#to become his queen series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Companion

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 3.3k Summary: A month after the king of Talokan takes you as his betrothed, you question your position and the future as your expectations have been disappointed.

Content Warnings: angst to some relationship resolution, EXPLICIT SMUT (oral-female receiving, fingering), strong language

Additional Notes: This is a direct sequel to Consort - and while there's probably enough context to read this on its own, it will mean far less without reading the first part - the first part that could really be blamed by @nellycanwrite and being a TALENTED ARTIST AND MENACE. We would not be here if not for a particular piece she shared an unfinished sneak peak of last December.

You are restless, agitated, feeling completely unmoored.

Sleep is not going to come to you soon. It hadn’t the past few nights, but tonight you are not going to give yourself over to endless tossing and turning or trying to read yourself to distraction. You are exhausted, but too strung out to find any respite in your room. You quietly slip out of your chambers and begin to wander.

When you eventually find yourself in the throne room, you laugh bitterly to yourself. Naturally this is where your subconscious would take you. This is where your life completely altered course a month ago, betrayed and traded at your father’s hand for peace amongst kingdoms, the tectonic plates of your life not only shifted but shattered.

Only to be picked up by him moments later.

You look out over the expanse of the drop off from the perimeter of the throne room. The view out over Talokan is stunning in the simulated vibranium moonlight, but you resent the view. It’s one more painful piece of your new reality – as beautiful as this kingdom is, it’s still not the picturesque view of Fourchon and your former life in the kingdom of your upbringing.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a few moments, trying to control the anger and sadness.

When the traitorous trade had been made, you thought your father had sealed your fate as a token consultant at best or prisoner at worst, but K’uk’ulkan had spun a different narrative, one where the potential that would have been wasted in your former kingdom was something he saw and wanted at his side as his queen consort. His words had been a balm to your soul, and you had believed him when he said he’d wanted you – to take into counsel, to serve the kingdom, to influence. It was a lifeline offered, and you’d grasped that tether, letting him pull you in. He’d started to put you back together with promises and sealed it with a moment of intimate bliss beyond anything you could have imagined.

Then it was almost as if you’d been banished from his presence. At first you had accepted the explanations of business that needed his attention in other parts of the kingdom and other realms or that his schedule had demanded unanticipated changes, rarely getting to take meals with him, culminating no contact at all for the last two weeks.

You didn’t know it was going to be that way in the beginning though, so you’d spent your month acclimatizing and throwing yourself into life in Talokan. He’d said you were built to rule, driven to do good, why not with him, and since you’d thought he was telling you the truth, you had made the effort to get to know the people, know their culture, know their lives, their struggles, hopes, and dreams. It was intimidating at first – they were a fierce people brought up to be ready for war – but they also created and forged happiness, and you wanted to prove yourself. Before long, you forgot the nerves and tucked away the feeling of being an imposter, because you created relationships, took up projects, and started to create a new routine in your life that meant something to you.

You think the life you are building in this new kingdom is good except for the one perhaps most important thing.

Tomorrow you are supposed to wed the ruler of this kingdom, and you felt that was now a hollow artifice. The final fitting for your wedding clothes today had felt frivolous and futile. How could you be expected to marry K’ul’kulkan with the distance, the disinterest?

You roll your shoulders back and lift your head up, refocusing your gaze out over this new place.

You will wed Namor with the same resolve that had held you together in the initial moments your life had been traded for an alliance – you would always be duty and honor bound. A foolish glimmer of a passionate partnership was more than you had expected growing up, it had been dangled in front of you for a moment but had quickly dwindled and ultimately disappeared. A political arrangement, and if the past few weeks were indicative of the future, then the only consolation was it seemed Namor would at least let you make your own choices and wouldn’t interfere with the projects you pursued, things you knew you could leverage for good with your position of power in his kingdom.

You only wish you hadn’t been given a glimmer of what might have been. It would have been much easier to manage without the taste of more.

“When you were not in your chambers, I thought I might find you here.”

You turn slowly, forcing your face to give away nothing of your shock or your resentment to the king.

“I was looking for you,” he says, crossing the large expanse of the space.

“Really, your highness?”

“Certainly. Tomorrow you are to become my bride.” He stops an arm’s length away from you.

You can’t help the hardening of your features you feel at this proclamation. “I’m amazed you remembered.”

He tilts his head. “Do not be petulant, Princess.”

“The picture you painted a month ago has not been the reality.”

“What complaint can you possibly have to give?”

“You lied to me,” you let your anger finally spill out in your tone. “With my life shattered to pieces in this very room, you started to put me back together by saying you said you wanted me as your queen consort, not just a wife to adorn your arm and give you an heir, a companion.” You take half a step closer to him. “But where have you been these weeks, especially this fortnight? You left the broken pieces of me on a shelf, discarded and forgotten.”

“Make no mistake,” Namor says and grips your chin, pulling you closer, “you are not forgotten.”

Your eyes are locked on each other now, and it seems you are each trying to delve into the soul of the other. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, opening your mouth. The action is not rough in any way, but it serves to communicate his strength, your vulnerability, and that he could subject you to anything. “You are mine, Princess.”

Then suddenly he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side before swimming swiftly into the jaws of his throne. He sets you aright and the two of you stand face to face.

“I sought you out tonight to remind you of what we spoke of that day on this very spot. Clearly you did not need a reminder, but perhaps insight into my choices. At present you think me rash and negligent or easily distracted to become betrothed to a stranger in a matter of moments and then seemingly abandon you.

“My offer of marriage was swift but not rash. I told you that day the things I had already learned about you, and the time we spent together showed even more clearly who you were. I have lived and ruled for hundreds of years, I know well how to read a person’s character, and the interaction we shared in those brief moments confirmed you had a fierce and noble spirit with both a compassion to sacrifice for your people and passion to match my own.”

Part of your chest starts to swell, but you dampen it down. He built you up with his words once before, and you are cautious not to get carried away so easily.

“That does not explain why you distanced yourself from me.” You needed more than flattery for your character.

“I am not easily surprised, but I confess I did not expect to be presented with the offer your father made. If you were to become the companion I wanted to see at my side, I knew I could not be the one to put you back together. I wanted the future queen that only you could forge by getting to know my kingdom, my people, our way of life, and integrating yourself into Talokan in your own right. Building your own reputation amongst them these past weeks, they see you are not merely a foreign princess acquired for an alliance, they will accept you as their queen because they know you. You have conquered them with your heart, your goodness, your passion, your sharp mind.”

He pauses to search your face. His words have both softened and strengthened you.

“I did not want to influence or distract in any of that.”

You nod, considering every word, not ready to respond yet.

“Now I did have certain things to attend to, some of which you will know very soon, but I confess I did limit and ultimately withhold the time we could have spent together.”

You open your mouth to argue this point, but he chuckles and shushes you.

“The more time I spent with you – scant as it was – and the more reports that came in from my advisors, my people, even your guards and the servants that attend you – yes, I spoke with them regularly – the more I did not want to share you with anyone else. Since I did not want to rob you of the unique and limited time to integrate into Talokan during our engagement, I cut myself off altogether.”

Your mouth hangs open at this rationalization, your brow furrowing further and further as he had explained his absence. But you do gather your wits, and challenge, “You avoided spending time together because you wanted to spend time with me?”

His smirk is nearly a smolder. “Once we are wed, I’m not sharing your time with anyone until I have to, and we will only spend our days apart as is strictly necessary when we resume royal duties after the honeymoon.”

Oh, he is good with that tongue, you think.

“Tomorrow, I will have you in every way, but for now I want to worship at the altar of what will be mine.”

He seizes your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. The heat is searing, and your lips demand equally of each other. He nips and you whimper, allowing him to plunge his tongue into your mouth. He is hungry for you, and you can’t deny him now.

With one hand still holding your neck and the other now at your shoulder, he moves so the back of your knees meet the edge of the throne, and he slowly pushes you down to sit, stepping between your legs. You look up at him, and you move a hand to his hip.

“Not tonight, my princess,” he says, his eyes dark with lust. “I can wait. I have an atonement and assurance to make of the sincerity of my intentions.”

You’re entranced as he kneels before you. The hand that was on your neck moves down over one of your breasts, along your ribs, and then grabs your hip, pulling you to the edge of the seat. You clutch the stone arms of the throne as his other hand goes beneath your nightdress, finding your knee, and pushes the fabric out of the way as he moves his hand diligently up your soft thigh. When that hand finishes its journey, he tears your underwear away, making you yelp and grasp at the hand he still has on your hip. You know he has preternatural strength, but to experience it, know it’s there in his veins at every moment, and that he must meticulously measure it out is terrifying yet intoxicating.

Much like he is in every sense.

He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and turns his head to press his warm lips to your tender flesh. Slow kisses. Deliberate. Your heart races. You’re desperate with anticipation but the exquisite torture is its own bliss. “Namor,” you plead.

He bites in punishment, and you cry out.

“That is not the name I told you to use,” he says, his voice even but stern. “I will not have you speak the name relegated to my enemies when you have me like this.”

No. Because this is the two of you, intimate. You needed to let him back in. You want to let him back in. “K’uk’ulkan,” you let it fall from your lips.

