#echo we miss you king
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Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair after reading Ventress's file and knowing everything that she has done: we can fight her
Echo with past history fighting her and a brain:
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Steve nearly winces when he steps into the room, following behind Dustin and Mike. He's already wishing he'd tried to shut Lucas up as soon as he'd tried to say that "no, really, I don't mind!"
Because of course he's this unlucky. Of course his date would skip out almost last minute, of course he'd end up with no excuse to avoid helping Dustin with his stupid D&D game and of course the person who probably hates Steve most is crouched on the biggest chair like it's a throne.
Eddie Munson eyes lock on him immediately. He stares for a while, making Dustin and Mike shift awkwardly beside him.
"Absolutely not. No way." He's grinning though. His eyes narrow slightly at Steve, like he's daring him to do something.
"You asked for a sub, we delivered."
Steve simply raises an eyebrow, pointedly shifting the sheets Dustin had helped him make up. It draws Eddies attention off his face, finally. When he looks back up, he's smiling a little more genuinely.
The guys standing at his sides are still glaring, looking almost cruelly excited when Eddie stands up, meandering his way over to them.
He gently plucks the sheet out Steves hand, eyebrows slowly raising as he reads.
Everyone is waiting, eyeing Eddie impatiently. Dustin and Mike are tense, as though waiting for Eddie to blow up. The others seem to expect the same, though Steve imagines they're more excited for it.
"Why did you come?" Eddie eventually asks, still holding onto the character sheet. "What could possibly be so important about this that King Steve would miss the championship game?"
"Dustin said this one was important," Steve shrugs. Fights to keep his calm demeaner. "Something about it being the last one or something. He's been going on about this shit forever. Seemed cruel to leave him high and dry at the last leg."
"Well…" Eddie eyes the character sheet before handing it back. Looks Steve up and down, before finally grinning. His eyes crinkle at the edges. "Welcome to Hellfire, Lady Elora."
He sticks his hand out. Steve shakes it, trying not to grin back.
Even with how often Dustin has talked to him about the game, Steve is clueless. Dustin and Mike both save him from embarressment every time though, quick to argue different options in such a pointed way that he knows the others aren't fooled by.
But Steve doesn't mind, often finds himself rolling his eyes at their antics only to find Eddie eyeing him almost fondly.
He finds that he enjoys it though. He'd make the character Elora as a joke, mostly just throwing whatever seemed to fit at random. An Elf who's a ranger, chaotic neutral, swinging around a bat with nails.
He wonders if it sounds as stupid to everyone else as it does to him.
He's often lost on the story too. But Eddie is brilliant at telling it. Even when he doesn't understand what he means, he flinches when the others yell at a reveal. Anxiety bubbling up when things get tense, slowly getting more and more invested in the game. Even he can tell that they're nearing the end, the final fight.
"You're scared, you're tired, you are injured," Eddie says. "Do you flee Vecna and his cultists? Or do you stand your ground and fight?"
Steve already knows the answer before Dustin speaks up; "I say we fight. To the death!"
"To the death," Mike echoes, nodding.
"To the death." Steve sniffs, doesn't bother fighting the grin.
Eddie grins back at him, the others chanting the sentiment. Steve feels warm with his attention locked on him.
Steve has the first roll. He still doesn't understand the numbers, but the others cheer so he assumes it must be good. But then it goes downhill, so many bad rolls.
Everyone is too hyped up for Steve to keep up so he focuses on Eddie. He's jeering, jumping up out of his seat, encouraging the chaos and seeming to control the energy of the room. When he laughs, he sounds more like a movie villain.
And then, one of them calls time out.
They huddle into a circle, just like they did in basketball. Steve is surprised by how easily two of the older boys pull him in.
"Guys, I hate to say this but we have got to flee."
"I concur."
"Didn't we just agree 'to the death'?" Steve frowns. He's not ready to give up yet. He can feel how close they are.
"That wasn't literal!"
A hand tightens on his shoulder. "Vecna just decimated us. We can't kill him with two players."
"You too?" Dustin sounds just as annoyed as Steve feels. "Vecna only has 15 more hit points left, don't be pussies!"
"Pussies? Really? Cause we're not delusional?"
"No, no, Dustins right," Steve butts in. Barely holds back a warning to Dustin about his language; it's not the time for babysitting. "We're too close now, we can't give up!"
"HEY!" Eddie calls, easily drawing all their attention back to him. "If I may interject, gentleman… whilst I respect the passion, you'd be wise to take Garreth the Greats concern to heart. There is no shame in running. Don't try to be heroes. Not today."
Something about his smirk and stupid head tilt just makes Steve more determined. If he has to continue fighting this stupid game alone, god dammit, he will.
Steve only half pays attention to Mike talking strategy. He's already made up his mind.
"What do you say, Elora?" Dustin turns to him, looking uncertain.
"We can kill him." Steve sounds more sure than he probably has any right to be. But he is. He can feel it in his bones. They can win.
"Fuck yeah we can," he grins at Steve. The others look more uncertain. Dustin turns back to Eddie, shoulders back, chin up and looking almost proud. "Let's kill this son of a bitch!"
Dustin gets first roll and it's bad.
It's all down to Steve.
He can feel how tense everyone is. Dustin and Gareth start yelling when he takes to long. But he can't roll yet, follows his gut; he has to get this right, has to roll at the right time.
It's just like swinging a bat in baseball, he tells himself. Just gotta time it right…
He rolls.
The dice seems to move in slow motion. Steve can almost hear each time it bounces off the board. The tension is so thick that it almost chokes him, for a moment he's sure that he can't breath.
20.
There's a moment where no one reacts. Then Dustin yells, grabbing Steves arm and shaking him in his excitement. Mike, a more similar height, throws his arms around his shoulders. It's a little painful to have him shouting directly in his ear but, he too, is too excited to care.
The others have started yelling too, Eddie dramatically overacting his shock too. Steve can't help but laugh.
It takes a while for everyone to calm down. An even longer moment to stop talking enough so they can start packing their things up. Steve only brought his jacket and character sheet, so he stays stood at the end of the table to wait for the kids.
Eddie keeps glancing up at him as he packs most of the pieces away.
"Harrington," Grant grins at him. "Never thought I'd be saying this but... thanks for coming."
"Oh, uh, yeah, no problem," Steve tries to smile.
"Dude, you missed the championship game to save our asses in DnD," Gareth grins, throwing his arm over his shoulder. "Who woulda thought, though. Steve Harrington, huh?"
The other two laugh. Steve finally feels a little lighter, on safer ground.
"How the mighty have fallen, huh?" Steve tries. And they laugh, Jeff slapping him on the back.
At the doorway, he lingers for a moment, whilst everyone else starts heading down the hall.
"Thanks for letting me play," Steve says, turning to Eddie. "I know I'm not... uh..."
"Don't strain yourself," Eddie waves him off. "It's fine. The kids have raved about you enough for me to figure out that you're a good dude."
"Oh. Thanks."
"You should join their next campaign."
"I don't know. You're graduating, right?"
"Aww, you like me that much, big boy?" He puts a hand to his chest, batting his eyelashes.
But Steve remembers the rumors that went around, remembers exactly how true they were proven to be. And, well...
"What would you say if I am?" He fires back.
Eddie, true to his reputation, is never one to back down from a fight; "then I'd tell you to ask me out like you mean it."
"Alright. If you're free tomorrow, 8pm, would you wanna go on a date? With me?"
"You picking me up in your fancy car?"
"If you want."
"Yeah, I'm free."
"So... that's a yes?"
"Yes, that's a yes."
Steve can't help but fistpump, but it makes Eddie giggle, so he counts it as a win.
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#ficlet#altorprecanon#this thing has been in my drafts since august 2022 😭
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warning: Horny meemaw and peepaw taking turns on you, Miss Laswell fucking ur mouth with a strap on, me being horny
Hngghhh. Jus' imagine being tag teamed by Captain John Price n' Miss Laswell.
You're kneeling. Mouth making quick work of the fake cock in your mouth. Miss Laswell's strap, to be clear. She sits like a king on a throne, the top buttons of her shirt's undone, giving you a peek at her lacey blue bra.
She's on a call. One hand resting on your head while the other steadies the phone. She speaks so calmly, no one would suspect her of doing anything unprofessional on the other line. As if she hasn't got you choking around her cock.
You try your best to muffle any pathetic sound that would escape you. Not wanting to embarrass Miss Laswell on what looks to be quite an important chat she's having. But unlike your efforts at keeping silent, there's someone behind you seemingly not caring for being inaudible.
Your Captain drills his hips into you like a piston. Rough hands holding onto your thighs and using them as leverage to hit that one spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. The sounds of skin slapping skin echoes about in the room, and you're worried that it might be heard by whoever's calling. But Miss Laswell doesn't seem to mind. Content on jus' running her hands through your hair.
John speeds up his thrusts. He's close, you guess. You involuntary clench at the euphoric sensation of his fat cock stretching you impossibly wide, and all of a sudden he's coming undone. Loosing his rhythm and slamming his hips so fast, and so hard you're sent forward.
You feel him fill you to the brim. And it makes you gag around Miss Laswell's cock. Your pretty fucked up face sends her over the edge, and within a second she's gripping your hair and fucking your throat like she owns it. Like she owns you. She sets the phone down, laying it abandoned on some random corner he couldn't give a shit about. And you see how she spams with pleasure. The material of the strap rubs against her clit, slowly driving her towards release.
She cums soon after. Chest heaving as she eyes John who's carefully pulling out of you. His cum leaks out of you, creating a mess on the floor. He's just as disheveled as you are.
But she notices something.
"Oh. You haven't cum yet, have you, sweetheart..? Say. How about you bend over the desk, and me, and John will switch places?.."
"Deal...?"
a/n: UGHHHHH save me Miss Laswell 😩. M' so incredibly horny. Send in your thoughts so we could both be horny together. But I hope you liked this, my loves! Have a wonderful day/night!
Yours, truly,
–dolly
#cod x reader#cod imagine#call of duty x reader#cod x reader smut#laswell x reader#captain john price#captain price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#captain price smut#kate laswell#x gn reader#x female reader#x male reader
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MISS HER, KISS HER, LOVE HER
🧸 percy jackson
author's note quick lil percy boo blurb because im debating whether to work on the princess diaries au or nah xx love u all!!
word count 0.6k
warnings fem!reader, petnames, tooth-rotting fluff
ᥫ᭡ little romantic gestures ; resting foreheads together
percy unlocked the door to the jackson apartment, skateboard under his arm, and was immediately greeted by estelle running up to him with a big grin.
"hi percy!!" she exclaimed, raising her arms up. he laughed and scooped her up, kissing her on the cheek.
"hey, stella," he smiled, carrying her over to the couch where sally and paul sat watching a show. he leaned over and pressed a kiss to sally's head. "hi, mom. hey, paul."
sally took estelle from her brother's arms and smiled. percy stood for a few moments, watching the show. he heard estelle giggle and lean into sally, whispering loudly.
"should i tell him, mama?" she glanced at percy and her giggling intensified. percy picked her up from her mother's lap and held her up like in the lion king.
"what're you gonna tell me, starfish?" he asked, throwing her in the air and catching her again, causing her giggles to get even louder. percy's heart warmed at the sight of his little sister's grin.
"nothing!! its a secret!!" she shrieked. percy attacked her little face with kisses.
"oh, y'gotta tell me now," he threatened playfully, his face breaking into a smile. "or else i'm just gonna find out on my own."
stella kept looking back and forth between sally, percy, and...
"is there something in my room, stella?" estelle's eyes widened in surprise and she fought to get out of her brother's embrace.
"no!! nothin' in your room percy!!!" she finally managed to escape his grip and stood in front of his door, arms and legs spread wide like a starfish. percy walked calmly towards her as paul and sally watched with knowing smiles on their faces.
"stella...." he started. before she knew it, she was over percy's shoulder like a potato sack. her peals of laughter echoed throughout the hall as percy strode towards his room. his hand twisted the knob and he pushed open the door.
his eyes went wide. his cheeks flushed. he gently helped stella to the ground before taking another step into his room.
"y/n?" he whispered. his girlfriend waved from her spot on the bed where she was laying, scrolling through her phone.
"hi perce," she smiled. "how-" she didn't get to finish, because percy ran to her, picked her up, and spun her around in a joyous hug.
"oh my gods, i missed you so much, angel," he laughed into her neck. he felt her smile and he set her down and pulled away. he immediately leaned forward and connected their lips, which elicited a squeal of disgust from estelle as she ran from her brother's room and shut the door behind her.
when they finally pulled apart, percy's face was red and he could feel the heat emanating from his girl. he took in her gorgeous smile, her pretty eyes, her wonderful hair. he wanted to memorize every part of her before she ever made it out of this room.
"what're you doing here?" he asked, face still split in a smile.
"school's over, so i thought i might come stay with you before we go to camp," she replied. she quickly added, "if that's okay with you?"
"of course its okay with me, babe!!" he nearly shouted it for how happy he was to see her. "you can always stay with me—us!! my mom loves you!" she laughed and he wished he could freeze the moment and put it in a locket.
she rested her forehead against his and murmured softly, "i love you, perce."
he kissed her nose. "i love you more, sugar."
#seaweed brain (liz’s version)#liz’s writing ♡#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson x you#pjo#pjo x reader
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On Display 5.2.23
DP x DC. Clockwork, Danny Phantom, John Constantine. Ghost King Danny.
"Oh no." The words were filled with a quite horror.
John Constantine grimaced. "You can feel it too?"
"How could you not?" Shazam was starring horror struck at the scene of the screen in front of them, Zatana just behind him. "They're family."
John turned away from the screen. He didn't need to watch it to know what was going on, it just provided context for the helpless fear and all-consuming protective rage echoing across the world that any idiot with a smidgen of magical sensitivity could feel. "Well, obviously some idiots are managing to miss that memo. We need to stop this now." He turned. "Bats, stay out of this one."
"What? Why?" Batman -predictably- growled.
