#he only does this in complete solitude

[chaosconglomerate]

Loki was just wandering around, making it to a secluded part of town. A park, shrouded by trees and occasional flowers, with no other soul in sight.

He pulls a folded up device from under his long coat, which clicks open into a cane. For the moment, he's leaning on it on his left side, and revealing his white cat tail and ears.

With a wave of his hand, Loki's right hand emits a shadowy mist and things float in the air beside him; a stack of papers, a book opened part way with a bookmark inside, and a quill that's scribbling away as though operated by an unseen force.

[gwynbleiddyn]

bg3 has truly given me a new lease of life on two of my old dnd PCs and that is a gift actually

[tiyoin]

morality

‘malleus x reader’

malleus, who every time you fall asleep surrounds you in bristling thorns.

malleus, who does everything in his power to extend your life. he believes that stopping time- even a few hours would give him that much more time with you in the future.

malleus, who cares so deeply for your health and well being, but can’t help but make you sleep more often than you usually would in hopes of extending your life

malleus, who sacrifices the present for the future. it doesn’t matter if you’re awake when he’s off completing royal duties.

malleus thinks that’s time wasted that could be saved for the future. he’ll sometimes keep you under his spell for a few days, but it’s okay. you aren’t missing much anyways as you’d always voice how sad, cold, and lonely the palace feels without him.

malleus feels no guilt in commanding you to sleep. he thinks it’s a fair trade for the dreams he gives you. where you always receive a happy ending. with him, of course. with the hopes that those dreams will have you longing for the days to come.

malleus’ favorite dream to bestow up you was the one where you and him are in a cabin in the woods. especially the scene of two purple and onyx eggs cuddled up nicely in your arms. your back laid against his chest, your body almost sinking into his, almost like you were trying to steal the little warmth his reptilian blood possessed. or maybe, it was him whose arms were wrapped tightly around your body that was trying to keep you as close as possible.

malleus would think the roaring fire that sat not even a meter away would be enough to keep you both warm. not even the blankets in your shared bedroom seemed to quell the ice in your veins…

malleus would either read to the three of you, a new book each time- or, the two of you would discus baby names. brainstorming ideas to and new endings so you could continue the legacy of his ancestral names. he could never get tired of the way you referred to your little miracles; m&m. it was a candy from your home, you’d always explain, never failing to make his lips curl up in amusement.

malleus, who was warned that this marriage, this love was doomed from the very beginning. but he didn’t care, hadn’t fully considered your morality as there had to be a way to extend it… yet even lilia wasn’t able to escape death’s cynical clutches.

malleus who must always listen to your dreams, your hopes and excitement of the future, deep down knowing that it’ll never happen. that they’re never occur and never take fruition. and it frustrates him.

malleus who would send you into a deep slumber when he wrecked the castle, screams and wails of anguish echoing throughout the soulless walls of briar palace. was this how his grandmother felt? completely and utterly alone? her lover and daughter long gone as she was condemned to more pointless years of empty solitude. with not enough love for even him? her grandson.

is that how he’ll turn out? cold and alone?

insane?

not even sebek would last long. silver was on the same clock as you, both condemned to sleeping to stop the ticking hands of time that seemed to tick tick away.

malleus wanted a family, you knew that. biology be damned he’ll have his happily ever after with you. with every dream he can see the want growing inside you too.

malleus wants his, your children to at least know who the woman in the portrait is. he wants you to tuck them into bed, watch their first steps, and console them when the weight of your morality gets placed on their young shoulders.

malleus wants to scold them for breaking objects while you give him those big pleading eyes to ‘give them a break! they’re just learning how to walk in their human forms,’ malleus wants to catch the three of you baking cookies in the royal palace, he wants his children to sneak into meetings just to see him- only for you to be seen (and heard) trying to get them out without entering yourself. he would sometimes chuckle, imagining them hanging off of sebek like a ‘jungle gym’ (whatever that was) as the knight would do everything in his power to not move.

he wants you there to witness their changing from dragon to human, he wants to go through dragon teething with you as he knows it was a struggle for lilia alone. he wants them to draw on the old suffocating walls- only to be interrupted by your horrified gasp. scolding them for doing such a thing to the royal palace, only for him to be revealed as an accomplice. doodling away with them while critiquing and adding onto their drawings.

malleus wants to stress sebek out as he searches high and low for the king, who was miles away in a ruine with his family playing hooky. of course, not without a secret picnic basket and blankets.

he wants you on his back while he’s in his dragon form, his children struggling to fly at his speed as you take a family glide through the starry night just because.

he wants them to tell him that he was doing the right thing by timing out your death clock, saving a few minutes for tomorrow.

he wants you there when him and his future children go on diplomatic missions to other nations. he wants to enjoy the cuisine with you, the sights and views with you like that one college trip to the scalding sand. he already knows the words he’d tell that he failed to tell during that trip. that nothing will ever compare to the twinkle in your eyes or the beauty of your smile. he wants to hear his children’s groans and remarks of disgust as he spews poetry at you. kisses you. like it’s the last time he ever will…

there’s all these wants that he’ll never have.

he… hopes, his children will get their magic early- especially their unique magic in hopes that one of them can save you from your fate.

he wants a family portrait, with all four- or more, of you- this fully depending on how your body will deal with the trauma of the birth of your first born.

malleus curses the fates everyday for making his soulmate- his mate, mortal. receiving a human soul instead of a fae’s… it’s a cruel joke, he chalks up on night, when his temper was especially bad. when his thoughts were more pessimistic than usual. all because he spotted your first grey hair as you arrive in your early thirties.

malleus, who stands placid in the library, staring at the locked glass doors of the forbidden section. his fist clenches, then unclenches repeatedly- a war going on in his mind as he remembers his grandmother’s warnings of entering that room… of reading and using the contents of those books.

malleus scoffs, arrogance radiating from the young prince-king. his grandmother’s image flashes through his vision when his touches the door, sternly warning him of the cardinal sin that would be committed if he ever used the dark magic their ancestors created, used, and evidently locked away. she warned him, begged him to never feed into the whispers of their DNA, to never entertain the delusions that came with puberty and age. to learn about the world so he knows the natural order of things- the circle of life and death that he too, would one day be apart of…

…

malleus will have his happily ever after. he’s suffered so much already, doesn’t he deserve it?

the answer is yes. yet fate keeps continuing to deny him his right.

malleus deserves the happiness he never got to experience, family that he was robbed of all those years ago. and if he is to be condemned to tartarus for his misdeeds… then he will drag you down with him, forever together.

so sleep. dream your days away as malleus searches and scans the entire royal archives for spells or potion recipes that can fix this problem.

he promises the days will no longer bleed together, he promises you and silver- even sebek, will be able to stay awake for as long as him. he would give his soul to make sure the three of you stayed.

malleus will be there when you receive the news of your friend’s deaths. dropping like flies one by one as the years continue to pass. you will have each other when you stop reviving funeral invitations. he will be there for you when you look in the mirror, age not matching your appearance as you compare your hands to that of your friend’s corpses. you will truly have only him, and he hopes you will want to stay with him for as long as possible, just as he wishes.

he will take care of everything, so don’t fight it, okay? he will allow you to live different lives throughout each dream. illusion of free will at play since he will always be there, condemning you to the same love, same life, and same routine no matter where he places you.

he loves you… so very much.

[targaryen-dynasty]

YOU‘RE THE ONLY THING I PRAY FOR. (1/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; NON/DUB-CON, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle & niece), blasphemy, taking of virginity, female reader

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: Part 1 is here! At the anon that has requested it: thank you so much for this. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Daylight has first appeared when you break your fast, completely dressed and ready to start the day by paying a visit to the Grand Sept. It’s one of the rare days the queen does not accompany you for your morning prayer as her queenly duties have called for her even before the first light. But you bask in the rare solitude her absence grants, looking forward to the time you get to spend all by yourself. 

A carriage waits for you as you walk down the steps of the Red Keep leading into the courtyard, the door already opened and a servant anticipating for you to get in. 

“And where might you be going so quickly?” You know the voice that pierces through the silence of the morning, and are not surprised when you turn around to spot your uncle approaching. He’s clad in a white tunic and black breeches, looking as though he has just gotten out of bed.

Bobbing a small curtsy, the slight bow of your head does little to hide the surge of warmth that spreads to your cheeks, trying to suppress the nervous smile his presence always coaxes from you. 

It could be mere happenstance that you two meet right when you’re about to leave the keep, but something deep inside of you tells you he’s more than familiar with your morning routine. 

“I was just heading to the sept to pray, uncle,” you reply, your eyes locking with his as he creeps closer. 

The smirk that grazes his features at your words sends a shiver down your spine because it doesn’t mean any good; it never means any good. “And what is it that you pray for exactly, sweet niece?” he asks in a playful tone, raising a brow. His head cocks to the side, and he sizes you up briefly. “Does a princess such as you pray for love? Pray for a husband?” 

Despite the rush of embarrassment you feel when he makes his comments, you can’t deny the truth in them. “I pray for many things…” you trail off, pressing your lips into a thin line and contemplating if you should elaborate further. But the ultimate act of piety is to be honest, genuine, and you know it’ll surprise him more than a snappish remark. “I pray for the love of my family, as well as my own. Though I must admit that what I pray for most is to be married one day, and provide my husband with a healthy heir.” 

He must have noticed the way your eyes trail up and down his tall frame throughout your little lecture, despite you having your neck craned to meet his gaze, because his brow doesn’t seem to lower at all, staying in its exact position as he’s seemingly impressed by your words and your honesty. However, there’s also a pregnant pause following them, and you brace yourself for whatever taunting or derogatory comment might follow. 