It draws a small genuine smile that softens this powerful man and warms you even more. He soothes the bite with another kiss, but then the next place his lips land is directly over your core. Your head falls back, and you utter his name again, unbidden as bliss shoots through your body. He is in no hurry as he begins mouthing at your most intimate parts. He warms you up with slow, methodical licks of his broad tongue. He gently draws your nether lips into his mouth, sucking and savoring. Your leg curls around his back as your body surrenders to him. He adjusts the hand over your hip to entwine his fingers with yours, anchoring you to each other while he continues to draw out your pleasure. He pulls back with a long suck, then he dives back in, leading with his nose, following it with another lick behind. When he reaches your clit, he circles it with the tip of his nose, gives a quick flick with his tongue, and then he puckers his lips to suck just the little bead with precision and concentrated force.

Little whimpers, whines, and longer moans fall from your mouth with abandon, and the thought that someone could hear you, could perhaps see this, is a fleeting fear and thrill before he resumes sucking and gliding along your folds, and you discard any worry because you can’t concentrate on anything but his exquisite actions. The king of Talokan is on his knees, continuing to plunder you on his throne. Your free hand threads into his dark hair, gloriously soft in your fingers, and you press him even closer. He hums against your cunt, pausing, and you can feel his lips curling in a smirk, but you don’t care. You need more, and so you tug his locks, and he happily yields to your insistence.

Oh, he is even better at this with his tongue, you think.

He zig-zags his tongue across your slit, then pushes it in your hole. In and out, and again, and again. He begins to speed up, and you’re trembling around him.

Then nothing at your core, and you cry out, your eyes shooting open to look down at him.

He chuckles. You narrow your gaze at him, “You–“

He surges up to put a stop to your words with a kiss, persistent until he feels you soften, then draws away and brushes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re meant for more than instant gratification, my pearl.”

Those words send a shiver down your spine, and you would be irked by the smile that’s still too close to a smirk on his face, but you both know he’s now earned this moment with you. What’s more, there’s a depth in the eyes of the look he’s giving you, proof that it’s not cockiness, but satisfaction tinged with yearning that strikes you to your core. “Please.”

“Tell me what you want, Princess. I will give you everything,” he swears, and you know he means it indefinitely.

“Make me come, my king.”

He nods, eyes remaining fixed on you as his hand moves to your cunt. He inserts one finger, pressing in and then drawing back out, and you hum in approval. He doesn’t hesitate to add a second finger, and you push your hips forward even more. The heat and concentration of his gaze on you is tremendous, and it continues stoking its own fire in your soul, but it’s more than you can handle in this moment, so you close your eyes and draw him back in for another searing kiss, plunging your tongue into his mouth, doing your best to undo him in at least some small way.

He seems to sense this is your intention, as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, and he curls his fingers up and finds the spot on the wall of your pelvis that will be your undoing. You keen when he finds it, your head falling back. He presses just one open-mouthed kiss to the column of your neck, offered up vulnerably to him, and then he swiftly descends to bury his head back between your thighs. He immediately sucks your clit, his fingers continuing to plunder your tight channel, and you wrap your legs around his neck, crossing your ankles against his muscular back. The pleasure builds, coiling in your stomach, your limbs tightening. He curls those fingers again, expertly, and hurtles you over the edge, cries of ecstasy escaping your chest.

His mouth releases your clit, but his fingers carefully stroke you through your orgasm, drawing out the rippling sensations. He solemnly kisses up and down your leg, and you’re still riding the bliss, but you can feel his eyes trained up on you once more.

Just as you think he will withdraw, his fingers pick up speed up again, but he plunges them in deeper. His lips return to torment you with pleasure, and you grasp at his head, though the action is futile as you are no match for his immense strength. His free hand is now planted at the base of your spine, not allowing you to squirm even one inch away from his ministrations. He is in earnest, and so your second orgasm breaks over you quickly, and you collapse forward, the desperate whimpers of release swallowed up by him a moment later as he straightens up and his lips seek yours. You sink into the kiss, and he pulls you from the throne and into his embrace. He moves easily to reclaim his throne, much as he has reclaimed you. His lips continue to kiss you, but they drift away from your lips and back – moving over your cheeks, your jaw, along your neck, softly over your eyes, over your forehead, your shoulders, the spot beneath your ear, the juncture at your collarbone, ghosting over your temples, every bit of skin that’s exposed to him. He wants all of you. You’re powerless to do anything but accept his ministrations, and you have no desire to refuse this exploration, blissed out as you are.

When his kisses slow, you bring your delicate fingers up to caress his face. He rests his forehead against yours, and his arms around your torso tighten, pressing you closer.

“Do not doubt that you are the companion that I want,” he murmurs. “After so long as the solitary ruler of my people, I have no need to settle for anything less than exactly who I want as my queen consort. Tomorrow you will be crowned.”

“Tomorrow.” You smile. “And I do think I’ll finally be able to sleep.”

“Oh, is that why you were wandering in the first place?”

You laugh. “Well, it was the mind that was agitated, but now…”

“Now we understand each other?”

“We do.”

“Then I hope you understand I’m not done with you yet, Princess.”

You gasp as his hand returns to your quim.

“I want one more, to seal this with three.”

You will be boneless by the time the king of Talokan deigns to surrender you to your bed, but every touch, as lost in pleasure as you are now, only tethers you more strongly to him.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Reblog, comment, and share please. Well-meaning menaces are WELCOME in my askbox.

@littlet-holmes you asked to be tagged when I published part two, so... here we are. :) Also thinking @nunya7394 @elsolario @amorestevens @writing-for-marvel might be interested.

#namor smut #namor x reader #namor x female reader #namor fic #namor fanfiction #aspen wrote something #to become his queen series

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creativesplat · 3 months

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ok... so Lambert x Eve...

Eve and the two Blaiddyds

Lambert and the two Fierenes

The step-siblings

@blaiddydbrokeit and I were talking, and they have now sent me down the wonderful rabbit hole that is Eve and Lambert getting married and looking after their children.

#Dimi desperately needs a good mother figure (y'know rather than his idealised image of Patricia who never really loved him and didn't pay #attention to him no matter what he says to himself (you know only having that one memory of her where she was looking out the window and ig #ring him) and then tried to murder him adn his whole family) anyway #Eve would be good for Dimi #and Lambert and Alfred and Celine would get up to all sorts of shenanigans #but also Lambert might be able to help Celine understand and overcome her fear of other's deaths #Dimitri in particular would be able to understand that fear and sympathise with her #and alfred is just having a great time with a new brother and dad because everything is awesome all the time and his old dad would have lov #d his new dad and he tells alear all about it and she's like ooh!#anyway an adorable meet the step-dad step-brother situation for the couple (you know my alflear loving heart can never resist an opportunit #anyway #other tags were originally messaged to a pal when we discussed the idea but I thought they would work under the picutres too:#crack ship or not Lambert and eve are adorable in my brain #lambert egitte blaiddyd #queen Eve #fire emblem engage #fire emblem three houses #anyway maybe in a heroes universe or something; or dimi revives Lambert using some sort of magic and then Lambert and eve meet up in a Fodl #an and Elyos meet and greet sort of ball and they become friends and then they discuss being widowed and through a long series of meet ups #realise a political marriage between them both would be good for Fodlan and Fahrgus and good for Fierene and Elyos and they're also in love #anyway they both visit each other's spouses graves on the anniversary of death #like they would both really respect their partner's deceased spouses and not be jealous at all when the other gets upset and is like #I really miss them. Because they both get it

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possamble · 14 days

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realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille

#possramble #ignore this im just babbling but #the thing is that like. i don't ship laios and marcille together. their relationship is so so important to me in that laios comphets himsel #and THINKS that he might be in love with her but he isn't and that's my insane obsession #platonic soulmates for real but they're so sweet together that i fully expect them to be shipped together #like i get it. that's almost the appeal for me. if dungeon meshi were any other series there'd be an epilogue where they get married #convention dictates that they're meant to be together as the male protagonist and his beloved female deuteragonist #but dungeon meshi DOESNT do that and i love it so fucking much they're the comphet besties ever for my strange little brain #like if i ever did an arranged marriage au it would absolutely be laios and marcille having a platonic political marriage and then just #the most insane mutual pining with marcille and falin while laios and marcille struggle their way into becoming best friends #the imagery of the king and his beautiful court mage being tender to each other and everyone thinking they're in love is like catnip to me #like yeah they'd be like that and have no idea people think they should be together and the subversion makes me so obsessed #the more people ship them romantically. the more i enjoy their platonic dynamic it's like some sort of weird comphet fetishism idk #people think they're in love and im outside the window like YES... YES!!!#but also the second i see stuff of them kissing on the mouth or fucking im like oh god no i went too deep in here i gotta get out #don't wanna see that. i'll go feral over the idea of laios and marcille being arm-in-arm like king and queen but they would not fuck.#i want marcille to be his default comphet beard and dance partner/plus one at official royal events but they're not kissing.#she's there on his arm because he's scared of the other noble women tryna get him and being a baby about it #and people see them muttering to each other and laughing and generally being very sweet and think that they're dating but they're not.#she's actually covered in hickies from falin underneath her dress and is gonna get dragon dicked right after the party is over #like she's in her bedroom and falin's helping her take her ridiculous dress off while listening to her complain about politics #and falin is the person she goes home to the person she falls asleep to and wakes up with #they're a triad of utter devotion to each other but only farcille's side of the triangle is romantic #it's almost like an open secret because they're not trying to hide it at all but people assume and are surprised to find out #like people are so right about her relationship with the toudens but with the siblings' roles switched #love of her life & irreplaceable life companion. does anyone get it #anyway. i don't know what's wrong with me #it bothers me that they're not the undisputed most popular het ship for marcille on ao3 #it's unnatural. marcille being paired with any other man should be a fringe case.

