#because the council had failed her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuckmyskywalker · 10 months

Text

Pussy pleaser — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut! Anakin eating pussy, Anakin worshipping it, fucking it, basically existing just to eat cunt. Slay. (I may have overused the word "pussy" but hey, can you blame me?). — BASED OFF THIS THOUGHT I HAD AFTER BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. || WC: 1.2k – Not proofread :P.

— A/N: IMPORTANT! I tried not to use a specific pronoun to refer to reader's vAGINA because I know some people that wanted a larger version of this don't go by she/her pronouns! I hope I did it well and if I missed something please let me know! Your opinion matters to me 🫶🏻. Woops, what's missing here?! ;)

Anakin is an exceptional lover, but if there's something he lacks… is patience.

Especially when it comes to you.

After a rough day, after a good day, to cheer up after some bad news, to celebrate after some good news, after the council either scolded/congratulated him… Anakin always ends his day buried in between your thighs. It doesn't even matter how, if it is his cock, his tongue, his fingers— As long as your pussy is involved, he’s in, figuratively and literally speaking.

But like I said, his patience is little to none, and it shows. Anakin will not only overwork you, overstimulate you and completely ravish your sweet pussy at any given chance, time and place— but he also will give you a short time to even accommodate and keep up with his passionate urges. His large hands start caressing your thighs, trying to hold himself back every time but failing miserably, he will pry them apart slowly, trying to savor the moment (mostly for himself), tracing your skin with practiced ease. He knows every curve, every freckle and mole, Anakin has memorized every inch of your body and he is proud to know what makes you crumble and beg for more.

Anakin tries to be gentle, but having your heavenly offer just inches away within his reach and not be buried deep inside you is a crime. He licks your pussy until you have no idea if you are this wet because of the arousal he provoked on you or his own spit.

Which, let me add to the list how disgusting he is sometimes: Anakin is filthy, and his devotion to you only seems to make his obsession even worse. One of his favorite activities is parting your lips with his thumb, before licking a long, lazy stripe from your entrance to your clit— and then spit right on your cunt. He will throb like a horny teenager, he will hump the mattress of the cheap beds in the Jedi Temple like a desperate bitch while watching how his saliva slides and mixes with your own wetness.

Speaking of his obsession, Anakin lives, fights and comes back home every day for you, of course… but for your pussy too. His favorite breakfast, meal and dinner. His favorite treat and his favorite prize.

Countless times you had laid down on the bed, legs open wide like a cheap whore from a dirty brothel straight from the most dark, disgusting corners of Coruscant, with his head buried in between them, tugging on his blonde curls moaning and grinding his nose against your clit for him to mumble something so quietly you mistake it with an insect flying across the room.

“I missed you.” He whispered, his blown out irises fixated on your pussy. “My pretty thing.”

The first time it felt flattering. It was nice to know your boyfriend missed you so much. You ignored him, thinking he was just eager.

The second time, it was the same.

Same quiet murmurs, same praises: “God, I can’t get enough of you…” Anakin had his eyes closed, sucking on your clit and pausing every now and then to whisper sweet words to you.

Sure, to you.

Over and over, you gobbled up his praises, his need, his lust for you. Anakin had the power to push you to heavens, to reduce you to a blabbering puddle, to lit up your darkness fantasies, so why stop him? He sounds like he’s enjoying himself, and who are you to deny him such pleasure?

There's always a breaking point though.

Remember how I mentioned how impatient Anakin is? Well, this time it didn't worked on your favor. Instead of prepping your pussy, allowing you to have a nice, slippery stretch to be able to fit his thick cock without any discomfort, Anakin couldn't wait. It wasn't particularly painful, but a sharp sting was there, something momentarily but significant. Anakin bottomed out, groaning loudly at how tight your pussy was in that moment, his horny, selfish mind not being able to register his lack of consideration.

“You are tighter than usual.” He huffed, his fingers digging in the supple flesh your waist. You tried to protest, to tell him he didn't stretch you first, but he began to trust relentlessly, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

Every complaint quickly died in your throat, replaced by moans of pleasure and delight. Even if it felt amazing, your pussy was still struggling to accommodate to his size, and Anakin, the little shit, was in heaven.

“You missed me? You missed my cock pretty thing? Missed me using you like a toy?”

Despite your blissful state, something about his words just seemed… off.

Almost as if he wasn't talking to you.

Anakin’s hips slammed against yours again and again giving you no break at all. Your hands had to grab the edge of the wooden bed frame at some point, the discomfort of his girth now long forgotten. He hovered over you, staring at your pretty, glassy eyes, watching them roll back, silently beg him for more and then looked downwards, locking his devil eyes with your pussy. If there was something Anakin would never, ever, not in a million years get tired of, was the breathtaking view he had every time he had the privilege to witness how your tight little hole struggled to keep him inside, as if your delightful, hot cunt was desperately trying to keep him inside forever.

“Fuck… I missed you too, wish I could stay inside all fucking day.” His incessant gibberish began to have an effect on you, your hazy mind slowly putting the pieces together.

“Anakin—” You called him with such a tone that he snapped out of his trance.

“Yes?” He asked, not stopping his movements, just slowing them.

Next, a question you never imagined asking. Your sweaty, flushed face had a hint of confusion, a pretty valid confusion.

“…Are you talking to my pussy?”

Anakin froze, looking almost— guilty?

“What if I am?” He answered your question with another question, something you hated.

“Anakin, answer the question.” You sighed, waiting for his answer as if you two weren't naked on his bed, him buried balls deep inside of you.

Your boyfriend pouted, was he really throwing a tantrum? “Maybe.” He whispered. In response, you laughed quietly trying not to ruin the moment. It wasn't odd, probably a bit perverted and a bit— hot? The fact that Anakin was so in love with your pussy he treated it as if it was another whole being worth his wholehearted attention.

“I think it’s… hot” Your words were followed by a shrug, staring at him, batting your eyelashes.

Giving him that look.

And if Anakin Skywalker isn’t the most patient person in the Galaxy, he certainly is the designated pussy pleaser of the Galaxy.

He pounced again, wasting less than five seconds to resume his reckless assault on your poor, overworked pussy. “See?” He practically growled, his teeth sinking in his lower lip, curving into a wicked smile. “This tight, little cunt missed my big cock so much.” He is on full rampage mode, fucking you brainless.

“Feel how I stretch your tiny hole, angel?”

“Look at you, is my cock too big for you?”

One hand let go of your hip, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks, breaking eye contact with your bodies merged into one and forcing you to look at him. His face was inches away from yours, his hot breath hit your face and a string of drool falling from his lips landed on your lower lip. The fire in his eyes was incomparable.

“This pussy belongs to me, not you, do you hear me?”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skwalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin eating pussy like a champ.

4K notes · View notes

aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 9 months

Text

PRECIOUS DELIGHTS.

Precious Delights (3/5)

Maegor Targaryen x pregnant!niece!Reader

WORDS: 2.4 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), p in v, pregnancy sex, lactation kink (finally found the perfect plot to add this!!), size kink, breeding kink, soft Maegor Targaryen (yes, that's a warning lmao)

NOTES: You know I'll never let the chance of writing some uncle and niece Targcest slip. So, here it is. The bathtub scene is inspired by the one of Vizzy and Aemma. This is based on this request, and I bless my Maegor squat for planting this plot in my brain. @borikenlove @fairysluna @connorsui

Moons had passed since the maesters informed your uncle-husband Maegor that you were with child, and thereafter, you were confined to your chambers. Three stillborn children were born to him before the announcement came, and thus, your husband was more than determined to not make it four.

Several of your ladies-in-waiting tended to your every wish ever since, doting on you and keeping you satisfied and well cared for. So it seemed, at least.

The handmaids could only do so much, but your body longed for something they couldn’t give you, for someone, despite your middle being heavily swollen carrying a pureblooded Targaryen offspring. With the end of your pregnancy creeping closer and closer, Maegor’s visits became rare, and the doors to your chambers opened scarcely to welcome anyone other than a maester or maid. Everytime you asked them to call for your husband, the same excuse followed: ‘he is meeting with the small council.’

When the doors to your chambers opened around the Hour of the Eel, and the clicking of the lock pulled you out of your slumber, you were ready to scold your maid Talisa for disturbing the quiet hours of your bath, but the approaching footsteps were eerily heavy and clearly didn’t belong to her. With how well protected your chambers were, main entrance and secret passageway alike, there was only one man they could belong to.

“You spend more time in that bath than I do on the Throne,” his raspy voice rang out.

You blinked a few times, raising a hand from below the warm water to rub your eyes, before Maegor’s paw came to rest upon your other one on the rim of the earthenware tub. “How would you know that?” you asked, your purple eyes meeting his own as he crouched down next to the tub. “You hardly visit me anymore.”

He dipped two of his thick fingers into the water, and couldn’t stop to trail his eyes over the curve of your breasts that slightly emerged from the opaque water. “It’s tepid,” he remarked, not paying any attention to your previous words.

“The maester’s will not allow it any warmer,” you said, “and since this is the only place I can find comfort these days, I bow to their orders.”

“Don’t they know dragons prefer heat?” Maegor asked to which you just hummed. “After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon,” you said, looking to the side. The pregnancy itself wasn’t as miserable as you claimed, however, it was the dungeon you had found yourself in, not allowed to leave your chambers nor set one foot in front of the other for longer than a few moments. But not even that stopped you from hearing the castle’s rumors, and you knew the majority of the people around you blamed Maegor for the failed pregnancies of his other wives, yet Maegor had told you on more than one occasion that it was the doing of his third wife, Tyanna of the Tower.

Maegor caressed your hair with his other hand, unusually tender, and a part of you begged to be with child even longer, because he had become a different man around you, less cold and rough, and it actually seemed he genuinely cared for you–if it wasn’t for you being locked up on his orders.

He hadn’t retorted anything to your comment, merely fidgeting with your slender fingers and massaging the palm of your hand, before pressing a tender kiss to the back of it. “Please, let me out, Maegor. I want to walk the Keep,” you eventually whispered, wide, pleading eyes searching his for any sign of sympathy. “Have dozens of guards escort me on the walk, seven hells, escort me yourself, but you know better than to chain a dragon up.”

You leaned toward your husband, clasping his large hand in both your small ones, and watched his brow furrow with what you could muster as uncertainty–something you hadn’t seen on his face before. Your chin rested on your joined hands, a soft ‘please’ leaving your lips.

Maegor sighed, “you know I can’t do that.”

“Birth is unpleasant enough as it is, so, why shall I prepare for it with a woeful pregnancy?”

Pity was written all over his features as he bowed his head closer to yours, and though you spotted it on his face for the first time, you loathed the sight. It made you feel weak, vulnerable and even worthless, knowing you had no say in anything that concerned your own body.

“I can’t risk exposing you to any danger,” Maegor eventually confessed after a pregnant pause, “not if it means I could lose you or the boy, or both of you at once.” The boy. He had proclaimed the babe to be a boy very early into the pregnancy, and consistently pointed out that he had never been more certain of anything. In his dream, the boy wore the crown of his father, the Conqueror, and would wield his sword when he was older. But you knew nothing would cause the babe to grow a cock, if it didn’t already possess one.

His forehead dipped against yours, and the proximity caused you both to close your eyes and release a deep sigh. You understood his reasoning, especially after he had lost three children and a wife before, which still didn’t mean you agreed to his methods of keeping you safe.

Your arms wrapped around his thick neck, his heavy shoulders supporting them, and without having to say anything, Maegor knew what it was you wanted–or needed. His hands grabbed your upper body just under your armpits, effortlessly lifting you out of the bath with a tenderness that was borderline frightening.

He was careful with your swollen bump, and immediately placed one hand on your arse and the other on the small of your back as you bound your legs around his waist. With your head resting against your upper arm, he pressed his lips to the side of your face, and carried you into the chambers to gently place you down on the bed.

There were rarely any moments you weren’t in the mood for him, but with the built up aching in your core, and his soft demeanor towards you, you were desperate.

Maegor kneeled between your parted legs, one hand resting on your knee, while the other one ran over the swell of your stomach. Before the pregnancy, his paws covered your stomach in its entirety, yet, however, they seemed more fitting in comparison to it.

“Look at you,” his voice was reverential and raspy, and the purple of his eyes was almost non-existent, drinking in the sight of you lying bare in front of him. His hand trailed up to cup your heavy breast, teasing the darkened bud to the point a few droplets of milk leaked out of it. Your breasts were sensitive to the touch, and a pathetic moan left your lips, which grew in volume as the bull of a man leaned forward to lick over your teased bud, gathering the liquid with his tongue.

You released a shaky breath at that, your mouth agape, and your eyes were wide. “I need you, husband,” the words a throaty whisper, and your own despair had you rutting your hips against the front of his breeches as far as your bump allowed you to.

His lips had latched around your bud, suckling on it, and he let you rub yourself against him to a certain point, a large hand on your hip applying just a bit of pressure to keep your movements limited and shallow, barely giving you enough friction. It prompted you to whine in despair, despite the relief his mouth brought to your breast.

“Gods, please, fuck me,” you whined, and Maegor slightly tilted his head to meet your eyes, the cocked eyebrow indicating that he was surprised by your choice of words, since you hadn’t used a term like that before. He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, licking his lips to collect every drop of your milk that had spilled past them.

“You want my cock?” he teased, and started to pay attention to your other breast, dragging his tongue around the perky bud, before wrapping his lips around it to release some of the tension from you.

Your hands disappeared into the short strands of his silver hair, and your back arched against his body, shoving your breasts into his face. “Yes, please,” you breathed, “give it to me.” One hand fisted his hair and the other cupped his face in a lousy attempt to push him off you, yet Maegor didn’t budge. How could he, with you using so little force?

