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angelfoxx · 8 months

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I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

#cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan smut #cod keegan #LORDDDD

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miguelhugger2099 · 2 months

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A Knight's Oath (Pt. 2)

Summary: Miguel starts his expedition and meets someone new. <<Prev Next>> Knight!Miguel x Princess!Reader, Enemies to Lovers (?), Fluff, Angst, Word Count: 3,239

“I don’t like you going out there on your own.” Gabriel frowns as he helps Miguel bag his belongings. Miguel was set to travel to Etheria on foot to make it more believable that he is a traveler.

“It’s the king’s orders, Gabri. I must.” Miguel sighs, rolling up his tethered sleeves to his firm biceps. “Plus, the castle will provide for you and Madre while I’m gone.”

Gabriel groans and drops a bag on the floor. “That’s not what I meant. Mama and I will be fine. I’m not a skinny boy anymore. I work too, you know!” He shoves Miguel playfully which makes the older brother grin softly to himself. “I meant that this…mission of yours is stupid.” He admits. Miguel looks at him incredulously.

“We have the chance to finally give them what they deserve and you think it’s stupid? Do you spit on our country’s name?” Miguel’s bushy eyebrows turn downward in a hard glare. Gabriel, having been under that same gaze many times before, did not waver.

Gabriel crosses his arms. “So what? We fight bloodshed with more bloodshed?” Miguel huffs and turns away but Gabriel didn’t allow Miguel to stray from the conversation. “Do you honestly believe that will set things straight?”

“I didn’t take you to have a holier than thou type of persona.” Miguel glared over his shoulder.

“And I didn’t take you for such a bloodthirsty savage.” Gabriel grunts. He sees Miguel turn back away silently and angrily zipping up a sleeping bag. He uncrosses his arms and scratches the back of his head. With his older brother going away for however many months or years, he didn’t want tonight to leave a bitter taste. So he approaches behind him and places a hand on Miguel's shoulder.

“I can’t change your mind–I know that. What we went through was rough, but just like us, some people just get caught in the crossfire and it isn’t their fault. It’s not your fault that what happened to us happened and it’s not your responsibility to make it right,” He speaks gently. Despite the O’Hara brothers' height being massive, Gabriel was still a bit shorter than Miguel.

Miguel stood still and Gabriel sighed knowing that his silence at least meant he heard him.

“I love you, Mig.” Gabriel whispers. Miguel cracks and looks over to his baby brother. His face melancholy and wistful as if remembering the sick little boys they used to be.

“I love you, Gabri.” Miguel pulls Gabriel into a tight hug which is returned just as loving.

“Ugh, that was tough to say.” Gabriel’s voice muffled over the fabric of Miguel’s tunic. He laughs and shoves him off playfully.

“You’re still a boy, I see. What man can not say with his mouth with what is declared in his heart?”

Miguel asks jokingly, dramatically placing a fist over his chest where his heart would be. The two brothers laugh between themselves for a while longer before being interrupted by the sound of their cabin door opening with an eerie creak. Their heads turn to see their mother shuffling inside with her dark blue shawl around her body. The two boys look at one another before the younger one approaches her gently, taking her in his arms.

“Hola, Ma. Did you have a nice time out in the garden?” Gabriel gives a weak smile while Conchata stares at her feet lifelessly. Without a response, he licks his lips nervously. “Miguel is heading out tonight. King’s orders, remember?”

Miguel frowns, looking off to the side and fiddling with the strings of his shirt. “He’s gonna make us proud, mama.” He hears Gabriel whisper to her. Conchata moves out of Gabriel’s arms and moves towards Miguel. Miguel turns his head and his eyes widen slightly.

He straightens up, thinking his mother would do…well, anything. His eyes meet hers and he can feel himself becoming a little boy again. Something stops him though, her eyes seem to be going through him rather than looking at him. Miguel watches as she passes by him and towards the kitchen, the faucet beginning to run and the clanking of dishes faintly heard from the other side. He deflates and Gabriel sighs, feeling the same discomfort that hasn’t gone away in years.

“Mig, you know Mama—”

“She’s the same. It’s fine, Gabri. It’s all my fault anyway Madre is like this.” Miguel moves past Gabriel to collect his bags. Gabriel scoffs.

“You know it wasn’t your fault,” Gabriel’s lips turn into a deep frown. “It was traumatizing. For all of us. We’re all coping with it.” He tries to reassure Miguel but it falls on deaf ears. He knows this because Miguel is still moving around, distracting himself.

Gabriel turns around to see the threshold of the kitchen and he can still hear the sound of their mother cleaning quietly. He turns back to Miguel. “See you tonight?”

Miguel faces Gabriel with a small smile, pretending like nothing had happened. “See you tonight.” He confirms.

He was set to leave at midnight, a giant wooly coat to keep him warm and a hefty amount of pouches and bags that didn’t really bother him with his massive strength. Gabriel watched as Miguel lugged the weight on his back, a feeling of discomfort in his heart. He just had a feeling that this isn’t what Miguel was meant to do. He thought his brother grew strong to protect–not to kill. However, he knew his brother was hard headed and stubborn. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to change his mind about it without a fight. Gabriel just hoped he’d come back safe and this would all be worth it. “Don’t get yourself killed.” Gabriel says grimly. Miguel takes his concern leisurely, brushing him off with a toothy grin. “Don’t worry about me, Gabri. I promise I’ll come home in one piece.” He faces his brother after putting the hoodie over his head. Gabriel’s frown doesn’t lift. “I’m serious, Miguel.” Miguel keeps grinning. “I know.” “Be safe. Mama and I will miss you.” At the mention of their mother, Miguel strains a smile and nods, patting his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too. I’ll see you soon.” Miguel then turns away and walks off. He takes a few steps before his baby brother calls out to him again. “And send letters!” He hollers. Miguel doesn’t look back, offering a thumbs up in response. Gabriel groans but watches until his older brother is out of sight. A terrible feeling swirling in his stomach that nothing about this was right. Miguel at the center of their king’s bidding wasn’t something he wanted him to be a part of. He closed the door as he stepped back inside their small but cozy home, hoping and praying for Miguel’s return in one piece.

Miguel had been walking for days at this point. Etheria was definitely not a neighboring country. He had spent days and nights hitchhiking and using the money his king had given him for transportation on boats. When he left, fall had begun, a chilly air that would surely become rougher in the coming weeks. So, Miguel had hoped to reach at least the border’s of Etheria by the time the first snowfall came. When he had gotten the chance to jump on a small merchant boat to Etheria, he was also muddled with commoners looking for work. He paid them no mind and instead sat in a corner where he ate his bread and butter by himself. “What are you here for?” One man asks another. “Same as everyone here, most likely. There’s an opening for Etheria’s royal guards.” “Ah, they say there’s a lot of work there–not just for their army.” “Well with the war, there've been hundreds looking for jobs. With their iffy reputation too…I guess not many want to take chances.” A baby starts wailing and immediately a mother tries shushing it quiet, rocking it in a panicking manner. Miguel glares from the side, finding the crying unbearable. “And…what’cha here for, miss?” A man asks, shifting his legs uncomfortably.

The mother looks up with wide scared eyes. She holds her baby to her chest, the child grabbing at her shirt to find her milk. “I-I’m…looking for work. Escaping my country. I-It’s not safe.” “Pfft. Which country? All of them have gone to shit.” He shakes his head. The woman turns her head down meekly, helping her baby under her shawl to feed in privacy. “I’d rather not say… It’s not safe.” She mutters again, face contorted in fear and panic but her hands cradles her baby gently in her arms. Miguel rips his eyes off of the commoners and looks at the floorboards. He’s glad the crying had stopped.

Miguel kept his hood up and over his head when the boat docked the pier of Etheria. He quickly made a hast getting out, tired of the long weeks of sailing on water–he nearly got seasick. The workers on the port began surrounding the small ship, collecting and doting down the different goods that had come in. They ignore the commoners spilling out, unbothered and almost used to the amount of people sneaking on the boat. Miguel rested his bag on one shoulder, nearly all of his resources had been spent thus making it ten times lighter than when he left. He looked up at the night sky, the shades of dark blue had started to become a light blue with a light orange and yellow, but the sun hadn’t peeked just yet. He saw some dark clouds overhead, trying to overcome the sun’s warm light. Miguel hoped it wouldn’t be a downpour. He sighed to himself, a puff of air showing, before walking out of the pier. Miguel sniffled every few seconds and he got very annoyed very quickly. After seeing the town come into view, he decided to descend into the woods to rest. Miguel found a log to sit on and looked around the perimeter to find some sticks and rocks to make a small fire. Once he found what he needed, he began setting up his little campfire, lighting it up and huddling towards it for warmth.

“Damn this weather…” He shivered. He looked back up at the sky, the dark night sky had been replaced with a murky gray, some parts darker than others. He rested his back on the log, wrapping a soft blanket around his shoulders. Slowly, Miguel’s eyes had fluttered shut–exhaustion of the travel catching up to him and the relief of finally making it weighed on his body into a deep slumber.

He can’t remember how long he slept for, nor did he realize it. Which is why he woke up with a start, heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline running through his body and pulled out his blade from his belt up to his chest to defend himself when he felt someone poking him.

Miguel jumped back a few feet, a threatening glare in his eyes as he brought the blade up in a defensive stance. The stranger jumps back as well, not expecting that reaction and puts his hands up in mock defense. “Woah, woah! Slow down there! Easy with the knife, my wife would kill me if I dragged blood through the house.” He chuckles nervously and Miguel narrowed his eyes, unamused. “Who are you?” Miguel growls. The stranger slowly puts his hands down. “Name’s Peter. Now I know a lot of folks like camping and being out of their homes for a few nights but you’re obviously–uh– shaken, for a lack of a better term. So, are you a, uh, traveler?” Peter asks, squinting his eyes and raising his eyebrow. Miguel scans Peter. He could tell he had a lean frame even if his coat covered his whole body, he could see his legs. Skinny and shorter than him and it doesn’t look like he’s carrying any weapon but he couldn’t be too sure. He lowers his blade but still keeps it up to his body. Miguel remembers all the commoners in the boat. “Yes, I am.” He answers hoarsely. It had been a while since he spoke. “I’m… looking for work.” Peter claps with a grin and small laugh. “Oh, I gotta tell ya, you’ve come to the right place, big guy.” He places his hands on his hips and examines Miguel. Big muscle-y guy. Young and–just by the knife prepared when Peter nudged him awake with his foot–prepared and trained. “Y’know there’s a lot of job openings listed but, uh…I think one of ‘em would suit you nicely.” Peter nods, rubbing his chin in self approval. “When’d you get in?” Peter asks, snapping his fingers and pointing at Miguel. Miguel lowers his knife to his side. “A few hours ago.” Peter winces. “And you wouldn’t happen to have somewhere to stay, would ya?” Peter groans as he realizes that. He taps his foot on the ground, the grass making a soft shuffling sound with each tap. Miguel keeps his gaze hard as he watches Peter mutter to himself. Are the people of Etheria this…unprofessional?

“I got it!” Peter snaps his fingers again and laughs. “Oh, I’m a genius. I still got it.” He chuckles to himself that leaves Miguel dumbfounded. “I’ve got the perfect temporary place for you.” Miguel stares at Peter and Peter groans. “If you don’t want to sleep on a log for another night. Consider yourself lucky that I even thought about going on a hike this morning.” Peter dusts imaginary dirt off his coat shoulder. Miguel grumbles under his breath. He’d rather not sleep on a log–he guesses. “Show me where.” He grunts. “Oh,a little rough around the edges–noted. Traveling does that to ya, I guess.” Peter clears his throat. “Right, well, follow me. I can’t guarantee it though. My friends are a little picky but I’m sure with my word, they’ll consider it.” He eyes Miguel’s giant bag. “Need help?” Miguel quickly grabs it and sheathes his knife back into its holster. “No. Just lead the way.” Peter’s eyes squint subtly up at Miguel but nods, turning around to lead them both back into town. “So, where’re you coming from?” Peter asks, their shoes now meeting the cobblestone of the town hall.

