#cast instillation

[zegalba]

David Chatt: Cast Installation, Temporary installation of sand cast glass in Dunn Gardens, Seattle Washington (2006)

[samarecharm]

A lack of a Hold-Up mechanic in strikers means that Zenkichi has never witnessed these kids corner and mug shadows for every little penny theyre worth. I think he would lose his mind. Hes trotting around the metaverse w teenagers that have too much experience holding shadows at gunpoint to get what they want. When did this become his life. Neko shogun throws out a snuff soul as an offering and Akira doesnt remove the gun from its face. ‘You can do better than that.’ What the hell do u mean??? Its a fucking cat! It throws another snuff soul on the ground in fear before Akira decides to finally lower the gun and let the cat run off. At least they arent killing the damn things w their backs turned.

[mogwaei]

Giving tumblr a big side eye and edging toward the door. Every time i open this damn app I see several posts about people gatekeeping Astarion and Karlach romances. I'm not fucking digging it lads. I think I'll refrain from posting my romance art here because people can't behave themselves.

[roobylavender]

i feel like the problem with so many pakistani dramas is they're like. a totalitarian exercise in relenting to the parent and forgiving them for all of their mistakes regardless of the severity of them. and i imagine it is funny to see me say that considering how often i wax rhetoric about how many of our parents are the products of violent cycles and there are times where we can't wholeheartedly blame them for being anyone other than who they were trained to be. but i also think there's a difference between forgiving your parents for not being able to escape their upbringing, and simply accepting that you will always have a subservient role to them, even in that process of forgiveness. like i don't think children have to go peacefully when they're being violently abused or cast out from their families or derided for entertaining dishonor. and this mindset we have wherein children have to be the perfect victims—broken, demure, never expressing any sort of outcry at the way they're treated—otherwise they're ungrateful and prone to derision by an audience for how much pain they've caused their parents, as if they haven't been caused extensive pain as well, really bothers me. like it's soured sooo many old dramas focused on parent-child conflicts for me bc of the way audiences villainize non-ideal trauma responses from children who are either forced into marriages or outcast from their families for refusing to be forced in the first place

[starchildghost]

me gently shaking laudna in my mind for the past few weeks

[darlingfreddie]

My mom putting on bo rhap bc its playing on tv,,,, god we could have had it allllll

[andy-15-07]

hi! I love your feyd rautha fics 🥰 can you write one where the reader is pregnant with his child, a female, and he’s upset and cold with the reader because she’s not a male heir? but then, when she’s born, he’s so transfixed by her beauty and just the fact that she’s his, and that he just melts and swears to kill anyone for her?

My precious one

masterlist ! pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader

Dune Masterlist

The halls of the fortress echoed with an air of tension as Y/n, heavily pregnant with Feyd Rautha's child, moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. Feyd, the formidable heir to House Harkonnen, had been distant and cold ever since learning the gender of their unborn child. Tradition demanded a male heir, and Y/n's heart ached with the weight of disappointment as she faced the impending birth of a daughter.

"Y/n," Feyd's voice, usually smooth and commanding, was laced with discontent as he entered their chambers. "What use is a daughter to the House of Harkonnen? You were to bear me a son, a worthy successor."

Y/n's eyes welled with tears, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Feyd, she is still our child, a part of both of us. She will carry the blood of House Harkonnen."

He scowled, turning away. "A daughter will bring us nothing but weakness. I need an heir who can command respect, instill fear in our enemies. This changes everything."

As the days passed, Feyd distanced himself further, leaving Y/n feeling isolated and burdened. The weight of disappointment settled upon her like a heavy cloak, but she clung to the hope that when their daughter arrived, Feyd's heart would soften.

The day of reckoning came, the air thick with anticipation as Y/n went into labor. Feyd, though present, maintained a stoic silence, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The labor was arduous, but when the cries of their newborn daughter filled the room, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief.

"She's here, Feyd," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Our daughter."

Feyd's eyes met the tiny, squirming bundle in Y/n's arms, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. The baby girl had a delicate beauty that seemed to captivate him, a sight that defied his earlier expectations.

"What shall we name her?" Y/n asked, her heart swelling with love for their precious child.

"Feydra," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that surprised them both.

Feydra's arrival sparked a transformation in Feyd. The once cold and distant heir was now consumed by an overwhelming protectiveness and love for his daughter. As he held her for the first time, his fingers traced the contours of her tiny face, and he couldn't help but marvel at her innocence.

"She's ours, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I will do anything to protect her. No harm shall come to our Feydra."

From that moment on, Feyd became an attentive and devoted father. He would spend hours cradling Feydra in his arms, his stern countenance replaced by a softness that only she could evoke. The fortress, once a place of cold authority, became a haven for the blossoming love between father and daughter.

As Feydra grew, Feyd's determination to shield her from the harsh realities of their world intensified. He vowed to eliminate any threat that dared to cast a shadow over her, swearing to protect her with a fierceness that only a father's love could inspire.

One day, as father and daughter strolled through the fortress gardens, Feyd's eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. "Feydra, my precious one, you are the future of House Harkonnen. No harm will befall you as long as I draw breath. I would destroy worlds to keep you safe."

Feydra, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the fortress walls, gazed up at her father with adoration. In those moments, Feyd's heart swelled with a love that transcended bloodlines and tradition. The bond between father and daughter had forged a legacy that defied the expectations of House Harkonnen, proving that love could be a force more powerful than any political alliance or familial obligation.

[beeapocalypse]

thinking abt babble+mutter more. what if i gave them actual plot significance that would be funny

[yuanology]

this is what being gojo satoru's weakness feels like—

the door to your apartment creaks open at precisely three in the morning; the witching hour. it's terribly fitting, you'd like to think, with how satoru has a tendency to flit in and out of your life with minimal warning, sporting new bruises and scars every time he comes back. it has become something you learn to expect, so you always leave the door open for him.

he says nothing when he approaches you, footsteps light against the hardwood floor, but he knows you are awake. you know that he knows this because the bedroom door soon slowly gets pried open as well and there is an added weight on the mattress next to you. satoru still says nothing, and you still pretend to be asleep.

after this, comes the following routine:

one, satoru will turn you slowly on your back (if you are not already on your back), and then he will;

two, sling his leg over your waist, moving to straddle you. his ass is flushed against your pelvis. after this, he will either do the following;

three, he will rest there, his hands either framing both sides of your face and pressed against your pulse over your throat and over the beating heart over your ribs. or, he will be impatient, desperate to wash away the thoughts of today's sins and he will directly move to;

four, grind his hips slowly, rolling it in a way that he knows you would enjoy if your eyes were open to watch him. here, he is always languid no matter what tension builds underneath his skin. oftentimes, you're already awake for this part, but you always allow him this moment of false privacy. after this, he will;

five, he will lean close, his mouth pressing open mouthed kisses over your throat and collarbone where the skin is visible from above the fabric of your shirt. here, is the part where he slowly lets himself get caught in the rush—all wandering hands and panted breaths and a kind of vulnerable boldness that he will never allow anywhere else.

this is where the routine ends. this is where you decide what you wish to do with the god begging for a glimpse of his own humanity in your hands.

your eyes will flutter open slowly, drinking in the sight of the moon's rays casting pale shadows all over satoru's skin. there is a halo borne around his head— creased and warped and ruined by the touches of the people who is supposed to take care of him. it is in this moment you will always realise the sheer gravity of your situation, the implicit trust pushed into your hands, the explicit faith he instills in your kindness.

"satoru," you murmur, soft and slow. your hands move to rest on his waist, never quite guiding him to move faster or to stop, merely ever grounding him into the moment. "what do you need?"

because this arrangement is never about what you want, only ever about what he needs. because you only ever want him to feel safe, and he only ever needs you to make him human.

for a moment, you are almost certain that satoru will say nothing. this has happened before in the past, when satoru will climb into your bed wreathed in the shadows of the early morning and he will say nothing as he allows you to guide him through his own thoughts. during these moments, you must always treat him with utmost care; fine porcelain and delicate china designing the bones and structures that crafts the body of the god the shaman world reveres so cruelly.

but tonight is not one of those nights.

he blinks at you slowly, like a cat, like a ghoul, like a boy reawakening from a day filled with haze. he whispers your name, his voice hoarse as if unused. your hand inches higher, moving up to rest on his sides, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs accompanying each of his breath.