Even though there was no urgency in any of his movements, Maegor merely reached between your bodies, as he kept his lips on your breast, to undo the laces in the front of his breeches and not undress any further, freeing his hard cock that stood to full attention. You blamed it on his inability to part from you, having been without you long enough already.

When he withdrew his mouth from you, he pressed a fervent kiss to your lips that stood in stark contrast to his previous actions, though you welcomed it with a matching ferocity.

“How could I ever resist you?” he asked, making you blush. “Not if you look like this, swollen with my child under your heart.” There was a possessiveness in his tone that alone had you moaning, and you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him with pleading eyes, nodding eagerly.

Being soft and gentle was unlike Maegor, especially when it came to the pleasures of fucking, and watching him move his bulky frame to lie on his side right next to you, draping your leg over his hips as he angled them just so his cock prodded at your entrance made you feel appreciated. He saw you, and paid attention to anything other than himself, to your current state, because in any other setting, he would’ve flipped you onto your stomach, pounding you into oblivion without much preparation.

The position allowed you to lie on your back, one leg raised without you having to do that much, without struggling to keep them up and parted. He was close to you, his massive size in comparison to yours allowing him to embrace you almost completely, one hand possessively placed on your bump while the other supported the back of your head.

His cock breached your tight entrance, pushing in with little resistance thanks to your arousal. While you braced yourself for the stinging pain of the stretch, you fisted the bedcovers with one hand, and grabbed his waist with the other, his flexing muscles tensing and relaxing beneath your palm.

Despite his carefulness, he was pushing into you all the way until his cock was enveloped by you like Dark Sister by its sheathing. You clenched around on him, and Maegor inhaled a sharp breath that didn’t go unnoticed by you, even though your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

“As soon as this boy is born,” Maegor rasped, drawing his hips back to the point only the tip stayed inside, shoving his cock right back into you, “I am going to fill you up again, breeding you, so you’re always round with my child.” His words were interspersed with grunts and groans, and he moved quick enough for your voice to catch in your throat.

You clung to his waist, digging your nails into his flesh tight enough it would surely leave some bruises in the morrow despite him still wearing a tunic, but you didn’t care–not when he gave you the pleasurable pain you had waited for for so many moons.

“You were made for me,” he grunted, “made to carry my children–to give me my heir.”

Your back arched, and your hand released the covers to rest atop his on your belly, grasping his fingers and squeezing them tightly. “G–Gods, yes,” you hiccuped, your eyes closing for a moment.

It was a race for completion, and Maegor seemed to have lost some of his initial inhibitions, pounding into you as fervently as the position allowed. He fisted the silver hair in the nape of your neck in a feeble attempt to keep his urges at bay, he mostly did, and as much as you wanted to whine and squirm away from the sting at the back of your head, you couldn’t–not when he was making you feel so good at the same time.

“I shall fuck you all day once the babe is born. You’ll be dripping with my seed,” he groaned. “Is that what you want?”

“Y-Yes, husband, yes, please!”

Your fingers clung to his thumb as his hand trailed down to the apex between your legs, his thick digits swirling around the bud that made you writhe beneath his touch. Not long after, you toppled over the edge of your peak, moans loud enough to let the whole Keep know how well your husband was tending to your needs escaping your throat.

His precious, silver hair stuck to his forehead as he fucked you through your peak, until he reached his completion, too. When his cock spent itself inside of you, Maegor shuddered, the movements of his fingers seizing. “Good girl,” he growled through gritted teeth, “take everything I give you.”

Judging by how long his peak took its toll on your husband’s body, you were certain you would’ve been with his child after that–if you weren’t carrying his offspring already. It seemed that he hadn’t been indulging himself with his other wives for as long as you had.

When both your breathing slowed down, and his cock had grown flaccid again, Maegor bent a bit closer toward you to lap up droplets of milk that had leaked out of your buds from the force of your peak.

You gasped at that, still as sensitive as before, if not a bit more, and smoothed out his dampened hair. “Might you stay for a bit?” you asked almost shyly, as you were afraid to be rejected by him.

Maegor looked up at you, the purple of his eyes reflecting in the dim light of the candles lit around you. “I will stay all night.”

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

2K notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months

Text

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it.

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits.

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong.

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch.

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius.

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight.

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud.

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child.

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader.

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air.

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you.

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream.

And he turns.

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from.

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart.

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him.

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast.

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual.

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . .

You are brought to his tent, screaming.

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock.

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood.

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot.

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should.

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle.

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately.

It’s just that none of them were portents of war.

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless.

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you.

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself.

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself.

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?”

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up.

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know.

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen.

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good…

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #konig x reader #könig smut #könig fluff #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig x female reader

3K notes · View notes

eraenaa · 5 months

Text

A Bastard's Bride, A Dragon's Desire

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen Princess Reader

Synopsis: They have betrothed you to Jacaerys as a way of securing a line to the throne if they fail in usurping your half-sister’s crown. Your older brother Aemond was livid at the decision.

Warnings: Targcest, Mature, 18+, Submissive Aemond (kinda), Oral Sex (M receiving), Boobjob, P in V Sex, Jealousy, Possessive, not proofread

Word Count: 4,327

“This cannot go! You dare betrothed my sister to a bastard!?” Aemond screamed at your grandfather and mother. Never have you seen him so angry and agitated. His lilac eye was wide in fury, his frame rigid in rage. You did not wish for the betrothal, but you did not have the same anger that Aemond showed. Screaming and spewing foul words as if he was the one being sent as a bride for the plain prince. “My prince— you will learn to hold your tongue.” Your grandfather warned. “We understand your qualms upon the match; believe it or not, we do not wish for it. But it is a marriage that must be made.” Your grandfather sighed, his eyes going to you, who had your head downcast, ready to silently meet your fate.

You peeked a look at Aemond, heart swelling at how protective your brother was. How he would defend and voice out the concerns and fears because you did not have the courage to. You tried to reach for his hand under the table; your touch always seemed to calm him, but he was in a state of utter anger— rage at a level he had never reached before. His vision was white hot at the injustice he believed to be presented— injustice greater than when his eye was taken. For how could they be so cruel to betroth you, his sweet, smart, and enchanting little sister, to a plain and weak bastard of House Strong? “I will not stand by this union,” Aemond seethed and stood from his chair. “With all due respect, my prince, you have no say nor sway upon the marriage— complain and rage as you would; you will not change the plans made. You swallowed thickly as Aemond marched out of the chambers of the council, your mother heavily sighing at the reaction of your older brother—his reaction to your betrothal confirmed her suspicions.

You walked to your chambers and were slightly startled to see your older brother there. Staring intently at the fire, waiting for you. “They cannot do this— they cannot be allowed to dict—“ You sighed and shook your head, sitting upon a settee and bringing a pillow to your lap. “They have the power to— I have no choice but to do as they wish,” You answered. You knew of this— you always knew you were to be played like a pawn, sold like a sheep in order for them to have a greater claim to the throne. You’ve expected this for years— you have made your peace with it.

Aemond turned to you, his eye dark and terrifying. “Why are you not angered? Why do you only obey without even a question?” He asked, threading closer to you. “Tell me, sister… do you wish to marry Jacaerys? Is that why you said no word when they made their plans known? Hm? Are you ecstatic at the thought of being a bastard’s bride?” Your lips agape at his words— at his anger that he now pointed towards you.

“Grandfather was right— you must learn to hold your tongue.” You whispered. “You dare insult me, brother? You dare try to dress my quiet contempt as ecstasy in being a lamb for slaughter so they can continue on with their plans,” You whispered harshly as his face threaded closer to yours. His lilac eye softened and started to fill with remorse, but you shook your head, disheartened by the words he uttered. “Get out,” You said and stood, not wanting to face him any longer. Growing hurt at your brother for thinking as such. “Sister, I—“ he tried to get hold of your arm, but you stepped away. “Leave— I wish to be alone,” You muttered, hearing him sigh before doing as you asked.

The following day, you confined yourself to your rooms. Ignoring the knocks of your maids, sister, mother, Aegon, and Aemond, who was the most persistent of them all. Trying to bribe you with sweets freshly made from the kitchen and then the promise of jewels and dresses that your heart was completely bemused with. You ignored all their calls and focused on the betrothal made. Trying hard to have a better outlook upon it— trying to find the little positives so you would not be so completely miserable with the marriage. “Ñuha hāedar, you must eat— please.” (My little sister) You hear Aemond call; it is time for supper, and you have not consumed a meal the entire day. He called your name once more, but you ignored it, simply staring out of the window to the starry night sky.

“I swear to the gods I will break down this door!” Aemond gritted out— trying a new tactic because his pleading got him no reaction. The prince sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, growing tired of your stubbornness. He regretted raising his voice at you— wrongfully pointing his anger at you, who was simply a victim of their desire to ensure a line of power. He could not bear it— he could not have another thing taken from him by the Strongs. He already lost his eye to Lucerys— he’d rather burn the entire Kingdom than have to lose you to Jacaerys.

Aemond sighed in relief as he heard you unbar the door, slowly opening it to reveal your sullen self. “The cake,” Was all you said through the little gap. Aemond bit his lip and handed you the platter that held your favorite sweet. He was to speak once more, offer his apologies but you were quick to shut the door and bar it again.

The next day, you were finally forced out of your chambers. Your mother was persistent in readying you to meet your future betrothed. Having you fitted for new dresses as if you were a doll. You used to love that— you used to love spending hours discussing your visions and specificity for your dresses. You did not mind having to stand for hours whilst they took your measurements— you would even volunteer to embroider your own dress, but now the task seemed heavy.

Aemond watched you as you were being spoken to about the plans they had made when your bastard kin was to come. He watched your sullen eyes, your deflated shoulders, your pouted lips. The rage in him started to return; he hated witnessing you be in such a state. He believed that you do not deserve to be given such a cruel fate. He believed that you deserve someone better—someone who was not a plain bastard. You deserved someone honorable and were of high standing. You deserved someone who would adore you, dote on you, spoil you, love you— you deserved to be with someone like him. Aemond clenched his jaw as you sighed heavily; your mother had ignored his wishes and pleas.

His mind was made long before. He knew he loved you more than the love a brother and sister shared. He loved you in the way of your house, in the way of a dragon— queer it must be in the eyes of the others, but he did not care; he loved you as a man would love his woman. But he was silent with his love, fearing you would not return it. Yes, he felt that you loved him, but he believed it only to be a familial kind— that it was not the same as the burning passion he had in his heart.

Aemond lay on his bed, mind swimming in thoughts on how to save you. On how to make you his. It did occur to him that to make you his, he would have to admit the deep feelings he had and was certain of ever since he was but nine. That he would have to confess his devotion to you, his sweet little sister. He hears a small knock on his door, and he immediately knows it is you. The prince did not even stand, simply muttering for you to enter. No word was uttered as you closed the door and walked to him, who lay on his bed. Your brother was to sit up, but you moved to lay atop his chest— just like you often did in childhood. You wanted comfort, and your brother Aemond is always and you believe will forever be your greatest comfort.

Aemond froze as you placed yourself atop him, letting your body press against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. You two did this often in childhood; whenever you felt glum or melancholic, you would place yourself atop him, and he would wrap his arms tightly around you. But as the both of you blossomed and grew into man and woman, you stopped doing such actions— growing weary and aware of your bodies.

Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist. You were so warm and soft and plush. Your frame fitted perfectly against his— just like it always has. “I do not wish to marry him,” You mumble against his letter-clad chest, taking a deep breath to smell his scent: leather and citrus. “I know,” He mumbled against the top of your head. Aemond taking a deep breath of you— lavender and lilac invading him.

“Perhaps I should flee…” you mused after a stretch of silence. “And go where?” Aemond asked. “I do not know… maybe Essos? I’ve always wanted to see YiTi, or I could go and find Old Valyria? Anywhere but here.” You sighed as Aemond ran his hand through your hair. Your body tingled with every stroke his hand made. “You would leave me?” He asked, and you shook your head. “No, you would come with me, of course.” Aemond smiled at your words. “Of course,” He agreed and placed a kiss atop your pretty head. You stayed in Aemond’s arms for hours— drifting off to slumber. Aemond stayed awake, wanting to savor the feeling of having you in his arms, indulging himself with the thought that you were his.

However, as time went on and you were starting to wake, Aemond’s heart clenched at the thought of letting you go. Right then and there, he had decided. He decided to do what he never had the courage to do… he had to claim you and make it known to everyone that you were his and his alone.

The scowl never left Aemond’s face as he and Helaena were tasked to escort you and Jacaerys. Having to watch you grow familiar with the boy they intend for you to marry made his heart wrench in jealousy— his stomach pitting in fear as he saw a small smile on your lips. Aemond resisted the urge to throw a dagger at his eldest bastard nephew when he dared take your hand to escort you down the steps of the courtyard. “You’re growing too obvious, brother,” Helaena muttered as she watched you acclimate yourself to the presence of the Strong Prince. “I do not care— let them know my intentions,” Aemond answered, holding tightly at the railing as he saw the enchantment in Jacaerys’ eyes as he spoke with you, body daring thread closer to yours. “I’m afraid there is not much you could do… they are to be bounded by blood,” Aemond shook his head, stubborn and unaccepting of their fates.

When evening came, and supper was held for the whole of the family, Aemond stewed in anger as your place next to him was removed— moving your place to sit with your soon-to-be-announced betrothed. You took in a breath as Jacaerys took hold of your hand, a smile on his lips. But you could not focus on the joy he showed because you saw clearly the scowl on your brother’s. His hand tightly clenched around a dinner knife, his eye steady on you.

