out way longer than it was supposed to be lmao

Summary: After your father betroths you to another lord, your secret lover is livid when he finds out and decides to make you and everyone else see that you will always be his.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), arranged marriage (not to Aemond), possessive!Aemond, period typical misogyny, loss of virginity, slight innocence kink, breeding kink, not so dry humping, very slight dubcon, and noncon exhibitionism (reader is unaware, therefore not able to consent)

word count | 9.4k🤙🏻(oops)

You almost let out a scream when your father told you his “happy” news. You were stunned into silence, frozen in fear but boiling in rage beneath your skin.

Your father informed you that he had found you the perfect match, some old fat lord in the North that would strengthen the bond between your two houses. Of course, it wasn’t your perfect match. It was your father’s. He was always power hungry, but you never thought he’d give you up to a stranger for more wealth. You always thought you were his little girl, precious and untouchable, always the favorite. Oh, how wrong you were.

As fearful as you were for yourself, you couldn’t help but think how terribly your lover would react.

You had been secretly spending time with the second son of the King, prince Aemond. Your father had moved the two of you to King’s Landing after he managed to snag a spot as one of the Master of Coin’s advisors on the small council, allowing you to be in the vicinity of the royal children more often than not. You were quiet, kept to yourself, much like the young prince. You were intimidated by all the royals at first, but most of them welcomed you or were indifferent, which you didn’t mind. You met all the children when you first got to the Red Keep. You liked Helaena, she was kind and open minded, besides the ominous words she often spewed, you thought of her like a sister. Aegon was more so the indifferent one, and Aemond seemed to be as well. Aemond never showed any emotion on his face, so it was hard to get a read on him. When introducing yourself with a curtsy, all he did was nod and let out a hum of acknowledgement. It often felt like he only tolerated you, until he proved otherwise.

You were wandering the halls waiting for your father to get out of a meeting when the elder prince Aegon had cornered you, deep into his drinks and unable to control his urges, begging you to allow him to take you back to his chambers and show you “a good time.” You had always felt a sense of unease around the firstborn son of the king, especially after being warned by the servants that he had a tendency to get handsy, but you always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, even living in the world you did. Prince Aegon had never tried to seduce you before, so you figured he respected you as the daughter of a member of the small council. Again, you had a habit of being wrong in your opinions.

Aegon had grabbed ahold of your hand and started placing wet kisses on the palm of your hand, trying to pull you with him. But before Aegon could go too far, his younger brother shoved him away from you, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Aegon immediately backed off, clearly in fear of his brother and drunkenly stumbled down the halls back to his quarters. “I apologize for my brother’s behavior, my lady. I will make sure he does not bother you again.” And that he did. After that day, prince Aegon never even looked in your direction, much less tried to seduce you again.  You found prince Aemond in the library the next couple days, thanking him for his help. “I couldn’t bear the thought of a lady as beautiful as yourself getting defiled by the halfwit I’m forced to call my sibling.” 

It made your heart flutter.

After that, you found yourself wanting to spend more time with prince Aemond. He was thoughtful, passionate, and surprisingly kind. He was everything the rumors had said he wasn’t. Aloof, bloodthirsty, and cruel, those were the rumors you had heard about the younger prince. Sure, he could be those things towards other people, but never towards people he cared about. You saw how he behaved around his mother, sister and her children, especially with the children. He let his niece and nephew play with his hair, his clothes, anything they could get their stubby little hands on, all while a content smile decorated his face. He was the only one who actually listened to his sister, the only one who treated his mother with the utmost respect. You even caught him joking around with Ser Criston Cole in the training yard one morning. And steadily over time, you become one of the people he cared about.

It was subtle things that made you realize prince Aemond started to care for you. Firstly, he saved you from being assaulted by his brother. Afterwards, he would start to exchange pleasantries whenever you’d see each other, something he did not do to anyone else. At first, you thought that maybe his mother forced him to seek out conversation with you, just out of politeness or for some sort of advantage. But what sort of advantage would the prince have if he befriended you? Over time, the prince would seek you out so often that he couldn’t have been forced to do so, and surely not being as gentlemanly as he was with you when he did. Spending a morning with princess Helaena and the children, your face heated up furiously when she told you in confidence that her brother had a soft spot for you. She had also told you that Aemond might’ve been too gentlemanly, not afraid, but cautious to make the first move.

Back then, you weren’t too worried about your father marrying you off that you felt you could explore a courtship on your own without disapproval. Plus, courting prince Aemond wouldn’t be the worst for your house, if you ever thought that way. You were still a naive girl, never been through many hardships or traumas, you had a rosy view of the world even with all your education. You were an optimist, the thought of taking a chance on prince Aemond didn’t frighten you as much as it should have. You didn’t think of what the repercussions could be if he didn’t reciprocate your attraction, and what his rejection could do to your father’s role on the small council. But it turned out to be the best decision you could ever make.

During a walk with prince Aemond around the Godswood, you decided to bring up your relationship with him. “Besides Helaena, I feel as though you’re my closest friend here.” Your direct statement had briefly taken him by surprise, no one had ever been bold enough to express sincere feelings towards him. Most were too intimidated by him to even look in his direction, but you never seemed scared of him, even when the two of you first met. It was awkward as any first meeting goes, but after that, you were never afraid to look him in the eye and speak freely, despite him being a son of the king. 

You were endearing to Aemond, a feeling he had only felt towards his sister and her children. But you were different, he felt a protectiveness over you much like his family, but jealousy had also come with it. Seeing you talk to any other lords or men at court made an uncomfortable pressure form in his chest, a weight that burned and he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how much he tried. That day when he found Aegon practically drooling over you, it took everything Aemond had to not bash his older brother’s face in. Aegon was lucky to get away with just a shove. It troubled Aemond that he yearned to do more, to his brother or any man that gazed upon you salaciously. He felt the need to protect that childlike innocence you still often displayed. When the feelings got too strong, he’d often seek out Helaena to vent and listen to her cryptic advice. Most times, she’ll just giggle, which wasn’t helpful but he was just thankful his frustrated venting didn’t disturb her.

So when you revealed that his sister may have fibbed about his secret affection for you, he had half a mind to storm into her chambers and tell her off angrily, even though he’d never do that to her. But he did feel embarrassed, his face flushing a dusty red. He froze when you took a step closer to him, your natural warmth radiating off your body and onto his, your eyes looking up at him with a familiar expression. He often saw a similar look on Aegon or the whores on the Street of Silk, but it didn’t disgust him now when that particular look was on your face. In fact, he couldn’t look away. You looked between his eye and his lips, wetting your own and raising yourself up on your toes so your face was level with his, a delicate hand holding onto his shoulder for support. He didn’t move, wanting to see how far you would take it, your behavior already proving unbecoming of a lady. Though, he couldn’t help the way his eyelid became heavy with lust as your lips got closer and closer to his.

Disappointment rushed through Aemond as you kissed his cheek, leaving his lips tingling and yearning for yours. Along with that disappointment, he also felt a surprising warmth. You had kissed him so gently, almost featherlight, and he’d never experienced that kind of affection from anyone, not even his mother. He was all sharp and rough edges, no one daring enough to risk being cut by his frightening figure. But you pulled away, unharmed, a shy smile on your face. Unfortunately, that was all you had done. “My prince,” You curtsied politely, and left a stunned Aemond in the Godswood nonchalantly, as if you hadn’t just triggered a part of him that he never thought he’d feel; desire. He had thought he wanted to protect your innocence, but now, all he could think about was ruining you.

The next morning, there was no place you could hide from prince Aemond. He found you almost immediately as the day started, dragging you to a secluded part of the Red Keep where he knew there would be no prying eyes. “Quite the display you made yesterday, care to enlighten me on the sudden…affection?” Aemond had asked.

You only smiled innocently, too innocently. “Whatever do you mean, my prince?”

Aemond reveled in the light gasp you made when he pressed you against the wall, his arm resting on the wall above your shoulder and the other on your waist, the slight pressure making you dazed. “You know very well what I mean, my lady. That kiss. Such a tease. You look so meek and innocent on the surface, but beneath all your polite smiles you’re just a little vixen, aren’t you? I’ve half the mind to take you right here right now, out in the open where any lord or lady could see.” The hand on your waist tightened, moving up your side but he froze when you placed your hand on his, a nervous expression on your face.

“Prince Aemond, I’ve never–I’m a maiden, my prince, I can assure you.” You stuttered uncharacteristically, making Aemond loosen the grip he had on you. “I never meant to make you think that…I was a woman of…loose morals.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, one hidden beneath his eyepatch. “Then, yesterday? Why did you kiss me like that, just on the cheek, and leave?”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. “I didn’t want to just kiss you on the cheek, trust me. I almost really kissed you, but then a realization hit me right before I could. If someone were to see, report it to my father…he could lose his position because of me and I couldn’t do that to him. I’d be shamed, labeled a whore or worse.”

Aemond hummed, taking in your words, only a few really being comprehended more than the others. “If you had really kissed me…I would’ve kissed you back.”

You looked down at your feet, giggling shyly. “I assumed.”

Aemond lifted your chin with his hand gently, making sure your gaze stayed on him, your widened eyes making him force back a smirk. “You still could. Kiss me.” He stroked your cheek lightly, the peach fuzz of your face tickling his knuckles.

“B-But, my father-”

“Your father doesn’t have to know. I know the Red Keep like the back of my hand. I know the places that are scarcely visited, when others are devoid of servants or family, and there are secret passageways all over the Keep and there happens to be one that leads from your room,” He leans in close, his lips right next to your ear, “all the way to mine.”

You almost moaned, but pushed him away before your desires overcame you. “As delightful as that sounds…I don’t plan on giving away my maidenhead anytime soon. I can’t risk siring bastards, it would bring shame upon my family and my house. I’m sure that…you could understand.” 

He could, and he did. As much as he wanted you, he’d respect your decision. He understood being a woman in this world was much more dangerous and had stricter societal rules. Besides, he’d never want to have bastards, that would be hypocritical. Though, the vision of your belly swollen with his seed made him aroused more than he would ever admit. He’d keep it to himself. “Of course, my lady. I’m not attracted to you just because you’re a maiden, you know? But…there are other things we can do together.”

You smiled. “Like what?”

Aemond’s hand was back on your waist, sliding his body against yours until his warmth and scent encompassed you entirely, bringing back that same dazed feeling in your head. “I could teach you about the history of Old Valyria, our house, maybe even teach you some Valyrian if you’d like.” His hand ran up and down your side, when you think his hand will reach the underside of your breast, he’d go back down. A frustrating cycle, his tone of voice not helping either. It did not sound like he was talking about teaching you history, more like teaching you about more…intimate studies. “We could read together in the library, perhaps I could introduce you to Vhagar one day. But first, you could kiss me. No one is around, no one will be for a while. That’s not too dangerous, is it?”

Your face flushed with heat, your eyes growing heavy with lust, a similar position you had him in just yesterday. “No, I suppose not.” You breathed out, placing your hands on his leather covered chest, feeling the tight muscles beneath, making the sensitive apex of your thighs ache with want.

Aemond stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, taking his time and his eye running over every detail of your face he could find, finding the imperfections that endeared him to you even more. He placed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your heart thump even more rapidly in your chest, the anticipation almost making you lose your patience. Is this what you made him feel yesterday? But after what felt like an eternity, Aemond finally started to lean in, his breath fanning over your face, your own intermingling with his. 

It was featherlight at first, tickling, not enough pressure to even feel like a kiss. But after a few seconds of Aemond simply teasing and tracing his lips with yours, he finally pressed against you more firmly. His lips were soft against yours, not rushing and moving languidly, eliciting a small noise of contentment from you. As he opened his mouth to trace his tongue on your bottom lip, you could tell he had some practice. You both deepened the kiss, his hand on your waist tightening and pulling you forward against him until your back ached off the wall. His other hand cupped your jaw roughly as the kiss became more passionate and frenzied, his teeth nibbling the sensitive flesh of your bottom lip until you winced from the sting, but you found that you quite liked it. You reached one of your hands to the nape of his neck, tangling and tugging at the silvery white hair until he groaned, the both of you sighing into each other’s mouths as desire overtook you.

You finally realized, despite you being adamant about retaining your virtue, your body was moving on its own accord. You were pawing at Aemond like some lecherous woman on the Street Of Silk, soft moans and sighs leaving your mouth unabashedly. Only when your hips started canting up towards him you finally managed to stop yourself, pulling your lips away from his with wild panting breaths.

“You’re a fast learner, my lady.” Aemond panted, chuckling breathlessly, seemingly unwilling to let you go.

“I suppose I am.” You mirrored his shy smile, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace only to immediately yearn for his arms around you again. “Perhaps we could read together in the library tomorrow?” You asked hopefully.

Aemond smirked. “To read, or to repeat what we just did?”

You scoffed, lightly smacking his shoulder. “To read!” You giggled, making Aemond laugh in return. You felt yourself swell with pride. It was so rare to see the prince genuinely laugh, and to be the one to elicit such a reaction from him, it made you feel like you were on top of the world.

When you both met up in the library the next day, you didn’t do much reading like you had planned…

From that day to the present, that had been a lot of what your relationship with prince Aemond was like. You got to know each other, of course. You had deep conversations, shared secrets you never told another soul in the world, learned about each other’s cultures and traditions, and grew fond of one another as the days passed. You each both confided in one another, making your bond deep, spending every moment you could in the privacy of your own bedrooms. It was inevitable that you fell in love with each other. Aemond spoke of his feelings first, which surprised you, thinking that it would be you to tell him first.

It had been a normal day like any other. Aemond was trying to teach you some Valyrian, laughing harder than he’s ever laughed in his life at your gods awful pronunciation at most of the words, but you were trying so hard he almost felt bad for laughing at you. Almost. When you finally perfected the phrase he was trying to teach you, your whole face lit up with pride. He had found he had a habit of just staring at you, especially when you smiled. He thought you were one of the most beautiful sights the world had to offer and he realized he needed you like he needed oxygen, and that’s when he said it. “I fear I’ve fallen madly in love with you, my lady.”

It only took you a few seconds for it to register, the statement making you freeze, then overwhelming joy completely consuming you. “I love you too, my handsome prince.” You grinned brightly, taking Aemond’s breath away and forcing a surprised huff from his lips when you lunged towards him, accidently knocking him out of his chair and you with him, collapsing together on the floor of his bedroom. You would’ve been mortified if it weren’t for the dark, lustful look in his eye as you hovered above him, your legs naturally coming to straddle him, like you were made to be in this position with him. Your face flushed with heat as you could feel the evidence of Aemond’s arousal through his trousers, pressing against your own aching core. “I want you…I want you so badly, Aemond.” You spoke brittly, the throbbing between your legs getting harder to ignore. Aemond leaned up off the floor with his elbows, surging forward to kiss you before you stopped him. “But I can’t give up my maidenhead…”

Aemond deflated in disappointment, but a light shined in his eye suddenly, a soft smirk adorning his lips. “I know of a way we can without taking your virtue.”

You sighed. “I don’t know-”

“Do you trust me?” Aemond looked up at you with pure love and adoration, the intensity almost forcing you to look away. 

“With my life.”

Aemond situated himself on his bed, only in his smallclothes, making his erection even more prominent than before. He helped you undress down to your shift, with your permission, indulging in the feelings of your barely covered breasts as your gown was practically see through. You weren’t nervous or embarrassed like you thought you’d be, Aemond just made you feel so at ease and comfortable, looking at you like you were a goddess he worshiped that all insecurity fled your body in that moment. “Sit on my lap,” He instructed calmly, not giving away how eager he was to feel you against him. He had more self control than that, besides, he wanted this to be about you as much as himself.

You placed yourself in the position you were previously, just behind his arousal, waiting for his guidance. Aemond didn’t say anything as he took hold of your hips, bringing you forward until your aching cunt made contact with his cock through his smallclothes, the contact already making you both sigh out in pleasure. “Just rock yourself against me, sweetling.” He guided, helping you find your rhythm until you started to rock against him yourself, but his hands still stayed at your hips to ground himself.

This technically wasn’t losing your maidenhead, but it felt so good that it still made you guilty, but you were too aroused to care.

You moaned softly as you rubbed your slick folds against his clothed cock, your clit getting delicious stimulating pressure with every cant of your hips, all the while Aemond did not take his eye off you, his own groans of pleasure escaping his lips. “Does it feel good, my lady?” Aemond asked, almost smugly.

“Yes, my prince. So good.” You stuttered, finding it difficult to multitask…and breathe. You found yourself quickly getting overheated, your legs started to shake with your efforts. Aemond seemed to sense this, rolling you over on your back, a smile coming to his face when he saw the wet patch you already made on his smallclothes. “Did…I do that?” You asked in embarrassment.