“Might I join you?” 

The question catches you off guard, and causes you to tilt your head sideways. 

Pious isn’t a term you would use to describe your uncle. If he believed in anything, he’d merely worship the Gods of Old Valyria and would not follow the Faith of the Seven. Nevertheless, you’re thrilled he even considers accompanying you to the Grand Sept, because you’re certain he’s never seen it from inside. 

“I would be honored by you joining me, uncle,” you say, smiling softly. “I would not have to pray alone.”

“It would please me greatly, niece.” His eyes run over your form, lingering a little longer on your middle, clearly taking in your curves and attire. The dress you wear is completely different to the ones your younger sister usually wears, and comes closer to the gowns the queen dons nowadays. It’s modest and covers you completely, basically from head to toe. 

Mayhaps that’s where he sees the challenge. 

You briefly nod your head, and take his hand as he offers to help you into the carriage, climbing the steps before sitting down on one of the upholstered seats. You make note of how warm and unexpectedly smooth his hand is when you let go of it, having expected it to be calloused and somewhat rough from all the riding on dragon back and training with the sword he does. 

Daemon takes his seat next to you, and it’s evident you have all of his attention with him not tearing his eyes off of you once. What you don’t know is that he’s always found a liking in you. You’re sweet and innocent, demure even, and the complete opposite to Rhaenyra. 

More oft than not you make your uncle feel as though you really do not deserve an unvirtuous man such as himself, just as your father has told him back when Daemon had asked him to grant him your hand in marriage. You’re a girl that has never taken a man’s touch before, innocent in both mind and body – a vision obviously tantalizing to many men of court.

He looks over you once more. You feel his gaze burning into your skin regardless of how badly you focus on what you see passing on the outside of the wheelhouse, and you can’t deny that you would love nothing more than to learn of what’s occupying his mind. 

The ride to the sept isn’t too long, and shared in silence thick with tension. When the carriage comes to a stop and a servant opens the door, you rise from your seat and climb down the steps. Your hands are clasped in front of your body on the way into the Grand Sept, closely followed by the looming presence of your uncle. 

And you immediately feel at peace when you walk through the heavy doors held open by several guards, breathing in the scent of incense and relishing in the quiet it brings. Though there is no reason for you to feel flustered with the company of your uncle, having grown up around him, your heart still feels as though it beats too fast, pounding against the confines of your ribcage. 

The truth is, you have not prayed for any husband – you have prayed for him to become your husband. And every single one of your prayers resolved around the wish for him to join you some day. The Grand Sept is your home port, giving you a sense of safety and being the place you always return to. And what could be better than sharing this feeling with the person your heart and body long for?

You nod subtly toward the few septas and novices that cross your path on the way to the large stone altar in the center of the sept, attempting to not draw too much attention to you and the prince that trails closely behind. 

Rolling one of the thin vestas between your index finger and thumb, you carefully set it alight with a candle that’s already lit before you proceed to light your own. The small piece of wood is extinguished with a soft blow of air, and you brush your fingers over the sheet of wax that covers the gray marble beneath, watching the sea of lights in front of you. 

“Have you been in the sept before, uncle?” you ask, innocently. It might seem like a witless question, but is completely fair considering you have never really seen him pray before. 

You are not oblivious to just how different you are from your own kin, for neither your father, uncle nor sister frequent the sept, let alone pray before they break their fast or eat their supper. 

When they’d ask you, you’d say that the contrast between you and Daemon is the most blatant, closely followed by the differences you and Aemond have. Though your younger half-brother, more oft than not, resolves to praying, you know it’s just to please his devout mother. 

If anything, you most resemble Alicent, despite not sharing the same blood with her. She has taken you under her wing as your mother died birthing your late brother, strengthening your very being with her own faith. 

Daemon chuckles at your question, following after you to the stone altar. It’s an easy game for him to pretend to be pious, having resorted to colder measures many times before. “I will admit that I do not frequent the sept as much as you. It’s just…,” he trails off, looking around the room and taking in the architecture. “... not exactly to my liking. I much prefer the worship of the Old Gods of Valyria.” 

Just like you have thought. It’s tempting to worship and follow the customs your very ancestors have set up and believed in, bringing you closer to what ties you to the family whose love you always pray for. But where were these Gods when you needed them most?

“But doesn’t everyone in King’s Landing worship the Seven? Do you not think them worthy of your devotion?” you ask, cocking a brow as you slowly sink to your knees. You still look up at him, but already fold your hands to prepare for the prayer. 

Daemon watches you carefully, no, he blatantly stares at you, taking you in and watching you on your knees from his level of height. It’s exciting, to say the least. “Oh, I do not consider them unworthy, they have been worshipped in Westeros for centuries, but you can not expect me to deny my heritage, niece.”

It’s your heritage as well, and it includes the customs that would allow for you to wed the man you have always longed for. That is, if you were not betrothed already. 

The marriage to Jason Lannister, like your father has requested, is the most fitting option, you know. It’s no match made out of love but rather a political arrangement, and doesn’t heed your own wishes. 

He’s no more a man that deserves you than your uncle, though the prospect and thoughts of marrying Daemon do excite you more. Perhaps this excitement stems from the suppressed desire of wanting the opposite of your pious nature, something that would make you feel alive as much as riding Silverwing does. 

But your uncle isn’t interested in taking you to wife. His late wife died a few moons ago, and if someone has always had his attention and favor, it’s your younger sister, Rhaenyra. 

Flashing you a tight-lipped smile, he approaches one of the pews close to the altar and sits down. You focus on the candles in front of you and fix the flames of them to watch them dance, calming you down and bringing you back to the matter at hand; your morning prayer. 

But under the intensity of his stare, you find it incredibly difficult to focus on your wishes and steady your thoughts, and you rely on the Seven for their guidance. The direction in which your thoughts stray is improper and silently proscribed by the people of the realm, and you haven’t spent all of these mornings in the sept to let it all go to waste with the foolish wish to follow your House's customs. 

Lowering your head, you quietly speak your prayers and plead for the Seven to see you in good favor before them despite the sins that may come upon you in the future. 

Your uncle, on the other hand, only now realizes that this is the best time he could wish for to get you alone, all by yourself with no one to interrupt. And as the wait for you to finish your prayers doesn’t stop to pass agonizingly slowly, he’s overtaken by his urges and begins to quietly approach you. 

You’re in the midst of your prayer when you feel a sudden presence in your space. Opening your eyes, you spot him sinking down on his knees right next to you, his broad shoulder brushing yours in the process, pressing against your frame. 

He’s so close to you that you feel the warmth emanating from him despite the layers of clothing. “You have been so faithful to the Seven,” he whispers with a rasp, keeping his eyes neatly trained on you. “It is only right that they finally grant you something in return…”

There are goosebumps prickling on your skin at his words, the sensation even raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

Despite growing up around him, you have never shared such close proximity with him before, at least not since you can remember. It feels so intimate, and the way in which he speaks makes it more than obvious that it’s plain profanity. 

Daemon is clearly taking advantage of your piety, and twists your words and beliefs into something much more impure. 

But it seems that your body renders what your mind doesn't. It knows what he is up to even before you can grasp it, and you suddenly notice the uncomfortable way your smallclothes cling to the apex of your legs, a cold moisture making the linen sticky. 

You can’t speak, far too absorbed in his presence, and barely notice that he’s slowly inching towards you, until the tips of your noses brush against each other. 

Daemon is not moving closer, basking you in a sense of feigned superiority that gives you the impression that you’re the one in control. If you’re about to kiss, it’s because you want to do so, at least he’s making you think that. But by the Seven, how badly you want to kiss him. 

You’re the one to close the gap between you and press your lips firmly to his. You feel the warmth of them against yours, and are overtaken by a haze. You have never expected this to be the result of your joint visit to the Grand Sept, and you feel as though you're melting with a jolt of heat – until a cloud of panic washes over you. 

Pulling back with a gasp, you topple over on your arse, grateful for the space it puts between the two of you. You bring your fingers to your lips, touching them as if you mean to prolong the feeling of his lips on yours. 

“I-I do not wish to be a prude, but…” you try to deny his advances. You don’t know where to look, eyes frantically flickering to the ground, the ceiling, and even checking if anyone is around to see what has happened. 

Daemon licks his lips with a sigh, and you see him contemplating his next moves, the silence making your heart pound in your ears. “You’re a pious woman,” he raps, or rather just states the obvious. 

And then he slowly stalks closer again, only to bury a large hand in the hair at the back of your head, using the grip to bring you closer to him again. “Why have the Gods made me love a pious woman?” 

You’re holding onto his shoulders, not sure if you want to draw him impossibly closer or push him away. Your wide eyes carefully study his features, before he leans in and starts to press kisses to the side of your face that leave you whimpering and mewling.

Daemon has his strong arms wrapped around your frame to pull you flush against his chest now, and you’re squirming and panting, trying to get away from him while his hands make quick work of pulling and tearing at the skirts of your dress already. 

“Un-Uncle… not here, please,” you try to protest. 

He brings a hand to your cheek, turning your face so it’s easier for him to capture your lips in a heated kiss again. It takes all the strength you can muster to pull away from him, not just physically, but mentally. The long suppressed part in you is at an all time high, aching for nothing else than him. 

“We-We can’t,” you stammer, completely out of breath. “Not here.”

“I do not see why not, niece,” he all but growls. “Do you not want the Seven to witness how I worship you?”

