#tall queen x short king

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

Here we have the lovely mare Leah flirtatiously brushing her tail against her little Bo.

This is another unofficial tall queen/short king pair from another animated film I'm not fond of.

The Star was a mediocre attempt at telling Jesus's birth from the animals' POV, that I only sat through it half-way before stopping and only looking at some clips, though it had some decent music.

But these two would make a lovely couple, especially after Bo found her singing voice beautiful.

It's easy to love this pair without guilt as Sony's not planning to continue the story with them having different life partners.

[honeymilkbubbletea]

Head empty only strawberry milk 🍓🥛

Heath: I wonder what an APSOLUTE GODDESS like her thinks about

Abbey: Hmm, maybe I should drink that strawberry milk

[isara0408]

Making Kaga shorter than Megami and Megami being taller than Kaga is something I didn't expect at first, but I do find it quite cute. Now I can't see Kaga as a tall person like I used to lol.

I love the idea of Megami being the taller one in the relationship and the one who wears the pants in the relationship.

I would assume they would get looks and get judge a lot for having a tall woman and short man in a relationship rather than a tall man and a short woman being in a relationship. Kaga doesn't really care if people give them looks, or start asking questions to him on how the relationship works, or tease him on how he is the "woman" in the relationship for his height and well, he doesn't show much dominance like a "real" man should.

Megami doesn't really get much backlash compared to Kaga because who wants to do that to the most powerful woman in Japan and future CEO of Saikou Corp? No one wants to be in Megami's bad side. Either way, they will be on her bad side for doing it to Kaga. There is a lot of more negative responses that many people will say, Megami and Kaga don't care and ignore them. (or Kaga scares them off)

There are some headcanons I have for them because of their height difference! :D

Whenever Kaga tries to get something from a high shelf, he uses a chair, climbs the kitchen counter, or gets Megami to do it. Sometimes, when he climbs the kitchen counter, he slips and falls. He stays there for a few seconds to process the pain and tries again as if he didn't fall seconds ago.

Since Megami is taller than Kaga, whenever Kaga builds something dangerous with a remote, she will snatch it and put it on the highest shelf possible to prevent him from dangering himself, or anyone around him including herself.

For his height and appearance, Kaga doesn't seem so intimidating. Megami does. I imagine Kaga being teased for his height before Megami appears behind him with the most intense, cold, icy death glare she has while Kaga has a smile on his face.

Kaga is the small spoon. It's easier for him to lay down on her chest compared to Megami doing it to him.

Kaga gets piggyback rides from Megami (mostly when they are young). When they are much older, Megami can carry him around. For example, she would carry him bride style or just throw him over her shoulder when she's more comfortable.

One of the things that Megami does get from women when they find out that Kaga is short is "If he's short, that means the rest of his height went down to his... you know." Megami doesn't have much of a reaction. She either changes the subject or leaves. Those words always come back to Megami from time to time whenever she stares at Kaga for a long period of time or in bed (once they live together in Saikou Corp). Kaga doesn't know about it.

Since Kaga is short, he can fit in certain places for how skinny and short he is. Kaga can hide under a bed if he has enough space to crawl.

Megami is the one grabbing things from top shelves. If they live in America and she escapes Saikou Corp, and they are in a store, Megami is the one to grab the things from the top shelves that Kaga can't reach. Kaga is the one to get things from the bottom of the shelves.

Megami would go behind him and wrap her arms around his waist, giving him a hug from behind and bury her face onto his messy hair. Megami does this when she's tired.

When they do fight, or Kaga has something dangerous, or to tease him, Megami will take what he has and lift it up in the air as far as possible. Kaga does hate this since he has to get on his tippy toes to get it or jump.

Kaga fits nicely on a bed. He doesn't have trouble. Same thing with blankets. However, Megami does have to have a bigger bed for her height, which would explain her massive bed she has. Same thing with blankets, too.

[undead-knick-knack]

[sunny-rants]

not enough love in fandom for short king/tall queen couples

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Undertaker might be short and that makes me happy

[rauhallinen-hauki]

"Pick up that can" I said but you figuratively picked up my heart instead

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

I Gave Myself a Prompt

10. Spooning at Night

Celebrations were still on-going at the Crystarium following the defeat of Emet-Selch and the final return of night to Norvrandt. Fireworks blasted in the sky. People were dancing and drinking. Children sang.

However, the woman of the hour had begged leave at around three in the morning, far too tired to stand, let alone greet all the well-wishers.

Serafina lay in bed at her Pendants suite, a small smile appeared on her face as a certain someone entered. “Hey handsome,” she said sleepily. “Partied out?”

Thancred laughed, removing his coat and armor. “Is it truly a party without you, darling?” He winked at her and sauntered to the bed. He slipped in behind her, wearing only his smalls. “Besides, I was only drinking water. Urianger was watching me like a hawk!”

“Oh no!” She giggled and shook her head. “My poor handsome man, relying on water during a party! What a crime!”

“The only crime, my dear, was that I was without your company.” A heavy silence filled the room suddenly. “You’re alright? Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, I’m okay. Just tried. It’s been a long few days.” Understatement of the fucking millennium. “Though, I do have a request.”

“Name it.”

“Hold me, handsome.” She whispered softly, her eyes beginning to close once more. “I need you.”

She could hear Thancred’s breath hitch as one of his arms snaked around her waist. “Anything for you, princess.”