“This is torture for you, isn’t it,” Aegon muttered to his younger brother. His eye held a spark of amusement at Aemond’s ire— but there was a tinge of concern at the uncertain look in your eyes as Jacaerys kept his hold on your hand. “Return to your seat,” Aemond gritted but Aegon kept still at his spot. “You’ve waited too long, brother… you must take matters into your own hands before it truly is all too late,” He advised. Aemond closed his eye at the temptation his brother’s words presented. “As much as I like to watch you suffer… control yourself and painfully deny yourself of pleasure— I’d rather have our little sister here with you than be with a bastard in Dragonstone.”

Aemond gritted his jaw. “Enough, Aegon— what you suggest will not only dishonor me but our sister as well. You a—“ Aegon sighed and shook his head. “There is an opportunity for you, brother, to gain something you’ve wanted since we were children— lower your damned pride and self-righteousness and make her your own. Either that or watch her be married to Jacaerys; it’s your choice, Aemond.” Aegon warned and finally returned to his seat, leaving his younger brother silent, confused, and torn.

You were in your chambers after the supper— you dismissed your handmaids, wanting to be left alone. You readied yourself, removing the pins in your hair as you stared at yourself in the mirror, your eyes admiring the dress made especially for the occasion. You sighed that such a pretty dress was made for the sole purpose of pleasing your future groom, whom you had no love nor fondness for. You stared at yourself in the mirror until you jumped in shock as you caught a glimpse of your older brother standing behind you. “You scared me,” You said as your eyes locked, you returning to remove the pins in your hair.

You tried not to grow conscious at how he was in your chambers after dark, at how your dress was partly unlaced and the sleeves were starting to drape off, and you especially tried not to notice the dark look in Aemond’s eye that you could not read or process. “I have a gift for you,” Aemond said lowly, walking closer to you, who still faced the mirror, your eyes never leaving his as he approached. You took in a breath as you felt him behind you, a few inches away, but you still felt the heat that radiated from his body; you still smelt his familiar scent.

“What is it?” You asked. Aemond wanted to smile as he saw the clear excitement in your eyes. You were always bemused by gifts and shiny things. “Close your eyes,” He dipped down and whispered. There was a hint of hesitancy in you, your skin growing with gooseflesh at the way he whispered in the shell of your ear and how his lips grazed your skin. You licked your lips as you were certain that you would recall this moment as you lay in your bed and pleasured yourself with the thought of Aemond. You were shameless to do such an act— seeking pleasure with the thought of your brother in mind.

Aemond watched as you obeyed him and closed your eyes. His own wye flying to your lips, shiny and pink. How magnificent it must be to kiss them, he thought. Aemond is distracted as he stares at you, memorizing each part of your face. “What’s your gift?” You asked impatiently. Aemond made no answer. You froze as you felt something cold touch your bare upper chest. You peeled your eyes open, the orbs growing wide as you Aemond clasped a sapphire necklace around your neck. “Aemond…” You called in shock at the beautiful gift. Aemond took in a breath and let his fingers graze the soft skin of your shoulders, letting himself indulge and touch you in such a way.

You finally turned to your brother, a somewhat satisfied look in his eye as you marveled at his gift. There was another emotion in his eye, something that was always present but you could never decipher. “Thank you,” You sincerely said. “Anything for you, ñuha perzys,” (my fire)

He had never called you that before. He had never addressed you with such a primal and almost possessive tone. You did not know what possessed you— why you did it. Too muddled in excitement and silent wanting perhaps, but you stood at the tip of your toes as kissed his lips. A kiss that was never meant for brother and sister— a kiss that was meant for the intimacy of man and wife. Aemond took in a harsh breath as he felt plump and soft lips against his— him tasting cherry wine and feeling a delicate frame against his. When the uncertainty left Aemond, he tried to move his arms to wrap around you— to flush you tight against him, but sensibilities returned, and you backed away. Fear trickles inside you as you realize what you have done.

“I… I’m sorry… I should not have do—“ You could not word out the finality of your sentence as Aemond pulled you to him and smashed your lips. Holding you tight to him even though you tried to push him away, keeping your lips locked even though they should have never met. “Aemond,” You called as both of you gasped for air; his hold on you was tight and secure— painful even, but pain disguised itself as pleasure as you felt yourself grow in need with each passing moment you were in your brother’s arms.

“You will never be his… you’re only mine.” He stated—a promise in his eye. You gasped as you felt him tear away your dress. “You want me, yes? Say it, my fire,” He whispered, tone desperate for you. “I want you… I need you,” You muttered and sighed as his lips met with yours again. “Say that you’re mine,” Aemond ordered, as his lips flew to your neck decorated with his gift. His hands planted on your shift-covered waist, not daring to move until you uttered that you were his as much as he was yours. “All yours, Aemond— never his, only yours,” You distractedly uttered as your mind clouded with the feel of his lips on your neck. That was the assurance Aemond needed to let his hands travel your frame.

One of his strong hands gripped the flesh of your behind; the other went to your chest. Heaving and soft, the bud calling for his touch. He would have to admit, ever since womanhood struck you, he had grown tempted more than once by your tits. Especially when you have grown a fondness of wearing dresses with a lower cut, going against your mother’s orders, and proudly fashioning a neckline that exposed a tease of your bosom. A breathy moan escaped your lips as Aemond picked the bud, rolling it between his callused fingers. You’ve wanted to feel his touch for years now— deeply desired him that it started to make you grow crazed. And now to finally have him? You felt like you could come by just how his hand played with your tit and how his lips peppered kisses on your neck.

“Tell me what you want, my fire,” He whispered in the shell of your ear as he noticed you closed your legs and whines leaving your lips. “You— I want you.” You said decisively. You watch his eye grow dark, his lips twitching. “Then you shall have me,” Aemond answered. You bit your lip as another wave of need washed over you. “Tell me how you want me,” Aemond said, giving you control. Your cheeks heat at his words, “I… I want you to lie on the bed,” You said quietly, making Aemond smirk. He dipped down and quickly kissed your lips before doing as you meekly ordered.

You blushed even more as Aemond expectantly lay on your bed; you were uncertain about what you should do; you had a faint idea of what you wanted, but you lacked the courage to proceed. You gazed at him, though the most evident thing in his lilac eye was lust; you saw his encouragement through it. You swallowed your doubts and bit your lip, moving to remove your shift before him. Aemond turned rigged as you stripped the last of your clothing for him. Leaving you bare and completely exposed. You had not touched him yet, but he could not help but let out a groan of pleasure as he saw your body. You were truly carved by the gods themselves.

You kept your bite on your lip as you threaded closer to him, bare and moving to straddle him. You hear him take a breath, his eye scanning your body. “Take off your eye patch,” You said, willing your voice to sound stronger. Aemond froze, hesitant to do so. You waited for him; the silence wanted you to take back what you said. Aemond mustered his own courage and let himself be exposed to you. You were taken aback as you saw him fully, as you realized why he chose to give you a sapphire necklace. No word was uttered as you kissed him again. Kissed him until both of you grew dazed. Your hands moved to remove his tunic and unbuckle his belt. Your lips grew downward from his lips to his jaw, then to his neck, to his chest, until finally, your lips hovered over the wanting bulge in his trousers.

Aemond felt himself grow cold in anticipation; a moan slipped his lips as you placed a light kiss on the cloth-covered bulge. You gazed up at him, eyes locking, both desperate for more— you decided to end both of your torments. You pulled down his trousers and revealed his hard length, needing and seeking for your touch. You licked your lips and placed a loud kiss on the tip of his cock; already releasing a clear bead of liquid. You were satisfied as Aemond let out another moan— he was usually so quiet… you would think he’d be quiet when in pleasure as well.

Aemond shuddered as you took the tip of him in your warm mouth, your tongue circling his cock. You were barely doing anything, and he already felt the urge to release. You took in a deep breath and moved your head to take as much of his long and thick cock, your eyes watering as you could not physically fit the whole of him in your mouth. You were breathing heavily as his cock slipped out your lips, your hands moving up and down his length, coating it with wetness.

Aemond marveled at every movement you made, every flutter of your eyes, every flick of your wrist. He was certain that he was in heaven as you positioned yourself, taking his cock in between your heavy and heaving tits. Your name slipped lips, lost in utter pleasure as you fucked him with your tits. His large cock fits nicely between your ample bosom. Aemond fisted the silk sheets of your bed, his toes curling in utter pleasure as your movements fastened and as you moaned as your nipples grazed along his skin. You clenched your legs together, feeling the tightening coil of release even though it was you who was pleasuring him.

Aemond felt himself ready for release but he could not have that— not yet. You gasped as you were yanked off, Aemond switching your positions. Now, you were the one to lay beneath him. You feel him coat himself with your wetness, his cock teasing your folds. “Make me yours,” You whispered.

Aemond groaned as his cock pushed inside your— your walls already clenched and painfully wrapped around him. You feel the prickle of tears as he tore his way through you, the blood from having your maidenhead taken mixing with the wanting essence of your cunt. You let out a shuddered breath as you feel him fill you— fully inside you and the tip of his cock hitting a place that made you forget about the pain of taking him fully.

Aemond let out pleasured breaths as he tucked his head in your neck, deeply inhaling your scent and savoring the way you moaned his name and how you clung to him. Your fingernails scratching along his back, your hips moving to meet his thrusts. “I thought you innocent, sister— but look at you… you act like such a whore,” Aemond nipped your neck, leaving a mark for all to see. “Just for you… only for you,” You managed to say in between moans. Aemond let out a groan at how you declared yourself his— only his.

Aemond’s thrust grew faster; your moans grew louder as both of you sought release. Aemond removed his head from your neck and admired the whole of you under him. Your tits bounced with each and every thrust, your lips parted, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure—the sapphire necklace he gave shining from the light of the moon. Aemond let out a groan through gritted teeth as he realized your hand moved to draw circles upon your needing bud, shameless as you pleasured yourself whilst he pleasured you. “Aemond… I’m— I’m,” You instead moaned, the words not coming to you as you felt yourself ready to release.

“Scream my name when you come— let them know who you belong to,” Aemond ordered with one last thrust, you doing as he said. His name leaving your lips with the tone of nothing but sheer pleasure. Aemond gave a deep final thrust before filling you with his seed— making certain that all part of you will be his.

That night, you and Aemond slept peacefully and satisfied in each other’s arms. Waiting for morning to come for all to see that the only one you belong to— that the only one you wanted bound to you was your brother.

#targcest #aemond targaryen x female reader #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond smut #aemond x reader #prince aemond #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #Targaryen princess

734 notes · View notes

lagomoz · 6 months

Text

Proseka headcanons

-as rui’s childhood friend, nene has extensive fire safety knowledge

-shizuku is adopted, hence why she looks so different from shiho. she was adopted shortly before the moon rabbit event and it contributed to her clinginess

-shiho forgets this fact sometimes. she’ll casually mention something like shizuku got all mom’s good genes so unfair and ichika has to be. um. shiho

-kanade is mildly nearsighted/myopic but spends so much time at her computer she hasn’t noticed

-emu is buff. she climbs multiple stories without breaking a sweat and is canonically part of the swimming, handball and rhythmic gymnastic clubs, you can’t tell me she doesn’t have some muscle

-saki helps out as a human notepad for tsukasa, reminding of him things he would otherwise forget within 5 minutes

-the vocaloids also help. at first it was unnerving to have hatsune miku be an extension of his psyche that knows his darkest secret (stole saki’s candy when he was 6) but now his phone has a more reliable catgirl themed reminder system

-you know that classic nightmare of leaving the house without pants? tsukasa has legitimately done that as a kid. he forgor. (saki will never let him live it down)

-in the kamiyama student council/hall monitor room, an has put up at sign saying “_ days since last kamishiro incident”

-the shinonome siblings both figured out the other one was gay before they figured it out about themselves

-airi’s great at trivia from her time as a variety show star. she still can’t beat minori at idol trivia, though

-ena keeps a diary with fort knox level security. try to read it and you’ll lose a finger

-saki learned to crochet from the old ladies in the hospital

-shiho’s most treasured phenny is a somewhat lumpy crocheted phenny holding a very lumpy crocheted bass guitar

-tsukasa snores. he falls asleep in 10 seconds and sounds like a dying lawnmower

-mizuki has learned a small bit of french from their sister and uses it exclusively to teach rui and an how to swear in french

-emu still celebrates her grandfather’s birthday, even if he’s not there to celebrate with her

-ena is allergic to dogs, the middle point to airi’s cat allergy and akito’s dog phobia

-rui has various small scars from his experiments over the years, but nobody ever believes the real causes (rocket launcher, robot bite, exploding balloon animal, etc.) so he just makes up a new cause every time someone asks

-mmj! has had repeated incidents of minori and airi’s little siblings walking into frame when streaming at their houses. shiho understands the concept of a livestream but has still been caught failing at creeping past like that one new broadcast of the guy crawling along the floor

-kanade has pots & eds, this one I have a reason for look at her symptoms. chronic exhaustion, heat and cold intolerance, comorbid sleep issues and depression, dizziness when standing up, fainting after standing up, very pale skin, family history of medical issues, pain at normal physical activities, exercise intolerance, vertigo at mild exertion, she just fucking dies during the entire baseball event, I could go on. she canonically gets pain in her hands from opening a jar girl that is not just being out of shape that is physical disability. this one I will go conspiracy board on listen to me I’m right

-kohane ate bugs as a kid. an is horrified, toya is confused, akito is impressed

-ena and airi got in trouble in middle school because they’d keep starting fist fights in defense of the others honor. if they saw the other in a fight they’d jump in guns blazing no hesitation no questions ask ready to throw the fuck down

-vbs!rin and len were given a skateboard by an and then promptly had the skateboard confiscated by meiko for property destruction

-haruka is horrible with slang. she asks the stream chat what poggers means and immediately uses it completely wrong, killing all viewers on impact

-minori is torn between thinking it’s cute and wanting to die

-toya has been banned from arcades before because he made them lose too much money/they suspected he was cheating

-ena brought kanade over for girls night and nearly scared akito half to death because he went down to get a late night snack and there was some Ghastly Creature looming in his kitchen

-kohane's parents stick out like a sore thumb when going to her live shows. it mortifies her that everyone on vivid street can recognize them as the only milquetoast middle aged couple dressed in normal clothes loudly going YOU'RE DOING GREAT SWEETIE that don't know the first thing about music

-minori knows basic programming. she mostly uses it for forums, blogs, html, other web design things usually related to idols as a hobby, but she's become the groups designated anti-shizuku tech support

-mafuyu has always been able to see ghosts but after adults figured she was just playing pretend as a kid so she shrugged and figured it was normal and not worth bringing up again

-honami has one of those massive extended families and somehow keeps track of them all. at any given time cousin #57 can crawl out of the woodwork and she remembers their new job, favorite food, past three romantic relationships and list of allergic reactions

-mizuki does doll customizing as a hobby. they prefer making human sized clothes, but it's fun to make them miniature too. they've introduced shizuku to it and she loves it, but doesn't have the heart to do anything that would hurt the doll (sawing limbs off, dunking them in boiling water, shoving wires in them, etc.)