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aangopologist · 1 year

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GRRM only knows three type of women: "willful", "shrewd" and "sweet" (read meek)

#historically accurate #anti grrm #Arya stark #olenna tyrell #elaena targaryen #daena targaryen #Sansa stark #The sisters of the maidenvault are lite this lmao #Of course there's variations:#He will make the wilful girl become a lusty and stubborn woman #Like Rhaenyra and cersei lmao #Of course his fans will claim he's being because women were boxed into certains roles #Like this isn't a fantasy series with zombies dragons and people with natural purple eyes lmao #He can make plays with laws of genetic but God forbid a woman as a righful queen that isn't written as a shrewd bitch lmao

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acacia-luna-royal · 2 years

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ASKSJFJSJSJJS!!! GUYS!! COCONUTS MAFIA!! TUMBLRINAS STILL OBSESSED WITH KINNPORSCHE!!

Right! Okay! Had an epiphany just as I was about to go to sleep about Porsche’s magnificent, badass, hot as FUCK, sexy, show-stopping, heart-rate elevating, brilliant, strategic, breathtaking, jaw dropping, amazing- I could go on and on- Entrance in the Main Family take down scene:

The way time slowed, the way everyone was shocked to see Porsche join the fight. Everybody being shocked for different reasons. It was epic as FUCK and oh damn... did I forget to breathe during this bit? Hella YES. Did it feel like my heart would jump out my ribcage, walk across my bedroom floor and then yeet itself out of my bedroom window when Porsche stepped in looking like this? Hella YES! But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about. (I mean, I always want to talk about Porsche looking like this and I could go on and on for hours about Porsche in this scene alone but, that would be procrastinating, so let’s move on.)

What I wanted to talk about is how this man, THIS MAN RIGHT HERE:

How this beautiful gorgeous man (Damn Kinn you’re so damn fucking lucky!) Sneaked, literally sneaked into the Main Family compound, in the midst of a full on war, so he could harness up to get weapons galore! He wasn’t there when the fight started, and no one freaking knew he was there! Tankhun and Arm would have only seen him on the cameras when he joined the fight! Porsche snuck in like the Ghost of Mafia Present, just so that he could join the fight and protect his man!

And no offence to the other bodyguards, but Porsche here was literally: “You want a job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself. *Grabs a knife. Loads up a machine gun. Packs a smoke grenade*” Porsche showing everyone the Phoenix that he really is; rising from the ashes which is the chaos, to then come into the middle of the fight, Full Fucking Throttle.

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saturnsorbits · 3 months

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Lessons in Serving your King

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Prince!Bakugo, Suggestive. Word Count: 1.6k.

Summary: Closing in on his 20th name day, tradition dictates that Prince Bakugo choose his first concubines.

A/N: This might become a series, but don't hold your breath.

'I don't want a fucking -.'

Grabbing her son by the cheeks, Mitsuki Bakugo fixes the young prince still with a cold stare. 'You will do as you're told.'

'But -'

'It is tradition, Katsuki. Not even your ego is large enough to put an end to that.' She smirks before releasing her hold and wipes a hand on the left hip of her dress. 'Now, come on... You're late.'

Huffing, Bakugo tugs at his shirt to smooth the wrinkles left by his mother, but follows on her heels obediently. Usually, he'd put up more of a fight, throw a proper tantrum, but the pit of curiosity growing in his stomach stops him making too much fuss. He's fucking human, after all. Of course, he's going to be at least a little interested in the collection of concubines that had been assembled specifically for his perusal.

That didn't mean he had any intention of choosing any of them, though.

The doors of the main hall seem more daunting than usual, but Bakugo hides his trepidation well.

Or so he thinks.

Mitsuki's hand touches softly on his shoulder, guiding him, not through the main hall, but down the corridor. She offers out her elbow, letting him cling to her as they continue to drift closer to a small, more intimate, service room.

The marble clicks under their shoes, the sound amplified endlessly as it rings behind them announcing their arrival. Large windows scatter light, bringing out the red in both Bakugo and his mother's eyes as they pass the selection of special guards already stationed outside the room. All seven of them, five sworn to his mother and two to him, are dressed from head to toe in royal finery with the lightest of chain mail glittering over their chests. Swords hang from their hips, but Bakugo knows there are much more deadly weapons hidden under their clothes and tucked away from prying eyes.

Captain Aizawa, one of Mitsuki's most trusted knights bows low when they reach the door.

Reaching out, Mitsuki presses a hand to his shoulder and pushes him straight again. 'Enough of that, you'll put your back out.'

Aizawa's mouth moves to argue, but Mitsuki doesn't allow his voice to summon a sound.

'Shouta, you have more than earned the right not to bow.' She chides in a way that makes goose-flesh break out on the other guards, but the Captain simply laughs.

'Is the prince ready, My Lady?'

Mitsuki's hand wraps around her son's bicep giving him a firm squeeze. 'Oh, you know him. Dragged here kicking and screaming.'

Bakugo scowls.

'But, I'm sure he'll manage.'

Another guard, tall and broad in the shoulders with a close crop of dark hair and a booming voice clears his throat. 'If I may speak out of turn, Captain?'

'You will not Yoarashi.'

Mitsuki waves him off. 'Oh, let the boy speak Shouta.'

The guard, Yoarashi, smiles. His teeth are too big for his mouth, but somehow there's still something strikingly handsome about him. Bakugo hates it. 'The consorts have outdone themselves this time, I've never seen a more stunning array of -.'

Captain Aizawa silences his guard with a raised hand. 'That's quiet enough, I think the Queen understands your sentiment.'

'Quite.' Mitsuki smiles, locking a chuckle behind her teeth. 'Speaking of the wonderful job my husbands consort has done, I think it's time to see what Inko has found for us, don't you, Katsuki?'

Bakugo nods, it's all he ca manage with the nerves threatening to make his knees wobble like some common whore. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched in his mouth, but it soon looses as he the doors are thrown wide and he's allowed to step into the room.

Inside the room is dark, the thick red curtains covering the windows putting an end to any natural light that should attempt to slink inside. Instead, the room is illuminated by a series of high torches that cast a godly glow about and perfectly highlighting the row of people stood across the centre of the room.

At once, Inko is upon them. She wraps chubby arms around Bakugo without a second thought and greets his mother with a warm kiss to her hand when offered. Following at her heel is Izuku, her darling son. 'Brother.' Izuku smiles.

'Half Brother.' Bakugo spits the former piece of his sentence, enjoying the way it feels between his lips – the distance it offers him from the man before him. They're the same age. Both Mitsuki and Inko had been pregnant at the same time and the boys born mere months apart, although Inko had done the chief portion of the nursing; especially when Mitsuki's milk had dried up. Something that had lead both women to an unlikely friendship.

'I heard you've outdone yourself this time.' Mitsuki pulls at Bakugo, steering him around to the front of the room.

Bakugo's eyes wonder. There's a conversation flowing in the air around him, but he pays no heed. How can he, when the most beautiful man he has ever laid eyes on is looking directly at him.

The man lifts his head. He is bare to the waist with only the smallest piece of cloth to cover his dignity. If Bakugo where to walk around him, which he just might, he'd bet he'd be able to see his ass in all it's glory.

He has red eyes, violent carnelian, that pierce right to Bakugo's soul and red hair that is tied neatly in a bun atop his head. Licking his lips when he catches the princes' eye, the man smiles, flashing a row of blade-like teeth that threaten to bring Bakugo to his knees.

'Did you hear?' Mitsuki pats Bakugo's lapel.

He didn't, but he nods anyway.

His eyes slip further down the line, silently comparing each concubine to the next, but no-one compares to the red-eyed man until his eyes are blessed by you.

You're near the end, stood beside two others that don't even come close to your beauty with your chin tilted to the floor and your hands clasped neatly before you. Like the others, you're dressed in almost nothing, but it's the bright red 'V' painted onto your skin across the top of your breast bone that has him pausing.

He's seen the mark before and a cursory glance back down the line tells him exactly where. The red head, amongst two or three others, also bare the mark.

Bakugo swallows.

Already he can feel his breeches tightening uncomfortably.

'How many?' He snaps, forcing his eyes from the line and onto Inko.

She blinks. 'Pardon?'

'How many... For my... For my harem?'

'Oh. Most choose at least six to begin with, but after that is custom to add another concubine for each year until you reach 29. Sometimes other kingdoms will offer then as gifts, but you're more than welcome to dismiss -.'

Bakugo raises his hand. 'I don't want a history lesson.'

'Oh, I -.' Inko blushes.

'Brat, watch your tongue...' Mitsuki raises her hand to crack him across the back of the head, but the prince side steps her assault easily.

'I want that one...' He points at you, eyes narrowed and hungry before he turns, pointing at the red haired man at the other end of the room. 'And him. That's all.'

Mitsuki's brow furrows. 'Two? Inko here scourers the kingdom for the finest it had to offer and you choose only two?'

Bakugo folds his arms. He can feel your eyes, the red-heads too, burning through his skin. It makes him hot, makes him wonder what it'll be like when your eyes grow heavy, when they're spotted with ears and your mouths are full of his tongue, his fingers, his cock.

