#back to knight but with more conviction

[martyrbat]

im so considerate.... (<- guy not ranting about a thing it hates before its friend is done with the media)

[proneterror204]

Fear vs War 2

Fright Knight was in Gotham trying to find his target. The clown was in Arkham, so he was going for the Scarecrow. He was hoping to find him before the rogue could spread any Artificial Fear. He was going for the Scarecrow's Minions, who preferred to go by goons, hoping to scare his location from them. when mortals meet him it triggered the 'fight or flight' instinct, as he was Phobos a God of fear. But in Gotham this was only a hinderance, because everyone choose fight. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

Fright Knight: *trying to scare some info from a goon*

Orphan:...*Waves her hand to get his attention*

Fright Knight: *startled but doesent jump* Can i help you?

Orphan: *signs*

Fright Knight: I can speak all languages, but not sign language. Truly a flaw in Divinity.

Spoiler: She's asking who you are and what are you doing here?

Fright Knight: I am Fright Knight! Greek god of Fear and Right hand to the Ghost King. I am here to punish the rogue know as Scarecrow for his crimes against my domain. He is out of Arkham Yes?

Spoiler: He's in the Hospital getting a colonoscopy. Hes like 50.

Fright Knight: i also planned on giving him a colonoscopy. but very well. i suppose ill just have to go visit Wonder Woman.

Spoiler: to avenge you're Father?

Fright Knight: HA! No, i wish to thank her on her victory and introduce myself to my aunt.

Spoiler: ah Ares is a shit father huh? I know the feeling.

Fright Knight: I advise you avoid saying his name, But yes War is no kinder to children then it is anyone else. Worse even...

Orphan and Spoiler: *nods*

Spoiler: Hey i gotta say NICE purple flames.

Fright Knight: Its not really a choice. My mother is pink and my father is black. together it makes purple. I dont suppose i could convince you to keep this visit a secret from the Batman. My liege doesent want his attention and paranoia.

Spoiler: oh you absolutely could- *she stops and puts a hand to her ear and talks to someone on the comms*. Hey lets make a deal. theres a riot in Arkham asylum. you help us clean that up and Batman will never hear a word of this. Deal?

Fright Knight: Deal. now what do you have in mind?

Spoiler: *Grins evilly*

(insert any jojo theme here)

As Arkham's riot continued many Rogues, convicts, and psych patients were making a escape attempt only one vigilante stood in their way. Spoiler looking strangely buff with her face more defined and over animated(jojo style) stood alone. In front of the rioting mod she struck a pose and behind her a black and purple knight appeared. Both of them struck a pose and flexed as a aura of fear and terror washed over the mob making them flee back into Arkham and into there cells.

True to their deal Batman never heard a word of this. They used sign instead.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT (literally pure FILTH), Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, DubCon(?), Fingering, Multiple Orgasm, Overstimulation, Corruption Kink, Subspace, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Semi Public Sex, PIV, Choking, Gagging.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As the class finally drew to a close, the air filtered with an unspoken tension that shadowed over the room like a heavy fog--enveloping you and Mattheo in a world of charged silences and lingering desires. The classroom, once filled with the droning voice of Professor Snape, now echoed with the shuffling of papers and the distant sounds of students in the hallway.

Your hands moved almost mechanically, still trembling with the aftermath of your release as you briskly packed your bag--but each accidental brush against Mattheo sent a jolt of electricity through your skin, igniting a fire within you that refused to be tamed.

When you glanced over, his eyes locked onto yours, their depths a tumultuous storm of lingering, intoxicating lust that sent a thrill down your spine. The way he had treated you during this class felt like mere restraint, a mere fraction of what lay beneath the surface. Anticipating the upcoming encounter in the bathroom, you couldn't fathom the depths of desire he was capable of unleashing, and you'd honestly never been more fucking excited in your life.

Abruptly, the hypnotic trance Mattheo had ensnared you in shattered, as a familiar voice called out your name. Looking up, you found none other than Tom Riddle standing in front of your desk--his eyes, a mirror image of Mattheo's stormy gaze, flicked between you and his brother, a subtle tension creasing his brow.

"I heard what happened with Berkshire," his voice was gentle, yet laden with concern. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

Your cheeks burned, nerves spreading through you as you could practically feel the frenetic energy coming from Mattheo multiplying by the second. Though you couldn't see his face, you could vividly imagine the clenching of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, and the way his fingers must be tightening into fists, gripping his bag with a white-knuckled intensity. Ignoring the persistent heat between your thighs, you forced yourself to straighten up, your posture a facade of composure.

"Thank you," you said, your voice laced with genuine thankfulness, your eyes meeting Tom's with a blend of appreciation and depth. "I appreciate your concern...luckily Mattheo was there to help."

The simplicity of your words belied the complexity of the emotions swirling within you--a mix of gratitude, desire, and a strange kind of loyalty that bound you to Mattheo in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. Before Tom could get the chance to reply, Mattheo's arrogant sneer broke through the tension, his voice dripping with condescension as he mocked his brother.

"Quite the knight in shining armor, isn't he?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain as he turned his gaze from you, back to his brother. "Inviting you to the party, only to disappear when things got tough...guess it was only a matter of time before you showed your true colours."

Tom shifted uncomfortably under Mattheo's piercing gaze, a mixture of shame and resentment flickering in his eyes. The tension in the room grew taut, a silent battle of wills unfolding before you, with you being caught directly in the middle of it. Tom cleared his throat, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he composed himself, a veneer of calm settling over him.

"Well, you know how it is," he said, his voice steady but lacking conviction as he stared at his brother. "Parties can be rather...unpredictable."

His words hung in the air, an attempt to diffuse the tension, but the strain in his voice revealed the truth behind his carefully crafted facade. In an attempt to escape Mattheo's merciless gaze, he turned back to you, attempting a weak smile, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"I do apologize again," he said, attempting to muster up as much sincerity as possible. "I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps we should cancel our meeting tomorrow? You could probably use the rest."

You nodded, grateful for Tom's consideration despite the lingering tension in the room. "Yes, that would be appreciated," you replied meekly, mustering a small smile. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do, little witch." Tom managed another weak smile in return, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and understanding. "Take care. I'll see you Thursday."

As Tom made his exit, Mattheo shot his brother one final, dark glance--his eyes filled with a silent yet unmissable warning, one you knew only you would catch. Then, without a word, he too spun around on his heel and left the room, his departure swift and purposeful, leaving a trail of palpable intensity in his wake.

With a cautious pace, you trailed after him, allowing the tide of students to swallow his figure in the chaotic shuffle. Navigating the bustling corridor, you granted him distance, a deliberate move to give him space, hoping the interim might quell the storm brewing within him. Yet, an unsettling intuition gnawed at you, suggesting it might only intensify his brooding anger.

Upon ascending to the third floor, you took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling a sharp breath to steady your racing heart. As you gently pushed open the bathroom door, there he stood--Mattheo, his posture rigid, leaning against the sink with an air of restrained aggression. His eyes, sharp as flint, bored into yours, the confined space practically crackling with the weight of unspoken tension.

"Close the door." His voice was harsh, cold, firm. "Lock it."

Mattheo's command sliced through the air, his voice an icy whip that lashed at your nerves, compelling you to obey. Swallowing hard, your pulse echoing in your ears, you eased the door shut with trembling hands, the soft click of the lock amplifying the palpable tension in the confined space.

Mattheo watched you--his eyes, sharp and unyielding, drilled into your soul as he shed his uniform jacket, the fabric sliding off his shoulders with calculated grace. It landed on the counter beside the sink, forgotten in the intensity of the moment as he then methodically began rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing the sinewy strength of his forearms. Every movement he made was deliberate, a display of control that left you breathless

"Good girl," he stated, devoid of any warmth, his words falling like cold steel. "Drop your bag and come here."

A hard lump formed in your throat, forcing down a gulp that felt like swallowing shards of glass. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a relentless bass drum, each beat threatening to shatter the fragile structure of your sternum. Fingers entirely unsteady, you allowed your bag to slide off your shoulder, hitting the ground with a muffled thud, its impact barely audible over the cacophony of your racing pulse.

And then, taking deliberate, slow steps, you began to move toward him, your cautious approach mirroring the delicate balance of a predator stalking its prey--but in this moment, you weren't entirely sure who was supposed to be the prey. You, or Mattheo.

Coming to a halt in front of him, you felt the intensity of his stare searing into your skin. His eyes, dark and magnetic, darted to your lips, a hunger burning in their depths. The palpable energy surrounding him was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around you both like a tightly coiled thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Hands behind your back," he commanded, his gaze lingering on your lips with a predatory intensity.

Obeying him, you slowly moved your hands to your back, your lungs quivering with anticipation. His eyes flickered down to your chest, a subtle challenge in his gaze.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety growl, the praise sparking heat in your veins. "You're going to let me unbutton your shirt, aren't you?"

His words hung in the air, laced with desire and dominance, demanding your consent without uttering the words explicitly, inspiring your thighs to throb with need. The commanding tone of his voice, coupled with the unspoken request, sent shivers sprinting down your spine. Your fingers trembled behind your back as you nodded, succumbing to his silent demand.

"Can't you talk?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes smouldering with intensity. "Use your words, Raven."

"Yes," you breathed, your voice a fragile whisper. "I'm going to let you."

He blinked. "Good girl,"

Mattheo emitted a low, appreciative hum, his fingers gliding over the buttons of your uniform shirt with deliberate slowness. Each button yielded to his touch, his eyes fixated on his hands' movements, as if he feared missing a single detail. The cool bathroom air caressed your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and a shiver rippled through you as his fingertips found the last button, fully exposing your bra and chest to his hungry eyes.

His gaze traced every inch of newly exposed flesh as though he were savoring a newfound delicacy, his intensity leaving you breathless in the hushed atmosphere.

"Mm," he murmured, his eyes slithering up to meet yours. "You fuck me up in the best way, you know that, Raven?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, your nails biting into your palms as if anchoring yourself in the moment. "Do I, Mattheo?"

Mattheo stood before you, a coiled spring of restrained energy--the raw power emanating from him made every muscle in his body tense, as if he were holding back a storm. This version of him, this potent mixture of control and desire, was utterly captivating. You had never witnessed him like this before, and the sheer force of his presence, unyielding yet tantalizing, had the power to send every nerve in your body into a full out frenzy, and bring you to the brink of euphoria without even a single touch.

"You make me feel fucking alive," he murmured, his eyes fixated on your lips as if they held the secrets of the universe. "You're the only drug I can't live without."

"Oh...Gods..." your breath caught in your throat, desire and desperation intertwining in a tumultuous dance. Every fiber of your being screamed for him, ached for his touch, your voice leaving your lips in barely a whisper. "Please...kiss me..."

In an instant, Mattheo's lips crashed onto yours with a furious intensity, a maelstrom of pent-up desire and longing. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him with an urgency that left you breathless. They roamed over your back, tracing every curve, before ascending to tangle in your hair, holding your head in place with a possessive, commanding grip. The kiss deepened, a wild, passionate exchange that ignited a fire within you, consuming every rational thought.

With a swift, graceful movement, he spun you around, your back meeting the cold, unforgiving surface of the sink counter. The sensation made you shudder against his body, amplifying the electrifying connection between you as he tightened his grip in your hair. His lips molded to yours, the world outside fading into oblivion as you surrendered to the storm of sensations, lost in the overwhelming fervor of his kiss.

"Fuck...you're such a good girl for me..." he pulled back, lips falling to attack your neck. "You'd do anything I fucking said, wouldn't you?"

A gasp escaped your lips as he sank his teeth into your skin, eliciting a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that shot through your senses like lightning. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his disheveled curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline, your body still trembling from the aftermath of the classroom encounter.

Words eluded you, your mind clouded with desire and need. "I...I-fuck..."

"Mm," he breathed against your skin, his tongue tracing a slow, tantalizing path up the side of your throat. "You're still sensitive, aren't you, pretty girl..."

"Yes," you gasped, your breath hitching in your throat, desire pooling in the depths of your stomach. His hands found your waist, fingers gripping your skirt tightly, pulling it higher up your hips, setting your senses ablaze. "Gods..."

Mattheo groaned against your skin, his hot breath tickling your ear. With a skillful movement, he shifted one hand, his fingers teasing your heat through the damp fabric of your panties. Your back arched as pleasure washed over you, your body reacting to his touch with unbridled hunger. Pressed against the counter, you squirmed and gasped, utterly consumed by the electrifying intensity of his embrace.

"Shit...still nice and fucking wet for me...you love when I'm in control, don't you?" He snickered, breath washing warm over your ear. "That's why you act like a little fucking brat around me all the time...you want me to put you in your place...you want me to do the most unholiest shit to you imaginable..."

A low, unrestrained groan escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space, surprising even yourself. Your head fell back, offering him better access, as his mouth fervently marked your skin, leaving a trail of purple possessive bruises above your collarbone. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, grasping it aggressively as if you could pull your release from his scalp, his assault on your sensitive clit becoming relentless.

"Fuck-yes, Mattheo..." you whined, squirming against his hand, voice torn with pleasure. "I-I love it..."

"Yeah, that's right..." he sneered, his arrogance breaking through his hardened facade. "You want me to use you however I want, whenever I fucking want, don't you..."

His voice turned harsh, a husky growl escaping his lips as his fingers abruptly pulled back, yanking your panties aside before returning to swirl your clit with a relentless rhythm. A cry tore from your throat, louder than you intended, and Mattheo responded with a primal growl--his free hand moving swiftly, clamping over your mouth, muffling your sounds of pleasure as he claimed a new expanse of skin on the other side of your neck with his teeth.

"The things you fucking do to me, Raven..." he growled against your neck, fingers dipping down to your core, slipping inside you without warning. "I wanted to bend you over that desk so fucking bad...make you cum on my cock in front of that whole fucking class..."

Your lids fluttered as his thumb grazed your clit, two fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. "You're such a good little malleable slut I bet you'd have fucking let me, wouldn't you, princess?"

You attempted to nod against his hand, pathetic desperation fueling your insane compliance. It was entirely clear to you that in this moment, you were willing to say anything, do anything, just to coax release from him. Your craving was insatiable, a hunger that consumed you entirely. You needed him, every part of him, everything he was willing to offer, and you were more than prepared to fucking beg for it.

"That's what I fucking thought..." he purred, nipping your earlobe. "You're my desperate little whore, desperate to fucking please me, aren't you?"

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as he spoke, the arousal pooling between your thighs growing even more intense with each syllable. Part of you wanted to deny it, to protest and tell him that you weren't his whore, just to see how much further you could push him, but the words caught in your throat and seemingly dissipated into thin air as he pumped his fingers deeper into you, sending another tidal wave of pleasure through your body--and in response, your forced yourself to nod against his palm.