919 notes · View notes

gffa · 4 months

Text

I've been a little slow on getting out new STAR WARS fic recs out, but in my defense it's because I've been reading a bunch of longer fics lately. In the spirit of "there's a special feeling to those fics that consume you and make you stay up until 3am because you can't put them down", here's a list of some of the ones I've loved or am in the middle of reading and they are haunting my thoughts and I need to inflict that on everyone else. Whether you're looking at a long upcoming trip and need some good reading material or avoiding your feelings by sinking into fic or just because you like reading, I hope you'll find something here! Including a bonus underrunning theme of throwing in a bunch of Jedi-loving fic to continue my agenda of making Jedi-centric fandom a more fun place to be. 30k+ is the minimum and this isn't all of my favorites, but it's a great list of "I have a week off to kill and I want to be in a fic coma by the end of it".

STAR WARS FIC FOR WHEN YOU NEED TO KILL ABOUT TEN HOURS WORTH OF TIME AND WANT TO HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT FICTIONAL PSYCHIC SPACE WIZARDS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT:

✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, mace & ahsoka & plo & shaak & cast, 312.5k In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know. ✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & mace & yoda & anakin & cast, time travel, 558.9k wip Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. ✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & padme & mace & shmi & dooku & cast, time travel, 112k wip Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right? ✦ Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 46k Alternatively: after a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along. ✦ Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove, obi-wan & anakin & jedi & cast, 51.3k Let us consider the fact that the Jedi Order is a monastic religious organization based out of a temple, with five basic tenets of faith. ✦ Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi by stonefreeak, obi-wan & anakin & padme & yoda & palpatine & bail & dooku & mace & quinlan & vokara & ahsoka & cast, 124.5k wip By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. A Senator from a less prominent planet has had enough of Chancellor Palpatine's incompetence and calls for a Vote of No-Confidence and the installation of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi as Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. This one action becomes the catalyst that changes the direction of the galaxy. ✦ What We've Become by Vinyarie, vader & ahsoka & cast, 82k Darth Vader and Ahsoka’s fight on Malachor takes a different path, and Ahsoka actually is able to save her master. Or rather, she’s able to convince him to save himself. Diverges from canon in the last few minutes of Twilight of the Apprentice and goes increasingly AU from there.

✦ time to change the road you're on by wreckageofstars, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & luke & leia & han & ghost crew & cast, time travel, 93.6k wip The end of the Clone War is near - the fall of the Republic even nearer. Anakin Skywalker, caught up in the events that lead to the rise of the Empire and the loss of everything he holds dear, finds himself sent nearly two decades into the future. Ahsoka Tano, still coming to painful terms with the true fate of her former master, is - not exactly happy to see him. But the Force works in mysterious ways - and the future is not nearly as set in stone as they've been lead to believe. Multi-chapter AU, Rise of the Empire/Rebels-era. ✦ narrower than a razor's edge by bereft_of_frogs, obi-wan & dooku & qui-gon & anakin & sidious & cast, 30.2k Dooku tips his hand ten years earlier because he can't stand the thought of his former apprentice's murder, and that might just be enough to save everyone...if it doesn't get them all killed first. ✦ soften every edge by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & ahsoka (& anakin), major character death, 48.1k "Rejoice!" the galaxy says, in the wake of war and the dawning of peace. "How?" Obi-Wan asks. "No," Ahsoka says. (or: Obi-Wan & Ahsoka learn to live on.) ✦ hunting toward heartstill by blackkat, mace/cody & plo & fives & shaak & obi-wan & anakin & rex & cast, 207.2k Plo has an idea. Mace agrees, and everything snowballs right into hell from there. (Or: Mace and Cody get married in order to give the clones citizen status. Before they can focus on that, though, they're going to have to deal with ancient Sith artifacts, evil prophets, plots to overthrow the Supreme Chancellor, lost planets, monsters warped by Sith alchemy, inconvenient , and Darth Sidious turning his eye on a potential new apprentice. Just...not in that order.) ✦ Cataclasm by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & waxer & cast, 63.1k wip For reasons unknown to all but himself, Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Jedi Order in the midst of the Clone Wars, taking with him a single clone. Anakin Skywalker has been unofficially tasked by the Order to find Obi-Wan and bring him home. Unfortunately for Anakin, it seems his former master is always ten steps ahead of him. ✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & feemor & bruck & jango & cast, time travel, 135.1k wip The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn.

✦ Knightrise by deviantaccumulation, obi-wan & ahsoka & satine & yoda & cast, 89.4k wip There is no battle on Mustafar or in Coruscant's senate building. Instead, a small but still alive Jedi Order rises from its ashes on Mandalore. ✦ Fire and Ice by Yesac, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 111.9k Anakin wins the duel on Mustafar, but doesn't kill Obi-Wan. Along with Padme, Obi-Wan finds himself living in a chaotic world where the man he thought he knew has become the thing he swore to destroy. Can Anakin be turned back? If so, what then? ✦ Better That a Millstone by Icarus_is_flying, obi-wan & luke & anakin & leia & cast, 86.7k Vader discovers Luke and Obi-Wan on Tatooine when Luke is one year old and attempts to reclaim the family he threw away. Obi-Wan is less than pleased, and Luke and Leia? They have their own ideas about how their future should play out. ✦ Bloodlines by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & dooku, 35.8k When an explosion traps them in the same doomed escape pod, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Dooku are stranded together on Tatooine. The goal is simple: cooperate long enough to survive, and not a second longer. But a shared past has a way of connecting the people we think we know—and bloodlines run deep. [or: your classic family road trip across a desert planet, except your grandpa is, you know, a Sith Lord. And now he's sort of starting to bond with your Jedi dad. And that might be an issue.] ✦ When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place by IllyanaA, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 136k wip After killing three of the Jedi Order's best and brightest, Palpatine's fight with Jedi Master Mace Windu goes shorter than expected. Afraid he's lost his chance at recruiting a new apprentice, Sidious unleashes Order 66 across the galaxy, but, per their programming, the Clone Army is not to harm Anakin Skywalker. After witnessing the most painful loss he's ever experienced and injured at the hands of his captors, Anakin is ready to die like the rest of the Jedi, though not before getting his vengeance. ✦ Precipice by shadowsong26, obi-wan & anakin & padme & luke & leia & bail & ahsoka & rex & cast, 253.6k An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall. ✦ Averting Galactic Destruction by kj_feybarn, obi-wan & anakin & quinlan & rex & cody & fives & dogma & wolffe & plo & shaak & dooku & sidious, time travel, 44.3k AKA The Time the Force Sent Obi-Wan Back in Time and Quinlan Vos kept him from Going Kamikaze because let’s be Honest, Being Forced to Come Back in Time Would Suck.

✦ Into the Archives by skygawker, obi-wan & anakin/padme & palpatine & cast, 104.9k wip After hearing the legend of Darth Plagueis the Wise from Palpatine, Anakin decides that his best chance to save Padme is to break into the restricted Holocron Vault of the Temple Archives to search for information about Plagueis. Predictably, all does not go according to plan. Revenge of the Sith AU. ✦ Live To Fight Another Day by raemanzu, spica_tea, cody & rex & jesse & kix & obi-wan & anakin & fox & cast, 396.9k wip Clones have their place in the universe, beyond the schemes of Palpatine. Events conspire to place Rex on the path of a new fate, one which will affect the future in ways not even the Jedi could foresee. Loyal to source material and characterizations. Canon-divergent. Starts between seasons 5 and 6 of TCW and explores Rex’s reaction to Fives’ dying words and subsequent events building toward Order 66. Variety of canon characters. No ships. Very Ace and Aro. Strong focus on certain friendships (Rex and Cody, Jesse and Kix, etc) with those friendships playing major roles. Thematically about how the clones navigate loss, trauma, the concept of their enslavement, their identities, etc amongst the larger active plot threads. Content warnings for war-related PTSD, trauma, combat injuries, and all around war-related angst etc in later chapters. ✦ Life and What Comes After by Ibelin, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & cast, 177.2k wip Obi-Wan dies on Jabiim. Anakin blames himself, doesn't know how to go on and yet - he does. Maybe the Force rewards that kind of thing, or maybe he just gets lucky, but when a mission lands Anakin on a vaguely familiar planet, he gets a second chance to do what he knows he should have done in the first place: save his master. (And maybe a chance to save the galaxy, too.) ✦ Knight-Errant by zinjadu, anakin & ahsoka & obi-wan & padme & rex & jedi & clones, 315.8k AU - The Jedi Who Knew Too Much. Rex decides to stay "in pursuit" of his Commander; he jumps. Now, with backup, Ahsoka navigates the lower levels and deals with Ventress. Meanwhile, Anakin takes the Order to task, finds a little more support, and things turn out a little differently for everyone. And this is just the beginning. ✦ the massive machinery of hope by Killbothtwins, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & shmi & jedi, time travel, 150.1k After the end of the war with the Empire, Obi-Wan wakes up in his twelve-year old body. Now all he needs to do is convince everyone he's psychic, trick his Master into taking him on before he's sent to Bandomeer, redeem a few bad guys, and try not to have a nervous breakdown. Pretty easy. It's not like the Sith are lurking on the horizon, waiting to devour the Jedi Order.

✦ The Exchange by MissLearn, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ahsoka & padme & cast, time travel/body swap, 120k The Daughter has a bad day and it irrevocably changes the fate of the galaxy, twice over. Or; ROTS Obi-Wan and Anakin are swapped with their younger, TPM, selves. It changes things, in both parallels. ✦ In All The World by Kjellarnen, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 144.8k wip The story of how Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi tamed each other, from Naboo to Anakin's early days at the Temple. ✦ In Another Life by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme, time travel, 52.3k Eleven years after the rise of the Empire, a favor to a friend sends Obi-Wan traveling through the multiverse. He encounters different versions of the galaxy and of himself—including one in which Anakin never turned to the dark side. Obi-Wan and this Light Anakin are forced to work together to stop the creation of a disastrous Empire weapon. But as they move through different versions of reality, the timelines become more and more twisted—and the harder it is to distinguish who they are from who they might have been. And—to find their way home. ✦ The Intruder by Hollyoakhill, obi-wan & original clone characters, 82.5k When a vicious attack from a strange, indestructible monster traps them on a derelict star destroyer, a young clone trooper fresh from Kamino join forces with Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi to find a way to escape. ✦ Conceal Me What I Am by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & padme & yoda & mace & palpatine & quinlan & cast, omegaverse, NSFW, 108.3k Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republic Senator. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi are chosen as representatives of the political union by Darth Sidious, meant to bring ruin to the marriage and the public's support of the Jedi,for Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the Beta he claims. But even Sidious does not know of the secret Anakin Skywalker keeps, that he is not the Alpha the galaxy believes him to be. ✦ Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 95.9k During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone.

✦ Invictus by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 40.3k "He is the balance, the other half, the completion to Skywalker’s soul, a perfect dyad in the force. But while Kenobi is a simple answer, the force also sees the difficulty of the pair coming together in balance. The foundations of the galaxy they exist in pull at them, threatening to intervene in their unity. But this is also a simple problem, for the force is far greater than the foundations of a single galaxy, for it is the foundation of all. So the force enacts its will, to bridge the pair over a span of moments, of years, of eternities, and Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi will fall in love, have fallen in love, and are falling in love." ✦ Neutron star collision by thedunesea, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 121.2k wip In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker's miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. ✦ Lex Talionis by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & dooku & rex & cast, NSFW, 187.1k The ancient Galactic Republic is dying slowly—an ugly death of corruption, sprawl, and decay—with the sin of slavery hanging over its every triumph. The beleaguered Jedi Knights are too few to adequately patrol and police the entire Republic, and are faced with complacency and greed at every turn. Born into a crumbling and stagnant galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are faced with the greatest challenge of all: themselves. Obi-Wan likes rules and control. When the galaxy around him stops playing by the rules, what is a Jedi to do? Anakin needs rules and restraint. When the galaxy around him conspires to set him loose, what is his Master to do? Falling slowly or falling fast, falling through lust or falling through wrath—it all leads to delusion and moral decay. What can be born from the ashes? ✦ Atlas of Our Ruin by Ripki, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, time travel, 230.8k Both the past and the future casts long shadows. Obi-Wan and Anakin learn that the hard way, when a mysterious holocron flings them backwards and forwards in time, forcing them to confront painful truths. But the time-travel is only the beginning… ✦ Seed by bell (belldreams), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 44k When Anakin falls prey to a lethal poison, Obi-Wan has no choice but use all his resources to heal him-- no matter how reluctant he is in administering the antidote.