The words make your face grow hot. The thought of the Seven watching over you is taboo and wrong, but it also makes it a lot more exciting. It has been an idea you have long desired, and to hear it spoken out loud from his own lips makes a thrill of excitement course through your veins. 

“B-But I-I have never–” your voice is reduced to a whimper, the despair audible.

Daemon paws at your hips, and brings his face closer to press open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. “I will worship you in a way they have never experienced, I can promise you that,” his husky voice is muffled by your skin, and all you can do is blush in return. 

He backs you against the column of the altar behind you, trapping you so he can use both his hands to snake beneath your gown and tear at the linen undergarments you wear, reducing the barrier that stands between him and his most prized possession. 

“Uncle, Daemon, please… the sept is not the right place for this.”

“I'll decide where I take you,” he growls once again. It’s the first time your name slips past his lips today, spoken in such a condescending manner that immediately makes you bow to his will. “And if I wanted to take your maidenhead right in front of your father, then so be it.”

You push at his chest, but at the same time melt against his sturdy frame when his lips claim yours. The fabric of his tunic is pinched so tightly between your fingers that your knuckles start to blanch from the force, acting as the means to an end to distract you from the shame you feel at giving into him so easily. 

Daemon bows his head forwards to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, his breath hot as he speaks. “You’re such a dutiful woman, always praying for a husband and a life filled with children. Why not pray for me? Would that not be the most honorable of outcomes?”

You can’t think for yourself, swept up by his words, his charms and his possessiveness. He’s brought you to the edge, and you can’t find yourself able to resist. 

“Uncle, I–”  

“Be quiet,” he cuts you off. 

So lost in his overwhelming presence, you hardly register him undoing the laces in the front of his breeches, only just lowering them enough for him to free his hard cock. Once that’s done, he lays you onto the cold floor, and positions himself between your legs, which brings you close enough to his cock to feel it prodding against your cunt. 

You can’t breathe, not when you’re basically smothered by his weight, pinning you down to the ground and not allowing you to move. There’s no chance for you to meet his gaze, for he’s far too distracted to keep his eyes locked on one position only. 

“You’re a dragon, sweet niece,” he grunts. “That cunt of a Lannister would not know how to handle it… let me take care of you.”

You release a shuddered breath when the tip of his cock meets the resistance of your tightness, forcing your body to go rigid. But despite that, Daemon is able to ease himself inside of you. It takes him a few seconds to fill you to the brim, taking his sweet time to allow you to adjust to each other. 

And you sure do. 

He pushes inside at an agonizingly slow pace, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. When his hips are still, your tight walls slowly accommodate his impressive size. But even then Daemon already knows he can’t keep this up for long, for your cunt is squeezing him so tightly, he is sure he’ll spend himself too quickly for his own liking. 

It takes you a moment, but as you feel him twitching, briefly brushing the sensitive spot inside of you, your stiff muscles seem to thaw. You arch your back against him, melting into the warmth that radiates off him. 

A quiet whine leaves your lips that prompts him to meet your gaze. “That’s it,” Daemon coos softly, a slight strain in his husky voice. He brings a hand behind your head to support it and make it a bit more comfortable for you, lifting it off the hard ground. 

Bowing his head forwards, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss. It is languid, tender even, but doesn’t lack any passion. There’s a burning inside of you, and you feel completely filled to the brim, yet it’s not as uncomfortable as the first few seconds have been. 

Perhaps it’s the possibility of being caught by your own kin or other nobles, or being defiled by him so openly, but you can’t seem to get enough. No, you don’t even mind if anyone sees you, not when all you’ve prayed for finally comes true. 

“I thought you were a pious maiden,” he rasps, immediately giving in to the pleasure and his urges, “not one that enjoys sin as much as this.” 

Though your face is contorted in both pleasure and slight discomfort, you keep your eyes open and locked with his, carefully studying his face. “I–I think the Seven would want me to be happy… would they not?” you don’t state it, you ask, silently needing his reassurance and asking for guidance. 

As he notices the hidden meaning behind your words, he flashes you a sly grin, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I believe as much.” 

Daemon starts to thrust into you, coaxing one whiny moan after the other from your parted lips. The pace is slow, and you can tell by the way he has his jaw set that it takes a whole lot of restraint for him to keep it that way. You know he’s an experienced man, having heard lots of stories about him and his conquests, and you appreciate him practicing patience with you. 

“Fuck, I-... you were made for me,” he groans against the side of your face, merely propped up on his forearms to not put too much weight on you. The feeling of his breath fanning over your skin, and the sounds he makes vibrating against it, ignite a fire in your veins you haven’t felt before. 

“You were always meant to be mine, but your father is too dull to see it.” Light kisses trail over your jaw and the side of your neck, meaning he can’t see the color his words bring to your cheeks. 

Entangling your fingers in his short, silver strands, you just rest your hand there to keep yourself grounded, until one particular thrust that seems a bit rougher than the others has you eventually tugging on the tresses not-so-gently. The action pulls his head back and exposes his throat to you, and it’s far too enticing to not to lean in and press your lips to the bump in the front of it. Daemon groans at that, and, in response to his cock twitching and throbbing inside of you, your walls clench around him. 

You haven’t been touched by a man before, even rarely by yourself, and thus you’re not quite familiar with the pressure that builds inside of your body. It has the grip of your legs around his waist tightening and your toes curling, but other than that you’re not quite sure what to expect. 

“Good girl, taking me so well,” he grunts, spurred on by the way your walls squeeze and choke his cock, clearly knowing you’re close to your peak. His praise goes straight to your head, and you whimper in return, stammering a ‘th-thank you, uncle.’

“Wet my cock, little niece, make a mess for me,” he all but commands, a dominant edge to his voice that has you shivering. 

Far too lost in the pleasure his body grants you, you hardly notice him driving his hips into yours with more fervor and determination, an approving ‘mhhh’ and stutters of his name escaping your lips. 

It probably is a vague guess, but Daemon’s mouth claims yours with newfound hunger as your peak washes over you in an ambush, effectively drinking down every wanton moan and whimper that has threatened to leave them. 

Something akin to fire spreads through your veins which prompts your leg to tremble uncontrollably, locking around his waist. Your walls flutter and convulse all over him, and white, hot pleasure clouds your vision. 

Only when the tremors slowly subside does your uncle tilt his head back. He watches you in awe, studying the drowsy expression on your face though the pistoning of his hips hasn’t stopped. And he won’t stop, not even when you’re no more than a quivering and whimpering mess beneath him, and you’re very close to turning into one. 

He cups your chin, pinning your head to the ground as he increases the pace of his thrusts again, using your relaxed state to chase his own peak. 

It feels overwhelming, a different kind of aching suddenly burning between your legs, and you try to squirm away, but his grip on you is as adamant as he’s relentless. 

“I shall spill myself inside of you,” he grunts, “would you like that? Do you want my seed in your belly?” 

All you can whimper are incoherent words, but are still aware enough to not be too loud. Daemon takes the benefit of the doubt and settles on a whiny yes, far too enticed by the thought of you going round with his child. 

He can’t hold himself back any longer with the repercussions of your peak driving him to his own, practically bursting as he spills his seed. His hips falter as he topples over the edge, his twitching member spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. 

But there’s not really any time for you two to dwell in the bliss, not when Daemon gathers himself so quickly to get back on his feet. He fixes his attire, straightening his tunic and redoing the laces of his breeches before he helps you up.

You perturbedly look around, breathing heavily, and smooth out the skirts of your dress. Being unsteady on your feet, you shift your weight from one leg to the other and grimace at the wetness that spreads between your thighs at the lack of smallclothes to gather it. His seed seeps from your swollen cunt down your flushed skin and makes you overly aware of the claim he has asserted over you.  

You’re too stunned to speak, your mouth opening and closing without any words leaving your lips. Knowing he was a rogue, you would have never thought of your uncle doing such things, even less of yourself. 

“I-I–” 

“We will keep this between us,” Daemon interrupts, figuring what’s plaguing your mind. 

The act of sin between you two has been so improper, and you’re certain your father would force you to become a Silent Sister if the word of your act would spread around court. So, it’s slightly calming to know you can rely on your uncle to protect your reputation and care for your safety. 

You nod and swallow thickly. “I-I hope so?” 

The silence between you in the carriage on your way back to the Red Keep is thick with tension, and though Daemon helps you climb down the steps before he leaves to attend his princely duties, something does not sit right with you. 

And only when you hear a knock on your chamber’s door around the Hour of the Owl do you figure that the feeling was right. Maester Mellos stands opposite of you, a goblet whose content is unknown in his hand. He hands it over, and you feel your blood run cold at his words. 

“A tea, princess. From the king. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.”

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[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 6

note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 5.3k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.

he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.

slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.

he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.

he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.

but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.

it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.

the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.

but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.

you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.

it’s anderson.

simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.

the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.

were you… involved with him?

the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.

not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.

he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.

it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.

you coming pub? 20:23 pm

you should 20:23 pm

sting is here ;) 20:24 pm

no. 20:25 pm

why notttttttt 20:25 pm

cmon just get down here 20:25 pm

seriously i think you should come we need you 20:26

fine. 20:28 pm

let's fucking go 20:28 pm

better run tho be quick 20:28 pm

simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.

✹✹✹

slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.

immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.

he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.

now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.

it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask. 

"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.

simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.

"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"

"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"

"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.

"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.

before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.

he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"

that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.

"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"

the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.

with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.

"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"

the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.