"Yeah, that's right..." his voice was a growl, his movements becoming more relentless. "Such a bratty little mouth, but when it comes down to it, you have nothing to fucking say..." you whimpered, legs trembling, threatening to give out from under you. "Just because this pussy holds power over me, doesn't mean for a damn second you can tease me like that...I will take you anywhere I want...I will fuck you so hard the people in Hogsmeade will hear your screams..."

He lowered his lips back to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there as his fingers continued to work their magic. Gasping, you nodded again, completely melting at his words, the pleasure becoming too intense, too all-consuming as it threatened to overpower you entirely.

Mattheo's palm released your mouth, his fingers diving into your hair, tugging gently as he smothered your lips with his. A gasp escaped you, lost in the fervor of his kiss, your attempts to pull away to catch your breath immediately met with his unyielding force. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on ravenous, as if he could devour you whole. Just when you felt your entire being coiling, ready to unravel in the throes of climax, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You want to cum for me, princess?" He murmured, tightening his grip in your hair. "Third times a charm, isn't it, baby..."

"Yes. Please-" you squealed, voice torn. "Please!"

"Good girl--so fucking good," he growled, his voice deep and rough with desire. "Cum for me, angel."

The nickname sent a thrill of excitement and warmth rushing through you, your body shaking with pleasure as you felt yourself teetering closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust of his fingers, Mattheo pushed you over the edge, sending you into the waves of orgasm for the third time today. You let out a gasp that you couldn't hold back, and he quickly covered your mouth with his own--your body shaking with pleasure as waves of ecstasy coursed through every inch of you.

Finally, after what you were certain had to have been an eternity, the waves ebbed away, leaving you feeling breathless and overly sated. Mattheo withdrew his fingers from your throbbing core, a satisfied smile playing across his lips as he met your eyes.

"There's my obedient girl," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before bringing his fingers up to your lips, forcing them past your teeth. "Taste yourself off of me...tell me how fucking good you taste..."

Under the heat of his praise, you were entirely unable to resist--taking his command without protests, obediently sucking on his fingers, tasting your own slick arousal off his skin. You moaned around them, holding his burning stare, the taste sending a fresh wave of need through you.

"You like that?" He purred, his tone an exasperated drawl. "You like tasting what I fucking do to you?"

You nodded, whining in response as he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing a gag before he huffed, ripping them from your mouth without warning. Before you could even think to say or do anything further, his grip on your hair tightened, pulling you forward. You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your front against the hard surface of the counter, and you shivered as you watched his hand wrap around your throat in the reflection in front of you.

"You see that little slut in the mirror?" he hissed, his breath hot against your ear. "She belongs to me."

You groaned, feeling his hand leave your hair before sliding down your back to cup your ass, flipping up your skirt as he pressed his throbbing erection against you, shoving your hips firm into the counter with enough force to make you yelp.

"I think you forgot who holds the power over your fucking goals...yet again," he groaned, tightening his hold on your throat, jerking his insistent erection against your ass. "You want that mentorship, then you're going to have to start watching that dirty little mouth around me more often princess...understand me?"

"Yes," you gasped, the feeling of his hardness pressing against you making your entire body quiver. You hissed the words out through the hold on your neck. "I fucking understand."

"Mm. Yeah you fucking do." He groaned, teeth nipping at your ear. You moaned softly in response, grinding your hips back against him. "Filthy girl. You're going to watch me fuck you."

It was then that Mattheo released your throat, his hand slithering back to hold a firm grip on your hair. With that, he used it to pull your head up and back against his chest, so that you were looking at yourself in the mirror above the sink. After a brief moment of manoeuvring, Mattheo had undone his belt and freed himself--his thick, smooth length pressing against your ass as he seethed in relief, before he reached down and slid his fingers along your slick folds, making you watch as he teased your dripping entrance.

"I wanted to throat fuck you until you begged me for mercy but I genuinely can't fucking wait anymore...I need to get inside this tight little cunt..." you mewled, watching your own desire on display as he circled around your entrance before thrusting two fingers inside you. "I've made you cum three times, Raven...this fuck is for my pleasure, not yours...understand?"

You moaned, nodding your head, feeling the orgasm rise within you as Mattheo pumped his fingers in and out of you with an experienced hand, his grip on your hair tightening.

Noting his dissatisfaction with your lack of words, you quickly gathered yourself and answered. "Yes, Mattheo...I understand..."

As your muscles clenched around his fingers, Mattheo pulled out abruptly, slapping your ass with a hard, firm smack--leaving your cheek stinging in its wake.

"Good girl," he said, positioning himself at your entrance now, teasing you with a few slow, sensual thrusts along your slick slit. "You're mine to use, to play with, to fuck. Say it."

"I'm-fuck!" Your words were cut short as he pushed inside you, splitting you wide with one long, harsh stroke--slamming deep, smacking your cervix with ease. "Shit-"

"Oh, fuck..." he hissed, his lips pressed against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, Raven...fuck, it's like you were made for my fucking cock..."

"Oh..." your sight blurred as you felt every single delicious inch of him inside you, felt him so fucking deep into your stomach that you were certain he'd split you in half if he kept going. "Mattheo-fuck-oh..."

"Say it or I'll fuck you so hard every breath you take tomorrow will remind you of my cock." You could see the pleasure etched on his face as he felt you clench around him, and you knew that he was enjoying this, enjoying every fucking second of it. "Go on, little whore...you can do it..."

"Ah-shit...I'm-" your words were cut short yet again as his hips started to piston in and out of you, hard and fast. He took you with almost ruthless precision--each thrust felt like it was calculated both for his pleasure and to test your endurance. You dug your nails into the countertop, clinging on for dear life as he moved inside of you without mercy. "Gods! Fuck-I'm yours! I'm-oh!-yours...please-"

At your plea, Mattheo huffed, jerking your head back and holding your eyes to his in the mirror as his free hand slipped up your front, finding your jaw and holding it firm in place. You could feel his hips slamming against your ass, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of losing your sanity, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the empty bathroom.

"You're okay...just breathe, Raven," he cooed, releasing his hold on your jaw and moving to your lips, shoving two thick fingers past your teeth. "You can take me...you can take it all, can't you?"

You whimpered in response, feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as he reached for the back of your throat, forcing a gag, his hand in your hair relenting only for a moment before sneaking down and clasping around your neck--holding you firm to his chest as he fucked deep inside your heat. Every inch of your being was focused on the raw, animalistic sensations that ricocheted through your body under his power--his cock spearing you open, splitting you wide with every single thrust.

"Yeah, you can..." he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "That tight little pussy can take this fucking cock..."

Your body trembled with pleasure as Mattheo's low, gravelly voice rumbled through you, his words only serving to increase the intensity of your sensations, emboldening you to take everything he had to offer and then some. With a growl, Mattheo's hand around your throat slowly loosened, gliding down the front of your body until he'd found your clit and began to rub tight, fevered circles against it. You cried out in pleasure, the sound muffled by his fingers still planted firmly in your mouth.

"That's it," he groaned, his lips pressed hotly against your ear as his hips continued to slam against you. "Watch yourself in the mirror, Raven...watch how this perfect little body breaks for me..."

In a desperate haze of pleasure, you met his gaze in the mirror, watching the way your body writhed under his demanding touch. The fire in your belly smoldered, stoked higher by the relentless pounding of Mattheo's cock. You groaned against his fingers, drool spilling from your lips and dribbling down your chin. You were so close, so unbelievably close to teetering over the edge for the fourth fucking time in one day, you couldn't even begin to comprehend it--your mind felt like it was about to melt into a mere puddle at your feet.

"There we go," he cooed, sensing your incoming climax, his fingers quickening their pace. "Watch yourself cum like a whore on my cock. You love this, don't you? You love being fucked like the dirty little slut you are."

His eyes roamed over you possessively, and you knew that he was taking in every detail, committing this moment to memory. His movements grew rougher, more insistent, as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your muscles tightening, and you let out a strangled moan as you finally broke for him, for the fourth fucking time. Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you came hard, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

"Shit-" Mattheo huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as your pussy milked his cock. "You squeeze me so fucking good when you cum-fuck..."

You knew that he was close now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you with all his strength, rubbing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until he pulled his hand away, both hands shifting to your hips, gripping you with enough force to bruise.

"Fuck-I'm gonna fill you up, baby..." you felt him twitching inside you, you felt his cock practically begging to cum. "Tell me you want my cum, Raven...beg me to cum inside this tight little pussy..."

"Please-" you squeaked, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath sputtering against your neck. "I want your cum, Mattheo! Please!"

"Shit...fuck-" finally, he let out a feral growl, his hands tightening around your hips as he thrust into you one last time before he stalled, his nails digging into your flesh with so much force you nearly winced.

You felt him twitching inside you, felt his cum pouring inside your heat as he came hard, his orgasm almost overwhelming you with its intensity. Gasping for breath, you leaned heavily against the counter, feeling completely spent, and Mattheo's arms slowly left your hips, slithering around your waist, holding you against his chest as he pressed a few small, sporadic kisses to the back of your neck.

After he'd finally come down from his high, and the both of your pulses had somewhat slowed, Mattheo pulled out, quickly moving to tuck himself away while you began piecing yourself back together. After a few silent moments, you felt composed enough to break it.

"Remember when you said you didn't want to take my virginity?..." you said, a sly smile playing on your lips, though you attempted to conceal it. "What a pretty little lie that was."

Mattheo stole a stoic glance at you, his emotions carefully veiled, as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to untangle the sweat-drenched strands from his forehead. With a deliberate yet seemingly effortless motion, he reached for his jacket, the fabric clinging to his form in the heat, his jaw clenched in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to break free.

"That wasn't a lie, Raven." He said, his voice carrying a hint of sincerity beneath the playful banter.

Your eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. "Oh, is that so?"

"I didn't just want it," he confessed, his tone steady yet laced with unspoken emotions, as he meticulously donned his jacket, the fabric rustling softly. Moving closer, he closed the gap between you, his hand tenderly cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. "I fucking needed it."

Your breath hitched, need screaming in your lungs with every inhale. Four orgasms in and somehow he still found a way to make your fucking thighs scream for more. "You're unbelievably insatiable, Mattheo Riddle..."

"Yeah, but so are you, princess..." he purred, leaning down closer, brushing his lips against yours. "I always knew you'd give it to me, it was just a matter of when...I'd have waited forever just to fuck you like this..."

You huffed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Your arrogance is insufferable."

"Am I wrong, though?" He murmured, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he brushed them teasingly against yours. "Godric knows I need to ruin that tight little cunt of yours...but he also knows I'm the only one you'd ever let do any of this to you..."

"Mm, you caught me..." you whispered, your lips meeting his in a fleeting, feather-light kiss. "Will you take that mentorship for me?"

"Perhaps I will," he replied, his fingers leaving your jaw and slipping into your hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "But I suggest you refrain from pissing me off like that ever again...don't think it'd look too good on you if you wrote 'Mr. Riddle got mad and fucked me into the sink like the dumb little whore that I am' on the detailed log, now would it?"

You scoffed, your playful snarl hanging in the air, a testament to your exasperation, yet beneath it, a thread of amusement danced in your eyes, unable to be suppressed.

"You're truly something else," you murmured, your voice a blend of vexation and reluctant admiration. "I will figure you out, Mr. Riddle."

With that, he relinquished his grip on you, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "Not before I figure you out, first."

————————————

Chapter 21->

[mingtinys]

" i would do anything for you "

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : traffic violations ( for a good cause ! )

word count : 0.6 k

a/n : it's bittersweet posting this last part of the series :( i'm so sad for it to end cause i've had so much fun , but i couldn't be happier with how it turned out ! thank you to everyone that showed this series so much love and support <3 next up .... an nct series !!

Maybe you're just being paranoid. Perhaps the scratching at your back door wasn't some crazed killer messing with you before the inevitable. In fact, it's extremely likely you've simply stayed up too late and now your brain is playing tricks. But are you willing to take that chance? Absolutely not.

The fifth scratch comes and you're picking up the phone to dial the first person you can think of.

Chan reaches your home at a speed only possible by violating a few traffic laws. Armed with nothing but a broken broomstick and his dinosaur bedroom slippers. You're not even sure he's entirely awake. But he marches his way through your home and straight to the back door with conviction, advising you to stay back while he handles it.

He lowers his voice a few octaves as he speaks. "Whoever is out there, you better knock it off!" The scratching noise picks up. "I'll come out there!" Chan warns, though sounding a little unsure. Yet the scratching never ceases.

At this point, the genius thought to call the police finally enters your panicked brain. Something that probably should have been your first instinct. But it's too late, you can hear Chan thrusting the door open. "Alright, you asked for it– oh..."

When your savior returns, a fluffy orange creature in hand, you feel your face drain of all color. Your friend's cat. The one you were supposed to be sitting while they were away on a business trip. You'd forgotten you'd even let him outside to explore hours ago.

Chan points to the cat with a mock-serious look, "Is this guy bothering you, babe?"

Though severely embarrassed, you let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry, Peanut," you coo at the cat, carefully taking him from your boyfriend's arms and carrying him over to his food, which you're certain is what he was scratching to get in for.

When you spin back around, Chan's arms are crossed over his chest, an expectant look on his face. "You know, usually the knight in shining armor gets a kiss for his bravery."

The playful tone in his voice alleviates some of the guilt you feel for calling him over at two a.m. to defend you from a killer cat. A gesture for which you're more than happy to reward with a kiss or two. And once he's claimed his prize, Chan happily gathers you in his arms. He rubs circles into your back, soothing any remaining anxiety in your muscles.

"I'm sorry you came all the way here for nothing," you mumble into his shoulder. "I guess I watched one too many crime shows and sort of panicked."

"You don't need to apologize. It's my job to be here whenever you need me." He pulls back and takes your face in his hands, holding your gaze with genuine eyes. "I would do anything for you."

That confession earns him a second kiss, causing him to break out in a dopey grin. "My hero," you tease, although he looks rather proud of himself for it.

"One question though?"

"What's that?"

"If you thought someone was trying to break in, why didn't you just call the police?"

Trust, Chan is over the moon to be the person you call in a time of need. But realistically, what was he supposed to do? Fight to the death with his bare hands and a broomstick to save you? He absolutely would... doesn't mean he'd win.

You pause. "I don't know, I guess I just panicked and thought of you first."

Chan is probably going to be riding that ego boost for the rest of his life.