Clearing his throat, he tries to readjust his breeches.

He won't have to imagine soon. No, soon, you'll be his.

'Have them brought to my rooms tomorrow.' Turning on his heel he shouts over his shoulder before storming from the room before his cock begins to soak into his breeches.

Tomorrow, he thinks as soon as the doors slam shit behind him.

That should give him enough time to fist himself stupid to the thought of red eyes and glittering skin.

Hopefully, that would stop him making a fool of himself at the first meeting.

Bakugo already looks bored when you're brought into his rooms at noon the following day. The door closes behind you, a guard having performed the customary introductions, and all too quickly you're swallowed by the nerves that climb up your body and twist around your lungs.

Adjusting his seat, Bakugo pulls a foot up onto his chair and spreads his knees. A bark leaves his chest that he hopes is harsher than it feels. 'I don't fuck virgins...'

You hear the wet click of Kirishima's throat from beside you in the silence of the room. Even though the red ink is gone, the fact of your both being intact remains the same. 'Uhm, my lord... I mean – Prince Bakugo, I'm... I think there's been some mistake, we're – we're both -.'

'I know.' He waves his hand. Anticipation creates pins and needles in his thighs. Even if he wanted to fuck right now, he's not sure his body would hold out long enough. Maybe, five orgasms in the space of a day was too much.

'Well, you can see how this might be a problem then...' Twisting his knuckles around each other, Kirishima chews at his lip and forces a weak smile. It's strange how he makes six-foot of man look almost as small as you are, but he does it easily and blushes pretty to boot.

'How -.' He clears his throat. 'How are we supposed to serve you if -.'

'You're going to fuck each other, first.' He arches an eyebrow, drawling as if the solution to his little problem has been more than obvious. A smirk curls his lip. 'I'll watch.'

-> Masterlist

#bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #saturnsorbits #saturnsuggests

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metalandmagi · 9 months

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Romance Anime Starter List

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sick and tired of seeing “Top ___ Best Anime of All Time” lists that are nothing but shounen. So, with "My Happy Marriage" getting a little attention from the anime community, I wanted to put together a list of some romance anime that I consider good “starters” for the genre. Because if I were just now becoming an anime fan, I’d think all there was to offer was shounen action series.

And by “starters” I mean basic stuff that’s not too…out there, and actually involves the characters getting together instead of just harems or using romance as a side plot (sorry Ouran High School Host Club and My Next Life as a Villainess).

So if you’re new to anime and want stuff that’s not just guys beating the shit out of each other (which is also fun, don’t get me wrong), here are some basics.

Taisho Maiden Fairy Tale- When the pessimistic Tamahiko Shima loses all function in his right arm, his family sends him away to live in the mountains with the cheerful, hard working Yuzuki Tachibana…who was purchased by the Shima family to pay off her family’s debts and basically act as a caretaker/future bride for Tamahiko so they’d never have to deal with him again. It’s a more cheerful version of My Happy Marriage (without the supernatural stuff), except in this one, the guy is the one who has massive self-esteem issues and an abusive family. There are still very serious themes, but ultimately it’s not meant to make you cry every episode. I swear it’s so good, but nobody watched it!

Horimiya- A slice of life in which pretty and popular high school queen bee Hori, finds out her quiet, unassuming classmate Miyamura is hiding piercings and tattoos that could get him expelled. The two gradually find out more about each other and get together in the most realistic way I’ve seen depicted in an anime. It’s also fucking hysterical and genuinely emotional.

Recovery of an MMO Junkie- Another slice of life that focuses on two adults who meet in an MMO game without realizing they also know each other in real life. I don’t want to say much more than that. It’s adorable, and the main character is so relatable it hurts.

Love with Yamada-kun at Level 999- Speaking of MMOs, this is a newer series about Akane Kinoshita, a college first year who’s reeling from a bad break up. In an attempt to get back at her ex, she winds up meeting Akito Yamada, a popular gamer who happens to be in her guild in the MMO they both play at an IRL meetup. The two go from acquaintances to something more as they keep running into each other. Even more relatable main characters and just wholesome relationships all around.

Snow White With The Red Hair- A fantasy in which an apothecary named Shirayuki (meaning, you guessed it, “snow white”) runs away from her home in order to escape becoming the concubine of her town’s prince. While fleeing, she is rescued by Zen, the prince of a neighboring country, and she ends up becoming an herbalist to repay him. It's super cute with some genuinely swoon worthy moments and a couple that just works so well together. I have a habit of comparing this to Akatsuki no Yona, even though the two aren’t really that alike. This is more romance driven while Akatsuki no Yona is more of a serious historical fantasy with romance elements (Yona manga is amazing, but the anime barely scratches the surface, so that’s why I didn’t include it).

Sasaki to Miyano- When the shy, easily flustered Miyano meets Sasaki, a cool “delinquent” upperclassmen, the two end up bonding over manga…specifically BL manga. That’s right, Miyano is a fudanshi, but due to his small stature and somewhat feminine appearance, he’s constantly trying to convince others that he’s not interested in having his own love story where he’d be reduced to a stereotypical doe-eyed uke. But as Sasaki and Miyano spend more time together, they realize that what they have is more than friendship, and they have to come to terms with their own perception of gay relationships. This is my favorite romance of all time. It’s a slow burn, but boy is it worth it. Their relationship is so natural and realistic, just like Horimiya. Just two people hanging out and bonding over things the way people do in real life!

Given: The story of some boys in a band with trauma. Enough said. It's great. Go watch it.

Bloom Into You- Yuu Koito is a high school girl who’s been waiting her whole life for her own perfect romance to start…but when she receives a confession, she realizes she doesn’t know how to respond when she’s just not into the guy. And then she gets another confession…this time from the cool student council president Touko Nanami, who basically jumpstarts her lesbian awakening. Very cute story about how we perceive the concept of love vs actually feeling it. Also has a canonically aro/ace side character, so that’s a win for me. Another show like this is Adachi to Shimamura (but I honestly don’t remember much about it. It just didn’t stick with me as much).

Ore Monogatari- Takeo Gouda is a tall, bulky high school first year with a sensitive heart of gold. He wants nothing more than to find his own true love, but most girls are intimidated by his enormous stature, and they end up falling for his conventionally attractive friend instead. That is, until he meets the tiny, adorable Rinko Yamato. He falls in love instantly, but he’s sure she’s interested in his best friend like everyone else, so he vows to help get them together, even though his heart is breaking. Peak himbo behavior. Pure of heart, dumb of ass.

Yuri on Ice- Yes it’s the gay figure skating anime everyone knows. And yes it’s a fucking romance, okay? I will die on this hill. The romance between Viktor and Yuri is just as important as the plot!

Kaguya-sama Love Is War- Two insanely smart high school students both have a crush on the other, but since they’re…you know…high schoolers, neither of them wants to admit it first. So they come up with increasingly convoluted plans to get the other to confess first. This will go down as one of the best of all time. It’s a hilarious yet poignant modern classic.

Fruits Basket- I’ve talked about it before and I’ll talk about it again. A romance “comedy” that slowly morphs into a drama about a girl named Tohru who finds herself living with the mysterious Sohma family after her mother dies. Little does she know, the Sohmas are the victims of a (somewhat silly, but ultimately tragic) curse that she must fight to break. Even though I’m more into it for the family drama, the romance is still top tier and plays an important role in the story. This is my second favorite anime of all time, and it’s a classic for a reason. If anyone hasn’t watched it yet, GO WATCH IT! IT WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!

And now for some honorable mentions that didn't quite fit into the regular list:

Ride Your Wave- A movie about a surfer who falls in love with a firefighter……and I’m not going to say any more than that. Go into it blind. If you like stuff like Your Name, this is a good one to watch.

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun- A comedy about a high school girl who finds out the upperclassman she has a crush on is actually a shoujo manga artist, and no matter how she tries to confess to him, he just never gets it.

The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague- A slow burn slice of life that focuses on a guy with ice powers who has a crush on his coworker. That’s it. That’s the show. When I say slow, I mean SLOW. It’s perfectly cute and fluffy, but my god does it take forever to get anywhere with these two.

Skip to Loafer- A high strung, small town girl decides to go to high school in Tokyo, where she meets a variety of classmates, including the laid back Sousuke Shima. The unlikely pair become friends, and soon enough, she starts to feel something more than friendship. The only reason I didn’t include it in the main list is because they don’t get together by the end of the first season, but it’s still really cute (also canonically trans character for the win!?)

So that’s my starter list. And no, I didn’t include Toradora, even though it’s a classic. I know it’s blasphemous, but I like it more as a comedy than a romance. It kinda lost me with the ending. But anyway, maybe someone will find something they like. Or maybe you'll just want to roast me and my picks 😅

#yuri on ice #kaguya sama: love is war #fruits basket #ore monogatari #bloom into you #sasaki to miyano #snow white with the red hair #yamada kun to lv999 no koi wo suru #horimiya #recovery of an mmo junkie #taisho maiden fairy tale #skip to loafer #unfortunately not much bl or gl since a lot that I've seen is too...out there for this list...#now bl manga on the other hand...#why did i make this lol?#because i finally got to the confession scene in akatsuki no yona of course and now i'm dead #I kinda want to include doukyuusei too but it's just a little bit steamier than what I was going for with this 😅

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thefallofruins · 5 months

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•°. *࿐ 恋の予感

Sukuna x Concubine!Reader Series

The Concubine turned Queen ..✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

➷ His favourite Concubine turned Queen [Part 2] [headcanons] tw: overstimulation, oral sex, dacryphilia, mentions of blood and killing

➷ Conception [Breeding his beloved Queen] tw: breeding, inflation, lactation, dumbification, dacryphilia, pregnancy.