"satoru," you try again, because you are relentless when it comes to satoru. because for a man who saves so many people so many times, people rarely ever come around to save him. "look at me, sweetheart. what do you need?"

his breath shudders, his eyes falling shut. he leans forward, his face finding itself a home where it is buried in the crook of your neck. his response is soft, quiet, nearly inaudible if you are not listening to him. but you are always listening, because satoru always has something worth saying and no one else will listen to him.

"please," he murmurs, and you can feel him falling apart in your arms in real time. "just take it all away."

and your heart breaks a bit for this man, because you know what this entails. because you know what it means when he wants the world to be stolen clean from his hands.

"alright," you say in response, your nails digging into to scratch at his back. welts immediately begin to bloom all over his skin, but satoru is shuddering in your embrace and you already know that it is the right thing to do. "get on your knees. i want to fuck your face."

satoru scrambles quickly to comply. he slides off of you like oil off ice, even when infinity is nowhere to be found, and he gets off the bed. he moves to kneel on the floor instead, over the soft carpet that you had installed after you realised how much satoru liked simply staying on his knees, simply lazily sucking you off as he allows himself to drift off and away from all of his own thoughts. you shuffle to the edge of the bed, sitting with your legs parted so that satoru can move to settle in between them.

his hand moves to your thigh, a visible swallow tracking a long line along the column of his throat. "may i?" he whispers, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. satoru blinks up at you with wide eyes, pleading at you as if he is afraid of being pushed away, and there is a part of you that wants to cry for him.

but you don't. instead, your hand finds purchase in his hair, running through the soft strands, and you tell him, "go ahead, baby." because there is nothing better than you can do for him than this.

he smiles at you; none of that bright as the sun grins that he would give to the rest of the world. no, this one is more muted, desaturated, but no less genuine. this is gojo satoru at his softest moments, at his most honest. you follow his guidance as he gently manoeuvres you so that he can pull off your pants and boxers.

when you are once again situated on the bed, the both of you finally comfortable and pleased by the situation, does satoru begin to lean in. it starts slow, at first; kitten licks on your tip as his head begins to bob. he takes in your length slowly, bit by bit with all the hesitance of a virgin.

you both know better, though; all of this is part of a show, the one where satoru acts all innocent and boyish and oblivious so that you can take him by his hair and teach him how to take you properly. it's the same game you have been playing with him since the day you first took his virginity.

"is that all you've got?" you murmur, your voice mocking in that now familiar lilt that always spurs satoru on. this time is no different as he keens around your cock in his mouth, pulling off so that he can pout at you with pretty pink, spit-slick lips.

"i don't—" he cuts himself off with a soft whine, his knees shuffling forward so that he can get closer to you. you cup the back of his head in appreciation, twisting a strand of his hair between your fingers in a subtle act of approval. satoru immediately goes lax, all of the tension accumulating on his shoulders finally bleeding out as he simply looks up at you with wide, lost eyes.

"you're too big," he tells you, a familiar script. the corners of your lips twitch; into a frown or a smile, you could no longer tell. "i don't know if i can take it."

"shh, baby." this one is a little different, but the glaze in satoru's eyes at the sound of your falsely-comforting words is all the same. "don't you want to be my good boy?"

"yeah," he breathes out. he shifts closer, always so eager. "wanna be your good boy."

you hum, tapping the head of your cock on his lips. "then open your mouth, and take what i give you like a good boy, alright?"

it's easy, after that. satoru no longer plays any games. instead, he lets his jaw drop open easily, his lips parting to take in your cock. you slide yourself into the velvety warmth of his mouth inch by inch, watching his face swiftly acquire that dazed, fucked out look as you stuff him full on your cock. pretty, you think to yourself as you stroke his hair gently.

"see," you whisper, bending over so that your mouth was hovering over the shell of his ear. "you can take it. good boy."

satoru whimpers around your cock, nearly choking on it as he does, but his eyes are rolled back to the back of his skull already, and you know he's most pliant like this. you straighten as you push yourself off the bed to stand properly. the change in angle has the tip of your cock meeting the back of his throat, and you both let out a choked moan at the feeling.

you look down at satoru, your hand tightening its grip in his hair in warning. "i'm gonna fuck your throat," you tell him again, a second warning, and you begin to thrust into his mouth shallowly. "and you are going to take it, yeah? you're gonna be so good for me, won't you, baby?"

if this isn't what he wants, satoru knows that this is the time to push you off. just three repeated taps on your outer thigh and you will pull off immediately. you don't want to hurt him, not when he is already hurt so often.

but satoru's eyes meet yours, summer seas filled with determination, and his hands only move to cross behind his back, wrist caught in his hand. like this, he looks like the perfect image of subservience. no longer gojo satoru, the god, but rather simply satoru, a boy eager to please.

you roll your hips once, twice, experimentally to gauge out satoru's reactions. when he lets out a low moan, a muffled consent, your hand temporarily leaves his hair to thumb at his slick lips, drool slipping out of the corners of his mouth, leaving a mess all over his face.

"keep your eyes on me, pretty boy," you tell him, your voice low and heated. "i want you to watch me as i make a mess out of you."

satoru makes an aborted motion, the familiar buffered movements of a nod interrupted, and you smile. your precious satoru is always so damn eager to be good for you, to be good to you, that you can't help but wonder if perhaps this is your greatest blessing or a premonition for something worse.

your hips rear back, and you fuck into his mouth in earnest.

satoru's eyes immediately widen at the feeling of your cock filling up his mouth at rapid speed, the head bumping the ridges of the back of his throat. a high whine slipped out of satoru, the sound watery as it was muffled by your girth.

your hand once again finds purchase in the soft strands of his hair, but you no longer card at it gently. rather, you gripped at it; holding him upright by only his hair as you use it as leverage to make his head meet your every thrust.

choked, garbled sounds escaped satoru's throat, and you kept the sound of your own groans and moans to a minimum so you could enjoy the sound of satoru's aborted attempts at telling you how good you felt. satoru has never been quiet, not when you are involved, and even as you fuck his face, he will always, always try to tell you how good you're being to him.

"you look so pretty like this, baby," you coo, your voice breathless. "so goddamn gorgeous."

and satoru is. he's so beautiful, even out of bed, casted by rays of sunlight, untouchable in the daylight, but there is something almost otherworldly in the beauty he emits when he is yours. because here, on his knees, satoru is a different sort of gorgeous—he is stripped of his godhood, of his title, of his crown, and he is reduced to being just your good boy, your pretty, pretty satoru, your satoru. no matter how briefly, no matter how ephemeral.

but that isn't the most important factor in what makes him look so ethereal. no, it's the fact that for a man forced to be on his knees, satoru never once looks out of place. he looks up at you, long lashes revealing summer blue, and there is a dazed smile on his lips even where it is being wrapped around your cock prettily. it's the fact that gojo satoru, for all his pride and arrogance, will always willingly get down on his knees for you and he will enjoy having your presence be lorded over him. because satoru, your satoru, knows that you are his just as much as he is yours.

even on his knees, even when he is relinquishing all power into your hands, he still conquers.

fucking beautiful.

satoru constricts around you when you shift the angle ever so slightly to reach deeper into his throat. for a moment, you almost falter as you watch his hands closely. but they don't move, remaining where they are positioned behind his back, and you take that as your cue to keep things going at that steady pace.

tears begin to cloud satoru's beautiful eyes, clouds dotting at warm, clear skies, and you have to stop yourself from fucking him deeper, fucking him rougher, because even satoru has his limits and your job is to bring him to those limits, but never beyond those limits.

the sight, however, admittedly brings you close to your high. you feel warmth beginning to pool in your gut, steadily building as you guide his mouth to take you in further, deeper, until there is a bulge forming in his throat, matching the shape of your cock.

satoru keeps his eyes on you the entire time, the good boy that he is, and you know that he can see that you're close, because he starts doubling his effort. no longer does he simply take you, he begins to hum around your cock as well; the vibrations sending electric thrills running up his spine. low pants begin to escape your lips as you tug at his hair.

he whines.