✦ wicked thing by imaginarykat, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, nsfw, sith!obi-wan, 124.2k wip There are rumours of yet another Sith Lord hiding among the Separatists. The Council sends Anakin to investigate. Anakin has a bad feeling about this. or, the story of how Anakin exists in a perpetual state of intense embarrassment, Obi-Wan is enjoying it a little too much, and everything is, generally speaking, a gigantic mess. ✦ Rulebreaker/Wildheart by chapstickaddict, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & luke & leia & barriss & cast, NSFW, 230k Darth Vader, the strong arm of the Sith, held loyal to his Order since they took he and his mother from slavery in the deserts of Tatooine. Until he became convinced they killed his wife. He abandoned his Order and disappeared in the chaos of the Clone Wars, presumed dead by all sides. That young Skywalker is known around town as a widower and homesteader; a Nabooian who emigrated to avoid the trade blockade; a father of overly-energetic twins and warding a Togruta war orphan; a decent mechanic if your farm equipment or maintenance droid is acting up. Anakin is a paranoid, over-protective hot mess doing his best to raise his weird pack the way Padmé would have wanted. How the hell is he supposed to do that when his kids and not-apprentice make him haul a half-dead Jedi Master home like a lost pet? ✦ more than a candle by jenmishe, obi-wan/anakin/padme, NSFW, 50.3k "The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back. Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars." Or, a few thousands of words of how Anakin, Obi Wan, and Padmé realize many things, which include, most notably, how they feel about each other and how to handle said feelings. Oh, and in the meantime, they deal with a megalomaniac Sith Lord. ✦ Anamorphosis by avocadomoon, obi-wan/padme & anakin & mace & corde & qui-gon & cast, 33.5k noun, plural an·a·mor·pho·ses [an-uh-mawr-fuh-seez, -mawr-foh-seez]. A distorted or monstrous projection or representation of an image on a plane or curved surface, which, when viewed from a certain point, or as reflected from a curved mirror or through a polyhedron, appears regular and in proportion; a deformation of an image.

#lumi.txt #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #mace windu #qui gon jinn #jedi order #fic recs #star wars fic recs #long post #really long post

473 notes · View notes

echo-stimmingrose · 5 months

Text

Grover is the satyr equivalent of 12-14 in the first book. He is a child.

When he was tasked with bringing Thalia to camp and failed he would have been at most 9 years old. He was traumatized by her death, and he no doubt blamed himself for it.

He was shamed by the cloven council at (max) 9 years of age for a death he would not have been strong or skilled enough to prevent. He knows the counsel would have preferred that he died trying to save her which likely would have ended up in his and Thalia's deaths. He sometimes wonders if he would have preferred that as well.

When he is trying to get Percy to camp safely Percy hears him muttering "sixth grade- they never make it past sixth grade!" A reference to Thalia and his first mission. Grover is knocked unconscious due to the minotaur but thankfully Percy is able to get to camp without dying. However, he loses his mom in the process. Another death Grover has on his conscience before she comes back.

Thalia, against all odds comes back as well and he's able to feel some kind of relief. He gets to see her alive again and can almost not feel guilty anymore. He starts to calm down, able to ease his own anxiety with the help of Percy and Annabeth. He works on no longer feeling like a failure.

Then he finds the Di Angelo's. The third and fourth big three kids Grover has stumbled across. He tries to hide his anxiety as he gets the two very young kids to camp, focusing on his task because he would not fail again.

They arrive safely to camp unfortunately at the cost of Annabeth being taken. He doesn't know what to feel. It seems his loved ones safety always comes with a sacrifice.

He's the first to volunteer for the quest for her after Thalia. He knows Percy wants to go as well and will not be happy that he can't but a part of Grover wants Percy to stay at camp. Stay where it's safe as selfish as that may be.

Of course his hopes of Percy staying put were unrealistic and he knew that. Percy was far too loyal to rest while someone he loves is in danger. He could sense Percy's anger and restlessness as soon as they left and he knew his best friend would catch up to them very soon.

Grover is now on a quest with three kids he found. Three kids he was tasked with protecting. Three kids from a group of five where two are fated to die.

Bianca is lost and Grover knows that unlike the last two, there is no hope for her return. Even then he digs through the rubble desperately, not stopping until Thalia pulls him away.

They are able to rescue Annabeth and return her to safety. But as always, the safety of his loved ones came with a cost. A sacrifice someone else had to make.

#this is a grover appreciation post #grover underwood #i dont really know what this is i just want to weite something for Grover #my boy has been through so much #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #thalia grace #sally jackson #bianca di angelo #zoe nightshade

629 notes · View notes

eff4freddie · 2 months

Text

Touch | Part One

What you can offer Jackson is your healing hands.

2.6k words

Series Masterlist | Part Two Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, we stan one (1) apocalypse grump, no use of y/n, I haven't written fanfic in a while but I'm hoping this will get me back into writing regularly, I have no idea how many parts this will be

Minors DNI

If you were to try and tally up all your losses you wouldn’t, initially, struggle. Your beloved dad, on outbreak day, and then months later your sister to a pack of raiders capable of slipping silently past a rotting barn wall. Those were clearly devastating, actual moments that bifurcate the before times and the after. Your liberty in the QZ, your hope for a sane and assured new government, your smuggling partner trapped under the barbed wire fence as a FEDRA soldier narrowed in on you both, her struggling hands going limp in the dirt, her eyes no longer following your movements as you scrabbed to free her, the look of resignation on her face, the way she mouthed for you to ‘go’. Those losses somehow both enormous and incalculable.

It was the smaller losses that caught you up. Newsprint smeared on your fingertips. Breaking in a new pair of stiff leather shoes. The uneven leg of your massage table, which caused it to wobble when someone clambered onto it, meaning that you had to warn your clients ahead of time while it wobbled, it was stable, and that you could relate. You knew it was a bad look, that the table alone didn’t inspire confidence in your clientele, and you missed it more than you had any fucking right to when the world, for all intents and purposes, imploded.

You made do in Jackson. Your travelling party of three had heard of a mythical commune of warm sheep and cold beer and you wanted, more than anything, to believe in it. In the before times your mother had sung a song about Jackson with your father, peeling potatoes at the sink, and you had hummed it under your breath the three-and-a-half-month trek. ‘Honey, I’m going to Jackson.’ ‘See if I care.’

As you approached the gates the three of you had already come up with a plan to pitch for entry. Ray was going to pretend he was injured, and Marla was going to carry him, limping but stoic, over the threshold. The night he refused to take first watch you had promised to break his ankle for real to make it really convincing, and he had laughed because he knew you didn’t have it in you, and you had joined in, because it was true. Marla was toying with the idea of being pregnant, and you were going to just be mute. Either by birth or by trauma, you hadn’t decided. But the plan was to be as pitiful as possible, as non-threatening and as desperate, such that not only would you not be shot on sight but that you would be taken in, warmed to, eventually forgiven your trespass. On the side of a mountain, with everything you had ever owned strapped to your back and the losses tallying behind you, it had seemed like the best strategy.

It had failed almost immediately. Marla may have been able to pull off the pregnancy thing if it was early, but Ray kept forgetting which ankle he had supposedly hurt, and when you tripped on a rock coming through the gate you swore at the top of your lungs. It turned out it didn’t matter. Throughout quarantine you had been able to meet Maria, then Tommy, and you had been advised that you were to pitch your worthiness to stay at the next town council. You had two days to determine what you could offer Jackson. You had looked down at your two hands.

Marla was a good shot, and was put on patrol. Ray spoke French and was good with codes, and he pitched helping out with reconnaissance. He even pronounced it the proper French way at the council meeting, and you saw Tommy arch a jet-black brow in Maria’s direction, who rolled her eyes. Standing on shaky knees before a panel of non-infected non-raiders who nevertheless held your life in their hands, you showed them your palms.

‘Pain relief,’ you said, and you smiled in what you hoped was a warm way. ‘I can heal, with these.’

‘You trying to tell us you’re some kind of witch doctor?’ the man on the end asked, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and pluck each hair out of his nostrils, until his eyes were streaming.

‘No,’ you said, and you felt your cheeks redden. ‘Massage, mostly remedial but also deep tissue. I can help with bad backs, with sore legs and arms, bad necks. All that patrolling, all that watching the horizon, must be murder on the body.’ You scanned their faces, Nostril Man not convinced but Maria smiling warmly at you. You swallowed, trying to wet your throat to prevent it from just outright closing over. ‘Surely you want your men and women, the people out there protecting Jackson, to be strong?’

The house you were allocated was four over from Marla, and Ray was placed three streets back towards the gate. You had idly wondered if you had been split up to try and avoid trouble, but actually you enjoyed the solitude for the first time since the apocalypse. Having had to travel in packs, having been crammed in four or six to a one-bedroom apartment in the QZ, having listened to Ray retell his story of crossing the Canadian border every might for at least a year and a half, you relished the way that you could once again hear the ringing in your ears. When you rolled your shoulders, you heard the spinal fluid pool and bubble at the base of your skull.

The benefit of having the place to yourself was that the second bedroom easily converted to your treatment room. Tommy and a couple of the other men from town had brought in a spare dining table, and you found that with enough blankets and towels piled on top of it you could make a decently comfortable surface to lie on. Ray had offered to cut a hole in the middle like a real massage table, but you had seen him try to chop wood one night with a blunt axe, a night when you thought without a fire you would freeze to death, but it would still be better than listening to him whine about having nearly chopped off his toes for the rest of time. Instead, you created a ring of towels just back from the edge, a position that meant people could still breathe as they lay face down, and you practiced how you would apologise to them for the inconvenience of it, what joke you could make to try and win back their confidence, marvelled at the fact that even at the end of the world you were still trying to cover for your inadequacies.

Maria was your first client, and as soon as you were convinced you could accommodate her growing stomach comfortably as she lay on her side, you welcomed her in.

‘It’s just my hips, my lower back,’ she said, as you poured shampoo on your hands to stand in for massage oil.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you said, not adding that it could also be sudsy, and wilted a little inside as Maria flinched when you touched her. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, as she exhaled.

‘Can you feel where it is?’ she asked, and you hummed.

‘The pain?’

‘You said you could heal.’ You smiled, pressing down on a knot hitched to Maria’s hip flexor. She sighed, and you watched as the tension disappeared from her shoulders, her body slumping forward slightly such that you had to grab her knee and roll her back.

‘You tell me,’ you said, and she huffed at you.

‘Those men, the council, you have no idea how little they would understand why we needed you,’ she said.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve finished putting my elbow in your butt cheek, then tell me that again,’ you said.

‘Wait, what?’ Maria startled, but you were already on her, promising that the pain would fade as the tension released, ignoring the stream of obscenities, having heard far worse in your time. The before times.

Maria spread the word and soon you were busy, with a regular list of clients that heavily favoured the women of Jackson until they were able to convince the men that they, too, had musculoskeletal systems. Maria was a regular right up until she got too big to haul herself onto the table, and then she would just sit in your kitchen and make you tea, explaining the history of the place until you started to feel properly at home there.

One afternoon she sat with her head resting in her hand, as you held her foot in your lap, gently massaging over her sock.

‘You don’t come out much,’ she said. ‘I see you in the mess hall for breakfast, then you’re gone.’

‘I have clients early these days, sometimes a full patrol before they go out.’

‘What about the off days? The days that we don’t patrol?’

‘Washing. I go through a lot of towels.’

‘You need help with those?’

‘No, I like doing it. Warm water is such a dream, I still can’t believe it when I fill up the bucket.’

‘After work I never see you at the bison.’

You pinched her toe a little hard and she hissed, and you felt the heat on your cheeks.

‘I am grateful for my place here,’ you said, and you looked up into her eyes then, your hands still but cradling her foot to your chest. ‘That you advocated for me, that you helped me set myself up. I know that Tommy wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked him.’

She smiled, glancing down at the tea in her cup.

‘It’s hard to be back amongst so many people, and to not be…’ you trailed off. Marla came around some nights, but it had been at least a week since you’d seen Ray. You had thought they were your safe people, but in a big house behind a secure wall, you wondered how much that was true.

‘To not be waiting for them to shoot you, to stab you?’ Maria finished, and you sighed.

‘Or to not get stabbed or shot themselves.’

‘You lost people?’ Maria asked, and then blinked, slowly. ‘That was a stupid question. Of course you did.’

The pattern of the tiles on the kitchen floor was two left and two right, you noticed, except for where the bench had been installed. There the pattern was interrupted, as if someone had miscounted, and there was a row of three along the perimeter.

‘Who did you lose?’ Maria asked you, and you gently lowered her foot to the ground.

‘All of them, just like all of us,’ you said, and you held out your harms such that Maria could pull herself up, and she sighed but used them to get to her feet, and you were grateful even in this moment to have helped someone.

You happened to be on your porch when you heard the commotion, a bunch of people running down the street towards the front gate. You thought for a moment of an invasion, that raiders had breached the wall, and wondered what, if anything, you would need to carry with you, what you could fit in a bag, looked despairingly at the snow on the mountain tops wondering how you could possibly carry enough blankets to ward off inevitable death. You braced yourself for screams, for gun shots, was genuinely confused when you heard none. Curious now, and less planning your immediate escape, you stepped down to your front gate, leaning over to see what the fuss was. A group of people were moving as one down the main street, and you stepped out onto the pavement to get a better look. You could see Tommy, his black hair sliced back to his shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd of other men. He was walking beside another man, the crowd parting to let them through, and with Tommy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder it meant that the other man had to stoop forward slightly, such that you could only see the top of his head. He had streaks of grey through his hair, his legs straight and strong underneath him. Tommy was gripping the front of the man’s shirt and talking into his ear. Behind them a younger girl, couldn’t be more than 15, trailed with her eyes set on the ground in front of her.