➷ Inconvenience [Reuniting with his Pregnant Queen] tw: pregnant sex, praise, creampie

➷ At His Mercy ['Special treatment' for his concubine] tw: overstimulation, oral sex (f. receiving), marking, dacryphilia.

➷ Affirm [His favourite concubine becomes his Queen] tw: smut, mentions of multiple orgasms, belly bulging, passing out, violence and bloodshed

➷ Envy [he makes you jealous. On purpose.] tw: Smut, sukuna is a meanie, possessiveness, unprotected sex, toxicity?, riding, Sukuna is just Sukuna, which means he has a big D

➷ Concept: he's an ardent admirer of your beauty

➷ Concept: he loves what he does to you

・❥・Related Works

↪ Descent [Sukuna's internal turmoil as he's conquered by love]

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #ruins posts #jjk smut #jujutsu sukuna #ryomen sukuna smut

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whorekneecentral · 5 months

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Old Friends

Lance Stroll x Vettel!Fem!Reader

Warnings: big brother seb!!!, queen hanna appearance + a mick and gina cameo, lance has a crush, alcohol and the consumption of, being tipsy/kinda drunk, mentions/ insinuated that someone cheated, nipple play, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), creampie, seb teasing the two of you.

Word Count: 2,492

Author's Note: this is one of my favs so far. I couldn't write lance and not put in seb, it just wouldn't be me.

merry smutmas series

Lance gets an invitation to an old teammate’s place to ring in the new year but he finds himself too distracted by someone in particular to care about the ball dropping.

The invite came in the mail; a dying trade his former teammate would tell him.

A little brown envelope with silver glitter all over it, surely his girls helped him put it together. The card inside was hand written, Sebastian's scrawled cursive with pictures drawn in pencil crayon and covered in glitter at the bottom.

You're invited to the Vettel household on December 31st at 9pm for a New Year's Eve celebration.

Please rsvp by December 22nd.

With love,

Sebastian, Hanna & the Vettel children.

Lance didn't have plans, his parents were doing their own things and Chloe would be in Australia with Scotty and his family so he took his phone out and texted Seb right then.

To Seb: Hey man! Got your invite, tell the girls I said their drawings were adorable. Just letting you know I'll be there :)

It took Seb 10 minutes to reply.

From Seb: Thanks Lance! The girls say hello and thank you. We can't wait to see you.

Lance finds himself on the Vettel's doorstep on New Year's Eve, a bottle of some expensive Swiss wine in hand. He knocks on the door and Hanna opens it with a little boy in her arms.

"Lance!" She smiles, stepping to the side for him to come in.

"It's so nice to see you," the younger driver says, kissing her cheek before saying hello to their son.

"Please make yourself at home. Food and drinks are in the kitchen and Sebastian is somewhere around here." She tells him, rocking the sleepy boy, "you know how he is." She laughs, shutting the door.

Lance nods, smiling at her as he follows her into the house. The place is full, he showed up around 10 rather than the 9pm invite but it doesn't seem to make a difference. Everyone is all over the place; he goes over to say hello to Seb and then bumps into Mick who was there with his girlfriend, sister and her boyfriend.

He does in fact make himself at home, putting the wine in the kitchen before getting himself a drink. His red solo cup has some vodka in it and he spins around, looking for the cranberry juice. He sees everything but that.

"Need help?" A voice comes from behind him and before he turns, he knows exactly who it is. He smiles when he does turn, now face to face with her. "Hi y/n."

"Hey Lance," you smile, "what are you looking for?" You walk over, hugging the man hello.

"Cranberry juice." He tells you and you nod, walking to the fridge to grab it.

Lance watches you, admiring your outfit; a slinky silver top and a black mini skirt that frankly wasn't very family friendly but was on par with the theme of the night. He had met you when Seb became his teammate at Aston, you had a habit of following your brother around the world when you got bored of your life. You were only a year younger than Lance but he was intimidated by you.

You were just as bubbly and fun as Seb, loud and out there but in Vettel fashion, you could become broody at the snap of your fingers; something that only happened if someone fucked over your brother or at least that's when Lance noticed it.

Now if Mick had walked into the kitchen then, he'd be teasing his friend.

He was aware of the crush his friend had on his other friend. Mick had encouraged Lance to talk to you time and time again but he could never work up the courage. When he finally did, you were in a relationship and you had been since.

"Here," you hand the bottle over to him, "I put it in the fridge. It gets gross.. well even more gross when it's warm."

Lance smiles, "thanks." He pours the juice into his cup, before settling it back into the fridge. In the meantime, you had been filling a few shot glasses with what looked like tequila.

"Are you driving tonight?" You asked, downing one of the shots. Lance shook his head, "took an Uber."

"Perfect," you handed a shot over to him, picking up another one for yourself. "Bottoms up, Stroll." You tapped your glass to his and down the tequila.

Lance makes a face, clearing his throat which makes you laugh. "So, how are you? How's Fernando as a teammate?" You ask him, pouring some soda into a glass.

"I'm okay. He's pretty okay too, he's no Sebastian Vettel though."

You smiled, "that's what I like to hear. I've been keeping track, you did great this season."

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks and you nod, leaning on the counter as you take a sip of your soda. "Thanks," he smiles, taking a sip from his glass in hopes that it covers the blush on his face. "So uh.. how have you been? How's your boyfriend?"

"I'm good," you smiled, "as for him? Who knows, he's probably fucking some model somewhere."

Your words catch him off guard, Lance chokes on his vodka. Your brows furrowed, his hand rubbing at his chest as you looked at him. "Sorry, I just... I take you two aren't together ?"

"No," you shook your head, "it's whatever though."

"Sorry to hear that," he tells you and you shrug, smiling at him. You were about to say something but Gina was shouting for you, something about shots. "Excuse me," you smiled at Lance, picking up the bottle of tequila and the pack of shot glasses before heading over.

As much as Lance wanted to be sorry about your relationship ending, he couldn't be. This must be some sort of gift from god, for you two to be in the same place while you're single and he had enough liquor in him to tell you the truth.

The hours go by and it's inching closer to midnight with each passing second and you were dancing around the kitchen as you got a snack. A slice of pizza held between your teeth as you poured yourself a drink.

"Hey," you mumble, mouth full as you take the bite and hold the pizza. Lance smiles at you as he gets himself another drink. "Hey."

"You good?" You asked, setting your pizza on the counter. Lance nods, "perfect, you?"

"Yeah," you smiled, shimmying your shoulders as you danced your way over to the Canadian driver. He smiles, watching you. The many tequila shots added up over the night and the fact that the tiles were sticky from what seemed like spilled soda, caused you to slip and fall right into Lance.

His drink spills all over your very cute top. "Oh damn," you tsked, looking down at yourself. "Oh shoot, are you okay?" you asked, looking at him to see if anything got on him.

"I'm okay, are you?" His hands held your forearms, steadying you. "Do you need to change?"

"I probably should," you tell him and Lance nods for you to walk, his hand holding onto your arm to keep you steady. He knew the layout of the house, he had come over for dinner many times before and he had spent the night after one too many glasses of wine.

Lance walks you up the stairs, hands on your waist as you two head up. You walk into the guest room and Lance shuts the door, "are you okay ? Do you need help finding anything?" He looks at you as you sit on the bed.

You shook your head, "all good, Lance. Thank you."

He nods, taking that as his cue to leave so you could change. As he turns towards the door, you grab his hand. "Can you.. undo the knot?" You turned your back to him, pulling your hair up.

It was two single knots done up with a bow behind your neck and your mid back that kept your top up. Lance carefully undid the knot on your back, letting the strings fall to the sides and your bare back left exposed.

"The.. the other one too?" He asks and you nod, "please."

Lance is hesitant, but he reaches forward and pulls the string, undoing the knot. The silver fabric falls to the floor, the beading on it clings when it hits the floor.

Your back is still facing the driver, you've dropped your hair back down but it's abundantly obvious to Lance that he's stood in the room with you, while you were.. well, topless.

"I should.." he starts but you turn to face him, his eyes shifting down to steal a glance at your tits and he looks back up at your face - it took all but a second and he was but a man.

You smile, holding his jaw with your hand. "Stay."

"I really shouldn't." He whispers and you step closer, my chest pressed to his. "Why not?" You asked, standing on your tiptoes, lips ghosting over his.

He doesn't answer but he lets you kiss him, his cold hand rests on your lower back, pulling you flush against him. "You're drunk," he whispers against your neck and you shake your head, "I'm not."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" His eyes find yours when he pulls back and you nod. "I do."

"Okay," he says, kissing you again.

Your hands make quick work of his shirt, undone the buttons as he kisses down your neck to your chest. Lance has got an arm around you, his lips moving down towards your tits, his lips wrapping around your nipple.

The sound that leans your mouth was like heaven on earth to him; he can't wait to find out what other filthy sounds you could make.