As sleep began to claim her, Serafina placed her hand on top of his. “I feel fine, Thancred…I’m okay…just want you to hold me…”

A hum rumbled from Thancred’s throat as he too drifted to sleep. The grip on her waist tightened.

Ardbert, thank you for giving me more time with him. With everyone. But especially with him.

[kakushino]

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground. 

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines. 

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position. 

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching. 

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.” 

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd. 

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom. 

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him. 

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do. 

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber. 

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration. 

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World. 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?” 

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed. 

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?” 

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size. 

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

[eratosmusings]

Loyalty (I)

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader

summary: the king decides it's time for his brother to produce more targaryen heirs. who better than another hightower daughter to carry them?

warnings: adults only, all characters over 18, dubcon smut in later chapters, arranged marriage, abortion allusion (moon tea), coercion, terrible parenting

word count: 2.3k

dividers

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” Viserys asks with an air of frigid humor. “Who are you to deny your king what he has commanded?”

Otto seethes, decades of practiced court manners faltering under the demand. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but she is my daughter. I will not have her married off to a man whose love of violence and debauchery trails him like a shadow. She is a pious child. To marry her to Daemon is—“

“A blessing. She will marry a prince and a valiant knight.”

The other men at the table are silent. They'd expected talks of reinforcing the kingdom's claim on the Stepstones or of quelling rumors that had cropped up of Daemon corrupting his young niece in a brothel a year prior. The king commanding a marriage between Otto Hightower's youngest daughter—his only child from a tragically short second marriage—is an unpleasant surprise.

"He is already married."

Viserys gives a taut smile. "Daemon's marriage to Lady Royce has been annulled. By royal decree and with the blessing of the High Septon. It is in the best interest of Westeros that the Targaryen line remains vast and strong and it has been decided your daughter will do what Lady Royce did not."

Otto's face falls in disbelief. He's heard nothing of it. This had been set up to corner him. "She is a child."

"She is nearly four years older than Alicent was when we wed. The queen has proven your daughters are strong vessels for Targaryen children."

"It is different. She is different. She is not as strong as Alicent."

The king shakes his head. "I will hear no more discussion of this. She will wed Daemon and this feud between the two of you shall end once and for all.”

Alicent’s touch is feather-light as she takes hold of your hands. Her eyes wander across your form, taking in the exquisite ivory gown. Its crimson embroidered dragon along the skirt a special request from your soon-to-be husband. “You look beautiful, sister.”

You can say nothing to your half-sister, barely able to retain the tears brimming in silence. A fortnight was all you’d been given to prepare to wed the vilest creature in Westeros. Daemon Targaryen was all you could have ever hoped against in a husband.

Your father stands tall behind Alicent, head held high. "The image of the Maiden herself."

A choked sob escapes you at his words. This marriage was punishment by the Seven for every sin you'd ever committed. For the impure thoughts you'd had of knights. The white lies you'd spoken to save yourself the wrath of Septa Agerrea. The gambling you'd participated in when you’d bet your favorite embroidery needle in a game of cards with Lysa Tyrell. Had you only followed the Faith more faithfully, this torture would not be yours to endure.

“I believe it is time to take your place with the king, Your Grace,” your father says.

Alicent hesitates with glossy eyes. She draws you into a tight hug and whispers an apology and how much she loves you. You have the faintest memory of her wedding to the king a few years before. The happy sister who’d spent hours braiding your hair when the handmaidens failed to do it properly disappeared into a hardened queen round with child seemingly overnight. The smiles and giggles you’d shared daily turned to fond, distant memories. She withdraws a moment later, wiping at her face.

When the door shuts your father moves behind you. You watch in the ornate mirror as he drapes the green maidencloak of House Hightower across your shoulders. The new burden's weight feels uncomfortable.

He returns to stand before you, his expression sorrowful. "I am sorry, my sweet child, for this atrocity. You deserve far better.”

“I could have saved myself this fate had I been less worldly and become a Septa.” Your palm wipes at the tear that had fallen.

He cups your cheek. “Perhaps. But we cannot lament on what we could have done. Indeed we must focus instead on your duty to the realm.”

“To be a good wife,” you state. It was what he had raised you to be.

“No, sweet child,” he says softly, “I fear that I must ask something far more difficult of you. For your duty to the realm must supplant your duty in marriage.”

The wedding takes place in a haze. You tremble, stumble over words, and can not meet the eyes of your now husband nor the Septon. Soon you would betray them both.

For the good of the realm.

You do not eat or drink through the feast. You barely speak. You think you might have danced, though all you remember of it is a blurring background and an embroidered dragon that matches your own. It had stared at you accusingly.

“Shall I call for the bedding ceremony to begin, brother?” the king slurs loudly. If there had been anything in your stomach, it surely would have come out now. It was one vile thought to have him touch you. But to have other men undress you as well?

Your hand is pulled from your lap, enclosed in another twice its size, callous and rough against your skin. For the first time that day you look at your husband. You’d never seen him this close. The lavender gaze cannot have been of this world. It’s too vibrant, too knowing. “Too many of the men here have wandering hands. I’d hate to spill blood on such a blessed day.” His lips brush against your hand. “My sweet wife should not have to endure such tragedy.”

The king responds dismissively. Something of disappointing guests, but to do as he pleases. Daemon takes it as a dismissal and pulls you from your seat. The last thing you hear is the call from many about bloody sheets.