“A small country. Rather not say.” Miguel mutters. Peter hums in understanding. “Right. Sorry. I forgot how…sensitive everything is.” He murmurs and glances at Miguel to give him a weak smile. Miguel notices his gray hairs clearly, eye bags under his eyes. “But wherever you come from, I promise it’ll get better. Especially here. Here, everyone has something for them.” Peter turns back to the front and doesn’t see the disdain on Miguel’s face. How dare these people be so blindsided and brainwashed that their country is doing good? Do they not know their history? Miguel begins to notice how they’re walking out of the town hall and passing by the commoner homes scattered across the plain. Instead they continue on the stoned path upwards to the gated entrance of the castle. He could feel a shiver run down his spine, his heart speeding up. “Where are we going?” Miguel demands, hand itching to grab his knife again. He knew he’d win against a man as weak as this ‘Peter’. He could crush him in seconds. “We’re meeting my friends. Just be cool, alright?” Peter grins over at Miguel and eventually reaches the gates where two soldiers stand on either side. Peter shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Guys.” He greets them. “Peter! I thought you were still on leave?” The man on the right asks. “I am, Eddie. I just found this traveler guy, uh…” Peter stutters, realizing he hadn't asked for Miguel’s name. He leans back and whispers not so subtly. “What’s your name?” “Miguel.”

“Miguel! Miguel here is looking for work and a place to stay so–two birds with one stone–I brought him here.” “I don’t know, Pete. The queen–” Eddie speaks but is interrupted by the blonde soldier on the left. “The queen would most surely not like it!” Eddie sighs. “Ben’s right. Not just…everyone can step into the palace.” Peter scoffs. “What? The queen loves helping travelers find their footing here.” “Not directly inside the castle.” Eddie groans. “He’d do better doing it the normal way.” Miguel listens carefully to the conversation. He holds back his smile by biting his cheek. Could it really be this easy to step inside the castle? All because of this one naive man? He felt his heart pumping, the thought of being so close to pierce the princess’s heart. “I’m not just anyone, Eddie. The queen will understand–she’ll listen. Let us through. I’m still your superior.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest. Eddie tries to keep eye contact with Peter but closes his eyes with a deep sigh. “Ben, open the gates.” “Hell yeah!” The two guards open up the heavy black bar gates with a push. Miguel has to stop himself from racing in and finishing the job too early. Despite his excitement with how fast this plan was succeeding, he knew he had to be diligent. He had to make sure nothing could go wrong. Peter pats Miguel on the shoulder. “I’ll be introducing you so don;t worry about customs. Travelers get a pass for that.” He jokes and continues walking through with Miguel, Eddie pouting from behind as him and Ben reclose the gates.

Miguel looks on as Peter leads him towards the front of the castle. His eyes wander around the lavish and pristine marble look the royals of Etheria call home. He can’t help but scowl. Did your family achieve these luxuries by trading the blood of innocents? Miguel tipped his chin up, clenching his jaw. No matter how delicately sculpted and beautiful this place appeared, he could clearly see the crimson liquid staining the walls. His eyes landed on a figure at the top of a tower, where they loomed over the balcony. There stood a fair maiden with a small tiara on your head and a fluffy baby pink robe over your casual light pink dress. He figured you had to have been the princess. His blood boiled just seeing your face at peace, calmly and admiring the gray sky above. Suddenly, Miguel felt a frigid breeze and along with it came a few flurries of fallen snow. He looked up and saw tiny snowflakes fly down, decorating the grass and bushes with white sprinkles. He looked back to you and saw you sticking your hand out as if trying to collect the snow in your palm. You shivered and snuggled yourself back in your fluffy robe but still peeked into the sky to watch the snow fall. Your eyes followed a snowflake, watching it swirl and spin in a dance with the wind. It landed in a faint growing pile of snow next to someone’s shoes. You trailed your gaze up to the owner and met Miguel’s eyes. Shocked that there had been a person standing there for god knows how long, you scurried back inside and shut the balcony doors closed. Miguel tsked in annoyance and heard Peter call his name inside. With heavy steps. He swallowed down his anger of this situation and walked inside the castle doors where Peter waited with a warm smile.

A/N: if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, let me know :') Taglist { @allysunny @laysmt @marvel-moviesfan @latenightcravingz @hysterian111 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @gejo333 @lavenderosemarylove }

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader

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ladystoneboobs · 5 months

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possibly incomplete list of asoiaf characters described as having red or even "ginger" hair (or red-gold as opposed to red-brown or ghiscari red-black), never auburn:

mycah, the butcher's boy*

beric dondarrion (red-gold hair)*

lharys, member of the three stooges men-at-arms (wild rust-colored hair)**

unnamed and unfortunate mother of robert baratheon's doomed youngest child, barra (light red-haired mother of black-haired baby)*

tomard aka "fat tom", stark guardsman (with his ginger whiskers)*

horas "horror" redwyne (orange hair)*

hobber "slobber" redwyne (orange hair)*

unnamed red-haired whore leaning out a window the day of ned's execution (presumably not the same as above since she was joking about the king's death)*

melisandre of asshai (deep burnished copper. red and terrible and red.)*

a man called jaqen h'ghar (red on one side, white on the other)*

pug-nosed dancy from chataya's brothel (described as red-haired by tyrion in acok but honey-blonde in asos, so presumably hair dye must have been involved between those book mentions.)**

addam marbrand (hair the same copper color as his horse's mane)*

"ginger-headed" maester frenken*

unnamed beardless ginger youth among theon's crew at winterfell*

ygritte, a spearwife "kissed-by-fire" (bright red)*

arryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's red-mustached guardsman*

erryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's other, identical, red-mustached guardsman*

lord paxter redwyne (tufts of orange hair)**

anguy the archer of the bwb*

a red-bearded karstark rapist dead in a crow cage at stoney sept*

tansy, innkeeper of the peach in stoney sept*

meryn trant (rust-red hair)*

"red" ronnet connington

mero, "the titan's bastard", former commander of the second sons (bushy red-gold beard)

a red-headed soldier who came with stannis to the wall

shadrich "the mad mouse" (bristly orange hair)*

lord rykker's red-mustached maester

marwyn belmore, lysa's former guard captain (ginger-headed)*

lord benedar belmore with a beard that was "a ginger-grey horror"*

lord orton merryweather (reddish-orange hair)

"the red oarsman", one of euron greyoy's followers (fiery red hair)

unnamed red-haired sailor arriving at port in braavos*

lord clement piper

and his son lewys "little lew" piper, who served as squire to jaime lannister in the riverlands

unnamed red-haired youth who first escaped northward with varamyr from the battle at the wall

one of illyrio's washerwomen (dull red hair)**

jon connington (once red hair gone to grey, still red at the roots and eyebrows even when the rest was dyed blue. also had a bright red beard as a younger man.)**

rolly "duck" duckfield (a shock of orange hair)**

a young man among the wildling refugees at mole's town whose red hair reminded jon of ygritte*

the "sunset kingdoms" girl raped by tyrion in the brothel where he was captured by jorah**

hagen's daughter, only other woman among asha greyjoy's crew

roggon rustbeard, one of asha's men

mully of the nw (greasy orange hair)*

bloodbeard, commander of the company of the cat (fiery red whiskers)

"ginger" jack, a toungeless sellsword of the windblown sent to dany, face nearly covered by his bristly, orange beard

gerrick kingsblood*

and his son*

and gerrick's daughter #1*

and gerrick's daughter #2*

and gerrick's daughter #3*

ronald storm, son of ronnet connington

one of the 7 "choicest" enslaved girls from the yunkish ship who were sacrificed by victarion (red-gold hair)

an enslaved redhead boy in line for a well, asking tyrion about dany**

nail, apprentice to hammer, the armorer for the second sons**

maester tybald, redhaired maester from the dreadfort serving arnolf karstark

valena toland, heiress to the tor (bright red hair)

teora toland, valena's younger sister with the same hair

uther shett, knight arriving for sweetrobin's tourney (ginger-haired and whiskered)*

*characters whose hair is described in the povs of starks (or jon snow) who only use the terms auburn or red-brown for catelyn, robb, sansa etc. and do not compare said characters to said tully-haired relations

**characters whose hair is described by tyrion lannister, who spent significant time with sansa and exclusively referred to her hair as auburn (without anyone else telling him her hair color as catelyn told brienne)

the only asoiaf characters ever described as having auburn hair:

catelyn tully stark

robb stark (red-brown/auburn tully hair "so like" his mother's, with a beard redder than his hair)

sansa stark (auburn hair lighter than her mother's, most reddish glowing in candlelight)

brandon "bran" stark (hair not bright red enough for him to distinguish himself from young benjen at first glance in a weirwood flashback)

rickon stark

brynden "the blackfish" tully (once auburn hair gone to grey)

edmure tully (auburn hair with a fiery beard, likely brighter than his hair like robb's)

lysa tully arryn baelish

known tully descendants never described as having auburn hair

arya stark (darker brown stark-colored hair)

hoster tully (hair and beard gone from brown to brown streaked with grey to white as snow)

robert "sweetrobin" arryn (fine brown hair, thought by sansa to be his best feature)

fun fact: the only other character that i can find to ever even be descibed as having red-brown hair in the main series is rowan, one of the spearwives who accompanied mance on his mission to winterfell. (described by theon, who had psychological reasons not to think of any hair-resemblance to robb and co.)

tl;dr i suppose my point here is that auburn hair in the real world may be a term thrown around wildly as a fancier way of saying red hair, but grrm and his westerosi creations seem to keep to a much more specific (true) definition. not just specific, almost entirely unique to a certain family, a weird mutation passing down their line somewhat inexplicably, like the magic platinum hair of the targaryens. (ned stark's 4 tully-haired kids being sorta like alicent hightower's 4 targ-haired kids where nobody can really explain why it was so dominant.) except it's actually more unique to the tullys than either black hair to the baratheons or silver hair to the targaryens, with the velaryons also having valyrian hair as well as some people in the essosi free cities too. which i guess makes rowan the wildling the equalivent of an unknown dragonseed or a lysene woman who could pass as a targ, and regular brown-haired hoster and sweetrobin the equivalent of regular blonde-haired alysanne and alyssa targaryen. so the next time someone calls the tullys lame or whatever, just remember that in-universe they're actually more special than the dragonriders, at least hairwise.

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pupmon1 · 8 days

Text

So while I was making that edit I was talking with my partner, @princess-self-shipping, and I had a realization.

I was complaining that Mira and Isa have weird eyes. I was saying that "I could give them actual whites for their eyes but I'm lazy and don't wanna." Cy pointed out that they didn't with their color edits and while I was grumbling about weird cartoon eyes, they pointed out that it could be a Vaugardian main land trait.

Which got me thinking. We know fantasy genetics and fantasy ethnicities exist in this universe thanks to a certain bitch and her identity crisis. Odile says that some of her features are clearly Vaugardian, even if we only see the parts that make her Ka Buan.

But it means shared features might mean shared heritage. Isa and Mira both share the same eye type and bushy eyebrows.

Siffrin says they don't want to look at the king because he doesn't want to know what features are from his home...but I think I know a big one. I think I know one that we can compare with the only other bitch we have from the island.

Cat eyes. Both Loop and Siffrin have cat eyes. Yes I know about that deal but their eyes are different. Distinctly different. If they were the same it would give the game away maybe a little too early.

But they're still cat eyes. And cat eyes are not exclusive to those two. There are two other characters in this entire game that have cat shaped eyes.

One is Euphrasies. She already shares other traits with Siffrin, so many people already think she's a Northerner who moved to Dormont. It's not a far reach from there to say that cat eyes are a northern trait.

And the last? Someone else from the north of Vaugard. Someone else who doesn't quite look like Mira and Isa.

Someone else who has the same messy, slightly curly hair...the same cat eyes...the same expressions sometimes. Someone Siff seemed to get attached to really quickly...

Someone who's eyes sparkle with stars.