It was much too loud downstairs for anyone to have a clue what was happening upstairs. The door was locked and he knew you had at least 40 minutes to midnight.

You push him away for a minute, the man looks at you confused as you scoot him back to the bed, letting him fall onto the soft mattress. Lance expects you to get on top of him, not sink to your knees in front of him.

"Baby-" "Shut up," you tell him, undoing his pants.

He smiles, carefully pulling your hair out of your face as your hand wraps around his cock. Lance bites back a groan, watching as your hand moves up and down slowly, your lips brushing over the tip.

"Please," he whispers and you smile, looking up at him through your lashes as you take him in your mouth. This time, he does groan out loud. "Fuck," he sighed, your hair into a make shift pony tail in his hand.

Your cheeks hallowed, head moving up and down. Lance watches your every movement, eyes fixed on you and everything you did; had he known, he would have spoken to you much sooner.

The stifled gag comes when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, eyes watering as you pull back a bit. Lance pulls you up, "as much as I want you to keep going, I wanna cum somewhere else."

"My mouth is just as good, Lance," you tell him, wiping the side of your lips with your thumb, sucking your finger. You don't miss the way his cock twitches at the action.

He smiles, "I'm sure it is, but c'mere."

You let him pull you up before you get on his lap, straddling him.

There was enough liquor in your systems to give you the courage to do things you wouldn't normally do but that you’d definitely remember.

Thighs squished on either side of him and your arms over his shoulders. His hand slides down from your hip to your ass, giving it a little squeeze. He smiles at you, admiring you. "Now, are you gonna stare at me all night or fuck me like I know you've been wanting too?"

For the second time that night, Lance had been caught off guard by your words. "You.. knew?"

"Of course I did, your staring wasn't exactly discreet, babe." You smile, pinching his cheek before you kiss him.

Your skirt bunched up on your hips, panties pulled to the side as you sank down onto his cock.

His hand on your hip guiding you, letting you bounce on his lap, his name falling from your lips.

Lance bucks his hips and your nails drop down from his shoulders to the scratches along his back. He lets out a groan, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss him. You kiss all over his face, Lance's cheeks red not just from the lipstick you had on but from the blush forming on his cheeks; though if you asked him, he’d blame it on the liquor.

"Fuck," you mumble, Lance's arms around you to keep you steady as you bounced on his lap, back arched slightly.

His hands squeeze at your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave behind fingerprints.

“Mmm there,” you breathe, chest pressed to his.

Lance's lips find your shoulder, he bites down softly when he feels you clench around him. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” He whispers into your shoulder, peppering kisses over where he had just bitten.

Humming, your arms are wrapped around him, over his shoulders when you cum, wetness covering his cock. It takes only a few more thrusts and Lance follows behind you, the two of you holding onto each other for a while. Your legs are like jelly when Lance helps you up, letting you fix yourself.

He too get redressed and you change into a different top, fixing your skirt and your makeup before turning to him.

"11:58, we can make the ball drop." You grab his hand, pulling him out of the room with you.

Everyone was in the living room, watching the TV and chatting as they awaited the count down. Your brother notices your return, as well as Lances, who stood behind you.

"Outfit change?" Seb asks, handing you a glass.

You nod, "spilled soda on my other top." You tell him, watching as he passed a glass to Lance.

Seb hums, nodding. "And you required Lance's assistance to change?" His brow raises and your cheeks go red. "I.. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah," Seb laughs, "whatever, y/n."

Lance smiles, his arm over your shoulder as the countdown plays; 10, 9, 8.

Your fingers interlock with his; 7, 6.

His cheek presses to yours; 4, 5.

"3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!" The people in the room cheer, friends hugging and lovers kiss. Lance leans over and you turn a bit, your lips pressing to his for a new years kiss.

"Happy New Year, Lance." You smiled, wiping the lipstick from his lips. "Happy New Year, Y/n."

---

taglist: @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @forza55 @norrisleclercf1 @allalngthewtchtower @therealcap @burningcupcakefire @stargirl36 @brettlorenzi3 @guiseppetsunoda @magnummagnussen @flippingmyshit @savrose129 @lovelytsunoda @irda12-blog @dhhdhsiavdhaj @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @f1lovers22 @toomuchdelusion @eviethetheatrefreak @faye2029 @lillians-world-is-f1 @chalando1604 @lenaxwbr @im-obsessed @potashiuhm @lcxlerc16 @enjoythebutterflies3 @lillyfootballsworld @micksmidnights @mashtonbunny @chrlsleclerc @logischeroktopus

#lance stroll #lance stroll smut #lance stroll x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 smut #merry smutmas xoxo

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vagabond-umlaut · 7 months

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l'heure bleue

Ferocious, fearsome, infallible. The King Of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, has never fought a war he hasn't won.

But, does that mean he'll taste success in this battle of beliefs, raging against no one but his Queen, as well?

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; sooo much of tooth-rotting! domestic fluff between sukuna & reader; sukuna is so exhausted, still so fond of his dear wife; said wife is not too soft towards her husband [she has valid reasons, dw]; talks on death; indirect talk on periods & pregnancy; 0% ANGST IN THIS– ONLY FLUFFY HUMOR; spoiler alert— would-be-dad!sukuna x would-be-mom!reader

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"I'm dying. Very soon."

While not the deep kiss you've always welcomed him with, into your chambers, every night of your married life— Sukuna reckons, he will take this many many times over the tense hush you've been offering him these days.

Shrugging his heavy cloak off his shoulders, the King of Curses walks over to where you're on the bed and frowns, fingers moving to thread through your unkempt hair, then run down the side of your face. Your eyes flutter close for a beat– undoubtedly, from the gentle caress, he surmises– before they grow wide open, blinking with tears of fear.

Rubbing the pad of his thumb over your wobbling lower lip, your lover sighs, knowing full well where this conversation might be going– still, as always, he decides to humor your concerns with an ask of his own.

"Did my Queen visit the royal physician, along with Uraume today?"

"No," you shake your head meekly, "I did not visit the physician. I was resting in our room the entire day."

"If you weren't feeling well, you could have asked her to visit you here, right?" your husband queries, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap. Snuggling into him with a soft hum, you send a miserable look his way— eliciting something eerily similar to the emotions, your husband knows, no curse like him should ever be able to feel.

Yet here he is, feeling every one of those, with his wife in his grasp.

You shake your head a second time; however, with greater force than before. "No. I knew I would be dying soon but I did not want to hear it from her. I wanted you to tell me that awful news, my king. I love you, I wanted you to say it. To confirm it."

You love him, so he must confirm your imminent death!?!?— Stunned by your odd words of reasoning, Sukuna gapes at you, dumbfounded; before he shakes himself free of the shock, discerning you to be three words, or even less, away from dissolving into your pathetic wails.

He smooths the top of your head with a palm, whilst another palm of his squeezes your hip, hoping the action will bring you some comfort. You place a small palm over the latter, voice growing shaky when you say, "Won't you confirm the terrible news, my lord?"

"No," Sukuna's quick to deny you in an instant, "Because I firmly don't believe you're anywhere close to dying. You're as healthy as a horse— or whatever idiotic creature, you humans use in your idiotic idioms."

A facsimile of a smile threatens to erupt onto your lips— it is vanished before the next second— with you crumbling into a mess of tears and snot, face pressed into his chest, whilst your fingers dig into his back.

Sukuna stifles a weary sigh, before wrapping his arms gingerly round your midsection, taking extra care not to jostle you or anything. "You aren't dying anytime soon, my Queen," he struggles to coo, but ends up grumbling, "I won't let you ever leave my side– you stupid woman. You're stuck with me forever– don't I always tell you that, my Queen?"

"You do, Sukuna," you mumble, with a weak nod of your head, "But I do feel so close to dying every moment of the day— so weak and so dizzy and so nauseous– even you've become so careful with me, my king!" you exclaim, red-rimmed swollen eyes glaring accusingly into every ruby eye of his.

Filling him with an addicting thrilling delight he has never felt before.

"You've always been so rough with me— Now, when you're being so gentle with me, out of nowhere, tell me: must the implication of you thinking me to be fragile, along with those awful symptoms– not be worrisome? Must I not think, you consider me to be near my death– hence, this newfound wariness? Hence, you, and even Uraume, who has always been so free to speak their mind before me– the both of you walking on stupid fucking eggshells around me– tell me, 'Kuna!"

A silence punctuates your outburst, filled only by the sounds of your noisy breathing– the latter replacing the sounds of your crying.— An odd yet not unpleasant, emotion taking over the shape of his mouth and curving it upwards, Sukuna drags a finger down your backbone, relishing in the way you shiver, then relax with a sigh under his touch.

Letting your temper to ebb away for another good minute, your lover inquires, keeping his tone void of anything except curiosity, "When is the last time you used your pain-relieving bath salts, pet?"

Your eyes blinking slowly, Sukuna watches them travel to the cabinet where you keep them stored in stacks, before returning to him, quite puzzled. And fatigued.

Adorably small yawns escaping, you murmur.

"I only use them when it's that time of month, which was..." Your eyes flutter open and close, painfully slowly, yet again— before they widen, becoming not unlike the full moon in the sky tonight.

You gasp, shaky fingers poking your belly before reaching a rest on it.

Covering them with his much larger ones, your lover hums, "Happy?"

"Not at all," you shake your head, reaching your other hand to trail the many tattoos on your husband's face, before stopping at the apple of his cheek.