Perhaps the Mother has decided to take mercy on you. For you cannot breathe as the doors to the prince’s chambers close behind you. Death can take you before he can.

He stands in front of the fire, pouring some drink into a goblet. The flickering orange light suits him. Like he was born for flames. “You must relax. There is nothing for you to fear from me.” A lie. There was much to fear from him.

A booming knock echoes through the room.

“Enter.”

Two servants carrying trays of bread and fruit enter. Then they are gone just as swiftly. The door closes once more.

“You must eat,” he says, taking your hand once more and leading you to a small table. You sit and a piece of bread is offered. You take it and, after an expectant nod, take a bite. It’s still warm and soft. You take another bite. And another.

It’s gone quickly. Too quickly for a lady. A bowl of berries clatters softly in front of you. You pick at it slower, though not as slowly as you’d like. They are sweet. Perfectly ripe.

“Would you like some wine?”

Despite the juice of berries coating your tongue, your mouth is dry as you speak for the first time since you’d said your vows. “Yes, please.”

“So well mannered.” A smug smile spreads across his face as he raises his goblet and sips. He reaches over and sets it down beside the half-empty bowl. “I forgot to have them retrieve another cup.”

The crimson red liquid ripples. A challenge.

“You are very gracious, my Prince. Thank you.” You lift it by the stem and drink. It was stronger than you’ve ever had before. The taste takes you aback, coughing as it soaks your tongue. Hastily you set the cup back down.

"I take it you don't often indulge in Dornish Reds."

"No, never."

His head cocks to the side appraisingly. "I suppose such a thing has never been offered to you before. Not within the confines of your father's authority. He has given you a rather sheltered life."

A prickly heat seeps up your neck. "My father did not confine or shelter me. He has only ever guided me to live as virtuously as the Seven wished for all their children to live.”

“How very kind of him to not let you endure the same vices as himself.”

You blink, his words sinking in. The implication that your father is a drunkard stings. He isn't, but you don’t fight his accusation. Selfishly, you do not wish to defend your father. Instead, you pluck a berry from the bowl, hoping to end the conversation entirely.

"Are the berries quite good?"

You nod, not wanting to speak again.

"Might I have one?" When you go to pick up the bowl, he stops you. "Pick me out the best one."

The best one? The bowl is still half full. Which berry was the best? Would he be disappointed if you picked one he did not like? Or one that was not ripe enough? Not sweet enough? What would he do to you if he disliked the one you chose?

It was the largest blackberry that you finally settle on, prepared to hear how terrible the choice had been as you hold it out to him. He doesn't simply take it. He leans over the table, taking the berry and your fingers into his mouth.

The act is heinously intimate. It leaves you frozen and breathless as he pulls away, his eyes alight in devious amusement. "I'm not sure which taste I prefer. The berry's or your's."

Fire spreads across your cheeks. You flinch away, embarrassed. In the escape effort your arm knocks against the goblet. To your horror, it clatters against the table. The liquid sloshes across your front, staining the white gown.

The crimson seems to seep from your womb, condemning you for something you had yet to do. You paw at the stain as the chair clatters on the ground from the force with which you'd stood.

Tears brim in your eyes as it continues to spread.

“There's no need to fret. It is only wine.”

“I have desecrated it.” The tears have not stopped falling and your hands have not stopped scrubbing at it with your fingers. “The stain will never come out.”

“It is only a dress.” He cups your face, encouraging you to meet his gaze. It searches for some understanding.

He would never understand.

“I am so sorry, my Prince.”

He shushes you softly and places a kiss against your forehead. This was the monster? The vile, unholy beast whose every action was an affront to the Seven? This man who had shown you nothing but kindness?

You cry harder.

He is not the monster.

You are.

You aren’t sure how long you cry. But he holds you through it all. He speaks little more than a few consoling phrases, but it is more than you deserve. His presence, arms around you, kisses on your hair. All of it more than you deserve.

You’re finally calm, only left with sniffles, when he says, “We should get the dress to the washwomen before the stain sets.” What good would it do? The stain can never be removed from your soul. Still you agree and turn for him.

His fingers are swift as they loosen the strings of your bodice. Practiced. He is practiced. Behind closed doors you assume, but there were numerous tales of his public debauchery. It has been gossiped that he prefers the thrill of open affairs and touches of multiple women.

“Why did you refuse the bedding ceremony?”

He pauses. “Did you wish to have one?”

“No,” you say quickly. “But given your���tendencies I…I thought…” A quiet hum has your words trailing off.

His work continues, though slower. “You are not a whore in a brothel.”

“Neither is your niece and yet...”

Air blows across your neck as he chuckles. “Has my pious little wife been gossiping about the chastity of the Crowned Princess?”

Your lungs seize at the realization of what you’d just said. It’s treason. Questioning her virtue is treason.

“Relax, jaesa.” His hands slip between the shoulders of your shift and the loose gown, pushing the sleeves down your arms. “I took you under my protection today. You may speak freely to me.”

“I,” you hesitate, freeing your hands of the garment, “I had heard that a year ago you snuck the princess from the castle and—“

He bunches the fabric at your waist and tugs. “Had my way with her in some brothel?”

“Yes.”

The gown struggles for a moment, snagging on the curve of your behind. Another tug and it is a pile around your feet. “My niece wished to see King’s Landing. I showed her and returned her to the castle, still a fair maiden like yourself.”