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat bonnie #siffrin and Euphie are here too #but this isnt about them #implication im trying to get to: Bonnie is at least part Northern

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verk0my · 9 months

Text

okay so I’m rereading the hobbit and I want to make a list of my favorite quotes and parts so here we go:

“bilbo (…) got something a bit queer in his make-up from the took side” I chuckled

“mr. baggins was very fond of flowers” of course he was he’s a blorbo

“it was a beautiful golden harp, and when thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet that bilbo forgot everything else” bombastic side eye

“as he lay in bed he could hear thorin still humming to himself in the best bedroom next to him. bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams” criminal offensive side eye

“the explanation did not seem to explain” my brain 24/7 (but also when someone’s trying to explain the rules of any board game to me)

“bilbo was wearing a dark-green hood and a dark-green cloak borrowed from dwalin. they were too large for him, and he looked rather comic” bilbo in dwarven clothes, just throwing it out there

“bilbo baggins, a bur — a hobbit,” said poor bilbo, shaking all over, and wondering how to make owl-noises before their throttled him” this one made me laugh

“trolls simply detest the very sight of dwarves (uncooked)” this one too

“his house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all” I want to go to there

“dori, who was at the back next to bilbo, and a decent fellow. he made the hobbit scramble on his shoulders as best as he could with his tied hands, and then off they all went at a run. (…) that sent them on faster than ever, and as poor bilbo could not possibly go half as fast, they took it in turn to carry him on their backs” WE WERE ROBBED

“why, o why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!” said poor mr. baggins bumping up and down on bombur’s back “why, o why did I ever bring a wretched little hobbit on a treasure hunt!” said poor bombur” comedic duo

gandalf answered angrily “I brought him, and I don’t bring things that are of no use” we love a supportive friend

“(gandalf) gave bilbo a queer look from under his bushy eyebrows” live gandalf reaction

“you ought not to be rude to an eagle, when you are only the size of a hobbit” good life advice

“here they sat on wooden benches while gandalf began his tale, and bilbo swung his dangling legs and looked at the flowers in the garden” a short king <3

“that only makes eleven and not fourteen, unless wizards count differently to other people” I LOVE BOOK BEORN SO MUCH and this whole chapter is probably my favorite by far

“the hobbit felt quite crushed, and as there seemed nothing else to do he did go to bed” what a mood

“long noses are sometimes useful you see” do with that information what you want

“they knew only too well that they would soon all have been dead, if it had not been for the hobbit; and they thanked him many times” AS THEY SHOULD, too bad thorin didn’t see any of what happened

“he did not like being dependent on by everyone, and he wished he had the wizard at hand” honestly, same

“never laugh at live dragon, bilbo you fool” another hopeful advice

“you are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it. but wonder if thorin oakenshield will see it too” ouch

“then bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse” this one hurts

“he was in fact held by all the hobbits of the neighbourhood to be queer” of course he was :D

#this is going to be a long post #hope you’re ready #the hobbit #the hobbit book #the hobbit reread #tolkien reread #tolkien #favorite quotes #text

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

Text

The Lovelorn King - Chapter 2

Books and their Covers.

Bowser x Reader

--------

King Bowser.

King.

You’re standing in the presence of a King.

Old teachings that have been stitched into the very walls of your mind almost surge forth, and all at once, you find yourself resisting the urge to drop immediately into a curtsey as countless years of rigorous training in etiquette come rushing back to you.

You’re caught wildly off guard. Peach had made no mention of another monarch occupying a neighbouring kingdom. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that Junior was being serious when he boasted that his father was a king.

Still poised with his chest pushed out and his chin tipped back, Bowser’s molten gaze is busy studying your face, no doubt waiting for you to react accordingly to his grand declaration.

Technically, as a queen, you and the colossal Koopa are on equal footing, so you’re under no real obligation to bow to him.

But Bowser doesn’t know that.

For all he’s aware, you’re just another woman who boasts no royal heritage, which is a façade you’d quite like to maintain until you absolutely have to reveal your true nature.

Fine.

… You haven’t had to do this since you last addressed your father…

It stings your pride a little to bend low on your knees and drop your head in a graceful curtsey, entirely missing how the King’s jaw pops open and goes slack with shock.

You’re left with an especially bad taste in your mouth for showing deference to the father of your juvenile kidnapper, but you’re not about to start hurling around accusations just yet.

Here you are, all alone in the fortress of a foreign monarch, unarmed and unguarded.

This seems the kind of situation that best calls for tact, not tantrums.

You’ll have to play this cautiously.

“Your majesty,” you gush, straightening up and smoothing out your skirts, “It’s a… it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cordial. Polite. The barest show of common decency you can afford.

And yet… Bowser is peering down at you as if you’ve spontaneously sprouted wings.

His brows sit high on his scaly forehead as he blinks at you owlishly, working his jaw open and shut around silent words before he gives his head an abrupt shake, as if to rouse himself from a stupor.

It’s a little alarming, you’ll admit.

Slowly enough that it borders on cautious, he asks, “It… it is?”

And then, in a sudden burst of motion that makes you flinch, he draws himself up again and plants his hands on each hip, letting out a gruff bark of laughter. “I mean, of course it is!”

Everything about him is prodigious, even the slightest twitch of his hands is frighteningly noticeable, and you’re ashamed to admit that you flinch back at his exclamation, unwittingly allowing a tiny gasp to escape between your clenched teeth.

Clinging to his father’s leg like a limpet, Junior peers up at you with his bushy brows furrowed in thought, scrutinising your reaction. After a second, he shifts, patting a palm firmly against Bowser’s solid calf and tilting his head up to whine, “Papa, I think she’s scared.”

You might have refuted him if Bowser hadn’t so suddenly deflated at that moment, his lordly manner all but evaporating as he scans your face with those wild and terrible eyes.

You must have quite the look about you because just like that, the King’s eyebrows launch up his forehead and he ducks his head, half crouching to bring his muzzle level with your face. “Scared?” he echoes, trailing off and lifting his eyes to the guards at your back, locking onto their weapons like a homing missile. The spear heads are still trained on your vulnerable spine.

In a second of misdirected anger, Bowser’s temper flares up, aimed, not at himself, but at his troops.

“Hey!” he barks at the guards, all of whom flinch and cower backwards as their king sweeps a ferocious scowl across their ranks, “Lower your weapons! The heck’re you trying to do - threatening a lady!?”

They recoil in an instant with a chorus of whimpers that hardly befit their once intimidating bluster.

They all but throw their weapons to the ground as they scramble backwards, away from both you and their King.

Twisting about to stare at them over your shoulder in bewilderment, you’re unprepared to feel a warm, scaly paw sweep your hand up, nor for another paw to land on top of it, trapping your appendage between each of Bowser’s immense palms before you can even begin to think of tugging yourself free.

Letting out a gasp, you whip your head back to the King, the muscles in your arms turning stiff with unease. He, however, doesn’t seem to notice your rigid limbs.

In a flash, Bowser’s wrathful eyes turn soft, and a buoyant smile pushes at his round and ample cheeks. “There you go,” he hums pleasantly, giving the back of your hand an astonishingly gentle pat, “No need to fret, my dear. You’re in no danger within these walls. You have my word.”

You can feel the sweat gathering in the cup of your palm, stuck as it is amongst the cage of scaly fingers.

Down beside Bowser’s leg, Junior pipes up, “See? Told you Papa’d take good care of you!”

The King has yet to turn his attention away from your face, too preoccupied with blinking dreamily down at you, his nostrils fluttering open and shut around every breath he draws into those almighty lungs.

You get the distinct impression you’re being sniffed.

“I see you’ve already met my son.”

Somehow, he manages to lean even closer to you until all you can see is his vast, smiling muzzle, armed to the gunnels with fangs as long as your thumb.

Swallowing audibly, you send a flat look down at Junior, who sees fit to grin shamelessly back at you.

“Oh, yes,” you utter thinly, “He’s a real charmer, your boy.”

Evidently oblivious to sarcasm, Bowser expels a lazy puff of steam from his nostrils, letting it waft over your face where it slithers between your parted lips and settles over your tongue with the taste of charcoal.

“Takes after his old man,” he purrs.

He’s keeping you held close enough that you can feel the ensuing thrum travel through your joined hands and spill across your ribcage.

This is getting wildly inappropriate. Regardless of whether he knows of your royal status, for Bowser to maintain this… this… proximity-! While his guards and a child watch on?

It’s scandalous.

It’s improper.

“…. Yes… I’m… I’m sure he does,” you croak uncertainly, struck by the sudden yearning to clear your throat. Swallowing back the urge, you give your hand a surreptitious tug, and after a few seconds, Bowser’s palms ease apart slightly, allowing you to slide your arm through the gap, concealing a sigh of relief. “But I’m afraid there’s… something I really must discuss with you.”

It takes just a second too long for his arms to fall back against his sides. “Oh?” he says, a curious, fiery brow sliding up his forehead as he finally sheds that dopey smile.

Offering him a nod, you take a calming breath and gesture towards the little Koopaling clinging to the giant’s leg. “It… well, it’s about your son.”

You hope that’ll be enough to get him to dismiss the guards behind you, given that it involves the boy, and would thusly indicate a private matter.

But once again, Bowser seems slow on the uptake.

You’re starting to notice a pattern there.

“Junior?” The king’s great snout tips down to acknowledge the young Koopa, who merely returns his father’s gaze with an innocent tilt of his head.

‘Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,’ you gripe to yourself.

Aloud, you speak up, “Yes, you see, I’m just a bit concerned about his… Well, I hate to be indelicate about this, but I think his behaviour needs to be addressed.”

You’re too adept at reading a room to miss how the Koopas behind you seem to draw a collective breath, the wooden handles of their spears creaking softly under tightening fists.

Undeterred, you forge on. “Now, while I don’t want to believe that Junior did anything with malicious intent, the fact remains, Your Majesty, that your son stole me away from my ship, the Bonhomous.”

“Stole you?”

Nodding sombrely, you shift to cradle your elbows and cast an anxious glance at the ground underfoot, muttering, “I’m afraid so. I have friends who must be looking for me by now… Captain Skip is probably beside herself with worry…”

Perhaps it should have clued you in on his true musings that Bowser doesn’t immediately react in the way any normal parent might upon learning their child has just kidnapped someone.

As it is, you’re too busy clutching your arms and trying not to breathe too loudly to put much stock into his disconcertingly mild reaction.

“S’that so?” Bowser thrums, deep as a fissure. He turns to quirk a single, flaming brow down at his son, “You take this nice lady from her ship?”

All eyes are on Junior now as he cocks his head at the king and nods, uttering a baffled, “Uh huh?” as if that’s the last question he ever expected to hear.

In response, Bowser presses his jaws together into a hard line and exhales a long, resonant hum through his nostrils. “I see…”

You’re surprised when he swivels his massive snout towards you again and his expression shifts, stretched wide by an appeasing grin. “Say, would you mind if I have a word with my son in private?”

Ah. Of course.

The tension in your shoulders eases a little at his acknowledgment of Junior’s misdemeanour. It makes sense not to cause a fuss in the throne room in front of a visitor.

Inclining your head, you offer the King a polite smile – a silent mark of approval and permission.

Returning your smile with a dip of his great, horned skull, he lays a hand on his son’s shell and ushers the koopaling towards the set of heavy, wooden doors they’d previously come through.

You watch on as their tails disappear through it and it swings shut behind them with an almighty thud, and just like that, you’re left to stand alone once again the company of several, scowling guards and their equally fearsome weapons.

And yet, more than accustomed to being the centre of attention during uncomfortable silences, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, standing tall and patient, one ear trained on the doors ahead.

Several long and arduously slow minutes tick by.

There’s no shouting from beyond the wood, no crying or wailing, nor anything that would indicate an unpleasant conversation is taking place on the other side.

The smallest brush of shame makes its presence known on the walls of your chest. Is it fair of you to have expected the brute of a King to possess an equally tempestuous temper? Perhaps you ought to have better remembered the old morals regarding books and their covers.

Unexpectedly soon, the doors are thrust open again with an abrupt ‘slam!’ jolting you from your musings as the heavy wood strikes against stone walls.

Despite his decidedly explosive entrance, one glance at the King’s muzzle reveals a toothy grin as he comes lumbering back over to you with Junior bounding after him, barely keeping up with his father’s extensive stride.

It doesn’t escape your notice that the boy isn’t looking especially chastised.

“Hope we didn’t keep you for too long,” Bowser announces, trundling to a halt in front of you and dipping his head into a shallow gesture of apology, “You know, I’m loathe to keep a lady waiting.”

You can’t tell if the room’s tension dissipates at his return, or if it grows even thicker.

“It’s no trouble,” you reply thinly.

“So,” Bowser grunts, shifting his weight onto one, thick-set leg, “My son and I have had a little chat.”

A swift glance down at the Junior reveals knitted brows and a childish pout that scrunches up his muzzle as if he’s just eaten something especially sour.

Whatever his father said to him mustn’t have been to his taste.

You have to remind yourself to let out an unsteady breath before it can sit stagnant inside your lungs. “I see… A-and?”

