#all the usual game of thrones tw's | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naeverse · 27 days

Text

Fortis Et Liber (1/2)

A/N: Hi guys, this is my first story back from my 'hiatus', I guess I'd call it, lol. But I hope you all enjoy it, I enjoyed writing this a lot and was heavily inspired by my recent binge watching of Game of Thrones and now partaking in watching it's prequel, House of Dragons. After finishing watching GOT, I knew I had to write Miguel as a Kingsguard. I hope the story is enjoyable, and thank you once again for your patience!

👑⚔️staring: Kingsguard!Miguel x Fem!princess Reader

🔷 Preview: You were the future of Valoria, and he was but a Kingsguard sworn to protect you—the very duty he had accepted when he was given his cloak.

His hidden desires and thoughts for you needed to cease.

They must…

“Let us…put our swords away, Your Grace,” Miguel stated, his voice hoarse, deep, and strained, but unable to break his gaze from yours. He waited for you to remove his sword from his neck, his body tense, heart pounding in his chest, with a silent plea to the gods to keep him from making a grave error here—far from the Kingdom and in the seclusion of this very forest.

You gulped, almost missing his suggestion. Nodding slowly, you drew his blade away from his throat, setting it on the grass nearby; but you found yourself incapable of moving from the spot atop him.

Your eyes roamed his face once more, finding the Kingsguard of age eight-and-thirty years old to be exceptionally alluring. You’d always found him attractive, often marveling that this was the man chosen to protect you until the end of your days.

Yet, despite your constant fascination, he seemed to have a new glow to him—a glow that made you meet his conflicted amber orbs, and your own eyes to flood with desire.

“I-I believe…I deserve a reward for my victory, Sir Miguel,”

💜summary: Being the Princess of Valoria comes with expectations of being proper, respectful, caring, and, above all, perfect. However, such a title is one you detest. You seek escape to your hidden meadow in the forest to indulge in your favorite yet forbidden pastime—swordfighting—a hobby you grew to love from observing your Kingsguard, Sir Miguel O’Hara, practice in the training yard. With this adoration for the blade, nevertheless, come taboo feelings towards the one meant to safeguard and protect you until the end of his days.

Sir Miguel O’Hara, since his early days as a knight, has learned the importance of remaining dedicated to his duties and keeping his cloak unsullied. With a raging temper, brooding aura, and an undefeated reputation in combat, the Kingsguard takes his duty seriously and handles any misdeeds with an iron fist. Yet, he harbors improper feelings for his charge, you, the Princess of Valoria. Upon discovering you training once again in your secret glade in the nearby forest, Sir Miguel finds himself torn between his duty and his own desires once more.

💎tw/cw: Age Gap, Body Worship, Cockbulge, Class differences, Cunnilingus, Desperation, First time (kinda), Forbidden love, Oral Sex, Outdoors Sex, Power Difference, Virgin Y/N

🪻Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Mi Amor (my love), Alteza (Your highness), Princesa (princess)

💙 Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

💜 Word Count: 5.8k

Heavy footsteps and the clank of metal rang through the quiet castle of Valoria, a scowl adorning the always stern Kingsguard, Miguel O’Hara. But this morning, he was angrier, more furious than usual.

Like normal, Miguel awoke at the hour of the bird, the sun just rising to kiss the peak of the tallest tower of his glorious kingdom where he began his morning routine. Waking up from his bed, stretching accompanied by a few strength exercises and combat training, a quick bath, inspection of weapons, application of his armor, and lastly, to check upon you, the Princess of Valoria, his charge until the end of his days. However, upon reaching your chambers, knocking on the door, and asking if you were awake, he didn’t hear a reply.

Miguel’s jaw clenched, his mind wandering to the possibility that your adventurous spirit had grasped you once more this morning, as he called out to you again, only to be met with silence.

A growl escaped the Kingsguard, announcing his intent to force entry before kicking the door open with his metal boot. As he feared, you weren’t there.His amber eyes narrowed upon the sight of your disheveled sheets that were missing your presence. With a huff, he spun on his heel and charged down the hall.

“Out of my way! Mudarse!” he shouted, roughly pushing servants from his path, annoyed that no one had noticed the princess’ disappearance. When his eyes made contact with the guard standing duty at the front entrance, his fury blinded him.

“You.” The word was a growl as in two long strides, Miguel grasped the collar of the man’s armor, hoisting him off the ground like a ragdoll. A surprised yelp escaped the lad as the Latino’s infamous temper engulfed him.

“The princess is missing, and here you are oblivious to it. A damn jackass could guard better than you,” Miguel gritted out, his jaw clenched harshly. The man’s stammered excuses went unnoticed as Miguel couldn’t bother himself to listen.

How could he when his sacred charge, the fucking princess, was the one missing?

With a snarl, Miguel slammed the guard’s against the pillar behind him, knocking the air out of him and instantly silencing the male. Harshly, the Kingsguard yanked the man close, his metal hands tightening on the collar of the younger lad's armor.

“I want six guards searching every nook and cranny of Valoria for the princess, or I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons for your incompetence. Is that clear!?” Miguel shouted, his anger getting the best of him as his gaze alone was enough to melt wax.

Hurriedly, the distressed guard nodded, his body shaking in fear in the eight-and-thirty-year-old man’s grasp. Miguel’s stern amber eyes glared at the trembling man for a moment longer before dropping him to the ground at his feet.

“Good,” The Latino muttered, turning on his heel, not sparing the troubled knight a glance, his blue cloak swaying behind him.

The older man hastily transverse outside of the castle, the morning sun beaming down upon his face and only stoking the hot scorching ball of rage that was rampaging inside of him. He moved down the stairs of the kingdom, his mind spinning with a tumultuous mix of emotions: fear, concern, irritation, and anger.

‘The King is going to be furious if I don’t find her,’ Miguel could only think.

The mere image of the troubled and disappointed face of his Highness hastened the Kingsguard’s pace, his metal boots leading him to the stables of the castle where his horse resided.

Secretly, Miguel already knew where his princess had run off to. You were an adventurous woman who hated the life of royalty and the suffocating vice it seemed to have on you. The Latino knew your troubles well as you spoke of them often; but he’d prefer if you didn’t cause such an uproar in the kingdom every time you decided to play the role of daring rogue.

“You better be there, princess. I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not,” Miguel whispered under his breath, knowing you’d surely hear a mouthful from him when he found you.

Slinging a leg over the saddle and snapping the reins, Miguel’s black stallion raced through Valoria’s gates, into the city, and beyond to hopefully find you.

In the heart of a secluded forest, the clear swish of steel and the occasional sigh of exertion could be heard, accompanying the natural melody of chirping birds and rustling leaves. In the clearing, bathed in dappled sunlight, stood you, the princess, defying all laws of royalty, titles, and societal expectations. However, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

You detested the lavish life of being a princess, from dancing with suitors to kissing babes and even the simple act of donning a corset. The entire castle knew of your disdain, especially your father, the King.

Your father despised your rebelliousness, always desiring you to be what the Princess of Valoria was meant to be: kind, respectful, well-mannered, ladylike, an inspiration and hope for the people, and most importantly, perfect.

Perfection wasn’t exactly an expected trait of being the Princess of Valoria, but you figured it should be, as one slouched back, faltered smile, or ignored suitor would instantly bring scandal upon you from the court. And you were certain any scandal would ruin your father, turning him into a madman. You always believed that in his deranged state, he might do something he’d never believed himself capable of doing to you, his beloved daughter: enforcing abdication upon you—leading you to give up your royal birthright and heir to his throne to become a mere commoner in Valoria.

The idea always made you shiver in terror; but you also deemed it quite vast, hoping your father’s love for you would overcome his need to erase the soot upon his once shiny reputation if a scandal did arise.

But one would believe the fear of abdication would deter you from sword fighting— from running away from your duties to chase a dream that was truly of imagination and fairytales.

But, honestly, you could not…

Cutting arcs of silver through the air, the wind brushing through your hair, and the exhilaration you felt with each precise stroke of your sword was everything to you. Although you had been training with your sword for only two years, the weapon felt like an extension of you—taking it away would leave you hollow, dull, and lifeless.

You were sure of it…

At the age of seven and ten, you encountered sword fighting for the first time when venturing down to the training yard of the castle, your adventurous spirit leading you all the while. At the time, you were merely escaping your handmaiden, Lady Mary Jane, who was seeking to fetch you to begin your early piano lessons; so seeking refuge behind the nearby wall of the training yard would be the least likely place you’d be found.

Peeking around to check if the coast was clear, you saw a duel—a battle between Sir Miguel O’Hara, your Kingsguard, and four soldiers. What seemed initially like a serious sparring match between four exceptional guards quickly turned into a farcical display.

Your Kingsguard, a man known for his raging temper, ability to strike fear into any being—man or beast—with just a glance, and always holding a deadly red glint in his amber orbs when his longsword was in his grip, easily evaded, parried, and played the three guards like fools.

Like playthings, the three men were handled just as quickly as the battle began, ending with them in beaten heaps on the ground all without Sir Miguel moving an inch out of his initial position.

From that day onward, your protector awakened something inside of you, but you were unable to figure out what; so every day, at the hour of the bird, you watched your Kingsguard train with the guards. And after training, which was your favorite, was the dueling with Sir Miguel O’Hara.

During these matches, you became engrossed in your Kingsguard’s strategies and fighting techniques. And sllowly, you fell more in love with sword fighting and the idea of defending oneself.

But there was one memory of observing your guardian fight that was held closer to your heart than others.

Mostly because that time was different…

Sir Miguel was always known for challenging himself, pushing his very limits to ensure his capability of protecting you. You had never seen him sleep and if he did, it was only a little, as he was always glued to your side like a hornet’s nest to a branch.

At times, you found the older Kingsguard’s presence overbearing, until that night when you discovered him in secret.

It was long past since the final birds tweeted their final messages for the night and the stars rose in the darkened sky when you heard Sir Miguel leave his rooted post outside your bedchambers. You knew your Kingsguard slept at some time of the night, but he never just…left.

Not this soon.

It felt…odd.

Being awake due to restlessness, you decided to discover the mystery of where your Kingsguard had wandered off to. Slipping out of your bed, you adorned your royal slippers, slung a thin cardigan over your nightgown, and followed him.

It wasn’t surprising that you found him in the training yard, sword in hand and cutting invisible intricate patterns into the air; but it was how he looked that shocked you.

Taking your usual hiding spot behind the wall when spying on the guards’ training, your innocent eyes took in your shirtless Kingsguard in the yard, practicing in his mere trousers under the moonlight.

His massive muscular arms wielded his massive longsword with ease, and his pecs adorned with a pair of dark nipples seemed to tighten with his every swift and powerful jab. The large male moved in a manner similar to a dance, however, different from when he sparred with the other guards.

Despite taking in the sparring methods of your protector like you normally did, you found yourself noticing everything else. His flexing olive abs of eight, sharp jawline of stubble, concentrated gaze, deep and occasional grunts of exertion, parted lips, and the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his perfect navel to slip under his trousers like a cunning serpent.

A shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding while admiring your Kingsguard escaped you. Your face flushed a deep red at the mere thought of how long Sir Miguel had been hiding such a sculpted form underneath his layers of armor.

You couldn’t help yourself, continuing your spying, but this time, peeking your head out further than before, needing to see more.

Your Kingsguard swung his sword again, his footsteps light yet purposeful upon the gravel. His every movement calculated in taking down his invisible opponent. Following his counter, he swiftly dodged, his dark brown hair flapping in the wind.

Every gulp caused his defined adam's apple to bob, and your Kingsguard’s slender waist twisted to evade with practiced ease. The sheen of sweat coating his muscular chest and backside shimmered under the moonlight, causing you to begin to find your Kingsguard rather attractive…

This memorable moment was a complete shock to you as you had never seen a man so…exposed before. Your father was certain to remove any paintings and stories that expressed erotic or sensual displays of any sort with the intention of keeping his royal daughter pure for any eligible suitors. So seeing him like this was as if you were taking a bite of a forbidden fruit that opened your eyes to the wonders of man and…

Sensations…

Seeing Sir Miguel in such a state, practically unclothed before you made you feel things—feelings that you hadn’t noticed but felt familiar in a way.

Perhaps, being the same sensation that engulfed your being when seeing Sir Miguel spar for the first time—his ability to fight, defend, and protect in such a powerful and courageous manner being what led you back here, each and every time to see him train again and again.

Perhaps these feelings were love like in fairytales?

Did you hold affections for Sir Miguel?

The idea felt absurd, especially with him being a member of the royal guard—meant to protect and serve Valoria until the end of his days. Indeed, love between a Kingsguard and a princess would be a grand scandal, so why did your heart palpitate at the possibility?

Why did your body heat up at the thought of the older man kissing your knuckles, not in respect for your title, but in adoration for you?

Why did your stomach stir with butterflies at the desire to know what your Kingsguard’s torso would feel like under your fingertips? His bulging arms? His chiseled face? Perhaps…

Lower?

But, it didn’t matter what you felt—what heinous and disgraceful ideas plagued your mind just from that one memorable moment.

It was forbidden.

You, the Princess of Valoria, could not fall in love with your Kingsguard.

Right…?

Since seeing him in such a manner for the first time, your respect for your Kingsguard grew. From that day forward, you greatly admired your protector and most importantly, the thrill of fighting; so instead of simply watching Valoria’s knights spar from your hiding place, you began to take notes. Engrossing yourself in the techniques of wielding a sword, and weaknesses and strengths in opponents, and how to outwit them.

After nine moons of observation, you waited until the castle was asleep and the last bell for midnight to chime before donning your commoner’s attire, to blend in with the people of Valoria, to sneak off to the local blacksmith.

You desired to purchase the creation of your sword, believing it was time to put your knowledge of sword fighting into action. After some bribing, you paid for the requested price from the blacksmith and handed in an additional gold coin pouch for speedy labor and your desired stylization list of your masterpiece of defense.

Due to this being your first sword, you wished it to be the grandest, so you wanted it to be perfect. You had thought of the blade for moons, considering how the steel would be decorated, the comfortable hilt, and how light yet balanced the sword would feel in your palm.

You wanted it to be the finest and precisely how you’d envisioned it.

The next day, you waited in anticipation, and when night fell, you traversed to the blacksmith in town once more. There, you were able to hold your sacred weapon in the palm of your hands and see it styled just as you had requested.

To ensure a firm grip, the hilt was skillfully wrapped in dark leather, with a crossguard intricately designed with floral motifs and blue gemstones that caught the light with every movement. At the end of the hilt, the pommel was shaped like a blooming rose, crafted from polished silver that was as beautiful as you had imagined.