“Of course.”

“You doubt me?”

“No, my Prince.”

"It would do a great disservice to our union to begin it with lies." He prompts you to turn and hesitantly you do. He is shorter than your father, yet his presence is as commanding. More so. It makes you aware of how thin the fabrics of your shifts were when his gaze drifts down. "My niece's heart belongs elsewhere. As do my desires."

His touch is gentle as he cups your cheek, but the feeling's it stirred are rough and uncertain. Bordering on traitorous.

“Shall I call a servant to fetch the dress?” The words waver. You wonder if they’re comprehensible at all.

They are, it seems as he rejects the offer and slips out the door himself with the dress. The reprieve from his watchful, astute eye is welcome. You fall to your knees at the edge of the bed and recite the prayer your father had taught you minutes before you’d been led down the aisle.

Warrior, give me strength for what I must do. It is for the good of the realm.

Mother, forgive me for what I must do. It is for the good of your faithful servants.

Stranger, lead my children to peace. It is for the good of their innocent souls.

a/n: all your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated 🌺

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[monzabee]

short stack (social media au) - ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where the internet is obsessed about the height difference between you and your boyfriend, Lando.

Pairing: lando norris x reader (model used: lisa from blackpink)

Warnings: google translate korean, cursing, internet, lando slander but not really, apparently i can't spell tattoo, i know lisa is not taller than lando, but for the purposes of this post she is, thank you🤞

Request: "hello love xx i was wondering if you could do a lando norris social media au i can't stop thinking about where landos girlfriend is about 4cm taller than lando and the fans just adore it x thank you"

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

yourusername tagged location: venice, italy

Liked by bulgari, voguekorea, f1wagss and 654,983 others

yourusername: 감사합니다, @bulgari, 마법 같은 밤

lightlysdarling: look at her🤩 look at how she glows🤩

kjsbtch: @yninyourarea wake up she's blessing us again !!

yninyourarea: i love that this is the first thing i've seen this morning🤭 계속 죽여!

landobrazil: bella menina!!

zendaya: 🩷🩷

view all 345,635 comments

ynbrazil: not her blessing us on the main😶‍🌫️

landonorris: i think i lost my phone number, can i get yours?

yourusername: boo, i have a boyfriend👎

lando.jpg

Liked by daniel3.jpg, f1gossippreserva, yourusername and 123,847 others

lando.jpg: looking camp right in the eye

lusciouslando: the biggest simp for his girlfriend, as he should😭😭

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landonorris

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[targaryen-dynasty]

OBJECT OF DESIRE (2/?)

Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

It's always sacrifice and duty. But what will you do, if it's put to the test?

WARNINGS: none!

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: This is a chapter to build the plot of the story. If everything goes according to plan (what it never does) you're getting two to three more chapters! Tried to end it with a cliffhanger, but ain't sure if it worked lmao

Two days have passed in which you haven’t heard or seen even just a trace of Aemond. You didn’t catch any glimpses of him in the corridors, didn’t see him around his siblings, and not even spotted him training with the sword in the early hours of the day. 

You have been counting on him to approach you the following day to whisk you away like he’s said, almost promised, to save you from the inevitable torment that was due the next day – but he didn’t come. 

And with his absence, the doubts about merely being used by him arise and become more prominent, constantly scratching in the back of your mind. 

The only thing that makes it all slightly better is that you have been seeing your father just as sparsely as your cousin; clearly having no desire to spend his days with you and make up for the time you’ve lost, knowing that you’re incredibly cross with him. 

But with yours and Daemon’s paths not crossing once also vanishes any possibility of you coercing him to cancel the courtship, even though the chances would have been small anyways. 

The chair you currently sit in is nearly as uncomfortable as the large throne looming behind you is rumored to be, at least that‘s what you fathom, and you‘re certain that the thick fur draped over it, warming your arse and back, does little to help with that. 

It is little consolation that King Viserys’ second daughter shares the same fate as you, sitting in a chair that’s just as unpleasant as yours. 

You have planned for Ysilla to accompany you while you’re receiving the chosen suitors, trusting her advice and her knowledge of you, however, it has clearly interfered with the plans of Queen Alicent. 

But Helaena is no bad company. There’s something about her soft aura, which you’ve already noticed back when you arrived, that calms you and makes your misery much more bearable. She’s not a woman of many words, but there’s wit and charm in them when she speaks. 

Lined up in front of you two stands a queue of different lords and highborn men, all chosen by none other than your father, and you’re glad that at least your advisor seems to keep track of the men that come to introduce themselves. Whenever you glance at her, you see her gauging their characters based on their appearances alone, and her expression always matches yours when a man that’s significantly older than you steps forwards. And so far, it’s been quite a few. 

In the sea of lords, Blackwood, Lannister and Manderly alike, there eventually steps a much younger lord forwards. You raise your brow, and your eyes briefly flit over his form before Helaena leans towards you. 

“This one doesn’t seem too awful, does he?” she whispers, and if you listen closely, you can hear just a lilt of tease in her tone. 

You would love to spend your time differently at this moment, and you’re certain Helaena would enjoy being somewhere else as well, although you do feel relieved to finally be at least marginally less bored by someone that’s closer to your age than your father’s. 

