#dance over the sky ; coining

[feliraeth]

aldersolamorlyr !

a aldernic term for when one has or desires a body that is / is an embodiment of / is reminiscent of the lyrics "i loved you like the sun" from the song The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

[id: three identical rectangular flags with seven equal horizontal stripes. from outermost to innermost, the colors are a gradient from yellow to red. in the center of the flag is a red diamond symbol outlined in yellow. end id.]

etymology ; alder + sol meaning sun + amor meaning love + lyr(ic)

pronunciation ; all - der - soul - ah - more - leer

requested by ; no one :3

[maiverie]

THE RAIN HAS AN EDGE ╰ ﹙ ☁️ ﹚ft. park sunghoon ﹕ a oneshot ﹙ preview ﹚

you are the girl with an umbrella on a rainy day, and sunghoon is the boy at the bus stop drenched from head to toe.

in a nutshell ﹒ there’s a heavy downpour so you hold an umbrella over sunghoon and he looks at you like you’re crazy // 100% fluff

word count ﹒ preview is 1.5k; full ver ~6-7k

fic one of the chasing rainbows series ﹙ coming soon ! ﹚

“true, the sun and the wind inspire. but the rain has an edge. who, after all, dreams of dancing in the dust? or kissing in the bright sun?” — cynthia barnett

now playing ﹒ paris in the rain﹙ lauv ﹚

THE FIRST TIME you talk to park sunghoon, it’s raining, it’s cold, and jake had ditched you to “hang out” with chaewon, because he’s a crappy friend who pounces at any opportunity for female attention.

after your study session in the school library finishes, you find yourself standing at the school’s front entrance, grimacing at the downpour of rain in front of you. heavy pellets pummel from the sky like bullets, forming puddles in the divots of the ground and lowering the temperature enough to make you shiver. 

lucky for you, you remembered to bring your umbrella.

this was a habit of yours even on the sunniest of days, after spending five days bedridden with a fever following The Great Downpour of 2020.

when you reached for your backpack and unfurled your umbrella, it sprung to life and off you went, hopping down the cement paveway that led to the nearest bus stop.

you’re just about to slip in your earphones when you stop in your tracks, spotting a figure a few steps ahead of you. 

the person is crouching on the ground at the bus stop, hunched over and hugging their bookbag in an attempt at gathering warmth. 

the person is drenched and miserable.

and practically radiating angst and despair.  

because you’ve always been a totally (impulsive) caring and selfless person, you shuffle over and hold your umbrella over the person’s head.

they look up — and just when you encounter a cold gaze, dark brows and raven hair — you realise that the moody figure is none other than park sunghoon.

park sunghoon, the ridiculously good-looking senior everybody whispers about but doesn’t actually know anything about. 

park sunghoon, the guy who always wears a stoic, unsmiling expression that makes him the most unapproachable of his group of friends. 

and park sunghoon, the one who’s staring at you with a baffled and slightly distrustful expression on his face. 

oh.

you’re just standing here, staring at him like a creep. 

crap.

you should say something.

you open and shut your mouth a few times, trying to brainstorm what you might possibly say. you want to sound smart. and funny. and cool. so, naturally, the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a very intelligent and super profound, “it’s, uh. . . raining.”

sunghoon continues to stare, his brows slightly furrowed to suggest he was questioning your sanity. 

“it’s raining,” you stupidly repeat louder, as though he hadn’t heard you over the rain. 

“good catch,” he replies, his gruff voice coinciding with the slight dip of his lips. 

the rumors are so true. 

sunghoon definitely has a very grumpy, rather angsty demeanour. you’ve actually spotted him around school a few times (you may or may not follow him with your eyes every time he’s around. is that a crime? it can’t be! you’re not the only one in the student body who finds him extremely attractive and painfully enigmatic), but he’s not the kind of person you can approach so easily.

in fact, he’s been coined the nickname ice prince for a reason.

“yes, uh,” you struggle to string together a coherent set of words, especially because he stands to his feet now, and you have to make the effort to not be intimidated by his height. 

“what i meant to say is that it’s raining but you don’t have an umbrella,” you laughed awkwardly, wanting to whack your head and yell stupid, stupid, stupid for impulsively waddling over here and saying stupid things to park sunghoon of all people. “i-i mean, obviously it’s a free country and you can totally do whatever you want, but, as you might already know — and i’m sure you do because you’re one of the smartest kids in school — standing in the rain can get you sick, like, really sick, and i only know this because about three years ago i forgot my umbrella and — funny story — i ended up getting so sick that i had to take five days off school because my fever was so high.”

oh god.

you quickly slap the tips of your fingers over your lips to physically restrain yourself from talking. the motion makes sunghoon’s gaze quickly flit to your lips, before they bounce back up to your eyes.

his stare is so painfully emotionless that you cringe inwardly.

you wish he’d say something.

anything. literally anything.

but he’s silent.

well, of course he is — you basically just trauma dumped about your stupid fever story. boo-hoo, you were sick from the rain — who cares?

just when you think you’ve reached the death of the conversation, you’re surprised by the sound of his soft voice.

“. . . niki.”

huh?

you blink, leaning in slightly so that you can hear him better.

“. . . niki. my brother. he took the last umbrella.”

oh.

your lips form a small o as you nod in understanding. “oh, niki! that doesn’t surprise me. he’s in my class, you know, and he’s always playing pranks on our teacher. one time he actually hid the test papers so we got a whole extra day to study,” your voice lowers to a whisper, “can’t believe i still failed it though. . .”

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, and afraid of being submerged in awkward silence again, you rush to fill in the space. 

“so where’s niki now?”

he shrugs. “soccer practice, probably.”

“oh,” you frown. “wait, aren’t you part of the soccer team, too? you’re the goalie. you saved so many goals last season and helped the team to their first win in two years,” you say, though your eyes widen in panic as soon the words leave your mouth, “n-not that i’m a stalker, or anything,” you frantically add, “it’s just that everyone knows you’re the goalie because one, it’s common knowledge, and two, the game is coming up and we’re all on the edge of our seats to find out how it goes!” 

stupid stupid stupid. 

why are you rambling so much? 

sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind, though his lips flatten in a rather sour manner. “i quit the team, actually.”

you gasp. “you’re the person jake is replacing? he’s been so cocky ever since it was announced that he’d be on the team. what made you quit?”

he shrugs, “it got boring,” he mumbles, then his ears turn slightly red and he dips his head in an emotion you never imagined park sunghoon could wear — embarrassment. “and i accidentally sprained my ankle.”

you blinked in surprise. “how?”

he hesitates before answering. “i tripped.” 

you stifle a laugh at the irony, because while sunghoon was a lot of adjectives — tall, handsome, mysterious, brooding, kind of scary, even — you never thought he was clumsy.

you softly cackle, earning you a glare from the boy. 

“sorry,” you grin playfully, growing accustomed to his icy aura. “i just never pictured you as a klutz.”

“says you,” he grumbles, “weren’t you the one who tripped and fell in the cafeteria last week? ”

“what—” you choked, “you saw that?”

he exhaled through his nose in amusement. “who didn’t?” sunghoon raised a brow at you. “i’m pretty sure someone recorded and posted it. the caption was ‘dumbass fails to do simple task and ends up with food all over her clothes.’”

your eyes slammed shut before they shot open. “fucking jake,” you growled, gripping the umbrella tightly. “i’m going to kill him.”

sunghoon chuckled, and the sound made your heart beat a little faster. you caught a fleeting glimpse of his smile which — by the way — showcased the most emotion you had ever seen from the boy. it couldn’t be helped that your stomach mangled and twisted at his pearly-white boyish smile, one that made his cheeks bunch up his face and his eyes twinkle like stars.

how pretty.

his smile faded as quickly as it appeared, however, and you soon found yourself facing his usual blank expression again. 

you want to try say something that might make him smile or laugh again, but he suddenly steps outside of the cage of your umbrella and raises his hand, hailing down the incoming bus. 

it slowly stops by the road beside the two of you, marking the end of your little interaction. 

“oh, your bus is here,” you force a smile, rather disappointed. “i’ll, um, see you later, sunghoon.”

“get home safe,” he retrieves his bus card from his pocket, glancing over his shoulder before he boards his bus. “and thanks. for the umbrella.” 

“n-no problem!” you quickly smile, “and by the way, my name is—”

“i know your name,” he interjects, and you think your mind is playing tricks on you when you see the edges of his lips twitch upward. “see you around.” 

sunghoon disappears into the bus and it whizzes by you, though you stay frozen in your feet for what feels like forever. 

he knows your name.

he’ll see you around.

you tuck your lip between your teeth, cheeks and ears flaring up.

and he wants you to get home safe.

.

( to be continued )

this is a preview only ﹒ full fic is estimated 6-7k ﹒ taglist open — send an ask, dm, or reply !

a/n . btw this is a preview only. the full fic might come out next week ? anyway my first hoonie fic and it's 100% pure, unadulterated fluff <3 this is inspired by paris in the rain + the above quote + an exo fic i adore ^^ hope u all liked it :) see u in the full version maybe 🤓

[hatsukeii]

Today I'm thinking about...haikyuu + other anime characters who think you're just a little too sweet for them.

warning(s): nothing LOL you're safe with me again today!!

To them, life should be lived silently, like slipping between cracks that emerge amidst the lives of others. Their presence is fleeting, manifesting as a helping hand in a crowded hallway that is never seen again, a coffee order that is forgotten after the next few customers, a glossary that is skimmed through once, then never looked at a second time. A presence that you know for certain was here once before, but have nothing to show for it. When you grace their life for the first time, maybe in a library, or a bakery, perhaps a coffee shop, it is as fleeting as a comet that zips across a night sky, your presence escaping from between the seams of their own life the way they do to others. A glance shared between the gaps of leathery bookends, the dropping of change in their hand, the calling out of their name for their black coffee order. He finds eternity in the gleam of your irises, the clink of coins as they fall from your hand, the sugar that leaks from their name in your mouth. You find solace in the darkness of their tired eyes, the wrinkles and calluses in the palm that collects change, the grainy, sultry earth that echoes in their thank yous. They return to the libraries, and bakeries, and coffee shops day after day, hoping to bask in the sweetness of whatever you do and say again, mellowing out pools of black caffeine with mugs of syrup and milk, neat whiskey with crisp ice, balancing the earthy, soiled ground with a star-studded night sky. They change their order from an Americano to your recommended latte, smile at you from the opening created between books on a shelf, treat themselves to a small cake once every so often along with their usual purchase of plain bread. And when you finally chat them up one day, a wink flashing across your face as you slide your number to them on a doodled-over sticky-note across the counter, or thread it through hardbacks on a shelf, or palm their hand sneakily as you hand them change, their presence becomes an engraving on the spine of a book, a coffee stain in a worn out mug, the lingering decadence of mousse and cake that dances on their tongue, impatient for the next taste. They are a bitter canister of brewed tea, a hollow body and soul worn down by the trials of life. You are a shot of espresso in the afternoon sun, golden daylight peeking through half-lidded blinds, honey in your veins and prosperous life in your eyes. Perhaps your sweetness could accomodate for two.

Characters: Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Kenma Kozume, Iwaizumi Hajime, Aone Takanobu, Akaashi Keiji, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shirabu Kenjiro, Osamu Miya, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Maki Zenin, Yuuta Okkotsu but specifically after training in Africa and coming back to Shibuya, Megumi Fushiguro, Aki Hayakawa, Kishibe, Shouta Aizawa, Hitoshi Shinso, Shouto Todoroki, Tomura Shigaraki

author's note:

be honest chat do i post like a scary amount and does it get annoying </3 i have too many ideas when i should be studying for externals in two months but i DON'T CARE i need to rest for like the next week after that trials period

i had hozier's too sweet in mind with this one and i initially wanted to do like just nanami but UGH too many characters work with this i can't DO ITTTTT so i made it a general drabble EE

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @fiannee @bailey-reeds @akaakeis @hiraethwa

ok bye bye until the next one which will be soon LMFAO love u all

[damn-stark]

Chapter 13 Me & My husband

Chapter 13 of Moonlight

A/N- Do you think there’s anything that can make us support the Greens? Hmm?? 🤔

Warning- Swearing, NFSW, talks of pregnancy thoughts of abortion, Aegon, ANGST, fluff, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

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

Episode- 2x03

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

The streets are quiet, abandoned, and ravaged. The only life pulsating is in taverns scattered about the streets you pass, but as some drink for fun, others most likely drink to forget that the food in this city is diminishing with the blockade still not penetrated by their King.

The sky is polluted by white clouds, dimming the bright lights of the stars and the moon, and the sweet taste of autumn has begun to turn bitter with colder nights, bringing a chilly breeze that nips at your cheeks, and makes your fingers hold on tighter to the warmth Aemond’s hand gives yours.

What could you say about yourself? That your anger has not dulled even if you know now as you walk down the cobble streets that when Aemond is close you never feel alone. Is that hopeless?

Is it hopeless that someone who hurt you is also the one who never makes you feel solace? Even when you’re mad and seething, hoping he will leave you alone, all you seek is his presence because your heart is so tangled with his that he’s the very thing you need to feel complete.

How can you make it stop?

Do you really want to know what a world without him will be like? You should, your heart needs to stop dancing over the fact that he’s trying hard to win you back to his side. You shouldn’t be eager to know where he’s taking you. You shouldn’t know that if he had brought you out into the city weeks before this war started, or even when ravens were all that was being sent, that you would have devoted your heart and soul to him. And who wouldn’t?

He’s trying hard to get in your good graces by stepping out of his own comfort zone to do something he knows you like. He’s trying to prove his love, and his remorse for hurting you, and deep inside where you’re guarding your heart, a hole is starting to puncture through the wall.

You should be rageful! Anger is all you should know! And you do, you still feel it seething within you. You feel spiteful because he’s making the effort to make you look past the unforgettable act he did. Visiting brothels is something you can learn to forgive, after all, you have sinned too, but…killing Lucerys should bring you nothing but hatred.

You shouldn’t steal glances at him when you think he’s too busy paying attention to where you’re going, but you do, you can’t help it, you want to look into his mind to know what he has planned. And…you can’t help yourself from studying his face like one studies a tapestry that you can’t help but get lost in.

You are proud to say that you haven’t spoken a word since you left the castle, that’s the one thing you have kept up, but that begins to teeter because you need to know where he’s taking you! He keeps walking further and further away from the Red Keep!

You need to ask him, you should ask because what if he’s trying to take you somewhere dangerous, or someplace you actually don’t like? Plus this anticipation is something you can’t handle.

Thus you part your lips, and his eyes drift to you as if he was waiting for you to fill the silence, but thankfully you come across a woman with a babe against her chest and an older child on the ground beside her, so you direct their attention at their poor conditions.

Aemond tries to pull you back, but you slip your hand away from his grasp and approach the woman and her children.

The child does immediately scoot back when he sees that you’re approaching them, but the woman looks at you with hope in her eyes as she recognizes your white hair and sees your expensive clothes.

“Here,” you speak softly and pull five gold coins from the pouch in your cloak's pocket to offer them to the woman. “For you and your children.”

The woman glances at Aemond past you, and she seems to falter.

You see right through her and reassure her. “It’s okay, he may look scary, but he’s not. He won’t hurt you. The money is from me and him.”

The woman spares one more frightful glance at Aemond before she sticks her hand out so you can hand her the golden coins.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she says in return and bows her head. “May the gods bless you and the prince.”

“And you,” you redirect sweetly. “Good night.” You offer her a smile and then give the child a wider one before you turn away and return to Aemond to continue down your path in a short silence.

“Where are we going?” You finally let yourself ask.

“I thought you would not ask,” he says and drops his eye on you.

You shrug. “I was not, but you may as well be leading me to my death.”

Aemond rolls his eye. “Why would you say that?”

You avert your gaze and huff. “Well, I do not think the King’s counsel would be so keen on welcoming back. At least not as freely as I am.”

“No they are not keen about your return, they think you come to spy for your mother,” he shares, making you keep your eyes focused on anything else so Aemond won’t see that they hit the target.

“Well,” you sigh and feign annoyance. “If I would have come to do anything for my mother, they should all know I wouldn’t have gone to one knee for his Grace,” you throw that last bit out mockingly. “I mean…” you trail off to not say anything offensive around houses filled with people who wouldn’t hesitate spreading what you said like wildfire. Aemond you don’t worry about, it’s the people who might be listening.