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @armycarat2612

[markrosewater]

What people are trying to communicate to you is exactly that the way modern sets handle tropes HAS in fact gotten more heavy-handed than in the past. Twins of Maurer Estate references the same trope as Unsettling Twins — but the former does so obliquely, and in a way that's particular to the specific Magic setting; whereas the latter simply states the literal name of the trope outright. And if you look more broadly, you'll see the same trend throughout recent sets.

I'm not even making an assertion that this change is a bad thing. I'm just hoping for you to recognize that the change exists as an objective observable phenomenon.

But, it hasn't got more heavy-handed. We've done blunt naming since the game began in Alpha (Black/White Knight, Lightning Bolt, Castle, Animate Dead, etc.) For example, here are names from expansions set on Innistrad (where the Twins of Maurer Estate example comes from):

Aim for the Head, Army of the Damned, Black Cat, Blood Pact, Boarded Window, Bride’s Gown, Bump in the Night, Burn Down the House, Burning Oil, Butcher’s Cleaver, Brain in a Jar, Ceremonial Knife, Cellar Door, Convicted Killer, Creepy Doll, Evil Twin, Executioner’s Hood, Foul Play, Gone Missing, Graveyard Shovel, Identity Thief, Jack-o’-Lantern, Jar of Eyeballs, Laid to Rest, Lost in the Woods, Magnifying Glass, Night Terrors, Runaway Carriage, Sanctify, Séance, Shard of Broken Glass, Skeleton Key, Stuffed Bear, Unruly Mob, Vampire’s Kiss, Walking Corpse, Wooden Stake and Zombie Apocalypse.

I think the thing going on this year is that we are heaviest with blunt names the first time we visit a world, because we haven't mined a lot of the simple, blunt names yet. 2024 had *three* new worlds each with a new theme with lots of tropes to plumb, plus a revisited world as a backdrop with a brand new theme we hadn't done.

Should we have pulled back a bit on the volume of top-down naming? Should we have done less new worlds in a row? Should we have intertwined unique story elements more? All of that is fair to discuss. I'm not saying we did everything correctly, because obviously some players are unhappy.

My point is this isn't a case of us doing things any differently than we've done before (except maybe in volume, and set proximity) when it comes to bluntness of naming.

[kimvante2013]

『𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬』 변우석

summary: The feelings between you and your best friend are far from over.

Genre: best friends to lovers,little bit of angst,Byeon Woo Seok x fem!reader,drabble

author notes: After months I came back, today I bring you a drabble about the love of my life, also because I saw "Lovely runner" and I liked it a lot so I got a little inspiration from there, well I hope you enjoy this and later I will bring more about Sun Jae and Woo seok since I don't see many people writing about them, take care and good night :)

Word count: 1089k

The soft ping of my phone broke the quiet hum of my apartment. A message from Woo-seok.

“Hey y/n, do you want to come to my house later? I need to write some lines for my new drama, “Lovely Runner”. You know, the usual, being my personal script coach and all that stuff.”

I smiled, imagining Woo-seok's signature goofy smile. It was almost endearing how he never seemed to take his acting career seriously, even though he was on the verge of becoming a major star. He was still the same goofy, clumsy boy he'd known in high school, the one who always made me laugh.

“Sure, I'll be there in an hour. "What time are you free?" I replied and let the tea sit while he prepared it for me.

An hour later, I found myself outside Woo-seok's elegant apartment building, the imposing structure a stark contrast to the cozy, modest apartment we used to share as roommates in college.

He greeted me with a wide, welcoming smile and a playful push, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the hallway. "You're late," he teased, pushing me inside.

"Traffic," I lied, my cheeks heating up under his gaze. Despite knowing him for years, my heart still pounded when he looked at me like that. He always had this way of making me feel seen, like I was the only person in the room.

His apartment was a testament to his success, modern and elegant, with a wide view of the city skyline. But I still felt at home, filled with the familiar warmth of his presence.

"Let's go to my room," he said, leading me to a well-lit space filled with scripts, props, and a comfortable chair.

"Okay, so this scene is where I first meet my love interest, played by the beautiful, talented, and incredibly charming Ryu Sun-jae," Woo-seok began, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.

I couldn't help but laugh. He was very dramatic, even when he talked about his own work. But his enthusiasm was infectious and I found myself immersed in the story. He ran through the lines, his voice shifting seamlessly between playful banter and sincere emotion.

He was good, really good. He poured his heart and soul into every word, into every gesture, making me forget that he was just watching a friend rehearse.

And this is where I'm supposed to make a grand entrance, you know, like a knight in shining armor. "But I think he's too exaggerated," he muttered, pulling a crumpled script from the table.

"No, I think he's perfect," I said, surprised by my own conviction. "He is your character, it is what makes him unique."

Woo-seok looked at me with a flash of surprise in his eyes. 'Actually? So you think?

"Yes," I nodded, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on me. There was an unspoken connection between us, a bond forged over years of shared laughter, dreams, and late-night chats.

'What do you think he should do here?' He asked, pointing to a particularly difficult line.

'Hmm, maybe try it with a little more vulnerability?' I suggested, my voice softening as I realized how closely I was studying his face.

He nodded, frowning in concentration. He walked the line again, this time with a raw emotion that resonated deeply within me.

"Wow," I sighed, genuinely impressed. 'That's perfect. You captured the uncertainty, the fear, the longing for acceptance. It is brilliant.'

Woo-seok's smile was brighter than the city lights outside. 'You're the best, Y/n. You always know how to make me feel better about my work.

We continued rehearsing until the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room. As we worked, it felt like we were falling back into the comfortable rhythm of our old college days, time blurring into a cozy, shared memory.

"I think I'm a little hungry," Woo-seok said, breaking the silence. 'How about we order some food?'

"Sounds good to me," I agreed, feeling a warmth spread through me.

While we waited for our food, we sat on the floor and flipped through old photo albums. Laughter filled the room as we recalled silly moments from our past, each image a window into our shared history.

The delivery boy arrived, bringing with him the aroma of spicy noodles and sizzling dumplings. We ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the food and the company.

Later, while we were cleaning, Woo-seok turned to me and his eyes met mine. 'You know, Y/n, I'm so lucky to have you in my life. You have always been there for me, through thick and thin.

I smiled, my heart swelled with warmth. 'Me too, Woo-seok. You are my best friend and I will always be there for you.

He reached out and took my hand, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "I know," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I'm grateful for that."

For a moment, we stood there, hands clasped and the silence filled with unexpressed emotions. The city outside glowed like a distant dream, but all he could see was Woo-seok, his eyes containing a depth that he knew he couldn't ignore forever.

“I should probably head home,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded and his gaze stopped on my face. "Yeah, I guess you should."

I pulled away, my heart aching with a mix of longing and apprehension.

"I'll see you around, Woo-seok," I said, forcing a smile.

"Yes, definitely," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

When I left his apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed between us. The line between friendship and something more had blurred, and I wasn't sure I was ready to cross it.

I had always valued our friendship and the thought of risking it for something uncertain made me sick to my stomach. But the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way he made me feel so seen had awakened a longing inside me that I couldn't ignore.

The lights of the city blur as I walked, my mind replaying the events of the night. I knew I needed time to process everything, to discover my feelings. But one thing was certain: the bond between Woo-seok and I was deeper than simple friendship, and I knew, with a certainty that made my heart ache, that our story was far from over.

[yazzzmints]

Duty and Sacrifice

[ Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Alys Rivers ]

[ Warnings: angsty af, bipanics, polyamorous, cuss words, death, blood, age gap, Aemond being a simp, future smut, (y/n) being done with everyone.

More will be added as the story progresses.]

Duty and Sacrifice

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

WC: 705

Driftmark 122 AC

Lord Corlys loved his granddaughter deeply, seeing in her the living embodiment of his bloodline and a testament to his influence over the realm. In the rigid hierarchy of Westeros, daughters traditionally held subordinate roles, expected to dutifully obey their fathers and prepare themselves solely for marriage and motherhood. Yet, such conventions held no sway over his (Y/N). She was destined for a  greater purpose, to wield authority, to express her convictions. Though she would inevitably fulfill her duties in the birthing chamber, she would also carry forth his legacy and that of his wife, the Queen who never was.

He looked onto the children hugging with his wife, the contrast between the princess and her younger brothers was starkly apparent. Despite this distinction, Laenor claimed them as his own, a fact that seemed unimportant when the heir boasted Valeryon blood. Lord Corlys found contentment in the unspoken understanding between his son and Princess Rhaenyra. There was no one who dared challenge their legitimacy, lest they risk losing their heads.

The children's trip to driftmark was brief, Laenor had expressed his desire to spend some time away from the court, an excuse to dalliance with his lover from prying eyes. The children spent a fortnight learning of their fathers heritage, hearing stories of the sea and such, today they will go back to King's Landing. Little (y/n) with her dragon eyes hugged her grandparents with her tiny arms, although sad to leave she was happy to return to her mother. And so there stood the Lord and Lady of Driftmark stood on shore, watching their legacy sail back home. 

.

.

.

Princess Rhaenyra awaited her children eagerly. Though they hadn't been gone long, her motherly instincts fueled her concern for their safety. Lucerys was the first to run to her, followed by (Y/N) trailing after her younger brother.

"Mama!" they all shouted in unison.

Rhaenyra gathered her children in her arms. "Oh, my loves, how I have missed you all."

"Even me?" Laenor joked as he joined his wife in hugging their children. The ever-watchful green eyes of the court were everywhere; they could not afford to give anyone a reason to doubt.

"The King has arranged a private dinner to welcome his grandchildren back," Rhaenyra said, smiling at Laenor. "I hope the break was sufficient."

A knight behind them coughed at the princess' words.

"Oh, it was," Laenor replied, a knowing smile in his eyes.

.

.

.

Back at the castle, Princess (Y/N) eagerly searched for her only friend, trailed by servants carrying an assortment of gifts. She finally found him in the library, engrossed in a book and unbothered by the world. She decided to disrupt his peace.

"Aemond," she smiled, "I got you gifts." She sat next to him, her excitement palpable.

"Look," she gestured, and the servants displayed the gifts brought back from Driftmark. "I got you plenty of books and this pretty seashell."

Prince Aemond smiled at his niece, sweet and innocent as she was, so different from her brothers. They chatted about her travels to Driftmark and his activities in her absence until it was time for dinner. The dining table was lavishly set, overflowing with food and wine, which Prince Aegon was quick to reach for. On the right side of the table sat Princess Rhaenyra's family, and on the left, Queen Alicent’s. The King presided at the head of the table. They began with a prayer to the Seven, led by the Queen. 

“Children, how was the trip?” The King asked after the prayer. Jacerys and Lucerys looked at their sister.

“It was wonderful grandfather, it was nice to see the place where my father grew up.” she smiled.

As she recounted their activities, the princess couldn't help but notice the Queen's subtle attempts to mask her distaste when Driftmark was mentioned. Princess (Y/N) felt a shift, sensing the delicate balance of power and loyalty that defined their lives. She held her grandfather's gaze, drawing strength from his presence. The tension simmering beneath the surface, the family continued their meal, each lost in their own thoughts. However, (y/n) stared at the queen, making her feel uneasy. After all, Queen Alicent was no fan of her dragon eyes.

taglist

@snh96 @dahlias-and-marigolds @galactict3a @mandiiblanche @heavenly1927 @watercolorskyy @toodlesxcuddles @ellieabby @oxymakestheworldgoround @laura-naruto-fan1998

[A/N: sorry for posting this late af. Spring semester kicked my ass but I am back. Chapters will start flowing.]

[pillotalkin]

I got carried away while doodling and made an entire Sonic My Little Pony AU...! (My Little Hedgehogs? MLP: Chaos is Magic?)

Story under the cut!

Sonic Speeds (Sonic) is a royal knight in training under Prince Brilliant Mind (Eggman), who serves as the captain of the guard because his underdeveloped horn made his magic too weak to handle the celestial duties of the royal family. Sonic Speeds's cocky attitude and foolhardiness has held him back from achieving his dream of being an elite guard despite his physical prowess, so he's desperate to prove himself to his mentor, by any means necessary. Eternal Night (Shadow) is the runaway half-umbrum prince of Equestria. He's on a quest for revenge after the death of his elder sister, Princess Fragile Dawn (Maria Robotnik), at the hands of his umbrum father, King Comet (Black Doom). His true name is Midnight Star, but he adopted a new moniker on his travels, as a way of hiding his identity and also to represent what he intends to bring upon the umbrum for taking his best friend from him. Brilliant Mind, who blames Midnight Star for Fragile Dawn's death and resents him for his great magical talent, sends Sonic Speeds on a near-hopeless quest to bring back his lost brother so justice can be served (and his own revenge for being outshone can be had). Through some miracle, Sonic Speeds actually manages to find him, and as he travels alongside the somber prince, attempting to convince him to give up his quest for revenge and go home (since attempting to force him to go would be... unadvisable), their relationship grows. He begins to doubt his mentor's convictions, but his sense of duty compels him still, and the day comes when he manages to persuade Midnight Star to return to the palace with him, unaware of what lies in wait...

I've got some more thoughts on Midnight Star's origins and the underlying history surrounding this series of events, but I'll save that for another post hehe. Stay tuned!