Reaching approximately thirty inches, the blade itself was made from high-quality Damascus steel, renowned for its durability and distinctive wavy patterns along the length. The edge was razor-sharp and honed to perfection, capable of slicing through even the toughest material with ease.

Yet, your eyes lingered upon the engraving elegantly inscribed along the fuller of the blade, near the hilt. The words, written in an ancient language of Latin, resonated deeply with you: ‘Fortis et Liber,’ or ‘Strong and Free.’ This flowing script was a mantra personal to you, symbolizing your inner strength and desire for freedom from your constricting royal life.

Indeed, the blade was a masterpiece…

In that moment, holding the sword, you felt a surge of empowerment. The weapon was not merely an instrument of defense but a manifestation of your will and determination. Each detail, from the rose-shaped pommel to the shimmering Damascus patterns, spoke of the silent promise you had made to yourself: to fight for your freedom and protect yourself and those you held dear.

Just like Sir Miguel does…

From there, with sword in hand, you traversed to the forest on horseback—your desired destination just on the outskirts of Valoria that you used to run off to in your younger years before watching the guards spar. There, in the hidden clearing of your sanctuary, you began your training in secret.

Like all things, initially, you weren’t good at it, but after endless training and some assistance, you became what you are today…

Holding your sword lightly in your palm, you moved gracefully, each step and turn like a waltz that your father ensured you knew to perfection. Your blade’s soft swish through the air was like music to your ears, the whispers of steel guiding you further in your dance.

Whipping your blade through the air, your unladylike boots moved featherlight upon the grass. Your form of elegance and determination, along with your focus, never wavered, staying engrossed in your training until the rustling of bushes behind you disrupted the usual chatter of the forest and the crunch of leaves under your boot heels.

Despite the interruption, you continued practicing. A smirk adorned your lips, already knowing the identity of such a disturbance. Spinning in your morning gown, the blue hem twirling with your movement, and your unrestricted breasts underneath swaying with the motion, you turned to face the newcomer, your blade aimed at their throat.

“Here to lecture me again, Sir Miguel?” You asked with a grin, the playful tone in your voice contrasting greatly with your raised sword.

Miguel O’Hara, your Kingsguard, who had raced here on horseback as swiftly as possible, stood before you. Miguel knew where his princess' secret training ground was, as he was the only one with the knowledge of it. He always found your desire to sword fight like some commoner conflicting, but he knew where he stood when you decided to escape your royal duties to partake in the forbidden activity.

Your protector’s height and build always made him appear massive compared to you; perhaps he truly was. His metal armor only brought more width to his being as you peered up at your Kingsguard. Despite always holding a scowl, the evident glare upon his features was simply hard not to notice.

“Scolding, perhaps.” He agreed, his voice a low rumble, pushing the blade of your sword away from his neck with a shove of two fingers. “You’re not in the castle, I found your bedchambers empty, and you’ve done all this before the morning bells of the Kingdom have rung.” He stated sharply, his anger clinging to every word. “You’ve no idea the trouble you’ve caused by vanishing like this. I’ve had the entire city turned upside down in search of you.” He scowled in irritation down at the Princess of Valoria, whom he surely knew didn’t care how much he would rip the city apart for you, as your adventurousness would never cease.

“And I not only find you in this secluded glade once more, sword in hand, but clothed—” Miguel’s eyes drifted down your body, taking in your mere sleeping gown that you didn’t bother asking the servants to undress you out of and into proper clothing before escaping here. But what really caught the older male’s eyes was your lack of a corset.

It wasn’t the first time the Kingsguard had seen his princess without a corset. It was practically something one must become acquainted with inside of the castle. You detested the constricting undergarment, choosing to not wear it even outside of your chambers, which was greatly improper but not uncommon to the Kingsguard.

Yet, every time his amber orbs caught sight of those beautiful, perky tits practically begging for one’s attention through the fabric of your dress, the Latino felt somewhat similar to a starved beast.

Clearing his throat and shifting his narrowed eyes back onto your face, he continued the scolding that he had thought of on his travels here. “—But clothed less than appropriately,” he continued, making sure your eyes were on his, his face moving with your wandering one whenever you turned your head.

“This forest is no place for a princess, much less the future of Valoria, and you are hardly dressed as one should be for combat of any sort,” Miguel lectured, searching the princess' gaze for any sign of defiance, only to find bucketfuls of it.

His attention faltered down to your distracting breasts once more before quickly looking away, heaving a sigh of exhaustion. “Your Grace, I only implore you to think of your safety. What have I incessantly told you about that?” Miguel inquired, looking down at the princess, hoping to not hear any words of rebuttal, but simply a straightforward answer.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, lowering your sword to your side. “You’ve always told me that my safety is top priority, but you and I both know I despise being locked up in the castle, dancing and conversing with individuals that only wish to be in my place.” You retorted, sheathing your sword to your hip, the soft hiss satisfying to your ears.

“As you've stated time and time again, Your Grace,” Miguel muttered in irritation as you pressed on. “And I will not be forced to endure the torture of the corset. Women of Valoria do not wear one, why must I?”

“But you are not a mere woman of Valoria, princesa, you are Valoria!” the older man of eight-and-thirty- years shouted.

Miguel ran a hand through his dark brown curls, trying to control his temper at the sight of furrowed brows and slight jump at his sudden outburst. He had frightened many people countless times because of his temper, but never did he desire to scare his charge, you, his beloved princess.

After taking a deep breath and recollecting himself, the Latino spoke once more. “The corset is a symbol of your station, a reminder that you are Valoria’s future. It’s not for your enjoyment—nor discomfort, but it is necessary for the protection of your person, and indeed… your honor.” Miguel stated, unable to stop himself from glancing down at your free bosom. The breeze of the clearing seemed to make your nipples more prominent—noticeable, seen.

An annoyed snarl escaped the Kingsguard, mostly in anger with himself for his insistent and dishonorable staring. “Please, simply tell me what I can do to assist? What must be changed to make things better suited for you in Valoria, because this,” he growled, pointing at the blade on your side, “this cannot be your outlet, Princesa.” He insisted with a shake of his head, his wavy curls swaying with the motion.

You always found your protector’s voice to be deep and soothing to you, but currently it was only causing the burning feeling of frustration to bubble up inside. “Why must everything be so… constricting?!” You exclaimed in agitation.

“Why must I feel content in a garment meant to tightly squeeze me like a grape whilst damaging the very bosom it’s meant to conceal?” You asked, running your disheartened fingers through your wild hair, free from the usual royal styles of Valoria to take on a more free look—a look you adored.

You met eyes with the alluring amber orbs of your guardian, your gaze begging for acceptance. “Everything in Valoria only further distresses me—only this helps, Sir Miguel. Please, I implore you to understand that.” You tried to get him to see, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You hated arguing with your Kingsguard, as it always led to doubt.

You very much respected Sir Miguel, always finding him wise, and his dislike of your ‘hobby,’ as he called it, constantly made you believe it wasn’t right to choose it over your life in the palace, no matter how despicable it was to you.

Silence filled the space between the two of you, the chatter of animal life and the rush of the passing wind replacing the lack of words. However, to your surprise, this time it wasn’t you who broke the silence.

Miguel stepped up to you, his heavy boots crunching the soft grass underneath him as he closed the distance. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, and his normally hardened face softened upon seeing your troubled expression.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten everything I’ve taught you, alteza.” He uttered, wishing to calm the situation. A rare smile graced Miguel's lips as he cupped your chin to lift it, wishing to meet your gaze.

When you reluctantly did, Miguel’s eyes roamed your soft features, his metal thumb giving your chin and cheek a stroke. “You are strong, Y/N, no doubt about that, but you must be wise as well.” He advised, his gruff tone a tender rumble throughout the clearing.

“Your safety and our kingdom’s security should be your utmost concern, not the… discomforts, no matter how hard they might be.” Miguel stated, his thumb lingering longer than it should upon your face, tracing the line of your jaw slowly as if trying to imprint it to memory. “You are Valoria's future, after all, princesa. I implore you to behave as such.”

You thickly gulped, his words and touch striking your heart sharply. When his hand left your cheek, the coldness of his gauntlet seemed to leave a cold handprint upon your skin, ensuring your remembrance.

Despite how crucial Miguel’s advice was, it just didn’t settle correctly in your mind, in your skin, nor your bones.

Valoria’s future.

This title was the cause of your escapes—the reason you sought refuge outside of the castle. That title was too much to bear—too much for one to hold, especially a princess like you.

Slowly, you shook your head, watching the handsome features of your Kingsguard fall. “I did not request nor ask for such a title, Sir Miguel.” You admitted. “I do not wish to live the boring life that has been planned out for me. I desire fun, freedom, and happiness—something that isn’t of attending balls nor forcing a smile at every suitor my father brings me!” You exclaimed in exasperation, heaving a sigh and turning away from him.

“I am Valoria’s future. I am Princess of Valoria, yet, I am never, simply Y/N.” You whispered, feeling like it had been forever since you had uttered your own name. “My father, the people of Valoria, and even you want perfection, someone to hope for, but that is something that I cannot give.” You confessed, grasping the hilt of your sword tightly for comfort.

“And I try, goodness, I try. I wear a smile, I try to go to gatherings, luncheons, gosh, I even try going on simple walks through Valoria just so the people may see me, and I…can’t handle the pressure.” You declared sadly. “The need to be perfect, to always smile, stand straight, speak properly—it's too much.” You said, shaking your head as your Kingsguard was so quiet, one would believe his presence behind you nonexistent.

“But this,” you said, tapping a thumb upon the rose pommel of your sword, “this doesn’t require me to be Valoria’s future. This doesn't require me to be Princess of Valoria—to be perfect. It just needs me…

Y/N…”

You acknowledged aloud, the thought making you smile. “And sword fighting isn’t structured; it can be wild and free, and that’s what I yearn for.” You concluded softly, running your finger along the ridges of the perfectly shaped flower of your sheathed sword, the action always calming you.

Miguel’s gaze roamed along your backside, your being showcasing a blend of sadness and delight that he’d never seen in any other being; but he couldn’t shake his annoyance with you.

He felt for you, his princess, he truly did. The Kingsguard always believed your duties were too much for you—too demanding on anyone who must hold such standards upon their shoulders.

But what you desired instead wasn't any better.

It was his duty to protect you, the Princess of Valoria, and what you wanted would only get you hurt…

Or worse.

With the clanks of his metal boots, Miguel approached you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you to face him once more. “You do not want sword fighting, Y/N, you want adventure—that’s what you truly seek.” The Latino told you sternly, his features returning to their usual stoicness.

“And adventure comes with a price, Your Grace. There are dangers in the world, and I won’t have you waltzing into them without a thought.” He said, his piercing eyes holding a silent plea behind them, hands caressing your shoulders under your ruffled sleeves.

“Your safety is the most precious thing I guard. I’ve seen men die from a well-placed dagger, women kidnapped into slavery, children left alone in this world without a mother nor father to protect them.” The Kingsguard stated, hands moving to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, the idea of anything happening to you tugging greatly at his cold heart.

“The life of a commoner—the one you seek when you run off with your blade—is a harsh one, and one no being with their right wits would go seeking if they knew it well.” The older male told you in a sharp tone, wanting you to understand that his duty was to protect you, even if that meant protecting you from yourself.

Your lips trembled, your frustration and overbearing feeling of entrapment engulfing you like smoke filling a pair of lungs. “Then why teach me even a quarter of sword fighting if I am never to use the skill?” You demanded. “Tell me, Sir Miguel? Why broaden my knowledge on a skill you deem dangerous?”

Your protector’s jaw clenched, hating to see you in this way. Eyebrows knitted together, nostrils flared, fury found in your beautiful eyes. This wasn’t a look he liked upon his princess' features, always finding himself wishing to erase it as swiftly as possible.

“Your tutelage in combat is to ensure that if someone wanted to harm you, you’d have a fighting chance, not for you to run into battle with a head of iron.” He scolded, letting the gravity of his words settle. “And I would remind you, I’ve only taught you the basics, so while you’re skilled, you are not of high standard. Not like a normal guard. Not like a soldier.

Not like I.”

Your guardian emphasized, needing you to know the hard truth, hoping to ease the hurt of his words with a gentle squeeze of your shoulders. “And I advise you that it goes against my cloak to teach anything of the sword to a woman of royalty—especially, the princess,” He reminded. “If the King so happens to discover your fascination in the sword and further knows I had a hand in it, my head would be upon a spike by next sunrise,” The older male warned, his last words cutting you deep, your hand tightening upon the pommel of your sword.

“I…acknowledge the reasons and importance of my learning of the sword isn’t for entertainment, and that it is dangerous for both of us to be here, but I can't help but want more, Sir Miguel.” Youimplored, looking up to him with furrowed brows.

“You said so yourself, the adrenaline one feels from danger is exhilarating, did you not?” You asked, watching a flash of regret cross his features for a moment before disappearing as you continued. “I understand the danger of adventure, and like you, I wish to feel the same, even just a mere moment of it.” You tried to coax, the wind lapping up at your disarrayed strands of hair.

Your guardian’s lips twitched at your recollection of his own words, feeling like a fool for saying such a thing in front of you. “Adventure…does have its allure, my lady, but that thrill of danger pales in comparison to the terror of losing the one I swore to protect.” He said, pulling away from you with a final stroke to your shoulders.

You scoffed, shaking your head in defiance. “A small trip to a neighboring village to purchase mere trinkets is too much?”

“Sί, I cannot and will not risk putting you in harm’s way, my lady. You being in this meadow so far from the kingdom is already too much a risk.” Your protector replied sternly, his words bothering you further.

You couldn’t help feeling upset—upset that your skills felt like a waste. Upset that you’d never be able to use them truly, and even further upset that the man you secretly adored was the one to tell you these things.

As you stood there in silence, his scolding of the day resting heavy upon your chest like a boulder. The highlights of the lecturing on danger, scandal, trouble, entrapment, duties, and being Valoria’s future came rushing in like a tidal wave. And once more, you clung to sword fighting as your escape. Hand gripping the handle of your sword, you allowed your mind to wander.

All the memories of your secret retreats here, your discreet practices with your blade filled your head.

You knew you were an exceptional fighter, believed so anyway. You just had to get your Kingsguard to see that too.

‘One small adventure, that’s all I wish. If he witnesses my skills in person, perhaps he’d feel more comfortable joining me in just a small task.’ You pondered, meeting his gaze that was already staring back at you. Giving the rose pommel of your sheathed sword a final squeeze for good luck, you expressed your proposal.

“I do wish to express that despite your teachings of the basics, sword fighting is extensive, Sir Miguel.” You explained with a small smile, eyes tracking every feature upon the older male’s face. “One can learn uniquely and expand upon the skill on their own, and with the many times I ran off to practice…

I have no doubt that I can take you, Sir Miguel.”