“Yeah I know that,” he mutters, making you both meet each other's gaze and share a small teasing smile over the thought of Aegon being king.

“<He doesn’t even speak Valyrian,” you complain in High Valyrian. “Our child knows more than him, and he’s almost 5 months old.>”

Aemond huffs and you skip forward to fall at his side and muse about Aerion. “<I am being honest, earlier, I told him in Valyrian, if he was happy to be home with you, and he talked back.>”

“<Talked?>” Aemond questions with a happy smile he can’t hide.

You nod excitedly. <Cooed, but it’s the attempt that counts, and the smile he gave when I mentioned you.>”

Aemond hums and smiles at the ground at the mention of Aerion being happy to see him again.

“<He really missed you,” you tell him. “He was sad to be away from home for so long.>”

Aemond lifts his head and looks at you with a soft look. “<I missed him too. And you most of all.>”

He says that on purpose, he knows that sweet words like that make you swoon. It almost works if you’re being honest, but you hold yourself back and look away to retort. “Yeah, you missed me when you went to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond groans and you huff, finding the exact excuse you need to lead into silence. It’s now more tense than before, but it doesn’t leave an attempt for him to sweet talk you, or for you to find a way to talk like you would before.

You don’t talk at all actually, which works to strengthen that wall around your heart, and keeps your anger from sizzling out. You don’t hold hands anymore either which leaves your naked hands feeling quite abandoned while you’re following him through the dangerous city, past taverns and places to eat, past places where people sing and entertain, and overall past anywhere that can be fun.

You start to believe he’s taking you out of the city, but then much to your surprise, you reach the Dragonpit.

“Why are we here?” You ask and he looks at you but doesn’t actually attempt to answer, he points his eye to the side of the Dragonpit before he grabs your hand and pulls you with him toward an entrance you didn't even know about.

“What—”

He shushes you by pressing his finger against your lips and holding your gaze for a short moment that actually starts to filter in flickers of heat in your tension.

“It’s not far,” he whispers before he opens the door and ushers you inside.

Do you hesitate to do as he says?

No, you grow intensely more curious and quite excited.

“If Astraea senses I’m here she will weep,” you whisper as you roll your head over your shoulder to watch him close the door. “It was hard enough bringing her in here.”

Aemond lights a torch before he responds as he walks past, but not before taking your hand first. “We’re not here for the dragons.”

You can’t help your excitement from running your mouth for you. “I would ask how you know about this entrance, but I also know you so, I think I have my answer.”

With a crooked smile, Aemond looks at you and picks on that. “Really?”

You nod and push the tip of your nose up to tease him. “Your nose was always in a book.”

“It made me smarter,” he rebuttals, making you scoff in amusement. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close enough so he takes that as a win.

“It’s not much further,” he answers your burning question that you were about to ask.

You would ask the other questions you have lined up, but you also want to be surprised, so you swallow back your questions and eagerly follow him.

Honestly, it feels like you should close your eyes to not spoil anything, but this tunnel is new to you, so you stay vigilant. And once Aemond brings you to a sudden halt you’re glad you were cautious.

“Watch,” he suggests as he keeps the torch behind him.

“Okay,” you follow up slowly but hold his gaze with a sense of excitement, making him shake his head.

“Not at me,” he says as he doesn’t try to actually look away. “Over there.”

You breathe out some of your nerves before you slide your eyes to the dark room ahead of you. Aemond makes sure you’re paying attention first before he starts to walk away from you, making you get cast in the pitch darkness that comes from the hall behind you.

“Aemond,” you call out with slight fear.

Said man offers you his attention for a second before he walks further inside the dark cast room.

You don’t like the idea of getting consumed by the darkness so you take a step after him, but quickly come to a stop as the room begins to glimmer like a thousand exquisite diamonds as the fire on Aemond’s torch bounces off the walls.

“Wh—” you don’t even get to finish saying because your breath is stolen by all the spots of transparent lights that drown the room, making it seem like you’re actually within a hundred stars. Not just under them, but actually with them, where you can touch them.

“The dragons are above us,” Aemond fills the silence. “And the walls in this room are made of sand, so slowly with the fire from the dragons, glass is being made.”

You look at him completely mesmerized, but at that moment as your eyes take him in across the room, you’re struck with awe as you catch how the shimmering light doesn’t only reflect on the walls and ceiling, but on him too.

Hundreds of lights bask his face and bounce off the sapphire in his eye socket, making him look completely divine, ethereal, beautiful.

Can he see your awe? Can he see it in your soft dilated eyes? In your soft formed smile? Or in your stillness, as you can’t make yourself move with the way you’re completely blown away by the room and him?

“Come,” he invites you further in as he focuses just on you. The glimmering lights don’t manage to steal his attention with you there. You’re all he focuses on, you’re the keeper of his attention, more so when you slowly make yourself to him and the light bounces off the golden shimmer on your gown, making you look like the sun itself. Only brighter. And unlike the sun, you’re ethereal, and instead of burning his eye like the sun does, you make his eye soften and fill with admiration and awe.

“You know I can’t ask how you know about this room,” you finally manage to speak when you meet him in the middle. “Because I know you. You would sneak to the Dragonpit to try and steal our dragons.” You giggle.

He smiles as he turns his head away. “I was desperate,” he rebuttals to your comment.

You hum and lean towards him to add a memory. “Yeah, I caught you singing to a dragon egg once, in…”

“Hopes it would hatch,” Aemond and you finish in sync.

You beam at him and nod slowly. “Yes,” you say thoughtfully and watch him for a lingering moment as you realize that all the tension ceased to exist the moment this room began to shine.

“Wow,” you whisper and slowly spin around to keep admiring the room. “How come you never brought me here before?” You can’t help but ask.

Aemond follows after you as you just wander the room. “I had forgotten about it until recently,” he admits. “And before you left I just did not want to put you in danger by sneaking out here.”

You glance at him with an amused smile before you approach a wall and capture a beam of light in your palm.

“Do you like it?” He asks for validation, making you drop your hand to look at him with a tender look before you nod.

“I love it. You brought the stars down to me,” you muse, and can’t look away from him, you can’t stay from him either. Your heart takes you to him. And without remembering your anger, or the fight you just had not long ago, you slowly press your hands on his chest to be even closer.

Aemond takes his free hand and grabs one of your elbows to be even more connected to each other, finding that you can’t stand being just a hair's breadth away from each other, you need to be closer as if you were one.

You need to be one. Share one beating heart. So you both lean in as you’re driven by a burning desire, but just as the warmth of his lips wash over you, you suddenly come to a halt because of a memory your mind conjured up of him killing Lucerys.

Yet you don’t lead the moment to resentment, you stay close as your anger returns and murmur against his lips. “I would have loved you without a dragon, you know that?”

A short silence follows where all he does is stare at your lips before he speaks up. “I would have not felt complete without one.”

You shake your head and counter his statement. “Not true, I would have completed you. Like I do now.”

Aemond’s lips part and yours follow to do the same but neither of you take the first leap. Him because he’s so taken back by what you said; and you because your anger stops you until you remember why you’re here.

Yet once your lips crash on his, you completely melt, your heart bursts with joy, and your burning desire engulfs your entire body, pushing you to slide your hands around his neck, and leading you to take control of the kiss and move in sync with each other with a sense of longing and hot passion that you can’t deny, that makes his hand find your cheek to bring your closer.

However, just as you want to deepen the kiss Aemond pulls away to seek what will assure him. “Do you love me now?”

You part your lips, but a single breath unfurls over his lips. You want to say yes, but your anger, and maybe a little bit of your hatred stops you and guides you to redirect. “Can I be honest?” You ask, making him blink repeatedly but not respond, so you go on. “My heart swoons for you, my desire burns for you, but a part of me weeps.”

Aemond’s hand slowly falls from your cheek, and his eyes bat frantically as he tries to beat away the tear that comes, but he can’t push it away, it glosses his eye.

“But Aemond,” you quickly interject and tilt your head down to meet his face.

He looks away but you find his gaze right away.

“Aemond. My Aemond,” you call again just as softly, and his eye goes soft at the utter of those last words. “It does not mean I have given up on you,” you lie, or so you tell yourself. “I am yours. I still desire you just as much. I just…need time.”

Aemond looks at you for a lingering moment before you lean in and press a kiss on his lips. He’s still at first as he’s still in disbelief over the answer he didn’t expect. He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t expect it because he was hopeful out of his own selfish desire.

Now that he’s heard you he should give up. He wants all of you or none of you. Yet he also can’t let you go, he doesn't let you go because he is selfish and doesn’t want to see anyone else with you, but also because you are his light at the end of the tunnel. That Red Priestess was right, he’s in the dark without your love, and without you. That’s why he keeps trying to gain your love, because if he gives up who else will love him like you do? Who will complete him like you do?

Only you have given him the love he seeks and he cannot let that go.

Thus he kisses you back as if he wants to devour you, hoping that’s a step in the right direction.

You grab his face and pull him closer, making him stumble you both toward the wall where he drops the torch on the ground to hold you against him.

However, just as you both start to get lost in your needy desire a voice booms. “Who’s there?”

You rip away from each other and watch the corridor with your breaths held in wait, hoping that the voice doesn’t come your way.

Albeit moments later footsteps approach and even if you would not get in trouble if you were caught, you still grab his hand and pull him away with you with no light to guide the way. You remember the path and run out with him.

“Why—”

“Just go!” You exclaim excitedly with your heart pounding in your ears, and never once looking back. You run and run with him still attached to you.

Once you’re out under the natural light of the sky and not threatened with getting caught, you can’t help but burst out laughing. Aemond watches you as he catches his breath, and can’t help but smile as he sees how the joy perks your eyes up. He then chuckles softly as your own laugh is contagious.

“One more,” you pause and catch your breath before you continue. “One more stop.”

Aemond’s laugh dies with yours and his smile fades as he’s confused considering the confession you gave him just now.

“I want to show you a better time than your whore did,” you answer his confusion, causing him to drop his head and shake it.

“I told you it was not like that,” he mutters.

You fiddle with the buckles on his vest and shrug him off. “Well, I still want to show you a good time at your brothel. I want to show you that only I can give you what you like, hm?”

Aemond bats his eye up and a smirk perks the corner of his lips up, giving you the answer without needing to say it.

Albeit before you take his hand to go to your next stop you offer him an out. “Unless you are not comfortable. We can go back home and go to a different room.”

Aemond glances past you and seems to remember that there’s one small person stopping you from going to the comforts of your own chambers. “No, we can go.” He says as he looks at you, letting you take his hand now.

However, Aemond ends up leading the way because you in fact have never been to any brothel. You have passed through the Street of Silk, but that’s the extent of that.

And unlike the streets you took to reach the Dragonpit, the moment you start to approach the Street of Silk, signs of life begin to show with firelight lighting a path, people drunkenly stumbling down streets, and chatter, laughter, singing, music, and lewd noises getting louder and more frequent.

It all mostly works to discourage you, you find yourself preferring going to taverns where you can drink, dance, and sing from occasion to occasion. Yet, you don’t take back your offer, you push forward, and just think about how much this could please Aemond and garner more of his trust so you can move around the castle more freely, and maybe get Astraea out of her chains. You don’t feel safe without her roaming the skies.

“Here,” Aemond finally brings you to a brothel a bit smaller than others you have passed, but still elegant inside and very much busy, or so it seems when you step inside.

If only the smell was just as elegant. It smells like sweat, sex, and a bad attempt at mixing sweet-smelling incense. The women who seem to work here are all beautiful though; in their thin silk and sheer gowns that leave little for the imagination, while some wear nothing at all but their jewelry to catch the wandering eye—they all honestly make you feel overdressed.

“My Prince,” a soothing voice greets your husband as they approach you.

“We just need a room,” Aemond brushes off the older woman with long brown hair that’s partially picked up in an intricate bun, while the rest is resting in a long braid. “Can we get one or not?” He follows up by asking hurryingly.

The woman does not attempt to meet his rush, her sharp eyes find you and take you in, making you raise your head higher to exude confidence and charm when really you're intimidated by her and this place in general.

Not like she can see through you, she does immediately know who you are and sees the very picture of royalty and sophistication; not only in the expensive gown and the luxurious jewelry clung onto you, but in the way you carry yourself, the way your nose is raised in the air, showing that you know that no one in the world can compare to you or touch you in any way.

“Yes,” the woman finally gives Aemond his answer and looks at him for a lingering second, making you follow her line of gaze and see that he’s averting his gaze and that she's the woman he came to see. There’s no need for an explanation, you can see it in her small smug smile, and his lack of focus.

But why her? You can’t help but wonder as you discreetly study her. Is it her experience? Her age? Does he fancy older women? Or is it her beauty? She’s a very refined beauty. She looks poised too. Is that what brought Aemond to her arms?

“Come with me,” the woman finally releases you from your spots and guides you down the room, letting you see what more the fine establishment has to offer, and what more it hides behind closed curtains.

You can’t say she went far, the house is not big, but you do linger behind when a tall slender woman bending like she was made of dough catches your eye.

She’s so impressive! It’s amazing how her legs can go so far back with no sign that it hurts her in any way. You would be envious but you’re just awestruck. You could watch her forever.

Nevertheless, not too long after you departed, Aemond calls out for you, so you steal one last glance at the woman before you find yourself in an empty room occupied by a round bed, and hundreds of candles.

“Thank you,” you tell the woman over your shoulder, proving to not be the snobby princess she thought you were.

“Of course.” She nods and offers you a much kinder smile. “If you need anything ring the bell,” she lets you know, making you smile at her before she leaves Aemond and you in the candle-lit room that smells like vanilla.

“Was it her?” You ask right away as you wander behind the bed to hover your palm over the fire burning away the wax of the candles.

“Does it matter?” Aemond tries to avoid the question, but you look at him and press him.

“Just a little,” you lie and he sees that with the way the fire catches the gloss over the affliction in your eyes as if your life depends on his answer.

“It…” he hesitates and you assume the answer, but you still wait desperately in hopes you’re wrong.

“It was, but I told you, we just shared a bed and she listened to my sorrows.”

You let out a shaky breath and your affliction is resolved to self-torment as you’re filled with self-doubt about yourself for the first time.

Never in your life have you ever been self-conscious, you were always proud of your looks, you took pride in your beauty and never shied away to try and prove otherwise. But now…you can’t help it from taking root within you.

You shouldn’t, you know that. You shouldn’t feel jealous or hurt by his choices. You try so hard to be unaffected by this ordeal, but you can’t fight it off. You’re wounded, and shine a little less, as if you're a shining star in the sky that he dims.

“I told you,” Aemond keeps saying as you have your back turned to him. “She doesn’t compare to you. No one does.”

You stay quiet and keep your back turned as you try to fight off your tears, and really try to fight off the stupid jealousy.

But it really is a bewitching thing.

“We can leave,” Aemond offers, and for a second you’re about to take that chance, but you then remember what brought you here and you know you have to see it through no matter what.

Thus you let out a deep breath and swallow back what torments you. You don’t face him right away, you let him walk up behind you and grab your chin to tilt your cheek to his lips.

“You are mine,” he whispers, making a breath of yours unwantedly draw in. “And I am yours.”

His lips brush against your jaw and burn a line down to the corner of your lips as he keeps tiling your face at his will.

“You are the very breath I need, yet you are the very thing that steals my breath every moment I lay my eye on you,” he whispers against your lips, making you part your lips as if you need his breath. “You are the very definition of beauty and divinity. Every beautiful thing that this damn world has to offer never measures up to your beauty, your grace, the design of your lips, the color of your eyes, and every perimeter that makes you. You plague my every thought, you know that? I would burn the whole world for you. You need only say the word.”

And just like that all your doubt melts away, your reason becomes null, and all your senses turn to a single feeling of needy desire that sets you aflame. You are his, but your heart was not open to him, it was still guarded and he knew that.

“Aemond,” you let out a breathless moan as he presses his needy member against your back and trails his lips along your jaw, making you desperate.

“My love,” he whispers back and presses a kiss on your cheek, causing a pleased groan to escape your lips while you stand there paralyzed unable to think of anything else but what you start to desire.

“I thought,” you pause at the wet feeling of his lips pressing against your neck. “I thought I was here to show you a good time.” You try to laugh, but a trembling breath is all that comes out as he starts to leave a hot and wet trail of kisses back up to your lips as if he's making his mouth try and memorize every inch of that part of your face.

“You are,” he assures you. “You're here. That's all I need to have a good time.”

Your lips tug to a smile and you finally find the strength to peel away far enough to turn and face him.