[jxsterr]

back at it again but this time i’m worked up thinking about zelink and sleeping as a way to deal with all of the trauma of immediate post calamity.

because, realistically, they are both going to be beyond exhausted. that fight took everything they had within them and more—link had been preparing for it for months on end without so much as a proper night’s rest, and zelda had been slaving away for the better part of a century using every ounce of energy within her to keep this beast at bay. so it’s pretty reasonable that the first thing the pair of them are going to yearn for is a bed and some damn good sleep now that blood moons won’t be knocking on the window every few days.

but just hear me out. for the first couple of days going on weeks link’s only priority is making sure zelda is okay. he cooks for her, makes sure she’s drunk enough water, and keeps the bedsheets clean and comfortable for her to collapse into them whenever she wants. she’s essentially bedbound for the first week, only ever able to really sit up to eat for a bit before the waves of exhaustion call for her to come crashing back down against her pillow—whether or not she wants to. she’s in no fit state to do anything, bless her, and he recognises that. he’s exhausted beyond reason himself but someone has to be the one sat beside her bed, ready to soothe the night terrors that inevitably creep their way into her unsuspecting mind. he doesn’t really care either. the woman who has haunted everything he’s come across in this world, whose presence has touched almost every memory he can conjure up, whose spirit he just can’t seem to shake because he knows there’s something there, a reason as to why he can’t help but heed her call no matter what he does, has just returned to him. the only surviving remnant of his past, the only face he so desperately wanted to see smile again for reasons he couldn’t dig up—of course nursing her back to health is his first priority.

but she worries about him too, about her knight turned friend who just won’t stop doing things for her despite the fact that she can see the very consequences of his fatigue etched deep into his skin. she wants so desperately for him to stop for a moment and sit with her and let her do something in amongst it all. he’s so much lighter than he used to be before he died but by hylia herself has he not shed the skin of a warrior. he laughs more, talks with a little less restraint, and pulls out all sorts of ridiculous things he’s accrued across his travels for her to marvel at while sat up in bed—all for shadows to have set so deeply under his eyes and his face to have lost a little bit of that roundness she’d grown so fond of. she can see how much he needs to sleep too, to rejuvenate again even though he would simply argue that all he’s done is sleep. she sees it when she peers over the loft banister and finds him, face against arms, asleep at the kitchen table, or when she wakes up and realises he’s fallen asleep sat on the floor with his head against the mattress again and all she can do is feel guilt that she has his bed and not him.

so one day she has enough. she waits until she’s settled into bed with him on a stool at her side, book in hand, otherwise he’ll fall asleep himself, and she plucks it unceremoniously from his hands and discards it on the bedside table. she waits until he looks at her thoroughly bewildered for her to finally muster up the courage to say, “i need you to sleep, link. i see how exhausted you are, i see how much you push yourself. i feel awful for being the only one in this bed, so please, do me a favour, and sleep beside me,” and stares at him with enough conviction to move mountains that her own eventually concedes and climbs in next to her.

it’s nothing more than two bodies sleeping next to one another for the first few days, but it’s enough that it makes a visible impact on the pair of them. zelda sleeps better, more soundly, with a considerable dip in the number of night terrors, while link himself finally just sleeps for the first time in what feels like years. it does them wonders. so much so, in fact, they sleep away the first two days entirely. link wakes up, groggy, and turns over with the intention of getting out of bed because goddess knows what time it is and she probably needs something to eat—but a sleep-ridden hand moves quick enough to land on his shoulder with something mumbled about ‘don’t leave’ and it’s so sincere and desperate that he gives in and turns back over, only for said hand to only still once it nestles itself against the palm of his hand. he’s too drowsy to even think much of it so he just curls his hand around hers in return until that signature hum of hers rings out to signify that her wants have been quelled.

it continues like that, small increases in physical affection, until it’s the norm to absolutely entangle themselves in one another. until zelda is able to do more around the house but potters down the loft stairs in search of him to tug gently at his arm and tell him that she’s tired—a silent ask to come to bed with her even if it’s the middle of the day—and he obliges every time. it’s nice, being this useless to the world, enough where they can gather as much of themselves as they need to by merely sleeping the days away. until their mornings are signified by the raise of the moon and the slow bleed of pinks and oranges into the sky signalling their retreat to bed.

every nap goes the same, too. zelda scoots herself into the inner side of the bed and lays with arms outstretched, waiting for her knight to come clambering in between them so she may wrap them tightly around his warm body and pull him close until his face is nestled deeply into her chest, protecting him the way she’s always wanted to. she may not be able to wield a sword, but she can protect his open heart for as long as her hand weaves through his locks until she feels his body go slack against her. she likes her corner, he likes the safety of her arms, it works perfectly.

impa doesn’t appreciate just how long it’s taken them to realise they’ve been sleeping away the days for over a month now, and thus are visiting late, but it’s hard to object when her princess is sparkling and link looks more like himself than he ever has.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 290

Brief summary: Sword tries to brainwash Clopeh but fails. Clopeh talks about the sword's power. The pope arrives at Exion's lair.

===========

The battle between the crazy bastard and the crazy sword was hilarious. 🤣🤣🤣

Sword: Offer yourself to the greatest being, the dragon. Give your life unconditionally to your master, the dragon- Clopeh: Should I break it? Sword: !!! *greatly shakes* Clopeh: The solution is simple. *gently strokes the sword with affection* Clopeh: I will cover your body with dragon blood. I will give you the life and blood of the dragon. Okay? Cale: *trembles* Clopeh: A sword is a sword. It shouldn't have a mouth. It only moves according to its wielder's will. Fufu~ Sword: ...Crazy bastard! *resists greatly and tries to brainwash Clopeh again* Clopeh: I'll bathe you with dragon blood. Sword: ...Y-You bastard! Clopeh: *slashes his palm to soak the sword with his blood* Cale: Uh... you only need a drop or two of blood... Clopeh: Fufu~ *spreads his blood on the sword surface* Raon: Human! Clopeh doesn't seem to feel the pain in his palm! Clopeh: I don't want to give to anyone what Cale-nim gave me, so I must mark it as mine. Fufu~ Sword: *groans in pain* Clopeh: I like it better now. Sword: ... *no longer talks*

Poor sword lost to Clopeh's madness. 😂 And Cale... 😂😂😂 Cale couldn't hear the sword's voice, so imagine what he felt when he saw Clopeh muttering stuff about covering the sword with dragon blood and then laughing gently. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

The sword also had a special power called equivalent exchange. The more lives it took from powerful enemies, the more its wielder's power was amplified for a certain amount of time. And in times of crisis, more power would be given to its wielder if it was soaked in the blood of elves.

Woah, that's one crazy sword. It really took advantage of the elves's fascination and near-worship of dragons. Unfortunately, it met Clopeh, and the voice of the sword disappeared.

The sword turned white, but did not shine light. Cale remarked that it was like Clopeh, someone who was "white" but a shadow, devoid of light. He also thought that the sword made its wielder more of a berserker than a knight after hearing Clopeh's explanation of its power.

Cale: Will you be okay? Clopeh: Please do not worry. I am not foolish enough to be swept by the madness of blood and death, and lust for greater power. And a knight lives for his convictions, not for power. Cale: ... Raon: Human, isn't Clopeh already mad? Why is he refusing to be consumed by madness when he already is mad? I think that sword has been tainted by Clopeh's madness! Cale: *ignores Raon's words* Choi Han: Was my judgement wrong... Cale: *also ignores CH's words of regret*

HAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣🤣 CH was regretting his decision... 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Cale: I really like the fact that you're going to be a shadow, that you'll fight the way you fight. Don't forget that. (In short, don't come out in the open and show off.) Clopeh: I haven't forgotten. (How dare I stand in the way of the legend?) Clopeh: *smiles brightly* (I like it. I might fight a god in the future. And I'll become stronger if I fight a stronger enemy. I'll be a shadow and aim for their gap. I will protect Cale-nim.) Clopeh: *smiles more brightly* (I like it very much. But I don't think this is all the power this sword has.) Clopeh: *fervently stares down at the sword as he continues to smile brightly* Cale, CH, and Raon: *takes another step back away from Clopeh*

The three stepped back again. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 So Clopeh's bright smile = Clopeh's crazy smile. 😂😂😂

Moving on, It seemed like not all the elves were on the side of the dragons. The elven elder guarding the World Tree and the 3rd Heretic Inquisitor were saddened that Future Dragon Maxi failed because they got a signal that someone became the owner of the sword. I look forward to them becoming Cale's allies.

Cale and Clopeh came with Pope Kesilia as her attendants, but their group already had an advance party in Exion's lair. It was poor Eruhaben who was stuck with two troublemakers, Rasheel and Hannah. 😂

Ending Remarks Cale's group finally arrived at Exion's lair. I'm excited for the chaos Cale will create again. And perhaps a glimpse or demonstration of the power of Clopeh's new sword.

[claymoresword]

Playing With Fire

Cersei Lannister x Baratheon Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Cersei Lannister is married off to Robert Baratheon but her sworn protector/the King's younger sister, happens to be the person that truly holds her heart.

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: g!p reader, breeding kink (?), cersei and y/n are so morally bankrupt, cheating, size kink, unprotected sex, power play

Note: i have been in a real writing slump lately but for some reason i have no problems writing smutty one shots lol i wonder why that is...

anyway enjoy!

"You sent for me, Your Grace?" You step inside Cersei's chambers to see her seated by her settee, a goblet of wine in hand.

"Yes, y/n I wish to speak with you. Close the door." The Queen says without looking at you and quickly do as you're told.

You folded your arms over your chest, patiently waiting for the Queen to speak.

"Was she worth it?" Cersei finally blurts out, reaching for the flagon on the small table.

Your brows furrow in genuine confusion, unable to meet her halfway.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace?" You pause for her to elaborate, stepping closer.

"The whore you bedded." The woman hisses, and you are left even more perplexed.

Your expression betrays how you are feeling but the Queen remains silent, providing you with no further explanation to her apparent outrage.

"Cersei I have no idea what you are insinuating, but I can assure you, I have not laid with anyone." You state, slightly agitated.

"Do not lie to me. Tyrion told me everything." Cersei retaliates as she slams the goblet onto the table before rising from her seat.

You scowl instinctively before the realization hits you. Your expression merely contorts into an amused one.

You try but fail to suppress the laugh that falls out of your lips, Cersei's admittance only sounding funnier to you the longer you pondered upon it.

The Queen grimaces at your reaction. She extends her arm to strike you, but you stop her with a firm hand on her wrist.

A flicker of regret flashes across her face as she feels your harsh grip on her arm; although she restores her composure as you release it.

"This is amusing to you?" She taunts.

Not in the slightest.

"Yes, Tyrion and I went to a tavern together. Yes, I may have drunk more than I could stomach. But, I did not touch anyone." You explain and your conviction seems to translate as Cersei's heavy stare visibly softens.

"Really?" The Queen's voice shakes.

There she is, the woman you fell in love with.

"You know that I would never." You say, reaching up to place both hands on either side of the Queen's face. 

You let out the breath you were holding as you felt her relax underneath your touch.

"Cersei– it's me and you. Until the end of my days." You whisper, resting your forehead against hers.

"Prove it." The Queen orders, her eyes flitting down to your mouth.

You finally lean in, capturing her lips with your own. Cersei kisses you back fervently, hungrily, almost like she aims to devour you whole.

You are both forced to pull away as you run out of air, you feel Cersei's breath against your skin as she continues to hold you close.

"Is that proof enough for you?" You ask, a smirk playing on your lips, one Cersei reciprocates.

"Not quite." The Queen responds, surprising you by shoving you backwards with some force. You land on her bed as a result.

Cersei lifts her skirts slightly so she may climb onto the bed, she places a hand on your shoulder to support herself as she straddles you.

She kisses you again, this time it is all aggression, teeth and tongue. It snatches the air right out your lungs.

The Queen begins grinding her hips mid kiss and you feel your member stirring at the sensation. Your cock continues to harden everytime Cersei's clothed center rubbed up against it, making it difficult for you to think clearly.

The Queen pulls away and you find yourself chasing her lips before she tugs on your hair, forcing your head back so you may look at her.

"How can I express my apology?" Cersei says and you are too far in a daze to properly comprehend her words.

"What?" You ask, incredulous.

"I acted rashly, I almost condemned you for something you didn't do." Cersei explains and for the second time that evening, you are amused.

"and what– you feel guilty?" Your tone, almost mocking and the Queen rolls her eyes.

She sighs.

"Forget I said anything." Cersei attempts to climb off you but you keep your hands firmly on her hips. 

"I have a few ideas.." You finally respond, pulling her back onto your lap.

When she rests her weight on you again your cock is fully erect, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

You soon feel her hands reaching down to undo the laces of your breeches.

"Do you want my mouth?" The Queen asks with a darkened gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her languidly gather her saliva in her palm before slipping her hand into your slacks. The Queen wraps her fingers around your girth, steadily pumping your length.

"Hm?" Cersei waits for a response but you don't give her anything beyond a groan in pleasure.

"Or is it my cunt that you want? It's warm and wet, all ready for you." She whispers, her lips brushing against your ear as she speaks.

Again you don't respond, merely focusing your energy on not releasing your load into Cersei's hand just yet. 

You reach around, fumbling with the laces of the Queen's dress and Cersei quickly takes the hint. She removes her hand before climbing off you to remove her own dress and you decide to do the same with your breeches along with your doublet, tossing them on the ground somewhere.

Cersei swiftly re joins you in bed and you immediately flip your positions, guiding her head to the pillow so you may situate yourself on top of her.

The Queen merely spreads her legs wider as you neared, your face now hovering over hers.

She leans up to capture her lips with your own, Cersei's moans into the kiss and another rush of arousal settles in your groin.

Your cock was now rock hard, nearly painful. You decide to move quickly.

You disconnect your lips before tilting your head, trailing wet kisses from the Queen's jaw down her neck. You begin sucking on the exposed skin but Cersei tugs at your hair warningly.

"Don't leave a mark." She warns, understanding your intentions.

So instead you move further down, her collarbones, her chest; you begin kneading one of her breasts with one hand while your mouth did all the work on the other.

An unrestrained moan leaves Cersei as you shamelessly took her nipple into your mouth, biting and sucking like your life depended on it. 

The Queen arches her back and you harshly pin her down with your other hand, earning a dissatisfied groan from your lover that makes you grin.

Cersei runs her fingers through your hair again just to grab a fistful of it, forcefully guiding your head back up. You wince at the pain but the Queen connects your lips eagerly, her tongue enters your mouth and soon you don't feel anything else.

Her hand slides down your stomach, when she gets to your shaft, she grips it at the base and you choke out a moan, shocked at just how sensitive you were, making you end the kiss prematurely.

Cersei pulls you closer by the neck forcing you to kiss her again, and you comply, although her hand stroking your cock made it near impossible for you to focus.

The Queen wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you even closer and you understood what she was asking of you, but the next words that fall from her lips nearly makes you lose all composure.

"I need you to fuck me." Cersei breathes out against your lips, her tone dripping with need.

You decide to not deny her any longer; lining up the tip of your cock to the Queen's entrance. With one large thrust your length is fully sheathed inside of her, Cersei's arousal allowing you to do so with little resistance.

The noise she lets out is one of pain but mostly overwhelming pleasure; she will never get used to how big you feel inside of her.

You move your hips again, skillful and deliberate, your aim was to make her feel good; based on the nearly deafening sounds of pleasure emitting from the Queen, it would suggest that you are succeeding.

Cersei's nails are clawing at your back as you plunge your cock deep inside, hitting all the right spots within her. The sounds of her broken gasps and moans every time you move only heightens your own pleasure. 

You feel her hands against your chest mid thrust pushing you back, you nearly mistake it as an ask to climb off her but she pulls you in for a deep kiss as she lifts herself up with her forearm and you quickly understand what she wanted.

You soon sit up without pulling out, guiding Cersei with a hand on the small of her back. Soon she is on your lap again, the new angle makes her gasp, your cock hitting her even deeper this way.

She begins to move her hips with abandon, and you can only watch in awe as you allow her to ride your cock, taking her pleasure for herself.

