#a little pledge for the future

[fawnarchive]

YOU.

REVEAL THEM YOU COWARDS. WHEN I CATCH U INTSYS

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

��Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

[wlntrsldler]

college! fratboy!luke situationship

mdni; this is for my fellow ksig!luke truther @starswillow

the idea of staying on campus for the summer almost made you want to reject the research position you were offered by one of the labs in your department, but the stipend, free housing and meals were too good to turn down. you didn’t necessarily want to go back to the middle of nowhere indiana to live with your parents for three months, which was the only other option you had, so you stayed while all your friends said their goodbyes and went off to start their summer travels or internships in big cities. 

you had a plan– you were going to go to lab, go eat, and head straight home. you were going to use the summer to recharge from the stress of your first year in college. you didn’t plan to run into luke castellan, who was re-taking a class in the lab next to yours because he fucked up his final experiment so bad, even the professor couldn’t figure out what he managed to do. and you definitely didn’t plan to fall into a situationship with the newly pledged ksig brother, but here you were. 

it started out innocently enough. his class ended the same time you took your lunch hour and he’d see you walking out with the rest of the future college drop-outs like him to the dining hall. luke had never seen you around before, after all the school was huge and it seemed like you’d be in classes that he was too dumb to even attempt. for fuck’s sake, he failed chem 101 and you were working in the lab of one of the most respected, tenured professors on campus. it wasn’t fully his fault, at least that’s what he told himself. he’d been sheltered away at a k-12 school in the middle of montauk for all his life and college was his first taste of independence. maybe he went a little overboard sometimes with a party every weekend, joining a fraternity, and serial dating so much that he virtually had no time to do his assignments. 

around day four of running into you, luke decided to approach you. his opening line was a simple, hey, were you in my stats class last semester? again, he knew you weren’t in his class, but he needed an opening to talk to you. you turned around, blinking up at him in confusion because you didn’t take a single math class last year, and shook your head. he shrugged and introduced himself anyway. 

it became a routine after that. if you got out on your lunch break before he did, you’d wait by the benches next to his lab. if he got dismissed from class before you, he would lean against the outside wall of your lab and play mindless games on his phone until you emerged. lunch hours turned into dinner requests to late-night study sessions when you found out he was struggling with chem. (his assumptions were right– you were too smart for him. you’d skipped the first two introductory chem classes because the placement test all freshmen took showed that you were way ahead of the curve.)

steadily, luke’s grades got better, mostly because of you, the two of you spent more time together than apart, and your original plan of using the summer recharging was turned on its head.

it began as the typical college fling. putting hundreds of hormonal teenagers in a confined space was a recipe for disaster. your summer consisted of fooling around with luke in the quiet of your dorm, the backseat of his car, and on occasion, the bathrooms in the chem building when one of you was feeling needy during the day. you’d heard your friends' stories of their hook-up culture experiences and you’d been sexiled by your roommate one too many times for your liking, but you never saw the appeal of it back then. but luke sauntered into your room for the first time when you invited him, with thoughts of things other than understanding covalent bonds in his mind. 

you weren’t blind. you knew there were attractive people on your campus, but you’d never felt physically attracted to any of them, until luke castellan, backpack slung across one shoulder, with a backwards boston red sox cap on, gray sweatpants, and black compression shirt on. the silver chain he always wore around his neck wasn’t tucked under his shirt like usual and the diy beaded bracelet he had on his wrist was a perfect contrast to his tanned, veiny hands-- and you knew you were fucked. 

luke fucked you on the uncomfortable university, twin-xl mattress, drinking in the pretty sounds you were making while his cock deliciously pistoned inside of you. all his notes and books were long forgotten on the floor of your dorm while his hips snapped against yours, teeth nipping at the skin of your collarbone while he groaned the filthiest things in your ear that had you blushing and tightening around his cock. my brilliant girl, but so dumb around my cock. you like that, baby? you take me so well, my best girl. 

and all you could manage to do was babble out incoherent sentences that usually ended with you panting out his name, the only thing you’d remember through the fog in your mind. luke. luke. luke. 

he loved it. he loved hearing his name leave your lips, all raw and hoarse, like how he knew his back would look with all the scratches you clawed into his skin. he’d pull out, against his primal urge to plant his cum so deep inside you, and finish on your sternum. then, he’d take his two fingers, scoop up his cum, and watch your greedy tongue suck around his digits with your big, fucked-out, eyes staring at him as if you worshipped him. luke wasn’t selfish either, in fact he was giving, which came as a shock to you. 

he’d spent hours lapping at your aching pussy, eating you out until you were pulling him off with a whine from multiple orgasms, or until his dick was standing at attention again because he couldn’t imagine a hotter thing to watch besides seeing your face contort in absolute pleasure because of him. 

the pillow talk and after-care were amazing too. he wouldn’t leave immediately after your long nights together. sometimes, he’d stay in your dorm even when you left to go to the lab for the day. when you came back, your room was pristine. luke would make your bed and clean up the sticky residues from the night before, just to mess it up again a few hours later.

he never shared with you was that he was in a frat that was notorious for having situationships that never amounted to anything but that. so imagine your surprise when you decided to give into your friends’ insistence and attended the first party of the school year at the ksig house and found luke castellan at the dj booth with his ksig shirt on, surrounded by pretty girls with red cups in their hands. he had his arm thrown over the shoulder of another boy, chris rodriguez, as he screamed out the lyrics to love me by lil wayne. 

when luke's eyes spotted yours in the crowd, his face broke out into a mischievous smile as he raced down the stage to grab your hand. he led you upstairs to his bedroom, deadbolting the door, and fucked you like it was summer again.

it wasn't bad for your first situationship.

[sepdet]

THIS WAS LAST MONTH (April 2024):

In front of more than 20 executives, including from Chevron, Exxon, and Occidental Petroleum, he promised to increase oil drilling in the Gulf of Mexico, remove hurdles to drilling in the Alaskan Arctic, and reverse new rules designed to cut car pollution. He would also overturn the Biden administration’s decision in January to pause new natural gas export permits which have been denounced as “climate bombs.”

“You’ll get it on the first day,” Trump said, according to the Post, citing an unnamed dinner attendee.