Clasping his clawed hands together with a slap of scales, Bowser bobs his head eagerly up and down and declares, “Seems this whole thing’s just been one big misunderstanding.”

Even with years of practice at keeping your expression strictly unaffected, even you can’t stop an eyebrow from sliding up your forehead.

‘Misunderstanding.’ What a quaint way to refer to a kidnapping.

Deaf to your dubious silence and blind to the thin press of your lips, Bowser plops a meaty palm down on Junior’s head and smooths the young koopa’s ponytail back before he lets it spring up into its prior position – just as unruly and fiery as Junior himself.

True to form, the boy immediately curls his lips and lets out a tinny growl as he throws up his arms, attempting – fruitlessly - to shove Bowser’s hand off his head.

The King hardly pays his efforts a trace of attention, apparently far more preoccupied with beaming down at you as if there’s nothing amiss. “Boy here’s just a little enthusiastic about meetin’ new friends, is all. Ain’t’ya buddy?”

Giving a squeak of indignation, Junior finally succeeds in extracting himself from under his father’s encompassing hand. Arms folded tightly across a rotund, little chest, he scoots off to one side and tips his nose down towards his feet with a grumble, his scarlet brows stitched together across his forehead, casting shadows over beady, black eyes.

“Anyway,” the King adds, “Kid’s got something he wants to tell you…”

Sparing Junior an expectant look, you and Bowser wait for him to speak, yet the youngling seems content to remain stubbornly silent.

“C’mon, kiddo.” One of Bowser’s sizeable paws nudges against his son’s shell, coaxing him to take a step towards you.

Heaving out a petulant sigh, the boy eventually concedes and allows himself to be prodded a little closer, though he looks for all the world as if he wants nothing more than to sink down behind his hunching shoulders and disappear.

“Junior,” his father rumbles, less of a warning and more gentle persuasion.

With far more effort than you imagine is strictly necessary, Junior slowly tilts his head up to look at you, sticking out his jaw in defiance. Yet despite the young koopa’s clear disinclination to speak, his voice is surprisingly solemn when he parts his lips to mumble, “M’sorry… For scarin’ you… And for takin’ you without askin’ first…”

Oh. Well, that’s… not quite what you expected.

As apologies go, you’ve definitely heard better. At least he sounds genuine.

Considering the inconvenience he’s cause you alone, you think you deserve a little more than a lacklustre apology. But then again, he’s young and he’s brash. And, true to his word, you haven’t been hurt.

Leaning back on your heel, you appraise the boy thoughtfully.

Examining the situation as a whole reminds you that he and his father haven’t really harboured any done anything to you with malicious intent. In fact, their guards seem more of a threat to you than Bowser and his son. But that’s to be expected. You’re a strange face in the castle of a King. That alone warrants caution.

This whole situation could have been a lot worse.

A hell of a lot worse.

Bowser is eyeing you carefully – you can feel his stare burning a hole into your forehead, but Junior has returned his gaze to the ground, shame curling his stubby tail up around his leg.

Sucking down a quiet breath, you remind yourself why you left the safety of your kingdom in the first place.

You’re here to forge alliances. To make friends. Your kingdom needs allies.

You refuse to rule with the same uncompromising brutality your father had. And if you can forgive him, you can certainly forgive a child.

Besides, it’ll hardly do to fall out with Bowser and his son over a transgression that never even seemed insidious in the first place.

Hiking up the hem of your skirts, you lower yourself down onto a knee in front of Junior, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast eyes. When he only shrinks a little further into his shell, a patient smile springs to your cheeks.

Your father would discipline you for being too soft with the same hand he used to drag your kingdom to wreck and ruin. You imagine he’d be disappointed if he were here now, watching on as you prepare to accept the apology of a creature who’d kidnapped you.

But he isn’t here now. So, you can hardly disappoint him, can you?

“Thank you, Junior,” you tell the young koopa in earnest, “It’s very good of you to apologise.”

You hardly finish your sentence before the boy’s head snaps up, his dark eyes bursting open wide with surprise.

“It is?” he asks.

Why that should come as a shock to him is beyond you, but… “Of course?” you reply, amused, “It’s the mark of a great ruler to know when you’ve done something wrong, and to accept responsibility in the aftermath.”

You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but somehow, the boy’s eyes grow even wider, sparkling in the light of an overhead chandelier as all the embarrassment he’d carried earlier evaporates like water off a lit stove.

Then, quick as a whip, he spins around to beam up at his father and, to your private delight, begins swinging his tail from side to side.

“You hear that, Papa!?” he barks, jamming a thumb into his proud chest, “I’m already a great ruler! I told you she’s cool!”

Flicking your gaze up the length of Bowser’s titanic body, you meet his stare and offer him a sheepish smile, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

The King, for his part, is peering back at you with a strange expression lighting up his rugged features, something akin to both veneration and contentment.

Had he expected a different response?

He holds your gaze for a long moment before sparing his son a fond look. “Well, of course!” he announces, “I could’a told you that!”

“Yeah, but… you’re my pops! You gotta say stuff like that.”

The King’s shoulders quake as he laughs, shaking his head and stepping around his son to stretch an enormous paw down towards you.

You only just refrain from flinching.

Bowser remains stooped over for several long moments while you stare at his hand as if it might spring to life and close around your throat like a bear trap. You nearly kick yourself when it suddenly occurs you that he only means to help you to your feet.

Flashing him a grateful look, you hesitate for one last blink before tentatively reaching up to place your hand atop the pad of a single, plump finger. Again, you’re taken aback to find him warm to the touch, though he seems to grow ever warmer under your palm as he gingerly pulls you to your feet again, his eyes locked on where your hand meets his.

“I-uh…” He falls silent, throat bobbing as he swallows around a smile. “I hope this means Junior’s forgiven?”

Hm. You suppose the King, like you, had been hoping to make a good first impression.

To be perfectly frank, up until your unconventional acquisition, his son had been quite endearing.

Junior is still bouncing on the balls of his feet between you and his father, prompting you to lay an absentminded hand on the koopaling’s shell, stilling him for a moment as you reply, “Children are usually very easy to forgive. I’m sure you and I have made our fair share of mistakes when we were young.”

Bowser lets out an abrupt snort of laughter and raises a hand up to scratch at the underside of his chin. “Ha! Yeah, you got that right… Nothin’ I’d want him to learn about though.”

“Likewise,” you concur with a wink that sends a pleasant shudder rolling over the scales beneath the King’s shell.

Bowser can hardly believe his luck. This is going, dare he say, rather well.

You haven’t yet screamed at the sight of him, though at first you’d looked a little green around the gills… No doubt you were simply overcome with reverence at seeing such a fine, handsome specimen up close!

Junior seems to like you, and you in turn have been kinder to his boy than…

Huh… Than anyone outside the family ever has.

You even willingly touched Bowser’s hand!

And you smiled at him.

Him! Bowser!

Stars… How long… How long has he spent trying to coax a smile from Peach? How much time has he wasted showering her in praise and finery only to receive the venom of her glare and a shoulder as cold as the Ice Lands in return?

For anyone else, a smile might be such a mundane occurrence. Negligible.

But to Bowser?

It’s everything.

He wonders briefly if Junior had pulled you down from Heaven itself.

Of course, as he’s often found regarding matters of the heart, good things rarely last.

It happens all too abruptly.

You draw your hand from Junior’s shell and drop it down to your side, fiddling with a fold in your dress as you cast a tentative glance over your shoulder and eye the enormous doors at the back of the room. The alluring tilt of your lips starts to fade.

Bowser finds he misses the sight.

“Well,” you start, exhaling roughly, “I imagine I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should really be getting back to my friends…”

At first, he’s too busy mourning the smile you’d aimed his way to register the meaning behind your words.

In fact, it’s Junior who calls his father’s attention to them.

Spinning about to gape up at you, the little koopa’s grin vanishes. “You wanna leave!? But you can’t!” he cries out, utterly crestfallen.

Leave?

Bowser’s thundering heart gives a sudden, unexpected lurch.

Leave!?

No… No! It was going so well! What went wrong!?

What did he do wrong?

There’s something unfathomably cruel in the act of giving him such a fleeting sniff of happiness after so long, only to rip it from his claws like his heart is something expendable.

Without warning, the King throws his enormous arms up as if to reach out and grab you, prompting you to release an unintelligible exclamation and retreat several steps backwards, clasping your hands to your chest in alarm.

Bowser’s colossal body jolts to a stop the moment your mouth bursts open, and you gasp, shocked.

“Uh…” The King blinks dumbly, flicking his molten gaze between your startled expression and his arms that are still held outstretched before him. Seconds later, he tries to flash you a lopsided grin and hastily drops his arms, chuckling deep in his chest. “I mean, Junior’s right. You can’t go now! You’ve only just got here! M’not about to turf a lady out into the Dark Lands!”

Dark Lands… Even the name alone sends fingers of ice creeping up the length of your spine.

Still, you reason with yourself, Bowser means well. He’s just concerned. Nothing to be afraid of…

“Whilst I appreciate your concern…” you sigh, raising a hand to rub at your temple to stave of the beginnings of a headache, “Junior frightened the life out of the Captain, and her crew.” Shoulders slumping, you add, “I have to go. I have to let them know I’m okay.”

You have a terrible feeling that if you don’t appease your faithful Captain, there’ll be a diplomatic incident.

Junior however, doesn’t seem to grasp the urgent need for your departure.

Screwing his face up, he cranes his neck back to peer up at the underside of Bowser’s chin. “Papa…” he whines, reminding you, again, that you’re dealing with a young child.

Hoping that the King might help you appease his son, you follow Junior’s gaze up to meet Bowser’s eye.

But what you find is enough to freeze the blood solid in your veins.

Everything about the gigantic koopa has pivoted on its axis.

There’s not a trace of warmth to be found in his blood-red stare anymore. Only a scalding heat that could burn cities to ash in a single blink.

It’s a dangerous stare, filled with great and terrible rage.

You’ve never seen a volcano erupt in real life, but you can imagine that it can’t be unlike seeing the gradual glow of hellfire sparking to life in Bowser’s flaring nostrils and spilling out from between the tiny gaps in his clenched fangs.

It frightens you. Shakes your resolve.

You hate that alongside the bone-numbing fear that suddenly sweeps through your body like ice water comes an awful sense of inevitability. At the back of your mind, you can hear a voice that sounds distinctively like your father. ‘Here,’ he seems to taunt you, ‘Here is the monster you first expected to see. Does it sting you to know you should have judged this book by its cover?’

You’ve been itching to leave from the moment you got here. Perhaps now it’s finally time to beat your hasty retreat, electing to feel guilty about hurting Junior’s feelings later.

Bowser’s fiery man has just begun to bristle in the sudden influx of heat wafting off his neck when you at last find the gumption to spin around on your heel and march purposefully at the koopa guards, all of whom have thus far remained perfectly silent behind you.

A growl rolls across the room, low enough that it could have been a grumble of thunder chasing at your heels. But you know better.

Maintaining your composure is difficult, but you aim what you hope is an authoritative glare at the guards, knowing full-well that you’ve never been able to master an effective scowl.

Besides, for as scary as you can try to look, your efforts fall woefully short of the abject horror their monstrous King can strike into their hearts.

At the briefest flicker of Bowser’s lips, they swiftly snap to attention, falling into a line and crossing their spears over the next soldier’s to form a solid wall of scaly flesh between you and the far door to what you assume must be an escape.

The clack of your court shoes on the stone floor scrape to a halt in front of them. You cast each koopa a wide-eyed glance, and they match the look with defiance, silently challenging you to try and break through their ranks.

Your gorge rises, your heart starts to pound, not unlike a wild animal set loose behind your ribcage.

To your back, Bowser’s cumbersome footfalls tromp closer, and when he speaks, there’s a dangerous edge to his voice, barely held back behind rows of crushing teeth.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” comes the low, throaty drone that thumps in your chest with every syllable, “When I tell you, you can’t go, I expect you to obey my wishes.”

“O…Obey?!” you bark before you can stop yourself, grabbing your skirts so you don’t trip over them when you whirl about to face the King, “I beg your pardon!?”

You forget, just for a moment, that he’s almost twice your height, and much, much more formidable.

Gone is the cordial rapport. Gone is the slowly easing atmosphere.

Trepidation has been replaced by terror, coupled with a healthy burst of indignation.