You watched as Maria came out of the sheriff’s office and stood on the pavement in front of them. She smiled when Tommy turned to her, letting go of the other man to wrap her in a bracing hug. You watched as the other man straightened, caught a glimpse for the first time of the patchy beard across his cheeks, of the roman line of his nose, of the flinty look in his eyes. He turned to the young girl, clapped her once or twice on the back, nodding in Maria’s direction. You saw that they nodded to each other, that this wasn’t as simple of a homecoming, that the girl carried pain deeper than any two hands could reach.

You had to wait three days for Maria to visit again before you could ask her about them, and when you did you felt her energy shift. Big as she was it was difficult for her to fidget, but you sensed that she would shuffle in your kitchen chair if she could.

‘Joel is Tommy’s brother,’ she told you, and when you thought about the shape of his jaw you realised you could see a sort of resemblance. This man had seemed to stoic, so closed off, compared to the brightness of the smile Tommy had been throwing at him. It had meant that you initially hadn’t seen it.

‘And the girl?’ you asked, and watched as Maria started fiddling with the hem of her shirt, stretched as it was over the heft of her belly.

‘A kind of daughter, I guess. Adopted, as much as anyone can be right now.’ Maria avoided your eyes and you lowered them, hoping that it would encourage her to continue. ‘They were here, before, for a brief time. A few months. Joel was… he and Ellie were heading down to Salt Lake, we weren’t sure if they were going to make it back, and Tommy…’ she stopped herself, gathered her thoughts, and you heard your own pulse in your neck as you waited.

‘Tommy had started to think that he’d lost him, lost them both. He’d started to think it was his fault, maybe, that he should have gone with them.’

‘But you’re…’ and you stopped, gesturing to her very pregnant frame.

‘I know, and he knew that he couldn’t have, but it didn’t feel like it when he thought his brother was gone.’

You didn’t need your hands to feel the tension coming off her, and you stood then, and reached out to her shoulder, picking up the tendon and easing it down. You remembered back in school when your teacher had shown you the diagram of the fascia, taught and spidery over the pink and red of the muscle. She rolled her neck, her head slumping towards you, and you offered her your torso as a pillow.

‘It doesn’t feel like a warm return,’ you said, eventually, and Maria sighed, reaching up to still your hand.

‘He’s a dangerous man,’ she said, after a while. ‘He’s done things, Tommy did them too but that’s his big brother, you know?’

You thought back to the way Tommy had gripped Joel’s shirt, the way he had been talking animatedly into his brother’s ear, the curl of Joel in on himself in response to it, the instinct to close down in the face of his brother’s overwhelming love.

‘We’ve all done things,’ you said, after a while.

‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, it just is.’

‘What about the girl?’ you asked, and she softened then, under your touch.

‘She’ll defend Joel to the ends of the Earth,’ she said.

‘You don’t trust her judgement?’ you asked.

‘I don’t trust that Joel isn’t keeping her in the dark,’ she muttered, and it was quiet enough that you had to lean over to hear, and when the words unfurled around you you pulled back from them, the concern and the weight and the finality of them, the heaviness of them in your ears.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

257 notes · View notes

howdoesagrapewrites · 6 months

Text

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: fem!reader, cisgender female reader (I'm sorry mascs and nbs, I'll make something for you later) incest/targcest implied for later, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere EVERYONE x reader, here's a list of every character that will be featured (not all of them are romantic):Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Viserys I Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Haelena Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon

Notes: I go by a very strange mix of the series and the books, I haven't seen the series in a while so the timeline will most likely be a mess. I'd like this to be a series but I've been incredibly busy. Extra: at first I thought about making reader Mysaria's daughter, but this is a self insert, so it's best that you look however you like, leaving the mother anonymous. The only physical reference I'll make will be reader's silver hair

>After Rhaenyra was declared the heir of the iron throne, Daemon, insulted, flew away with his mistress, the white worm, who he would conceive a child with, even asking for a dragon egg for the prince or princess to come

>However, Viserys demanded him to go back to his home and wife, he sent Mysaria off to lys, where the stress of a storm in the trip back made her lose the baby

>Daemon never fully forgave his brother, and this left him less than eager to have another child anytime soon

>So imagine his surprise, when 7 years later, there's a rumour spreading in flea bottom like wildfire, about a girl carrying Daemon's bastard

>Many women had claimed to carry a royal child before, thinking this could give them any sort of prize, so Daemon didn't think much of it at first, but when he heard her name, he recognized her as one of his previous "favorites" who disappeared without a trace months ago

>She was said to have taken residence in Essos, and Daemon went on dragonback to find her. She was from the free cities, five years older than Daemon, and a heart as cold as a northern winter, or so they said. She was not expecting Daemon, running away to have the child in peace

>"They said I was too far along when I found out, moon tea would've only harmed me. Besides, it was lucrative in its own way" said the woman. Daemon did little to suppress the disgust on his face when thinking about her being defiled by other men while carrying his dragonseed babe

>She wanted no part in the baby's life, and Daemon, in his particular fashion, informed her he'd take the youngling as soon as it's out of her, may even pay her a few coins to make sure she won't do much as think about keeping it

>A few months passed, and he returned to king's landing with a babe in arms. Demanding an egg in honor of the birth of princess Y/N Targaryen

>This egg would later hatch into the dragon Dagahrion, the princess' bound dragon

>The court was a hot mess, according to Otto, he wouldn't be surprised if the young creature lost its left ear because of all the gossip and ill-speaking of her, just like her father. This was a scandal, considering he was still married to Rhea Royce, who he gravely dishonored time and time again, Daemon was always shameless, but this was crossing a limit, even for him, to call his bastard a princess while refusing to lay with his own rightful wife, disgraceful

>Daemon tried to use you as yet another attempt to get his brother to annul his marriage to "the bronze bitch", but even when he failed, he did everything in his power to legitimize his daughter

>Despite everyone on the council telling Viserys how foolish it'd be to do it, making enemies out of the Royce house, further insulting Rhea, and putting a whoreborn on the line of succession (no matter how far from the throne), all it took was a little yawn and the bright twinkle of your eyes to make him melt, he is fully committed to his role of uncle, even as a doting grandfather, considering his father passed long before her birth

>Viserys sent Daemon back to the Vale, saying he should do his best to give lady Rhea an heir, to make up for the slip and avoid causing the Targaryen house any more trouble. Viserys, for totally not selfish reasons wanted to keep the princess in KL, saying Rhea should not be made to raise his bastard

>Daemon said he'd rather be exiled again than to leave his daughter in Hightower hands to go try to fuck his wife. Viserys was greatly offended by the implication that the Hightowers truly ruled and schemed while he reigned

>To his outmost displeasure, he finally had to let his niece go to the Vale with her father

>Rhea loved you as soon as she set eyes on you, completely separating you from your father's actions, and seeing you as a pure angel in this horrible situation

>But it was so difficult with Daemon around, she just wanted to whisk you away and love you, she'd pray to the mother to be able to breastfeed you, crying when she heard you wail in frustration of your hunger, since it took several wet nurses to get you to drink milk

>But Daemon was always around to remind her you were not hers, that he considered her lowly, not worthy of you. He'd correct you when you learning to speak, and dared to refer to her as "mama"

>It was said the ground of the vale would shake upon them yelling when fighting over you

>But this joy to Rhea was short lived, as Daemon sent you to KL when he had to fight in the war of the stepstones, saying the "nest of vipers" was more deserving of you than she was. When you were three, your step mother had an accident while hawking, many said Daemon orderded for her to be poisoned when she was bed bound, others said the distress of your parting made her lose skill

>It was Viserys greatest pleasure when you were left at his care, his adorable baby niece was now an infant, and somehow you were even more charming, being able to speak, sing and walk

>To no one's surprise, Viserys' reaction was not generalized, with many not being keen on having a bastard running around the castle playing with the princes, by that point, Aegon was 8, Haelena was 7, Aemond was 5, and Daeron was 1, and almost all of them could see people treated you differently

>Rhaenyra was welcoming, baby Lucerys had just been born, and she was delighted to have a girl to spoil, it only helped that Jacaerys loved you as well, and would often fight his uncles for the chance to be with you

>Alicent in particular was not pleased with your presence, thinking you were an uncomfortable conversation to have with her children, especially resentful of the fact her youngest son would be attached at the hip with you

>To Otto, you were an annoyance, a living proof of Daemon's pure disregard for the norms, however, he could rest at night knowing you were ninth in the line of succession, and a girl, who would someday marry a son of a minor house and be too busy bearing children to present a claim to the iron throne

>Even though the Hightowers were tougher than the king, they did eventually succumb to your spell, and became just as enamoured with you as everyone else, in their minds, you were almost a product of spontaneous generation, completely ignoring your shameful father and prostitute mother

>Your arrival also caused the birth of Lucerys (who was again, born with a striking resemblance of Harwin Strong, just like his older brother) to be less gossiped about, after all, your case was much more interesting

>Some people in court starting referring to you as "The princess of flea bottom", this title costed quite a few tongues around the castle, ordered by Viserys, happily approved by Otto

>The Hightower hand was careful not to show too much affection to you, as it was improper and he knew how zealous was Viserys when it came to you

>Aegon was "already too old to be playing" in his words, and kept his distance from you, you reminded him to much of his sticky handed little brothers

>But as if you knew, you chased him around and praised him for his knightly demeanor (in your eyes) and how he's just like the heroes in Viserys' stories. It was not a long time before Aegon now appointed himself as your guard, watching like a hawk over his brothers and nephews when he thought they were being too rough on you

>Haelena loves you from the start, sees you as a little doll, she loves showing you her bugs, you're the only one who listens to her attentively

>Jacaerys and Daeron are only a year old, but always search for you, you think they're cute, something that spikes jealousy on Aemond, he wants you to think of him as someone worthy of admiration, like you see his older brother, he'd even accept being cute in your eyes, but he has none of those traits to appeal to you. You love him and love playing with him nonetheless, but he thinks he needs something else to win your favor

>The Velaryons dote on you too, with Laenor married to Rhaenyra and once your father marries Laena that same year, they are maybe too eager to become part of your family, and regard you as theirs

>Especially Laena, who Daemon allows (unlike with Rhea) to pamper and care for you, but still corrects you when it comes to remembering your origins, Laena may love you, but she's not your mother

>Maybe Daemon does this as a way to imagine you're only his, he doesn't care for the woman who abandoned such a precious treasure, she has been wiped away from your life and memory, you're only familiar with your father, you only belong to him

>You have his silver hair, you have his name, no matter who your mother was, you are his true valyrian heir, his dragonseed

>Unfortunately, Daemon is not the only one whose eyes light up when thinking of owning you

#yandere hotd #yandere targaryens #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere Jacaerys Velaryon #yandere aegon targaryen #Yandere Aegon II #aegon ii x reader #yandere Haelena Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader

903 notes · View notes

satocidal · 7 months

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Opposites Attract?!”— Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: the famous rich boy of the campus and the Dean’s daughter? Scandalous—especially when they’re both jealous as hell.

— A/n: Roughly based on something from my real life lmao— except that we didn’t get together because hehe. Also, this is the first part of a kinkmas fic that I have planned, it’s been broken since the fic was getting too long <3 (both can be read stand-alone!) Tagging @romiyaro @draecys @maeby-cursed because yes; nsfw version <3

— Word count: 5.7k

— warnings: Fem! Reader x Satoru Gojo; slightly suggestive Suguru and Mei Mei (they deserve to be warnings here); undertones if jealousy; a kiss (or three) at the end, I know—scandalous right; Reader wears spects in one scene; this has a LOT of bickering. Just banter for that matter, reader says smn about sex work BUT I assure you it’s not supposed to be in a negative light <333

4.5 g.p.a—a perfect reputation that you held, a decent social life—an amazing father to back you up, you weren’t ever part of the fraction of people who got in through with scholarships, why would you when your father stood as the dean? —but you’d worked for it.

3.7 g.p.a—it could’ve been far better, easily, if he only put himself in—far too loud a social life with a following of 4k+ on his Instagram while he only followed back his best friend and pretty little things (for a day or so)—part of the fraction who got paid in, who never struggled for it.

Sure, you hadn’t really struggled either—but hypocrisy was only allowed to one and you chose to take your chance.

You didn’t…despise him, the man that Gojo Satoru stood out to be, but lords, you hated the concept around it.

The loud cackle at the back of each lecture—the proxies and his fan girls, you hated it all.

More so, you hated just how enamored your dad was—after all, it was Gojo Satoru that had won the trophies and the plaques—Satoru Gojo that was a Power Player.

But the credit wasn’t to be forgotten for you too—dabbling in all that was academic, if the second half of your dad’s office as the dean were filled with Satoru’s achievements, the first half was yours.

Two sides of the same coin.

Your eyes never left your dad for a second, “you can’t possibly expect that out of Me dad,” the whine wasn’t subtle, nor the snicker that gojo let out at your words and outlet—earning a hard glare.

And to all the pampering and spoiling your father had to offer, it all failed when it came down to the pride and prestige of the university.

“It’s non-negotiable y/n,” the sleek brown in his room shone that afternoon, polished—every groove, every rounded corner—almost a story to behold.

“Yeah! Tell her Mr.Dean,” another snicker- another glare, your father sighed in his dismay.

“You,” your father glared at him, “need to find a way to shove it in your schedule as well—you’re both the elected representatives.”

To end with all whines and groans.