The lord is tall and well built, wearing a well fitted doublet in his Houses’ colors; knowing them well enough to be certain it’s a fellow House of the Vale of Arryn. He has a clean shaven face that shows now scars or blemishes, and his short, brown hair neatly sits in place. It’s clear he is very-well groomed, a stark contrast to some of the other men that have already spoken to you today. 

“No, he’s… alright,” you reply, nodding your head once. 

You’re caught off guard when he approaches you slowly, coming closer than any other lord before, and bows before you. He takes your hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. Although you don’t feel any attraction towards him, goosebumps still prickle on your skin; you’re intrigued. 

“My lady,” he says, rising to his full height again as he takes a step back. “May I say that you have a striking beauty. I am Lord Alec Hersy of Newkeep. Your name has been brought to me by the other men of the Vale, who know you well and speak of you highly, and my lady, ‘tis an honor to ask for the opportunity to court you and unite our Houses.” 

You notice that he speaks with a great deal of confidence, almost as if he’s practiced what to say over and over. As you think about your answer, your eyes flicker to the several men that are still lined up behind him, all their eyes fixed on you as they wait for their turn to approach you. 

It’s eerily quiet for the few seconds you contemplate his offer, though you know that you’re not yet allowed to make a decision, and there must have been something in the way you smile at the man before you that makes it appear as if you mean to accept his advances for suddenly another lord comes forward to stand by Lord Hersy’s side. 

The other man isn’t as bold as the Hersy, keeping a polite distance from you, but you see it in the way he straightens his back and keeps his head held high that he clearly is competing with the man next to him, vying for your hand in marriage without having said anything up to now.

He is just as tall as his opponent but with a leaner frame, and also wears a doublet in his Houses’ colors; another Lord of the Vale. His long, brown hair is tied up, and he has a confident air about him. And then you spot the broken wheel on his doublet, the coat of arms. You would have never guessed him to be a Lord of House Waynwood for its members usually tend to be more horse-faced, at least that’s what they say, yet this man is strangely comely. 

It is clear that both men that stand in front of you are attractive, but in different ways. The Hersy man has a charming and youthful look, while the other has a sophisticated and more mature standing, and you’re not quite sure what you feel more drawn to.

You tilt your head sideways slightly at his bold approach, a raised eyebrow prompting him to finally speak. 

“My lady, I have been very impressed with what I have heard about you. Lord Hersy is right when he says you have a striking beauty for you look just like your late mother did. It is a blessing you have her eyes and smile.” His words leave you frowning for a moment, because from what you’ve gathered over all these years, your looks take more after your father than your mother. But the lord continues to speak, pulling you from your train of thought. “As a Lord of House Waynwood, I would like to ask the honor of having you by my side. What do you say?”

You’re stunned by his boldness. Looking from one man to the other, you’re stuck between both of them. However, this doesn’t last long for the silence is suddenly interrupted by the doors to the Throne Room opening. 

A mop of silver hair steps into the room with a certain air of arrogance and smugness that clings to him like a cloak. Aemond. His arrival doesn’t only surprise you, but you can also hear the lords and nobles start to mumble and grumble under their breaths, and you’re most impressed by how unphased Aemond is at that. 

Taking in a sharp breath, you regain your composure, trying not to let your nervousness show too much, and refocus on the men standing in front of you. Aemond‘s presence is unexpected, and you’re not sure how to feel after being used by him and not hearing from him for the past two days. He has given you hope to put you out of your misery, and crushed it just as easily.

“The both of you are very kind,” you say. Both men start to smile politely, even more when it’s returned by you, however, their smiles drop just as quickly at your next words. “But before I make a choice, I will need to consult with my father.”

With Aemond approaching, boldly walking past the queue of bowing suitors, both men briefly bow to you, before making room for him. 

“Prince Aemond,” you say, not waiting for him to settle and start speaking. It seems as though you haven’t lowered your eyebrow at all, one surprising moment happening after the other. 

Aemond walks up to you, coming just as close as the Hersy lord did before with his hands clasped behind his back, and his intense stare doesn’t leave your features. He grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips. It makes your pulse quicken, and this time your body starts to feel as if it’s on fire. You’ve been cross with him just a few seconds before, and yet the feeling of his lips on your skin is enough to make the anger vanish. 

“I know you expected my return, my lady,” he says softly, his voice just loud enough for you and Helaena to hear him and not the men around. “Will you come with me now, or will you leave this to the men that are too weak to give you what you deserve?”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes flit down to where his hand is still holding yours. “What exactly would I be getting if I were to choose you, my prince?”

Aemond smirks at your reply, and squeezes your hand in a reassuring manner. “These men do not understand you as I do, my lady, and they never will. They may pretend to worship the ground you walk on, but that will not change the way they see you behind closed doors.”

Something stirs deep inside of you at his words, warmth rising in your cheeks and a tingling sensation in your stomach. It’s all too easy to give in to him, to give in to his words if it means you get a chance with him. Your mind races as you try to push away the thoughts of the consequences; but to no avail. 

You swallow, and reluctantly pull your hand back to fold them in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “I want to express my great gratitude for your presence, Prince Aemond, but I am afraid I can not give you your desired answer,” you speak loud enough for everyone in the Throne Room to hear, making clear that it’s you being in control. “As I said, I will need to consult with my father before accepting any of the offers.” 

The smile you give him is polite, but it hardly reaches your eyes. His smirk drops at that, and with a bow of his head, he turns to his sister who has silently watched the exchange. “May I have a word?” It’s not a question but more a demand, giving her no chance to refuse. 