Trump’s exhortation to the oil executives that they were wealthy enough to pour $1 billion into his campaign war-chest, at the same time pledging a U-turn on Biden’s efforts to combat the climate crisis, was immediately denounced on Wednesday by environmental groups. “One billion dollars for Trump, a devastating climate future for the rest of us,” said Pete Maysmith of the League of Conservation Voters (LCV).

i'm GenX. I don't have children. But I care about millennials and everyone younger than me and the life forms who are trapped with us on this lovely little planet.

You deserve better. People in other countries who will be harmed by these rich monsters deserve better.

please vote for the future—  especially yours.

 (Remember, Trump is even more likely to support genocide. Some of his first executive orders as president were anti-Muslim.)

[figscigfigs]

my favorite moments of episode 3 of fantasy high junior year!!!:

riz gets a 30 to micromanage his friend’s futures (and the little folders)

“their record is bad but it should be worse” “he scores points!”

"it's made a pile that kristen uses as a nightstand" "i told you that in confidence"

MAZEY!!!!! (her name is so good. she is SO GOOD. also hot.)

the whole campaign bit. everytime anyone mentioned it i giggled “level with me, you got keys?”

“who’s this bitch” (kettlelily and ruben are my mortal enemies i hate these buttcrushers with my whole heart)

ADHD KRISTEN!!!

badidas

standing ovation 4 gilear!! (fig finding out gilear left from fabian is the most devastating thing in the world and they brushed over it)

GERMAN SHEPHERD MODE!!!!

jawbone diving to protect adaine and fig from the earthquake

“if there’s one thing i know when love is in the air there should be a tiny emergency”

“hey girlie”

gorgug, famous rockstar trying to explain music to his teacher

adaine’s wizard teacher making grade bets on her prophecies

KRISTEN’S BROTHER!!!!!!! (i could murder her parents i hate them so much)

“where was your god”

everything about the bard class (the “i just act really cute and tiny”, the emo flirting, the wanda'd in, the "i've been emotionally trespassed before", the bard teacher desperately searching for fig/thinking wanda was fig for a split second/awestruckenly welcoming her in through the window) emily axford i pledge my soul to you

THE FANTASY FBI BEING CALLED ON FIG FOR HER CONSTANT DISGUISES

the kristen and cass conversation was too real and too much for me

[dovesndecay]

It's June! It's Pride! It's (my) Birthday!

The Introduction Spiel:

Hi, I'm Reyah! (any pronouns! no really, go for it!) On June 21st, I'm turning 32, an exciting and mysterious age to be!! (So I've heard)

Warning: This is a post asking for financial help, and if there's one thing I would ask is that if you read the whole thing: please reblog.

I'm a multiply-disabled queer person of color, a writer, artist, and photographer. I live with three of my best-good-pal-friends, (@renthony, @kryptidkhaos, and @natalieironside) and our collective army of pets.

We all know it's damned hard to be all these things at the same time under the capitalistic hellscape we're living under, and we/I am always in need of a lot of help with the existing.

I ended the month of May with some smaller bills left still to pay, but am thankful to say that June already had fewer bills than usual due, and the amount I need to start the summer off right is actually less than I was afraid it would be! Woohoo!

What I Make

I mentioned my artistic endeavors, let me show you them!!

Writing

I write less often than I'd like, but I share poetry and shorts, when I have them, on my Patreon!

You must be over 18 to pledge, as I have, can, and will again share Adult Content occasionally. Patrons pledging at least $1/month get access to all content. But most posts becomes free to access eventually. :)

When I do longer form content, I primarily write fantasy with a focus on queer brown characters with disabilities, mental illnesses, and disordered attachments. Because therapy is expensive, and writing is free.

Photography

I do wildlife and landscape photography, primarily, but you can also check out my portrait and event work on my website! You can purchase PRINTS HERE.

And because it's my birthday, I'm offering a 32% discount code for all my prints! The code is good from June 1st to July 1st!

A Note, if you purchase a print: first off: thank you. (please feel free to send a photo of wherever you display it!!!) secondly: this will not go towards the received totals on my financial need because Pixels doesn't pay out until nearly 2 months after the purchase. Funds made from sales will go towards future needs.

CODE: PDHHTR

Artwork

I've been exploring art, both analog and digital, a lot more lately, and have shared both process photos and final drafts on Patreon! Here are just a few examples:

I admittedly don't post on patreon as much as I wish I had the energy to, but I try to make at least one thing a month, provided I have the spoons and time.

Creativity is, like, a level 5 spell slot when you're disabled and impoverished, and I appear to have exactly One (1) of those available at any given time.

The Needs:

The Bills: $1,100

Yeah, we had to get here eventually. Since this post is already pretty long, I'm putting the rest under a cut.

More than half of this, as always, is just for the car payment and insurance that keeps the regular day-job-haver getting to said job, and all our medical appointments, errands, etc.

I still owe around $13,000 total on Johnny Car, but I think we all know that's just not a real number.

The rest of the funds would go toward paying the small subscriptions, for my various medications, and the regular attempts to whittle away slowly at the $4,300 worth of other debt.

($2,200 of back taxes, and $2,100 of credit card debt, and gods, do I mean slowly. Interest piles up so much faster than I can seem to whittle.)

If you're able and willing to help with paying the bills, direct donations can be made here:

PayPal | (link)

Venmo | (dovesndecay)

Cashapp | ($dovesndecay)

If you can, and only if you can.

The It Would Be Cools:

Since every dime that comes in goes primarily towards food and bills, there's little left afterward to be put towards other life necessities like clothes, toiletries, let alone things I just think would be nice/neat/nifty to have.

I have a High Priority wishlist. It's mostly art supplies, bulk toiletries, etc.

I'm woefully low on clothes, being short, fat, and trans, so very little of what I own actually feels good to wear so much as it simply covers my body. I have a wishlist of clothes that would be nice to have.

For everything that firmly lands under the "I just want it" category, I have an Enrichment list. It's mostly stuffies, but also games, room decor, hobby supplies, books, and stim toys.

Our household keeps a big wishlist for things we need, want, groceries, accessibility products, and everything in-between.

Okay, now what?

Well, now, I'm gonna ask that if you got to this point, and if you can't/don't want to do any of the things listed above, then please reblog this post.