Aemond smirked with pride. “It means you’re enjoying it, my lady. Now let me take over for a while, alright?” You nodded, your face heating up like a furnace as he hovered above. Even when making sure he wasn’t crushing you, you could still feel the power in his body, how easily he could force you into submission. But he wasn’t, he was letting you take the lead for the most part. But now, he was rutting against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your core just as perfectly as the previous position you were in. He was more confident and assured in his movements than you were, hitting your clit with more precision, making you cry out his name.

You clawed at his back, high pitched whines leaving your mouth, panting heavily. Aemond kissed all over your face, neck, and pulled down your shift until your breasts were freed from its confines to kiss them as well. Aemond’s breathless moans fanned against your ear, where he had tucked his face in the crook of your neck, the occasional soft whimper making you feel emboldened enough to roll him over to straddle him once again.

You braced your hands on his bare chest as you started to rock yourself faster, an unfamiliar pressure building in your lower stomach that threatened to burst if you kept going. It scared you, how could it get any better than this? You already felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, what would happen if that coil in you did burst? You thought you’d die on the spot, but Aemond kept giving you reassuring words and soothing your overheating body with his hands, encouraging you to keep going. “It’s alright, my lady. I’ve got you.” He cooed, one hand on your hip and the other taking hold of yours to kiss across the thin skin of your knuckles.

You felt the pressure building and building, like the whistling in a teapot getting louder as the water rose in temperature; until you came with a strangled cry, the feeling of euphoria overpowering your senses, your hips stuttering, tears coming to your eyes and falling down your cheeks in rivulets. Aemond’s grip on your hips returned, the force surely causing bruises to form as he continued to rock you against him, chasing his own end. You powered through the overstimulation, the sight of Aemond losing himself to his pleasure enough to make you want to do it all over again. He came with a loud grunt, his eye shutting tightly and bucking his hips up against you until he painted the inside of his smallclothes white, his spend mixing with yours. “You are truly magnificent, my lady.” 

You loved each other so much. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and he felt the same as well. You always imagined living the rest of your life with him, married someday, and a gaggle of white haired children running around the Red Keep. That was until your dreams were crushed when your father told you that you were to be wed to someone who wasn’t your handsome prince.

How were you going to break the news to Aemond? How badly would he react? You didn’t want to stop being with him, you cared for him more than anything. But you had a duty to fulfill, you had to listen to your father, you simply had no choice. Women never got a choice.

You entered prince Aemond’s chambers through the secret passageway that he had shown to you, your heart already dropping to your stomach as he looked up from a book he was reading, grinning ear to ear as he laid his eye on you. “My lady,” He rose to his feet, greeting you with a soft kiss. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Your expression must’ve given you away, for his grin fell, a look of concern replacing his joy. “What’s the matter, my love?”

You deflated, instinctually burrowing yourself into his chest with quiet sobs, his arms instantly wrapping around you. “My…my father…” You hiccupped, unable to get the words out for it was too painful.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Aemond cooed, rubbing his hands along your back to try and comfort you. “Take deep breaths, love. Take your time.”

“My father has betrothed me to someone else.” You cried, your tears falling freely off your face, staining your cheeks and creating a dark patch on Aemond’s white tunic.

Aemond froze, his heart starting to beat rapidly in his chest, anger threatening to take over his entire being. “What?” He spoke darkly, his voice dropping several octaves. “No. No, you can’t.”

You pulled away, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand angrily. “I have no choice, Aemond. Father has already set up a meeting with the lord. No matter what, I’m expected to marry him…bed him and bear his children.” You spat, your fate making you wish you were never born.

Aemond grabbed your shoulders tightly, a wild, dangerous look in his eye. “No. I won’t let this happen.”

You sighed in defeat. “Unfortunately, my love…it’s not up to you.”

You left his chambers feeling worse than you had felt before. Usually, you always left him beaming and weightless, like you could conquer the world as long as he was by your side. But now, you were going to be forced to leave him. You didn’t want to marry someone lord from the North. All your life, you’ve heard how hard living in the North was, how the citizens and even lords lived more like Wildlings than actual people. You’re betrothed was rugged, hairy, loud, and plump, the total opposite of your Targaryen lover. The thought of having to lay with someone like that, especially for your first time, it never failed to bring you to tears. It made you want to run back to Aemond, just so your first time would be with someone you loved. But that would be a sin, and if found out, might get you killed. If you didn’t bleed on your wedding night, your virtue would be called into question and you’d be labeled a harlot and be discarded onto the streets or worse. Your father promised the Northern lord a virgin, so you had no choice but to remain chaste.

Over the next few weeks, the Northern lord visited King’s Landing to meet you. You tried your best to be polite, not act disgusted as you truly felt whenever you were forced to dine with him. You barely saw Aemond, and you couldn’t, lest you garner unwanted attention that would have rumors spread like wildfire. But that didn’t mean Aemond tried to stay away himself.

Every so often, you’d spot him in the corner of your eye, watching you intently. You were never afraid of him, but you now started to fear what he might do to keep you, not that you’d protest. You could feel the tension in the air constantly when he was around. There came a point where Aemond would interrupt every meeting you had with the Northern lord. Even though it was quite amusing to see your prince so jealous, you couldn’t help but worry what your father would do if he found out Aemond was trying to sabotage your courtship. You could tell the lord was getting annoyed with all the interruption, but unfortunately, that made him all the more determined to wed you. Aemond wasn’t helping, at all. And he could tell. The night before your final meeting with the Northern lord to determine if you’d make a good match, Aemond came to your chambers through the secret passageway.

“Aemond? The hour is late, what are you doing here?” You asked with a bashful smile, standing up from your bed in nothing but your nightgown, not leaving much to the imagination.

Aemond smirked, sauntering towards you and placing his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “What? I’m not allowed to see my lady?”

Your face grew hot at the possessiveness of his words, a pang of arousal shooting through your core. “No, my prince, you are not. Because if you recall, we’re not wed.” You sighed sadly. “...and never will be.”

Aemond tsked in annoyance, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. “You say that like it is a sure thing.”

You frowned. “Is it not?”

Aemond tilted his head as he gazed upon your face, running his pointer finger down your cheek, then along your jaw, gently lifting your chin up so your lips met his. “I will not let this happen to you, love. You. Are mine. Not some Northern dog…do you trust me?”

“Of course.” You asked immediately, melting against his touch, like his skin was a balm against yours.

“Then let me take care of it. Of you.”

“You already take care of me, my handsome prince.” And with that, his lips were back on yours in an instant, possessive and more aggressively, making you whimper. His hands caressed your body, running along your sides, grazing the underside of your breast until they traveled down to grab handfuls of the fatty flesh of your ass, eliciting a squeal from you. “Aemond,” You chuckled breathlessly between kisses, “I have to wake in the early morning.” You sighed out as he attached his lips to your neck, sucking harshly. “Aemond, no marks tonight.” But he paid you no mind. Then, you felt his fingers brush against your clothed core, and you had to push him away. “Are you trying to…bed me?” You asked nervously.

Aemond smirked. “I am.” 

Your eyes widened, taking a step away from him, causing him to frown. “Why can’t we do what we normally do? The way without taking my virginity?”

“Do you not want me, my lady?” He asks, desperate to get his hands on you again.

“Of course I do, my prince. But to bed each other now, while I’m betrothed to another; it is a sin against the Seven. You know this.”

“What did I say? I will take care of it. But first, let me take care of you. I want you so badly. I’ve wanted to be buried inside you since I first laid my eye on you. Please, my love, I need more than just rubbing myself against you.” You gasped as he took hold of your hand and guided it to palm his already hardened cock, “Feel how I yearn for you?”

“I yearn for you too…” You stuttered, running your slightly trembling hand over one of his biceps while you experimentally squeezed his hardened length, causing him to let out a soft growl.

Aemond caught your lips with his once more, his breathing quickening as he felt his desire grow. “Then say yes.”

Then with a hesitant breath, you spoke, “Yes.” 

As soon as the word left your lips, Aemond found yours with a vigor you hadn’t experienced from him so far into the relationship. He was desperate, and so were you. Your shaking frame gave away how nervous you truly were, but he soothed you with his hands, running them along your uncovered skin until you relaxed for him.

Aemond kissed and nipped at your neck as he led you to your bed, slowly undoing the various buckles and laces that held his clothing together. He smiled shyly as you raked your eyes over his now naked form. Even though you’ve seen him like this before, there was a whole new element involved, knowing that you two were going to be the closest two humans could possibly be. You lifted up your hand to reach for his eyepatch, noticing his body tense but allowing you to remove it. This wasn’t new either, but it still took Aemond some getting used to being so vulnerable with someone, that little boy in him still scared that you’d be disgusted by his scar; but as you removed the piece of leather for the umpteenth time, you smiled lovingly as his sapphire glimmered in the light from your fireplace. “My beautiful prince.”

You shivered as Aemond slowly pulled your nightgown down your body, goosebumps rising all over your skin at his featherlight touches. “My beautiful lady.” He replied with a smirk, allowing his hand to lower further down until he reached the slickness that spread over your folds. “So wet for me already, darling.” He chuckled.

“It’s easy when you treat me the way that you do, my love.”

“Yes? And how do I treat you exactly?”

“...like a princess.”

Aemond gripped both of your hips tightly, pulling your body flush against his, feeling his erection prodding against your inner thigh, his eye staring down at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “If all goes according to plan, you will be…” He spoke ominously.

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you-?” You squeaked as Aemond pushed his lips against yours roughly, interrupting your question and replacing any thought you may have had with pure desire. He had such power over you, you couldn’t even fight it, not that you'd want to. He moved up your body, leaving sparks in their wake, trapping your face in between them as his mouth devoured yours desperately. You moaned at his passion, feeling completely wanted and cherished and he hadn’t even done much to you yet.

You gasped as Aemond guided his throbbing length to glide against your folds, your slick creating a pleasant friction that had your prince groaning at the feeling. You held onto him tightly as he rutted against you, his cock nudging your clit with every thrust. “I-I thought…you were going t-to bed me?” You babbled mindlessly, the minute pleasure you were feeling already throwing you for a loop.

“I am, my sweet lady. I need to get you warmed up first, understand? Patience.” He lightly scolded, his tone only making you more impatient. “On the bed.” He ordered, and you obeyed diligently. You tried not to shiver as he stalked above you, like a predator cornering his prey, making you feel even more vulnerable than you already were, his one remaining eye making his gaze more intense somehow. “Spread your legs for me.” You shivered then, the slight chill in the air grazing your cunt unpleasant, but it was worth it to see Aemond’s lips twist into a proud smirk. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, my lady?”

You watched with heavy lidded eyes as Aemond sloppily kissed up your legs and inner thighs, his long silver hair tickling your skin and the slight sandpapery feel of his chin surprising in how much you liked the sensation. Then, you felt his panting breaths on your core, jolting as he licked one long stripe along your folds. “What are you doing?” You asked in a gasp.

“I’ve read about this before. It is supposed to be pleasurable for you, my lady. Would you like me to stop?”

You shook your head. “No…please, keep going.” He smiled and dove in, using the tip of his tongue to run through your folds teasingly, barely stimulating your clit, making you whine.

“You taste divine.” Aemond moaned like he was the one being pleasured, making your face heat up. The bed shook lightly as he gently rutted into the sheets, hearing your whines and whimpers making his cock ache for attention. You let out a breathy moan as Aemond suckled at your clit, the feeling making your eyes roll to the back of your skull briefly. You couldn't stop your hips from jerking up against his mouth, but he placed his hands there to hold you down.

“Oh, gods, Aemond. Right there, please, please…” You whined, his tongue plucking your strings to perfection, making you near that euphoric crescendo way too quickly. “So close…” You babbled, unable to form a word as you neared your peak.

“Come.” Aemond ordered gruffly. “Come for me, my lady.” And with a loud, sharp cry, you came on his tongue, your senses bubbling over like boiling water. “Good girl. That’s my good girl.” He praised, soothing your overheated skin with his rough hands, pinching your pebbled nipples in fascination. He kissed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you in adoration, the expression directed at you almost as good as reaching a climax. “Think you’re ready for me, my love?” He asked softly, and you didn’t care how much it would hurt, you wanted him badly.

“Please…I need you, Aemond.”

You started to notice how anxious Aemond must’ve been, the way his hands trembled as he ran them over your soft skin, the way he took his breaths like he was frightened. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to make your first time as painless as possible if he could, but his body was so aching and ready to take you just the way he wanted. But he restrained himself for you. He could be rough with you another time. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.” All you could do was nod.

Your own cum slick entrance wasn’t enough to prepare for how much you’d have to fit inside. You knew Aemond was well endowed, but you didn’t think you’d ever have to worry about it actually fitting inside you. You had to hold in your cries as he pushed the tip of his cock past your entrance, a heated sharp pressure building in intensity the more he pushed in. He groaned above you as you pulsed at the intrusion, but you wouldn’t dare to tell him how much it actually hurt, not when he looked so pretty like this. The pain was worth it. But after he finally bottomed out, he gave you a well needed break and the pain slowly morphed into something more. It still hurt a bit, but now you needed him to move, like you’d die if he didn’t.

Aemond gasped silently as you started to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to start moving. He started off slow at first, still worried about hurting you. But as he noticed your pained whines turning into moans of pleasure, he sped up his thrusts a bit more. He couldn’t stop the smirk that worked his way onto his features as your breasts bounced with every cant of his hips, his hand reaching out to grope them roughly. “Fuck, my love. You feel so amazing.” He panted, his skin starting to glimmer with a thin sheen of sweat.

WIth how much slick you were producing, you wouldn’t be surprised if your bed linens were ruined. You could hear yourself, you could hear where Aemond’s body met yours with each thrust. With his cockhead hitting a place deep inside you paired with the sound of the splash of your wet skin violently meeting his, you could feel that intense building sensation that you had grown so accustomed to thanks to Aemond, but it was different. You could almost feel him in your chest, he was so deep. 

You moaned and sobbed uncontrollably, your velvety walls clenching tightly around his cock, making him grunt loudly. “Oh, gods, Aemond!” You cried, almost hyperventilating due to the overwhelming pleasure. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into his shoulders until he pinned them to the mattress, forcing you still as he plowed into you, but still unable to stop the rest of your body writhing in oversensitivity. “Aemond, Aemond…” You whined, practically shaking underneath him.

Sweat dripped down Aemond’s forehead and off his nose, the fireplace roaring not helping with how much warmth the two of you were creating between your bodies. Your sweat covered bodies clung to one another, sticking you together, the filthiness of it all making it all the more passionate. “I know, my love. Hold on, I’m so close.” He panted, his thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic as he chased his end. His eye rolled to the back of his head as he was right on that edge, just one more thrust could do it, but instead he pulled out, making you whine. Aemond stroked himself quickly until he came on your stomach with a loud groan, shuddering as goosebumps rose along his skin. “Fuck…” With one final kiss to your swollen lips, he collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling deeply in exhaustion.

You both turned towards one another as you caught your breath, a small smirk playing at the corner of Aemond’s lips. You hummed contently as he ran one of his hands up and down your upper arm, leaning into his touch like a kitten. “Are you alright, my lady?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded bashfully, teeth showing in a bright smile. “It was everything I ever dreamed of.”

Aemond leaned forward to kiss your forehead, bringing you close to his chest. “I’m glad I could be the first one to give this to you.” But the comment only made you frown.

“What happens now?”

Aemond looked down at you burrowed in his chest, an aura of confidence buried just beneath the surface of his thoughtful expression. “Let me worry about that, my love. You just sleep now. Sleep.” He cooed, and being as exhausted as you were, you had no trouble obeying him like you always had.

By the time you awoke, Aemond had already left, but not before leaving you a note saying something about his princely duties but he also took the time to remind you how much he loved you. It satisfied you anyway as you also had duties to attend to, and you could only pray to the Seven that no one important noticed your slight limp.

Meanwhile, all Aemond could think about was the night you shared together. Training was a bit more difficult in that respect, even gaining Ser Criston’s curiosity about where his head was at. He just blamed it on a restless night, which…wasn’t false. But his thoughts were also occupied by a plan that formed in his mind. This day would require luck on Aemond’s part, if he were to do this correctly. Being a son of a king, he had his ways of knowing where anyone was at any time. What he hadn’t expected, however, was his target making his way towards Aemond himself. “Lord Umber, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Aemond greeted coldly, not shying away from the lord’s attempts to appear intimidating. It was amusing, if anything. Pathetic, more like.