"Because this is not the time for your morals," this was not the time for the Justice League to be involved, but the very public broadcast had made keeping it to just the Justice League Dark impossible, "he's going to kill them, and we are going to stand out of his way and let him, unless it's to hold them down for his swing. And hope he doesn't hold the whole planet responsible and start a cross-dimnsional war with us!"
Being ancient and being powerful does not mean being invulnerable. A group of cultists successfully capture Clockwork, planning to use him as a scapegoat/sacrifice to summon the Ghost King. Once the ritual starts they have three hours to plead their case before the summoned King the circle breaks and he is released into the world.
Clockwork makes an incredibly powerful, enticing, and rare sacrifice, what Ghost King would turn that down?
One who's just had his family tortured in front of him for three hours.
Unfortunately for the cultists, Danny loves his mentor, and their fate was sealed from the moment they put their hands on him.
The Justice League/Justice League Dark are racing to rescue Clockwork before the 3 hours is up, to try to lighten the King's ire as much as they can. Sam and Tucker are also racing to find Clockwork and stop the cultists as quick as they can (and probably a bit more willing to break kneecaps to see it done).
Day (618/100) in my #∞daysofwriting @the-wip-project 8th of Feb. Okay technically I wrote almost all the prose between the dialogue today, but I didn’t want to leave it empty T-T T-T T-T
#Amity Park is a place in the DC universe this is not a world-jumping thing#dp x dc#Ghost King Danny Phantom#Clockwork#Sam Mason#Tucker Foley#Justice League Dark#Cultists#Justice League#Danny Phantom#DP#DC#scribblings from the deep#∞daysofwriting#fix tags later#Clockwork & Danny#lost time
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Winter's King 7
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: another week ahead.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls.
Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful.
“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.”
“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree.
“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.”
“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest.
The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you.
“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.”
You frown and look over at Merinda.
“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.”
He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze.
“Just me, sir?” you ask.
“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.”
You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position.
“Mer,” you croak.
“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits.
Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle.
“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--”
“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.”
“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.
Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort.
You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind.
He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it.
There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews.
“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.”
You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.”
He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.”
⚔️
The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.
You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see.
You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields.
As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much.
You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers.
Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him.
“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.”
You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.”
“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart.
You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience.
The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet.
“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.”
He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens.
“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?”
You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite.
Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...”
“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful.
You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises.
“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.”
“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.”
You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.”
“You understand me,” he states, not asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?”
You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters.
“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.”
⚔️
Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns.
Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him.
“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding.
“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.”
You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.”
He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.”
You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier.
Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within.
Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter.
“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!”
You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again.
“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!”
“Get inside,” a soldier growls.
“You do not command me! I am the queen--”
“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion.
“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!”
Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade.
“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.”
She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents.
“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps.
“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure.
She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.”
You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold.
“She is hungry. Is there food?”
“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows.
You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty.
You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red.
As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal.
She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come.
As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes.
“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--”
Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest.
“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts.
The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls.
“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.”
“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?”
He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping.
“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--”
“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.”
Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.”
She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...”
He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step.
“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#medieval au#the witcher#winter's king
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Congrats on the 10k!! Can i get a Baby Blurb: Tywin x reader. Where reader is nervous to tell Tywin that she's pregnant. Tywin of course its in heaven with the news
Thank you so much and Omg yes yes yes I got a bit carried away w this one lmao
Warnings: arranged/political marriage, pregnancy, canon-typical ideas surrounding women/a woman’s place/duty of childbirth. Westeros is a patriarchal society basically. Significant age gap (reader is early 20s, Tywin is in his 50s)
Wringing your hands nervously, you straightened the (already straight) cutlery for the fourth time. To say you were nervous was an understatement. Tywin Lannister was not a man to be summoned.
And yet you had done so. His wife, a woman thirty years his junior, had sent Tywin Lannister’s own guard to request his presence in your chambers.
“Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King,” the guard announced as he opened the door, and you stood up straighter, smoothing out the front of your gown.
“My lady,” Tywin said, his brow arched and a bemused smirk on his lips. “This is a surprise,”
You ducked your head under his domineering gaze, and gestured for him to sit, pouring his wine as he sat as though you were a common wench.
“I…” you trailed off, too nervous to quip at your relatively new husband. “I thought it would be nice… I’m sure the Hand’s chambers can get… lonely?”
Tywin let out a short laugh. “Sit, wife. You are not a serving wench,” he said, nodding to your seat (though the idea of you being in his service made his blood run a little warmer). Obediently, you sat down across from him, staring at your own empty goblet, unable to look into his sharp green eyes for more than a millisecond.
“Out with it,” he commanded, though his voice was not cruel. “You clearly wish to tell me something. So do it,”
You stuttered slightly, fiddling with the ruby that hung around your neck. “I… my lord,” you began, before taking a deep calming breath. “I… I have reason to believe that… that I may be with child,”
You bowed your head, unable to look at his face. His chair scraped as he stood, but the slam of the door never came. Heavy footsteps echoed through the room, and he came to your side, tipping your chin up to look at him. “Truly? When did you last bleed?” As your face heated, he shook his head. “I am a grown man, wife, I know the workings of women. When did you last bleed?”
“Before our wedding, My Lord,” you whispered. “I thought the first time I missed my moonblood was… was the change of moving to the capital… but then it did not come again… and I have not bled this moon either,”
Tywin Lannister knelt before you, so you were forced to look down at the Great Lion.
“Then we must get you to the maester immediately,” he insisted. “And to the tailor, I will not have my wife walking around in ill-fitting gowns. And I shall have your chambers moved closer to mine,” You smiled weakly. “Do you feel ill? In pain? You must tell the maester of any hurt, no matter how small. You are carrying my son, now YN, your health and his is paramount,”
You glowed under his gaze and affection, but a worried thought crossed your mind and you bit your lip. “But what if… what if it is a girl?" you whispered, and you expected him to glower at the thought.
"if the baby is indeed a girl, my lady," he began, bringing your knuckles to his lips in a rare display of affection. "then we must simply try again. I will have a son off you, no matter how many sisters he must have first,"
#10k baby blurbs#fandom-puff’s 10k celebration#Tywin Lannister x reader#Tywin Lannister x you#Tywin Lannister fic
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Crimson Crown (Pt. 6)
Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader
Thanks to @pinkiemme for the amazing cover ✨
Summary: You beat Miguel to take the first step.
A/N: Thanks for the patience 🥹❤️. Hope you enjoy ~
The heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleys of the city, lost into the forever echo of Arachne's capital. Stony roads lead to different places, but the cloaked figure's path lead to a tavern. More to the underground facade of the place, to a secluded and exclusive area.
The oak door was knocked with a characteristical bang, A little slot within was slid open, just to reveal a pair of beady eyes. The cloaked figure smirked upon hearing the locks turn and pull until the hefty door was open, allowing them in.
"You're alone."
"Yeah" the cloaked man removed his disguise and downed a pint of beer before reuniting with the others, that like him, were awaiting for his presence to start their clandestine reunion. Dressed up to mingle with the shadows.
"The king has increased the security in the east prison."
"That's a problem if we want our mercenaries out."
"What about Fisk? Tell him to send some of his men undercover to scout the area."
Another man grunted in response.
"He also is a king with responsibilities. Getting an audience with him alone takes time."
"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"
The other man scowled as he pulled a knife out of the many pockets his suit allowed him to carry. And that unleashed a domino effect as the rest either pulled guns or more knives.
The dark and makeshift reunion was made with five men and a young boy, that didn't pass his sixteens.
"Hey! If you wanna fight someone, save those energies for the king-"
"The king has been too busy to care. His new toy has him quite preoccupied."
A brow was quirked, "New toy?"
"A princess."
"Well, ain't that wonderful?"
"Great. Now we have to remake our plan."
"No, no. What are you talking about? If we don't attack now, our chance will be for naught."
"You truly want to go ahead with a plan when we're missing our most important associates? I'd love to see you try to take on the king yourself."
The jeering words flew constantly between some members of the little gathering.
"Seems like you forget why he is called The Red King."
A roll of eyes and a dismissive gesture made the man to keep interrogating.
"So what about the princess?"
"We need more information about her."
The youngest cleared his throat and spoke.
"She's a Thelerian."
There was a collective round of not so surprised and bored 'ahs' from the men.
"No wonder why there is Arachne's soldiers in the West Passage and the borders."
"Borders? Through the city. Even within the castle!."
"Guess the old trick of 'I sell my daughter to you for protection' always works."
"She wasn't sold. Their wedding is a month and a half away."
"This is bad."
There was another pregnant silence before the teen spoke again.
"She's a doctor."
"Of course she is. Damned Thelerians. Always meddling with our affairs one way or another."
"They're strangers."
"Oh?"
The boy spoke as everyone's eyes settled on him.
"What do you mean strangers, boy?"
"They don't get that much along. King just talks to her when necessary."
The interest shone in the many pair of eyes. One face contorted into a smirk.
"Of course he does. I'd be surprised if he'd still get his cock functioning after being so inactive."
There was a combined titter and malicious giggles from them as the joke was told.
"There will be a meeting soon. With the council. I'll take my guess that he's introducing her to it."
"Told you this boy would be useful."
"Of course, it was my idea."
"Hey, you filthy rats... stop playing and listen. Is there anything else you can tell us about this princess?"
The boy shrugged.
"What do I get in return?"
"What did you just say, boy?"
The eldest man mumbled, clearly vexed by the plucky and defying attitude of the boy.
"I said, what do I get in return? All of you have something to win over this plan. And so far I've been used as a spy. I think it's fair if I get something back."
"And what would you possibly want?"
"I'll take it when I see it."
"Right."
"Anyways, Let Fisk know we need him. We gotta get that big brawn twerp before The King gets to him first."
"Oh god, not Rhino."
"Shut up. As much as I hate him too, he's useful. We need him."
"Stay in the castle. Find out where he was last seen."
The man spoke to the boy, that only stared back with a piercing gaze.
"Even though the princess is a new addition to the plan, it only gives us a new advantage. Political marriages are a thing, so we gotta make the most out of it."
"She recently visited her parents. Apparently the king fell ill after his mistress tried to poison him."
Another laugh.
"See? This is why exactly I've been telling you that Theleria will fall by it's own king's hand. We don't even need to meddle with them."
"True that."
"What about Prince Gabriel?"
A solemn silence fell on the stony and secluded room.
"Keep that fool busy. If we can make he gets sent away even better. Less to worry about."
"And the princess?"
"Keep an eye on her."
-------
Nervous and anxious was an underestimation on how you really felt. You were sure the insides of your cheeks were nearly chewed raw as you waited outside the grand wooden doors, just as Peter had instructed a few moments ago. Your knees trembled underneath the layers of your dress, palms became sweaty and your breaths a bit more shallow.
The day to finally meet the council, had arrived. The past two days were spent solely on your studies about Arachne and the current situations surrounding the kingdom. You tried to cram up as much info as possible, but what truly would be judged was your criterion on things and how well you could adapt to the situations.
Royalty expected so much, and hopefully you'd pass this evaluation. It was unavoidable to not feel curious as to why councils held almost the same amount of power as The king himself. Back in her kingdom, councils remained as an extra help, and as much as a mistress indulging your father, King Blanchard was, he took his ruling seriously.
Councils were summoned when your parents needed to keep updated in the things that needed to be done. But again, different kingdoms, different customs.
The doors slid open to reveal none other than Miguel himself, motioning for you to come in. The room was large and so was the war table, as people gathered around it. A total of six, you and Miguel made eight in total.
There had never been another chair at the top of the table, cause there was no need for another one. Until now. You sit next to Miguel. Eyes settled on you.
Some with hardened expressions you couldn't quite pinpoint as to why of their sudden and implicit hostility, others regarded you curiously.
Jessica, Ben and Peter joined not long after.
"Now, that we're all in, let us begin."
"Your majesty."
Everyone bowed to Miguel and soon an elder lady spoke.
"As you may know, the nether lands are asking for an audience with you ever since some months ago. They will not stop until you've listened to them, apparently."
Her tone was tired, a little annoyed but respectful nonetheless.
"What is it what they want anyways, May?"
"For you to lower their taxes on seasonal products."
"Can't do if they charge as twice for imports that are brought out of time. And recreating their things is proven to be even more expensive."
Miguel sighed while resting his cheek on his knuckles.
"Lower them a two percent."
"But, my lord! You lowered them already last month!"
Another man spoke, pointing at the outside lands out of Enethor. Your eyes frowned upon seeing the distance to travel and import. Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eyes.
"What do you think, Princesa?"
"W-Well, taxes are quite important for the kingdom, and so are the seasonal products the merchants offer, naturally, they'd ask to lower the taxes"
Some scoffed at the obvious information, but you kept talking.
"Why don't lower the taxes in the plot of lands they use?"
"Care to explain that?"
"Look at it this way, the cheaper the land, more opportunities they have to create more jobs"
"So basically making the rich, richer."
You frowned at the tempting words from another man.
"No. A mutual help, sir. By lowering the prices, there will be no need for them to travel such great distances, and subsequently they won't raise their prices on the market. Because they'll produce what they can here."
May seemed to consider your words as the rest discussed.
"Do you use this in your kingdom, your highness?"
Another man, Ben Parker spoke with genuine curiosity.
"We do. Since Theleria produces medicines, we cannot be picky when it comes to import the finest materials for it. We want to help others. Not monopolise health."
"How... benevolent of you. Though I'm quite surprised you allow such thing, when your kingdom is the tiniest among the continent."
Another man, Darko D'Angelo spoke.
"Yet, with all due respect, none has taken our place as the main supplier of medicines in the continent, sir."
Miguel smirked as you took a discreet deep inhale. It was unavoidable to feel angered when someone tried to belittle Theleria.
"Now, now, let's get our attention focused on what truly needs to be discussed."