Helaena nods and rises to her feet, flashing you an apologetic smile before she follows Aemond and disappears through the king’s door behind the Iron Throne.

You’re left to deal with the suitors and guards all by yourself, and know you’ll have to find a way to bid the men that have come to seek your hand in marriage farewell; in the most tactful way possible. 

Standing up, you keep your hands clasped in front of you. You look over the remaining suitors, carefully analyzing each of them. “My lords,” you speak loud and clear, feigning your confidence, “thank you for coming here today. I am incredibly impressed by all your proposals, but it was a long and tiresome day, and I have decided to have another day of courtship in the morrow. If you would excuse me now.”

As the men exit the large room on your behalf, Helaena comes back from where she’s left with Aemond not long before; not in the presence of her younger brother anymore. There’s a small scroll in her hand, neatly clasped between her slender fingers. 

“Is there a lord that has piqued your interest already?” she asks, a gentle smile on her lips. 

You glance at the scroll, noticing that it’s sealed, before meeting her eyes again. “Is there a lord that has piqued my interest?” you ask, your teasing tone suggesting that you don’t think there’s even one man that would fit the bill. 

“You’re not entirely incorrect,” she muses, “though I think that Lord Hersy does seem a little… less unappealing than the others.” Her words make you chuckle, and you raise a brow as she hands you the scroll. “For me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. 

She nods, and you take it from her hands but don’t open it right away. It feels like something that’s best read in private.

“Do you not wish to know what is written inside?” she asks, gently, and not in a way that’s meant to pester you. 

Looking down at the scroll, you furrow your brow and sigh. There’s no way you can refuse her, a princess, without being impolite and appearing suspicious. “I… I suppose I do.” 

You break the seal and unroll it carefully in a guarded manner, making sure to be the first, and only one, to see what’s written inside. It takes everything in you not to allow your eyes to widen the moment you’re reading the first few words, not wanting to raise anyone’s suspicion. 

Before the princess can even ask, knowing she’d eventually do, you opt to tell her but keep the contents vague, giving a little fib. “Looks like…” you begin, trailing off as you pretend to read the scroll to its completion. “It’s a proposition from your brother, and apparently he wants me… to join him for supper.”

Helaena raises her brow, and you notice a smile creeping onto her lips. “This offer is certainly… an interesting one. A rather informal event for a prince to ask a lady to join him for. But do you wish to accept his invitation? You can decline, of course, but do keep in mind that my brother is quite the catch.”

You roll the scroll and keep it tightly secured in your palm, not keen on having its contents read by anyone other than you. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to meet for supper,” you reply. “My father surely would want me to be open-minded while searching for a suitable match.”

She brings a hand up to rub your upper arm, smiling softly at you. “That certainly sounds wise,” she hums. “I think my presence is no longer required today, although I am very curious to hear how your supper goes. Will you promise to tell me how it turned out in the morrow?” 

You bow your head. “Of course. I shall take my leave now, cousin, and I must say that this has been quite a pleasant afternoon.”

“You are most welcome, cousin. If you require any support, or an open ear, come speak to me. I will be here to lend you both of it.”

With Helaena’s words, you exit the Throne Room, heading straight back to your chambers. They are quiet, for once, though this moment of serenity doesn’t last long with Ysilla stepping out of the adjoining bathing chambers. 

She has a smile on her lips as she catches you in better spirit than anticipated. “I assume that the courtship has been successful? “

You bite the tip of your tongue, stopping your lips from pulling into a grin. “You can say that it has, indeed,” you reply. Not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer than necessarily, reducing the risk of her asking any more questions, you change it. “Is the bath ready?” 

Ysilla bows her head, getting the cue, and steps aside. “It is waiting for you, yes. May I fetch your robe, my lady?”

“That is very gracious of you, thank you,” you reply, and when she disappears to prepare the robe for you, you’re quick to stuff the scroll into the pile of riding attire you’ve taken with you upon the travel. 

You don’t tell her about the letter you’ve received, and even less about what’s written inside. Therefore your maid doesn’t know that there’s no need for her to prepare you for the night just yet. It’s easier for you if she leaves you alone very early to retire to the quarters occupied by your entourage for you don’t need any fuss about leaving your chambers so late. 

While you usually handle most of the bathing by yourself, scrubbing and cleaning your body, you’ve left the care of your silver hair to your maid. She washes it thoroughly, dries it with care, and once you’re dressed, she separates the strands to brush them carefully. She applies special oils on the silver strands, before your hair is loosely braided down your back.

It seems as though Ysilla is extra cautious to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for bed; preparing every detail, however small, and completing every task meticulously for you to retire for the night. You’re certain she awaits for your restraint to snap at any given moment for you to tell her even the smallest details of the first day of your courtship. But in the prospect of your night, she can wait a damn long time for that to happen. 

And only when she brings in a small tray with light supper does she finally bow to you, folding her hands in front of her body. “I shall now retire for the night, my lady,” she hums. “I am certain tomorrow brings with it new, exciting tasks and I need to rest to be able to cope with them.”

Sitting down at the desk, you grab the cutlery to cut into the woodcock that’s served. You look up at her with a soft smile on your lips. “Thank you for your hard work today, Ysilla. Rest well, and we will see each other in the morning.”  