A/N: I know, I know, cliffhangers are the worst, but I promise it's worth it! I hope you all enjoyed the first part of Fortis Et Liber, like mentioned previously, it was quite fun to write and I adore the two characters so very much!

If you also found this part just as delightful as l did reading and writing it, comment down below some of your favorite parts or what you liked most about it! I adore reading all of your wonderful comments!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message or submit an ask! Don't be nervous, your idea could be really good!

I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe!!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedeva @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywatty @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages @prazinos @huniedeux @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @anniee-mr @crimin4llyins4ne @lynxslokley @rice-wife @oharafilipinawife @migueloharastruelove @rodriash002 @e1f-boi @user3732094737 @truth-dare-spin-bottles @taleiak @alurafairy @ddreabea @saturnistireddd @reader-1290 @laysmt

**If you are a part of the taglist and didn't receive a notification, please check your settings to ensure that the tag notification button is turned on.**

66 notes · View notes

acatalystrising · 1 year

Text

Alriiiight! As I promised to @daimyosprincess - here at long last is Small Favors! This fic…sheesssshhh, this fic. It almost destroyed me! It’s absolute pure filth borne of one too many days of Boba brain rot, so buckle up, people!

Enjoy the ride! 🫠😉

(Zwei, this basically ended up being dedicated to you after all the lovely prof Boba content you’ve been giving us. I hope it lives up to your expectations! 💚🖤)

TW: NSFW, minors dni. This contains smut - predator/prey, fingering, dirty talk, pre-discussed non-consensual sex, piv, f!receiving, bondage, dom!Boba, pet names, teasing, slight degradation, all the usual suspects 🙃

Small Favors

The day Boba Fett called you a hellion, you were pretty certain it altered your brain chemistry.

To make things worse? He’d said it on his way out of the door, dressed in full armor, heading down to the throne room for yet another day of rulership.

Leaving you alone to ruminate on his words.

That simply wouldn’t do. You tried to be his good girl - lounging on his bed, boredly counting the cracks in the ceiling, doing as you’d been told…but where was the fun in that? You couldn’t help but let your imagination take over, wandering to a particular scenario that had intrigued you as of late.

Oh, the Daimyo was strong. Powerful, capable of overpowering you in seconds despite your best attempts to put up a fight. You could never forget it, no matter how many times he pleasured you senseless. But it made you wonder…

You knew how Boba the Daimyo handled you. But…how would Boba the bounty hunter? The mere thought of your love hunting you down like prey sent thrills coursing through you. But you’d been hesitant to mention it, given how many times he’d openly stated those days were behind him.

But the day was crawling miserably by, the hours even longer, and you needed a distraction. You knew you’d probably regret it, even as you stood and got dressed. But right now, you felt like doing something dangerous.

You were going to play with fire.

You were merciful (or smart) enough to wait for his last visitor to leave for the day, but not a moment longer. You struck before he had the chance to get up.

Boba still sat on his throne, powerful thighs spread like an invitation too good to refuse, as you made your way to him. His eyes followed your every step, hunger unabashedly flaring in his amber gaze.

But instead of sitting in his lap as he surely expected, you skirted around the throne, tracing a lone nail along his armor as you walked behind him. He reached for you, but you dodged his fingers with a smirk, tapping the back of his head instead.

“See you’re in a teasing mood.” His voice was gruff, tinged with exhaustion from the day’s tedious events, but you pressed on, still staying right out of his reach.

“I don’t don’t know what you mean,” you tapped his pauldron with another grin, and he shifted to face you, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“What game are you playing at, little one?” He patted his thigh, a command he expected to be obeyed. “Been a long day.”

Oh, you were at war. You knew it was probably in your best interest to do as he said, and he was tired, after all. Perhaps he’d be too tired to play along. But…you didn’t want to throw your plan out the window just yet.

“Maybe you need some exercise. Wouldn’t want your skills to go to waste.” You raised a brow, stepping around the armrest and stopping before him, still out of his direct range. “Why don’t you come get me?”

Boba arched a dark brow, gaze locked on you, completely still. You realized a moment too late he was waiting for you to continue. Either that, or calculating his next move. Probably both. It sent a thrill coursing through you.

“I…”

“What’s this about, hmm?” He crossed his broad arms over his even broader chest, heaving a deep breath that flexed his beskar plates as he fixed you with a quizzical expression bordering intrigue. “Wanna play hard to get? We both know how that would go.”

Ahh, there it was, your golden ticket. That, or the action that would seal your doom. At this point, you’d already committed, and it was too late to back out, now.

“I don’t think you could catch me, old man.” You smirked, hands on your hips, looking at up at him with a raised brow. “You’re a Daimyo now. Lots and lots of sitting. You’re bound to lose your edge.”

Oh, you knew you were asking for trouble.

Boba regarded you evenly, a small smirk working its way on the corner of his lip. Those thick, skillful, beautiful lips. Oh, he did too.

“Is that so?” He looked down at you, eyes narrowing imperceptibly, a teasing lilt to his voice. Ahh, so he was humoring you. Good. “So confident today, mesh’la.”

You had the audacity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to spit your tongue out at him. Him, Boba Fett. You were probably one of the few that ever could and live to tell the tale.

“Definitely.” You made a dramatic show of shrugging, making sure you leaned forward just enough to let the low neckline of your shirt do its job. “In fact, I don’t even think it would be hard. I’m fast, cunning too. I bet I’d even be able to outsmart the greatest bounty hunter who ever-”

Boba was on you in an instant, and you couldn’t help but loose a shriek as you were pulled into his lap before you could blink. Damn, that was quick. Quicker than when you had anticipated. And you’d thought you’d given him a wide enough berth. He curled his arms around you, pinning you to his armored chest, and pressed his face against your neck, breath hot and scalding - voice low like the thunder of an oncoming storm.

“Wanna flirt with death, little one?” He nibbled your earlobe between his teeth, a low growl rumbling from the depths of his throat, sending heat pooling between your legs. “Fine. But we both know you’re biting off more than you can chew.”

Oh kriffing gods.

You somehow managed to pull two halves of a thought together to form a sentence.

“Wanna test that? Give me two days. Bet you can’t catch me.” You shot him a smirk and shrugged. “Who knows, it could be fun.”

“And what would I get in return?” Boba’s voice was cold, calculating. Calculating, as he watched you, eyes narrowed, studying your blown out pupils and shallow breaths. He had to know you found this arousing. Especially if his hunter senses were still keen.

“Anything,” you confidently met his gaze, even as his grip on you tightened. “Anything you want.”

He fell silent for a moment, chest heaving, heart thundering beneath the beskar. A sly smirk curved on the corner of his lip, accompanied with a cutting gleam in his eyes, and it was then that you realized you were screwed.

“Anything.” He mirrored, dipping his head to meet your neck, sucking a bite on your pulse point. You bit back a moan despite your best efforts, far too keenly aware as one of his hands slid down your side and settling on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your crotch. “But you’ve already given me everything, mesh’la. Why would I risk losing what is already mine?”

Oh maker, he was playing with you. Making this harder than necessary. Punishing you for disobeying him.

“Umm, I…” you swallowed hard as his hand slipped between your legs, stifling another moan as he slowly, gently, torturously caressed your clothed clit. Gods, this wasn’t how you’d expected this to go. “I…just thought it would be fun, ya know? I’m always…maker…always wanting to try new things with you.”

He hummed, kissing your neck again, then your ear, your cheek, and finally your lips. He kissed you like a starved man, greedily nipping at your lips, tongue carving a path into your mouth, claiming you as his. He slipped his hand underneath your pants, your underwear the only barrier, deft fingers already bringing that coiling heat closer to the surface. You bucked against him, chasing his fingers, and he kept you flush with his chest with a growl.

“So my little princess wants to be hunted, hmm?” He had the audacity to lick a stripe up your neck as he circled your arching clit. “She wants to be hunted like a bounty? Like prey? That what you really want, little one? To feel helpless? Trapped with nowhere to go? Darling, I’ll show you helpless.”

You could only nod, a whimper breaking from your throat when he slowed his movements, delaying your pleasure. It nearly brought tears to your eyes. Dammit, this was supposed to be your game, not his, and yet you found yourself unraveling in his clutches yet again.

“Please, please don’t stop. I’ll do anything, I’d let you do anything,” you pressed against him with a whine, meeting his waiting gaze as you made your plea. “Fuck me bound. Even if I said no. Make me yours, break me, ruin me, I don’t care. I just want…wanna…”

You fell silent, embarrassment flaring your cheeks, but you should have known that he wouldn’t let you get away with silence. His free hand gripped your chin and tilted your face up to meet his, just forcefully enough to make his point.

“Say it.”

There was no room for disobedience now. Not when you were literally at his mercy. Not when his command rolled through you, making you tremble with excitement.

“I want you to hunt me.” You forced yourself to speak, even as his eyes darkened, his fingers slowly caressing you again. “Chase me down, and capture me. Use me as you see fit. That’s…that’s what I want.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing on the stone walls, as he zeroed in on your clit again, your pleasure nearly bubbling to the surface.

“So much begging, poor princess,” his voice was a mocking coo as he wrung the pleasure out of you, your vision going white, jaw slack as your orgasm hit with the force of a speeding train. “You’ll have one day, sweet thing. One day to run, and when it’s over, you’ll be begging me to come for you.”

You should have believed him.

Should have realized how hard he’d make this for you. But you’d been confidently foolish, going so far as to travel off world to some backwater forest planet on a neighboring system - albeit sparely populated…just to be safe.

But as the minutes had ticked to hours, and hours into the evening, there still had been no sign of your hunter. Whether this was because he was toying with you, or you’d actually given him the slip, you didn’t know - but you pressed on anyway. And as the cerulean sky faded to lilac and crimson hues, you started to worry.

You’d taken a one way trip to get here, even hired a smuggler to fly you. Anything to make it more exciting. More real.

But perhaps you’d gone too far.

You couldn’t help but feel a sliver of worry cut through your chest. Maybe you’d been overconfident, going to such lengths. What if he had lost his edge? What if he couldn’t find you? You’d be stuck alone, on a strange planet, with nothing but a short range commlink to try to call for help.

Stars, you also missed him. Missed his voice, his touch. You’d underestimated how quickly you’d tire of his absence - and as you slipped through the trees, slowing to a leisurely walk, you finally let your guard down, too lost in your whirling thoughts to keep playing the game you insisted on from the start.

The shadows had crept over the foliage, enshrouding the trees in darkness, hiding the armor that would have otherwise glinted in the sun.

You didn’t seem him until it was too late.

Strong arms suddenly wrenched yours behind your back, throwing you off balance and against a nearby tree. Your scream broke the silence, unheard in the miles of uncharted wilderness, unable to break free from the vise like grip clamping down on your wrists.

Boba’s breath flared hot like blaster fire on your cheek as he pushed you against the tree. The rough bark bit into your skin, only a minor fleeing pain, the true cause for your panic currently locking your arms behind your back in a vice like grip.

“Really thought you’d give me the slip, hmm?” His deep voice was rough and staticky with the helmet, tone absolutely deadly as he lifted his binders to your wrists. “Poor little girl.”

You clenched your legs at that - unable to stop the reaction from pushing your brain off the edge, diving into a freefall. Damn it, not yet. You couldn’t let him have his victory this easy. You had to be more of a challenge, flustered brain or not.

“Let. Me. Go!” You twisted in his grasp, tucking up your legs and lashing out with a kick to his chest.

He grunted, the force of your attack pushing him back a few centimeters - just enough space for you to work with. You broke free, heart locked in your throat, and spun around the tree to give you some distance.

You knew you couldn’t win. He was the better fighter in every way - an opponent you’d never once been able to beat, despite your own skill. But just because you knew you were going to lose didn’t mean you were going to go down without a fight.

The trees whipped past in a blur as you carved a wild, desperate path deeper into the foliage. All was silent save for the crashing of your boots through the fallen leaves - the first warning that you were doomed. The second warning came too late.

A sharp prick bit into your shoulder, and your reflexes reacted too late - a scream stuck in your throat when a whipcord whipped around your body - throwing you to the ground. You could already feel the effects of the tranquillized taking over - vision blurring at the edges even as you still struggled in vain. Even as Boba stepped into your rapidly fading sight, armor glinting in the sunlight.

“Careful, little mouse,” his voice was cutting, sinfully victorious, as he knelt beside you. Kriffing hell, you knew he was smirking underneath that damn helmet. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt. You’re worth more alive.”

You felt the moment the binders slapped on your wrists, sealing your fate…

And then your vision went dark.

By the time you awoke, the Slave 1 was already well in sight.

You were slung over Boba’s shoulder like a carcass, arms and legs limply dangling, mind still buzzing from the sedative he’d given you. You tried to open your mouth to speak, but your words were a pathetic slur.

He either didn’t hear you, or was ignoring you. You could feel the strength of him, muscles coiled underneath armor - all sinew and power. He held you with one arm, but you knew you’d never escape, that large gloved hand locked around your neck. You whimpered as the ramp lowered, ushering you both inside - inside to whatever fate he had planned for you. It closed, sealing you both in, and dooming you.

You couldn’t help but feel a thrill as he unceremoniously dropped you to the ground, right outside the cells. You wondered if he’d cage you in one to make the experience more real, but Boba seemed to have other ideas. He grabbed your bound arms and drug you across the floor, ignoring your shrieks of protest when he stopped in the center of the cargo hold.

Boba was quiet - he hadn’t said a word since your capture, and part of you wondered if it was part of the act, or if it was truly upset at the lengths you’d gone to evade him. So, you tried to take matters into your own hands.

“Please, I didn’t do anything wrong. I bet of you, let me go!” Your broken voice was truthfully cracked, parched after your strenuous day. “I’ll do anything, I swear I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Boba Fett had the audacity to ignore you. In fact, he turned his back on you, lifting his gauntlet to key in a code. A mixture of indignation and embarrassment flooded your chest, prompting your next move.

“I know you can hear me under there, bucket head.” You rolled your eyes with a scoff. “Or are you as deaf as you are dumb?”

“You know what you did.” His voice was low like thunder - cutting. A very different tone than the one he oh so often used with you.

This…this was entirely different. Excitement mixed with fear coursed down your spine as he slowly turned, that black t-visor locked on you with deadly focus.

But you wouldn’t be deterred that easily.

“What exactly did I do, huh?” You would have crossed your arms if you could. Instead, you opted to dramatically shrug. “Shouldn’t be too hard to list off my crimes. That is, if big words aren’t too much for a brute like you.”