The Queen throws her head back as her fingers threaded through your hair once again. A way to tether herself as she explores the depths of pleasure your cock is currently allowing her.

"Do you love me?" You ask in the midst of it, biting back a grunt and Cersei finally looks at you.

Open-mouthed, face contorted as she chases her release, she has never looked so beautiful.

"I do." Your lover responds, she doesn't halt her movements only moving quicker, Cersei mantains her eye contact with you as she deliberately clenches around your length, watching your reaction.

"Do you love me?" Cersei retaliates, she is barely able to get the words out, her peak closely approaching.

"My love for you is the only true thing I feel." You reply earnestly, reaching up to wrap your fingers around her throat, and this works to tip her over the edge.

The Queen comes undone around your girth, she screams out as the orgasm rips through her, clawing at your neck and shoulder. The feeling of her walls squeezing your cock painfully makes you reach your own peak immediately after, releasing your load deep inside of her.

Cersei is still trembling as she rests her head against your shoulder, trying to regain her strength.

You trail gentle kisses on her shoulder, now slick with sweat, allowing her the time to come down from her high as you recover from your own.

–

Cersei laid with her back towards you, your arm wrapped around her torso. You were content as she ran her hand up and down your forearm absentmindedly, both of you merely basking in the afterglow.

It was several minutes until the Queen decides to break the silence.

"You can't blame me for worrying about all the women who fawn over you.. you are too good with your cock." Cersei states and you can't help but let out a huff in amusement.

"You could have any woman you desire." The Queen adds, and you recognised the tone, although uncharacteristic. 

It was forlorn and defeated.

"That may be but I desire you." You counter, moving Cersei's hair away from her neck, you plant a kiss against it before moving your arm further up, cupping one of her breasts.

You feel the sensitive bud harden underneath your touch as the Queen lets out a sigh of approval.

"Besides I took an oath of chastity, as far as anyone else is concerned, I must remain abstinent until the day I die." You admit, your breath against her neck.

Cersei hums in response, pushing her rear closer to your front, soon your erection is poking at the flesh of her ass.

"How lucky am I that you are a woman without honour." The Queen quips, extending her arm backwards to place a hand on the back of your neck.

Your teeth grazes her neck before biting down, earning a mewl from the other woman.

"Stop talking." You warn, tightening your grip on her waist before harshly pulling her even closer.

Your shaft, now rubbing against her already weeping cunt.

"Do you surrender yourself to me, completely?" You growl but Cersei doesn't respond, you watch her bite her lip as she lifts her leg slightly, an invitation for you to enter her.

But you were not satisfied.

"Answer me." You order through gritted teeth, the tip of your cock pokes at her entrance and she gasps.

Her grip on the back of your neck now firm.

"Yes.." Cersei finally gives you a response, breathy and submissive.

A triumphant smirk tugs on your lips before you move your hips forward, plunging yourself deep inside the Queen's wanting cunt.

The loud moan of evident pleasure from Cersei urges you on.

You begin thrusting at a relentless pace, your mouth finds her neck once again and you feel the other woman clench desperately around your length as your teeth made contact with her skin.

There is nothing tender about the way you are handling her, and you were both drunk on it.

"My brother was allowed to marry the most beautiful woman in all of the seven kingdoms and I am dealt scraps–" You punctuate your words with each thrust.

Cersei can only afford to gasp and moan in response, the occasional whine from the Queen makes you move even harder, your balls slapping against her ass with every thrust.

"Anything he doesn't want gets passed down to me. Where is his honour?" You groan, your grip on Cersei's hip sure to leave bruises come the morrow.

"You are mine." Your mouth directly above the Queen's ear as you shifted the angle of your cock, hitting a different part of her, the pleasure Cersei feels is almost too much, her eyes roll to the back of her head.

"I am yours." She manages to choke out.

"Please– I am so close–" The Queen adds immediately after, not a beat passes until you feel her cunt convulsing against your cock.

She reaches her peak, intense and forceful and yours washes over you the same. Your vision blurs for a moment as you empty yourself inside of her, Cersei's walls remain clenched around your length as she milks you of every last drop.

Both of your chests are heaving as you carefully pull out of her. 

Cersei turns around, guiding your face down to kiss her, and you do, it is adoring and light, a stark contrast to how you were with her just moments ago.

"I am with child." The Queen mutters as your lips part and you are taken aback.

"I don't think it happens that quickly, my love." You jest and Cersei leans back to stare at you, deadpan.

She quickly guides your hand, placing it atop her belly.

"The Maester confirmed it yesterday– we are having another child." The Queen reiterates and you can help the real smile that tugs on your lips, your chest brimming with pride and love for the other woman.

You lean down to plant several kisses all over her belly, Cersei smiles down at you fondly as her fingers got lost in your hair.

You finally lift your head to look at her, your face hovering over hers once again.

"I love you so much." You admit, and Cersei's smile grows as she moves a strand of hair out of your face.

"I know." 

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: prince alhaitham x knight male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: settling into your new duty

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.34k ~ PT.1 ~ PT.3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sword training, incredibly minor injury, classism, mention of civil war

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Sumeru is a kingdom of knowledge, the wisest, most strategic of all. Yet they had not foreseen the kidnapping of the Crown Prince, much less by a dragon.

Azar, the king of the nation, is a man that takes pride in his intelligence. He knows of risks and consequences as much as he does of rewards and outcomes—he uses this as his stake in the world of Teyvat. His immense knowledge and the expanse of his land strike fear in the other kingdoms, despite his nation's sworn neutrality. These aspects of his make him the most admired man in Sumeru.

At least, that is what the common folk think.

At first, the King did not seem to have noticed his adoptive son was taken; or at the very least, he didn't care.

The Crown Prince was a clever man himself. Ever since he was young, he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. As he grew into his adulthood, his collection did not satisfy him still, even if he has shown that he is already smart enough to take his father's place.

Perhaps Azar saw him as a threat to his throne. The dragon was actually doing him a favor. Why did he need to undo a deed so convenient?

But his Queen begged him, and eventually he gave in. He could not have her daily weeping stain their reputation.

He sent you. Your men lacked experience, and you, among the rest of the war generals, were the only knight of low blood.

It was clear that he intended to rid himself of you. When the news that you had failed would eventually reach the castle, he would cradle his wife in his arms and tell her he had tried.

But then you were back, the beloved Crown Prince in your arms, and he was displeased.

The Queen wept, finally, out of joy.

It was she who bestowed upon you the great honor of being Alhaitham's Knight, his alone, and you should be grateful for it.

In her eyes, you should be grateful. In your comrades' eyes, you should not. You were to be ripped away from your beloved peers, all to protect the Prince you had already saved once.

You know you should agree with your comrades, and yet there is something inside of you that thinks otherwise...

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There was an oath.

You had promised many things, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet. He stood in front of you, in his golden gown, with the most blessed waters from the churning river of the Asavan Realm in his hand. He poured this water onto your head as you spoke the words.

The water that streaked down your bloodied helmet and armor pooled red around his feet, as if the very words you spoke dripped down your body.

"I am your shield," You had said almost mechanically, "the blows upon your body will not be yours, but mine. I am your sword," You stared at his bare feet—even as he stood in the bloodied water he did not flinch, as though he too took the oath from you himself. "where you point, I will strike."

"I will serve and protect you as your Knight," You had said, then, with great conviction, a surge of emotion in your body you couldn't quite point an origin to, and said, "I am yours."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

What did Alhaitham need from a knight?

He was very thankful for what you had done for him–it was the first time in his life that he had thanked a knight, much less a low blood–but it did not mean he required his protection.

He did not need his shield, who would dare to strike him? He did not need his sword, who would he seek to harm?

He did not need you at all.

He didn't need you stalking behind him, every step he took mirrored by your feet, he would much rather you stayed behind. You were not allowed even to do that, it seemed. The oath was meticulous, your sense of obligation towards it even more so.

Yet, as he turned around to shout a command to keep you away, he could not.

How could he, the Crown Prince, not tell a simple command? He had done it all his life, to servants, to knights, to nobles.

And there you stood behind him, your steps stopping suddenly, your face turning startled as you had almost ran into him.

You were just serving your oath. You were just protecting him.

He turned back around and continued on without a word.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The first night you turned him in for bed, bowed your head as you closed the doors, you didn't know what to feel.

But then, you had your first meal. It was big and hearty, nothing you'd ever eaten before. It felt like a King's feast: an entire roasted pig on a platter of lettuce, a basket of all assortments of bread, a big bowl of steaming rice, another platter of smoked brisket ready for the taking. All of this encompassed in one plate. You could enjoy this.

Then, when the servants redirected you to your new chambers, you got a room. Your own room, for the first time, in the royal chambers wing.

The moment you collapsed on the bed you let out a big sigh—heaven must feel like this.

For the first week, you are satisfied. You finally get to rest.

Then the second week comes, and you miss your brotherhood. The Prince is not a good companion. He does not speak to you nor address you, but you know he does care for your presence when you find him staring at you during conversations he does not quite care for.

His gaze is judging, then. At least you think so.

His eyes drag boredly over the expanse of your armor, like a foe on the other side of the battlefield looking for a chink in your armor, something to take advantage of.

Most of the time he finds nothing. Most of the time, he brings his eyes back to the person opposite him within the minute.

And that is that.

No non-noble knight nor servant was allowed to voice their opinion to royal blood; if they came to be in that position of lowly work, how could their opinion matter?

They were only allowed during open discussion, and even then, most brushed off their ridiculous notions.

Generals could, but you were no longer a general.

So you are silent, and so too is he. Most days he would be fine with this silence. Today he is not.

"You are just going to watch me read?" He had asked, a book poised over his lap. It was fiction. Scholars would be baffled by the choice, what need would the Prince fulfill with fiction? But he knew you were not going to say anything.

"Yes." It is simple. You are supposed to be simple.

"You may go."

"What?" Emotion, no longer simple. He had caught you off-guard, and now you were questioning his command.

He was merciful anyway, "Leave."

So you often spent afternoons in the middle of the week, when he was without duty and reading for leisure, with your comrades. Training, for there was nothing to do with the Prince that would keep your muscles built as they were supposed to be, and also, due to your time together, you had begun to crave the grueling hours of hard work. These hours were your respite.

Sometimes he came to watch. You found him in the corner of your eye. He though he was being sneaky.

He does not stare at you the same way he does when conversation no longer draws his attention. He stares at you with, what is it, entertainment?

You don't speak of it to him.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

One afternoon, he does not let you go.

He has to begun to be more tender with you. He's increased a lot of things as of late: his eyes flitting over to meet yours, his visits to your training sessions, greeting goodmorning and bidding goodnight. They are subtle, but welcome.

Today, he has given you the honor of sitting beside him. He is not holding a book. You think that perhaps today the focus of his leisure will be you. You are right.

"What's your name?" It hadn't occurred to you that he didn't know it.

"(y/n)." You had said then, and it was simple.

In Sumeru, a servant does not speak the words "I have something to say.", what would a master care for what a servant had to say? They say, instead, "I have something to report.", then it is something important.

"You might have not seen me, but I watch you train." You've noticed, and you find yourself working harder when he is there. "You seem happy then, should you not be strained?"

You have to tread on your words lightly. "Being with you, your highness...my duty has just been to follow you around, for now. It is not enough exercise."

The Prince's nose scrunches up and for a moment you think you've offended him. "You wish to exercise?"

"It is...a change of pace."

"Right..." He hums, his gaze fluttering away. "Well, I'll see if I can arrange something."

He does not. Perhaps his mother said no. She and his father were the only ones he could not object to; his father by hierarchy, and his mother by respect.

The next afternoon, again, you sit at his side. Today, he is admiring your sword.

"This is the one that cut down the dragon?" He asks, running his fingers over the blade.

"Yes, your highness." You nod. In a rise of panic, you forget that he is supposed to know certain precautions himself. "Be careful, your–!"

If he hadn't pricked his finger as he did, you would've been punished.

The blade falls harmlessly over his lap. He stared at his finger like he had never felt pain before, his eyebrows furrowed. You take his hand over your palm and examine the wound. It is akin to pricking one's finger on a needle, if not deeper. It is nothing serious.

He knows this, knows that the pain is lesser than that of an injury caused by even a paper, and yet he lets you examine it.

Touching a royal blood without explicit consent is punishable. He does not mention it.

"I should've been more careful," He speaks the words he sees so clearly at the forefront of your mind, "it's fine. I'm fine."

"Of course." You take away your hand, and for a moment he finds himself missing the cold steel of your armor.

He clears his throat and offers the blade back, "What do you think of your sword?"

It's a peculiar question. Swords were just tools to kill with, nothing more. Especially not for a low blood. This blade was standard, your fellows had the same blade. But it was different, you suppose.

The leather of the handle is frayed, the pommel flattened, and the edges of the sword sharper. It looks used, it looks yours.

"It has grown old." You sheath it away. "Its whistle is not as sharp, it does not cut the air as it had once did. But it has served me well."

To think an object ages...yes, he has seen it. He sees that some books' pages are light, and others are dark as if coffee-stained. But a sword? "And your armor?" He asks curiously, "Has it grown old as well?"

"Well," You flex the plates over your fingers, "there is dust and dirt in the cracks, and it feels tighter than it had once been, but that is just me growing."

So the armor wasn't old, but you were? You were hardly a couple years older than he, and yet...yes, he sees it. He sees the way you are aged by battle. What battle? The failed civil war inspired by "king" Deshret, perhaps. But you must have been fourteen when you fought it.

"Did you fight in the civil war?"

"Yes." A nod.

"Do you wear this same armor?"

"No." You let your hand fall over the center of your chest. "But I wear the same chainmail." You remember how it had felt when you were young, slipping past your wrists. You had bound the excess higher with leather. It made your gloves fit tighter.

"How many years did you fight?"

"Two. I was thirteen my first battle."

So he was wrong. He rarely ever was wrong. It didn't taste bitter on his tongue like most wrongs he'd spoken. It tasted like revelation.

"Thirteen?" He asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, your highness." You say it like it is nothing.

"Open discussion." He declares. You did not need to reply anymore, you could speak unprompted.

"Some of my comrades were twelve." You let your hand slide down your leg, the glove feels heavy over your knee. "Most of them died their first battle, others their second. I was among the youngest to survive that first year."

He asked many questions after that, and you answered truthfully. He asked about the battlefield, the civil war, your encampment, and many more things you had to dig your mind for. Despite it being open discussion, he did not leave you time to talk more after the question was answered.

Perhaps you had grown tired of it, because you asked, "Why are you so interested, your highness?"

He paused. You had taken him off guard, "Well..."

He was curious. Why was he so curious? You were a low blood knight, akin to a servant. The peculiarities you held were merely your battle prowess and the fact you defeated a dragon, and he already knew these things. What more would he need to know?