Towering above you only feet away, Bowser’s jaws twist up into a toothy smile-come-snarl, utterly devoid of any pretence at friendliness. “You don’t have to beg, you only have to stay.”

Bridling, you ball your hands into fists and retort, “With all due respect, Lord Bowser, you can’t rightly keep me here!”

“And with all due respect, Princess,” he purrs back, “You’re in my kingdom. I can do whatever I like.”

The situation is quickly turning from dire to deadly.

But then again, you’ve faced down a bully king once before and come out of it alive. For the sake of your people, you’re going to have to do it again. Though you despise how leaden your tongue has grown, you try to stand tall and keep your voice from wavering. “Lord Bowser,” you state firmly, tipping your chin back, jaw tight with apprehension, “Please, be reasonable-“

“Reasonable! I’m very reasonable,” he snaps, thrusting a clawed finger at you. You’re beginning to see where Junior gets it from…. “You’re the one being unreasonable!”

Aghast, you sputter, “I have been nothing but cordial about this whole affair! If I want to go back to my ship, the very least you could do it let me leave without a fuss!”

At that Bowser leans his snout down towards you, his eyes flashing like rings of burning embers. “You’re not going anywhere,” he all but seethes.

From the corners of your vision, you see his colossal arms slowly rise up to either side of your hips, fingers splayed out, poised to snatch.

Standing almost nose to snout with the King, you narrow your eyes at him. “If you dare…” you hiss waspishly, “…lay a single claw on me, so help me, I’ll-!”

Perhaps predictably, you nearly choke on your next words when Bowser grabs you around the waist and hoists you unceremoniously up off your feet.

For a dizzying moment, you’re rendered utterly disoriented, leaving your guts behind as you’re swung up through the air. A painful jolt brings you crashing back down to stability. Your stomach lands across a warm, solid surface hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs and something heavy falls over the back of your thighs, pinning you on your belly.

Dazed, you blink several times before the world around you stabilizes once more, only to find yourself squinting down at Junior’s upturned face. “What…?” You push a hand out to try and reorient yourself but at that moment, your world begins to move.

“Gah! What the-!?” Blurting out a strangled yelp, you slap your palms down on a rough-hewn surface and gape past an array of ivory spikes at the ground as it passes by in a blur underneath you.

He wouldn’t….

“Sorry about this, princess,” a gruff voice thrums just behind your head.

Why, of all the rotten, audacious-!

“Bowser!” you shriek, squirming beneath the weight of his scaly palm, “Put me down! You brute!”

Flopped helplessly over the koopa’s shoulder, you kick out with your legs and pound your fists against the lip of his shell as you’re carried off through the doors that he and Junior had come in by, leaving the throne room, Bowser's son, and the guards far behind you.

Vast hallways pass by, as do the unfamiliar faces of gawking koopas, all snapping to attention as their King passes only for their salutes to falter when they catch sight of you, their beaks dropping open in shock.

You make sure to aim a murderous scowl at every single one of them.

"Where are you taking me!?" you demand as Bowser begins to ascend a winding, stone staircase.

His step never falters, not even bearing the weight of a fully-grown woman across his shoulder. "Somewhere you can cool off until you're ready to join me for dinner," he replies shortly.

"I don't understand," you cry, curling your hands into fists and pressing them desperately against his immoveable shell as it finally dawns on you just how much peril you're really in, "Why are you doing this!?"

Squeezing his claws just a little too tightly into the fabric of your dress, Bowser wrinkles his nose and roars, "Because I'm sick n' tired of you people leaving me before you even give me a chance!"

"A chance? A chance at what?!" you squawk, incredulous, "What’re you talking about!? I was just trying to get back to my friends!"

Apparently having decided he's been too forthcoming, the King stuffs his lips together and steps off the staircase, dragging his tail noisily over the ground as he goes.

More of the same, dark corridors flit by as you continue to struggle, walls of basalt illuminated by fiery sconces that cause Bowser’s shadow to flicker and bulge eerily across the floor underfoot until, all too soon, he comes to a standstill at the end of a hallway and turns to face an enormous, wooden door set into the wall.

Without much preamble, the koopa raises a single foot into the air and thrusts it forwards, kicking the door open with such a force that your teeth rattle in your skull and the echo of wood slamming against stone ricochets off down the corridor, eventually fading to silence.

Exhaling a breath from his immense lungs, Bowser carries you, still kicking and squirming, across a well-lit chamber towards the four-poster bed that takes up a prominent position against the western wall.

“Here we are,” he grumbles, fastening both of his hands around your hips and drawing you up off his shoulder with an undeniable care and lowering you onto the silken bedsheets in front of him, ignoring the tiny fists that start to beat furiously against his forearms, “You should be comfortable in here.”

Thick, formidable claws rake gently over your dress as he withdraws his hands.

The very second you realise you’re free, you shoot backwards across the bed like a bullet fired from a gun, scrambling to the other side and almost tumbling over backwards onto the carpet below before pausing long enough to slide your legs down to the floor first, shoving yourself off the sheets and staggering away from the King, all the while keeping the bed firmly between the two of you.

Bowser’s jaw is set, his eyes adhered to you as your spine hits the stone wall behind you.

With nowhere left to retreat to, you plant your hands against the solid surface at your back and stare, wide-eyed at the koopa, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

He, in turn, appears lost for words, working his jaw in circles whilst he peers back at you with his brows tilted up at the centre of his forehead.

The standoff continues for an indiscernible amount of time.

Koopa King and hidden Queen lock eyes from across the chamber, neither of you seeing fit to break the overbearing silence that has draped itself like a lead weight over your shoulders.

When at last, Bowser parts his jaws and draws in a breath, you flinch, knocking your head against the wall behind you, all pretence of poise and dignity abandoning you here, where you need them most.

You’re not so proud that you can’t admit you’re afraid.

The sudden change in Bowser’s temperament had been so immediate, so jarring, and that’s what scares you more than his size, his fangs or his claws.

He isn’t just powerful, he’s unpredictable.

The King eyes you for a moment longer before he gives a sudden soft snort and, to both your surprise and relief, he begins to trundle back towards the door.

Grasping the wooden frame in one, gargantuan hand, Bowser hesitates, turning his snout over a shoulder to fix you in his sights once again and pinning you to the wall with nothing more than a look.

“Y’know,” he begins, his voice uncharacteristically soft and almost lost to the high ceilings and the distance between you, “I’m not a bad guy, really.”

You know that he's undoubtably waiting for you to say something, but all you can muster up is a scornful huff, delving deep into the very last reserves of your courage to pull out a reply. “You’ll forgive me if I find that claim absurd.”

Bowser’s only response is a gentle hum accompanied by the slightest nod of his head.

Then, without another word, he drags his eyes away from you and slinks from the room, pulling the door shut behind his tail with a damning thud.

#bowser #bowser x reader #super mario bros movie #mario movie #mario #Bowser Jr #mild threat #it's Bowser come on #the movie was AMAZZZIIIING #Unrequited love #female reader #royal reader

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cambion-companion · 1 year

Note

Y/n: i'm glad that the strong boys are dining with us tonight

Literally every single soul at the dinner table: 😳💀😠🙊👀

Aemond, panics: i have an announcement- we're pregnant

Y/n: we are?

I found the perfect prompt for another drunk drabble haha

Aemond x tipsy!wife | just go with it Y/N

"Y/N, slow down on the wine." Aemond placed a hand atop yours as you reached for you goblet.

"Aemond..." You whined, drawing the looks of Otto and Helaena who sat nearest you. Otto raised a bushy eyebrow.

"She needs more wine, if anything." Aegon tipped the pitcher, refilling your cup to the brim. You beamed at him.

Shooing away Aemond's hand you brought the full goblet to your lips, observing the rest of the gathering over the brim. Rhaenyra and her family sat at the far end of the table with Alicent and her family at the other.

You couldn't make out who was who amongst Aemond's nephews, their dark hair and pale faces were sort of blurred, even when you squinted at them.

You took another sip of wine.

"She really is a woman after my own heart." Aegon watched you fondly. "Too bad she's wed to the dullest of us."

Aemond shifted beside you as though he meant to rise but you beat him to it. You pressed your palms against the table, rising unsteadily from your seat, pointing an accusing finger at where you thought Aegon's face was. "Aemond is the best of you. Especially you." Your words were biting, though a bit slurred. "Especially you, Aegnut." You hiccupped squeakily.

Alicent motioned to Aemond to help you resume your seat and you felt a gentle pressure on your shoulders as Aemond coaxed you back down. Your finger remained pointing at Aegon as you sank into your chair, Helaena helpfully took your hand and interlaced her fingers with your own atop the dining table.

"She really can't hold her liquor, can she?" Otto intoned. Alicent shushed him quietly.

Aemond's long fingers tapped the wood on which they lay, his attention evidently elsewhere. You snuck a glance, the room spinning unpleasantly as you turned your head to him. His lilac eye was fixated toward the other end of the long table. His lush lips were pursed with displeasure. His lovely, curved lips. The very ones you craved at all times be upon your person.

You had leaned forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to Aemond's mouth. Your husband supported you by the waist before you fell fully into his chest. He kissed you back but pulled away a moment later, grimacing. "You really are a lightweight." There was a look of amusement on his angular face. "I thought Helaena was bad."

"Alcohol doesn't like me very much, nor I it." Helaena agreed from her seat beside you. You made the mistake of looking at her, turning too quickly and almost toppling off your seat. Again, Aemond's grip on your waist saved you.

"Fetch some water." Alicent clapped, the sound oddly loud in your ears, and a servant delivered you a fresh glass of cool water. "Aemond, look after your wife, not your nephews." She whispered sharply to her son. Aemond's hand on you tightened momentarily.

"I am very glad everyone was able to make it today!" You said cheerily, restraining Aemond's wrist as he tried to lift the cup of water to your lips. "Maybe the Strong boys will compete in the tournament on the morrow too?" You giggled, unaware of the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Since you are too proud to compete Aemond, and Aegon far too unskilled, someone has to."

Silence fell. No one laughed or engaged in the conversation you'd just broached which was rather rude, you deemed. You pouted, trying unsuccessfully to see the faces staring at you from the far end of the room.

Even King Viserys seemed suddenly upset. He moved as though to stand.

"I would like to make a toast!" Aemond stood fluidly, his arm outstretched with goblet in-hand. "An announcement, as it were. Y/N is with child!"

"I am?"

His foot connected with your shin under the table.

"Ouch!"

"Here, here!" Aegon jumped in, raising his own cup. "To furthering the Targaryen line!" He banged his hand on the table causing both you and Helaena to wince.

Otto and Alicent were quick to pick up on Aemond's cue, rising from their own chairs and toasting. Rhaenyra was next and suddenly the tension in the dining hall evaporated as quickly as it had come. Viserys, though still distant, nodded and drank to you and your child's health.

Throughout all of this merriment you sat stupefied in your seat, trying to remember exactly when you had discovered your pregnancy. Your brow was furrowed in contemplation, you didn't notice when Aemond resumed his place and pulled your chair closer with a mild noise of wood scraping stone. His large hand found the curve of your waist again and you felt his warm body pressing against your side.

He kissed the side of your head, whispering into your ear. "Do not speak of the Velaryon boys as Strongs in the presence of Viserys. I don't care how drunk you are, you put yourself in unnecessary danger."

"But that's what you call them." You had the good sense to whisper back. "That's what they are, Aemond." Your brain cogs turned for a long moment. "Also, I'm pretty sure I am not with child."

"From tonight you are." Aemond nuzzled his nose against your hair, his lips tickling your ear. "We will just have to double down on making that a reality." He guided the water glass to your parted lips. "For now, focus on drinking more water. A lot more water."

"But I'm not-"

Your next words were completely forgotten as Aemond nipped at your ear, kissing the sensitive skin behind it. Still confused, but content and warm, you obediently drank the water he proffered.

Only later when you had sobered, around the aching headache, did you realize the peril you had been in and how Aemond's quick intervention had saved you from the King's wrath.

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izvmimi · 1 year

Text

cw: post-NRC Malleus, palace intrigue.

Malleus arrives late, as usual.

It’s been years since his time at Night Raven College, long enough that he’s settled into the ebbs and flows of being the acting King of Briar Valley, but this habit remains unchanged.

