#A peak behind closed doors...[musing]

[shouyuus]

direct continuation of this; part of the apt neighbor!vi au

apartment neighbor!vi who disappears, or at least tries to -- no more weekend visits, no more tuesday night movie dates -- you still see her, or rather, catch glimpses of her here and there, but she's always ducking away or off somewhere before you can catch her, and for a someone who's so conspicuous, she's more slippery than you could've ever imagined. and at first, you're angry -- hurt, confused -- but the pain dulls after a week, two, and soon enough, there's only the barest flinch whenever you see her silhouette slipping down the hallway when you catch her coming back from the gym, or in the mail room --

once, you catch the bright chime of powder's voice as vi opens her door, and you could've sworn you heard your name, but the next second, the door's slamming closed behind her, and powder's voice cuts off like an old record.

apartment neighbor!vi who still goes to the gym, and it's the only real place you see her, but she's always got her headphones banded over her bright red hair, her eyes narrowed -- the bandages around her knuckles are tattered, stained with what looks like blood. there are new cuts and bruises scattered along her arm and what looks like a fresh scab at the corner of her lip.

you don't ask; you figure that if she'd wanted you to know, she would've told you by now.

apartment neighbor!vi who is not there the first time you let curiosity get the better of you and maps the way to her family's pub -- it's a divey kind of place, but spacious and well-kept, with dartboards lining the walls and an old fashioned jukebox in the corner. the man behind the counter glances up with a grin, a slight dip between his brows, an old pipe between his lips.

"bit early for a girl like you to come wanderin' in here," he says, with a voice that rumbles through you, even from a distance. you clear your throat and check your watch -- yeah, 2pm on a wednesday isn't peak hours for a bar like this but it's what you were hoping for.

"oh -- sorry, are you guys not open yet?" you glance back at the door, afraid that you'd missed some sort of signage but the man just laughs and shakes his head.

"nah, we're open. c'mon in," he gestures to the empty bar top, and sets down a glass with a heavy hand.

you eye it for a second before skittering over and sliding up onto one of the barstools, glancing around to take in the scene.

"lookin' for vi, i assume?"

you jump at the sound of vi's name, your eyes slingshotting back to the man, who breaks out into a loud bark of laughter, pouring you a full glass of water.

"h-how did -- has vi said something?"

the man shrugs, pushing the water towards you; you grab it for lack of anything better to do, taking a tentative sip as he eyes you with beady, beatle-black eyes, shining with mirth.

"you pour people drinks for long enough and you start to get a knack for puzzlin' out what they want when they walk in -- kinda person they might be, why they're comin' in -- gets to be a kinda game if you get good enough at it," he leans in with a conspiratorial wink that sets you at ease. you feel your own shoulders drop a bit as you set the glass back down on the counter and lick your lips.

"so you must be vander," you say, the name ringing back through your sifted memories -- vi on a tuesday night, after a movie about race cars or something, chattering about the bar and how her stepdad always gets on her about flirting with the customers too much.

vander nods, taking a soft puff of his pipe and leaning back.

"and you must be the neighbor girl that vi's not been able to shut up about," he muses, making you gag on your next sip of water. he lets out another booming laugh and reaches behind the counter to hand you a stack of napkins. you mop at the water dripping down your chin, feeling your cheeks burn.

"sorry, sorry -- forgive an old man his good time," he says with another good-natured wink before his jovial expression flattens, "but if you're here wonderin' what she's been doin'... then you're fresh outta luck, darlin'."

you frown, cupping your fingers around your half-drunk glass of water.

"i'm just... worried about her."

vander grunts, shrugging up a single, massive shoulder.

"standing room only on that bus, i'm afraid."

you let out a soft scoff of laughter, nodding.

"it's sweet of you to come knockin', but... she's a stubborn one, and if she doesn't wanna tell us then..." another shrug, another sigh, "no one's gonna be able to force it outta her."

you nod again, feeling rather wilted as vander reaches over to pat your shoulder with a large hand. he chuckles.

"tell ya what, here -- have a drink -- on the house."

he grabs a wine glass and sets it in front of you with a tiny flourish. as second later, a deep red liquid fills your glass and you stare up at him as he grins.

"i figured you were a cab sav kind of girl -- but tell me if i'm wrong, and i'll swap it out for anything else you might like."

you shake your head, laughing as you tug the wine glass closer, "nope. you're spot on."

apartment neighbor!vi who shows up hammered, with no preamble, banging down your door a on friday night (though it really is late enough to be called saturday morning) -- you answer with a frying pan clutched in one hand, a hissing sigh whistling through you the second you see who's on the other side. the pan drops and you're about to be angry, but your eyes catch on the fresh bruises blooming across the high of her cheeks, a bump the side of a golf ball swelling up above her right eye.

"o-oh my god, vi! what happened?!" you jump back as she nearly collapses into your doorway, barely catching herself against your shoe-rack.

"jus... missed you, sugar! can't a girl... miss... someone she likes?" she slurs, shaking her head as she pushes herself up; you blink rapidly at her, your chest a tight whirlwind of questions and concerns. it's all eclipsed, however, by alarm, as she lurches into your apartment and nearly smashes into your hallway wall, looping an arm around your shoulder -- you stumble beneath her weight, struggling to keep her upright.

"vi? vi -- you're drunk --"

"nah this ain't nothin' -- just wanted a few after -- after getting beat up, ain't that normal? damn -- got so fucked in the ring -- that match was fixed -- shoulda known smeech couldn't be trusted -- that slimy, money-hungry bastard --"

you somehow manage to half-drag vi into your living room and dump her on the couch, fluttering around for a large glass of water and a first aid kit.

"what -- what're you saying?" you ask, even as you force her to take a large gulp of water (she makes a face as if it's vodka before downing the rest in a few long gulps -- a few beads of water trickle passed her chin and into the collar of her stained tanktop). but in between the fragments and incoherent mumbles, a slow realization starts to coalesce inside you as you inch closer to her and convince her to sit still.

"vi...?"

"mm." she hiccups, flinching slightly as you dab at a cut on her cheek with an antibacterial wipe.

"are you... in some sort of... fight club, or something?"

vi makes a grumbling noise, her eyes fluttering closed; she sways a little as you continue to gently clean out her wounds. her breath carries the sharp, turpenic smell of cheap alcohol as she lets out a long sigh.

"somethin' like that... kinda like a boxing ring -- i'm pretty damn good at it, most nights," she adds, hissing again even as you jerk back, pursing your lips. she crinkles her nose before wiping a hand across her mouth, staring blankly down at the fresh blood smeared onto her skin.

"and... i'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that this boxing ring thing... isn't legal, right?"

vi tries her best at one of her usual, charming, lopsided grins, but it just ends up looking something like a grimace instead.

"legal's not where the money is, sweetness."

you lean forward with a fresh sanitary wipe and motion for her to hold still again. she does, offering you her other cheek, her eyes now startlingly clear as they flicker over the planes of your face. you wonder how drunk she really is, or if she's just gotten terribly good at hiding it.

"but... i thought that you guys were in a rent-controlled unit? what'dyou need all this money for?"

vi scoffs, her eyes lowering.

"pow's university tuition isn't gonna pay for itself."

her voice is soft, low, her words steady. you pause, frowning slightly at her as she sighs and leans back to cast you a sad little grin.

"ah... now that i've told you, 'fraid i'm gonna have to killa ya," she winks. you don't smile, only turning to discard the dirty wipe for another fresh one.

"i thought the bar --"

"it doesn't make enough -- and powder -- she --" vi sucks in a long breath, her eyes fluttering closed. when she opens them again, it's the eyes you remember, the eyes you'd spent so many afternoons and evenings staring into -- there's light and laughter, a fire that can't be extinguished, a light that can't be dimmed, a hard-lined conviction that makes them shine even on the darkest of moonless nights.

"she deserves every opportunity. that girl --" vi lets out a helpless little scoff, "she's gonna change the world one day, i just know it. if we can only --" she makes an abortive gesture with her hand.

you nod, reaching out to wipe away a small smudge of eyeliner beneath her eye. she stills beneath your touch, the cool of your skin against her burning cheek makes her shiver.

a thin tendril of tired, incredulous laughter slithers up your chest; vi's eyebrows kick up as you let out a giggle -- the only warning she gets -- before you're toppling into a fit of truly stomach-clenching laughter, leaning back into your sofa cushions, clutching your belly.

"a-are you alright?" vi asks, blinking at you with mild alarm as you shake your head, flapping your hands at her, unable to form any kind of coherent thought. you wipe at the tears forming at the corner of your eyes, and somewhere between one breath and the next, your laughs turn into frustrated sobs, and you shove vi reproachfully as she stares at you, totally nonplussed by this strange turn of events.

"y-you're such an idiot!" you say between heaving breaths, rubbing at your eyes. you feel lightheaded; the clock on the microwave blinks a bleary 4:42AM at the pair of you.

vi stares, completely nonplussed as you sniffled and reach over to snag a few tissues, daubing at your eyes.

"there're so many things you can do to get money -- you don't have to --" you gesture at her, "get yourself killed in an illegal fighting ring -- and you don't --" you jab a single finger into her chest, hard enough for her to flinch back, "have to try to do it alone."

she blinks, once, twice --

"uh..."

you sigh, rolling your eyes, "god, you're so stupid -- for someone with a genius sister --"

vi makes a slightly affronted noise, "i got good grades in school!"

you tear open a packet of neosporin with perhaps more savagery than necessary, nearly dropping it. you glare at the tiny packet before squeezing a large dollop onto your finger and motioning for vi to lean in. she eyes you for a solid three seconds before slowly leaning forward.

you lave the gel onto the cut on her cheek before peeling open a bandaid to cover it up.

"there. that's waterproof, so it won't come off when you take a shower."

"when i take a shower?" vi asks, her head cocking to one side.

you cast her a sharp look, "you're so gross right now, of course you've gotta shower."

vi hiccups into her fist before shooting you a sheepish grin.

"i could just shower at home."

you narrow your eyes, "it's 5am -- and i'm pretty sure powder's got a massive midterm tomorrow. you're staying here tonight."

"ah. yes. of... course," vi says, biting back an amused chuckle before looking around at the couch beneath her.

"well, i've always liked this couch."

you close the first-aid kit with a sharp snap.

"if you shower within the next --" you glance back at the clock on the microwave, "10 minutes or so, you can sleep in the bedroom. but if i'm asleep when you're done then you're gonna have to sleep out here -- i don't like being woken up." you try to sound stern, though it might have just come out sounding petulant.

vi grins, the expression so familiar to you it singes a line of heat down the center of your spine.

"oop -- guess i'd better shower quick then!" she pushes off the sofa and jogs for the bathroom, swiveling around by the door to give you a soft smile and a -- "hey... thanks."

you roll your eyes at her and flap your hand, "go. shower!"

you slip into bed, listening to the shower water run, a twist of something collecting in your gut as you hear the sounds of the water turn off and the unmistakable noises of vi toweling off. you burrow further into your blankets as her footsteps thump through the apartment, the slight creak of your bedroom door swinging open as she slips in, the shape of her limned in moonlight as she slowly makes her way to the other side of the bed.

"hey sugar... you still awake?"

you crinkle your nose, and for a second, consider feigning sleep. but the next second, she's slipping into the blankets next to you, her skin warm to the touch as she shuffles closer.

"yeah," you answer, a second later.

she shuffles just a bit closer; you flip around to face her, gasping as you realize how close she is -- your noses almost touching. her eyes widen as they meet yours, and you could swear that even in the pre-dawn dark, you can see her cheeks rioting with color.

she clears her throat but doesn't make to pull away.

"y'know, usually when i get invited into someone's bed... it's a lot sexier than this."

you puff out a breathy laugh, "yeah? i'm sure. why don't you tell me about it tomorrow, when we're compiling all the scholarships that we're gonna help powder apply to?"

vi falls quiet, her gaze going startlingly liquid, and for a second, you wonder if she's going to cry too. but then, she's leaning in, pressing her forehead to yours --

"god... sweets... what the fuck did i do to deserve you?"

you snuggle in closer, your heartbeat a livewire thrum at the back of your throat.

"nothing... you were just... you."

vi lets out a shaky breath, her eyes falling shut.

"shit, sugar... what the hell, man... it wasn't supposed to be like this."

you laugh as she sniffles, tugging you closer, her palm warm along your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin.

"yeah? did you have it all planned out? help the new girl move in? watch movies and make food with her on the weekends till she falls in love with you?"

vi's breath hitches. you bite your tongue.

still, she doesn't refute you. finally, she manages --

"i just... never thought it'd... get this bad..."

you sigh, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"y'know, for a smart girl, you're really dumb sometimes."

vi pulls back, sighing, "yeah... i -- i know. and i know that powder and vander probably know too -- they just -- they just... knew me too well to try and --"

"force it out of you?" you supply. vi nods, her hair tickling your skin as she burrow in against you, her body curling in till she's in a fetal position, her face pressed into your chest, her breath fanning hot against your collarbones.

"well, lucky for me --" you say, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, caressing at the still-damp ends, "i didn't have to -- you came knocking all on your own."

vi's quiet for another few beats before --

"i wasn't lying y'know... i really did... miss you." her voice catches, the words cracking over one another like river stones.

you graze your lips along her hairline, nodding, "yeah, i know... i missed you too, vi."

she wraps her arms around you and pulls you in, pressing you to her so completely your chest almost starts to sting with the pressure.

a few minutes later, she relents, releasing you just enough for you to suck in a long, steadying breath.

"did you really mean it? that thing about... the scholarships for powder?"

you nod, "course i did. and we can look up loans too! i had to take one out when i went to college too, so i'm pretty familiar with them. it's alright -- we'll figure it out -- together."

vi nods, chuckling softly against you.

"mm... before all that though..." she tugs back just far enough to look at you, her voice husky as she leans in to brush her nose to yours --

"d'you think... you might allow me the honor of making you breakfast?"

[jyoongim]

Imagine though, you see Alastor and assume that he's the one in full control during sex but the reality is that behind closed doors his ass is absolutely pathetic for his woman, falling to her feet, kissing them and being a pretty little pet

Happy Valentines Day everyone <3, hope you get off to some nice fics today and take care of yourself babes

Themes: fem!reader, face-sitting/riding, fluff, antlers, soft!Alastor, pet names, slight begging, Alastor lowkey pussy whipped.

If anyone knew Alastor, they knew just how terrifying he could be.

The Radio Demon always wore a smile on his face.

He was intimidating, dangerous, cunning, and unpredictable.

So why in the seven rings, were You not afraid?

When Alastor came back for his seven-year absence, he had a pretty sweet thing by his side.

Unlike the arrogant demon, you spoke softly if not ever at all. You were kind and treated everyone equally.

You must be something real special to have been able to deal with the Radio Demon.

If someone took a look at you and Alastor, they would immediately think that it is Alastor who calls all the shots.

In some way that’s true.

In the public eye, though Alastor kept you by his side, it was often interpreted that you were more like arm candy, nothing more than a pretty face he kept.

But never trust appearances.

For the feared Radio Demon who maintained an air of confidence, behind closed doors always showed how much he appreciated you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggled at the sound of a record scratch as you got ready to settle in bed for the night.

Alastor was reading a book, sipping on some tea as you dropped your robe to get into bed.

His ear twitched at the sound of the fallen clothing and when he glanced your way, he short-circuited.

You were beautiful. 

Hair tied in a wrap to make sure your curls stayed in place. Your thin, silk nightie clung to your full figure as you applied your lotions and ointments. You sighed happily as you finished up your night routine.

Alastor didn’t register that he had even got up until he was kneeling in front of you, smile soft as he caressed your legs, hands starting to at your foot

You tilted your head at the demon “Alastor?”

A chaste kiss was pressed inside your ankle as he rubbed your feet.

You relaxed as he worked the kinks out your legs and feet.

Maybe it was because he was a serial killer alive, but damn was he good with his hands.

You grabbed at his loosened tie, letting him crawl up your body. You peppered his face with kisses, shyly nipping at his lips. You figured that this was gonna turn into a lusty rendezvous ,so when you went to unzip his pants and he denied you, you were confused.

Alastor chuckled, kissing your shoulder “Let me take care of you mon cher you always do so much being my good girl”

He slipped back to settle between your thighs. His hands caressed and kneaded at the soft flesh, even giving you a slight nip to get a gasp out of you.

He flicked your nightie up, smirking at your bare cunt. A low growl rumbled in his chest as your scent wafted to his nose. He pressed a kiss your clit, causing you to jump

”Not yet”

Alastor hands roamed and kneaded you as he mumbled his praises.

Alastor was under your spell the moment he met you. You had a way of making him a bit softer than he was use to.

He kept you by his side without a deal and loved every moment of it.

He would do anything you asked. 

Anything you want, it was yours by his command.

He would tear Hell apart if anything happened to you.

You were his muse.

His goddess.

His to care and provide for.

Only you were capable of getting the Radio Demon to be domesticated.

Only dedicated to you.

What a clever minx you were…

Alastor sucked a perky nipple into his mouth. Moaning as your body seems to light up.  Your chest pushing the mound of flesh into his mouth as he tugged and teased the peak.

Deeming your nipple was abused enough, he switched to the other, pinching the other.

A whine tore through you as he teased soft circles on your clit. “A-Alastor”

He shushed you as you grinded against his hand

”Ask and Ill give you anything darlin”

”T-Ton…”you panted as he tugged at your ear with his teeth. He hummed ”hmmm?”

You took a deep breathe, head lolling as he dipped a finger inside you. “I-I want to cum o-on your t-tongue”

Though Alastor usually took the reigns in every other aspect of your relationship, in the bedroom it was you coaxing the maniac to be soft.

Alastor took orders from no one.

But he did like the praise and acknowledgment you gave and that was enough to fuel his ego.

”Then take it”

Your cheeks were heated as you looked at the red demon beneath you. He was smiling as he looked back up at you.

He kissed your inner thighs, waiting on you.

waiting for you to let your desires to overtake the usual sweet personality you had.

”Tongue out” you said softly, finding purchase on his antlers, that were now big as branches.

You felt his warm, wet tongue loll out his mouth, grazing your cunt.

You steadied your grip and without a second thought, sat on his  mouth.

Your claws dug into his antlers as you moved against his tongue.

Alastor was quite happy underneath you, tongue lapping as you used him for your pleasure.

Soft moans and groans bounced off the walls as you coated Alastor’s face in your slick.

”Oooooh fuuccckk ah!”

Usually you begged. 

Begged for Alastor to give you that sweet release.

But you were going to take it.

And make him beg.

”A-Alasstoorr ha!” His ears perked at your enticing moan around his name.

”You’ll look so pretty covered in my cum aha! Would you like that? Hmmm?” 

You were riding his tongue as if his cock. Feet planted and thighs caging him in. 

“I’m gonna cum Oh! Ah!” Using his antlers, you angled his head so his nose bumped your clit with each roll of your hips.

”c-cummin’ i-i aaahh! Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Take it take it. Be a good boy, Swallow my cum hmmmm yeeesss oh!”

The soppy slurps and curling of his tongue sent you over the edge.

Huffing you raised your hips, not wanting to kill the demon from being smothered.

”i-I’m sorry Al I didn’t mean-”

Your hand brushed against a heavy tent in his pants

But Alastor’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your sensitive cunt back down.

“I don't mind dearest. You should relish using me for your pleasure…I’m your good boy after all”

Alastor might be a scary powerful overlord…but he was a big softie when it came to his woman. 

Absolutely worshiped the ground you walked on.

Only you could turn the monster into a purring kitten.

And he’d have it no other way.

@alishii @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @alastorsdear @okay-babe @sssandychemd @ioniiaa @catherine69420 @danveration @bookishcatcafe @altruisticalastor @markster666 @citrussmootee @brechdan-ham @wisteria-seal @dasimp777 @goth-mami-writer @gojosaturos-wife @alastorsfawn @coleisyn @horrorartsworld @dennsfz @fatnug @prosciuttosblog @spalimly @crazyforbarnes @eviebuggg @polytheatrix @queenariesofnarnia @lunaramune @kassa-stardust @alstorloml @scaramoochiie @strawberrypimp666 @simphornies @yourdoorisunlocked @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @absurd-ash @peachedtv @kiralaufeyson84

[imjustreadinglmao]

BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

[sirxaibs]

Keigo Takami | Hawks X Reader

𓅰 𓅬Smoke and Feathers𓅮 𓅯

I offer you angst and disgust and sadness and brainrot

masterlist

Synopsis: You love him, hes a whole hypocrite though

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 The knock on your door came just as you had started to relax for the night. You glanced at the clock late, even for him. With a sigh, you padded over, unlocking it without much thought. Hawks never really needed an invitation.

Keigo Takami stood in your doorway, grinning like he always did. The kind of grin that put people at ease, but you knew him better than that. His golden eyes flickered across your face, scanning for something maybe exhaustion, maybe suspicion.

“Hey, partner,” he greeted, stepping inside before you could respond. “I was craving chicken, and I figured, why eat alone when I could bother you instead?”

“You could eat at your place,” you shot back, closing the door behind him.

“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Too quiet. Besides, your place is way fancier. Food tastes better after being in rich people’s apartments.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Keigo had been your friend since you debuted at eighteen. Four years of missions, battles, and shared exhaustion had formed a bond neither of you really questioned. But lately, something about him had been…off.

“Fine. I hope to not be super tired after this.”

“Obviously.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the door.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

You ended up on top of a bridge after grabbing food, the city sprawled beneath you in glittering lights. It was peaceful up here just the occasional hum of distant traffic and the rustling of Keigo’s feathers when he shifted. You sat side by side, bags of takeout beside you, a breeze lifting your hair.

“You ever think we peaked too early?” Keigo mused, biting into a drumstick.

“Are you having a mid life crisis at twenty two?”

He snorted. “Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love being a pro hero, but sometimes I think… I dunno. If I weren’t one, maybe my love life wouldn’t suck so bad.”

You smirked. “Yeah, you and your long line of failed flings.”

Keigo sighed dramatically. “Ouch. What about you, huh? Any luck?”

You shook your head, taking a bite of your own food. “No time. Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”

“yeah yeah,” he grinned. Then, after a pause, “You ever think about settling down?”

You raised a brow. “We sound like old people right now.”

Keigo chuckled, but there was something in his expression something calculating.

“Must be nice, though,” he continued, staring down at the city. “Having people to rely on. To trust.”

You frowned. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could reply, he kept going.

“Speaking of trust, I heard some interesting things lately,” he said casually, leaning back on his hands. “The League’s been moving differently. Word is, they’ve been pulling back from certain areas, regrouping.”

You tensed slightly, but forced yourself to stay relaxed. “Yeah? Didn’t hear anything about that.”

Keigo hummed, side eyeing you. “Funny. You usually have good ears for things like this.”

You knew what he was doing. He wasn’t outright accusing you wasn’t even asking directly. But he was fishing. He knew you’d been close with Dabi, and now he was prying without making it obvious.

You took another bite of food, playing it cool. “Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Keigo smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to jokes and laughter. But you knew better. Hawks was good at this game at wearing masks, at pretending.

Keigo stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You know, if we were normal, we’d probably be out right now. Living life, partying, dating.”

You snorted. “You’d probably be someone’s problem boyfriend.”

He gasped, “Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“None.”

Keigo laughed, but you could hear the strain underneath it. He was doing that thing again acting like everything was fine, like there wasn’t a million things weighing on his mind. You wanted to ask, but you already knew how that would go. He’d brush it off, give you some half truth, then change the subject.

Instead, you reached out, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing his hand. He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away.

“I mean it, Keigo,” you said, voice steady. “I know relationships are pretty much out of the picture for us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re important to me. No matter how messy things get, I value every second I spend with you.”