He was curious for the first time about a knight, for you weren't a remarkable nor infuriating scholar or servant, but a simple knight.

"I am simply curious." He replied, then, because he did not have an answer.

You couldn't ask him for a better one.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Today there is no time for leisure, only appearances. You trailed behind him in the city whilst he showed his face. It was meant to demonstrate that the royals were not so out of touch; the Prince had always thought it foolish.

Especially hauling a knight around behind him and not even talking to him.

You've long since gotten used to it, so the conversation of the last two days and his apparent need for another today was quite the challenge.

Don't speak out of line, don't speak unprompted, don't offend, don't speak too much.

"What do you think of this?" He asked, holding up one of the traveling merchant's wares, a model of a Liyuan dancer carved from wood.

An opinion. He was asking you for an opinion. No one but your fellows did so. You clear your throat to dismiss your surprise, "It is good, you can see the subject clearly. However, the carving is not smooth."

He nods his head and sets the sculpture down. "Then, which would you pick?"

Just a small look at each of the sculptures and you shook your head, "I would not."

"Why is that?" He furrows his brows, he hadn't expected that.

"None of the carving is smooth. There are edges you could cut yourself with." The Prince rolls his eyes, he thinks you're only fearing for his safety, but you continue, "It does not make for an appealing sculpture. It looks like it was carved with a butcher's knife."

The Prince laughs then. You'd heard it before, but this time it sounds different. It sounds pleasant, and dare you say more genuine.

"Right," He smiles at you. It's rare and all the more beautiful. "a Sumeru carpenter is better, then?"

"I believe so, your highness."

He nodded at this and moved on. He seemed appreciative of your opinion. A first for you, coming from a noble blood. It felt, for a lack of better word, refreshing.

He asks you again for your opinion at different merchant stalls. He asks you about the quality of this embroidered fabric, your opinion on pig's blood–you've never had it before, to his dismay–and even simpler, about the color green.

All these opinion had affected his choices.

When you came upon another carpenter, this one unequivocally Sumeru, he had not asked you about a single sculpture specifically, as he had done with other merchants' wares. Instead, he waved his hand in front of the display and asked, "Which one do you like?"

It wasn't "which one do you find most appealing", then it would've been an opinion for him to take into account. He asked it like it was definitive.

"That one." You pointed at the sculpture of a tree, a mere weeping willow. It reminds you of the myth of Irminsul, but that is not why you chose it. The leaves remind you of the color of his iris; the orange shading of the bark, the ring around his pupil; and the gray-lilac of its flowers, the silver of his hair.

He does not question you, only shoots a smile at the vendor, completes the transaction and moves on.

It was strange, the way your opinions mattered to him, for all the reasons given before. It might've made your peers feel powerful, even, that they had so much sway over a royal blood's decisions, much less the Crown Prince. But to you, it only felt...like you were seen, in a way. That you mattered.

You did matter, in situations such as battle and the war table; but you never mattered in the smaller things, like what color pleased you.

He seemed to think otherwise.

When you returned, that same day, to the castle, it was already evening. Dinner, however, is not served yet, so again you are left to your leisure.

The Prince considers the objects he has bought. His father does not like him to keep them—they are made less than skillfully in his eyes, by low-blood hands and low-blood artisans. He buys them only for show, because, again, that is what his father wishes. The King does not make appearances himself.

The Prince never really thought it a waste. It was just the way things were, much the same as the world created rain only to dump it over barren soils.

However, as he held these objects in his hands, he thought it was a waste; not of material, but of your opinion. The sculpture, most of all, as you had picked it out of desire.

He gives the servant that greets you at the door most of the things he's bought, then turns to you with the sculpture.

His hand extends it to you. For a moment, you are too dumbfounded to realize he is offering it to you. "My Prince, I–"

"Take it." He only says, his arm still extended; neither does he mention the way you call him yours.

For the first time since you were declared a war general, there is sheepishness in your gestures as you take the sculpture. "..thank you."

It is not in his blood, even less in his title, to say the following words, "You're welcome."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He stood a little closer today whilst you trained, even more when you beckoned him closer. It drove your fellow knights away, fearful of the Prince's gaze, but you didn't mind it. Perhaps you should've. It was because of him that you missed a chance to reconnect with them since last week, after all; but he was merely curious.

His curiosity about you was also curious. You couldn't quite put your finger on why he was so interested.

Except you could. You had saved him from a dragon. That is enough.

Although you knew the King and the Queen both were each inquisitive in their nature, they were hardly ever curious about their servants and their knights. With how alike the Crown Prince was to them, you would've imagined him to be the same way. He had been the same way in the beginning. Something sparked a change.

You don't find yourself worrying about it, not now.

Instead, you worry about your stance. You worry about the way your sword strikes the dummy and you worry about the way your feet strike the muddy ground.

Most of all, you worry about not making yourself a fool—or...

Is it that that you worry about, or is it about making an impression? Impressing him?

In your distraction, you make a mistake. You swing down your sword, and it does not quite sever the dummy's stuffed, fabric arm. You click your tongue and dislodge the blade, about to strike the dummy again when he speaks.

"You said your sword was old?" He phrases it as a question, but he continues as if it wasn't. "Why not replace it?"

"It works the same." You reply, in the next moment, severing the fabric arm entirely.

His voice cuts through the sound of your efforts, "The frayed handle is not hard to hold?"

"Perhaps." A frustrated grunt.

"And the pommel doesn't affect the weight of the swing?"

"It does." Another.

"And yet you keep it." This statement has you stopping.

It has you turning around to face him, balancing the sword in your hands so as to show him each aspect, regardless of the fact he has examined it before. "The other men believe it is luck to keep the same items. I do not know if it is true; my men wore old armor and wielded old swords when they were melted down by dragon's breath. What I do know that my blade holds is sentiment. It holds memories. I did not wield this blade during the civil war–those are bad memories–but I have wielded it during moments of hardship, and most of all during moments of victory. Killing the dragon, for one."

It was not open discussion. He hadn't declared it, and neither had he asked you a question. You weren't supposed to give an answer.

He seems shocked, not at the unprompted rant, but at your words. "...yes."

It had not occurred to him that the age of things was good, nor that it might hold sentimental value. The tunics he wears this month are not the same as the last. The tunic he will wear for this year's Enlightenment Festival will not be the same tunic as the one of the year before. His plate is not the same each dinner, and his utensils neither.

Nothing in his life has been the same, permanent. Everything changes. He had never thought it a bad thing, not until now.

Your breathing steadies, the frustration fades. You speak your apologies, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet, the pose of a beggar, the pose of an oath-taker. "I'm sorry, your highness. I did not mean to speak out of line, I only–"

"Haitham." He replied.

His name? You knew his name. You keep your gaze on his feet, "Prince Alhaitham, I greatly apologize–"

"Haitham." He repeats. Not Prince Haitham, not Alhaitham. Just Haitham, no respect to the name, no "Al", no title. Just Haitham.

You don't know what to say.

"Lift your gaze, (y/n)." He speaks your name...tenderly. Full of apprehension, you obey, looking into his green irises and red-rimmed pupils. When you meet his eyes, you see that he looks down at you not with anger, but with sympathy. "Speak my name. No apology."

"Haitham." You say. It feels strange on your tongue: titleless, respectless.

He smiles. It is a tiny thing, but it is directed to you. "I forgive you." He offers yet another mercy, "You don't have to impress me, even though I know you will continue to, subconsciously."

He was right, but it eased your nerves a bit.

You turn around and continue to train. Your sword whistles in the air, now, with ease; creating a song he quite enjoyed. The uninterrupted harmony created by metal as it thrummed with each coordinated swing of the sword felt akin to the pieces he played during his harpsichord lessons, though the playing of the instrument seemed much more mundane in comparison to this.

It was much more than music too, it was a dance. The step of your foot with each lunge and each strike–recovering from the strength required for each swing and simultaneously gathering more strength–seemed to take as much grace and effort as a ballerina.

There was beauty in this, beauty in the skill to slaughter, ignoring the reason for which to know it.

"My Knight," He speaks not your name, but to be his is still a special condition that sparks emotion, "what do you say I follow you around tomorrow?"

The excitement created by the way he addressed you turned into confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Alhaitham shakes his head with a smile, "Open discussion."

"Why do you need to see what I do on the daily, your highness?" After all, your routine was hardly important. No one would ever ask such a question of a knight nor a servant.

"I am merely curious."

He was always curious as of late, mainly about you. It was starting to seem normal now. "My routine...my duty is to be your protector, your highness." You press your lips into a pitiful line, "I do not have anything outside of that."

He frowned. It was true, and he hadn't considered it. It was a strange thing, to not know what came next, unlike how he always did. Actually, it felt a bit exciting. "Then how about what you did before?"

He likely knew what you had done before, if he ever paid attention to the knights' routine. Yours was never separate, you've been doing the same thing for over a decade. But...you had actually started to miss it. It was evident in the thrill you received from taking up your training once more, even if sparsely.

When he speaks up again you think he only seeks to break the silence, but his voice was soft, empathetic? "I'm interested."

It sounded narcissistic at face value, but he was easing your concern from the mundanity of the routine. "Sure."

You hadn't imagined the Prince ever taking an interest in you, much less another noble. This will be interesting.

[talaofthevalley]

Wonder what woulda happened if Ai hadn't interrupted here.

Cause like, Yusaku and Spectre are like mirrors of each other, this episode establishes that pretty clearly. And even though Playmaker starts out thinking every victim thought the incident was alike to hell, you do see signs that he's trying to understand Spectre's perspective. He asks Spectre questions, and interestingly Spectre answers, honestly at that.

Playmaker asks, and listens, and it seems like he's on the verge of something when Ai interrupts the conversation.

I don't exactly think Ai was wrong to pull this, they had no time and Ai is correct that it's pointless to talk to Spectre right now, since nothing except for Revolver's word would have made him let Playmaker pass. But the more interesting part for me comes from what he says after;

Beyond showcasing Ai's ability to manipulate, if Ai meant this seriously and thought it would play a big part in putting Yusaku into complete duel mode, then Ai doesn't understand Yusaku very well.

He says Yusaku and Spectre are nothing alike, which a normal watcher who's paid attention can pretty easily dispute. Playmaker doesn't acknowledge this claim, only realises they're on a time limit and they need to move. It's the reminder that the Tower of Hanoi is activating that gets him moving. Being told they're nothing alike isn't reassuring for Yusaku, because he's already realised him and Spectre are alike.

It's those similarities that make Yusaku understand Spectre a little, relate to him in a way he couldn't with any other Knight of Hanoi. But even when Yusaku relates or understands his opponent, it doesn't stop him from fighting. Yusaku's thrown from meeting someone with such a opposite perspective on the incident that ruined his life, but still possess such large similarities to him.

While Yusaku cannot comprehend enjoying the incident like Spectre did, I think he understands and relates to some of what Spectre describes here.

What little we know of Yusaku's life post-Lost Incident is that he recieved treatment for what he went through, tried to forget the incident and live a normal life. When we're shown flashbacks of young Yusaku after the incident, he's notably distant from everyone, if not physically then in his expression.

A big empty room filled with toys. No reaction to a kind-looking woman gently holding his hand. Introduced to what seems to be a new class of kids he doesn't know. Sat at the back, apart from the rest. Even if Yusaku was treated nicer than Spectre was, it was obviously not enough and came with its own hardships. And if he couldn't even talk about his experiences like Spectre, it would make adjusting even harder and the distance between him and others larger.

I'm especially honing in on the comment Spectre makes about Yusaku's life before the incident.

"If the incident hurt you, you must've led a happy a happy life before."

Spectre doesn't know that, he's drawing a conclusion based on observation and the information he has. But it's a conclusion Yusaku can't affirm or deny, because he doesn't have any memories of his life before the incident. The idea that the reason it affected him so much being because he was happy beforehand might not have even crossed his mind.

And then we have this fun little tidbit;

A place to belong. Something we in retrospect knows Yusaku feels he doesn't have, but wants. He can understand that desire very well. And if Spectre feels he has found that place with Revolver, then who is Yusaku to tell him he's wrong?

This framing tells a thousand words I think, cause we have Playmaker and Spectre in the same shot, but the focus is on Playmaker's face. It's hard to read his expression, but to me it comes off as thoughtful, still serious but he's considering Spectre's words and conviction here like he would any other opponent. It's like watching Yusaku building an understanding towards Spectre in real time.

Yusaku can understand that kind of loyalty. That unwavering dedication to someone who saved your soul when you needed it the most.

There are so many moments in S1 where Yusaku pulls on the memory of that person to gather strenght, to accomplish his goal of not only defeating Hanoi and learn the truth, but to meet that person again and save them if they are still in danger. Yusaku has survived this far on the memory of that kind voice that reached out to him at his lowest. He's dedicated in a way that, if he ever came to learn of the details, I think Spectre would similarly relate to.

dunno man it's fun to think about. I still have the rest of the duel to rewatch so who knows maybe my brain will be tickled even further or I've said something super contradicting that will be shown in just the following episode. The amount this show can give me to gnaw on in a single episode is kind of amasing.

[brittle-doughie]

Can we get a evil Y/N cookie attempting to corrupt White Lily? I have a starter story if that's alright.

The silver domain was filled with merriment and the sugary smell of sweets. In honor of White Lily Cookie taking up the role that Elder Fairy cookie had left behind, The fairy cookies insisted on celebrating. White Lily Cookie was against the idea first Y/N cookie promise to be by her side during the event...And yet, they seem to be absent. Not wanting to disturb the fairies party, White Lily Cookie excused herself to try and locate her closest confidant, clenching her staff tightly as her anxieties let her small quest.

Finding herself wandering the silver the Faerie Library, White Lily Cookie sees a familiar silhouette sitting in a nearby chair and begins to beam almost immediately. She calls out your name while running over to you, but her steps quickly slow as she feels something twisted in the air.

You speaking before White Lily Cookie has the opportunity to ask what's wrong, sympathetic eyes focusing on you as you speak.

Y/N Cookie: “Do you believe freedom is a good thing, White Lily Cookie?” You say in a ominous tone, one that White Lily Cookie rarely ever hears from you, continuing to stare out of a nearby window.

White Lily Cookie: “Huh? of course, Y/N Cookie! Freedom is what allows cookies to be who they are! It allows them to love and create, as well as discover brand new things.” White Lily Cookie's answer was somewhat hesitant, but still filled with as much conviction as it had been the first day she had received her soul jam.

Y/N Cookie “is that truly what you believe? The ultimate conclusion you've come to despite everything you've done?” A slither of malice lingered on those words

White Lily was taking aback at this strange hostility, But before she could begin to question it you continue.

