#miawrites

Aka Valarr experiencing Victorian man seeing ankle for the first time type shi

Valarr has always been calmer than the other princes. Sweeter, shyer. You loved that about him, how easy it was to be around him, to talk for hours about anything and everything and how he always looked at you as if, in that moment, nothing else in the world existed but you.

You’d go on walks often and Valarr would teach you things which weren’t typically taught to princesses. He would give you his favorite sword, the prettiest one, and guide you through each movement, slow and careful. His own sword would meet yours in soft, controlled motions, showing you how to block, how to hold your ground. And Valarr was so gentle, always patient, as though you were something far too precious to ever risk harm.

Today was one of those days. The two of you were out in the field with your horses, and he was teaching you how to ride, not in the stiff, uncomfortable way expected of proper ladies, but in a way that was natural and free.

“You’re a natural,” he would encourage, holding the reins and guiding the horse you were straddling “The horse clearly loves you.”

After few long but pleasant hours of training, you felt like you were ready. Valarr was just few feet away from you, sitting on the bench beneath the tree, hiding from the bright sun and watching you with attentive eyes.

You placed your hands on the saddle, slipping your foot into the stirrup and with one swift movement, you mounted the horse. A soft smile appeared on Valarr’s face, looking at you like a proud master.

As you tried to get comfortable and adjust your posture, the long hem of your dress kept getting in your way, restricting your movement and making it difficult to move your legs freely. Without even thinking twice, your reached for the fabric and pulled the dress up to your thighs, exposing the elegant lines of your legs.

Valarr’s expression shifted from proud to nervous in an instant. He could feel the sudden change in his body temperature, swallowing nervously as he tried to maintain his composure. He tried his best to avoid his gaze, to look somewhere else besides your exposed skin, but it felt like his eyes had a mind of their own.

You straightened your back, too focused on adjusting yourself properly in the saddle to notice how poor Valarr almost turned pale from the nerves.

He was fully staring at you now, unashamedly, with mouth parted slightly and eyes narrow. Valarr watched as you rocked your hips gently, your pretty fingers holding onto the saddle. And like a dream, images of you on top of him flashed through his mind.

He imagined everything. How you’d straddle him, putting your hands on his chest and looking down at him with your pretty eyes sparkling with passion. How he’d put his hands on your thighs- gods, your thighs. He snapped back to the reality for a second, just to admire the perfection that your legs were.

Valarr’s hand drifted down his thigh and towards his knee, grabbing onto the fabric. He needed something for distraction, shifting in his seat as sitting down suddenly became uncomfortable. And then it hit him.

He was hard.

With hesitation, his eyes moved to his hard dick, as if actually looking at it would make it more real than it already was.

The moment he saw his erection bulging from his pants, he felt the lust cloud his mind. Valarr’s gaze went back to you, his eyes wandering from your thighs up to your breasts, bouncing with the movement of the horse. He imagined how he’d pull his body closer to yours as you were riding him, grabbing one of your breasts and putting his lips around it. How he would put his hands on your waist, guiding your hips, helping you move on his dick.

It was all so vivid that Valarr could almost feel the weight of you in his lap. Burning with shame, he slowly palmed himself, eyes fluttering with sudden friction. He needed you on top of him, he needed to feel your warm walls wrapping around his dick.

He quickly snatched his hand away as he heard you approaching him with your horse. You stopped in front of him, proud smile on your face.

“Tell me I did a good job” you said, voice too excited to sound like an order.

“You did wonderfully, princess.” He glanced up, smiling, one eye closing against the sun.

“I saw you, Valarr” you raised your eyebrow, smile not leaving your lips.

He could feel his heart drop.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked with a concerned face.

“You are scared I’m going to be a better rider than you soon, that’s why you were staring” you joked, oblivious to his perverse actions.

He had to keep himself for letting out a breath of relief. “Ah, I suppose I’ve been caught.” he tried playing along with the joke.