"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"

"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.

anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.

"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter. 

"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."

simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.

"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.

"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."

"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"

"i'm not–"

"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"

"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.

"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.

"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.

"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.

anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.

"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.

he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.

its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.

"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.

"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.

you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.

"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.

you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.

in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.

when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.

"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."

he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.

"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.

"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"

perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.

"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.

"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.

"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.

simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.

he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.

it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.

he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.

neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.

for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.

still, neither of you say a word.

a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.

eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."

"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.

simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.

"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.

with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."

"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him. 

"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.

"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.

your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.

"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"

another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.

your sigh breaks the silence.

"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.

"...what?"

"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."

"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.

"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.

"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"

"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"

your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.

"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"

simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.

the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.

he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.

he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.

"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.

he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."

"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"

"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.

"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"

simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.

"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.

when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul. 

"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."

he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.

simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"

"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.

"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"

there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.

"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.

"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.

"i'm in love with you, too."

his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"

"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.

"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.

"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"

simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.

"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."

"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."

for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.

a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.

he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.

simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.

he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.

"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.

"anything."

"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."

at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love." 

you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."

he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.

he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology (p2 in separated reblog)

[girlrotterr]

Ultraviolence.

farm!ellie x fem!reader TW!: references to alcohol and substance abuse, along with instances of emotional and verbal abuse. Summary: Years after returning from Seattle, you and Ellie chose to adopt a baby, hoping to rebuild your lives after the traumatic events. However, several months later, Ellie began struggling emotionally, haunted by her past, expressing her pain through cold and distant behavior. a/n: AHHH!! soo excited to finally share this!! lmk if you angels would like a pt 2!

*⁀➷read part 2!

───── ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ ─────

The silence of the house was abruptly broken by a cry that echoed through every corner. It was a sound you recognized instantly, a heart-wrenching feeling that never failed to make your chest tighten. Those cries belonged to your child. 

As you stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away residues of dinner from the white porcelain plates – the very ones Ellie had lovingly chosen for you – memories flooded your mind. Each sponge stroke brought back moments shared with Ellie, her attention to detail in every aspect of your life together.

The kitchen, once a place of laughter and shared meals, now felt empty. The soft glow of the overhead light cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the solitude that enveloped you. How you longed for Ellie's presence, her warmth filling the space with love and comfort.

Yet, she wasn't physically absent.

She simply wasn't present.

"Go check on him," ellie muttered rudely, not even looking in your direction.

"Already on it," you replied, setting the plate down and drying your hands on a nearby cloth. 

Making your way upstairs, the cries of your child grew louder as you approached his door. Your heart ached as you recognized them all too well. Taking a deep breath, you knocked and opened the door.

Before you could utter a word, he began pouring out his troubles. He knew it was you even before the door opened, aware that you were the only one who came to check on him. His other mom…hadn't done so in a long time.

He was sobbing into his teddy bear, his red and puffy eyes avoiding your gaze.

"Why is my mommy like that?" he asked, tears staining his teddy bear. "Why is she not playing with me? Does she not love me anymore?"

Closing the door gently behind you, you settled on his bed. His voice choked with emotion, he questioned why his mother seemed distant.

"Oh honey, she loves you.” you tried soothing by rubbing his back, “she’s just… been busy, but soon enough, she'll play with you again, okay? I'll talk to her.." you assured, pulling him into your arms.

"Promise?" This time he raised his head to look at you with those wet eyes. You'd been playing the mother role for the past half a year now. How many times had you made that promise to him? 

"Pinky promise," you affirmed, feeling the weight of your words as you made yet another pledge to ease his worries.

"Thank you mama.."  He smiled weakly, clinging to you with a sense of reassurance. 

A voice in the background called your name – Ellie.

Abruptly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed up the stairs, her sharp voice vibrating through the silence of the hallway. 

"What are you doing?!" she snapped, her tone laced with irritation as she barged into the room, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" Ellie snarked,  her words cutting through the air. Her cold glare pierced through you. "Kid, go somewhere else."

As Ellie's coldness unfolded, you began to bite the inside of your cheek, a surge of anger towards her lack of empathy. The lack of interest she showed towards everyone's feelings aggravated you, you were growing exhausted. 

"Stop it.” you intervened, hoping to convey to Ellie the need for a gentler approach toward the child. As expected, Ellie brushed off your attempt, a complete disregard for how her words affected the child.

"I said fucking go!" Ellie yelled.

Your child, tears swelling, quickly left the room, the echoes of his sniffles fading behind him. Dammit, Ellie...

You shoot her a glare filled with frustration, immediately getting up to exit the room. However, Ellie quickly grabbed your arm, her grip tight and nails digging into your flesh, causing you to wince and forcefully move toward her.

"Where the fuck are you going?" she snarled.

"Argh- Ellie, I'm not.. dealing with you right now-" you remarked..

Ellie tugged your arm harshly, her stare growing more aggravated. The scent of cigarettes lingering, the scent so familiar that you had become numb to it. This was the only time Ellie would even attempt to touch you, always using it to assert her control. In all other instances, you existed as nothing, always unnoticed.

“You don’t get to decide that.” She released your arm, shutting the door firmly and positioning herself in front of it to ensure you couldn't leave. Taking another drag from her cigarette, she exhaled the smoke.

Maintaining your glare, you scoffed and went to open the window, refusing to let the smell of cigarettes fill your child's room. 

"What the fuckk are you doing?" Ellie asked, displaying no intention of stopping you, her annoyance being clear. She didn't bother pretending. 

“What does it fucking look like?” you snapped, not bothering to turn and face her. You hated it when she tried irritating you. 

Instead, your focus drifted toward the view outside the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of warm gold and soft pink, casting a gentle glow. The fields surrounding the farmhouse with lively flowers, their petals swaying in the evening breeze.

The farmhouse itself stood as a sturdy, its walls covered with trailing vines of ivy. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of cows softly in the fields. 

Ellie remained silent, simply taking another prolonged drag of her cigarette. She didn't spare the time to respond to your snarky remarks.

“..he wanted to play with you today,” you mentioned, leaning your head against the window, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt. “He thinks you don’t love him.”

It had become routine for Ellie to try and get any information about what your kid shared. His troubles and worries seemed to be a curiosity for her. You never questioned it, always holding onto the hope that, in some part of her, she still truly cared.

"So?" she replied nonchalantly, walking over to you and flicking her cigarette out the window. "What's one of his little feelings to me? He's too attached anyway. It'd be good for him if I ignored him for a while." 

Ellie's gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes captivated by the familiar view. The  golden glow over the farmstead, a sight she had always cherished. It was one of the main reasons she had chosen this farmhouse for her family to live in. 

You gazed at Ellie, taking in her features. Her heavy bags from the countless sleepless nights on the couch, her once-soft pink lips now only meeting the cold bottles of alcohol she consumed in the dead of night.

“He’s not the only one who feels that way..” You remarked, still staring at her, hoping that her emerald eyes would meet yours.

Ellie's heart sank, a flicker of emotion appearing on her face.

"Shut up," she muttered coldly. She didn't bother turning to look at you; your words had clearly affected her. 

"I don't want to hear you talk. I'll do whatever I want. If I don't feel like playing with him, then I fucking won't."

She stormed off, and the moment of silence shattered. Her heavy footsteps descended the stairs. 

Without a moment's hesitation, you rushed out of your son's room, your only focus being to find him. You swiftly walked down the hallway, your pace quickening. Leaving him alone, particularly when upset, was something you hated. As you walked down the hallway…

There he was. 

In the bathroom, seated on the black and white tiled floor, clutching his teddy bear, with his face buried into his knees and headphones covering his ears.

He didn't want to witness his mothers arguing. He understood that whenever Ellie interrupted your time together, it signaled something bad. 

You observed him from the doorway painfully knowing that he didn't deserve this, enduring the harsh environment that the house had become. It pained your heart to see that he had developed coping mechanisms for these moments.

He glanced up at you, his eyes red from crying.

You gave him a soft smile, walking over and lifting him into your arms, gently wiping away the tears from his face. “I’m sorry honey, mommy needed to tell me something-”

“I know,” he said softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. He already knew all your apologies.

You kissed the top of his head, tenderly stroking his hair and swaying side to side. Your mind raced, searching for ways to lift his spirits and make up for Ellie's behavior.

“Hey, why don’t we-”

"Mama... I’m tired," he interrupted, his gaze staring off as if he was drifting from this moment. It wasn’t just physical fatigue; he was tired of it all, exhausted from feeling this way.

You nodded gently. “Okay, let’s head to bed then…”

You walked over to the sink, sitting him on the nearby stool where you usually did to brush his little teeth. The tap gushed water as you applied toothpaste to his green toothbrush covered in tiny dinosaurs, a choice Ellie had insisted upon a while back. You remember her begs of "pleaseee!!" throughout the shopping trip.

With the toothbrush in hand, you gently brushed his teeth, being careful not to hurt his sensitive gums.

“Okay, now you can spit.”

Ptui!

“All clean, mama!” he exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together and flashing you his newly cleaned smile.

You leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Good job, honey!”

He carefully climbed down from the stool, making his way towards your bedroom. Sleeping with you always made him feel safe, and he eagerly headed for the bed, emitting little grunts of tiredness along the way.

Finally settling onto the bed, he lay down next to his teddy bear, giving it a small pat.

“Mama will join you after she’s done cleaning, okay?” you assured him, tucking him into his space-themed blanket. The blanket, a dark blue adorned with various planets and stars, was one of his favorites.