For once, Keigo didn’t have a snarky response. His golden eyes softened, the usual playful glint replaced with something quieter, something more vulnerable. He squeezed your hand slightly, as if grounding himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking away. “You always gotta go and say stuff like that.”

You smiled. “It’s the truth.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I deserve that. Having people who actually care.”

You frowned. “Of course, you do.”

Keigo didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to your intertwined hands, then back to the city. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to say it.

“Thanks,” he finally murmured.

The word felt heavier than it should have, like there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t. And maybe he never would. But for now, this was enough.

You stayed like that for a while, sitting together on the bridge, hands still linked. For once, neither of you needed to fill the silence.

The silence didn’t last.

Keigo shifted beside you, the weight of his gaze pressing into your side. You could feel it before he even spoke the tension rolling off of him in waves, the way his body stiffened slightly.

“I just… I worry about you, you know?” His voice was light, casual, but you weren’t stupid. You could hear the edge to it. “The League isn’t exactly the safest crowd.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew where this was going.

“I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

He gave a breathy chuckle, but it lacked humor. “Come on, I know you’re smart. You’re always in the middle of things. You’re telling me you haven’t heard anything?”

You turned to him fully now, frowning. “I said I don’t know anything.”

Something in his expression wavered, just for a second. He rubbed a hand down his face, like he was trying to steady himself, but when he spoke again, there was something sharper underneath.

“I just” He exhaled harshly. “I don’t get it. Why won’t you tell me?”

That set something off in you. You pulled your hand away from his, frustration boiling over.

“Because there’s nothing to tell, Keigo! What, do you think I’m hiding things from you? That I’m playing some kind of double agent?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t want to think that.”

“But you do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his feathers ruffling behind him. “You’re close with Dabi. You’re” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “I’ve seen what the League is capable of. And you” He gestured at you, eyes burning. “You’re getting wrapped up in it whether you realize it or not.”

You scoffed, standing up abruptly. “So that’s what this is, huh? You don’t trust me.”

Keigo stood too, stepping closer. “It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you safe.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t about that. You’re trying to get answers out of me. Like I’m some suspect.”

Keigo’s usual mask was gone now no charming smiles, no lazy grins. His wings twitched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“The Commission” He stopped himself again, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I have to do this.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “So that’s what I am to you? A job?”

“Of course not!” His voice was sharper than before, his usual control slipping. “But if they think you know something, they’re gonna keep pushing! And if you do know something and don’t tell me, then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I already told you I don’t know anything! But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you already made up your mind.”

His wings flared out, feathers rustling with tension. “You think I want to do this? You think I like treating you like this?”

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sure seems like it.”

Keigo let out a harsh breath, and suddenly, his frustration snapped into something else something desperate.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a shockwave, knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes widened, but he didn’t stop.

“I love you, okay?” His voice was rough, strained. “That’s why this is so fucking hard. That’s why I can’t just sit back and let you ” He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. He was breathing hard, his golden eyes wild with emotion. You had never seen him like this never seen him so raw.

The tension between you was thick, the city buzzing below, but up here, it was just the two of you. And you had no idea what to say.

“Fuck, Keigo.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was enough to make him flinch. His wings, usually so steady, twitched behind him, like he was fighting the urge to fly away.

You didn’t know what to say. Lord knows you loved him you would do anything for him. But this? This hurt. The way he was looking at you, the way he was questioning you like you were some kind of liability instead of his friend. Instead of someone who had been by his side for years.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to cup his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his breath uneven.

You searched his face, desperate to find the trust that should have been there. But all you could see was hurt.

Hurt because he knew this was wrong. Hurt because he had to do it anyway.

And longing. Longing for something he had convinced himself he couldn’t have. Longing because, despite everything, despite the lines being blurred and the masks slipping, he wanted you.

You swallowed hard, your thumbs tracing along his jaw. “You don’t have to do this,” you murmured.

Keigo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again. “I do.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t get it. If I don’t… they will.”

Your grip on him tightened. “I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face before it faded into something more vulnerable. “Then why do they think you do?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Dabi and I, fuck Keigo we just talk. After fights, after missions. That’s it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time tonight, it felt like he was actually listening. Like he was really seeing you.

His hands came up, hesitating for only a second before resting over yours, keeping them against his face. His touch was warm, calloused from years of battle, but there was a softness there too. A silent plea.

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.

Your chest ached. “Then don’t.”

Keigo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and make him see that it was that simple. That he didn’t have to follow the Commission’s orders like a puppet, that he didn’t have to do this to you to himself.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked. that was the worst part of all. The first tear slipped out before you could stop it.

Then another.

And another.

You didn’t even realize you were crying at first, too consumed by the frustration bubbling in your chest, the betrayal clawing at your throat. Your hands were still on his face, trembling now, and Keigo’s eyes widened as he felt the wetness of your tears bleed into his heart.

“Hey”

You sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t help. The weight of everything crashed over you all at once.

You had spent years fighting, bleeding, sacrificing to protect people to make the world safer, to do the right thing. And this was your reward? Being questioned like a criminal? Being treated like someone who couldn’t be trusted by the one person who should have known better?

You let out a broken, bitter laugh, your grip on Keigo tightening. “I’ve killed for this job,” you choked out. “I’ve bled for it. I’ve given everything to make sure people are safe. And the thanks I get is my best friend accusing me like I’m some kind of traitor?” Your voice cracked at the end, and you let your forehead drop against his. “The Commission making you accuse me?”

Keigo inhaled sharply, like your words physically hurt him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and before you could say anything else, his arms were around you.

He pulled you into him, crushing you against his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you like a shield. His grip was almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”

But it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t take away the ache in your chest, the sting of his accusations, the knowledge that if the Commission had its way, he’d be forced to keep pushing.

Still, you clung to him, your fists curling into his jacket. Because despite everything, despite the pain, despite the betrayal. You still loved him. that was the worst part of all.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. But the weight in your chest, the sting in your throat it wasn’t going away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath, but it came out shaky and uneven. And as much as you wanted to stay in his arms, to pretend like none of this was happening, you couldn’t.

So you let go.

You pulled back, slipping from his hold, and immediately, his arms twitched like he wanted to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

You took a step back. Then another. His wings twitched, his golden eyes wide and desperate.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Keigo stiffened, the color draining from his face. “What?”

You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to catch your breath. “This us it’s just gonna keep getting worse. The Commission’s already pushing you to treat me like a suspect, and I can’t I won’t keep going through this.”

His expression twisted, panic flickering behind his eyes. “If we stop seeing each other, they’ll just use that as another excuse to build a case against you.” His voice was sharp, urgent. “They’ll say you’re cutting ties because you have something to hide.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His brows furrowed, frustration creeping into his features. “Of course it fucking matters.”

You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Keigo, how am I supposed to be around you if I know every conversation we have is controlled?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I can’t even tell if you’re talking to me or to the Commission?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

You took another step back. He took a step forward.

You held up a hand to stop him, your breath shaky. “I love you, Keigo.”

His whole body froze, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. His wings twitched again, his feathers rustling in the cool night air.

“I love you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. “And I meant what I said I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. But I can’t trust you anymore.”

The words shattered something in him. You saw it happen in real time. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab you and shake you and beg you to take it back.

“Wait,” he said, and his voice almost sounded broken. “Just wait.”

But you shook your head.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Keigo’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had met him, you saw something you never thought you’d see in him.

Fear.

Not fear of the Commission. Not fear of the League. Fear of losing you.

And as you turned away, his hands curled into fists, his mind racing with the realization that the Commission had just done the one thing he never thought possible.

They had pitted you against each other.

And he had let them.

The moment you disappeared from sight, the weight of it all crashed down on him.

Keigo staggered back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His wings drooped, feathers trembling as if they could barely hold themselves up anymore.

You were gone.

His hands came up to his face, fingers curling into his hair as he let out a harsh, broken breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was you. The way your voice cracked when you told him you loved him. The way your eyes shined with betrayal. The way you walked away.

His chest felt tight too tight.

He had spent his whole life playing this game, moving pieces around the board, following orders, doing what needed to be done. He had done it all without hesitation, without attachment, without caring.

Because caring got people killed. Caring made you weak.

At least, that’s what he had always believed.

Then you happened.

And he hadn’t even realized how much you meant to him until he was watching you slip through his fingers.

A sharp, choked noise tore from his throat as he staggered forward, his hands gripping at his hair. His chest hurt. He had never felt this before not even as a kid, not even when he was forced into a life that wasn’t his own.

Because back then, it hadn’t mattered.

But you had mattered.

You had trusted him. You had let him in, had told him how much he meant to you. And in return?

He had destroyed it.

His knees hit the metal of the bridge, and he barely even registered it. His wings curled around him, shielding him from the rest of the world, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Because for the first time in his life He had let someone in. And he had ruined it.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The television flickered in the dimly lit room, its glow casting soft shadows against the walls. Keigo Takami otherwise known as Hawks leaned back in his seat, golden eyes trained on the screen as a familiar figure appeared.

It had been months.

Keigo’s eyes followed every headline, every news segment, every article that mentioned you.

Y/n Soars to New Heights: A Pro Hero On the Rise

Hero Y/n’s Daring Rescue Saves Dozens in Quirk Incident

Top 10 Pro Hero Y/n: The Future of Japan’s Hero Society

Each headline was another stab to his chest. He saw the numbers, the statistics, the articles that spoke of your bravery, your skill, your rise to the top. The world had watched you climb, and you had done it with grace, with skill, with everything he knew you were capable of.

“Once again, Japan’s rising star, Y/n, has taken down another villain with efficiency and grace!”

The anchor’s voice carried an air of excitement, painting you as a beacon of hope for the country. Footage played of you in action your movements sharp and calculated, your quirk flowing seamlessly between offense and defense. The crowd erupted in cheers, reporters clamoring for your attention, yet you only offered them a polite nod before moving on, as if there was always more work to be done.

Keigo exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it between his fingers.

He wasn’t surprised. You had always been relentless in your pursuit of justice. He had seen it firsthand, the way you carried the weight of expectations without complaint. But now, watching you through the cold lens of a camera, he could see what no one else seemed to notice.

You were drowning yourself in work.

News articles flooded his phone.

“Japan’s Heroine Y/n Soars Higher Than Ever!”

“Y/n: The New Symbol of Hope?”

“Nonstop Victories, But At What Cost?”

The last one caught his attention. Clicking on the article, he scanned through the words. Some journalist had picked up on it too the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your posture stiffened ever so slightly after every battle. But the world only saw the hero. They saw the unwavering smile, the power, the perfection.

Keigo knew better.

You were running yourself ragged, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

His hands clenched into fists. He had never felt so useless before. In the past, he would have sent a teasing message, a check in disguised as banter, just to make sure you were okay. But now, his wings were clipped metaphorically and literally. The mission he was on kept him far from the public eye, and any contact with you would compromise everything.

Still, he watched.

Night after night, he kept up with your hero work through screens and articles, seeing the light in your eyes dim just a little more each time. The world was blind to it, too enamored by your victories to notice the toll they took on you.

Keigo sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Dammit, Y/n.”

He wanted to tell you to slow down. That you didn’t have to carry everything alone. But he knew you you wouldn’t listen, not when you thought the weight was yours to bear.

But as he watched from afar, he saw something else something he knew he couldn’t ignore.

You were drowning.

It wasn’t hard to see, not if you looked closely enough. There were the faint bags under your eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes in the photos. He could see it in the way you moved quick, efficient, but with a certain rigidity, like you were trying to keep the pieces of yourself together.

The interviews, the press events, the rescue missions. You were out there always out there. Never stopping. Always moving.

Keigo had seen this before. It was the kind of thing that had broken him.

The thing he was now witnessing in you.

You were using your work as a shield. You were burying yourself in it, pretending that the mess of the world, the constant need to be the best, would somehow fill the hollow space where everything else had fallen apart. You were drowning in your responsibilities, in the expectations of others. And he hated himself for not being able to stop it.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t be the person you needed.

The Commission had made it clear the moment you walked away they had made sure that there would be no contact, no easy path to you. They had pushed him away, forced him to see you as an obstacle, a potential threat.

He had followed the orders. He had stayed away.

But every day, every night, when he saw the photos, heard the reports of your latest success, it felt like another punch to the gut. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. And worse he was the reason you had shut him out.

You deserve better than this, he thought, each time he saw a picture of you smiling, though it never quite reached your eyes. You deserve better than me.

The most recent headline:

Y/n’s Heroic Feat: A Mission Gone Wrong Injuries and Recovering, But Will She Stay at the Top?

The article detailed how you had barely made it out of a dangerous mission, sustained injuries, and had pushed through it, despite the odds. The photos showed you at the hospital, a bruise on your cheek, your expression cold and distant as you posed for the cameras. Your usual confidence was there, but it was muted like a shell of yourself.

Keigo’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup in his hand, his gaze locked on the screen.

There it was again you were hurting.

But he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. The Commission had made sure of that.

Every day, it ate at him. The guilt. The fear. The constant ache in his chest. And all he could do was watch.

Because that’s all he was allowed to do.

He turned away from the screen and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t keep doing this.

But as much as he wanted to move on, as much as he wanted to focus on his own missions and do what the Commission had trained him for, he knew he couldn’t.

You were out there, giving everything for a world that barely understood you.

And he was here, stuck in a cage of his own making.

“Fuck,” Keigo whispered to himself. “I miss you.”

But you were gone. And he was the one who had pushed you away.

That was the price he paid for trying to be the hero everyone needed. The cost of being a tool of the Commission.

He couldn’t even hate them for it. Not when it was his own failure that had led to this.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

Keigo sat in the Commission’s office, his expression neutral as he listened to the orders being laid out before him. The air was stale, the weight of the conversation pressing down on his shoulders. He knew what was coming before they even said it.

“Your next mission is infiltration.”

The head of the Commission, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice that left no room for argument, slid a file across the table. Keigo barely glanced at it. He already knew whose name was inside.

“The League of Villains is growing stronger. We need someone on the inside. Someone they’ll trust. You have the skills to make this work, Hawks.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

“You’ve already shown your ability to keep a close eye on potential threats before.”

The words weren’t just words. They were deliberate. A reminder.

A reminder that they had once given him a different mission to keep tabs on you.

And what had they accused you of?

“Suspicious relationships with certain individuals.”

“Questionable morals due to prolonged conversations with known villains.”

“Potential compromise to the hero system.”

All because you had spoken to someone deemed dangerous. All because you hadn’t followed their rigid, black and white definition of justice.

And now, they were telling him to do the same thing.

A bitter laugh curled at the edges of his thoughts, though he kept his face unreadable. So it was fine when it was for them? When it was for the mission?

Hypocrites.

Keigo wanted to tell them to go to hell. That he saw through their bullshit. That if they thought he hadn’t noticed how they twisted things to suit their needs, they were dead wrong.

But he didn’t.

Because despite the anger curling in his gut, despite the guilt gnawing at his ribs, he still cared.

He cared about the future. About a world where kids didn’t have to grow up training to fight for their lives. A world where people had too much time on their hands instead of living in constant fear.

A world where you were safe.

So he bit his tongue.

“Understood,” he said instead, voice smooth and unwavering.

The Commission nodded, satisfied.

As the meeting wrapped up, Keigo tucked the folder under his arm and left the room. His steps were light, easy, just like always. But inside, his thoughts swirled like a storm.

⸻

Later that night, he sat on the rooftop of a tall building, the city stretching out beneath him. The folder lay open beside him, the moonlight illuminating the pages.

Dabi.

He had never spoken to the guy. Only knew what the files told him. Ruthless. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The League’s arsonist. The only reason Dabi hadn’t been fully exposed was because he covered his tracks well.

And yet, there was one thing in these files that stood out more than anything else.

You knew him.

You talked to him sometimes. That alone had been enough for the Commission to put you under watch. Enough for them to wonder if you could be turned into a threat.

Keigo exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

It felt wrong. All of it.

But he had already made his choice.

If playing the villain meant securing a world where you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder every day, then he would do it.

Even if it meant stepping into the same shadows they once accused you of standing in.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

It wasn’t like you had planned for things to turn out this way.

But after everything with Hawks after the accusations, the betrayal, the months of silence you had found yourself somewhere you never expected.

With Dabi.

It hadn’t happened overnight. At first, he was just another thorn in your side, another ghost you kept running into when the night was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. But for whatever reason, the two of you had fallen into an odd sort of rhythm.

Dabi didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He didn’t look at you with pity or expectation. He was just there, in the same way you were floating, untethered, existing in the spaces where heroes and villains blurred.

And maybe that’s why you were here now.

The scent of burnt concrete and gunpowder still clung to the air, mixing with the sharp, acrid smell of Dabi’s scorched skin. The battle had ended not long ago, and now, the two of you sat in the dimly lit hideout, the flickering light casting long shadows across the worn out walls.

“You looked like shit out there,” you teased, stretching your legs out in front of you as you leaned back against the couch.

Dabi scoffed, rolling his shoulder with a slight wince. “Yeah? And you looked like a damn try hard. What, gunning for some hero points?”

You snorted. “Please, like I need to impress anyone.”

Dabi grinned, a lazy, knowing smirk as he tapped ash from his cigarette onto the floor. “Right, right. Forgot you’re already Miss Popular out there. Japan’s sweetheart.”

“You’re just mad I had you on your knees.”

“dont make shit up.”

“You were about to eat pavement, dude.”

He flicked the cigarette away, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. “Tch. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a nearby rag at him. Dabi caught it effortlessly, shaking his head. “Annoying.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It had been months months since you’d seen him.

Yet, there he stood.

Hawks.

He looked the same as always messy blond hair, sharp golden eyes, wings tucked neatly behind him. But there was something off about seeing him now, here, in this space. Like an image that didn’t belong in the same frame.

Your reaction must have been obvious, because Dabi’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slow, amused smirk creeping onto his face.

“Well, well,” Dabi mused, leaning back. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing a celebrity tonight.”

Hawks smiled easy, smooth, like he was slipping into a familiar rhythm. “What can I say? Thought I’d drop by, see what all the hype’s about.”

His eyes flickered to you, just for a second.

You were still staring. You hated that you were still staring.

Months. Months. And now he was just… here?

“Guess you finally wanted to be cool,” Dabi said, standing up slowly. “Took you long enough, bird boy.”

Hawks let out a laugh, loose and effortless. “Hey, better late than never, right?”

Dabi tilted his head, watching him. Sizing him up. “So, what? You lookin’ to make friends?”

“Something like that,” Hawks said, slipping his hands into his pockets. His tone was light, playful, but you knew him well enough to catch the calculation behind his words.

Dabi must’ve caught it, too, because his smirk widened slightly, like he was deciding just how much he wanted to play with his new toy.

“Sweetheart,” Dabi suddenly drawled, shifting toward you, “you didn’t tell me you and our new guest had history.”

You felt your stomach drop.

Hawks didn’t react.

Not even a twitch.

Dabi, of course, wasn’t done. He took a step closer, slinging an arm around your shoulder in an almost lazy manner, fingers drumming lightly against your arm.

Hawks’ gaze flicked to the movement quick, calculated. But he didn’t break.

Not even a hint of irritation, no change in posture. He just smiled, golden eyes still half lidded with that same effortless charm.

“Guess she didn’t think it was important,” Hawks mused, voice smooth as ever. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Dabi’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your shoulder, and you felt the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was testing. Poking at the edges.

“Mm. Maybe,” Dabi mused. “Or maybe she just didn’t want you to know.”

“Now, why would she do that?” Hawks asked, tilting his head, his voice still perfectly even.

You could feel the tension between them, even if it was all wrapped in easy smiles and playful words.

You exhaled, finally moving.

“Alright, enough,” you muttered, shoving Dabi’s arm off you. “I’ve had enough for the night.”

Your tone was casual, but you knew you knew that your hands were trembling just a little.

Dabi let his arm fall away easily, watching you with amusement. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. We were just getting started.”

You shook your head, already walking past them, needing space. “Not in the mood for whatever weird macho thing you two are doing. Try not to kill each other.”

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to see the way Hawks was watching you.

Didn’t want to think about why he was here. And definitely didn’t want to acknowledge the way your heart was still racing.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The sky burned.

Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating, a mix of fire, blood, and the crumbling remains of the Meta Liberation Army’s last stand. The battlefield was a mess of clashing wills heroes and villains tearing through each other in a violent symphony of destruction.

And at the center of it all, Hawks stood with blood on his hands.

Twice lay lifeless at his feet.

His chest rose and fell heavily, his wings twitching with adrenaline, but there was no time to breathe, no time to process.

Because standing just a few meters away, fire licking at his fingertips, was Dabi.

The villain’s usual smirk was absent. His blue eyes burned hotter than his flames, sharp with something Hawks couldn’t quite place anger, satisfaction, something in between.

“You heroes are all the same,” Dabi muttered, taking a slow step forward. “Always so high and mighty. Always so convinced you’re better than us.”

Hawks tightened his grip on his remaining feathers. “You think Twice would’ve been better off if I let him go?”

Dabi’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. This wasn’t about saving people. You’re just another pawn doing whatever the Commission tells you, right? Good little lapdog.”

Hawks didn’t flinch, but the words dug in.

Dabi’s flames flickered to life, casting shadows across the ruined battlefield. “Tell me, Hawks. Did it feel good? Taking down a guy who just wanted to protect his friends?”

Hawks exhaled, steadying himself. “I’m not getting into this with you.”

But Dabi wasn’t finished.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, and Hawks didn’t like it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dabi mused. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that righteous hero image of yours, huh?”

Hawks knew what this was. Psychological warfare. Dabi was trying to dig into his head, to make him hesitate. But Hawks couldn’t afford to he needed to finish this quickly.

A red feather shot toward Dabi in a blur of speed.

But Dabi was already moving.

Flames roared to life, meeting the attack head on, burning the feather into nothing. He closed the distance between them fast, forcing Hawks back with a wall of searing heat.

“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Dabi taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “Always gotta focus on the mission. But let’s talk about something more interesting.”

Hawks didn’t respond he couldn’t afford to. His feathers moved like blades, slicing through the air, but Dabi dodged, relentless in his approach.

And then Dabi said something that made Hawks’ blood freeze.

“She’s been treating me real nice, you know.”

Hawks’ entire body tensed.

Dabi grinned, sensing the shift. “Ah, so you do care.”

Hawks’ feathers shot forward in a flurry, faster, sharper, but Dabi dodged with ease, the flames around him growing wilder.

“You should see her, Hawks,” Dabi continued, voice smooth, taunting. “The way she looks at me. The way she lets me touch her.”

Something inside Hawks snapped.

He moved without thinking, faster than before, closing the distance between them with a brutal efficiency. His feathers struck harder, aiming for vital points.

But Dabi wasn’t done.

“She never mentioned it?” Dabi dodged, twisting out of the way at the last second. “How we spend our special time together?”

Hawks’ next attack wasn’t clean. It wasn’t precise. It was pure anger.

His feathers slashed out with no restraint.

Dabi barely managed to throw up a wall of fire in time, skidding back as the force of the attack cut through his jacket, slicing against his skin.

“Ohh,” Dabi let out a low whistle, shaking out his arms. “Touched a nerve, huh?”

Hawks didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heart was pounding.

Dabi laughed, slow and deliberate, eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“That’s what I thought.”

But Hawks didn’t let him say anything else. Because in the next second, he was on him.

This fight was over.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The hospital room was dimly lit, the only source of light spilling in from the window. It was quiet too quiet. The kind of silence that followed catastrophe, where the air was too still, too heavy, as if the world itself was still trying to understand the weight of what had happened.

Your body ached with every breath. The bandages wrapped around your torso were tight, holding together wounds that had nearly been fatal. Every movement reminded you of how close you had been to not making it out.

And yet, all of that the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of the war it all faded away the moment the door opened.

You almost didn’t turn.