Dozens of high fae stand in attendance, some of which look anxiously at the clock, however avert their gazes as the at once young and ancient dragon fae makes his way through the pews and to the very front. He glances at Sebek who stands at the right side of the throne, and Lilia who is seated on the far left end of the hall. For once, Lilia has a frown on his face, and Malleus knows immediately that this is a bad omen. When Malleus sits, letting out a sigh as though he is slightly inconvenienced, Lilia stands, while the remainder of the audience sits.

Lilia announces the first speaker - an elderly looking fae, with frog-like features, large dull eyes, bushy white eyebrows and bushy beard, who rises slowly and approaches, scroll in hand.

It takes him a few minutes to make his way down the hall and Malleus tries very hard not to lose his patience, smile on his face. It’s been harder recently to remain as peaceful as he has previously been, the urge to throw a tantrum rising to the surface and more difficult to suppress every time. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely; this is similar and yet something else entirely. He’s always had power in some way - what this is is not power, but excessive responsibility.

The old fae opens the piece of parchment and it unfurls, dropping to the ground, nearly thousands of signatures visible in dark, almost glistening ink.

Malleus does not like this one bit, and shifts in his seat. He’s never liked this particular fae, leading the counsel with words but mostly in opposition to any ideas he comes up with, citing tradition as his cause. Bullshit.

The speaker clears his throat.

“Your Highness, in light of recent tensions, I think it might be high time to exile the remaining humans from the kingdom and I have taken the time to cite the names of all those who agree with this proposal.”

There is a very brief silence, where both Lilia and Sebek stand completely still, as though they were turned to marble. A sudden hush falls over the crowd as well in response to the immediately palpable tension in the air.

Malleus’ eyes grow dark, and nothing is said for the next few moments. Even breathing appears to stop.

Lilia wonders if there is something he needs to say. Sebek’s hands are clearly twitching around his lance, held parallel to his body at rest, and his rage is clearly evident. But Malleus is icy cool. In fact, his smile widens and the green of his eyes seems to intensify in emerald now, despite the dark look of just moments earlier.

Lilia notices the glimpse of claws that reveal themselves for a split second as Malleus reaches out his palm, requesting the scroll. He wonders if the rest of the court sees it too. Perhaps they do, because as the old fae hands over the scroll, his hand is tremulous, and that tremor seems different from that of age.

Malleus smiles and holds the document with the tips of his fingers. His eyes scan the list and he makes mental note of every name involved for further management later.

“This must have taken you a moment to get together,” he says, chuckling even. Sebek gives him a look of confusion and then glances at Lilia, who says with his eyes that he has no idea what Malleus is thinking.

The counsel attempts to answer, and Malleus cuts him off.

“Court is adjourned.”

“B-but-”

Malleus leans forward and smiles wider still, enough that the gleam of his fangs is visible. For a split second, the elderly man envisions a wolf’s jaw snapping around a lamb’s neck, and then wonders if this was a thought or a planted vision.

The fae, except for Lilia and Sebek, file out of the room, clear out of the room, not unlike cockroaches, the shuffle of shoes and quiet murmurings following them. Malleus still holds the scroll in his hand and Sebek takes a step forward.

“Wakasama-”

The scroll burns up in a green blaze, disappearing into ashes so quickly one could wonder if it were ever truly there.

Sebek grimaces.

“Malleus, are you sure you should have done that?”

Malleus turns to Lilia rigidly. “Don’t worry, I remember the names of those who signed.”

He rises and starts walking and Lilia and Sebek follow quickly.

“Your Highness, what is your plan?” Sebek asks. He too is still stung by the idea of exiling his own father, but he knows Malleus would never allow it, especially when the one he loves is…

“I promise not to execute anyone,” he replies simply.

“That wasn’t the question,” Lilia replies sharply.

“No one is being exiled,” Malleus decides matter-of-factly.

“You can’t just burn up things you don’t like,” Lilia admonishes. Malleus stops walking and turns quickly towards him, anger now finally evident in his features.

“I didn’t, did I? He left in one piece, did he not?”

Lilia pauses, slightly taken aback, but then smiles. His hand rests gently on the young king’s shoulders.

“You’re right. You did your best.”

Malleus lets out a breath he barely realized he was holding.

“What do I do?” he finally asks. He bites his lower lip. “They… they’ll never accept her.” He’s hidden you away for long enough, and wonders if he’ll have to hide your human nature, forever.

Sebek looks away as he thinks of his own love, tears pricking at his eyes.

Lilia whispers, “give it time.”

There’s nothing else to do but wait.

#malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst imagine #malleus x you #thoughts: malleus #daydreams: twst #mimi's notes

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hedwig221b · 3 months

Text

messy draft monday

Tagged by @dear-massacre heeeeeeey 💖👋🏻 It's the same deranged wip I'm always talking about called Predators. I'm at 60k! Hopefully wrapping up!

Frowning, Stiles sat up, scooted over across the king-size bed to the silent man, and draped himself over his back. With his chin digging into Derek’s shoulder, Stiles peeked at his face.

Derek was staring at the floor, yet his mind was far away. His bushy eyebrows longed to meet; the muscles on his cheek showed their tension only to disappear again.

Stiles swallowed, lowered his eyes, and turned his head to rest his cheek on the warm skin.

Somehow, this felt like his fault.

But who was he to ask? Just a warm body, maybe, to share the bed with. What right did he have to be graced with the secrets behind Derek’s frown, to lift his spirits and soothe, and calm…

But oh, he wanted it so much.

Stiles sneaked his hand around Derek’s forearm and watched as his fingers traced the veins that wrapped around it. Ridiculous how one could feel jealous of veins. But Stiles was. He needed to be the one sliding underneath Derek’s skin, needed to be the one to make his heart pump, and become the blood that passes through the tender organ.

He held hearts in his hands before. Warm or cold, wriggling or still; he was fascinated and hungry for all. Stiles wanted to hold Derek’s, too. Though, for the first time, he wanted to leave it inside at the same time.

read full version

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #my fics #they need the truth about each other so bad

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fictionadventurer · 10 months

Text

@aheartundercrossfire I couldn't resist the flash fiction opportunities this presented.

"I haven't prepared you enough for this meeting."

Ellie jumped, not so much because of the words, but because of the sound of them. At university, Sam had always displayed a proper Bostonian accent, but ever since they'd gone through customs, his drawl had been growing stronger. Now that they'd arrived at the Royal Ranch House, it was impossible to forget that he was really a prince of Texas.

And she was about to meet the king.

Ellie tried to laugh it off. "I might be a republican girl, but I can handle myself around royalty. I met the princess of California when she gave that speech on campus, remember?"

"Texas," Sam said cautiously, "isn't like other monarchies."

He unlocked a cabinet on the wall of the waiting room and held out a gunbelt toward Ellie. Two ivory-handled pistols sat within the holsters.

"You'd better wear this," Sam said.

Ellie reeled back. "Excuse me?"

"My dad's a stickler for protocol. Visitors have to be armed in the presence of the king."

"What kind of rule is that?"

Sam raised a what-did-I-tell-you eyebrow. "A Texas one." He held out the gunbelt. "I can help you put it--"

"Are you insane? I'm not wearing a gun!"

"Then you're not meeting the king."

"You're making that up!"

Sam sighed. "Refusing to wear arms shows you don't respect the king as a fighter. I want you to make a good first impression."

"I've never even touched a gun before."

Sam winced. "Do not say that where my dad can hear you." He fumbled with with weapons. "Look, they're not even loaded. It's just for the look of it. We're running out of--"

The doors flew open, and a herald announced the entrance of the king.

A short man with a pair of bushy side whiskers burst into the room, wearing what Ellie could only assume was Texan royal regalia. In the flurry of motion, Ellie couldn't make out much more than denim, a pair of elaborately tooled leather boots, and a truly enormous cowboy hat.

King Houston IV swept Ellie's hand into a crushing handshake. "There she is!" He pumped Ellie's hand so hard that her joints hurt. "Sam finally brought a girl home!"

Meeting the princess of California had been nothing like this. Ellie stammered, "Pleased to meet you, your majesty."

"Pleasure's mine! You're quite a looker. Sam sure knows how to pick 'em."

The king stepped back to get a better look and suddenly fell silent. "Who let you in here without a weapon?"

"I..."

Sam stepped up. "It's my fault, Dad. I..."

Ellie found her voice. "Sam said I could greet you with a proper Texas weapon, but I took too long admiring those pistols. No one makes a gun like Texas does."

The king's smile returned. "She's got a brain, too! You know, I had my doubts about Sam bringing home a Boston girl, but if you've got respect for Texas, it'll take you a long way." He started toward the door. "Come on in, and we'll get to know each other over a drink."

He rushed out of the room like a small whirlwind, leaving Ellie and Sam standing breathless behind him.

Sam gave Ellie a grateful look. "Good job."

Ellie smiled. "I told you I know how to handle royalty."

#adventures in writing #hallmark #this is not the silliest thing i've ever written but it might be up there #i could have looked things up to put in more details #but i can't justify putting any more work into this than i already have #it was fun though

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tamurilofrivendell · 7 months

Text

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 14

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care ofRadagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700 @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth, @0chemicalwaste0, @deadunicorn159, @silvercobra a/n: the way this took so long you've probably all forgotten all about it ashahgdahdj

The rabbits pulled the sleigh through the darkening forest with ease. They moved as if they knew exactly where to go, avoiding every trip hazard on the forest floor. This was normal for them but you could also tell this was not the first time they had taken Radagast to the Elvenking's Halls. You had never ventured this way yourself, always wary of crossing paths with other elves on the road. Radagast did not always speak to you of his short journeys, and he often stayed closer to home generally, but even if he had you likely wouldn't have thought anything of it. A wizard's mind was often sought out, after all.

It was late morning by the time you reached your destination.

The Halls of Thranduil were grand, located next to the Elven settlements around the Mountains. Soon enough, the king would move his palace and his people more north, further across the river. For now, they remained where his father had first led them from Amon Lanc, after the threat of Sauron first began to grow. There were rumours (that had reached you through an owl friend) that the Elvenking had reached out to Dwarves to inquire about assistance with bringing his people underground into some sort of cave system.

This sounded like the worst thing ever to you and you hoped that you would be long gone by then... if by some miracle you did not end up actually having to marry this man.

The elves from the first settlement all had their eyes fixed on the wizard's sleigh as he urged the rabbits onward towards the palace. It was incredibly uncomfortable - you had spent practically your whole life not being perceived at all and all these eyes on you at once, from something other than forest animals, made you feel slightly uneasy.

"Here we are, child." Radagast's voice pulled you back from your thoughts and you turned to look around him, as the great hall of the king came into view.

It was very tall, though not as tall as the trees that surrounded it. It was also beautiful and had clearly been built with something close to love and you thought suddenly what a shame it is that it would be abandoned when the elves finally moved on.

There was not much time to stand and admire your new surroundings, however, as Radagast took your arm to help you off the sleigh and then ushered you inside and past the guards like a stowaway. The curious eyes all turned away once the palace doors were shut but all the elves would surely whisper, trying to decide who you were. They knew the wizard but none knew of any elves he might travel with.

"Welcome, my lady." A voice drew your attention from gazing around at the grandeur of the entrance hall.

"Ah! Feren!" Radagast huffed as the door to the hall closed behind you both with a thump, making you feel very trapped suddenly. The wizard's eyes did a quick scan of those standing in the front of him and then they snapped back to Feren. "Where is the king?"

"I am afraid the king is not here. He had to take care of an urgent matter in the forest." Feren explained, his tone soft though a little regretful.

Radagast's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Not here?" He exclaimed, suddenly seeming as if the worst catastrophe in the world had happened. "Not here! He glanced at you incredulously. "He's not here!" His attention turned back to Feren, who looked startled. "But this is important. Our coming was known in advance, ooh... this is just like Th-"

"Uncle!" You cut him off with a sigh, feeling drained.

Radagast glanced at you and seemed to relax. "Right. Yes, yes... I'm sorry."

It took you a moment to realise the silence had stretched out longer than you had expected and when you glanced back up again, you saw that the elves were staring at you. Feren and the two others, the ladies standing just behind him. Three curious pairs of eyes were trained upon you, as if fascinated by hearing you speak. Feren knew exactly who you were, of course, for he had been informed but to the women, the maids, you were just a strange elleth from somewhere in the forest that the king had brought to stay in his own personal hall, and that made you a curiosity.