Boba lunged forward with the speed of a viper, taking you entirely by surprise when his fingers gripped your chin, absolutely wrenching your face up to meet his - albeit hidden behind that helmet. And you were starting to realize why many would find it so terrifying. Heart hammering in your chest, you whimpered when his fingers squeezed your jaw, effectively clamping your mouth shut.

“Mouthy little brat, aren’t you?” His helmet was inches away, your panting breaths fogging the visor as he lowered his hand from your jaw to your neck. “Could just put you away in a cell. Would be what you deserve. But I might have to teach you a lesson.”

Oh gods. You swallowed, hard, and couldn’t resist the urge to wriggle beneath him, breaths growing shallower by the moment.

“You? Teach me a lesson? In your dreams.” You had the audacity to roll your eyes, spitting out your tongue to goad him further. “Sorry, but I have standards. I don’t fuck trigger happy bounty hunters.”

Boba Fett had the audacity to chuckle. A deep, dark chuckle that rumbled through your chest and tingled down your spine. Oh shit…you were in trouble. Big trouble.

“Is that so?” He gave your neck a squeeze, his free hand gripping your binders with another dark snicker. “Poor little kitten’s trying to give me orders? Ironic.”

His hand left your throat, and you yelped as he single-handedly picked you up by the binders, lifting you into the air, and pinned you against the ship’s wall. He magnetized the binders with a soft buzz, then left you dangling there - your toes barely able to touch the floor.

“What the hell?” You huffed, straining to reach the ground, heartbeat hammering so loudly you could barely concentrate, even as you felt his gloved fingers caress your jawline. “Let me down! Stop this, I mean it. Let me go, you kriffing jerk!”

Boba ignored you, helmet titling slowly to the side as if tracking his own journey tracing your neck until it stopped just above your shirt.

“You asked for this, little one.” His tone was impossibly husky, dark and rich like spotchka on the back of your throat. “You have a choice, kitten. You can either fight me, or…”

His hand slipped under your shirt, burrowing beneath your bra, and caressing your nipple with deft, skilled fingers.

“Choose to enjoy it.” He pinched your nipple too hard, and you yelped, thrashing even as he slowed back to a caress. “Your choice - but you’re not getting out of this.”

“N-no, please,” you tried to shy away, but he wouldn’t have it, pinning you to the wall with one hand, the other lifting from your shirt and wandering ever so slowly lower. “I’ll…comply. I’ll do anything. Just…please don’t hurt me.”

He chuckled, hand settling just above your crotch.

“Still giving orders, hmm? That’s not how this works.” He deftly unzipped your pants and slipped his hand into your waiting heat, a dry hiss emitting from his vocoder when he found the evidence of your arousal. “Dirty, dirty girl. Getting off on this? My, my.”

He circled your aching clit, and you cried out, trying to arch against him, breaths coming in near choked gasps as he quickly worked you towards oblivion. Damn, his patience must have flown out of the window. Perhaps he…

Just when you were on the precipice, Boba pulled his hand away. You cried out on frustration, heart pounding like a drum when he dropped his hands to his own pants, pulling his weeping cock free from its confines.

“Little kitten looks like she wants milk.” His voice was a sinister coo as he ran his thick shaft through your slick. “Poor baby.”

You whined - you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your chest when his fingers once again found your clit, wringing your pleasure back to the surface. But yet again, when you were on so close, he pulled away.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast.” He raised his hand to your mouth, and you begrudgingly licked your arousal off his gloves. “You’ll come only when I tell you too. Can you be a good girl and do that?”

“Boba…I…” you writhed, pleading, but he promptly removed his hand from your clit with a growl.

“Didn’t give you permission to say my name,” his voice was all thunder and hellfire even as he seated himself in you with one brutal thrust. “It’s Sir to you.”

Your eyes widened, moans bouncing off the durasteel walls as he pounded into you, somehow feeling even bigger than normal. Your hands clattered uselessly against the wall, pleasure arcing up your spine as a steady heat grew in the pit of your stomach.

You cried out when he changed the angle, his cock hitting that deep spot that made you see stars. You writhed against him, legs wrapping around his back, trying to force him deeper. He growled, not slowing his pace in the slightest, and you whimpered when a hand reached up and tweaked a nipple.

“Bo-Sir…I…I’m,” you hated how pathetic you sounded, begging like some weak willed thing. But you felt it, your orgasm approaching like a speeding train, and there would be little you could do to stop it. “I’m…so close. Can I, can I…”

“I don’t know, not sure you deserve it,” he slowed his pace to a torturous crawl, slowly sliding through you, the wet sounds painfully loud in your ears even as you cried out in frustration. “Got your manners yet, little one? Have you learned your lesson?”

Oh Maker, he was torturing you. This was not how you had expected this to go - this was calculated, focused, intentional.

“I’m…I’m sorry. So sorry. P-please…” tears pricked your eyes, and you swore he was driving you absolutely mad, edging you with a calculated skill he hadn’t done before. “I take it all back. I’ll be good…I’ll behave. Just please, please…”

He pulled nearly out of you, helmet pressed against your shoulder, rasping voice directly in your ear.

“Please…what?” He stopped moving entirely until the only sound that could be heard was your desperate panting.

“Please, please let me come.” A tear slipped down your cheek, more from the building denial than anything else. “I’ll…I’ll be a good girl. Your girl.”

Boba grunted, pounding back into you with renewed vigor, one hand finding your neck, the other, your clit. He fucked you relentlessly - your back slamming into the wall as the edges of your vision dimmed.

When you finally came, your vision went completely white - all sound reduced to a ringing as burning hot pleasure seared you to your core. You screamed, writhing against him even as he continued driving into you, less focused and more reckless, chasing his own high.

“There you go, kitten.” His voice was dark with lust, armor flashing in the dim lighting. “Not so hard, hmm?”

When he came, it was with a deep groan that reverberated into your chest. He had you pressed against the wall, helmet against your neck, breaths rasping as he finally slowed to a stop.

For a moment, all was silent save both of your panting breaths. Boba was completely still, and for a moment, you worried he was genuinely angry. Had you gone too far? Had you done something wrong? Had you-

His hands reached up and unlocked your binders, catching you before you could fall to the floor. You couldn’t help but cling to him as he carried you to the cockpit, gently laying you in the small cot.

“You okay, my love?” His voice had regained some of its warmth, but still carried a dark edge. “Hope I wasn’t too rough with you.”

“I’m okay,” you nodded, meeting the visor with a small smile. “You weren’t. I’m honestly impressed you found me so quickly.”

He grunted, sitting beside you, gloved hand slowly caressing your hair.

“Didn’t expect you to leave Tatooine.” The helmet tilted in your direction. “You had me worried, little one.”

Oh stars. Had you gone too overboard? It hasn’t crossed your mind that Boba Fett would be afraid.

“Oh…I’m so sorry,” you curled into his chest, holding him close. “I’d only wanted to make it realistic. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “Only startled me initially. Gotta admit it was fun, watching you trying to give me the slip. It was cute.”

Wait a second.

You narrowed your eyes as he removed his helmet, mirth shining in his own.

“Exactly how soon had you found me?” You tilted your head to meet his gaze.

“Oh, little princess,” he pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally, your lips. “You never left my sight.”

Taglist: @daimyosprincess @hideflen @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @marierg @deewithani @rain-on-kamino @rexxdjarin @ceapa-mica @bobathirstaccount @dukeoftheblackstar

210 notes · View notes

marichive · 5 months

Text

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Jon Snow in A Game of Thrones , the first book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ This is what a king should look like. ❞

❝ Hungry again? ❞

❝ Is this one of the direwolves I’ve heard so much of? ❞

❝ Summerwine, nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had? ❞

❝ I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk. ❞

❝ He’s not like the others. ❞

❝ He never makes a sound. ❞

❝ Don’t you usually eat at the table with your brothers? ❞

❝ She thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them. ❞

❝ My brother does not seem very festive tonight. ❞

❝ The queen is angry, too. ❞

❝ He took the king down into the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn’t want him to go. ❞

❝ You don’t miss much, do you? ❞

❝ We could use a man like you. ❞

❝ Take me with you when you go. ❞

❝ Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will. ❞

❝ Bastards grow up faster than other children. ❞

❝ Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game. ❞

❝ I forget nothing. ❞

❝ I want to serve. ❞

❝ You don’t know what you’re asking. ❞

❝ We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. ❞

❝ A bastard can have honor too. ❞

❝ I am ready to swear your oath. ❞

❝ Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up. ❞

❝ I don’t care about that! ❞

❝ If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price. ❞

❝ I’m not your son! ❞

❝ Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel. ❞

❝ I will never father a bastard. Never. ❞

❝ I must be excused. ❞

❝ Is that animal a wolf? ❞

❝ What are you doing up there? ❞

❝ Why aren’t you at the feast? ❞

❝ Shy, isn’t he? ❞

❝ You can touch him now. He won’t move until I tell him to. I’ve been training him. ❞

❝ If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat. ❞

❝ Did I offend you? ❞

❝ You have more of the North in you than your brothers. ❞

❝ Let me give you some counsel. ❞

❝ Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. ❞

❝ Make it your strength, then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you. ❞

❝ What do you know about being a bastard? ❞

❝ All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes. ❞

❝ I don’t even know who my mother was. ❞

❝ What are you doing here? ❞

❝ You’ve said it. Now go away. ❞

❝ I told you to leave. We don’t want you here. ❞

❝ He’s my brother. ❞

❝ Shall I call the guards? ❞

❝ You can’t stop me from seeing him. ❞

❝ I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid. ❞

❝ I have to go now. ❞

❝ I wanted him to stay here with me. ❞

❝ I prayed for it. He was my special boy. ❞

❝ Sometimes prayers are answered. ❞

❝ It wasn’t your fault. ❞

❝ I need none of your absolution. ❞

❝ It should have been you. ❞

❝ Leaving is harder than I thought. ❞

❝ You Starks are hard to kill. ❞

❝ I have one more farewell to make. ❞

❝ I was afraid you were gone. ❞

❝ What did you do now? ❞

❝ I have something for you to take with you. ❞

❝ This is no toy. ❞

❝ Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with. ❞

❝ You’ll have to work at it every day. ❞

❝ How does it feel? ❞

❝ First lesson, stick them with the pointy end. ❞

❝ I wish you were coming with us. ❞

❝ Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows? ❞

❝ Put down the sword first. ❞

❝ I can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one day. ❞

❝ How often must I tell you no? ❞

❝ You broke my wrist. ❞

❝ I’ll break the other one for you if you ask nicely. ❞

❝ Look at me when I’m talking to you. ❞

❝ They hate me because I’m better than they are. ❞

❝ I’ve watched you fight. It’s not training with you; put a good edge on your sword, and they’d be dead meat. ❞

❝ You shame them. Does that make you proud? ❞

❝ You do want to know what’s on the other side, don’t you? ❞

❝ It’s nothing special. ❞

❝ No one cares where you sleep. Most of the old keeps are empty, you can pick any cell you want. ❞

❝ It’s better that I’m by myself. ❞

❝ Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that. ❞

❝ There’s no honor in beating a fallen foe. ❞

❝ I’ve been bruised before. ❞

❝ If a bear attacked you in the woods, you’d be too stupid to run away. ❞

❝ Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. ❞

❝ Do you like to hunt? ❞

❝ I never thought it would be like this. ❞

❝ Last night I woke up in the dark and the fire had gone out, and I was certain I was going to freeze to death by morning. ❞

❝ I never saw snow until last month. ❞

❝ I’ll die if I have to climb that. ❞

❝ I don’t like high places. ❞

❝ Sometimes I dream about it. ❞

❝ I’m afraid of what might be waiting for me. ❞

❝ The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps. ❞

❝ Please do not imagine that it will truly be that easy, should you think to defy me. ❞

❝ I don’t know what you did, but I know you did it. ❞

❝ I’ve never had a friend before. ❞

❝ We’re not friends, we’re brothers. ❞

❝ Are you well? ❞

❝ You planning to drink that all yourself? ❞

❝ You did all you could. ❞

❝ I would not disturb your rest if it were not important. ❞

❝ And if I refuse? ❞

❝ I can stand here all night if I must. ❞

❝ The mystery of a midnight visitor is a welcome diversion. ❞

❝ Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead. ❞

❝ It makes no matter. All that is past now. ❞

❝ The penalty for desertion is death. ❞

❝ Might I go as well? To say my words at this heart tree? ❞

❝ Why would you forsake the gods of your father and your house? ❞

❝ The Seven have never answered my prayers. Perhaps the Old Gods will. ❞

❝ And what will my duties be? ❞

❝ Do you take me for a servant? ❞

❝ Don’t you see what they’re doing? ❞

❝ He wanted to shame me, and he has. ❞

❝ I never asked for this. ❞

❝ Dark’s falling, and there’s something in the smell of the night that I mislike. ❞

❝ Tell me how they died. ❞

❝ The Others are only a story, a tale to make children shiver. ❞

❝ The king is dead. ❞

❝ The things we love destroy us every time. ❞

❝ This could not have happened at a worse time. ❞

❝ I hope you are not thinking of doing anything stupid. ❞

❝ Whatever they do in King’s Landing is none of our concern. ❞

❝ Be strong. The gods are cruel. ❞

❝ I will not sleep tonight. ❞

❝ Gods, he’s dead, he’s dead, I saw him dead! ❞

❝ A dead man tried to kill me. How well could I be? ❞

❝ You do not look well. How is your hand? ❞

❝ The maester says I’ll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before. ❞

❝ It was my father’s sword, and his father’s before him. ❞

❝ I would not be sitting here if not for your. ❞

❝ Honor the steel with deeds, not words. ❞

❝ You’re the one who deserves the honor. ❞

❝ You told him, didn’t you? ❞

❝ Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. ❞

❝ What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms? ❞

❝ We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. ❞

❝ We all do our duty when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor. ❞

❝ You must make that choice yourself, and live with it all the rest of your days. ❞

❝ Please, you must not do this. ❞

❝ Get out of my way. ❞

❝ You can’t. I won’t let you. ❞

❝ I would sooner not hurt you. ❞

❝ I am doing the right thing, so why do I feel so bad? ❞

❝ I belong with my brother. ❞

❝ You don’t have to tell me the words, I know them as well as you do. ❞

❝ So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me. ❞

❝ I won’t run, if that’s what you mean. ❞

❝ The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. ❞

❝ Was your moonlight ride so tiring? ❞

❝ You know? ❞

❝ They killed my father. Did you expect me to do nothing? ❞

❝ I ordered a watch kept over you. ❞

❝ My place is here. Where is yours? ❞

❝ I have no place. ❞

❝ When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron Throne? ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #inbox memes #rp prompt #[memes ; mine]#[memes ; for muse]#[memes ; literature]#[memes ; general]#[memes ; sentence]

37 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 7 months

Text

tw: extremely self-ship coded, soulmate AU, Daichi is a little bit criminal (it’s hot, alright?), first kiss, suggestive if you squint, based on this phenomenal commission

You tried your damnedest to deny it, to ignore the thrum of energy that started deep in your chest and was now occupying most of your body. He was everything you were meant to hate. A man who sat atop a throne of corruption and greed.