"i'm gonna cum in your mouth," you tell him, feeling yourself getting closer and closer. "and you're gonna swallow it all like a good boy, is that right?"

satoru's eyes glaze over, and he moans around your cock. you feel your composure breaking, your movements growing erratic. with the purchase you have in his hair, you bring his face close to your hips until his nose is buried in your pelvis, nestled amongst your happy trail, and you're spilling down his throat.

satoru fucking swallows it all like a goddamn champ. he doesn't even struggle, choking on it at first but quickly finding rhythm like the damn prodigy that he is. he keeps his eyes trained on you the whole time, you know he does because you can feel the burn of his gaze on your skin even as you tip your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips.

you make him stay like that for a moment longer, choking on your cock and your cum, before you finally pull out. his lips were shiny with spit and dribbles of cum, his eyes still glazed over by pleasure and tears, his face looking like a fucking mess and his hair sticking up in every direction.

"come here," you say as you fall back onto the bed, and he scrambles to follow.

he climbs into your lap and his lips are on you immediately, his hands scrambling to pull you closer to him. satoru's actions are filled with anxious energy, one that you recognise immediately. this is beyond just his desperation to feel you close to him after you've fucked his throat, this is satoru seeking repentance.

"what," you start, your head still feeling light. "what'd you do?"

"i'm sorry," satoru rasps out quickly, sounding so guilty that you can't help the frown that creases your expression. it's the wrong thing to do because the anxious energy increases and satoru is scrambling closer to you, hands grabbing onto your shirt. "i'm sorry, i didn't—"

"satoru," you say, not reprimanding, simply grounding, as you force him to still by grabbing his hips. "what happened?"

satoru swallows, looking at you with lost eyes. "i didn't mean to cum," he whispers. "i'm sorry."

for a moment, your head is entirely empty. satoru is still gnawing his lower lip nervously as he looks at you, watching you, anticipating your next move. but you honest to god can barely even think because you were watching satoru the entire time. his hands were behind his back and he barely even grinded against the floor, so how could he have—?

your hand moves to cup him, your thumb brushing over the wet spot. satoru stiffens, even as a weak whimper escapes him. "i'm sorry," he tells you again. "i didn't mean to."

fuck.

"it's okay, baby," you tell him hurriedly. your hands move to cup his face, feeling your brain come back to life. you wipe the tears out of his eyes, the clouds once again clearing to reveal cerulean blue. "i never told you that you couldn't cum. it's alright, baby. you did a good job."

he sniffles. "i'm still your good boy?" he asks, his voice so quiet that your heart breaks for him.

"yeah." you press a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close. "you're still my good boy."

and satoru is looking at you now with wide, guileless eyes, looking so much like a lost boy that you feel something splinter within your ribs. how terrifying it is, how something so seemingly simple can destroy satoru in an instance.

you tilt your head back, gently slotting your lips over his in a delicate kiss. there is none of that earlier hunger in the way you kiss him now, merely a softness that makes satoru loosen even if he does not melt yet in your arms.

just as he always is after an orgasm, satoru is pliant as you guide him onto your bed. you kiss him slowly as you take his clothes off, cleaning him of his sweat and drool and cum, before you redress him in a loose t-shirt and a pair of well-loved sweatpants that you had tucked away in your closet just for him.

once the both of you are clean, you situate yourself in bed next to him. your arms come to wrap around satoru where his face is tucked into the crook of your neck, your legs tangled as you hold him close to you. with this proximity, you can feel the way your heartbeat aligns with one another; beating the same rhythm, slow and steady and alive.

he mumbles your name into the silence, looking hesitant and shy all at once. "i'm still your good boy, right?" he asks you, his voice quiet as if he's afraid of the answer.

you swallow past the lump in your throat, distracting the momentary silence by leaning your faces close to each other; foreheads pressed together, noses brushing against each other. "always," you tell him, because it's true. "i'm glad you enjoyed yourself, baby."

and then, and only then, does satoru allow himself to go lax as if he finally believes you. he sinks into the warmth of your embrace, his eyes sliding shut at long last when you press a kiss to the side of his head and tuck him close to you.

because—

because there's a delicate line you have to toe when you're dealing with one gojo satoru; too much of something and you will crush him entirely in your hands, too little of something and he will believe that you do not want him anymore. satoru is a delicate game to play, a fragile person beneath all of his strength and glamour who simply yearns for a person to see him and hold him.

this is what it's like to be gojo satoru's weakness; in your hand resides to power to make and break a god, a boy, a lover.

[euphemiaamillais]

district 12!reader and jealous peacekeeper!coryo. him taking her roughly up against the wall of the hob after he catches someone looking at her

cw: 18+//slutshaming//misogyny//rough sex

His girl. That's what you are, he reminds himself, seething when he catches you smiling at a thin, dirt-caked man who bought you a drink. Probably some filthy miner. He watches as you take the drink willingly—some sort of moonshine it seems to be, the staple of District 12—and wash it down with little grace or decorum. Anger churns in his stomach, his fists clenching. How dare you. And when you knew he was looking—you were doing this to spite him.

He watched you for a while longer, how you swing a little on your feet, your eyelashes fluttering. The man makes you laugh. Coriolanus is filled with disgust. Whore. You know exactly how to tease him, and how jealous he was. The man leaned forward to whisper something in your ear, and you giggled. You cast a glance over to Coriolanus, who's lips had twisted into a cruel snarl. You turned away, back to the man, but made an excuse. He could see you mouthing a pathetic sorry, and then slinking away across the room. He'd have to teach you not to disobey him.

When you arrive, his brow is furrowed and his top lip upturned with fury. You give a shy smile, but knew immediately something was amiss.

'Coryo,' You sidle up to him, one hand gripping at his firm bicep. He looks so handsome in his coveralls, dogtags hanging through the slightly unbuttoned shirt, which exposed his well-toned and tan chest. He looked even hotter in his peacekeeper uniform, something you'd made sure he was aware of during your more intimate moments.

'Don't,' He spits, fury blazing in his icy blue eyes. You slink into yourself, taken aback at his outright anger in the Hob.

'Whatever did I do?' You inquire, hands fidgeting nervously. You had to admit, although his anger instilled a little fear in you, it also made the area between your thighs burn and tingle with heat.

'Oh, I think you know,' He rebutted dismissively. You gave a quizzical look, to which he responded with his perpetual glare.

You shook your head, gnawing on your bottom lip nervously. You could feel the cheap moonshine swilling around in your belly—the one the man had brought for you. Had Coryo seen that?

'I really don't know what you're talking about,' You offer sheepishly, and his hand reaches out to grip your arm. He strains his grip around you, harsh—he's never handled jealousy well—and you think of the bruise that would make later. It stung as he continued to clench you.

'Mhm, I don't think so,' He shook his head, tongue clicking as he scolded you. 'Acting like a fucking whore... letting that scumbag buy you a drink. Do I not please you, hm?'

You shook your head, eyes apologetic.

'Coryo,' You began, but he cocked a brow, displeased that you were still calling him by his nickname. How could you be allowed that freedom when you had disobeyed him?

'I don't want to hear it,' He began to pull you away from the crowd, the sound of the band strumming away on their guitars fading into background noise as he brought you two to a quiet alcove.

Coriolanus pushes you up against the wall roughly, hands moving to your skirts, rucking them up to your thighs. HIs icy blue eyes are glistening with a ravenous desire. He presses himself flush against you, hands grasping the smooth skin of your thighs. You can feel him hardening against you.

'What did I tell you about misbehaving?' He taunts, grinding up against your exposed thighs, his clothed bulge ripe against your core. You attempt to clench your thighs together, but he shoves them apart extremely disgruntled at your endeavours to reject him.

'Whores don't get to say no,' He hisses, fiddling with the buttons on his coveralls. It's a little indecent as he has to tie the sleeves around his waist, but he soon frees his cock; hard and throbbing, the tip red and dripping.

'Mhm,' You manage to get out, going a little limp against him, surrendering your body to his whims. You have to admit that sometimes you go out of your way to enrage him... there's something so attractive about his possessive nature. The way he has to have you, and his complete disregard for propriety.

He runs his hand up and down his cock a few times, and then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he hikes your panties down roughly. He then presses his cock straight into your cunt, slick and dripping with want. You let out a high pitched gasp, resting your head back against the hard stone brick of the wall.

Coriolanus pulls your legs up around him, his thick cock now stretching out your walls. You grunt as he begins to thrust, seeing all that pent up desire in his noble face. How his desperation turns him into a savage, and not the star pupil of the Academy in the Capitol.