Sukuna swears time ceases to exist in the momentary pause you take— restored only by the blinding beam you offer next, followed by your sweet voice uttering those words, he knows he'll remember for all the millennia he will live.

"I'm very, very happy— you dummy prehistoric curse."

▸ masterlist

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Text

Consort

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Diplomatic fraternization is never easy and situations can turn on a dime. When you accompany your father to negotiate future ties between your two underwater kingdoms, one mistake changes everything.

Content Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding

Additional Notes: Before this week it had never even as a WHIM come across my radar to write anything Namor. But two-almost-three-days ago @artsynellyyy shared a ridiculously gorgeous unfinished piece of art she was working on, asked for some input, and it spurred a plot concept that just GRIPPED my brain and had me feeling THINGS. I don’t think I will be writing a lot of Namor, but I do know there’s certainly a part two to this because…there’s more story for these two in my head. There’s a particular moment that exists for them that as this developed, I knew could not happen yet for them, it would’ve been too rushed. So… just… Happy fourth installment of the 2022 Holiday Extravaganza!

A/N 2: Be gentle! This is my first attempt at Namor. I did some canon diving and research, but I did not dive deep into the Namor fandom because I didn’t want to get too influenced about established patterns or too intimidated about what’s already out there. Honestly kind of terrified to publish this one, so just... jumping out of the airplane and pulling the parachute okay bye.

“Let us speak without pretense,” the king of Talokan’s voice resonates powerfully through the throne room. “Tell me why you sought private audience with me today, Hamal.”

Standing at the right hand of your father, you observe the way he draws his shoulders up just a fraction more, the way his nostrils flare just before he speaks again. “Fine, I will speak plainly, Namor. Your recent dealings with the surface, particularly with the kingdom of Wakanda, is concerning to the kingdom of Fourchon.”

“Why should it concern you?” Namor patiently humors the conversation further, but you can read that the patience is wearing thin.

“King to king, I find it concerning because it calls into question whether we are moving into a state of volatility for all who dwell in the oceans, and I have no wish to see my people drawn into hostilities or war of any kind.”

“And you are here to ensure continued peace between our nations?”

“I am.”

Your heart isn’t racing, but the beats thrum more swiftly against your chest as you will this to go well.

“And what do you propose, Hamal? What does the kingdom of Fourchon possibly have to offer Talokan?”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs between the two rulers, then your father answers, “Her.”

Every muscle in your body seizes with dread, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widen, but every bit of diplomatic rearing mercifully allows you to keep your mouth from dropping open in complete shock.

“My daughter.”

You cannot look at either king, looking straight ahead to keep your composure, but you register the sharp change in Namor’s voice. “Fourchon is neither enemy nor ally to Talokan, and yet you come to my court with the arrogance of demanding peace between our countries when for more than three hundred years there has been nary a quarrel. Indeed, your small kingdom has meant nothing to me, an inconsequential player amongst underwater realms. We have maintained social civility only because you were not worth any more or less to me.

He pauses, and you can feel the tension rolling in waves off your father.

“Your offer is horrible, but I will give you what you came here to bargain and secure today for the sake of your people, despite the prideful blunder of their king. Now leave.”

You are desperate to acquiesce to Namor’s command after the humiliation of being offered first as a trinket or some form of tribute and then receiving by association a political rebuke, and you turn immediately to depart with your father.

“Not you, Princess,” his voice halts you.

You watch your father leave; he doesn’t look back at you or Namor.

“Come here,” the king of Talokan says.

You turn back to face him, squaring your shoulders and looking straight at him as you approach. Your father had asked for a private audience, and you are grateful for that as no one else saw the disaster that just took place.

He regards you openly. You focus on breathing evenly when all you want to do is flee from this room and let your emotions rage. When his gaze meets yours again, he tilts his chin and narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Do you not kneel for your king?”

Heat rushes from your chest up to flood your cheeks, and your throat feels thick with anger, but you manage to speak. “You are not my king.”

“Did I not accept the terms offered?”

“An offer you called horrible,” you say as you sink to your knees and bow your head as is customary.

“The offer, not you.”

Your head snaps back up at these words.

“And the offer was horrible in relation to you, not me.”

Your brow furrows in question.

“When your father made the overtures for this meeting, I asked my ambassador to share with me his outlook on your kingdom and your court.”

“You said we were inconsequential.”

“But an element that still exists.”

He evaluated the full landscape. You were under no illusions that the kingdom of your birth was small in comparison to Talokan or Atlantis, but he was a ruler who wasn’t fool enough discount the smaller players.

“My ambassador said,” he continues, “that your people love and respect you and that it is a loss to Fourchon that you were both second-born and a daughter of the throne instead of a son.”

Resentment spreads through your veins at these words. You’d fought the unrest of what you would not be able to do while also feeling confident in your brother’s ability to rule, that he’d proven himself worthy of his birthright.

“He said you were your father’s favorite.”

You had thought that, too. And yet… “How easily he would bargain me away would say otherwise.”

“It was clear you had no indication of his intent.”

A bitter laugh escapes your throat. “Truly. I thought he valued my presence, my counsel, even perhaps my help in diplomatic relations, but I was only a pawn.”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side.

“I think you are wrong. Stand, Princess.”

You rise slowly, with as much grace as you can.

He moves from the throne, stepping over the jaw that frames his seat of power, and moves down the steps toward you.

“In future you kneel for only me, no one else.”

You remain in your place as he slowly circles you.

“I did lecture your father for his arrogance on an improper read on the state of affairs, assuming Talokan would turn on Fourchon. However, as a king, I do not fault him for caring for the welfare of his people, or for overestimating the value of his kingdom,” he states, his voice warming with this admission. He comes to a stop in front of you. “And to negotiate safety and peace for his people?” He raises his right hand and draws his fingers down reverently along your jaw. “He offers you, his greatest treasure. He insinuates you are worth more than an entire kingdom.”

You open then close your mouth, unsure how to respond to this interpretation. Your eyes search his, but all you can see there is a resoluteness that he truly means what he’s just said. It’s disarming, and with the way your world fell out from under you only minutes ago, you’re unsure of what to trust now.

Namor radiates confidence, it rolls easily off him in waves, but when he takes a step closer, you can feel the heat of him. His fingers move over your shoulder and down the length of your arm, and you shiver but keep holding his gaze. Your instincts tell you that every moment in this room has been significant, it’s determining your future, every movement, every word, every observation.

He takes half a step closer, only a whisper of space between you now, and you hold your ground. He almost smiles, then he turns away, seizing your hand and leading you up the stairs of the dais, and you quickly lift your skirts so you can ascend quickly behind him. Up close you can admire the artistry of the jaw that encases his throne. Like him, it’s charming, beautiful, and dangerous, each intricate designs carved into the bone, and the teeth replaced with jade stones.

“Your father was right to anticipate a shift in my rule.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been king of Talokan for centuries, but my dealings with Wakanda have me considering eventualities of the future.”

Namor takes steps over the jaw, then draws you carefully in with him, still holding your hand as you step over the mighty frame, before finally releasing it. He turns back to look out over the throne room and further the drop off to look out over the kingdom of Talokan, but angles himself slightly toward you as well, and you mirror him. It’s a breathtaking view, and you imagine it is an altogether different manner of beauty with the court or an audience of people called to convene. But like this, still and quiet, it’s ethereal.

“You will be my queen.”

“That’s a bold declaration.”

“You’ve been offered to me in exchange for a promise of peace for your people, would you renege?”

You close your eyes briefly but square your shoulders and shake your head.

“Now you can choose your course in this.”

“Enlighten me,” you can’t hold back, though you do manage to keep your voice even.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but he’s speaking again before you can decipher it. “If I’m to have an heir, to secure the future, ensure stability for my people, I need a queen; but whether you merely bear my child or become my consort is something I cannot determine for you. I would prefer the latter.”

In the next second, he’s pulled you to his side and captured your lips in a kiss that is altogether slow and searing. His arm winds around your waist, bringing you flush against him, and your hands move of their own volition to rest on either side of his neck. Heat runs through your veins, and you know without question he could consume you.

You break off the kiss, but he respectfully retreats. He takes a seat on the throne, and you see he’s as breathless as you are.

But you broke off the kiss to ask the question that will haunt you if you don’t ask it.

“You’re truly ready to bind me to your side, just like that? You don’t even know me.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience. This is a marriage of opportunity.”

“I’m not–“

He holds up a hand to silence you, but it’s not in impatience, you can see that in his face, and he immediately says, “I will grant you that we do not know each other yet, but I know enough to know who you are. I have the trusted insight of my ambassador, but I also have accounts from people who have served and interacted with you here in my own kingdom these past two days, and biologically prolonged life or not, a king also doesn’t keep his crown or the respect of his people for as long as I have without being able to judge those around him well. You were taken by surprise today, but you are not naïve. You came to my court to be of counsel, serve, influence. Why should that not still be your fate?”

“A foreign princess?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out to you. “A queen consort.”

You search his face again. This was the moment. You could not read any falseness, arrogance, or cruelty. Indeed, though he was surprising you with this swift and forthright proposition, your intuition doesn’t question him or his intentions.

You take the hand he presented, and he pulls you forward, placing his hands on your hips once you are close enough and guiding you to sit astride one of his powerful thighs, the rich fabric of your dress sliding up your legs. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I want your mind, your body, and your soul,” he says, sealing it with your name, not your title.