The more people that reblog it, the more likely I'm able to pay my bills for one more month this year.

But if you don't, it's not like anyone's gonna know. I'm not omniscient, I swear.

Anyway, I don't expect anyone to do anything if you can't or even if you just don't wanna, but if you can and you're willing to, it means the world.

I didn't think this is where I'd be at 32. But I never really expected to get here at all in the end, and it's a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Mostly because I am surrounded by amazing people who have the capacity to be so much kinder than I will ever have the words to describe.

Thank you, and to all, a happy pride!

🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤

[asapjens]

Gifts & Blessings

PJO: perseus jackson x reader

SYNOPSIS: gods, gifts, and unexpected blessings

CATEGORY: fluffffffff

WORD COUNT: 493

After the chaos of the battle against Kronos, Percy and his friends found themselves standing before the gods, who were bestowing gifts upon them.

The atmosphere was tense, and the gods were not exactly known for their gentleness.

Zeus cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, I offer you the gift of immortality. Join us on Mount Olympus as a god."

Percy hesitated for a moment, and the other gods exchanged glances, some muttering under their breath.

You, being the daughter of Hermes, couldn't hold back as you stepped forward.

"Whoa, hold on there," you interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "Percy doesn't need to be a god to show how much he cares about his people. He's doing just fine as a demigod.”

The gods turned their attention to you, surprised by your boldness. Even Poseidon and Zeus looked taken aback, not used to being questioned or challenged by mere half-bloods.

Poseidon, noticing the commotion, stepped forward with a small smile. "Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Percy's got a good head on his shoulders, and I'm sure he knows what he wants."

You nodded at his words. "Percy's dad is right and-" You felt a pang of embarrassment as you realized your slip-up. "I mean, Poseidon, sir of the sea, I mean God! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

Poseidon chuckled, waving off your apology. "No need to worry, my dear. I appreciate your support for my son. He's lucky to have someone like you by his side."

The tension in the air eased as Poseidon's words calmed the other gods. Percy shot you a grateful look, and you smiled back, feeling a little less flustered.

As you and Percy prepared to leave, hand in hand, Poseidon approached the two of you. Percy expected his father to address him, but instead, Poseidon turned to you.

Confused, you nodded as he asked you if he could have a word in private with you. You dropped Percy’s hand, not before kissing his knuckles.

"Ah, my dear, it's not every day that someone stands up for my son the way you did. It takes a lot of bravery or stupidity to reference the Gods like that," said Poseidon.

“Umh, thanks,” you replied.

“You have my blessing to marry my son,” Poseidon said. You blinked in surprise, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, um, thanks, but we're not really... I mean, we haven't really thought about..."

Poseidon winked at you. "Mark my words, my dear. You and Percy have something special." You chuckled and nodded. Then you went back to Percy.

“What was all that about?” said your boyfriend. “Oh, come on, don’t be embarrassed. I’m sure having the god of the sea as a father-in-law is not that bad," you chuckled at Percy’s words and pressed your lips against his.

When you guys made it to camp, Percy took your hand and led you to a quieter spot. The beach. He looked at you with a twinkle in his eye, and before you knew it, he was pledging his commitment to you.

Not in a marriage proposal way, it was better than that, a promise to always be together, no matter what. A promise that you both would always keep.

The two of you shared a moment, knowing that you didn't need the approval of the gods to solidify your bond. With Poseidon's unexpected blessing and Percy's heartfelt vow, you felt ready to face whatever the future held, together.

[pacentia]

Title: Forever

Summary: After BG3 events, Astarion and reader feel ready for a child.

Pairing: established relationship fem!reader x Astarion

Tags: NSFW, rough sex, sweetness, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, bloodsucking, kissing, L-bombs

Word count: 1,704

Note: listen up folks. no idea if vampires thralls can make people pregnant. but in my world they can. Pls enjoy. i haven't finished the game, so this is my own fantasy after bg3 events:)). Drabble/fic/headcanon requests about our darling husband are welcome :))

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and eventually months into years, together with your darling Astarion. After the events of tadpoles, mindflayers and vampire masters, the time had come to settle down and live quietly, close to Baldur's gate city. Close enough for easy supply runs, yet far enough to enjoy the privacy of your very own house. Astarion was quick to realize he'd want no one else in his eternal life but you - and asked you - on one knee - to be his forever.

The wedding was held shortly after, with only a close circle of your friends present. Karlach shed a tear from happiness - knowing you two were destined to be together, while Halsin felt just… Bittersweet. Astarion wed a fine woman, although he was secretly convinced that an Druid like himself: alive, warm, and aging could take better care of your needs.

This was often also the subject of certain discussions that popped up in your marriage as you were reading in the garden, or drinking hot tea beside the hearthfire. Worries that washed over him about the coldness of his touch - or the eventual loss he would have to endure somewhere in the far future, when you would eventually lose the battle against time. You understood where his worries came from, but you were always there to comfort your darling husband. You possessed no interest in anyone's touch but his and you pledged to him that you'd always be present in his undead heart.

Of course, the latter made you interested in if his vampirism could be cured or, if you could transform into one. Yet, both choices were frustratingly impossible. Curing him would just mean ending him, heaven's forbid. Transforming yourself would mean serving another vampire lord, a fate that Astarion would never want you to experience.

Though tonight - nothing of that sort mattered and you found yourself intertwined in one another, the soft duvet covering your bare bodies. Your fingers played with his light-grey curls, while his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, ready for bed.

"Say, love," Astarion suddenly spoke up, "I heard you took care of a lost little girl in the city today."

Right. A young Tiefling girl had lost her mother inbetween the packed crowds of the city, and the girl came to you for help. How exactly did Astarion know that?

"Karlach told me of course." The vampire stated as a matter of fact. "She saw you and passed by this noon for tea." You nodded and explained the situation - how you held the little girl's hand right until you found her mother together. The woman thanked you over and over again.

A small silence fell between you two, until the man continued his stream of thoughts, "Karlach then asked me if we'd ever have children and I said that I didn't know what you would think of it and I -" Astarion's gaze avoided yours until he remembered he was probably rambling again, "Sorry love, I just wanted to know if you and I could have that sort of future together?"

