#but either way my soft wars would have no marriage

[antianakin]

@kine-iende

I feel like I'm kicking a hornet's nest by answering this, but what is this blog for if not controversial opinions on things.

Just as a quick disclaimer, Soft Wars is obviously a FAN WORK, so I am not trying to attack the author of this series for their chosen interpretations of things, their characterization choices, etc by stating my opinions on this. Everyone is allowed their own opinions and interpretations and tastes and I applaud this work for the well-written epic that it is and the clear impact it's had on the fandom as a whole.

TL;DR at the end under the cut.

With that out of the way, I think it does some things REALLY REALLY WELL, and some things that I like considerably less. As this reply says, it's really high quality writing with some interpretations of characters I don't personally like or agree with (I won't say they're "bad" because just because I don't like something doesn't make it bad).

Firstly, I really love the way Soft Wars chooses to portray the clones, the focus it has on them already HAVING a chosen culture before the Jedi that they've created amongst themselves, a lot of their own independence, and the strong and unique relationships between the different clone characters. Cody does not feel like he could be replaced with Fox or Ponds or Bly and be effectively the same character, for example. They also all have such unique relationships among each other and with their main Jedi counterparts which was really interesting to see. I love me a niche pairing sometimes.

I particularly love the way Fox and Ponds' relationship played out as someone who identifies as asexual and at least a little aromantic, too. I also really like the way Obi-Wan's sensitivity to touch is handled within his relationship with Cody and how respectful Cody is of that, it's one of my favorite aspects of that relationship in Soft Wars.

That being said, I'm not the BIGGEST fan of the way the Jedi are portrayed all the time. Sometimes it's really great, and I do like it! It's by no means ANTI Jedi, there is no virulent hatred aimed at the Jedi in the narrative. But it absolutely falls into the category of showcasing the Jedi as repressed and somewhat complacent and if they just were a little more Mandalorian, a little more like Anakin, they could've saved themselves from genocide and they'd just be generally happier and healthier people.

This obviously makes itself MOST known with the way the relationship between Rex and Anakin (and Obi-Wan to some degree) gets treated. Rex becomes like Anakin's replacement father-figure because Obi-Wan just didn't quite hit the mark well enough because he's too much of a Jedi and doesn't cater to Anakin's specific needs which is why Anakin falls for Palpatine's manipulations so much. Rex's blatant dislike of Obi-Wan which he BARELY keeps in check and which everybody is aware of because he blames Obi-Wan for Anakin being kind-of a selfish juvenile shithead is... certainly a take on that relationship. Rex tends to give Anakin a lot of advice that I personally see as just obvious normal Jedi philosophy and values as though it's clearly something Anakin wouldn't have learned from the Jedi already.

I'm also not a huge fan of the way Obi-Wan's relationship to Cody plays out in conjunction with the "pledge" to Cody as vod'alor. The fact that Obi-Wan DOESN'T pledge himself to Cody AS A POLITICAL LEADER somehow ends up meaning Obi-Wan doesn't love Cody enough and it's only when Obi-Wan chooses Cody OVER THE JEDI that Obi-Wan is truly... freed? Unrepressed? On his way to a happier way of living life because now he's willing to be in a more typical committed relationship and that's the only way to have a healthy relationship? Obi-Wan choosing Cody and the clones over the Jedi is also what ultimately gets Rex to decide Obi-Wan's not a TOTAL piece of shit and can be saved from his unhealthy toxic Jedi ways.

Then there's Cody apparently blaming MACE for the clones' situation within the GAR. Like I get that the clones would've believed the Jedi had ordered them and all that, but he's literally in a relationship with Obi-Wan who is ON THE COUNCIL and was the one to discover Kamino and the clones and could 1000% tell Cody the truth, and Cody is not presented as though he's kind-of dim and unintelligent or too stubborn to accept the truth, so it feels strange that Cody would hate Mace because he thinks Mace is the reason the clones are "enslaved" to the Republic or whatever. But I will mention here that Mace IS portrayed positively, Cody's dislike of Mace and his choice to blame Mace for their situation is NOT universal since we see a really lovely friendship between Mace and Ponds, so it's not like Mace is at all villainized. It just feels like a strange opinion for Cody to have, especially since it really only makes an appearance once and never gets explored again to my knowledge and Cody's blame seems to rest SOLELY on Mace, not the Jedi or the Council at large.

I don't like the way the Council gets sort-of villainized as a governing body even if its individual members are sometimes treated positively outside of it, specifically through them being pitted against Anakin in particular for no obvious reason. The Deception arc is interpreted as the Council ORDERING Obi-Wan to fake his death and then lie to Anakin about it, when it's stated really really clearly in the episode that the Council itself (or at least Yoda and probably Mace too) don't actually think lying to Anakin is the best idea but that Obi-Wan himself insisted on it for several different reasons, both strategic and personal. Obi-Wan specifically says the Council wants him to "break" Anakin, when a) it's not the Council's idea to begin with in canon, and b) that's not even what Obi-Wan's TRYING to do with this choice in canon.

This theme of pitting the Council against Anakin also comes up in a fic where Obi-Wan "allows" the Council to force Anakin to help Quinlan learn how to go undercover as a slave. It's pointed out by Cody that Quinlan is a perfectly good undercover agent and so he either shouldn't have NEEDED assistance from anyone in figuring out how to act the part or he should have other friends he could go to that could help him learn more that just... aren't Anakin (why it's a better idea to ask a different former slave for advice rather than Anakin who is a trained Jedi with access to mental health care and a lot of support just because Anakin is Anakin and so he's special does not get addressed). The implication here is that the Council just doesn't care about Anakin enough to utilize these options if it's quicker and easier to just use Anakin.

I don't like the way Ki-Adi Mundi is portrayed in Soft Wars, although I have seen a few posts on the author's page about this kind-of addressing some of the critique about the way Ki-Adi is written which... helps. Ki-Adi is apparently someone who gets a LOT of fandom hate for some reason, I assume it's a Legends thing since he's pretty minor in high canon and all of his scenes are pretty generic kindly old man stuff. Since this seems like something that's gotten discussed and brought up a bunch by other people I'm not going to dwell on it.

Soft Wars DOES undo the entire Tusken massacre because it recognizes that's something you either just undo or have to address and deal with and they went with the easier option of just saving Shmi and letting him not massacre an entire village of people down to the last child. I don't have any strong feelings on this honestly, it's clearly the only real way to pretend Anakin's not an irredeemable piece of shit by the time of the Clone Wars. Also the entire point of Soft Wars is to save everybody from death, so saving Shmi is kind-of a necessary thing to do.

You could probably also categorize Soft Wars as one of those stories that acts like if Anakin had just gotten one more lecture from someone about what attachment actually means or that the Jedi actually CAN love blah blah blah that it would've suddenly saved him from going Sith. It's not particularly accurate to how Anakin is written in canon, but it's pretty common to how people who really like Anakin and sympathize with him and relate to him like to write him as a character.

All in all, Soft Wars is exactly what it says it is. It's soft. It's soft towards Anakin, it's soft towards the clones, it's soft towards the war and the worldbuilding. It's definitely worth a read just for the way it handles the clone worldbuilding and the clear impact it has had on the way the clones have been written in fic ever since. At this point, I don't regret reading it but I also don't go back to it very often anymore and there's a reason I didn't rec Soft Wars in my Pro-Jedi Codywan rec list lol.

TL;DR: Soft Wars is not what I would consider fully Pro-Jedi but nor is it anywhere near virulently anti-Jedi and it has some really neat writing for the clones while obviously being really pro-Anakin Skywalker to the point of smoothing out most of his more uncomfortable flaws to make him a more sympathetic and likable character.

[ceoofglytchell]

Daughter Of The Sea

Summary: Crushed by the burdens weighing on his shoulders, Aegon takes you, his wife, on a flight on Sunfire to a special place, where he can forget the raging war and the burdens of the crown for at least a short time and at the same time start an attempt to get closer to you.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Tully!Wife!Reader 

Word count: 4108 words

Warnings: fluff, obvious pining, brief angst (communication is hard), mentions of past smut, Aegon having dirty thoughts about you, very brief hint of a breeding kink, brief making out, no mention of Y/N 

Notes: I am a little stressed at the moment so this will be the only fic coming from me this week, but I will most certainly be back with another one on Saturday 💛. As always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language.

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"No, no, fat old Lord Tully can either raise my banners or see his burn," Aegon said firmly, scanning the members of his Small Council. It was only early in the morning and he was already having to hold one of those miserable council meetings that just always tired him out. He would rather drink wine in his chambers or go out into the city to the Street of Silk, but he was no longer allowed to do that either. He was the King, after all.

"Lord Tully has another proposal, Your Grace. One that doesn't involve any bloodshed or fighting. A marriage alliance. His daughter is not yet married, but she will be soon if the pretender realizes that too. In this way, with this alliance, we could unite a large part of the Riverlands under our banner and expand our army with their men."

A small murmur went around the table and he could immediately see his mother looking at Criston with her dark brown eyes and they shared a long, knowing look. It was decided without him even having the chance to say anything about it and give his own opinion.

Once again, a decision was made over his head and he was forced to do something he did not want - just like the crown on his head, which was never meant for him.

He was going to get married and he didn't even know you.

You were different than he had expected.

A little more than a month had passed since the wedding, which had been held in small circles in front of a High Septon and your families in the great Sept in King's Landing. You were a pretty little thing. A little younger than him, loving and innocent. You had actually blushed when he had pressed a small, fleeting kiss on your lips to seal the marriage, which had then given him the motivation not to get drunk to the point of insensibility during the banquet so that he would not have to endure your company.

Instead, the opposite had been the case, for he had quickly grown to enjoy talking to you, hearing your soft voice and seeing the warm expression in your eyes. You were a little shy and you did not have much in common, but as the evening progressed, as the moment drew closer and closer when you would have to retire to your marital chambers to consummate the marriage, Aegon had noticed how you were picking at your cuticles and how you kept raising your hand to your face to bite your nails out of nervousness.

It was a habit he himself had, so he knew exactly how you must be feeling.

At that very moment, the king had felt something for you for the first time. He had realized that not only had he been forced into this sudden marriage, but that you had also suffered from this decision, and that you knew him as little as he knew you. Here, you were both the victims.

Aegon had been gentle when he had you lying beneath him in his bed and taking your innocence. He had tried as best he could to make it as comfortable as possible for you, but your little whimpers and the big tears that had rolled down your cheeks as he did his duty broke his heart and he had vowed to be good for you. You were now his wife, his queen, and soon probably the mother of his child, if his seed had taken root in your womb that one time, which is why he wanted to be a better man for you.

He had to get to know you first and maybe at some point your heart would open up to him and you could love each other as if this had not just been a political alliance but a marriage of love from the start.

"Nothing."

This very word clouded his every thought as he wandered through the cold, bare corridors of the Red Keep in search of something. He was the king, but at the same time he was completely powerless, at least when it came to his own life, because as long as he can remember everyone has always decided for him or over him and that was no different now. The only person who had decided absolutely nothing for him or forced him to do anything so far was you.

That was probably why he had instinctively walked to your chambers without even looking where his feet were taking him, and now found himself in front of the closed doors.

He could hear a faint noise from inside and as he took a step closer to the wooden doors he realized that you were humming. He did not recognize the melody nor could he hear you clearly, but for some reason your soft voice alone was soothing him immensely, as if you were a distant light in a world that consisted only of darkness. He only had to approach you and reach for your light.

He carefully opened the door and stepped into your chambers, which he had only briefly visited once before, when you had just furnished them after you had come to King's Landing. Back then, the interior had been sparse, but now every inch reminded him of you. It was comfortably furnished with plenty of seating, cushions and plants. The tapestries that hung on the walls were not about any sexual practices, unlike his, but yours were embroidered with small fish, aquatic plants and it was all in the colors of your house - red and blue - to give you a feeling of home so that you could properly settle in. On the shelves were piles of books, more embroidery and small pictures that you had painted on parchment.

You sat on an armchair in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth slightly as you gently stroked the cat that had curled up on your lap and you hummed a calm tune to it. He didn't remember the name of the small, orange kitten, but he knew it was a parting gift from your younger brother Oscar, so you wouldn't feel lonely in your new surroundings.

Aegon didn't want you to be lonely - or unhappy. Quite the opposite, he wanted to see you happy and above all he wanted you to be happy with him, as you would probably be together for the rest of your lives unless - gods forbid - a tragedy happened and you were taken away from him, which he would never allow. You were his wife and he would be damned if he couldn't protect you. If he wanted to be strong for anyone, it would be for you.

Approaching footsteps made you look up from your little friend in your lap and you froze when you saw your Lord Husband standing in your doorway and your eyes widened as he was the last person you expected to come visit you. Your marriage had been quite cold up until now, except for the consummation on your wedding night, but that was it. After that, you hadn't even kissed or touched each other in any way, except for the occasional kiss on the cheek before supper.

However, you would be lying if you said you didn't long to be close to him. You did not want to live a life without love, but to get it you also did not want to break the promise you had to make to him at the altar.

"Husband? What are you doing here?"

He wanted to approach you, but something inside him wouldn't let him move and he remained rooted to the spot at the door, which he at least closed behind him so that you could talk to each other alone.

What was he doing here? That was a good question. One that he himself didn't have an answer to. He wanted to get closer to you, but he didn't want to force his company on you either. However, he knew of a way that would allow him to be close to you, to show you a different side of him, while you would probably enjoy it too. He might even see you smile, but not the kind, respectful smile you always had on your lips, no, a real, loving one that was only meant for his eyes. He had not heard your laughter yet either.

"I wanted to see you." You blinked in confusion and scratched the cat a little more behind the ear, as if it would take away your nervousness itself, which wasn't the case, as your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would burst out of your chest. He wanted to see you? Why? He had never voluntarily come to you to spend time with you, but you suspected there was a first time for everything.

"Why?" A rather unpleasant thought entered your head and for a moment you feared that he had only come to do his duty and then leave again, like the first time. You longed to be close to him, but you still wanted to get to know him a little better and learn to love him before you let him into your bed again. Hopefully he saw it the same way. "Have you come here to do our duty?"

The king immediately shook his head so that his short, white curls fell into his face, but that didn't really bother him. What bothered him, however, was that you thought he had only come here for that reason, but at the same time he could understand why. In your eyes there could be no other reason why he should come, since after a month of marriage you still barely knew each other.

"No, I... I wanted to ask you if you already have plans for today?"

The cat jumped off your lap and disappeared into your bedchamber next door, leaving you all alone with him, and you immediately felt a little more tense again. You wanted his attention, but it happened so suddenly that you were at a loss for words for a moment.

“No, not really. Do you have anything special in mind, husband?”

“I wanted to ask if you would like to ride with me? Just the two of us?”

You didn't know if it was his hopeful look or your longing and desire for freedom that made you accept his offer, but you did. The only thing you hadn't seen coming was that he wasn't leading you to the royal stables, but to a carriage that would take you to the dragon pit.

"I do not think I am made for the skies, Aegon," you said carefully as you heard Sunfire's gentle chants and the golden dragon slowly moved out of the darkness of the pit into the light to greet its rider. His mount was nothing short of beautiful. The dragon shone in a variety of colors when the light shone on it, and the dull pink of its wings reminded you of the many flowers that often grew on the shores of the small lakes in the Riverlands. Despite everything, the thought of flying on the back of such a winged beast filled you with fear and awe.

"No, small fish like you belong in the sea and that is why I am taking you there." For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that the first time he voluntarily spent time with you, he was granting two of your dearest wishes - to get closer to your husband and to see the sea again. Of course, there was a good view from the highest towers of the Red Keep, but just seeing it was not the same as feeling it, and you didn't want to disturb the fishermen at the harbor at their work just because you felt the need to stroll barefoot across a sandy beach.

The young king held out a gloved hand to you and tried to smile invitingly at you while he gently stroked the shiny scales of his mount with the other. He hadn't been out riding for a while and was already looking forward to flying through the air with you and seeing how you would feel about being able to see the world from above. On Sunfire's back he had always felt completely free, free from the annoying duties, free from the weight of the crown, free from the burdens of his name, free from everything, and you might feel the same. At least he hoped so.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves before you walked closer to the beast, which seemed to be watching you curiously from the side.

Aegon helped you climb onto the saddle and then sat behind you to assure you that you would not fall off during the flight and that he would be a widower a month after the wedding. The warmth of your body so close to his, the sweet scent of your hair and the way your body clung to him drove him to the brink of madness in the first second, which was why he quickly gave Sunfire the command to take to the skies so that he would no longer have to think about you while you were so close to each other.

A small cry left your lips as the dragon, along with you and Aegon, rose into the sky above King's Landing and you saw the city from above for the first time. Instinctively, you pressed yourself closer to your husband's chest and grabbed his arm, which was wrapped securely around your waist, your fingers pressing so tightly into the fabric of his tunic that it was a wonder he hadn't objected to the touch.

Sunfire rose higher and higher until it almost reached the clouds, and Aegon couldn't help but grin like a fool when he felt you reaching for him in search of protection and safety, holding on so tightly as if you were afraid you might slip off the saddle and fall into the depths at any second.

As if he would ever let that happen.

"Are we nearly there?" you called over the wind that whipped against your ears and messed up your hair, while your narrowed gaze was fixed in fascination on the landscape below you.

"Soon! Be patient a little longer, wife." Aegon answered close to your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms as his voice made you realize just how close you had been and how much trust you had just put in him. You didn't even know where he was taking you except that it would have something to do with the sea.

After not too long of flying, you saw the outlines of a small group of islands appear in the distance, although they seemed to be uninhabited. The dragon suddenly began to fly a little lower and when your husband gave no other orders to contradict this, you realized that this must be the place he wanted to take you to in order to spend time with you - an island in the middle of the sea.

The island you landed on was small and had nothing more than a few rocks, some grass and a few plants and a small beach where the waves gently crashed. The sun was high in the sky and the sea was completely calm, which was a huge relief for Aegon, as he knew from experience that in the event of a storm, most of the small island would be swallowed up by the waves.

You landed on the ground again with wobbly legs and you could immediately smell the salt in the air and feel the sun burning on your skin. A smile formed on your lips as you stared into the horizon and saw the endless blue stretching out before you, which for some reason warmed your heart and made you feel more free again.

Riverrun, your home where you grew up, was not directly at the sea, but the castle had been surrounded by river water on all sides and you loved to ride to the coast with your younger brother to spend the day there, which made you miss the sea and nature even more. When you and Aegon had children together, you swore that they would not only have a dragon egg laid in the crib, as you knew was the Targaryen tradition, but you would also show them places like these and maybe even your childhood home at some point.