Y/N Cookie: “The haunted blueberry academy, The deal with the legendary red dragon and...Dark enchantress herself. The more and more stories I hear, the more I question if freedom is really a virtue...and not a curse”

White lily Cookie: “Y/N Cookie...I had no idea you felt such a way. You had always been so supportive...I never thought you had such thoughts" her words had begin to shake, So she took in a breath before continuing. "I've done...Many unforgivable things, But the light of freedom allows me to try and repent for my mista-”

Y/N Cookie: “Enough already! All you ancients "heroes" ever do is rely on your virtues, But where is that led you!? All you've done with your "freedom" is destroying!.....How can I trust you, let alone be at your side when everything around you crumbles away?”

Each word was like a sharp knight penetrating White Lily Cookie's heart. She had these thoughts hundreds of times, But have a cookie so close to you say it with such...Hatred. whatever words white Lily may have wanted to use to defend herself, dissolved away in a soggy clump of despair...Could this be his doing?

You finally get up from your seat, the sudden action causing White lily to flinch. You begin to approach the anxious ancient, causing her to step back a few steps as you close the gap and only leave a few feet between the two of you. The damage that your words had done were visible on her face, trying her best not to cry at such heinous words from the cookie she had gotten so close to...You find it strange that you can feel sympathy for a cookie with such godly might, This is the only way to make it to your solution.

Y/N Cookie: “The light of freedom has proven itself to be far too dangerous...I might have a solution” her face of mystery turns to Confucian and you take this as your cue to continue. “Freedom allows cookies like dark enchantress and the beasts to do horrific deeds, for cake monsters to consume other cookies...And for evil to run wild.....But what if...We use the power of your soul jam to establish order?”

White Lily's eyes widen with terror...How could the cookie closest to White Lily suggest such a horrid thing? Taking freedom away from anyone, regardless of how evil they were was...monstrous. This simply had to be the work of Shadow Milk Cookie! M-Maybe she didn't seal the tree as well as she thought she did.

But White Lily will come to a very conflicting realization that, no, Shadow Milk Cookie had no involvement with her cherished friend and their way of thinking, you had simply seen way too many bad things happening to cookies around you in this bid to obtain the power of Soul Jam.

Hollyberry and Dark Cacao Cookie were right, y’know? Wars have started because of Soul Jam and far too many tragedies have occurred to get these “little stones”.

You know White Lily Cookie, you know that she ultimately wants the cookies of the land to be safe and without worry. So can she not see that this plan to bring order with the power of her Soul Jam could ultimately be beneficial in the long term.

White Lily Cookie is free to not consider you her friend anymore or even tell the others about what you’ve said. You stand firm in your beliefs, and nothing was going to change that.

Much to White Lily Cookie’s sorrow. She would hate to have to leave behind a friend she’s known for a long time…

She wishes there was another way. Another way that didn’t involve controlling others, yet also a way to still have you as her friend…

She doesn’t know what to do…

[pubbybutch]

Towers Built, and Towers Falling Down - 2

MEDIEVAL AU KNIGHT! ABBY X CHUBBY! PRINCESS! READER

CW: Bath Sex, AFAB Reader, Princess-Y Nicknames, Sweet and Caring Abby, No Explicit Aftercare, Sneaking Around.

Word Count : 2K

(This is a part two to this fic here)

MINORS MEN AND GENERAL CUNTS DNI

Steam fills the air in the stone walled chamber as jug after jug of hot water is poured into the large wooden basin, the servants file in and out of the door as the broad shoulders of Abby keep the door propped open while you sit watching idly from the small cushioned stool in the corner of the washroom. The various tapestries adorning the walls give an air of comfort, a needed distraction as you wait for the preparations to finish, the cold air from the open window causing your skin to goosebump whilst sitting in nothing but a light linen shift. One of the chambermaids proceeds to pour a sweet smelling oil into the warm water, as she dips a hand into the bath you break your silence, “What is that? The oil, I mean.”

She turns to you, curtseying. “Rose, my lady. As far as I am aware.” Lifting the jug, she bows again and leaves. The quiet that now falls across the chamber is comfortable as Abby steps inside, the door closing behind her as she does so. Turning from you to face the door you watch the muscles in her back and across her shoulders ripple as she slides the heavy iron latch down, locking the door and protecting you from any intrusion. Stepping behind the willow branch screen, you strip off the final layer of your shift and lay it across the stool you’d previously been sitting on. As you step out from behind the screen you watch Abby as she catches sight of your nude state and rolls up the sleeves on the tight grey peasant shirt she has on, “Well princess, the water isn’t going to get any warmer.” She speaks with a deep smirk and playfulness in her eyes as she holds out a hand for you to climb into the washbasin.

“Abby. Won’t you get in with me?”

She folds her arms and shakes her head, “I can’t.”

You wrap your arms around her waist, pressing naked curves against her clothed torso. “Please Abby?” Your eyes meet hers, wide and filled with a faux innocence that never failed to cause a pink tint to flood the knight’s neck and cheeks. “Princess. You and I both know that we shouldn’t.

“Just because we shouldn’t doesn’t mean we can’t.”

She huffs a sigh, but steps back from your embrace immediately missing the warmth of your thick arms and proceeds to tug the soft cloth of her shirt over her head leaving her in her thin chest bindings and linen trousers. 

“Get in and I’ll finish getting undressed, princess.”

You nod in the negative, blatantly refusing to follow her instructions. With a lifted eyebrow and a smirk, Abby corners you against the basin and her body. “Wanna try that again?” You repeat your previous action, shaking your head but this time with far less vigor and conviction.

 “One more time. Get in.”

A final refusal and suddenly you’re flying. Strong arms have wrapped around your thighs, large warm hands gripping under the curve of your ass and you’re thrown over her shoulder. Leaving you fully exposed. The water splashes around you with some spilling out of the tub as Abby unceremoniously plops you into the warm bath water.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” You gasp, feigning anger as you move so that a soft hand covers your heart. Abby takes your other hand into hers as she kneels down on the stone floor, she places a small peck to your knuckle before looking you dead in the eyes. “If my lady can find it in her heart to forgive me, I would be most obliged. Or pardon me, actually.”

“Actually,” you pause to bat your eyelashes at her, “my knight. I don’t think I can forgive you.”

“Oh, and may I ask why, my lady?” The smirk in Abby’s voice causes heat to crawl up your neck as she teases you in a similar way to how you’d teased her. It was revenge. And Abby was extremely good at revenge.

“Well- I- it’s because…”

“Because?” She prompts through her smirk.

“You haven’t earned my forgiveness! And certainly not a pardon.”

At this exclamation, Abby rises from her kneeling as she gets up with a stretch, with a few long strides she positions herself behind you. You try to turn to face her in this new arrangement, but are met with the sound of water spilling out over the rim of your wooden prison and onto the stone below. With a warm hand on your shoulder, Abby guides you back to face the wall as you had been previously.

Now with only your hearing to give you any indication of the blonde’s position behind you, you close your eyes in an attempt to focus in on the microscopic sounds she was making. ‘Rustling… maybe her trousers? No, she still had her belt on…’

As Abby gets undressed as quietly as possible knowing the in’s and out’s of your mind, how it works and how you’re most likely trying to figure out every move she’s making. Sliding the linen down her thighs and to the ground, she doesn’t let it fall but instead sets it gently onto the floor, the soft brown leather of her belt going with it, the small knife that was normally sheathed in it having been set to the side before you’d even gotten into the bath. Her chest bindings follow and she rubs the little red creases the material has left on her skin. As she finishes undressing, she bends to peek over your shoulder to see your eyes still tightly closed, the creases that line your face as it scrunches in concentration. The sight causes a light puff of air to escape her lungs, a quiet laugh.

The proximity of the noise causes you to jump, how she had managed to get as close as she had is beyond you and you tilt your head, eyes now open wide, and are met with the visage of an extremely naked mountain of a woman. “I- uh…” You trail off as you take in every inch of her skin, the freckles you wished that you could see every hour of the day, each little curve of her muscle causing heat to flood your whole body.

“Come on, princess. You have to shift up.”

You scooch forward and pull your legs in together as Abby steps over the rim and into the bath, as she sits down her body displaces a large amount of water. Thick muscled calves slide past the plush of your hips and thighs, long legs rub against your comparatively shorter ones as her hands move against the rolls of your sides and down to rest on the curve of your stomach. You lean into the warmth of her broad chest and she leans into your back, lips meet the nape of your neck and shoulders as she peppers chaste sweet kisses across the skin. 

Taking in deep breaths, the warm, damp air fills your lungs as Abby continues her show of affection. Her hands that had remained stationary on your stomach begin to trail lower down the little shelf above your folds, she narrowly avoids touching your core as her nails dig little dents and raise the skin of your upper thighs. This elicits a high pitched whine to slip from your lips and the sound is met with a slight pinch to the flesh of your inner thigh, “Now princess, is that an appropriate sound-”

“No! But…”

“But what, your highness?” Her breath is hot on the shell of your ear. When you don’t say anything, she continues to prompt you, “Tell me what you want.” 

As you wriggle further against the blonde sat behind you, her hands slide into place. One with the fingers spread wide to encompass the underside of your breast, rough skin squeezing the soft flesh. Occasionally a finger rubs up against your nipple, the water from her digits wetting the pebbled buds. Soft whimpers fall from your mouth as Abby’s mouth runs kisses and nibbles as she spreads your lips under the water.

Fingers running through the course tight curls of hair, one hand reaches round keeping you spread open as a single thick finger tip runs circles around your clit. Teasing. Circles, round and round but never applying full pressure or coming into full contact with the little nub. She occasionally slips a straight line across your clit, a chuckle falls from her mouth as you push against her hand - desperation becoming even more evident.

“Abby please-!” You whine.

“Words, princess.”

“Fuck me. Please. Fuck m-,” you’re cut off by your own body betraying you, a moan rattles out of your body as slides two thick fingers inside and gives into you, applying straight pressure to your desperate clit with the flat of her thumb.

In and out, she plunges her fingers deep inside of you, stretching. Your breathing is heavy. She continues at a steady pace, constant and smooth fluid movements help to build a tight pressure in your lower stomach. As she continues, the pressure builds and builds and builds. You writhe in her grasp, strong biceps wrap lovingly around you squishing the soft flesh slightly as she attempts to hold you in place as she continues to fuck your weeping cunt.

“You feel so warm around me, Princess.” The blonde whispers into one of your ears, before moving her mouth to leave a warning nip at the lobe of the ear at the other side, “keep your voice down, if you want to finish at any point soon.”

As you feel yourself getting closer and closer, your thighs close on impulse but Abby’s thick wrist doesn’t stop and her fingers don't rest. Not even for one second. You whip around, moaning as water seeps and splashes onto the floor with your movements.

A knock on the door causes you to freeze but Abby keeps going, seemingly not caring.

A muffled voice asks through the door, “Are you alright?” And as you struggle to catch your breath, you squeak out a quick but satisfactory ‘Yes! I’m fine.’

Abigail is relentless and her fingers keep edging you closer and closer. As you two hear the attendant leaves, you cum. One of her hands covers your mouth and you bite into the flesh while she barely winces, too busy keeping you quiet and whispering sweet comforts into your ear.

She bends you forward by your waist and slides out from behind you, you watch her firm muscled ass grab walk away and grab a bathrobe from a stool in the corner, her feet leaving a trail of wet foot prints to where she now stands with her arms outstretched holding the robe out for you to slide on. She watches with dark, needy eyes as you emerge from the water, she watches as droplets fall down your body and gathers in the folds of skin, gods does she want to fuck you again… but she settles for running her hands along the soft plush of your sides.

“I am slightly disappointed I didn’t get to return the favour, Abigail.” 

“Oh really? How’s about you meet me in the stable tomorrow morning?” She quips as she gets redressed, you’re left to marvel at how only the very ends of her hair got wet, and you’re left nodding before fully processing what she’s said. 

She presses a chaste kiss to your lips and leaves but not before peeking her head back in, “see you then, princess.”

If you liked this please reblog, thicc reblogs save writer lives.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 7: Trust

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.8k (everything in italics is a flashback)

[<<<< chapter 6]

You still feel the faintest tremble in your fingers, your cheeks ruddy from the cold night air that breezes over your skin and through your hair. The world seems so bright, even in the darkness- like you could see every wonderful, beautiful thing in a way you simply couldn’t before. Like you were lighter than the winds, and higher than the sky. You feel like you could be flying.

And if you had known just how good being dead feels, you certainly wouldn’t have waited so long-

+++

“What?!”

Simon places a finger over his lips, silently shushing you; and you know better, immediately regretting the outburst, no matter the shock that lingers in your system, discretion was still paramount—

Your clandestine meetings had been growing more frequent; waiting for the moment he would be relieved for the night and your handmaids had flitted away to their own rooms, their own lives- so that you could slip behind the heavy wool tapestry that now hangs over the entrance to the tunnels.

You always meet in the same spot, making your way to the small adjoined alcove where you would find him waiting- either toying with his daggers or simply staring ahead, lost in thoughts you so desperately wished to hear until he heard your muffled footsteps, the sound of fabric rustling, that alerted him to your presence.

He would usually still be in his armor, his helmet sat carefully to the side- but this night, well, you couldn’t help but to admire the way he looks for a bit longer than you’re proud of.

Instead of black steel, he was covered in warm linens and rich leathers, still dark in nature, with a riding cloak over his shoulders and most of his face concealed under a heavy cowl. But when he saw you, you could see how his whole demeanor shifted. You watched his shoulders relax and the tension bleed away from his expression- watched his eyes flicker and glow in the candle light as he reached out for you, pulling you into his arms just as he did nearly every night now-

But, you weren’t in his arms anymore, no, you were pacing fervently- one hand propped on your hip and the other tangled in your hair,

“Simon, are you sure? I mean- this- this is ludicrous-”, your voice is quiet again, but each word feels labored and breathless, your lungs unable to fill themselves properly, “What you’re suggesting-”

Tentatively, he steps forward, capturing your arm easily, your name spoken so softly, in a way that conveys patience and gentility while still demanding your attention, “Breathe, My Queen.. C’mere-”

He wraps you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face in his tunic, and gods- the way his scent fills your senses, his overwhelming heat, the mass of his arms caging you in, protecting you from yourself. And when he speaks again, you lean in even more just to feel the baritone reverberate through is chest and right into yours,

“There is no other way.” Simon starts, “None that would assure that they’ll never come searchin’ for you.”