You had spent weeks expecting to see him, waiting, hoping but he never came.

Not when you needed him. Not when everything fell apart.

And yet, something in you recognized him before you even looked.

When you finally did, you felt your breath hitch.

Keigo.

He stood in the doorway, alive but barely.

His wings were a shadow of what they once were. The red feathers that had once been so vibrant were scorched, burnt at the edges, some missing entirely. His body was wrapped in bandages, his movements slower, weaker. But what hit you the hardest was the mask strapped over his mouth.

A speaker had been attached to it, taking over for the voice he had nearly lost in the fire.

Dabi’s flames had nearly ruined him.

You sat there, frozen, staring.

Your heart clenched so painfully it felt like another wound had opened up inside you.

And then you moved.

The blanket was thrown off, the pain screaming through your body as you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were unsteady, but you didn’t care. You needed to reach him.

Your hands curled into fists before you could stop yourself, and the moment you were close enough you hit him.

He didn’t move.

Your fist landed against his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to feel it.

Then you hit him again.

And again.

“You!” Your voice cracked, emotion clogging your throat, burning behind your eyes.

He didn’t stop you.

“You accused me” Another hit, weaker than the last. “You said I was playing both sides that I wasn’t loyal!”

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps now, your vision blurring as you kept hitting him, kept pushing him, as if forcing him to feel just a fraction of the hurt you had been carrying.

“Then you” Your fists trembled as they pressed against him. Your knees felt weak. Your voice cracked.

“You did the exact same thing.”

The words barely made it past your lips before they were swallowed by a sob.

You had tried so hard to stay angry. To hold onto the rage, the betrayal because anger was easier than hurt.

But seeing him now, standing in front of you alive but barely holding on It was too much.

Your fists loosened, curling into his shirt instead, gripping him as if he would disappear if you let go.

“I thought you were dead.”

Your voice broke entirely, and the dam inside you cracked, the emotions you had been holding in for months finally spilling over.

The nights spent staring at the news, searching for any sign that he was still alive.

The silence stretching on for too long.

The fear that you had lost him forever.

Your body trembled as you pressed your forehead against his chest, the sobs wracking through you with the force of everything you had been desperately trying to bury.

And then finally he moved.

His hands rose, hesitating for only a second before they touched you.

One cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other wiped at your tears with his thumbs, his touch impossibly gentle despite the roughness of his gloves.

And then he did something he shouldn’t have.

He pulled off the mask.

You gasped. “Keigo”

He shouldn’t have. You knew it. He knew it.

But when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken, ruined by the burns, by the damage that had permanently scarred him but the words hit harder than anything else.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught.

His thumb traced the tear streaked path down your cheek, his touch trembling, but steady.

“I never” His voice faltered, the pain clear in the way his throat choked on the words, but he forced them out anyway. “I never stopped regretting it.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

“Letting them control me,” he rasped. “Letting them ruin this. Ruin us.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, shaky.

“I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed, your tears still slipping down your cheeks, your emotions still raw, still aching.

But you could see it now the weight he carried. The exhaustion in his eyes. The guilt that had been eating him alive from the inside out.

Even if he had a hundred lifetimes, even if he was reborn again and again, you knew.

He would regret this every single time.

Regret losing you.

Your fingers uncurled from his shirt, moving up to cup his face, your thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. His skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than you remembered. Maybe from the burns. Maybe from the way he was looking at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You should’ve come back sooner.”

His eyes softened, his hands still cradling your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin as if trying to memorize the shape of you, to convince himself that you were real.

“I know.” His voice was so hoarse, so wrecked, but still so him.

Your chest ached at the sound of it.

“You scared me,” you whispered, fingers curling into his skin. “I thought ” You swallowed, voice trembling. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

His breath hitched.

“You think I didn’t feel the same?” His forehead pressed more firmly against yours. “Every day, I thought about you.”

Your heart clenched.

“I don’t want to do this again,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

His grip tightened. “You won’t.”

There was so much promise in those two words, so much desperation, as if he was trying to will them into being true.

You weren’t sure if you could believe it. Not yet. Not with the war still raging, not with everything still uncertain. But you wanted to.

Dabi : “Man, your girl’s been treating me real nice lately. We’ve had some… special time together.”

Hawks: “Shut up.”

Dabi: “What? You don’t like hearing about how sweet she is to me? How she—”

Hawks: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A FREE ASS WHOOPING!”

[thanoskin]

BATHROOM

———

Pairing: minsu x thanos x nam-gyu

Summary: thanos and nam-gyu use a different kind of method to corrupt their favorite boy

Warnings: minors DNI 18+, handjob, public, thigh slapping (once), dom! Nam-gyu, dom! Thanos, sub! Minsu, slight choking, coaxing, let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: I’m so obsessed with the idea of the three of them fucking, going crazy over here :(

———

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sticky glow on the bathroom tiles. Minsu’s breaths came in quick, shallow gasps as he pressed himself against the stall’s metal wall, his fingers trembling against the lock. He needed to hide from them, he was scared shitless, and he was trapped.

Thanos peaked through the tiny crack in the stall, peeking at Minsu, his sheer size making the stall feel even smaller. Namgyu peeked over the stall, his hands barely peeling from his sweater sleeves, but his gaze was an intimidating one as he grinned wickedly at the trembling boy.

“Come on, pet,” Thanos purred, kicking the door open and crouching down, dangerously close to Minsu. “You don’t want us to leave just yet, do you?”

“I’ve made my decision,” Minsu stammered, his voice quivering and barely above a whisper. “I-I already voted,” His heart pounded against his ribs. Thanos gave him a knowing look, smelling the fear off of him. Minsu tried to look away, but Nam-gyu made his way down and his fingers caught Minsu’s chin, forcing his gaze upward.

“And yet, here you are,” Thanos rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in Minsu’s chest. “Hiding.”

“Im not-“

“You are,” Nam-gyu cut in smoothly, his thumb brushing against the “O” tag on Namgyu’s jacket, then trailing his finger down Minsu’s lower lip. “And we think that means you’re having second thoughts.”

Minsu’s entire body went rigid, heat creeping up his neck. “I-I just need a moment to think, to be alone.”

Thanos let out a low chuckle. “Good. Then let’s think about this.” His ringed fingers traced over Minsu’s “O” tag.

His massive hand flattened against the stall behind Minsu’s head, his body inching closer until there was barely any space left between them. Minsu’s breath hitched as Nam-gyu leaned in from the other side, trapping him completely.

“You really don’t want to be on our team?” Nam-gyu mumbled affectionately, his lips so close to Minsu’s ear that his breath sent a shudder down his spine. “Miss out on all the fun we could have together?”

Thanos hummed in agreement. “We’d take such good care of you, Minsu. Protect you, keep you safe. All you had to do was vote O.”

Minsu squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “I-I…”

Nam-gyu’s fingers trailed down his arm and began to unzip Minsu’s jacket. “Shy little thing,” he mused. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

Minsu let out a shaky breath, looking at Nam-gyu with those soft doe eyes that made the boys want to fuck his brains out right then and there.

He wanted to resist, he should resist. But the way their voices curled around him, the way their bodies caged him in, made his resolve crumble by the second.

“You know you want to,” Thanos coaxed, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

Nam-gyu finally unzipped Minsu’s jacket, lifting his shirt slightly as Minsu sat himself on the toilet seat. Namgyu pressed teasing kisses to the corner of Minsu’s jaw, making him gasp. “Be good for us, Minsu.”

Minsu’s knees wobbled as he sat on the toilet seat, forced to make eye contact with them both. His entire body felt hot, overwhelmed, as if they had stripped away every last bit of his resistance until all that was left was the dizzying need to submit.

His lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Next time… I’ll choose O.”

Nam-gyu’s smirk widened, his fingers trailing down Minsu’s jaw before wrapped his hand around Minsu’s neck, kissing him deeply. Minsu shut his eyes, frozen in place, shyly kissing back.

Namgyu pulled away, his fingers trailing down Minsu’s stomach. “Good boy,” he murmured, savoring the way Minsu trembled at his words.

Thanos let out a slow, satisfied hum as he began to undo the laces on Minsu’s sweatpants, the touch deceptively gentle. “I knew you’d see reason, little one.”

Minsu lifted his hips eagerly as Thanos tugged down his sweatpants and boxers, revealing a hard, needy cock, and both men groaned at the sight.

Nam-gyu bit Minsu’s neck, making him yelp. “You were so stubborn,” he teases, his finger tracing over Minsu’s sensitive tip. “So shy. But we knew you’d come around.”

Minsu let out a pained whimper, his dick standing straight up as the men teased, Thanos stroked Minsu, while Nam-gyu tapped his tip with this fingertips.

Minsu squeezed his eyes shut, his hips bucking pathetically into Thanos’ hand. “I didn’t-“

“You did,” Thanos interrupted, stroking Minsu’s cock more firmly. “And you’ll stay by our side, well make sure of it.”

The door to the bathroom swings open and the men freeze, hearing footsteps approach the stall next to them. Nam-gyu and Thanos look at eachother, a silent agreement passing between them.

Namgyu stood from his crouched position, and moved behind Minsu, wrapping a hand around his mouth to keep him quiet.

A muffled whine escaped Minsu’s throat, earning a slap to his inner thigh from Thanos, the rings on Thanos’ fingers stinking against his skin. Thanos jerked him off fast, there was a slight, pathetic wet sound. The man eventually left the bathroom, and Minsu let out a choked whimper.

Minsu squirmed as Thanos jerked him off with a firm hand. Nam-gyu chuckled, nibbling on Minsu’s neck. “You like this don’t you? Being surrounded, being ours.”

Minsu could only moan in reply, his hips bucking upwards into Thano’s hand. “Oh fuck,” Minsu gasped, letting out a high pitched whine before cumming.

The boys groaned as they watched the cum shoot up, landing on Minsu’s bare stomach. Minsu’s cheeks were adorably flushed, his body trembling from the intense orgasm.

“I…I..” he couldn’t finish the sentence, he was too out of breath, and didn’t really know what to say.

Thanos chucked, rubbing Minsu’s thighs comfortingly, despite his earlier, rough and determined touches. “You don’t need to say anything, soft one.” He patted Minsu’s thighs in a comforting, soothing way. “Your body speaks for you.”

Nam-gyu begins to kiss Minsu’s flushed cheeks and sweat baked forehead, looking down at him with a profound adoration.

“You belong to us now, Minsu.” Nam-gyu’s voice was low, assured.

“And we take care of what’s ours.” Thanos takes Minsu’s hands in his, looking him straight in the eye, Minsu searched frantically for deception, but saw none. He saw devotion instead, and it made his stomach flip.

Thanos and Nam-gyu looked at eachother, they had no doubt that when the next vote came, Minsu would be a good boy and choose O, just for them.

———

[loveanddeepdick]

xavier who kisses your knuckles before he leaves and when he comes back. you both are retired hunters by now, having more than enough money to finally have a peaceful life. he's been searching for you for years, centuries, every second feeling like an eon has passed. he's yearned for your face, you voice, your touch for so long, yet the gesture he loves most is a simple kiss on your knuckles.

your soft, skin wrapping around the bone as it protrudes out the peak of your hand as he gently bends it to lean in, giving it a light peck. it's just so real to him, the way he takes your four fingers, bending them slightly to see the knuckles show. so real, so alive, so... human.

he had taken note of you wanting a pastry from the local bakery down the road. he realizes that now would be the best time, seeing as you were bathing and it'd be the perfect treat for when you were done. he smiles as he knocks gently on the bathroom, coming in to notify his momentary absence. after giving you a peck on the cheek, he goes lower, taking your hand in ghostly pale one as he brings it up to his lips.

"i'll be back, love," he muses before closing the door gently behind him.

"see you xavi." you giggle, getting your bath ready with bubbles.

safe to say, after your bath, you're greeted with a basket full of baked goods and the pastry you've been craving. his eyes meet yours as he rises from the couch, making his way over to you before giving you your usual peck on your hand.

"i'm back, my love,"

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

When Eddie found out that today’s D&D session was relocated to Steve Harrington’s new place, his blood pressure spiked.

The kids were all excited to go scope things out, which he couldn’t even attempt to argue with, so he decided to just keep his cool and coast through the night as if it were anywhere else.

Because that was a better plan than making a scene over nothing.

He and Steve have been cool, for the most part, since everything happened. The guy, no matter how charismatic or friendly he is, gives Eddie the shakes in a lukewarm, neutral sort of way. Makes him feel like he’s about to crawl out of his skin or smile so hard his face explodes.

And then there’s his roommate.

From what Max has shared within their little circle, Steve went and shacked up with Billy Hargrove. Probably the only other guy in town that Eddie has a fearful crush on.

He sees less of Hargrove. Only hears about him, really. Smiles and nods when Steve mentions his workout equipment taking up the garage and how the guy goes through groceries like nothing else. Max swears up and down that they’re friends, or something. Heavy emphasis on something.

Just another reason for Eddie’s hands to sweat when he pulls into the cracked driveway and sees the garage door wide open.

Steve is standing there with his arms folded over his chest, right beside the bench press. Striped polo tucked into his jeans, looking like perfect boy next door material.

Then there’s Billy.

Everyone else files out of the van, but Eddie stays put behind the wheel. Fingers wrapped around it like a tether. He almost jumps when Steve looks over his shoulder and smiles.

When Eddie finally climbs out of the van, the kids have all filtered into the house, leaving just the three of them outside.

It shouldn’t feel like they’re on a different planet, with the door still wide open and voices so close by, but it does. Steve nods at him, and Eddie shoves his hands into his vest pockets.

“How goes it?” Steve greets.

Eddie nods. Then shrugs. Then chuckles nervously, eyes flitting briefly to the bench press behind the other brunet.

Billy breathes softly, counting under his breath, but all Eddie can manage to think about is his happy trail peaking out from under his shirt, and how his shorts are almost too little. He catches a glimpse of the edge of a puckered, pink scar before he tears his eyes away.

“It goes,” Eddie manages, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “What about you?”

Steve gives a half shrug.

“We just finished unpacking the last few boxes this morning, so we’re pretty much settled.”

There’s the clink of the barbell setting on the rack, followed by a grunt as Billy sits up. Eddie feels a little perverse just looking at him.

When did he get so thick?

“I’ve been settled since the first day,” Billy muses. Grabs the bottom of his shirt and lifts it up to wipe his face. “It’s all your damn trinkets that took so long.”

“Trinkets like the toilet brush and silverware?”

Steve bumps Billy’s shoulder with his hip, and the blond chuckles. Reaches out and sets his hand on the brunet’s other hip from behind, snaking a couple of his fingers under the belt loop there.

“Exactly.”

Steve shakes his head amusedly. Turns back to Eddie and almost makes him jump out of his skin again.

“So, how’s tonight gonna work?” he asks.

Eddie’s brows shoot up.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, the game,” Steve clarifies. “We probably just have to watch, huh?”

With both sets of eyes trained on him, Eddie’s blood runs cold.

“Yeah,” he says. Fiddles with the inner fabric of his pocket. “We’re in the middle of a campaign, so it’d be too late to introduce new players. You could join the next game, though, if you want. I could show y—“

“Pass,” Billy interrupts.

Steve turns and flicks his temple, which earns a hiss.

“Don’t be bitchy,” he scolds.

“No offense,” Billy says with a chuckle. “But I’ll probably just hang back out here.”

Now, Steve pouts, and Eddie mirrors it internally.

“All by yourself?”

Steve reaches out to lightly comb his fingers through Billy’s curls, and the blond cracks a smile.

“Unless somebody wants to join me.”

“So my choices are watch the nerd game or watch you be sweaty in the garage? I’m having trouble deciding, they both sound so fun.”

“I’m done, that was my last set,” Billy muses. “We could go on a walk, or crack open a couple of beers or something. Stevie’s choice.”

The brunet considers his options for a moment. Eddie watches with bated breath, internally wishing that Steve chooses to stay — as anxious as he was to come over, the thought of either of them leaving makes him feel worse.

Steve presses his lips into a line and tilts his head to the side.

“I promised Dustin I’d sit in on this one,” he says. Eddie’s stomach fills with relieved butterflies. “C’mon, there’s snacks. We can hang out on the couch and share popcorn.”

Steve’s doe eyes must be a weakness of Billy’s, because he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“M’kay, but I’m gonna shower first.”

The simple agreement has Steve’s face lighting up.

“Good, I don’t wanna have your stinky sweat on me anyway.”

As if being issued a challenge, Billy grins mischievously and stands up. Opens his arms around Steve, grabbing his opposite wrist and locking him in against his chest.

Steve squirms and pushes, huffing from laughter as he struggles, and it’s painfully obvious how genuinely trapped he is, unless they take things to the floor.

All Eddie can think about is how hard Billy’s muscles look, bulging beneath his skin, still glistening with sweat. How he’d look good rubbed down with oil.

“Oh yeah, pretty boy? Scared I’m gonna dirty you up?”

Steve snickers, face mere inches from Billy’s. The blond’s eyes flit down to Steve’s lips.

“Stop it, or I’m gonna have to shower too!”

“I mean, there’s enough room…” Billy murmurs flirtatiously. Loosens his grip ever so slightly, just enough so that Steve stops struggling. “If you aren’t too chicken.”

For a moment, Steve just huffs softly with that grin still plastered on his face. Then he shuffles one of his arms loose and pats Billy’s chest.

“Go shower, freak.”

Billy tsks, but lets go. Reaches down to grab his towel and his previously discarded Walkman and headphones before he heads inside. Steve watches him until he’s gone, and chuckles when Billy passes by the couch. Shoves Dustin off of the arm where he sits and sends him straight into Mike and Lucas’ laps.

There’s bickering from inside. Eddie finds himself smiling a bit, too, especially when Steve turns around to face him again.

“So, what was the plan? Am I ordering pizza?” Steve asks.

Eddie stares for a second, registering that he’s being spoken to, and shrugs.

“If you want,” he says. Then chews his lip, looking away momentarily. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Steve looks on with faint amusement, likely because Eddie’s ears are burning red at the tips.

“You and Hargrove…” Eddie begins.

“Yeah?”

The words are right on the tip of his tongue, but suddenly there’s a lump in his throat.

“Do you… how’d you guys…” Eddie trails off. Knows that his face is painting red because Steve’s smile widens. “How’d you guys become roommates?”

Steve reminisces as he hums thoughtfully, and shrugs.

“I dunno, it sorta just happened.” Steve’s expression dims ever so slightly, and he purses his lips. “We’d been acquaintances for a bit after all the, y’know, stuff happened. We only really clicked after his dad skipped town.”

Eddie nods. He’d heard about Billy’s dad before, mostly through Max.

And only really about the fact she’s glad he’s gone.

“Seems like you guys are pretty solid now.”

“People on the block think we’re dating, so, yeah,” Steve chuckles.

Eddie’s brows raise slightly.

“You’re not?” he blurts.

For a beat, there’s silence. Steve’s face changes to something unreadable. Something between almost offended and surprised, and something else. Contemplative.

Before Eddie can backpedal, his skin steaming with embarrassment, there’s a loud thud as Dustin swings into the open doorframe.

“Guys,” he says, and makes them both jump. “You coming or what?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs.

He looks lost in thought as he turns around, and Eddie wants nothing more than to haul ass down the street as fast as he can, but he falls in step behind Steve instead.

Because the sooner things get started, the sooner he can leave.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 17 And now we are one

Chapter 17 of Moonlight

A/N- Peak soulmatism unlocked: Both having mommy issues

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, blood, violence, death, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x08 & 2 scenes used from 1x07

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

The truth lies behind that door. With her, the Red Priestess—or more so the fire is imbued with the wisdom of the past, the future, and every single second that lives around you.

You need to know if it’s true that Addam and Alyn are your grandfather's bastards, and you know he won’t tell you so you have to go to the one person who will. But…a part of you does not want to find out. You'll undoubtedly get the truth when you ask, and when you find out then you will be plagued with the fear that yet another title will be taken from your grasp.

Then again you also won’t rest easy if you don’t know, it will be like a splinter in a finger, you can’t get it out but you feel it embedded under your skin. It’ll be pestering, so you need to know. You must.

But you need to know alone.

“Stay here, Ser’s,” you order your sworn protectors, but as easy as it is for Ser Jason to listen, Ser Cane is not as obedient, in the sense that he’s overprotective.

“Really, I will be fine she will not hurt me,” you insist and step back towards the house with the red door, but Ser Cane still does not seem convinced in letting you enter that house alone.

Thus you try to ease that furrowed brow. “Give me ten minutes. If I am not out by then you can go in after me, hm?”

Ser Cane's pierced glare drifts to the red door and he hesitates before he groans and nods in comprehension, letting you let out a deep breath before you turn on your heels and approach the red door. Albeit when you’re standing in front of that door, you raise your hand and fist it, but don’t let your knuckles rap on the door.

You hesitate and nervously watch the door with deep breaths escaping from your lips. In that moment, focusing on a rather insignificant detail on the door to distract yourself from what’s to come, which is the chipped red paint unveiling white wood.

White wood like the one you find from Weirwood trees. It’s unmistakable.

Huh.

“How odd,” you muse and brush the tip of your finger on the softened wood.

You’ve never seen a door made of weirwood.

A sharp cry of a babe then breaks the silence behind the chipped red door and pulls you back to why you’re here, and it’s not to study this beautiful door. You’re here to see Kinvara, so you draw out a deep breath and announce your sudden visit with a knock.

A minute of silence passes before a familiar voice invites you inside. A voice you want to question, but it also captivates you right away so you let it lure you in, finding that Kinvara does not come to welcome you inside, you just mindlessly open the door.

Once you’re inside you’re not greeted by the cold abandonment, a cozy warmth radiating from two tall fire columns at either side of the red door welcomes you inside, not Kinvara, she’s nowhere in sight. Yet the cries of the babes still echo from a nearby room, and sniffles now accompany it, as if the person who invited you inside is crying with the baby. But who is it?

“Kinvara?” You call out and close the door behind you without looking back. You just close the red door behind you and your feet follow the cries of the babe until you walk past long red drapes, and reach a hall with a single white-wooded table in the center and on top of it a fire bowl with an intense fire dancing within.

“Kinvara?” You call out again and look around the hall, but darkness seeps out of every corridor you look at except for the corridor you just walked down, forcing you to stay put where you stand and wait?

She did call you in. Or someone did.

The babe is still crying, and sniffling and soft weeping make their way into your ears, but now it sounds louder. As if you’re in the same room, but where are they? There’s nothing here but the white-wooded table and the fire.

“Kinvara, where—”

“Laenor?”

Every muscle in your body paralyzes, and your breath catches in your throat.

Did you just hear right? Did someone call your father's name?

Your eyes frantically search the hall, but all you find are shadows and specks of dust that float within the light that reflects on every wall.

“Rhaenyra!”

That’s…your father’s voice. No matter how long you’ve lived without him you will always recognize his voice, it’s recorded in your memories forever, so you know right away that you hear your father call out for your mother from inside the flames.

There’s no mistaking where the voices come from, they don’t echo off the walls anymore. It comes from the flames and no amount of warnings that your mind throws at you keeps your eyes from flying to the fire.

You focus your gaze on the fire and right away you forget who you came in search of, you forget the reason you even came; the truth you seek, and entrap all your attention in the flames that paint a vivid image of your mothers old quarters of when she lived in the Red Keep. It’s unmistakable, you see every detail clearly, not misty, or blurred by some dreamy screen, it’s as if you’re actually standing inside, living in the moment that the fire conjures up for you.

But what moment is it? There are some items in the room that you no longer recognize. It’s decorated a bit differently since you last remember, and a cradle sits in the room. People are inside as well, one you recognize as Grand Maester Orwyle, and an armada of handmaidens and wet nurses frantically pacing all over the room, but mainly they gather around the bed, blocking the view of the one they’re tending to.