It was your work to expose those that profited from the seedy criminal underbelly, and yet here you were locked in a battle of both wits and stares with someone tainted by blood money.

Never did you think you’d find your soulmate, considering the odds were so low, let alone that he would be the target of your current undercover investigation.

Sure, he was handsome with dark brown eyes that stripped away all pretence with one slow blink and equally thick dark hair that spiked in that perfect messy way. His shoulders and back were broad enough to stretch the fabric of the button up shirts he preferred, and that smile… so knowing, so panty wetting.

That first brush of your fingers as he shook your hand was enough to activate the bond. Neither of you confirmed the sensation that shot up your arms and thundered directly into your heart. But it happened.

Daichi Sawamura was your soulmate, and you were his.

The games you had been playing would have to come to an end, especially when all you wanted to do was lunge at each other like wild animals and cement the bond that would never diminish until your dying day.

All of that was history, or as much as it could be history in the three weeks that passed from that initial touch that sparked everything. Sleep eluded you. Keeping your distance made you irritable and so cranky that your colleagues actively stayed out of your way. It hurt—deep in your gut—it ached to continue to deny what your soul craved. If it could speak it would cry for its other half.

Your ordeal seemed like nothing compared to how Daichi was coping. That is to say, he wasn’t coping at all. His employees were whipped to shreds with his harsh words and unfair demands. He found himself in the ring far more than the occasional fight he had enjoyed and most of the time he had to be physically removed from his bloodied opponents.

His bloodlust was through the roof. A primal warcry echoing in his head to claim what was his, but he wouldn’t take it. He wouldn’t be the monster you thought he was. Instead, he seethed in his office and contemplated how he could make you see that he was a good man at heart.

The situation came to a head when you stormed into his office one early evening. You had been reviewing your notes and something bothered you in the accounts of those you had discreetly interrogated under the guise of being a ditzy and overly friendly socialite. It was nothing, but it was enough to make you finally snap. You wouldn’t admit that you simply missed him and yearned to be in his presence, to smell his spicy cologne and feel the heat that poured from his body.

Now you stood practically nose to nose, or as close as you could get with the height difference. Why were you panting? Did his cheeks usually look that ruddy in colour? Oh shit… you should leave.

Before you could think to turn and run, Daichi lunged. His hand grasped your jaw yet his hold was gentle, keeping you still whilst he claimed your lips. It changed everything.

Your world spun on its axis. Lost in the sensation of his mouth slotting with yours so perfectly. His lips were warm and moved with slow, deliberate care and you wanted more. Burned for more until you were clutching at his biceps and wrinkling the stiff fabric of his black button up.

Oxygen was a secondary concern to that of consuming each other. Your bodies pressed flushed together and if you weren’t careful, it wouldn’t end with just this kiss alone. All that pain and suffering you both had endured melted away, the red string of fate humming happily for the very first time and the silken crimson threads weaved around your hearts.

“About damn time,” Daichi growled when you finally parted to breathe. It only made you giggle, a hand raised to your lips to feel how kiss-swollen they were and to savour the taste of him.

“I was never going to make things easy for you.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes and pulling you roughly against his chest. “We’ve got things to discuss. Here or back at my place?”

Worrying your tingling bottom lip, you tucked your head beneath his chin to speak. “I should probably choose here since that will keep me relatively… safe.”

“Princess, from me and what you’re referring to, you’re safe nowhere.”

#delirious writes #daichi sawamura #daichi x reader #soulmate au #self ship coded #daichi fluff #hq fluff

42 notes · View notes

needurattenti0n · 5 months

Text

PUT YOUR AGE IN BIO OR BE BLOCKED //

Hi, I’m Spark !!! I’ll be posting nsfw content here, so if you’re a minor GET OFF MY PAGE ;

as well as over on my Twitter with the same username. I used tumblr back in the day but am venturing back

About me !!

Names Spark , I gladly accept ANY pronouns (:

25 yrs , Canadian , switch but pretty submissive. I’m lovingly taken so any chats are strictly platonic and me being friendly. DMs are open for buyers, & mutuals. Feel free to ask any questions! I love anons :)

I love reading, fantasy is my thing but I’ll read anything that peaks my fancy. Lover of animals, especially cats. Huge hockey nerd. I occasionally game but it’s usually chill stuff or the sims. Love a simulation game. Big ol’ stoner, as I live with a disability it’s a huge help for chronic pain, anxiety , etc.

Currently this is how I’m supporting myself, so tips are very appreciated. I don’t do this for free!! my throne is linked below if you wanna help out; all is appreciated even the small things! Ask for my menu if you’re actually interested in more of my content. Must age verify !!

My kinks under the cut - TW

- bdsm, love spanking & pain play in general + restraint

-somno & free use

-daddy/mommy kink (already have a v loving daddy)

-praise & sometimes degradation (lovingly)

-anal , anal training

-cum denial / overstim

-oral fixation , hand fixation , lover of butts

-some monster fuckery

-pet play!! just a lil pup

Hard Limits:

scat, ageplay, raceplay, r*pe, kidnapping, & drugging kinks are all no’s for me. You do you! These are my limits.

DNI if you’re a terf, bigot, racist, or a minor , you don’t belong on this page.

#sparkspics #nsft #queer nsft #attenti0nwhor3 #daddy’s brat #nsfwasks #asks

48 notes · View notes

fanficfanatic000 · 6 months

Text

Edward fucking munson

Eddie Munson x fem reader enemies to lovers 18+ TW no minors

Hawkins was a small town but you were always quiet and a loner you didn't really have many friends at all. You worked at the arcade and it was a decent job except for certain customers like a blonde haired basketball player to a adult slob that greased up the machines..It was a normal work day. You were on your lunch break on a normal Saturday the usual customers came and went until a shadow of a short frame came up behind you short curly hair and a lighter voice "hi um one of the games are not working can you check it out?" You were just about finished with your lunch and he seemed pretty kind compared to others you stood up "uh yeah sure just lead the way." He grinned "hi im dustin." "Im y/n glad to meet ya dustin""So do you like nerdy things?"he said walking slowly "mmm i guess yeah i am considered a nerd...." you thought he was trying to make small talk... "do you like dungeons and dragons?" "Well ive never really played but yeah it kinda interests me "He led you to the arcade machine and it wasn't processing the coins hmm there must be a wire loose or a jam but that wasn't in your skill level "sorry kid its jammed or something ill try to get it fixed tomorrow" he looked slightly disappointed You barely noticed the group of people looking at you 2 other boys younger than you and one much younger girl..all wearing the same t shirts Then you looked at dustin as he spun around to maybe his friends "guys this is y/n i think she should join hellfire" a taller much sarcastic boy says "what! But shes a random girl!!" A dark skined boy says back "but eddie said to recruit people he didnt say male gendered"The smaller girl shouts "look mike shes all we've got.. its better to show up with her than no one!" You just watching this happen not knowing what to say The sarcastic one Mike rolled his eyes "fine but if eddie says no im throwing you all under the bus!" Dustin nodded his head"So y/n hellfire is a dnd club at Hawkins high after hours every other day if you want to come play some dnd just meet me outside of Hawkins high at 4:00pm" you nodded "okay i will be there" they left after that and the rest of the night was pretty normal. Sunday passed so fast you basically cleaned your room and watched your favorite movie than fell asleep and it was Monday you got dressed in a tank top your favorite color some ripped jeans and your converse and your favorite jewelry and threw your jacket on. You put some black eyeliner on and you were ready You listened to one of your favorite bands on a cassette player and it was 3:40 so you drove to Hawkins high and you parked and saw dustin he was kinda like a little brother you stepped out of your car and "Y/N yes! You're here!" "Just on time " you look down at your watch and see it change to 4:00 "okay lets go" you followed dustin through the school halls you remembered see you went to public school until freshman year and you got bullied so bad you had to do homeschooling instead you were graduated now though. You watch the door open to reveal a dimly lit room full of people. Mike. Dustin. Lukas. Erica. And 4 others you walk in and dustin moves out from infront of you "eddie this is y/n."A tall handsome intimidating man stands up from a throne of some kind he stepped around the table and stands infront of you his frame slightly towering over you" this is who you found Henderson " he pinched his nose bridge "this girl is what you found she probably wouldn't know anything about dnd or anything!" You felt attacked but little did they know is that you can snap back " this girl probably would probably win anyways" you said with a smirk he stepped closer smugly bending slightly "you think so Princess?" His eyes meeting yours and they felt familiar for whatever reason. "Okay lets play!"

#fandom #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson lives #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #fanfic #eddie #enemies to lovers #Em enemies to lovers #Edward fucking munson

20 notes · View notes

zeciex · 11 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 23

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame

AO3 - Masterlist

(TW: Attempted Rape)

In the following days, Daenera kept herself occupied, intentionally avoiding encounters with Aemond. The incident in the throne room had been impulsive and risky, a dangerous game of passion that could have exposed them both.

However, it seemed that luck was on their side, as no rumors or whispers reached her ears through the usual channels. Tris Caswell’s gatherings of gossiping ladies, the conversation among the servants, and even Joyce, who was always well-informed, remained oblivious to the incident.

Daenera couldn’t shake off the caution and unease the weight upon her. It had been a foolish thing to do. And the feeling only intensified when Joyce made a disapproving sound when she had brewed herself more moontea. No words were exchanged, but the unspoken judgment lingered heavily in the air.

Searching for her misplaced notebook, Daenera entered one of the sitting rooms within the Keep, where she had joined Tris for tea the day before. The room was adorned with carved furniture, elegant tapestries, and a collection of books. She scanned the space meticulously, hoping to find her precious notebook that contained her poultice recipes.

“Did you enjoy your ride on a dragon?” Aegon’s voice grated on Daenera’s ears, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She turned to look at him, finding him leaning against the table with a cup of wine in hand. The first buttons of his doublet were unfastened, and one was even missing. From his disheveled appearance, she presumed he was already deep in his cups.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion coloring her gaze as she tried to discern his intentions. “It was kind of your brother to fly me back to the Dragonpit.”

Aegon’s mischievous smile only grew wider, his amusement evident as if he held the upper hand, privy to all her secrets and desires. It made her skin prickle. It wasn’t the same as his brother’s smile; it felt more akin to a boy setting fire to a cat just to watch it burn.

“He did little more than fly you back, did he not?” The accusation hung between them.

“I do not like what you’re implying,” Daenera said dryly.

He responded with an upside-down smile, shaking his head and shrugging nonchalantly. “Am I wrong?”

“I am not in the mood for your theatrics, Aegon,” Daenera retorted coolly, dismissing him by turning around and focusing her gaze on the floor, hoping to conjure the presence of her book so that she may leave.

“They say the first time riding a dragon it is like mounting the world,” Aegon continued, undeterred by the sharp glare Daenera shot his way. “Did it feel like mounting the world to you?”

“It felt windy,” Daenera replied, choosing to feign ignorance of the underlying meaning behind his words.

Aegon laughed. “I will be sure to tell him that.”

“What do you want, Aegon?” Daenera cut to the chase, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further.

“Well, I want you to answer my questions, of course…” Aegon pushed himself off the table and made his way to the other end where Daenera stood, his head tilting curiously. “Was that your first time?”

“No, I’ve ridden with my mother on Syrax before,” Daenera lied, attempting to deflect his torying. Aegon exuded the scent of wine and sweat, his hair hanging limply and greasy around his face. He looked tired, she observed, and dangerously bored.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Your insinuation is insulting and preposterous.”

“Not as preposterous, I presume, as it is for you to think that no one has noticed,” Aegon retorted, leaning in closer to her and sniffing as if he were some dog. Daenera instinctively leaned away, ready to shove him away by the face. Aegon straightened up again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Definitely spoiled.”

Daenera grimaced and snarled, her disdain evident. “You’re disgusting.”

“I admit, I am insulted that you chose my unskilled brother above me,” Aegon said, his voice dipping low.

“Does it really surprise you that someone would choose anyone above you?” Daenera shot back, her annoyance seeping into her words. “No woman in her right mind would choose to lay with you. No one knows where you’ve been and what disease you could have caught.”

“So you admit it?” Aegon’s voice carried a dangerous edge.

Daenera glared at him with exasperation. “I have nothing to admit to. I am unspoiled.”

Aegon leaned closer, his eyes glinting with provocation. “How long do you think it will take for people to notice? I mean, it’s not far-fetched for two Targaryens… Well, a Targaryen and a dragonseed, to be found in inappropriate circumstances.”

“It does not interest me to feed into your conjecture, uncle,” Daenera retorted, her voice tinged with warning. “And I suggest you keep your imaginings to yourself, should you find yourself in worse circumstances.

Her threat hung heavy in the air, a clear indication that she would make him regret his words if he continued down this path. But Aegon had never been good at listening to warnings.

“There’s an easy way to prove you are right,” Aegon taunted, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his wine. “I promise to be gentle… or rough, if that is what you enjoy. I won’t judge.”

“I am not bedding you or anyone else,” Daenera stated firmly, her cheeks flushing with indignation and shame. She despised the way Aegon looked at her, with seductive eyes and a cruel amusement burning within them.

“I won’t tell my brother if that’s what concerns you,” Aegon added, his tone oozing with smugness. “I can keep a secret.”

He could not. Given the chance, he would exploit any vulnerability and delight in causing torment. Aegon had a talent for it, and would persistently probe at a wound until it bled, relishing in the suffering he inflicted.

“What concerns me is your level of delusion. What makes you think I’d ever agree to lay with you?” Daenera scoffed at him. “I wouldn’t come close to your disease-ridden, shriveled up cock with a ten-foot pole.”

A muscle twitched in Aegon’s right eye, his anger barely contained. “You know, it’s so easy to ruin a girl's reputation…”

“No one would believe you,” Daenera shot back, her words sharp and insulting. “That’s what happens when you’re a disappointment to the family. Your mother is the only thing that holds any semblance of your reputation and respectability together.”

Aegon’s gaze fixated on a spot on the floor, his eyes growing distant as his expression seemed to darken. “Hm…”

Daenera took his silence as the end of the conversation and turned, but as she attempted to walk away, Aegon grabbed her wrist painfully. Without warning, he slammed her against the table with a jarring impact, the sharp edge digging into her hips. The suddenness of the atack left her breathless and disoriented, and she slammed her hands down on the table, trying to stabilize herself.