Your maid nods her head once again, and sets off for the door. “May the Seven watch over you, my lady.” With these words, she shuts the door behind her, and only as she’s finally out of the room does her absence weigh down on you, making you terribly aware of the letter that’s neatly stored in the pile of your riding breeches. 

The next two hours are drawn out to the point you consider just walking out of your chambers, making your way through the winding corridors and right towards his apartments. But you don’t do that. 

Only when the sun has long set do you start to prepare yourself for what lies ahead. Your nightgown and shift fall to the floor, and are quickly replaced by smallclothes and tight-fitting breeches, topped by a soft tunic. A pair of boots and a warm leather jacket follow, completing your outfit. 

You fetch the scroll again, skimming over its contents, rereading them in case you’ve missed anything. Of course you haven’t, and it’s written at the bottom, too hard to miss:

‘Dress simply and practically.’

That’s what you’ve done as you push at the wall to the right side of your bed, revealing a door that’s hidden in plain sight. It has been built into the architecture of the castle, perfectly blended into the wall and hard to find if you didn’t know what you’re looking for. 

And you didn’t know – it was a hard guess, based on the drawing Aemond has scrawled below the invitation to a little adventure. 

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[valyriantarg]

Dance Of Dragons

Introduction

Pairing:OC!Targaryen x Cregan Stark

Princess Jaehaera Targaryen

“Fire will reign”

Princess Jaehaera Targaryen, first born daughter of Prince Daemon and Lady Rhea Royce, first ever rider of the Cannibal.

Jaehaera was raised by her father during his multiple exiles. Despite the lack of a mother, Daemon did his best to raise his daughter. He taught her high Valyrian and everything he knew of their inheritance and culture. By an early age he taught her to fight making her an excellent and fearful opponent almost as good as he was.

The girl inherited her father’s Valyrian characteristics and his behaviour. She had a presence that commanded attention. Long silver hair, a pale face with a sharp face bone structure and amethyst eyes. However, she was short tempered and often appeared sassy and rebellious just like her father. The similarities in her behaviour to the one of her father’s earned her the name “The rogue Princess”.

She wouldn’t shy away from a fight and she preferred spending her time practicing with a sword rather than stitching and embroidering.

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North

“There has never been a Stark who forgot an oath and with house Stark the north will follow”

Tall, lean and broad-shouldered, Lord Cregan is in his prime, at the height of his physical power. A young Lord in comparison to others with dark brown hair and blue grey eyes.

An honourable, respectful and firm Lord. A man that keeps his word and never forgets and oath. He has fought many battles and he is a skilled fighter who fights for the good of his people.A man kings turned into when trouble arises.

When King Viserys dies and the realm goes into chaos cregan is one of the first lords who bends the knee to Queen Rhaenyra, siding with the blacks after the arrival of Prince Jacaerys.

Jace befriended Lord Cregan Stark at Winterfell, as the prince reminded the lord of a younger brother who had passed away. After drinking and hunting together, the pair swore an oath of brotherhood and he gained the north’s support.

A pact was made securing the alliance. The pact of ice and fire.

So what will happen when fate intertwines the lives of a Stark and a Targaryen during the times of war?

An alliance that goes beyond duty.

Ice meets fire for the first time in history and they don’t destroy each other.

King Viserys’ prophecy will come true and a new union will be made.

A glimpse of the future.

The song of ice and fire

Lord Cregan and Lady Jaehaera Stark of Winterfell

[starhoppin]

pick a picture; your next love offer

pile 1 -> pile 2 -> pile 3

disclaimer; this is a general reading! these messages may not fit everyone. please take what resonates and leave the rest.

「 pile one」

two of cups (cb: king of swords, ace of cups), three of cups (cb: the chariot, the magician), the empress (cb: three of swords, the world)

this love offer will come from someone you feel a strong connection with. this person may come across as stoic and intellectual, but there will be a lot of love between you two. perhaps this is someone you meet while in a group setting or you begin as friends before it develops into something romantic. this connection might actually be something you manifested; however, it may take a while for this connection to materialize in the physical world. you'll meet them after you've healed from past connection/relationship and have fully worked through that cycle. you'll be at your best when you two meet.

[potential physical description] they may be around your age, with brown eyes, and are muscular. they may also be on the taller side.

[potential zodiac signs] they may have quite a bit of water sign energy; particularly cancer and pisces. they may also have significant aquarius or sagittarius placements in their chart.

[initials - yours or theirs] J, L, A, P F, M

「 pile two」

ace of swords rv (cb: queen of cups, strength rv), justice (cb: six of cups, the magician), queen of swords (cb: eight of cups, page of swords)

your next love offer seems to be someone that you've had a past connection with. you may currently be separated from this person or decided to take a break. they view you as a very kind and nurturing individual; however, you may have broken it off due to various issues in your relationship. it looks like one of you wishes to reconcile. perhaps, this offer was manifested by one (or both) of you. as of now, they view you as someone with your boundaries up - you may have been the one who walked away from this connection. nonetheless, they're curious about you and they think about you a lot.

[potential physical description] i'm seeing that they're either super tall or short - nothing really in between. they have either blond or brown hair. their eyes are a feature of theirs that stand out in some way. they may also be a foreigner.

[potential zodiac signs] i'm seeing quite a bit of air energy, specifically libra and aquarius. they may also have significant scorpio or sagittarius placements in their chart.