The council expanded on various topics, even though the start was a bit rocky, there were times where you actually felt included and taken in consideration. May Parker seemed on a neutral line. And so was Ben Parker. Another amusing thing, was to know that there were so many Parkers and Ben's within the ranks.
They all seemed connected to the need to fight for what was good, and Miguel slead them all on. It made your heart to leap a bit in your chest as your eyes settled on him, discreetly.
For a dark king everyone assumed him to be, he had been one of the kindest, wisest and considerate man with a deep love for his kingdom you've ever met.
Jessica couldn't help but elbow Peter to witness the look you were giving him. An absolutely fascinated one. That turned into a blushing stare the more he spoke about the revamps he wanted to do into the esthetics ways of Arachne.
The council had discussed many things he had neglected, like arts and other needs revolving around them. You were so temped into taking his hand and ask him personally to let you handle it. That you would help him and not disappoint him.
But the same man from before changed the mood and the conversation's route so quickly fast it had cut you short to prepare yours and the rest's replies.
"I think your highness should focus in producing heirs, instead of feeding the needs of a little bunch that hold no productivity besides entertaining momentarily the rest."
"Ser Darko."
May warned but another man spoke.
"Baron D'Angelo is right. You see, we are at the verge of war-"
"Against who, my lord?"
You questioned and if the men could kill with their looks, you'd be a cold body by now. Their subtle and not so discreet disdain over your ideas an opinions hadn't go unnoticed, specially by Baron D'Angelo, who seemed fixated into getting any sort of negative reaction from you.
"Against who?! How preposterous of you to believe we are in times of peace, when outside the continent there is so many enemies that want to invade us, princess."
If it wasn't for the warning glare Miguel shot him, he could've kept rambling about how naive you were.
"My apologies, ser. Has anything been done to appease their intentions?"
"It's not something you can't just fix by talking to them, princess. That it has worked for you and your people means it will work for us."
"But have you tried dialogue? Know the cause of their-"
"Again, we've tried anything.-"
"Not to sound disrespectful, ser. It's clear I need to know more of Arachne,-"
"Indeed."
Your brow quirked at what he had just said
"And I know that some kingdoms reject dialogue or any peaceful solution before it's has been offered," You took a breath, testing carefully your words., "But it does seems odd their stance of attacking, remains after the supposed peace offerings."
"We've known these realms for so long that a pacific solution has been discarded eons ago."
You blinked, but it was a good chance to put the spotlight on the both. It was clear that they loved to engage in war. Which concerned you.
"So, you're assuming they want war, and you're ready to engage without giving a chance for real words to be treated?"
"With all due respect, princess. Thelerian pacifist and foreign outlooks towards Arachne's belic conflicts are everything but helpful."
Miguel's jaw clenched, and so did Peter's. Tension in the room was heavier and denser than a black hole. He was set to make you angry, and it was hard to not bait into his game, but like your mother, you kept it calm and composed, even though you wanted to put a little datura into his drink.
"Quite ironic how roles invert here, ser D'Angelo."
"Beg your pardon?"
His voice came a bit louder and annoyed than he had intended to.
"Even though I do agree that I must know more about Arachne, I believe you must expand your knowledge in Theleria. Not the one you all now know. But the one before being The Fallen Kingdom."
Darko scowled but remained quiet, letting his haughty look to speak for him.
" What about it?"
"Theleria has been one of the most ancient lands of this continent, ser. And the one that has the most antique monarchy lines through Enethor."
"So?"
"It happens that we turned into a fallen kingdom by being exactly as you voice your opinion."
"And how is that?"
"Closed to any other option that wasn't war. And look at us now, ser. May the creator above forbid this land to fall under the same curse we have."
"That's... That's not gonna happen."
"It might happen if you keep refusing what you have overlooked so far."
"Are you threatening Arachne, your majesty?"
"I am not. I have no power to stand against your armies, ser. But only a fool would take a fair epitome of what happens when acting recklessly, as a threat."
Baron Darko's mouth gaped as his eyes widened in disbelief. How dared you to play him like that? Even worst in his own game.
"Or so is what my mother always says."
The other man that had initially been with him had kept quiet in the whole exchange. Watching and listening to the verbal spar where you had gotten by a few inches the upper hand.
"I am not opposed to war, gentlemen. But, like I said to the king once, if I am able to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, I will."
There wasn't much said after that, little pleasantries and polite goodbyes from your end, made you exit your room. Head high, even if the whole meeting was a fiasco, you would've still held your head high. Your legs shook as Peter followed you. A subtle yet knowing smile plastered on his lips.
In the room, however things weren't done. Not when Baron D'Angelo and Lady May approached.
"You still refuse to give us an answer when it comes to have heirs, your majesty."
"They'll come when the time is right."
Miguel didn't want to dwell into the subject. Children sure were in his list, but responsibilities had taken so much away from him already, that he forgot about them. He was past his thirties, and he could die in battle, leaving no heirs to follow his legacy.
"I guess the time is approaching sooner than we think, your majesty. What if the future queen is unable to conceive?"
His eyes narrowed at Darko's words. Even though his yapping was irksome, he had a fair point.
"As much as I differ with Baron Darko, you know the rules of this game, your majesty."
Lady May spoke with the same tired tone in her voice from before.
"The princess will bear the future heir of Arachne."
Miguel's words made Darko to tense and frown.
"But she knows so little about us! We don't know if her kingdom will remain loyal to us in a future if trouble arises, my lord."
He rubbed his hands nervously as Miguel sheathed his sword on his hip.
"Please, consider your other options, in case the princess is unable to-"
A hand dressed in the obsidian claw made the sharp fingertips to hold on Darko's chin, tips softly prickling at his skin.
"She will. Not your daughter. Am I clear?"
The Baron could only nod with a difficult gulp.
----
Miguel had taken a small break from all that just happened, Jessica had the most shit eating smile one could muster.
"She will, huh?"
"Aren't those the rules?"
"You seem a bit too enthusiastic about following those certain rules."
"I'm getting old, and they keep pestering me."
Miguel mumbled before removing his armor and plop on his ever trusting chair.
"You have to do something regarding Dana first."
"I know."
"Or else-"
"Jessica... I know."
His commander and right hand sighed, but preferred to change topics.
"Guess she has a temper after all."
A faint chuckle escaped Jessica's lips.
"Why did you assume she didn't?"
"She's not precisely someone that strikes me as vindictive, or demand her father's mistress death."
Miguel huffed an airy laugh while slicking his hair back, pensive.
"Peter explained why she... got so upset regarding that situation. Makes sense."
"So, you're knowing eachother more?"
"Apparently."
Jessica rolled her eyes with an exasperated grunt.
"She seems a little too fascinated with you, you know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Back in the council. She was giving you these dreamy puppy eyes."
Miguel's lips twitched in a little smile.
"So you better make a move, before someone else fool but brave enough does."
Bushy eyebrows furrowed. And only deepened when Jessica tossed a little envelope, smelling like roses and other pleasant herbs before going away.
For my muse.
The scribbled words were almost as stylish and perfect as yours, definitely another Thelerian.
Who dared to be foolish enough to pursue something out of his reach? He gave a quick reading to the letter and scoffed at the maudlin words. Not that he blamed the man for feeling so intensely.
After what transpired today, it felt like a little switch was turned on in him. It wasn't an outcome he had expected, but the balance had been tipped in your favor. Not entirely, but had enough member's approval to reaffirm his choice.
And he had to thank you for leaving those harrying members that demanded from him a heir, behind with their mouth shut for long enough.
Darko however always seemed to favor Dana. At first, they all agreed that the main mistress should occupy the throne. But Miguel never really regarded such things. Too busy fighting enemies in allied countries and waging political wars to actually have a pause and produce the next line of descendants.
He didn't know it if was coincidence or something greater than him that put that passageway in his path, and now not only had a true reason to get married, but someone that shared his convictions and dreams for his country.
And, he was sure his future heirs would be beautiful.
Just like you.
The letter had annoyed him, but also amused him. A man that had only saw you and spoke to you twice, put all his feelings in the letter that was turned into ashes by now.
But he had to give that fool some credit. Unlike him, he knew how to express and convey his feelings without any apparent issue, yet he wasn't able to talk about something else that wasn't work and duties related.
With a sigh, he changed into a more casual attire and picked his sword. Then, ventured in his palace, looking for you.
----
You were about to leave for the gardens to take the afternoon tea with Margo and Gwen when Miguel's shadow loomed over from your bedroom's doorframe. A little jolt buzzed through your body, startling you.
"My lord, not to be... disrespectful but, I think it's time for you to knock on my door."
Miguel chuckled and motioned for you to come closer.
"Come. Follow me."
With a quirk of your eyebrow, you obeyed and followed him. Long legs took him further as you tried your utter best to keep up with him. Miguel's ears perked at the sound of your steps hastily following him. A pleased smile was etched in his face to then suddenly stop before a room.
With a deep sigh and a bit of pantings, you also stopped.
"Close your eyes, Princesa."
"W-What?"
"Close your eyes. Please."
The confused look in your face made his eyes soften and a smile to stretch wider as you obeyed him once more.
Quite compliant
And oh so pretty. His eyes stared at your face for what seemed forever, time had stopped specially when his deep ruby eyes stared at your lips, and then trailed themselves down to the collarbone. Before his eyes could rake you over, his throat was cleared and he opened the doors for you.
He then gave your lower back a gentle push for you to move forward. He took your hand and guided you inside. Warm fingers curling softly on his big and weathered hands.
He took you further into the room, the scent of the ever familiar herbs and flowers filled in your lungs, subduing your rising nervousness.
"Open them."
You did, and your heart beat with such strenght you had to clutch harder on his hand at the sight. It was a much more advanced laboratory from what you had back at Theleria.
In one side, you had the many and an endless looking supply of herbs and other medicinal things. And in the other side, you had the tools. Canisters filled in with strange liquids that boiled, glass containers, a oak table sturdy enough to bring and attend anyone in need of a surgery, and of course, many books related Arachne's medical story.
"This..."
"Is yours."
His words and gentle smile had your eyes glossy while a shivering laugh escaped your lips.
"Mine? All Mine?"
"All yours."
He nodded while enveloping your hands with his.
"This is-... Oh by the heavens. My lord. This is... too much for me, I-"
"Princesa."
Your eyes settled on his warm expression.
"I know you will make a good use of it."
"Your highness"
You mumbled while squeezing his hands a bit tighter.
"I... I don't even know what to say."
"A 'thank you, my king' would suffice"
A little laugh and his heart skipped a beat.
"You are part now of the medical staff. Their leader, you'll be a great mentor to them."
"Will you visit me, my lord?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Of course. Seeing you is always good. Though I must ask. Do... you fear me? Or feel something strongly negative towards me?"
"I'm afraid the question confuses me, Princesa."
"Let me rephrase that question. Do you feel averted towards me or repulsed?"
All the opposite.
"It is not personal if I don't approach, Princesa. I've been busy. I'm always busy-"
"I... I know that, ser. But, you're always seeming to avoid me until something that requires me appears."
Miguel's brow twitched at the lack of reply, instead you spoke again.
"Political or not... I wouldn't like to marry an acquaintance, much less a stranger."
A soft blush crept on your cheek and you inhaled deeply before mumbling.
"That's why... I... I'd like to know my future husband better. If its not too much to ask."
Going from acquaintances to be called future husband surely made his brain a puddle and his heart to accelerate in a way that for once didn't concerned him.
"Would you... join me tomorrow at a lunch in the meadows?"
You gulped, and casted your eyes down, a bit too embarrassed to meet his bewildered stare.
"Its alright if you can't go, we can know eachother-"
"I'll be there."
Words came so soft and like butter from his mouth that you stared at him with round eyes in surprise.
"We have a lot to discuss anyway. I think it's time for us to properly address our wedding, your highness."
"As you wish, my lord."
The sweet smile on your face made him want to forever have it tattooed in his mind.
The way he looked at you didn't sit right in the spying and vindictive blue eyes that followed you almost everywhere.
Her heart broke upon seeing the kind of look Miguel threw your way. All different from hers, full of annoyance and cold hearted, nearly in despise. But you, had managed to fulfil one of her dreams with such easiness it made his own heart to crash and burn in anger.
This wasn't over. It would be when Dana said it was. With a new target in mind, the main mistress disappeared in the shadows. Unable to widstand the momentarily defeat. She came first, she had the right to that crown, his heirs and him. Dana would have him, either the good or the bad way.
And Miguel always seemed to learn the bad way.
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@obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoiya @st0r-fruit @ittybxttykxttytxtty @local-mr-frog @liidiaaag @berlinswifey @eepybunny0805 @vonev @cheerrioeoz @solesurvivorjen @zaunsin @ange-grayson @peachsteven @kdrosebme @geraskier-thots @rjasmin2021 @yehet-moi-ohorat @death-moth-art @smookycloyd @somehopeatlast @jadinwitch @bunnibitez
#miguel o'hara#t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#miguel ohara#king miguel#miguel o'hara x y/n#princess reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara fanfiction#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you
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Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Echoes of the Solstice
You know it, you love it, it may return on an as-needed basis for Campaign 3 now that Allura has entered the narrative and we know the fate of Caleb, but no promises: it's the Wizard Breakdown Tracker! As a reminder, I now include PCs because I make the rules; wizard NPCs are included on the very scientific basis of "do I have something I think is kind of funny or meaningful to say" so as always, if I left someone off, it was on purpose specifically to annoy you.
Astrid Becke: well her boss is missing, Caleb has expressed concerns in private to Beau about all of the Assembly, apparently the king is bedridden and has been for some time, and I suspect news of unsealed things being unsealed gets to her quickly; even if she isn't aware of the events in Blumenthal yet, she's about to be. Also, it's the apogee solstice. 8/10; ever the opportunist, it is a good time for her to try to become head of the Assembly, but also shit's gone real sideways.
Eadwulf Grieve: lost his title of hottest mage (men's division) to one Fjord Stone during the last Nicodranas County Fair and has been sulking ever since but more importantly the temple of the Raven Queen is doing Not Great Bob as of like an hour ago so a rare Eadwulf stress moment. 7/10.