His hand gripped around the nape of her neck, holding her in a vice-like grip.

Daenera’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and anger flooding her veins. She struggled against his hold, trying to free herself from his iron grip, but Aegon was unrelenting.

The weight of Aegon’s body pressed down on her, trapping her beneath him against the unforgiving table. The treat in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Since you believe me a monster, I might as well prove you right. My reputation can hardly get any worse, yours however…”

“Aegon, stop this at once!” Daenera’s voice trembled with desperation and fear. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her composure.

“Oh, my dear niece, I relish the challenge,” Aegon hissed into her ear, tightening his grip on her neck. “You will do best to keep this a secret, unless you’re willing to ruin your own reputation.”

Daenera’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Aegon persisted in his disturbing pursuit of the truth. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately fought against his overpowering hold. Her nails scraped against the table, her attempts to break free growing increasingly desperate.

The sheer terror coursing through her veins made it difficult to find her voice, but she managed to muster enough strength to cry out, “Aegon, please! Stop this!”

“I simply wish to know if you’ve fucked my brother,” Aegon persisted, seemingly impervious to her pleas. “And since you refuse to disclose the truth, I shall uncover it on my own.”

Daenera’s entire body trembled as she kicked her legs and thrashed against his grip, her primal instinct for self-perseveration taking over.

The air grew thick with fear and tension as Aegon hitched up her skirts, his actions invading her personal space. Daenera fought back with every ounce of strength she possessed, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. She continued to implore him to release her, her voice trembling with a mixture of panic and anger.

Dread filled her body as Aegon’s hand grazed the skin of her inner thigh, the touch sending an icy shiver of revulsion through her. Her attempts to reach for the small dagger hidden in her skirt proved futile as she remained trapped against the table, the edge digging into her hips with bruising force. Tears pricked in her eyes, lungs raw with panic. The pain intensified as Aegon’s grip on the back of her neck tightened, causing her head to throb with each forceful push downwards towards the table top.

“Stop, Aegon!” She cried out, the desperation she felt evident in her voice. She despised how weak she sounded.

“I only aim to prove that you are as much of a whore as your mother.” Aegon’s laughter only fueled her fury, his words slicing through her like a blade. His hand slid higher, grabbing at the flesh of her inner thigh, pinching at it.

The revulsion surged within her, coiling in the pit of her stomach. The back of her throat throbbed from the force with which she suppressed her tears, her lashes sticking together as pearls of water clung to them. Daenera’s trembling lips were pressed tightly together, her teeth biting down hard to stifle herself.

Closing her eyes, Daenera uttered a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, hoping for deliverance from this moment. And, in that moment, whatever it was, the gods or some mysterious force, her pleas were answered.

Suddenly, Aegon was gone, leaving Daenera trembling and exposed. The reason he had touched felt cold and violated, and Daenera hastily adjusted her skirts, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Though he hadn’t gone further, the violation she felt lingered, staining her soul with a sense of dirtiness and wrongness.

“Have you lost your damned mind?” Aemond spat at his brother, his voice dripping with anger as he hurled him across the room. Aegon crashed into a heavy cabinet before falling to the ground, groaning in pain.

“Ah, fuck…” Aegon moaned, clutching his side and rolling on the floor. He glanced up at his brother, a mixture of pain and amusement in his eyes. “We were just having a bit of fun, brother.”

“A bit of fun?” Aemond’s voice echoed with barely contained fury. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, the urge to unleash his wrath evident. “Do you even comprehend the consequences if anyone else had caught you?”

Daenera retrieved the dagger from her skirts, her ears ringing with shock and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. Her head pounded and she still felt Aegon’s touch on her skin. Without fully processing Aemond’s words, she instinctively moved towards Aegon, fully intent on punishing him.

“Oh, ooh!” Aegon exclaimed with maniacal amusement, pointing at Daenera and her dagger.

Aemond swiftly stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Aegon. His face was etched with a stern and resolute expression, while Daenera’s eyes burned with a vindictive fury. He had laid his hands on her, and she was determined to make him pay dearly.

“Step aside,” she demanded, her grip on the dagger tightening.

“I can’t,” Aemond answered firmly, his resolve unwavering, unable to let his brother come to harm, no matter how much he might deserve it.

“I will have his damned cock for this,” Daenera growled, her grip on the dagger tightening with enough force to turn her knuckles white. She was determined to make him pay, starting with cutting off his cock before shoving it so far up his corrupted ass that he could taste the consequences of his own debauchery. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t choke on it. Or maybe he would. She was willing to find out.

Aegon laughed from the floor, lying back down as if completely unconcerned by her fury. Of course, why would he be concerned when he could hide behind his brother for protection?

“And I was just about to give it to you, sweet niece,” Aegon taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm, “when my dear brother so rudely interrupted us.”

“Shut up, Aegon,” Aemond hissed, his voice laced with warning, silently urging his brother to keep quiet and allow him to rectify the mess he had created.

“Move, Aemond,” Daenera demanded once again, her voice barely containing her rage. Aegon couldn’t simply get away with laying his hands on her. He might be a prince, but she wasn’t just some common born servant, she was a princess.

“My brother is a drunken fool,” Aemond declared, his voice carrying a practiced coldness.

Daenera felt a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over her. Aemond’s words were like a cold, hard slap to the face, a reminder of where his loyalties lied. Aemond would remain between them, an obstacle on the path of seeking justice. The realization settled heavily in her chest, a mix of both anger and disappointment.

“I bid you forgive him. He is blinded by wine and devoid of any sense, it seems,” Aemond elaborated, the lie hanging in the air between them.

“Yes, forgive my insolence, princess. I am a drunken fool,” Aegon cackled from the floor, his mocking tone doing nothing to alleviate the princess's seething anger.

“He doesn’t deserve your protection,” Daenera retorted, her gaze fixed solely on Aemond.

“He is my brother,” Aemond replied firmly, unforgivingly. “He bears the title of a prince, he’s the son of the King. It would be preferable if he behaved in a manner befitting this position,” Aemond sneered back at his brother, then turned his eye back to Daenera before continuing, “But that does not alter the situation. You cannot take justice into your own hands.” “What will you have me do then?” Daenera challenged, her voice filled with frustration. “Should I bring it to your mother’s attention? She would protect him as you are.”

Aegon scoffed, pushing himself to sit against the bookshelf.

“Or should I bring it to the King?” Daenera threatened, knowing that Viserys, at the very least, would take her accusation seriously and perhaps even take action. If Viserys held enough sentiment for his son not to behead him immediately, he would surely send him to the Wall. Yet, even then, Viserys might succumb to the influence of Queen Alicent, who would do anything to evade justice.

“You and I both know that nothing would come of it,” Aemond replied, her tone casual, as if going through the motions. “Continuing on this path would be ill-advised. If you become subject to unfavorable gossip, it may hinder your chances of securing a suitable husband. Ser Aran Blackwood could potentially be an option then, or perhaps a life dedicated to the Faith would be more fitting for you.”

This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since he took her maidenhead. He had finally resorted to using his power against her, threatening to destroy any potential future she could have.

Daenera’s mind raced, contemplating her next move. The temptation to defy Aemond’s warning was strong, to reach out to her mother, to Daemon, and seek their support in seeking justice. But Aemond’s words lingered in her mind, warning her of the potential damage it could cause to her own reputation.

“If I fall, I will take you down with me,” Daenera sneered through gritted teeth, her words venomous. She forcefully slid the dagger into the folds of her skirt, its presence no longer a comfort but a reminder of her powerlessness. Without sparing Aegon a second glance, she pivoted on her heels.

Aegon’s taunting jeering came to an abrupt halt as Aemond delivered a swift kick to silence him. The sound of a groan echoed through the room, momentarily breaking the tense atmosphere.

Queen Alicent’s entrance only added to the spectacle, her concerned frown highlighting the unsettling scene before her.

Daenera’s eyes, red-rimmed and filled with fury and judgment, met Queen Alicent’s gaze with a piercing intensity.

“Teach your son the meaning of no,” Daenera declared, voice dripping with disdain.

With that final statement, she turned on her heels, the rustle of her skirts marking her departure from the scene. Anger and weariness coursed through her veins as she retreated.

Frustration twisted Aemond’s features as he swiftly sidestepped to evade Aegon’s grasp on his boots. He resented the fact he had to protect his foolish brother but it was his duty. He couldn’t allow Daenera to carry out her revenge, no matter how justified they may have seemed. Aegon was his brother, and he had the responsibility to shield him from harm. His actions protected not only Aegon but also their mother, Helaena, and the twins.

However, Aemond’s restraint only held so long, and his anger towards his brother boiled within his chest, threatening to consume any remaining patience he had left.

Had he not warned Aegon of the consequences? How could his brother be so stupid?! Did he not understand that it wasn’t just his life he risked?

The door swung shut behind their mother, her sharp gaze dissecting the scene before her. A wave of disapproval radiated from her as she moved swiftly across the floor, her eyes narrowed with anger and concern.

“What is this?” Alicent demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Her eyes flickered accusingly between her two sons.

Aegon ran a hand through his tousled hair, a feeble attempt to appear somewhat repentant. His face held a childlike sheepishness, a pitiful facade he hoped would appease his mother. Aemond remained still, his face carved in stone.

“We were only having a bit of fun, mother,” Aegon offered in a weak attempt to downplay the severity of the situation. He shot this brother a pointed look, silently try to compel his cooperation. The unspoken demand hung heavily in the air.

“Aemond?” Alicent demanded.

Aemond’s gaze shifted back to Alicent, his expression remaining stoic and indifferent despite the torrent of emotions raging within him. There were countless truths he could have revealed in that moment. He could have exposed Aegon’s shameful actions, how he had pinned down and assaulted Daenera. The mere thought tightened around his stomach like a fist. He could have divulged how Aegon, as the first born and the future King of Westeros, was single-handedly unraveling all of their efforts and ambitions.

Yet, he chose not to speak those truths.

“We were only having fun,” Aemond repeated, his tone steady and controlled, concealing the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

Aegon pushed himself up from the ground, slapping Aemond on the shoulder in a display of feigned affection. The tension in the room grew palpable as Alicent refused to accept their explanation at face value. She seized Aegon’s face, her fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks, forcing him to purse his lips in an ugly grimace. Her eyes bore into his, searching for the truth she knew he was withholding.

“Tell me the truth of it,” Alicent demanded, her voice edged with accusation.

Aegon attempted to wave his mother’s hand away, trying to dismiss her probing gaze. “Why must you always assume I am lying?”

“Because I know you,” Alicent responded firmly, her grip tightening. “And I am no fool. The princess left in a wretched state, and if you do not confess the truth, I will have no choice but to assume the worst.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched his brother squirm in their mothers grasp. Aegon finally managed to free himself, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek to alleviate the pain. It was a small price to pay.

“I was only jesting,” Aegon claimed, his words laced with a veneer of nonchalance. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether she followed in her mother’s footsteps.”

Aemond remained the pillar of restraint and control, gritting his teeth as he witnessed the unfolding scene. Alicent, on the other hand, struggled to contain her fury. She had firsthand knowledge of Aegon’s capacity for reckless behavior. It was only days ago that she had to dismiss a servant girl due to his inappropriate advances. But what he had done now was far more dangerous than mere misconduct with a servant. It could have dire consequences for their family, for everything she had sacrificed for.

In a swift motion, Alicent slapped Aegon across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Her actions conveyed her disbelief and the gravity of the situation. What if their actions reached the ears of the King? Rhaenyra and Daemon would surely call for their heads.

Aegon winched, his hand instinctively moving to his reddened cheek, his eyes wide and wet. He looked like a child then.

“Do you have any inkling of the peril you’ve put us in?” Alicent hissed, her fury burning in her eyes and her teeth bared. Unable to stand still, she paced the floor, her anger palpable. “Do you hold so little regard for our lives? Are you truly willing to squander everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed for! What if she goes to the King?”

“She won’t,” Aemond interjected, his voice steady and reassuring.

The contrast between her two sons was stark and undeniable. One embodied everything Alicent needed him to be–the protector, the dutiful son, the dedicated soclar. Aemond was honorable, courageous, and everything she wished Aegon could become. Aegon, her firstborn and the one who should inherit his father’s throne, had become her greatest disappointment and vulnerability. She longed for him to rise above his reckless impulses and understand the purpose she had dedicated years to. After all, it was to protect him that she was doing this.

Life had never been fair, and this situation served as a bitter reminder of the fact.

“How can you be so certain?” Alicent questioned sharply.

“He’s sleeping with her,” Aegon interjected, a twisted grimace marring his face. He couldn’t help but drag his brother down on his level, to tarnish his reputation.

Aemond, however, dismissed his brother’s claim with a wave of his hand, choosing not to acknowledge it. “She knows it would be her word against his. And I advise you, brother, to keep your imaginings to yourself. Spreading lies would only further complicate matters.”

“It is not a lie,” Aegon insisted, meeting his mother’s gaze with defiance.

Alicent fixed him with a stern look. “Listen to your brother, Aegon. You are already in enough trouble. Do not besmirch your brother’s honor with baseless accusations.”

Aegon’s jaw worked as realized that his mother would not believe him, and he fixed his gaze on the floor.

“You bring shame upon our family, and I will not tolerate it, especially while the princess is here,” Alicent continued, her tone laced with frustration. “She is already causing enough trouble with her political machinations, rallying support for her mother’s claim and interfering with governance of the kingdom. I will not have my son contributing to the chaos.”

Aegon sneered, a vindictive thought seeming to cross his mind. “Ruining her honor would serve as a fitting consequence. It would send her back to Dragonstone in shame, and perhaps she would remain unwed for a very long time as well.”

“And you believe that ruining your brother’s honor is worth such consequences? Ruining your own in the process? Where is the sense, Aegon?” Alicent’s voice rang out with scorn and disappointment.

Despite Aegon’s troublesome reputation, she had always shielded him from the worst of it, hoping he would come to realize the efforts she had made on his behalf.

“It was merely a passing thought, mother,” Aegonr replied, casually picking at his nails. “Or perhaps you should consider marrying Aemond to Daenera.”

Aemond’s eye snapped to his brother with a piercing glare. Marry the bastard? The notion seemed absurd. They were too incompatible, destined to clash and bring each other misery. He only wanted to use her, ruin her.

“Aemond has spent time with the princess, hasn’t he, brother?” Aegon continued, refusing to let go of his insinuation. “You took her riding on Vhagar.”

Aemond’s indignation burned within his chest as he met his brother's goading expression with an steely resolve. “The princess lost her horse. I didn’t want to leave her stranded in the middle of a field and have her walk back to King’s Landing.”