Your heart fluttered at the thought of Astarion as a father. He'd definitely spoil his little ones and love them unconditionally.

"A little one to raise in our house." The pale man smiled, lost in his thoughts. "We already have a spare room that we could decorate for them."

Of course those thoughts had crossed your mind. It would be a new chapter in both of your lives, and you felt ready to take it on together with him. Behind his cheeky and often sarcastic banter, there was a sweet and caring man - only revealed to the closest ones he trusted.

"You know they'll be incredibly mischievous and stubborn, right?" You smirked up at him, to which the vampire quickly retaliated, "Darling, you wound me. Besides, that's why you're there to teach them kindness." Astarion sing-songed, nuzzling into your hair.

No hesitation was present in your words, '"Of course, Astarion. I want this with you." You smiled sweetly, gently guiding his cold digits over your belly, making your vampire husband rub it with such fondness.

Something within him stirred, yet another level of deeper protectiveness that he would soon feel over you. Any other man that would come too close to you, would feel his deadly fangs buried into their jugular. Rip them to shreds. Kill them in cold blood. In fact, it made him involuntarily bare his fangs to you, accompanied by a low growl reverberating in his chest.

You grinned at his primal reaction, and whispered as you caressed his chin, "Dear Sir, you know you can't drink anything from me when you've put your little one in me, right?"

He was taken by a frenzy, and rolled his heavy body over yours - his nose buried into your neck, inhaling the delicious smell of your perfect blood. His cock hardened at the thought of drinking from you, his icy tongue lapping over the countless bite marks that he'd decorated your neck with.

"I know, sweet love. Sadly, I'll have to return to …inferior blood." An adorable pout covered his beautiful features - which made your heart flutter.

"You should get to work then, my love." You whispered in his pointy ear, pressing small kisses along his cheekbone, and you wrapped your legs around his strong back. The vampire chuckled at your words, "Oh, darling." He groaned, elated to see you so eager to get bred by him. His hardness teased over your wet and warm folds, making himself slick before he'd slide home. His arms snaked under yours, to completely wrap himself around you protectively, burying his face into your neck. The intoxicating smell of your blood so close to his lips, made him lose control over his pace and bucked his strong core into yours, drenched cock sliding deep in your sex.

"Fuck, Astarion…" You gasped in pleasure, his large cock burying itself deep deep deep within your folds. The vampire watched your features contort into pure bliss, and bit his lips in return - until he was nestled as deep as possible.

"This is what you want, isn't it, my darling?" Astarion whispered, while you clawed at his back - sweet agony from his pressure on your cervix. His way with words was too much to bear. Icy lips found your ear again, dripping with sin, "Completely inside your warm, wet, delicious cunt."

You could only whimper Astarion and nod, your fingers buried in his soft curls, as his hips started to gently, slowly thrust inside you. His cock felt so perfect. Big, firm, as if he was carved just for you.

"Fuck, darling," Your husband growled, losing himself deep inside you, speeding up his pace, shifting his position so that he could hold onto your hips for leverage. His red eyes feasted on your body, the most beautiful creature he'd ever set his gaze on. He could hear your heart beating faster. Blood pumping through your veins. Cheeks flushed red. He was salivating for you.

"Please, Astarion…" You cried out in delicious agony, needy for him to grab and fuck you harder. Impregnate you. Show Faerûn that you completely belong to him.

"What is it, my love?" He growled with bared teeth, sounds of wet, sloppy thrusts filling the bedroom.

"Bite me once more." You begged, holding onto his strong shoulders, "Just one last time, please."

Yes. One more time he could have you. His sanguine hunger kicked in, and he couldn't restrain himself anymore, "Oh my, darling…" He moaned In relief, his thrusts never faltering, thanking you over and over again for your gift - until he set his fangs in your neck.

One last time that sharp, ice-cold feeling washed over your senses - unable to move or do anything. Delicious pain mixed with heavenly pleasure, both of your orgasms were nearing. No combination more delicious for your husband - your fresh blood spilling from his lips and your cunt wrapped tightly around him. Pleasure welled up inside of your belly, enduring your vampire's violent kiss - until you reached your peak while he drank from your neck.

His digits dug into the sheets, pupils dilated as he released from your neck in time, overcome with adrenaline and power.

"That's it, my darling…"

His thrusts became harder, faster - his bloody lips finding yours, tongue invading your mouth. You were absolutely spent already, having lost nearly two pints of your blood again - so you held onto him for dear life. The metallic taste of your blood made you nearly gag if he wasn't lapping it up off your lips like a hungered animal.

"Astarion, fuck… Make me fucking pregnant." You cried desperately against his lips, his big cock bumping against your cervix with each thrust. And like always, he delivered your plea - and with a deep and primal groan he reached his peak. "Fuck, oh - Fuck - darling!" He growled with bloody fangs, his crimson eyes rolling in the back of his head, jets of his release splattering right against your cervix. Filled up to the brim.

Sated with blood and pleasure, he collapsed on top of you, holding you dearly in the afterglow of your pleasure. Sweaty, bloody bodies pressed against each other. His face buried against the side of your neck, lapping remnants of your blood one last time.

"Can't get enough of it, can't you, sweet?" You grinned.

"Never, my love." He smiled against your flesh as his cold hand gently caressed your lower belly - hoping that his love would nestle itself deep inside of you tonight.

"I love you, Astarion."

"And I love you, my darling. Forever."

[rebelspykatie]

Steve joins a fraternity because of his father, slots himself easily into the most prestigious fraternity on campus as a legacy. All the guys envy him, his father’s name following him, branding him as a top dog, even as a lowly freshman. The other pledges either resent him or suck up to him, hoping some of that Harrington charm will rub off on them. 

Steve’s done what’s expected of him his whole life, but college gives him that taste of freedom he’s longed for. When he starts dating Eddie, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Besides Robin, he’s the first person that really sees Steve. He’s not a Harrington, or King Steve, or a legacy pledge. He’s just Steve and it’s intoxicating. 

Expectations weigh heavily on Steve. He’s bound to disappoint. He’s used to being the prettiest person in the room, but not the smartest, and the future his father has laid out for him is outside of his capabilities. He’s never going to be a lawyer and take over his father’s firm. He’s never going to be as smart as his little brother Dustin. He’s never going to be anything besides a trophy husband at this rate, good at spending daddy’s money and looking good on social media. 