'You like that, huh?' He asks as he bucks into you roughly, your head knocking slightly against the wall.

A cock-drunk moan escapes your lips, which are plump with blood. He squeezes your thighs between his hands, attempting to get a better hold on you.

'Stupid little whore,' He sputters, pounding your tight, wet cunt. How dare you betray him. You shudder against him, your pussy throbbing with each movement he makes; for although he grows rougher, you can't help but want him all the more.

He removes one hand off your thigh, and reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging on it. You cry out, feeling a slight tingling in your scalp.

'Don't you ever do that again!' He yells, pulling harder at the roots of your hair.

You nod, unable to form words. He scowls, tugging at your hair once again. A stinging pain shoots through your head.

'Answer me!' He growls, continuing to thrust harshly into you. You whimper, lips trembling, trying to find some semblance of words.

'Yes,' You muster, gasping as you feel him, so deep inside of you, stretching you out, his balls slapping against your entrance.

'Yes what?' Coriolanus demands, and you swallow thickly, a little afraid. Your heart pounds, blood rushing to your head.

'Yes sir,' You sputter. He lets out a contended sigh.

'Mhm, that's right,' He coos. 'Good girl.' His sweet words are a stark contrast to the way he is pounding you up against the wall, movements illuminating the repressed anger that coursed through his veins.

How it turns him on, having you up against this wall, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as he fucks you like the stupid slut you are. He can feel himself getting closer; the way your pussy clenches around his cock and the desperate sounds you make. He has to remind you that you're his, and only his.

He only has to pump you a few more times, his cock aching for release. The slick leaking from your cunt coats his cock, and he nestles his head in your shoulder, giving a few final thrusts before letting out a deep groan. You feel him finishing inside of you, hot, sticky cum coating the inside of your walls.

Gasping, he slides out of you, and you feel his spilled seed slowly trickling down your thighs. He pulls your panties up, grinning as he thinks about how you're going to have to walk back out there with his cum gradually dripping out.

'You look so pretty,' He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smile, used to his sweetness that seems to come back after he gets what he wants.

'Thank you, Coryo,' You say, knowing how he delights in your obedience to him.

He bobs his head, watching as you smooth your skirts down, still a little dishevelled, hair astray. He thought you looked beautiful like this, though; eyes blown out with desire, lips ripe, an overall look of cock-drunkenness. You wrap your arms around him, looking up with a grin.

'You're my girl, huh?' He asks, a small smile crossing his lips and you nod your head in response.

'I'm yours.'

[clubforfrogs]

Heyyy, SLIP UPS- AWESOME, WOMAN HOW DO U DO THIS-?

Also a request...!!! M so excited!!

Sirius black x reader snape

Basically snake's younger sister, is constantly bullied by the marauders, cuz of snape yk yk, especially on her make up preferable her foundation, after lots of teasing and bullying, she lashes out on sirius n removes her makeup to show a huge scar imprinted on her face. Cuz of her family issues n stuff. I leave how sirius reacts and their bonding up to you.

I LOVE UR WRITING SM, I SWEAR ITS SO GOOD. M NOT EVEN LYING. UR MY SOUL WRITER.

French love from dxb, Mon cherie

Um hello?! You’re literally the sweetest🫶🫶. I also love this request so much, so I hope I did it justice. I came up with this little blurb- I really hope you like it!

I’m currently working on a Sirius ask and a little James blurb- so keep on the look out for those.

Of All People - Sirius Black x Reader

~ 1.7k words

•

Now let’s be clear, you loved your brother, but some deep, shameful part of you resented him for the attention he attracted. Your parents had instilled posh pureblood ideologies into your heads from young ages. Luckily, you were able to see through their bullshit. Severus wasn’t so lucky. 

He brought that thinking into Hogwarts, and was ecstatic when both you and him were sorted into Slytherin, where he took no time at all befriending other air headed Slytherins who thought the same. This, along with the simple fact of his existence, brought the full wrath of the marauders down on your brother, which also trickled down to you. 

The marauders would endlessly bully and tease your brother. Being the dimwit he was, he always decides to try and fight back, ultimately failing every time. They would cast small hexes on you in the hallways, just constant, small annoyances. Eventually, it seemed as though Snape wasn’t enough of a challenge for the marauders, which caused them to turn fully to you. Now you were the one getting harassed. Constant jabs at the way you looked, filth about you thinking the same way as Severus, and the never ending comments about the amount of foundation you wore. What kind of guy even noticed that stuff? 

To be quite frank, it sucked. You were stuck with a shitty brother whom you loved, and a group of boys who bullied you for that very reason. It was exhausting, which meant that you valued every moment you could find yourself at peace- like right now. You were sitting underneath a tree near Black Lake. It was the first of the warmer days at Hogwarts, so you blended in with the multitudes of students soaking up the sun. You hoped this blending would be enough to allow you some quality time away from the marauders.

You leaned back your head against the bark of the tree. There was a gentle wind blowing across your face, a gentle buzz of voices coming from the other students outside, and a heavy liquid falling down your face. Wait… what? You opened your eyes quickly and rubbed at your face. It felt as though sticky black tar had been dumped on your head.

Though the substance made it hard to see, you could hear the roaring laughter of James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius. “What the hell? What is your issue? You couldn’t leave it for one day?” You questioned. You had cleared the goo enough clear your eyesight, and could see the amused faces of the boys. Sirius had the biggest grin stretching across his face, “Aw, we wouldn’t do that to you. You simply look too adorable with black sludge covering your face. Honestly, it looks better than that makeup you cake on everyday.” 

You could punch him for the look on his face. You had already been having a crappy day, as your parents had sent you a letter reminding you that the summer holiday was approaching, and they expected you to not forget your manners like you seem so inclined to do. 

Basically, if you didn’t listen to every word they said, you were going to “get straightened out” like your mother always said. The letter was fresh in your mind, and with it, a need to punch something. Luckily for you, there were four perfect targets standing right in front of you. 

You took a step towards James, the closest of them to you. He looked slightly confused, but taunted you nevertheless, “You coming in for a kiss? Sorry, I don’t French with snakes.” That was all you needed. You reared back your fist, and punched James Potter square in the gut. He doubled over in pain, and you swear you’ve never felt so much joy. Peter and Remus rushed over to him right away. Sirius looked at you in shock and took you by the shoulders. “You’re such a bitch! I knew all of the Snapes were the same. Just leave Hogwarts! We don’t need another bunch of rancid, pureblood twats spitting nonsense around here!” He was screaming in your face, and everything about what he was saying infuriated you. 

“Excuse me? Have you ever thought of asking about what I believe instead of assuming I’m just like my brother? I don’t believe in any of that shit! And what’s even worse, I have to suffer the consequences of being a half decent person all the time!” Sirius looked confused at your last sentence, so you rolled your eyes and casted a simple spell to clean the liquid off of your face, along with the thick layer of foundation you had applied that morning. Underneath, a giant scar cut along your cheek. It was relatively new, so the skin around it was red and puckered.

Sirius sucked in a quick breath. The other marauders had stopped cooing over James, and looked to you with shocked expressions. “Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry-“ you cut Sirius off. “Just stop, I thought you of all people would know what I was going through, but I guess not.” You started walking away, but when you heard the footsteps of Sirius behind you, you sped up to a run.

The footsteps behind you also increased in their pace, and a large hand grasped your wrist. You turned to look at Sirius. Tears had started forming in your eyes, but you wiped them away in futile the hope that would stop Sirius from seeing them. Sirius didn’t speak right away, instead he chose to study your face. You squirmed, under his scrutiny, you just felt ugly. Your red rimmed eyes, stuffy nose, and large scar now visible. You were heavily considering bolting away again until he spoke up, “I’m sorry. I- I never even considered that you might not be like your family. And you’re right, out of anyone, I should have been the one to give you the benefit of the doubt.” You looked back up at him, his eyes seemed genuinely apologetic, but that didn’t mean you were letting him off the hook just yet. 