As Aegon dismounted behind you and Sunfire rose back into the air to circle over the island or just fly around a bit, and he saw your broad smile, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. He had always thought you were beautiful, but only now did he realize that you were much more than that. You had a beauty that he had never known before, and he was a fool for staying away from you for so long.

"Have you known this place for a long time?" You asked him, turning back to him to look into his eyes, which appeared a light purple tone in the blazing sun that reminded you of lavender.

"I come here occasionally. It is quite relaxing and simply... beautiful."

"Peaceful. It is peaceful," you responded then, whereupon Sunfire made a noise that reminded you of your cat. It sounded almost like an agreement - if a dragon could understand humans at all. He seemed to understand his rider well enough, even if he barely spoke High Valyrian.

"Yes, that too," Aegon gently patted Sunfire on the flank, causing the dragon to straighten up, flap its wings and take to the skies again, flying circles over the island group as they stood on the small beach and looked at each other.

"What do you do when you are here?" You asked him, lightly playing with your wedding ring on your ring finger, as it was a better distraction than biting your nails.

"Laying around and doing nothing, mostly," he felt a little bad telling you that, as it did not sound particularly like kingly behavior, but it was the truth and he did not want to deny you that. After all, he was doing this entire trip with you to get to know you better.

You nodded your head, an idea coming to you as you heard the sound of the waves slowly hitting the sandy beach and you could smell the salt that was hitting your skin. However, you didn't just want to smell it, you wanted to feel it too. "I will go swimming, I think."

Aegon blinked, as this was certainly not what he had expected you to do. He had expected you to lie down and talk, but not that he would suddenly see you starting to undo the laces of your dress and reveal your thin white shift and parts of your supple skin that he would love to caress and kiss if you let him one day.

"Be careful, please," the king asked gently, as he was not about to come with you and sink into the salty sea water and feel as free as a fish himself, but hopefully you would. He wished that you would feel as free and carefree as you did before marrying him.

"I will be," your blue dress fell onto the ground, while you walked into the waves in your white undergarment until you were surrounded by water up to your shoulders, while he sat down on the ground and quietly watched you from afar.

You reminded him of the old tales about nymphs who were said to have seduced men at lakes with their beauty and then dragged them into the depths never to be seen again, but he also knew that you were different. You were definitely tempting him right now- not that you knew-  but you would also never harm him. A small part of him wanted to join you, to see if he had managed to make you feel happiness again, but his courage failed him and instead he merely kept on watching you.

You swam through the cool water for some time, and each and every minute you could feel his eyes following your every move, while your husband's dragon flew around in the sky above you the whole time. Two dragons were watching you, and you had hoped one would join you, but he did not. Of course not.

Aegon had lost himself in daydreams the longer he watched you swim. He dreamed of a life where he had met you under different circumstances and he had married you because he wanted to and not because he was forced to. It would have been love, not obligation.

Lost in these sudden daydreams, he did not notice you rising from the waves again, the now soaked shift you were wearing being practically see-through now, the thin fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin.

When his gaze focused again and he saw you like this, his amethyst colored eyes widened immediately and you stole his breath away by not even doing anything. You were heavenly.

You dropped into the sand next to him and lay down, your eyes fixed on the blue sky and your hair spread out beneath your head like a halo. He couldn't take his eyes off you anymore and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over every inch of your body. Under the thin material of your shift he could see your hardened nipples and little pearly drops of water running down inside your cleavage, making him look at your breasts for a moment longer than necessary, which caused a lump to form in his throat and to feel something stir deep inside him.

Gods, now he would have to control himself.

"You could have joined me," you said suddenly out of nowhere and turned your head so that you could look at your husband's handsome face, which was catching the rays of sunlight in such a way that you thought he was glowing.

"I did not want to force my company on you."

You quickly rolled onto your side, giving him an even better glimpse of your cleavage and he had to actively bite the inside of his cheek to avoid making any noise that would ruin the beauty of this moment and that would force him to explain himself.

"Aegon, I enjoy your company. I just wish you would give me more of it. You are my husband and I barely know you."

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart, but at the same time he cursed himself for not being able to think of anything other than ripping off the last piece of clothing that covered your body and repeat your wedding night, but this time properly and not just giving yourself to him because it was your duty as his queen to give him heirs. But he restrained himself.

"My little wife enjoys having me around, huh?"

"Come on, you are not that bad. I am sure you are more bearable than Aemond." You giggled and the sound made his heart beat faster and a warmth spread through him that he had not felt before with a woman yet.

"You would not have survived marriage to him, little fish. He is too... fierce."

"Do you not know what they say? Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. Perhaps I could have softened him."

Aegon laughed and shook his head firmly, as he was a thousand percent sure that even your kind nature and sweet disposition could not have changed his little brother's stoic demeanor, even if you both shared a common love of books. "No, my love. Even you could not have done that."

"And what of you? Do you think I am able to warm your heart?"

The king did not have to think about his answer for a second and he replied to you without thinking of any possible consequences: "You already have."

You didn't know if he had closed the gap or if it was you, but suddenly your lips were on his and you lost yourself in the way he held you tightly and deepened the kiss with a sense of urgency you had longed for.

Maybe you would not have to wait forever for love to blossom.

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[bumblesimagines]

With Fire and Blood

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Unable to deal with his mother's indifference to his worries any longer, Jace turns his anger onto the dragonseeds

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, classism?, bastardphobia lmao, Jace is an angry lil hypocritical twink, suggestive content, era typical insults and such, spoilers for s2

All bro did was serve face and I cannot stop writing for him

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Jace was well-aquatinted with the hot emotion that made his blood boil and hands curl into fists ready to swing at any moment.

The maesters claimed when he was born, he left his mother screaming and kicking wildly, nearly wriggling himself out of the maester and midwives' arms whilst they tried calming him enough to hand him off to his exhausted yet amused mother. He supposed it meant he'd always been short-tempered but he hardly found it to be his fault when he'd been brought into the world with looks that firmly branded him as Other. 

He'd been a child when it first dawned on him that there was a possibility he was not Laenor Velaryon's son, that neither of his little brothers were either. His mother never provided him with a full answer, only strained smiles and reassurances that he was a Targaryen.

Some nights, he'd stay up and stare at himself in the mirror, combing his fingers through his hair and imagining it was as silver as his uncles; poking at the area around his eyes and envisioning them to be lilac instead of mud brown. Jace tried ignoring it as best he could but the whispers and glances always tightened around him, reminding him he'd never be seen as anything but a bastard. 

Things grew easier in Dragonstone. Until the war broke and his mother took his idea of searching for kin to the filthy streets of King's Landing.

Truthfully, he nearly wept hot tears of anger when he first saw the army of bastards trekking into the castle. They were peasants, mongrels, filth who stole, lied, and betrayed for their own means, and they looked more like his family than he did. He despised it, despised the fact no one would ever question their parentage or blood when people would look puzzled or disgusted when they saw him.

It frightened him, too.

He'd grown uneasy when Rhaenyra fell with child soon after her marriage to Daemon, and the uneasiness grew when she bore him a little brother with those striking violet eyes and vibrant silver hair. A sister, he may have forgiven, but a brother? And one who looked more Targaryen than he did? Born to the power-seeking Daemon?

When four men stepped out from the blood and fire of the massacre with three dragons, Jace practically saw his future before his eyes; finding himself in his mother's spot, tearfully fighting against his own blood in desperate hope of claiming the birthright nobody believed to be his for the stain in his blood. He despised them, he decided. He'd already been distrustful of mere peasants so far below them entering the castle, but for those same mere peasants claiming dragons? 

That familiar flush of anger swept over him and he stared forward, his palms digging into the armrests below him. His mother had publicly chosen, right before him, to ride out with Addam of Hull over him, her own flesh and blood! Jace caught Baela's eye from across the table and she offered him a soft grimace followed by an empathic smile. 

"Well," One of the bastards broke the silence. Jace believed his name to be (Y/N), although he'd hardly been paying any attention when Rhaenyra brought the dragonseeds forth for everyone to become acquainted with. He only recalled the way his mother sucked in a sharp breath when the young man revealed himself to be the son of Daemon and a brothel worker. (Y/N) set his cup down on the table, swiping his tongue over his lips and rising. "I'm, uh, taking my leave, or whatever it is you're supposed to say." 

Baela blinked. "You have yet to finish your meal. You should finish." The softness in her voice made Jace's brows knit together. They were merely half-siblings through blood, not through any special means. A lady such as Baela had no need to speak so kindly to an unwanted pest from King's Landing.

"I have no desire to." (Y/N) responded, and Jace's fingers twitched when he left without bowing or acknowledging his prince. 

"More for me," Ulf said disgustingly through a mouthful of food, his hand scooping up the plate and scraping the remaining food onto his before he handed it off to a bewildered servant. Without his mother there, Jace allowed himself to scoff freely at the childish act, his eyes rolling as he cut into his meat and chewed on it.

By the time dinner ended and the dragonseeds slinked off to their newly given bedchambers, Jace still couldn't help but stew in his disappointment and bitter anger. He escorted Baela to her rooms, chewing her ear off with his complaints and growing insecurities on the way there, before bidding her a grumpy goodnight that she chuckled at.

Jace walked, or rather stomped, in the direction of his bedchambers but a figure standing in one of the balconies caught his eye, only fully capturing his attention when he noticed a dragon head peeking over the railing. Jace stopped and stared, marveling at the light gray coloring of the dragon, something akin to the glow of the moonlight. A soft, almost lavender color dusted the tips of the dragon's scales and horns and added to her beauty.

The Dragonkeepers claimed Chyrys had hatched from a clutch of eggs belonging to Silverwing just a year before his own dragon, Vermax, had hatched in his crib. After her failure and near-death at claiming Vermithor, Rhaena hoped the docile Chyrys would accept her as a rider, but the she-dragon refused to allow her on. Yet, she'd accepted a bastard as her rider. 

"Have you come to complain some more, Prince?" (Y/N)'s voice echoed in the silence of the night. His hand dragged over the snout of Chyrys, enticing a soft rumble of contentment from her. "I hear you've exchanged words with your dear mother over us." 

"You do not belong here." Jace told him before he could stop himself, the anger he'd tried desperately to entertain only in private moments spilling over. "You will never be one of us. You will never be a true Targaryen or a prince, no matter who your father is." He spat, lingering in the archway connecting the hallway. (Y/N)'s lips curled upward, and his amusement only made Jace's hands tremble with barely contained rage. How dare he laugh at a prince?

(Y/N) peered over his shoulder and retracted his hand from his dragon, the sound of rocks tumbling down the cliff toward the crashing waves below filling the air when Chyrys pushed herself away from the cliff and took off into the night sky. "You are aware that while my eyes may be (E/C), my hair is a color you'll only obtain when you've grown old and weary, no?" Jace's jaw clenched.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to me, you mongrel." Jace snarled, forgetting all about his desire to appease his mother by begrudgingly accepting the bastards' presence. It was unprincely of him to even be in the presence of someone of such low station, let alone bicker with one. His words struck his pride, however. "I am Rhaenyra Targaryen's son, I am her heir. You are the bastard of Daemon and the son of a whore."

He struck a nerve with the mention of his mother, he realized it when (Y/N)'s amused grin vanished into a scowl. His weak spot. "What? Are you not used to hearing the truth? I know your mother was a whore, and I am certain if it weren't for your silver hair, no one would believe you are the son of the late King's brother." Jace continued, eager to release his anger on someone deserving of it. 

"Just as no one believes you are the son of Ser Laenor Velaryon?" (Y/N)'s tone was edged with irritation, sharp enough to dip into Jace's gut painfully. He stepped forward toward him and Jace's hand instinctively flew to his side where his sword typically was, but for the sake of dinner, he'd left it in his bedchambers. Jace swallowed thickly when (Y/N) grew near, the smell of salt heavy on the bastard's skin from his time on the balcony. "Your brothers were never meant to rule Driftmark because your ancestral seat is in the very place Daemon Targaryen flew out to. You should have flown there first, treated with your family. I'm certain they would have welcomed you with such loving arms." 

"That is a vile accusation worthy of-"

"A vile accusation? Or the bitter truth you do not wish to hear?" (Y/N) arched a brow, the look of irritation he'd sported replaced with cruel amusement. He held eye contact as he stepped aside, his shoulder slamming into Jace's roughly enough to force the prince to stagger backward from the force, a hand raising to clutch it. Jace's features contorted. 

"You were born nothing, you will die nothing!" Jace called, his voice bouncing off the stone walls but (Y/N) paid him little to no heed, his indifference to Jace bringing him to his tipping point. 

A prisoner to the very anger that'd sent his true father away to his death, Jace's legs sprang into action and marched after him, his hands curling and uncurling. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, the flush of anger over his face, and the aching desire to dig his hands into something until it broke. His palm slammed against the door leading into (Y/N)'s bedchambers, throwing it open enough for Jace to step through before he tossed it shut, the wood vibrating from the force. 

"Someone ought to teach you animals some manners." Jace hissed when (Y/N) faced him, the dragonseed blatantly rolling his eyes at him and staring at him like an exasperated parent would their troublesome child. He stepped right up to him, their chest and noses bumping together from the proximity but Jace's hands remained pinned to his sides. His mother would surely scold him for laying a hand on him, and he refused to disobey her further no matter the temptation. 

"Careful now," (Y/N) said lowly, his breath fanning against Jace's face and drawing his attention down to his lips. "You should recall we're cut from the same cloth, as Ulf said." 

His blunt nails dug into the skin of his palms until they left deep imprints, sharply inhaling through his nose as his eyes darted back upward to meet (Y/N)'s. Jace stared at him, the tension in the room nearly beginning to suffocate him before he lunged forward, his hands grasping the collar of his shirt and lips slamming against his. A muffled noise of surprise left (Y/N) and the two staggered backward until (Y/N) collapsed back on his bed with Jace atop him. Jace pulled back with heavy pants, his hands still clutching the shirt and his brain beginning to process what exactly he'd do. 

Mortification slipped in ever so slowly, followed by guilt for having his first kiss be with anyone but his darling betrothed. (Y/N) stared up at him with widened eyes and parting lips that suddenly looked enticing to Jace. Gods be good. Jace squeezed his eyes shut, desperately reminding himself he was engaged and that laying with someone such as (Y/N) would be an utter stain on his royal title. His eyes tentatively parted to absorb (Y/N)'s reaction, but his features had softened instead of hardened. 

"I hate you." Jace exhaled quietly and released his shirt, his hands planting themselves on either side of (Y/N)'s head. "You are a commoner. The smallfolk have no place in court, no reason to even step within a castle unless it is to beg for our kindness. I wished for nothing more than to watch Chyrys burn you to crisp-"

"But alas, here I am." (Y/N)'s hands cautiously settled on Jace's hips. "And with or without my presence, you are and will always be a bastard." 

Jace huffed. "Shut your mouth."

"Make me, Lord Strong."

With little to no hesitance, Jace swooped down and delivered a rough kiss to his lips. He had no experience, as embarrassing as it was, and he hoped it was far from obvious as he pressed his mouth harder against (Y/N)'s. He resisted the urge to jerk back when (Y/N) licked into his mouth and focused on clumsily trying to rid himself of his clothing. His cheeks flared at the soft groan that felt him, his spinning mind edging him on to entice those noises out of (Y/N) rather than allow someone such as the dragonseed to elicit them from a prince. His teeth caught (Y/N)'s bottom lip and lightly bit down, satisfied when the hint of metallic hit his tongue.

(Y/N) only chuckled despite the blood sliding along his lip, his hand rising to cup the back of Jace's head and fingers slipping through his brown curls before he tugged. A sharp, whiny curse escaped Jace and humiliation filled the prince when he felt his breeches grow annoyingly tight against him from the act. (Y/N) laughed in response, his eyes bright with mischievous delight at the discovery that made Jace's skin warm further. 

"Bastard," Jace swore.

"I know I am," (Y/N) pushed himself up into a sitting position, his head burying itself in Jace's neck and teeth clamping down hard enough to leave a mark. He brushed his lips up along the side of his throat until he reached Jace's ear, his free hand pushing into Jace's hips and making their hips press together. Jace cursed again. "And so are you, My Prince."

[solkara]

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐄𝐘𝐄 , alicent hightower and rhaenyra targaryen ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , being blind was a blessing and a curse that you had to navigate from a young age but you were lucky to have two friend's willing to do anything for you

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , alicent hightower x fem! blind! reader x rhaenyra targaryen

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , this was actually meant to be a one and done this but I think I'm gonna make it a two part so I can write it to the best of my ability without being rushed !!

house of the dragon masterlist , next part

⌗ you weren't always blind. you had your sight till you were age ten. when an assassination attempt gone wrong left you blinded. and since that day people only looked at you for what you had lost. not for what you had left. all they seven kingdoms saw a poor fragile high born girl with no sight.

⌗ but your best friends rhaenyra and alicent didn't. they saw you as more than your blindness. and dare you say they were the reason you had gotten though some of the darkest moments in your life. going out of their way to include you in everything they did.

⌗ walking hand and hand with you through the castle. reading your favourite stories. telling you the lastest court gossip. and showering you with gifts when your spirits were low. the greatest gift they ever gave you besides their friendship was your cane.

⌗ made of snow-white wood with a silver ornament on top of your house crest. over time you learn how to see without actually seeing. by tapping or banging your cane you would listen to the vibrations and gauge how near or far everything in the room was. and over time you got use to the darkness. finding a strange comfort in it.

⌗ life was good. you had everything you needed. but there was one thing that gnawed at you. something you craved that you knew you would never get. marriage. as being blind made you damaged goods and their for unwedable. meaning you would never have a family of your own.

⌗ your best friends noticing your sadness asked you what was wrong. as they watched you break down into tears and sniffles. the two held you as your tears fell. and once you were calm enough they began soothing you insecurities. "one day the seven shall grant you your wish" "you will make an amazing mother"

⌗ but deep down the two knew that they were far too in love with you to allow you to be wed off to a man. that most definitely did not deserve you. not like they did. and gradually over time their beautiful friendship bloomed into a beautiful romance.

⌗ with soft touches and gentle kisses. late night conversations about the future ahead of them. but all that came crashing down when alicent married viserys. rhaenyra was incensed and you were confused. how could this have happened? while you tried to hear alicent out the targaryen wouldn't listen to a word of it. dragging you away so you wouldn't have to either.

⌗ and so began the tug of war over you. with neither the hightower and targaryen willing to give up. though your time was mostly monopolised by rhaenyra. with the white-haired girl rarely ever leaving your side. spending countless nights in your room. but alicent still managed to find ways to see you. and though you still couldn't forgive her fully for betraying your trust. you did try your best to be there for her.