You smiled at him, melting his heart one more time. He couldn’t help but admire you as you sat there, looking like an absolute goddess.

“Come on,” you said suddenly, tugging on the reins “Catch up if you can.” and you urged the horse to gallop.

(And tell us why you've chosen those!)

Thank you for asking, @curator-on-ao3 <3

Not sure this is in any particular order, but here goes: five fics I've written that don't make me want to chop off my face.

The Uncharted Sea (T, Major Character Death, a second-love story that I think is one of my more mature pieces of writing)

Infinite Spirals (T, a Kashyk-centric piece in which all is not as it seems. I didn't know how this one was going to end until the words ended up on the page, but I like it)

The Bitter End (M, Major Character Death (canonical), Rape/Non-Con, Violence. My take on what happened in the original Endgame timeline, and how the captain became the Admiral Janeway we saw in that episode. Brutal. You've been warned)

Fragile Things (E, a multiverse-tripping adventure in which Janeway and Chakotay find themselves in worlds where things could have been very different. Titled before Neil Gaiman was widely shown to be awful)

Explosive (G, Major Character Death (all of them actually), a ficlet in which Voyager runs into some very unfriendly DQ aliens and it doesn't end well. Lots of technobabble. Also an amazing companion fic written by A Modern Girl.)

i haven't had proper sleep since thursday because i know you'll show up in my dreams and i don't think i can handle that. i'm sad that you left me but i'm madder at you for not even wanting to work on us anymore. all i ever wanted from you was a little attention but i guess that was too much to ask from a man with your kind of dreams.

honestly speaking though, i never meant or even thought of making you pick between me and your dreams, or to hold you back from pursuing them. just know that i only meant to be your rock and support you. but i guess you're right, the right-person-wrong-time thing works here.

i'll miss you a lot. i'll miss a lot of the things you do. i'll miss the things we used to do together. it just sucks that we had to end before we could go back to doing those things again; i barely remember what they felt like. i know you'd hoped that i look back at our relationship fondly, and i'll try my best at that. but truthfully, remembering the ugly things will just make it easier for me to accept the fact that you're not with me anymore.

the last thing i want to say is thank you for loving me. and thank you for caring for me even when it was hard at the end. just remember that as much as you loved me, i've always loved you more.

your baby,

mia

They are going to die today. Enjolras looks down at the crimson flag with anguish; was it just yesterday that this flag stood for the pride of their group, of the people they stood for? Today, that same banner hangs limply from atop their barricade, charred along one edge and barely held together from a bayonet slash during the first attack. It is fitting, he supposes. The flag continues to symbolize their group – despondent and fractured, yet still steadfast in their ideals.

Courfeyrac sits atop the barricade, a musket aimed towards the cobblestones in the distance, waiting for the imminent return of the national guard. His brow shines with sweat despite the cool air, a sign of uneasiness perhaps, but his determined expression holds steady. At his feet lies Combeferre, brows furrowed in what is surely a nightmare, as the man tries to find solace in one last night of sleep. Enjolras’s heart aches at the sight of his friends, with whom he will never again discuss philosophical ideals over a bottle of wine and the dying embers of Combeferre’s fireplace.

Marius leans against a crate further down, eyes shut but posture rigid enough to indicate that, unlike Combeferre, he has not succeeded in finding sleep. Feuilly sits beside him, playing a somber game of cards with Grantaire, a third space left unintentionally for the young Jean Prouvaire, who was not afforded the fortune of surviving one last night to die alongside the rest. Grantaire catches Enjolras’s gaze, he must have sensed his eyes on him, and looks up to offer a wistful smile and a nod.

Lesgle and Joly, too, have forsaken the option to sleep, and instead are exchanging words with hushed voices near the bottom of the barricade, their foreheads nearly touching. The remaining men, though few they might be, have taken up posts along the inner wall of the barricade or inside the Corinth. Exhausted, but prepared to fight to the very end. If Enjolras shuts his eyes tight enough, he can imagine the thunderous laughter of Bahorel, the first of their group to demonstrate the length they will go for the cause.