“Yeah, you should be sorry. You and your cronies have been ruining my life here at Hogwarts. My one escape from my family. And you’ve been taking the absolute piss out of my brother. I know how he is, but he’s still my brother. Talk to me again when you show me you want to change.” With that, you pulled your wrist from his grip and walked back to your dorm. You really wanted to give him a second chance, partly because you had been harboring a small crush on him since first year. But before you could even let yourself consider that, he had to prove that he wanted to change. You sat in your dorm thinking about that very scenario, wishing, hoping, praying, that he would make the effort.

And in the next few weeks, he did. There were certainly the occasional taunts thrown towards your brother in the halls, but you supposed you could live with that. There were no more cruel pranks aimed towards you or Severus, and Sirius had even made James, Peter, and Remus write out apology notes and deliver them to you personally. You had probably gotten way too much enjoyment out of that one.

As you ate in the Great Hall, surrounded by a few acquaintances, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Behind you was a nervous looking Sirius. “Would you like to come over and eat with us? I swear, no bad intentions. We really want to get to know you.” His voice was much smaller than you had ever heard it. You weighed your options back and forth, but with the genuine effort he had been putting into righting his wrongs, there was no way you could deny him. “I would be delighted to.”

His face lit up at that, and you could see his confidence instantly repair itself. He led you over to where he and the other marauders sat, guiding you by placing his hand on the small of your back. The simple act caused your face to redden, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Once you sat down at the table, everything was surprisingly normal. The other boys made one more quick apology each, but then the conversation quickly migrated to more light hearted topics.

“Okay, James,” it was hard to speak through your laughter, “You went up to this fifty year old dude, and insisted he was your mom?” The entire table burst out in laughter. “It was an intense game of truth or dare, I had ten galleons riding on it!” Remus smirked at him, “Yeah, but you still ended up losing,” he then looked to you, “You want to know why, Y/n?” You looked at him nodding, as you heard Peter groan, “Don’t do this mate.” Remus only spared him a glance as he launched back into his story, “So the truth or dare game was down to just Peter and James, and neither of them would back out. That’s when Sirius came out with this absolutely vile looking plate of chicken. It was cold, half raw, and definitely spoiled. We dared James and Peter to eat it for the win. James backed out immediately, but Peter ate it and puked for weeks.”

You had been drinking pumpkin juice as Remus told his story. But once he reached the part where Peter at the chicken, you lost it. Laughter spilled from your lips, and juice came up out of your nose. This only made the laughter at the table increase ten fold. You realized that you were receiving from worried glances from the students around you, but the laughter clouded your mind and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally managed to calm yourself, and Sirius handed you a napkin of while wiping away a tear. You wiped away the juice, and caught sight of the watch on your wrist as you did so.

“Shit, I was supposed to be working on a Potions paper due tomorrow! I’ve gotta be off, this was lovely though!” You hugged Peter who sat right next to you, the boy looked a bit shocked, but satisfied nonetheless. You saw the pouty look emerge in Sirius’ eyes, so you leaned across the table and pecked him on the cheek. His face immediately blossomed into a lovely pink hue as the boys shouted out variations of, “You’re in!” “When’s the wedding?” and “Can I be the best man?” You smiled as you walked away from them, hoping that you’d be invited to sit with them again tomorrow.

[abyssruler]

if you don’t love me (lie to my face)

dan heng x gn!reader (past dan feng x reader)

he wants you to see him beyond the shadow that his previous incarnation cast. he wants to push you away, wants to hold you close, wants to hear his name spill from your lips without the taint of another man’s name. he wants you, but you cannot bring yourself to let go of the past.

angst

“Stop looking at me like that.”

You tilt your head, feigning obliviousness. “Like what?”

“Like that,” he huffs, averting his eyes uncomfortably to the horizon, if only so he may escape the longing, almost melancholic sheen that glazes over your eyes whenever you look at him.

“Sorry,” you sigh, but you make no move to tear your gaze away from the sight of him, drinking in every detail, cataloguing which ones are the same and which ones leave you mournful for the differences that shatter the illusion of a time gone by. “It’s just hard, sometimes, to look at you and not imagine someone else.”

He frowns at your words. “I’m not him.”

You smile, something brittle at the edges of it. “I know.”

“He’s gone,” he grits out.

“I know.”

“I won’t—”

“Dan Heng.”

He pauses at the sound of his name, turning his head and meeting your eyes again. You’re smiling, but there’s a fragility to it, like broken glass pieced together haphazardly, threatening to shatter at the slightest touch. It’s maddening to look at you and feel the acute sense of his heart twisting within his chest whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of you.

He doesn’t want to feel this way, hates feeling this way. Any connection to that man, any ties and bonds and whatever emotions you once made Dan Feng feel—he doesn’t want it. He wants none of the headiness and the weightlessness and the warmth that spreads through his body that it feels as though it could encompass the entirety of his soul.

But you make him want to want so fiercely it leaves him breathless and little frightened.

He wishes you never approached him, wishes you never got close to him, wishes you never directed such looks his way.

But mostly, he wishes you weren’t so easy to like (easy to love).

“I know, okay? I know you’re not him, but—” You close your eyes, fighting for composure, and when you open them again, he is met with a gaze full of hope and regret. “But just this once, just for a few seconds, could you let me pretend?”

Dan Heng feels his throat tighten, his heart falling with no one to catch it, because you’re not truly seeing him, no. You’ve never seen him for who he is, only the man who continues to haunt his every waking moment. Even now, he feels the weight of Dan Feng’s past mistakes and regrets heavy on his shoulders with the way you’re looking at him, pleading with him for a chance to relive a time long gone.

He knows he shouldn’t, if only so he may spare his heart, and yet—and yet, he is a fool.

However much he wants to deny this—deny you—he has always been weak when it comes to matters regarding you and the emotions you’ve managed to instill within him.

So Dan Heng nods, unable to look you in the eye, but he doesn’t need to see you to feel the way you slump against him in relief, arms winding around his shoulders in a mockery of a lover’s embrace.

This is madness. A foolish endeavor. He should have said no. Should have vehemently denied any sort of connection with that man. Should have turned you away the moment you began reminiscing your time with that man whenever you became lost in old memories and grief.

And yet, he does none of this, because he is weak, because he has gone soft, because—

Because he loves you.

He loves you, so he lets you hold him the way you must have held that man.

He loves you, so he lets you imagine him as someone else.

He loves you, so he lets you bury your face in his shoulder and murmur a name that isn’t his.

“Dan Feng…”

Dan Heng closes his eyes and dreams of a day where you will finally look at him without seeing another man’s face.

[gobbogoo]

"It's Been A While, Morgott"

To me, this moment of tenderness all but confirms that Godfrey must have visited his Omen children in their sewer prison.

Consider everything we know about Godfrey. He actively venerated the Crucible and its primal manifestations. His knights wore helms decorated with horns and utilized its animalistic magic:

Even after the Crucible fell from favour, these knights were tolerated right up until Godfrey was banished. Therefore Godfrey must have been preserving them even despite Marika's decrees. This makes sense, because Godfrey was born in the ancient era when the Crucible's wild power was considered a blessing, not a curse:

"A vestige of the crucible of primordial life. Born partially of devolution, it was considered a signifier of the divine in ancient times, but is now increasingly disdained as an impurity as civilization has advanced."

To Godfrey, his Omen sons would not have been something to revile. This is supported by the fact that their horns weren't excised. I doubt it was Marika's choice, since she had turned against the Crucible by then. It MUST have been at Godfrey's behest. Likewise, who else could have commissioned THIS?

A "memorial fetish fashioned in secret" that CLEARLY depicts Morgott. Someone CARED about this secret Omen infant. Enough to memorialize their their existence at the risk of the entire Golden Order. It literally ONLY could have been Godfrey.

Lastly, there's the circumstances of Godfrey's banishment. Most people say he was simply cast aside after he ran out of enemies to fight, but this CAN'T be all there was to it, because Raya Lucaria still existed. A FAR better explanation is that Godfrey began to show signs of disobedience. Godfrey was a man of instinct and emotion. Could such a man have sat idle while his children were imprisoned and his comrades reviled by the very order HE helped build?

No. And so Godfrey began to visit his Omen children in secret, where he told them stories of their lineage and their origins. In Morgott his stories instilled a Lord's sense of duty for the Erdtree and everything it could be.

In Mohg, his stories instilled an Omen's sense of pride for the Crucible, and everything it once was.

Until Marika learned of her husband's treachery, and the Omen Twins never saw their father again.