“I have no idea how but I need you two to find a presence of mind and perform your best in curating an experience at the fest. Dismissed.”

A sharp inhale, yours and the roll of Satoru’s eyes, your dad was aware how interesting an evening and a fest in general he would be witnessing.

You’d known Gojo Satoru for 3 years now, spending the last together at the University, standing as the President of Student Council—all against Gojo’s constant “nepotism” comments while he stood as the Captain of the Football Team—against your criticism as well.

A certain peak in the way you two governed your particular fields independently but, together?

Well.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always that you both disliked each other but, you couldn’t exactly deny the certain distaste the day you’d set eyes on him…

~First Year~

“Dad, please, make sure that no one knows that you and I are, at all related,” a chuckle your father let out, “of course darling, but don’t get prissy when I don’t let you out with attendance matters and all,”

Another chuckle shared, nothing too serious.

“I’ve heard Gojo Satoru will be joining this year too?”

An innocent question, curious is all you were—anyone would be, one of the best the country had seen in years.

Your father nodded slowly, “just so happens to be true, stay in check though, don’t want messing with people like that,”

It was evident, the wary tone that your father had acquired over the years, dealing with all that was the ego of such students, who stood tall with the heap of money that belonged to their daddies.

A slow nod you passed too—your father smiled, you were a smart girl after all.

But fate was decided and what had to happen would happen for sure.

Because you swore to maintain the secret, you weren’t to be even found to have the slightest relation of blood with the Dean — but then whatever could you do when you step out blindly, bumping right into the guy you wanted not to.

A hiss and a curse—“the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” he mumbled-eyes boring into yours, and then simultaneously, at the car.

Anger that flashed down right—“watch your damn language,” unironically, you muttered—something he’d never let you live down.

“Woah there princess, what are you on? Some patrol duty round here-?” The smirk was infuriating, his disheveled hair all the more—especially when he continued messing it up all the more.

A scoff, yours—“Mind your own business,” a shove passed and an attempt to move away—“Y/n L/n?” He held your campus manual.

The certain way your name rolled off his tongue, it caught your attention—“ya dropped this,”

A smirk adored his face as he handed back to you the campus manual, of course it wasn’t anything you required but to solace your father, there you held it.

A cramped “Whatever,” you let out, snatching the booklet from his hands quick—wanting nothing more to do with the stranger that you’d bumped into.

Just as you walked away though, “L/n huh?” The words, his, that you knew would cause you issues.

“He’s Satoru Gojo?” Your surprise lay hidden under the music that boomed all too loud—watching closely the white haired boy you’d bumped into a couple days ago.

“Yeah? You didn’t know?” The grin on your now best friend, and then just-roommates-friend offered little help.

Of course you hadn’t, and now you wish you didn’t still.

It was true you’d spotted him all so much over the past few days, and the people that followed him and the rumors still—unaware to why and how.

But now, with all the pieces in your hand you wanted to hide away—especially when those blue eyes stared right back—with a grin he trampled over.

“Oi! L/n right? We met at the first day?”

You cringed at how loud he spoke—so very sure that absolutely everyone could hear him, all over the booming music.

A subtle nod you passed, trying to get away from the spotlight he’d casually thrown round you.

“Your dad’s the Dean right?”

Silence- literally, just as he said that, the music system paused too—you wanted to curse your luck.

Widened eyes—star-struck stares from all those adored Gojo, amused ones at you from everyone who bothered to think.

You’d have considered lying—unless Satoru Gojo hadn’t chosen to be a dick about it, “You guys have the same last names so I thought- and then, the other when we bumped into each other- remember?” He chuckled as a couple of girls let out audible gasps, envious that you had already touched him so.

Before opportunity even lay still, he continued, “so I thought, because frankly either you’re his daughter or…you know, mistress—but that I doubt,” you wanted to punch away the grin he held, the snicker and the secrets he dropped out like flies.

So while you stood there, waiting for the ostracism—Gojo only giggled, “Don’t worry though, you’re fine, got more of your mom’s genes right?”

Fuming, you stood there—red that masked your vision—“excuse you?” A brow remained cocked, Gojo’s facial expression never once changed—it was about to.

“You’re one to talk about dads huh? Your daddy donated in just about how much into your esteemed football team huh? To get you selected?”

Satoru wasn’t new to comments such, in fact that’s what he’d built his career over but just the way you said it—just the way your angry face stared back at him—he found you annoying, adorably so.

That night, Satoru’s fan following increased by a decent thousand or so, people became aware of you and maybe, you realized, being the Dean’s daughter wouldn’t be that bad a fact.

But all the more, Gojo and you formed a sudden bond still, dislike and nothing less masking the two of you whenever the other was mentioned.

A farce? Maybe—but you were easily, in too deep to stop now.

Often nights you spent, thinking how the two of you could be friends—but huge egos that clashed in, something told you it wouldn’t happen all so easily.

The following week and there on were interesting—you joked all week that you’d blocked Gojo, you never did.

Gojo swore he’d have you black-listed for being so audacious—he never did.

When the huge messaging group—meant to be dead in a day—was formed, you both ended up saving each other’s number discreetly, never to approach it again, at least for a while.

And that was just how it went on “he annoys me so much,” and “she annoys me so much,” but little by little, small steps in the dark—you both were each other’s biggest cheerleaders still- applauding each other louder than anybody else.

Hands clutching onto your notepad you continued jotting down the points—fingers working fast so as not to let a single bright thought escape you.

The event was huge—the University’s 150th Anniversary—perfect, grand, extravagant—to be organized partially, by you.

There was time, plenty—absolutely 1 months before the panic would settle in, 2 before it would be over.

But seconds were quick—hasty in the way they changed into minutes, hours to come and days passed by, never realized.

A finger raised to push your spects up the bridge of your nose—you sighed, eyes landing on the form in front of you—mouth ajar and his sunglasses fixated in his hair, another piece of candy tossed up high before he caught it in his mouth.

A frustrated sigh you let out—“can you please sit straight and help?”

His eyes bore into yours- cerulean, they were pretty, almost prettier than the whole of him, you hated it.

“Isn’t it your job?” A grin he passed, a clench of your jaw was all you could—“we’re in this together, don’t give me that bullshit,”

Another grin, “talk to me when you need booze,”

“You don’t even drink,” the words fell out your mouth all so quick, hesitant you looked at him—“how do you know?” It was an amused smirk that he held, it annoyed you how the man in front seemingly only talked in three supposed emotions.

A small break, “well, I uh- noticed through the parties,” it was true, you did notice through the parties—it was hard not to, since you didn’t drink—you couldn’t be all so sure about the rest.

“You notice me at parties? You notice me at all?” Urges inside you that had to be controlled, such a perfectly punchable face Satoru Gojo held—“help me work on this damn idea,” you mumbled, ignoring all of what he wanted to discuss.

A roll of his eye and yours—“not gonna do it so easily,”

A huff you let out.

Frustration at peak.

“Actually,” your voice was quieter than you expected it to be, “wouldn’t it be better if you were there to advise us? Me? You’ve been organizing parties for so long and,” your face turned towards him—smile never faltering at his disgusted expression—he knew what you were doing, he wasn’t new to sugar coating after all, “I would love learning from the best.”

Jaw clenched, hands sauntered over to the back of your chair—most would consider it an action of endearment, you knew better.

“I would beg to differ Ms. Daddy’s princess,” Your blood boiled at his ignorance—sure, he was Satoru Gojo—but nothing gave him the right to act superior when he stood at his father’s money itself.

Hell, all he was meant to be was just a batchmate, captain of a stupid team that barely mattered—you?

Sure, a well suited empire would never land on your back, nor a fortune as his until you’d worked half your life into it— but you were better, you knew it. Denial onto his privilege to negate the Authorities could’ve never been acceptable by you.

your eyes remained stuck onto the ground —defiant—“well, i suppose it would only be for the best,” stubborn you sat and so did he—stuck in between the thickening tension.

“The best,” his voice exasperated, “would be for someone like you to sit back down and do as you’re told.”

Mouth hanging just in the slightest, you dared not to meet his face—focusing on the little stains and creases you’d administered on your sneakers—eyes sneaking onto his pair, perfect, as expected.

“That’s a little rich, coming from you—”

“—and this is the best they’ve found? You? To help me huh?”

Bigoted. Nose flared, curses at the tip of your tongue and you could do nothing as he further scoffed, “getting a privileged bitch to do my job, now they know my worth huh?”

“Excuse you?” Shaky, you sat—words spilling out before you could stop it—“your worth? Absolutely as nothing, but a spoiled man-baby who cannot deal with things maturely?”

Confusion marked his face—of course he would be, all so blind to the simple generosity that gets offered to him—all so he can kick a ball.

“The event is in 2 months sir,” address regained to the topic, you spoke flatly, “I would well appreciate that you helped us in the organization of said fest—if not, well, it would be a sheer pity that the entire football team would have to suffer,”

And there lay your ultimatum, naked and threatening—and he knew it was all but empty.

“L/n,” Gojo coughed—not quite sure, uneasy evidently, with the tension that hung lose in the atmosphere—“You maybe influential in your own ways on the campus but-”

“-but I’m just a student here, as you are,” you looked directly at Gojo now, “And to adhere to rules is the basic of most authoritative environments. So I suppose, you’ll be all the more pliant in helping us plan the fest and encouraging our juniors to help us out.”

Defiant—squinted eyes of Gojo simply stared blankly—“Alright,” he muttered.

“If help is what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

And the deal was settled—to your compromise and his.

A week had passed since—the discomfort only grew.

“What the fuck? You’re speeding rumours now?” Rough were the words that greeted you first the moment the two of you entered the study you currently sat in—a half shrug you passed him, “I would need help and rather than begging you for it, why not just keep you as my assistant?”

“Excuse you?” His tone, bewildered as he shut the door behind the two of you—“Your assistant?” He barked out a laugh—“They really are making sheer idiots now huh?”

“Says daddy’s little prince who couldn’t use his academics to get in like everyone else,”

A scoff he passed—“How very original, at least my daddy has the power and how is yours, at all better?” he let his words trail off, a smirk on his lips as he pulled a chair to lounge in, and well, all cases be true, his dad probably had more money than you could imagine.

The certain charm of Gojos, after all.

“Don’t gotta flex your daddy’s sex work like that buddy,” you muttered, pulling a chair across him—peculiar you found it that he didn’t do so much as throw a fit in objection to the forced responsibility.

“Just giving inspiration baby,” he drew out—he winked, phone pulled out fast as he typed, you sat by forgotten.

A roll of your eyes—“Help me at least,”

Silence- you sighed.

“You’re supposed to help,” again, the very same cold air met you—“Gojo,”

“Nope.”

A sharp intake of breath and you stared at him, had it not been for the pretty face he had you’d have punched him long ago—a second too long you stared however, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,”

Another eye roll—“Just fucking help me,”

“Ain’t gotta princess,” he finally looked up, “I’m here to advise you right?”

An inhale, exhale—biting down on your teeth you nodded, “Of course,” you muttered—which was what had led you to the current situation, tired, exasperated and annoyed.

An hour and a half, slow—very, spent staring a few times at the blank paper and then the ceiling, often Satoru Gojo and then his phone; a couple ideas popped by here and there, all useless—you knew that.

“You know,” you spoke carefully, “As someone who’s helping you bunk without losing attendance, you should really really be thankful,”

“A bouquet will be present in your dorm tonight doll,” not a single glance spared still—it was frustrating simply to sit such.

A sharp exhale you let out, head hung back—this was a stupid idea.

“You know what?” Chair pushed back, you stood up—“I’ll manage,” fingers clutched hard onto your notepad—it hurt when he didn’t do so much as even shrug as you moved towards the door.

Silence, as you turned the handle of the door to leave—not even a look from him.

You despised him.

#6942619412: Yo [11:54 p.m.]

Your eyes narrowed at the sudden text that popped up—ignorance enveloped you still, eyes focused onto the book of applied physics in front of you—regret boring into you as you tried your best to drill the concepts into you, preparing yourself for the soon-to-end semester exams.

#6942619412: busy? [11:56 p.m.]

You ignored still, creeped a little at the protrusion—not enough to let your book down—

#6942619412: idc [11:58 p.mp]

#6942619412: show me your plans [11:58 p.m.]

Face scrunched in annoyance, you stared at your screen—the periodic chimes of notification and the switch from the dull background to immediate light up—Satoru Gojo was somehow a master at infuriating you.

However, as stubborn as lay, you were no better—‘ignorance is bliss’ they said, and you were all too prepared to test it out.

#6942619412: bro wtf. Reply. [12:03 a.m.]

You noted mentally, the time gap between his texts—a sly smile adorning your face. Something in you screamed to not do it—to not go against Satoru Gojo such—the certain something fell to deaf ears as a shit-eating grin you beheld, typing your words in.

You: it’s pathetic of you to message like this [12:03 a.m.]

You: desperate? [12:03 a.m.]

A minute went by, then another—you sighed.

It was perhaps, a bad idea— chime!!

#6942619412: it’s needy of you to message back [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you desperate? [12:04 a.m.]

A smirk—yours, a smirk—his.

You: you realize the first text of your day is to me? [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you realize you’re taking note of how my day goes? [12:05 a.m.]

You: because you decided to bother me in mine—get to whatever you were saying [12:05 a.m.]

#6942619412: there there princess—I demand respect and send me your ideas- or better still I’ll come over to your dorm [12:06 a.m.]

Your eyes remained fixed at the screen; ‘come at your dorm’? Was he stupid?

You: there’s no need to come here gojo. I’ll send you everything right now.

You waited, patiently, however, ever so cruel—time was always slow, especially when waiting onto someone. 5 minutes grudged slow- you were afraid that he would actually show up. Would he?