It was a gift from from grandpa Joel, who had been thrilled to learn about your and Ellie's news of starting a family. He couldn't contain his excitement, bombarding Ellie with endless parenting tips and even purchasing books on child development in preparation.

Joel never got to meet him. 

“Okay...” he said softly, turning away as you walked towards the door. You stared at his back, an ache overwhelming your thoughts, and all you could think about was saying, "I’m sorry." Though you knew you weren’t responsible for Ellie's behavior, you felt like you owed it to him.

You and Ellie were eagerly excited on the journey to adopt a child together, ready to try again. Jackson had many kids in need of a loving home. When you adopted your kid, you promised him a life filled with love and joy, but that promise crumbled far too quickly. 

You stepped out of the room and closed the door behind you.

Heading downstairs, you found Ellie sitting on the couch, smoking a joint and watching Breaking Bad, an episode she had already seen twice.

Resuming your routine, you began cleaning up the kitchen. Drying dishes, sweeping the floor, and wiping the countertops. All tasks you were now accustomed to doing alone.

 Ellie gradually stopped helping, a gradual drift. The same snarky excuses: “I’m too fucking tired” or “I have some work to finish up.” Eventually, she left you alone in the silent kitchen, where everything felt still.

“Goodnight,” you said, looking towards Ellie as you headed towards the stairs.

Silence.

Ellie remained motionless on the couch, smoking her joint and staring blankly at the TV. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, trying to detach herself from the world.

You took a deep breath, attempting to control your emotions and suppress the ache that surfaced every time she responded with silence. Placing your foot on the first step, you began to ascend the stairs.

"C'mere,” Ellie said, actually looking at you for once.

Your heart raced at her sudden attention, her piercing gaze catching you off guard. You walked over to her, standing in front of her. Up close, you couldn't ignore the mess she appeared to be. Her eyes were puffy and red, a foolish smirk plastered across her face.

“c’meree..” she said, motioning you to come closer. 

Ellie brought the joint to her lips, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke right into your face, giggling at how it was causing you to cough. 

She started laughing, “you look stupid.”

Irritated, you smacked the joint out of her hand. Causing ellie to jolt at the sudden movement. 

“Be fucking stupid and pick it up,” you snarled, glaring at her, your eyes piercing through her.

Ellie simply looked at you, no words, no movement, her gaze fixated on you. You couldn’t decipher the emotion behind her gaze there were thoughts behind those eyes, but you couldn’t recognize them.

Scoffing, you turned away, no longer wanting to be near her. Heading upstairs, you headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Tears welled up, but you refused to let them fall. I need to be strong..she can’t..can’t win…

You couldn't help but feel stupid. Stupid for thinking she would offer you even a shred of affection. Her undivided attention, a drop of care.

Turning on the faucet, you splashed water on your face, feeling its cool touch soothe your heated skin. It was as if the water washed away the tension, calming your mind. Each droplet felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, easing the ache you carried.

Taking a deep sigh, you began your nightly routine, another task you were accustomed to doing alone.

Slowly opening the door to your bedroom, you found your child fast asleep, clutching his teddy bear tightly in his arms and cocooned in his blanket. His gentle breaths filled the room with a sense of tranquility, a small smile gracing his lips as he slept peacefully.

In that moment, he appeared like a peaceful, angelic child, as if he were innocent and free from life's worries.

Closing the door behind you, you approached the bed, gently laying beside him, fingers caressing his soft hair, humming a melody –a melody Ellie used to sing to you back then. Never missing a chance to soothe you with her singing whenever you couldn’t sleep. 

He appeared so innocent, carrying that light within him. The idea of him being exposed to Ellie's behavior filled you with guilt. He was the reason you tolerated Ellie, not demanding for more.

You had an urge to fight for his safety and his right to happiness. All he deserved was love and affection, and ellie failed to provide it.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you closed your eyes, letting sleep envelop you as you tried to quiet the endless thoughts swirling in your mind.

Thud.

Sometime later in the night, you heard Ellie stumbling her way up the stairs. Her movements were unsteady, the effects of alcohol. It seemed like she hadn't slept at all. The only evidence of her rest was the blanket and pillow on the couch.

You heard the sound of ellie turning the doorknob and entering the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. The room filled with the sound of Ellie rummaging through drawers and opening closets. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she appeared determined to find it.

You tried to catch a glimpse of Ellie in the darkened room. Your eyes adjusted, and you could make out the outline of her figure as she searched. She stood there in a tank top and boxers, her arms revealing prominent veins, and her hair ruffled messily around her face.

“El’s?..” 

Startled, she jumped and stopped her search, clearly taken aback by the sudden sound of your voice. She turned around with a scowl, not bothering to whisper back.

“What?” she snapped, clearly annoyed.

"What're you… doing?" you asked sleepily, being awoken by her rummaging. 

"Nothing," Ellie replied with a heavy sigh "Go back to sleep."

You looked into her eyes, your eyes glistening in the gentle moonlight. 

Ellie was startled for a moment at the sight of the eyes that met her. But snapped herself back into reality.

"Don't… give me that look," she muttered before turning around and going back to rummaging through the drawers.

You gently extended your hand towards Ellie, wanting her to sleep with you. Your fingers moved slowly, reaching out for hers. 

She paused, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a sharp inhale of air. She sighed and then looked at you. She didn't pull away from your touch, her demeanor appearing softer as if she was trying to resist you.

"No," 

You stayed silent at her response, silently hoping for her to change her answer.

"I said No. Go… back to sleep." She tried to say firmly but her tone was softer now.

You turned away from Ellie, silently acknowledging her rejection. Each time your attempts were turned down, the familiar ache grew duller, as if numbed. You wrapped your arm around your child, closing your eyes in an attempt to drift back into sleep.

Your child's peaceful breathing filled the room, a comforting reminder of his presence. Though still awake, you could hear Ellie's silent breaths nearby. She lingered by the bed, her presence still even in the darkness. It felt as if she was trying to find a way to be near you without you knowing. 

You resembled an angel in the soft moonlight, your skin radiant. Ellie couldn't help but admire you, considering you the most beautiful sight she had ever seen—as if you were kissed by the moon. 

The night was warm, the gentle wind gentle and comforting. In this moment, you hoped to never wake up. 

Your soft hair laid on the pillow like soft and silky thread. Your gentle breathing was soothing. Your body looked like a painting created by heaven itself. You were its beautiful muse and the moon was the painter showing its admiration.

Ellie couldn't help but gaze at you, her eyes lingering on your lips for a moment longer than usual. She then looked down at your child, peacefully nestled with you For an instant, a longing for love stirred within her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very long time. It reminded her of the days when you both were deeply in love.

Your body was so peaceful, ellie found herself entranced, her eyes tracing every curve and line. Ellie felt an overwhelming desire to simply…admire you, to preserve your presence. 

Without a second thought, Ellie found herself slowly lying down beside you, her body acting with impulse. The comfort of the bed and the softness of the cotton sheets gave her a warmth that she had long forgotten.

She pressed her body as close as she could get it against yours. Her hands folded under her chin, as if she was too afraid to touch you. 

She found herself lost, aching for a connection she feared to ignite. 

[earthtooz]

in which: itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you. 

fluff sprinkled with angst, rin is vulnerable and pathetic and lovesick, gn!reader

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage.

he thinks it's a daunting, restrictive construct that should not mean as much as it does. so much money spent on something completely worthless and non-representative of what true love can look like- two couples don't need some legal certificate to prove their adoration for one another. that's mediocre and pointless.

rin would much rather spend his savings towards something productive and not some diamond encrusted, 24k gold ring, or whatever the fuck the jewellers are on about. he doesn't need to imagine a beautiful venue, or his family dressed for a celebration, or a honeymoon in venice.

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you. 

you, unlike everything else good in his life, simply fell into the palm of his hands and proceeded to ruin everything with your arrival.

every thought he had about love and relationships being lukewarm was replaced with new visions of light and warmth, and you were at the centre of them all, brightening his previously-dull world with a simple, yet heartwarming smile. 

(rin thinks it’s his favourite sight- you looking at him like he’s worth something. like he’s kind enough to be loved and cared for.)

he freely admires the outline of your features, the slope of your jaw, where he loves cradling and holding. the curve of your lips and the way his slot perfectly against them. the space between your eyebrows where he kisses you the most because it’s comforting (more for him than you), he thinks he’s most fortunate to be the only one who gets to witness you like this, to touch and taint you like this.

how did he get so lucky?

giving in to his greatest desires, rin shuffles closer to you and wraps an arm tightly around you, eliminating the space that sleep has created between you. he tucks you in where he needs you most: right beside him, and sighs contently when he feels your warmth.

he wonders what you see in him. amongst the constellation of unresolved issues, abrasiveness, and glacial attitude that is itoshi rin, you have found something in him to love, to cherish, to hold. now that he’s had a taste of happiness, he doesn’t want to let go even though he knows you’re too good for him; that you’re too lovely and wonderful for someone as wretched as him to keep.

you have lit up his world and he does everything he can to keep your fire alive. 

he doesn’t want to imagine what will become of the world again when you leave. for the night will never end because there will be no sun for the moon to chase, no revelry amongst the expanse of darkness. for the waves might never meet the shore again, for the fruit will never bear again, and the mountains will shrink into the plains; leaving itoshi rin to wander in a world of solitude and destitute.  

so instead, he imagines a beautiful venue, his family and friends dressed to the nines for a celebration, a luxurious honeymoon in venice, and you, the most glorious and praiseworthy of all.