“I don’t know what your intentions are with my betrothed, but I would advise you stay away from her. I don’t care if you’re a prince. She’s mine, or will be very soon.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smirk, his mind conjuring up all the ways he had already made you his, right underneath this hairy oaf’s nose. “My lady does not belong to anyone but me, lord Umber.”

The larger man laughed, amused like Aemond was a child who had just told a joke. “She’s yours, is she? Sounds to me like your royal highness is jealous.” Aemond narrowed his eye. “Yes, I’ve seen you with her. The way you cling to her side like a lost pup. You just can’t imagine her being with someone else, can you? Well, don’t worry, prince Aemond. Once she’s my wife, I’ll treat her kindly on our wedding night; but just the first time. By dawn, her voice will be sore from screaming my name. She’ll have sired me an heir by the time I’m done with her.” Aemond had half a mind to slit this stupid man’s throat right then and there. How dare he speak of you that way? And as if the man couldn’t get any dumber, he continued on. “She seems so innocent, doesn’t she? I bet she’s never even tried pleasuring herself. Imagine how tight her-”

And with a swift pommel to the temple, the Northern lord was finally interrupted from his perverse rant and knocked unconscious.

Aemond hummed, staring down at the man with a certain morbid curiosity. How strange a man that burly could be rendered completely useless by just one blow to the head. It just hammered in the thought in his mind that this lord was not worthy of you. Not one bit. He’d deal with the consequences later. Right now, he needed to find you before the lord came to. And he found you fairly quickly.

“What are you doing?” You giggled nervously as Aemond dragged you to a certain part of the Keep, gasping as he pushed you up against the brick wall, the memory of being in a similar position not that long ago flashing in your mind. You hummed as he kissed you lovingly, leaving your eyes heavy lidded and pupils lust blown as he pulled away.

Aemond held up his index finger, motioning for you to wait. He looked around the corner of the somewhat secluded area of the Rep Keep, smirking furiously when he saw the Northern lord still laying in the hall right where he left him. He could wake at any moment, Aemond would have to start now. “I started to miss you as soon as I left, my love.” Aemond spoke as he found his way back to you, running his calloused hands along your sides. “Couldn’t stop picturing you split open on my cock. Need to see it again, need to feel you.”

As Aemond tried to lift up your skirts, you made a feeble attempt to stop him. “But, what if someone were to walk past? Anyone could see us?” You whisper yelled. Aemond restrained himself from rolling his eye. That’s quite the point.

“That’s why I checked if anyone was near, my love. Please, my cock aches for you.”

Oh, how could you refuse when he begged so prettily like that?

Aemond lifted up your skirts, feeling a wetness gathered at the apex of your thighs. “Do you just get wet at the sight of me, my lady?”

Your face burned like a furnace, a bashful smile on your lips. “Maybe.”

Aemond grinned, turning you so your front was pressed against the wall. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, my prince. Please, fuck me.” You whined, and he couldn’t hide his expression of pride and shock.

“Oh, you want me to fuck you, hm? Not make love to you?” He teased, talking in your ear as he undid his trousers.

You shivered, feeling the blunt tip of his cock prod at your entrance. “Yes.”

Aemond heard the faintest shuffling from the hall, halting his movements briefly. He turned to see in the corner of his eye the silhouette of lord Umber, frozen as he stared at the shocking scene before him. Aemond could only laugh under his breath as he pushed into you, smiling genuinely when you couldn’t bite back your moan. “Fuck, my love. Still just as tight as you were last night.”

You cried out as Aemond’s thrusts speed up in their pace and roughness immediately, the force jolting your whole body in place, making your breasts push against the brick wall. “Who do you belong to, my lady?” Aemond growled suddenly, marking up the skin of your neck with his teeth. “Say it! Who do you belong to, jorrāelagon?”

“You, Aemond!” You stuttered, losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re mine, are you not?”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours. Only yours, my love!”

“Not that idiot Northern lord Umber?”

“No, I belong to you. I don’t want anyone else, my prince.”  You babbled, almost unable to form full sentences.

“Think he could make you feel the way I can?” Aemond hummed with a dark smirk, knowing fully well the lord could hear them. He hadn’t looked towards the burly man in a while, focusing on making you fully relent to him, forcing you to scream exactly how he’s made you his. If he could guess, the lord was probably red with rage, the thought making him pound into you faster. “Hmm? Can you not answer me, my lady? Is my cock making you feel that good?” He asked condescendingly.

“So…so good…” You moaned, peaking without any stimulation to your clit.

Aemond grunted. “You want my cum, love? You want me to fill you up?” You must’ve been out of it, because you begged him to. “Good girl. ‘M gonna give you my cum. Fuck, you’d look so beautiful carrying my child if my seed takes, wouldn’t you agree?” By that time, lord Umber was long gone, and Aemond could sense it. Now, he was just saying whatever he felt like saying for himself. The image of you married to him, carrying his Targaryen babe, made him finally let go. 

Aemond’s chest heaved against your back, sweat making your clothes stick to your bodies. “Avy jorrāelan…” He grinned at your attempt, your pronunciation was a bit off, but he couldn’t say anything when you spoke the words so sweetly.

“I love you, my lady.” He nuzzled into the back of your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Mine…all mine.”

What came after that was par for the course.

Lord Umber, enraged and embarrassed, went to your father to tell him what he had seen. The Northern lord demanded a virgin, but in his eyes, what he got was a whore. It was his word against yours, a woman, so you obviously wouldn’t have been believed even if you were telling the truth. But out of pure survival instinct, you lied and denied. You would never give away your body like that, even to a prince. Your one saving grace from being scalped publicly, was prince Aemond. To get his side of the story.

“Lord Umber said that he saw you and my daughter…engaging in premarital activities.” Your father spoke, his voice unsteady in his rage.

Aemond, as calm as you ever saw him, spoke, “That is an outrageous lie. I would never defile a lady such as her.”

Lord Umber guffawed. “You lying prick. I saw you, balls deep into this whore.”

Aemond’s eye darkened, taking a step closer to the three of you. “You are a guest here, lord Umber, but you forget yourself. To spread such vile rumors against the son of the king, is treason.” And with that one word, the warmth in the air depleted, leaving a cold eerie silence in the room. “Do you know what happens to people that commit treason against the crown?” Lord Umber was uncharacteristically silent now. “On your way in from the middle of nowhere, you did notice all the heads that were stacked neatly on pikes, correct? Those were all men and women who spoke lies about us. Would you like your head to join them as well?”

The Northern lord was finally frightened into submission, but Aemond didn’t stop there.

“I shall have my grandsire arrest you and behead you on the morrow.”

“Wait, my prince!” Lord Umber called out desperately. Aemond smirked, how the big strong men fall when they’re faced with death. “Please, I take back what I said. I didn’t see anything! It must’ve been someone else. I sincerely apologize for being so quick to anger and place blame on the wrong person. Please, forgive me.” He begged.

Aemond pretended to consider the apology, but he knew what he wanted from the moment they sought him out. “I will pardon this indiscretion…but for a price.”

“Whatever it is, my prince, it shall be yours.”

“Your betrothed.”

“What?” You, your father, and lord Umber spoke at the same time.

“I will let you keep your head if you give me her. Seems to be a small price to pay, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your father and lord Umber shared looks, while you and Aemond did the same. Theirs were filled with fear and uncertainty, but yours with Aemond…pure love and respect. You didn’t even think of the means he was able to make this happen. But now, you wouldn’t have to leave for the North with a man who would never see you as his equal. Now, you have the chance to live with the love of your life for the rest of your days.

“She’s yours, my prince.” Your father announced, and you had to stop yourself from jumping with joy.

“You made the right choice. As for you, lord Umber, I want you out of King’s Landing by daybreak. If any of our guards find you after then, I’ll bring you back here and behead you myself. Are we at an understanding?”

“Yes, prince Aemond.” Lord Umber spoke, excusing himself and running with his tail between his legs. No amount of chains could hold a dragon down.

For the first time in Aemond’s life, he didn’t care that he disappointed his mother and grandsire. He gained his father’s permission and that’s all that mattered to him. Although, it wasn’t too difficult to convince a man addled on Milk of the Poppy.

That same night, Aemond came to your chambers, immediately captured in an embrace. “How?” Was all you asked.

“You know how people say Targaryens are closer to gods than men? Well, I just used some of my godly powers.” He grinned, kissing you like his life depended on it. “I hope you aren’t upset with me.”

You huffed incredulously. “Why would I be? Aemond, you save me from a miserable existence in the North. I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’m sure my father would’ve found me another lord so he could fill his pockets.” 

Aemond lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his bright eye. “You won’t have to deal with your father any more, my love. I’ll take care of you. And I will not let anything or anyone come between us. I swear it.”

Finally, Aemond was all yours, and you were his; now and forever.

yeah, i rushed the ending so i could finally finish this. WHAT OF IT???

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[fuumiku]

They’re really interesting foils in many ways. I’ve always thought that Marcille & Mithrun have underrated dynamic potential. Give me the cringefail dungeon lords. Give me the elves with ears-centric metaphorical self-image issues. Give me the academic elites whose deepest strongest desires will always remain unreachable and the only option is to turn to the corrupt forbidden fruit of a demon pact. I am so so normal about Mithrun and Marcille

I wonder if the resemblance between captain Mithrun and general Hagreus aka Marcille’s fave in Dalclan is intentional… They definitely look very alike. It could represent idealization vs reality? Something something the romanticization of elves and their societal drama in their fiction vs a very real and imperfect product of their military system. The canaries certainly aren’t glamorous next to whatever Hagreus is the general of. I feel like she never had the opportunity to notice the resemblance herself bc within seconds of meeting him he was wrestling her on the ground but. If she had… She would so think he should have been his actor in the tallman stage play of Daltian Clan in that new extra comic hehe. I love the little details like Hagreus’ lips being drawn with extra details because they’re full and pretty while Mithrun’s lips are drawn with extra details because they’re chapped lmao.

This art is all silly and surface level but in my head mithrille is like so dramatic and I make up daltian clan level big plots with them gbdgd. I made a spotify playlist for mithrun if y’all interested, rn it’s mostly centered around cravings that consume and losing yourself and illusions inspired from his time as dungeon lord but it’s branching out. Varied vibes, levels of intensity and degrees of confusion and await you ✨ I would emotionally rant about Chainsaw Man ost lyrics and how they tie in with Mithrun and the winged lion’s relationship but this post is already a monster

I want more of these two please please please pleaseee just one or two interactions in the new canon content coming up… All they ever did was debate philosophy on desires and human self-fulfillment and try to murder each other, please… I never get to gush about them and I can’t shut up so if you want more thoughts I talk about them more below

To get a girl to peacefully accept arrest follow these simple steps: in private, ominously stand above her and forcefully interrogate her, while in public, tell her you’ve met before (untrue and also not a pickup line, you’re just face blind) and interrogate her with a thin veneer of decorum. If all else fails, threaten and follow through on said threat. My guy needs more than just physical therapy I’m afraid

Sorry if most of these were Marcille-centric with Mithrun standing there looking cool, if I were doing these more from Mithrun’s pov things would be like "She’s a bit much but I guess I don’t mind hanging around her." or "Oh you’re a half-elf? -insert elven supremacist rethoric-" or "I have to keep her from becoming demon stew." immediately followed by "Did someone say demon? Kill kill kill kill kill" since these are set prior to like really knowing another. Then things would be more like "huh she has bad tastes in novels but her magic research is pretty interesting" and "I’m lonely and don’t understand myself— Oh she loves talking about feelings? Oh shi-" That last one is an aspect of why I like Marcille and Mithrun’s potential dynamic lol. She’s very… Emotionally intelligent alongside being impulsive. You think you have no feelings because the world has beaten them out of you? Think again!! Marcille be upon ye! -In a therapy sort of way but mostly in a connecting with people and your own self through interpersonal relationships and talking kinda way. I just think a lively, upbeat, annoying friend way too interested in your personal life would do him good, the canaries are nice but like if Marcille went to prison and was a sort of extra new bunkmate I think that’d be interesting and fun to read is what I’m saying

Unlike Kabru she wants all the useless messy filler of his backstory, eating chips while listening. Like two chibi sets side by side, "me and my fellow canaries, name name and name-" "Hold on we don’t need to know that." Vs "Then we were to sleep on the third floor of the dungeon, which had the look of a mausoleum, and name and name got into a fight over the campfire placement." while Marcille is like uh-huh what next what next while kicking her feet. She thinks of pre-dungeon pompous Mithrun and is like omg you went through a character arc and become better as a person- and then he opens his mouth and she’s like nevermind let’s keep working on that. She would also go "ew ur hair is greasy" and give him a full hair care treatment. What I’m saying is I need them to be forced to spend time in a dungeon together and become besties through a life or death roadtrip

Marcille is insecure about her ears, long, like an elf’s pride should be, but rounder, inelegant. Seeing Mithrun though, the epitome of beauty, with his half-cut ears make it a sillier thought. Not sure if Mithrun is the best person to reconnect with ur elven culture with but it sure is an option Marcille would so appreciate being around someone both cool headed and kind, I genuinely think they’d get along, like not that Senshi isn’t that too most of the time but I think Mithrun would be in a way that’s more refreshing to her. I’d be so curious about them discussing Dalclan, I doubt he’d have read it but she could make him read it, maybe post-canon with the excuse that they’re trying to find him a new hobby hah. He’d tear into the writing and everything but it’d be a fun time, I like to think that it’d make him a bit less prejudiced. Marcille @ Mithrun "👉👈 Soo maybe you don’t know these books they’re pretty recent having come out 50 years ago but…"

I’ve been in a Mithrun phase I want to make and read Mithrun-centric fics and angst so baaad. I razz him a lot here but he’s literally a traumatized military man that became obsessed with revenge due to bad coping and neglects himself in the process idk not much for him going on and some of it is because he has to work on himself, but hey no one’s perfect it all comes from a place of love and relating though I prommy. He’s the one ungodly angsty squeaky toy blorbo with brain damage rep I have don’t take him from me

[k4marina]

— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now. 

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today. 

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas. 

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face. 

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out. 

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.” 

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck. 

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?” 

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.” 

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.” 

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle. 

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys. 

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.  

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned. 

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.” 

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.” 

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates. 

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.” 

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.” 

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down. 

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down. 

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?” 

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled. 

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass. 

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field. 

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.” 

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me. 

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?” 

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.” 

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet. 

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs. 

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience. 

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm. 

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.” 

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax. 

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular. 

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons. 

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King. 

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched. 

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.” 

“What? 

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me. 

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded. 

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass. 

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks. 

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me. 

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him. 

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.” 

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon. 

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me. 

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off. 

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice. 

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right? 

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes. 

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky. 

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.” 

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz. 

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.” 

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears. 

“Your dragon,” 

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings. 

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I. 

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end. 

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible. 

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely. 

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle. 

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.” 

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly. 

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.” 

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. 

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

comment to be on the taglist!

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff

[dootdootwriting]

HIHIHI IDK IF URE STILL TAKIJG REQUEST BUT IF U ARE, ATUSHI,DAZAI AND RANPO MAKING READER CRY? (gender neutral or fem is great if that’s okayyy) TAKE CARE 😘💞💓 make sure ure eating drinking sleeping and all that jazz 🫶🫶

featuring: atsushi; dazai; ranpo (separately tw: mild descriptions of violence/injury in atsushi's part, crying, dazai typical suicide jokes/discussion of them in his part, "angel" as a pet name, swearing (from me) type: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort pronouns used: none (no use of "belladonna") (dazai flirts with another woman but god dammit that man is BISEXUAL. reader is gn) a/n: YIPPEEE THREE OF MY BEST BOYS!! and tysm im actually coming down with some kindof sickness my dad has covid so i hope its. not that LMAO but thank you <333 i'm going to bed after i write this!

under the cut for length <3 i may have gotten a LITTLE carried away with dazai DHAGHDG

ATSUSHI

is it even possible for this dude to make you cry, genuinely? he's such a caring boyfriend that he second guesses just about everything he says in case it could somehow offend you

it's partially adorable and partially annoying

so, him hurting you is pretty much out of the question. so how the hell does this sweetheart end up making you cry??

by getting hurt

he gets beaten within an inch of his life in yet another accidental run-in with akutagawa, and you have to drag him out of that situation as fast as you can, carrying him all the way to the ada

kunikida opens the door, notices your tear-stained face first and then atsushi's limp body flung over your shoulder, and calls for yosano immediately. she arrives in under three seconds, scooping him up and rushing him to her infirmary.

and now, all you can do is wait

hours after the incident, after yosano informs everyone that he'll most likely pull through, you try to get some work done. but with your boyfriend having just nearly been killed, it's pretty much impossible.

ranpo is so worried about how distressed you look that he offers you a pocky stick. you accept it and eat it, but it doesn't taste like anything.

your thanks is half-hearted.

you're sitting there in front of your google doc, eyes tired and red from sobbing earlier. there are three words written on what's supposed to be an incident report. kunikida sighs, pats you on the back, and takes your laptop away from you, telling you he'll take care of it.

that's when yosano gently re-enters the main room, calling you over

atsushi is sitting upright in bed, eyes misty. as soon as he sees you, he tries to sit up even more. yosano snaps at him.

the thing you want to do more than anything is jump into his arms and cry into his chest, but you don't want to risk hurting him even more. so, instead, you opt to gently sit on the edge of his bed and wrap your arms around him.

both of you start crying again, and atsushi promises he'll be more careful next time.