Unnerved, you shifted uncomfortably, and eventually sort of shuffled behind Radagast's shoulder as a means of attempting to hide.

Feren blinked and looked away, feeling guilty. He felt bad for making you uncomfortable, you could see it in his eyes, and noticing that did make you feel a little better.

"Come." Feren said, speaking to Radagast again. "The King will return by early evening. We are to show the lady to her room."

You trailed silently behind Radagast and Feren, who spoke fairly amicably as they walked the hall together. The maids took up the rear and, while you knew this wasn't the case, you felt as if you were being herded and prevented from fleeing. You looked around a little more as you walked, having never seen anything like it. The muted colours of the decor made you feel almost like you were still out in the deep woods in autumn. Almost.

"Here we are!" Feren announced cheerfully, stopping outside a large door.

You took a moment to react, your attention having been caught by the large portrait on the wall just outside the door. In an intricate golden frame sat the image of a blond haired male elf with piercing eyes. His hair was quite an icy shade of blond (though not quite as pale as Thranduil's, you noted to yourself), down past his shoulders, and braided very intricately. A large crown sat upon his head, set with gemstones the same colour as the frame.

'Oropher', was inked at the bottom of the image in large looping letters. The Elvenking's father, you realised. As you stared at his face, you couldn't help but think of Lindon, and Gil-Galad, and all you had learned about that fateful day...

It was then that your brain registered Feren's voice and you turned your head. Everyone was staring at you again and your cheeks started to flush the softest shade of pink as you hurriedly stepped towards the door he was now holding open. Radagast ushered you inside and you looked around at your new prison.

It was beautiful, truly. Larger than Radagast's entire cottage. It was too much, you decided, but it was where you were stuck for the time being, and it could certainly be worse. You didn't say anything else and Feren almost seemed disappointed, as if he had wanted to hear you speak again.

"Well, uh." He said, slightly flustered, glancing at Radagast before looking back at you. Then he gave you a little bow that made you stare at him like he'd just snapped a rabbit's neck in front of you. You frowned until you realised why he'd done it.

You were royalty.

Oh.

"I will leave you to settle in." He continued, as if not noticing your surprise. "The king will return before nightfall. He is most... eager to meet you." It was a small lie on Feren's part. When Thranduil had left the hall that morning, just before your arrival, he had seemed anything but eager. In fact, he seemed almost to be dreading it but Feren decided it was best to keep that to himself.

You turned and walked further into the room, looking around at the decor and furniture and all the space. It was far too big, too grand, but you realised this was the sort of thing you would have been born into as well. You would probably have grown up in a palace like this. You simply could not imagine it.

Feren and Radagast stood for a few moments longer, mumbling at the door together but you paid no mind. Feren soon left and Radagast tried to help you settle in with your things but you had no desire to unpack your bag. You did not want to feel like you were moving in, like you were staying here, though of course that's exactly what was happening.

You denied the help of the maids too and, eventually, they all left you alone with your thoughts. You were still so overwhelmed from all you had learned the previous day, and how quickly everything had changed. You poked around the room for a while and then you moved to sit glumly by the large window. The position of the room in the tower gave you the view of one of the settlements below but that was not what drew your gaze.

Instead, you stared longingly out over the forest, thinking of your home, your woodland friends... and Thranduil, who would be expecting to meet you in the clearing soon, but you would not come.

The clearing was quiet as Thranduil stood there, fingers stroking over his elk's fur as he waited patiently.

Another hour of standing there was when the impatience crept in.

Where were you?! It was well past the agreed upon meeting time. The sun was high in the sky by now. It was the beginning of a beautiful day but he could not bring himself to really enjoy it. Thranduil was aware that by now the girl - the princess - would be at his halls. He would have to return after meeting your uncle and he would have to try and keep the wizard from pushing any talk of marriage.

He had made his decision already. He would marry only one woman. You.

...if you ever showed up!

"Where is she?" Thranduil muttered to his elk as another half hour passed by. He could not linger out here for much longer. He had duties to attend to. He had a realm to rule, people to protect, an Enchantress to drive out.

The elk made a sound in response but Thranduil was not listening. He was suddenly standing very still, his eyes flitting around every inch of the area, peering through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Was someone here?

Where he would have thought to feel excitement (he was expecting you, after all) he instead felt dread. He had the eeriest feeling that he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck had started to stand on end and there was a shiver up his spine.

The birds had also stopped singing, he realised. Where moments ago there had been chatter, now there was dead silence.

Thranduil moved then. If his own instincts had not been enough, the behaviour of the woodland animals confirmed to him that something was amiss.

He turned and jumped up onto the elk and then they were moving, leaving the clearing behing. There was a deep disappointment in his gut as he travelled back towards his palace.

Why had you not shown up? Had you changed your mind? Had your uncle prevented you? Had something bad happened? Thranduil could not even easily find out what was wrong because he knew not where to even start looking for you. His heart felt heavy as he rode back towards the mountains. Would he just never see you again?

Back in the clearing, the figure of the Enchantress stepped out from between the trees, narrowed eyes fixed on the Elvenking's retreating figure. Her lips were turned up in what could only be called a snarl and she was glaring after him with contempt. She too had come here looking for you and instead she had found that Radagast had secreted you away, just like when you were a baby. The fact Thranduil seemed not to realise that you and the princess were one and the same did not fill her with as much amusement as she would have liked.

The fact that he and Radagast had hidden you away behind the walls of Thranduil's palace, when she was so close, angered her. She had hoped that things would not progress quite so quickly now that she had finally found you, and that she might have had another encounter with you here in the clearing you frequented.

Thranduil was lucky to leave here alive, she thought to herself. She ought to have had his head right here!

Still, she thought, there was no fun in that. He would not come out victorious, none of them would. You could not be saved. The curse was in motion and it could not be stopped. It was only a matter of time and if they thought an Elven stronghold could save you, they were mistaken. She could get you anywhere.

A smirk soon replaced the scowl as the Enchantress melted back into the cover of the trees.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil x oc #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #sleeping beauty

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egyptiangamer · 1 month

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You know what was one of the things I wanted to see so bad when Tamashina-mina was first announced in TWST? Leona's brother, Falena (or Farena)🦁👑. Kifaji is good, but I feel like we could have known more about Leona and his family if we met his brother, so I decided to draw him.

He has the same hair color as his son, Cheka and I always like to think he has facial hair which I'm very happy with how it came out with the bushy eyebrows because I rarely draw facial hair or bushy eyebrows.

For his outfit, I really wanted to catch the African style fashion as well as put in some lion king references. Since braided hairstyles are popular in sunset savanna, I gave him some with accessories in them like blue hornbill feathers (Zazu) and gold clips. His robe has the lion painting from the film that Rafiki does and his circlet has that same symbol too.

I'm honestly pleased with how this came out. I showed it to my mom, and she thought it was a native American girl 😅🤣 that means I got a lot of practice to do. His wife, who I named Neliah, is coming soon, and I can't wait to show her to you guys. I wonder if Falena counts as my oc because he rightfully belongs to the game, but we never saw his design. What do you guys think?

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randoimago · 1 year

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You're fueling my dragon age fever and I thank u for that

Alistair, Fenris and Varric with a crush who gives them a smol portrait they did of him during their travels that they insist is just a rough sketch 🥺 Pretty plz, I thank u for ur service 🫡

Receiving a Portrait From Their Crush

Fandom: Dragon Age

Characters: Alistair, Fenris, Varric

Type of Request: Headcanons

Notes: Still upset that you couldn't give companions gifts in DA2 and Inquisition. Well, DA2 it became a quest item but you know what I mean >.<

Alistair

What you drew him? Like took the time and energy to make him your focus? And you didn't give him bushy eyebrows or a bad mustache? He's touched.

Despite his constant jokes, he really is touched by the drawing. Can't help but scoff and roll his eyes when you tell him it's a sketch. Yeah he'll just pin this on a wall in his office.

No! He's going to frame and hang it up! Well maybe not hang it up, that'd look awful conceited of him.

Then again, he probably wouldn't be the only king to hang pictures of himself on the walls. He'll do something with it to let you know how valuable it is to him.

Fenris

Usually when Fenris sees images of himself, he feels angry because he's reminded of all the bullshit he's gone through. His tattoos are so prominent and a reminder of his life before.

But you giving him this sketch, it makes him look softer somehow. Like things are peaceful. He honestly doesn't know how to feel when looking at it. You get a quiet thank you from him.

He'll keep the "sketch" on a desk. Maybe use it as a bookmark in one of his favorite books that he's learned to read.

Tries to keep the portrait out of view when he has guests. He doesn't need Varric or Isabella mentioning how he's not brooding enough.

Varric

Sure and all of his published works are just children's school plays.

He knows artists (and most of them hate themselves), you doing a portrait isn't any kind of sketch. You can say it's a work in progress, but this is not just a sketch.

Is impressed you managed to sketch him while traveling. He saw you writing in your book and just assumed it was to keep busy in between running from almost certain death.

Not one to sit still in pose, but just know that you have permission to make more "sketches" while he's telling his stories. Just make sure to get his good side.

#dragon age x reader #alistair x reader #fenris x reader #varric x reader #varric tethras x reader #da alistair x reader #da fenris x reader

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calumsrockstar · 2 months

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Lady and the tramp - Calum Hood

a/n: I'm sorry for any historial inacuracies! I wrote this from the top of my head

Contents: description of abuse, royal courting, tooth rotting fluff, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f recieving), creampie, mentions of pregnancy.

You were to be wed to your horrible fiancé, but when you spot a beautiful tall man, you think your luck has changed.

Royal!Calum x Royal!Reader (fem)

You looked in the mirror while you applied your favorite rouge to your cheeks. Tonight was the annual Hood ball, since sir Arthur Hood became king, this became a tradition. Every year lavish parties were thrown to celebrate his reign.

Your fiancé, William, which you were bethrothed to since you were 16, grabbed your arm and dug his nails into your skin. "We cannot be late, y/n. You know Arthur is expecting us." He looked into your eyes sternly. Your lady in waiting, Arabella, watched this happen, knowing if she intervened she would get punished.

"I know, i'm almost ready, i'm terribly sorry" You apologized, wincing from the pain. "Good. We'll be leaving in ten minutes." He replied. Finally releasing your arm, he left the room, allowing you to finish your preparations.

Tears started to form in your eyes, while you rushed to Arabella. "I don´t think i can take this much, Bella." You hugged her. She had been your only friend since you were wed to William.

"Be strong, y/n." She told you, wiping your tears. "You'll get through this, I promise." Making you smile.

"Let me help you get ready, maybe you'll find a new husband." She laughed, making you giggle and sniffle. "Suck in." She said, tightening your corset while you placed your hands on your mirror, scrunching your face.

You were wearing a beautiful lavender gown, with your hair put up and slighly curled. You also wore an expensive pearl necklace and white gloves. The epitome of class, you looked absolutely gorgeous.

You turned to Arabella. "How do I look?" You asked. "Splendid." She replied, smiling. She gave you a final hug. "We'll see each other soon." You grinned. "When I get back, I'll tell you all about it."

The ride to the castle was long and arduous. You felt your stomach turn into knots, especially because your fiancé was right by your side, keeping an eye on you.

When you finally got out of your carriage, you observed an extraordinarily large castle, with a huge water fountain, and yards of bright green shrubbery. The night was cold, but William refused to give you his coat.

You walked in with your arm intertwined with your fiancé, getting lost in the big castle. When you finally found the ballroom, it was enormous, checkered floors with gold marble statues, big chandeliers and what seemed to be hundreds of tables.

Loud classical music was playing and you saw hundreds of unfamiliar faces laughing and chatting. You wished you could be as relaxed as them, talking with your partner.

You heard your fiancé hum pleasantly, meaning he was satisfied with what he saw, you on the other hand were terrified. "I don´t know how to dance William, i´ve never been to a ball." You told him. "You´ll learn now, don´t give me attitude." He replied, making you put your head down.

Your eyes locked on one particular man. He was the only one who was sitting down, and he was munching on a quiche, with crumbs all over his suit.

He was astonishingly handsome, fluffy dark hair and soulful deep brown eyes, his bushy eyebrows framed his face perfectly. You giggled, observing the strange sight of the handsome brute.

Women started gathering at one side of the room, while men on another, signifying that the dance was about to start. The mysterious man didn´t get up, instead watched, smiling.