“i love you,” whispers the dark-haired. you shift slightly in his grip but you don’t fully rouse, and he’s relieved to know that you have not yet woken, because his love is loudest when the world is silent. “i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.”

rin hugs you a little tighter.

he imagines about living a life bound by matrimony. he thinks about a life with matching rings to represent the love you have for one another. he thinks about a life with you as his only forever; a life so sweet, he begins tearing up. 

reaching for your hand, rin’s thumb rubs your ring finger. “it’s you, it’s only you, i’ll only ever want you.” he kisses it, not liking how empty and vacant it feels underneath his lips.

soon, rin will go. he’ll go to the most extravagant jeweller he can find and search and search until one deems itself worthy of you. if he cannot give you the world, then this will do in the meantime (because he will keep searching for a way to do the former).

with a shaky exhale, he presses his forehead to yours before closing his eyes, longing to see you in his dreams. 

he hopes you never leave him, and if his (cruel) heart is not enough to convince you to stay, he can only hope that a diamond ring- the most expensive one at the store, will do the trick.

(he is yours, body, mind, and soul, all at your mercy. the only thing itoshi rin wants in return is for you to say 'yes'.)

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[heart-of-a-rebel16]

I think about it a lot, how the name of Spectres is incredibly fitting for the rebels of Lothal. Each is a ghost, and each is haunted by one, or many.

The ghost of the Jedi Order haunts Kanan Jarrus. He is one of their last relics: a symbol of a forgotten creed and age. He tries his best to pass his teachings on to his own padawan, but deep down he knows that the traditions of the Order will die with him. He tried not to let it bother him. Sometimes in the corner of his eye, he will see a tall woman in brown robes, smiling gently at him.

The ghost of her mother, Eleni, haunts Hera Syndulla. To look at herself in the mirror is to look at the face of her beloved ryma. Hera possesses the fire and iron will of Eleni, the very will that followed her to her end. Sometimes, when Cham Syndulla reads the headlines of Imperial newspapers, decrying a new terrorist cell known as the Spectres, he will think of the woman he loved, and how she lives strong in their daughter.

The old C1-10P unit known as Chopper is the ghost of the Republic; not the Jedi, nor the Sith, but the everyday soldier who took up arms for their galaxy, soldiers who could not know the full breadth of evil that threatened them. Chopper does not sleep, but on occasion, his memory core will play back a scene of a burning ship, and the scream of the pilot behind him. 

The ghost of his people haunts Garazeb Orrelios. He is the last of his kind, completely alone in a galaxy of quadrillions. His people follow him in the words no one understands but him, in the weapon he wields that has been passed down through generations, in the small traditions only he observes, if only to remind himself that he is still a Lasat. In the golden light of a star cluster, some of those ghosts are put to a much deserved rest; the rest follow onwards in quiet reverence.

The ghost of her family haunts Sabine Wren. To her clan she is dead, and to her, her family is dead as well. Though the mere thought of them makes her chest ache with want, she stands strong in her solitude. Mandalore still throbs within her in every shot from a blaster, in every stroke of a paintbrush, in every explosion that paints the night sky with fire. When she is alone, though, the face of her beloved brother, the voice of her father, the warm touch of her mother will keep her company. 

The ghost of Mira and Ephraim Bridger, and the planet they call home haunt their son, Ezra. As he grows old in a distant galaxy, Ezra Bridger has no trouble remembering his fathers face, for it had become his. In every step, in every breath, he radiates the howling of wolves, the chitter of cats, the towering spires of rock, the natural music of Lothal. He is driven by his ghosts; two of them are laid to gentle sleep in the fluttering fury of fyrnocks wings, the other in the pulsing glow of purrgils.

The ghosts of his brothers, even those who did not die in battle, follow former trooper CT-7567, better known as Rex. He sees them in the weathered faces of those who did survive, in a cloudy handprint on a wall, in the clocks as they strike five, in the symbol of the republic he fought and failed to protect. He is both a paragon of the endless cruelty of the fallen republic, and the gentle humanity of the long gone Jedi.

The ghost of a unit of boys on Onderon, barely old enough to know they had been sent to die, follow Alexsandr Kallus. He is the whisper of misplaced, frantic hope that things could become better if he only tried hard enough, if he only pushed himself further. His ghosts only appear to him in his dreams, beyond the veil of smoke and fire and screams, where he is not strong enough to push them aside.

In each there is a ghost, and in each a ghost follows them, shaping their world, driving their choices, changing their fate.

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive, that she was waiting for him.

He entered his chamber and saw emptiness, the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys by saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night, the way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust had taken away her virtue.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He entered the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter, her hair entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

She was pregnant.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had entered and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief. He saw everything in her gaze, fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

"− yes, my lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− my prince, I −"

"I want to talk to you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eyes off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few gold coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looking away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach, for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a tightening in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face, she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her, she drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, she was breathing heavily, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin, they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to pierce her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, rough muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him, he closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his semen as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, practically no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her, he hummed under his breath squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black jacket, untied his trousers and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides, tearing at her insides with his always ready, hard cock, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had cum deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived at Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and crouched in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his trousers. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his cock, sucking him in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep, it was the middle of the night. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to massage her pearl with circular, sure motions, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat, he began to fuck her brutally feeling her walls clench against him.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and rubbing the point of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smack.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he cum inside her with a sigh of relief, he wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean chemise, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was cradling their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe, his daughter had his eyes.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant talking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them, he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them talking much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him, he adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he ripped open her tight insides with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her, she struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand, only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers, she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her pearl, driving her mad, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his trousers and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's cum like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

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[pasteilian]

I’m a shy bean, but who has to deal with Raph and Donnie if they go feral ? 😂

But also, does your usagi go feral as well? And I’m guessing Leo would probably have to deal with him…. I really love the lore you have in all of this in interested in learning more

Raph has control over his feral behavior in his adult years, so no one has to worry about him with that anymore.

Donnie's carnivorous traits come out when he's an adult, which is a disadvantage since he has no prior training to control this. So, he kind of just goes feral quickly, usually when he hasn't eaten in a long time. When he goes into instinct mode, it's Raph who keeps tabs on him and trains him. Donnie is a non-threat to Raph, but he is dangerous when it comes to Leo and Mikey. So yeah, Raph is the caretaker of Feral Donnie.

They can usually tell when Don's going feral. He starts going nonverbal and communicates with sounds (he kinda sounds like a hyena in feral mode!).

As for Usagi, his feral behavior is different from Donnie's and Raph's feral behavior. Raph and Donnie are feral because the ooze couldn't completely erase their primary feral instinct. So sometimes, their instinct overrides their human intelligence.

Usagi, on the other hand, is feral because the guy was raising himself in solitude for a good portion of his younger life (his granny died when he was like 9). He only made contact with other Yokai/humans in his early adult years. He still retains his human intelligence, but he has no idea about basic personal space or manners, or much idea of his body in general.

[livelaughlaios]

I think one of the things Dungeon Meshi is definitely about is how different people deal with being an outsider/marginalised/neurodivergent/what have you and basically what im getting at is that Kabru is TEXTBOOK "high functioning [insert diagnosis here]". Its that how they say it still? Don't care.

Basically. This man shows up and you listens to him talk and see how his party treats him and you think. Oh this is a cool guy who has his shit together. And then after like two pages you find out that he has constant flashbacks to Utaya that make him completely freeze, anxiety attacks, thought spirals, is incapable of analyzing his own feelings, is a stuttering mess when the stakes are high, has never done a chore in his life, keeps putting himself in triggering situations and re-traumatising himself, and the icing on the cake is when you read the extra material and it turns out he regularly forgets to eat and lives in a depression nest of dirty clothes and self-medicates insomnia with alcohol and also is 22. Which also kind of puts Misilril not wanting to let him go in another light - yeah for sure she's controlling and infantilising and also its not like she was really helping his issues but also she was not entirely wrong in her judgement. This man does NOT know how to take care of himself. He knows how to do the bare minimum so when he shows up at work the next day he can fool his coworkers into thinking hes got it together enough. For a bit.

He is DEEPLY unwell and he knows it but he is carried by the desperate wish to avoid another catastrophe. If he stops for a moment he KNOWS he'll collapse so he doesn't.

I also think this is why him acting nurse to Mithrun is such an important part of his arc. Its like. This person who has spent all of his adult life focused on a single objective disregarding everything else is faced with what happens when you do that for too long. And the result is a wet tissue of a creature who looks like he doesn't know where he is most of the time.

He is a man on the brink. I have no doubt he felt relieved when he decided he could trust Laios - not even in a Labru way, straight up because he knew he could not keep going like this.

But also like. Of all the characters in the manga, I think Senshi and Kabru are the most lonely ones. Except Senshi seems to be OK with solitude - for sure it's not entirely healthy to be alone for as long as he was but he definitely did well enough. He is very good at taking care of himself. Meanwhile Kabru *knows* a lot of people but can you really say he has friends? Rin, maybe, arguably, but even she does not seem to truly know him, you know? He keeps himself hidden from everyone. I think the only time we see him entirely honest is when he says to Laios that he wanted to be his friend, and hes so shocked when it comes out, you can tell he did not mean to say it. And differently from Senshi, he does NOT fare well alone. He likes people, he needs people. Again compare with Mithrun - he has like a squad of people taking care of him. If Kabru had a breakdown of that size can you say his party would go out of its way to help? Im not sure. Not because they're bad people, but because he's simply not that intimate with any of them.