DAZAI

oh good lord . what did he do this time

jokingly flirting with yet another woman and asking if she'll do a double suicide with him again? yeah, that'll do it.

as always, his newest mark turns him down, skittering away as quickly as possible. you don't blame her.

"how come you keep asking people to commit suicide with you?"

"hm?" he doesn't seem to understand, flashing you that head-empty smile. he's completely enamored with you, you can tell, but then... why is he still up to his stupid habits?

"i mean, you're with me now. are you still really looking for someone to die with you?"

"well, you keep saying no, so what am i supposed to do~?"

it's a joke, you can tell. it's always a joke, except when it isn't, and with dazai, really, who can tell?

you don't want him to run off and end his life with some lady he met fifteen minutes ago. and they all reject him anyway, but what if, one day, one of them doesn't? would he be caught off guard and admit he was teasing? or would he not even miss a beat and actually go through with it?

the thought of him just leaving you without warning is so distressing, your eyes start to tear up. you thought you were done with this.

immediately, dazai notices. his eyebrows furrow and his expression immediately sobers.

"hey, angel, what's wrong?"

through tears, you have to explain everything to him. how much he means to you, and how little you feel that it seems that he could throw you and the rest of his life away at the drop of a hat. how you can never tell if he's joking, if he means it, if he's teasing. how much you just want him to stay with you and never leave.

he's taken aback. for a fraction of a second, dazai's eyes widen and he's left at a complete loss for words.

of course, as always, he regains his composure almost immediately, pulling you in as close as he can to his chest and rubbing circles into your back.

"i thought you knew you meant too much to me for me to do that," he murmurs, his voice as low and soothing as he can muster. "i'm so sorry, i didn't realize how much this was bothering you. i won't do it anymore, i promise. and you never have to worry about me leaving you like that. i can't just throw all this away! you're everything."

and he holds you like that for as long as you need before taking you back home.

RANPO

this man and his fucking candy i swear to god

it's always a bargain with him. you want a kiss? okay, but you owe him a lollipop. hugs? while he's working? you'd better have a cookie ready.

honestly, it's almost as if he's doing it just for you. like he doesn't love the affection just as much as you do, if not even more

ranpo enters every request of him with the mindset of it being a trade. instead of both of you receiving a kiss, it's your request, so he deserves something in return.

it's stupid is what it is (in a complete contrast to ranpo himself)

"i'm not giving you a lollipop, ranpo. you either get a hug, or you don't."

"fine, i guess i don't then. suit yourself." he spins his chair back around and gets back to typing, making a point of only using his index fingers to go as slowly as possible

"this is stupid, ranpo."

he swivels back around, his eyes open and giving you one of the most piercing expressions you've seen from him thus far.

"stupid? it's not stupid, it's just the way i do things. if you want a hug so bad, go to kunikida for all i care. besides, you should know better. if my own way sounds stupid to you, that means you're the dumb one. i'm just taking advantage of an opportunity; nobody said you had to get all fussy about it. just get back to work and leave me alone."

it stings! i mean, this is your boyfriend, who, despite being selfish at times, is usually one of the sweetest and most caring people you've met. just because of a lollipop? and you're the stupid one?

you feel like crying.

oh. you are crying?

you hadn't even noticed, and you weren't even sure why - this type of thing was usually something you should be able to suck up and give ranpo the silent treatment about.

but you're crying?

ranpo notices from the corner of his eye, and immediately feels insanely guilty

so of course he makes a show out of it.

"wait! there's something wrong! something doesn't add up!"

he stands up on his chair, procuring his glasses from his pocket and flashily but delicately placing them on his face.

"my lovely partner is crying! which can only mean one thing. it seems... in this singular, incredibly improbable situation... i, the world's greatest detective.... am wrong!"

he drops back down to sit cross legged on his chair again, puting his glasses back into his pocket.

"i'm really sorry, i didn't think this would upset you so much. i'll give you as many hugs as you want from now on."

[samsalami66]

Here we go again with a fun little drabble, this time for a spontaneous Knight!Hob and Prince!Dream au (which will probably get a few more additions lmao). It all started with my lovely @im-not-corrupted handing me the prompt "you know, it's ok if you're not ok" from this wonderful prompt list.

----

Dream ran down a corridor, his coat billowing behind him like an angry cloud of black smoke, set to destroy everything that would dare to stand between him and this God-forsaken door deep within the bowels of the castle. 

Dream ran, and it was the first time Dream remembered running since his childhood years, when he had been a naught but a babe, excited to explore every nook and corner of the massive palace that he called his home. Of course the first time he was forced to engage in such physical activity in as many years, it would be Hob Gadling's fault. Because it was always Hob Gadling's fault, from the moment he stepped foot into the throne room and announced he would become Dream's personal guardian, a Knight in his name alone, loyal to none other than the Prince of the Dreaming. 

What is he at fault for? a curious reader might ask, and Dream would whirl around on his heel and give a whole list of things Sir Robert Gadling could be blamed for, if only indirectly. 

For the blush he forced onto Dream's pale cheeks anytime their gazes met over a particularly boring dinner with his family. Perhaps also for the way Dream's heart skipped a beat whenever Hob spoke up to the King and Queen on his behalf, a feat so terrible even the most noble of men had failed before him. Good thing Hob was no nobleman, no son of high houses nor of new money. 

He was an idiot, first and foremost. A talented, quick witted and patient idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. After all, who just waltzes into a room with the King and Queen in it and promises undying loyalty to their adolescent son who no one particularly likes and expects it to simply work? And who decides to simply enter a jousting match without any former training or experience for fun?

Hob Gadling, of course, which was just one more example of things he could be blamed for. 

Nil consideration for his own physical well-being. 

Idiot. 

Dream was about to say as much as he threw open the door to Hob's chambers, but every ill thought spent towards his Knight's stupidity was immediately dropped as Dream found him hunched over the back of his armchair, one hand clutching at his bare chest as it rose and fell in quick succession. 

God's wounds, Dream had seen how Hob got shoved out of his saddle, how the lance had connected with his armor plate and sent him flying from his horse in one spectacular arch. But he never could have guessed just how bad it must have hurt, even through the steel and cloth. The bruise on Hob's chest was an angry black, his sides spotted with a deep red where his ribs were most definitely fractured. 

"Hob," the name left Dream's lips like a plea, like God's name would fall from a sinner's lips who prayed for salvation. And he did pray for salvation, in a way. Not his own, but salvation from endless pain nonetheless.

The man in question looked up between sweaty brows, a pained grimace painting his usual smile an ugly gray. Dream found himself by his side faster than lightning, hands coming up to hover helplessly over Hob's chest. 

Hob sighed at the concern clearly plastered into every corner of Dream's face, the way his lips tugged downwards in an obvious display of his dislike for the position he found Hob in. 

"Don't you worry for me, my Lord. I'm… fine. I'm fine, I promise." 

Tragically, the trustworthiness of this statement was negated by a heavy cough wrecking Hob's body, which left him groaning in pain over his injuries. 

"You are not fine, Robert Gadling," Dream hissed in response, hands finally coming to a rest on Hob's back. "Which is. Alright. It is alright if you are not alright. Just, please, lay down, my friend. You must rest."

Thankfully, Hob did not fight Dream as he was pushed towards his bedroom, and neither did he when Dream gently pressed him down into the mattress with a careful hand to his shoulder. His breath was still heavy and his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at Dream, something vulnerable hidden behind the dark brown of his eyes that Dream could not quite decipher in the near darkness of the bedroom. 

"Will you stay? My Lord?" Hob whispered, apparently balancing carefully between the realm of sleep and the world of the waking. 

"No duty could possibly force me from your side, my half-witted Knight." Dream responded quietly, his heart warming considerably at the soft smile that crept into his friend's eyes at the endearment, before they eventually fell close and Hob got pulled into deep and restful slumber. 

Dream placed a single feather-light kiss to the dark spot on Hob's chest before settling into the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the slowing rise and fall of Hob's breast. 

Hob Gadling really was an idiot.

Dream's idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

[imakemywings]

So Maeglin apparently was handsome af, popular, charismatic, and a close confidant of Turgon during his time in Gondolin. In fact, he was a lord and was close to Turgon's ear so he was heard more than Idril. I just wanna know why the fandom loves to portray him as this kid who was hated by everyone (he was not), whom Turgon hated (didn't Turgon love that kid so much?), and whose love for Idril was seen in a good light (when in fact, he was willing to kill earendil just to get Idril). I was honestly shocked when it was such a popular narrative that he was being abused and hated pretty much by everyone in Gondolin and he didn't mean to cause the fall of Gondolin because he was a poor mew mew when the real poor mew mew was Turgon for listening to him in the first place. Lmao I was just genuinely shocked when it was the other way around. I like his character, he's interesting and complex but it kinda takes away the complexity of his character when he is being woobify but that's just me. What do you think?

Anon, idk if you looked at my blog and could tell I would be receptive to these takes, or if you just happen to keep landing on things I agree with XD

But yeah, I have thoughts on Maeglin's reception by the fandom and it's mostly in agreement with what you said.

With Maeglin, he is sympathetic in a lot of ways, which makes you want to root for him. He did have a difficult childhood--Eol was a shithead spouse so it's not hard to imagine he was not a great father either. Maeglin grew up almost totally isolated from anyone but his mom and dad, who did not have a good relationship, thanks to his dad's abuse. When he and Aredhel make a run for it, we want them to succeed! We want good things for them (we've been rooting for Aredhel since the beginning of the chapter)! When Maeglin witnesses his father kill his mother in an effort to kill him, we want him to find peace and security in Gondolin.

The thing is--Maeglin grows well past his difficult childhood. As you noted, Maeglin does very well for himself in Gondolin. At the end of the chapter Of Maeglin, it is described how he "grew great among the Gondolindrim" and there are various indications he was generally trusted and well-liked.

"Thus all seemed well with the fortunes of Maeglin, who had risen to be mighty among the princes of the Noldor..." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

At this point, this is we want for him! We like the idea that he's shrugged off his past, that he's doing well, and that he's not like his creepy bride-abducting father.

We don't get much in Silm about what Maeglin's relationship with Turgon is like, but I talked here about why I can't buy that Turgon neglected or abused Maeglin.

"Then the King listened with wonder to all that Aredhel had to tell; and he looked with liking upon Maeglin his sister-son, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. 'I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel has returned to Gondolin,' he said, 'and now more fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost. And Maeglin shall have the highest honor in my realm.'" ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

The only fly in that pudding is that he and Idril get off to a bad start which never improves. He's into her, she's not into him, but he can't let it go. He lets it fester and generate anger, jealousy, and hatred, and in this way, he's like so many creepy guys who can't take rejection.

"But as the years passed, still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart. And he sought the more to have his will in other matters, shirking no toil or burden, if he might thereby have power." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

But even so, Maeglin is trusted by Turgon! He's popular! He has his own craft and people who admire and follow his ideas! In almost every way, Maeglin should be happy. But he cannot stop obsessing over Idril, and he lets that spoil everything else that he's achieved, to the point where he's wiling to betray the entire city to possess her.

I think there's also a disconnect between those who've read The Fall of Gondolin and those who haven't, because TFOG expands on a lot of things only really hinted at in Silm proper. For instance, the attempted murder of Earendil (who, it should be noted, is seven years old during the sack of Gondolin). In Silm, we get this:

"Tuor sought to rescue Idril from the sack of the city, but Maeglin had laid hands on her, and on Earendil; and Tuor fought with Maeglin on the walls, and cast him far out..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

In The Fall of Gondolin, we get a much more detailed account:

"Messengers by great stealth he had dispatched to Melko[r] to set a guard about the outer issue of that Way when the assault was made; but he himself thought now to take Earendil and cast him into the fire beneath the walls, and seizing Idril he would constrain her to guide him to the secrets of the passage, that he might win out of this terror of fire and slaughter and drag her withal along with him to the lands of Melko[r]... Now then M[a]eglin had Idril by the hair and sought to drag her to the battlements out of cruelty of heart, that she might see the fall of Earendil to the flames...When M[a]eglin saw [Tuor] he would stab Earendil with a short knife he had...the mail of the small coat turned the blade aside; and thereupon Tuor was upon him and his wrath was terrible to see." ("The Original Tale," The Fall of Gondolin)

In TFOG, Maeglin's malice is even more apparent as we get a blow-by-blow account of his effort to force Idril to watch him kill her child and then drag her to Angband, but even looking exclusively at canon Silm, Maeglin clearly swings into the villain path. I don't like to criticize him too much for caving under Melkor's threats, because being threatened with torture by Melkor would be fucking terrifying and I don't think any of us can say for certain how we would respond in that kind of situation. Tolkien even tells us Maeglin wasn't a coward, but Melkor is Melkor. Not everyone can be Hurin "Noted Badass and Snarkmaster" Thalion. What I am happy to criticize him relentlessly on is that he allows Melkor's plan to move forward.

"But Morgoth sent him [Maeglin] back to Gondolin, lest any should suspect the betrayal, and so that Maeglin should aid the assault from within, when the hour came; and he abode in the halls of the King with smiling face and evil heart..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

He never warns the Gondolindrim of what's coming, and in fact he encourages Turgon to refuse Ulmo's advice and stay in the city (where Melkor expects them to be). In TFOG, when Melkor does invade, Maeglin and his house fight on Melkor's side.

Maeglin fucked up by selling the city out, no argument. But it's more than that--he could have tried to fix it. But he doesn't. Because? Because he doesn't want his treachery revealed, and because Melkor promised him possession of Idril if he helped.

"Great indeed was the joy of Morgoth, and to Maeglin he promised the lordship of Gondolin as his vassal, and the possession of Idril Celebrindal, when the city should be taken; and indeed desire for Idril and hatred for Tuor led Maeglin the easier to his treachery, most infamous in all the histories of the Elder Days." ( "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

People resist the narrative of Maeglin the villain I think because they are still in phase 1 where we want good things for Maeglin and for him to overcome his past. And he does...but then he chooses his own shitty path and throws away all the things he gained because he can't be content without everything that he wants, which includes Idril. Making all Maeglin's bad choices someone else's fault--Idril's for rejecting his advances, Aredhel or Eol for parenting him wrong, Turgon for not understanding him, Tuor for who knows--means not having to acknowledge Maeglin chose to become the person who betrayed Gondolin and tried to murder his family.

"Then the heart of Idril was turned towards [Tuor], and his to hear; and Maeglin's secret hatred grew ever greater, for he desired above all things to possess her, the only heir to the King of Gondolin." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

Maeglin's story is a tragedy of someone consumed with their own malcontent, someone who had so much opportunity to be happy but chose to perserverate on the things he couldn't have, who became so obsessed with his own desires that he was willing to hurt everyone around him to get what he wanted. Maeglin's story is of a man who could not handle rejection by a woman he wanted, so he decided to ruin her life and kill her family. Maeglin begins the story as someone we are meant to sympathize with--but he doesn't end it that way.

[pyode-luar-ke]

carnation | part i | poly!yautja x reader

A/N: this is sooooo self-indulgent, i almost didn’t post lol. but it turned out really good, and i’m proud of it so fuck it, y’know? also, i take sooooo many creative liberties with yautja lore and canon, so if anything like... doesn’t make sense, lmk and i’ll try to clarify LOL 💀

i have part 2 outlined, and it’s probs not gonna be as long as this one, so it should be out soonish. 💕

summary: you have a baby with your mates.

word count: 7,005

content: 18+, smut, fem!afab!reader, polyamorous relationship (F/M/M/M/M/M) (good lord lmao), reverse harem, pregnancy, mention of abortion, lactation, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, lactation kink, body image issues, a whole lotta love, public sex, voyeurism

part ii → (out now!!)

—

No one really anticipated you getting pregnant. Not really.