“No,” you argue and step back as you slip your cloak off before you grab the edge of your sleeves and start to slip the gown off agonizingly slowly, causing his own desire to grow more intensely to the point even his breeches start to feel uncomfortable to have on.

He almost wants to close the space left between you to rip the gown off you, but when he steps forward you flash him a smirk and step back to peel the gown off and let it fall around your feet, leaving yourself only in thin panties that protect your most intimate part.

It would leave little to the imagination, but he knows you inside and out. He knows what you hide and he still salivates.

“Better than your woman out there?” You taunt him in a seductive voice, and he rolls his eye and shakes his head.

“Stop,” he quips. “Don't torment yourself with her. She’s nothing. No one.”

It won’t bring any peace to mind, but you leave it for now and move your hips as you strut to him to press your hands on his chest and then slide them down to unbuckle the buckles that keep his vest closed.

Aemond tries to help you, but you quickly take his hand away and press a kiss on his knuckles before you leave his hand on your breast, causing his breath to catch and his eye to be consumed with even more darkness. Once you've finally done the tedious job of pulling at every buckle you pull his vest and he helps you shrug it off, leaving him in a thin long-sleeved cotton shirt.

“Gods you are more dressed than me,” you laugh. “And here I thought it was your hair that took you long to get dressed.”

He chuckles softly and you share a smile before he pulls his shirt off, feeding your eyes with his beautiful sculpted torso.

“Beautiful,” you whisper before you trail your hands down and unbuckle his belt, causing you both to share a sweet laugh because you have to take more clothes off him.

Before you can attempt to take his breeches off though he steps back to pull his boots off, letting you slip your shoes off too. When there's nothing left for either of you to take care of you get pulled back to him and finally nudge his breeches so he can take them off and leave him naked and vulnerable to you in a room covered with a thick curtain.

Any other time before it would’ve been pretty unbelievable, you both are too possessive over each other to even share a glimpse of each other with anyone else, but right now at this moment, neither of you care.

Then again it’s not like the world outside actually exists; it’s him, you, and your guarded heart refusing to forget what he did, and refusing to give all of yourself back to him—or so that’s what you want to think…

Would a guarded heart really pound at the sight of his member? Would you really desire him as much as you do? Would your body ache for his delicate touch, and for his hard member to complete you if you were guarded?

Perhaps if that’s what you’re pushing yourself to feel. You’re just convincing yourself that you need him in every which way, that he’s all that matters and will matter for the rest of your days. That’s all it is…a hunger for revenge…

That’s why you kiss him with need, without worrying about breathing. He’s all you can need. Him, his thin lips, his tongue fighting yours before you pull away with heavy breaths and push him down to the bed to straddle him.

“<My Aemond,>” you coo in High Valyrian, and feel his tip twitch at those gentle words before he grabs the back of your neck and leans for a kiss, but leaves your mouth waiting as he flips you over to lay you on your back.

“<You are the devil,>” you grumble and he snickers before he presses kisses on your lips, on your chin, up on the tip of your nose, on your scar, and down on your jaw before he brushes the tip of his aquiline nose down your neck.

“Aemond,” you mumble in protest, but he shushes you by pressing his warm lips on your collarbone before he travels down and presses his lips on your breast, leaving his mouth there just for a second, but just enough to make you arch your back and tangle your fingers in his long and soft white silver hair.

You almost don’t want him to move, but he does the best thing and uses his mouth to suck your breast.

“Gods,” you breathe out, making him smile against your flesh before he starts to leave kisses further down your aching body until he comes to a stop on your thigh.

“<Tell me next time how much you need me and I’ll please you,>” he muses as he admires the mess you have between your legs.

“<I need you,>” you whisper desperately and he chuckles before he buries his face in between your legs, taking no time to tease you, he gets right to devouring you.

You try to hold back, but you can’t stop yourself from filling the room with the moans of his name, and small gasps as he drives his tongue deeper. When you begin to roll your hips up to meet the lapping of his tongue, he hooks his arms around your thighs and pins you down, making you increasingly more hot.

At one point you think you can last just to linger in this feeling, but he slides one thumb over to circle your clit and that causes you to grip onto the sheets below you as you’re pushed over the edge right away.

You want to feel ashamed for being consumed by such a pleasure, but you can’t say you remember that shame when that tension snaps and you come undone on his tongue.

Aemond is so consumed by the moment, turned on by the sound of his name coming past your lips and the sounds of pleasure that he alone produced out of you, that he can’t help but come undone moments behind you without you needing to touch him.

Now you would feel pride that you have such an effect on him, but you’re overwhelmed with more soft pleasure as he uses his tongue to clean you up until there’s no trace left of you.

Once he’s done he climbs up to hover over you and steals one look at you, making you smile softly at him, and watch his own lips tug to a mirrored smile before the corner of his lips twitch down and his soft eye is clouded by something dark that's far from lust.

“What is it?” You ask quietly and reach your hand out to grab his cheek.

Aemond’s gaze grows heavy and his eyes droop while a frown wedges itself deeply on his face.

“You must know,” he mutters and slowly grabs your hand. “I am sorry,” his voice comes out soft and apologetic. “About Luke.”

You blink in disbelief and your hand stiffens on his face. He knows you’re going to let go so he keeps your hand pressed against his face.

“I lost my temper,” he mumbles and swallows thickly. “I did not want to kill him. I did not mean it.”

Yes, but his dragon did. A dragon is a part of you when you bond, so Vhagar did not act alone. Her anger may have driven her to act out, but she didn’t do anything he didn’t want to. He knows that. You know that.

Yet you don’t open your mouth to say it. You stay silent and listen with your face growing hard, and your heart no longer dancing out of ecstasy.

“You have to believe me,” he almost pleads for your forgiveness. “I did not mean to kill him. Forgive me.”

Will that bring him back? No. Nothing he says will take back what happened. Lucerys is gone forever because of what he did. You can’t forgive that.

But you don’t tell Aemond that. You bring up your other hand to cup his other cheek and smile at him. “You mean it?” You ask for reassurance.

Aemond leans towards your touch and parts his lips. “I mean it,” he speaks hoarsely.

Despite all the thoughts your mind just conjured, the act of understanding you held falters at the feeling of his neediness feeding off your soft touch, and that blue eye consumed by genuine and sweet sincerity.

Yet you must remain strong…and loyal to your stand of being unforgiving over what he did, you can’t let the wall around your heart crumble. You won’t fall.

Not even as he lays on your side and nuzzles his face against the side of your breast. You do feel a sense of bliss as you make him feel comforted by wrapping your arm around his head and using your fingers to gently caress the side of his head, but that’s it. You don’t listen to your singing heart as he embraces your waist so you won’t go anywhere.

A silence interferes between your nestled-up bodies, and you fight, closing your eyes, finding ease and comfort in his warmth, and in his heart beating against you, assuring you he’s fine. However, you slowly lose your grip and your eyes close, letting a comforting silence linger for a while where only you and him exist.

Neither of you actually fall asleep, you just refuse to let the moment go until it is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the curtain getting ripped open, pulling your eyes open to glance at the intruder, only to grow cold and stiff at the sight of Aegon and his friends, trailing behind him.

You want to alert Aemond, but he turns his attention and finds his brother and his friends too.

And the moment Aegon has the attention of the both of you on him and realizes it’s really Aemond and you on the bed, he bursts out laughing, pulling Aemond to sit up and throw a sheet over your body as you follow him up.

“Aemond, the fierce!” Aegon blurts and points at Aemond as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. Maybe to his drunken mind, it is, but not to his friends, and especially not to you as you see how Aemond recoils into himself as if shielding himself from his brother's torment.

“You know,” Aegon laughs as he stumbles toward the bed, making you scoot closer toward Aemond to shield your body from Aegon’s wandering eyes.

“If it hadn’t been for me, she would’ve been his first. He would’ve saved himself for her,” Aegon continues, only making Aemond stiffen and for his face to fall with hurt that’s obvious to you.

“<Aemond,>” you whisper in High Valyrian and grab his bicep as you feel a growing need to protect him from his brother's continuous bullying that he has yet to grow out of at his big age.

“What a fine, sweet thing,” Aegon teases as he manages to get closer to the point where he climbs on the bed and leans in between Aemond and you. “Did you fuck her like a hound?” He interjects boldly and mocks multiple barks, making your jaw clench, and your quick-grown frustration turn to fury.

“You see,” Aegon directs at his friends who avoid looking at Aemond and never dare look at you.

“< Let's go, my love,>” you insist and lean closer toward him so only he can hear you. “<He's not worth it. Let’s go.>”

“Such is my niece's prowess, that even now my brother will not get tired of her.” Aegon points at you as he looks over to try and catch you exposed, but you hold the sheet tightly against you. “Even after she left.” Aegon laughs.

You sigh deeply and bite back what you want to say to this boy king, instead, you just focus on Aemond.

“<Come on.>” You keep urging him and pull his arm toward you, but it falls limp, making your heartache. You can’t stand seeing him so anguished, you never could stand him being belittled and feeling small. Just like you never found any of Aegon’s pranks funny, Aemond was always your soft spot, and you never let one of Aegon's pranks or mean snide go unpunished.

“Hard luck for your squire though,” Aegon tells his group of friends. “As you can see,” he laughs. “The room is very much occupied.”

He keeps laughing like a madman, finally triggering Aemond’s gaze to go hard at the same time his demeanor shifts from wounded to menacing before he gets up, letting your hand fall off his arm, and making you watch him as he twists around slowly with no care of being seen.

“Your squire is welcome to the room,” Aemond finally breaks his silence and steps off the bed, but not before calling out your name and following with a demand. “Let’s go.”

Aegon chuckles and wiggles his fingers to try and touch your leg, but you quickly pull your leg away and slide off the bed, making sure to keep the sheet on while you grab yours and Aemond’s stuff from the floor, before you follow after him in a tense silence that you don’t break while you change. That tension intensifies and changes the atmosphere you once carried as you walk back to the Red Keep. It stays when you get home and when you get ready for bed, killing any attempt to rekindle the passion you were lost in.

You have a dire need to talk to him, but at every attempt, he meets you with a cold shoulder. He stays mute as if Aegon had cut out his tongue when he left that brothel.

And perhaps you should leave it be, pass it off as cruel mocking, after all, what can you do now that Aegon is King?

There’s no way to make him pay back for what he said without facing some kind of consequence, and right now you need to avoid getting in trouble.

Yet how can you leave the topic untouched? You look at Aemond and your heart aches at the mere sight of the frown on his lips, and at the dullness that takes over his eye as he can’t help but feel ashamed, angry, and most of all hurt after being ridiculed by his brother.

“Aemond?” You call out in the silence of the room to gain his attention that’s turned away from you, but he doesn’t respond right away, even if you know he’s far from being asleep.

“Can we talk about it?” You probe on the matter.

“No,” he deadpans.

You sigh and take advantage that Aerion is not here to persist harder even if you have the chance to leave it be. After all, doesn't he deserve it? This feeling that plagues him so? It’s a piece of justice, isn’t it?

No…you can’t leave it be. And it’s not out of ill intent either. You push because you want to comfort his tormented soul. “At least look at me.”

Aemond’s back rises and falls before he turns around with his long hair falling over his face, making you instinctively brush his hair back behind his ear before you slide your hand down and gently stroke his cheek, noticing that he’s not even looking at you.

“I do not need your pity,” he argues, trying to sound hardened and serious, but you hear the falter in his voice that gives him away and actually seeks your comfort.

“It’s not pity,” you contradict him with the truth, causing him to scoff as he keeps his eye averted, but also makes no effort to take your hand off his cheek.

“It is. You are only doing this because of what happened,” Aemond remarks. “You can not stand me.”

You swallow back thickly and lean your face closer so he can hear your whispers of the truth. “If that was true would I be here? Grabbing your face the way I am? Would I be here on this same bed?”

“I made you be here,” he argues and slowly brings his eyes up to meet your gaze without that fury that weighed him down as all he thought about was the shame Aegon brought him publicly. He looks at you now with that hurt he can’t surpass, it clings onto him and makes his eye glossy and soft. He does try to rip away the hurt to show you fury, but he looks at you now, right across from him, and he can’t put up that facade.

That mask of invincibility and terror he carries is nonexistent with you at this very moment because you are his peace. The one who loves him with their whole heart, with no questions asked, no fear or hesitation despite the new man he became after being mutilated. Who can say that? Who can prove that the way you do every time you smile at him tenderly in public, look at him with love, and touch his face ever so softly despite the scar and missing eye that ruined his face? No one but you.

No one but you can ever read him without a need for words, just an exchange of looks without mistranslating a single look of snide that he throws at someone or something foolish, and without mistranslating something he finds humorous but can’t express in the masses.

Maybe he should detach himself from you, and learn to live without all that you offer him. You are the enemy's daughter after all, he knows the love you harbor for them is not dead. Yet he’s selfish, he can’t let go. He realizes that. Just like he realizes that he can’t be mad at you now.

He realizes you can leave again, pledge your fealty to your mother once again and he would be offended but that would not make him love you any less. There are some things he won’t forgive, he knows that, but besides those exceptions, you can hurt him and he will never let you go because you are the one who loves him the way he wants to be loved.

You prove that by coming back. Even if you had all the freedom with your mother you still came back to him. That’s proof.

Just like there’s proof now by the way you look at him with a tender look rather than one full of resentment.

“I’m here because I want to be here,” you dismiss his accusation that was right at first, but now is far from the truth. “Because I care for you, Aemond. I care,” you insist, but not to convince yourself, to convince him. “I…” you hesitate and struggle to say the next words that are coming to your mouth, but not because you don’t mean them and it pains you to say them to someone who betrayed you. You hesitate because you are struck with realization at that moment too.

As you lose yourself in his eye and the deep blue sapphire in his eye socket, you see the truth looking right back at you. You do love him despite what he did, despite his darkness, his selfishness, and his faults. You tried to hate him, tried putting up a wall, but that was merely an attempt, there was never a wall around your heart. You only told yourself that in hopes that would distance yourself from him, but you realize here and now that you love him.

He may be destruction incarnate, a demon in disguise, but you love him. Despite his betrayal, despite him visiting a brothel. You wholeheartedly, undoubtedly love him.

It’s a wild realization if it was one at all, but you cannot pretend otherwise.

Who will love you selfishly the way he does? He would burn the world for you, and you know that is a hard truth, but you love that promise. You hate that you love it, you don’t want to love him, but you cannot help it, you cannot push it away, you are devoted to him just as much as he’s devoted to you.

No one will understand your darkness that you try to hide the way he does. No one will love your hunger for power the way he does, and he would never find those traits shameful the way you find them shameful about yourself. He cherishes you, loves you despite it all, and you love him despite it all.

You love each other desperately and madly. After all, you are one flesh, one heart, and one soul, now and forever.

“I love you,” you spit out and grab his cheek firmly. “I love you that’s why I’m here,” you express with a wobbly smile. “That’s why I want to talk about what troubles you because I love you and I cannot stand seeing you hurt.” You nod in reassurance and his breath catches before he leans his face against your touch and kisses the heel of your hand.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to redirect without losing sight of your gaze. “I always have. I always will.”

You smile wider and scoot closer toward him to nuzzle your face against his chest, whilst you also snake your arm around him and rub circles on his back with your thumb, making him slink his arm around your neck to caress the back of your head.

“Your place is with me,” he assures you of that. “You belong here. I will protect you here.”

You smile against his flesh and speak against him, causing goosebumps to grow along his skin. “And I will protect you.”

Aemond huffs in protest but you know he loves that shit.

“I mean it,” you continue sweetly. “There’s not much I can do right now, but I can still look out for you. I will. We’re what matters most in this world, Aemond. Us and our son. No matter the cost.” You voice with no hint of that sweet honey, you mean it fiercely and prove your ferocity by pulling back to face him with flickers of that darkness in your eyes.

“Do you understand?” You press to assure him but also seek reassurance for yourself.

Aemond lowers his head to meet your gaze with that same fire in his eye. No questions asked, and no hesitation to consider. “I know. No matter the cost. With fire and blood.”

The corner of your lips pull to a smirk and you seal that fierce dedication with a kiss on his lips. When you pull back you see thoughts forming behind his eye that deepen that smirk before he presses a kiss on your forehead.

You smile in return and as he faces you you return to what you initially needed his attention for. “You are more fierce than he is. You know that.”