But Eddie makes him feel like he’s more. More than his father’s name, more than the notoriety he brings to his house. What’s not easy, is that Eddie is in a rival fraternity. Steve begged him not to go to the dark side, but Eddie couldn’t be swayed. The stuffy, prestigious nature of Steve’s house didn’t appeal to Eddie. No, he was drawn to the misfits, the house of slackers and party animals. He wanted to have fun, not make a name for himself. Steve wishes he had that freedom.

The rivalry gets between them, pranks wars gone wrong, comments on how they’re fraternizing with the enemy. Eddie’s better than Steve at ignoring it. It gets under his skin and festers. Eddie’s never on time, always partying with his brothers, late night dnd sessions that seem to be more important than their dates. When Eddie misses a function and leaves Steve standing there alone like an idiot, it’s the last straw and they part ways. 

It’s hard to avoid your ex when you’re on the same campus, just a few houses down from each other. But Steve gets over Eddie by getting under Tommy. He falls prey to his father’s expectations again and sees Tommy as the advantageous match he could be. They’re closer to equals, rich fathers and ambitions that get the best of them. 

It’s easy with Tommy in a different way, the way they both know deep down it’s a political match. They’re both gaining something from this. Tommy gets the hottest guy on campus on his arm, the future leader of their fraternity, and Steve gets to tell his father he’s not messing up his entire life dating a directionless, no-name loser from the worst fraternity on campus. Even if his father’s comments on Eddie make his blood boil, wanting to leap to Eddie's defense, even if he doesn’t deserve it after abandoning Steve. 

Steve’s never been made of the hard stuff like his father or Tommy, he’s always been brittle, too soft on the inside, too fragile to handle that kind of pressure long term. And it cracks, blows up in his face when Dustin wants to pledge and finds Tommy cheating on him with Carol. 

Dustin is less scared of their father, not the firstborn, never expected to take over the business, but he’s also inherently got more freedom because he’s known since he was a kid that he wanted to be a polymer engineer. That path is straightforward and one filled with accolades that impress, the kind of degree you can name drop at a business meeting and not be embarrassed about, because you know Dustin’s not destitute and broke. Dustin’s also never been good at the game their father plays. He’s honest and kind, even if he’s a sarcastic little shit. 

It shocks everyone when Dustin decides to rush Eddie’s fraternity. It’s become a home to misfits in the Greek system, the ones that don’t realy fit in anywhere else. Probably because they’re less worried about grades and more worried about their dnd campaigns and how many nerds they can collect under one roof. That should’ve been enough of a clue for Steve on where he’d land, but Steve is still blindsided by it. Mostly because it inadvertently brings Eddie back into his life. 

Suddenly he’s around every corner, teasing Steve about Dustin, asking more questions about their home life than he ever did while they were together, like there’s no bad blood between them and with a hint of understanding behind his eyes. He even checks in on Steve post Tommy fiasco. It tugs at something in his gut, tricks Steve into thinking Eddie still cares, that he didn’t abandon him because he found out how little Steve has to offer. That he didn’t get tired of Steve not being enough. 

Maybe Steve’s ready to give Eddie another chance. Maybe they deserve another chance at something real, especially when the universe keeps pulling them together. Steve wants something that’s his for once, something he built on his own, something that his father has no hand in. Eddie Munson might just be the very thing that saves Steve from himself. 

[yoonavii]

Putting His child to bed

Context: Luffy putting his child for bed

Luffy would turn bath time into a playful water fight, splashing around and laughing with his child, turning an ordinary bath into an exciting experience

The future pirate king would share thrilling pirate stories with his child, regaling them with tales of his own adventures and making up imaginative stories together.

Luffy would let his child choose their favorite pajamas, even if they are mismatched or have a fun pirate motif.

He would have a special blanket that he got on one of his adventures, which he would use to tuck his child in and wrap them up in a warm hug.

Luffy might not be the best singer, but he would invent a silly lullaby with a catchy tune, rocking his child gently in his arms.

He would surprise his child with a tasty bedtime snack, maybe a banana or a piece of meat, just like the ones he loves.

Before bed, he would give his child “Gum-Gum Kisses” all over their face, making them giggle and feel loved.

he would take his child to the deck of the Thousand Sunny for some stargazing, pointing out constellations and talking about the adventures that await them.

Luffy would make a special bedtime pledge with his child, promising to protect them and be the best dad he can

As he leaves the room, Luffy would shout “Goodnight, my little adventure buddy!” and wink playfully, making his child smile one last time before they fall asleep.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future. 

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen. 

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation. 

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it. 

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin. 

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt. 

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree. 

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.  

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost. 

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you. 

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar. 

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her. 

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!” 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born. 

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty. 

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each. 

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn. 

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked. 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday. 

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side. 

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger. 

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.” 

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view. 

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks. 

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another. 

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin. 

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word. 

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation. 

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter. 

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up. 

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage. 

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected. 

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine. 

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily. 

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat. 

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved. 

But not him. 

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation. 

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell. 

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted. 

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence. 

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family. 

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips. 

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze. 

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem. 

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all. 

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement. 

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty. 

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth. 

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful. 

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived. 

You had changed. 

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change. 

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more. 

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were. 

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you. 

He never left. 

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right. 

There was a pull. 

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you. 

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought. 

But you knew your answer already. 

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you. 