“I want the same,” you say.

“You’re sure?”

“I need the same.” Being this close to him is both invigorating and steadying. The way he is looking at you, the way he is holding you, it’s also intimate and heated, and those feelings are amplified as he pulls you just a little closer.

“Then take what you need,” he commands in a tone that makes your heart soar and desire bloom in your stomach. He flexes his thigh against your core, and it spurs you to lean in and kiss him again, hungry for more.

He matches your eagerness. When his tongue seeks entrance, you open your lips, moaning. He begins rocking your hips back and forth over his thigh, and you know he can feel the heat and the wetness of the desire he’s stoked within you seeping through the silk of your underwear. As you take control of moving against him, his hands travel up your sides until he reaches your breasts, and his thumbs brush over the tender flesh. You both moan, him in approval, and you with pleasure. You’re swept away completely in all the sensations, in his passion, your body singing for him. He is a powerful force, one you will have to be sure to meet with your own spirit and fire so you aren’t lost. This union is for fulfilment for you both, not to be destroyed, diminished, or tossed away.

As you speed up, he drops one hand down to anchor on your hips, helping you grind down on his thigh. He keeps flexing it against you, and you whimper, head falling back.

“Keep going,” he growls against the column of your throat, kissing his way down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. “I love the way your body is trembling; I can tell you’re so close.”

“Yes, Namor,” you keen.

“K’uk’ulkan,” he says, and your head snaps back up, eyes locking intensely with his.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you repeat – the invitation to use the more personal name drops the intimacy between you two to a deeper level.

You both move with a desperate frenzy now, you craving the release and him eager to give it to you, his lips searing every inch of the exposed skin available to him at your neck, collar bone, pulling at the neckline of your dress.

“So close,” you cry.

“Let go.”

And you do, tight coil of ecstasy peaking and releasing, you cling to him, and as your body begins to relax wish pleasure, you press your forehead to his, both of your eyes closed now, sealing the moment in your memory.

His hands are slowly running up and down your back. “Jach ma’alob,” he croons softly. “This is enough for now; there will be so much more, my queen.”

Jach ma’alob = very good

PART TWO: COMPANION

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside for day four of AHE...

#namor the sub mariner #namor smut #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x female reader #namor fic #tenoch huerta namor #aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #namor x reader #to become his queen series #female reader

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j4gm · 8 months

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SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 1: FIONNA CAMPBELL

Here's a bunch of stuff I spotted. Feel free to add more.

During the anime girl hero dream Fionna mentions Hans Brinker, a character from a novel which introduced speed skating to the United States.

The BMO style alarm clock has BMO's voice.

The ducks that steal Marshall Lee's money look like one-headed versions of the two-headed duck from the original Adventure Time title sequence.

Cheers is a real sitcom. Simon previously sang its theme song in the episode Simon & Marcy, and now it seems to have manifested in the human AU due to his connection with it.

Fionna says "stop acting crazy" to Cake with the same meter as Marceline said "stop acting crazy" to Ice King in the episode I Remember You.

We all spotted this in the trailer but there's a Magic Man hat in this shot. Magic Man's hat was most recently seen being worn by Betty.

The Betty statue also suggests that Simon's psyche has significant influence over this world. The fountain includes frogs, a symbol of change that was previously also used in Temple of Mars. And Fionna mentions the statue underwent renovation twelve years ago, which is the same amount of time that's passed in the prime universe since Betty's amalgamation with GOLB.

It would seem Mrs. Abadeer runs a vacuum cleaner company as well as being Fionna's landlady. And Queenie runs an accounting business as well as the tour bus.

The stickers on Marshall Lee's guitar case are all references to real life punk rock bands. X-Ray Pex = X-Ray Spex, Daikini Kill = Bikini Kill, PM might be a reference to AM as in the Arctic Monkeys. I'm not sure what Las Crudas and Dark Eyes are references to. Perhaps someone more familiar with punk rock can let me know?

In case you were wondering, the credits confirm that this is human genderswapped Fern. It's a bit more obvious now that we can see all her green clothes and backpack, and given what she said about her dreams being super messed up. I'm not gonna go through the rest of the cameo characters in this episode because most of them are pretty obvious or already got figured out when the trailer dropped. That said, if anyone knows who the bus driver is meant to be please let me know.

The sword in the window of this games shop looks very similar to Fionna's sword from the original comic series.

The latte that Gumball - ahem I mean Gary - makes in this scene features PB's swan.

Okay one more cameo mention because I feel like it might become significant later. This is Ice Queen.

Fionna and Cake are dreaming about their apartment block in the credits of this episode, but it has a roof like the Tree Fort and the same little boat with a telescope and parasol.

Episode 2 to follow!

#adventure time #fionna and cake #easter egg posts

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thestarsarebrightertonight · 9 days

Text

i love you , its ruining my life!! // lorenzo berkshire x fem hufflepuff reader

playlist : fortnight - taylor swift

summary : lorenzo berkshire is so completely infatuated with a girl in hufflepuff , its ruining his life!!

y/n used , hufflepuff reader , ttpd was amazing, fluff

a/n : im the queen of slytherin boys x hufflepuff reader lets be honest ,also fortnight is a sad song but i did a different take on it bc fluff is just better !! LMAO

masterlist tppd series masterlist

its been three months since the very first time lorenzo berkshire saw you in class. he had never seen you before despite your presence being a constant since 1st year, and to say you hadnt gone unseen since was an understatement.

lorenzo berkshire has found himself in nothing but trouble since his little crush on you first blossomed , the very first time he saw you , that fateful day in potions - he had lost 20 points for slytherin in one lesson. and the reasons for his points deduction was simple , he just couldnt focus.

you pushed your hair behind your ear , he dropped his ink pot onto the floor , the loud smash interrupting snapes monotone first lesson back speech.

five points.

you laughed at something your male seat partner said , lorenzo clenched his fist so hard that he snapped his quill as the ink and snapped up feather made a mess of his desk.

five points.

you spoke to lorenzos best friend , theodore , making him misplace an ingredient into his cauldron that caused it to explode back into draco -his seat partner and friends- face.

ten points.

to say his friends and whole house were infruriated with him after that ,was an understatment - enzo had gotten them into points debt on the very first day. thats never even been done before!

but they were even angrier with him a few weeks ago.

it was the day of the highly anticipated , very first, gryffindor vs slytherin match of the year - and enzo bottled it because he was looking at you in the stands.

who could blame him! you were stood in the stands wearing a slytherin scarf with the number 13 on your cheek in green face paint , his number!!

the amount of quaffles he failed to catch and goals he missed completely because of his focus being elsewhere , became too much to count by the end of the match. that slytherin lost by the way.

but even when draco screamed in his face and theodore pushed him into the changing rooms , his mind couldnt leave your happy face as you watched him - and only him.

the most recent incident was when he sat in an exam , not writing a single word because he couldnt stop thinking about how you smiled at him and said hello to him earlier that day. he tried to play it off as hufflepuff friendliness but the red tint in your cheeks and beaming smile blocked out any thought of doubt - and charms knowledge.

that charms test was the first fail he has ever gotten at hogwarts.

all because of you and your pretty stupid smile!

as he stared down at his paper a week later with a horified expression and a sympathetic pansy rubbing his back , he decided enough was enough , he needed to get this off his chest.

so later that day he now found himself sat in the great hall , staring at where you usually sit , except the spot was empty.

his leg bounced under the table as he played with his hands and tie , loosening and re-loosening it every two seconds.

"lorenzo please stop." pansy begged with her head in her hands , trying to will the sound of lorenzos tapping foot to become white noise.

snapping out of it he stopped all movement and looked down with a somber sigh , maybe something happened to you? maybe youre avoiding him? maybe you hate him? maybe youre not hungry?

"enzo chill mate shes just walked in." theodore said looking at something - or someone - by the enterance to the great hall.

without sparing a seond enzo stormed over to you , grabbing your hand softly and stopping your walk to the hufflepuff table.

"please come with me," enzo said as more of a command as you nodded with concern and followed him out the hall and to an empty corridor.

he stopped you so you were stood against the wall and began to pace.

after many seconds of silence you began to question why you were there ,"lorenz-"

"i love you, and its ruining my life!!" he said loudly , stopping in his tracks staring at you , not with anger but instead despiration.

he now stepped forward as you stepped back and hit the wall , "ive lost points , matches , i failed my test for the first time ever!.....please. please say no and let me move on."

you stared up at him in complete shock , "lorenzo you dont know me-"

"i do. oh trust me i do , i know you prefer cats and like muggle classics as well as poetry. your favourite colour is yellow but you dont really tell anyone as to not be called a stereotypical hufflepuff. and...i know theres things i dont know but there is nothing else on this planet i want to learn more about, than you."

you began to beam your signature smile up at him , bringing your arms to wrap around his neck as he melted under your touch, "i failed charms too."

it was his turned to now be confused , "but charms is your favourite?-"

"there was this really handsome guy sat in front of me who i just couldnt stop looking at. he was distracting me."

lorenzo expression fell as his heart broke slowly , "w-who?..."

you looked at him teasingly , "seriously? you enzo!"

he let out a gasp of realisation as you pulled him down towards you for a kiss.

lets just say since that day you both got straight As! but thats not to say enzo doesnt still like to admire in lesson.

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

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