⌗ you were there when she gave birth to all her children. a comforting hand as she screamed and writhed in pain. stroking her hair and kissing her hand. whispering words of comfort in an attempt to soothe the girl who you still had so much love for. but that became so much more difficult once rhaenyra started having children.

⌗ that was when alicent's resentment how come she was being punished for doing her duty. while rhaenyra could bear bastard children and go unpunished. she got everything. the love of her father. the title of heir. you. oh how she hated how she had gotten you. how she manipulated you into staying by her side with her and her bastard children.

⌗ the hightower couldn't understand how you could still stand beside her. after she willingly betrayed you for another man and bore his children. unlike alicent who never wanted to have viserys children but had to out of duty. though she never really saw her children as viserys. as in her mind they were yours and hers.

⌗ and she was tired of you being taken away from her. so tonight she was going to do something about him. so under the cover of night she went to see you. slipping into your room she watched as you lay peacefully in bed. you looked so peaceful in nothing but a white silk nightgown. approaching the bed alicent slipped under the covers with you.

⌗ her hands immediately began exploring the body she had been denied for so long. closing her eyes alicent couldn't help but bury her nose in your hair. inhaling that comforting scent that seamlessly brought her comfort. wishing for nothing more than to drown in it. but as the hightower allowed herself to get lost in the touch smell and taste of you against her lips and body she hadn't noticed that you had started to stir in you sleep. "nyra?" you said in a hushed mumble.

⌗ alicent said nothing in response. as she silently lulled you back to sleep. seething that you called out of rhaenyra and not her. as the auburn continued to touch and kiss you as you slept she failed to realise that another figure had entered the room. and had left just as quickly. but all alicent saw was a sliver of white hair.

⌗ and by the time the next morning had came alicent was still laying next to you. but left before you woke up. as she walked back to her room with a pep in her step she bumped into the last person she wanted to see rhaenyra who smirked at her like she had been blessed by the gods. and a few moments later she found out why. as the good mood alicent hightower came crashing down.

⌗ you were leaving with rhaenyra and her family to dragonstone. and there was nothing she could do about it. alicent cried for hours after hearing the news. even going as far as to get on her hands and knees in front of you in an attempt to get you to stay. but to no avail. as once again rhaenyra had gotten what she wanted.

anon , Could I request (if it's alright with you ofc ) Blind Reader X Rhaenyra and Alicent (or one of them ) OR Visenya and Rhaenys . Readers blindness is due to R saving them ? Now, reader is a strategist or hand on the council ? If the idea is okay with you ofc , anything you wish 🙂

[lilac-5ky]

TOJI AND VIRGIN READER!

The Favor (officeAU!Toji x virgin!Fem!Reader)

Plot: The first day you met Toji, he told you everything on his CV was a lie. Three years later, he's your beloved work husband, the one you go to when you decide it's time to lose your virginity.

Tags: Office!AU, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f.receiving), agee gap (reader mid 20s, toji mid 30s), soft!dom toji, dirty talking, praising, pet names (sweetheart, darling, kid, wife, whore, slut, etc), aftercare, toji catches feelings after fucking you, daddy vibes without the word, friends to lovers dynamic, size kink, lube handjob, MDNI obviously.

A/N: Combined your idea with my intense need to write an office!au. Hopefully this turned out to your liking and you forgive me for writing this much filth LMAO

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

For promotion, for demotion, for raises and for cuts, in overtime and in bureaucracy, until layoff do us part.

In the insufferable reality of Japanese corporate life, a work spouse exists to shoulder the burden of overdue deadlines and never-ending stacks of paperwork. A husband who, in spite of not being bound to you through marriage, has vowed to stick by your side until either one of you breaks free from the shackles of human resources; your work husband.

You met each other on your first day at the company, both of you passing interviews for the same lowly position of staffing coordinator.

Your first impression of candidate number 9 was that his suit wasn’t really his but was likely borrowed from someone whose bicep wasn’t the size of their thigh and calf combined. Your second impression was whispered to your ear as the dark haired man rose from his chair and paraded down the interview room, nonchalantly letting slip that his bachelor’s degree along with every bit of qualification on his CV had been faked.

Whether that was a declaration of war or a testament to his unparalleled confidence, you wouldn’t know until a week later when you were assigned to the same miserable office corner, sharing a desk, a title, and a secret whose value skyrocketed once you became acquainted with your work place’s imposing policies.

One word would get both him and his knowing smile fired, but the moment you shook hands with Fushiguro Toji and promised to get along, you signed yourself up for a long-lasting partnership.

Over the three years you worked together, each grew out of their initial post. Your all-nighters paid off and you got promoted to an HR assistant, meaning you didn’t have to memorize everyone’s coffee order any longer, while Toji flourished as the department’s eye candy.

He’d ceased pretending that his broad shoulders could be boxed in second-hand suit jackets, and instead opted for rolled-up button-ups with the occasional monochromatic tie—a fit that put his sculpted physique into full view and threw the entire female populace out of balance.

He was an objectively good-looking man who bordered on great. The type to be conscious of their effect on others, cutting corners with suggestive glances and smiling his way out of otherwise unforgivable report oversights. Every woman in the office was openly in love with him. Even your supervisor referred to him as the team’s ace and discreetly unbuttoned her cleavage in his presence.

You realized then, they’d sooner let go of you and your hard-earned master’s, than part with the department’s mascot.

Despite the differences in skill and appearance, your sense of kinship survived the passage of time. Perhaps you’d subconsciously fallen victim to his charms, but whenever you saw his thin brows furrow and his right foot threaten the unresponsive copy machine with a killing blow, you couldn’t look away. This is a favor; you’d remind him at every formal email and resume assessment you helped put together.

And favors are repaid.

While Toji couldn’t assist with payroll processing, he always had the scoop on who cheated on their spouse with whom and whose bra was filled with padding—which you didn’t find all that interesting, but turned into a fun game of guess the cheater during dull 9 a.m. meetings.

On mornings when the alarm was hurled at your bedroom wall, he made excuses for your absence, and on work dinners, he saved you a seat away from all the grabby drunks.

Toji was far from a good person. His mere presence in a company you’d broken your back to get into was a mockery of your efforts. He led others on and got into muffled shutouts over his phone behind the water fountain, where he thought no one was listening in.

That’s how you found out about his eight-year-old kid and the custody battle with his allegedly “psychotic” ex-wife. He didn’t know you knew because you never told him. Everyone had skeletons in their closet, and it wasn’t your job to sort his out. As far as your work marriage was concerned, he was a good husband who diligently fulfilled his marital duties—all except one, which you feared the pretext of a favor wouldn’t begin to cover.

“Here’s your poison,” you slid the scalding coffee cup in his direction, mindful of the papers on his desk. “Black Americano with four shots of espresso and no sugar to compliment your wretched dark soul.”

Toji raised an open palm in your face, motioning for you to wait until he was done punching words on the keyboard and pressed save file. Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, threaded with faded scars that followed the expanse of veins down his wrists, dipping deep below the white cotton of his shirt. Another unsolved mystery you hadn’t gotten to the bottom of.

He brought the cup to his equally scarred lips, defying the steam spirals with a long-drawn sip. “Unnecessary intro, but thanks.” He gave a lazy smile. “Aren’t ya a sweetheart?”

You dropped your beverage on your side of the desk and swiveled your chair nearer. “Think you could do said sweetheart a favor?

“A favor, huh?” His breath was laced with caffeine. “Depends. If you’re asking for a buck, ‘fraid I’m all dried up till the end of the month.”

So he isn’t planning on paying for his order.

“I make more than you.”

“Doesn’t mean ya can’t find yourself in a pickle.”

You shook your head, stealing a sip of liquid courage from your mocha. How did people ask those things again?

Your contemplation lasted long enough for him to turn his head back to work, filling his home screen with enough tabs to distract you from his unfinished round of solitaire.

“What are you doing after work?” Your voice cracked into shards of uncertainty.

“Nice try.”He sneered. “You dug your own grave taking on the grievance procedures from the union. Climb out on your own.”

“Not everyone offloads their work load on others, Toji.” You rolled your eyes, scooting even closer to make sure only he’d be the recipient of your next words.

He sensed something was off because he wasn’t pretending to input random lines into the search bar anymore, and while he studied you, you studied him back. You had your doubts about this, and you weren’t sure he was your type either. You liked your men responsible and mature—like Nanami from sales, who would’ve been your first choice if your legs didn’t turn into jelly the minute you saw him.

Toji was the safe option. You talked to him. You joked with him. You were used to him, and more importantly, you trusted him. All the lack of qualifications in his job, he made up for with his experience in that other field you were a stranger to.

“Hey, kid.” His voice mellowed down with a beat of concern, a heavy hand landing on your shoulder. “If you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, I—”

“Please have sex with me.”

“Make yourself at home.” He nudged your back into the apartment, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were following even after he’d pulled away.

Moving forward felt hard—as if you’d forgotten how to. You weren’t sure whether to wipe your shoes on the mat or stash them in the corner. You didn’t know which foot to put forth and what set of slippers to pick. Every decision suddenly mattered a lot more than it should.

You’d never been to Toji’s house before, and up until a few hours ago, you couldn’t fathom standing at his doorstep either. You weren’t that close so as to meet outside work hours, but you were about to get a lot more up close and personal.

The way he accepted your request with a mere, almost offensive, okay still boggled your brain. You’d considered every question he could possibly ask, painstakingly compiling your list of answers like a witness called to the stand, only for him to not speak a word of it—not even when it was just you and him and the solitude that came from enjoying lunch a hundred stories above Tokyo’s bustling streets.

He seemed to have forgotten all about your plans, up until he pulled over at the bus stop where you were waiting and stuffed you in the front seat of his car.

“You coming?”

Kicking your heels off your feet, you skipped straight through the hallway, your head turning left and right as if you were at an art gallery. You didn’t know what to expect, but a high-end apartment in the heart of Minato wasn’t it. Neither your income nor his justified an inox steel kitchen with mahogany wood flooring—let alone a direct view of the illuminated Tokyo Tower.

You were so bedazzled by the city skyline that you nearly missed the hastily buried socks peeking beneath the kotatsu, along with the cobwebs his untouched bookshelf flaunted. Much like his suit, his apartment was handed to him by someone whose love for both their books and spouse had run out.

“Whaddya think?”

Toji stalked behind you, his reflection in the glass becoming more defined with every step he took. He was holding something in each hand—two glasses whose orange liquid sparkled in place of the stars.

You turned around slowly, accepting your share with a small smile on your face.

“Your ex-wife has good taste.”

He blinked, taken aback for a split second. He wondered what gave it out—the pink slippers or the flipped-down picture frames you’d yet to notice—and somewhere down the line, he got the wrong idea, beaming with an unwarranted “Thanks.”

“I meant the house, not you.” Although you couldn’t blame him for his inflated ego when every female practically dropped their panties at his feet. Especially not when you were there to do the same.

Your teeth clicked sharply against the glass as you tilted your head and sipped on what tasted too sweet to be whiskey. Apple Juice?

“That’s not alcohol.” You stated.

“Ever thought of becoming a detective?” Toji padded toward the leather couch, spreading his thighs across the two middle cushions.

“Ever thought of becoming a comedian?” You retorted, squeezing in to his left. The furniture would’ve been big enough to fit you both, had he been considerate. “So what’s the joke? Too young to be drinking, or hard liquor ain’t for pretty girls like me?”

“Nah.” His head dropped on his shoulder, both propped against the headrest. “Need you sober for what’s about to happen.”

You mirrored his stance, your knees touching as you folded them on the smooth leather. “And what’s about to happen?”

“I think we both know, or else ya wouldn’t have followed me here.” He wet his bottom lip, pretty green eyes clouding dark.

A certain dryness gnawed at your throat, the pink color of his tongue appealing to you more than it should. You weren’t interested in Toji, but the strands of black that fell over his forehead painted a cuter image than you were used to seeing at the office. You wondered what he’d look like with his hair pushed back, all slick from beads of sweat rolling down his temples. And when you realized you couldn’t pin any of those thoughts on the alcohol, you took another sip, hurriedly averting your gaze.

“How many have? Women from work, I mean.”

You were surprised to hear him state “None,” and even more surprised that he claimed not to mix business with pleasure. You could think of at least three coworkers you suspected he fooled around with. At least so they bragged in the ladies’ room.

“So why bring me home?”

“‘Cause you asked.” Toji said gruffly.

“You fuck every woman who asks you to?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Your cheeks flushed red as you reminded yourself to take his words with a grain of salt. He wasn’t interested in you any more than you were in him. This was simply platonic—almost transactional. He’d do what you asked, and then you’d pay him back with another, mundane favor like sorting mail in his stead.

You finished your drink, your eyes licking up the remaining drops at the bottom of the glass. “This line works?”

Toji shrugged. It probably did. He probably didn’t even have to open his mouth for it to work. While the moment you opened yours—

“Want more?” He motioned to your glass. You nodded, extending your arm, only for his expression to turn sour. “I’m not your fucking maid. Bottle’s on the counter.”

You sighed, getting up so he wouldn’t see your eyes roll at his comment as he shoved his glass in your face. Who’s the maid now?

Aimlessly, you strolled into the kitchen, taking longer than necessary to fill both your glasses. You didn’t mean to start snooping around, but you couldn’t help yourself from seeking a sign of his presence in his picture-perfect apartment. Houses typically reveal something about their residents, and while the display of crystal glasses spoke plenty of his ex-wife, there was no evidence of Toji’s personality.

You weren’t interested in him—just curious. That’s what you kept telling yourself as you picked up a frame stowed away behind an empty cookie jar.

Four smiles greeted you, the brightest belonging to a young girl with elongated bangs, holding a boy who strove to copy his sister’s expression. Their parents stood behind them, a beautiful woman with long brown hair tucked in a ponytail blissfully leaning against the shoulder of a Toji that seemed less happy the longer you processed his strained features.

“She left.” The proximity of his voice startled you. The frame danced between your fingers until he snatched it, his jutted-out chin betraying his annoyance. “Took the kids, left the house and me behind. Ain’t that what ya wanted to hear?”

You shook your head, about to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness on his parquet. However, the hostility that rose faded as soon as he threw the picture in the first open drawer and returned to the living room, leaving you to fetch your drinks. Then you remembered the phone calls. They weren’t on good terms.

“Having kids isn’t bad. Nor being divorced.” You handed him the glass, assuming your previous position on the couch. “Doesn’t ruin your cool guy image whatsoever.”

“Who said I care about that?” Toji snorted.

“Then you wouldn’t care if anything slipped in front of your fan club?”

“Mind your own fucking business.” He hissed. You chuckled. Sharing a couch wasn’t that much different from sharing a desk, and sharing two secrets was the same as sharing one.

“What are your kids’ names?”

“Kid,” he corrected. “Megumi.”

By the name, you assumed it was the girl. You were wrong. You tried to ask something about his son’s mother, but somehow you couldn’t find one right thing to say, since the woman in the photo wasn’t the boy’s biological mom either. You were lost. The more cryptic answers he gave, the more unanswered questions you ended up with.

Your plan took a backseat while Toji trod the sensitive topic of his divorce to that “bitch,” who’d taken his kid from him out of spite. The custody battle was tipped in her favor, courtesy of a legal system that’d rather see a child separated from its biological parent in the face of cold cash.

Megumi only visited every second weekend of the month, which explained his father’s eagerness to leave early on certain Fridays and come late on the following Mondays. He didn’t need to say this, but you understood his reasons for cheating his way into the company. A proper job looked good in court, and whatever earned him those scars was far from proper.

Both your hands emptied as you finished your second round of drinks. Your head would be buzzing if there was alcohol involved, but you didn’t miss it. Toji was hard to engage, and talking to him felt like running into one brick wall after another. However, working out of those dead-ends was preferable to clinking glasses with some guy who wouldn’t quit boasting about his Ivy League diploma or his burning passion for vocaloid singers—both cases reflecting the sad reality of blind dating in your twenties.

“So.” Toji drawled, a burly arm stretching behind your head. “Why you want me to fuck you? Can’t find good dick in the market?”

Your mind went blank in an instant, every excuse and curated version of the story vanishing when you needed them the most.

“I—um,” you cleared your throat, while your eyes scanned over his body.

There was a lot to take in: the fine lines of his pecs, highlighted under the taut white fabric; the black tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar; the hem of his shirt that dangled out of his fitted pants, exposing the tiniest window to the happy trail on his lower abdomen; his slim waist and his thick thighs; the curve of his bum; and the light touch of his fingers closing around your shoulder. You traced the same route of landmarks, finding yourself returning to his achingly handsome face and the playful curiosity in his eyes that had you shifting in your place.

All the reasons for someone to want to be fucked by this fine specimen of a man were right there, and you picked the most inclusive one. “Because you’re hot.”

The ends of his scar drew apart as Toji smiled a wolfish smile. He inched closer, your back hitting the armrest when his right hand caged your body between his arms and the couch.

“Bullshit.” A tickle from where his nose brushed against yours, and a thud from where your heart dropped inside your chest. “You think I wouldn’t know if ya had the hots for me, kid?”

“N-not everyone throws themselves at others.” You tried to reason.

“Maybe. But attraction comes with signs.” The side of his hand grazed the corner of your eyelid. “Batting your pretty lashes,” he trailed off, rough knuckles softly tracing the apple of your cheek. “Blushing your cheeks red.” The pad of his thumb swiped down your cupid’s bow. “Biting your lip raw.” He continued with his eyes, glancing at the skirt that lay high above your knees suggestively. “Pressing those plushy thighs together.”

“You do none ‘f those things.” Toji accused. “So why the sudden itch? Indulge me, and I’ll pound that pussy till ya scream.”

The promise of his words forced a gulp down your throat as your thighs involuntarily rubbed together. You started to reconsider. You didn’t want to fuck him just because any man would do. You wanted to fuck him because it was him and because every patch of skin he made contact with begged to be touched again.

“I’m a virgin.” You admitted, voice low, and stare even lower—utterly defeated as he flinched away in surprise.

You wondered what he’d say. A virgin at your age? was the most common response, followed by Is something wrong with you? and typically concluded with You sure you’re not a lesbian?

Everyone preaches how precious innocence is, but no one wants the pressure of taking it. What men really want is a woman who is both a saint and a slut—a woman who can suck their dick ten inches deeper than they can provide while simultaneously shying away from every insinuation of sex.

The problem is with the poor souls who belong in either category without adhering to the other, because squeezing your legs shut is just as faulty as spreading them open for the public.

Seeing as Toji remained silent, you realized you wouldn’t get an answer, and maybe it was for the best. You didn’t want to put a strain on your work relationship. It’d take a while to look him in the eye again, but in a month or two, you’d laugh about the incident over a cup of soggy store-bought noodles like nothing happened.