The rest are going to die today, this much he knows with certainty. Perhaps, had the other barricades not fallen, their battle would be successful. These young men, his friends, might have gone on to be lawyers, scientists, poets. But no, they are going to die today. Still, Enjolras holds his head high, as he plans to do so until death stares him directly in the face. He hopes, no, he believes, that their deaths will not be meaningless. Their deaths will be the catalyst for change. The people of France, seeing the sacrifices made today upon this barricade, will rise when the time is right. The people of France will one day free themselves. It is only a shame, he muses, that his friends will not be there to see it.

--

Summary: The MC was in a serious relationship back in her time and is now super anxious for being in a different time-line as her S/O. She gets drunk and Hideyoshi takes care of her.

MC - main character

S/O - main character's boyfriend

Warnings: Angst, One sided feelings

Autumn arrived, preparing the plants and animals for the winter to come. The castle gardens were tinted red by the fallen leaves and the princess had already seen a couple animals stocking up on food. Even though the scenery looked more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen, it filled her with sadness. Her boyfriend's birthday was supposed to be in a few days, if he had been born in this time-line, at least. He was going to come to Kyoto to spend it with her but now... she doesn't even know what's happening on her timeline. Did she disappear? Had they filled a missing person report? Was she just erased from that timeline like she'd never even existed?

At least those worries escaped her mind as sake filled her stomach. Today was Masamune's birthday and for the first time in her life she was actually drunk. Sure, she had drank before in her time and even a few times after she got to the past but not like this. The lords laughed as she clearly couldn't handle her alcohol.

"I think I should give the birthday boy a little gift" she said straddling Masamune's lap with a clearly naughty look on her face

"I would like th..." He replies, resting his hands on her waist but being cut by a loud 'ahem' before finishing his sentence. 

"Come on MC, you need to get some air" Hideyoshi says, dragging her by the shoulders to the garden outside, where he sprinkles some water from a nearby lake on her face.

"What was that for?" she whines

"For not behaving yourself. I know you're drunk but you need to be careful, you are a young beautiful woman in a castle full of men, if you don't watch out, someone might get the wrong idea and..." 

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asks, her face way to close. The warlord could smell sake on her breath, dark eyes locked with his, blinking slowly, almost as if she was under some kind of spell. Her voice was sweet and she spoke in low volume, barely over a whisper. Hideyoshi would be lying if he said he did not have feeling for her, the mysterious girl who saved his master's life, the one who didn't seem at all infatuated by him like many other girls in town but who still treated him with kindness and respect. The one who did not fear the other lords but who saw them as people just like herself. 

"I think you're perfect" her hand caresses his cheeks, making his heart race "You're kind, strong and so very handsome... I love you S/O"

When another man's name left her mouth Hideyoshi broke out of his trance. Of course, she didn't belong there, she didn't wanna be there, what the hell was he thinking, letting his feeling cloud his judgment like that. She loves another, someone like her, who can probably understand her much better than he can, someone who's from the same world as she is, someone who makes her happy. 

"I miss you" she hugged him, he felt warm tears touching falling on his neck. "I miss you so freaking much."

At this point, the princess was sobbing and he let out a few silent tears, thinking about how he'd miss her if she managed to go back, how part of him wishes they had never met so neither of them would have to feel this heartbreak. He felt her heart rate slow down and figured she must've been really tired when she whispered a soft "I love you" before falling asleep on his arms. And even though he knew it wasn't meant for him, he couldn't help but to reply:

Happy Birthday, Kuroba Kaito, unser allseits beliebter Magier und Phantomdieb <3 Eigentlich war dieser kleine OS um einiges länger geplant, aber die Hitze hat mich jeglicher Motivation beraubt, also muss dieser Teil (der eigentlich das Ende darstellt) eben allein stehen. Man kann aber eigentlich ganz gut deduzieren, was davor passiert ist, wenn man ein bisschen zwischen den Zeilen liest. Da ich mir ungeplanterweise eine Öffnung gelassen habe, kommt der Rest dann nächstes Jahr xD

Oh to be Baelor’s controversially young but favorite princess.