“A girl,” your father's voice travels out from the group around the bed and catches you by surprise again, but this time rather than being struck with disbelief, you’re completely captivated with relief and awe that you get to hear his voice again. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his sweet voice. You missed it so much.

All you want to do now is follow it, so you do as if entranced by his voice, and once you're past the sea of bodies you come to find your mother on the bed…

“Mama,” your voice trembles, but she does not hear. No one does, life is moving all around you. It’s like you’re a ghost watching over this moment in time when your mother is not the woman that you know now. This version of her is still her but she’s younger in appearance. A lot younger, but still very beautiful. She actually looks around your age.

She probably is…

Which means that the bundle she’s cradling in her arms is…you?

You notice specks of silver-white hair peeking out of the blanket, but that’s all, everything else is covered with the blanket. But you don’t really need to break your head to know it must be you, your mother was young when she had you.

“She,” your mother cries as she rocks you to try and calm you down. “She was not breathing when she came out. She-she…” she trails off and once again her weeping fills the room.

This time though she does not cry for long, she’s quickly cooed at. “She’s breathing now. Look at her, she's crying now. She's okay. She’s alive. Our girl is alive.”

It's your father, you see him now. You were so focused on the image of your mother that you did not notice him sitting on the edge of the bed until now. He’s here, and just like your mother, he’s younger too, but unlike before now tears slowly escape out of your eyes and roll down the curve of your cheeks, whilst a smile trembles on your lips.

“Father,” you whimper and walk closer to him.

Albeit just as you put your hand out a louder voice catches your attention. One you recognize right away as your mother's voice, but not the voice that greeted you inside, this one sounds more mature, like the voice that belongs to her now. “I need you, Uncle.”

Just like before you’re entranced to follow the voice with little control of your own body, finding yourself approaching the balcony of your mother's room.

“<I cannot face the greens alone. They are already sending my only daughter away from me,>” your mother's voice continues to travel out, but this time her words are in High Valyrian and full of desperation. “<Let us bind our blood, just as Aegon the Conqueror did with his sisters.>”

You want to stop approaching the balcony as the words she says push out that bliss you were just overcome with and instead start filling you with anxiety as you don’t know what you’re walking to exactly. Yet your feet keep moving towards the balcony.

“<With you as my husband and Prince consort, my claim would not be so easily challenged.>”

Your breathing punctures as her words hit your ears and your mind slowly finds the meaning behind them.

“<The Velaryons are of the sea, but you and I are made of fire.>”

No…no…please.

You finally reach the balcony doors and no matter how much you want to stop and stay inside secured by the safety of the unknown, you walk out and right away you’re transported to a vast scenery; one with open water stretching out for miles, a boat sailing away in the distance with three dragons accompanying it, while there before you stands your mother as you know her now, and Daemon Targaryen overlooking the beautiful sea.

“<We have always been meant to burn together>.”

“We could not marry unless Laenor were dead,” Daemon breaks his silence to remind your mother of a cruel wicked fact. A fact she’s not phased by. A fact that you see did not slip her mind.

“I know,” she mutters.

It seems that she had already thought about it herself before Daemon even spoke it out loud for her and the sea to hear.

“I will not be a tyrant and rule through terror,” your mother continues to say, and your mind continues to unravel what all this means. Your heart tries hard to keep you from taking it all in, but your mind is persistent in hurting you.

“A tyrant rules only through terror,” Daemon clarifies for her. “If the King isn’t feared he is powerless. If you are to be a strong Queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you.”

“I do love Laenor. He gave me my daughter.” Your mother’s words now also tug at your aching heart, making it start to bleed.

“Then grant him this kindness. Set him free,” Daemon says, making you shake your head and back up with disbelief now also consuming your heart.

“This will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child,” your mother keeps feeding into this evil idea.

She is the one who brought it up but you still want her to refuse it. She needs to. Please…

“And it will cost my daughter…her father,” she tears at your heart now, making streams of tears flow down your face.

“She will be away by then,” Daemon attempts to comfort your mother who has her head down to watch as she fiddles with her rings, and hides tears that are born for you and the pain that she knows his death would cause you.

“The realm will whisper that I was somehow responsible,” your mother brings up, and Daemon is quick to retort.

“Let them whisper.”

But she couldn’t have. She wasn’t the one who…who…killed your father. No. It was always just supposed to be Daemon out of selfish greed. It was always just supposed to be him.

“We will know the truth of it,” Daemon continues. “And our enemies won’t.”

“They will fear what else we might be capable of,” your mother adds and only reassures your bleeding heart that she—that she always had a hand in taking your father away from you. She worked with Daemon to get rid of your beloved father, she’s the reason you knew heartbreak, she’s the reason you mourned alone, why you hated singing for five years of your life, she…

And all to marry some old man! All just to be with him!

Yes, you heard her reasoning, but you can’t accept it. You can’t accept it over your sorrow and new coming grief. All you know now is that she killed your father just to be with Daemon. She…

Why are you seeing this?! Why?!

“Let me out!” You beg and plead with all your might, but you linger there in torture. “Let me out! Please,” you whimper and turn away to stop seeing the horrible sight, but rather than seeing some stone wall, suddenly the day is swallowed by the night and you’re no longer on a stone bridge. Now you’re standing on sand, covered in darkness, looking at a cloaked man loading a boat that’s waiting to reunite with the ship in the distance. It seems like it’s just you and the distant stranger, but only seconds later you’re proved wrong when hurried footsteps approach.

You don’t want to look back when you hear the running footsteps, you fear what you will see, but your head turns and a hooded person runs by not letting you see their face.

You try to quickly walk after them, however, when that hooded person jumps on the boat with the stranger, they rip their hood off and you’re left horrified as you see your father for a second before you’re pulled from the past and returned to reality, causing the once bleeding heart to shatter.

That untouchable, cherished, and glorified image of your father completely crumbles. Love turns to ash and from it rises hate and rage because now you know that your mother did not kill your father, but she did let you grieve for a living man for six years.

After all this time he was never gone, she did not actually kill him, nor did Daemon kill him, he was alive and she knew. She hid the truth to live a happy life with Daemon. And your father…you’re ever so beloved father that you loved with all your heart, that you grieved for, never died, he…

He…left on his own will. He was not forced, it does not seem that way from what you saw. He left because he agreed to. He left you…behind. He left you.

He left. She lied. And they both broke your heart. The people who were meant to protect your heart, who are never supposed to hurt you, betray you in the worst way possible. In a way that even tops what Aemond did.

They broke your heart and you’re left numb now staring at the flames still raging in the bowl.

You can’t feel a thing anymore. Not your heart shattering, not your world coming apart, and not your rage pumping through your blood. It’s all quiet and it’s all dark. You stand in the abyss with only the raw memories of pain surrounding you, belittling you, ripping you apart limb by limb until there’s nothing left. It’s what makes it easy to turn your body around and slowly make your way out.

Yet as you reach the door and before you can let your sworn protectors know peace by showing you’re alive and physically unharmed, you come to a sudden halt as agony and despair tackle you before you’re free from the house; weakening you as they come together, leaving you unable to catch a breath even if your jaw goes slack, silencing your sobs even as hot streams of tears rush down your face, and bringing with them, writhing pain.

It hurts. It all hurts so much. The memories and the faces of your mother and your father flash in your head and the pain intensifies. It grows louder, making the rushing blood throb in your ears and tipping the limit you can handle.

It all falls apart. You fall apart and the only way you can let it out is with a heartbroken cry of despair that hurts your throat and sends your body thrashing to one side to express your anger by swinging down the fire column on one side of the door before taking down the other.

You don’t stop there, you can’t stop there, you try to, you wander around to try and calm down, but it keeps throbbing and it keeps hurting, so when you end up at the hall with the bowl of fire, you hurl it off the table in a blinding rage.

It’s only after the fire hits the ground and bounces on the long drapes that the anger liberates you, but now your sorrow takes over, and like coming down from an adrenaline rush, you’re left trembling, out of breath, and weak. You think of leaving, but your misery pulls you down to your knees, and has you looking numbly at the rapid fire that does not hesitate eating away at everything in its path. Nor does it debate or wait to combine with the line of fire that the fallen columns created at the entrance.

The fires unite and entrap you in their beautiful destruction before they too begin to eat away at you.

It’s not like you care though, and it’s not like the fire hurts you. It just eats away at the gown you once loved because it was made from rich fabrics only found in Yi-Ti. You should care for the sworn protectors you forced to stay outside, but that worry does not cross your mind either even if all they can worry about is you.

Once you cried out Ser Jason and Ser Cane rushed to the door to try and go to your aid, but the fire you threw down forbade them from opening the door. And no matter how hard they pushed the door they could not get the column in the way to budge away from the door. They tried yelling at you, but those shouts hit a paralyzed husk of a body.

After a while of trying to get the door open, flames then began to consume the door, creating cracks, but that was not enough for them to take it down. Actually, the fire shoved them away, so they were left desperate, trying to frantically find another way in, but the fire grew quick and blocked any and every entrance they could’ve used, making them believe that they failed at their jobs to protect you.

Whereas Ser Cane stared at the burning house in horror and disbelief, Ser Jason fell to his knees feeling the same emotions but also riddled with terror over one single person; Daemon Targaryen. He would fear Aemond too, he looks at Ser Jason as if he wants to kill him with his glare alone, but in truth, Daemon is more terrifying than Aemond ever could be. Besides Daemon threatened Ser Jason, he demanded to keep you alive or it was head; and as he looks at the fire's rage intensifying and consuming more and more of the house before him, he knows that his death sentence is signed.

That’s why he then has the bright idea to escape though. He doesn’t want to die, not for your sake. No matter how captivating you are to him, he does not want to die because of something you did. Thus he makes sure that Ser Cane’s attention is still stolen by the burning house before he gets up from his knees and plans his escape through the gathering crowd watching the scene unfold.

Nevertheless, just before he can take his first step the door to the burning house is opened just a little before it crumbles, revealing none other than you emerging from the lively and rageful flames completely unscarred, with all your limbs intact, and with your silver-white hair untouched. You don’t even cry out for help, you stop under the blazing doorway with streams of tears marked on your soot-covered face, and a piercing glare that matches the fire's intensity.

At first, no one believed it was really you. Not Ser Jason, not Ser Cane, and not the smallfolk there being nosy. To them, you’re some divine apparition ready to join the gods in the heavens until the sound of a piercing roar breaks through the sky, and moves your eyes up to catch your grand purple dragon emerging from the thick smoke ascending from the burning house.

After that, as your dragon lands on a nearby house not crumbling down by flames, everyone watching knows it’s really you. You're unharmed. You’re unburnt and only gods are not burnt by fire; that’s what the smallfolk and Ser Jason think. That’s what they believe you are now as the fire burns around you without as much as marking your skin. A terrifying God. So what do you do when you see a god emerging from flames?

Fear them, while also getting on their knees to bow, fearing being damned if they don’t.

However, not everyone is riddled with fear, Ser Cane stills in front of the crowd. He sees the distress behind your piercing glare, he notes that you’re completely exposed to everyone watching, so he rips his cape from his back and runs towards you.

You notice his attempt and meet him halfway. When he covers your body that intimidation you just held falters and all he sees is a hurt girl yearning for comfort.

“Can we go home?” You ask hoarsely and avoid looking at everyone behind him trying to gawk at you. “I want to go see Aemond.”

Ser Cane is still baffled by what he saw, by you being alive in general, but he doesn’t fret nodding in agreement before he wraps his arm around your shoulders to protect you from the nearing crowd as he guides you back to your horse.

He is completely uncertain how your heart is still beating, how you escaped the fire nude but unburnt, but he does not question it as uncertain as he is. While you…well with all that transcended, after you were swallowed up by the fire, one thing is certain; fire killed the girl, and the dragon has awakened.

Right now it’s just balled up in a corner of yourself, writhing in an agonizing heartache, and unaware and unbothered of the life moving around you. People talk to you when you reach the Red Keep, but even the sweet voice of Vanessa does not penetrate the husk of the body you live in.

People tend to you, your limbs move but with no effort. It’s almost like you’re not even alive, there’s no light in your eyes. They’re dull like that of the dead, reflecting the darkness that drowns you from within and shoves you further and further down an abyss that doesn’t seem to have an escape.

What are you supposed to feel now that you know your father left you? Where do you belong now that you know your own mother lied to you for six years? What is life now that you learned the truth?

Do you go back as you were? Sending your mother secret letters of every plan the Greens make?

You think about it, think about her, and can’t imagine pretending like you aren’t affected by her treachery. But you also look at where you are and can’t imagine even supporting Aegon or what his faction stands for, so where do you belong now?

Do you stand in the middle of the parted line and wait for which arrow hits you first? Do you pretend like you learned nothing?

No, you can’t pretend you don’t know that your mother lied for six years. You can’t pretend you don’t know that your father actually abandoned you, because that truth is crueler than any other pain you have felt before; it’s agonizing, and it keeps drowning you in an abyss of hate.

You want to get out. You don’t want to hate, you don’t want the memory of your father to be tainted, but…it’s too late. You look back at every piece of memory you share with him and it’s polluted by betrayal…and hate. His face is no longer a comfort, his voice is no longer soothing, and that deep longing to see him again is abandoned.

His name is like poison in your mouth. The love, ash, and those damn colors that remind you of him; the colors of house Velaryon are a reminder of him and you can’t stand looking at the gowns you have made of them. You can’t look at the sigil proudly. You can’t stand it. It’s mocking you, reminding you that he left and you can’t stand it!

Thus in a flash of a second, you rip away from the seat Vanessa guided you toward to wipe the soot off your face and storm over to yank the silver, teal, and sea-green gowns from your trunks and hangers to throw them down the balcony. You take the jewelry with the Velaryon house sigil and throw it in the fire without care.

Every single thing that reminds you of your father is thrown in the fire or thrown off the balcony in a blinding rage and with thick angry tears attacking your eyes.

Vanessa tries to calm you down, she tries to stop you, but you shove past her without a care, as if you are a raging storm; electrifying, and dangerous by the minute as you feed off your rage.

You need salvation and Vanessa can only think of one person that will break the storm apart and bring you peace, but he’s miles away, so she tries to be that peace, but you don’t acknowledge her. You actually seem to get worse so it all starts to seem bleak.

That is until the doors are thrown open and in comes Aemond. Yet even when he walks in you fail to acknowledge him. He calls out for you again and again, but you don’t stop throwing things in the fire, or yelling what you have been yelling over and over again. “Traitor! Traitor!”

You spin around to grab something without batting an eye at him, so Aemond quickly rushes over to you and attempts to grab you.

“Leave me alone!” You bellow and try to push his hands off your arms, you try to break away from him fearing it’s your own father, but his grip turns firm before he yanks you towards him, causing you to break from your blinding rage and find him like a sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Aemond,” you gasp as if he’s your lost breath.

His blue eye searches you for any clue as to why you’re so distressed, finding grief and agony raging within your red and teary eyes.

“He,” your voice quivers but you can’t say more, your lips part but they start to tremble, while the body Aemond holds starts to give out, as if standing was extenuating to your withered heart.

Albeit Aemond holds you up, while you grab ahold of his arms. “Talk to me,” he whispers while your own sorrow begins to hurt him.

And you try, you part your lips to share what you learned, but looking at him now, feeling his comforting hands holding you up only works to make you break down. He is the salvation you cried for, he is the one who pulls you from the abyss that was drowning you, but it’s because he’s here, it’s because you’re under his worried gaze that you let your anger go and just cry.

“Aemond,” you whisper, and it’s the heartbreak in your voice that he can’t stand anymore so he pulls you in his embrace.

“<My love,>” he coos in High Valyrian and holds you tightly against him as you grip onto him as if he's life support. And in many ways he is. He’s the only one keeping you upright, keeping you from snapping again, and keeping you from feeling complete isolation. And you couldn’t be more grateful that he is here, that he’s holding you ever so tightly without a hint of wanting to let go.

You don’t want him to let go of your withered body abused by a cruel truth. You want to stay in the safety of his embrace forever, hearing his heart beating inside of his chest because he’s all you have now. He's all you want now that you feel betrayed by the people you loved the most in this world. And unknowingly he feels the same about you.

You’re all he has now as he feels abandoned by his own family. You’re all he wants because you don’t make him feel alone, you're his light, as he is yours.

You only have each other in this cruel world. You are each other's sanctuary. Your hearts tangle together becoming one, and sharing a beat now that his own family makes him feel like he’s fighting alone because they can’t muster the same will to fight like him, while you feel betrayed by your own family.

How romantic is that? Two broken souls finding solace in each other. Is it bad?

You don’t think so. You’re his solace like he is yours, and he hugs you like he’s trying to seep it all from you whilst also helping you calm down and find the will to share what you know so it doesn’t have to be weighing you down a moment longer.

“Aemond,” you whisper hoarsely and step away, but keep grabbing onto his arms since you still need him for support. “It’s my father…” you trail off and have the need to cry, but you can’t shed another tear so you continue with your voice quivering. “He…left six years ago. He did not die…I mean since Seasmoke has a new rider now, I'm sure he is dead now, but he did not die six years ago. He left…he left me.”

Aemond’s eye expresses his confusion over what you shared before it comes down and expresses his pity for you.

“And my mother knew,” you continue above a whisper and he can see every word is like a stab to your heart. “She knew for six years. She made me grieve my father for six years and all this time he actually just left…me,” you whimper and look at him now for help.

There’s nothing he can do to actually help you, this is all in the past, but you still look to him for desperate help.

“I-I loved him with all my heart and he left me. And she…knew.”

Tears roll down your face. You thought you could not muster a single one but more break out as you share what broke your heart. And what could he say in return? He knew how much you loved your father, how much you cherished his memory. How can he tell you that it will be okay when he knows that’s a pain that will never mend?

He could say that you do not need them, but it doesn’t seem like that will be any help. He can also say you have him and that’s all you need, but are those words enough?

Not at this instant, so instead he lets the silence mingle and wipes your tears away before pulling you back against him and wrapping his arms around you ever so tightly so you know he’s there for you. So you know with that embrace alone that yes, you have him and you need no one else but him.

He relishes in that thought, in your neediness, and takes advantage of it for his own needs.

“<Please,” you beg in High Valyrian. “Never leave me. Please, Aemond. I can’t do this without you. You’re all I have.>”

His breath catches in his throat, and just as he wants to assure you he stops as he’s reminded of what Helaena just told him on that balcony.

“…and you’ll be dead…you were swallowed up in the God’s Eye, and you were never seen again. Your children won’t even mourn you, they won’t cling onto your memory…”

Those words hit him like ice-cold water, and he doesn't want to believe them. He wants to refute what she said, but he fears that it will be true, and how can he promise something he will only break?

“…the only tears that will fall for you will be from your wife.”

“<I’m here,” he promises as that last sentence proceeds to echo in his head, assuring him once again that you are all he needs and all he will ever have. “I will always be with you.>”

You nod against his chest and just proceed to nuzzle your face against him to steal more of the comfort he provides.

After a while of being in each other's arms the doors open and Aerion’s wetnurse brings him in, but not asleep, he’s fussy and tired but awake.

“He kept waking up, so I thought putting him in his cradle would put him to sleep,” the wetnurse says as you walk over to meet her halfway.

“It's okay, I will take him,” you relieve her of her stress and take your child who happily lets you cradle him. “Goodnight.”

The wetnurse offers you a curtsy before she quickly strides out of the room, letting you turn to your babe who rubs his little eyes.

“<Giving your wetnurse a hard time?>” You whisper in High Valyrian as you tap his nose. “<You will have siblings soon, you’re going to have to listen. Be a good example.>”

He lets out a big yawn that crinkles his little nose before he nuzzles his head against you without bothering to care about what you’re talking about.

“Did you find what you needed?” Aemond finally finds the right moment to ask.

You shake your head before you turn and make your way back to him by the hearth with your child in your arms. “No,” you reveal. “I was welcomed with the knowledge of my father instead.”

He hums and turns away from you to watch the flames eat away the last fragments of the things you fed it.

“We cannot be sure about Alyn and Addam,” you add and fall by Aemond’s side. “But we also can’t deny that it might be true. And if it is, I'm sure the truth will be revealed sooner or later now that Addam claimed Seasmoke.”

Aemond nods in comprehension before he tilts his head to the side and drops his gaze on Aerion. He watches him not with a soft gaze like he usually does, but something else, like conflict that makes his eye watery.

You notice right away and nothing stops you from turning swiftly to cradle his jaw. “What is it?” You ask with concern.

He keeps his gaze focused on Aerion before a small shaky breath is drawn in. You notice that he hesitates to speak, but he then lets go of that captured breath and meets your worried gaze with a tear escaping down his cheek.

“They won’t fight,” he shares but not with anger or frustration, he sounds almost like you did moments ago. Hurt.

“Not with me. They won’t even try. After I tried so hard to fight for them and for our lives they don’t want to fight,” he sneers and leans his face against your touch. “Helaena won’t even come to Harrenhal. They don’t want to understand the peril we’re in. They don’t understand that they—that she can’t just sit and watch it all unfold around her. She needs to come to Harrenhal, she needs to fight with us on her dragon because it’s no longer just us against Rhaenyra, it’s us against those bastards she picked up to ride dragons.”

You slide your hand up to gently stroke his cheek as you offer him a sweet and loving look as you hear his desperation and worry for his sister and mother. “Oh, my sweet Aemond.”

His eyebrows pinch together for a flickering second before he reaches over and takes your hand in his. “Don't tell me you support their choice? There’s seven dragons. Seven against our three if you count Tessarion. You said it, Vhagar alone will not win against their army of dragons,” he hisses but not with much anger, he’s desperate to be understood.

“I understand that,” you give him that comfort, but you then pull your hand away and face the hearth again before you pull yourself down to the ground with Aerion sleeping in your arms. “But listen, Aemond.”

He hears his name and he knows you’re about to try and be wise to make him see things differently, but he doesn’t want to see things differently when their lives are in danger!

“There’s something you need to realize,” you continue to prove him right. “Not everyone’s ferocity is the same. Every person shows it differently. Whereas some people use a blade, others use their words. Whereas some people's passion to fight and protect is outwardly shown, others can’t express it as easily. And perhaps not fighting back is a weakness, but my love, not everyone is meant to fight like you or me. There’s strength in that too, their ferocity is different, but trust me it’s there. Do you understand?”

Aemond drops his hands on his hips and shakes his head, wanting badly to argue, but not finding anything strong enough to contest you. And he doesn’t want to sound foolish either so instead he keeps quiet even as upset as he is and just listens to you.

“And you’re not alone,” you assure him of something he did not outwardly need reassurance of, but you know him. You saw that fear of being alone in his eye. It screamed its need for comfort.

“Yes it may feel that way because you hold the power with Vhagar, the biggest dragon, and she is tough, she’s why you have this need to prove yourself, to prove you can be reliable, and to prove is a good effort,” you praise him and slowly look over at him, seeing him completely captivated by the words that leave your lips.

“But my love, this weight is not all yours to bear. You’re not alone, and she’s not alone. And so what that Helaena doesn’t want to fight? She may have a dragon, but if her spirit is not capable then neither is her dragon. That’s why you have armies of men, people you can trust leading them. You have Daeron, excellent minds at your council table, and me.”

He draws in a deep breath and his gaze once hardened with stress now eases as it holds relief and awe for you, while your kind words prove that he can count on you and that he has you. And that is enough to make his heart race madly, while also making it bold.

“I know…” he lets his heart take the lead since he knows it’s just you with him, but he does trail off to take a seat beside you on the ground. “…your ferocity.”

You can finally stop straining your neck by looking at your side instead of up at his towering figure.

“Do you?” You probe with a flattered smile slowly appearing on your lips.