Sure, it was a possibility, but an incredibly improbable one. Human and Yautja DNA held some fundamental differences, in spite of being surprisingly similar in some regards. Thus, if the laws of biology and physiology were to be true, it dictated that procreation was exceedingly rare, if not entirely impossible to achieve.

Yet, here you were, against the odds, a testament to the universe’s principle of: If there is a will, there is a way.

—

Bhu’kei goes completely silent, not even a stray whicker or growl escapes him. He’s deathly still too, his only movement coming from his clawed fingertips as he taps at his gauntlet, again. This is enough to notify you without words that he’s rerunning the pregnancy test, confirmed when a green light scans over your midsection.

A part of you wants to stop him, to sit up and place a palm on his black-scaled arm, to say “It’s true, Bhu’kei, and it’s okay!”— but you don’t. There’s a small part of you that still reels from disbelief, that wants to recoil in shock and gasp, “It’s not possible!”

A small beep echoes in the dead quiet yurt, and Bhu’kei is still silent. And then he meets your gaze, the expression in his eyes paradoxically unreadable and completely decipherable. He looks apologetic, almost— like he’s waiting for the gravity of the situation to dawn on you, for you to realize just how rare and dangerous and life-threatening this is for you.

Yautja females are larger than their male counterparts; taller, more muscled, and sometimes even stronger. They are built to withstand the 12-month gestation of a Yautja pup, and the entirety of labor and delivery, with ease— an evolutionary gift bestowed upon them due to the fact that most approach childbirth completely alone.

Your disbelief morphs into raw terror— How the Hell do you expect your body to survive this?— and as quickly as that occurs, the raw terror morphs into absolute elation— Well, damn it, you’ll sure try. A smile so big and bright— one you didn’t even know you were capable of doing— splits across your face before you can stop it.

“I’m pregnant!”

—

Announcing your pregnancy to the rest of the camp was initially met with some pushback. Ap-tui, for one, argued that an oomani-di carrying a Yautja pup would be detrimental at best and fatal at worst. True to his blunt nature, he encouraged you to terminate the pregnancy, which probably should have upset you more than it did, but you saw his point.

You had considered abortion, but the thought was fleeting. Despite the potential (and possibly fatal) consequences of carrying a Yautja pup, you rationalized that due to the little to no information on interspecies breeding between humans and Yautja, that your pregnancy was somewhat of a miracle of nature.

Yautja document their history, they transcribe what they learn and all their knowledge about other planets and species and races into databases accessible to all. They have been hunting humans (a morbid thought to you, but one you’ve learned to reconcile with) for hundreds of years, ever since Earth made a blip on their radars.

There is nothing on interspecies breeding. It simply hasn’t happened yet.

That thought partly fueled your decision to keep the baby. More so, however, you wanted the pup— Children were always a desire of yours, and with the development of gaining a handful of Yautja males as your significant others, you had thought the dream had turned to complete fantasy.

Not anymore, you finally got your wish, and you wanted to see it play out, to be the first. Not so much in a selfish, glorifying way— But to stick the finger to the universe and say “Look what love can do.”

Your decision may have also been influenced by your very human strain of curiosity— Something that Van’chaa once told you Yautja lacked in spades.

So, with your mind dead-set on growing that fetus inside you, you shook your head and said, “No, I’m keeping it. It’s my pup.”

Ap-tui was not pleased with your response. Nor was Van’chaa and Th’chi. However, they did not try to press you further. Bhu’kei had already told them that while yes, it was dangerous; It was clearly a risk you were willing to take. And it was not a decision any of them could make for you.

Ultimately, their begrudging support was because you were still female. The Yautja males could do nothing but yield to your wishes. You may be of a different and much less capable species, but honorable and respected Yautja males obeyed their females. So, they would pay that same regard to you.

Thankfully, Ta’kaa’s propensity to celebrate the good in situations garnered a positive reaction that distracted you from the overall dour moods of his hunting brothers.

—

You break your glare with Ap-tui when you hear Ta’kaa whicker in excitement. He meets your gaze, molten eyes cheery and bright, and all the negative emotions leak out of you in an instant. The moss green Yautja scoops you up in his arms, all the while clicking happy noises from his mandibles. You can’t understand a word Ta’kaa says, so far gone in his elation the full Yautja tongue took hold.

Your arms wrapped loose around his neck, tears prick hot at your eyeballs as you watch Ta’kaa growl and clack and nuzzle his mandibles against the soft of your cheek. His body is like fire, and his touch is so tender, so you lean into his affections, smiling.

If there was one Yautja you could rely on for some positivity, it was Ta’kaa.

He is the youngest of the hunting party, and it shows. Ta’kaa acts far more on emotional impulse than the rest, but sometimes it makes him feel a little more human, so you don’t complain. Sometimes though, you have to remind yourself that Ta’kaa passed his Chiva and was Blooded decades before you were born. That often makes you remember that he is a Yautja, born and raised to be a hunter.

But you take his enthusiastic clicking and nuzzling with open arms, offering him kisses to his fluttering mandibles in return.

His elder brothers and cousins click and grumble amongst themselves, allowing their frustrations to air before they silence their grievances for good. Yautja are blunt and direct, so they know to speak out once and then never again. Issues of a more diplomatic blend tend to resolve quickly in Yautja circles.

Off on the sidelines, Ap-tui smothers his concerns deep inside his chest. He opts for watching you joyfully play with his younger brother, absorbing the way your strange, beautiful ooman face contorts with emotion. It took him a while to recognize that when you bare your teeth it means that you are happy, not attempting to threaten.

You are happy now, happy because you carry a pup in your womb, happy because Ap-tui remembers nights when he’s mated you, after which you’ve shed wetness from your eyes because all you’ve ever wanted was children. Another strange ability that oomans have: Crying.

He sees you’re crying now, but he knows it’s not from sadness.

A fairly important question arises in Ap-tui’s mind.

“Who is the sire?” He asks Bhu’kei, who pulls one of his daggers from its hilt at his shin. Bhu’kei doesn’t regard the hunt leader for a moment, instead opting to flip the blade in his hand, looking for impurities. When he finishes, the ink black Yautja glances out the corner of his eye at his cousin.

“You are.” Bhu’kei replies simply.

Ap-tui freezes.

—

“Bhu’kei told me that you’re the sire.” You murmur, coming behind your mate and placing your chin on his shoulder. His inky, blood red tresses tickle your cheek and neck, smooth and warm against your skin. He grunts in response, not moving from his stiff meditation pose.

Ap-tui had distanced himself from the group not long ago, escaping to his private yurt out of the corners of your peripheral. You had asked Bhu’kei what happened, as he was the last to speak to him, and the Yautja had told you then that the hunt leader was the biological father to your unborn pup.

Apparently, it was a semi big deal, as Ap-tui is the Firstborn of his bearer’s bloodline. Bhu’kei explained that, essentially, Firstborns split from their bearer’s clan when they bear or sire a pup of their own. This results in the Firstborn creating their own clan, one adjacent to their bearer’s, and in Yautja culture the position holds some weight.

It also surprised you to learn that, up until now, Ap-tui had not sired a single pup. Strange, considering he’s an elder Blooded warrior, not quite as old or experienced to be considered an Elder, but certainly no Youngblood. He should have already had many sucklings since accomplishing his Chiva, and learning that he didn’t— and that yours would be the first— filled you with a sense of pride.

Your baby with him would begin his clan with strength and status. Arrangements would need to be made, certain rites and bureaucratic agreements, but those could be saved for the future. You would give him his clan.

For now, you simply wrap your arms around Ap-tui’s torso, his corded muscles hot and strong under your arms. You kiss his shoulder.

“He also told me that’s very important.” You continue, and you kiss his reptilian-like mahogany hide again. This time, Ap-tui turns his head to look back at you, mandibles relaxed but set. His eyes look troubled.

“I am… conflicted.” He admits, and it must take all his strength to swallow his Yautja pride, if only for that little confession. You hum, and take a couple steps around him to settle yourself on his lap. Your hands rub at his broad pectoral muscles, fingers purposely catching on the twine-like string of his netted outfit.

Ap-tui looks away, jaws flaring and pulling tight rhythmically. You stare at his face, then at the scar he has that runs jagged across the crown of his head— One he received on a hunt when searching for a gift for you. The kiande amedha th’syra sits on the trophy wall in your quarters back on the hunting party’s ship, as do other gifts from the others.

“Mm. I could tell.” You reply, placing one of your hands on the side of his face. Gingerly, you turn his head so that he faces you directly, thumb rubbing lazy circles on the bone of his eye socket. A slow smile pulls the corners of your mouth up, and Ap-tui watches with hawk-like precision as your cute pink tongue wets your bottom lip.

He meets your gaze, your ooman eyes half-lidded and hungry.

“What troubles you?” You murmur, leaning in and kissing the scales above where his quad-rhythm heartbeat resides. He can tell you are trying to seduce him to wheedle out his deepest concerns. Ap-tui shivers a growl, heat settling in his bones, and he has to resist the urge to flood the yurt with his dia-shui.

“I do not want to risk you.” He confesses, running a gentle claw down the side of your face, admiring your soft, plump flesh. Ooman faces have always been captivating to him: The way you wear your emotions— blatant and raw and unforgiving.

“You’re not.” You kiss his palm as it comes to cup your cheek, and smile, “None of you are.”

Ap-tui is still hesitant and stubborn.

“Gestation may leech you.”

“Maybe— Who knows?”

His large paws trap your waist, claws brushing your skin, causing goosebumps to pepper your flesh.

“Birth will be disastrous. Perhaps fatal.”

“Isn’t it always?”

You cling to Ap-tui like he’s your lifeline. His dia-shui permeates the air, honeying it. The glaze of your arousal drives him wild. His pupils dilate to eclipse his fiery irises. He cannot help himself when he asks,

“Would you do it again? Bear our pups like a lou-dte kale?”

“Yes.”

You did not leave Ap-tui’s yurt for nearly two days.

—

The beginning months of pregnancy really only made your body fatigued and your mind sluggish. You found yourself sleeping far more often, usually clocking out well before the sun set past the horizon. This was usually in tandem to sleeping in until Ta’kaa or Th’chi awoke you to either let you know your mates would be going on a kv’var, or to just get you out from your bed of furs.

The latter usually resulted in them receiving the brunt of your sour mood and cold shoulder— A feat genuinely impressive, considering the lengths you’d go to shirk them.

Until, of course, you came to them in near tears, apologizing profusely and requiring many assurances. They would purr for you until all the wetness from your eyes dried. Th’chi especially did not like seeing you cry.

It was another can of worms pregnancy hormones opened: Mood swings.

—

You’re sure that this may be the angriest you’ve ever been.

The day could not be going worse: Th’chi wakes you at the asscrack of dawn, he doesn’t even bother helping you fix a fire for your breakfast, and then teases you to no end like he usually does, but this time he’s crossed the line.

Fury— molten hot and rising— boils under your skin. Such an intense anger you have to clench your hands into fists. You’re shaking.

“What. Did. You. Say. To. Me?” You growl through grit teeth, each word holding a venom that Th’chi is surprised you have within you, but he pays it no mind. It’ll take more than an angry oomani-di to threaten him. So, he only chortles, lilting his head. His eyes are mirthful, and you want to bash his face in.

“I said: You are rounding out impressively considering it’s only your forth month of gestation.” Th’chi says simply, poking the swell of your belly. Truly, despite only being four months along, you easily look as though you may be six. A side effect of carrying a fetus that’s almost too big for your womb.

That doesn’t dispel the fact that Th’chi is standing before you, a shit-eating look in his eye, and telling you that he thinks you’re fat. You already have been struggling with your changing body and self image. Th’chi only confirms your fears.

“I must also say, your thighs are fattening nicely as well.”

Th’chi must know he’s digging his own grave. He’s not this stupid. Or maybe he is. You’re starting to not care either way.

Bhu’kei has enough sense to stay put on the opposite side of camp.

Ta’kaa, Ap-tui, and Van’chaa have made themselves scarce. Faintly, you recall Van’chaa muttering something about an impromptu kv’var and cursing his younger brother’s name.

This is Th’chi’s mess.

You take a deep breath.

And then Hell breaks loose.

—

By the time you’ve finished your rant, you’re panting, hot in the face, and immediately regretting every word that came out of your mouth. Th’chi looks shocked, his shoulders set, and your heart breaks further when his eyes go stony and hard. He growls lightly, then pivots on his heel and stalks off, clearly upset.

Bhu’kei is looking at you, incredulous, but he only snorts and shakes his head. A pang of regret makes your heart clench behind your ribs. Oh God.

Salvaging whatever remaining anger you have, you turn on your heel and wander off to Ap-tui’s yurt that is halfway across camp. You don’t look back.

The second the yurt door closes, the heat of your anger completely dissipates and leaves you cold with shame and regret. Embarrassment, almost as liquid hot as the wrath before, comes crashing down on you. Immediately, you want to run back out and jump into Th’chi’s arms and tell him over and over how much you love him.

“Oh my God.” Your head falls into your palms, hot tears finally breaking through and wetting your lashes and hands. You said some absolutely heinous things to your mate, words that you made sure would sting. Sniffling wetly, you lower yourself on the edge of Ap-tui’s nest, wringing your fingers in the fibers of the fur beneath you. 

Part of you wonders if you should just stay here until the situation blows over. Another, louder part of you screams to tell you to suck it up and go apologize. A few minutes pass as you let yourself cry some more and ponder. The louder part wins: Shame is a powerful beast.

You rise (an action becoming harder and harder with your swelling middle) and make your way out Ap-tui’s yurt.

—

Hesitant steps take you to Th’chi’s personal yurt that sits adjacent to Bhu’kei’s. Said Yautja is where you last saw him, his midnight hide blending him into the dark metal of his yurt. He dips his head when he sees you and whickers in support when you stall in front of Th’chi’s door. His golden eyes are soft when he says, “Go to him. He needs only your presence.”

You smile sadly and nod, placing one hand atop the door’s biometric scanner and the other on your belly. The door opens and you step inside the yurt. His space smells like home.

When you spot Th’chi lounging on his bed, tears bubble up and spill over again, and he only clicks and opens his arms to you. You bound over as fast as you can, practically tossing yourself into his arms. He’s warm, and his chest begins to rumble with purrs— Calming, like the way that Yautja males do for distressed females.

“‘M sorry.” You mumble against Th’chi’s chest, “I dunno what came over me.”

He chitters, smoothing a palm down your hair like he’s petting you. His hand cradles the back of your skull and holds you close. Th’chi has dealt with the wrath of Yautja both in combat and in mating— Your spat was nothing short of amusing to him. Sure, your words had been hurtful in the moment, but he knew that none of them reflected your true intentions.

“Such fire, little mate.” He teases, tusks tickling your tear-stricken cheeks, “Our little sain’ja.”

Thankfully, his disregard for your outburst and comforting words lends to your tears to stop so profusely flowing. One of his rough thumbs smooths across the arch of cheek and wipes away the tears. Th’chi has never understood why and how oomans leak from their eyes (seems incredibly inconvenient) but he hates when you do.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” You can’t help but say again, kissing his sternum. Th’chi only purrs louder, the velvety rumble beckoning your now exhausted self to sleep. You press closer to him, shifting in his lap as he grabs a fur to toss around your shoulders.

“I forgive you. Words spoken in the heat of anger often lack substance.” He replies, mandibles quivering when you place kisses to his chin. Th’chi will never admit it out loud, but he loves and desires your kisses like no other. He especially loves when your weird fleshy lips press against his face.

“I said such terrible things, Th’chi. I don’t know if I can forgive myself.” You murmur between soft pecks you leave on his slate blue skin, around the quills that grow from his collarbones. The hand he has on the back of your skull trembles almost imperceptibly before moving to grip your chin. Th’chi holds you as if you are glass.

“A Yautja female would never even entertain the thought of apologizing to a male. Even if she’s wronged him. Little mate,” Th’chi guides your eyes to look up at him, “You are more precious to me than the kv’var. You show yin’tekai in being here, with me, sharing my yurt and bearing my kin.”

Th’chi’s canary yellow eyes bore into yours. They look like twin suns.

“I love you, you big dope, y’know that?” You blubber after a stretch of silence, tears falling down your cheeks again, and this time Th’chi understands this wetness to mean you are happy.

He still doesn’t like it, so he purrs even louder to calm you down. You fall asleep only minutes later.

—

The mood swings began to taper around the time other parts of your body began to really feel the pregnancy. It was difficult to be distracted with your haywire emotions when your back started to hurt at all times, you were thirsty and hungry at all times, you peed a lot, and your ankles and hips were sore (and not the pleasant sore from having sex with one or more of your Yautja).