[initials - yours or theirs] N, U, X, C, D, H

「 pile three」

queen of cups (cb: knight of cups, the lovers), the star (cb: nine of swords, four of cups), judgement rv (cb: king of pentacles rv, seven of swords rv)

this person thinks highly of you - i heard "the epitome of beauty and grace." however, this person is coming across as a knight, so either they come across as really flirty or you may be dealing with a younger person. still, there is a strong and loving connection between you two. there is hope and potential with this connection, but past fears may cause you to reject their offer. in particular, you may be afraid of the past repeating itself when it comes to your love life. you're being asked to remain optimistic and hope for the best in terms of this connection. don't let past fears stop you from enjoying good things in the present.

[potential physical description] i got second confirmation that this person may be younger than you. they might also have short hair, as well as facial hair. this person could be a foreigner. there's an emphasis on their eyes; this feature may stand out to you. they may also wear glasses.

[potential zodiac signs] they may have significant air and water placements in their chart, specifically libra, aquarius, cancer, and/or scorpio.

[initials - yours or theirs] U, E, Q, P, T, I, W side note: when i was shuffling for initials, the song you and i by 1D popped into my head. this may resonate with you/your connection.

tarot deck used in this reading: cirque du tarot

[makima4ever]

König & Ghost HCs :3

OK I KNOW THE PICTURE IS KINDA SHIT WUALITY AND IM SORRY MY PHONE ISNT HAVING IT RN

fem aligned can interact js don’t be a bridge troll oktyLOVEU

König & Ghost x Cat-like M!reader HC!!

this is entirely separate from any current stories and might become a multiple post thing :3

KÖNIG!!!

~ When König first meets you, it’d be probably be on accident as you bump into the tall man! who disturbs thy?!???? You then see this hulk and MOUNTAIN of a man as your little brain reminds you of how SHORT you are!!!! your instincts are telling you to climb….. ((NO HATE I LOVE OUR SHORT KINGS AND QUEENS FOR I AM 5’2))

König clearly sees how small you really are in comparison to himself, making him ALSO SELF CONSCIOUS… LIKE HE CAN SEE THE DIFFERENCE CLEAR AS DAY AND IT MAKES HIM AMUSED BUT ALSO REALLY AWARE….

~ You, on the other hand… are also actually kinda INTRIGUED!! very tall man who’s tall as the highest fucking mountain… maybe you should climb?? :3 You attempt to climb up the very tall man using his gear and clothing as footing to climb up his body!!!!

König just sees you strolling up to him, as he wasn’t entirely nervous but he was kinda curious and feeling a little confident with a small smirk behind his mask- UNTIL YOU STARTED TO GRAB HIS VEST AND CLIMB UP HIS TORSO…

~ meanwhile König is shocked and slightly panicked as you climb up his tall beanstalk body, throwing him disarray as you scrambled to get to the top!!! He’s not gonna throw you off but he is definitely moving a bit as you climb to the top!!! :3

This was entirely fun until you hit your head against the ceiling… okay, maybe climbing a 6’10 man who’s height REACHES THE ROOF ISNT A GOOD IDEA…. you recoil and start falling!! You do land on your feet as you recoil in pain from hitting your head against the lovely ceiling lights :3 ((CURSE THE LIGHTS..))

~ König is currently making sure you don’t fall off, until you do!! Then he’s panicking until he turns around so fast he could’ve cracked his neck… then he sees you gracefully land on the ground after falling!!! He’s surprised at how well you moved this maybe does not have anything remotely… and this surely didn’t invoke anything:3

König is stunned for a moment until you make a sound akin to a.. meow? We’re not even sure what sound you made really… that noise creates a feeling that is insatiable…. HE REALLY WANTS TO PET YOU!! :3

- you are currently.. having a weird moment as you are making these weird cat.. noises? not really sure what to call them really, NOBODY DOES

😭😭🥺

then, König slowly lifts a hand to your head as he pays it and scratches it with his hand (THIS IS KINDA CUTE??), just scratching your head and behind the ears as if he were petting an actual cat…

you let out a purr(?) noise, again we can’t tell what noise you’re making but it’s somewhat like a purr… maybe??? KÖNIG IS JS SHOCKED… CAT?!?!?

GHOST!!!!

~ honestly, he had already known your reputation since it was slightly infamous but he generally wasn’t even sure of you in terms of like vibe…

when he does finally meet you in the flesh?? You didn’t even seem off or any different from any soldier in terms of general looks but he did notice your slimmer figure

~ Ghost then has this internal monologue of why the FOOK he notices your body first then he sees you walking on over to him as Ghost continues to idle, chest slightly puffed as he sizes you up although not really… you then lift your head to look up at him as he can see your face

🥺🥺

he’s stunned, like outright stunned as he takes a moment to process this as you poke at his body, like a cat pawing at an arm or kneading someone’s back :3

from that moment on he now fully believes your c/s, but he doesn’t warm up to you immediately but he does find your cat personality amusing a lot :3

[arcielee]

At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name. 

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.” 

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response. 

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again. 

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow. 

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed. 

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense. 

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away. 

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust. 

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns. 

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again. 

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed. 

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow. 

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see. 

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity. 

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige. 

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair. 

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Please,” his voice was thick. 

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.” 

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.  

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him. 

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched. 

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.” 

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim. 

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips. 

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.  

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again. 

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his. 

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight. 

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?” 

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

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