Planerider Ryn: just lost her arm...but is unaware of it, so that's probably helping. technically cannot be calculated because she is a rock but spiritually like an 8/10 and that's only because she is remarkably unflappable; she just witnessed the Malleus Key and that should drive anyone up to a 10.
Allura Vysoren: has absolutely sensed a disturbance in the force weave and I'm sure Kima's feeling some bad vibes from Bahamut right now, but rather like Ryn she actually has some degree of sangfroid, a concept unheard of in the entire continent of Wildemount. 6/10.
Yussa Errenis: have you ever dealt with like, an ER Nurse, and unless something is actually exploding or someone is actually bleeding out they're like "yeah it be like that sometimes"? After you've been sucked into the Cognouza Hivemind while trying to do your silly little arcane investigations nothing short of the Calamity will ruffle you. He's an elf; he knows this solstice is wonky but also he knows this is Someone Else's Problem. Also Jester's left him alone for a whole 24 hours? Incredible. 2/10 and that's really just because he's still a little cranky about the disappearance of his blast scepter. As always: never change, king.
Prism Grimpoppy: by my calculations she's discovering that she's actually fucking incredible in combat right now. 0/10, she's doing GREAT.
Pumat Sol and sure, fuck it, Oremid Hass: I suspect the Zadash Wizard Contingent is dealing with some wild unsealed shit from the time of the Julous Dominion and they can't get in touch with anyone in the capital, but it's probably manageable. 4/10. On edge but not too bad.
Ludinus Da'leth: oh did your little plan to unleash the god-eater go a touch sideways? were you unprepared for the possibility of fucking all of magic? did you think it was going to be easy? did level 9 "Fuck Up Airship" and level 8 "Shield Against Werewolf" fail to save your bitch ass? As we've seen, he'll scramble and recover, unfortunately, but it's a well-deserved 9/10 right now. I love to see a plan fall apart.
Trent Ikithon: OH this motherfucker has LOST IT in prison. Like...he was able to put together a pretty elaborate situation, to be clear, but also he's gone bugfuck nuts and does not really improve. I think he's already broken down from the start having clearly been planning this exact scenario from the moment of his imprisonment honestly given that he appears to be going off of the frissons he picked up from Caleb and Essek shortly before he was captured, but regardless: he definitely ends it at a 10/10. Stuck in an egg for eternity, if he's even still a separate entity from Omentis. A well-deserved fate if ever there was one. Get fucked lol.
Veth Brenatto: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha 10/10 you know she watched Luc leap through the teleportation circle as it closed and has been shrieking loud enough to be heard at the Chateau.
Luc Brenatto: the arrogance and naivete of youth insulate him initially, but Aggy's demise probably spikes it to a solid 6 minimum and it's definitely 9 during the battle. It goes back down pretty quickly though; see Caleb's entry.
Caleb Widogast: he keeps it together pretty well, honestly! Still I have to imagine he's kind of at a 7 or so this entire time with occasional spikes to 9 (NEIN) throughout, and I wouldn't fault him for finishing up the Blumenthal Brunch and then quietly locking himself in a soundproof tower room to scream, cry, and throw up for a while. Indeed, I would encourage it; Caleb should go have a good cry and hug a magic cat for a couple hours until he feels better, and then come back down to find that everyone except the clerics but DEFINITELY including Luc has implemented Spontaneous Apogee Solstice Oktoberfest to celebrate the demise of Trent, the engagement of Fjord and Jester, and the general experience of being alive, and is varying degrees of extremely wasted. This will of course bring him back up to like 7 as he realizes he has to return a hungover teenager to Veth and then goes down to a 4 or so when he realizes the clerics can fix that and Veth will probably be so glad that Luc is alive she'll ignore the rest of it.
Essek Thelyss: Our international drow of mystery looms large in the narrative, but does not make an appearance, which makes this premise extremely funny. I assume he's feeling kind of rough given that the Dynasty wizards are well-attuned to leylines and I would imagine he picks up that Sending isn't working and was broadly aware Caleb was going into danger, so he's certainly stressed, but Trent doesn't actually seem to know Where in Exandria is Essek Thelyss and is merely threatening blackmail. Honestly while we're at it, we don't know where Essek is because I wouldn't put it past Mr. Geometer Owner to have been at a solstice nexus and to have possibly experienced his own Solstice Shunting. In fact I assume Essek is blissfully unaware of these specific goings on re: Trent and is just experiencing The Anxiety for all of the previous reasons. (1d6+3)/10.
Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: Hmmm. Things becoming unsealed, you say? The uninvited guest list (The Real Gelidon, Isharnai) for The TusktoothStone-Lavorre wedding may have gained an extra entry.
#i'm gelidon i'm the real gelidon and all the other gelidons are just shapechanging#critical role#critical role spoilers#wizard breakdown tracker#mighty nein#echoes of the solstice
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Pazavorve
Synopsis: Despite the love you hold for your husband your love for your mother will always triumph.
Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader
Warnings: General HoTD shenanigans such as sexual themes, incest, vulgar language, and the sort so please if any such things make you uncomfortable or if you're underage do not engage with this post or I will feed you to my dragon!
1,527 words
A/N: Just in an angsty sort of mood babes.
Your furious voice echoed from the walls of your and Aemond’s chamber as your bloody fists continuously beat against the solid wood of the door. Since the news of Aegon’s coronation had spread throughout the Red Keep like dragonfire you had been confined as a prisoner in a room that had once brought you nothing but a sense of love and belonging. Your confrontation with your husband and the Queen Regent had them concerned that you would send word to Dragonstone to inform your mother of the impending usurpation of the Iron Throne.
The hushed voice permeating through the thick wood had you hurrying across the room till you were close enough to snatch the weighted candlestick from the small table where it usually served as a source of light for when you and Aemond would lay intertwined upon the chaise while he read to you. Now though it was nothing more than a weapon as you wielded it just as your uncle did Dark Sister. As the door swung open you launched the candlestick at the vibrant head of silver hair that appeared missing by mere inches purely from the quick reaction of your husband as he ducked.
Straightening back up Aemond closed the door before daring to face your wrathful glare that was so foreign to the look you usually reserved for him, “Ñuha Zaldrīzes.” His long legs carried him in your direction causing you to slowly back away till he conceded to stand still, “Is that any way to greet your husband?” (My Dragon)
A loud scoff ripped from your lips as you shook your head at him in disbelief, “You plot to usurp my mother Valzȳrys,” Your voice was sharp and laced with venom as you spat the once affectionate name as though an insult, “You should find yourself glad to still have your cock attached to your body!” (Husband)
He had lunged forward before you had a chance to react, now in his grasp two strong arms wrestled your writhing body to his in a near painful grip till you were against his chest, “It was my father’s desire that Aegon take his rightful place upon the Iron Throne and rule as King of The Seven Kingdoms.”
“And who told you such things Aemond?” You tilted your head to keep eye contact with him your fury seeping through every word you spat, “It was your mother who has wanted nothing more than to see her son be on the Iron Throne. It is her who spreads such vile lies to those on the Small Council.” You voice was loud and hostile yelling at his impassive face as you fought yourself free from his hold, “My mother was named as heir by Grandsire himself, do you not think if he had once in the many years he lived desired for that drunken fool to be his successor that he would not have spoken it to someone other than your mother?”
“Aegon is to be our King,” Despite your anger Aemond’s voice remained soft his rough hands coming to settle upon your flushed cheeks, “I do not wish for him to be King, nor do I think it a wise choice. But that is the choice that has been made Ñuha Zaldrīzes.” As his thumbs swept at the skin of your pointed cheekbones, he leant down pressing a chaste kiss to your pouted lips, “And it is a choice which we must accept.” (My Dragon)
Resting your forehead against the coolness of his leather tunic you brought your hands up to cover his, “I will not accept him over my mother as heir, she is to be our Queen. I refuse to bend the knee to Aegon or any other.”
Moving to settle his head upon yours Aemond’s breathing disrupted you loose hair as he spoke, “What you speak is treason.” His voice was quiet as though the words being spoken aloud made them true, “I refuse to let this loyalty you hold towards Rhaenyra get you killed.”
Pulling back so that you could see that shade of violet you adored so much you cupped his cheeks relishing in the feeling of his leather eye patch under your palm, “Ñuha Jorrāelagon, I will throw myself from the tallest tower before bending the knee to that usurper cunt of a King.” (My Love)
Aemond’s eye grew wide in shock as he gripped your arms almost desperately, “You would leave me here alone?” Despite the hardness of his voice you could hear the utter heartbreak behind his words, “Since we were mere babes it has always been you and I.”
Your vision blurred as tears now began to trickle down your cheeks, “Before there was us there was my mother and I.” With what little strength you had left you removed your hands from his face before stepping out of his now limp hold, “I shan’t betray her Aemond, not even for you.”
Turning in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you his arms once more encircled you tugging you till your back was flush with his front, “I will burn cities to the ground before I let anyone take you from me.” His voice was now cold and full of rage as he whispered into your ear, “That includes even you, Ñuha Zaldrīzes. I pray that one day you find it in your heart to forgive me.” (My Dragon)
Without a further word he was gone the only sound signifying his departure being the loud slamming of your chamber door as you collapsed to your knees on the hard stone floor below your anguished sobs echoing throughout the Keep till not even ten minutes since your husband left did the door opened to reveal a bloodied Ser Erryk.
Gazing up at him curiously he crouched in front of you wrapping a tattered cloak around your shaking shoulders and fastening it, “Come Princess, we must get you to your mother.” He helped heave you from your place on the floor before holding a gloved hand in your direction.
Hesitantly accepting his offered hand, you stumbled behind him and over the two dead guards that had once stood at your door. Keeping a tight hold onto him he led you through a series of halls and hidden passageway until eventually the two of you were out of the Red Keep, “We must go to the dragon pit immediately.” You pulled him to a standstill your breathing ragged as you stared up at him resolutely, “I will not leave this wretched place without Nightfyre.”
Glancing over your shoulder anxiously he shook his head once again pulling on your joined hands, “There is no time Princess, they are bound to have found the bodies.” As though summoned the bells of the Red Keep began to call out, “We must leave at once.”
Planting your feet into the ground stubbornly you refused to move until he turned back to face you, “He is a part of me Ser Erryk, I shall go to him alone if I must but I will not leave this place without him by my side.”
Sighing in defeat he nodded eyes darting around your surroundings as the two of you hurried through the bustling streets towards the dragon pit, “Go find him and meet me back here.” Nodding you ran past the dragon keepers that Erryk kept at bay and darted deeper to where you knew Nightfyre would be.
A relieved breath escaped you once you caught sight of the large dark beast already stalking towards the main area having sensed your distress before you arrived. Once he was within reach you were hurrying to mount him with practised ease heading towards the large opening of the entry where Erryk clumsily clambered onto his back.
“Keligon!” The colour drained from your face as your husband appeared at the steps of the dragon pit accompanied by Ser Criston and other members of the Kings Guard, “Kesan daor ivestragī ao dakogon hen nyke Ābrazȳrys!” His voice held more anger than you had ever heard from him before his lone eye ablaze with uncontained rage at the very prospect of losing you. (Stop! I will not let you run from me Wife)
“Iksan vaoreznuni Ñuha Jorrāelagon.” Your voice was broken as you cried down to the man who owned your heart and soul, but this was for your mother, the woman who had loved and raised you and it didn’t matter how dearly you loved Aemond for you would always love her more, “Gaoman daor sytilībagon kesīr lēda ao sir. Sōvegon Nightfyre.” (I am sorry My Love. I do not belong here with you now. Fly Nightfyre)
With a great beat of his onyx wings, Nightfyre leapt into the air the cold wind burning against the tears falling upon your face. The last sight you saw was Aemond screaming your name as he fought against Ser Criston and the guards in his attempts to reach Vhagar and fly after you. With a final sob you wiped the wetness from your cheeks as you and Ser Erryk made your way across the sea to Dragonstone.
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#hotd#hotd x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond angst#hotd angst#targaryen!reader
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KoH - April Boops
Inspired by the occasion here on Tumblr, I decided to try my hand at one of these (Y/N) reader fics that are so popular in the KoH fandom. 😄Enjoy!
(Featuring Baldwin IV x Time Traveler!Reader [gender neutral])
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Y/N snickered a little as they realized the date. April first. A day of friendly – and sometimes not-so-friendly – pranking back home. Not so much here. In a way, Y/N missed it, and memories of a particularly humorous online event elicited the briefest of smiles…
“You’ve found something amusing?”
Y/N glanced up from the book at the sound of His Majesty’s voice. He really could be too perceptive for his own good, sometimes.
Carefully holding a finger to mark the spot in the book Baldwin had generously lent for leisure reading, Y/N closed the cover and grinned sheepishly. “No, I was just reminded of something. A tradition back home.”
“Oh?” His interest seemed well-and-truly piqued, then. Something about the way his eyes squinted briefly behind his mask. “Would you care to share this tradition of yours?”
Y/N glanced away for a moment, unable to say no but wondering how he would react to the explanation of this – frankly ridiculous – event. “Well, it’s the first of April, you see. And we call that day ‘April Fool’s' day.” As soon as Y/N returned their attention to him, there came the signature head tilt of curiosity that confirmed the suspected interest. “It’s a day of mostly-friendly pranking. Teasing. That sort of thing.” Y/N laughed a little, partially out of true humor and also partially out of awkwardness. “I just remembered a rather funny community event I took part in one year that was… oddly popular.”
“Do tell.”
Make that an interest that was starting to sound strangely like a potential hunt for blackmail material…
“Well,” Y/N continued slowly, “it was an event where we went around poking our friends in the community by surprise. We called it ‘booping’. After what we sometimes do to our pets as a greeting.”
Baldwin made absolutely no movement as he echoed questioningly, “‘Booping’?”