Idk man it just struck me all of a sudden. Laios is weird and offputting and doesn't care about other humans the way Kabru does and YET he is infinitely more successful at building deep, meaningful relationships and taking care of himself as well. I think this is part of why Kabru is so fascinated with him as well. He can tell Laios has something he doesn't have. Wait this is turning into a whole another post I'll write this next time.

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta must become the big sister

I think what's especially interesting to note in chapter 154 is Nayuta's failure to use the right tactics.

Denji raised Nayuta correctly, emphasizing going to school, trying to control her possessive outbursts while being extremely present for her. In short, he nurtured her, giving her the protection he hadn't enjoyed as a child himself.

Although Nayuta knows her own nature and instincts, and is not naturally altruistic, she still looks at herself in a certain way: from society's point of view, and from her own, she is a child.

What I'm trying to say is that it's not insignificant to have Makima reincarnated; we could very well have had Nayuta, already an adult, because she's a devil who doesn't grow up. Nayuta already seems to grow up much faster than humans, so Fujimoto could very well have decided that a demon, especially a knight of the apocalypse, should already be born as an adult.

She grew up more quickly, and by the time Denji had finished devouring Makima, she already had the appearance of a 4/5-year-old child.

Fujimoto made Nayuta a child, because it's this state of being that makes her a control demon so paradoxical. Indeed, if Makima was so powerful, it wasn't just because she was older; the fact that Denji had killed Makima didn't change anything in terms of the fear one can feel of control.

What affects Nayuta's power, capable of controlling only 3 people at a time, is the way she conceives herself.

Makima was so powerful because she occupied a fairly high hierarchical position among public hunters, just as she had unquestionable authority over her agents. What's more, the government assigned her an objective of a universal nature: to protect all mankind from evil things. This role of universal protector, albeit a protective one, naturally places Makima, the control demon, in the role of guardian, humanity being as harmless as obedient puppies. The only thing Makima couldn't feel superior to was Chainsaw Man, for he is the entity that provides the means to pursue her universal goal of protection.

The key to Nayuta's fate is the fact that she has been loved and pampered by Denji. She makes it clear: it's natural for a demon to kill humans. Which, on the other hand, indicates that it's completely unnatural and almost unnatural for a demon to love and be loved by a human.

To have been loved, to have been happy, enabled the control demon to understand other ways of relating than pure domination, whereas Makima didn't understand human relationships, to the point of being moved by a hug, so unattainable for her.

Nayuta understands the nuances of relationships, just as she claims not to be the leader of powerful public officials but a mere child, which always places her in an inferior position to her enemies. That's why she's less powerful: to be in control, she needs to feel superior, which she can't easily do when she sees all these adults surrounding her so vehemently.

She focuses more on her social role as a child to be protected than as a demon attacking head-on. She still adheres to her role as a child, she's not obsessed with CSM because she can't reach him, he's now in her inner circle, she doesn't have a universal goal such as protecting the humanity like Fami suggested, she just wants to go to school.

In short, the control demon no longer wants to control, no longer needs to, or when she does, it's out of sheer necessity. The fact that she's weaker was Kishibe's objective when he gave custody of the demon to CSM, to make the control demon more human, more childlike, to avoid this exponential need for control. In short, the fact that the Control Demon's supreme objective is to be loved has contained its power, because its objectives have been achieved.

We can see how love is an unnatural thing, because it limits a demon who should be supreme through his solitude. For Nayuta's sake, to get out of her situation in chapter 154 would be to have a crisis of ego, and I think that symbolically it's not out of the question that if Nayuta abandons her role as a child, she'll grow up brutally. For a demon, appearance and age are simply a question of positioning in society. Makima had chosen to take on the appearance of a femme fatale to enable her to manipulate more effectively.

A soft voice, an attractive appearance to encourage us to lower our guard, the better to control coldly.

This is also why Barem is so dangerous to her: he's big-boned, aggressive and very tall, so he can be naturally frightening to a child. If Nayuta wants to control him and regain the upper hand, she mustn't see herself as a child with a gun pointed at her head. That even when assaulted, even when held at gunpoint, she's still in full control, that despite the chaos, she's still superior.

It's no coincidence that it's a gun that's pointed at her. Guns are fatal for humans, but for demons, especially the most powerful ones, they don't mean much. Nayuta doesn't need to be afraid of a gun, she needs to embrace her demon nature.

And she's on that track because protecting CSM, rather than being protected by him, means she can now play the role of a big sister.

What's more, she needs to get to know her own need for violence and cruelty. Chaos isn't what she likes, this chain of violence and combat isn't what she desires, because what she wants is cold, absolute control, where all she gets is unfailing obedience, people falling into line, not men with spears fighting each other in a primal manner.

She has been brought up by Denji, adopting his mannerisms and his way of speaking, but she also needs to distance herself from this fraternal figure in order to be herself.

All this leads me to say that the Knights of the Apocalypse, by moving away from what they are, are THE ONES who bring about the apocalypse, which is totally obvious, hence their name.

By loving something abnormal for the demon of control, by falling in love with his worst enemy for the demon of war, by wanting to save humanity to better eat what it produces for the demon of famine... show how they are all affected by humanity, to the point of putting aside their demonic nature.

Think of it as a kind of broken balance, which leads the eldest, the demon of death, to intervene. Why? For death represents absolute equilibrium; no one can escape it, it is an absolute rule from which it cannot be dislodged, it is an inevitable and firm end. Common to all species.

So she intervenes, to pull the ears of her little sisters Nostradamus' prophecy doesn't predict the apocalypse - in fact, it predicts that it will be triggered by the Knights of the Apocalypse, who have set out to protect mankind from the apocalypse. It may sound complicated when you put it like that, but the idea is to reinforce the idea of inevitability: protecting mankind from the apocalypse isn't a rebellion, something that can work; on the contrary, Fami's plan triggers it because she denies her nature. It's a losing game.

When I say that Nayuta needs to be a little more Makima again, it's not just for her own good, it's also for the good of humanity, and I find that ultra interesting: it's necessary for the antagonist we got rid of in part 1 to return, at least partially, in part 2.

But she mustn't go back to being that obsessive protector, she must simply resume its role as predator. Mankind needs predators: with the evolution of technology, it thought it could challenge its food chain, but paradoxically it needs to be bruised by demons to survive, since the balance of the world is at stake.

It's all the more symbolic that Barem and Fami use the wrong strategy: like Prometheus, they give fire to men via contracts with the fire demon, reinforcing the idea of evolution to escape its nature. It's even more symbolic that many weapons serve this project, such as Miri, the demon of the whip and the spear, hybrids linked to this civilisation.

It's absurd for the demon of control to argue that she's just a child. If she wants CSM to escape, she must also allow him to free himself from his role as big brother and protector. And the answer to this question was given by Fumiko, who didn't realise that dogs and Meowy weren't just animals. What she should despise is certainly not her own family.

Humanity is nothing more than pets, and this realisation is the key for Nayuta to become herself again.

[weirdmarioenemies]

SURPRISE! Did you think the day would come when we would cover Love Live on this blog? I didn't!

Yohane the Parhelion: Blaze in the Deepblue is the Metroidvania-style game based on the fantasy spin-off of Love Live Sunshine, but you probably don't care about that! Statistically speaking, our target audience is Bogleech readers who are deeply revolted by anime girls!

So why bring up? Why bring it up? The answer is 🐠 FUNNY FISH! It's Funny Fish Friday!

Since this game is set in an underwater temple, the enemies this game are all based on sea creatures, and that's cool! Again, statistically speaking, you probably think sea creatures are cool. I really liked seeing the variety of enemies when playing through this game, so I thought it'd be fun if I could share them with an audience of people who otherwise wouldn't care! None of the enemies really have names, as far as I'm aware of. But I'll do my Rubesty...?

Our first guy we encounter in the game is the sort of guy who emerges from the ground like the Zombies from Castlevania, and wow! A good first impression I think. It is sort of a squid mantle, if the mantle was also a cloak for a spooky sort of wizard! The way it doesn't really have a 'face' in the hood and the eye is below really makes it seem like a weird mimic creature. Cool!

They also get a tough lategame variant which looks like a mix between a flapjack and a vampire squid. You don't often see flapjacks be designed as scary!

---

Next is Barnacles! A whole clump of them, like a cake. They shoot Energy Balls at you. Is this what Barnacles can do if they combine their powers...? The top actually opens up, and it looks a lot like a sea urchin's mouth! So maybe it is some sort of naked urchin creature covered in barnacles? Game Theory!

There are also barnacles with Ice Powers. Like real life!

---

Let's give it up for Garden Eel!!!!

What a fine Garden Eel it is! Complete with the sort of grumpy face, and with the addition of two little arms that make it look like it's praying or maybe a bit shy. But it is mean! It also spits energy balls at you, then hides in the hole so you can't hit it. How very sneaky!

SO sneaky, in fact, that these eels have mastered the art of ninjutsu! The ninja eel shows up for a split second in one single room, before smoke bombing away. You'd have to use a time freeze power to get him, but I never got around to doing that. I don't have any beef with a ninja eel! I respect him and his training!

Did someone say CTENOPHORE? I hope you did, or my hearing has really gotten worse. This thing is a grade A ctenophore, only with a ring of Scary Teeth! A little scary to think of a ctenophore who could Bite you, but nonetheless this deserves a :ctenopog:!

---

Let's not forget Fish Vortex! Fish Vortex was the first guy to make me go 'wow, this game's enemies really are awesome!' So of course I had to put him at the top of the post! He is my selling point! I am selling all these enemies to you. For 4.99 a pop!