Alicent frowned. “Where was her servant?”

Aemond gave a half-hearted shrug, not caring to elaborate on what had happened.

“You’ve been staring at her,” Aegon persisted like the child he was, trying to get his brother into trouble.

“Would you have me pluck out my remaining eye?” Aemond drawled with little care to his brother's answer.

“I would gladly assist you with that, brother.”

“Enough,” Alicent interected, rubbing her temples in frustration. “There will be no mutilations, and there will be no marriages. Put these thoughts out of your minds.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #A Vow of Blood

32 notes · View notes

sopuu · 1 year

Note

I would love to hear your thoughts on the symbolism and game design of omori

This is suchh an old ask im sorry it took me so long to get my thoughts tgt let alone write them down hh everything’s under the cut bc there’s a Lot and tysm for enabling me 🙏🏻

just a heads up I’m not gonna talk much about the characters themselves bc there’s already plenty of analysis out there for them- what I am gonna get to tho is the general game itself and a bit of the music. And bc OMORI is a game that covers heavy topics, please be aware of this before you continue reading!

So ofc I gotta start with the first place omori wakes up in — white space, just a simple rectangle on the floor with the essentials within arm’s reach, no responsibilities and no one to bother you. I LOVE minimalistic stuff like this- something so simple can can make you feel like you’re in both the most peaceful and uncanny place in the world. Also the black bulb being a symbol of repression, opposite of a lit bulb being a symbol of a new idea (thank you fandom wiki for this point) is just 👌🏻. And the fact that omori’s friends are right next door (literally called neighbour’s room) if he ever gets lonely shows how they’ve always been there for him, and in turn how much he depends on them.

I think the game does a wonderful job of depicting what escapism is like- Daydreaming of a world full of your own ocs, adventuring through it with your best friends and being the hero of the story where everything goes right for you. But of course this fantasy can’t hold forever as the real world starts to catch up, with stuff like Something appearing in places reminding omori of what happened, red space entrances throughout the story (the ones before the main red space debut as omori sits on the throne), and ofc the moment basil drops the photograph at the start. Side note, I like how Something always disappearing so quickly shows how desperate omori is to repress it, like quickly shoving problems under a rug. Or maybe im reading too much into it and it’s just to add to the creepy factor lol. Also this is one of the games that does mixed media SO well- combining digital 2d art with real life materials like sketching and scanning the animations, clay models for Somethings, real life photos drawn over and filtered etc, it really suits the theme of having to balance the fictional world and the real world if that makes sense. Also the way some scenes deliberately leave in the crumpled paper texture!! Especially for messages about not friends giving up on each other-- its almost like those were thrown away in the trash and picked back up again. Quite the parallel to how sunny locked himself away for four years due to depression and guilt for what he’s done, thinking his friends would never forgive him, then eventually finally coming out of his house and giving himself a chance with reconnecting with them.

Ok here’s where the heavier themes come in so please please stop reading if you’re not comfortable with them! [tw: suicide (or at least implications of it)]

game design time! i absolutely love it when games use the game mechanics themselves to be a part of storytelling- and this game does it with the stab function. I actually got to know this game through watching playthroughs, and at the first forced transition usually people do whatever they can think of to avoid having to press the button, before very reluctantly realising that they don’t have a choice. As the game goes on, players start getting more and more familiar with it, using it to get back to the real world or bc of forced resets and so on. Before long this basically becomes routine and players get so used to it that they don’t even hesitate to press it anymore. After all, nothing bad actually happens, right..? This mechanic gets used so much more in black space, but this time it’s very prominently presented as an escape route, something to get out of stressful situations, something that helps. you might even be relieved to see that option be available to you. And I think that’s terrifying— considering that this is a representation of how.. unpleasant thoughts can go from being unfathomable to something that feels like a natural/normal occurrence. i don’t think I’ve seen any other game that captures this kind of thought process(? there’s probably a better term for this) to the level that OMORI does and im so so glad that the devs are bringing these mental health topics to light.

I’d also love to talk about black space but I think this post does it better than I ever could haha, also black space 2 I love you sm im a sucker for out-of-bounds-but-not-really type of areas (yknow like Undertale’s fun value rooms and test rooms), it’s like hitting the jackpot for easter eggs and subtle lore aughh <3

And I can’t talk about OMORI without talking about the music!! I think we can all agree that Duet KILLS. the high notes as the happiest scenes show on screen………the way the piano is the one that starts the song off and it ends with only the violin……… my emotions man. what if I started crying!!!!! (i did)

Clean Slate is one of my top songs- there’s so much emotion in this and it’s the epitome of acceptance and letting go of guilt while also giving the feeling that you’re in a hospital (ig that’s kinda the point but for such a short song to pinpoint a feeling AND setting so accurately is so grragjgh….)

Other big favs are It Means Everything, Chaos Assembly, Tee-Hee Time, Puddles, Snow Forest and Dear Little Brother :) and actually a lot of others as well but id be listing half the soundtrack and more if I go on

In conclusion OMORI is such a well designed game, I love it and its messages sm it means a lot to me personally, and writing this made me feel like im back in English class again

#asks #my god this is actually LONG. even had to cut some stuff lol #kudos to anyone who actually read this #ignore the inconsistent capitalisation i did this both on my phone and laptop hgkdk

27 notes · View notes

royalarms · 3 months

Text

for the botanical hc meme - bay tree, lilac, poppy! ♡ ⸻ @13nth

bay tree : does your muse seek glory & accolades , or do they favour a simpler , more personal life ?

he absolutely favors a simpler and more personal life . he loves the people around him and yearns for nothing more than to experience an average life full of love and peace . from a young age he's had this title thrust upon him that he did not want , and all of these rules , regulations , training regimens , titles , events , etc . , etc . and all he's ever wanted was to be a kid who got to play outside and sleep in on the weekends . that's a lot of the reason he presses to go to a public school . despite the barrier between him and the other students , he got to experience what they experience . he got to feel closer to feeling human . it's a lot of the reason he moved into his own apartment in his late teens ; the life in the citadel ? he never felt like that was his own , or that he truly belonged there . in a life born into extravagance , he cannot help but yearn for the simplicities of life . the struggle of a day - to - day working citizen . how can he love people in the way that he wishes if he can never understand them ?

lilac : what was your muse’s childhood like ? how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ?

tw : parental death !!

so this definitely ties in with my last answer ! he was brought up being told he was special , some chosen king who will purge this star of its scourge , that he is a prophesied existence , which made him feel like this life was never his to live . like destiny would have its way with him and he'd not have a say in its unfolding . when he's really young , he doesn't understand . in actuality , i don't think he fully grasps it until he's forced to during the game's canon , but as a kid , it always felt like a heavy weight . his mother , aulea , passed away when he was eight years old , and his father , the king , regis , had little time to spend with him most days . he spent a lot of time training , studying , learning , reading . . . but it always felt a bit hollow . people loved him , but he never saw it in a way that they loved him for him . he saw their love as a respect for his title as prince and nothing more , leading him to a rather lonely and isolated feeling childhood . i do think the days he spent with aulea were warm , as well as regis , but after the traumatic daemon attack , things were never quite the same . his teenage years were spent dutifully studying and attending class , making great marks and exceeding academically as well as in the eyes of society . though , he didn't have many people he'd consider his friends . this is kind of when he starts forming stronger bonds with prompto , ignis , and gladio , though , so he starts to really spend more time with them , as with them , he begins to feel that sense of belonging he's always wished for . though , he still rejects his princely duties and easily cops an attitude when forced to accept them . again , he doesn't really accept he will one day be king until we see him struggling with it in game . it really is something he adamantly fights against thinking about despite the stress it causes as he pushes it away . of all of the things his kingship would include , a prominent one is the death of his father , and he had been forced to think of that each and every time one wished to prepare him for the throne . he rejected it and rejected it , feared it , until the day did finally come , and even still , he could not bring himself to call himself king . it's an internal battle he's fought all his life .

poppy : what comforts your muse ?

i think this one has two distinct answers ! it depends on how he's feeling and how/why he's seeking comfort . usually , no matter what , he will find comfort by lakeside or seaside , casting his line and watching the water as he awaits a fish's next bite . a particular breeze is often favored , and it helps to refresh his mind and clear his thoughts . for him , it's almost like a meditation . the quietness , the familiarity of the water , and the vastness of existence . he likes those moments of solitude where he can unwind and recharge , letting go of every day stressors and allowing him a chance to reconnect with himself .

sometimes , however , he craves the comfort of another person , or people . the simple of existence of domestic living aside the people dearest to him , who have his trust and care , and vice versa . he enjoys his solitude , but too much of it can feel isolating , and he's back to his childhood miseries . he loves companionship , despite his lack of experience in showing it , and truly enjoys himself when playing video games with his friends , watching movies , camping out together , sharing stories , and bonding . he doesn't always need a hug or a hand to hold , but more often than not , he'll take a warm body to sit aside a campfire with and chat about life .i

#13nth #parental death tw #♚ * ic ; 'til the daylight dies .#♚ * answers ; & i need you .#♚ * headcanon ; carry the weight .#noctis makes me emo #im full of emotion rn helP #ty for sending tho even if it was forever ago <3

4 notes · View notes

verena-targaryen-writes · 1 year

Text

PAWN IN THEIR GAMES

The British Royal Family want to find a man who is worthy enough to rule with the Crown Princess Victoria Windsor, and the perfect match is no one but Prince Aemond Targaryen of France. Their union was made to give more support to Aemond's claim to the France throne. Until the union was stopped due to Aemond making a mistake to aggravate the status of the British. She supports Rhaenyra's claim as person who is meant for the throne. (Remember that none of this is historically accurate)

TW- Slut-shaming

Multiple characters x OC

"Lady Annabelle of House Smith." The announcer spoke as Lady Annabelle walked in and sat with the Crown Princess who was wait eagerly for her arrival at her chambers

"Hello, Victoria, how have you been?" Lady Annabelle asked as she rested her back on the chair, happier than usual as she just got an estate of land from the King, who was Victoria’s father

"Hello, Lady Annabelle. No, I've not been good as Lady Viserra asked for my father's hand, I could not believe that woman only used me as a pawn in her game," Victoria replied, sipping on the Japanese Black Tea customized for herself. She never felt comfortable with talking to people who call her Victoria, but Lady Annabelle was an elder and like a mother to her and her miserable self, so she allowed her to use only Victoria. Which was a privilege to most people

"Victoria, it's the time men dominate the world. We just try to build a window in our cage and deal with every thing. Lady Viserra was not as bad as Lady Maria Danbury, remember that," Lady Annabelle stated, she was right. That woman lied that Victoria tried to burn her alive with her child, who was a bastard from Lord Treddors

"You are going to be betrothed to the Crown Prince of France, I heard." Victoria groaned, she hated the talk of a big alliance to someone, especially a man who is about to rule a country which named them "toilettes"

"I hate it, Lady Annabelle! It's so infuriating that all they ask now is "do you have a child yet?" or "Is England going have an heir or are you just going to end the monarchy with Queen Victoria?". I cannot deal with those ugly people who think they know us." Lady Annabelle laughed, the princess was a disciple of hers and a very ambitious woman, whoever gets betrothed to her was lucky

“Tis it true then? You’re betrothed to the Crown Prince of France?”

Reynolds, Victoria sworn shield who was a blue coat, arrived. He huffed "Madam, the King has requested a ball for your betrothal with Crown Prince Aemond Targaryen," this statement made Lady Annabelle get her answer

"I will be there," Victoria said to Reynolds, initialing for him to leave her alone, which he did after a few minutes of silence

"Wear a good dress!" Lady Annabelle said as she left her and strolled out of her room to go to her estate, looking like she just got married to the richest man in England

"Her Royal Highness, Victoria, the Princess of Wales. Daughter of King Henry the IX of Great Britain," The announcer did his job as Victoria strutted in the ball room, greeting the lords and the ladies of the realm

"I have invited you all here for my daughter's betrothal, there are many people from France here. Now, you may all dance with anyone!" the King, her father, announced as he fell back on the throne

They all danced around like a usual ball, until Victoria came face to face with another man. He had a very sharp jaw and only one purple eye

"You look like you want to escape this."

"You too"

"You want to sneak out of here and get out of this castle?" Victoria asked, guiding him out of the main dance, which included switching partners and she didn’t want to

He raised his eyebrows “How do you predict exactly, Lady-?”

“If I introduce myself to you right now. You would not want to run away from here,” she said, a statement to which he laughed

“My dear, let me say that it’s the same for you,” he laughed, making her roll her eyes at him

“Well, in the holdfast that Henry VIII had makes a very good escape from here,” she grabbed a chalice of wine gulping it, his face turned into a questioning look

“How do you know?” He asked, looking down at her face

“None of your business, my prince,” she replied, moving a little closer to the guy whose eye widened in shock

“How did you know that?” He asked. “Your closet proves the fact that you’re not a noble man or some rich lord, so I assumed. Where are you from, if you say here, I know you’re lying,”

“Fine, I’m Prince Aemond Tar-“

Victoria choked on the wine due to that statement about himself. “You’re Prince Aemond?” “See, I told you that you’d be shocked,”

“It’s an honor to speak to the man who’s going to be our next king,” Victoria mentally scoffed at her own words. They were both disloyal to their betrothed

“You are from here?” He asked her, as he itched his hair

“Yes, I am a friend of the royal family,” she said, smiling falsely at him

“I have no intention to make any statements about the situation regarding my betrothal,” Aemond told, according to Victoria, he shouldn’t be confessing that to a woman who has never even told her name to him

“Why say it to me?” Victoria asked, sounding ‘pleased’ at his words

“I have no intention to make any statements about the situation regarding our betrothal, right Victoria?” Aemond smirked, which caused her eyes to widen

“How did you know? I thought I hid it so well,” Victoria yelled, making Aemond laugh as he predicted it was her from the start of their little act

“You were not quite stealthy in hiding your anger when I mentioned our betrothal, madam,” he leaned on the wall, smirking at her.