Sitting by the window and reading your books, while he sits by the desk, with too much on his hands as always, yet he can’t help himself looking up at you time to time, your mere presence filling his heart with warmth.

A true dragon protecting his treasure – that’s who he turns into when it comes to you. Always so protective, scolding you if he finds even the smallest scratch on your skin, but even then, he’s sweet, never raising his voice at you.

And when he’s about to leave for his duties and finds you standing before him, eyes glistening with tears, he put his pretty hands around your face, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

His tall figure towering over you, you rest your head against his chest, hugging him tightly as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer, whispering sweet nothings as he tries his best to ignore his own heart aching at the thought of leaving you alone.

“My darling, I’ll return before you know it. Don’t cry, my little dove.”

Him looking for you the moment he steps his foot back in the castle, politely ignoring everything and everyone else before he finds you.

And at night, when you’re alone in your chamber, he kisses you, as though you are the source of his very life, like he’s savoring the sweetest strawberry in all the nine kingdoms.

Like a gentleman he is, he slowly pulls the sleeve of your dress over your shoulder, exposing your skin. His lips and fingertips move at the same time, sending goosebumps down your spine. You throw your head back, giving him a better access, your arm sliding in his Dornish hair.

With one arm around your waist, he carries you to the bed, another supporting your leg wrapped around his torso. he lays you down and, like a man starved, his kisses make their way up to your inner thighs.

He stops for a moment, removing his tunic and exposing the silver lines running across his body, the scars left from winning countless jousts. They don’t call him “breakspear” for nothing.

His hands slide up on your legs, exposing your wet cunt. He has to stop himself from letting out a groan as he looks down at you, ready for him to devour you.

The moment you feel his tongue between your folds you arch from the bed, hand gripping his dark hair streaked with silver.

“Baelor” you moan, eyes fluttering shut.

This is for my Twilight girlies, mwah 𝜗𝜚

In the heart of the forest, beneath a canopy so dense it devoured the sky, Aerion Targaryen was chasing after a prey on the horseback. The royal cavalry followed behind, but the prince had long outpaced them, consumed by a thirst for fresh blood.

The path was getting narrower and the sky less and less visible. Aerion didn’t lose his pace, the distance between him and the cavalry increasing with each hoofbeat.

“Slow down, my prince!” a Kings guard called, but it was too late. The startled deer bolted off course and the prince disappeared into the forest with it.

The Kingsguard had lost Aerion and he had lost the deer. Looking around with the eyes of the predator he searched for any trace of his prey. Minutes passed with no luck of catching any signs and at last, Aerion decided to get off the horse. As he walked through the silent woods, the snap of twigs beneath his boots echoed unnaturally loud. Then the wind rose, howling through the trees as if the forest itself had begun to whisper.

Slowly, unease crept in – Aerion had ridden too far with no sense of where his cavalry remained.

Overconfident and unyielding, Aerion Targaryen continued walking with pretentious certainty. He was a dragon. And dragons ate whatever they wanted. He had no reason to be afraid.

Deep in his thoughts, Aerion stilled as the sensation of another presence brushed against him. His hand slid to the hilt of his sword as he turned.

And there you stood, hauntingly beautiful, the forest draped around you like a robe. Aerion drew a quite breath as he looked at you, his body going still. You were smiling, but it did not reach your eyes. Instead, they shone with an unnatural brilliance, something inhumane.

“You are bold for showing yourself.” Aerion looked you up and down, his tone laced with arrogance.

“And you’re audacious for showing up in my forest,” you said, smile not leaving your face “or perhaps stupid is a better word."

He looked delicious. The scent of him burning your nose, filling your body with murderous thirst.

“Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?” Aerion took a step forward.

“Who doesn’t?” you replied softly. “The Targaryen prince with a thirst for blood, Aerion Brightflame, isn’t it?”

Your words fed his pride. He had yet to understand what stood before him.

“Then you know better than to stand in my way.” His gaze lingered on you, caught for a moment by a beauty that felt almost spellbound.

“Oh, but my prince,” you took a step towards him. “You are in my kingdom now.”

“Your kingdom?” he said, almost amused “On whose authority?”

“Your dragons may be gone, Prince,” you took another step “But there are beings older than any legend who still remain.”

Your words brushed against an old wound. The dragons were gone. And their absence stirred a burning anger inside him.

“Old things die like anything else.” His jaw tightened “You’re no different.”

In a flash, Aerion felt a hand seize the nape of his neck, his back hitting the ground. Pain burst through him, his eyes clenching shut.

You looked down at him, hair draping along your figure. Aerion opened his eyes and met your gaze. Your mouth agape, breathing almost animalistic, and in that moment, he felt like you were somehow twice as enchanting up close.

You lowered your face down to his neck, drawing in a long, measured breath. When you pulled back to look at him, his breath caught in his throat.

“What the hell are you” he said through gritted teeth.

“Someone you were never meant to meet alone, my Prince.” You said, faint smile forming on your lips as your fangs caught the light.

Aerion groaned as he tried to move, only for your grip to tighten in response.

‘Oh, come on now, your highness,” you said softly, a faint amusement in your voice. “Are you truly trying to leave so soon? The interesting part hasn’t even begun.”

The hold you had on his waist tightened, your legs locking in as your knees pressed into the ground to keep him firmly trapped.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Helplessness was a feeling Aerion did not tolerate, yet with every struggle against your grip, it became increasingly obvious that you had no intention of letting him go anytime soon.

It had been foolish of him to wander into unknown territory, he knew it now, watching you as you seemed to take in his scent. His eyes widened when he felt your breath against his neck once more.

A soft giggle escaped your lips as your thighs tightened around his waist. The pressure he was feeling on his abdomen was getting stronger and stronger.

“Surely you’ve heard the stories about me,” you murmured, your voice low and velvety as you eased the fabric aside, baring the delicate veins along his neck. Each thrum of blood echoed in your ears, in time with the quickened beat of his heart. “Or did you think they were only tales to frighten children?”

“I’m not frightened of you” Aerion spat, twisting in your grasp.

This was everything he wasn’t used to. Powerless, restrained. It drove him mad that you, a stranger he knew nothing of, held him captive and addressed him like a commoner. But beneath the anger, curiosity flickered. An unwelcome spark appearing from how foreign and wrong everything felt.

A soft laugh slipped form your lips. “Not frightened?” your fingers tightened around his throat, thumb brushing over the frantic pulse. “Then why does your heartbeat insist otherwise?”

Aerion exhaled sharply through his nose. His eyes remained fixed on your face as his resistance eased. Instead, came a heightened awareness of every place where you were touching him.

With your hand wrapped around his throat and your face close to his, you straddled Aerion, keeping his hips pressed against the moist ground.

“So, my Prince,” you said, a hint of mockery in your voice. “How do you feel about letting me drain you?”

Aerion’s breath hitched, his stomach fluttering at the thought.

“You want me to drink your blood?” a wicked smirk curled your lips.

His thoughts blurred, as if caught in a trance. And before he could fully process your words the answer slipped from his lips.

“Yes.” Aerion breathed. And then, like a sudden break in a spell, he jerked back to himself “Damn it!”

Your grip locked around him as your fangs sank in, pinning him completely still. The cold sting of the bite pierced the soft skin of his neck and a rush of warmth flooded your mouth.

“Royal Blood,” you mused, a faint smile in your voice. “I should take my time with it.”