“Sorry for bothering you.” You mumbled as you picked up your last vestige of dignity and stood on your feet, only to be anchored by a set of fingers that tightly gripped your wrist.

“Sit.” His unfaltering gaze confirmed the sincerity of his command.

You thought about breaking free and dashing to the door. You thought about how much it’d actually hurt to let him ridicule you, and the tears started to build up on their own. And when you didn’t do as you were told, he towered over you with a palm that was eager to cup your cheek, tilting your face in position for him to print a rough kiss on your parted lips.

“I said fucking sit.” Toji repeated, while you contemplated how someone who spews words so harshly could have such soft lips.

Sheepishly, you fell back onto the couch, expecting him to follow suit and not kneel on the floor like he did. “What’s the story?” He asked, large hands taking hold of your knees and slowly rubbing them apart.

“What makes you think there’s a story?” You prayed that he couldn’t feel your heartbeat bounce across your body as if it were an empty vessel.

“With you, there always is.” He licked his lips as his eyes settled between your thighs, darkening with lust the second they were met with the damp patch in the middle of your pink lace knickers. “Wanna hear all about it while I feast on your little hole.”

“You’re not gonna fuck—”

“First things first, sweetheart. Gotta make sure y’are all prepped before I stuff you with my cock.” Toji smiled, pushing your skirt until it rolled over your stomach. “If ya gonna scream my ears off, better be from pleasure, mm?”

You nodded, watching as his slender fingers slid your underwear off and temporarily—you hoped—shoved it in his back pocket. You saw him marvel at the sight of your exposed cunt and wished you could peer into his brain to hear him curse himself for not coming up with this idea first.

You looked so pretty down there, your puffy clit safely tucked behind its hood while your lips shimmered with your wetness—the scent so intoxicating his pants tightened into a size too small.

He was already considering his next favor. Now that the door was open, he’d make sure it never closed again. Bending you over the copy machine was the front-runner. Getting a print of your tits squeezed against the scanner while he blows your back, his palm muffling out the pathetic sounds you let slip—he’d be lying if that wasn’t what he fantasized about whenever you refilled the ink cartridges for him.

“Ya ever touch yourself here?”

His thumb swiped over your clit, drawing an incomplete circle that ended with light flicks around the sensitive nub. Left and right. Up and down. Searching for the combination that’d have your body answer in place of your mouth, and when your hips bucked forward, he knew exactly where to press.

“Y-yes!” You whined, more as a reaction than an answer to his question.

“And ya ever push a finger in?” He continued, teasingly dragging his thumb between your lips.

“Just one. Rest hurt.”

“Mhm, bet they do.” He hummed as he tasted you on his finger, exaggerating the suck with a soft pop. “Ever had a guy kiss ya there before?”

Toji gave his own answer as he buried his head in your pussy, the sticky mix of his saliva and your juices trickling down your entrance while he made out with your clit. You struggled to keep your thighs apart, the raspy grunts at the back of his throat vibrating against your mound in joint symphony with your breathy moans. His tongue felt so good soaking on your slick that you felt yourself melting into a pool of pleasure.

“Get talkin’ or I’ll stop.” He warned, slowing down with broad, near-maddening, strokes that occasionally dipped between your folds.

“I wanted to w-wait,” you panted. “Wanted to fall in love first, but then I waited too long, and—ngh, fuck, right there!” Toji pinched your folds apart, his stare lecherous as he sucked the puffy pearl into his warm mouth.

Your body jerked in response, the leather squeaking hard beneath your bared ass. You weren’t sure at what point interest surpassed curiosity, but the signs were all there, manifesting as heat in your cheeks and blood that threatened to drop from your chewed-up lip.

His jade eyes narrowed into a shrewd reminder. Putting your thoughts in order was impossible, but if you stopped, so would he.

“Everyone ‘round me started d-doing it, and I was the only one l-left.” You tried to regulate your breathing through your nose, your throat turning hoarse from all the strain. “Went on a bunch of blind dates, but the guys were t-turned off, and—how the fuck are you so good at this?”

Toji chuckled, the pink tip of his tongue parting your lips in a languid motion that made you shudder. “Let’s just say my marriage didn’t fall apart ‘cause of this.”

He mounted your knees atop his shoulders and neared your entrance, with his middle and ring fingers ghosting over the softness of your pulsing slit. “Gonna use my fingers now. Be a good girl and cum on them, will ya?”

The first digit pushed forward, much thicker than any of your fingers. You felt so full already—nails digging into the cushions, while he thrust in and out of your walls, curling the lone pad to find a spot so sweet it elicited a moan of equal sweetness.

“Ya did well to come to me.” He continued, his raspy voice effortlessly sexy. “Kids these days don’t know shit ‘bout pleasing a woman.”

The veins on his wrist flexed along with his scars as his ring finger joined in the action to defy your previous claim. There was no pain. Only immense waves of pleasure leaking through your squinted eyes as hot tears beaded your eyelashes.

“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’.” He praised, repeatedly hitting the swollen bundle of nerves inside your throbbing cunt, bringing you closer to the edge with each thorough pump.

“Maybe I was wrong, hm? Maybe that’s what ya wanted all along. I know I did. Fucking wanted my hands on this pussy since I first saw ya fidget with your little skirt at that interview.”

“Toji—”

He dived between your legs again, his hand maintaining the same erratic pace even while his tongue hungrily lapped at your clit. Your head lolled back, the tension in your guts rapidly building up until you came undone, your pussy clenching and creaming around his calloused fingers.

You’d never finished so hard on your own, the tremors of your orgasm ringing in your ears and jogging your memory.

Your first impression on that day was sadness, right? Sadness over the wedding band the handsome stranger hid in his pocket right before entering the building, thinking no one else caught sight of it, and embarrassment about how your impure thoughts for a married man followed you into the shower every night after work.

“Atta girl.” A present-day and very-much divorced Toji licked his lips into a smile. “Their fucking loss.”

His knee pressed into the gap between your thighs as he stood on his feet and prompted you to open your lips. You took his fingers in your mouth, licking your cum off while your chest heaved with one labored breath after the other.

“See how good ya taste?” Toji cooed, rhythmically fucking his fingers on your tongue before removing them. “Sweeter than honey.”

“Thought you didn’t like sweet things.” His coffee order came in mind.

“How ‘bout we make an exception?”

You weren’t sure what got into you when you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him forward, kissing him with such vigor you’d never experienced. You always thought of losing your virginity as checking an item off your bucket list. You didn’t imagine you could ever lust after someone the way you currently lusted after Toji, your desire escalating into an all-consuming need.

His tongue moved as skillfully in your mouth as it did when it explored your pussy, dancing with your own rather than overpowering it. You liked kissing him. You liked kissing him so much that you wanted to incorporate it into your morning hellos and your evening goodbyes, dragging yourselves into an endless loop of returned favors.

Without breaking the kiss, Toji hoisted you up from the couch and held you in his arms, his palms finding the perfect excuse to grab onto your ass while he carried you across rooms you didn’t care enough to see. A door creaked behind your back, and soon you were tossed onto a large body of endless softness—a bed, you realized as Toji hastily shoved a couple of pillows behind your head.

“Ever heard of that stupid nickname that goes ‘round work?” He whispered in your ear while his fingers worked on undoing your blouse. “How they call ya my work wife?” His palms slid around your ribs and back to unhook your bra. “Guess this makes it our wedding night, heh.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a chuckle. “Don’t you feel any shame calling me your wife when you’re about to fuck me on your ex-wife’s bed?”

“My bed now, and what I say fucking goes.” He stripped your body from every garment, salaciously gawking at your nude figure on his (her) satin sheets.

You didn’t feel too bad about showing your body, but his stare was almost intrusive—especially with how he hadn’t lost a single article of clothing himself.

“Such a gorgeous body, wife.” He dragged out the final syllables, hoping to elicit a reaction separate from the soft pants you let out as he caressed your soft curves—both much softer than the bedding you were splayed across, liquid velvet in his hands. “Such a good little wife, saving herself for her husband to deflower.”

“Why thank you, husband.” You chortled, cupping his face in a deep kiss.

You knew Toji was the right choice. Not because touching him felt like winning the lottery or because he knew exactly what he was doing, but because he could’ve made this situation a lot more awkward and didn’t. He made your first time feel special, granting your wish of doing it with someone you loved, even if it was all an illusion that’d fade come tomorrow morning.

You almost thanked him as he began to unbutton his shirt, the display of corded muscles and pale scars breaking the dam between your legs. Whatever your type might’ve once been, was no more. It was all Toji, with his clenched fists lifting the weight of his brawny, veiny arms, his shoulders so wide you could ride on them, and the self-complacent smirk your stupefied expression brought to his lips.

“This ain’t an exhibit, sweetheart.” He mocked. “You can touch all ya want.”

He didn’t need to say it twice for your palms to roam his body, starting from his neck and slowly gliding down his torso, feeling out the tension in his steeled abdomen. His skin was smooth, except for the few unruly hairs leading down to the bulge in his crotch, whose sight alone made you lick your lips and buck your hips into his. You wanted to see the rest of him.

“You are the hottest divorcee I know.” You smiled earnestly.

“Ya know lots of ‘em?” Toji cocked his head while you shook yours with a giggle. “Don’t be so flattering.”

“I do have a great-aunt…”

“Oh, please.” He groaned, allowing you to laugh it out. He didn’t like how his bottom lip twitched as he struggled to contain a chuckle of his own. He’d long sworn off girls that made his heart skip a beat.

“Think y’are ready?” You nodded. Repeatedly.

Digging his knees into the bed, he stretched an arm toward the nightstand, fishing for a bottle in one of the drawers. Lube, you realized as he settled it beside you to remove his pants, flinging them along with his boxers to the other side of the room.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, an expression that didn’t look too good considering fear was about the last emotion you should be experiencing.

He was packing in every sense of the word. Long, thick, and definitely heavy as it hung above his hefty balls, the reddened tip pointing at your entrance. It wasn’t like you’d never seen a cock before. Porn existed, and so did perverts in trench coats, but comparing either one to him was both disrespectful and a huge understatement.

“Don’t go cold on me now, mm? It will fit.” He read your mind, taking your hand in his and slotting the bottle in your fist. “Prepped you so good for it. You’ll see; you’ll like this more than my fingers.”

“Promise.” He added, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You chose to trust him, and when he brought your other hand to his shaft, you knew what he was asking you to do.

The bottle spurted a thick glob of liquid that your palm smeared all over his cock head. Toji watched with bated breath as you stroked his length, each thorough pump of your delicate hands warming him up.

He deserved a pat on the back for not cumming right then and there—the distinction between the clear lubricant and his creamy precum becoming more prominent while he throbbed and twitched in your tight grasp. He thought about how much tighter your walls would be, milking every drop he had to offer while you writhed beneath him, with little ah-ah-ah’s and Toji please’s complimenting the squelching of your tight virgin cunt.

“That’s enough.”

He pulled your hand away and cracked the bottle open once more, rubbing a small quantity between his fingers and then scissoring them in your walls. You clung onto him, your hips chasing after his touch. Cute.

“Eyes on me, darlin’.” Toji leaned close enough so that your field of view was consumed by his face. “Keep your eyes on me, breath in ‘n’ out, and it won’t hurt one bit. I’ll take good care of ya.”

Your legs were parted as he ran his cock between your folds and pressed down firmly, his hand moving to your hip once he guided the first inches inside.

Toji was the first to react as he sank in deeper, about two-thirds in when he felt your pussy snare around him like a vice, the warmth of your walls making him curse under his breath. His last fuck was less than a weekend ago, and yet he felt like one of those loser kids he scorned earlier. He’d forgotten just how good being inside a virgin was—a one-and-done deal that would cease to amaze him after he fucked you into his shape.

“All good?” He remembered to ask, taking your strained yes at face value.

Small creases formed over your forehead, contorting your expression into a pained wince the further he sheathed himself into your wet cavern—and when his words weren’t enough, his lips took over. He kissed your worries away and cradled your breasts in his palms, doing everything in his power to keep the pain to a minimum as his hips met with your pelvis, bone against bone and skin against skin, until he finally bottomed out.

A whimper cut your kiss short, and for a second he feared tears would stream from your glassy eyes, not considering the possibility of your shaky legs wrapping around his back and your swollen, pretty lips calling out his name with a stuttered moan.

“F-fuck me, Toji. Please—fuck, I need you so badly.” You begged, dropping the pretense of composure.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck your little virgin pussy?”

“Y-yes, Toji, yes!”

“Yes, what, doll?” He teased. “Say it.”

“Please be my first, Toji.”

His grin turned feral in a heartbeat, your words stirring something in him that he could not explain.

He was prepared to spend the entire night fucking you at a snail’s pace, buttering you up with praises, and pampering you as if you were a golden egg goose, but now he didn’t have to. He could fuck you exactly how he pleased—fold your knees onto your stomach and hold down onto your thighs, pussy all exposed to where he could watch his cock pound into your hole and hear each and every strike of his balls against the fat of your ass—and you would take it.

But when he looked down and saw the ring of red that’d formed around his shaft, he had a change of heart. Maybe another time.

Planting his fingers on your hips, he withdrew slightly, purposely aligning his tip with the roof of your cunt. He didn’t have to go hard to make you happy. All he had to do was hit that one spot, and you’d be coming back for more. Having a steady thing wouldn’t hurt either. It was convenient—certainly better than burning gas driving across town just to pick up some random slut he’d tire of five minutes into her over-the-top screams. At least you lived close by.

With lavish strokes, he rolled his hips against your own, dipping forward to grind his pubic bone against your mound. It didn’t take long for the stimulation to get overwhelming, your hair falling from your strict work up-do all over your sweaty forehead while you thrashed around the sheets, huffs escalating into whiny moans.

“Sh-shit, gonna cum, Toji.” You managed, though there was no real need to tell him.

Your body responded perfectly to his, wetness gushing over his cock while your walls tightened impossibly around him. He fucked you through your high, wrapping his arms below your shoulders and muting your blissful sobs to chase after his own release. Your breasts were squeezed against his pecs, pebbled nipples making him regret not giving them the proper attention.

This wouldn’t be the last time. Your body was like a playground to him, and he sure as hell wasn’t done playing.

“My fucking work wife.” Toji grunted possessively in your ear, nipping at the lobe. Only his lower half moved, a constant snap of hips bouncing through the room as the second lewdest sound after the ones you traded. “Wanna send your ass crawling to work on all fours. That’ll show them, mm? Show them who fucked you so good. What a—fuck, what a good slut y’are f’me. From a virgin to my whore—hah, make ‘em all so jealous.

“Shhhhit, ya like that?” He interpreted your clenching as he willed. “Wanna start a rumor? Fuck on every desk, in every stall, and have everyone know?”

“Yes, Toji! Yesyesyes, want everyone to know you f-fucked me.”

You went back and forth between panting out his name and chanting yes, as those were the only two words you could mindlessly repeat. He wasn’t joking about making you scream. You were on the verge of passing out, so engrossed in ecstasy that you’d lost track of how many times you’d climaxed.

“‘s too much, T-Toji!” You begged, burying your head in the curve of his neck and breathing in his musk. You were both so sweaty, glued together like two puzzle pieces.

“One more, sweetheart. ‘m so close—wanna feel ya cum with me.”

He toyed with your clit until he started to fall out of pace, drawing his cock out before it was caught in the spasms of your pussy. A hefty load burst in his fist as he jerked himself off to your fucked-out form, hot drops of cum spraying your stomach like creamy droplets of rain.

Neither of you realized how soaked the sheets were until Toji left the bed, his eyes not faking their surprise. You didn’t seem to be in that much pain, and yet the amount of blood and wetness was at least equal to carnage.

Would it be a dick move to task you with his laundry?

He spared you a glance, not bothering to hide his smugness. Your legs were still trembling, your breasts puffing up in your struggle to breathe through your agape lips. He was tempted to tell you off—something cheesy like, “Want somethin’ in your mouth that badly?”

“Hey, kid. You are not dead—are you?” He asked jokingly, laughing through his nose as you found the strength to flip him off. Now that the effects of your orgasm were wearing off, so was your obedience.

“How’d ya like your first time?” A thumbs-up this time. “A’right. C’mere.”

The longer he let the stain settle, the more of a bitch it’d be to remove it. That’s what Toji told himself as he picked you up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom, returning to the bedroom only to roll the sheets into a ball he’d later discard in the washing machine. He wasn’t avoiding looking at your cute face, and he definitely didn’t think of your weakened infant-like state as cute when he scrubbed your thighs clean with a wet towel either.

A weird image sparked in his memory, one from the many nights you’d spent working side by side at a dimly lit office. He remembered you ordering him takeout and looming over his head like a vulture while he went neck-to-neck with the vicious spreadsheet program. You insisted on tutoring him, claiming your dressy outfit was a result of canceled plans—even though you kept stealing glances at the clock—and staying with him until the wee hours when you didn’t have to.

You really were a sweetheart, an angel, and all the other terms of endearment he used on you knowing they made your lips stretch and your eyes sparkle. But that wasn’t for you to know.

“Toji?” Your voice jolted him out of his reverie—frail, but not as frail as the hands that wrapped around his own to snatch the towel.

What could he say to make you leave without any harsh feelings coming back to bite him in the ass?

He pondered his options while you bent forward from where he’d seated you on the counter by the sink. You held his limp dick in your palm, gently wiping the dried blood and cum that clung to his girth.

It was sickening how quickly he stiffened, all ready to ram it in your pussy and fuck you with the mirrored view of your ass in the backdrop, but what truly made his guts churn was the little cheeky smile you beamed with. He stood by his words. Virgins were the biggest sluts.

The towel dropped to the floor as you pointed his cock at your entrance, and that was all the convincing he needed.

“Fine.” Toji sighed, pinning your wrists on the cold quartz counter top. “You can stay the night, but mention work and I’m kicking ya out.”

This is definitely not how you say it.

You made it to the office the next day after a brief raid on your apartment. Going to work in your previous day’s clothes screamed, “Look at me! I got laid!” And as fun as creating all those fantasies with Toji was, you could do without earning “Hated Employee of the Month.” Everyone hated you for being friends with him as is.

He waited until you’d changed into a presentable outfit and dropped you off a block further away for precaution. You shared your final kiss in the car, wasting a whole fifteen minutes sucking each other’s faces off like teenagers at a drive-in. Dating a colleague was against the rules, and you didn’t want to date Toji either. Not that he’d asked. Not that you expected him to ask.

Losing your virginity was a lot more complicated than you thought.