Aemond’s eye flickers down, and you slide your hand over to grab the back of his neck. “He just knows that he has more power over you,” you make sure he hears what you have been thinking of since Aegon interrupted your moment together.

“He knows you won’t react because he’s king, but that doesn’t mean a thing. You are still you,” you continue without falter and regain his unwavering attention. “You are stronger. More powerful. Loyal, kind, and more fierce in a way he will never be. You are Vhagar’s rider. You are what he will never be.”

Aemond’s lips part, and his eye widens while also growing dark with desire. An intense ferocity captures him in a stupor, but he quickly snaps out of it to grab your face and kiss you fiercely.

You take a second to grasp this burst of passion, but you snap out of your surprise quickly and kiss him back with the same energy while also letting him take complete control of the heated moment that turns into a passionate night with little sleep.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

“What will you do today?” You ask Aemond as you gently massage his temple with your thumbs while he lays his head on your lap.

“With Cole gone a little less, but I have made it my job to attend more council meetings, to be present while war plans are made. But this morning I will go patrol on top of Vhagar, so I will go to that soon after breaking fast, and perhaps get some training in after.”

You scoff softly. “Oh because you need it?” You tease and look over at Aerion sitting on Aemond’s torso. “Right little dragon? Your papa does not need to train.”

Aerion glances at you before looking back at Aemond and reaching for the toy Aemond holds up for him.

“Refining my skill is necessary,” Aemond finally interjects. “Why would I hold myself back from achieving a new skill in a time like now?”

You hum and tilt your head as you gently slide your thumbs down to massage his cheekbones. “Maybe I could be your sparring partner today? Or you could teach me a skill or two?” You smirk, and his eye snaps over to you as his lips stay still before they tilt towards a small smirk.

“Why would I refrain you from getting better, my love? Here I thought you wanted to be more like Queen Rhaenys?”

You snicker and roll your head away. “She was an excellent dragon rider, but I do not wish to limit myself to one thing especially now during war. I may not always have my dragon to protect me, things happen unexpectedly. I cannot always count on you, you’re busy. I do not want to be helpless when the time comes.”

He hums and comments. “You are not. You have skill.”

“Not excellent skill,” you press and stop your thumbs to hold his gaze. “I want to be great.”

Aemond puts the toy down to reach over and cradle your cheek. “And great you are, but…if you wish me to teach you I will help, maybe then you will not need that sworn protector:”

You snicker and lean down to speak against his lips in Valyrian. “<Don't be jealous my love.>”

“<I chose one for you for a reason, and you went on to choose a bastard,>” he rebuttals and his grip turns firm.

“<You chose an old man,” you remark. “Who would need to be changed the way I change Aerion, no thank you.>”

“A skilled knight.”

“An old man.”

Aemond groans and you lean back, causing Aemond’s hand to fall. “Meet Ser Jason, and watch him fight,” you defend your sworn protector. “He’s very skilled and a quick thinker. He used his cloak to blind his opponent, and! He killed a Dothraki screamer. How great is that?! He also fought at the Step Stones with Daemon.”

Aemond frowns and turns his focus to Aerion grabbing his little foot.

“I trust him,” you plead for the knight's case. “Do you not trust me?”

Aemond doesn’t look at you but he responds. “I will slay him if he does not do his job.”

There’s no need for a clear answer, that was his agreement.

“What will you do today?” He then changes the subject.

You pout and shrug. “Nothing and then more of nothing. I am not allowed to do anything.” You grumble, making him smile.

“Don't laugh,” you scold him and smack his shoulder. “You know I detest being bored, Aemond.”

“What would you do in Dragonstone?” He asks.

You sigh and shrug. “A bit more, I would attend council meetings, but my mother did not let us do anything either.”

He hums and reaches his hand over to caress your knee before he sits up and replaces his head with Aerion instead.

“I have something for you,” he shares, piquing your curiosity.

“A gift?” You squeal as he walks over to a shelf to grab a box before he returns to the bed and places the box down by your lap.

“I hope you like it,” he says and sits on the edge of the bed. “It took me a while to find it.”

You beam at him and secure your arm around Aerion before you reach over and pull the lid off, finding a red-leathered heart-shaped book that strikes you with awe the very moment you lay your eyes on it.

You almost do not want to touch it, it looks too precious to touch, but you can’t contain your excitement, you take the book from the box and realize it’s a songbook from Old Valyria.

“<Songs and Ballads of Valyria.> You read the gold title out loud in your mother tongue. “<Amazing,>” you muse as you admire the cover and the shape of the book. “<It must have been a pain to find it.>”

You proceed to open the book and flip through the pages to take a glimpse at all the different songs it contains.

“You like singing in High Valyrian,” Aemond brings up. “I thought it would be appropriate for you to have songs from where we come from.”

Your heart swoons and when you look over at him your eyes water. “Thank you, my love,” you whisper and lean over to him to press a lingering kiss on his lips.

Guilt begins to wedge itself within you, threatening to spoil the moment, but you refuse to be consumed by anything but appreciation and bliss at this very moment.

If your mind wants to torment you then it can do it later when you’re not with Aemond. Not now.

Even then you’ll bury it if you must.

“Maybe I’ll sing you something later if you come find me,” you suggest seductively before you lean in and bite his bottom lip.

Aemond groans softly in response, making you snicker before you sit up and climb off the bed to try and get the morning started before you’re forced.

“I'll be lonely all day, under the watchful of my sworn protector,” you feign a sigh and you hear Aemond get on his feet.

When you peer back he looks bothered so you offer him a sweet grin before you waltz over to put Aerion down on the ground protected by blankets and multiple fluffy pillows so you can go on and start your day before the morning slips from your fingers.

Albeit you didn’t realize how much you enjoyed your moment of peace. The war did not exist in the confinement of your chambers as you ate breakfast. It felt like the days before the tensions of war; calm, blissful, filled with long talks as you both bring up whatever comes to mind, and filled with wonder as you watch your son interact with the world.

As expected though the illusion breaks when the doors to your quarters open and Aemond parts in his way, and you go in your way; finding yourself in the Godswood thinking of one thing.

How could you be so horrible?

Kissing Cregan was one thing, but laying with him and mayhaps having his babe?

Your brothers suffered because of their parentage, do you want the same bestowed upon your children? Or do you want something more horrible cast upon them if they happen to be his and come out looking like him?

Aemond would never forgive that betrayal, he would not want that to besmirch his name. He would kill you too. Do you want that?

Do you want him to hate you?

If the babes are Cregan’s anyway, they can be Aemond’s. You’re choosing to blindly believe that the babes Helaena said you’d have, are Aemond’s. You can’t believe otherwise for your sanity…unless…

You take something stronger than moontea?

But what fault do the babes have for your sins? And if they are Aemond’s and you rob them of their lives?

You can’t do that, no matter how much that would spare you of any troubles.

Gods!

You fall on your knees and look up at the crying face on the Weirwood tree, unknowingly meeting the intent gaze of Cregan Stark who is leagues away, but looking upon the same crying face thinking of you as he reads the letter you sent with haste before you left—more like before you run from Dragonstone.

He would understand. Only because you aren’t actually married to him, but he would understand and he wouldn’t shame you. He would help in some way…

If you could see him, or continue writing to him, or if he was here. But he’s not here, no one can help you, you have to suffer through this alone because it’s a mistake you made. You must pay its price and hope, pray even that the babes are fully Aemond’s.

And after you pray and beg under your breath with thick tears rolling down your cheeks, you have to pick yourself up and play the part; the dutiful wife as Daemon said.

Only you aren’t really dutiful, nor is it all pretend, you are here aren’t you? In his protective care, marking his lips and face with kisses; knowing only your lips have touched him. You're looking deep into his soul through his eye. You're wrapped in his arms that you find so secure and holy in the madness of war, so what’s a little selfish take in this great suffering?

Daemon pushed you into Aemond’s arms, you didn’t plan to come back, but he pushed you here, so why can’t you let Aemond feed your needy heart his love? And why can’t you feed his starving heart more of your love while you still stay faithful to your mother?

There’s no sin in loving.

Right?

“Right,” you sigh deeply and push yourself to your feet to sit against the white trunk instead and finally take a deep dive into the book Aemond gave you, finding yourself drawn to one specific ballad that you start to mutter before you hum along quietly to try and find a tempo.

When it seems that you have the right beat you start quietly singing to the brisk air, unbeknownst to you having your song travel into the ears of your sworn protector, and capturing his interest to the point he has to peer back at you over his shoulder to stare. He tries to focus on his task at hand, but no matter how hard he tries, his attention draws back to you, as if your voice had bewitched him.

He can't understand what it is you’re singing about, nor does he want to ask because it sounds so sacred. Albeit you manage to catch his curious attention and interject to fill the curiosity mingling in his deep blue eyes.

“It's about the God of the Sea loving both the Goddess of the Sun and Sky and the Goddess of the Moon and Stars.”

Ser Jason snaps his attention ahead with reddening cheeks, and you continue to feed his curiosity.

“To summarize the ballad, the God couldn’t pick between the two, until fate picked for him by killing the Goddess of the Moon and Stars. However,” you sigh and look back at your pages to glance at the ballad. “…Upon seeing her death, carrying her in his arms, he realizes when it’s too late that he always loved the Goddess of the Moon and Stars, for she was his soulmate. Without the moon and the stars who would shine his dark waters, who would bring days to an end, who would bring tides, and the very gravity that holds him down to earth?”

Ser Jason hums before his armor clatters against each other as he turns to face you.

“What a selfish god,” he shamelessly gives his opinion, bringing a smile to your lips that makes a hotter heat unfurl under his cheeks.

“Aren't they all?” You say back and drift your gaze to him. “No matter how gracious one god is, they are all selfish in some way.”

Ser Jason hums and can’t help himself from leaving his post and approaching you.

“You want to know why?” He asks and you probe with hum as you put your book down against your lap.

“Because they don’t live amongst us…”mortals”…no matter how much they wish to relate to us or say they do, they will never be us.” He says and shakes his head. “They never suffer the same because they are the ones that bring that suffering.”

You blink slowly in awe and can’t help your lips from lifting to a softer smile. “Is that so?” You muse.

Ser Jason holds your gaze and blinks repeatedly as if in disbelief of what he’s seeing whilst he parts his lips, but says nothing but a long ‘uh’ as he watches you wide-eyed.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you press him. “Ser?”

Ser Jason clears his throat and nods harshly before he giggles nervously and finally gives his response. “It is…It’s, uh, the harsh reality that you learn in the suffering.”

You hum and hold the book against your chest to lean forward and question him. “Are you from King’s Landing, Ser?”

The knight nods. “Born just in the Street of Silk, before I was raised in Flea bottom until I got good enough with a sword and went to fight for a living.”

“Couldn’t stand the suffering?” You ask and he scoffs softly as he nods

“Exactly,” he grins. “I decided to test fate and suffer in violence instead.”

You huff softly in response and narrow your gaze to continue questioning him so you can know more about him, but not before you check the entrance to make sure Aemond isn’t coming and overreacts.

“Tell me Ser, what led you to fight a Dothraki Screamer?”

The man smiles at the ground, making those deep-set dimples of his make an appearance on his face. “Adventure,” he says. “Access to money…I also had nothing waiting for me here, so after the Step Stones I set sail to different ports, met different people, and saw all kinds of wonders.”

Your eyes fill with wonder as you hear all that you wished to do and be once upon a time.

“Then…why did you come back?” You can’t help but ask and glance at the ground. “There’s nothing too wonderful about this place,” you say as if it was muscle memory to say those words you thought long forgotten. “Especially now with war so rampant.”

You look back at the knight, and he shrugs whilst he meets your gaze with a look of sincerity. “It’s home. No matter the bad memories, or the suffering. Home called me back.”

Your gaze falters and you lose yourself deep in thought about those marvelous wonders you will never see, only hear about from mouths like his.

“Besides, I do have my father…” he trails off and clears his throat as he focuses on something else. You follow his line of gaze and see Alicent walking in the Godswood.

“Your Grace,” Ser Jason greets and bows his head as he closes and opens his hand.

Alicent stares at him for a long second, before she stops in her path and brings up a question. “I cannot say I have seen you before, what is your name?”

Ser Jason swallows back nervously and shakes his head. “My name. I am new,” he stammers. “I am new working within the castle. My name is Ser Jason Waters.”

“My sworn protector,” you clarify for him.

Alicent glances at you and then looks back at the Knight with a gentle smile. “I see,” she says.

Ser Jason lingers there awkwardly for a moment and Alicent keeps staring at him waiting for him to move away, but he doesn’t seem to understand so you interject. “Go back to where you were Ser, it’s quite alright.”

Ser Jason nods rapidly before he walks away, making Alicent wait until where he's supposed to be before she continues her path toward you.

“Princess, I thought I would find you here,” she directs at you with a sweet smile you find quite grotesque and all too fake.

“Here I am,” you mutter and stand to your feet. “Enjoying the stillness of the Godswood.”

She hums and holds her hands in front of her as she brings herself to a stop close to you. “I understand. The Red Keep has gotten quite rowdy with everyone moving about.”

You offer her a half smile in response before you glance around as if that will give you the answer as to why she came to you.

“I hope everything is going well with Aemond, I know men sometimes find it difficult to understand our troubles,” she says in an attempt to what? Be nice? Be nosy?

“Well,” you roll out and sigh. “Luckily, Aemond and I have been childhood friends. Growing up together helped us understand each other, so yes there has been difficulty, but we understand each other's troubles quite well.”

She didn’t get the answer she sought but she doesn’t press for a clarification, she just offers you a tight-lipped smile and mutters. “That makes me glad.”

You nod stiffly and purse your lips together before you just decide to cut this formality off and get to what she needs. “Do you need something from me, your Grace, or am I just being blessed with your company?”

She hums with a smile and steps closer, making sure to look over her shoulder once before she comes to a stop very close to you, causing your gaze to narrow as your eyebrows try to meet together.

“With us living together for so long, I like to say I know you like I know my children.”

That’s funny.

“I know that sitting and doing nothing makes you restless,” you let her get to the point because you’re now more curious than ever. “Thus I came to you to offer my help. Or more so my partnership.”

Your eyebrows soothe for a second but soon rise with your amused disbelief.

“We are surrounded by men,” she goes on with no clue as to what’s obviously playing on your face. “Who often think too rash and don’t take rationality under consideration. That’s where we come in, but they don’t tend to listen to the kinder voices.”

“No,” you input as you fiddle with the long smooth pearl snood flowing down with the length of your hair.

“But we must persist, be their rationality. But we can’t do that alone, as a woman it’s important we stick together. Be a force to get in their minds. That’s why I thought we could work together and get them to listen to what we plan out.”

Your gaze flickers down as you nod slowly in comprehension, letting her believe you actually fall for her crap and take it to heart before you start to laugh and face her with an all too menacing smile.

“No,” you snap as your laugh dies and brings your lips down to a harsh frown as your eyes harden. “You do not know me, your Grace. You have no idea who I am, which is telling, really,” you feign a laugh and step closer to tilt your head and narrow your fierce glare. “Why should I ever consider working with you?”

She blinks repeatedly as she’s caught off guard, and steps back.

“I may be at odds with my mother,” you lie. “But I do not forget your treatment, the snide, the torment. The way you made her walk up flights of stairs mere minutes after labor.”

Alicent’s eyebrows furrow, but then quickly knot together as her brown eyes gleam with quick tears, and a long frown grows on her face.

“And then there was me, you sent me away across the country to get back at my mother for something I did not do. I was trying to stop them and you sent me away when I easily could have been your ward, but no. You are no ally, no friend. You are mean and I will never work with you.” You give her your response and look her up and down, finding that frown pretty pathetic.

“But I will tell you this,” you add one more thing in a whisper. “As a suggestion. Leave, Your Grace. There’s no husband for you to tend to anymore. You will find peace in the religion you grip onto as if it’s your salivation. Woman to woman.” You hum and curtsy before you walk past her.

“And you,” she tries to get the last word in. “What will you do? There’s nothing for you to do here but tend to your husband. They will never hear your counsel. He will never hear it.”

You stop and draw out a deep breath. “I have a dragon, I have skill with a sword, not perfect but it is a skill, and most of all I have his trust,” you finally give her the answer she was seeking before. “He does trust me, but you know that.”

You look at her over your shoulder and offer her a sweet smile before you turn your head away and roll your eyes.