“It’s your passion.” His words come easy but he still does not meet your gaze; he watches the fire with a soft adoration that is directed at you; that he holds in his growing smile, and in his eye as he thinks about you.

“You’re driven by your heart in every way. In every choice you make, like choosing what to wear. What to do with your day. In love and hate, and I imagine in battle too because your passion makes you brave and tactful with many things that a princess should not know,” he adds and finally glances at you, catching your captivated gaze and your parted lips caught in surprise.

“But it’s also what puts you in danger sometimes, and it’s gotten you in trouble.”

You giggle breathlessly and the corner of his lips slowly spread to a grin.

“But it’s your greatest strength. It keeps you grounded to who you are and I have always admired that because that’s what lets you push back those who have wanted and want to change you.”

You glance down at your sleeping babe that you cradle in your arm with a wobbly smile before you look over at Aemond and hold his gaze, passing your appreciation and a thousand I love you’s that are not spoken with words, but shared with your love struck eyes before you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m going with you to Harrenhal,” you say with no hesitation or deceit. There’s nothing to hide because he does have you now. All of you.

The troubles with your mother are conflicting, you don’t know what to do. You might still send her letters because you know right between wrong; that judgment is clouded but you’re not blinded. You see the right choice and it’s her. But you also know she lied and you can’t let it go, you can’t be okay with it, so yes you dedicate yourself to Aemond.

“We will fight together,” you add, making him press a kiss on the side of your head before he rests his chin against your head, and reaches his long fingers over to interlace them with yours to connect you more as one.

Now rather than walking down parallel lines that kept you just out of arm's reach, you both walk down the same path as one without being wary of any crossroads.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Now that feeling of not belonging is louder than ever before.

Why did they even try if your father was just going to discard you like a piece of trash? Why even fight so hard to keep you alive if they were going to stay with Jacaerys as heir?

Why, why, and why has been running over and over again in your head. It leaves you…lost in your own head, and unaware. So when Aemond places his fingers on your back you’re startled.

“What?” You ask for clarification and look at him through the tall mirror you had been in front of.

“Your gown,” he says while he drags his fingers around your waist and drops his gaze to study the beautiful blue winter roses embroidered on the bodice. “The flower, I do not recognize it.”

You follow his line of gaze and place your hand over his to trail his fingers along the marvelous design. “Blue Winter roses. They grow in the North.”

He hums and his eyes flip up to now study your face as you keep looking at the flower design also on the end of one of your skirts, noticing that your eyes aren’t as puffy as they were when you woke up, but a sadness still droops them.

“Like the flower crown that knight gave you in our engagement tourney,” Aemond recalls, pulling your eyes up and bringing a smile to your face.

“Exactly!” You grin and turn, making his hand drag around your waist as he does not lose touch. “They’re my favorite. They’re rare and very beautiful. And Helaena and I wanted to coordinate today, so she's wearing a gown with her favorite flowers on it like me.”

He hums and looks you up and down before letting a smile spread on his face and sealing your distance with a small kiss on your lips.

“<You look beautiful,>” he muses.

You flash him a grateful smile and bring your hand up to stroke his cheek before you fix his eyepatch against his hair and end up meeting his gaze with a deep sigh. “I thought maybe I should go talk to my mother,” you bring up an idea you have been pondering all night. “I mean I believe what I saw. There is no reason why those visions would be a lie, but maybe having her explain it will bring me some peace of mind.” You shrug unknowingly.

But as lost as you are and look, what you said scared Aemond because what if you don’t come back? What if they keep you there, or you decide to stay there after your mother traps you in her web of lies?

You already agreed to go to Harrenhal with him, he doesn’t want to end up going alone. He wants you there with him. He does not want you gone. He can’t risk it even if your mother could offer you that peace to your battling mind and heart.

“I think perhaps it’s best if you stay,” Aemond gives his opinion and brings his hand up to your shoulder, seeing your eyebrows slowly pinch together as he gives you the wrong answer—“What if she does not let you return?”

You shake your head lightly to try and refute him but his words keep swirling in your ears, and right now they’re easy to entice you.

“You know the truth,” he adds. “She won’t want it spread. And you have a dragon, Daemon will want to decrease our power by taking you captive because he knows you are my weakness and I will not attack her or any of them if they have you.”

That can be true about Daemon. It’s surprising he did not keep you under lock and key before he left for Harrenhal, but your mother?

She does want you back, she did not even want you to come here in the first place. But would she be as harsh as Aemond says?

You don’t think so, but maybe that’s because he did not really convince you to stay, unlike your mother when she convinced you to stay at Dragonstone before she got attacked. So unless something happens that will convince you to stay you don’t really take his words under consideration, you just let him think he was successful in making you stay, and continue to debate it in your head.

If you end up deciding to go talk to her then you’ll just sneak out and he’ll have no other choice but wait for you to return because you will. Nothing has changed. Not even after he told you what he did at Sharp Point and all those people who lived there and had nothing to do with this war.

Is it cruel? Perhaps, but there was no stopping his wrath. There’s nothing you can do now either, so it’s best to leave it be and continue to debate whether you should go talk to your mother or not.

“Can I ask you something about Helaena?” Aemond interjects as he finally pulls his hands off you and steps away to start your journey toward this morning's Small Council meeting.

“I won’t talk to her about joining this fight,” you throw out bluntly and glance over at him as he glances over at you in annoyance.

“No,” he deadpans and glances at the corridor ahead. “Something else. Has she,” he pauses and hums before he grabs the pommel of his sword and quietly continues. “Ever shared something that hasn’t happened yet?”

“Her dreams?” You query as your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Mhm.”

“Yes,” you don’t find the need to lie. “She told me I would have twins before I found out. And it was true…why? Has she told you something?” You ask with a smile that vanishes as soon as it spreads on your face.

Aemond draws in a short breath and searches the ground you walk over, piquing your interest while also making you nervous.

“Aemond,” you call and grab his arm. “What did she tell you?”

Aemond blinks and peeks back at the guards tailing you before slowly drifting his eye over to take you in under a fluttering eye which is no consolation.

“Aemond—”

“<She said that Aegon has yet to see victory,” he shares in High Valyrian, making you draw in a deep breath, but not because that revelation scares you, but because you thought it was something much worse, like Aemond’s death or something. “…She said he will sit on a wooden throne.>”

You nod slowly as you take in what he shared while not losing touch of his arm.

“Do you trust her?” He fills your silence in the common tongue with a question to follow his comment.

“She was right about the twins,” you mumble and lose your gaze on your path ahead. “And to not believe her would be foolish considering our family is known to have dreamers, like Daenys and Aegon the Conqueror, but the readings of the future are fickle, it’s not set, so it must be taken with a grain of salt.” You share your thoughts and look back at him, catching him looking at you too.

“We’ll be pushed aside again,” he mutters.

You hold his gaze and nod softly, mirroring the realization and the flicker of sadness that glints in his eye at the mere thought.

“But,” you try to assure him. “We will still fight, that’s what matters. And as cheesy as it sounds we will have each other, we won’t know the secluded corner alone.” You laugh softly, while he looks at the ground and huffs lightheartedly.

“Has…” you drag out. “Has she told you something else?”

Aemond looks ahead and draws out a breath before he shakes his head and redirects the question at you. “Has she told you anything else?”

You sigh deeply and share one thing, but don’t share what she said about you wearing a crown the day you wear a black veil. “She told me I wouldn’t be alone. I,” you chuckle. “Don’t know what that means exactly, but she told me that, so.”

Aemond snaps his gaze to you and his eye lingers on you while the corner of his lips twitch to a frown, but doesn’t actually get to form. “Hm,” is all he communicates. No further interrogation, no digging for any more possible dreams. That’s it.

And even if there was more you do reach the Small Council hall so the conversation comes to an end there, and now you’re reminded of the war, of its cruelty, and that the meaning it once held is faltering under the weight of your troubled mind.

You were once set on having a seat around the table of men to pass their plans to your mother and help her rise to her rightful throne, now you don’t know if you should be around the table. In secret or not.

What do you want exactly?

You wanted to get your hands dirty for your Queen, for your mother, but now? With these lies should you let go and leave?

Should you be a target walking down the marked line between both sides? Should you take no sides?

You hear what they’re discussing, should you take note in your head to send what you heard to your mother later, or let go and let your stance with her falter?

“Just this morning a raven from Ser Tyland came in,” Grand Maester finally voices his news. “He made an alliance with the Triarchy. They will sail together.”

Aemond fiddles with the marble and scoffs before he retorts. “Their ships shall arrive in our waters in a few days then?”

The maester nods eagerly. “If the waters are in our favor.”

“Winds,” you correct the maester and drag your eyes to him. “The wind aids the ships.”

The maester gets flustered but he nods and corrects himself. “If the winds are in our favor the fleet shall arrive soon.”

“Well, at least we will finally be able to breathe with the blockade torn apart,” Aemond comments and you slowly sit back and think again about what you want.

The answer should be easy, shouldn’t it? It’s a lie. That’s all it is. To protect her stance…and to marry Daemon. A lie should not affect your stance that much should it?

But the weight is heavier than anyone can imagine, and it leaves you troubled about what to do and what you want.

Do you let that lie go and reaffirm your stance? Or do you let it spread its hate and take away your once firm stance right from under you?

Do you want to keep passing her letters? Or completely and wholeheartedly dedicate yourself to Aemond?

What do you want?

It’s hard to know. You can’t decide even if the answer should be easy. You can’t choose yet. You need to keep debating even if it’s torture.

Until then you let that part of your day pass even if you’re weighed down by uncertainty, and the words you heard at the Small Council meeting keep repeating in your mind over and over again as if waiting to be brushed aside or written down. You want to keep going on with your day and give your attention to Helaena when it comes to spending time with her, but your mind only distracts you with the agony of the truth. You’re torn apart, and at multiple places at once but the place you want to be; in the gardens with Helaena.

At least that is until she manages to steal your attention by shaking your shoulder.

“Huh?”

Helaena studies you and blinks in confusion before she interjects. “Will you go to Harrenhal with Aemond?”

You nod slowly before looking at the bushes you let your fingers graze over. “That’s the plan, but I have been debating if I should actually go or not. With Vhagar gone the city will be left defenseless. Astraea and I could protect the city while Aemond is gone.”

Besides perhaps you could tell your mother to come while Aemond is gone. You could be that key like you were meant to be—If you push your anger aside, that is.

“I doubt he will be gone long.” You finish.

Helaena then suddenly slaps her hands around your arm and digs her nails into your exposed skin to pull you to a sudden stop with her.

“Ow,” you laugh nervously and glance at her nails digging into your skin before looking over at her in confusion, catching at that moment fear in her eyes; fear that brings goosebumps to your skin.

“You must go to Harrenhal,” she insists with her eyes wide and her grip firm.

“But perhaps I will be better use here,” you try to explain, but she flat-out shakes her head and pulls you towards her, making your heart skip a beat in response to the fear that she’s spreading to you.

“No,” she hisses and lets her eyes flicker away before she continues in an ominous demeanor that makes you slowly stiffen.

“I saw you,” she continues. “I saw you fall. You fall with your dragon...”

Your lips part as your breath stills for a moment, whilst conflict and disbelief make your gaze narrow on her for a moment before your face eases as no part of you reacts as one should when one gets told a possible grim future.

“…An arrow hits Astraea and you both drown in a sea of blood,” she finishes foretelling her dream about you and it should scare you to your very core. You should be baffled, but as you take in her words the thought of death is…welcoming.

Your father left you behind and your mother lied to you about it for six years. They chose someone else over you as heir, and you don’t know if the babies you’re carrying are Aemond’s or Cregan’s, so death is almost tempting.

Helaena notices the fear you were just holding diminish, your body remains stiff, but the fear you should hold after learning something so grievous should affect you, but it does not.

“You’re not scared?” She asks with slight disbelief as she finally drops that death grip.

You let out a deep breath and mindlessly look ahead before you make your way toward the pond and plop yourself on the edge. Helaena follows you and sits down in front of you more slowly.

“As of late I have been given reasons why not to fear death,” you admit a bit too dramatically whilst you dip your fingers in the water and swirl the water. “It may be a comfort. I don’t know.” You shrug and glance at your reflection in the water. “It doesn’t scare me, I know it should, but it doesn’t. Are you?” You now direct at her as you slowly lift your eyes, seeing her draw out a deep breath before she shrugs.

“Everyone dies, don’t they? It’s life and there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. It will reach us eventually.”

A smile spreads on your lips and you nod slowly. “See,” you murmur. “Nothing to fear.”

“I suppose,” she agrees softly. “But I don’t want you to die.”

You stop twirling your fingers in the water and offer her a tender smile before you grab her knee and give it a gentle and grateful squeeze.

“Your hand is wet,” she points out and pulls her knee away.

You giggle and dip your hand in the water before you splash her, making her gasp and look at you with a deadpan face before a smile slowly takes over her face, and she ends up giggling.

You laugh harder and she proceeds to splash you much to her initial dislike, letting you feel like a weight lifted off your chest for that moment that you were ignorant of…well, everything.

It was nice.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

It’s said that Alicent was not found in bed, she did not break fast with Helaena and has not been seen in any Sept. She’s gone, but does it surprise you? It’s not the first time she’s left without a word, she just recently had a rendezvous at the Kingswood all by herself. For what?

Only she and the Kingsguard that accompanied her know.

And now they’re both gone again so perhaps it’s just another rendezvous who knows, and you could hardly care. You’re just nosy.

Regardless, that's not your focus right now. You should focus on writing to your mother. You should send her what you have heard, that Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are approaching Harrenhal by the day, and they will be upon Daemon soon.

You should tell her to take advantage of Aemond’s departure and take the throne since Aegon cannot raise even a finger about it, but alas, the ink drips and drips on the paper as you sit in thought and watch Astraea hunting for her next meal in the never-ending waters.

What do you want to do?

Ask for the truth on paper? Tell her what you know and warn her? Or do you go quiet and stop this transaction of secrets?

What do you want?

What do you want?

What do you want…

You let out a deep breath and drop your eyes from your dragon to try and focus on potential words that could mark the page, but as you’re shifting your eyes you catch your Sworn protector, Ser Jason smiling at Astraea with admiration. And thus your mind uses that as an excuse to avoid choosing.

“My friend Lord Stark,” your voice catches him off guard. “Had to bribe her to let him pet her. He would offer her fish which is her favorite, but it took many moons for her to warm up to him. So,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’m surprised she went up to you.”

Ser Jason tears his eyes away from your dragon diving in the water. “Perhaps I smelled like fish,” he says and you try to think if it's real while also slowly knitting your eyebrows together.

Ser Jason sees that you did not understand it was a joke so he quickly counters. “I did not! I did not smell like fish, I don’t go on smelling like fish. It was just a…jest because she well, you know…”

You muster a forced giggle and nod slowly, while he parts his lips to continue on rambling.

“But I mean it’s not like I know why she would go up to me. My mother worked at a brothel, so it’s not like I have special blood from her, and my father, well, I don’t doubt being a bastard of Prince Daemon qualifies my blood in any way.”

You drop your quill and your jaw drops at the revelation he just threw at you so carelessly and with no warning.

“You,” you mouth and slowly stand up without looking away, as if the truth of what he is would vanish the moment you tore your eyes away from him. “Your father is Daemon?”

Ser Jason’s face goes pale and he gapes like a fish out of water.

“You,” you scoff and turn around to drop your things on the bench while your mind scrambles what you just got told.

It should not be surprising, even you know that Daemon would frequent brothels when he was young. He had a taste for lustful activities. But! To know, and to have his bastard son be your Sworn Protector is completely crazy!

Did he know?

“Does he know?” You spat out your question oozing with your shock.

“N-no,” Ser Jason shakes his head and approaches you with fear someone else will hear him. “I never told him. You are the only one who knows.”

The corner of your lips twitch up but your initial shock still doesn’t let you display how touched you are that you’re the only one who knows.

“You are the only one who will ever know,” he says seriously and doesn’t go sheepish, his cheeks don’t taint with a blush, his gaze is pointed at you, and his lips are pressed in a firm straight line.

“But,” you whisper as your shock and that rush slowly diminishes. “Why? He’s your father. And you’re so close to him. He might as well accept you as his son. You could—”

“I don’t want it,” he cuts you off and is lucky that Ser Cane is not here or else he would’ve been scolded for cutting you off as bluntly as he did. “All the riches, the acknowledgment, and the power that comes with being recognized by my father is not what I desire. I know what that all does to men, they get drunk off power and hurt the small folk in turn. Or give us their back to be with the perfumed lords. I…don’t crave it. I like what I am now. I’m content with my role.”

His words sink in your heart and you don’t have the will to argue against him to try and make him reach higher. You actually admire him for being so sure about himself, and what he wants and doesn’t want. You wish you could say the same in a time like now.

“Many would jump at the opportunity to gain a dragon, to be a Lord. A Targaryen,” you share, making him sigh and nod slowly.

“Once upon a time I entertained those feelings while I was upset at my mother for hiding the truth,” he reveals, only pulling you in deeper. “I could join him, I could be better than she ever was,” he trails off to his usual soft and careful voice. “I was horrible and then she died. I never got to tell her I forgave her. She died thinking I hated her, that she was not enough for me, and ever since then the thought of being recognized as a Targaryen bastard is like bile in my mouth. It doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I detest it.”

You swallow thickly and pity flickers in your gaze, while you also feel a certain spark of connection as you know that you’re battling with lies and forgiveness with your own mother.

“I admire you for it,” you admit, making him blink rapidly while a furious red blush attacks his cheeks—“to have that self-actualization. That self-control when many would let their desires for greater things drive them.”

“He was not there, why should I crave the attention of someone who did not care?” He says and glances at your dragon again before he continues. “It's true I worked under him, it was a coincidence, fate playing a game. And it turns out he's actually not bad of a man, and the stories are right, he is a great warrior. I want to be as talented as him, but that’s all. I am content with what I have, I do not want to complicate my life. It was complicated once. I don't wish for that anymore.”

You slowly follow his line of gaze and an idea starts to form in your mind.

“Did you appreciate that your mother told you?” You have to ask for your own sake. “Even if it was later in your life did you appreciate it? Did it…help you?”

Ser Jason’s Adam’s Apple slides up and then down slowly before he glances at you and lets his deep blue eyes fall on you. “I think I would have driven myself mad if she hadn’t. I confronted her about it, I wanted to know who my father was. I needed to know if it was true so I would not drown in the rushing flood that were my thoughts.”

You snap your gaze to the horizon and think about your own troubles and how you’re in a battle with yourself, how you can’t sleep, or stay focused for too long without being drawn back into the storm of your thoughts; of what you want, of overthinking, rage, hate, and insecurity.

You don’t want to be troubled in a time like now. You can’t afford to with so much on the line. And you don’t think you can live in this confusion or it will drive you mad.

So you know what you must do, and you do it even if Ser Jason protests your leave.

You won’t be gone long, you’ll be in and out, Aemond won’t know, he doesn’t even have to know, and if he does well, he can go after you or stay and wait because you will return with your mind made. Angry or in peace, you will return. You just need to hear the truth from her. It will give you peace of mind.

That’s all you want. You can’t stand these loud thoughts and emotions, you want silence again. You need it.

Then again what exactly do you walk into?

Aemond doesn't surprise you by coming after you, will he be mad when you return? Possibly, but oh well, you’ll make up, so that’s not why you now start to question your daring act.

You descend and land peacefully, you have no trouble walking in the keep, and the guards know you’re no threat because that’s what they were told, but as you’re in search of your mother you come across a reason why you think maybe this plan was…a bit overzealous.

It's the man who bonded with Silverwing, he has his feet on the table and a goblet in hand. Giving yet another reason why smallfolk as dragonriders is not a good idea.

“Y-You…”

Gods.

He swings his legs off the table and leaves his goblet behind to come after you. Much to your misfortune.

“You tried killing me,” he throws out boldly.

“If I wanted you dead you would have been dead,” you don’t attempt to be kind, or apologetic because you could not care. “You’re a terrible dragonrider,” you grumble and peer over at the horse guards that you pass by as you make your way to the royal apartments in search of your mother.

“Grab her! Throw her in the dungeon, she’s with the enemy,” the man tries to demand, but the guards don’t even move an inch, they stay put and you stop trying to entertain this bad-smelling man.

“If I were you I would get away from me, I’m your princess, not some whore or servant you can pester,” you threaten him, but you keep hearing the heels of his boots chase after you in an attempt to match your speed.

“Come back—”

“Get him away from me,” you smoothly give your demand to the pair of guards that you approach, and they actually listen to you. The moment you pass them, they lunge out of their spots and block the old man’s path with their swords.

You peer at him over your shoulder and shoot him a cocky smirk before you disappear around the corner and quicken your pace to reach the royal apartments even faster.

Albeit when you reach your mother's quarters she’s not there. There’s not even guards outside her quarters, so onto the next spot where she might be, but first your cat! You go into your quarters, but he’s not there either much to your luck. But he'll be much easier to find than your mother you assume, considering she hasn’t come to meet you.

Actually, in your search, you don’t come across anyone. You assumed either your brother or your mother would have found you after they saw your dragon or got told you arrived, but so far it’s been quiet and calm. So far.

After a while, you’re actually relieved to come across Baela of all people.

“Baela,” you breathe out and come to a quick halt.

Said woman’s brown eyes linger on your face before they slowly trail down to the white-silver gown you wear and glimmers under the sunlight capturing your figure, making it appear like you’re wearing a gown made of a thousand tiny diamonds, or thin chainmail, either or you twinkle in your flowy dreamy gown.

And when her eyes go back up to your face she notes that the silver diadem around your head with the thin chains dangling from it really pronounces your title as Princess Regent.

“I saw Astraea and I thought she carried a letter,” Baela finally breaks her silence. “It's you. You’re back.” She smiles faintly, but you’re quick to steal that joy.

“No,” you deadpan. “I came to talk to my mother. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.”

“What?” She scoffs. “You did not ask your husband's permission to go out?”

You sense her hostility toward Aemond, you understand it, but you still don’t like it. “I do not need it, I came against his will.”

You would defend him but there’s no reason to really waste your breath, she doesn’t like him so wouldn’t understand.

“Is my mother here?” You interrupt her before she comes up with another quip. “I need to talk to her. Urgently.”

Baela draws out a deep breath and answers kinder this time. “She’s not here. She left at first light for Harrenhal. She did not say why.”

Great.

“Alright,” you nod slowly. “I will wait for her then. And do not tell Jacaerys I am here if he doesn’t know. I’m returning to the Red Keep and he will only make it hard.”

A pointed glare flashes on her face before she sighs and her face softens. “He’s only worried about you. You don’t know how many times he’s wanted to go to the Red Keep to bring you back. He says your place is here now more that you’re expecting twins.”

Your mother told them. Of course. But they don’t know that you don’t know where your place is exactly. Not at the moment, you’re in a state of limbo. Neither here nor there.

“And that’s why he cannot know I’m here,” you insist even if what she says really does pull at your heartstrings and makes you want to stay for him. “Let my mother know I’ll be at the Great Hall,” you end the conversation short so you’re not hit with more guilt or pleas to stay with puppy eyes and sweet words.

You do attempt to offer her a smile so she knows this coldness in your demeanor is not directed at her, but your lips hardly tug up; what you need to speak about takes too much from you. And it’s a good thing she doesn’t see that trouble so you’re able to walk past her and disappear into the Great Hall where you expect to be on your lonesome, but lying on the stone throne is your cat, Wolf.

“Look at you,” you coo and rush to him. “So regal.”

Wolf hears your voice and his head shoots up before he lets out an almost huffed meow, letting you know he’s upset you left him behind.

“I know, I know,” you talk to the cat as you walk up the steps of the stone throne to pick him up. “Forgive me, we were in a rush, but this time you are coming home with me.”