Not to mention the bowling ball that sat in your belly. The pup was big, heavy, and it was active. Your organs started to feel like punching bags. Especially your bladder, which is what your pup seemed to favor jabbing a foot into. It also liked squirming around when you slept, so the lack of sleep was fun.

And then there was the debacle with your breasts. It seemed that your human pregnancy hormones went into hyperdrive to compensate for the Yautja pup growing in your womb. The pup would need thrice the amount of milk as a human child once it was born, and the moment you entered your approximate second trimester, your already tender breasts ballooned to sizes you thought unimaginable. 

At first, it was difficult to reconcile your new, curvaceous bosom— Often you found yourself weeping at the sight of your engorged chest. Your swollen, flush tits hung nearly to your waist on either side of your round belly, nipples darkened and pointed straight to the floor. You missed your old breasts, and mourned the fact that they’d never be the same again.

Not to mention that they were awfully heavy, like two pendulous dumbbells that pulled at your upper back muscles. It was enough that your ankles, hips, and lower back ached, but your breasts added your shoulders to the list too.

—

“I can’t look at myself!” You sob into Van’chaa’s netted chest like a baby, blubbering about how much you hate your new figure, and that it makes you feel and look ugly. Van’chaa doesn’t say anything, only patting your head with a gentle paw as you weep against him.

He is desperately confused— Yautja do not suffer the same body issues as oomans do, and he thinks that the near-obsessive paranoia that you display about losing “your figure” is ridiculous. Of course, he would never tell you that directly, especially in the... tender mindset you’re currently in.

You are pregnant, carrying a Yautja pup— a future hunter to an apex predator race. Not to mention a Firstborn of a strong clan. That should bring you honor and respect. It should not bring you despair.

“Little mate,” He decides to coo, nuzzling your hair with his tusks, “No tears. Pregnancy is honorable, and it gives you status. You are like Paya.”

You sniffle, listening to his words and recognizing that Paya is the Yautja deity, and that any form of comparison is a big deal, but your self-image has still been utterly shattered. Confidence that you once had in your body has fallen to the wayside. You tell this to Van’chaa, and he chuffs, then stands up. He looks expectantly down at you, offering his hand, which you take to stand with still a lot of effort.

“Come.” He replies simply, and he starts walking off in the direction of the common yurt, the biggest one in the center of camp where your hunters store miscellaneous goods or shared objects. You walk after him, slowly and with a hand planted on your aching back, ignoring (for now) the hungry look Ta’kaa gives you from across the clearing.

Van’chaa stops at the yurt’s door, opening it and gesturing for you to step in first. You do, keeping your wary gaze on your mate as he strides to the opposite side of the hut, pulling from a wall compartment a sleek black box. Van’chaa strides just as confidently back to you, placing the box in front of you. He opens its top with a click of its latches, like a chest.

The direction of the box prevents you from seeing what Van’chaa is digging for, and you’re about to walk over and see for yourself when the midnight blue Yautja reveals four silver items in his paws. They look like mini gauntlets, obviously made for your human body, but they don’t seem to have any weapons or fancy technology attached.

“Remove your coverings.” Van’chaa rumbles, and the request has you recoiling. The simple white cotton dress you’re wearing really has no special connection to you, but it was one of the few articles of clothing you had. Plus, it was flowy and loose enough for your seemingly ever-growing body and covered up your Problem Areas quite effectively.

“Why?” You ask, shuffling on your feet and Van’chaa can smell your apprehension. He clicks and tilts his head to the side, his long, rubbery black tresses falling past his shoulder. 

“Do you trust me, little mate?” He asks, his low, gravelly voice is tender, like the way it gets when he reminisces to you about his bearer on nights when you’re both tipsy on c’ntlip. It’s the same voice he uses when he confesses his love for you under the blanket secrecy of midnight. Van’chaa reaches and cups your cheek in his palm, marveling at how his hand dwarfs you, purring.

“Yes.” You whisper, smiling softly and turning to kiss the palm of his hand. Van’chaa trills in delight, and withdraws his hand to pick up one of the metal cuff-like objects. He holds it out towards you, clicking.

“Then remove your coverings.” He says simple, and with a long, somewhat shaky sigh, you undo the tie at the front of your dress and bare yourself in one swoop. Van’chaa sees the apprehension and disgust towards your own body flash on your face, and once again he is so confused as to why you think so poorly of your own flesh.

He can’t help but marvel— Ooman physiology has always intrigued him, though he’d never admit it out loud. There’s something about the way your oomani-di body is so close to a Yautja female, similar in its curves and decidedly female traits.

And your specific ooman-ness draws him in further. Van’chaa always secretly admired your even, smooth skin, the softness of your plush flesh, your legs and thighs… Admittedly, it had taken him some time to get used to your strange, and by Yautja standards, ugly face, but now he looks forward to it each morning he wakes. He cannot imagine life without you.

Pregnancy does nothing to change his mind on this. If anything, watching your belly swell with pup and your breasts become milk-laden has been… titillating. It arouses some deep intimate, primal fire in his core— One that drives him to the edge (and sometimes over) of desire and back.

Van’chaa wants to lick the taut dome of your belly. He wants to feel you squirm and pant below him, wants to watch those bloated tits of yours bounce in time with his thrusts. One day, he wants to mate you until his seed takes hold. Then he will watch you swell again with his pup. The thought has him relaxing his mandibles.

“Van’chaa?” Your quiet pry pulls him from his reverie and makes him realize that he’d been flooding the air with his dia-shui. You’ve taken notice, as you’ve come to recognize the earthy musk, and your eyelids are now drooped halfway, lustful.

“Wrists. Ankles.” Van’chaa growls, ignoring (for now) the heady scent of your arousal that permeates the air around you. If he glances down, he’ll surely see the slick ambrosia dripping from your cunt. Van’chaa decides today is an exercise in self control. He all but tosses the cuffs to you.

—

The strange cuffs lock around your wrists and ankles firmly, yet gently. When you test one by flexing your arm, the metal seems to have some uncharacteristic give. It feels breathable and acts more like leather than steel. You go to ask Van’chaa why exactly you’re wearing them, when he presses a button on one of the cuffs.

You yelp as netting flows from all four cuffs, racing over your body like water on rocks. It’s very similar to what the Yautja wear beneath their armor, the same black thread-like material. But you can tell it’s stronger, more durable, and somehow it even provides you with some warmth. It must be temperature regulated in some way.

In addition, the net outfit must work in a way that provides support, as the usual pull on your back from your breasts and heavy belly is noticeably lessened. For that, you are eternally grateful.

... However, the net bodysuit— like your mates— acts more like a birthday suit than much else and does very little in the way of modesty. It practically leaves you half naked, though the netting over your crotch does seem to be a bit denser. The same can not be said for your breasts— the netting on your bloated tits and puffy nipples is exceptionally light in comparison.

“Van’chaa, what is this?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and internally wincing at how much squishy yield your rack gives. He only chitters, those deep-set blue eyes of his shining in what you can only describe as mischief. You watch as his paws disappear back inside of the box, reappearing with a tiny, bird-like skull in hand.

You don’t recognize what animal it may be from— Earthen or otherwise— but you watch with bated breath as Van’chaa, in a way that can only be described as sacred, attaches the skull to the netting at the center of your chest. It sits atop the shelf of your cleavage, a centerpiece for what’s to come.

Van’chaa continues to decorate you, lining bones of all sorts on your hips in alternating patterns, always using sterling white ones. Before he pulls away from you, he adorns your neck with a bone necklace, clicking softly as he does. It’s like he’s whispering prayer, like the necklace of ivory and claws is as if you’re being bestowed a crown.

“Van’chaa...” You breathe, still taken aback at how tenderly and religiously your mate dressed you in items that his people would wear. He secures a leather-like cloth around your hips that ties below the bones on either side. The fabric covers your crotch and backside, giving you at least some modem of modesty. It’s not much, but at least you feel less nude.

Van’chaa pulls away from you, trilling. He’s elated, eyes bright and proud of his handiwork. Then, he visits the box again and this time pulls out a larger, thin item. He sets it in front of you, the glint of its surface catching the light— and your reflection.

It’s a mirror. A long, full body mirror that captures you in all your fat, pregnant glory. 

Body covered in fishnet netting, adorned with bones, dressed in leather; You honestly believe this is the most beautiful you’ve felt in a while. Your new body is complimented and spotlighted in this outfit, belly and breasts and all. The slopes and curves of your figure are hugged in a way that doesn’t make you want to look away.

You also notice, for the first time, how beautifully glossy your hair’s become. And the healthy glow on the apples of your cheeks. You look at the strange, bird-like skull on your sternum.

You look like a Yautja.

Van’chaa chuffs beside you, and you break your gaze from your reflection to see him offering you a pair of tiny sandals. The soles look to be made of thick leather, but the ties seem to be a softer material. When you take them from him, it all clicks in your mind.

“Van’chaa... did you make this all for me?” You ask softly, staring at the shoes in your hands before glancing back up at your mate. Van’chaa dips his head once in response, his electric blue eyes alight like lightning. His dia-shui is unavoidable and unignorable.

“Thank you.” You breathe, sighing in content when Van’chaa sweeps you up into his arms and deposits you onto his bed. The plush furs are soft and support you well. Your core is so hot at this point you nearly whimper. The air is glazed and thick and it’s like breathing in honey. Van’chaa situates himself above you, his tresses fall on either side of your head and he leans in close.

“Would you like me to show my thanks?” You coo, kissing the pink flesh of his flared mandibles, meeting his eyes when you lick up one of his tusks. Van’chaa growls in warning. He sees your coy play and calls you on it. One of his paws grips your thighs and spreads you for him. The leather flap is easily moved out of the way and it’s then you notice there’s an opening in the netting at the base of your core.

Easy access, you suppose, and all other thought escapes you when your mate snarls and presses the tent under his loincloth to your aching pussy. His other hand slides up your belly, then cups one of your breasts. Van’chaa squeezes, and you moan.

“Please fuck me.” You gasp, gripping his bicep when his claws toy with your nipple. The bones you wear click together like wind chimes. You say again, desperate and horny and feeling beautiful: 

“Please.”

Van’chaa happily obliges.

—

Another milestone you pass during the duration of your pregnancy also has to do with your breasts. Seemingly, they just don’t let you catch a break. Aside from being heavy and bouncy and literally swaying while you walk (despite your new clothes), they’ve also begun to leak.

You lactate for the first time in front of Bhu’kei, right as he’s about to perform the routine health screen on you. Just as the light flickers over your belly (where the pup had been doing flips as of late) you feel... wet. A dampness made itself very known on your chest, then spread.

“Oh my God!” Bhu’kei’s attention snaps back to you at your incredulous remark, and he is met with the sight of you pinching your nipples between your fingers. Thick droplets of milk still leak past and he notices the trails on your belly. Your face has gone ashen and hot at the same time. Bhu’kei recognizes this as mortification.

“You have started your lactation. This is good.” Bhu’kei states with a swift nod of his head and turns back to your scan. Speaking of good, all of your vitals are also stellar. The pup is stable as well. Bhu’kei is content at this knowledge.

“I’m fucking leaking!” Your voice raises an octave and Bhu’kei watches as you scramble to find a cloth to press to your bosom. When your fingers leave your nipples, a white spray occurs that has you yelping and pinching them again, Bhu’kei clicks in amusement, but you shoot him a withering glare.

“Not. Funny. I can’t go around dripping milk everywhere.” You frown, skin feeling moist and sticky from your milk that’s left trails on your belly. You want to wipe it up, but your fingers can’t leave your nipples. Though... the longer you’re pinching to stop the flow, the more your breasts begin to feel... tight.

More so than usual. Like the pressure’s building. Experimentally, you release one of your sensitive nipples and the torrent of milk is powerful enough to spurt from you like a faucet. Your jaw drops.

Bhu’kei whickers, impressed.

The pressure cedes, and when pinch them again, it begins to grow.

It seems your stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You look to Bhu’kei, and your eyes are pleading. You pout, “What do I do now?”

—

The solution Bhu’kei ultimately recommended was unorthodox. 

Usually, pumping milk would’ve been an affair saved for after the pup was born, but you started lactating and profusely leaking so early on that it needed to be done. Plus, you and Bhu’kei did not want you to risk developing mastitis, which would be just the cherry-on-top to your pregnancy.

The issue was, the Yautja didn’t have any suitable equipment to perform the duty of pumping, so it had to be done manually. At first, you were able to squeeze your breasts rhythmically, draining milk into large glass vials that would be frozen and stored for later, but your hands soon tired.

So, with the help of your mates, you pumped milk.

—

“Bhu’kei! Bhu’kei! Bhu’kei!”

The only word your mouth seems to know is his name. Your pussy throbs with need, clit aching for contact. Bhu’kei is planted firmly behind you, but he won’t concede and fill your dripping core with his cock. Instead, he rests the hot rod between your ass cheeks, teasing you by thrusting lazily.

It’s all so much. You can hardly breathe. His dia-shui is suffocating in the best way possible. Bhu’kei’s hands are working magic on you.

Large paws alternate the respective tit they squeeze, drawing long streams of milk from your chest. He tweaks and pinches the stiff peaks of your nipples like he’s toying with them. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced— Strange, yet natural, yet absolutely dirty.

You hazy mind and glossy eyes focus enough to process that the glass vial is nearly halfway full. The session is far from over. You don’t want it to end.

It’s almost humiliating. You’re being milked like a fucking cow. But you have Bhu’kei, nearly rabid with horniness, all-too-enthusiastically rutting wildly between your thighs as if he’s experiencing his rut. Hell, maybe he is. You might just be tempting enough to speed up the waiting time.

It became apparent very quickly that lactation did not sway any of the hunting brothers from gladly warming your bed. They fought over who got to help you pump, and the winner, often bloody and bruised, would be bolstered enough to claim you in the middle of camp.

You whine and moan, and Bhu’kei finally relents and on the next thrust the tip of his cock catches on your weeping slit then sinks home. You wail with pleasure, eyes rolling back as Bhu’kei stretches you in one fell swoop. You grip his wrists, feeling the tendons beneath your hands work. Milk is drawn from you. Your face is flush with heat, your hair sticks to the nape of your neck and temples, sweat gathers beneath your belly and the junctions where you are propped on a pile of furs.

“Bhu’kei!~” You bay his name like a wounded dog, high pitched and airy, and he starts to thrust with fervor. He snarls and growls, gripping your tits firm, but remembering to perform the job. Bhu’kei won’t admit, but it’s becoming harder and harder to focus on aiding you with pumping when your tight, hot cunt is stretched around his shaft.

Mating you is always like this: Soft, raw, and wet like the humid jungle around you. Bhu’kei doesn’t even consider taking you to his yurt like he did earlier, the low growling and pointed glares of his hunting brothers around him is far too satisfying.

He catches the stare of Ap-tui and purposely gives you a sharp thrust that has you gasping just to spite him. His cousin flares his mandibles, his own dia-shui flooding around him. The same can be said of the others as well, all the Yautja males bristle and pace like ravenous wolves wanting a bite of the ripe flesh before them.

Bhu’kei understands fully. You are beneath him like prey, spread out and whining and quivering... How could anyone not find you tempting?

“Her cunt is sweet. Tight and soft and wet. My cock is blessed.” Bhu’kei teases the hunting party and a chorus of roars and growls lifts the air. You’re too far gone to comprehend it. Bhu’kei slides the blunt of tusks down the side of your cheek, trapping you beneath him. His cock works in tandem with his hands.

“Come for me.” He urges you, whickering into your ear. Tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. It’s all so much. Bhu’kei draws back, then thrusts and hits the special, spongy part inside your cunt.

You orgasm so hard you pass out.

The pumping session had to come to an end.

—

In general, your pregnancy had relatively few hiccups along the way. Most of the time you and your mates spent preparing for the upcoming birth, stocking enough food to last so that none of them had to leave your side until well after you’d given birth. It was something you wanted, just time with them and your new pup for a little while.

Thus, the days were often long and unexciting. You and your mates either fucked or slept or ate. They would take turns leaving for a couple days to replenish more food. The Yautja would sometimes fight one another for entertainment, and to keep their abilities sharp.

In the waning months of pregnancy, however, something eventful did occur.

You were nearly nine and a half months along when your party received a visitor. A Yautja ship appeared out of the blue, snapping your mates into action. They suited up in full armor, on edge.

Apparently, it’s bad form to intrude on occupied hunting territories without an invitation (which your party never gave) or asking first (which they never did). So when the ship landed, your already peeved Yautja were downright hostile towards whoever was bold enough to invade their space.