Perhaps if she had been nice she would have gained you as an ally, but you do not forget a slight. Especially when it comes to her hurting your mother.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“It’s nice being away from the stench of the city,” you say fondly as you hurry down to a small patio hidden below the castle where the waves crash on the rocks below and bring a nice refreshing mist where the salt filters in your nose, and the noise of the city and the castle drowns out.

“With those Rat Catchers still on the walls the air reeks even from my balcony,” you complain to Ser Jason who listens maybe because he is paid to, but he listens nonetheless.

“It's a poor sight,” the knight says from behind you. “Some of those men were innocent…”

You peek over at him and stay quiet for a moment before you rebuttal. “So was the boy.”

Ser Jason meets your gaze and he keeps his eyes on you for a while as if challenging you, so you fight right back with more fire, making him look down before he moves his eyes ahead to look out for trouble.

“Could I ask,” you shift the subject to a less tense topic. “How did Daemon come to recruit you?”

“Well, the squadron I was in—”

“No,” you cut him off. “I am referring to this job right now. Did he just recognize you and throw you a sack of coins?”

Ser Jason glances at you and you make a quick stop to let him catch up to you before you continue ahead slowly.

“Well, he did give me gold,” he says under his breath, so it's not possible for someone can hear him in the solitude of this path. “But we did not just bump into each other…he actually came looking for me,” he pauses, and his gaze flickers down. “I was his squire at the Stepstones, but he soon released me and gave me a higher rank to go with my skill. I suppose he remembered me and the stories I would tell him of where I was from.”

You hum and scoff in surprise. “That’s unlike him.”

Ser Jason nods and laughs nervously before he throws his head up and looks at you. “He did threaten me after finding me so he stayed himself.”

You huff in amusement and don’t want to ask but you can’t help yourself. “What did he say?”

He clears his throat. “If anything happens to the princess and that babe I will personally come burn you alive after I have gutted you alive,” he says as he mocks Daemon’s voice, making you giggle.

“Nice,” you praise him, causing him to realize what he just did and grow flustered.

“I did not mean to, I mean, I am sorry. I should not have done that,” he stammers and you shake your head.

“Do not worry about it Ser, I found it amusing and accurate.”

Besides it does take you by surprise that Daemon would…care so much as to threaten him with such violence for Aerion and you.

“Many of my protectors before have been older and quite stiff, so it is refreshing to have someone to talk to,” you tell him sincerely. “Especially in a time like now. Do not worry alright?”

Ser Jason's lips part and a red tint takes over his cheeks as his eyes soften. Yet you don’t pay attention to the way his eyes lock on you or the way his breath stills for a second, you manage to finally catch sight of your small lookout and find a Septon and a Septa already there.

What a damn bummer! You wanted to be alone!

Whatever you’ll have to stick to one side then.

“I like to escape here,” you tell Ser Jason as you get ahead eagerly. “It’s peaceful, and when I was a girl since I was not allowed to train with the boys I would come and practice with a sword and strawman everything I watched them do. My mother would get me in trouble though, I tended to go down to the rocks to feel the water, so she said that the waves were too big and wild here and one could take me. But I never listened.”

“Did you ever get close?” The knight asks and you look back at him with a grin.

“Once, just do not tell my mother.”

He laughs under his breath and you make it to the patio, trying to avoid any eye contact from the Septon and Septa, so they would not come speak to you, but you do sneak a glance at the Septon posted behind the Septa, and find yourself a bit drawn by the man as you feel like you recognize his old face.

Before you can take a good look he turns his face away, but it doesn't take away from the fact that his face is really oddly familiar, you just need one good look.

Yet you don’t try because that would mean having to walk back and that would be awkward, so you go sit on the empty bench and just admire the waves the ocean throws at the rocks. There’s no attempt to talk to Ser Jason, you do not want to fill your silence at this moment. All you want to do is sit in silence and not be tormented by memories or running thoughts that spread like a web.

However, your moment of peace comes to an abrupt end when the Septa comes to sit next to you.

She could have stayed where she was but she moved out of her way to come sit next to you. Isn’t that fucking great!

You had forgotten how much you hate Septa’s.

You do bite your tongue though and just keep watching ahead hoping she doesn’t see how you’re starting to fume.

Just keep looking ahead.

Just keep—

Suddenly your mind goes quiet as the Septa drops her hand on yours resting on your lap.

“Uh,” you part your lips and slowly churn your head to the side with a tight-lipped smile to address this bold Septa, but when you lay your eyes on her you immediately recognize your mother…

It must be some weird dream…

It’s not her!

You snap your eyes ahead and stare in disbelief for a second before you take a second look and see that it in fact is your mother, and the Septon is no Septon, it’s Ser Steffon Darklyn! You knew you recognized him!

But how?! Why?!

“Mother?” You gasp in disbelief whilst your face contorts with shock.

She puts her finger against her lips to shush you out of fear someone would hear you from the distant castle, or the knight behind you would say something.

“We…can trust Ser Jason, Daemon paid him to protect me,” you throw out to get that out of the way before you probe her. “What are you doing here? Why? You need to leave. Now!” You get up and take her hand to attempt and get her away, but as she stands up she yanks you back with her.

“Not without you,” she snaps. “I came this way for you. We are returning to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head and she pulls you with her, but you slip your hand away from her grasp and stand your ground, causing her to turn and face you with her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“No, I am not returning home,” you proclaim firmly and raise your chin. “I can help you here. I am here to help you, it’s the only way I can help you.”

Your mother shakes her head and closes the distance to grab your arms and argue. “No, there are other ways, perhaps I have been protective, but I do it for your own good. You are young, inexperienced, and so is your dragon.”

You take in what she says but that still doesn’t win you over. “I understand—”

“There are other things you can help me with,” she cuts you off to try and persuade you. “This is not one of them. If they find out you are sending information they will kill you. We must return home at once, get Aerion, and sneak out.”

“No,” you exclaim and step back. “I am careful, and Aemond trusts me. I use the tunnels behind the walls to listen to council meetings, I will get my dragon out from the Dragonpit soon so she can fly over and send you the letters, you just have to trust me, Mother.”

Said woman goes quiet and her eyes droop with anguish so you approach her and grab her hands to assure her. “It is a risk, but it is one I am willing to take to get you on that throne.”

Her breath catches and she reaches over to cup your cheek and whisper. “And it will not be worth it if I lose you and your brothers. Please listen to me, my sweet. Come home.”

“You will not lose us,” you don’t give in. “You will have us. We will stand by your side when you become Queen. Just trust that I am doing the right thing. I ask you only this, trust me. Please.”

Your mother pulls her head back and stares at you hard for a long and tense moment before she drops her head and lets a tear fall to the ground. “Fine…I will trust you.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, mother.”

“But;” she sniffles and looks back at you. “At any sign of trouble, you come home.”

You don’t hesitate to assure her with a nod before you slip away from her to sit back down on the bench. When she sits next to you you tell her what you have heard, but haven’t been able to send. “Ser Criston, Ser Gwayne Hightower, and a few other knights have left to attack the houses in the Crownlands who support you. He will turn them against you to try and take Harrenhal.”

Your mother's eyes flutter as she looks to the horizon to get lost in thought.

“I heard reports of Ser Criston and other knights marching somewhere, but we had not figured out where,” she says to the crashing waves.

“That’s all the worthwhile things I have heard, but I will get more information soon.” You try to assure her, gaining her attention and a small smile.

“Thank you, just be careful when you try and listen, okay?”

You nod and let a silence befall you where you both feel the urgency to leave so she does not get caught, but in that silence, you also feel the need to speak of your troubles now that she’s here. You do not want to hold them anymore than you have to or you will combust. Besides, you are in desperate need of her counsel to know what to do.

“<Mother,>” you croak in High Valyrian and see her eyes catch the tears that quickly fill your eyes. “<I have to tell you something,” you pause and she immediately grows overly concerned. “I’m…I’m with child.>”

You have not had it confirmed yet, Helaena did tell you and you want to pass her off as a bit mad since there was no way she could know, but you know it in your gut that she is right. There’s also evidence that points to it that you have tried to ignore, but you cannot ignore the truth forever. No matter how much it scares you.

“<That's great…>” Your mother trails off as she doesn’t see your joy and instead sees anguish.

“<When I was a ward in Winterfell I was lonely…some people would not talk to me because I was me, but also because they were being mean, but…Lord Stark did, he became my friend,” you give her context. “He was my best friend and then,” you pause and hold in your sob. “We ventured into a more romantic relationship…but I stopped it when I came back. I was devoted to my husband, I love him, but when I went back and found out what he did to Lucerys…I was—>” You cut yourself off and drop your head on your hand. Your mother reaches for your hand but you pull away and finish.

“<I was hurt. I felt betrayed, and Cregan comforted me…one thing led to another, and…>” you don’t finish the rest but she knows what you mean and stays quiet and still now. You don’t want to know what she might be feeling so you keep your gaze averted.

“<But I also lay with Aemond before I left for Dragonstone and now I do not know who might be the father. I’m scared…I’m horrible.>” You cry and your mother can’t stand your cries so she finally takes your hands and nudges your hands towards her so you can look at her.

“<The father is Aemond,” she says seriously not because she knows, but because that’s what you need to believe, what you need to say if it’s not true. “Do you hear me? There might be a high chance it is. I am betting it is. It was just one night with Lord Stark. Do not worry I doubt anything took root, okay? When was the last time you bled?>”

You shrug. “<It's been complicated since Aerion, I do not bleed as heavily anymore, so I get confused, but I bled for two days and that ended the day after you returned to King’s Landing. But, I was feeling more tired than usual and just odd the entire week I was at Winterfell, just before Lord Stark.>”

“<See, it is Aemond’s. That’s proof,” she tries and convince you of the higher outcome. “Do not worry. It’s not good for you, and there is still a lot of time before that babe comes.>”

“<Twins,>” you share what Helaena told you, making your mother smile and cup your cheek to stroke it.

“<Twins,>” she muses. “<I'm happy.>”

You want to share her joy but you can’t look past your self-hatred. “<I'm still horrible. I shouldn’t have done it. But I did and I’m horrible for it. And I know what Aemond did, I know what he has done, but Mama, I still cannot bear it. I betrayed him. I-I—>” You break into a sob and she moves her head with yours as you drop it.

“<Look at me,>” she commands softly as she grabs your face and tilts your head up regardless. “<It is true you could have taken other pursuits, but it happened already. And it does not make you horrible.>”

You shake your head and mumble. “<You only say that because you’re my mother.>”

She scoffs softly and nods. “<Maybe, but it does not matter because I know you. You are not horrible, and doing that does not make you horrible, we are only human, my sweet. You were hurt, betrayed, and he was everything you needed. In a moment like that it’s easy to fall into the wrong thing to avoid being alone. You admit you did wrong, that’s all that matters.>”

Your ache eases off your heart and even though nothing can take away the sin, you still feel comforted by her sweet words. It’s just what you needed to stop letting that torment you as much as it has, she was what you needed; your mother's comfort.

“<Do not let it torment you anymore. It happened in the past, leave it there. Think about your safety, about your children’s safety, that’s paramount. Your other worries are for not because Aemond is the father. You’re just overthinking it because you’re scared.>”

You nod softly in comprehension and she wipes away your tears before she presses a kiss on your forehead.

“I must go now,” she brings this moment to its end in the common tongue. “So I must ask you again, will you come?” She asks, making you smile faintly before you reject her one last time.

“I will stay, but I will be careful I promise.”

She sighs deeply but doesn’t argue anymore. “Alright. I will be waiting for your letters, and any sign of trouble.”

“Okay. I love you, mother,” you tell her before you can’t.

She smiles at you and doesn’t hesitate to say it back. “I love you too, my sweet.”

She pulls her hands away and stands up, you stand up with her and linger in each other's presence for a bit longer before you watch her leave, and with her, taking a chance for you to return home to her, but leaving you with a more sane mind. The possibility of your sin coming to life is something that can happen, but you look at the more positive side now and tell yourself that Aemond will be there, and even if there’s some chance he isn't, they can still look like you, so there shouldn’t be fear.

Besides, if you think about it, really ponder about it, Aemond is the only face you see when you think about their father. Gut feeling or not, you see him, your husband, your other half, the love of your life that you can’t sacrifice, the light in your darkness.

How twisted is that?

——

*LATER*

You can’t help it, you can’t take it anymore.

“What are you doing?” You interrupt the silence and bring your book down to stare at Aemond, who stops fiddling with the gold coin and meets your annoyed gaze.

He’s going to ask what stole your attention from the book in your hands, but he sees you looking at the coin and shows it off before he passes it between his fingers one more time just to taunt you.

“Funny,” you deadpan, making him smile faintly before he throws the coin over at you so you can catch it, but it ends up on your lap.

“Are you trying to pay for my services or what? Because I will say, being a princess, my cost is high.” You taunt and he scoffs in amusement before he mutters back.

“It’s free for me actually.”

You laugh and he finally addresses the annoying coin he’s been carrying around since you got back home. “I found it on the ground after Daemon sent those intruders in to try and kill me.”

You pick up the coin and study it. “So what you carry it around as a reminder of…”

“That he wants to challenge me, but doesn’t come and face me,” Aemond fills your silence and you really want to laugh because that is really unlikely, Daemon has been busy doing other stuff, but Aemond doesn’t look like he’s jesting so you just hum and nod in comprehension.

“Where were you that night anyway?” You finally ask since Jaehaerys ended up being the victim of this tragic affair.

Albeit Aemond just glances over at you once before he picks up your legs from his lap to stand up without making you uncomfortable and without answering your question, which is actually all you need to know that he was at the brothel. It doesn't take a genius to know, he would have told you otherwise.

“Where were you?” He asks as he walks around the map on the small table.

“With my family,” you mutter in annoyance and put the coin down to return your attention to your book, letting him know exactly what you feel, so as to not let you simmer in your annoyance, he walks up behind you and pushes the book down before he gently wraps his fingers on your chin and tilts your head back so you can meet his gaze.

“Don't be mad,” you mock him. “Is that what you’re going to tell me? I’m not. I am…not.”

He hums before he brings his lips down and presses a kiss on your forehead before he brings his face down and leaves a kiss on the top of your nose, causing a wobbly smile to start breaking on your face with no attempt to hold back. He has your heart swooning, and when he kisses you slowly on your lips your heart explodes and you can’t help but grin completely enamored.

“What are you reading?” He asks as he pulls back and stays crouched behind you.

“Just some Valyrian stuff, nothing here compares to the stuff in Dragonstone, but it will suffice.”

Aemond hooks his finger around the cover and presses it to the side so he can see the title. “<Blood Magic or Chosen by Gods.>” He reads out loud in High Valyrian. “That’s an interesting read.”

You sigh and close the book to mindlessly watch the cover. “This man lived in Valyria before it was destroyed, half of the things are hard to read because the book is old, but what you can see is just theories with evidence I don’t need.”

Aemond hangs his hands over the armrest and leans his face forward, leaving his lips by your ear. “What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He queries.

You stay quiet for a moment as you ponder in your hesitance of whether telling someone of your…gift or not. But then again, without any concrete knowledge, you can’t really say a thing. Thus you just pass it off as an interest. “I just read that back then, in Valyria, there were people who…weren’t hurt by fire, but it’s all…” you trail off in frustration so he continues for you.

“Stories.”

You shrug. “Well they are now, but it just caught my attention, you know? I just want to know more.” You say and glance at him.

He glances at you and studies you for a moment before he glances at the book. “My father had books he kept in his chambers that contained important knowledge of Valyria, like magic and prophecies and stories. I’ll bring them to you, I can’t see Aegon having any use for them.”

You beam at him. “That would be great. Thank you.” You lean in and press a kiss on his cheek before you grab his chin and interrogate him. “Now how do you know about these books and did not tell me?”

“I found them after you left for the North, I never got to share them with you,” he says. “And now, I had forgotten until right now.”

You hum and let him go to lay back and stare at the high ceiling. “Do you still read that book about that one dragonrider? The one with the three-headed dragon?”

Aemond gets up and shakes his head, but you know otherwise, so you giggle and sit up to expose him.

“You do!”

The corner of Aemond’s lips tug up and you assure him. “That was always your favorite, I think you wore it out.”

“You dropped it in the pond if I remember correctly,” he remarks. “So it was you who wore it out.”

“Okay, but it was not my fault—”

“You were walking on the ledge of the pond and tripped with the book in hand,” he cuts you off, making you laugh.

“Yeah, I paid for that by smelling like pond water for days, the smell would not get off my hair, no matter how hard I scrubbed.” You complain with a pout, making him laugh softly.