He counted on you to bring coffee, and you would have if an intense craving for spicy tuna onigiri didn’t win you over. The convenience store was right around the corner, and its coffee was honestly not that bad if you squinted your eyes and fooled your senses a bit.

You grabbed two onigiri from the stand—in case Toji felt like stealing yours—along with an apple juicebox, both as a means of thanking and poking fun at him. You paid for the items and walked to the office, nauseated by the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach. You should’ve really eaten something instead of having your final hookup at the breakfast table.

A few people greeted you in and out of the elevator to the forty-seventh floor, some commenting on your looking less gloomy than usual, but that was about it. The world spun the same way it did even before you had sex. No big change or mind-blowing epiphany; just a euphoric feeling of accomplishment that dissipated the moment you saw the stack of documents waiting on your desk.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Toji magically sprouted from behind, loaded binders balanced on his arms—the same arms that’d lavished you with affection all night long. “They had a fall out at one of the subsidiaries, and now we gotta clean up their shit.”

And back to reality we go.

“Where’s my coffee?” He searched for a cup on his desk.

You pushed your desperation aside and held the juice to his face with a smile that turned awkward the longer he took to accept it.

“It’s um, you know.” You stepped closer, placing the box atop his mountain of files. “Thank you.”

“Also, got you this, so don’t even think of taking mine.” You balanced the onigiri beside the juice and plopped down on your chair, an antsy, blushing mess that refused to meet his stare until he looped an arm around your headrest and attached his mouth to your ear.

“Care to do me a favor?”

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[pathetichimbos]

guys... I gotta talk about this. bear with me, it's gonna be a rollercoaster.

<nsfw under cut f!reader implied but not outright stated I guess>

---

Thomas having sex for the first time.

Oh boy. Oh boy. So many thoughts.

I don't care what anyone says. Thomas is a 30+ year old virgin. We stan him. We love him. We're gonna ruin him.

But first, let's talk about all the stuff in his life building up to it.

So, as I've stated many, many times before, Thomas was primarily isolated from kids his age when he was 13-14, so he didn't really have an outlet to explore anything in a safe manner with anyone. (Not that it would have been all that safe in the first place... these kids wildin')

And we also know that he grew up in a pretty conservative household (a.ka. patriotic god fearing americans), so we all know that he was most likely too embarrased and ashamed by his own attraction to explore anything by himself either. (whoo boy been there buddy)

And we know that as an older, proud, southern woman, Luda Mae most likely did not have any sort of sex talk with Thomas other than telling him it was for grown, married folks only.

But, you know what we didn't know?

Charlie wasn't around to have the talk with him either.

I was rewatching The Beginning (oh wow, really? what a surprising turn of events) and something I've heard dozens of times before caught my eye.

1952. Sergeant Major 'Hoyt' was a POW in the Korean war.

August, 1939. Luda Mae finds a discarded newborn in the dumpster outside the slaughterhouse.

1939-1952.

Depending on the month (but we can assume it was many, many months), Thomas was 12 or 13 when Charlie served in the Army.

So, while Thomas is dropping out of school and isolating himself from his family and peers, the only sense of a father figure is serving / being held captive by enemy soldiers.

And personally, I don't believe Thomas and Monty are that close. Monty doesn't seem to take any sort of interest in Thomas, and Thomas was a little too willing to chop his legs off. So I sincerely doubt he was any sort of help.

So, really, I wouldn't be all that surprised if Thomas doesn't really know what sex is. He has a general idea of the meaning and that it's reserved for marriage, but other than crude, most likely misogynistic comments from the older men in his life, he doesn't really know anything about it.

So, when he actually does meet someone (and tie the knot) and all of those feelings come rushing in, he's more than overwhelmed. It takes a long time before he can actually handle going all the way.

For the first part of your intimacy, it's a lot of soft talks and encouragement, and explaining everything to him. He has no idea how to make you feel good, so it's up to you to show him literally everything.

You have to build up to the actual sex, and even after you do it for the first time, he's going to need you to keep hold of the lead until he's familiar and comfortable with it all.

He's a mess when you finally do it. He's clinging to you, trying so hard not to hold you too tightly, a whining mess in your ear, burying his face in your neck and panting wildly. It's awkward, and bumpy, and he finishes way too fast (and you don't even get the chance) but the way he melts into your touch with that blissed out look in his eyes makes it worth it.

And trust me, he gets better. He's a quick learner, and as long as you tell him exactly what to do, he goes from a fumbling mess to making your toes curl in no time.

He spends an ungodly amount of time watching and learning what gets you going. The sounds, the sights, the movements, everything.

He could spend hours on you, but he's still new to this, so he gets distracted really easily.

He lives off praise, the more you give him the more fuzzy his brain gets until he's a whining mess. (He makes a LOT of noises). He loves when you leave scratches. (Nothing too deep or scarring, but the feeling drives him crazy). He likes when you tug his hair to make him look at you. (He's big on eye contact, specifically when you're more 'making love' than 'we've got five minutes before someone walks into the kitchen').

....Now this next thing I'm gonna say is going to upset plenty of people, but hear me out.

Realistically, I don't think Thomas enjoys going down.

I know, I know, it's a SUPER unpopular opinion as pretty much every headcanons him as being super into giving head, BUT, I have my reasonings.

It's not that he dislikes the act itself, and in fact, I'm sure he actually loves it, but we do have to remember that he has a rather severe skin condition mostly centered around his face.

This means his skin is super sensitive to certain things like strong chemicals, intense fragrances, hot water, and anything with a high acidity.

And going down with absolutely cause an irritable flare up that will hurt. A lot.

So, no, realistically, I don't think he'd do it, just for that reason.

Do I think he'd enjoy doing it if he could? Yea, absolutely, I just don't think he can.

Anyways. I don't know what this was. But it would not leave my brain, so. I guess this is my introductory to the smut I want to start writing. Who knows. We'll see.

[zaldritzosrose]

To Tame a Wolf: Part One

Summary: The battle for alliance had begun. The Greens and the Blacks. The North was a desired ally. And a marriage would be the way to secure it.

TW: She/Her Pronouns, use of OC (Lyanna Stark), mentions of character death, arranged marriage.

Words: 1,939

Part Two

Thank you to @lady-phasma for betaing this for me!

A Dragon In Winterfell

Lyanna waited outside, her brother having received word that Prince Aemond and his dragon were on the horizon. And Lyanna had been sent out to greet him.

Aemond flew on Vhagar, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. He knew, in theory, what he needed to do in negotiations: offer what the council had instructed him to, and not leave without an answer, or even better, an acceptance. But it was what was to be offered that bothered him.

He had never pictured himself as a husband. Not that he considered himself undesirable, it had simply never been something that had crossed his mind. But duty was duty, and if anything could be said about Aemond, it was that he would always do his duty. And right now, his duty was war.

The distant roar of a dragon was enough to signal the prince’s impending arrival, the looming shadow of the mighty she-dragon eclipsing Winterfell’s courtyard. There was, most likely, not a single Northerner who had truly seen a dragon up close. Even in the sky, Vhagar was a sight to see. As the shadow dipped, Lyanna readied herself and the nearby servants for Aemond’s arrival.

Aemond dismounted quickly. If it was his choice, he would have this entire situation done within a day. Politics, or should he say that patience was not his strongest suit. And patience was surely something he would need for this.

“My prince,” Lyanna dropped smoothly into a curtsy, as did the servants around her. Aemond inclined his head in respect, his movements stiff - both from riding and his wish to be anywhere else.

“My lady, I appreciate the welcome,” Aemond responded, the need to remain polite warring with the need to move on to the true reason for his visit.

But he did allow himself a moment to pause and look at Lyanna. If this was the woman to whom he was intended to offer his hand, surely, he should take the time to assess her as she was. While it might seem cold, Aemond knew this arrangement was not intended to be based on his desires. This arrangement was simply that. An arrangement. Feelings were of no consequence.

Though he had to admit, the stories of her beauty did not do her justice. She was a true beauty, he realised. The dark hair and grey eyes, so synonymous with the Starks. The soft rosiness of her cheeks, that had bloomed from standing out in the cold Northern air. He suppressed a chuckle realising that either way, on the surface, he would benefit from this arrangement with a beautiful wife.

“My brother awaits you in our Hall, my prince.” Lyanna gestured towards the large doors behind her, before leading Aemond out of the cold and into the warmth of Winterfell’s walls.

The halls of Winterfell had a beauty of their own. Heavy stone walls, built to withstand the cold and likely more sinister foes. Like the halls, he stood in reflected the people that lived there. Hardy. Stubborn. And hard to defeat. It was this notion that made him realise why the North was such a desired ally. Aemond had little interest in the décor and architecture. He had one focus, and he would see that through without distraction.

Lyanna walked quickly, the only sound to be heard was the swishing of the heavy fabrics of her gown and the soft clacking of their boots against the stone floor. There was no small talk, which if he had to admit, Aemond quite appreciated. The doors to the hall were opened and Lyanna only glanced back momentarily before entering.

“Brother, Prince Aemond has arrived,” she announced to whom, Aemond assumed, was Lord Cregan.

The resemblance was notable. The dark hair, grey eyes. But where Lyanna was soft, Cregan was harsh - ever fitting the Wolf in the North moniker. Aemond inclined his head, to which Cregan returned the same gesture before gesturing for Aemond to sit.

What surprised Aemond, however, was when Lyanna took a seat at Cregan’s side. He knew things were a little different in the North. But he had not expected Lyanna to be present in the negotiations. If she noticed his surprise, she said nothing. She simply waited for her brother to begin.

"Lord Cregan, it is an honour to meet you. I have come on behalf of King Aegon and the Green Council to discuss an alliance between our houses." Aemond spoke confidently, reciting the words that his grandsire had drilled into him upon his departure.

The negotiations were long, but in Aemond’s eye, they were fruitful. Cregan was receptive, more than expected, to Aegon’s offers as King. But Aemond knew that it was only a matter of time before the secondary motive for his arrival was to be revealed.

“And for the North’s alliance, what does the Crown offer us?” Cregan asked, the faintest of smiles on his bearded face as he glanced over at Lyanna.

Marriages and betrothals were common bargaining tools, so it was no surprise that this was the expected next step. Aemond still felt the faintest unease settling in his gut at the prospect.

“The Crown offers marriage, my lord. Between Lady Lyanna and myself.” Aemond said the words simply, there was no need for flowery proposals.

But the look on Lyanna’s face was not what he expected. Surely a lady would feel honoured to be chosen to marry a prince. Lyanna looked anything but honoured. While she did not look angry, she did not look happy either. She was simply…indifferent.

“A generous proposal, my prince. And one that I will duly consider.”

And with Lord Stark’s words, the negotiations were ended. Aemond hoped, deep down, that the decision would be reached before the day’s end. But he felt he was hoping for too much. The prince looked to Lyanna once more, hoping for some sort of reaction. Joy, disgust, anger. Anything would be better than the blank look that currently coloured her features.

Only time would tell.

Aemond left the hall, knowing his part was done. For now. But he could already hear the words being exchanged between the siblings. The words were not angry, but they were not kind either. And it seemed that most of the ire was coming for Lyanna.

“I am not a prize to be exchanged for victory, brother!” Lyanna snapped, “And especially not to a Kinslayer!”

Lyanna’s voice just carried through the heavy wooden doors. Aemond could not help but feel a sting at her words. Was it him as a man she took issue with, or being married off itself? The word Kinslayer also carried a sting of its own. it seemed the title had carried itself all the way up North. Aemond knew he should not let it hurt him, but to know even a stranger saw him like that, was a slice to his usual stoic heart.

He did not stay to hear the rest. Their conversation was not for his ears. He took himself down the halls, seeking refuge in what he hoped would be a library. With the help of a nearby guard, he soon found himself seated in a heavy armchair surrounded by books. A sole comfort no matter where he found himself.

Lyanna was furious. Though at who, she was not sure. She did not know Aemond well enough to dislike him, but she knew enough to feel a sense of trepidation at being his wife. Stories of Aemond Targaryen had not taken long to make their way North.

Infamous for losing his eye to his nephew, the self-same nephew he killed on dragon back not so long ago and claiming the largest living dragon at only ten years of age.

The stories painted him as a man of little emotion, focused solely on the duty of being a prince and dragon rider. Not a man Lyanna had ever envisioned herself marrying, that was for sure. Though if she were honest, she had never truly imagined marrying anyone. She had been lucky in that regard; most ladies of Lyanna’s age would likely have been married off by now.

But she was not just a lady. She was a Stark. Just as much a prize as the North itself. Even if she despised the notion.

She knew Cregan would accept the proposal. He had decided to support Aegon before Aemond had even arrived. Her brother was a smart man, smarter than most gave him credit. Despite his young age as a Northern Warden, Cregan knew well enough to side where the benefit would fall greater on their house.

And right now? It was to side with Aegon as King.

By marrying Lyanna to Aemond, Cregan believed that he was putting Stark blood closer to the throne. And that was more than worth the price of his sister’s disdain.

The betrothal was official. And Lyanna was set to leave with Aemond for King’s Landing as soon as possible. War did not allow them the gift of time. Lyanna had at least hoped for time to prepare to leave, but Cregan assured her that her belongings would follow on behind her.

And then she realised the Crown’s intention. The sooner the wedding was held, the sooner war would begin. War was the focus, that was obvious.

Aemond left first, assuring Cregan and Lyanna that everything would be prepared for her arrival. A letter had been sent when Cregan accepted, informing Aegon and the Council that the marriage was to go ahead.

The ride was long for Lyanna, and the time did nothing to bolster her feelings towards this marriage. She didn’t hate Aemond, she had assured him of that before he left atop Vhagar. And he has assured her in kind, he had no reason to hate her either. But they both knew that there was little between them.

They would barely even be considered friends, for they knew nothing of each other. There was likely to be little time to learn such things.

Almost two weeks passed and Lyanna was at the gates of the Red Keep. She had never visited the South herself, but her brother had told her stories. Nothing would ever compare to the beauty of Winterfell in her eyes, but she could appreciate the Keep, nonetheless. For it was to become her home, whether she liked it or not. She assumed people knew of her arrival. It wasn’t often that Starks, or Northerners, came to the capital and to come on the arrangement of marriage would be more than a novelty.

As the carriage came to a stop, Lyanna took a deep breath, hoping to somehow calm herself. She knew nothing of what to expect the moment she stepped from the safety of her carriage. A voice outside could be heard instructing the horseman to open the doors.

Suddenly,  the flash of sunlight hit her eyes. Different from what she used to in the North. As her sight adjusted, she felt a hand reach out and offer to assist her exit, which she gladly took. Thankfully, her welcome was quiet. War did that to cities, most people were likely safely inside their homes. And she was glad of it, a crowd was not what she needed at this moment.

She could see a handful of people, she assumed were royal servants and as she looked further, she saw the figure of Aemond. Standing tall and regal in the small group of servants. Strangely, she was relieved to see a face she at least recognised.

Even if that face belonged to that of a stranger.

a/n thank you so much to everyone who gave the confidence to do this! feedback is always appreciated!

[aemondsbeloved]

Turn Back Time

summary: The night after Storm’s End and death of his nephew, Aemond returns to the Red Keep and deals with what he has done to his family. The next morning when he wakes up, Aemond is in the brief past. Now, Lucerys and his father still live and his brother is not yet King. If there was no civil war he might have been able to marry, you, his childhood friend, and perhaps this is why Aemond decides to change the future of his family (3.5k)

warnings: mentions of the death of Lucerys, Aemond having guilt, Aemond’s POV, angst with a happy ending, unedited

notes: I feel like this fic summary is so cringey but I really like how this turned out so I hope you guys enjoy!!

The night’s events in the Stormlands left Aemond soaked cold to the bone from the rain and his limbs feel weak when he dismounts Vhagar. Walking through the Keep he is silent, the water dripping onto the floor from his riding leathers the only sound to be heard. When he finds himself at the door to his mother’s apartments, Ser Cole is at the door asking Aemond what happened but he does not have the words for that.

“I need my mother,” he pleads and as Aemond never pleads for anything, Ser Cole lets him in.

His mother was resting peacefully, still sitting on her chair near the windows. Tonight the moon pours its light through the window and along with the candlelight near her for reading, there is nothing else in the room. Finally, when she looks up the calm expression on her face falls and she is asking him what has happened.

He does not have the words for this either and fall to his knees in front of where she sits. Without thinking, Aemond’s head falls into her lap and suddenly he is a boy again. “I am tired, mother,” he whispers and closes his eye. When he does he is haunted by the night’s events, the Baratheon girl he was due to marry and the fact she was not you, the girl he had only ever wanted, and the memory of Lucerys Velaryon falling from the sky. “I have ruined everything.”

“She will understand,” his mother tells him, mistakenly thinking Aemond was this distraught over his marriage to a Baratheon and not to the young lady that Aemond had always thought he would marry. “You have your duty and she could never hate you for that.”

In that much, she was right. If Aemond knew anything in the world it was that you would forgive him. You had always done so, his sharp words when his wound would send spasms through him face, his inability to always be open with you when you desired that, the way he treated his nephews when you had never begrudged them in your youth. Your forgiveness was the least of his worries, however, and Aemond could not bear to say it, but he had to.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead,” he tells his mother and he cannot lift his head from his mother’s lap. “It was an accident but it was my doing.” The admission makes his loathing that much stronger for himself. For all the years he could not live without hating Lucerys, now that his bastard nephew was gone he could no longer hide his hatred for himself behind someone else. For a fleeting moment he wonders if this is how his nephew felt that night in Driftmark. Harm was done but it was not the intent. Lucerys did not want to slice through Aemond’s eye and Aemond did not want Lucerys Velaryon to be dead, to his surprise.

The comfort his mother gives that night was as good as trying to heal a knife to a heart and Aemond moves to his rooms slowly. He has no memory of taking off his clothes and drying himself before falling into his bed but he does. When he wakes in the morning he is almost regretful to do so and as he left his bed he pays no attention to how his wet clothes from the previous night are nowhere in sight. It is only when he is dressed and leaves his rooms that he realizes something is not quite right.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you come up to him, a soft smile on your face as you link arms with him and walk in the opposite direction he had been heading. His eye is on you as he walks with you and something feels very wrong. “Your brother and sister will be in the throne room soon, best make sure you’re there. Rhaenyra is with Daemon and her sons it seems.”

“Lucerys?” he asks and the very name from his lips makes you look at him and laugh, startled. “He lives?”

“As far as I am aware,” you teased, thinking this a joke. “You and your brother haven’t killed your nephews yet praise the Seven.”

He did not laugh at your joke, a rarity, and you give him a long look. “Is something wrong? You are not yourself today.”