Ap-tui was particularly pissed, being the hunt leader and all. You had never seen him that bristly before.

But then the most curious turn of events happened.

The ship's docking bay opened to reveal a very tall, very tough looking, very female Yautja.

—

yautja translations

Chiva →  the trial of which a Youngblood Yautja is Blooded should they succeed in killing a kiande amedha (Xenomorph) c’ntlip → a Yautja alcoholic beverage dia-shui → musk, specifically that of a male lou-dte kale → child maker (derogatory) ooman / oomani-di → human / human female Paya → Yautja creation goddess sain’ja → warrior yin’tekai → honor

[devilsrecreation]

More thoughts on TLG episodes

The Savannah Summit:

First things first, major kudos to Makuu for actually being responsible and caring about what’s best for his float

You really can’t blame Kion and everyone else to be super skeptical about Makuu. I know he changed for the better, but he’s done…a lot since he beat Pua

“but to invite him to the Savannah Summit? With all these other peaceful animals?”—I hate to break it to you, Kion, but just bc an animal is an herbivore doesn’t mean they’re peaceful and friendly. If anything, it means survivor

Crocs at the Summit worked with Pua cuz everybody loves him 😎

“Makuu has more enemies than friends!”—So does Bunga lmao

The song is great. I love how everyone seems annoyed at first but near the end, it’s all 🎶Kumbaya, my lord! ���. Except Makuu…dude looks like he’s lowkey regretting his life choices he did NOT ask for a bs song

I’m totally on Makuu’s side. He was genuinely trying to be civil here, especially when it comes to Bupu

At least Beshte was trying to be the mediator cuz he looks at Makuu AND Bupu, Kion was just being kinda speciesist

Shut up, Bupu, you started the whole thing

Vuruga Vuruga saying “buffalo eat whatever we want” is actually pretty accurate. They, like other animals, don’t care. I read that buffalo will occasionally eat insects if it were an option. Even Twiga could sucking on a bone if she wanted to. Seriously, look it up

If Zazu had a nickel for every time a rhino used him as a chair, he’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice (great nod to the OG movie)

Rafiki is such a mood “not the official painting” you old ass gremlin/aff

I remember Athena P criticizing Simba for blaming Kion about ruining the Summit after Makuu understandably leaves and I agree. Wtf Simba he’s 10. Go easy on him, come on 😭

The part that irks me the most is that when Mufasa asks “What has Makuu done to make you think this way?”, Kion says “Nothing, really”. BRO WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NOTHING REALLY’?! I understand Mufasa meant what Makuu has done today but there are a LOT of things Makuu’s done in the past that Kion should have told his grandpa. In fact, here’s a whole list:

-Taking over Big Springs when he became leader, resulting in all the animals to scatter

-Challenging kids to fight

-Taking over the flood plains

-Trying to eat Basi which would have been just him being a crocodile if not for the fact that the reason is so he wouldn’t have to follow any rules (says so on the wiki)

-TAKING NALA HOSTAGE (seriously did Simba even KNOW about that? Did Nala or Kion bother to tell him?)

-Generally being a dick to animals

Makuu I know you did nothing wrong in this episode, but you can’t blame Kion for acting this way

I’m not placing any blame on Mtoto. He’s a good boy and all he did was tell the guard what he heard and that’s it

Twiga and Vuruga Vuruga coming up with the trap doesn’t surprise me. Cape buffalo are actually really vengeful irl so it makes sense how she wanted to teach Makuu a lesson. They ain’t called “Black Death” or “Widow Maker” for nothing

It’s cool how Makuu took the prank well. Respect.

Wonder how Makuu felt about animals fighting over him lmao?

Let Sleeping Crocs Lie

Once again this episode would be VERY different if my oc Piga was still alive

Kiburi has a right to be mad. I’m not excusing what he does later in the episode but I’d be pissed too if someone woke me up

Okay but Nduli sleeping next to Kiburi is adorable. Adds to my hc how close they are

Serious question: Why exactly can’t the crocs go back to sleep after they’ve been woken up? The obvious answer is bc it drives the plot forward, but is it true in actual crocodiles? I kinda wanna know the scientific reason

Good on Makuu for going the pacifism route. He’d really do anything for his float

Love how Kiburi was like “Yeah yeah, whatever you say” but the second Makuu left, he was like “ANARCHY!”

Idk if any of you caught this, but when Ushari’s like “we reptiles will rule the pridelands under your leadership, right?” Scar actually hesitated before going “sure bud”. That makes me think he was going to betray Ushari the moment he and his army get rid of Simba and the Lion Guard

Crocs really DO need a lot of water, otherwise their lives are on the line. Makuu was really more concerned than upset

“KIBURI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”—Fighting a child, what’s it look like

Side hc: I like to think something similar happened with Pua, Piga, and Kujivunia. Pua saw Piga antagonizing some poor young animal and he was all “Piga! What in the Pridelands do you think you’re doing?” and Kujivunia (who happened to be there), with her typical sarcasm was like “Performing a dance number, Pua 🙄”

There go the skinks again. Njano with his cuteness and Shupavu…doing her best Grinch face

“At least you’ll be close to all your friends!”Awww Beshte trying to be positive 🥺

Kiburi saying “we crocs deserve better!” brings me back to my hc that Kiburi had good intentions (again, until further in the episode), he just went about it the wrong way. He’s almost like an activist in a way. He’s not trying to be selfish, he just wanted a better watering hole. Now going as far as to rule the Pridelands…..yeah too far

The background crocodiles who were like 😦 when Kiburi called for the mashindano are so me. I’m the one going “Ooooooh shit!”

Still not getting over that super gay conversation between Kiburi and Ushari

STILL CAN’T GET OVER HOW KIBURI AND HIS FLOAT LAUGH AAAAA (Neema’s laugh tho)

Nduli looks so derpy I love him

I LOVE HOW SELF-AWARE TAMKA IS WHAT AN ICON

Lmao Nduli just gave up like “Fuck it you win”

Love the parallels of Makuu pinning down Kiburi like he did to Pua

Kiburi, I love you but what the hell did you expect? You literally confessed to like 500 animals about your plan and then you get surprised when Simba and Makuu banish you? What did you think was gonna happen? You got way too cocky, I swear

Saying this again, Tamka and Nduli looked worried/traumatized when they were exiled

“Now you’re calling me a reptile?”—My love, you ARE a reptile. I thought crocodiles were supposed to be smart omg

Kiburi’s actually showing emotion for the first time

OMG JANJA HEY BABY HOW ARE YOU?

Full disclosure: “I have a plan” is mediocre at best. It has nothing on Be Prepared. That being said, I love Kiburi’s “Aiight I’m in” smile

That’s pretty much it. Maybe I’ll do more in the future

[nikathingz]

HEY HEY LOVELY <3

Do you mind doing a Morpheus x reader angst where they get into an argument and he snaps at her with something rly rude and harsh and regrets it later when she cries and doesn’t talk to him for days? /happy end maybe :)

YES OMGG I LIVE FOR ANGST, might've went a lil overboard with it, I just spent the past 4 hours writing this lmao

Masterlist

A Century of Regret

Morpheus x Wife!Reader word count: 2565

You were no stranger to fights with the Dream king, being his wife for many centuries you often disagreed on things, mostly those were about the Dreaming. This one however was different, he had been extra on edge as of late because of a rouge nightmare that had been feeding off humans' fear in the waking world.

He had kept to himself the past few days, and had only spoken to Lucienne because he often found himself in the library trying to find a solution to his problem, but even that was curt.

You couldn't take it anymore, you felt more neglected than ever. Morpheus wasn't a perfect lover, he often found himself caught up in making dreams and nightmares but he always made you feel loved, in his own way. It's no secret that he wasn't much for outward affection, but it was subtle things he did that made you fall for him, reading to you in moments of solitude, light touches, soft smiles, and chaste kisses.

But this wasn't that, it was a whole new level, he had completely shut everyone out, including you. So you marched through the ivory hallways of the palace to the library and entered to find Lucienne organizing a bookshelf.

She turned and gave you a weary look "My lady, I believe the lord is not in a good mood at the moment-" you raised a hand to cut her off, lifting your chin authoritatively, you didn't like being this way with Lucienne, but you were determined to get the satisfaction you came for.

She fell silent and nodded her head, gesturing deeper into the library before turning and going back to her work and leaving you to venture through the library to find your husband.

He sat at a table flipping through a book and taking down mental notes. He didn't even look up at you as you stood across the table and placed your hands on it, leaning onto them. Jessamy had taken immediate notice of you and hopped across the table to rub her beak into your arm.

Your nostrils flared as he continued to flip through his book, you genuinely couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or was so caught up in his work that he had yet to notice your presence, the voice in the back of your head doubted the latter, especially because of Jessamy's actions, but you cleared your throat anyway.

He didn't look up but stopped flipping through the pages "I'm busy." he said simply, his tone was already annoyed but you held your ground.

"You've been busy for almost a week Morpheus-"

"Because I have been doing my duties to the dreaming!" His patience was easily gone as he rose from his chair and slammed his hands on the table startling both you and his raven. He had a fixed look on his face, a look you had seen but a few times before. "Do you not understand that I have a job to do? Or that this rouge nightmare is making that job monumentally harder?" He was cold, and your body went ridged in fear.

Your brow pinched and your lip quivered as pressure built in the back of your throat. You didn't know what you expected to come of this, maybe your naivety gave you hope that you could drag your husband away from his endless duties. You swallowed hard and lifted your chin as bitter tears spilled onto your cheeks.

"And what of your duties to me? You are my husband yes? Then why have I not seen an inkling of you for days?" You asked rhetorically and watched his jaw clench as he remained firm in his statement.

"As I thought," You said and turned on your heel, whisking yourself out of the library, ignoring Lucienne's pitiful look as you exited.

You found yourself spending the following days with residents of the dreaming rather than staying in the palace and waiting for your husband to finally cool off. You weren't childish enough to think he would come and apologize, he would likely brush it under the rug and expect you to drop it as you always had.

You couldn't though, as days passed a sinking feeling grew in your gut. You remained firm in your choice to reside outside of the palace, for now. He would send Jessamy after you when he finally decided enough was enough.

•••

Lucienne stood in the throne room with Morpheus as made sure he had all his tools. Her brow was creased in concern as they stood in silence, she cleared her throat and rocked forward on her heels.

"If I may lord, have you spoken to her ladyship?" She asked hesitantly and Morpheus looked at her over his shoulder.

"No, but I intend to once I return... once I can place my full attention to my wife" he mumbled as he looked past Lucienne to the throne room doors, the image of your flushed face that was streaked with tears had not left his mind since, and regret plagued him.

She inhaled a deep breath and pressed further "My lord, you are coming back aren't you?"

Confusion crossed the Endless's face, "Why would I not return, Lucienne?" He asked as he picked up his helm and slid it over his head. 

She shrugged and pursed her lips "I don't know, a presentiment." She paused as he pulled his pouch out of his pocket "As powerful as you are here in your realm, Dreams rarely survive in the waking world." She fidgeted with her hands as sand swirled on the ground and around the king of the dreaming. "Nightmares, on the other hand, seem to thrive there." She watched the typhoon of sand flurry around the throne room as Morpheus's voice rang out once more.

"I shall return Lucienne" and then he was gone, and she was left alone in the throne room.

•••

You felt the heavy weight on your shoulders and your brain fogged with fatigue. You placed a hand on your head and let out a slight gasp as you hunched over the cup of tea that Abel was so nice to give you. You briefly recognized the feeling of the whole responsibility of the Dreaming being placed on your shoulders, signaling you that your husband had departed from his realm.

"My lady are you alright?" You felt Abel place a worried hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him with a gracious smile.

"Yes, I'm wonderful Abel, thank you" You assured him and continued your friendly brunch, Gregory and Cain occasionally popping in to say hi. 

•••

You often found yourself visiting the house of mystery as the years passed and more residents of the dreaming abandoned their kingdom.

You have received the brunt of Morpheus's disappearance, the first decade was the hardest. You grieved the disappearance of your husband every moment, it was heartbreaking to watch all of his creations lose faith in their king and blame you for it.

You slept most of the time as it took everything you had to try and upkeep the state of the Dreaming, but you were not an Endless, and this was not your realm. You were forced to watch the state of the Dreaming decay. Each day that passed constantly drained you of more energy both emotionally and physically.

Jessamy was the only reason you did not lose faith in your lover, and when she did not return you could not even find it in yourself to leave your room for a week. Lucienne had spent most of her time at your bedside trying to make sure you were okay, as much as you could be.

Every day after that was the same, you never left the palace anymore. You would simply drift around the crumbling hallways like a ghost for what seemed like an eternity, have some tea with Lucienne, then returning to your chambers to sleep for the remainder of what could be considered a day.

Eventually, the amount of time you rested, greatly outweighed the time you weren't lying in bed. You avoided reflective surfaces as they would kill you. The last time you looked at yourself, bags were sunk deep beneath your eyes, and your aura just radiated exhaustion. 

You opened your eyes, unsurprised with where you found yourself, in an old study, the rickety chair you sat in had been pulled over to sit just inside of the spire in front of the balcony so you could view the entirety of the Dreaming. You could see the huge ivory gates that would lead to the entrance of the dreaming and your heart panged in your chest.

They were just about the only thing that wasn't in shambles anymore, you sighed and sipped at the tea Lucienne had left for you, it was strange as she usually woke you and stayed with you for a while. This time she just disappeared. There was something different about today, your shoulders didn't feel as stiff and the fatigue behind your eyes didn't feel as immense.

•••

Morpheus and Lucienne stood at the entrance of the dreaming and she fidgeted with her thumbs as he opened the large gates. "Forgive me, sir, but... the realm, the palace... they are not as you left them" she spoke guiltily, as if she could've helped what became of the Dreaming after Morpheus left.

Morpheus felt his heart drop in his chest as he looked upon the basic rubble that had become of his beloved realm "What happened here? Who did this?" He turned to his librarian who seemed to shrink beneath his gaze.

Lucienne nibbled her lip as she tried to explain it to the best of her abilities "My Lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to... decay and crumble." She said and let her gaze travel to the crumbling palace.

"And the residents? The palace staff?" Morpheus's breath caught in his throat as he imagined you leaving the dreaming many decades ago, especially with how he left you.

Lucienne folded her hands behind her back "I'm afraid most have gone." She said sorrowfully.

"Gone?" Morpheus gave her an incredulous look, unbelieving of the words she spoke.

"Some went looking for you.” She reasoned

“And the others?” He turned and looked at her through narrowed eyes

“They thought, perhaps, you'd grown weary of your duties and-" She tried to explain but he cut her off.

"What? Abandoned them? Had they so little faith in me? Do my own subjects not know me?" He asked as if she had all the answers.

"If I may, sir. It wouldn't be the first time one of The Endless had just-" She was going to bring up the prodigal brother of the endless but Morpheus had better things on his mind.

"Enough. I will not have Dreams and Nightmares preying on the waking world. I will bring them all back. I made this realm once, Lucienne. I will make it again." He said matter a factly and looked over his shoulder to his trusted advisor. 

She gave him a smile and started to walk with him through the gates of the dreaming.

Lucienne felt a looming question hang in the air as they walked toward the palace. What of the beloved queen of the Dreaming? She said nothing but motioned for the dream king to follow her.

•••

They stood in front of a double door, Lucienne motioned inside and Morpheus understood what she meant, he lifted a hand to rap on the door but hesitated as he heard Lucienne's quiet footsteps retreat.

So you had stayed in the Dreaming, but what had become of you? You were the queen of his realm and shared in carrying the weight of keeping the realm, surely over a century of shouldering both your responsibilities had taken a toll. One question made him sick with worry though, were you still angry with him? Did you resent him for the horrible terms he had left you on over a century ago? 

He realized he was standing there for much longer than intended and finally rapped on the mahogany door, "Come in Lucienne..." he softly nudged the door open when he heard your small voice inside the crumbling room. His breath caught in his throat as he saw your slumped form facing away from him, your hair and clothes in disarray.

He walked a few steps into the room before speaking "My dear..." He said wearily and watched your form whip around with energy that had long such left you. He swore his heart cracked as he gazed upon your face, deep eye bags and face drained of all life until you laid eyes on him.

Tears had started pouring down your face as you timidly crossed the room to stand across from your lover, all thoughts leaving your head except for the one screaming at you to collapse into his arms and stay there for the rest of time. When you came within arms reach you stood timidly infront of him, and his frowned deepened. He lifted his hand and let his fingers grace over your cheeks to swipe away some of your tears.

His expression hardened as you choked out a sob, unbelieving that he was real after all this time.  "Y-your here, I-its been so long..." You sniffled as he enveloped you in his arms and you both sank to your knees, collapsing into each other.