“I ended up finding the book for you after though, I remember I stole it from Dragonstone once when I happened to…venture too far on dragonback.”

Aemond sneaks a glance at you and questions you as he stops at the other side of the small table. “What was your furthest?”

You snicker and loll your head to the side to tell him. “The wall. I would have ventured further, but Astraea did not want to fly past that wall…After this war is over I’ll fly to Dorne,” you share happily with a smile. “I have always wanted to go to a Dornish beach.”

He scoffs. “Perhaps we will finally take it after this war is over. Vhagar is bigger, and Astraea is fast.”

“Not with Aegon we won’t,” you complain without shame as you sit back and cross a leg over the other. “After this war is over, we’ll see this Red Keep filled with all kinds of different wines and women before we see him again.”

Aemond huffs and surprises you by adding a comment. “You know my brother, he’s always lacked…well…everything.”

You scoff in agreement and glance at the map before you roll your eyes up and take a leap. “The crown needs someone smart, someone that holds responsibility at great value, who knows our histories, and has an heir.”

Aemond slowly looks up with a cold expression that's hard to read at first, but as you stare into his eye his expression thaws and you know you’re not trudging in dangerous waters. You actually hit the mark and seem to read exactly what he has in mind, you can see that with the glint that goes over his eye.

Alas just as the corner of his thin lips begin to drag up to a smirk, the door opens, bringing your conversation to a sudden end with no chance to spark it back up to avoid getting in trouble.

“Princess, My Prince,” one of Aerion’s Wetnurses greets as she brings in a sleeping Aerion.

“Marie,” you greet and watch her as she walks to Aerion’s cradle. “Did he eat well?”

The Wetnurse nods and looks back at you. “Very well, it seems we will have to increase his intake. He’s grown quite an appetite.”

You smile softly in awe. “He will be five months soon, so that’s it. I’m sure.”

Marie puts Aerion down and tucks him in, while from the entrance of your chambers yours and Aerion’s sworn protector walks in.

“Princess,” he steals your attention with a warm smile, but also ends up grabbing Aemond’s attention from the map he was studying—“uh…My Prince,” Ser Jason trails off to a whisper and bows his head. “Uh,” He pauses as Aemond slowly stands to his feet with nothing to say, he just stands there menacingly as if trying to intimidate the knight with his tall stature. But then again how can he when his eye is wide as if he had seen a ghost.

“Ser Jason,” you whisper back with a teasing smile and put yourself in the middle of the tension Aemond alone creates. “It’s quite alright Aerion won’t wake anymore.”

The knight's eyes stay stuck on Aemond, and Aemond continues to stay quiet and…surprised? You can’t know, so you continue in a normal tone of voice. “If you’re asking to take your leave for the night, then it’s fine, Ser, have a good night. I’ll see you on the Morrow.”

Ser Jason’s eyes flicker back to you and he nods slowly as he swallows back nervously. “Thank you, Princess. Good night to you too. And to you My Prince.” He doesn’t forget to add before he steps back to let the Wetnurse walk out before he closes the door and cuts the tension off.

“I do not want you being friends with him,” Aemond suddenly breaks his odd silence as he sits back down. “He’s your sworn protector, not someone you can be friends with. If I see it I will assign the old man to protect you and Aerion.” He snaps his eye up and you challenge him with a pointed glare for a second before you look down with an upset frown brought by defeat since you know it’s not something he’s willing to debate.

Then again not like it will stop you from actually talking to the knight unless Aemond tends to be by your side at all hours of the day.

“Have you…told the council of what I told you about Daemon heading to Harrenhal?” You drag out to avoid sitting in silence and getting mad over something that won’t change. No matter how much you argue.

“No,” he admits and gets up to pace around the table again. “Not yet. I will let them figure it out when the news comes.”

You lean forward to study the map and the markers scattered about the paper. “It may be a while,” you mention. “Daemon left suddenly that day, so who knows if he actually went to Harrenhal.”

Aemond hums and gently shakes his head. “I’m sure he did. Where else would he go?”

“You have a point. Now,” you smack your teeth and point to the Hightower marker on the map. “Is that Ser Criston.”

Aemond walks to your side and crouches to lay his hand over yours and press your fingers on the marker to push the marker forward.

“He will be moving all along the Crownlands to take the armies sworn to Rhaenyra,” he surprisingly shares with you, but half of your mind is on the feeling of his warm hand cupping yours and his lips purposely brushing against your ear.

“Once he has garnered enough men he will go and face the Rivermen to take Harrenhal,” he adds.

“With Daemon leaving with just his dragon,” you input your thoughts as you turn to look at him. “It will take him longer to gain any support. He may not even have men to challenge Ser Criston since he also did not have men follow after him.”

Aemond faces you with a smirk and steals a glance at your lips before he nods. “Exactly,” he praises you and strokes your chin, making you grow giddy and smile like a love-struck fool.

“I would also wager you could face Daemon now. He left in quite a mood. You would be doing me a favor,” you grumble and sigh as Aemond pulls away to walk around you with his eyes on the map.

“It would catch him by surprise,” Aemond murmurs, “but alas, too rash now. Those armies are our priority.”

You groan and he snickers.

“Will you join Ser Criston in Harrenhal?” You ask with your heart starting to pick up out of nervousness.

“Hm, in time, we will join him, yes.”

Your heart jumps a beat and you question what just came out of his lips. “We?”

Aemond’s gaze flickers up and he nods. “Vhagar and I could go alone, but I will face Daemon and his dragon, while you help Ser Criston and our armies.”

You keep your secret alliance in mind, but you can’t help it, you ooze with excitement at the thought of being part of something more grand than just sitting here by the fire or listening through walls. You did not think he would consider bringing you with him to fight.

Should you even consider it? Your mother would never allow you to take part in something so dangerous, but he is, he’s letting you do something great and you want to be a part of it. How can you throw away that opportunity?

“But not before we cut off Rhaenyra by land by taking Rooks Rest, after Ser Criston takes the Darklyn army,” Aemond adds, piquing your interest and panic.

“But isn’t facing Daemon more important when you have the numbers?” You ask as some discreet attempt to try and sway his mind.

“It would, but when they hear we are trying to take Rooks Rest, they will send a dragon, and I will be there with Vhagar to take them down.”

There’s no use of we now. He has no intention of bringing you to this part of his plan. Which is good in retrospect, you would give away your true loyalties to try and save whoever they will send. Yet a worry that you can’t let go of is you don’t want Aemond to die either.

You will send a warning to your mother about this plan when you can, but something that is clear is that you don’t want either challenger to get hurt. You are loyal to your mother, to her cause, but your heart is also loyal to your husband, it aches at the thought of Aemond getting hurt or even…meeting death.

How foolish is that?

And what good is begging him to stay when you see how eager he is to already play this plan out?

All you can do is take note of his plan and secretly worry. That’s why you just take in what he says with a strained praising smile before you share a short comment. “They won’t see it coming, not with Daemon gone.”

Aemond hums in agreement before he walks over to stroke your chin again to praise your thinking. “Exactly, my love.”

You smile at him before you lay back down and stare at the ceiling with worry that only strains your heart as you're torn between the two. While on your face, well, you make sure to stay nonchalant and hide anything he might pick up on by filling the silence with a haunting song.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Alexa play “The Hanging Tree” by Rachel Zegler

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 @callsignwidow @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104

[shalomniscient]

thinking about arranged marriage between kujou sara and kamisato!reader.......... sara, seeing for the first time what a family is really like when you both make the trip up to the kamisato estate. you make an effort to include her in your conversations, and though she’s a little awkward, she tries. takayuki had never allowed her to play with her adoptive siblings or any of the other kujou soldiers—roughly grabbing her by the arm so tightly she remembers tears stinging her eyes as he ranted to her about how she should not let such pointless things get in the way of her duty. but as she watches you mess around with your brother and lightheartedly tease your sister, she can’t help but think this is the furthest thing from pointless.

(an unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest; is this longing?)

sara, sharing a meal with someone for the first time. she’d been so, so isolated as a child, and even as a general, held to some impossible standard that no other mortal could reach. but you are her wife—her equal. so you sit next to her as you have breakfast, and you sit next to her again as you have dinner. you talk about the weather, about your brother, about your sister, about your work, and sara listens. she doesn’t hang on to each of your words; no, she cradles it tenderly against her chest, holds it in her battle-hardened hands and cherishes it.

(these are the words you only say to her. this is hers.)

sara who is so unbelievably touch-starved she doesn’t even realise it. her heart leaps into her throat the first time you take her hand in your own as you both stroll down the streets of hanamizaka on one of her rare days off—kamaji had to practically force her to take leave. you absently tug her along as you flit from shop to shop, and she waits patiently as you chat with ogura mio about new kimono designs. she sees your eyes linger on a dark purple, almost black silken cloth with golden highlights, and makes a mental note of it. the next morning she leaves the kujou estate before you wake, and heads straight to ogura’s shop to commission a kimono and yukata made from that very cloth. her coin purse ends up significantly lighter, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

(she pretends she doesn’t see the knowing look in ogura’s eye.)

sara being defended for the first time by you. harsh words and harsher hands are not unfamiliar to her—this is, after all, just how takayuki raised her. she has long since learned how to drown out the snide comments from the other nobles of the kujou clan who coveted her position or her prestige. she is used to it, really. but she can’t help the way her eyes widen by a fraction and her heart lurches in her chest again when you shoot an equally scathing response right back at the noble from over the rim of your teacup. she has been a protector for so, so long that she isn’t sure what to do with herself when you glance back at her, all while the noble fumes across the tatami mats. she just nods, and you offer her a smile, before commanding the nearby guards with all the authority of a general’s wife to remove the man from the premises.

(you squeeze her hand under the table and her throat tightens—is this what it’s like to matter?)

sara going to a festival for the first time with you. she’d only ever enjoyed these from the outskirts, watching the fireworks as a guard at her post instead of as a reveler. you bring her along hand in hand to try out all sorts of assorted street foods and festival games. the fireworks bloom in the sky like blazing flowers, and she watches as your hair tosses lightly in the wind. the light illuminates your face in hues of dancing gold, and for a moment she’s struck near senseless by the sight of you. you call her name, softly, and her heart trembles in her chest like a frightened bird. and then you kiss her, lips soft against her own and she’s melting into your touch. her wings burst out from her back, pulling a breathless giggle from you. sara blushes furiously, stammering out some excuse that you cut off by kissing her again.

(she doesn’t mind.)

[nyxxxx-onepieces-dragun]

Ace Boyfriend HC

A/N: Js a bunch of fluff and random things that came to mind and its quite long but enjoy ;3 Characters: Ace x Fem!reader mentions of other characters aswell this is a SFW HC but I might make a NSFW one so stay tuned for that!

SFW HC:

When you first started dating Ace would love to give you sweet little love letters. It's sweet yet not too much and they would say something like "your my never ending thought, A."

definitely be prepared for the ultimate princess treatment. Oh your hungry? he's already running to Thatch asking demanding it be made for you right then and there, your feet hurt? no problem he'll just give you a piggyback or carry you bridle style.

I think Ace would be too shy to approach you despite his confident and gentleman appearance he just doesn't want to mess things up so instead he asks you out via letter that went along the lines of "Lets flip a coin. Heads, your mine. Tails I'm yours." he definitely didn't have Marco put it on your desk in your cabin

He loves physical touch it reminds him that he's not alone and your like the calm in his storm keeping him there and anchored.

Also if you want him to melt while you both are chilling in his cabin he's on his stomach sleeping soundly just go over and start massaging his back, bonus points if you dance your fingers over his Whitebeard tattoo, now its a daily thing for you and if you don't do it please do it he'll be all whiny and pouty "Y/nnnn~ please can you rub my back?? I promise just for 15 minutes!" you do it for about three hours hehe

He never ever takes you out on missions with him, afterall he is the 2nd division commander and he takes on some serious missions but when you do arrive on a new island you best bet he is right there at your hip keeping a protective arm draped over you and watching out for anyone who might try anything he's so golden retriever please love this man with all your heart

He's great at being big spoon and being your personal heater but he looooves being little spoon it makes him feel safe and calm in your arms as you run your fingers through his raven locks all that day's stress washes away and he feels content knowing that someone will always be there for him no matter what.

One time Ace tried to set up a romantic little boat date and everything was going great the moon was high up stars twinkling in the sky as you both ate fruit together he was sat across from you and before you knew it his narcolepsy kicked in and his face was now in your chest as he snored soundly.

At first you were confused and a bit flustered since he was so...close but you ended up just running your fingers through his hair waiting for him to awake and when he did...this man got redder than a tomato apologizing over and over again.

But the more frequently it happened the more bolder he got and at some point he would just stay there burying his face more into your chest which in return landed him slaps on the back of his head and scolding while you were a flustered mess "so comfy~ OUCH! it's not my fault I fell asleep!"

this is my first time writing I'll try to get better in the future but Thanks for reading this reposts are welcome just credit me! & <3

[grogusmum]

Please Mister Please

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (nicknamed)

SUMMARY: You can't seem to escape that one song even after the apocalypse. Joel and Ellies friendship brings you some comfort, and maybe Joel is interested in more.

WORD COUNT: 1700ish

WARNINGS: None to speak of. Unless you need one for soft Joel. As always, if you see something I've missed, let me know in my DMs, and I'll add it.

A/N: Just a little something inspired by the Olivia Newton-John's song of the same name. (She was in her country music era) It's hardly edited, written on my phone, and Imma just yeetin' it out there. Oops. It's just the usual fluffy hurt comfort. But it IS my first go round with Joel. I hope you enjoy it! 💚

The jukebox was found on a supply run at some honky tonk out Fort Collins way called Sundance something or other. You laughed at your first thought, which was it's wasn't one of those new ones with CDs, realizing "those new ones" were now 40 years old... but this one was truly an antique, with vinyl in it and everything.

A Wurlitzer in all its chrome, brightly colored bakelite, and satisfying push button glory.

You shake your head now, thinking you should have known the moment you heard. Everyone was so excited. Because, of course, they were! How fun is an old timey jukebox full of country-western ballads, anthems, and line dance classics?

It brought an energy into Jackson, the likes you hadn't seen before it. You'd gotten in early on, and watched its evolution from place where people were merely surviving to an industrious hive of busy bees, creating abundance but there wasn't much room for joy and then out of the clear blue sky - line dancing. At first they couldnt keep it plugged in all the time, it was turned on for a half an hour at the end of the day, until they had a good handle on the dam and the power plant was working consistently. You're sure it was the inspiration for Maria's attention to holidays and socials after seeing the excitement and morale lift from it. Suddenly, y'all were living, not just staying alive. So it seems silly, with so much real life and death shit to deal with, to get so hung up on one song, but it carried so much weight for you, you just couldn't shake it. If only it wasn't so sweet, if only it wasn't so catchy… Maybe people wouldn't have noticed it among all the other tracks. But it was sweet and it was catchy, and about making it after all the shit they'd been through...

So naturally, at five songs for a quarter, it ends up in the mix at some point. (It's the only reason the town has any coins. Paying it could have been bypassed, but dropping the 25¢ seemed to be part of the fun.) So when you least expected it, it would start to play, and so far, it continued to flip your stomach and make your eyes glass. And think about how he and you didn't actually make it.

Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson several months now. Ellie dove right in, school, taking care of the horses afterward, trying to socialize. She's a little guarded sure but mostly funny and eager. Joel started helping Tommy right away, but it seemed to you more to keep busy than to join the community. He's wary and taciturn. When they weren't in those organized work times, they stuck close. When Ellie ventured into social activities, Joel let her go, but he was ever watchful, with Ellie checking in often even just a look over her shoulder, just to see if he was still there. He always was. They reminded you of a bonded pair of strays.

You liked your place, Catnip's Apothecary. They'd come in twice so far, once when Joel brought Ellie in for a poison ivy rash and once when Ellie brought a very grumpy Joel for inflammation in his knees Ellie found all your jars of tinctures, teas, herbs, and powders fascinating. Asking what everything did, looking at drying plants hanging from rafters in wonder, pspspsing the cats.

“Are you a witch?”

“Ellie!” Joel admonished, but looking at you for a tell. Were you? You could see him wondering.

You only laughed. Sure you were, but what they were seeing here was hardly witchcraft, just herbalism, mostly. Joel and Ellie are both bright and observant - you're pretty sure they both noticed you didn't answer.

Tonight, Ellie is at the rec center, a movie theater for the evening, awaiting the start of none other than Star Wars.