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[inphront]

ortus nigendad inherited his position as cavalier primary to the ninth. he would have started training with the sword before his adept was even born, and been pledged to her the moment she could speak. reasonably, aiglamene would have been working with him since he was a boy.

do you think he was the only swordsperson aiglamene trained?

do you think he learned what a formal duel was by sparring with someone his age under their teacher’s watch? do you think maybe there was another child or two who showed promise, someone with a future in the cohort? and it frustrated everyone that *he* was the one to be cavalier when he was the worst swordsman in the bunch. do you think he tried to be better back then, to measure up to the other kids, even though he would’ve preferred to be doing anything else?

of course, he’d have needed one on one help from time to time. having classmates makes certain things easier to learn, but he was the future cavalier primary. he was meant to represent his house someday, and he hardly even seemed interested in it. some lessons would be for him alone even if the whole generation went through martial training.

do you think they called him for training one day, when every other child was meant to be in the nursery? do you think the older ones were jealous he was getting out of prayer circle, and the little ones were jealous he was missing naptime? and he told the more athletic ones not to worry and that he’d show off what he learned when he got back, but he didn’t mean it. they were meddlesome and annoying, and he wouldn’t think about swords for a second longer than he had to. everyone called him lucky, and he didn’t much feel like it.

do you think he got back from his lesson to find his home under quarantine?

do you think he was told that some unholy illness had broken out in the nursery and that they’d have to test him in isolation, but he couldn’t be allowed back in his bed out of hope that he was spared? it killed them all so quickly; the fact he was alive at all meant he’d likely gotten lucky. he didn’t feel like it.

do you think that was the day ortus nigenad gave up on the sword for good?

[writethrough]

Vigilance

(Vessel x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Vessel contemplates what you mean to him while you're laying together.

Warnings: Maybe a little self-deprecation on Vessel's part, but besides that...?

Word Count: 599

A/N: This one really came out of nowhere. The first half is part of this dream I had, then I filled in the ending. Short, kinda fluffy, but in a serious way. If you've read "Sun Daze," "Morning Blue," or "Found You," it's that vibe.

You felt his presence before you were truly conscious. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he watched you. You’d gotten used to it by now. It was reassuring. His constant vigilance—a protective bubble that embraced you. 

His nimble fingers grazed your side, trailing to the small of your back. “Rest, my love.” 

Humming, your eyes remained closed, enjoying his feather-light touches. You had shoved the blankets off you in your sleep and were rewarded when his skin caressed yours. 

The bed shifted, then his lips brushed the side of your head.  

“Lay with me?” Though it escaped as a statement, you meant it as a question. One you knew he’d never refuse. 

He slipped behind you, one arm sliding beneath your head, and the other around your middle. You threaded your fingers through both of his hands, needing to be as close to him as possible. With his exposed chest pressed against your back, you relaxed into him, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. 

This was your safe place. Nestled in his hold where no one else existed.  

You took in every part that connected to him and wished you could stay like this forever. 

“Ease now, beloved. I am with you.” He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, lingering to feel more of your skin.  

He would stay like this until you woke next. Until you had to move. Until you indicate otherwise. He would remain.  

He could not follow you into blissful unconscious, but this almost seemed better. The trust you put in him, the way you let him embrace you, how openly you received every part of him—he witnessed it all in these moments. As you drifted, your walls receded. He saw you for who you were and vowed himself to you. Even if you didn’t know the extent of his allegiance to you, it didn’t matter. You belonged to one another. He would ensure your happiness, your safety, your peace—because they were his own.  

The scent of your hair enveloped him. You were home to him. He could not determine the last time he had a home, but the word was fitting. In all his travels, in all his life, he had glimpses of reprieve, but with you he had gained more than that. You had given him more than he ever had in the centuries before you. And for that he owed you his existence. 

Every time he looked at you, spoke to you, touched you, was like the first. You did not want anything from him—like so many others—you simply wanted him. So, he gave you all, every piece of darkness within himself, every memory from before, every task he was given, because he wanted to make sure. Was this what you wanted? Was he what you wanted? 

In response, you showed him all of you. Your regrets and failures, your hopes and dreams, your fears—and they were beautiful. You were...everything. 

For that, he had pledged to be yours. He had proclaimed his love, and you returned it.  

So, he would remain by your side, in every sense of the word. In ways he could not explain. 

He matched his breathing to yours, steady and deep. Once your fingers had slackened, he curled his a little more to keep you connected. And his eyes closed, letting your skin warm his and your scent fill him. 

This was as close as he could follow you, but it was enough. You were with him. This was all he needed. His greatest treasure. His love. His meaning.  

Taglist: @steph-speaks, @themultiverseofmars

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future fics!

[forgettingcrowbin]

Some more dragons

To give more context to people! Yes this story sounds very silly but I was trying to make things work with the tons of headcanons I have lol

Geno (sky/ice), Fresh(rain/ice), and Error(night/ice) are all half-brothers (they share the same mother who is now dead) They live in the rainforest together between the Nightwing and Rainwing territories

Geno is sickly and often needs a scarf or blankets to make him feel warmer. He sustained injuries to an attack to the rainforest and Error found out he was an animus by wishing his brother to stay alive

Fresh is a very clever hybrid who can change the colors of his scales but not as well as full Rainwings. He tends to stay either bright colors mixed with his original white

Error learned he was an animus after an attack on the rainforest, he's best friends with Ink despite always getting mad at the happy-go-lucky rainwing (Error is cousins with Cross but that'll like never get brought up or found out by any of them)

Ink is just a regular Rainwing but is friends with the hybrids out of the village so people thing he's a little funky. He's an artist through and through and Error gives him a giant brush that makes his drawings come to life using his animus powers

Dream and Nightmare are both twin Nightwing/Sandwing princes (Nightmare got bullied too hard for being a "bastard prince" even though Dream is also one) Both are empaths and can feel other's emotions!

A massacre happens in the Sandwing Kingdom when the royal family (trying to stay pure) tries to kill Nightmare when Dream isn't around. Nightmare escapes, angry that his brother got better treatment than him, while killing many other dragons in the process

Blue is a royal Seawing guard in training even though his parents wanted him to be a cook and Red is a Skywing who is captive by the queen since he was experimented on by his father (scientist)

Reaper is an outcasted Nightwing due to accidentally killing people with just a touch (animus curse by xgaster) He uses it to his advantage with his Nightwing powers by being able to prophecy someone’s future or find parts of their past. He is known as this Reaper judge that gets sent for when giant disputes happen and the Queens of the tribes need to figure out who to punish. When he meets Geno, who is also animus touched to not die, Reaper is fascinated that he is able to touch Geno

The broad animus stuff is due to Xgaster (Nightwing who is part of a split tribe situation with eviler Nightwings lol) trying experiments on Nightwing eggs to make their dragonets stronger. I imagine its a group still like wanting to be better than every other tribe and resides in the old Nightwing palace

Cross is a Nightwing who is gonna stop his dad in the big storyline

MURDER TRIO! All of them are dragons that were outcasted and seen as incompetent or needed a home. They pledged their allegiance to the Sandwing prince Nightmare and promised to help him take the throne.