He mumbled a string of apologies into your hair and inhaled your sweet scent, one he had missed for a century. Tears slipped down his pale cheeks as you shook your head, your face pressed into his chest as your arms were wrapped tightly around his torso.

"I'm so sorry my darling, I've spent a century regretting the terms we parted on and thinking about how you were left here to tend to the dreaming alone" He pulled you away from him to examine your ghostly state but you shook your head and tried to wipe away at some of his steady tears as he did for you.

"No Morpheus please, none of that matters. I don't care, because I have you here with me now," You assured him as he pulled you impossibly close to him, relishing your presence.

But the image of what he had done to you, the toll his absence, his realm, had taken on you and he would never forgive himself.

He had so many regrets but none of them mattered now because he finally had his beautiful wife in his arms again and he swore right then and there as you cried into each other's arms that he would do better, and he would never take you for granted again.

You made a similar promise to yourself as well, you couldn't begin to imagine what he had been through over the past century, one that was littered with regrets for the both of you.

 You would speak of it eventually, but for now, you would sit here together for as long as you both needed, the Dreaming could wait another day or so, you were Morpheus's first priority, and nothing would come before you again.

•••

I put my heart and soul into this. thank you. goodnight, its 1 am and i have school lmao.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Wednesday lovely readers :) I love any episode with Lucy/Tamara in it. Add in Tim? Makes an amazing thing even more so. I love this one for delving into Tamara’s past a bit, how Tim helps Lucy without a thought, and the bond between Lucy and Tamara. Such good one let’s get going.

4x11 End Game

We begin our episode with Tamara and Lucy. It’s clear Lucy has been up all night researching. Tamara asks why? Lucy tells her legal research. That kid Tyler she cited out last episode ended up stealing from a liquor store. He felt stressed to pay back the dealer he lost product for. Unfortunately he gave the store owner a heart attack. Luckily the owner is out and ok.

She’s been up all night trying to finds ways for the state to show him leniency since the owner is fine. I love both of them calling Chris the ‘clown’ from the DA’s office. Might be my new name for him. Chris the clown. It’s fitting. They have a lovely moment as Tamara refills her coffee and brings it to her. Saying this kid is lucky to have her backing him.

That she knows she was. Best thing she ever did was steal Lucy’s car. I mean it’s true haha I love Tamara being more open with Lucy. Showing how grateful she is that Lucy took a chance on her like she did. Tamara saying crime pays actually. In this case it does tbh. Heh Lucy says she’s cute when she walks away. It’s such an adorable mom/daughter open for them.

We see Mr. Clown shortly after Lucy arrives at the station. She is gloating that the store owner survived. Chris agrees with her that he’s happy she survived. Lucy questioning how true that is. She tries to get him to charge Tyler as a minor but Chris refuses of course. Schmuck. Lucy starts to tell him studies and he’s so condescending to her. Saying not to quote studies at him. I hate it so much. I dislike him greatly...

Tells her he will only charge him as a minor as long as he’s a CI for his crew. This is where Lucy really goes off on him. Both barrels and pulls no punches whatsoever. Chris is finding this amusing and I want to clock him. Calling her dramatic too. You don’t know her like that ya clown. So rude to say. Tim coming into the convo asking if everything is ok? I love that. Protective Husband is in the building.

The way she spins around to face Tim is hilarious. His face and posture LOL Lucy saying she can’t believe the nerve of him calling her dramatic. She sees his reaction and tells him don’t start. Haha Eric is the king of facial expressions. He doesn’t disappoint in the least here. His face conveying ‘ I didn’t say anything…’ Even though his body language is saying everything. Laughing so hard at his reaction.

Such a hubby move here. Doesn't say anything but she knows what that reaction means. HIs silence saying more than he ever could. He’s smart enough to know when not to engage her in a fight. Be more married you two please. Lucy is in full wifey mode here and my heart is so happy. Also my god the forearms/biceps. Phew lord. Love to have those wrapped around me like a blanket. There is just so much to love about this mini moment.

It’s the next part where we hit peak married vibes. Tim knowing her so damn well. Pinpointing why she is so friggin keyed up. Asking exactly how many cups of coffee she’s had this morning? God these two know each other so damn well. Lucy doesn’t lie and says she’s just going to apologize right now LMAO

Knowing how she’s going to be the rest of the shift for him. It’s so funny. I love her self awareness knowing she’s gonna be extra cause she’s hopped up on caffeine. Good thing Tim is actually is so very fond of it even though he’s exasperated at the same time hehe. She’s so cute I cannot.

Tim’s reaction to her reply is the best part. No one does the eye roll better than our guy. It’s so funny. It makes me laugh every single time. Lucy knows what she’s done and is just owning up it to ahha I love these two idiots so very much. Her saying it’s going to be a long day for him. Oh he’s well aware of that one my dear. I love them so much makes my heart hurt haha

Tim and Lucy are called to Lopez’s homicide. It’s a 18 year old girl killed and dumped. Tim is confused why Angela needed a sergeant. She tells them she didn’t. Just Lucy. Asking if she knows her? Lucy tells her no. Angela hands her the phone and says Tamara does. Pic of her and this girl as her Lock Screen. Hence them being looped in.

Cut to them retuning to her apartment. The marriage theme continues in this episode. Except it goes from sassy poking fun husband and wife. To very sweet and supportive husband for his wife. Being a sweet mom and dad tag team for Tamara in this moment. Which I adore so much.

Lucy is feeling lost and not sure how to handle this. You can tell as she enters the apt. She’s honest with Tim. Replies 'I don't know.' When he asks how she wants to handle it? Lucy tells him she’s done death notices before. But never for someone she cared about. Handling it as a cop vs as a roommate are different approaches. I love how Tim is watching her as she talks out her thoughts. Not judging her but wanting to support her. Knowing this is part of her process.

She is torn and Tim decides for her. Telling her just to be a friend and he’s got the cop part for her. I love this sfm. Letting her be the soft empathetic friend in this moment. That if she needed someone firmer or more business like to tap him in. Tim knows she wants to be the caring and soft one in this moment. Because he knows her so well. Wants to relieve her of the burden of being a cop right now. To let her just be the caring friend and if she needs a cop he will handle that portion for her.

It seems like such a small gesture that comes across as so much more. You can see Lucy visibly relax when he tells her this. Thanks him for this kindness. He has her back in more ways than one. I love their bond so much. Knowing exactly what the other needs in moments like this. He’s so soft for her I cannot handle it. Just being the best supportive work hubby he can be. Such growth makes my soul happy.

Gives Lucy a chance to relay the news to Tamara in the way she is most comfortable with. Solo in her room. It so sad to watch Tamara take in the news. Not believing Lucy at first or not wanting to really. Lucy confirming it by the phone that was found at the scene. Telling Tamara how sorry she was. I love Tim giving her this private moment alone with her. To be empathetic, caring and all the things she would need in this moment. Let her be Lucy her friend and roommate and not the cop.

Once they’re out of her room Tim is apart of the convo. Officially in cop mode now. Lucy asking if there was anyone her friend Becca was afraid of? Tamara says no but they hadn’t talked in 3 months. With school and her moving in they lost touch. Tim steps in and asks 'Any idea where she was crashing?' She tells them mostly the street, sometimes shelters, some families let you crash on the floor if they had room. Her last known suggestion is a darker one.

It's where we get a peak into Tamara’s past and it's grim. You can see it all over Lucy’s face as Tamara speaks. How her heart is breaking for her. Killing her to think she ever had to do ‘swiping’. Hitting her like a ton of bricks. You can see the pre-tears in her eyes from hearing all this. The protective mama in her wanting to hug and protect her. To never let her experience that ever again. Tamara can't even look at them while she explains it. Breaks my heart.

Tim can read Lucy like a book once they’re back in the shop. They’re talking about the men they found on Becca’s phone but her mind is elsewhere. He knows she’s upset and asks her if she’s okay? I’ll never be over this portion of his growth. Him actively engaging in personal stuff with her. Giving her his advice and caring. Being 100 percent genuine in all of it too. My damn heart. He’s also just so damn good with her. Just like she is for him. The shop where they supposedly leave their personal lives at the door is a rule that never really existed for them.

He provides such a comforting environment for her to share in here. I love him being the one to reach out for this. Lucy engaging right away with him. Voicing everything she was feeling about their convo with Tamara. How it worried her that Tamara knew right away about the swiping idea. Asking Tim’s opinion if he thinks she’s used it herself? If she gave that impression to him?

Tim doesn’t answer so much as shoot a question back. Asking if she’s ever mentioned it to her before? You can hear the hurt in her voice. See the pain in her eyes as she speaks. Telling Tim as close as they are she won’t talk to her about her past. I can see why Lucy would be hurt by this. I can also see why Tamara doesn’t want to talk about it. She probably feels shameful about some of what she did to survive. I can only imagine what she had to do pre-Lucy.

Tim’s reply is perfection. What I love most about it is that it’s coming from experience. At least that’s how it’s coming off to me. We all know how hard it was for Lucy to crack the nut that is Tim. How she scratched and clawed for him to open up to her. Tim had a painful past and lot of reasons to be closed off. But that didn’t stop Lucy from pursuing that relationship with him. It was slow but so very worth it. Tim telling her not to take it personally.

That it might just be hard for to open up to her. It’s not Lucy it’s Tamara's own stuff preventing her from doing so. Just like it was for Tim. Lucy kept knocking at that door till Tim answered. Now look at him. He shares things with her. Deeply personal things. Is giving her advice on her own personal life. Look how far we’ve come. It’s these moments I love the most. The ones that show us how damn far Tim has come. How far they have come as a pairing.

It’s unreal to watch and so rewarding. It’s why the slow burn works so damn well for them. We get moments like this. Where Tim sees she is upset, reaches out, and even relieves her worries. Also once again using his past experience to help her out. Knowing it was hard for him to start to open up with her. That took time for him too. Applying that to his advice for Tamara not opening up just yet. You can see she feels lighter after their talk. Nodding her head agreeing with his advice. Relieving her of her worries for the time being at least. Tim being every bit the supportive husband here and I love it sfm. The emotional intimacy between these at this point is off the charts amazing. *sigh* I love them so much.

They return to the station to watch interrogation. Lopez has one of Becca’s clip talk guys in the box. Angela comes right at him. Doesn't waste time after he admits he knows her. Saying she knows he used clip talk for sex. In exchange she got warm bed and a meal out of it. He is instantly defensive. Thinking he’s been brought in for something she did or said. Is an ass outright calling her crazy cause she’s homeless and possibly on drugs.

Lopez cuts him right off saying she’s dead. Asking where he was last night? He stumbles and says he has nothing to do with it. That he did see her for few minutes but his GF was coming over. (Classy SOB..) Angela asks what she wanted? He says hot meal, shower, place to stay. But told her to go cause his GF was on the way. I love the way Tim leans forward as they get to heart of his story. He continues on saying Becca threatened to tell his GF if he didn’t give her money.

Telling Lopez all he had was a 20 dollar bill on him to give her. After she left he said he noticed Becca swiped his Cerus Watch. Which he paid 10K for. Lopez following up saying he couldn’t file a police report or it would expose his secret. Lopez cycles back to our couple. Lucy telling her she didn’t have a watch on her body. That she either sold it or whoever killed her took it and did. Tim says they'll ask Tamara where they think it would be pawned.

We find Tamara catching up with her old life. Visiting with friends she knew. My guess is she felt guilty about not talking to Becca all these months. Wanting to reconnect to help herself grieve. One of her friends telling her how proud Becca was of her. That she missed her but was so happy to see her move on. It’s then we see Tim and Lucy pull up. They all get nervous and Tamara tells them they’re cool.

Lucy is in mom mode asking how she is? Tamara tells her it’s a lot to be back here. She is trying to put up a brave front. Pretend she’s ok. So she avoids saying anymore by asking if they found anything? They update her on the watch Becca took. Asking her if she know where she would pawn it? Love Lucy seeing her hesitancy and reassuring her it’s ok. Also not wanting to leave her there. In full mom mode I adore it. Not wanting to leave her there but not having much of a choice atm.

They head to the pawn shop Tamara suggested. Tim doesn’t mess around or mince words with the owner. Saying they’re looking for a stolen Cerus watch. The owner gets defensive and says they just come into his shop accusing him of this? Lucy comes right at him too.

A tag team of confidence and unity. I love it. Her reply is feisty af. ‘Of purchasing stolen property from homeless teenagers? We are accusing you of exactly that.’ Get em Lucy! Gah love them being this bad ass united front. This guy goes off on a rant how he’s a lifeline for these kids. Lucy shows him the pic of Becca. Tells him this watch is what got her killed. He sighs and pulls it out to show them.

Saying it was brought in yesterday and shows them who brought it in. It wasn’t Becca….it was the kid Tamara was visiting. The look of realization washes over them. That beautiful silent communication of theirs kicking in. A shared look of worry washing over them. Tim asking isn’t that Tamara’s friend? The one they just left her with...

We cut back to Tamara talking to him. Asking if he’s ok? He say no. She starts to apologize she hasn’t been around. We see Tim and Lucy racing to get back to her. Such great cinematography in this scene. Declan starting his confession and it flits back to a worried Tim and Lucy. They're trying to get back to her as soon as they can. You can see the panic/urgency written across both of their faces.

Declan tells her how Becca was going to go back to school. Use the watch to get her started with it. She wanted to be more like Tamara. He starts to get emotional saying she was going to leave him too. You can see the shift in Tamara as she see’s where this is going. How he mentions he tried to sneak the watch out. That she caught him and he pushed her and didn’t mean for her to hit her head like she did. It’s then Lucy and Tim roll up like the BAMFS they are. Lucy all but jumping out of the shop to get to Tamara.

Tim cuffing him immediately. Once he's secure Lucy turns to her asking her if is she’s ok? Not expecting the response that she gets. Tamara finally putting down her walls and being honest. That she isn’t ok and runs to Lucy for comfort. I love this hug and Tamara finally turning to Lucy and being vulnerable. Lucy’s reaction is so sweet as she holds her tight. Such a nice moment for them. Adding to that growing familial bond between them.

The clown catches Lucy on her way out. I hate writing about him but I also don’t love writing about Ashley either. But they are apart of this season thus in my reviews when I have to. Lucy is straight with him. Says she isn’t in the mood for anymore bad news. He tells her he cut a good deal for Tyler. That he won’t have to be a CI. Just 6 months in Juvie. Probation till 18.

Clearly trying to impress her with this deal. Because let’s be honest if he had his way that kid would’ve been screwed. He did this to get on her good side. To me Chris was always kinda clueless but a little manipulative as well. I.e. This deal to impress her. Never liked him or thought he was good enough to be in her presence let alone date her.

This scene is a good bookend to how the episode began with Tamara’s gratefulness. Except this ending portion is a lot more sincere. No jokes involved. Makes me emotional as she thanks Lucy for everything she’s given her. Tamara thanks her for helping her leave it all behind as well. That if not for her she could've ended up just like Becca. Their scenes are always so good. Thanking Lucy for getting her friend justice.

Lucy not taking credit for that. Saying she did that for her. It’s true she guided them most of the investigation. Without her tips and such it would’ve taken them so much longer. I love Lucy telling her she doesn’t need to worry about what could’ve been without her. That’s she’s safe now ❤️ This next bit is so good. Lucy bringing up talking about her time on the street.

Tamara telling her not right now. Lucy bringing up she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t even have to with her. Just someday talking to someone would be good. So it doesn’t sneak up on her. Because it will. She is not wrong...It did for me. I took too long to talk to someone myself. I had a random run in with a sweet old lady who was a client of mine. She commented on my earrings. Asking where I got them? I said my mom with no real emotions attached to it. She looked me in the eye and said ‘Your mother must love you very much.’ I wanted to cry because I wasn't sure how true that was.

I swallowed my complicated emotions and my racing thoughts. I thanked her. But it triggered something in me when I got back to my car and I cried. Because it brought up all the emotions and feelings I hadn’t talked about with my mom. I texted my baby sister about it. She told me it was time to seek some therapeutic help. I did and it's helped so very much. So Lucy is so very right if you don’t talk about it. Suppress it for too long it sneaks up on you.

This is such solid advice once again from Lucy. Therapy and talking it out does wonders for the soul. Because if you don’t It’ll eat at you slowly. Take away from your present. Such a lovely way to end the episode for them both. I always love me some Tamara/ Lucy eps.

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

James and Nyla being cute af. I truly love them together. They work so well.

Also more cute James/ Wes moments about the pregnancy and such. I do love their bromance so.