Anyway. This design is just so funny and cool at the same time. A swirling school of fish that leads into an endless dark abyss, and in the middle, a big eyeball. Also covered in fish. It shoots fish at you! Yay!

There is also a pink variant - it shoots fish that give you the Solitude status effect, which basically just makes Yohane too depressed to summon her friends. Meaning? They are Depression Fish! Maybe she just becomes so jealous of the unity and teamwork of these sardines. She's me like just for real! ^_^

---

isopot :)

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This slug is an umbrella. That is ridiculous! Ridiculously EPIC! It does the opposite of shield you from rain, which is create rain, that kills you. But I would still want one as an umbrella.

---

When I first saw this thing, I thought it was some strange round Echimoderm I had never heard of. But upon further inspection (I actually asked Mod Chikako shh), it is obviously like a Brittle Star, with each arm folded round to form a wheel! How creative and fun! It even has a bunch of eyes like a starfish!

---

Last but not least- sushi! There are sushi guys and they are cute. They don't really do much and are typically found in their own rooms, so I'm not sure what the point of them is. But finding a funny walking sushi should be a reward in of itself, I guess! Look at their funny rice feet! Or the one with the roe eyes!

I happened to use fire magic on one of them and this happened. Oopsies...

Now I am sure you are saying, thank you for showing me all these funny enemies. But are there any cool bosses? Of course there are, me! What's a Metroidvania without cool bosses? So I shall show you my favorites without delay!

First is this freak (affectionate)! It is a sort of amalgamation of lots of different animals and I think it just looks plain cool! Two squid mantles combined into one, a bit of a sea angel shape, bug legs and of course a great big eyeball!

If it is not freaky enough for you, let it be known that the bug legs turn into big green skeleton hands, and it also keeps getting pinker, and it grows new eyes and then extra horns grow out of those eyes. If THAT is not freaky enough for you then I am sorry but I cannot do anything about that.

---

Now, how about a sampling of this Freaken Thang? It honestly doesn't seem that sea-creature themed, but it uses seashells so I guess it counts!

What is really neat is that this boss has two different forms, upside down and rightside up! When it is upside down it looks a bit like a Magolor type creature. And of course, I really like the flame thing in the middle as well, that really feels like a Kirby enemy or something! Like a wisp made of plasma!

---

Fans of Anomalocaris won't be disappointed by this one! It's a big Anomalocaris tank and boy is it cool! There's something for everyone here, whether you're an Anomalocaris purist or you've always wanted to see it turn into a sort of futuristic beast with a screen mouth that shoots lasers! It really is the future, zura...

---

After covering all these wacky creatures, I'm going to have to end it off with the final boss! What could the big bad, the ultimate boss of all these sea monsters even be, I wonder? Well, it's...

...a coelecanth. Just a big coelacanth! It is big and blue! And really, does it need to be anything else? It is such an honor to make the biggest ultimate boss a coelacanth. It is even pretty cute!! Think he's smiling! 😊

Uh oh! Is it still cute? I guess so. My first thought seeing this was of course the world-renowned tongue eating isopod, so I really hope it was an intentional reference! It probably just wants to shake hands. Still, a pretty simplistic design for our final boss, right?

Buu buu! Its true form actually looks like this! Actually, it's kind of doing too much. Like let's tone it down a little?

So!! We beat the mega ultra coelacanth, and now we can find out what his motivation is! And it is... that he is the memories of the people of the past or something. And they all didn't want to be forgotten, so they turned into fish monsters! But we forgive them!

It doesn't really matter. All the girlies gather around and sing him a song. Look how happy he is! I forgot I was talking about a Love Live game until now, actually. All's well that ends well, the end, et cetera! Hit it, Yohane! [imagine this is like the end of a kids movie where all the Love Live girls are having a dance party and there is a shot of the big coelacanth in jail and he's tapping his mouth fingers along to the beat]

[lostboywriting]

"You are here! Stay a while!"

Something about being beckoned in from your solitude by a stranger, finding yourself somewhere that seems at first glance like a glimpse into a better version of things. Only to realize that the people are all empty echoes and remixes of others you've seen before, and the place is a trap that will draw you in and quite literally eat you alive.

Who's Norris talking to, with this one? (Assuming he's talking to anyone. Assuming there's something like choice happening in there.) Does he know that Alice will walk away as soon as he starts talking, and that Gwen will tune him out? Does he know Celia and Sam have left early? There's no one listening to him--except actually there is, because we're all here. We're all listening to this story about an invitation to a "better" time that goes immediately and horribly wrong.

"Stay a while!"

Shortly before the mics switch to a completely different story.

"Sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting anyone..."

Probably completely different.

I'm sure it's fine.

It sure was nice to hear Gerry sound so happy.

[deathbxnny]

hello!! platonic sunday, aventurine and gallagher with a teen!reader who is like nene kusanagi?

Hello Anon!! Thank you for the request, and I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Platonic relationships, teen reader, mentions of social anxiety, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

》AVENTURINE

Aventurine doesn't mind your shyness, nor your inability to talk to most people who aren't him or other people you know. He understands it and tries his best not to push you into doing anything you don't want to, ofcourse.

However, this doesn't mean that he won't help you get out of your shell slowly over time. Not that it would be hard to sometimes have to make you socialize whenever he was out on business with you dragged along as always. He'll do most of the talking though, so that he doesn't stress you out too much. He knows that the spotlight can be too harsh at times.

He adores your bluntness alot and even more that you care for him, despite how sharp your words sometimes can be. In a way, he finds himself lucky, knowing that you only open up to him in this way, which helps him over time open up to you as well. It makes him respect and appreciate you alot.

》SUNDAY

He understands your unwillingness to socialize completely, and luckily for you, there is no need for it with him. You most likely stay in his dreamscape estate anyway for your own safety and so most of your days are spent in peaceful solitude, other than the few times Robin or Sunday come to speak and dote on you.

He still makes you join him in some meetings, however, as he views it as important for you to learn his way of work. He knows that you don't like it and are too shy to actually speak with strangers properly, which is why he'll let you leave alot earlier, it he sees your social battery draining.

Your bluntness is one Sunday enjoys and appreciates alot because he knows you care deeply for him and his sister, yet simply have a very direct way of showing it. It's also like a breath of fresh air, from all the fake emotions and facades he has to put on daily.

》GALLAGHER

He may understand your shyness and reservations towards strangers, but that doesn't mean he'll let you off easy. Quite the contrary, in fact, as he'll definitely make you socialize in the best way he knows how, and that is by making you help him out in the bar. You can call him cruel for it, but he wants to toughen you up a little before the dark world outside does it.

You mainly just take orders and hand patrons their drinks, which eventually makes you start talking to them. It was a slow and even somewhat agonizing process for you, but eventually, you found yourself actually holding full conversations with them.

Your bluntness paired with your deep care for people made you a perfect little helper around the bar, as you became a favorite amongst the patrons to speak to and laugh with. Gallagher would watch you with a proud smirk from the back of the bar as he practically patted himself on the back with a happy nod.

I hope this was okay, Anon, and thank you again for the request!!<33

[localnerdforsteveharrington]

Hatred // T.N

Ask: Hi, can i request a kinktober theo nott w voyuerism and hate sex, enemy to lovers but fluff at the end. thank you!

A/n: so sorry since all days are taken but I hope you enjoy this x

Warnings: smut, hate sex, degradation, voyuerism, masterbation.

You and Theodore Nott had never gotten along so when you got paired together for a school project which took a lot of research so after many nights together, both of you were fed up.

Walking into the prefects’ bathroom, you quickly undress without realising you have company. Just before you had arrived, Theo had changed into nothing but a robe then before he could enjoy a bath in solitude, you’d walked in.

As you get into the bath, you feel eyes on you but think nothing of it. Letting the bubbles coat your soft skin, you reach downwards and play with yourself. Moans echo around the room and it takes everything in Theo to not walk into the light and take you right there.

This continues for mere moment before he gives in and walks out into the opening with a smirk. “Hey there, sweetheart. Having fun I hear?” He says with a dark smirk across his face.

“Theo! Get out! I’m bathing and you only have a robe on” you say in shock at being watched. “Well I can make it even” Theodore replies, this prompts him to pull his robe to the ground and leaving himself completely naked.

He gets into the bath with a devilish grin and moves towards you. “Don’t stop on my part, sweetheart. I enjoyed the little private show” he says, moving closer to you before offering “you need any help?”

You were desperate and could not reach just the right places. With a sigh of desperation on your part, Theo takes this as a hint to sit you up on the wall so you were complete bare to him. “Now, you’ve gotta be good for me, aye? You gonna be a good whore for me?” Theodore suggests, smirk still evident across his face.

Next thing you know, Theo is pushing himself into you fully and you let out a long moan of lust. He takes this as a good sign and begins thrusting up into you whilst his lips make their way across your soft skin.

Your moans fill the room as your first climax hits hard. “You gonna cum already, you dumb slut, huh? Does getting fucked by the guy you hate make you needy? Go on answer me, slut” he practically yells at you.

“Please, need it, need you” you beg as you cum around him. “Fuck, taking me so well, you good little whore. Gonna have to rile you up more often, yeah, sweetheart?” Theo continues with his taunts when finally his climax hits.

You both ride out your climax as the sounds of splashing and groans intoxicate the room. Soon both of your breathing is steady bud he doesn’t pull out just yet. “Round 2, sweetheart?” he suggests with a grin. You smile, “maybe a few more will do.”