Where did they find all these 70s flicks? Nevertheless, A New Hope's a great find. You can't resist going, even though you know it by heart, and you'll have to force yourself not to recite all the dialogue. Sitting smack dab in the middle, surrounded by all these kids and young adults, seeing it for the first time, you munch your popcorn and smile.

You don't see Joel, but it's not like you are actively looking for him… just curious, given their penchant to stay together and you figured he will know the movie too, maybe he's more of a Trekkie. When you catch Ellie's eye, she waves animatedly and moves to sit beside you.

“Sssoooo, you're like one of the only grown ups here.” there is a gremlin glint in Ellie’s eye.

“Yeah, I thought there'd be more nostalgia watchers-” you say a little sheepishly. “ But it's okay, I'll see it with a soon-to-be New Generation of Star Wars Fans. Bear Witness!”

“And what if it sucks?”

The noise you make is somewhere between an indignant scoff and a gasp of purest offense. But you rally.

“Oh just you wait padawan-”

"What's a pada-"

As quickly as the lights go down the attention commanding drums of the 20th Century Fox fanfare begin.

“Oop here we go! Buckle up, buttercup!!”

You live vicariously through the new audience for the next two hours, and it is a pure joy.

The young people of Jackson laugh at the Laurel and Hardy comedy stylings of Threepio and Artoo, they eat up the “though she be little she is fierce” snarky spirit of Princess Leia, gasp at Alderaan's fate and Obi Wan's sacrifice, cheer at Hans return, hold their collective breath when Luke turns off his targeting device to use the force, and burst into applause when he makes the one in a million shot, womp rats in Beggars Canyon take heed.

“Aw man I really hope we can see Empire some day,” you say as the credits roll.

Ellie is elated, peppering you with questions about the sequel and then Return of the Jedi as you walk out of the rec center, and everyone begins to head home. You do you best answering, not wanting to spoil too much if she actually gets to watch it.

“I'm this way,” she says suddenly, as she peels off from the town center, “see ya!”

You head toward the Tipsy Bison, to join the adults, most of which took advantage of the kids being off at the movie to do a little drinking and dancing.

The spring has brought high spirits, and with it bright chatter and the stomp of line dancing in progress. Grabbing a spot to watch, you order yourself a drink. When the song ends, there's hoots and applause, and the next one is slow and sweet, and it only takes the first note for you to feel the drop in your belly.

Joel saw you come in, he had seen you from the street actually, when the community center emptied after the film, he had his eye out for Ellie and saw her come out with you, talking animatedly and laughing. He smiled. You were his age, or close enough, he guesses, not only from both the smile and worry lines but your points of reference when talking, only missing references that are local to growing up in Texas. It's comforting, you remember Before. You also have a light he can't get enough of. You didn't confirm nor deny it, but he is sure you've enchanted him witch or not. He's just been too, 'shy' isn't the right word... he just hasn't been able to make any sort of move.

Then he does his best to saunter over to your little table, drink in hand. He's pretty sure his sauntering days are over.

Now you sit alone, a moment ago smiling, tapping to the music. He had been taking in some liquid courage, in the form of whiskey, to ask you to dance. But the light in your eyes is replaced with a shine, not in the way he loves. He's seen this a couple times, he realizes. Times when your eyes go far away and a sadness descends on you.

He gets up and checks the jukebox, taking note of the song. He's pretty sure he's right. He can't bypass a song on a jukebox, nor can he tell a DJ to change it. But he's gonna talk to Walt the barkeeper, first chance he gets.

“Hey Catnip, can I sit?”

You look up wiping your wide eyes.

“Oh, sure, Joel, please,” your smile tries to reach your eyes, but it flickers and can't stay.

“So," Joel starts, he's not good at this. He's gotten better but, “You're Still the One, huh? For me, it's Vince Gill- When I Call Your Name ”

You just look at him, and he starts to think maybe he hasn't improved at all.

“I don't know that one, it was kind of a fluke that our song, his song was a country song. It's not my usual genre.”

“Well it wasn't my lady and my song, it was the song that I listened to after she left. Sarah was so little. I felt so lost in those early days. Now I can't even hear the open-”

“Opening chords,” you finish with a chuckle, “yeah, I can't- and now of course it all wrapped up in the Before Times, too. But here it is, in a jukebox of less than 200 songs, the one song that represents my husband walking out on me before the shit hit the fan.”

“I can't even picture anyone leaving you with nothing but a song.”

“Yeah, well, I can picture it quite clearly. I can't imagine someone leaving you with a little baby girl to raise.”

“We are in the same boat, darlin’ until it happened I would have been with you on that. We were very young, 22, she panicked.”

“Aren't we a pair?”

“Why don't this pair go for a walk then?”

Joel holds his breath, looking into your lovely face.

“I'd like that.”

Standing, Joel holds out a hand to guide you up and out of the bar, it settles comfortably on your lower back, the song long over. His hand tingles and theres a flutter in his chest at being allowed to touch you this way.

It smells like petrichor, though the skies are clear. Joel's hand leaves your back to your chagrin, but he gently holds out his elbow, and with a crooked smile you slip your hand in the crux of it.

“Such a gentleman.”

He smiles and brings you to the newly constructed, yet to be painted, gazebo.

You climb the handful of steps and look at the town from this new vantage point.

Behind you, Joel comes close, his hand casually on your hip, like you did this everyday. His mouth close to the shell of your ear and a quiet hum floats in, the controlled breath tickling, you smile knowing the very apt song choice,

“Are you making fun of me Joel Miller?”

He chuckles, then the words over take the hum -

“Please mister, please, don't play B-17

It was our song, it was his song but it's over

Please Mr. please, if you know what I mean

I don't ever wanna hear that song again…”

Joel turns you, arm around your waist, his other hand sliding into yours -

" I'd sound a bit better with my guitar, but when we couldnt dance, so-"

He starts a simple box step, as he sings quiet and low, just for you, while turning you around the gazebo.

You join in singing, whispering in his ear the chorus when it comes again. It feels cathartic. Then you step back - who is this man? Not the guy who came in with a little girl, a gut wound that should have killed him, poorly healed knuckles, and the wary eye of someone who is always waiting for the other shoe to come down on him like it's made of lead. But looking at him now, those brown eyes wide but the little crease between his eyes holding his concern. His jaw soft, making you take more note of his natural pout and the salt and pepper scruff, the little spot that just won't fill in, it looks like a heart… you wonder if it's as soft and smooth as it looks and if he'd let you touch it to find out.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING 💚

Please consider commenting and reblogging. If you are interested in reading more of my writing, you can find my masterlist here. If you would like to be notified when i post more work, you can find my taglist form here.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Seven

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.9k

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As you stand at the edge of the lake, Morpheus' words echo in your mind. The peacefulness of the scene is interrupted by a gentle tug at your consciousness. The next moment, you find yourself back in the palace, surrounded by bustling staff.

They flutter around you, their excitement palpable. You catch snippets of their conversation as they work, their voices light and musical. A celebration. Dressing up. Well if they were so excited you’d go along with them!

"The celebration day in the market! It's always such a grand event."

"And we finally have someone to prepare for it!"

You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. One of them—a young woman with bright eyes and quick hands—gently guides you to a chair. She gestures for you to sit, her face alight with joy.

"We have something special for you," she says, her tone full of anticipation.

Another staff member brings out a dress unlike any you've ever seen. It's woven from stars and galaxies, the fabric shimmering and shifting as if alive. You reach out to touch it, feeling the cool, silky texture under your fingers.

"It's beautiful," you whisper, awe-struck.

The young woman beams at you. "It was crafted especially for this occasion. We thought it fitting for someone so unique."

They help you into the dress with practiced ease, each movement precise and gentle. As they fasten the last clasp, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress hugs your form perfectly, the celestial patterns swirling around you in an enchanting dance.

"How do I look?" you ask, turning to face them.

The staff step back to admire their work, their faces lighting up with pride.

"Like a dream," one of them says softly.

Another staff member approaches with a delicate tiara adorned with tiny stars that twinkle softly. You wanted to tell them that it was a little overboard, but they were so excited to tend to you, you didn't have the heart to say no. They place it gently on your head, adjusting it until it's just right.

"There," they say, stepping back once more. "Now you're ready."

The palace staff usher you outside, their excitement bubbling over. The bridge connecting the palace to the town is lined with lanterns that glow like captured fireflies, casting a warm, inviting light. You hurry across, eager to experience your first festival in the Dreaming. As you step into the market square, the air buzzes with life. Stalls stretch as far as you can see, each more fantastical than the last.

To your left, a vendor sells bottles filled with dreams. The glass containers shimmer with colors that shift and swirl, reflecting scenes of soaring through clouds or swimming with bioluminescent creatures in deep oceans. You watch as a child selects a bottle, her eyes wide with wonder. She uncorks it and is instantly enveloped in a soft, radiant glow.

"Best dreams in the land," the vendor boasts, his grin as wide as the sky.

Next to him, another stall offers nightmares. Unlike the dreams, these bottles are dark and opaque, their contents hidden from view. A hooded figure examines one carefully before nodding and exchanging coins for it.

"Why would anyone want a nightmare?" you wonder aloud.

The vendor catches your eye and smiles knowingly. "Not all nightmares are bad. Some teach us valuable lessons."

You continue down the row, drawn by the rich scent of exotic spices from a nearby stall. The vendor there waves you over enthusiastically.

"Try this," he urges, handing you a small pouch filled with vibrant red powder. "It's made from the dreams of ancient warriors."

You take a pinch and sprinkle it on your tongue. A rush of heat floods your senses, followed by visions of epic battles and heroic feats. Your heart races with adrenaline and you hand itches to snatch a blade from your waist and toy with it. A blade which you do not have.

"Impressive," you manage to say, breathless, looking down to double check that you indeed, do not have a sword or dagger hanging from the skirt of your dress.

Further along, a group of musicians plays instruments crafted from moonbeams and stardust. Their melodies weave through the air, enchanting everyone who hears them. You pause to listen, feeling the music resonate deep within your soul.

A little further down the path, an artist paints canvases with scenes from people’s dreams. Each brushstroke seems to bring the image to life—trees that sway in an unseen breeze, rivers that shimmer like liquid silver. You watch in awe as she transforms a blank canvas into a vivid dreamscape.

"Would you like me to paint yours?" she asks without looking up from her work.

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head gently. You didn't quite feel like yourself and didn't want a portrait to reflect that. "Not today."

She nods in understanding and continues painting.

As you wander through the market, you realize that every vendor offers not just goods but experiences—each one unique and deeply personal. You are so glad you decided to come. To think you might have missed this! The air hums with magic and possibility, making it clear why this celebration is so beloved by all who attend.

As you stroll through the bustling market, you catch a whiff of something sweet and buttery. Your stomach rumbles in response, reminding you that you haven't eaten since arriving in the Dreaming. Following the tantalizing aroma, you find a stall adorned with golden pastries. Each one sparkles as if dusted with tiny flecks of sunlight.

"Care to try one?" a gravelly voice asks.

You turn to see Mervyn standing behind the counter. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, a rare sight for someone usually so stern.

"Don't mind if I do," you reply, reaching for a pastry.

Mervyn chuckles and hands it to you with a flourish. "Golden flour, harvested from the fields of dawn. Best you'll ever taste."

You take a bite and your taste buds sing in delight. The pastry is warm and flaky, with a hint of honey that lingers on your tongue. Mervyn watches you with amusement as you savor each bite.

"Good, huh?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

"Better than good," you say between mouthfuls. Did golden flour actually have gold in it? The glimmering flecks were suspicious enough but the treat tasted so good! "Heavenly."

He grabs another pastry and breaks it in half, offering you one piece. You accept it gratefully, and proceed to gobble it down. As you finish the last crumb, something catches your eye. Across the square, half-hidden in shadow, stands Morpheus. His dark jacket billows slightly in the breeze, and his piercing eyes scan the crowd with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

Mervyn follows your gaze and grunts. "Always watching, never joining."

You nod absently, unable to tear your eyes away from Morpheus. He moves with an almost ethereal grace, slipping through the throng without drawing attention. For a moment, his gaze locks onto yours, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"He's got his reasons," Mervyn continues, pulling your attention back to him. "Always does." But is that not lonely?

You decide to go over to Morpheus and say hello so he isn't alone. Leaving the warmth of Mervyn's side, you weave through the crowd, each step bringing you closer to the Dream Lord that has occupied your thoughts since you have met him.

As you approach, Morpheus turns his head slightly, acknowledging your presence with a subtle nod. His eyes, dark as the night sky, hold a depth that makes you feel both seen and understood in ways words could never capture.

"Enjoying the festival?" he asks, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating with an otherworldly quality. His eyes drink in your figure, lingering on the dress you wear for the evening—a flowing, ethereal gown that seems to shimmer with the light of a thousand stars. His stars look so beautiful wrapped around your body.

You smile, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through you under his gaze. "I am. It’s beautiful, Morpheus. You’ve truly outdone yourself."

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. "Not as beautiful as you," he replies softly, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress. "The gown suits you exquisitely."

A rush of heat rises to your cheeks, the compliment making your heart flutter. "Thank you," you say, your voice a bit breathless. "It’s an honor to be here, to see the Dreaming like this. And this dress, I've never worn anything like it before, it's incredible," you reply, feeling a flutter in your chest. "But I noticed you standing here alone. Thought I'd keep you company."

A small smile tugs at the corner of the corner of his lips. "Your presence is appreciated."

You feel a flutter in your chest as his gaze lingers on yours, the intensity of his eyes making you feel like you're the only person in the crowded market square. His smile, though subtle, holds a hint of warmth that draws you in.

"Tell me more about this festival," you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "What's its significance in the Dreaming?"

Morpheus' eyes light up, and he leans in, his voice taking on a narrative quality. "The Festival of Dreams is a celebration of the Dreaming's power. It's a time when the veil between reality and the Dreaming is at its thinnest, allowing us to tap into the deepest desires of those who sleep."

As he speaks, his words paint vivid pictures in your mind. You can almost see the threads of the Dreaming weaving together, connecting the sleepers to the world of the awake. A shame they won't remember when they will wake.

"The festival has been celebrated for eons," Morpheus continues, his voice weaving a spell around you. "When my realm is at it's most powerful and dynamic."

You are captivated as Morpheus shares stories of the festivals that came before, at least when he was present. His fervor for his realm is contagious, and you feel yourself caught up in his excitement. A ruler that truly cared about his people, his realm.

As the night wears on, Morpheus glances up at the sky, his eyes locking onto something beyond the lanterns. "Come," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to show you something."

He offer's you his hand, and that makes your stomach flutter. It wasn't like you were anything special, just a narcoleptic dream walker.

Morpheus leads you away from the bustling festival, weaving through the crowd with a graceful confidence that only an Endless could possess. You follow closely, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation as you venture further into the realm.

The further you travel from the market square, the more the noise of the festival fades away, replaced by a silence that feels almost reverent. The only sound is the soft swish of your dress and Morpheus's footsteps as he guides you to an open field, where the stars above are reflected in the dewdrops on the grass. You are more than surprised that your heels have yet to cause you pain or discomfort.

"This way," he whispers, gesturing up at the sky.

Your eyes follow, and you gasp in awe as you take in the breathtaking sight before you. The sky above is ablaze with cosmic forces, nebulae and planets breaking apart and reforming in a dance as old as time itself. Well, almost, Father Time predated the cosmos, only just. The colors are unlike anything you've ever seen, shades of indigo and violet mingling with the warm hues of red and gold, casting an ethereal glow over the field.

Morpheus steps closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. A true dichotomy. “This is the true power of the my realm," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves in the wind. "The forces that shape our world, and the worlds of those who sleep. Ever changing and remolding itself to the whims of humanity, much like sand.

You find yourself lost in the beauty of the cosmos, your heart pounding in your chest as you take it all in. Morpheus stands beside you, his gaze fixed on the sky. You can feel his warmth against your side, and the air between you seems to crackle with tension.

"You have a unique perspective," he says softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Most never get to see this world as it truly is."

His words hang heavy in the air, and you can't help but wonder what he means by "unique perspective." Is it because of your ability to walk between dreams? Or that you are mortal? Or is there something else?

Morpheus turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. "I am eternally grateful for what you did," he says, his voice low and husky. "When I could not help my people, you stepped in and saved them."