No, of course not— even for him this was absurd, given the security and the time at night—he was probably asleep—

Knock.

A twist of your window pane’s handle- a thud of your heart and widened set of eyes.

Another knock and you were at your feet, stupidly, opening the window—widening it to welcome Satoru Gojo is your room—scandalous.

A smirk he held, form towering yours by a decent couple inches, “Neat room,” he whistled as he stood awkward, unsure onto whether to place himself until he found your study—making himself comfortable on the spot you just sat.

“Applied physics?” Curiosity laced his voice and a shrug you responded with — “So what?” You muttered, reaching in to close the book—he certainly took note of the tiredness your voice held.

“So you’re an idiot—it’s a tough field.”

Another shrug—“Gets me going and nothing could’ve sucked more than chemistry so,”

A snort he lay bare—only then did you realize how quiet it was, soft breaths, the new morning dancing about the timelines—your gaze on his, and his on yours. How so eccentric—not.

“You couldn’t deal with chemistry? Gotta be dumb or some shit,”

You scoffed—knowing where he was leading it, “do we really need me to redo the whole ‘got in because of your dad’ shit here?”

He grinned wide—and just then you noticed the perfect set of teeth—the ones you’d hoped to punch and break some day, “I think I’d wanna skip it tonight baby,”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Prissy, eh?”

A scrunch of your face, a wink his.

“Why, and dare I ask, how, did you get here?” Brows raised, expression amused as he paced about your room—taking it in, familiarizing himself.

“Don’t worry onto that doll, just show me your ideas,”

Your eye twitched, it was simply alien to you—the feeling of being treated normal by him. By Satoru Gojo- reality set in straight Every Time you realized that something in you, even if small, craved his attention, his validation.

Maybe that was why you were hurt—when he’d ignored you initially, when he’d shove you in the hall without a thought spared—when his gaze was all so disrespectful Everytime you approached Him.

Maybe it was just the social construct of it all.

Maybe it was something else.

So surprise was bound to grip you hard— he wanted your ideas?

“Well?” Fidgety, you noted his actions to be—nervous? You wouldn’t be sure.

“Why?”

A shrug, half hearted, “I heard stuff on you,” and now your interest sat piqued, “They say you’re as good as me when it comes down to getting shit done,” a wink—you gagged internally at his words- his charm?

Not quite so.

“You’ve been snooping around since the past week? Got you that hooked?” A smirk you channeled, unsure still- suspicious more so.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered—his eyes were quicker, quicker that yours, cerulean, I suppose something to do with the color of them—all too pretty to have one care about anything besides themselves.

“I’ve heard of your accomplishments beforehand, you know it—you just weren’t so important and most of the time I was trying to stay off your radar,” his face panned towards the shelf you kept full of books—“but you did interest me,”

A scoff let’s your lips, “Anything with a vagina and boobs will interest you,”

“Hey now-” and for a second he seemed offended, not that you cared, “don’t forget about the ass—and please, I sincerely accept dicks too.” And just at that you chuckled slightly—a small win he deemed it, “man-whore,” you muttered past him- closing your books and grabbing onto the notepad from before.

“Here,” you handed it over— a sudden feeling of embarrassment washing over—after all, as much of a jerk he was, Satoru Gojo sincerely was experienced and amazing at what he did.

Lips pursed, you stared as he read through the stuff- “I know it’s all too-” a hand raised to quieten you, he continued reading—quick at that too.

It took him a minute or so, to go through each of the 4 pages you’d jotted down—“Not bad,” you nodded, “not the best,” you bit your tongue.

“I uh- i know it’s a little extravagant?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “or more so, it’s not very realistic? You have steps planned out and …you know, it’s supposed to be done by humans not machines,”

Your eyes raised in understanding, you weren’t too sure, but just enough.

“Put yourself into it—you’re cool you know that?,” eyes squinted, you watched him carefully- not a word let out.

“Just a little…uptight, learn to let go,”

“how do I…?”

He grinned, “have fun figuring that out—the ideas were cool, gotta go now doll,” you blinked once, twice, and without a word he was gone—you let him. However could you even ever stop him?

And you knew well, the rumbling in your room was sure to get your father awake.

A click on the lock—you closed the window behind him—swift was the way he came about, annoying, the way he left. And yet you still stood alone in the room, pacing about with a dorkish smile.

And only five minutes after he’d left, after the daze was gone—you noticed the bouquet of jasmines on your bedside—huh.

Certainly understood the charm now—especially when your eyes focused onto your phone right before closing.

#6942619412: you’re actually cute when you’re not frowning yk? [1:05 a.m.]

You went to sleep.

~Three weeks before the Fest~

“I’d say it’s coming along amazing,” another fruit roll up popped into his mouth—the fifth packet in last three hours, you were only surprised how he wasn’t sick of them yet.

A nod you passed—“but they’re slow-”

“-because they’re people, they are bound to be slow,”

Another nod.

There was something that Satoru Gojo did help you with, and there was something you’d helped him with as well—his eyes panned onto the elaborate list of numbers he’d gathered, oh how you’d spun the man, Satoru ‘never gonna help nobody’ Gojo into your actual assistant.

“Tell me though, when will you order the booze?”

“It’s an official thing- how can you expect booze to be there?” A ridiculed laugh met you—“ever heard of sneaking shit in princess?”

Of course you had, given that Satoru Gojo snuck himself into your room almost every night, uninvited—so far as to snickering when you squeaked out lies to your father about talking to your friends.

“Shut up, there will be no beverage,” he chuckled at your formal tone, beverage, “you and I, or anyone can get expelled for that—it happened last year,”

“You’re your daddy’s only princess though,”

“And you’re not,” a deadpan from you shut him up quick—“dad’s gonna be mad if he finds it, I won’t be expelled but you might, especially given your record and everything—and yes that means your captaincy and everything too,”

A month ago, the nervousness on his face would’ve made you chuckle—giddy maybe but now it only troubled you for him—hours spent on the floor of your bedroom had opened up conversations after all.

“But you’ll save me right?”

He stared at you; you stared back, you noted the closeness.

There was no reply to be offered—but it did ruin the small moment to hear the causal, “Satoru~” from the lips of her, Mei Mei, long time family friend of his and an equatable annoyance to Satoru Gojo.

Both of your faces whipped to meet hers, yours scorned while his broke into a grin—“Oi!” He chuckled—arms spreading out to greet her, hug her.

“Y/n,” she greeted you too, a smile you passed back—part of your council members after all—“how’s the planning going?”

“Fantastic,” tight lipped you muttered—“fabulous,” she grinned, “mind if I steal Toru’ for a second?”

You mentally gagged at her—‘steal Toru for a second’—except those seconds never really were seconds, rather hours and to your utter annoyance, Gojo never add moves to counter it.

“Of course!” And just like that, gone, daily.

A sigh you let out, staring at the preparations—“why’d you let them walk over you all the time?” A deep voice met you, “Suguru?”

A short smile, a short breath of cigarettes met you—in the best way, “Good day to you too,” he grinned, patting the seat beside him, eyes stuck on his best friend and his rendezvous partner.

“You as , and what exactly do you suppose I do? Stop them?”

“He’s your assistant, ain’t he?”

“Yes but-”

“Am I seeing you finally turn into a push-over, like all the other girls when it comes to him?” All in good humor he spoke, but mostly because it was true.

You were bending your walls for a certain someone—it didn’t feel right.

“You think I shouldn’t?”

“I think you should only if this lasts after the rest as well,”

“Will it?”

A pause, a shrug, “I don’t know, ask him.”

You stared at him—“why are you two the legitimate same at advices? And equally bad?” A laugh met you—“go on, ask him—because as of now, Mei Mei seems to have done what she wanted,”

“Huh?”

A look at him and then at them, your heart sank—he was kissing her, your heart sank more, why were you so bothered by it?

A nervous chuckle you passed to Suguru, an empathetic one he did, “it’s fine,”

“Yeah.”

———

It wasn’t fine, hell it was far from fine—especially when you saw them together there on, all the time.

3 weeks, dates here and there—she was around you all the time, and him, it was infuriating in all aspects of the word.

“Who’re you going with?” Almost everyday he questioned, and you never had an answer because somehow, just something in you had made you reject every proposal—something in you supposed that you two would go together.

You were the organizers—but then, it was no rule.

And even if it was, Satoru Gojo wasn’t big on rules.

“Ready?” Suguru grinned, last minute date that you’d found—all so grateful that you stood.

A small nod with a smile you passed—“how do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” another smile, wider—eyes however, they remained stuck onto Gojo.

“It’s not about him tonight doll,”

“It’s never about him,” you mumbled—melancholy—ironic onto how the entire fest that you’d built was based off of youth and what not.

But it was about him, everything was about him- especially in the way your dress, bought just for the occasion was the same cerulean, your hair was braided just how he once mentioned liking, you were wearing the perfume he bought you for you.

Everything.

And you despised all of this everything while having nothing.

“Yo! Y/n,” you paused, Suguru did too—his smirk widening, as did Mei Mei’s, Satoru walked- sauntered over.

“Don’t you look hot?” The grin was wide, your nose scrunched in disgust, “you’re reeking of alcohol,”

He was—of course he was, right after you’d advised him not to.

“Chill, nobody’s gonna know-”

“-we have to meet my dad in 15 minutes.”

“…oh.”

“Well anyways, I see you came with Suguru? You’ve been getting close?”

Your eye twitched—so he did see it—“yeah he’s cool, and helpful, unlike you,”

A giggle, “I have a life outside of you, remember?” Your blood boiled—“of course you do, enjoy it.”

A sharp turn you made, lips bitten, unsure, uncertain—“Honestly though, if I weren’t with Mei tonight I’d actually fuck ya “

Your jaw clenched at the audacity—the other two, Suguru and Mei Mei long disappeared as you flared daggers into Satoru’s soul.

“Can you take one thing seriously? You- you bloody idiot I can’t even-” you whipped around to face him again—eyes boring into his.

Satoru, even in his drunken state knew it would last long, the lecture, a hand pulled you in very quick, a corner, secluded.

“Stop fucking shouting,” slurred his words, they lay bare.

“What do you want me to do then? You- you- I- ugh.” You paused, hard breaths let out—“you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Annoying? You’re the one screaming woman,” the small smirk that he adored annoyed you all the more so.

“Excuse you? I’m annoying?” And at that moment, you let go, “I’m annoying after you spent three weeks fucking with Mei Mei? I’m annoying after you’re the one acting irresponsible? I’m annoying after you ended up treating me like all your others girls? I’m annoying after- after you just chose to walk all over me- I’m annoy- mmph!”

Words lay interrupted quick, a rough hand reeled you in while the other held your head, the kiss was soft, passionate of one would call it, sloppy in the way his lips attached to yours, hungry.

And amusingly, unlike all things Gojo, this did not feel wrong.

But it wouldn’t help your emotions being all over the place—“what the fuck?” You asked, the moment he pulled away—“was it that bad?” An amused chuckle rolled off his lips.

“No? You can’t do this- we can’t just kiss- I-”

“-okay, then take it back,” and just like that, he pulled you in again, lips attaching once more, hands exploring each other easy, slow gasps of breath as you pushed him away this time.

“N-no you- I don’t- what? You take it back,” and almost as if his alcohol was on your mind too, you pulled him in this time—a small peck, harsh, Satoru loved it all the same.

Frustrated you pulled away, grinning his hand held your wrist—“don’t go,” he mumbled, your face contorted into the expression which screamed your annoyance.

“Don’t go? Fuck you Gojo. Fuck you and your damn ego and the audacity you have,” your breaths were shallow, the two stood so close.

“Don’t kiss me when you’re with someone else—you might be a whore but-”

“It was for you,” another mumble, quieter, “to get you jealous and I think it worked?”

A pause.

“And The alcohol?” You whispered—he loved it though, the way you prioritised the reputation above him—somehow you humanised him, “only I’ve drunk it, no one else—to…get your attention,”

“But you never drink…”

“And I never fucked Mei either, or kissed her…or anyone since you,”

“That’s supposed to make me feel special?” It did, but you were done for the day.

“I think so…?”

You blink, once, twice and instead of the third that Satoru expected a sharp slap landed on his face.

“You’re very fucking dumb,” while one hand clutched the cheek he’d been hit at, the other still held your hand, pulling you closer when he heard your choked words—eyes widening at the wetness in your eyes.

“L/n…” a sigh, “fuck I’m- fuck.” He held you close, unnatural to your relation, you let yourself be held.

————

“Sorry?”

You glared at him, the Music blared behind you loud— the both of you stood outside your father’s office, “we’ll deal with that later.”

A slight nod, Satoru was glad you even agreed to talk to him, Satoru was glad you even looked at him—Satoru was simply glad you were standing beside him.

A knock, two more, you walked inside—Satoru, as advised by you stood outside—your father would know of course, instantly.

The room seemed a breath of freshness as you walked, away from the stench that Satoru held, “where’s Gojo?” You were prepared for the question.

“Do you like the fest?” You father was prepared for the dodge—he hummed, “you both did good together, as I supposed,” you hummed.

“He won’t be coming?”

“He’s busy,” you lied through your teeth, “some kids snuck in alcohol, he’s dealing with it,” you were sure you caught your father’s smirk—“that would be highly…inappropriate,”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “of course, we’ll see to it that they’re punished well,”

Your father hummed again, “having a good time?”

“Wonderful,” your father grinned, “well, you can go then but…maybe not today but I do hope meet your assistant soon after, kind of tired of seeing him sneak in through the windows,”

“Dad?!”

“What? You’re grown up and I’ve seen the potential and I kind of think opposites do attract, and you proved me right so,”

Idiots, all around you.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

508 notes · View notes