That alone caused Y/N to snort with laughter. Never had the thought crossed their mind that Baldwin IV of Jerusalem would ever say the word “boop” in any way, shape, or form, much less with the serious tone he employed.
Still chuckling in amusement, Y/N stood up to demonstrate. “Like this.”
Before he could react, Y/N approached where the king sat, reached out with a finger, and as one might with a dog or a cat, poked the sharp nose of his mask. “Boop!”
Indeed, much like a cat, Baldwin leaned backwards a little on reflex the moment before impact, his eyes almost crossing in a way that only made Y/N laugh harder.
He blinked, his manner suggesting slight bewilderment. “That’s… all?”
“Yes!” Y/N squeaked.
A dreadfully-long moment or two passed before he shook his head, a light laugh echoing behind the mask. “Well, then. In the spirit of your tradition…”
A white-gloved finger lifted and gently tapped the end of Y/N’s nose.
“…boop.”
#kingdom of heaven#kingdom of heaven 2005#baldwin iv#king baldwin iv#baldwin iv x reader#reader fic#baldwin iv of jerusalem#the leper king#fanfiction#my fanfiction
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STARBOY .ᐟ
★ STARRINGS: choi yeonjun and fem!reader. ft choi soobin
! cw – jealousy, possessiveness, yeonjun is aggressive, fingering, unp. sex.
playlist while your read this (click on 'playlist')
2ND PART OF HOW MANY SECRETS CAN U KEEP?
yeonjun's lifestyle is not the typical cliche where he's a bad boy and his life depend on fucking every girl and living from party to party (the latter may have been a bit cliche, but trust me, he dosen't go out every weekend).
you know his reputation, and you know it all too well.
you know he's a top student with outstanding grades, a star athlete, the favourite of the teachers and, above all: a jealous boy.
he has a thing about being the centre of attention, your centre of attention. if you're not with him, if you're not seeing him, if you're not talking exclusively about him and how hot he is, he'll get jealous (too much, i'd say).
several times you met his dark eyes and chilling gaze, almost so sharp that he would effortlessly slit your jugular for the simple fact that you were talking to a boy other than him.
he can't stand not being the starboy, a nickname that echoes through the hallways and teacher's room, but which he only prefers to hear from you.
but what he hates the most is seeing you next to choi soobin: his rival.
soobin is a friendly, smart, shy and funny guy. you don't understand why yeonjun hates him so much and why he wants to keep you away from him all over the coast.
but yeonjun knows things that you might not, and maybe those things are the reasons why he spits shit at soobin.
right?
yeonjun's soft kisses on your neck made you lose your sanity, his cold hands provoking a thousand sensations on your warm skin as he caressed your thighs and waist. his fingers nimbly unbuttoned the buttons of your shorts, and just as he was about to remove your underwear, your phone started ringing.
you reluctantly pushed the dark haired guy away to pick up your phone, quickly sitting up in bed when you saw who was calling you.
'who the fuck is calling you?' your partner asked, somewhat annoyed that you had interrupted what you were about to do.
'oh, it's soobin. i'm supposed to do investigation work with him, remember?' you said with total impunity, as if you had completely forgotten yeonjun's feelings for the poor blond boy.
you saw him tense his jaw and close his eyes as soon as he heard his name leave your lips 'why are you doing it with him? weren't there other options at that stupid hippie college?'
you laughed before quickly picking up the phone, motioning yeonjun to silence.
'hi! soobin, it's so good to hear your voice again' you looked at the dark haired, looking provocation.
and you've done it, because never in your life have you seen him settle between your legs so quickly, taking off your underwear and looking at you like a ferocious animal stalking his prey.
'yes, hello, i say the same thing' his soft voice provoked a certain tenderness in you, unlike yeonjun who's voice only made you wet.
oh, and speaking of the king of rome; his fingers didn't miss the opportunity to caress your clitoris in a circular way. you saw him wet his fingers with his own saliva before inserting two of them into your sweet spot.
you muffled a moan, but it was useless as the boy on the other the line quickly noticed that something was wrong.
'hey, are you okay?' he asked confused and somewhat worried 'i thought i heard something' how cute.
yeonjun brought his face closer to your neck, biting and sucking gently 'put him on speaker' he said with his characteristic deep voice when he was in that mood.
and of course you did it.
'y-yeah, it's just that i'm a little shaken up from today's practice, you know, cheerleading stuff' you lied mercifully, because clearly you wouldn't say that there's a guy fingering you and that guy just happens to be choi yeonjun.
'on a saturday at ten at night?' you heard him laugh softly. looks like he's caught you red handed 'anyway, 'i wanted to know if we could get together monday morning to discuss about the work'.
'of course, at my house or at yours?'
'in mine. it's closer to your college, so i could take-' you couldn't hear him finish. yeonjun took your phone and ended the call suddenly, throwing it angrily on the bed.
before you could say anything to him, he grabbed your wrists with both hands and pushed them over your head, pressing his body closer to yours, preventing you from moving.
'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' you've seen him angry before, but he never got physical like now.
'what are you talking about? he just wants to be nice' he clicked his tongue and sighed heavily.
'yes, of course, and i was born yesterday' he replied with notorious sarcasm 'for you that's being nice, but for me that means he wants to fuck you in his flat and in his damn car'.
you widened your eyes in surprise and almost shocked, feeling a pressure in your chest that you had never experienced with him before.
'what the hell is wrong with you, yeonjun? you can't just think the worst of others. not everyone wants to wet their dick like you'.
'and you can't always think the best of others and believe that i'm the only one who wants to push you against the mattress, damn it' he spat angrily.
he quickly released you and moved away from you, walking away from your bed, walking out of the room. you got up and followed him to the front door.
'where do you think you're going?' you asked behind him, placing a hand on the door.
'finish this on your own, maybe thinking about soobin will help you cum quickly' he pushed you almost roughly and left your flat, slamming the door shut.
'damn son of a bitch'.
almost a week since you and yeonjun last saw each other. you only exchanged glances in the hallways. sometimes you would see him train secretly, and you knew that he did it too.
but no one dared to approach.
throughout that week, you were with soobin and practicing tonight's performance together with your team. tonight, yeonjun and soobin were going to play on different teams.
and you were just afraid.
you looked in the toillet mirror one last time before heading out to the basketball hall, noticing that your ribbon was scruffy and your lipstick was not applied correctly.
the sound of the door opening and the familiar voice caused you to jump a little in place.
'what do you want, choi yeonjun?' you asked without even looking at him at all, you only saw his body resting comfortably on the cubicle doors in the mirror, arms crossed and with that gigantic smile of a mischievous cat.
he looks so attractive like that, that for a moment you forgot what an idiot he is.
'i just wanted to know if you were going to cheer for me tonight' he replied calmly, moving closer to you.
'and what if i don't? are you going to corner me like that day?'
he bit his lips lightly and then licked it. his big hands took your waist and he forced you to turn around, being face to face.
'come on, doll, we can't spend our whole lives pretending we don't exist'
he leaned down to your neck and placed little kisses there, just the way you always liked 'you're so hot when you're angry'.
you sighed and leaned your neck to give him better access, surrendering to him and his charms.
his lips touched yours, joining in a needy, hungry kiss. your hands tugged at his hair, making him moan against your mouth.
he lifted you over the sink and you quickly wrapped your legs around him, feeling the bulge of him pressing against your pussy.
you moved as best you could, trying to create friction between you and him. yeonjun laughed in between the kiss.
'you're itching to fuck already, mmh?' you nodded 'ask me and i'll grant you the wish'.
you squeezed your eyes and sighed 'please, fuck me'.
he laughed again against your lips 'wish granted'.
you gasped when he practically ripped off your underwear and pulled you even closer to him. he removed his shorts and boxer, stroked his base a few times before fully entering and thrusting inside of you with a single thrust.
you heard him moan in relief once he hit rock bottom 'god, i missed this pussy so much'.
you leaned back a bit, touching your back against the mirror. you grabbed his hair again and pulled him close to you, connecting your lips against his.
you bit his lip as his fingers moved in a circular motion over your clit, pushing three fingers inside.
kisses distributed on your collarbones and chest almost make you explode.
the way he would go in and out would drive you crazy, how he would go deep and then not.
yeonjun held you tightly, hugging his body to yours. that is what definitely made you start moving desperately, chasing your orgasm.
'aw, are you about to cum?' he gently caressed your cheek as if you were an adorable little animal 'tell me, did you cum thinking about that idiot the other day?'
you denied 'no, i thought of you'.
he half smile, satisfied with your answer 'who makes you cum?'
'you' muttered.
'say it louder' he grabbed you again and pushed himself hard 'I'm not listening, baby'.
'you' another push 'you' another one 'god, you'.
and you clung to him as if your life depended on it, moaning in his ear, feeling safe.
as it has always been.
the heavy eddies and knots appeared, the approaching heat and the familiar feeling in your belly took you over.
and he kissed you like he never did before.
and you felt something you had never felt before.
he hugged you tenderly and you could feel his heart beating like you had never heard it before, smelling his perfume in a new way and from a different point of view.
and when he moved away, you were already missing him.
'make yourself pretty, but not so cute because you're going to distract me' he laughed coquettishly, winking at you before leaving.
another time you would have rolled your eyes, but this time your heart jumped and your cheeks turned pink and filled with an unknown felling.
you also went out into the hallway and saw him leave, turning his back on you.
from not-so distant you heard his faithful devotees who were waiting for him, who received him with his characteristic nickname and insane applause,
starboy, starboy, starboy!
and you just smiled, knowing that that name would never be the same for him if you weren't the one who told him.
and you knew that it will never change.
© hyufucks, 2023.
#choi yeonjun#choi yeonjun smut#choi yeonjun hard thoughts#choi yeonjun hard hours#txt smut#txt hard hours#txt hard thoughts#txt x reader#yeonjun smut#yeonjun hard thoughts#yeonjun hard hours#yeonjun imagines#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun x reader#txt imagines#txt scenarios#txt fanfic#yeonjun fanfic#yeonjun suggestive#txt suggestive#choi soobin#soobin#second part
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What do you think of Ozai as a villain? 👀 i'm seeing people saying the live action Ozai is better and i'm like "nah". They missed the point of the character
i mean i think a lot of people misunderstand ozai because people want a compelling character (especially a compelling villain) to be “layered and complex” in a very specifically emotional sense. but i do think ozai is layered and complex, simply in a different way that people expect. azula, for example, is a great villain because she is psychologically complex, and every action and motivated is entrenched in layers of nuance. but ozai is thematically complex, functionally layered. his underlying emotional motivations, however, are beside the point.
ozai’s narrative function is primarily to be metonymically figured as the embodiment of patriarchal and imperialist violence. ozai performs this function through interconnecting the domestic (his abuse of his wife and children) with the national (his role as sovereign of an empire). zuko’s disavowal of ozai in “the day of black sun” very explicitly ties his personal abuse to the logic of imperialism, and zuko denounces both logical tracks through acknowledging their interrelation. it’s hardly an uncommon character construction either: the domestic (specifically, the patriarchal nuclear family model) as microcosmic of the societal (specifically, patriarchal societies that are otherwise organized along unjust hierarchies) is prevalent across plenty of narratives, from the house of atreus to king lear to succession.
my personal favorite example of this trope as it is employed is in palace walk by naguib mahfouz, because al-sayyid does function as sovereign of his house, but he is also grappling with the consequences of being a colonized subject, and that colonial shame and humiliation both complicates his relationship to power but also reifies his patriarchal role within his family, his very real pain and disempowerment leading him to exacerbate his domestic abuse and tighten his control over his wife and children. al-sayyid is also, notably, not strict and controlling beyond the purview of his family, but within his own house, he very deliberately positions himself as an inviolable patriarchal authority.
however, unlike al-sayyid, ozai is a sovereign in every sense of the world, and even positions himself as akin to a god. but, as we can infer from “zuko alone,” ozai is not impervious to patriarchal abuse (or he wasn’t before ascending the throne), and thus has suffered his own shame and humiliation fostering his god complex due to compensation (and through the internalization of the logic of patriarchal abuse). ozai perpetuates the cycle of abuse as he, too, once suffered it (much like logan roy, to name another excellent example of this archetype). so while ozai is no longer a victim in any sense of the term, it is important to understand the psychology underlying his belief that he is ontologically deserving of the undivided respect and submission of the entire world due to his position of power.
ozai genuinely believes that he was teaching zuko respect, because respecting his authority is one of the values ozai holds most dear. because, of course, to speak out against ozai as an individual is to speak treasonously of the fire nation, and vice versa. and he expects his children to display their unquestioning loyalty to the Father(land) above all. the second they question him or confuse that priority in any way, they have irrevocably forsaken him and thus must be discarded. that is the logic of (to quote utena) a man who has made himself “end of the world.”
moreover, the other most crucial aspect of ozai’s character is how he is framed. until book 3, we never actually see his entire face. he is always a goatee, a spaulder, a disembodied smirk, a voice echoing through the flames, a crown. ozai as metonym goes both ways. and it serves to emphasize his ominous nature, as someone who is so powerful that we cannot truly view him head on. he’s framed in an almost godlike way.
and then, in “the awakening,” we see him without reservation. he is a tall, imposing man, but he is also, fundamentally, just a man. in “the headband” we see his face through a fire nation propaganda poster, as if to imply that his face is not more sacred than any other face. his poster is immediately followed up with aang’s recreation of his portrait with noodles. before book 3, holding ozai’s gaze is impossible, as he is merely a looming spectre. but book 3 immediately and ruthlessly undermines the notion they have been building up for two seasons, and through comedy, no less. ozai may be uniquely powerful and uniquely evil, but he is still just a man, and by the time he crowns himself phoenix king, destroyer of worlds, we are well-aware that he is not innately, divinely superior in any way, and his fascistic performance simply looks ridiculous.
unlike azula’s claim that “the divine right to rule is something you’re born with,” there is nothing unique or ontological about the role of the emperor. there is nothing ontologically superior about the colonizer’s relationship to the colonized besides the material dynamics of power informing their relationship. the father as head of his family is not ontologically necessitated any more than the structure of the nuclear family is predicated on innate anthropological roles rather than being socially constructed and maintained through systemic violence. ozai is not ontologically special, and his claim that he is seems even sillier as he goes up against the avatar, who actually truly is.
when ozai faces aang in the final battle, it is a significant fight because it represents the culmination of all the ideals aang has constantly fought for and asserted within ozai’s imperialist paradigm. and by refusing to submit to ozai’s logic of domination, aang disempowers ozai wholly. not because lack of firebending makes one totally powerless, but because lack of bending makes one powerless within ozai’s logic. aang renders ozai victim to his own ideology, playing his own imperialist dogma against him. instead of killing ozai in combat, as ozai expects, aang humiliates him by asserting his cultural values and their continued relevance over ozai’s values. the culminating battle against ozai, with the spiritual light that threatens to overtake aang, is a battle of one ideology winning out over another. it is the culmination of a century of genocide and colonialism by an imperialist power. it is the undermining of ozai’s entire worldview.
ultimately, we don’t need to see a lot of ozai to understand him. we can understand ozai perfectly through zuko and azula, because he positioned them as extensions of himself and thus their respective embodiments are simply their ways of performing him (azula is obviously a better actor). his complex psychology is beside the point, because his narrative function is to represent the imperialist forces that aang must battle. and they do this by establishing him as an ominous and terrible deified man, and then undermining him as little kore than a human being with an incorrect worldview. so he is interesting, not because he’s “complicated,” but because he reflects the central tension of the show in a satisfying way, and that’s what matters.