Dust is an animus prince in the Icewing tribe that went crazy after killing his siblings, he tends to be calm but becomes crazed easily and can kill easily with his powers (although he tends not to use them anyways and is just a very good fighter). He created a cloak to calm himself down and he tends to keep it over himself. He actually ran away because the judge (Reaper) was going to be sent to their tribe

Killer is a Rainwing that was captured and trained to fight in the now shut down Skywing arena. He was used as target practice for his changing scales and they even burned a target onto his chest so they'd always be able to see him even when his scales changed

Horror is a bigwings who watched all his sibs die during a famine in the Mud kingdom (due to drought). Older Mudwings tried to kill him for being a waste of space but he escaped and joined Nightmare.

[serena-babes]

So i have this idea about the knights of hell. There can’t be a king and princess without some royal protection. So how do you think the others will react to a Hell Knight Reader? Like reader is like a commander of a group of elite knights. And they came to check up on Charlie and Lucifer! To see if the king and princess are okay after the attack on the hotel.

Brownie points if reader doesn’t smile and are serious all the time! Reader is very dangerous they can and will kill to protect their king and future queen! No romance of course, just platonic relationships. Like Charlie can see reader as an older sibling.

Royal Knight Reader x Lucifer Morningstar + Charlie Morningstar

platonic!˙ᵕ˙✰

Gender neutral!

1.5k

omg! this is too cute! i really love the whole knight idea! ⋆｡°✩ i did some research on the whole knight system and its SUPER interesting!

might make another one shot of a knight reader with my own little twist･°˖✧◝(��▿⁰)◜✧˖°.

✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺✧₊⁺

Ever Since Lucifer and Lilith's fall from grace, protection has always been a necessary resource. Y/ns has been there since the beginning pledging allegiance to both the king, queen, and the then young princess serving them for centuries. Y/n and the rest of the knightage fought to make sure to keep hell orderly, or as orderly as hell can get. 

Y/n was much more serious compared to their fellow knights being a Grand Cross comes with its different sets of responsibilities that in their mind “allow for no error.” due to their seemingly frigid exterior outsiders would think Y/n was only following the chivalry code nothing more. But, on the contrary, Y/n did truly care for Morningstars.

This is why Y/n's heart dropped hearing about the extermination coming earlier than expected, it was always busier during this time of year. The number of casualties just from the royal guard was always a hard gap to fill after the massacre was over. But at least, the Morning Stars were spared. This time, however? Y/n wasn't sure everyone was going to come back alive, a direct attack from heaven? Some of their most skilled knights have fallen to the hands of exorcists. How in hell would Charlie ever come out alive? 

But, Y/n takes orders, and Lucifer stops her from interfering. 

“I don't understand why you won't let me do this,” Y/n exclaimed curtly, brows pulled tightly together. The confusion was evident in their tone, their body rigid like a sword. A still silence blankets the room after no response. Y/n, Moving forward through Lucifer's study smoothly dodging various piles of ducks. Continued.

“I am loyal to this family, eternally. And the one chance I am needed…you, tell me to stay?.. Why? She is your daughter. Do you want her blood to spill across the pavement? Because that is what will happen if you let this continue.” Anger started to bubble to the surface as they pointed an accusatory finger at Lucifer.

The silenced followed them 

“You must let me go I have-” Y/n pleading began

“Stop, I order you to stop,” Lucifer said weakly, looking away unsure. It was obvious he was going through his own anxiety and turmoil due to the extermination and the safety of his daughter.

“She has to do this, you.” he looked to Y/n glassy-eyed

“Cannot face heaven” he continued “I don't think anyone here really can… Charlie can hold her own. I mean if anything this could I don't know, um.. steer her away from heaven!” he said, his charismatic exterior seemingly returning to his body.

“Yes…but what do we do if she cannot handle it.” y/n said quietly, mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Well, who better than me? King of hell! Eh! Eh!” lucifer exclaimed loudly elbowing y/n's rib cage

“This is not a time for humor,” she responded coldly. Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully.

“ Y/n I'm worried about her too, but this is something she needs to do. If I need to I will step in. You have enough to worry about with everybody else looking to you for guidance, have faith in her. So! I order you to stay here!…. Please.” Lucifer exclaimed albeit a little awkwardly since he was not used to giving many orders directly to Y/n's face

Y/n Sighed bending down to kneel “As you wish my king.” 

“Okay okay, you don't have to do all of that! I mean, come on! You're practically family.” Lucifer exclaimed in surprise. 

And so, Y/n trusting Lucifer they went back to their duties. Making preparations for extermination day preoccupied their mind most days. but silently anxiety seeped in. Truthfully, Y/n is terrified of losing Charlie and Lucifer they're the only family they've ever had. Even in life, Y/n wasn't close to anyone as much as they were with the MorningStars, which is why relief flooded Y/n's whole body hearing that both Charlie and Lucifer were safe in the end. After the hotel was rebuilt, they planned a visit to double-check. 

It was your average day at the hotel, Husk was busy cleaning the bar counter with a tattered rag as Angel Dust as well as Vaggie lounged on the couch. Angel, scrolled mindlessly through their phone while Vaggie worked on sharpening her spear. Charlie, of course, was planning new lesson plans with her father. Everything was calm. That was until three loud pounding knocks rumbled through the room.

Vaggie immediately jumped up in defense while everyone slowly turned towards the door, a menacing shadow shown through the glass. The only person who seemed excited was Charlie.

“Wait! Wait! This could be a new guest!” Charlie said excitedly jumping at the opportunity to greet the mysterious person at the door

“Okay everyone, let's remember to smile and introduce ourselves!” she smiled to everyone in the lobby, Alastor now entering the picture to observe.

Charlie swung the door wide open “Welcome to the hazbin hotel!- Y/n!!” 

Charlie embraced Y/n in a bone-crushing hug squealing and spinning both her and the reader around “I'm so excited to see you! It's been so long! Oh! Come and meet everyone!”