EDITED IN EXTRA OBSERVATION:

Someone pointed out that Serosh exists to channel Godfrey's emotions, and what's the first thing we hear/see when we approach Godfrey holding his son? Serosh roaring in anger. Beneath that kingly countenance, Godfrey is a lot more distraught than he's capable of showing.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Malleus Draconia - Cyno (Male) Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I chose to do only Malleus since I didn't want to spend three hours typing again. I made this into a split between Headcannons and a oneshot since I couldn't decide which one I wanted to do. There was also not alot to go off of to make the headcannons, so I just added more of my own context to it. I hope this is adequate to what you asked for, I did my best! — Benny 🐰

                                                                                                   

🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙

🐲 When he first met you, Malleus immediately noticed your off putting and downright ominous aura. He himself wasn't affected, of course, but he did notice that almost everyone else was. He sympathized with you, as he causes the same reaction in people that you do. That fact that you understand his everyday struggle certainly made it easy for the two of you, and by extention Lilia, to become close.

🐲 Malleus also noticed how you didn't really seem to be too affected by the fact that the majority of the student body feared you. In fact, you told him that you completely understood that you were scary and that you needed to be due to your role as the Mahamatra. Your status and experience as a warrior has given you a fearsome aura and you use that aura to instill order in your subordinates when the time comes. ...Malleus still has yet to ask you what a Mahamatra is exactly.

🐲 He had once asked you why you cary a staff,, which you later explained to be a polearm from your country of origin, Sumeru. Seeing you wield your spear with such ferocity and accuracy was quite the enlightening experience for Malleus. He was really only ever used to seeing Lilia, Silver and Sebek train with their swords and their magic. Secretly he wanted to ask if you would teach him how to use a polearm, but he doesn't know how to approach the question.

🐲 Something that Malleus didn't expect, however, was the 'dad jokes' as you and Lilia had called them. His father figure and you really seemed to bond over that, actually. You used it to ease the fears and tensions that derived from your overall appearance and demeanour. The dragon fae wondered why he never thought of doing that himself but.... well.....

——————————

"Hey. You four."

The magicless student from another world towered ominously above a group of students who had been whispering about his fearsome appearance; a shadow cast over his eyes as he spoke lowly.

The previously gossiping students tremble in fear as he stood before them, unable to muster up any words or thoughts. Across the cafeteria sat a certain dragon fae; his keen ears picking up on their conversation. His shoulders slumped when he heard them speaking him as though he were some sort of monster; yet he couldn't ever bring himself to try and make friends with those people as he was sure that they would run away. Malleus shakes his head to break from his thoughts as he tuned back in.

"—ou call a well balanced horse.....?"

The intimidating foreign boy asks the students in a cold tone and waited a few moments in silence,

"Stable....... pfffft— Hehehehehehehe, get it, 'Stable'? 'Cause horses live in stables?"

Everyone in the cafeteria who had heard his joke collectively sweat dropped, including Malleus. The poor fae prince was equally appalled and amazed; his eyes couldn't help but wander to the bat fae seated to his right. That joke...... was awful; he almost felt his entire body scrunch in on itself as he cringed; trying to hide it with a blank face.

"A good idea... I suppose... but such poor execution."

Malleus muttered quietly to himself, a cartoonish sweat drop falling down his temple at a comically slow pace.

The previously scared group of students only stared at the magicless boy in confusion and disbelief; not knowing what to do. Where did that come from? [Name], receiving no response, only cleared his throat before reaching into his back pocket and taking out a small notebook. He flips a few pages before stopping on one and giving a firm nod.

"Ahem— What's red and bad for your teeth?.... A brick. Hehehe, get it?"

The magicless male chuckled with a boyish grin as he cracked yet another very bad joke.

Malleus only stared at the boy, a slightly strained smile on his face, stuck between whether to view him with respect for disapating the fear that he conjured by his mere presence or with disappointment at the awful jokes that he surmised you got from his father figure.

——————————

🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙•♡•🌙

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[arcielee]

Only if for a night.

Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3750 Warnings: Just some smut. Smidgen of Targcest in the beginning, voyeurism, marital cheating, oral (f receiving, m implied), fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint. Author's Note: This was a request from my darling anon! This idea literally had me obsessed until I completed it, so please don't think this is the bar for my response time. 😂 Also, a big thank you to my kindred spirits who answered my v. important questions about Aegon's booty! (You know who you are and Ily 💜) Banners & dividers by @cafekitsune Update: This story has a pick your own ending. And you told me I should concentrate. [Aegon x you] But you came over me like some holy rite. [Aemond x you] Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9

You felt numb from the sight: seeing your husband on his knees and feasting between the plush thighs of the queen.

It formed a knot that choked you, but it did not stem from a lover’s jealousy–as you knew that you did not love Aemond and he, certainly, did not love you. You always knew your marriage was one of honor and duty, to solidify victory, a peace offering postwar.

You came from a house that was reputable and wealthy, bringing a sizable force to ensure that King Aegon II would remain on the Iron Throne. Your father boasted of marrying his only daughter into the Targaryen dynasty and you felt fortunate to be given a handsome husband, despite his scarred socket. 

Prince Aemond already had a fierce reputation that preceded before you met; your ladies-in-waiting tittered over his disfigurement, his sense of bloodlust, and their hushed whispers of kinslayer that haunted him still despite that the kingly decree his actions were that of a true dragon. He was a renowned veteran of the war that was won, that instilled his brother as king without question, and in return he remained prominent on the council, serving still as the Protector of the Realm. 

You were shy, intimidated even, when you first saw the severity that lined his features, the unabashed gaze with his sapphire stone that replaced the eye lost, but you decided he was handsome in a way that was uniquely his own. You also  found Aemond was respectful and kind, that he was intelligent, he was considerate, and you sighed your relief, knowing all too often how ladies would be knitted to cruel lords. 

For your bedding ceremony, the only glimpse of the dragon that thrummed beneath was how Aemond barked to dismiss the maesters, the Lord Hand, allowing you both privacy to complete the act. He seemed well aware of the discomfort a maiden could feel and treated you with the utmost courtesy, mindful of your sighs, your soft sounds to completion.

He was dutiful and he was diligent. It was not love at first sight, not like the stories told; there was no fluttering of butterfly wings throughout nor did your heart skip a beat at the sight of him, but you enjoyed his company, his consistency, and his consideration. 

In all, it was a formidable match and you were certain the marriage would be a success. 

Especially once you produced a silver haired royal babe. 

Which is why you were freshly bathed and dressed in silk, just the quiet echoes of your slippered footfalls against the cobblestone that led towards your lord husband’s quarters. You thought yourself fortunate no white cloak was perched outside his door, and you pressed close to listen before you carefully turned the gilded handle of the door. 

The room was cast in the amber glow from the hearth and tapers lit, and it was the lewd sounds that first caught your attention. You were rooted in the doorcase, your eyelashes fluttered at the view in front of you. 

Aemond was bare from the waist up, the peaks of the silver scars peering through his silver hair, and he was kneeled before the velvet settee at the end of his bed. You watched the muscled definition of his backside, the golden glow of the fireplace highlighting his bareness, as well as the elegant arc of a calf that was draped casually over his shoulder. 

Your eyes followed the milky curve of this limb to look over his shoulder and see the flushed features of Helaena. She was seated on the settee, her laces loosened which allowed the natural spill of her chest, with the peak of her areolas and the rose hues that stained the skin showing. Her skirts were rutted around her hips, the fabric spilling around, and her eyelashes fluttered with a silver glimmer, her head rolling back with a wave of her silver tresses. A smile curled on her kiss-swollen lips and there was a shudder of her pleasure that rippled viscerally over, her fingers curling against his scalp with the breathless whisper. 

“Aemond.”

The humiliation was hot in your veins and burned your cheeks; you willed yourself to move, but your eyes were rapt to attention, watching the frantic rise and fall of Helaena’s chest, her nipples pebbled, and the spilled moans from her mouth.

"Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…"

You left as quietly as you entered; your steps were soft, quick to take you back, with one hand lifting the silk of your chemise and the other wiping the tears that began to spill. 

We were not in love, you remind yourself, but it still pinched a nerve within your chest. He was still your husband and you were duty bound to bore him a child, a son if the Lord Hand could choose. The act itself was not unpleasant, but Aemond had never…

Your thoughts were interrupted with a singsong call of your name; you were quick to wipe your face before turning to see the king.