#lilith-91#asks#analysis#ozai#synthesis#azula&ozai#ozai&zuko#azula#zuko#putting this under a readmore even tho it’s only 10 paragraphs….. for shame#im on mobile rn but if u go thru my ozai tag you’ll also find a lot of other posts and more in depth analyses of the things i cover here#im sick of linking to other posts tho#at this point everyone should just be wholly familiar with my oeuvre#(im lazy)
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A Mutual Feeling Of Hate
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong!reader
Summary: As Aemond Targaryen rounds up the male Strongs, he realises one man is missing, and in his hunt for him, he finds you…
Warnings: Explicit talk, p in v smut, breeding kink, murder, talk of SA, oral f receiving, praise in Valyrian, riding, sadism and masochism, jealously sex, exhibitionism, marking, let me know if I’ve missed anything
Taglist: @valeskafics, @arcielee, @blue-serendipity,
Authors note: I’m not as happy as I’d like to be, but still here we go hope you guys like it. It was my first time writing on Google docs 😅
Harrenhal had never truly been your home. Throughout the years you were forced to live there, in your eyes it had always been your husbands. Although according to him and, in the more recent years to come it would soon become the home of yours and his children too..
Your husband, Geralt Strong, had been merely a second son when the two of you first married. Yet after the tragedies that struck Lord Lyonel Strong and his eldest son and heir Harwin, it soon hit you that your husband was only an accident away from being appointed the supposed honour of representing his house as its Lord. However, you were not the only one who noticed this predicament, as soon after Larys was appointed with no wife or children of his own, your husband decreed it was time for you to fulfil your wifely duties, and provide him with heirs of his own.
He’d been drunk every time that he tried to force himself onto you, but apparently he was too weak-souled to do it while sober. The man would become so incapacitated, that he’d pass out from overindulgence before he could even properly get off his breeches. For the first time in your life, you were grateful to be married to such a weak minded man.
Although, to play your role in the supposedly ever so slowly closing in win of his succession, you would force yourself to finish taking off his breaches, and stroke him till he burst in your hand, to make it seem like he’d actually completed his part. When he eventually spilled, you would always feel disgusted, wanting nothing more than to wash it all off and clean your whole body of his filth, and yet you found a strange joy in it. Thinking that whenever you were forced to lick the salty taste off of your hands, you were practically eating his children, and his legacy from your very hands. In a strange way, you found honour as you played one of the gods…
Still, when your husband was not drunk, and managed to have his way with you, you still requested moon tea. A wet nurse that you surprisingly found yourself becoming close confidants with named Alys, would somehow always come to you whenever you need it, a small vial in her hand in preparation.
However, when the banners of war were officially brought out of hiding, and calls for soldiers and blood broke out amongst the land, your husband became much too preoccupied by the impending doom of Harrenhal to bother you. You can remember clearly in your mind the day Daemon and his men came for you all. It was something everyone present would remember. Ser Simon, the man who led House Strong while Larys was in kings Landing, was not a man in your eyes that day, as he surrendered easily during the assault of Daemon's attack. It was not difficult to spot Daemon Targaryen amongst the many of his men from your window, the colouring of his hair making him stand out when his helmet was shrugged off, and the wish that your husband could’ve been more like him stood out to you whenever you saw the man. You could not help but feel envious of the usurped queen whenever you saw him standing valiantly and without fear.
That however, was why It was strange, when the prince and all of his men left all of sudden in the night. All pondered over the reason, but then came the sound of a dragon's wings, and the distinctive noise of a dragon's roar, the sound of it echoed and vibrated through the air. It was not Daemon coming back, no. It was the colour green of their banners that told you who they were, and what this meant for you. It was time for you to shed yourself of that ‘Strong’ husband of yours.
Your husband in question has pushed past you to look on in horror as the men in green and gold marched closer. And while he was gawking down below at the sight, you yourself took hold of the intricately carved dagger that was gifted to you by your mother. There was no real need for you to be quiet, as Geralt's eyes remained solely on the now revealed Targaryen below, and when you stood behind Geralt silent to also get a glimpse of the sight, you were most definitely not disappointed.
It was not hard to decipher that it was Aemond Targaryen who stood there, and demanded that a sword be given to Simon Strong. The eyepatch that hung over his disfigured left eye made it easy to realise which Targaryen stood there. He uttered something to the trembling man, but sadly you were unable to hear what it was he spoke.
You were surprised though, when Simon Strong it seemed had finally grown a backbone, as he fought the prince in what was seemingly a trial by combat. However, it seemed he grew it too early, as the sound of clashing of swords was soon over, and instead the sound of a dragon's cry echoed soon after. It wasn’t until you heard the screams till you realised that the prince had fed the mangled corpse of the man to his dragon Vhagar. He made the man, who to you was undeserving of his own blood, into something as meaningless to his dragon as a common sheep. If you weren’t occupied with standing a few paces back from Geralt ready to strike him down, you most likely would’ve gone down to the prince and given him your utter devotion and loyalty, if he didnt make you into food for his dragon too that is.
The voice of Aemond Targaryen rings again, as you yourself twirl the dagger in your hand in preparation, and it booms loud enough for all to hear throughout the castle. “Bring me the rest of the men who possess the blood of House Strong!” You cannot help but feel excited at the tone the prince holds. Madness, and a type of pure unrelenting rage. It’s not hard to tell what the intention of his demand is, even the dumbest of men would be able figure out what he wants to do.
You almost miss your opportunity as you get swept up in your own excitement. Still, you make a noise similar to a yelp in an attempt to draw Geralt's attention from the spectacle below, and when he responds just how you had planned for him to act, with his body and neck turning swiftly to you in sudden alarm, you waste no time in plunging the dagger deep into the flesh of Geralt's neck. You can feel the warm specks of his blood as it splatters onto your face as you withdraw the blade, and as he staggers towards you while clutching the profusely bleeding wound in a poor attempt to stop it, you cannot help but find yourself smiling at the utterly pathetic sight. Thanks to the one-eyed prince and his hatred, there will be no more ‘Strong’ men left to stand in your way to freedom, and no so called ‘respected’ witnesses to your crime.
There’s a small series of grunts that manage to make their way from your husband's blood gargling throat. Although, soon his stumbles become too weak, and he collapses onto the hard stone floor. His movements are weak, as he seems to use all of his energy so he could look up and stare up at you. If you were honest with yourself, the sight before you feels like the greatest honour you could ever think of, to watch the life leaving Geralt's eyes. You feel like you are playing one of the Gods, because thanks to you, they are now forever immortalised with a permanent look of confusion and betrayal.
It hits you though, a thought of realisation that makes your very spine shiver in annoyance. The thought being, that there is no doubt about it, that the prince already has a list of names of those that he needs to kill in his rampage, in order to properly eradicate the house Strong once and for all. If he didn’t… Well then, the prince is more of an idiot than you took him for. Your husband was the man set to inherit everything if and when Larys Strong is to pass. So there is no doubt in your mind that he’ll be one that the prince will wish to make sure is dead at his feet.
There is a sudden knock at the door that drives you away from your thoughts, and you just know that it is the prince's men who have come to fulfil their orders. You take a moment to prepare yourself to play the role of the already mourning wife. The tears you feel drop from your eyes are fake, and yet as you open the door a fraction, the men who look at you see no difference. They’re young, only a couple name days older than you, and you thank the gods because of it, as with their inexperience they will be unable to decipher your tricks. In their eyes, you have already seen the taking of your husband, and by the blood on your face, he was taken not so long ago with some force.
They say no real words to you, other than a small grunt you presume is a type of apology, and leave you to your supposed mourning of your husband in solitude. Though as soon as you shut the door, you grab a chair and manoeuvre it to the window to watch the show below go on.
The sight of the one eyed prince successfully slaying an entire house brings a small smile to your face. He makes the man or boy say their name, and what makes them a Strong. The first to be slaughtered was Ser Simon, and soon after it was clear to all that not even the unclear bastards, with blood muddled and unknown origin, were even safe. None were spared from the Kinslayers blade.
From the balcony soon after the full-blooded men were slaughtered, you watched the beheading of an eleven name day old child. From your understanding of Harrenhal, the only reason that boy was here was because his mother was forced upon by the wrong man, and he refused to allow her the opportunity to rid herself of the child. It’s a sad sight, even you must admit, but there is truly nothing you can do other than let the show below go on.
It’s not long until the pile of corpses stops being enlarged, as the prince's men are forced to halt in their duty in bringing the men. The sounds of bloodshed are soon broken by the many sounds of high pitched women crying for their loves and their families. When you turn your head to look back at your own husband, still laying there in his own blood and filth, you can’t help but let out a scuff of disgust and disbelief, before turning back to continue to watch the prince.
You cannot help but ponder when it’ll happen. What will happen when the prince will eventually realise that no man has come forward to be slaughtered bearing the name of your husbands. Though it appears as soon as you begin to question it, the prince questions it too. “WHERE IS THE MAN THEY CALL GERALT STRONG?” He shouts. His voice somehow managed to echo over the sounds of the crying wives and daughters that resonated from their windows.
One guard steps forward, possibly one of the two who had visited your chambers earlier, but he’s too far to tell or not. He leans to whisper something into the prince's ear, and when the guard leans away, the prince looks somewhere in your direction. You can almost swear that you lock eyes with him, though he soon quickly looks away, before whispering some words to a knight, and beginning to walk towards the part of Harrenhal you reside in.
He disappears from your line of sight, and you begin to wonder if he’ll be searching all the rooms for Geralt. Though once again, It’s not long before you hear the sound of your chamber door being opened, with a loud creak of the handle. There is a sound of footsteps, although they seem to halt quickly. If you had to guess, they must have spotted the corpse. When you turn your head slightly, your eyes once more meet the single lilac eye of the princes. Although he does not make the contact last long as he breaks it to stare at the pitiful view of Ser Geralt Strong, still laying there in the pool of his own blood.
His face gives no indication of any particular emotion other than annoyance. Though you can’t help but notice an unfamiliar glint in his eyes as he looks back at you. “I thought I had ordered my men to bring me every living male strong.” It is not a question, as there is not a single inch of confusion in his tone. This was a statement.
“I know…” It's a strange feeling that resonates within you the longer the prince looks at you. One that makes your entire body strangely burn in a pleasurable sense. Not that you’d ever know what that would even feel like… “Your men followed their orders as they were told, my prince. As he was not alive before your men rounded them all to be apart of your genocide.”
You see that glint once more in his eye. It looks almost similar to admiration?
“I presume you are Geralt Strong's lady wife. Did you truly hate the man that much for you to risk your safety to kill him?” Again, this was not a real question. This was another statement and a demand directed for you. From the look in his eye, he already knew the answer.
“You are correct.” You say no more, and you don’t even need to, as the now dried blood that is still present on your face, slightly sticky to the touch you figured, and your eyes that have managed to remain bone dry with a matching expressionless face. They seem to say more than you ever could. Plus if anything, it seems the prince is the more emotional one in the room between the two of you. His own face holds in its possession a small smile, which looks much more akin to a prideful smirk, while your own is hellbent in an attempt to stay blank.
The two of you stay silent, him standing there not taking his eye of you, while you yourself continue to sit in your chair unmoving. It was strangely peaceful, until the prince began to walk towards you and took your throat in his hand, holding it firmly to not allow you head to move, but not too hard that you couldn’t breath.
“I suppose I must thank you…” He seems to muse, taking in your face as he presents it to himself. “Although-” He cuts himself off, peering down at your stomach with an almost pondering look. “How do I not know that you are currently hiding a Strong inside of your womb from me at this very moment?”
“Because I drink moon tea of course, my prince. Why would I wish to potentially burden my future children with the tainted blood that ran through my husband's veins, when there are hundreds of men throughout the seven kingdoms who easily possess blood ten times purer than his ever did?”
“And who are these men then my lady? Could you name a few so I may have an idea of your idea of pure blood?” He’s playing with you. Testing you even. And yet you must admit that it’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in Harrenhal the entire time you’ve been held practically as a captive there.
“Well there’s your brother of course, the king of the seven kingdoms…” The trail was unintentional, but you couldn’t help but let the next words die on your tongue just so you could admire the thundering glare on the prince's face at the mention of the king. You had heard about the disputes between the two, but you had no idea that this supposed brotherly hate ran so deep between them.