You lift him in the air and tilt your head down just slightly to make sure he’s still wearing his pearl collar—and yes, he still has it on.

“Well it seems they have been feeding you well,” you comment on his blubber.

Wolf meows nonchalantly and you flash him a grin before you hug him against you whilst you walk down to sit on a cold stone step.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” you tell him and caress his side. “You’ll have to ride Astraea though, I know you’re scared, but it’s the only way you can come home, so just sleep or something”

Wolf purrs under your touch so you gladly continue to show him some affection while you wait for your mother and get pulled deeper and deeper into the angry storm of your thoughts.

Much like before time is irrelevant, your surroundings blur almost to the point it’s nonexistent, and you get so lost in your mind that you hardly exist which makes time move faster.

You don't know how much time passed between you waiting and your mother’s arrival, but by the time the grand doors open and your mother finally joins you, the sun is lower than it was before. Actually, when you let the cat go and stand up on the step you notice that the beam of sunlight is reflecting on the ground now.

“Mother,” you greet but don’t share the relief she does when she finds you secluded in the darkness of the grey stone room. You don’t smile as wide as she does even as hard as you try to show your joy over seeing her and being in the same room without having to pretend.

When she reaches you she doesn’t hesitate or ask you for an embrace. The moment you step down to the ground to let her reach you she wraps her arms around you and pulls you against her. But even if you return her embrace, you don’t hold her as tightly, your body doesn’t ease like hers does at the feeling of your arms secured around her.

You try, you really do try to forget and bask in the warmth and the comfort her mere presence usually brings, but right now the sight of her is enraging the storm within you.

She doesn’t notice though, not yet. And not when she pulls back to let her eyes take you in under the beam of sunlight dancing on your face.

“You look beautiful,” she offers you a compliment as she gently grabs your arms so you won’t go far, but drops one hand to gently press it against your belly. “I did not get to see you when you were expecting Aerion, I want to make the most of it now. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk to the maester?”

You blink and swallow back nervously before you shake your head stiffly and point your eyes at her Kingsguard a few feet behind her.

Your mother seems to understand what you mean so she looks over her shoulder and with a simple passing look sends them away from the hall. It’s only once they’re gone and it’s just you and your mother under the beaming light that you raise your hands and get rid of her touch. And it's at that moment that she realizes the emotions that ride on your face aren’t that of pleasure.

She looks at you now, she really takes you in and notes a long-forming frown painting on your face that's thinner than before due to the twins growing within you, taking what they can from you. She sees your eyebrows slowly creasing lines as they come together, and lastly, there’s flames of anger flickering in your eyes that she did not bother to notice before, but as she sees all of you now she's overcome with worry.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She finally picks on the emotions becoming more prominent in your features.

You draw in a deep breath and slowly raise your chin as you gain the confidence to be bold in your anger. “I need you to be honest with me. If you lie I will know, so it’s best if you’re truthful…please,” that last word makes your voice falter.

“About what?” She probes and grows conflicted as well as more concerned.

You blink repeatedly as tears begin to sting your eyes, causing your mother's lips to part in confusion. “Did…did,” you strain to continue as the words hurt to even think about saying. “You send my father away to marry Daemon? Yes or no?”

A gasp escapes her parted lips, her lashes bat wildly, and her eyebrows crash in the middle for a second as she’s slammed with shock at the words that came out of your mouth. Words you should not know.

“Did he leave at his own accord or did you send him away?” You sneer emotionally and search her face for an answer. “Tell me,” you whisper softly but with desperation.

Rather than answering right away your mother…steps away with tears glistening in her eyes, but it’s with that single action that you know the answer you wanted to refute, that you wanted to believe was a lie or some mind trick played by magic, but the answer is in her glistening eyes and it weighs your chest down while also pulling tears out of your eyes brought by anger and agony.

Yet even then you still want to hear her say the truth so you demand it. For the first time in your life, you shout at your mother and the agony in your voice echoes in the great hall. “Tell me!”

Your mother's eyebrows once again meet in the middle as she’s surprised by your burst of emotions, but she also knows there’s no more hiding from the truth, so after a deep breath she finally begins to give you what you seek.

“I needed a stronger force behind me in order to defend my claim. We knew it would be contested and it was, so we needed to send…Laenor away…”

“So you could marry Daemon,” you finish for her with more tears rushing down the curve of your cheeks.

“But my Sweet—” she tries to quickly comfort you by trying to grab your arms, but you shove her attempt away and slowly pierce a trembling glare at her, leaving her with no option but to see the tears that run down your face and shine like tiny sparkling diamonds the same way your gown twinkles under the sunlight.

“Don’t,” you bark and shake your head at her as it feels like someone pierced your chest. “Save whatever excuse you’re going to give me. I don’t want to hear it. You lied,” you throw at her. “For six years! You let me grieve him for six years! You let me long for his return for six years! Six years,” you sneer your words. “Do you know what it’s like grieving alone? Losing all your joy and having no one to comfort you because you’re being shipped across the country? No, but I do. And now to find out he left and you were behind it is like…like dying.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers her own heartbreak. “He—it broke him to leave you and your brothers behind, but he also knew that I needed more than he could offer for our sake. He was selfless. He did it because he loved us, because he loved you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you mutter as those words don’t work to mend your shattered heart or offer any sort of peace to your agony. “None of it matters because he left and you lied, and now where do I belong? All my life I have fought to prove myself, every step of the way, and now to find out you lied and that my father left makes me feel like nothing. I am nothing.” You sniffle and turn around to pick up your cat off the ground before you face her to utter your last words. “Thank you for making that perfectly clear.”

You storm past her and she calls out to you before managing to capture your arm and reel you to a stop.

“Don’t,” you quickly counter like your life depends on it. “Stop. I’m done…” you trail off and step back, having to purposely avert your gaze before you spin around and finish storming away.

This time she doesn’t come after you, the Great Hall is silent and you have a clear path to leave…or so you thought until you come across Jacaerys making his own way toward the Great Hall, but stopping as he sees you, the person he wanted to see.

Time seizes the moment your eyes meet. Every ounce of rage falters, and that sense of belonging is found there with him. With your little brother.

Looking at him makes you want to stay, to swallow back all the pain, and stay where you belong, but you can’t be so selfless. You choose to be selfish even if taking that route hurts more with him in front of you.

That’s why you didn’t want to see him, but here he is, and here you are with no strength to say goodbye. That's why you just take a deep breath and raise your chin before you try to walk away. But he steps in front of you to block your path.

“Where are you going? What's wrong?” He immediately asks as he sees your face pampered with tears.

“I’m going home,” you mutter bluntly and avert your eyes. “Back to my son, back to my husband.”

You try to leave again, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back to argue. “You cannot be serious? You don’t belong there! This is your home, this is where you belong, just bring Aerion and his dragon and come back home. We don’t need you in the Red Keep anymore, we have strength here.”

His words only work to hurt you deeper. It’s like being pierced in the chest again and again, and deeper with each sweet word.

“No,” your voice quivers. “I belong home. With my son, and Aemond. This is not my home, not anymore.”

He looks back at where you came from before looking back at you in confusion. You don’t need to see it to know that’s what he feels.

“What did mother say?” He wants to know more, but you don’t give him the context. You’ll let her do it.

“It doesn’t matter now, I’m leaving, Jace, let me go.”

Yet he doesn't, his grip only tightens and his gaze grows heavy on you.

“So what? You can go back to them?” He spats.

“To him,” you clarify. “To Aemond!”

Jacaerys tilts his head down and you let him find your gaze painted with it all; rage, agony, guilt, and a yearning for comfort.

“What of Rhaenys?” He hisses to you. “What of Lucerys?” His confrontation falters. “Or do you forget about them while you sleep with him?”

Your bottom lip trembles and your breath shudders, but as weak as you feel you bite back. “I will not stay. You cannot make me.”

“Watch me,” your brother sneers, so you rebuttal by rolling your shoulders back and narrowing your gaze to a glare.

“Do it,” you taunt him.

Jacaerys challenges your gaze waiting for you to falter, but no matter how much you want to give up your fight under his threatening gaze, you muster up your strength and fight back until he’s defeated.

When he lets you free you hug your cat tighter and linger in his presence for a moment longer, but never find the strength to utter that last goodbye. So even with tears welling in his eyes, you leave without saying another word.

Even after that, your mind can’t form a single thought. You fly back home in utter, deafening silence, with only the wind howling in your ears. When that too stops the moment you land in that cove behind the Red Keep, you expect to be bombarded with a wave of thoughts, but it’s like your mind stopped working. It’s quiet, you're quiet, and your cat keeps yelling at you, probably asking why you put him through that flight, but he grows relieved when he’s in the safety of the Red Keep, and then he also grows quiet on your way to your chambers.

The one time you can find the ability to speak words is when you reach your quarters and find Ser Cane outside your doors along with one of Aerion’s sworn protectors. Ser Jason must have taken his leave now that Ser Cane is here.

“Is my husband inside?” You have to ask to know if you should prepare yourself for a fight.

“No,” Ser Cane deadpans and finds your cat that he has not seen at all in his life until now. “That’s…yours?”

A tiny smile tugs on your face and you lift your fat cat to show him off. “Yes, it’s Wolf, don’t worry he’s nice.”

The cat meows, and you look at him and smile wider before you take a step forward, making the guards open your doors for you.

“Please stop wandering off,” Ser Cane says in a very serious voice, and you can’t help but flash him a smile since he figured out all by himself that you were not in the Red Keep, or King’s Landing at all considering you warned Ser Jason not to tell a soul.

“You will have to use a ball and chain for that Ser,” you retort, and for the first time since he’s been your sworn protector, he smiles. It’s faint, the corner of his lips twitch, but you still made him smile and it makes you giddy.

“You can relax for now I’ll be inside,” you assure him as you put Wolf down before you finally walk inside.

Once the doors are closed the smile on your face falls and still, the thoughts you have been expecting fail to come.

Not that you’re eager to fall into a deeper agony after hearing the truth, you just need the shock to pass. You need to admit the truth of what you want to yourself because you know it’s forming there, in your mind.

Albeit you can’t overcome your disbelief or the hurt you received in Dragonstone. Time started moving after your interaction with Jacaerys, but it moves slowly now and because of it your thoughts don’t come quick.

Then again you can’t rush your feelings, so you take a deep breath and head over to Aerion’s cradle to check on him since he should be taking his nap.

Which reminds you that his wetnurse has not come to meet you, odd, but alas you continue your path towards your child and before you can reach the curtains that lead to your bed, Wolf yowls before he suddenly comes sprinting away from that side of the room.

You quickly follow him with your eyes and your amused smile falls as you catch that he left behind bloody footprints.

“Maci?” You call out for Aerion’s wetnurse with your breaths growing heavy with panic, but there’s no answer so should you call out for the guards outside your door?

It might be something dangerous or it might be nothing.

The latter seems more plausible so you keep making your way forward with more caution now.

Aerion is not crying, so it can’t be anything terrible…right?

Unless—no, it’s not him, but you quicken your pace, and when you reach the curtains you slowly pull them back. When you peek one eye inside your heart drops to your stomach, your breath hitches, and every instinct inside you immediately yells at you to fight, so you do.

You’re not carrying any weapon with you to defend yourself, and any you have in your chambers are far compared to the distance this scrawny killer is to Aerion, so with nothing but your strength you rip the curtains open, and part your lips to bellow. “G—”

Yet just as your breath comes out with the first word, a dirty hand suddenly slaps over your mouth before the tip of a blade hovers over your throat, forbidding you from alerting any guard and threatening the cloaked killer approaching Aerion’s cradle with a bloody knife.

You try to push away the hand that’s covering your mouth to try and save your son with a threat, or with a sound ominous enough that the guards will burst through the doors, but the person who is holding you captive begins to drag you away from the bed area of your quarters not caring that you’re kicking, or clawing at his arm.

The other man reaches Aerion’s cradle and you ache to try and reach him, you try to scream, but the person who has you keeps dragging you away until he finally halts and pushes their lips by your ear.

“Long. Live. Queen Rhaenyra,” they whisper in a scratchy voice, and at the sound of those words it’s like a tight grasp wraps around your heart causing it to hurt worse than any other pain.

Yet what’s that ache right now compared to the threat uncovering Aerion’s cradle and revealing him to the killer? It’s nothing.

Your heart pounds and every muscle that makes who you are cries desperately in attempts to reach him, but you can’t challenge the person's strength holding you against them. All you can do is watch as the man finds your son in his cradle with tears rolling down your face and a horror that keeps worsening.

However, just as the man’s eyes land on Aerion, they then shift to something else, and terror strikes within them.

You stop moving to figure out what he saw, but then Shrykos, the answer to all your questions jumps out of the cradle and perches herself on the edge.

It’s Aerion’s dragon. She’s there, emitting low clicking sounds as she tilts her head and studies the man to figure out whether she’s seen him before or not.

Yet perhaps your relief comes too soon because the man swings his blade down at the hatchling. You try to scream out in defense of the hatchling, but much to your surprise Shrykos leaps off the edge of the cradle and flies on the man to claw her long and sharp nails in his throat, rendering him silent instantly before she climbs up his face to blast fire at the man’s eyes which causes him to fall back on the ground with a loud thud, and leaving the person behind you paralyzed.

Albeit not long enough because they pay no mind to the hatchling tearing the man's face to shreds. And maybe they have the right idea not to care, you’re not bonded to the hatchling, and unless given the direct command she won’t come to you to defend you like she did Aerion. You have to fight back yourself. Thus since you can’t bite the person and you can’t outmatch their strength, you kick your foot back as they’re pulling you back towards the balcony, and manage to hit their crotch.

They react with a groan and loosen their grip just enough for you to shove away their hand with the blade, and twist around. Once you’re facing him, you jab your knee in their arm as hard as you can, managing to break it and unarm him, but also causing him to shout in pain.

Is that enough though?

No, they ignore the pain and pretend they’re going for the blade, so you reach for it too, but then at the next second they actually swing their palm against your face so hard it stings, and the taste of iron trickles in your mouth through your parted lips, while more leaks down your chin.

Hurried footsteps then strike the ground and seem to be approaching where you are, so while you’re dazed the man grabs the blade and lunges at your belly, but even if your ears are ringing and your eyesight blurs because of that hard slap, you throw your hands down and manage to catch the blade before he could pierce it through your flesh.

In capturing the blade with your bare hands though, now sharp blinding pain spreads throughout your palms.

“Drop the blade!” You recognize Ser Cane shout at the top of his lungs while he and the other knight slowly stalk toward the man.

However, the man manages to slip his hand away from your bleeding grasp and redirects his threat at your belly, at your twins, leaving you paralyzed out of fear the blade will penetrate with a single move of any muscle.

“Ser,” you call out to your sworn protector between pants and your voice now trembles with fear.

“Not another step or I gut her,” the man sneers and steps toward you to get closer and make his threat that more dangerous, making Ser Cane put his arm out to stop the other knight from getting any closer.

“You will be able to go, just let the princess go,” Ser Cane makes empty promises whilst he steps back. And to the ears of a man’s life hanging by a thread, why would he not take the opportunity?

Yet as tempted as the man is, he hesitates and glances at you with panic in his green eyes. “Long live the Queen.”

The man pulls the blade away from your belly and starts to move it up in an attempt to stab your throat, but the moment he looked away from the knights, Ser Cane managed to slide out a dagger so when the man began to scale the blade up, Ser Cane hurled his dagger and with perfect aim hit the man’s throat. Now the threat the man held falls with his blade, and thick crimson blood squirts out from his gash and splashes all over your face, letting you know it’s all over, there’s no threat looming over you. It’s all done.

Yet your heart doesn’t stop drumming nor does your blood stop rushing with the terror still rattling your body.

“Come with me, Princess,” Ser Cane’s voice travels through your ears and you notice that it's softer than before, but it doesn’t make you do as he says, you look at the dead man bleeding out on the ground, and gasp sharply before you slowly sit on the ground with leg flat on the ground, and the other used to prop your arm on your knee.

“Go fetch Prince Aemond,” Ser Cane demands the other knight before sheathing his blade and rushing to check on Aerion.

“Is he…”

“Still asleep,” Ser Cane finishes for you, so you nod stiffly and let that worry go with a deep and shallow breath, but this new shock still leaves you trembling on the ground, trying to convince yourself that what just happened did happen. It was not a dream, it was real, people did try to kill you and Aerion.

Was it in some twisted act for your mother? Were they sent by someone else? Or was it your own mother and Daemon who sent them?

You don’t know. You don’t know a thing about them and you won’t know because they’re both dead. All that you know for sure is that you almost died. They were going to kill you!

Gods. Gods. Damn. Damn it!

“Let me see, let me see,” Ser Cane startles you as he crouches down beside you to look at the drops of blood coming from your belly since right now your mind is unraveling what happened and letting that shock go.

“He just nicked your skin, you’re okay, your children are okay,” he assures you as he meets your eyes.

And even if your gaze is miles away you nod stiffly in comprehension before you blink slowly and get your focus lost on the blood pooled around the dead man, but not with a blank stare now. This time a slow-growing fire is sparked in your eyes, causing your gaze to narrow just enough to spread a menacing look, while your parted lips letting out your shallow breaths still give your disbelief and fear away.

It’s like you were just hit with a realization because you were. You know what you feel now, and you know what you want. You see it reflected in the pool of blood reaching your foot.

Whether the killers were sent by your mother, by someone else, or they acted alone doesn’t matter. The killers dispersed the cloud that was fogging your mind since you left Dragonstone, and it’s all clear now. There’s no going back, there’s no sufficient apologies that can tear down your rage-fueled hate because that’s what you are. You’re angry at your mother for lying to you for six years, you hate that she lied, and you don’t want to help her anymore because of it.

You tried being good, the perfect princess, and the perfect daughter of a Queen. You risked your life to come here to send her letters of the Greens' plans. You strained yourself to prove something to your mother, to try and be what she needs in this war and as a daughter, but no more. You’re done trying to bend over backwards to prove something to her.

You’re done.

Does it mean you will fight for the Greens?

Well, you will get your hands dirty. You won’t hide who you can really be now and you won’t let them diminish you.

You will fight. She will see you fight. She will know your rage face to face. They will all know your rage.

“What—”

Aemond’s voice registers in your head, and as you follow where his voice comes from you see him stopped only a few paces away with his eye on the dead man.

“Aemond,” you gasp softly, feeling that fear break apart after being penetrated by the mere presence of your best friend and your beloved husband Aemond.

When his eye finds you it widens at the sight of the blood pampered on your face, staining and dulling the white-silver gown that no longer glimmers like shining diamonds. He then sees your hands leaking blood from wounds he can’t see, but knows are there due to the blood dripping on the ground, and his rage snaps to the knights meant to protect you, but you call out to him as you see that darkness spark in his eye.

“Aemond.”

Said man’s eye falls on your face and he debates still tormenting the knights, but as he sees how you plead for him with your eyes alone, he lets his anger go for now with a deep breath and then falls on his knees beside you.

“<Are you hurt?>” He asks in High Valyrian as he studies you to find his answer regardless of what you say.

“<Just cuts on my palms, but I’m, we’re okay.>”

Aemond’s eye drifts to the cradle a few feet away and his lips part as he sees Shrykos covered in blood returning to his spot by Aerion’s side.

“<He’s okay,” you assure Aemond. “He’s asleep. His dragon protected him.>”

Aemond looks back at you and you both share a soft and relieved breathy laugh at the fact that Aerion did not wake at all through the interaction, and that his little hatchling took down a grown man all by herself.

“<Are you okay?>” Aemond asks again and doesn’t hesitate cradling your face covered in blood.

“Aemond my face—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off and leans in closer to study you with his eye glossy with tears brought by worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, making your bottom lip tremble. You want to lie, but you can’t with him looking at you with that tender blue eye filled to the brim with concern over your life, so you shake your head lightly.

Aemond caresses your cheek with his thumb and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m here,” he reassures you before he embraces you against him, letting you sink into his warm and comforting embrace, and become one.

You don’t need to prove anything to each other. You don’t need to sweat blood to try and be something worthwhile for each other. You’re enough. You’re all each other needed when you were kids, and you’re all each other needs now.

Is your rage extinguished? No, it’s still very much alive and it blazes like wildfire as your fire becomes one with Aemond’s, because you both share a similar rage that you want everyone to see. That they will all see.

.

.

.

.

A/N- I’m afraid Cregan is the only one who can pull you out of this dark corner now.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid

[ryiju-muunie]

Naughty Naughty!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!sub!reader/dom!Yuki Tskumo/sub!Choso Kamo Warnings: mainly Yuki/reader Choso is just there, face riding, threesome, over-the-clothes grinding, fondling, tongue kissing, making out, nipple play, breast fondling, dom/sub, squirting, mommy kink [Yuki is called mommy], pet names [puppy, pup, baby], Tribbing/scissoring, come shot [chest], overstimulation, dumbification Word count:2339 DESC: You didn't realize your roommates were like that until you caught them having sex and they asked you to join

Ok i need to write more yuki GYATTT DAMN

It was late Saturday night when you came home from work. You lazily kicked off your shoes and noted that your roommate, Yuki’s boyfriend was home. Judging from his pair of shoes lying neatly against the wall. He was always nice to you, politely asking how your day was before retreating to his girlfriend's room in the morning or when he’d leave. They were always good about keeping their relationship private, which you adored. It was 50/50. He’d stay over for a day then she’d go to his apartment. You loved the fact they were so aware and able to act maturely. 

But you weren’t stupid. You saw how Yuki would stare at you, or how Choso would bite his lip when you wore those low-cut tops. You were endowed and blessed with breasts. Breasts that you knew they wanted to touch. Choso and Yuki had a healthy sex life, and you knew they loved each other. Yet, you also knew they were looking for a third. If they asked, of course, you’d say yes. It felt weird to propose it yourself, but you wished they would. Both of them… they were hot. Yuki wore those tight-fitted tops that showed off her toned arms and stomach, whereas Choso always lounged around in those sweatpants which didn’t hide a thing. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t peak either.

This night though, you weren’t thinking about sex with the two of them. You were thinking about whether they had ordered dinner yet or not. It was broaching midnight and you knew they’d still be up, from the commotion you heard coming from Yuki’s shut door. The TV, you mused, being oh-so oblivious to what they were doing. You strode down the hall and opened the door. You and Yuki were both girls, you’d seen her naked-ish before, so you two didn’t care about knocking. Even when her boyfriend was over. But you didn’t expect to see that scene splayed in front of you. 

Choso was lying back against the bed vertically, legs hanging off of the edge. His shirt was off but his sweatpants weren’t, as it was evident from the way he fondled himself over them, a wet spot appearing in the center of his pants. Yuki was sprawled out on top of him, seated perfectly on his face. Her back was arched as she ground against his nose, running her hands up the sides of her body. It was like a scene from a porno, as she gasped and let her eyes flutter close. Her back was to you, so you watched silently as her ass bounced against his face, with one of her boyfriend's hands squeezing her hip. The other was touching his clothed erection. You didn’t mean to walk in on this scene at all, but it was hard to pry your eyes away from it. You couldn’t deny the fact it made your pussy ache just a bit, dropping traces of wetness into your underwear. 

You went to close the door and pretend you hadn’t just walked in on them when Yuki turned her head around and laughed, breathily, “Aw… we have a guest puppy.” As she spoke, she didn’t stop grinding against her boyfriend's face, rubbing her folds onto his open mouth. She bit her lip and then pressed them together, “Well… what are you waiting for?” You had an in. It was the invitation you had been waiting for, dangling in front of your eyes. Of course, you were going to take it. The door closed behind you and off came your shirt. 