“Your grace,” you offered him a feeble curtsy and even weaker smile. 

Aegon moved with a grace, a sway to his steps; his brow furrowed above his wide, lilac eyes, and there was a genuineness to his question. “Sweet sister, it is late, what has you out of bed?” 

Before you had been sent to King’s Landing, your mother warned you of his behaviors; you were also told the tale of how the newly anointed Lord Commander and your lord husband had to drag Aegon from the streets of Flea Bottom and place him on the Iron Throne. 

But this notoriety of his youth seemed to dissipate with the placement of the Conqueror’s crown he now wore proudly on his silver waves. It seemed to kindle the royal ichor in his veins, and he moved with an elegance as he pressed closer, peering at you with his continued concern.  

“I… I was feeling unwell and thought that I would go for a walk,” you chose your words carefully, trying to mask the threat of emotion that brimmed beneath. 

His brow quirked. “Alone?”

You swallowed. In this moment, you wished to slip away, to return to your rooms and drown in your sorrow, your failures as a wife in light of learning your new husband’s infidelities, your self-loathing for craving the passion Aemond displayed, wishing it to be shown towards you instead…

The silence hung thick, too long for his liking, and Aegon reached to take your hand, placing it into the crook of his arm. “It is late,” he repeated. “If you are unwell, allow me to escort you back to your quarters.” 

You fell in step, peering at him. Aegon was handsome, as your supposed all Targaryen men seemed to be; your eyes admired his silver tresses that curled at his shoulders, that showed golden with the lights that lined the corridor, casting a gold ring that reflected in the lilac of his eyes that flitted over you; his lips were rosy, an upwards curl when he noticed your stare. “You seem so solemn tonight,” he tried again. 

The proximity allowed you to smell the long day on him, mixing with the scents of lavender and tea tree oils, a regal musk that called to you to nestle your head against his chest and cry. “It is only that I am feeling unwell,” is what you said instead. 

His eyes were wide and watchful, but he did not argue and instead allowed the silence to envelope as he walked with you. Before you could wish him goodnight, he pushed into your room, ordering your handmaidens to fetch something to eat, as well as red wine to help settle your stomach. 

They jumped with his command, quick to listen, and soon enough you were sitting on the terrace that overlooked the coast of Blackwater Bay, holding a goblet that brimmed with a Dornish wine that stained your lips with each polite sip. Aegon sat across from you, a boyish grin as he dismissed your handmaidens for the night, before reaching to break the bread for you both. 

The silence followed from the corridor, settling over in a way that was not at all uncomfortable; you peered again at Aegon, a choked cry in your throat as you watched him take care to slice the cheeses and the olives for the bread, before offering it to you. 

It was a simple, sweet gesture and you chewed, forcing down the bite with the wine. Whereas conversation had to be dragged from your husband, you found his brother’s tongue would not idle; perhaps it loosened from the wine, but it was not a mindless filler in a way that words are used as though silence were a threat, but you found Aegon to be cheerful, witty, as he shared stories from his youth. 

Aegon glowned from his narration, from the silver light that poured over; the night sky was empty with the clouds rolling over the black water, the air cool and salty. Your cheeks were rosy from your drink and your laughter, and when your cup emptied, he was quick to refill it. 

He pressed for your turn and you shared about your life before coming to King’s Landing. Aegon was an attentive listener, with sighs punctuating; you looked to see that his cheeks were pink from the wine and the wind, a curl returning to his lips. “My brother is fortunate to have such a pretty and witty wife.” 

Those words were the unknown catalyst broken; you did not sob your sorrow but instead there were large tears that rolled down your cheeks. You did not realize you were shaking until you felt his fingers, his touch warm, soft, wrapping gently around your wrist. You allowed him to pull you from your seat, towards him–now standing–and enveloping you into his arms for a moment before he sat back down, pulling you onto his lap. 

Your mannerly upbringing roared in your ears, this was wrong, this was improper, to be pulled into an unchaperoned embrace of your husband’s brother–the fucking king of the Seven Realms. But instead you curled against his chest, that regal musk soothing, his warmth pleasant against the nip of the air. You indulged in his comfort–his palm rubbing slow circles along your spine, his other arm across your lap, his hand gripping into your thigh. 

His touch grounded you, allowing you to compose yourself and share with him what you had found in Aemond’s quarters, making sure to elicit a detail that Aegon freely supplied.

“He was with Helaena, right?”

You looked at him. “You knew?” Your voice cracked, incredulous. 

Aegon only hummed, continuing his soothing ministrations, his hand rubbing your backside. “I thought you did as well,” he admitted. “Our status within the Seven Realms… requires certain duties to be fulfilled. We are honorbound to these obligations, to ensure peace amongst the kingdoms. But it is just a role to be played for the public.” 

You knew this in part already; you were always aware of the duty of your marriage, the child that you were expected to bring into the world. But still, the truth spoken brought a new wave of tears that he consoled. Your body burned with his touch, his finger curling and his thumb pressing into your chin to bring your watery eyes to his own. “Is it that you love him?” He asked with a curiosity that could not be helped, in light of your reaction. 

You did not, and would never, certainly not after this night. The tears that spilled came from something deeper, something that licked your belly when your eyes lingered in Aemond’s room, and your voice quavered, hiccupping to explain this. 

Aegon had an almost kingly glow in the moonlight, with its silver light reflecting in the stubble that spread across his square jaw, framing the mischievous grin that curled on his wine stained lips. “Is your husband,” he speaks of him like he is apart from Aemond, not knitted within the same womb, with the same dragon’s blood thrumming in his veins, “not fulfilling his marital duties?” 

You stammered with your response. This was not what you meant, as Aemond was courteous to his completion, but it was never like what you spied tonight. You flushed remembering the shades of pink that plumed against Helaena’s porcelain skin, how her back arched with her cries, his name a fervent prayer spilling from kiss-swollen lips… 

"Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…"

Aegon’s timbre brings you back out to the terrace, with his continued soft circles on the outside of your thigh. “You would know if he had,” he spoke so casually, almost flippant with the subject. 

How would you know? And you regret your question, your naivety apparent with your words. 

The same mischievous smirk returned to his lips, and as the moonglow spilled over him something glimmered, something knowing from how his brow quirked with your question. Aegon tilted his head up slightly, his lips now close to the soft divot beneath your ear, grazing your skin with his whisper, “I could show you.” 

Your lips part in shock, your eyes wide to look him over and see the flush of color that stained his cheeks, the wine that stained his lips. 

And you dared to kiss him. 

Your lips are shy to touch, almost chaste with your action, but Aegon responds, quick, his fingers curling at the base of your neck and his other coming around your waist. His lips are full, soft, warm with the hint of the sweet wine to taste when his tongue runs your bottom lip, eliciting a moan from you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue clever, careful, as he drew the very breath from your lungs. 

The spill of silk showed your shoulder and you gasped softly when he broke away, his mouth ravenous to capture the skin now exposed, with a wake of love bites from his open mouth kisses, and a warmth began to bloom within you. You touched his chest with a gentle push to stand and he lets go, his lilac eyes wide and wanting; your hands trembled slightly as you reached to pull him to stand, boldly leading him within your chambers. 

Aegon stopped you in the archway, and you turned to see the smile on his lips as he pressed against you, his thigh spreading your legs and his hands trailing your curves, settling and gripping onto your hip bones. His mouth captured yours once again, and your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him closer. 

You almost whined when he stopped the kiss, his eyes glassy and their color swallowed by pools of black. “My brother is an idiot,” is all he said. 

Before you could breathe a response, he pulled you into the room and back against his mouth, moving with the flutter of kisses along your jawline, nipping into the curve of your neck. His palms are still on the small of your waist, with guiding steps back towards the bed.

Clothes are removed with a passion, leaving a trail behind. “Lay back,” he coaxed, his hands warm against your bareness, careful to press until you laid against the mattress. Aegon followed after, climbing on top of you to meet with another kiss, with his sweet murmur, “Let me show you.”  

It is a tickling sensation, the mixture of his stubble with the softness of his lips against the curve of your neck, trailing to your chest. Gooseflesh rippled over, your nipples peaking from the warmth of his touch; his palm cups one breast while his hot mouth latches to the other, teeth and tongue teasing. 