“Tell me who else,” He growls. The sound of it mixed with the feeling of his hand tightening around your neck sending the pure feeling of electricity straight to your already wet core.
“Why there’s many men, my prince! It wasn't like it was hard to possess purer blood than that of a Strong! There’s Dalton Greyjoy… Cregan Stark… Joffrey Arryn… I would even count your own Uncle Daemon to be possessing purer blood than my husband. He is probably one of the few men I would allow to give me my pure children…” With each man you list, the prince's face darkens more and more. You intended to play with the prince at first by making sure to name the men who appeared to side with his half-sister in regards to the throne. Similarly to how he had been teasing you moments ago. However, it seems you played too close to the flames. As when the name of his uncle, and now the name of a man seen as a sworn enemy of the crown, is mentioned from your lips, the prince pulls your face towards his own by the grip on your neck, and claims you with a fiery kiss. The warmth of him spread throughout you, and It truly at that moment felt like you were playing with a true dragon…
“What about me, sweet girl? Am I of purer blood than that of your dead tainted husbands? Am I worthy enough to overflow your womb with my seed and show the kingdoms of how worthy I am?” His whispers make your whole body burn up, as if the blood of the dragon was running through your veins.
“I cannot say my prince… I think you’ll have to show me if you truly think you are worthy enough…” It is the feral-like sound from which the prince releases from deep within, that reminds you once more who it is who is about to claim both you and your body. A dragon. That is what stands before you, and is ready to claim you and change your life forever.
The feeling of the prince's body forcibly overpowering your own as he drags you from the chair you were previously on to the bed, brings a feeling throughout you that Geralt could never have ever achieved.
“Present yourself fully to your prince.” The words drip with lust and desire, as he does not even wait for you to properly respond. Instead, he just tears the weak material straight from your body, leaving you left in only your small clothes before him. His single eye roams over your body greedily to take all of your nude self in. However, you can see it stop at the sight of your heaving chest, your shallow breaths leaving your chest to stutter slightly.
“Gevie…” He mutters before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking hard, no doubt forcing deep coloured marks to form soon after this is over. His mouth wanders even lower though, sucking and biting gently in his wake, before stopping at the skin of your inner thighs, biting softly at the flesh. The sensations make small whines to leave your mouth whenever his teeth seemingly went deep enough to leave indents of his teeth.
The prince does not appear to be in a hurry. As instead of acting like a true dragon would and just taking you, he just stares at the fabric concealing your dripping core from him with a hooded eye. He does not even attempt to move it, as a lone hand of his simply brushes over the fabric lightly. Your head tilts back at the pleasure, so you are unable to see him grinning proudly at the sound of your whines for him when he does this again, and again. Maybe this is your punishment for mentioning his traitorous uncle? Or maybe he is just simply teasing you again…
“Please my prince… show me how I deserve to be blessed with your seed…” You whine, the words must have driven some part of him, as the next thing you know, your smallclothes are being torn off you like the rest of your clothes, and a warm wet tongue is feasting on your cunt giving you the best pleasure you’ve felt in your whole life.
“Oh fuck!” You shout. There is no real need to be quiet, as who is there to hear you? While you yourself are moaning loud enough for the seven to hear, you almost miss the sounds of the prince's own groans, seemingly already addicted to the taste of your arousal that all but leaks from your quivering body onto his awaiting and eager tongue.
“Ao sylutegon se sȳrje … kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris…” He groans into the depth of your cunt, the vibrations adding that extra arousal needed to begin your push over the edge. The words themselves mean nothing to you, and you find that you don’t really care, as you feel the coil deep within you begin to tighten more and more. “Please my prince let me cum!” You shout, “Please my prince!” You try to stop yourself from releasing, you really do, but at the sight of the prince's head seemingly nodding in allowance, you feel yourself releasing on the prince's talented tongue harshly, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.
While you attempt to try and recover from your peak, you can still feel his tongue inside of you, the wet sounds reaching your ears. He acts as if he was trying to claim and taste the last remnants of your peak and arousal, before he no doubt soon rips another from your quivering body.
As the prince lifts his body up to take off his own clothing, you get the glimpse of his arousal covered face. In the current light, you can see his mouth and his chin shining, and it spreads an entire new feeling of arousal within you you didn’t even know was possible. It only worsens though, as you watch him collect some of your juices from his chin with his finger, before sucking on it with an appreciative sound as the taste glides over his tongue.
“Do not call me your prince, call me by my name. Call me Aemond.” He mutters, before he silences your response as he bends to your level to claim your lips with his own.
It’s the combined taste of your arousal on his lips, and the feeling of his erect cock touching the skin of your inner leg, that makes a pathetic whine leave your lips. You almost release another, when the prince, no Aemond, backs away for a moment to look at you with a hooded expression. He truly looks like a dragon about to devour you…
The prince's hands trail over your sweat layered skin with the kind savagery only seen belonging to a man in war. Because by technicality, he is. Aemond Targaryen has no idea when he will die in this Targaryen bloodshed, so he makes sure that he acts on his desires and takes all that you will give to him with great pleasure.
He pumps his cock a few times, to which you watch with eager eyes at the sight of beads of his pleasure coming from the tip of his cock. Much to your surprise and gratitude though, he inserts himself slowly inside of you, and the mixed sounds of his and yours groans of pleasure echo in the room, mixing as one.
Soon, the feeling of the prince's careful and precise thrusts whilst pleasurable, becomes not enough for you. Your legs hook around the prince's waist, and you take Aemond by surprise as you turn the two of you over and take no time in beginning to bounce harshly on his cock.
The deep groans that the prince lets out at the new position are easily one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros…” Again, the strange words' ,most likely to be that of Valyrian, are lost on you. But the way they sound coming from his tongue specifically, spark something almost primal deep inside. The grip that Aemond has on the skin of your thighs, will no doubt leave harsh and deep coloured bruises, and yet when you feel the sparks of pain from his actions, equally arousing sparks of pleasure get sent all the way up your spine.
Your hands grasp at Aemonds skin for some kind of stability, and your nails dig into his skin so harshly as you try to ground yourself, that you can see small droplets of blood beginning to mark the surrounding flesh. The very sight of it though does not deter you, and if anything it makes you harsher in your efforts for another peak to wash over you.
Although, Aemond surprises you by gripping at your hips and beginning to harshly thrust himself upwards into your wet heat. His cock reached the rough patch deep inside of you that you never knew existed. You were so invested in this new pleasure though, that you had no idea that at this development you had begun to practically shout your pleasures loudly and clearly into the room.
As his cock head bullies that spot inside you, one of his hands reaches to take hold of your neck similarly to earlier. But the grip he holds you now is harsher and less careful, and it makes you breathless. “Oh fuck…” You murmur as your head begins to fill with a strange fuzziness sensation. You feel like you could honestly die there and then. You’ve never felt this type of pleasure before. Never with your husband, and not even with yourself whenever you tried exploring your body as a young girl. The feelings that Aemond was giving you, made the entire world numb, and your body fucking electric.
“Will you let me shoot my seed deep inside you?” Finally, he speaks some words you can understand, other than his deep groans he was serenading you with moments ago. “Will you allow me to show the seven kingdoms the woman who carries my babe in her belly?”
The whine you let out is involuntary, as well as the imagery that comes to mind of you walking eagerly with the prince, a swelling belly officially holding the babe of a man worthy of possessing his blood inside of your womb.
“Yes my prince… show me exactly how worthy you are of me…” A devious idea comes to mind, and a smirk is present on your face as you next speak. “Show me if you truly are better than my husband, the Strong…”
Aemonds face visibly darkens with anger, and the grip that he holds your skin with tightens. His thrusts are harsh as he forcibly brings you to your peak, the feeling of it all rushing through your body at speeds you had no idea was imaginable.
Even when you feel yourself try to recover, the overstimulation begins to set in as Aemond continues to thrust up into you, even as you begin to go numb all over. Still, you’re thankful at the sound of Aemonds deep growl as you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to your brim.
As you gaze down at the heaving body of Aemond, your eyes drink him all in. The blood that you had caused to be brought up from his chest, ran in small delicate trails down his skin, and it excited you all over again to see it.
A knock rings from the door, and to your surprise, Aemond merely sits up to hold you in his arms and tells the person to enter.
It is not a man who enters, but a boy who looks as if he was already scarred by the war he has joined. It is a pity to even look at, but it certainly looks up as you see the shock on the boy's face when he observes the room and spots the body of your former husband, now stiff and pale on the floor.
“What is it you need?” Aemond snaps, his tone making the boy's eyes snap to look at him, only for the boy's eyes to wander to you, and takes over you unashamedly. He is only able to see the nude form of your back, and yet your body still burns with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the situation.
“Ser Cole said that when we are sure all the male Strongs were dead, we were to await your orders my prince.”
“Now that the males are dead, I command you to tell the others to make sure that they leave no Strong alive, except this one… this one will be of great use to me…” Aemond murmurs, a single finger tracing the skin of your face to look only at him, as he gazes at you deeply.
You can hear the door shut behind you, and while the silence overcomes the room you cannot help but question Aemonds previous command. “What of the women like me?” The prince raises a single brow, as if he is confused. Yet he is Aemond Targaryen, the man who has near successfully committed a whole genocide on a single house in one day. You cannot allow him to dodge a question on the basis of fake confusion. “Women born not of house Strong, and yet sold to them to be wedded and bedded for their blood to be spread?”
“Why little one they too must die, for they have had the seed of a strong taint their womb forever more. While you on the other hand my lady, knew of the tainted blood of House Strong, and rightfully rid yourself of any opportunity to taint yourself. House Strong must die, my darling, and not only by blood, but by name as well. Surely you must understand, given out shared hatred moments ago?”
“Is my name not Strong currently, my prince?” You tease. Your face widening in a content smile as Aemond dots wet and no doubt marking kisses on the skin of your neck, high enough so your collars may not cover them, so all could see who has done this to you.
“Soon my darling… soon it shall be Targaryen. And it shall also be the name of my son who is currently sleeping in your belly…”
His hand traces your skin, and you hope he does not raise it higher in fear that he will hear the sound of your heart racing at his words. You cannot find yourself able to reply to him, as the words seem to die in your throat. Instead, you simply lay your head on his shoulder, and try to blank out the high feminine screams of your fellow women as they begin to echo on the cold castle walls. The single tear that begins to roll from your eye could easily have been from the emotional turmoil you have faced, or it could easily be sadness and regret of what you have just done. You will never know…
High Valyrian Translates Part:
• Gevie - beautiful
• Ao sylutegon se sȳrje… kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris - You taste the best… I will call you my only woman now till the end
• Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros - fuck… thats it… good whore take your pleasure from your prince
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond x you#prince aemond#aemond targaryen/reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x fem!reader#Strong!reader#house strong#aemond fic#aemond targaryen smut#prince aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond smut#aemond#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen x you#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon smut#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd fic#hotd smut
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send her my love (boxer!steve x fem!librarian!reader)
summary: a series of letters written after your recent breakup with steve, recounting your time apart.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
♡ the king of the ring ♡
main masterlist
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mushy-gushy-lovey-dovey love letters.
a/n: pretty self explanatory, but libby’s letters are in pink, steve’s are in black ♡
“…how it hurt so bad to see her cry. i didn’t want to say goodbye. send her my love, memories remain. send her my love, roses never fade.”
—send her my love, journey
december 1992—march 1993
♡ ♡
12/05/92
Dear Libby,
Dear god I hope you open this. My hands are shaking so bad around the pen that I’m sure it’ll be all scratchy and shit, but I hope you know that I’m trying. I know how much you love letters, and after you stopped picking up my calls a few weeks ago…I figured this was the best way to reach you.
It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other. I hate thinking about that day. I hate thinking about you crying, and crying because of me. Because of something I did. I want you to know that I take full accountability for what I did, my love. That’s a word they said I should use more often. Accountability. “They” would be Big and Mikey. When they heard about what happened…I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them so mad. I think, for a moment, Big thought about coming out of retirement just to kick my ass into next year.
I patched up the wall myself. It was my mess to clean. The house seems so big and empty without you. I never realized it echoed before.
I don’t blame you for going home, baby. I know you’ve been wanting to go for a while. I know I drove you away. Pushed you away. I was so terrible to you and I see that now. I’m so sorry it took something so awful for me to see it. But you were right. I’m just like my father. And I needed someone to tell me that so I could realize how fucking stupid and awful I’ve been.
I hope you don’t mind that I used some of your stationary to write this to you. You left it on the desk downstairs. The shelves came in for your books and I put them up. Maybe when you come home, we can fill them up. I’ll buy you all the books in the world, my girl.
I’m sorry. Please know that.
Love,
Steve.
♡ ♡
12/10/92
Steve,
I was surprised to receive your letter. When I stopped answering and your calls stopped coming, I assumed we were done for good. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Despite my every want to feel the opposite, I’m still so terribly in love with you that my head hurts every waking moment of the day. I ache with it. Now that we’re apart, it bleeds. It has nowhere to go. I have nowhere to put it. But this was your doing, Steven. I don’t want you to forget that.
We both said terrible things that day, but what you did was unforgivable. You promised from the start to never raise a hand against me in anger. You promised to never become the thing you hated. I took your word as bond, and perhaps that was my mistake. Perhaps that’s my grievance to regret.
I miss you terribly, but this time apart will be good for us. It’s what we need. I’ve been away from home since I was 19. My brother stands taller than me. His voice is so much deeper than when I left. They’re getting computers at the library soon. Everything is so different, yet it all still seems the same. But even these tiny differences make me realize how long I’ve been away.
It’s snowing here in Hawkins and I helped mom put up the Christmas lights. Nick and I had a snowball fight. I felt ten years old again. Mom made hot chocolate and we watched Charlie Brown. I know how much you love Charlie Brown’s Christmas. But in that moment, I felt wonderfully calm. I felt okay. I felt happy.
And it made me wonder…were we happy, Steve? Or have we been pretending for too long?
I’m glad my shelves came. Use them for your trophies.