Yuki grinned and moved herself off of Choso, who protested with a whine, “Don’t worry baby,” she cooed, her voice like silk. She sat back on his face but the opposite way, just so she could face you. You weren’t sure if you should have taken off Choso’s pants and started riding him, or if you were supposed to grind on his erection. Honestly, you just wanted to grind on it. You weren’t sure why, but you just needed to. Penetration is fun, right? But something about the teasing touch of cloth against cloth, rubbing to satiate a burning desire, was hot.

Choso moaned as you sat your perfect pussy onto his erection and rolled your hips. It was just slight friction, but enough to make your warm walls clench around nothing. Yuki reached out and took hold of one of your breasts, squeezing the skin to see how you’d react. She wanted to see what you liked without necessarily asking you, but instead trudging through the open waters. Her soft hands made a home on your nipples, rubbing the perked bud before rolling it around between two fingers. You gasped and rocked your hips once, causing Choso to whine loudly. Oh, you tease, you could hear from that whine. He didn’t say it, but his body language told you that enough. His hand that was on Yuki’s hip was trailing to you, squeezing your side. He liked it.

“Mm.. Yuki,” you breathed out, leaning your head back and letting her work her magic. 

She giggled before letting out a soft moan as Choso’s tongue hit her perfect spot. Her hands squeezed and you heard her moans get louder. Oh, he was fucking her just right, you had to watch. Her eyes were crossing and her hands left your breasts to steady herself on her boyfriend's chest. She slammed her hips down onto his face, tongue sticking out and breasts bouncing. Her hips snapped quickly, then rolled slowly, any way to get her high from his face. You bit your lip and started to grind, touching along your side as you watched. She was hot, she was sexy, she was everything. And she knew it too. She knew what her faces were doing to you and she knew what her moans did too. You wanted to feel her warm pussy against yours. You wanted her to rub herself against you, as she did to her boyfriend's face. 

“Mm.. f-f..f.. Fuck.. puppy.. S’.. such a..mm ha.. Such a g-good.. Pup..” She breathed through groans and mewls, getting closer and closer to cumming all over his open mouth. Choso wasn’t being quiet either. With each grind of your clothed pussy against his straining erection you could feel him tremble. He was close to cumming and it was making you throb. Two beautiful beings in front of you, completely unraveling for you.

When Yuki came, it was perfect. Her voice reached another octave, her back arched inwards, and her hair covered her face. Sweat beaded against her forehead and caught on blonde hairs, smearing down her face. You could hear her pussy squelch against her boyfriends mouth, with her juices releasing. She was quiet for a moment, then she groaned loudly. Her eyes squeezed shut and her head fell back. She was gorgeous as she came on him, and it made you desperately want to cum. 

“F-fuck,” you moaned, rolling your hips tighter. Choso’s hands were on your hips rubbing you back and forth, lifting you up and slamming you down to get his high. Yuki let out loud breaths and laughs, moving strands of hair out of her face to watch you. She slid off of her boyfriend and knelt beside him, taking your face in her hands and pulling you into a sloppy kiss. Salvia trailed from her mouth into yours and you couldn’t stifle the whimper from your lips. Her’s were plush and soft, lightly tasting like mint. Her tongue worked beautifully, snaking into your mouth and pulling you in. You wrapped your hands around her shoulders and tried to keep up. Anything to keep up. But it was hard when she was dominating your mouth. 

“M-mommy,” Choso cried, “Mm.. I wanna.. P-puppy.. Mm wants to hah..” he threw his head back against the bed as his hands made your wetness rub against his length harder, “wanna cum.. S-so bad..” He sounded so pathetic, all for your pussy. The pussy that was getting so sensitive. You felt a warmth spread over your clit, down your slit, and into your walls. You knew what was coming and it was hard to avoid as he ground you deeper into him. 

“Aww puppy,” Yuki pulled away and pressed a kiss on your jaw, feverishly peppering down to your neck, “make our baby cum and you can…” she murmured, with a seductive air to her voice. It was just enough, that with the stimulation, it made you cum. But it wasn’t just cumming, you felt yourself release in a way you hadn’t before. You threw your head back and moaned, grinding your hips as your pussy squirted out every last drop of your juices onto Choso’s boner. It was sticky and hot, your underwear and pants sticking to your pussy as you rode your high. That was enough to make him cum, you felt him twitch and then release as you did. He arched his back up against the mattress and flicked his hips sensitively, ropes of cum coating his underwear. 

“Yuki…” You whined as Choso continued to rub your sensitive spots against each other, “..wanna feel you so bad,” your lips pulled into a pout and she smiled sweetly. 

She ran one of her hands over your cheek and then wrapped it down your back, pulling you off of her boyfriend's clothed cock. She laid back against the bed and spread her legs, showing off her pretty pussy. Her fingers dipped into her slicked lips, spreading them apart just for you. You gasped and crawled off, seeing nothing but how beautiful she was. You wanted to feel her clit against you so bad. You wanted to feel her warm wetness seep into yours and create a high you had never experienced before. You sat yourself on her, facing toward her face. Your cunt pressed against her perpendicularly and you smushed them together. Her juices were so warm, mixing with yours, along with the plushness of her pussy. You gasped as they made contact and you moaned when she started to grind into you. You expected to do all the work on top, but it was a group effort with her.

“Yeah, pup.. Touch yourself, baby,” Yuki smiled hazily, looking past you. You turned your head to see Choso sitting up and running his hand up and down his cock, tongue lapping at the air as he stared at you two hungrily. You whimpered and thrust your hips into hers, catching Yuki by surprise. She let out a cry and rested her head back. You turned your attention to her, one hand on her lifted leg to raise it more. She was flexible, you knew she could go lower. You wanted to hit that perfect spot Choso did. You wanted to make her eyes cross and her tongue stick out, with saliva trailing from her bottom lip onto her chin. You wanted her to get so overcome with pleasure she couldn’t help but squirt onto your battered pussy too. 

She was getting close, grabbing her smaller breasts and squeezing them together, “You like that?” She moaned, looking at you with half-lidded eyes as she pushed herself up, “Y..you like mm- fu..fuck when I.. mm sh-shit!” Yuki inhaled sharply and her eyes were starting to unfocus. She couldn’t help the expressions she was making from the stimulation your clit gave hers. You rubbed circles on her pussy with yours, plapping back into her wetness with a loud squelching sound. Her mouth hung open and a smile pulled at the corners of her lips, as her eyes turned in. She was so close. You were hitting her pretty spot. The spot that made her lose control and made her stupid.

“Choso,” you grunted out, “Cum .. mm.. Cum on her face..” You looked back at him, as he touched himself with bliss. He bit his lip and nodded, scooting up to kneel beside you two. Spit dripped from her tongue as it hung out, gasping for some kind of air and release as you fucked into her. She didn’t register what you said, but to her, it wouldn’t have been an issue. Yuki had always been one to brag about Choso’s cumshots. 

“Mm.. sh-shit mm-fuck.. Sh..shit,” Yuki began to babble, grinding her hips back into yours. You were close, as was she. But she was so sensitive, aching to squirt all inside you. That’s all you wanted. To feel her wetness fill your senses and take hold of you in an explosive orgasm.

It took Choso a few more seconds and you heard him whimper, before cum splattered from his swollen tip onto his girlfriend's perked breasts. It was so hot, as he cried out and came on her pretty skin, She gasped and came at the sensation. It wasn’t just small, you felt a sudden wetness flooded your own pussy, sending you over the edge. You moaned, harmonizing with Yuki as she squirted on your cunt. She gripped onto the sides of the bed, eyes crossed and mouth hung open into an O-shape. You felt pleasure wash over your cunt before it filled your senses. It was warm and it was sexy, making you lean forward to reach spots you hadn’t felt before. 

You rubbed your hips side to side, making Yuki groan in pleasure. A few more grinds and you could see she was completely dumbified. Somehow, you had kept your head throughout each mind-shattering orgasm. You slid off of her cunt and sat down beside her. A few panting breaths escaped your mouth as you looked down at her. She was a complete mess, body shaking and hands gripping the sheets. Choso yawned and laid down beside her, resting his head against her shoulder. You didn’t want to intrude, but being on top was tiring, so you found yourself laying down beside her too. 

“Goodnight baby,” you heard Yuki smile, looking down at you sweetly. 

“Goodnight, Yuki.”

[voidcat]

synopsis: having partially dyed hair is more than just a mere, fun fashion statement in division one– a fact you forgot about until it’s about too late

characters: Narumi Gen, gn!reader (working at jakdf, unspecified but implied to be closely related to Narumi) (their relationship with one another left up to readers’ speculation^^)

notes: hi it’s 1am this was supposed to be shorter uh anyway… inspired by real life events of dying my hair first and noticing hours later I now match w nrm… hate him sm can u believe (<- lies)

When you find yourself on the steps of the base, freshly returned from a much needed leave-- much to your initial dismay, you find that it is as you've left.

Unsure if that's a good thing or bad.

Sure, for the never ending chaos of Division One, it's ultimately a blessing that things are exactly as last you've seen. It means during your absance nobody has gotten hurt, or died- yet. But from the looks of it, it seems nothing has exploded either, so you sigh, readjust your jacket and walk the same path you've always done for countless days and countless nights.

Making a mental note to show your gratitude to Vice Captain Hasegawa for taking... maybe a little extreme measures to send you off to a leave, you greet those you pass with a nod, and occasioanally a hum. Pleased to see everyone with a smile, and maybe surprise as well.

Had they gotten too used to your absance already? Or do you seem visibly different after a proper week's rest.

Listening to the clanking sounds of your heels echoing, you take out your phone to text the platoon leaders and your colleagues a message. A perk of having visited family means you were overfed during the visit. Another one is returning to your home with too much food for even an army. Better to make sure everyone has their fill until the last breath than for it to go spoiled- a sudden giggle from the back distracts your train of thoughts.

When you look back, you spot two in officer uniforms who immediately flee. Odd, but nothing out of the ordinary when you work under the same roof as a certain game obsessed, lazy and clingy mess of a Captain.

Greetings here and there, with formalities and pleasantries, "Long time, no see!", "Looking good, doc!"... the words pour, making you turn your lip. Had you truly looked like a caricature of a workaholic? Or had you really took that little care of yourself as of lately?

The thoughts upset you but you try to push them away. Now that you're few steps away from the main hall, you cannot help but muse about a potential entrance. Maybe something fun? Or serious? You could keep it simple and warm but-- Stop!

Stomping your foot at the same time as that command puts your brain on a pause, you take a deep breath in, and out. Hand shooting up to tuck a strand behind your ear, you push the door open and walk in with a small smile.

"Good morning!.. Did you-"

The words die on your throat in a sudden. Not for the amount of heads turned your way- no, that's a given any time of the day at Division One, but at one particular Captain Narumi Gen looking at you with eyes wide as the moon and his mouth stretched into a smile- grinning from ear to ear like a kid who took a peak at his present way before the unboxing...

A cold bucket of water washes over you as you slowly put two and two together. The comments, the surprised looks, the giggle you caught from an officer, all the platoon officiers with their profile pictures all of which sharing a certain pattern-- hell, you just touched your hair yourself, its usual texture slightly changed for the past week already.

Too caught up in the short moment of peace and serenity, you forgot you dyed the lower half of your hair.– A gesture typically done in Division One to show solidarity, closeness, and one might even say "fondness", to the one and only, bane of your existence, who is walking up to you as you say these in your mind: Narumi Gen himself.

His first move is to throw an arm around your shoulder, which you try and dodge, though he follows with a second attempt- predicting your reactions by now, and succeeding in the act.

Secondly, he tilts his head towards yours, you can feel his body warmth seeping through just from the minimal contact. Between being caught up in your frenzy frozen state and your body instinctually wishing to lean into it; you have to make conscious effort to remain your footing but still maintain a state of fluidity to you.

And thirdly, he cooes at you in a sing song way. Making sure to drag every syllable like a knife twisting inside the wound. “Aaaww… Missed me that much already?”

You don’t need to glance at him to know he is glowing, barely containing himself with giddiness and happiness. You can practically feel it.

You try not to think about the implications of this notion either.

Enough time passes that you gather yourself enough to move and talk without disrupting your composure, you try to break away from his hold, only for Narumi to tighten it and press you to his side.

“W-ell, Captain-“ you ignore him making a sobbing sound at the use of his title, “If you’ll excuse me,” from the corner of your eye, you watch as his other hand goes up to his chin, faking a hum in thought.

“I’d like to catch up on work I’ve missed during the course of—“ “Hm… I think I will not.”

“Tha- What?!” The practiced pleasantry reserved for moments before dozens sets of eyes cut short when you register his words.

Meanwhile Narumi opts to ignore your stiffness and makes a turn in his spot, slowly dragging you with him whether you oblige or not.

“Well, you did ask to be excused and that’s my answer.” All you can muster is breathing through your nose at his words. It’s been, what? Fifteen minutes since you’ve returned? And you feel your patience already put on a trial.

“Simple, no?” He sounds unbothered by the whole thing, ignoring everyone watching the scene before them in suspense. You think, in fear, that if it weren’t for this many people in the room now, he’d pick you up like one of his big sized yamazon order boxes instead of dragging you like a statue.

Your shudder at the thought only makes it worse. Feeling the absence of a certain presence during your week off was one thing you did not want to admit- less so to the subject in question- no you’d rather die than to admit it to his face, it’d save your poor dignity at the very least. However, you didn’t think you’d be cornered on such short notice. Clearly, you’ve underestimated just how easy and big of an effect he holds over you, and your poor nerves.

As your brain is busy rushing between thoughts, you don’t notice that Narumi has dragged you all the way to the door by now. The sudden sound of the door shutting startles you and he slips his arm into yours in this moment of weakness.

“How about we have a share a little breakfast and some quality time first,” he speaks softly, nonchalant as ever, but keeping his voice down for only the two of you.

You know it’s less about the secrecy and more to have some things for just the two of you, something you didn’t think you’d see in him nor appreciate greatly.

You can feel his breath on your ear, again with his warmth spreading all over your body from the close proximity. “Then you can return to whatever work you wish to do. Sounds good?” He concludes his offer but you know it’s not a question. It’s not up to debate and you don’t really get a say in the matter.

Even if you did, you doubt you’d refuse- another thing you’d rather he never finds out, nor hears from you like a secret confessed.

And he does have another point, though unspoken. All your other work falls secondary so long as Captain Narumi Gen lives and breaths, your primary work and responsibility- one, though tricky to handle, is worth the effort made- now with matching hair and everything.

With a sigh, you drop your head in defeat and tighten your now interlocked arms, letting him take the lead with a jump to his steps, mouth curling at the thought that you’ve jumped right back onto the familiar pace. Good to be home.

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 3

Part 1 here.

CW: Asking for death, implied threats, men (derogatory)

AO3 | Death Masterlist

They have gone. Leaving you alone with instructions that food will be delivered to the door and to not wander. K left you an empty notebook and a series of pens. N nodded once to his bed and shut the door behind him. They shut you in this new cage but left the door unlocked.

You take your days; lining the empty pages with lines a hint of a breath between them as you fill one side diagonal and then the other horizontally. Six pages front and back filled with nothing but lines, a prison for the ink you have wasted. The pounding at the door becomes near constant. You have ignored the food. They are not here to force you.

The words begin to crawl out of you, filling the larger spaces you leave between your lines. You think yourself a dragon, breathing out poison and setting the world ablaze with the hate in your soul. You would say the fires of hell but you have found hell is cold, sterile, white and leached of color.

Exhaustion steals you into sleep more often as your weary body cries for nutrients again. On the fourth day someone opens the door. This man is large. Tall, not as tall as K, but broader by half. A dark hood with bleached weeping eyes stare at you.

“Come.”

He turns and walks from the room. Something about the command pulls you forward. This is a man that will end you. No morals, twisted even as they sat in N and K, would prevent him from granting you release.

He walks silently, massive boots landing without even a puff of air as he displaces the atoms that live between his foot and his next step. You cannot match his silence despite the slight existence of your body. The slap of your feet against the cool laminate follows you as you follow him.

Men drift to one side as they move to and fro, all with some unknown destination. They nod and murmur a quick 'Colonel', eyes categorizing you as not a threat before they pass. Some eyes linger though, the lascivious thoughts clear. Boys, failed by society, found release only in the stolen space within bodies that could not be human. For if they were human, if they were real, men would have to grapple with the baseless violence that marked them as beasts and not as men in fact.

The doors change. Where once the spread out openings were closed tight with solid pieces now windows peaked out at you between the walls and built into the doors. At a door like all the others the man stopped, and you behind him.

A key appeared from a pocket and disappeared into the same after its job had been completed. He opens the door for you, this colonel pulls his second power move by gesturing that you enter first. Stepping through you flick your eyes across the wall of filing cabinets, all shut tight. His desk is neat to a fault. You reach out and touch a pen laid neatly at the end of his matte black desk mat.

No nameplate sits on his desk to identify who he is. The colonel stares at the askew pen before lifting his eyes to you.

���Why do they keep you?” His voice does not rumble as you expect for one of such size. You had expected the growl of a bear but found the voice of a mild-mannered shark instead.

“They won’t kill me,” you reach forward and tap the pen again. It slides but does not roll as the clip lays in the way.

“Why?”

If you knew that you would be freed of this electrified meat suit. Instead, you reach forward and tap the pen again.

His hand shoots out, holding your wrist tight, nearly to the point of pain. Looking up you stare into beautiful blue eyes that should not belong to the reaper.

“Will you kill me?”

“Can you only speak of your demise?” He muses aloud before letting your wrist go and leaning back in his chair. It squeaks against his weight. “No. Krueger and Nikto are some of my best. If I take you away who knows what they will drag home next.”

Wish that you were a witch to drown in your sorrows. Before thinking better of it you skirt the large desk, using all your might to spin the chair so you can settle on your knees between his thighs. You stare up at him, mournful, as your cheek rests so close to his groin that you can smell the sweat of the day collected in his creases.

“Please,” tears you have not shed in years start, “Please kill me.”

He stares down at you, dead eyes unwilling to bend to your request.

“What does death hold that you cannot?”

“Peace,” you sob into the seam of his pants.

Hands pull you upward until you are nestled nose into his hood and arms around his neck. That is how K and N find you hours later. The colonel had worked around you, firing off emails and answering men as they entered his office. He had shared food with you too. Bits of his meal from his own fork pressed to your lips with the expectation of bending to his will. You do. Thinking later you decide it must be the gentleness of his touch, those killing hands holding you gently, that pulls you back ever so slightly from the edge that you crept toward.

K busts through the door, ignoring the unspoken demand to knock and wait.

“König you have something of ours.”

The heat of his gaze sweeps over you, displeasure tasting the air.

N steps through before shutting the door tight.

“I grew up hunting rabbits for my Nonna,” König, as they called him, rests a hand on your back. “We did not keep them as pets, locked in cages.”

They stiffen, catching the message that is beyond you.

“Send her in the morning. Rabbits must have a purpose or they need to feed the pot.”

N surprises you by snarling at his commander.

“She will not play whore for you König.”

König’s fingers tighten on your ribs.

“I have need of a secretary, you have a rabbit in need of watching. You will share or I will grant her request.” All signs of civility disappeared from his voice. Despite your cries for death you shivered.

K and N do not need to share a look to reach a congress. N blinks and K nods.

“Up kaninchen, they will wish to ensure you are well,” he flexes his thigh beneath you.

You stand slowly, already missing the warmth of his body that had seeped into your bones.

“Bring her dressed next time,” he says to them by way of dismissal.

Looking down at your too-large shirt and tightened sweats you frown. You suppose toes should not be out if you are to work in the colonel’s office. Did you want to work in his office? Did you have a choice?

Following your keepers back to your room you let them prod at you and answer their questions. No, he did not hurt you, no he did not touch your body in a way you did not agree to, yes you ate today. When you are delivered to the showers you clean your body perfunctorily, pausing only once to notice that your breasts have started to return. When you return to the room you share with N, K at your side, you find the mattress empty. N has settled himself across the cot you used, light breathing the only indication of life.

“I don’t want it,” you snap at both of them.

“It is our failure that has brought the colonel’s attention to you, the least we can do is upgrade your resting hours,” K pushes you toward the bed. His hand is firm, but not unkind. “Morning comes early.”

You lay down, glaring across the room at N as S kills the lights and leaves you to your nightmares.

Likes are amazing! Reblogs are better (that lets your followers see what you like.)

Part 2 | Part 4

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen

[starlightsuffered]

hi! I think I requested before but I heard about your last account so I just wanted to ask through here in case it was lost. Also, sorry about that, that must be so annoying. Could you do something with a reader who is dominate in all ways, except the bedroom? Like, the second they’re behind closed doors, she loves it when Timmy takes control, and overall babies the shit out of her. Maybe he can even be a little teasing about it, but still soft Dom’s her cause otherwise she’ll cry and be all pouty lipped?

A/N - I tried my best at this, I didn’t really know what to do

Working Girl

Info - soft dom Timothée, fingering, boss and agent relationship, a bit of pouting, teasing

“Hey y/n,” he called to me. I didn’t look up from my phone because I needed to finalize this last thing. Sighing, I hit send on the email, and finally looked up.

“Hey superstar,” I answered. My eyes felt tired and worn. So much planning, so much responsibility, it was all pulling me a hundred different ways. I did enjoy it. I liked being on top of my life and Timothée’s life.

“You look cute,” he purred, eyes scanning up and down my body. I rolled my eyes.

“So tomorrow, you are doing an interview on Fallon. After that you have a spa treatment appointment. You need to remember to be there about twenty minutes prior to the appointment. That stylist LOVES punctuality, it goes a long way with him. Then there’s that fitting you need to go to, and you have a call back for that role in the new Wes Anderson movie-“

“You’re just on top of everything aren’t you?” He asked with a smirk.

“Don’t be cheeky-“

“Well there is one thing you aren’t on top of that I’d love you to consider,” he began.

“There’s a gala on Friday. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re expected to wear something extremely unique so work on that please. I also borrowed your credit card to pay the bill you ran up at Viccidi’s.”

“You’ve sure done a lot.”

“You need to start thinking about what your acceptance speech for the BAFTA’s may be if you end up winning.”

“Maybe I do need to do that,” he mused. “But what do you need?”

He sidled closer to me. My resolve to never engage in this again was waning. I felt myself quivering under his granite gaze.

“Tim,” I gasped.

“Shhhh, you can let go baby girl. Let go of that control,” he soothed me.

“But, I’m, I need to- and it’s wrong on so many levels,” I mumbled helplessly.

I let him spin me, I let him push his long fingers down into my panties. I hissed as he dragged them through my folds. He lifted them to his magenta lips and slurped off the arousal.

“Mmmmmm, seems like you want me to take over,” he chuckled. He was slowly pulling down my pants. His large hands crept up my torso and grasped my breasts. He massaged gently, tweaking a peaked nipple every now and then. I was gasping for air.

I tried to find my voice, to find that confidence I’d had only moments ago. It was all gone. I knew this was wrong but I wanted to melt into his arms, and into the pleasure he could provide me.

“Timothée,” I gasped when he started on my shirt buttons. He quieted me with a slow rub of my clit.

Soon, I was all bare. My hard nipples were tingling in the chill air. My panties were around my ankles, and I knew I should stop him but the wrongness of it made it feel even more right!

“We shouldn’t- OHHHH!” I called out as he lifted one of my legs for me. It gave him much better access to my gspot as his fingers curled.

“S’okay princess,” he purred in my ear. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head. He kissed a wet trail up my neck. His cock was extremely hard against my ass.

This was heaven, and just how I liked it. He was shutting off my brain. I should have been embarrassed that my own client had me on display like this. He hadn’t shed an article of clothing but he had so much control and power over me.

I was panting as I listened to every wet sound my pussy made. He was crooning praise in my ear. I usually took compliments with a grain of salt. Everyone wanted to flatter the agent of Timothée Chalamet, but his meant the world to me.