The moment he feels your breathing settle to an acceptable rate, he steps back, but only far enough to frame your face in his hands- those damned eyes prying you open; not in a destructive way, no, but in a way that reassures you, that tells you he can see your trepidation, your apprehension. A look that tells you he only wishes to open you up so that he might take them all away, let your burdens rest on his shoulders-

“Do you trust me?”

Your answer comes without pause, because it’s not one you have to give a second thought to as you turn to kiss the inside of his palm, your lips brushing against the rough skin, “Of course.”

And there must be something about the conviction in your voice, or the sincerity beaming in your eyes, because Simon sweeps you into a burning kiss so suddenly, your mind has to catch up to your body as you pull yourself closer to him- enjoying how exposed the feel of his torso is to you in these thinner layers. You swear you can feel the delicious bulk of his muscle flexing against you, your hands venturing over the breadth of his chest, reveling in how it heaves with each breath.

“I want you..” You whine into his mouth, your back now pressed into the frigid stone wall, one of his hands still tenderly cupping your jaw as the other holds your waist.

Most every meeting you have with him of late devolves into this; into feverish kisses and eager touches, you know he craves you just as much you hunger for him- more than that, you yearned for him. But, no matter what you do, or how far it goes, his self-control and willpower seem to far surpass your own, and it always ends with him holding you still- pressing sweet kisses against your forehead and your hair, his voice so kind and soft that it could bring tears to your eyes,

“I know, sweet girl..” He whispers, still kissing you, though you feel his hands tensing- ready to put a halt to it if he feels even the slightest slip in his control, “You already have me- m’yours. Only yours. But not like this-”

This time when you whimper out his name, fighting vainly to push his hand lower, your aching core so desperate for his touch, he groans; it’s a low, gravelly noise, his lips pulling up into something resembling a snarl just before you watch his head roll back.

He pulls in a deep, drawn out breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling just the same- once, and twice. And you realize now, just how close he had let himself get to breaking his own self-enforced oath if he was having to fight it this hard.

Taking one more deep breath, he finally meets your eyes again, moving slowly and cautiously to tuck a stray bit of hair behind your ear. You let him fawn over you for a moment, your head tilted back to rest against the wall and your own gaze nearly as dark as his,

“No. You deserve more than this, love..”, he traces your bottom lip, eyes focused on the plump, pink skin there before flitting up, “When I have you, I don’t want it to be in some dark, musty tunnel.”, he pauses again, tilting his head to the side, “And I won’t have our first time be tainted by the memory of another man’s bed-”

Your breath shudders when Simon leans in again, nuzzling gently against your cheek- the tip of his nose grazing over the flush peak before he plants a kiss in the same spot, speaking again as he repeats the motion,

“No, little queen.. I want to take my time with you. I want to taste every part of you, starting here-”, a sharp gasp fills the void around you at the sensation of his tongue just above your pulse point, still hot and wet when he kisses it with a smirk on his lips, “and here..”

He gently pushes your hair out of the way, exposing your shoulder so that he could mirror the action there as well, drawing yet another breathy little whine from you,

“Stop it, you insufferable brute..” You speak the words through clenched teeth, and yet, your hands pushing down on his shoulders give an entirely different story- but he does stop, standing again to tower over you, completely unfazed by the daggers in your eyes.

And the cocky grin on his lips turns into something much warmer, his eyes not so ravenous anymore, “Believe me,” he savors your name, letting it sit in the air between you before continuing, “when I say I intend to replace every memory of him, or anyone else, I mean it. I want to show you what it’s supposed to feel like, in every way.”

+++

You pull back on the reins to come to a stop at Simon’s side. The horses’ breaths are hard and fast, much like your own, a cloudy mist of hot air dissipating as fast as it comes with each heavy snort. The castle is far below you now, just a speck in the distance, the valley it’s settled in perfectly illuminated under the dazzling full moon,

“Still think we have ‘til mornin’?” Johnny’s voice breaks the silence, his red stallion giving a tired chuff as it hooves at the cold dirt below.

Simon turns back to answer with a shrug- though his eyes land on you first, searching for your nod of approval before glancing to where the Scot waits, “Should. But, we won’t stop yet, the horses can go for a bit longer-”

You dig your heel in just enough to prompt your mare forward. The dark beast is familiar to you- chosen because she’s one of the fastest the king owns, owned, and it shows as you quickly catch up to Simon, taking your place just on his right flank, with Johnny bringing up the rear.

The plan was to ride as far as the horses could go, hopefully putting you outside of the borders of the kingdom before the alarm is raised, before whatever poor soul unwittingly discovers your treacherous crimes-

No.. don’t think like that. It had to be done.

Against the wind, you focus on Simon’s hulking form before turning your head long enough to catch Johnny’s eye. And you hate how sad he still looks, hate the grim set of his lips, and the consistent knit in his brow- there’s been no bright smiles this time, no boisterous banter, or snarky quips. He was still angry with you, and yet, he couldn’t stop watching you like you might vanish if he blinked too long.

But, you don’t blame him. How could you-

+++

Tap-tap … Tap-tap-tap

The world comes into focus again at the sound of your guard’s beckoning- you’re back in the Grand Hall, sitting on the throne, the weight of your crown perched on your head pulls uncomfortably at your scalp as the man in front of you rambles on and on. Something about the year’s bountiful harvest, and you can’t be sure what else, but gods, his voice feels like it grating against your eardrums.

You just can’t be bothered to focus on such trivial things, not when your mind wanders to the promise Simon had made to you- to take you away, to save you. Though, you suppose he’s already saved you in so many ways, more than you could ever make up to him, but you swear to yourself that’ll spend the rest of your life trying-

Hiding the exasperation in your tone, you raise your hand, “Very well, Lord Barclay. Thank you, for your time, and your very thorough survey.”

Simon’s arm is placed under your hand before you’ve even attempted to stand, it’s not an unusual or uncomely gesture, he had done it many times before, but holding onto to him like this now feels too intimate. Because you know how warm his skin is beneath yours, how firm the muscle is under the cold steel and unforgiving leather of his gauntlet-

“Thank you, Ser.” You say evenly, only sparing the most fleeting glance upward to find his eyes already on you.

It sends a shock through your system, and yet, there’s an odd sense of pride that trickles through you as well. Knowing your deception, knowing you can hold him as such, and he can look at you like that, with those around you none the wiser of your indecencies, your unbecoming thoughts-

And it’s only a matter of seconds, from the moment your fingers are settled over his forearm to the time you’re standing, but it’s enough to reignite the ever present burn you feel for him,

“‘Course, My Queen.” Simon bows his head as customary, but just like the first time you met, he doesn’t avert his eyes, and his coy expression does nothing but stoke the flame within you. But, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that he quite enjoys playing with fire.

—--

By the time you get back to your rooms, the sun had nearly set, the once brightly lit hallways now glowed warmly with candlelight and the remnants of dusk as you stop outside your door.

Simon opens it for you, ushering you inside before relieving the other guard. He would be there all night tonight, which meant you wouldn’t see him until morning- and while the thought of him still being close, guarding your rooms, is comforting as it always has been; you already find yourself missing his touch, his warmth, and it had only been a week’s time since you got your first taste-

Gods, you’re hopeless. And never have you felt more like a spoiled brat than you do in this moment, giving Simon one last pitiful look before the heavy door clicks shut.

The candles in your entryway were already lit, but you find it odd when you round the corner to see your bedchamber still dark, save for the milky light filtering through the windows. Which is the only reason you see the odd shadow hunched over on your dressing bench, and a strangled sort of gasp lodges itself in your throat when it moves- slowly, at first, lifting its head to face the dim light.

“Johnny?”

You turn to grab the nearest candle stick, not registering how the hot wax splashes onto your hand as you set it down again. But, now that you have it, you’re not sure the light helps or only makes it worse, because now you can see just how disheveled he is- his hair is a mess, from the wind or from him running his hand through it, you don’t know. And his eyes.. he’s looking back at you with a wild gleam, his lips parting as if he might say something before they clamp shut again. The ties on his tunic are loose, the fabric hanging open, exposing the tan skin underneath and small chain hanging around his neck-

“Johnny- I.. What are you doing here?” You step closer, seeing the familiar paper in his hand, his fingers creating wrinkles and indentations from how hard he grips it, like he’s afraid to let go of it, but it almost seems to pain him at the same time.

And you know exactly what it is. It’s your letter, the one you wrote to confess your intentions, your plan to die. A morbid living will-

“Oh, Johnny.. I’m- I sent a raven-”

“Shut up.” He growls, and it stuns you, hearing the anger in his voice directed at you. He moves to stand then, not to get any closer- but to just look at you. Eyes lingering on your crown, and over your face, searching for something you can’t see or understand as he takes a small step forward, his mouth twisted into a thin line and his throat bobbing.

Seeing him like this is unlike anything you’ve felt, you think. Seeing your immutable Johnny on the verge of tears, his usually bright eyes, dark and stormy- your chest feels like it’s cracking open the longer the silence fills the space, until your own tears spill over, staining the rug in perfect little droplets. But what can you say?

‘Oh, I’m sorry you thought I was dead- but surprise! I’m not.’?

What could you possibly say to make it better-

“How dare you..” When he finally speaks, you hear the syrupy rasp in his voice, one tear rolling down his cheek- and then another, tangling in his unkempt facial hair, “You selfish, stupid girl! Why would ye write this? Huh?”

He doesn’t shout, but you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to- the restraint shows in the red flush of his skin and the rigid set in his shoulders, the rage in his eyes as he looks down at you before shoving the letter into your hands. Your own tears haven’t stopped, and you feel frozen in place, wracked with guilt and anguish and frustration,

“I’m sorr-”

Johnny huffs out a sarcastic laugh cutting you off, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots,

“I thought you were dead.. DEAD, Sunny. And you’re sorry? That’s all you got?”

It’s the way he waves his hand at you that causes you to flinch, and that terrible frustration blooms into full blown anger when he turns his back on you. You crumple the paper in your hand, forming it into a deformed sort of ball so that you could chuck it as hard as you can, aiming right for the back of his head,

“Selfish? I’m selfish?” You hiss, watching with satisfaction as the paper ball hits its target, bouncing off his head and rolling somewhere you can’t see, “My whole life has been serving others- and I’m the one who’s selfish? How rich coming from you, MacTavish.”

He turns on his heel, a look of heated confusion on his face, “What’s tha’ s’pose to mean? Like I haven’t served? Who do y’think is out there fightin’ your wars, your highness?”

With a short scoff, you turn away from- wiping the moisture from your face and yanking the crown from your head so you can toss it on the bed, “Oh, enough of that! What happened to ‘not a lord or a queen’? Are we not just us, anymore? Is that all you see?”, you gesture back to the crown, “Because that’s not me- that isn’t all I am-”

Just as quickly as it had come, your anger fizzles out, the flashfire smothered with a sadness so deep, so profound, you’re not sure what do with it,

“I was tired, Johnny. Weary, down to my marrow-”, a broken sob tumbles out as you wrap your arms around yourself in a lame attempt to find comfort, “I never meant for it to be selfish, I only thought I was doing a favor. For myself, for you. I can’t explain it..”

You watch his own flame die out with your words, watch the furious glint in his eyes settle- and when he steps forward, you don’t try to stop him, you don’t stop him when he pulls you into his arms, or when he presses a long kiss to the top of your head,

“I know, I know- I’m so sorry.. I dinnae mean a word of it, I know you’re not selfish. Hells, you’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. But, Sunny..”, he pulls your face up, wiping the tears and mucus away, looking down at you with a softness you weren’t expecting, his big hands cupping your cheeks and jaw, “When I- When I thought you were..”

He bites his lip, breathing through the word on his tongue- not wanting to say it out loud anymore than he already had, “I thought I lost you..”

It comes out in a whisper, his eyes, still brimmed with tears, so steady on yours it makes your breath shorten- because he had never looked at you like that, and you had never seen him the way you see him now, had never given a thought to the idea of wanting him to hold you like he is now, wanting him to look at you-

No, no- he’s Johnny. Just Johnny.. Your best friend, you had grown up together, seen every stage of each other- from kids to scrawny pre-teens, awkward teenagers at best, you had both seen the other at their worst. So, why are you so surprised to look at him now, and see how handsome he’s become, how tall he’s gotten, and how well he fills out his clothes-

Stop, just stop- you admonish your own thoughts, he’s still just Johnny.. He’s not Simon.

“I know..”, you say, blinking away the tears and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “But, never again. I promise, Johnny.”

That seems to break his hypnosis, focusing on your words, on the feel of your skin on his- he shakes his head, releasing you gently and clearing his throat, the tension that had been there only moments ago gone dormant, “What changed?”

You glance over your shoulder, looking towards the entryway, wishing you could see Simon for just a second, “Well.. we’re hoping you can help with something.”

“We?”

+++

Simon’s path takes you deep through the forests, and as soon as you reach the river, you follow its meandering trail for the better part of the night- guided by the moon and stars, your trio traverses land that you had never seen, much less touched. And you only wish for a chance to see it in the sun, hear the birds singing, and the breeze rustling through the boughs; watch the water babble and flow, glittering in the sunlight.

But, there is something otherworldly about experiencing it at night. You hadn’t been outside the castle walls after dark, ever, now that you think about it- never mind on horseback.

And never mind the fact that you’re doing it to run away from your life, your identity left behind.. everything you’ve ever known..

So, why aren’t you afraid? Why have you never felt more content, more safe, than you do right now? Through the soreness and discomfort, the adrenaline still teeming in your mind and body, all it takes to settle your thoughts is meeting Simon’s gaze- still so steadfast and assured.

Or feeling Johnny’s calming presence next to you, warm enough to cut through the chill. Even if things aren’t as natural between you as they used to be, you know you could still lean on each other, that he would be there for you, and you for him.

But there’s something about the odd tension that still lingers when he looks at you, like invisible tendrils that bind you, pulling and stretching. But you don’t understand it, you only feel the strain, like a warning or an omen, something threatening to snap. But it won’t just yet.. not now-

Simon comes to a slow stop, you and Johnny following his lead up the high ridge. And faintly, you hear the crashing of waves, the wind picking up wildly as you break the treeline.

The cliffs, ones you had only seen as a child, glow brilliantly in the sunrise. It’s enough to steal your breath, and make your head spin. They had brought you home.

You’re so entranced by the glorious sight in front of you, by the sting of your hair whipping across your chapped cheeks, that the feel of Simon’s hand on your leg almost startles you,

“We’ll stop here for the day.. eat and rest.”

He lifts you from the saddle, keeping his hands stretched over your waist until he’s sure you're steady on your feet, “Are you all right, my queen?”

Johnny watches from your peripheral, meeting your eye for a split second before you answer, a tired smile on your lips,

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..”

[chapter 8>>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514