XO,
Libby
♡ ♡
12/14/92
Libby,
I can’t tell you how happy I was to get your letter in the mail. I’ve been scared to open it for the past two days. But the thought of going a moment more without knowing what you said would kill me. I can hear your voice so clearly when I read your words.
I’ll never forget what I did that day, Libby. It will always be a reminder of how awful I’ve become. And it will always be a reminder of who I don’t want to be ever again.
I know it doesn’t mean much now since I’m a few months too late, but I’m talking to someone. A shrink or whatever. Big recommended him. Apparently he specializes in “anger issues.” You know how I feel about sitting down and whining about my problems, but…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help. If it turns me back into the man you loved then I’ll sit on that couch and talk for days.
You asked if we were pretending, and for me at least, I never pretended for a moment. There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t love you with every ounce of my being. I’m sorry if you felt you had to pretend. I’m sorry that you weren’t happy, and if you give me the chance, I’ll do my best to make you happy this time around.
No amount of trophies or champion belts in the world could make up for the loss of you, my angel. Please know that and believe it.
Yours,
Steve
♡ ♡
12/22/92
Steve,
I hate the way your words make my heart pound. All that love is still so strong, and it’s all still festering in me. But the heartache is just as powerful. The heartache is just as real.
I cannot give you a second chance just yet. I don’t think we’ve quite earned it. I don’t think we’ve yet reached a point where we’re both okay—on our own. I want to be okay even without you. I fear I’ve become so reliant on you to tell me where life will go, because my life has revolved around your own. I’ve never found my own path to wander. I want that opportunity now.
I went to the Hideout tonight. A Christmas party with some friends. I haven’t felt that young in years, Steve. I’m only 22.
Merry Christmas, Steve. And happy New Year.
XO,
Libby
♡ ♡
1/3/93
Libby,
Christmas was lonely without you. Mikey invited me to his "bachelor pad" in L.A for a "booze fest" (all his words). Gargling gravel sounded like a better time. For a minute, I thought maybe it might be good to get out. To be my own person, like you said. But everything just feels so dull now.
I thought about mailing your present, but I figured you'd just get upset. I want to respect your space and our time apart. My shrink says I have to find more time for other people's wants and needs instead of just prioritizing my own. Is that what I've been doing, Libby? Is that what I've always done?
I guess I kinda did. Took you away from the library and your home. I just wanted you with me all the time. I couldn’t imagine getting through that first string of fights without you. I don’t think I’d be the fighter I am today if I didn’t have you there.
I guess I’m talking about “me” a lot again. I’m sorry I do that.
I hope your Christmas was nice. Hope it snowed the way you like.
Love,
Steve
♡ ♡
1/28/93
Libby,
I haven’t heard from you all month. I thought I’d reach out again. For a few days, I had myself convinced my letter got lost in the mail. I waited for a “return to sender” to come. I think I would’ve preferred the honest rejection to your silence. It’s been so quiet here, my girl. I miss the sound of your voice in our home.
The fights mean nothing anymore. I won the Russell fight last week and felt nothing. Ever since you left, victory tastes stale. The referees declare the winner and I just hear static. Jesus, I miss you so much I started reading some of your sappy literature last week. It’s clearly having an affect.
I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re good. I miss you more and more with every passing day. I miss you more than I thought was ever humanly possible for one person to miss another. I never thought this deep of a feeling could exist. This “break” has taught me a lot.
Been talking to the shrink more too. He says I have an issue with authority and always need to feel in control because of how my dad was. Big fucking brain on this guy, huh? Must’ve went to school in Dumb Fuckville.
Sorry. I’m trying to be kinder. Not swear so much. Wish they made patches for anger like they do for nicotine. Something to ease the ache. But it’s hard to quit something you were born into. The Harrington rage doesn’t just disappear over night. But I swear I’m trying. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, baby. I’m doing my best to be better.
I hope I hear from you. I hope you’re alright.
I love you.
— Steve
♡ ♡
2/3/93
Steve,
I meant to write. I’ve been so busy now that I’m at the library full time again. I forgot how taxing it can truly be, but it’s like riding a bike. The smell of the books, the feel of the paper, the conversations you have with readers who don’t know where to look, or the ones who do and are searching for more. I forgot how important I feel between those stacks of books.
My girlfriends and I have been going out. They never got to celebrate my twenty-first with me, so we had a belated celebration a few weeks ago. We went to a bar in Indianapolis, took a bus the whole way there. The bar was loud and hot and sticky, and someone spilled beer all over my purse. I know you would’ve hated it, but part of me wished you were there. Bodies were pressing against each other on the dance floor, touching and smearing sweat—but all I wanted to feel was yours. Your familiar frame, right next to me. Only with you have I ever felt so secure.
Anyway, I got my first hangover, and that wasn’t fun. Especially because I’m still staying with my parents and they still think I’m seventeen. Nick tried to get me to buy him beer for his friends. I wish I could be this ‘cool’ older sister for him, but right now he doesn’t like me very much.
I watched your fight last week. There’s something so different in the way you move now. Your punches seem heavier, harder. You take more hits before you hit back. I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know I always worry, Steve. I worry about what might happen if you take too many hits. All those concussions can’t be good. I’m no doctor, but I figure eventually, they’ll catch up to you. I don’t want to see that happen. I can’t fathom the idea of losing you like that. No matter what happens between us, I always want to know you’re well. Selfishly, I always want to know you're out there if I need to call.
I’m glad to know you’re trying, and that you’re still going to therapy. I think it’s very healthy, Steve, and I appreciate and value your honesty. And….I miss you too.
Yours,
Libby
♡ ♡
2/12/93
Libby,
There hasn't been a moment that's gone by since you left that I haven't wished I was with you. In whatever way that might be, all I've wanted is to feel your body next to mine. I miss your touch, your smell, your smile. I never want to know another kiss but yours. I never want to hold another body in my arms that isn't yours. I don't think I could stomach the thought of never having that again.
The longer the time between us lasts and the further the distance grows, the worse I ache for you. God I sound like a fucking dope. It's all those novels you left me, I swear I'm not this sappy. But I guess with you I am.
Please forgive me. Please come home. All I can do now is beg, and show you how hard I'm trying.
I love you, angel. There's nobody and nothing but you.
Love,
Steve
P.S. You're the best big sister. Nick will see that one day when his brain isn't full of beer and Playboy.
P.P.S. Happy early Valentine's Day, baby. I hope the flowers are okay.
♡ ♡
2/17/93
Dear Steve,
I loved the flowers, and I loved the sap. Reading your last letter brought tears to my eyes, and for the first time in a while, they were blissful. I cannot begin to describe the size of the welt in my chest. It feels bruised by your absence and my longing.
Despite every bone in my body yearning for you, I cannot come home. Not yet. I'm not ready. I don't think you are, either. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while it pains both of us to endure it, I think they're right. Whoever "they" are.
In the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit: Tom Marrow asked me out for Valentine's Day. And god damn you, Steve, I said no. I said no because I'm wilting without your sun shining on me, and I'm lost without you by my side. I said no because I'll never be able to look into the face of another man without wishing it was yours.
I said no because I know, one day (maybe soon, maybe not), I'll come home to you. Don't let that get to your head.
Love,
Libby
♡ ♡
2/22/93
Libby,
My heart has never suffered as many palpitations in all my high-risk athletic career as it did reading your letter. I hate the way the paper crumpled in my fist when I read about fucking Tom. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to abandon the jealousy that fills me when I think of you with another man. But I can admit, it reached a point even I don't like to think of. I was letting it control me. I'm trying not to do that anymore.
The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink. That's what you've reduced me to, my love. An animal searching for you in the earth.
Please come home. Please come back to me.
Yours,
Steve
♡ ♡
3/2/93
My darling Steve,
I'm coming home to you. Please unlock the door.
Yours always,
Libby
♡ ♡
#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington au#steve the babysitter#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#joe keery fic#joe keery fanfiction#joe keery#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington angst#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington fluff#king steve#steve the hair harrington
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⋆⁺⋆ ⁺₊⋆ ☁︎Self-aware!CRK x Reader
they waited and waited for so long, where have you been now?
Time flew by, days turned weeks and weeks turned into months and that app you downloaded remained untouched. You almost forgot about it, but then a thought crept into your mind... why not give it a go and open the app for a little while? Who knows what kind of adventure awaits you in there!
soon then as you opened the app, a silly sugar gnome appeared in your screen as they greeted you, attempting to rouse you from your slumber. How adorable! However, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for neglecting the game for several months.
upon tapping the bubble chat to continue, you were woken up by the sugar gnome. Shortly then, a cookie by the name of Gingerbrave appeared on your screen, extending a warm welcome back greeting and surprising you with various missions and new mails.
The experience of being pleasantly surprised by the cookie's missions and warm welcome evokes a sense of happiness within you. This feeling has reignited your interest in playing the game, reminiscent of the initial excitement you felt upon downloading it. then a,
"Whoah, welcome back!"
exclaimed Gingerbrave with a huge grin on his face. He was positively beaming as he directed his attention towards the exciting quest called 'We Missed You!' story, as you completed the quest, you then let out a small chuckle and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, a surprise gift appeared, accompanied by a warm welcome from Wizard Cookie aswell.
As you delved deeper into the game, a sudden light giggles escaped your lips again, instantly lifting your spirits. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, playing this game more often could be the key to unlocking your happiness again....
as you continued playing the gameplay, it appears that you have failed to take notice or acknowledge the fact that your cookies are watching you with great delight, sporting broad smiles on their faces. They are astounded by your return after all these days and find it to be a most delightful occurrence. The cookies are now eager to capture your attention and bask in your presence.
mainly, Pure Vanilla Cookie is thrilled to see you again! With a huge smile on his face, he knows that you, a human outside of their own world, have returned. Despite being just a silly pixelated character, he is determined to make a difference and show you his worth. He won't give up until he proves himself to be a valuable part of your experience and same aswell for other cookies.
"I-I can't believe it! is it really Baker?!"
"they're back! oh thank earthbread!"
"Our Baker has returned! they have returned!!"
the air was electric with the sound of many voices, all talking with an excitement that was palpable. The crowd had gathered to welcome back their dearest baker, and they were positively bursting with joy. It was clear that they would do anything to spend their lives with this beloved baker, who had captured their hearts.
"Please remain calm, everyone." Pure Vanilla exclaimed, urging everyone to hush up and lend an ear. he patiently waited for their undivided attention, ready to address the situation at hand. Finally, the cookies heeded the king's call and directed their focus towards him. with unwavering obedience, they followed his commands and maintained a hushed silence.
"Now that our dear baker has finally returned, we must celebrate and welcome them!" with a cheerful and enthusiastic tone, he conveyed his message to the audience, announcing the return of their baker and urging them to make preparations to warmly welcome them back.
the roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as they erupted in a thunderous cheer, their voices rising in unison to create a symphony of excitement and energy. It was a moment of pure joy, as the crowd continued to cheer, it was clear that this was a moment that made the cookies feel so much alive more than before!
The cookies are eagerly planning to celebrate their beloved baker's return, spending quality time with them, and most importantly, doing everything in their power to bring you back into their world.
You were completely immersed in the game for a solid hour, but as fatigue started to set in, you knew it was time to take a break. With a sigh of satisfaction, you exited the app and gently placed your phone on the table. as you stood up, you stretched your limbs and made your way towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat.
now that you've just returned from a quick snack break, plopped down on your comfy couch, and grabbed your phone. But as you excitedly opened the gameplay, something strange began to happen. glitches started popping up on your screen, causing you to freak out a bit, you managed to keep your cool and reassure yourself that it was just a pesky bug... right?
"That's odd. It's probably just a minor glitch," you reassured yourself as you clicked the start button. Suddenly, your phone screen was illuminated with a blinding white light, but you remained calm for a second. This now freaked you out alot as you began to wonder if this is the end of your phone.
just as you were about to let out a scream, you suddenly found yourself sucked into the depths of your phone, and everything around you went pitch black.
...
As you slowly emerged from your slumber, you attempted to pry open your eyelids, your vision was a bit blurry and couldnt see who was trying to wake you up but all you could think was... a figure of familiar cookie, as you sat up and rubbed your noggin with a slight groan, "what the?..." you couldn't help but wonder if you were still dreaming.
"—ke up... Rise and Shine my dear—!"
The words echoed through your mind, jolting you awake. As you shook off the grogginess, causing a slight disorientation as your sight gradually sharpened. cookie...? wait... Pure Vanilla?!
you can't believe your eyes as you stare at the cookie in front of you. Did it magically appear out of nowhere? Is this some kind of illusion? a prank?! this must be a dream! right?! You blink, hoping to snap out of it. Pure Vanilla extended his hand, ready to help you up. But as you looked at him, your mind was still reeling and you hesitated to take his hand. You tried to figure out what's happening and your heart was racing.
The cookie patiently awaited your gesture to take his hand, as he sought to establish a sense of trust with you. Eventually, you reached out and grasped his hand, allowing him to assist you in rising to your feet.
as you rose to your feet, you couldn't help but take in your surroundings with a sense of bewilderment. everything feels so weird! the sky is normal... you then return your gaze back towards the cookie which appeared to be grinning radiantly.
"a-are you real?" You stammered, your finger trembling as you pointed towards him in disbelief. "t-this has to be some kind of joke... right?" You whispered the final words, feeling as you were about to lose your mind but then Pure Vanilla emitted a slight chuckle and stated, "Oh my dear, don't be silly, this is real indeed and this is no joke. " The cookie spoke in a gentle tone as he patted your head.
what?!... real??... theres no way you're here... could it be possible you're stuck in the game..!? how! just how!?
i literally have this draft saved.💀🏳️
anyways, hope u enjoy ig, bad ahh grammar LMAO
#crk x reader#cookie run x reader#cookie run kingdom x reader#self aware cookie run#help this was back in 2023 and i somehow forgot to publish it LMAOO#pure vanilla cookie x reader
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