“Such a good girl, planning all that stuff for me. You’re so strong and independent aren’t you princess?” He asked me as his fingers rolled my clit even faster. He almost completely supported me now. It felt amazing to be so reliant on someone else for once. I knew I could go completely boneless and he’d catch me.

“Yes,” was all I could manage to gasp out.

“Until you need some pleasure. You’re like a doll baby, letting me move you around. I love giving you the treatment you deserve. I just need to shut that pretty mind off for a while,” he continued to encourage me.

“That’s it, that’s it!” He praised as I made small sounds of need.

“Timothée, ohhhh, fuck, feels so good,” I whined.

“Haha, I knew you’d cave. You’re such a little slave for me-“

“Hey!” I snapped. He backed off, knowing his cocky hard dom attitude would turn me off immediately.

“I’m sorry baby. I didn’t mean it. You know you deserve this,” he cooed.

“That’s right I deserve it,” I moaned. I was bucking into his hand. I felt so amazingly good I could hardly breathe. I loved the way his hand still held my leg up, not making me do any of the work. My whole body was beginning to tingle and shake slightly.

“Yeah, you like to be babied don’t you? Huh? Let Timothée take Care of it,” he coaxed,

“Oh, oh, oh, I’m gonna, Tim, gonna-“

“Let go Princess,” he whispered.

I exploded. I swear I saw stars as my whole body ran cold and then fiery hot. My knees gave out but Timothée kept me up. My body jerked as pulsations of pleasure just bucked through my body.

The moment after was only filled with heavy breathing. He lowered us to the ground, holding me in his arms.

“Kiss me, kiss me please,” I begged him. After an orgasm like that I needed the soft touch of lips.

“Why don’t you kiss me, since you’re the responsible, confident, executive woman,” he teased.

“Please,” I pouted. I didn’t have the energy to beg much more. Thankfully he gave into me.

He leaned down, cupped my jaw and let his lips brush against mine. I deepened meeting of mouths. I wanted him to spoil me with kisses. I felt him smirk, but he didn’t deny me what I wanted.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker @therealbeabodoobee

[zigrethsnotebook]

[THANK-YOU KISS]

Stan x Reader

words: 564

tags: sfw, fluff, Stan gets you a gift

It was a random tuesday, three days before the kids would be back for the summer and you were busy making some dinner for yourself, the twins, Soos, his wife and grandmother.

You had to do something to keep yourself busy or your thoughts would start to spiral. You knew how much Stan valued those kids and their opinions and if they didn’t like you… well, you didn’t want to find out what would happen then.

The front door opened and you heard the familiar rhythm of Stan’s steps coming closer to the kitchen. You turned to the doorway and smiled at the man before turning back to your task. He, in turn, wore a sly smirk as he stepped closer to you, hiding one of his hands behind his back.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” He said as he bent over your shoulder to peak into the pots that sat on the stove. “Nothin’ fancy. Just some spaghetti bolognese.” You mused, enjoying the weight of his head on your shoulder.

Stan hummed. “Ya think I can get your attention on me for a second?” You could basically hear the smirk in his voice and it got a light chuckle out of you. “Sure.” You said and turned around to face the man.

He only took the hand from behind his back when he was sure your attention was on him. It was a little shiny box. You looked back up to his eyes to see him grinning at you from ear to ear. “Don’t tell me I forgot our anniversary.” You said, somewhere between genuine worry and playful banter.

“No, nothin’ like that. Just wanted to give you something before the kids get here. To remind them and everyone that you and I belong together.” You furrowed your brows in confusion, the smile never leaving your face and took the box from him.

You quickly recognized the box to be from a jeweller. When you opened it you were presented with a golden necklace that matched Stan’s own perfectly, but was still considerably more dainty. “It’s beautiful.” The words left your mouth in almost a whisper as you took the necklace in your hand, putting the box away on the counter.

“Glad ya like it.” His grin had softened to a fond smile as Stan watched you examine the thing. “Here, let me help you put it on.” You gave Stan the necklace and turned back around, glancing at the pots and finding them in perfect condition.

Stan raised the necklace over your head and traced his hands along your neck as he put the jewellery into place. You let one of your hands wander up to the centerpiece dangling between your collarbones, tracing it with your fingers.

“Done.” You turned back around to face Stan. “Thank you so much!” You stepped closer to Stan and let your arms fall around his shoulders, leaning closer to his face and stopping there for a moment. “I love it.” With that you closed the gap and gave him a sweet kiss, making sure you showed your gratitude.

Suddenly you heard a sizzling sound behind you and quickly broke the kiss to take the spaghetti off the stove, muttering a few curses under your breath. Stan laughed lightly behind you as he moved to help you clean the mess. “Guess the second was a bit too long.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 201 }

enamored by you.

zayne x artist!fem.reader

dedicated to @nyashykyunnie because she’s a zayne girlie 🥰

to say dr. zayne was a bit grumpy when he woke up cold and alone this morning would be the understatement of the century.

you, his lover of nearly 3 years, had left him suddenly yesterday. after enjoying dinner with you, you suddenly had an epiphany, your inspiration seeming to strike at an inopportune time as you already made preparations to head back to your studio where you could bask in your muse with minimal interruptions. he tries convincing you to stay, yet you didn’t relent, all to eager to temporarily leave him as you were determined to get your muse onto a canvas as soon as possible.

ah, but zayne supposes this is just what he has to deal with when it comes to having an artist as his lover.

after his morning routine, zayne was currently in the kitchen, making his breakfast for the day as a series of knocks were heard coming from his door.

he frowns a bit, checking the time on his phone while searching through his messages, letting out a huff when he didn’t see a reply from you. pocketing his phone, zayne takes quick strides to the door, opening it as he was taken aback by the large canvas in front of him.

the young doctor remains silent, taking a moment to admire the painting. it depicted brightly colored koi fishes swimming in a pond, filled with lily pads with purple blooms sprouting from it. the colors and overall aesthetic of it all was enough to make zayne’s heart melt:

just as he was ready to burn the image of such a wonderful painting into his memories, something much more beautiful catches his attention the moment you peak out from the canvas.

“zaynie! hi, do you like my latest gift for you?”

“hmph, so this was what took you away from me last night.” zayne grumbles in response. despite how he hated your absence and how you were not safely tucked within his arms last night, he was still thoroughly impressed with your artwork. taking the heavy canvas within his hold, he hears you shut his door before following him from close behind.

heading up the stairs, he opens the door to one of the spare bedrooms where its walls were already defrosted with your past works. as you step inside the familiar room, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks turning warm at the sight. every painting and sketch you had given him remains perfectly preserved and cherished within this singular room. just knowing how much zayne adored your love language was enough to make your heart swell for him.

after hanging your latest masterpiece, zayne returns back to your side, a frown on his face when he automatically takes you into his arms, burying his face within your hair as he breathes in the scent of your strawberry shampoo while giving your head a kiss. you feel the gentle sensation and giggle, hugging him back with a beaming smile on your face.

you spend a few more minutes within his embrace until you heard a familiar sigh coming from him. he says your name in a bit of a stern voice. “how long did it take you to paint that for me?”

a sheepish expression was seen on your face, and you knew that you couldn’t just lie to him, because then he could hear and possibly feel the rapid pace of your heart (he was a cardiac surgeon, for god’s sake!) you, being the good girl that you were, opted for the truth.

“i ah… i may have spent the whole night working on it?”

a sharp inhale was heard coming from zayne, with him removing your form from his chest. you give him the best pout you could muster, only to feel your lover pinch at your cheeks in response.

“h-hey!”

“that’s what you get for not taking care of yourself.” zayne tells you with a cool hum, returning you back to his embrace as he carries you, bridal style, out of the room and downstairs into the dining room. he settles you on one of the seats and points a finger at you. “sit still and behave. i’m going to make you breakfast, and you are going to eat everything that is on your plate, doctor’s orders.”

you felt a shiver running down your spine, only managing to give him a nod as you felt your mouth water in response. zayne was an amazing cook, and you always looked forward to the times where he would prepare meals for you (which just happened to be every single day, but you digress…)

as you waited patiently for him, you could smell the scent of honey waffles fill your senses, making you let out a soft moan. everything that zayne was cooking smelled so good to you, and you couldn’t wait to devour the feast he had plans for you.

not even 20 minutes had passed when zayne returns to you with two plates in hand. one plate was filled with the honey waffles with whipped cream strawberries on top, while the other plate was filled with more savory items like scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and buttered toast. when he settles both plates in front of you, you eagerly dig in with a happy grin on your face.

instead of eating, zayne chooses to spoil you instead, picking you up from your seat before taking your spot, settling you on his lap instead. with a happy giggle, you eagerly share your breakfast with him, allowing him to spoil you as he fed you bites from this delicious meal.

when the plates were nearly emptied did you begin to feel tired, letting out a yawn as you cuddled closer to zayne’s chest.

“what’s this? is my honey getting tired already?” you shiver at his petname for you, only managing to give him a nod as you let out another yawn. he clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment, but really, you knew he was just worried about you.

with breakfast completed for the day, zayne takes you in his arms and stands back to his full height, walking back on the stairs to your shared bedroom. he listens to the way you let out a hum of his name, smiling before entering your shared bedroom.

tossing aside the comforters and sheets with one hand, zayne settles you against the king sized mattress first before joining you. he lays beside you while bringing your form closer to him (almost greedily) as he left no space between the junction of where your chest meets with his.

you felt so warm and comfortable, already falling into a deep slumber the moment zayne feels your soft breaths against his chest. as he twirls a strand of your hair against his fingertips, his gaze lands on the drawers that were settled in front of him-

perhaps when you woke up, zayne would surprise you with a date all while revealing a gorgeously crafted ring for you, the velvet box still remaining hidden within his drawer as you remained blissfully aware of his promises of forever to you.

a.n. - the artwork that you see in the story was also drawn / painted by @nyashykyunnie, she is an amazingly talented writer and artist, and i highly recommend that you readers follow her for some zayne content! 🥰

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Okay, so when I read this out loud, it went over the 7 min requirement for the erotica fanfic event LOL but only by 2 mins so I am working on whittling it down but...

Who wants some gwynriel alien smex?!

The cool night air blew in through Gwyn’s open window, its chilly touch a tantalizing caress across her skin.

Sleep was a little difficult tonight. The idea of needing to explore Azriel’s sexual anatomy for research made her…

Shy? No.

Nervous? Sure a little bit…

Wet? Yes. 

She felt the drip of it between her folds every time she thought about what Azriel might be hiding under his clothed pants. If his tail played a part. If touching his wings would make him cum immediately.

Flopping back on the bed, Gwyn turned her head, glancing at the paperwork on her bedside table. The questions in that packet were seared into her mind:

How do they procreate? 

Live births or eggs?

Do they have other extremities involved in their sexual interactions?

Please describe the genitalia. In detail.

The list went on. All these things that she would need to ask Azriel. 

Gods… images of her finger up his asshole while she asked him how his species procreated made her –

Well…horny as fuck.

A soft knock brought her out of her lewd musings. She sat up quickly. 

Who was knocking at her door at this hour?

She should’ve known, as she opened the door, that Azriel would be standing on the other side. His hair tousled about. Worry etched in his brow. As if he too had been tossing and turning in his bed

“Gw-yn.” His pronunciation of her name had gotten so much better after he’d been using the translation device over the past few weeks. Though Gwyn would attribute it to the vocal cord strengthening they’d been doing. Having him sing to warm them up was one of her best ideas yet.

“Azriel – hey.” 

Okay, it wasn’t outright strange to find Azriel here at her door so late in the night. They’d spend many nights telling each other stories. He would sprawl on her bed with his wings fanned out, his tail swinging slowly back and forth, and his head in her lap as she read him stories.

Something pulled in her gut, tugging lower and lower. Pooling deep in her core. A gut feeling that Azriel was here for one reason.

“May I – come in?” 

Gwyn nodded, stepping back to let him through. “Everything okay?” She asked.

Azriel stopped in the middle of her room before turning to face her. His shadows billowed about. The reflection of dark matter that followed him everywhere he went slid along the floor. Curled around Gwyn’s bare feet.

She blushed then, realizing she was in a sheer nightgown. 

Its hem barely skimming her upper thigh. 

Her peaked nipples were absolutely noticeable through the sheer fabric.

Azriel’s eyes did wander. Just a little. Until he pulled them back to her gaze. He swallowed and said, “I can not explain copulation.”

“Oh –”

“It needs to be experienced.”

Gwyn blinked, “Ex - perienced?”

He nodded. 

“Okay…so how do you propose –”

“You are scientist, Gw-yn. You know.” He closed the distance between them. His tail lazily swirling behind him. His wings flapped with excitement as he took a hold of her face. A gesture he’d done from the moment they met.

“You want me to experience it?” She asked, breathlessly.

“Yes.” His forehead rested on hers. Sharing a wave of his soothing vibrations. “I want to experience – with you.”

“Show me,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips. Before she could say another word, Azriel was moving her. Lifting her with scarred hands curled under her thighs, his fingers dangerously close to her throbbing center. She let out a ‘oof’ as Azriel deposited her on the bed.

He wasted no time. His hands traveled up her torso, sliding along the silky nightdress. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his purr rolling the last syllable in that alien way she could never achieve. His large form was over her a heartbeat later. Caging her in with thick, solid thighs and sinewy muscled arms.

She knew Azriel would take care of her, be gentle and loving and fuck her hard if that’s what she begged for. 

She also knew he’d stop if she asked. 

“If I say stop?”

“I stop.”

“If I say harder?”

His hand slid up her thigh as he said with a purr, “I make it harder.” Azriel ripped open his pants without warning. Causing Gwyn to gasp loudly and giggle nervously as she laid eyes on his cock for the first time.

His long, thich shaft jutted out, dark grey like the rest of him. Except for the upturned head which was a shade darker, flushed with the blood that filled his skin.

Gods! Where was all that supposed to go?!

Azriel tossed the shredded fabric of his pants to the side and plunged between her legs, wrenching them open with strong, wide hands.

Gwyn moaned and Azriel stilled at the sound. Never having heard her make such a lustful noise before. “Again,” he ordered. His hands continued to move while he stared right into her eyes. The moment his thumb ran along her glistening seam, she was gone, moaning like a feral animal. “Don’t stop. Gw-yn. Moan for me.”

And Gwyn moaned. She whined and giggled as the tip of Azriel’s godsdamned tail slid along her center and – oh gods it was already coated in a lubricant.

“Self…lubricating?” She asked, panting. The tip of his tail flicked against her clit and holy gods above and below! His tail played with her entrance, mixing their slick. Spreading it around and around…

She nearly came from him just prepping her.

Then his tail ventured further. Towards her tight asshole which suddenly felt like it needed to be filled.

“Have you ever – ?”

“Yes –” she panted, “Many times…” Azriel smiled at that and then his tail pushed against her puckered entrance…

Gwyn’s head fell back against the pillow as the tip of his tail probed and pushed. Working her open.

Again when she thought she would come, Azriel stopped and leaned over her. The head of his cock pressing into her folds. Gwyn’s legs fell further open, her body aching and bowing for him. He rubbed the tip up and down, working his hand along his shaft. When he touched her skin again, she felt the slickness.

“Your penis is self-lubricating too?” 

He chuckled, “It is.”

“Fuck me –” 

And he did. Gods does he fuck her. His too large cock slid into her tight, warm cunt with ease. Pushing past her pulsating walls. His tail continued to work her asshole until he could enter her with ease. His now free hand plays with her breasts. Squeezing and pulling her nipples. Massaging them in his greedy touch. 

It was an overload of sensation.  Her asshole tickled and teased. Her pussy filled to that point of blissful pain as he rocks slowly into her. Canting his hips until he’s sitting deep inside her.

Just as she wishes he’d touch her clit, something hard rests against her entire cunt. The pressure of it surrounding her clit and too stretched walls.

Gwyn looked down and –

“Fuck!” She cried. The hard hood that had formed around the base of Azriel’s cock began to vibrate. Sending her straight into her first orgasm. The waves hit her suddenly and with force. Rocking her from the inside out.

“Yes…louder, Gw-yn.”

His hips moved faster, slamming into her. His vibrating hood massaged her deeply. His tail finally breached her puckered hole and he filled her completely. 

Wholly and fully. 

“Oh fuck…oh fuck – oh gods Azriel!” She came again. Shuttering in his hold as he rode her through it. Harder and faster. Going deeper with every plunge. 

Just as she was pushed to her breaking point, Azriel stilled, holding all his extremities inside her he asked her something she never thought she'd be asked, “Can I implant my egg inside you?”

“You have eggs?”

“Yes. Males carry them and deposit a singular one into the females and -”

“Will it…hatch?” she asked, cutting him off. The need to release another orgasm was building and this conversation was taking way too long…

“If I ejaculate my seed while it is in your cervix and they take hold, yes.”

A strange, warm feeling filled her. The need to be filled not only with his cum, but with his egg too had her writhing beneath him. 

“Fuck it,” she blurted. “Do it. For – science. Now Azriel…do it now!” Her walls clenched her body shaking as his cock hit her so deep she could feel it as the tip opened against her cervix and –

“Holy gods…oh gods oh gods ohhhhhh” 

She felt the egg as it traveled through his ovipositing dick. Squeezing past her vaginal opening then pressing with an almighty force deep inside her. 

It was pain and pleasure all in one and gods she was addicted.

She bellowed as she came, scratching at Azriel’s back, clenching herself around any part of him she could reach - and she saw stars and flashes of light and tingling sensation flowing through her all at once.

She hadn't realized she'd been screaming his name until she was coming down from her high.

Azriel stayed sheathed inside her, his cum still filling her. Coating the egg. 

Settling against her, he rubbed her temple with his scarred thumbs and whispered, “Does that help to fill out your packet?”

Gwyn nodded. “Mhmmm,” was all she could manage as she tried to remember how to speak.

“Did I break you?” True concern flashed across his face.

“No, well…maybe in a good way,” she mumbled.

Azriel smiled. His hazel eyes lighting up, “Good. I'd be sad if I did.”

Gwyn giggled, then moaned as the movement stirred another wave of heat inside her.

“So…wanna go again?”

Azriel answered her with a deep, longing kiss. And they went again…and again…and again…

Sooo that was my first time writing alien smut 👽 let me know how I did! 🤭 also I know the foursome won the poll, but when I read it out loud, it doesn't hit as good as reading it in my head/with the whole chapter. But I have time to decide so we shall see!

[arcielee]

A love that burns.

Summary: Aemond is a man obsessed and you are the object of his unwavering devotion. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1037 Warnings: Canon book Aemond, manipulation?, sexual themes, oral (female receiving), p in v, absolute depravity and murder. Author’s Note: This is a reader insert, but with the third person perspective, it is a bit Alys-coded kind of? (I rewrote one of her lines in F&B) A big thank you to @bhxrdy and @itbmojojoejo helping me fix some mistakes and for helping me choose the title 💜🦝 This story is dedicated to the wonderful, the talented @aegonx who gave me prompt #371 by @creativepromptsforwriting. She also made my nifty banner for my blog, so I owe her everything. I am always happy to attempt any requests, I just cannot promise a timely fashion, as it is more whenever the muse strikes. Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9

He was a dragon incarnate with the blood of Old Valyria knitted within the ichor that coursed through his veins. Aemond was proud, tall and lithe, his broad shoulders held back despite the burdened weight of his reputation that preceded him–Aemond the One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer, but those utterances only rolled like rain against the scales of Vhagar; he was unbothered, unharried, especially now his role within the kingdom elated with the title Prince Regent, and with it the Conqueror’s Crown to wear. 

The metal and rubies held a weight that now grounded him, reminding him of his purpose, and he went to reclaim Harrenhal with the intent of killing every Strong bastard. 

Here is where he had found her, an eerie calm amongst the chaos, silent despite the cries of mercy as each person was brought to the courtyard and slain. She had watched, unblinking, with an expression that was akin to when Aemond had watched his nuncle take the head of Vaemond Velaryon in the Throne Room a year prior; it had been a moment that kindled a bloodlust that thrummed beneath his skin, a vengeance that could not be forgotten. 

That night, when she was brought to his quarters, she greeted him like an old lover, a sweet kiss pressed to his lips, her soft murmur, “I have been waiting for you, my prince.” 

She came from a noble house without the wealth of Westeros, but revered still and old, old enough to carry the blood of the First Men and its mystical properties. She had followed her sister to Harrenhal when she was chosen to be the next wife for Ser Simon Strong.

Both were now dead and she did not seem to care. 

“Then why did you choose to accompany your sister?” Aemond had asked her after; it was that intimate exchange shared in their bared embrace, nestled on sex soaked linens with her plush thighs serving as a pillow.

Her fingers thread through his silver hair. “The Isle of Faces,” and she smiled, as if she were stating the obvious; she leaned forward to give a chaste kiss to his lips. “I came to listen to the whispers of the weirwoods.” 

Behind closed doors he was intoxicated by her proximity, with an unbridled lust that replaced the blood in his veins, as if she were the very embodiment of his siren call. They fell into one another, and he felt something that burned within him, something that perhaps was always there and only now  ignited by her soft touch, by her gentle pull that brought him flushed against her chest. 

Aemond would worship her through the night, drinking her very essence until the brim of her overstimulation, until he saw her lashes clumped together from her unshed tears, and only then would he shift his weight between her thighs, flushed and slick from her peaks. 

He would move to press his heady cock, heavy and wanting, against her silken folds, and despite their many nights together, she would still feel split open, aware of the ridges and the veins of his thick member as he sheathed within. Her soft gasps came in response to his thrusts that would begin again the crests of ravishment that warmed her blood; and he would not stop his pace until she was a mewling mess, until the lewd sounds of skin to skin mixed with her cries of release, until his name was a repeated reverent prayer that spilled from her lips. 

Aemond hummed her praises, his hot exhale against the curve of her neck. “The gods made you for me alone,” he would breathe against her lips and they would part in a silent cry, her skin pebbling with pleasure. “You were made to take my cock, and you do so well.” 

His words brought her to the precipice and when she felt his hot pulse within her velvet walls, her own clenched in response to chase another climax with boneless ambition, with a sobbed release as the air tore from her lungs but she was breathless to reclaim. Only then would they curl into each other’s arms, their skin aglow with the intimacy shared, with the soft murmurs and quiet exchanges of lovers in their post-coital haze.

“I will have your son,” she promised him. “I can already feel the flames warming my womb.” 

She was always at his side, devoted, everpresent, with a severe gaze that served as a balm for the Prince Regent in the most twisted way. They called her his Blood Queen as she seemed to encourage a sadism that pulsed beneath, speaking that the gods knew what had to be done and that he was the vessel of their actions, always encouraging him to listen to the beckon of the blood of Old Valyria. 

Aemond became a man obsessed and she fed into his depravity; she spoke with such conviction and he believed her every word, her every prophecy. When she would take a boat across the waters, he would remain on the shore pacing like an animal caged, while Vhagar roared overhead, the wind beneath her wings causing turbulent waves that crashed against the lakeside. 

She returned as her namesake with blood that covered her hands and her dress; she would whisper what she saw to him alone, of what was to come and what needed to be done. On one such day, she spoke of the betrayal in the Riverlands, of those who had chosen to ally with the Blacks and their false queen. 

Aemond called for Vhagar and they climbed aback; she was knitted against his backside with her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, and she could feel his rumbled command, “Dracarys,” to rain fire below them, scorching the very earth. She hummed her contentment, the scent of sandalwood and smoke, a scent that intimately belonged to the Prince Regent. 

Her arms curled around his slim waist and he looked down to see her small hand pressed against his chest. Though the histories would recall all the ugly things they had done, in this moment, as his palm reached to cover hers, all he thought was how their entwined fingers were so beautiful together. 

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