“All is well,” he insists, but all was not well, especially not when he stood in the throne room again. For the second time, Vaemond Velaryon called Rhaenyra’s sons bastards and Daemon cut his head off for it. Aemond stands still this time, an impassive gaze looking at his uncle. Lucerys Velaryon lived as did the King and there was no war yet.

The dinner that night is more or less the same, except for the fact you are there. Aemond had asked you to join and you had refuted the offer.

“I am not a Targaryen,” you said bashfully. “This is an affair only meant for the King’s family.”

“You could be a Targaryen one day,” he says with an air of arrogance. You would forgive him for it.

You had scoffed at him with a fond smile and left him there near his rooms, but come that evening you were there. His mother had looked at him with a curious expression, as if she had a question to ask him, but you had stayed by his side at the table.

The dinner was as he remembered it, Aegon had said something crass and Jace had stood up. Aemond had stood up, aware of your weary eyes as you looked from him to Jace. When Jace gave his speech Aemond remained unimpressed, still wanting to call him a strong boy again. Even the roasted pig was laid in front of him and Lucerys had still laughed, remembering the prank from their childhood.

Aemond wanted to stand up and make the speech he had the first time but when he looked at Lucerys he recalled the face of the boy who was falling to his death. At the memory that had not yet come to pass, Aemond swallowed nothing and ignored his smirking nephew.

“Are you well?” you whispered, reaching to place your hand on his arm. You had seen that he was not himself and Aemond found himself wanting to tell you. Surely you would think this was a dream of his, or perhaps you would think he had gone mad.

He did not answer you. If he had the words the explain his state of mind, they died with him that night in the Stormlands. You would not believe him, that much Aemond knew for certain. “Why would I not be?” he asks and his words are sharper than he intended. Your eyes fall to your lap at his tone and your hand leaves his arm. For the rest of the dinner he does not say a word.

The toasts were unbearable, Aemond decided, and even the content expression his mother had for once could not soothe him. His father would die tonight, he remembered. Despite the fact it was not proper, most certainly not the actions of the dutiful son he was meant to be, Aemond pushed his chair back and sought to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to look at his parents. “I am tired and should like to retire.” The words are proper, the cadence of a prince, but Aemond does not sound like himself. His mother worries, he can hear the words before she even says them but his father is dismissive. For the first time in his life, Aemond is grateful for his father’s lack of care for him.

When he leaves the room, Aemond is sure he is not followed. He ignores the way Daemon and Rhaenyra’s eyes are on him as he leaves. Before, Aemond had left the room only after punching his nephew and calling Rhaenyra’s sons bastards. This time that he leaves early he is not sure what is better.

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. He knows it is you because no one else would run after him. “I have a mind to be very cross with you, Aemond,” you say and he turns around from where he stood in the corridor to see you looking out of breath. He smiles absentmindedly as he remembers how the Septa would always tell you that your habit of running in the castle was very unladylike. “Something amuse you?” you ask him and this time you are cross with him, your eyes widened and eyebrows raised. With your lips pressed into a fine line, Aemond has no doubt he had ruined your evening.

“It is nothing,” he tries to assure you, hoping you would give this up. He turns around and walks away, planning on leaving you behind.

You would not have that, it seemed. “You will not ignore me,” you tell him lowly and though he does not look your way, he hears you walking in pace with him, your furious strides meeting his indifferent ones. “I am your closest friend and we have known each other since we were children, Aemond. I will not have you cast me aside just so you can close yourself off as you tried to do all those years ago.”

He stiffens and his surprise at your words has him still. You stop with him and give him a long look as he contemplates whether he should tell you. Your words were true, he admitted to himself. You had not been to Driftmark but you had been there when he returned to the Red Keep without an eye. When he had not let anyone in his presence for months, you had waited by the door, making the Kingsguard give Aemond lemon cakes you had gathered from the kitchens. When he let you near him, you had never flinched around him.

“You would not believe me,” he tells you after a minute.

“Impossible,” you insist. “There is nothing I would not believe coming from you.”

He tells you in that corridor which was only lit by firelight about the Stormlands and all that had come with it: the Baratheon girl he had to marry for the support of Baratheons for his brother, Lucerys coming to Storms End and Aemond’s demand for his eye, the way he lost control of Vhagar and Lucerys falling from the sky.

“I believe you,” you tell him after a long pause but uncertainty passes through your eyes. “But what if this is a sign?”

He hums, uncertainty in his eye now, not understanding your meaning.

“That the war to come is not worth the cost,” you elaborate and smile wryly. “Aegon has never wanted to be King. You know your brother.”

“He is my brother,” Aemond says in a hiss, something ugly growing in him. You do not flinch at his words. “It is his right.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But Rhaenyra is your sister—”

“Half sister,” he interrupts you, his words unkind.

“Still your sister, Aemond. Do you not think she would make a fine Queen?”

“You support them now?” he asks snidely, his lips pinched in an ugly frown.

“I only mean to say that you have seen what will happen if Aegon is crowned as King. There will be no peace, not you and not for us, but what if she was Queen?”

Aemond tried to not think about how you said there would be no peace for both of you, almost like one could not exist without the other. He did not like his half sister and that would never change, but he realized he would have to see her before she would leave for Dragonstone. He picks up your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles as you held a breath. “All will be well, my lady,” he tells you. “I must see my sister.”

You say nothing when he walks away to where Rhaenyra’s chambers were. When her handmiaden opens the door. The young woman is obviosuly shocked and weary, but lets him in regardless as she leads him into the solar.

“You left our family’s fast very suddenly,” he hears Rhaenyra as she enters the room. “The Queen was exceptionally worried.”

Aemond looks at her for a moment and considers her. He has hated his elder sister for a long time but he wonders who was at fault for that. “I will send her my apologies come the morning,” he tells her and without further contemplation, he motions to the sofa. “I have something to tell you and it is grave. You should sit before I say it.”

She considers him before she seems to trust him and sits on the sofa and places a hand on her protruding stomach. “What is it?” she asks him before he sits down and Aemond realizes she does not seem to find his presence bothersome.

“Something peculiar has occurred to me but I trust you will believe it to be true as it concerns the future of the Realm and House Targaryen.” Rhaenyra nods, eyes concerned as she looked at him. “I have lived in the future and have seen the beginning of the end for our House. I have seen the result of our father’s death and the plots that have rippened against you. I went along with them but I know now Aegon cannot be king.”

Rhaenyra blanches at his last words. “What plots?” she asks and her voice shakes slightly.

“My grandsire has been plotting to usurp you with the help of the small council since our father’s decline. Lord Beesbury is the only one who did not betray the King,” he elaborates. “Our father will die tonight and the council will crown Aegon.”

“Will they?” she says and bites her lips, spite in her eyes.

“Aegon is in the street of silk right now,” Aemond says quietly. “You must go to the King now with a witness and ask him to reaffirm your place as his heir. When he dies your coronation must occur immediately. My grandsire and the members of the small council will answer for their crimes but should be sequestered in their rooms until you have been crowned Queen.”

She nods in agreement. “Why are you doing this?” she asks him and as Aemond stands he looks at her.

“You are the best option I have,” he says. “I trust my mother, brother and sister will not be harmed.”

“Your loyalty will not be forgotten,” she tells him and Aemond fights back a smirk because he had not found any loyalty to Rhaenyra until an hour ago. His loyalty was to you and the peace the both of you might have.

“There is a lady I would like to marry,” he hears himself saying. “It would bear no political advantages but I desire her hand in marriage.”

Rhaenyra is surprised that much is clear and she realizes she does not know her brother at all. “You will have it,” she promises as she rises from her seat. “Yours will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept of my reign, brother. I swear on the memory of our father.”

She is serious and somber as she says these words and Aemond nods, not thinking about how beloved their father was to Rhaenyra and how he could not stand him as the years went by. In the back of his mind he knows she will not betray her words even if the sentiment is nothing to him.

Viserys dies as Aemond said he would and if what he hears is correct, Otto Hightower along with every member of the small council save Lord Beesbury was kept guarded in their rooms when Rhaenyra went to Queen Alicent. What was said Aemond did not know but the meeting behind closed doors lasted nearly an hour and at the end, Princess Rhaenyra had the Queen’s support. He suspected it had something to do with the assurance her children would live and even have places in court.

Aemond was there with his mother, Rhaenyra and Daemon when Aegon was found and brought before them. Daemon asked Aegon to denounce his right to the throne and have his life. His brother seemed seriously bothered but it was clear he was upset to be dragged from flea bottom to say he didn’t want the very birth right he had spent his youth saying he had no interest in.

It all rather fell into place easily and Aemond did not want to blink lest he lose this picture that looked like something that could be peace. But Rhaenyra was crowned and House Targaryen stood strong side by side.

After the coronation Aemond sought you out and found himself in your chambers.

“You helped your sister,” you tell him as soon as he entered your room with a faint smile. You did not appear surprised at this.

He does not correct you when you refer to Rhaenyra as his sister this time. “I did. It had to be done and it was my duty,” he reasons and after surveying your room bathed in the sunlight of dawn.

“You could not have done,” you say, smiling at him like you knew a secret he did not. It had been this way since you were children and he lost his eye, he would be rude, cruel even from his pain and station and you would smile before insisting he was wholly good. There was nothing whole about him, he had told you once with spite. Like everything, you had disagreed and taken everything in stride. “You are a good man, Aemond. Now she sees it too.”

He tipped his head down and chuckled. You were predictable in your kindness and forgiveness. As a warrior, a knight in training, Aemond would have loathed this trait of yours, but as a boy who has long since pined for you and coveted your faith in him, he loved this.

“Rhaenyra swore on the honor of our father I would be able to marry whomever I wanted,” he tells you. “My wedding will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept, she told me.”

“Oh?” you ask, your mouth gaping open. Your ease and relief at the event’s of the past night and day seem to vanish and your body is stiff with what he thinks is nerves. “How generous of her. Who is the lady?”

He looks at you and his gaze feels like it has been on your face for a year before he speaks. “I requested it of her and she was easily made in agreement,” he explains. “You know the lady well.” Aemond knows he is wrong for teasing you after the stress of this past day but a part of him wanders if you know it already.

“I do?” you ask. For someone as intelligent as yourself you question sounds dumb to your ears and perhaps Aemond’s too. “You’ve never been very interested in the ladies in the court before.”

Your words are true and Aemond thinks your pensive look is due to you thinking back to feasts and banquets hosted where he would seldom dance with ladies. It was always his mother, his sister, then you.

“Do not tax yourself by thinking of my interaction with every lady in court,” he tells you after a moment. By the way your eyes snap to his he thinks you are aware now he was teasing you. “There is no one who knows her better than yourself.”

“Aemond,” you whisper, admonishing him as you look at him bashfully and maybe even a tad bit enraged. “Must you toy with me?”

“Apologies, my lady,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. “But I thought you knew. There is no lady but you I would wed and certainly no other I would ask the Queen to allow me to marry.”

Your gaze is soft when you look at him after he says these words, a sigh escaping your lips. “Oh Aemond,” you say and take steps towards him before you reach him. When you tilt your head to look at him, he wraps his arm around your waist. He doesn’t pull you closer, not yet at least, but rubs soothing circles on your back. You lean into him and rest the side of your cheek against his chest as your limbs relaxing now that you are in his embrace. “There is no one else I would marry. The Realm itself would have to pull me away from you.”

He tucks your head under his chin and there is nothing stopping him now as he wraps both arms around your middle, pulling you against him. This was the closest he had gotten to peace, Aemond realizes. He thinks that you were right. Rhaenyra might make a fine Queen. He knew for certain if it were not for her, he would not be able to marry you.

* * * * * *

reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3

[smehur]

Drarry Fic Recs #3

Storm in a Teacup by @faith2wood

For reasons he'd rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter's hair. This cannot end well.

It seems I can't put together a rec list without at least one story by Faith Wood. This one's soft in all the delightful ways I came to expect from the pen of my favorite author, with a sharp little pang of uncertainty that made it all the sweeter, and possibly the best-executed piece of dialog across all my reading. A beautiful fic that I'll be going back to over and over again.

Two Houses by @tackytigerfic

Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently? Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

I already gushed about this story on here, but I'm going to do it again. It'd be impossible to overstate how much I loved it. From the world-building surrounding the two magical estates, sprinkled with a wealth of delectable little details, to the delightfully mature and tender romance. Slow burn in 11k? I didn't think it could be done either, but here we are. There was this beautiful scene where Harry said that being around Draco is restful. What a perfect word! It captures everything I enjoyed about this fic: the warmth and the contentment and the unwavering certainty that everything would work out. What a joy to read!

everything you could ever want by @eleadore

Coming back to Hogwarts has given Harry more time to reflect than he really wanted, and he's learned he never quite stopped being the envious little boy in the closet. Wanting and wanting, never to have. If what Harry wants is pain, who better than Draco Malfoy to provide?

Oh, man. Where do I even start? Talking about this fic feels a bit like talking about a a close friend: no matter what I say, I know I won't do justice to just how much it affected me. It charmed me, and tugged on my heartstrings, and it still has a grip on my imagination. Reading it was like falling in love: first, with the reticent, stopped-up Harry bursting with passion he's unable to express or act upon; and then, even harder, with the portrayal of Draco, whose thoughts and feelings we can only guess at till the very end. And even then, he doesn't speak: his answer is in the sweep of his lashes. Ahhh. Such beautiful prose and stunning characterization. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, I stay.

crawlin' helpless on the floor by @stationintern

It doesn't take much to torment a man when he's three broken contracts away from being out of a job and down a newspaper.

What a lovely little gem of a fic! Astonishing, how much atmosphere and feeling it delivers in less than 2k. A unique idea too (at least in my reading so far), that Harry and Draco as adults (and friends) might start a business together - and that it might not work out. Incredibly vivid, captivating, and rewarding. 10/10 will read again.

Like This and Like This (Dreams of Lace) by @primavera-cerezos

Harry gets an accidental peek. He can’t think of anything else.

Soft and sweet, and sizzling hot. I'm not sure I entirely buy a Harry who gets confused and clumsy to the point of losing his language when confronted with Draco's charms, but it's so much fun to read and this fic pulls it off perfectly. Draco wearing lace underwear is canon for me now.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

I'll be honest - I picked this up to see if a much-recommended author of some of this fandom's classics could sell me a trope I dislike (in this case, arranged marriage). And the answer is a loud, enthusiastic YES. Lol. I was sold on it within the first half of the first chapter. The premise is incredibly contrived, but the story built on it is so strong and compelling that I just didn't care. The pacing is phenomenal and the sex scenes are to die for. This is a whole new level of erotic prose for me; an amazing achievement, to have so little repetition, to infuse every encounter with so much energy and passion, even though it's a long story with many an encounter. It's just ridiculously good. I couldn't put it down and I'm already tempted to pick it right back up again.

I love this fandom. ❤️

[kurosstuff]

Hello, how are you doing? :)

Since requesrts are open and your writing is marvelous, I wanted to request an Azula x gn reader oneshot/fic where reader is a childhood friend who grew distant to Azula over time, but is now chosen to be her fiancé in an arranged marriage.

You don't have to write it, but I still hope you likr the idea!

Have a great day ^^

Hi! I'm doing better at least! Thank you so much♡ It means so much to me to hear you like my writing!

I'd like to apologize for not writing this sooner- was taking a break with long fics- and idk how accurate azula is still- haven't watched fhe show in so long-! Also hope I got Ozai ok? Never wrote anything with him in it before I don't think

-

I got carried away♡.. this came out as more of a reconnection type thing? Eh- maybe that's good?

Summary: read ask♡

Warnings(?): azula being azula, reader freaks out/panics alot, ozai, soft(?) Azula(she's like kinda nice sometimes); slight angst. Misunderstanding(but not really), friends to strangers to lovers(?), both reader AND azula are oblivious on how they really feel,

Azula x G/N reader: arranged

Being azulas friend had its ups and downs

Mostly downs

"Oh, come on, Y/N. Don't such a kid, " Azula grumbled, trying to get you to stay still. She read a trick where if someone still stays, a firebender can hit the target above the person's head without any injury. In a book for children for whatever reason. "I'd never hurt you," which is partly true - Azula wouldn't hurt you on purpose, or she would - you weren't actually sure

But like time- friendships come and go.

As you grew older, you saw how awful of a person Azula was turning out to be. How cruel of a person she truly was - how little care she had for another being - even her own brother. Seeing how she was amused and not concerned for her brother during the Agni Kai- you decided enough was enough.

This 'friendship' was becoming too dangerous too frightening. You were aware you can't just up and end the friendship you decided to distance yourself from her. Feeling confident, she wouldn't notice the change

-

You weren't sure if she ever noticed- if by chance she did. She never said or gave the indication she knew. After a couple of months, you stopped coming around to hang out.

You felt bad, but you believed this was for the best.

It's been almost a three full year when you received the letter. One you'd overlook if it weren't for the very specific golden charm closing the envelope showing it was from the royal family. Usually, being given this letter is either an honor or.. something much worse. Swallowing down your nerves, you sat down staring at the envelope for almost an eternity. Opening it carefully, you begain to read.

Everything seemed normal in the letter besides the fact you are to be summoned to the Fire Lord himself for something. Totally normal. Not like your gonna die or anything. Be shipped off to war maybe? You'd 100% are not worried.

Nope.

-

Rushing to get ready, you practically jumped in the air in Fright when you heard the knocking on the door. Your nerves were shot, and this whole thing was just making it worse.

You almost hoped to not see her there. But that'd be impossible since she lived there. Opening the door two guards stood infront of you looking at you sternly.

"Are you Y/N?" Nodding your head yes- you didn't trust your voice at the moment. They turned and gestured to follow "come. We will escort you to the Palace"

-

You don't remember anything on the way there - it was all a blur - you blame it on your nerves, but it did help distract from the imitating Palace. Until you got there. The two guards stepped out and opened the door for you - following them the huge door to the Palace opened slowly with a creek. You took a deep breath and stepped in- turning you watched as the doors closed, sealing your fate. Locking you in - A sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention

"This way," following closely, you dared not speak, not trusting your voice - and for the fact your throat was so dry a word couldn't get out when if you wished it.

Being led by two fully armed guards was almost as unnerving as the lack of decorations in the halls leading to the Fire Lords office. It was devoid of anything to show the human side of him - if there was any. The only lights shown were from flames - obviously, one's from the Fire Lord himself probably made. The only sounds you could hear was the sound of your heart beating harshly in your ears and the metal taps of the swords on the guards.