Your fiancé whispered in your ear. "Don't ruin this for me, y/n." Your breath hitched in your throat as you nodded.

You walked up to William, and tried to fit in as much as possible, placing your hand on his and twirling around, looking like a scared little bunny.

The stranger noticed this, he leaned over from his chair, furrowing his eyebrows. He had never seen such a beautiful woman before, you looked stunning in your dress that moved with evey step you took.

He also noticed your fiancé, which had an angry expression, watching over you like a hawk, mentally critiziing every step you took.

When the dance was finally over, William whispered in your ear "We´ll have a talk when we get home." A man came up behind him and greeted him, prompting a sappy conversation. This was your chance to run and dissapear into the crowd.

You picked up your pace, looking over your shoulder to make sure William wasn´t following you, when you bumped into a tall stranger.

"I´m so sorry." You scrambled to find words, when you looked up to see the same person you locked eyes 20 minutes ago. "It´s no problem at all." He smiled.

"What´s wrong?" He asked. You stuttered "Nothing, i´ll be on my way." You replied. "What is a beautiful princess like you running away from?" He asked you.

You gulped. "My fiancé." You covered your mouth, having blurted out very personal information. He raised an eyebrow. "What did he do?" He asked.

The cat´s out of the bag now, you thought. "He´s horrible, he made me come to this ball when I don´t even know how to dance!" You exclaimed, making him chuckle.

"I don´t really like these types of things too." He said, making you laugh in surprise. "What´s your name, if I may ask?" He inquired.

"y/n y/l/n" You replied. "What about yours?"

"Calum." He said. "And your last name?" You questioned.

He started blushing. "Hood." You opened your eyes. "Calum Hood? Like Arthur Hood?" You asked, making him nod.

"Oh my God, I´m so sorry sir-" You exclaimed, and he stopped your sentence, smiling. "It´s fine, you can call me Calum, it´s not your fault i´ve been born into this family."

"Why aren´t you dancing? I can see all those ladies in waiting swooning over you." You smiled. "They´re boring, i´d much rather be with you." He smiled.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Um, aren´t you married to anyone?" You stuttered. "Yes, she´s pretty and all, but I got married for political reasons, and i´m pretty sure she´s not faithful." He winked.

"Oh." You laughed awkwardly. "Would you like to see the gardens with me?" He asked. You looked back at William, who was clearly preoccupied with a ginger woman, swiping her hand on his arm. "Yes, I would like that." You replied.

He stuck out his hand and yours met his. You felt the ruggedness of his hand through your gloves.

The garden was massive, with hundreds of different flowers and bushes. The air was crisp and chilly and the night sky was clear. Calum saw you shivering and took off his expensive coat to give it to you. "There´s really no need, sir-I mean, Calum." You told him. "It´s my pleasure, y/n." He answered.

He sat down on a marble bench, and patted at his side, prompting you to sit down. You smelled his scent on his coat, he smelled of musk and roses.

There was a calm and comfortable silence. "I can´t believe you´ve never been to a ball, princess." Calum said, breaking the ice. "Yeah, i´m mostly cooped up in my room. I like to write, and paint." You said softly.

"Why are you here with me?" You asked. "Do I need a reason?" he said back, making you smile. You shook your head to signal a "no".

"Do you like being royalty?" You blurted out. "No, not really." He answered. "I feel like a chess piece, being married for political alliances, I can never be who I want, love who I want. It´s given to me like a prophecy, I can never get rid of it." You nodded. "I understand."

You noticed a statue that looked just like him. "You don´t like the statues?" You laughed, making him grin. "I hate those statues, they look hideous." He laughed. "I think i´m much more handsome in real life."

He noticed the bruises on your arms, when your gloves were pulled down, tracing his hands on them. His touch stirred nerves which you never knew you had inside of you. "Did he do this to you?" He said, and you knew exactly who he was talking about.

For the first time since you were a child, you felt safe. You nodded, with tears starting to form in your eyes, he lifted your head with his hands. "You deserve so much better." You looked up at him, starry eyed. You observed that he had a few beauty marks on his face.

At this point, the front parts of your hair had fallen out of your ponytail, framing your face. In the moonlight, you looked like a godess among men.

One part of your brain was telling you that this was wrong, and that you had to go back to your fiancé, but the other part knew that this felt right.

You slowly closed your eyes and placed a kiss on his lips. You felt him smile into it. He kissed you again, more passionately, his lips hungry for yours, while he held your face with both hands. "You´re so beautiful." He said, making you smile. "Nobody should ever make you feel this way, princess."

Your head was fuzzy, you couldn´t think straight, feelings that were buried deep inside you were being stirred, making you blush. Calum heard his name being called out, meaning he had to go back inside. "I wish I could stay here forever." You said. "Me too." Calum agreed.

"I hope to see you soon, y/n" Calum said. "Likewise." You replied, heading back inside the ballroom.

-----------------

Two weeks went by, slowly, all that was in your head was CalumCalumCalumCalum. You told Arabella all about your adventures. and she agreed that you should meet him again.

You were all he thought about. When he went to bed, when he had dinner with the royal family. when he went to shower. How he longed to touch your soft hands, and hold your delicate face.

While you were painting, you heard a knock on your door. "There´s been a letter delivered to you, Princess y/n." The guard said. You thanked him, and closed the door to your room.

To my beloved y/n:

I cannot hold it any longer, my heart aches for you. On Saturday, I will send you a carriage, at eleven in the morning, driven by my best men. If you don´t accept, please ask them to leave. But I hope you do see me.

From yours truly, Calum Hood.

You stood reading the letter, with your mouth wide open. You decided to accept, since your fiancé would not be home, this was a perfect opportunity to go see Calum.

You could not go to sleep, your body was on fire, every nerve longed for Calum´s touch. You´ve never felt this before, for anyone.

You stayed awake for the remaining of the night, painting, since you couldn´t go to sleep.

At the early hours of the morning, Arabella came into your room. "I´m going to go see Calum." You giggled. Arabella smiled. "When?" She asked. "At eleven, today." You replied, prompting her to hug you. "But you cannot tell William, or a single soul." You whispered. Arabella did an imaginative motion with her hand, zipping up her mouth and throwing away the key.

Counting the minutes to 11, you were outside waiting. Sure enough, there was a caarriage there. You looked to your guards for approval and nodded, then entered it.

Falling asleep, you woke up to a sudden stop. You had gotten to the castle, even more beautiful in the daytime.

The big gates were opened, and you wandered in, looking through the rooms was when you found him, sitting at a dining table. Both of your eyes lit up as you saw each other.

You ran up to him, and then realized you should be curteous, and bowed to him, making him laugh. "It´s okay y/n, nobody´s looking." You looked around, and gave him a kiss on the lips, making him smile. "I missed you." He said. "It´s only been two weeks." You giggled. "That´s already too much." He replied.

"Shall I give you a tour of the castle, m´lady?" He said, bowing sarcastically. "You may." You giggled and grabbed his hand.

You both ran througout the castle, going through the main hall, the kitchens, bathrooms, laundry rooms, all the guest chambers and the cellars.

"I have one more thing I want to show you." He said, grinning, and taking you up a big flight of stairs.

You both entered a gigantic room, with a huge red bed and a few giant paintings of Calum. "Welcome to my chambers, m´lady." He grinned while you had your mouth wide open. You let go of his hand and went to explore, touching all of the furniture and the bed. "I think this is the best room." You smiled, making Calum chuckle.

You couldn´t help but laugh at the paintings, depicting Calum in various positions, posing. "I know, those paintings are ridiculous." He blushed. "I think they´re marvelous." You giggled. "Very fancy."

You turned around to see Calum standing in front of you. "I think you´re much more handsome in person, sir." You told him, making him smile and roll his eyes. "You really think so?" He asked. "Of course." You replied, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, whispering "Well, I think you´re beautiful too, y/n." Kissing your neck. You couldn´t help but moan into his kisses, making your body feel on fire.

"Calum - William is expecting me soon." You stuttered. "Does William make you feel like this?" He asked, grazing his hands on your ass. You shook your head signaling a no. "Then fuck him, you don´t deserve him."

William had sex with you, but it was never something for your pleasure. He got himself off and that was it. Calum felt different, he felt like he cared.

You pulled him into a kiss, grabbing him by his collar and dragging him onto the bed. Making him smile. When the kiss was broken, you observed his messy hair and his big grin.

Today, you opted to not wear a corset, and wear a simple blue dress. Just your luck, you thought.

He pointed to the hem of your dress. "May I?" He asked. You nodded. "Please." Making him grin. "Good girl."

"You look so beautiful, let me make you feel good, princess." He said, dragging his eyes up at you, observing every curve in your body.

He unclasped your bra and took off your underwear, gently making you lay down on the huge bed.

You clenched your legs together, in embarassment while Calum placed sloppy kisses from your mouth to your stomach. "No need to be shy, princess. You look gorgeous." He said, making you blush, and gently parting your legs with his hands.

You hid your face in your hands, covering your blushing. You felt his hot breath on your core. You had never felt like this in your life. A carnal desire for someone.

His tongue finally made contact with your soaking pussy. Making you throw your head back, as he lapped long stripes inside of you. "Oh-oh my God." You moaned, while gently grabbing a handful of his hair, making him audibly groan.

With your back arching off the matress, he used his toungue in meticulous pattern, rubbing circles against your clit that had you squirming.

"You taste amazing, y/n." He said, in between licks, making you blush at the praise, rolling your eyes back into your head.

You felt like there was a rubber band about to snap inside of you. "I´m close, Calum." You groaned, as you felt your pussy twitch in electryfing pleasure. "Come for me." He said with a deep gravel in his voice.

You felt that cord snap, cumming all over his face, coating his stubble. "Holy fuck." You laughed.

"Take off your clothes please, I want to see you." You begged Calum. "Your wish is my command, princess." He took off his long sleeve shirt. "You have tattoos, they´re beautiful." You said, trailing your hands through his biceps.

"Thanks, princess." He smiled, taking off his pants and his boxers. You watched his erection spring up, hitting his stomach, making your jaw drop. Precum was bubbling on his tip.

"I need you inside me, Calum." You mewled. "So needy..." He chuckled. "Please."

Grabbing your back with his large hands, he slowly filled you up. making sure you were getting used to his size. "Are you okay?" He asked. You just nodded, biting your lip. "You can move now." You told him. His opened mouth turned into a long drawn out moan,

The stretch turned into pleasure, while he pushed into you, you made obscene noises, looking him in the eyes making him go absolutely feral. "You're gonna be the death of me, y/n." He groaned.

He started picking up the pace, while your nails scratched his back, he was wincing at the pain, but he enjoyed this very much.

You were moaning wantonly, and he pressed his hand against your stomach, only doubling your already unbearable pleasure even more.

"I´m gonna come, please fill me up, Calum." You moaned, not even thinking about the words that you said.

There was always the risk of pregnancy, if you were to get pregnant, you could be forced to marry him, but you didn´t think it was a bad idea after all.

"Yeah, want me to fill you up with my babies?" He moaned, while you bit your lip. "Yes, please, that´s all I want."

Calum´s weight on you, and the way his cock drives into you makes your eyes roll back, your brain going fuzzy. Every nerve inside you being stimulated at the same time.

"Oh god - Oh, Calum!" You exclaim, clenching your walls. "Cum for me, y/n, wanna see that pretty pussy cum all over my cock." Like a button was pressed, you gushed all over him, panting.

He buries his face into your neck, and you feel hot ropes of cum inside you, you ride him through his orgasm, watching his muscles relax.

He smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear. "Let´s get you cleaned up, shall we, princess?" You smiled and nodded. "That would be great, thank you."

Grabbing a wet washcloth, he helped you clean up, and put your dress back on.

You both laid down, facing each other.

"Your fiancé never touched you like this?" He had a soft expresison on his face. "Not really, just got off for himself if i´m being honest." You replied.

"What a cunt." He rolled his eyes. You burst out laughing. "Yeah, you could say that." You smiled.

Your expression turned serious. "You know there´s a chance we could have a baby, right?" You asked him. "Yes, I know." He softened his gaze. "You´d have to marry me." You added. "Yes, I know." He repeasted and smiled.

You smiled back. "Would you like that?" He asked. "I would love it." You grinned back.

#5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5sos smut #calum hood x reader #calum hood #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin #luke hemmings fic

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