You squirmed beneath him; his chuckle was low and warm against the valley between your breasts, from shifting his focus from one to the other. “So impatient,” and his hot kiss sends shivers down your spine, with an intensity that you know will mark you. 

You shivered again with that thought.

This reaction encouraged a tensity shown to your nipples, his tongue swirled and another crest of pleasure rippled over, your hand moving to cover your mouth to muffle. Again, his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling your arm down to your side and pushing up to find your lips. “None of the that,” and his lips curled into an almost wicked smile, “your king wishes to hear you.” 

Satisfied with the crimson that flooded your cheeks, Aegon moved towards your core with sporadic kisses trailing, a warm tickle of his exhale as he nestled between your thighs. 

Your heart fluttered with the intimate kiss he placed, something that sparked a warmth that began to spread out towards the apex of your thighs and beyond. Your hips buck slightly from the sensation and you can feel him grin against your cunt. 

“So eager,” he breathed, a warm thrill against your slick slit, his tongue flitting with a precision that had you panting. “Yes, just like that,” he praised, his fingers now pressing within your velvet walls and stretching as one curled within, then another. 

His mouth, his touch was practiced, pulling something to blossom within the pit of your stomach, a fluttering sensation that built with the tandem of his fingers and his tongue.

You gasped, peering to see the top of his head, the spill of his silver waves as he moved, ravenous, determined. You writhed, a pitiful mewling sound, and his one hand moved to curl underneath your thigh, holding you in place with his continued sinful motion, your arousal spilling onto the bedsheets. 

It was too much, and you whimpered, “A-Aegon,” as your hands balled to grip the linen. 

“Just like that,” he purred against, his rhythm building still, a pressure threatening to burst within you. “Come for me, sweet girl.” 

It engulfs you as though you had been dropped into Blackwater Bay, a rush that spilled with the come hither curl of his fingers, pressing his lips against the sensitive bundle of nerves above. You see the stars when your eyes flutter closed, the spill of tears that pearled in the corners of your eyes, your chest heaving to catch your breath and your thighs trembling. 

His praise was low, husky. “You are so beautiful like this.”

You slowly propped yourself onto your elbows, flushed, and reached towards him, but he stopped your hand. “Next time,” Aegon promised with a cheeky grin. 

You are flushed from his actions, from his words, your heart rate picking up again as Aegon climbed on top of you, nestling into the cradle of your hips. His expression was smug, his lips and chin slick, and you kissed him, hungry for him, curious of your own taste; you enjoyed the salty sweetness from the Dornish wine that mixed. His hand dipped between, lining himself with your entrance, and you sighed into his mouth. 

Aegon has girth, a thickness to him that stretches your walls. You gasp, then another whine that spilled as he pushed to sheath fully within you; Aegon swallowed your cries with his kisses, his hips still to allow you to adjust to his size, checking before he began his slow rut against your hips.  

You pant against his chest, your fingers digging into the twin divots on his lower back as he filled you with each thrust, a bruising pace that began to spark in front of your eyes. You cling to him with a desperation, still sensitive from your first release and flustered from the touch of his bare skin against your own.  

There is the sudden emptiness when he pulled away, positioning himself on his knees, his palms wrapping around your ankles and pulling to place your feet against his chest; your hips cant up, allowing him to be swallowed by your warmth again, a guttural groan that reverberates through when you clenched.

This new angle sparked another cry, lights dancing across your eyes with his pace; he was grinning down at you, pausing to turn his head with a quick kiss to the arc of your foot, and you giggled. 

His large hands moved to press onto the mattress, caging you, and he rolled his hips against your own; the wet squelch with your soft cry as he bruised within. You mewled his name when his pace quickened, pistoning his hips against. 

There was the returned flutter of pleasure and Aegon lifted one hand. “Open,” and you obey, your tongue touching the pad of his thumb, swirling to coat it with your saliva. When he pulled back, a bit of spittle broke off onto your chin, and his hand dipped to press against the bloom above, his touch soft, searching. 

Yours cries are unbridled at the touch of your pearl, and his satisfaction was apparent on his flushed features, his hips finding a new pace with his new ministrations. Your muscles tightened in response, your back arching against, and it comes, a tidal wave, an intensity that shudders throughout, rattling your bones beneath. 

Aegon continued through your peak, his thrusts growing sloppy to chase after his own release before melting against you, with a low groan into the junction of your neck that rumbled pleasantly through you. 

You both lay there in an intimate tangle of bare limbs until your breathing evened. Aegon rolled onto his side and reached to touch your hip, his lilac eyes roaming over you, admiring you. “Beautiful,” he declared, then leaned closer for a gentle kiss. 

You giggled again, pulling away to clean up. Aegon allowed it, but was adamant that you remained bare, pulling you back to bed after and curling up against, his face nuzzling into your neck; your skin rose in response. 

“For duty, for honor,” he murmured, moving to pull you until your head rested on his chest; his soothing scent and musk of sex now clung to the linen. “A silver haired child all the same,” and he kissed your hairline with his confession. “The twins, Maegor, I am not even certain they are mine or not, but I love them nonetheless.” 

“The blood of the dragon,” you whispered, tilting your head back and allowing him to kiss you once again. 

You felt a new satisfaction, a new understanding of your role within the Targaryen dynasty. The thought warmed you, I love them nonetheless, as you nestled against his chest, allowing the rise and fall to lull you to sleep. 

arcie's masterlist

[cryptid-intraining]

More Jason Todd Headcanons:

He refuses to take opiod painkillers no matter how bad he is hurting because he is terrified of getting an addiction like his mother.

To this day, Jason is the only one Alfred allows to help in the kitchen.

He never takes elevators. Self explanatory.

The other Bats have seen and heard him have nightmares before and they always assumed they were all about the Joker or maybe the League until one night when Jason ended up crashing at the Manor, Dick and Tim find him crying from the couch in his sleep and he calls out Bruce's name, begging and pleading until he wakes with a choked scream with a hand pressed tightly to the scar at his throat. They never ask but after that point both Dick and Tim struggle to look at Bruce in the eyes.

Related to that, Jason never told anyone about how Bruce cut his throat with a batarang because he always assumed none of them would believe him, that they'd just accuse him of lying.

Damian once threatened him with a crowbar and Dick had to physically restrain Jason from going after the small child with his knives. Dick had a serious talk with Damian after about not trying to re-traumatised your brothers just because they're retelling embarrassing baby stories your mother told them.

Edit because I'm bad at wording things and I've stopped caring about pissing Batman fanboys off: Jason is absolutely one of the best, if not the most formidable fighter in the Batfam. He has trained with Bruce since he was a kid, then the League, and was the only human to train with and survive the All Caste. He is fucking scary. But more than his physical prowess is his ability to get into people's heads, he studies people's flaws and weakness and uses that against them. He isn't just a great fighter, he's a intelligent fighter. One of his listed strengths on his Wiki page is literally 'tactican'.

His style of detective work isn't like Bruce's or Dick's. He grew up in Crime Alley, surrounded by crime since he was a kid, he understands how it works and how to use it to his advantage and he has resources and connections that none of the others have. He's less about the forensics and science and more about the people. What makes them tick and how he can use that to get what he needs.

Related to that, he also is insanely stubborn. He has grit, sure, but he is also afraid. He isn't afraid of death but he is so fucking scared of the possibility that if he dies again he might come back. In his words "the worse part of about his death was that it wasn't permanent." As such he will go further than most to prevent it from happening again. Even if that means enduring the worst pain imaginable because still to this day the thing that haunts him most, more than the warehouse and crowbar and Joker, was waking up in that coffin and realising no one was coming for him. That he was alone.

He hoarded food when he was first adopted by Bruce. And slept with a chair jammed under the handle of his door.

It took months for Jason to let Bruce or Alfred touch him as a kid. His only male authority figure had been Willis and it had instilled a strong distrust of older men in him.

Him and Stephanie both volunteer at shelters and food banks in their free time. Steph once invited Cass because she wanted her to see that Jason was more than just a killer.

Tim still flinches from him when he gets too close and it breaks Jason's heart a little. He's hurt people but it has always been him in control, his decision. The Pit Madness took that away from him, or at least it twisted his betrayal and hurt into rage and he still hasn't quite figured out how to apologize for that.