The sound from him was deep and rough, a groan slipping out of his throat. For a moment, it felt shared, like you were both enjoying the danger of it. “F-fuck.”

Aerion’s face flushed once he felt his pants tightening around him. Like his mind was under a haze and as though his body no longer belonged to him, his hips began rutting up against your own. Moaning at the feeling of you against his neck, he got impossibly hard when he tried to move his hands but got stopped by your grip.

Totally under your control, the feeling began to pool in his stomach even quicker. Embarrassingly quickly. Aerion bucked up with an increased pace as your focus was entirely on the blood seeping from his neck.

And in a sudden move, he came, dampening the inside of his breeches, unable to contain his moans of pleasure as his eyes rolled back.

This caught your attention, moving your head away from his neck. “Oh? That’s something new.”

You look at him, savoring in his fucked out expression caused by both his loss of blood and his premature orgasm.

“Who would have thought...” you smiled. “A Targaryen Princeling enjoys being bitten.”

“Fuck you” Aerion hissed through gritted teeth. “You must have used some kind of magic on me, witch”

His brows furrowed in anger at your laugh. “No magic,” you said simply. “it’s just you, my prince.”

Your nails traced along the nape of his neck. “What would your people think if they saw you like this, hm?” you teased. “Cumming in your pants from being seized and forced into place.”

Aerion let out a whimper. Having never experienced degradation before, he struggled to understand the strange mix of emotions churning inside him. He hated to admit that he was enjoying it, but his fresh erection made it hard to deny. Your eyes followed his and looked at the bulge in his pants.

Aerion’s eyes blew wide as you tugged on his pants, pulling down his ruined breeches. He groaned at the sudden feeling of the air against his cock.

You ran your fingers up his dick, covered in cum from his previous orgasm. You traced one of the veins and involuntarily, his hips raised from the ground as he desperately searched for more friction.

“Awh… are you so eager to be touched?” you cooed mockingly. “Look at the mess you made all over yourself.”

Aerion’s cock twitched at your words.

“Just fucking touch me already.” He forced the words out with restraint, loathing that he had to ask but the desperation overpowered his pride.

Your lips curled. “How could I possibly refuse an order from a prince.”

Finally, you wrapped a hand around his dick, squeezing it slightly before you began to move your hand up and down. The forest echoed his groans.

“O-oh fuck,” his head hit the soft grass under him. “You’re a witch.”

You stop your movements in an instant as he whines at the lack of stimulation. “Witches don’t suck blood, princeling.”

His chest heaved with each breath, face flushing from frustration. Aerion’s bucked into your hand.

“What is it, my Prince? You want to cum?” Your thumb swiped on his flushed tip.

Yes- gods yes, he wanted nothing more. He let out another whimper. 

“Come on, Aerion, answer the question.”

Mouth agape, he was unable to control the sounds leaving his throat “Y-yes!”

“How badly?” you smear his arousal with your finger. “Tell me how badly you want to cum for me.”

He groans in response, unable to deal with relentless teasing. His voice came out in whines as he spoke “S-so bad, ahh-“

Aerion’s hips bucked up as you begin to move your hand again, trying to match your pace. He was far too gone, completely immersed in your movements, embarrassment burned in his throat.  Unable to control himself any much longer from how sensitive he was, he came again, shooting ropes all over your fist.

You reach down and ran your tongue over the bite marks you left on his delicate skin as he rode out his high. Grabbing his face with your free hand, you bit his lip as he moaned in your mouth, returning the kiss weakly.

Once you pulled away to appreciate the sigh in front of you, Aerion stayed on the grass, his breathing ragged and uncontrolled, unable to form a single thought.

“I had a lot of fun, Princeling.” You said as you stood up. “However, if you come around here looking for me again, I cannot promise you’ll be so lucky next time”

He rose up on his elbow, fixing himself up. “S-stop! Where are you going?!” with longing in his eyes, he tries to reach for you. But by the time he gets up, you’re gone, leaving no trace as if you were never there at all.