“Tis not my fault but it’s my father’s, he told me that I had to marry you and then proceed to produce heirs so that France and Britain could have a chance of being together again. Our monarchy wouldn’t ‘fall’” she unintentionally dragged her hand from her fact to her neck

“Wait, what about our first born? We are crown princess and prince, we will ascend as Queen and King of England and France. Our first born will-“

She coughed “The King or Queen of England and France,”

“Which means our empires will unite,” he ended

“We will be a start of an empire bigger than the world itself,” Victoria smiled, as she hugged him. Aemond hugged back after staying still for a few seconds

“So, now what? We wanted to run away and now we’re talking to each other,” he said, placing his hands on her waist

She felt shivers as she felt his hands. “My father is going to be so proud of he knows about this,” she said, finger pointing to him and then her

“Now, tell me about yourself, Victoria Windsor,” Aemond said, smiling to himself

“Well, my mother died in childbirth and my father was so upset about her death that he almost forgot about my existence until a maid told him that I was crying and needed milk,” she began, her eyes closing due to the fear of tears

“I was crowned Princess of Wales and I was the first Regnant Princess of Wales in my own right. My whole life I never even had a nice talk with my father and Lady Annabelle was the one to help me through all the pain and challenges I had in life that my relationship with my father was easily broken down. My betrothal with you was my last straw because I thought you were some fat prince who would tell me to lie there and take it,” she finished, the ending making him laugh loudly

“Listen Vicky, I would never tell you to lie there and take it, okay? My name is now in your heart and I hope you see me as a friend or more than someone you are destined to marry,” he comforted her by putting a hand on her shoulder

“Fine, now tell me about you, Aemond Targaryen.”

“I was crowned Dauphin Of France when I was a twelve year old, skipping my half-sister who was Dauphine Of France before but was a woman who wasn’t present to the public. So, my family decided to skip my brother and sister, who were born before me. My sister is a dreamer and my brother is too much of a drunkard for ruling a country. My mother was the only one who cared about me and my grandfather was greedy and wanted me to make him hand off the king. I’m pretty sure my sister and her husband will start a war once my father rots and dies and I become King of France” he ended just like her, making her hug him for all he’s been through

“Your country will be associated with the greatest nation of the world! You would have the Queen of England as wife and you’ll have more people supporting you rather than an usurper,” she encouraged, making him want to take her right then and there

Victoria noticed his eyes darkening. “I like how your eyes darken for no reason,” she said, making him mentally scoff as he knew exactly why his eyes were darkening

“Well, we should go and join the ball before my father announces our names,” Aemond nodded at her and then they walked to the ballroom

“Crown Prince Aemond Targaryen of France and Crown Princess Victoria Windsor,”

“Victoria! Ah, I see you’ve already met your betrothed!” Her father exclaimed happily, the joy of seeing his daughter with a man of his choice made him happier than ever

“Yes, Your Majesty. We have met each other and we like each other very much and we want to ask you to marry,” Aemond said, Victoria happily smiling at him as he spoke

“If you both are willing, Prince Aemond, you shall stay and be wed in the morning,” the King smiled as he led a woman to dance with him

“Well, we shall be husband and wife in a day? Oh gods, I remember not wanting to even see you today and to run away with some poor lord and now I’m marrying you happily,” Victoria laughed as she and Aemond danced together

“Oh, go to your poor lord!” Aemond threw her away from him, her taking that jokingly launched herself at him

“Now, you cannot let me go, my prince,” she said as she was sitting on him, her legs around his waist

He licked his lips as he smiled. “I never thought I could find someone who understood me and my feelings. Now, I think I have found them,”

“Do you truly mean that?” She asked. “So humans don’t fly?” He said in fake astonishment, twirling her around

“You look like you’re straight from a little girls fairytale book,” she complimented him with grace, making him laugh

“You look like the protagonist of a little girl’s fairytale book, my princess,”

"No, I do not look like a-

"You are and you do," Aemond smirked, as she soon realized she was a 'princess'

"Well, I now am calling it a night," the King plumped back on his throne as Aemond and Victoria separated from themselves

Everybody bowed to him as they left the ballroom, while the King told Aemond and Victoria to wait

"I am so delighted that both of you are satisfied with each other and all. Your marriage will be scheduled to the day after your birthday, Victoria. Your father is going to arrive here, yes?" Aemond nodded. "I will plan the decors and everything else with your father and your mother

"Then, we shall return to each other's chambers them, right father?" the King nodded and Aemond immediately dropped her hand, leaving to his chambers. Victoria didn't quite think that much about it as she left to her chambers

"Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Victoria Windsor."

"Hello, Victoria. Did you sleep well?" Lady Annabelle asked but soon hugged her as she noticed the dry tears

"I thought- I thought he was a really nice person," she cried in Lady Annabelle's arms as she lost her balance

"What happened, sit down," Lady Annabelle got her servant to place a chair very easily in Victoria's reach as Lady Annabelle made her sit down in the chair and brushing her lamp as she sat down in her own chair. "Now, dear, tell me."

"I thought the Crown Prince was a really nice person because I talked with him yesterday and he was really nice and kind. I was walking to meet with his parents today as he was talking to some men calling me a 'easy whore'

"Did your father do anything about him then?" Lady Annabelle asked, distressed seeing her non-biological daughter crying in her arms

“No, just told him to leave with his family after I told him about what he did. God, I hope his half-sister usurps him, she deserves the throne more than a cunt like him. I would even help her and she would be supported by the whole of Great Britain,” Lady Annabelle laughed as she hugged her tightly

“Do not worry, dear. France will destroy themselves with the civil war which will arise,” Lady Annabelle comforted her. “You can pick a side and you can choose his half-sister’s. He lied to you about that. His maternal side, the Hightowers planned to make his drunken cunt of a brother to usurp the throne, but he was more responsible than his brother so they forged a ‘confirmation’ from his sick father,”

“How do you know so much about that?” Lady Annabelle smiled as she said “I love the history of France and especially the Targaryens,”

“Well, that’s good then,” Victoria stopped crying as Lady Annabelle spoke “The Targaryens had so much usurpers, council members making the sons King and not the daughters Queen, shaming warrior queens or women. Our royal family problems and usurping is nothing compared to theirs,”

“Well, that is very good for them. As most of them are probably cunts,” Victoria laughed as Lady Annabelle hit her lightly. “Who taught you to speak like that? That is no way a Lady or a Crown Princess would speak in that manner!”

“I apologize, Lady Annabelle,”

"I shall accept this nice apology of yours, dear Victoria" Lady Annabelle said as she bowed in a royal manner of her own

"Then we are friends again, I suppose?" Victoria laughed as she got of their little role-playing

Lady Annabelle smiled "I must admit, I like the woman you have grown to become, dear Victoria,"

"Thank you, Lady Annabelle"

"You shall be a good Queen"

24 notes · View notes

aclosetfan · 19 days

Note

hug 34 for reds pls :)

I'm forcing myself to write and clear out my old asks from previous prompt games. Sorry, anon, this took almost 4 years to write. I was a different person back then. Hopefully, you're still around, but if you're not, I'm pouring one out for you.

PROMPT 34: Hug to prevent a fight

tw: implied physical child abuse/adult abuse.

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

Blossom didn't have the words to describe her counterpart, Brick. But at fifteen, she could see the cracks starting to chisel away at his languid facade. He was only (physically) fourteen, a year, give or take, younger than her and too young for the permanent wrinkle on his forehead or the frown lines around his mouth, but he played it off well.

At twenty (his nineteen), Blossom realized it was probably too late for him. In the five years that the needling feeling in the pit of her stomach had developed, Brick had become much more than the son of HIM and Mojo Jojo. Rather, he commanded an authority of his own, often trumping his parental figures whenever the opportunity presented itself. He and his brothers would make a great heir to whatever throne was left to them when HIM moved on from Townsville and Mojo passed away.

Blossom didn't think either was a possibility. HIM would plague this city forever, and Mojo would always be a thorn in her family's backside. But maybe that was just a fool's dream because she didn't want Brick and his brothers to be the heir to any throne. That scared her more than HIM did on the entity's worst days.

It was the slow stretch of Brick's smile when she thwarted one of his plans. The calculating look swirling in his eyes, like losing had been his goal all along. He didn't laugh anymore like when they were children, but she could still hear the acrid sound echoing in her head. Taunting her. Goading her on. The older they got, the more often she felt she was only ever catching up to him, learning what he had always known—whatever that was—a minute too late.

Brick was her thematic foil. He would be her bitter end.

"It's not that you're not clever enough," Bubbles assured her one evening as Blossom bandaged her broken hands. "It's because he's scared."

Blossom furrowed her brows together in thought, pursing her lips like Bubble's words were sour candies. Blossom didn't bother asking Bubbles how she knew what she was thinking. It was Bubbles; she could read her and Buttercup to filth.

"I don't think he's scared, " Blossom replied because she couldn't imagine, let alone believe, that something in this world frightened Brick.

"Not of you, but of HIM." Bubbles pushed back, leaning against the door frame.

Blossom shook her head, "He's not scared of HIM. He's better than HIM."

"You know that. I know that. Brick doesn't know that."

Blossom looked up from her hands, "Even if that's true, what does it matter?"

Bubbles walked into the room and took the bandages from her hands. She wrapped them around Blossom's bruised and bloodied knuckles with almost the same careful precision as Buttercup, who was usually in charge of the Powerpuff recovery department, so to speak. Buttercup, though, lay indisposed on a cot in the lab, recovering from an almost catastrophic injury. Butch had been the executor, but Brick had called the shots.

That didn't make Brick the most important, though. Maybe, she should have been focusing her efforts on Butch and Boomer. Maybe she should have been figuring out how to ostracize them from him. If the three men were anything like her and her sisters, Butch and Boomer were his body and spirit. If she disposed of them, it'd be like cutting off Brick's arms, but he'd be ready for that. Likely, he'd be expecting her to do that. After all, that's what he did to her.

"It matters because you know what he's afraid of. You can help him."

Physically, Blossom tried not to react. Bubbles advocated for rehabilitation at least three times a year. Blossom vehemently opposed it. Surprisingly, Buttercup had little to say about it.

("Yeah, sure, we don't have a good record of success," Buttercup would point out, shrugging, "but, I dunno, Bloss, I don't like just giving up. I get it, though. The boys, they're not low-level crooks."

"They hate us. He loves hurting you."

"Butch?" Buttercup would shrug again, "Sure, but I mean, he's just doing what he's told. We all are."

Blossom wouldn't tell her she meant Brick, not Butch. It's not that Buttercup was incorrect, but Blossom swore Brick would single Buttercup out to torture her. Yes, it was selfish and paranoid, but she didn't want to see her sisters hurt any more than she had to. And he knew that.)

"He ripped off her leg," Blossom hissed.

"It's regrowing as we speak."

"Bubbles." Blossom stood up suddenly, ripping her hands from Bubbles'. "I don't want to discuss this with you again."

"I think you could reach him," Bubbles continued, speaking regardless, "he's always respected you. And if you save him, we can save his brothers, too. They don't have to keep fighting alone. It's unfair, Blossom. We protect everyone in this city from HIM except the three people who truly need it."

"They could beat HIM on their own."

"They don't know that." Bubbles frowned, "We do."

(But maybe Bubbles was right. It wasn't Brick who singled out Buttercup to specifically hurt her. They were all just doing as they were told, including her and her sisters, just like Buttercup had said. Playing right into HIM's trap. She knew HIM's power grew unchecked the more focused they were on each other. If they were focused on the boys, how could they be concerned about HIM?

It wasn't the first time Blossom had mulled this over. A group effort could feasibly bring HIM down for good. Sure, there would still be Mojo, and Princess, and Sedusa, but—

—but Bubbles was wrong; Blossom had never been able to reach Brick on any meaningful level.)

"Don't be naive, Bubbles."

"I am not naive. I am kind." Bubbles shot back without missing a beat, "You are too."

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

Brick and his brothers stood before her and her sisters. Buttercup's leg had regenerated entirely in two days, and now, the team was back in action. Logically, Blossom knew Buttercup was fine. Buttercup had said so, tone of voice pitching upward in annoyance at Blossom's persistent questioning, but Blossom still watched her out of the corner of her eye.

Buttercup stared at Butch, sizing him up as she was prone to do before a fight. She wanted payback for her leg, so Blossom was surprised when her face twitched in sympathy.

Her gaze darted to Butch, and she regretted it instantly. Blossom didn't stare at the young men, not even Brick, not really. She had stopped doing that a long time ago. She didn't like to think of the reason why, but there Butch was, tall, large, and intimidating with bags under his eyes, so pronounced Blossom echoed Buttercup's slight wince. He was complete muscle but shrunk in on himself like he was attempting to cower away—make himself small. His head bowed slightly in deference, like a street dog begging for scraps.

Boomer stood to the right of Brick, and he looked no better. He was pale. His hair had lost its golden shimmer. His smile—once handsome—was a shadow of its former self.

She felt the weight of Bubbles' stare, set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and turned to Brick. He was talking, outlining their demands, but she couldn't hear him. It was a pointless effort.

A bruise circled his neck like a pearl necklace—the imprint of a claw. His skin was taut, his cheeks sunken and hollow. His wrist bones and clavicle, peeking out from the collar of his shirt, were pronounced.

She did not see the mastermind adult she had been hoping for, but the beaten, broken boy she had been hiding from.

Broken. Beaten. All three of them.

Three people who needed saving.

She was a hero, wasn't she?

(But it was a trap, wasn't it? All these years? They were building up for this to make her and her sisters the fools for even daring to feel sympathy?

Why, though, Blossom? What is there to gain? The Bubbles inside her head asked.

Blossom shook her away. She would not be made the fool, not by Brick. She would not give in to those cartoonish tropes. A heroine who, at her core, is still sympathetic and womanly, who trusts the first pair of sad eyes she meets. Who is naive and—

You are not naive. Bubbles said. Blossom, you are kind.)

She stopped and stared and let her doubts fall away. The wrinkle marring his forehead was anxiety, and the frown lines were unhappiness. His posture was fear.

Brick no longer laughed.

And all six of them were being used.

"Wait, I—" she started, interrupting Brick, but she had no idea how to end that sentence.

He glared suspiciously at her because she wasn't one to speak out of turn. She played the game. She followed the rules. But not anymore.

Taking a page from Buttercup's book, she was in front of Brick before she could think twice about it. He blinked, surprised, and flinched away when she raised a hand towards his neck. His brothers edged in, but she ignored their exclamations.

"Brick," she breathed, letting her hand hover there momentarily. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry it's come to this."

Boldly, she placed her hands on his shoulders, pulled him into her, and held him there.

At first, he didn't react. He just let himself be held. She tried her best to be like Bubbles, who gave the best hugs, despite knowing hers paled in comparison. She could feel the beating of his heart, fluttery, like a hummingbird, as his arms finally circled around her waist and his head dropped into the crook of her neck.

"I'm so tired, Bloss." He whispered, voice cracking.

"I know." She rubbed small circles on his back, marveling at the boniness of his spine. It made her sick. "I know."

"We'll protect you."

#this started out so different from where it ended up #ppg drabble #hug prompts #anon asks #lol well here we are anon #not very romantic but red-centric #reds #the girls are so good #its for the writers block

6 notes · View notes