Stopping in front of huge double doors, they turned to you unblinking. "He's inside." Was all they said before they opened the doors for you. Once you stepped in they shut loudly the candles blowing out closest to you leaving you alone in the dark- minus the glow of flamed down the hall. Clenching your hands you took a deep breath and tried to relax-

The closer you got to the flames- the more the urge to run as far as you could got worse- alarm bells ringing in your head at the thought of this all going wrong. Something practically 100% possible. Even on his good days, he would be cruel. Stopping in front of the flame wall blocking you from the full view of the man himself - Fire Lord Ozai. His face covered in the shadows from how he sat, but the flames didn't hide how terrifyingly huge he looked - bowing in respect you were about to great him- before he put his hand up to stop you

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

It took you a moment to gain the courage to respond - surprisingly, he allowed you the moment - as if he thought you actually knew the reason. "No, Fire Lord Ozai. I do not. " A deep hum was all you got in return - fabric moved, glancing up, you gulped.

He stood up.

Walking towards you, the flames moved, almost glinding out of his way like a door - he stood before you. Moving his hand in a gesture, you understood to stand straight up , your eyes cast away in respectfear. Walking around you in a circle.

Like a predator hunting his prey. He stood in front of you again after a moment. "Yes. You are perfect." The odd complaint from him did nothing to ease you - seeing your confusion, he hummed."There's an arrangement. Obviously, your Father never told you." The look you held did nothing to stop him,"the arrangement was. His firstborn was to marry my firstborn." The words he spoke caused a mixed sense of emotions in you- confusion, anxiousness. And fear from what was your next thought.

His firstborn was banished.

"But. Giving the events that unfolded with my firstborn. The agreement changed a bit. You will marry my second born."

Clicks of footsteps echoed behind you. You didn't dare look behind you.

"You are to marry my daughter- Azula. Whom I was made aware you were friends of sorts." Turning away, he walked back to his throne. "You will be Wed in two months."

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, turning around, and froze. Azula stood arms crossed, staring at you - almost glaring from how narrowed her eyes were. The same smug smirk from years ago is still present. She almost didn't seem to change much but all the more terrifying. Even if deep down you were happy to see her

"Well. Hello Y/N, " she spoke, voice coming out in a condescending purr. "It seems like we have some catching up to do." Turning, she gestured you to follow her

-

You followed Azula to her room. You've been in it once before, but that was years ago. Before you felt comfortable - now you felt uneasy - tense about the whole thing. Standing far away from the bed but close enough, you looked around the room - it looks the same as it did, but with some added things such as plants and a new dresser replacing the old silver one she used to own.

Azula sat on her bed, pulling some books out to go through every once in a while, looking up at you - face unreadable. Shows how much has changed before you could tell what she was thinking even if she wouldn't show it - now it's like she's a new person - and in a way, she is.

"What's the matter with you?" Azula asked(more like demanded), looking over at her- Azula seemingly growing frustrated at the books in her hands- what about you weren't sure. Turning towards you with eyebrow raised an annoyed look on her face. You haven't answered her yet

"Oh- uh, nothing. Why?" Humming she placed the book down on her lap- gesturing towards the bed. Getting the message you sat down on the edge. She sat silent for a moment before sighing.

"Look." She started after a while. She took a second to think her response through - it was an odd sight. Azula glanced at you- raising an eyebrow at the unnerved state you were in. Standing up, she walked to her counter. "I get it. The situation we're in is weird. " Pulling some object out, she turned to face you. Handing it to you. It looked like a squishy turtle duck

Seeing the confusion on your face when you took it, she sighed, facing away from you once the look of realization hit you. "You always needed something to hold to calm down when you got like this." She spoke, sitting down beside you. Turning it around the squish toy was the same one you were given- and forgot about years ago. When you and Azula were close. The same accidental burn mark on the shell of the toy. You still remember how she gave it too you

-

Sitting on the bench, you held your hurt, burning hand crying. Clutching them close - you knew you shouldn't have let Azula talk you into doing such a trick.

A dangerous trick - yet she did. And here you sat hurt.

And alone.

Hurried footsteps came from behind you - you knew those footsteps. Sitting upright, you used your uninjured hand to whip the tears away harshly. You didn't want to give Azula another reason to tease you.

"There you are" she spoke. Sitting next to you she held something behind her. Face slightly flushed from either embarrassment or what you didn't know- nor gave it much thought once a toy was shoved in your face "here- I. I heard from the towns people that a thing called a 'squishy' helps calm people down. Brings comfort or whatever. So take it. It's yours" Holding it in your hand you smiled tearfully. Azula looked like she practically softened before she turned to your hand- huffing she gestured for it

"we need to clean this."

-

The memory brought a happy smile to your face. Looking up, you saw the quick look of relief on Azulas face before it hardened. "..you kept it?" A shrug was all you got in response for a moment

"Of course I did." Azula mumbled before clearing her throat, brushing you off without a word. Turning away from you - Azula was silent as you messed with the squishy in your hand. Turning towards you, she opened her mouth before shutting it. This caused to pause - Azula never hesitates, nor does she stop until she gets what she wants. Somethings wrong

Before you could ask, a knock came at the door. After giving permission, a maid came in bowing, "My lady, your training room is ready for you." A wave of her hand and the maid ran off hurriedly down the hall.

"You're coming with me." Azula spoke standing. She walked to the door, glancing back at you - an eyebrow arched. Obviously she was waiting for you to follow. Trying to swallow your nerves you jumped up putting the squish on the bed before turning to follow Azula.

The walk was quiet

-

Entering the training room a couple test dummies stood around the room. Arms stretched out like you used to see from the target practice dummies you'd come acrossed before.

"Sit there- I'll be back" Azula pointed towards some benches a bit far off- you sighed- it's better to just let her do what she says half the time anyways.

After you sat on the bench, Azula moved to the changing room. Her mind jumbled. Scattered around, and she couldn't think of a good reason as to why. Pacing back and forth, she clenched her jaw angrily

Azula was panicking on the inside - ever since she found out it was you, she was to marry. Even worse when she saw you. Would she be a horrible wife? Be like her father and treat her spouse horribly to the point of another abandonment? No. She won't be like him. Azula refuses to treat the one she's bound to in such a way - even Azula isn't that cruel of a person. She's not soft - she's not kind either. She knows the reason why you left her even if you didn't say.

It was her fault

Learning the first choice of who you were originally gonna be married to didn't help her feel good at all. Did you know you were gonna marry her brother? That you left cause of that? The selfish, selfish side of Azula prayed that was the real reason you left. She knows it's not, but it's just easier to think

She wants to prove that she's the best choice - the only choice. Of course, the arranged part of the marriage didn't make her feel happy made her feel horrible. If you were to marry her, she'd want it to be of your free will - not be forced.

Azula stopped pacing. What? Why is that the thing she's focused on. Blinking she crossed her arms. Of course the thought of someone being forced to marry her set an uneasy feeling inside her, but. The thought of marrying you wasn't bad at all-

Why is that? It makes no sense why Azula was and still is hung up on a loss of a friend. The loss of you since the beginning was horrible. It made her sick- she'd admit it only to herself now that she missed you- but.. why does she feel relief from the thought of marrying you? Was it cause she knew you?

Shaking her head she quickly got dressed

-

Fiddling with your thumbs, you glanced around the room - thankfully, in a more relaxed mood. Your heart no longer felt like leaping out of your chest. The whole area was spotless- which wasn't a surpise given how certain people would react to a messy training hall. You shuddered at the memory.

Looking over when the door opened, your face flushed a bit. Azula was already looking your way when she came out. Without a word, she stepped up and moved the dummies a bit before she begins she started to stretch. Standing straight she smirked back at you.

"Keep those eyes on me," she begain her training. Hitting the dummies far back with a punch in the air- blue flames came out in a flicker illuminating her air and passing some of the training dummies closest- but surprisingly never touching them. Only hitting her target

It wasn't much of a surpise on how good of a fighter Azula was- but you can't help but you can't help but still be surprised at how well she can control her flames. You've seen fire benders fight and train before, this wasn't the first- but it was the first seeing just how different she was to the others. If anyone else tried this. Tried to hit the target from the farthest to the front. 100% the flames passing the others would be hit and burned, but for Azula- it was like it never touched.

The more she hit and kicked, the more in awe you were in watching. If anything, it looked like a dance you'd see from how fluent and confident Azula moved to attack.

As quick as she began, the training ended. Azula walked towards you, and she didn't even break a sweat- even her hair was kept in place even though she was hitting and kicking. Standing infront of you she crossed her arms almost smirking. "Well?" She spoke with an eyebrow raised

"You were perfect! How did you even do that?"

"I'm a natural. No trouble at all" Azula spoke smugly- she wasn't gonna tell you how long it took for her to get the attack right when she was younger. Everything needs to be perfect. Azula hummed, interrupting your praise for a moment. "..We added more flowers to the garden. I'll show you" she spoke almost oddly. The praise you gave her felt weird- but it filled her ego. Of course it was perfect.

This was Azula

Nothing less than perfect no matter what.

She turned to leave to redress ignoring your call.

"We'll go once I come back"

-

The garden wasn't totally different from how it was since the last time you saw it. The tree in the middle has grown much older but still hanging strong - a knew bench was placed near it, giving the tree and pond underneath. The sun hitting perfectly in-between the leafs and from the rocks below made it have almost a glow to it.

Looking around, the bushes nearby were cut in the specific square way the Fire Lord himself seemed to prefer rather than the rounded ones. Stopping once you heard quaking noises. A smile came over your face, walking to the center pond. You knelt down, looking at the turtle ducks

"Here. You can feed them if you'd like" Azula spoke, holding a small bag of bread out. Thanking her you took it and started to break them up. Azula watched her eyes softening at the sight.

Azula couldn't put her finger on what was wrong with her. Was it her nerves? Why does this scene in front of her make her feel off? The way you're kneeling in front of the turtle ducks the way you gently fed them. The way the lowering sub hits your face. Blinking, she scowled, looking away from you. Looking out to the pond on the other side

"Do you want to feed one, Azula?" Not getting a response, you looked over, frowning at what you saw.

Azula looked almost troubled by something. "Azula?" Calling out to her gave no help. It was like she was here but not here at the moment. Calling out to her again in a softer tone to not startle her- she blinked at you slowly before registering where she was. Standing up, you watched her closely

"Azula. Are you ok?"

Azula just nodded slowly. A moment passes before she bits her tongue. A question on the tip of her tongue. She doesn't want to ask. But she has to. She needs to if she really wants to not be like her father. Not in this way at least

"Are we still friends?" Azula asked before she could stop. "Like I know this is an arrangement but. Are we?"

You didn't responded right away. Just stood there thinking. The way she looked at you- you couldn't tell what she was thinking. It was like looking at a new person. Slowly nodding your head "yes we are." You bit your lip in thought "can we have a do over? From how things ended-" it was a selfish thing to ask. To pretend you didn't just disappear from her life.

Azula nodded her head

"Then.. we can start over?" You said, looking away from Azula for a moment - turning back to look at her - her gaze was on the pond in front of you both.

"Don't see why not. We're not getting married for a couple of months, so we have time"

[auspicioustidings]

The Gentle Duchess

Blue Blood Part 4

Summary: Continuation of the Blood Druid. Johnny finally teaches you about the things you want to know.

Word Count: 3.3k

CWs: Smut, just shameless smut (which I am still a beginner at so my sibling in Christ temper your expectations)

“Aye, I can teach ye. Good students dinnae yell at their teachers like that though, dae they? I ken ye’ll have been raised with all sorts of those nice gentle manners, so ask again nicely hen” Johnny said, looking down at you sat on the bed with no end of heated mischief in his eyes. 

You had been raised with those nice, gentle manners. You had a reputation as such, the Gentle Duchess who was rarely ever seen at social events but always mild tempered when she did appear. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Powerful father so a decent prospect for marriage, no brothers. You had been ok with that, it wasn’t a bad thing to be known for being gentle. But right in this moment you understood the call to bloodlust that men at war held. You wanted to strangle this strange creature.

“Good teachers do not tease their students sir” you replied, curt and proper. 

Something of an animal came across him when you had called him sir. You had meant it to be mocking, anyone of good breeding would know it was an insult being said in such a tone. But it affected him in some way that was frighteningly exciting. 

“Ye want tae know whit it’d really be like if I wis teasing ye my lady?” he replied, voice seeming deeper now, the last two words coated in syrup. 

He had leaned forward, putting his hands to either side of you and caging you in. Your heartbeat quickened and you felt a confusion in your blood, fighting to rush to either your cheeks or between your legs. Johnny watched in delight as you naturally leaned back, not even realising you were doing so until you were braced on your forearms, him continuing to follow to stay right in your space. 

It was delicious watching you rebel for what was probably the first time in your life. He had met many women from the nobilities of these silly little Kingdoms, none quite as sheltered as you. And yet there was such a fight in you wrestling to get out. He knew it had always been there, knew that this was destiny for you to fall into their laps. He would bring out that fight, let you sharpen your nails on his skin and whet your teeth on his blood. 

“Perhaps you should reevaluate your surety that you could truly tease me” you said, trying your best to emulate the way you heard the vipers of different social events speak. Polite in the most cutting of ways. 

“Such a sharp tongue on ye” he grinned, putting a firm hand to the centre of your chest and giving one strong push.

With a soft oof you found your back on the bed, arms no longer holding you up. He readjusted, bringing one knee to rest on the small space at the edge of the bed between your legs and bracing one hand beside your head. The other he brought to your lips, two fingers bullying their way past to massage at your tongue. 

“Cannae believe such a pretty wee mouth would gie me such an attitude” he cooed.

Your head may have been getting a little hazey, the sink into that floating space you had discovered this past couple of days feeling imminent, but you steeled yourself. You bit down, feeling a little satisfaction when he hissed and pulled his fingers away, shaking them out. Johnny was indulging you a little, he knew your bite had been controlled, gentle. You didn’t have it in you just yet to try to hurt him. He wondered if you ever would, but he thought it might be a good thing that your nature was more to be docile and gentle. He was more than sure he could push you to be mean, but for Simon a gentle love would be perfect. 

“If you are not going to teach me, then I would prefer you go and play with someone else.”

“You bit me, feral wee thing.”

You tried to stop from going bright red, not able to stop it. Feral wee thing. You had never dreamed anyone would even have a passing thought to think of you in such a way. It made you feel a rush of heady satisfaction. Is this how a pampered cat must feel when it finds cause to sink its claws into something? The reminder that under all those frills and laces and poise there was still a predator?

There was a desperate want in you. Oh how you wanted and wanted and wanted. You wanted to bite him again to see him hiss, you wanted him to bite you so you could feel the sting. You wanted him to touch you. Oh Gods you wanted to touch him. You wanted to stop fighting and beg to touch him, show him how gentle and compliant you could be and have him coo sweet praises at you for it. You wanted to fight and fight and fight until he forced compliance out of you. 

Johnny could see you at odds with yourself. He was pushing you he knew, probably too far too fast. How irresistible a temptation it was when it flushed you so, had you erratically grinding down on his knee without even realising it. Had your hands fisting the sheets, white knuckled in an attempt to keep from losing control and touching him. Touching yourself. Fuck, the little whine that had left you unbidden at his words had him painfully hard. 

But there was another feeling aching away in his chest. His brothers in arms were 3 men he loved fiercely, he would call down the Gods to burn the world for them. Simon Riley especially. The man who had understood what it was like to be looked down on. When Johnny had first let Gaz talk him into joining the Duke’s little team, he had only done it because he thought the Prince was a bonnie thing he wouldn’t mind corrupting and because he wanted to see more of the world. It was Simon who noticed the way people would treat him. Like some untamed savage.

He enjoyed it for the most part, but it got lonely after a while to have everyone be scared of you. And then the big eejit in a mask had started dragging him to spar with the other soldiers, had goaded him into bantering little arguments at dinner where the servants in earshot could hardly hide their laughter, had told fantastical stories to wide eyed children about how Johnny’s homeland had cù-sìths and kelpies and unicorns and all sorts of magic bubbling away that had them constantly bothering Johnny to tell them all about it. He admitted he enjoyed telling them all about his home, treating them with ghost stories and tales of grand adventure.

It was only when he realised all at once that the people around here smiled at him in greeting that he had been fully aware of Simon’s cleverness and quiet care. The man was a monster on the battlefield, but so few saw that he was also fiercely loyal and he protected those he considered his. Looking at you, knowing that soon he would be giving you to the man who so fully deserved you, had his heart singing. 

You would so perfectly compliment him, be the gentle place his heart could rest. Johnny felt such a rush of love for you then, the same warm light he got when communing with his Gods. He sent up a quick prayer, a thank you for sending you. 

“Your aroused wee yin, that’s what this is.”

“What?”

“Ye wanted teaching naw?” he said, steady and encouraging as the bitten hand was placed on your waist, giving a warm squeeze. “This feeling, it’s arousal. This divine wee body wants touching, needs something inside.”

You heard your little noise this time, a startled note. You had tried to put your finger inside, it had felt foreign and uncomfortable. The Prince and the Duke hadn’t… well there was the Duke’s clever tongue. It made you see stars. Did it need to be a tongue? 

“I tried that” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes out of shame.

You jolted when he pressed his lips against your jaw, kisses peppering over you and down to the neckline of your dress. The hand at your waist dragged leisurely down, rucking your dress up to your thigh before pausing there. He pulled his lips away.

“Look at me please.” 

He had asked so achingly sweetly that you had little choice in the matter, meeting his eyes. He was different somehow, no less intense but the intensity was different. Softer in a way that was terrifying for a reason you couldn’t name. 

“Fuck. Tha thu bòidheach” he said, almost breathless. 

“I don’t…”

“Let me touch ye. Let me show ye how to feel good.”

Gone was the teasing, he seemed so sincere now. And he wasn’t pushing you either, the hand on your dress paused. With the others there hadn’t been anytime to really think about it. You had been overwhelmed with sensation. But now he gave you time, gave you a quiet moment to decide if this was something you wanted of him. And still, still you wanted.

“...please” you whispered, not even sure if the word was audible.

“Ok mo leannan, I’ve got ye. Going tae undress you.”

And undress you he did, achingly softly, until you were bare on the bed. He moved you with gentle touches to be fully laid out so he could straddle you and press his forehead to yours with an affectionate headbutt that made you scowl and butt him right back, causing him to chuckle lightly and nuzzle on you.

“Still my feral wee thing.”

He started trailing kisses from your jaw again, this time not meeting any fabric to stop him from continuing down to the swell of your breasts. His hand was firm on your stomach keeping you pressed down into the plush bed as he swirled his tongue around one of your nipples. Your body tried to arch without your permission and you nearly choked on your own saliva at the sharp gasp of pleasure escaping your lips. 