But just as Charlie was leading you over to the rest you spot a certain um. Eccentric! red demon

“Oh! What in the unholy hell is that..” y/n exclaimed obviously unsettled by the red demon 

Grimacing at the sight and leaning down Charlie 

“Charlie, I trust your judgment but what… what the HELL is that.” but just as y/n leaned up there he was.

“Alastor, Pleasure to be meeting you dear. Quite a pleasure indeed!” Alastor said enthusiastically jostling you around like a rag doll with his over-excited handshake.

“And who are you? The servant to the morning stars him?” he continued. Lucifer and y/n both make eye contact across the room silently agreeing about their mutual opinion of this “Radio Demon” as he likes to be called.

“More like, protector. What are you hm? The janitor? With that tattered suit, one might think you would be a stray animal who wandered in.” Y/n shot back with a frown and an unimpressed brow

“Alright! y/n! Let um let's meet everybody else! please..” Charlie said steering you away from Alastor you both looked as if you were about to be at each other throats if she didn't intervene 

“Everyone! This is y/n! They are a part of the…” she whispered over to Y/n “Is it the knightage..?”

“Yes, it's the knightage you're right.” y/n had responded quietly they were used to Charlie's struggle with certain words many nights they had to help Charlie with their spelling when she was younger.

“The Knightage! They work for me and Dad.” Everyone had gone silent at this news no one ever thought that they would be meeting the top of the food chain. Royal knights have been seen around hell usually around the time of the extermination, and almost everybody knew not to mess with them. Especially Y/n, just looking at them everyone would think they could snap someone in half without a second thought. Almost everybody there straightened their posture as Y/N's cold gaze flicked over everybody even Alastor tensed up slightly. 

“It's nice to meet everybody, Charlie is very enthusiastic about this hotel of hers, I'm glad it's made its reach to people,” Y/n responded professionally, Charlie looked over the cast of people in the room noting the uncomfortableness of everybody, She knew y/n was…Cold-looking, but she's never seen anyone react to just their presence in such a way. 

The silence lasted for what seemed like an eternity no one daring to speak up 

“So, are both your swords accurate about hitting certain deep spots, or just the one?” Angel spoke up flirtatiously everyone's heads snapping in the direction of the outburst

“What?! Just asking, geese.” replied angel

“My sword is made of iron it's manufactured to hit “deep spots” A knight does not possess two iron swords that would be .. redundant,” Y/n said calmly. Angel had side-eyed Husk when this was said triggering Husk to roll his eyes to mimic annoyance. 

“Speaking of weapons, Vaggie your spear needs to be sharpened. I suggest you sharpen it daily it'll really glide through people like butter if you do.” Y/n continued, they had met Vaggie prior to the hotel but only briefly as Charlie didn't come to the castle much anymore after Lilith left. 

“Oh! Um, thanks!” Vaggie replayed hurriedly intimidated by the tall stance Y/n possessed the heavy armor from neck to toe didn't help them look less menacing either

“By the way, thank you for protecting Charlie and everyone at the hotel.” y/n said slowly moving down to kneel “ I wasn't there myself due to my orders but I am glad to know Charlie is in good hands it brings peace of mind.” Y/n continues now fully kneeling 

Vaggie visibly flustered responded quickly “Oh! It was oh it was nothing really.” 

“Y/n?” Charlie interjected 

Y/n slowly rising to their feet, “Yes, Charlie?”

“How about you stay for dinner really.. Catch up!” Charlie said excitedly. Y/n glanced over to Lucifer who had two thumbs up. 

“Ah hell, why not.”

[ivyinne]

I feel like I'm in the minority here but I just feel like... I don't like Stuart. And I don't mean I think he's boring or reprehensible or a badly written character, I specifically mean that I don't think his relationship with Neil is as affectionate or parental as people make it out to be.

Fanon Stuart is overwhelmingly portrayed as someone who cares about Neil. Being actively involved in his life, sometimes to an unhealthy extent. Fanfics even go so far as to have Stuart fight for Neil if he ever incurs the Moriyamas' disfavour — and I love that relationship. I love that exploration, I love seeing a Neil who at least has his mother's family in his corner.

But in canon, we hardly have any evidence to support that version of Stuart. All of their encounters have an element of business to them; Stuart rescues Neil from Nathan but that wasn't what he came down there to do — he came there because he just really, really disliked Nathan. Finding Neil was unexpected, and the first thing Stuart did was leave him there as a distraction for the FBI.

Still, it's not like he could have helped things on that front. The same way he tells Neil he can't protect Neil after the whole deal with the Moriyamas has been struck — it's just not something that can be helped. In TSC, Stuart comes to meet Neil to walk him through a plan designed to protect the Moriyamas — because that's who Stuart has allied with, and that's who Neil belongs to. It's a business transaction with a common denominator, and I see very little evidence that these two have the sort of relationship fanon maintains they do.

I know there are crumbs here and there to indicate that they do have a positive relationship, I just don't think they consider each other family, or that there is even any uncle-nephew bonding going in. Neil orders the hit on Grayson, and Stuart treats it like it's a query from a stranger. Really, Stuart? It's your organisation and you're not even gonna offer your own nephew a family discount?! I know Neil has his blood money but he's spent so much of it — and he's a student!! Who has pledged 80% of his future earnings to a crime family!! Maybe just do him a solid this once?

I think it's best explained by this example — in the EC we came to know that the Moriyamas will eventually end up getting rid of Stuart in favour of another leader within the Hatford set-up, and that before doing so they will ask Neil if he's going to be a problem when it happens. And Neil will be pretty broken up about it, but he's certainly not going to be a problem.

Which is the crux of the matter: as the canon dynamics stand, Neil and Stuart's relationship is simply too regulated by a careful balance of politics and crime and power for them to ever view each other as family. They operate in fucked-up contexts and their normal interactions are too much the product of belonging to crime families and knowing the price of necessity. Do I think they're callous about each other? No. But there's certainly no overflowing familial warmth there either.

I love that fandom explores the potential of what their dynamic could have been. But I don't think it's canon. Feel free to share any disagreements or alternate reading you have of the text, though, because I'm really open to changing my mind! And I'm also really curious about why a large part of the fandom has interpreted Stuart as having such strong pride and attachment over Neil in the first place.