“I… I can feel it between my legs. Ah! I-it’s like there is a path between them” you rambled, trying to fight against the urge to just lose yourself in the sensation so you could understand.

The wet pop of his mouth leaving you was obscene.

“Aye, to here” he said, hand coming to cup you. “Lots of names people call this.”

“His highness he- oh Gods I don’t- c-cunt! That’s what he called it.”

“Fuuuck. Never sounded so pretty a word before now. Whit did his royal pain in the arse call this then?” he asked, finger delving in to press at your clit.

“He called it my clit. Please!”

“Come on wee yin, use your words.”

“I - I don’t know!”

It was driving you wild, his fingers just sitting there pressing. Not moving. You were trying to wriggle as best you could with his other hand still holding you down, trying to get anything. You thought you might cry.

“Aye ye dae. Dinnae be a brat, tell me whit it is ye want.”

You lashed out, small hand grabbing at his hair and sharply pulling as you bared your teeth at him. You hated being called a brat and he had done it twice now. You were a Duchess, demure and proper. If anyone was being a brat it was him. He brought this out in you, this beast. If he was so determined to act like it was somehow you being the problem here then he could do something about it. Oh, wasn’t that a thought that got your blood hot.

“Move your fingers. Use your tongue. Do something!”

His pupils were blown out and he was panting like a dog at the little attack, baring his teeth right back with a feral grin. 

“I’ll allow it my lady, jist this once. After ye get married, ye try that again and I’ll bend ye over and fuck your arse silly while the Prince eats out your cunt. Ye’ll be begging for us tae let your husband come take whit’s his by the time we’re through with ye.”

You didn’t fully understand, but it made you want to fight even more nonetheless. He still wasn’t moving his damn fingers. Deliberate of course on Johnny’s part. He had really thought he could be slow and loving with you, but he adored you spitting mad like this. You were so haughty, refusing to beg him pretty. He knew that Simon and Price would probably spoil you completely, it would be him and Gaz who would work you up like this, get you fighting.

“You insufferable man! I will not beg anything of you” you snapped, yanking him down so you could kiss him.

It was a battle more than anything, all tongues and teeth. The sounds were lewd and you did not care, only relishing in a small victory when he had to move his hands from between you to balance himself and you could wrap your legs around him, rolling your hips to get that friction he should have just given you in the first place. He moaned loudly into your mouth and you felt a hard length pressing into you beneath the heavy fabric of his kilt. It startled you enough to loosen your grip on him, allowing him to pull his mouth from yours, both of you panting and staring at one another.

“Did Gaz teach you the name for it?”

“He… I think he touched it, but he wouldn’t let me see.”

“Selfish Prince hm?”

Your legs tightened around him when he went to move off of you, not understanding. He gave your neck a small nip with his teeth which made you yelp and he used the distraction to pull away and stand. You turned to your side to look up at him in what you had wanted to be anger, but was more akin to looking like a kicked puppy. When he started to unwind the fabric covering him, you watched with fascination. 

You could not look away from the heavy weight between his legs, hard. He wrapped his hand around it and you saw that it was leaking, his thumb catching on that liquid to slick himself up.

“Cock gets hard like this the same way that pretty cunt gets all wet,” he said, fist continuing to pump slowly. 

“May I…?”

You weren’t sure how to ask exactly, but your curiosity had cooled some of your fight. You wanted to touch him the way he was touching himself, see what it felt like. You swallowed thickly, salivating with the image of putting your tongue on him. Would it feel for him the way the Duke had made you feel? He held his hand out to yours and when you took it guided you to hold him. 

It was velvety, hotter than you thought. Sticky. His low moan made your bones rattle. You could die to hear him do it again. You shifted forward to taste it and the noise you were rewarded with made you believe in his old Northern Gods. 

“Fuck, pretty little tongue feels perfect. You’re perfect” he groaned. 

For some reason those two words made you squirm far more than any filth that he could have come out with. He carded a hand through your hair and moved your head back from him, groaning.

“Turn around mo leannan.”

You didn’t follow the instruction immediately, confused and stubborn. But you didn’t resist when he just took your body and turned it as if you weighed nothing to him. You were laid on your side facing away from him and his body joined you, chest against your back. His arm landed heavy on your hip, hand coming around to finally touch you like you had wanted. 

“Touch yourself the way I’m doing, I’m going tae move my fingers to put them inside. Need ye tae relax.”

You wanted, you wanted, you wanted. If he was going to give you what you wanted then you could do what he said without complaint, fingers bumping against his sweetly as you took over. He readjusted your legs, pushing his cock between your thighs making you moan at the heat of it. When he was able to rut slowly he finally dropped his fingers to your opening, pushing one inside.

It felt different to when you had done it. It felt so hot and tight and wet and you could feel your walls trying to milk his finger. 

“So tight. So hot and tight and perfect. Fuck taking it so pretty aren’t ye mo leannan? This was made for a cock, that’s whit I meant by saying I wisnae going tae take your maidenhood. The first cock in ye should be yer husbands in this Kingdom. Fuuuck, bunch of bastards. If ye were from the Northern Isles wouldnae be a problem for me to be inside ye before ye married.”

Everything felt blindingly intense, but it felt like you were on a thin line between that and a fuzzy softness. Like if you just gave in to it, you could leave your thoughts to the wayside and just feel. You resisted, too busy buzzing with the singular thought that one finger was already making you feel desperately stretched and full. A cock inside you?

“I’d die if you put it inside me, s’too big. Feel so full already” you whined, grabbing one of the pillows to press your face into.

He was picking up the pace, the sound of his hard cock sliding between your thighs combined with the sound of his finger pumping in and out of you wet and only interrupted by both of your desperate noises. 

“I know, so tight. We’ll help ye, me and the Prince and the Duke. Get ye ready and excited,” he said, his words spoken right into the flesh of your shoulder where he had buried his head. 

He added another finger and you swore, not something very lady like but fuck you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. Your own fingers bumped against his again, dipping down to get more of that slick to make everything feel better. He kissed at your shoulder and you thought you could die from such a sweet little gesture.

“So good, taking it so good. Feels better already hm? Ye know that ye were made to take our cocks, can feel ye clenching thinking about it. Would ye like that? After Simon gets ye nice and full with a child let the rest of us have ye. Never going tae want for anything wee yin, we’ll take such good care of ye.”

He reminded you of Gaz, the words seemingly being spoken for himself more than you. The idea that he would find it pleased him thinking of you being taken care of was going to give you heart problems. 

It was only after you came with a scream that he really showed you how much this was affecting him. He fucked your thighs with a fury, leaving your breathless. You had taken your fingers away, choking a sob when he pulled his out and then just crying out incoherently when instead of removing them entirely he went back to your clit, the overstimulation dragging pleasure out of pain. 

“J-Johnny I can’t!”

“Ye fucking can! Cum for me again my lady” he growled.

Turned out you could and the way you howled had him cumming as well. You felt ropes of sticky fluid make a mess of your thighs and you were too boneless and dazed to question it. That was a lesson for another time, on the balance of things you reckoned school was out for the day.

[frickingnerd]

what the heart wants, but can't have

pairing: hubert von vestra x gn!reader

summary: hubert and you sneak out into the gardens at night, away from all prying eyes that disapprove of your relationship

tags: proposal/talk of marriage, mentions of edelgard, secret relationship, mostly wholesome fluff, reader is with the church

“what do you think edelgard would say if she knew you were with me right now?”

hubert and you had snuck out into the gardens of the monastery late at night, at a time where nobody else would spot you. it was a full moon night and brighter than usual at this hour of the night. hubert could clearly make out the amused smile on your lips, as you asked him that question.

“do you have a death wish, my love?”

he huffed amused, before falling into silence. he knew that edelgard wouldn't approve of this relationship. you were the enemy after all. or rather, you were with the enemy.

“i suppose lady edelgard would behead me if she knew i was spending my nights with you, roaming around the garden. or perhaps, she'd banish me, sending me into exile. either way, i do not wish to test my theory. it is best that we do not lose a word about us to her, until the war is over”

perhaps, under the right circumstances, things wouldn't end that poorly for the two of you. but as things were now, edelgard wasn't ready to change her view on anyone within the church. and that included you. even if you were nothing like those nabatean monsters…

“i just wish that she and i could've met under different circumstances… perhaps if she got to know me, like you do, we wouldn't have to hide…”

absently, you let your hands wander through a bush of flowers, taking in the view, as a few of the petals fell to the ground. the beautiful colors were barely visible in the moonlight. if only you could admire all that the garden had to offer during the day, with hubert by your side. but for now, this was all that you had. stealing away during the night, to spend time with the man you loved.

“i promise you, my love, that things won't always be like this…”

hubert reached out his hand, gently tracing his fingers over your hand, until your palms were pressed against each other and your finger interlinked.

“one day, we won't have to hide our love anymore. we'll be able to enjoy this view in broad daylight, without fearing what people think of us”

you smiled softly, tracing your thumb over hubert's hand, as he slowly closed the distance between the two of you.

“no matter how long it'll take, this is the future i fight for. one where i can spend every day by your side, without fear or shame. a future, where there's no war and the two of us can live in peace”

hubert gently lifted your chin, smiling down at you. for a moment, he lingered close to you, before closing his eyes and slowly leaning in. your lips met and a smile quickly spread over both of them. you remained like this for a moment, hubert's hands wandering to your waist and pulling you closer.

when you pulled away after a minute or so, hubert still lingered close to you, his forehead leaning against yours. there was a soft smile on his lips, as he said words so special, that you'd remember them for the rest of your life.

“when that day finally comes, where we won't have to hide anymore… will you marry me?”

[michealsbiggestfan]

🄶🅁🄴🄶🄾🅁🅈 🄱🄴🄻🄻🄰🅁🄾🅂🄴 ⚔️ 🅇 🅁🄴🄰🄳🄴🅁 🄷🄴🄰🄳🄲🄰🄽🄽🄾🄽🅂

genre: fluff + lemon

gender: female

warnings ⚠️

nsfw + vulgarity

ᡣ𐭩

when gregory first met you, honestly, he wasnt interested.

you were around 9-10, and he had a crush on wendy around that time.

well, that was until she pulled the “fuck him in the ear!” card, which left him speechless.

he had always thought of wendy as a sweet, innocent girl. he was incredibly wrong in that assumption, and regretted ever being there for her during the war once she said that.

which… kinda raised his annoyance with stan. but he wasnt about to ditch christophe just because he didn’t like this town.

so he stayed, and a couple of years went by without either of you ever knowing of eachothers existence. that was until the day that your science teacher paired you both up for a project, considering you and him were on the highest level in the class.

he was still better than you, though 😛

you both decided to meet at your house, and when gregory turned up and met your parents OH they loved him.

at first he kinda annoyed you since he charmed your parents and had a pretty big ego that weighed the same as an elephant on the back of another elephant, but by the time you finished the project, you started to like him as a friend.

you slowly but surely became friends and he would walk you to your locker and classes everyday, checking in on you, greeting you politely, and letting you sit with him and christophe.

he even shielded you from the smoke coming from delorne’s cigs, preventing you from getting second-hand smoke 🙂👍

after a few months, it started getting more romantic.

hand kisses, forehead kisses, buying you your lunch, visiting you and your parents daily, calling you things like “dear” and “love”, holding your hand and even holding you by your hips.

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Mhm, just friends.”

and then you both politely smile at the group of confused girls from your classes.

one day, your parents weren’t home so you invited him over for a movie night, which went both good and unexpected.

since there was a TV in your bedroom, you were on your bed. about 20 minutes into the romance movie when he suddenly started to rub your thigh gently.

“.. Greg, what are you doing?”

your hand would slowly go over his in an attempt to shift it away, but he instead moved his hand off of your thigh to hold yours.

“Showing my platonic love.”

“Platonic love? Love and platonic are opposites.”

“Are they?”

he clearly wasnt paying much attention considering the fact he just let go of your hand to use his curled pointy finger to stroke some hair away from your cheek.

“.. Greg..”

“Mm.”

he would slowly move closer to you and glance down at your lips before back at your eyes, using his thumb and previous finger to lift your chin up.

“May I platonically kiss you?”

nsfw warning ⚠️

one kiss became a makeout session and a makeout session eventually became a “let’s take our clothes off” session.

you were still trying to convince yourself you were just “making platonic love” but clearly you both loved eachother.

the look on his face as he straddled you and thrusted with such soft groans escaping his throat proved his love for you.

and the way you gazed up at him as he pleasured you so well also proved your love for him.

your moans and his groans kept being cut off by you both kissing, the main sound in the room just being the sound of skin slapping against skin.

his usually-slicked-back hair was messy and down now, stray strands hanging down, and you were just a moaning mess.

the feeling of his big cock moving in and out of you was just intoxicating to your sensitive little pussy, but honestly, after this, you would spread your legs and let him rail you anytime he wants.

he felt guilty, considering he was a catholic, and catholics shouldn’t have sex before marriage, but this was too tempting and too sweet of a feeling for him to deny.

“.. o-oh my.. oh.. l-lords please f-forgive me.. a-aaah.. o-oh dear..”

his whimpers honestly just made it 10x more pleasurable for you.

but overall, he’s a sweetheart to you. always take you on dates, which he pays for, and will never let anything harm you.

he even squished a bee in between his pointy finger and thumb because you got scared.

isn’t he lovely? ☺️

[writeshite]

Bucky hugging your legs while his head rests on your thighs and you're sitting down against the headrest just caressing bucky's back and hair, telling him that one day you'll marry him.

Next

Bucky's hair lay damp against his forehead; freshly from the shower, he traced patterns along your legs as his head lay on your thighs. Your apartment was well out of the way of most of the city and high enough to keep anyone from peeking in - your little hideaway, safe from everyone else. Your uniforms lay on the table, and the rain outside had calmed to a soft patter. Bucky’s back muscles were lax, and the hickeys you’d laid on him had mostly faded by now; you chuckled at the memory of his blushing face when Steve had pointed it out.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just thinking,” you reply, and he huffs, pinching your leg. Bucky glanced up at you, the baby blue of his eyes full of love as he stuck his tongue out; it was surreal, unlike anything you’d experienced with anyone else. “Marry me,” you blurted out.

Bucky paused, sitting up, “Marriage? Doll —” he doesn’t need to say it; he knows it, you know it. There’s a chance his ma would tan his hide, and either one of you could be found beaten black and blue behind some alleyway or in jail. 

“I know, but….Buck, I love you, and I don’t know if I’d feel like this about anyone else,” you take his hands, thumbs rubbing over his skin, “and with the war coming up, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.”

Bucky takes hold of your hand in a firm grip at the mention of the war; you’d both been assigned to different units, you halfway across the ocean, far from home, far from him. “I wanna marry you; I wanna hold you in my arms every day; I wanna live in a world where I don’t have to hide in my apartment anytime I wanna kiss you.” Your pa had made it pretty damn clear what he’d do if you ever darkened his doorstep. “It doesn’t have to be a ring; we could —”

“Ok,” he interrupts you, surprising you with a kiss on your lips, “ok,” he repeats, grabbing his dog tags and switching them out for yours, “You said we didn’t need rings, right? Let’s do this then, a promise, you gotta gimme back my tags.” You laugh and kiss him again, “We’ll build a house in the woods,” he promises, “or get a ship and sail the world; we’ll do something. Me and you, doll.”

You come home to an empty home and only his tags, and somewhere in Europe, Bucky wakes up to a sterile room and the fleeting memory of you.

[alexilulu]

Books I Read in 2024, #6: Runequest: Roleplaying in Glorantha (Greg Stafford Steve Perrin Jeff Richard Jason Durall and friends, Chaosium Inc., 2019)

A bronze age-styled fantasy epic setting originally published in 1975 (as White Bear and Red Moon), Glorantha is one of the founding touchstones of fantasy storytelling in the RPG space that draws upon historiography and a firm integration of magic and mysticism into the firmament of its setting.

My first experience with Glorantha, like a great deal of others, was King of Dragon Pass. I don't remember exactly where I first heard about it. It's either on SA in the LP subforum back in the early 2010s or Tumblr in the same era; if it's the latter, Jared is entirely to blame for this, and probably because of him telling me stories about it in my car over the years.

King of Dragon Pass is a management game in which you play the tribal leader of a Heortling group exiled from their homeland in the wake of Belintar's accession to the throne in the Holy Country of Esrolia, forced to travel to the forbidden land of Dragon Pass where centuries ago the Dragonkill War wiped the land clean of all human presence. For you see, the Dragonkill War was named not for what we did to the dragons, but what dragons did to humanity.

Glorantha is like that.

Glorantha sticks in my mind easily, to be honest. It draws such a stark picture of itself so quickly you can't help but feel arrested by how committed it is to being itself. The Gods are so real that reenacting their greatest deeds invests you with their awe-inspiring power, and the Runes they wield are so bound into the fundament that embodying and studying them allows you to manipulate reality directly yourself.

The game itself is straightforward; every skill is rated from 0 to 100, and you roll 2d10 to roll under your skill rating, which you can further influence by channeling your passions or the Runes that represent you. Its character creation is delightfully baroque and fitting with the focus on historiography: you roll to generate the general lifepath of your parents and your own history in the last 21 years of Dragon Pass' history, during an eventful lead-up to the Hero Wars starting in 1625 when the world will enter a true tumult as empires face off.

I really just love the little things about the world here. Glorantha is detailed in the way that only a seasoned reader of history would be, with a light touch to give you plenty of room to imagine your own tribes in the region, the foibles of each village that give it real texture. The book grounds you in the idea of being from each ethnic group, the stereotypes others hold for them and the realities of their lives.

More than once it states that the Orlanthi recognize 6 gender roles and 7 forms of marriage, which is both a refreshing acknowledgement and also just a good reminder that societies for centuries have seen things in ways that would be foreign to the modern reader, and that you have to think of these societies in the context they've been shaped by.

The various pantheons of the world rule. I could evangelize about Orlanth, the god of storms all day, but it rules that the chief god of the largest and best-known pantheon, the Lightbringers, is the god of the season of utter disaster where life becomes cheap and dangerous, which i suppose makes sense as far as who you would beg to for survival during.

It's combat is dangerously swingy, in a way that kind of rules, in that you can plan for a lot of bad things to happen but you really can't stop that 5% roll from putting a javelin through your soft palate. This is your granddaddy's RPG, there's no luck recovery methods. You die, you beg the local priest for a resurrection and pay him handsomely for the privilege and don't do that shit again.

It just sticks in the mind for me. Very few other RPGs take the sort of careful, historically and culturally-focused bent on producing and placing a world in the way that Glorantha does. It feels lived in and loved, with a clear idea of itself and what it wants to be. I wish I could say the same for more games in the space.