Your heart races at his words, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck. You had only been trying to help them; you never expected him to be so grateful. But there's something else in his eyes—something that makes your stomach flutter and your pulse quicken. Is it admiration? Or something more?

"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to help."

Morpheus takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "There's more to it than that," he says softly. "You have a connection to this realm—a connection that goes beyond mere dreams."

Your heart skips a beat as he speaks, and you can't help but wonder what he means by that. Do you truly belong here—in the Dreaming—more than in the waking world? And if so, what does that mean for your future?

Morpheus reaches out and gently cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jawline. You feel a jolt of electricity pass between you as his fingers brush against your skin, and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you standing beneath the stars above.

"You are special," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "And I want to show you just how special you are."

His words makes your stomach flip as he leans closer—so close that your lips are almost touching—and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you beneath the cosmic dance above. Soft stardust shimmering down like a drizzle of rain. But before your lips can meet, Morpheus pulls back suddenly, leaving you breathless and confused. What the hell just happened? Had you really been about to kiss an Endless??

You wake up in bed for once.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you sit up, gasping for breath. The room around you is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon through your window. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to touch your cheek, half-expecting to feel Morpheus' lingering touch.

But you're alone, in your bed, back in the waking world.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The dream felt so real, so vivid. You can still feel the electric charge of Morpheus' presence, the warmth of his hand on your cheek. The memory sends a shiver down your spine.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, needing to shake off the remnants of the dream. Your room feels strangely empty, as if a piece of it is missing now that you're awake. You walk to the window and look out at the quiet street below, your mind still buzzing with the images of the festival and the cosmic dance in the sky.

As you gaze out at the night, you hear a soft rustling behind you. You turn quickly, half-expecting to see Morpheus standing there. But there's no one. Just your room, filled with shadows and moonlight.

You let out a sigh and run a hand through your hair. "Get a grip," you mutter to yourself. "you're narcoleptic not a hopeless romantic, it was just a dream."

Okay maybe you are a hopeless romantic….

But deep down, you know it was more than that. You've always had a connection to the Dreaming—a connection that feels stronger now than ever before. And Morpheus' words linger in your mind: "You are special."

You close your eyes and take another deep breath, trying to center yourself. When you open them again, you notice something on your nightstand—a small vial filled with shimmering dust. You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hand.

"Stardust," you whisper, recognizing it from the festival.

How did it get here? Did Morpheus leave it for you? Or is this another trick of the Dreaming?

Your fingers tighten around the vial as a sense of determination fills you. If there's one thing you've learned from your journeys through dreams, it's that nothing happens by chance. Everything has meaning. Always.

You place the vial back on your nightstand and climb back into bed, pulling the covers up around you. As you close your eyes, you make a silent promise to yourself: you'll chase after whatever this is, regardless of your narcolepsy. Sleep comes quickly this time, pulling you back into its embrace like an old friend. And it is. The stars above twinkle softly as if whispering secrets just for you.

Date Published: 8/21/24

Last Edit: 8/21/24

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[techramonic]

Speak, Hear, and See No Evil; Embody it.

An Essay Analysis on Religious Trauma and its connection to Nihilism through the Case Study of Vladislav Roslyakov

There is a profound intersection in faith and mentality. To uncover one’s whole being, the aspect of spirituality is well within the equation. While many use their faith as a symbol of fortitude, a steadfast hope that guides their way of living – creating practically a coherent path in a world so inconsistent and unpredictable, others see it as the pinpoint of their internal turmoil. Faith is not for all of us. If one rejects the idea of seeking solace in an institute of collective belief, then they do not believe in such a concept as “being saved”. To them, there is no redemption, only pain. 

Some people need a rather tangible and physical form of revelation for an adherence of recognition. It is the ideology: when you look up at the sky and do not see anyone looking back at you, that is when you know it’s not for you. You do not believe in such a thing as self-sacrifice, for you only see the world in a lens of self-slaughter. Often, this strained relationship with faith becomes Religious Trauma. 

Psychotherapist Dr. Alyson M. Stone acknowledges a positive link between religion and mental health but notes a lack of studies on spirituality's impact. According to Stone, “Religious trauma is more prevalent than the research suggests and often is a contributing factor to many of the problems that bring people to therapy, including depression, anxiety, and relationship difficulties. For this reason, religious trauma deserves careful attention” (Stone 2013, p. 324). Furthermore, Marlene Winell (2012) coined "religious trauma syndrome" (RTS) to describe the distress from "toxic theology." This refers to authoritarian religious doctrines demanding strict adherence, often equating disobedience to damnation.

In the case of Vlad, his mother was a Jehovah's Witness. This religious sect is banned under Russian law despite an estimated 175,000 followers in the country. In 2017, Russia’s Supreme Court found the organization guilty of inciting religious hatred by "propagating the exclusivity and supremacy" of their beliefs. Subsequent to  Russian anti-extremism laws extending to non-violent groups in 2007, placing it into the same category as neo-Nazis and members of al Qaeda.

To understand this, we must first look into Vladik’s childhood leading up to this point. Vlad’s father, a former Russian soldier who served in Afghanistan for several years, sustained brain damage from an assault, making him aggressive toward his family, leading to frequent physical abuse over his wife, parents, and even his son. He was also an alcoholic, where his violence would worsen when intoxicated. By the age of 10, his parents had filed for a divorce and he lived under the custody of his mother in a rundown apartment with poor conditions because they could not afford amenities.

Following this, his mother had renowned her faith. Neighbors described her as a devout follower who spent a lot of time in prayer. They recounted that she had barely any concern for Vlad due to being too focused on her faith, but there were many instances of her controlling nature towards her son’s life. According to Vlad’s profile background, his mother would frequently punish him for disobeying rules of her faith. Although he accompanies her in services, he does not recognize himself as a follower. He publicly expressed his contempt on Jehovah’s Witnesses as, “some kind of fools who dance and sing.” A friend of his had also expressed that the two would often make fun of the community. Despite these differences, Vlad still appeared to care for his  mother and understood that she had no other means of coping and did not have a community to interact with since she had no friends or relatives close by. With this, he made sure to spend time with her, yet we can discern that these regulatory rules are merely pushed unto him.

Vlad was not allowed to engage in hobby classes, amateur activities, or even watch movies as the faith forbids these activities. According to his VK chats with Liza Panchenko, his favorite movies were Stand by Me, Pulp-Fiction, and Lost Highway. However, he stated, “I didn’t watch any good movies after 2005”. Though this may be a speculation, one of the possible reasons for this is because he was forbidden by his mother. However, despite her warnings, it is clear that he still would go against her.

Vlad became sports-obsessed and developed an interest in weaponry, violence, neo-nazism, war, and killers. Despite occasionally picking up fights and being placed on the “chair of shame” by his college director, Vlad was reserved and withdrawn from others. His friends had described him as a loner, who was quiet and avoided making friends, rather talking about topics of violence, especially about Columbine. He had no intimate relationships or sense of future and practically only attended school because he was forced by his parents. He did not see any future and saw no escape other than death. Even with an interest in violence and guns himself, he expresses a disdain towards joining occupations like the armed forces.

Moving forward, it is crucial to recognize that the psychological distress caused by religious trauma can manifest into Nihilistic ideology. According to Alfred Alder, a psychoanalyst who founded individual psychology, human behavior is motivated by our unique experiences and the perceptions we garner off of these. To him, humans are driven by goals and we aim for superiority by striving for these goals which are molded by our values and aspirations. These in turn develop into a lifestyle that affects us in different aspects of our behavior.

Furthermore, Alder speculated that psychological development occurs when people pursue meaningful goals, though factors can disrupt this process. Exchanging the feeling of self-superiority with inferiority and emptiness. When one lacks any meaningful goal, they are devoid of any means to stay motivated because they have no inherent cause that may allow them to “live”. 

From a nihilistic perspective, the absence of inherent meaning in existence can lead individuals to view life as a mere distraction. You exist, yet you do not truly live—merely passing time because life feels more like an obligation than a will. This allows you to fade into a concept and lose touch with your humanity. You become a mere entity in this world so vast that it cannot accompany the hatred you bear for it because you are insignificant. You see yourself as nothing, born out of your lack of purpose, therefore you are nothing.

To tie this into the conversation, trauma and abuse can disrupt the process of finding and garnering purpose, hindering the creation of goals and instead, promoting nihilistic attitudes. This includes religion, which can either be an antidote or a poison. 

Religious trauma can be a  catalyst for promoting nihilistic thinking. Taking Vlad as an example, when individuals are subjected to oppressive religious doctrines that instill shame, fear, and guilt – it can lead to an inflated sense of despair. This dread of being trapped in a system that dictates your worth and purpose fuels the tendencies to lean into nihilistic ideologies. You are cornered with no escape despite religion itself being a form of solace and escapism made for believers to feel less in despair. Vlad's strict upbringing in a religious environment and controlling mother contributed to his growing resentment towards religion and humanity itself. This lack of free will over his beliefs and choices only amplified this sense of dread over being powerless. Further alienating him from others because he believes that no one will truly help him, not even God.

If God is not there to help and save him and there are no means of a divine intervention in his life, then he will be the intervention himself. He is the destruction the world has insistently brought upon his life in the form of unforeseen circumstances. He is the “judgment” that he has been taught to fear. He is the delusion that he has created because of his fixation over power. He is hatred. He shall not speak of evil, nor hear it, or see it. So, in turn, he is the embodiment of the evil he is taught to not be. 

Hatred, just like anger, does not come from evil but mistreatment. Though in this case, it is amplified to a point it becomes visceral. Vlad's constant exposure to religious extremism and the trauma he endured further deepened his nihilistic perspective and in turn, developed his trauma into a projection of an image of hatred over things he cannot control: his life and the people around him. Moreover, the trauma from his father's abuse and his mother’s overbearing nature only developed a deep-rooted cynicism towards conventional structures. In his belief, if he is controlled by anything but himself, it is evil.

To conclude, religion has a profound impact on an individual's psyche. It has the ability to either heal a person or destroy them completely. Vlad’s life is a perfect example of how one’s religious trauma can manifest into a distortion of their worldview, ultimately leading to them seeing no other escape in this miserable existence other than death.

[elixirfromthestars]

My Dearest

Pairing: Duke!Bucky Barnes x Lady!Reader (Regency Era AU — Bridgerton Inspired ) 

Summary: On the night of Lady Maximoff’s ball you find yourself in the gardens, troubled by your emotions. As if by fate, the rain pours down reuniting you with the one who is the very object of your troubles.

Word Count: 3k

Warning(s): heartbreak / angst / longing / implications of cheating / rejection / creative liberties for this era (yes I did do research, but bear with me if there are any inaccuracies in this piece of fiction 🤍) / a surprise cameo / female reader

a/n: This little piece has been in the works since I got into the Bridgerton series. Binge-watching the spinoff Queen Charlotte this weekend gave me the motivation to finish this piece. Thank you for reading! 🤍 Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! ❤️

for ambiance 🌧️

Your fingertips poked at the surface of the water in the fountain. Unstemmed red carnations danced along the water to the rhythm of the ripples. The faint music of the ballroom was ever so slightly drowned out by the stream pouring from the fountain at the center of the garden. You were sitting on the edge of it, hoping to ease your nerves with some fresh air. You wished you had brought a coin with you to throw in the fountain and wish your worries away. 

Wishes, however, were for children and the fairytales they believed in. You were no longer a child nor were you in a fairytale—much to your dismay. Your father made sure you knew of this, reminding you of your duties at every possibility. As the only child of the one and only Earl L/n, you were expected to marry into a higher status. Your mother, on the other hand, wished for you to marry for love and nothing more. 

You thought you had found both—you almost had both. 

Unfortunately, the one you truly desired broke your heart before he even fully had it. You pushed the thought of him away, for he was the very reason your emotions were an entangled mess. 

You looked down at your ball gown, its baby blue color muted by the lack of lighting in the approach of nightfall. You tugged at the ends of it lightly, wanting nothing more than to be at home wearing your nightgown instead. One of your favorite romance novels in hand, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. You always dreamed of having your own happily ever after, and for a while, you thought you had. A love story any poet would be over the moon to muse over. 

You were sadly mistaken.

A few droplets of rain plopped themselves onto your arm. You scanned the sky above you, the once royal blue evening turning a smoky grey. A clear sign it would soon start to rain. It was only a slight drizzle, making you realize a few of those fallen droplets weren’t from the clouds above, but from your very own eyes. 

You couldn’t let the prince see you like this.

You rose from your spot and searched the garden for a place to compose yourself. In the near distance stood a greenhouse decorated with overgrown ivy, obstructing the view of the inside. A perfect place to hide away from your troubles and the rain.  

You lifted the ends of your ball gown, making sure to not muddy or tear any part of it, as you made your way to the greenhouse. You stepped inside, immediately enamored with the various flora surrounding you. You knew Lady Maximoff treasured her garden, but never in your wildest dreams could you have conjured up the breathtaking view before you.

You strolled along the path, taking it all in. The rain started to come down in a pour, ridding any outside noise from coming through. Thus making it harder to hear the footsteps that were approaching you.

“ Y/n? My dearest, what are you doing here?” You froze in your spot, recognizing the voice of the one who broke your heart. You turned to see James Buchanan Barnes the Duke of Brooklyn standing a few feet away from you, drenched from head to toe. It seems he too was caught in the rain. 

“ Your grace, my apologies. I did not know you were here. Please excuse me,” you attempted to remove yourself from the situation, but he wouldn’t let you. Stopping you by your hands, holding them delicately. 

A frown overtook his features,“ Why do you address me so formally? Have we not grown past this?”

You swallowed hard, not wanting to dwell on this topic of conversation for long,“ We did, but like anything that grows, there comes a time when it withers. We have withered.” 

You yanked yourself from his grasp, his mouth parting in disbelief, “ Y/n, what are you saying? Is this because of the prince? Have you indeed traded your love for me for the status he can bring you?” He threw the accusation in your face with such disdain you felt as though he had struck you. 

A rage bubbled within you. 

“ How dare you? Do you truly think so little of me? I would have given up the world for you. You, however, would never have done the same,” you turned to walk away again and he swiftly maneuvered his way in front of you, blocking your path. You felt tears prickle at your eyes, but you forced yourself not to cry in front of him. 

“ I apologize. I did not mean to insult you. It is only that you have been so cold toward me lately, and I do not understand why. At tonight’s ball, all I wanted was to have you in my arms once more and instead, I had to stand there like a fool watching you dance with the prince. I left for the gardens when the incessant rumors of a marriage between you two were all anyone could talk about,” his eyes searched yours for an answer, resentfulness lacing his every word. 

You looked down, not being able to meet his eyes, “ I do not have to justify myself to you. And those rumors. . .are not rumors. I believe the prince should propose any day now.” By the end of your sentence, you feigned what little confidence you had left and fixed your posture, ready to face James with a steady gaze. However, as soon as you met his eyes you found yourself taking a step back. 

James looked at you like he had taken a bullet to the heart.

“ And what of us? My dearest, I do not understand what I have done wrong. Tell me, so that I may fix it. I cannot bear to lose you,” his hand reached for yours to pull you in closer. You side stepped his advances, his hand recoiling at your relentless rejection. 

You took in a deep breath, a sigh escaping your lips,“ You already have. The moment you decided to entertain other women while claiming your heart was mine. I am the fool for believing your grace was honest about courting me.” Irritation crept its way back into your heart at the memory. 

This caught his attention as he stared at you with a puzzled expression,“ Is that what this is about? Y/n, you must know that was merely for diplomacies—for business. ”

You bit the inside of your lip to refrain from insulting the man in front of you. “ Then that is what I was then, merely a means to a business transaction between you and my father. Did you think I would not find out? My father would have never invested in that mine of yours if it were not for him believing we were courting. It was no coincidence that as soon as the papers were signed you were seen with Lady Natasha alone in your home,” you paused for a moment, realizing you had raised your voice at James, causing you to take a deep breath before continuing, “ You should be grateful my father is not holding you to any responsibilities since he is now focused on assuring I become royalty.” 

James’ fists were clenched at his sides,“ How could you doubt my honor? How could you ever doubt that my heart is anyone's but yours? My business with Lady Natasha is nothing but a misunderstanding. I swear on my honor.” 

You scoffed, “ Your honor means nothing to me. Your reputation of being the most prolific Rake in town precedes you. I should have believed everyone when they warned me.” His lips formed a tight line, an impatience overtaking him, “ You should know by now my darling, I do not care what others whisper in the shadows. You are all I care about, and if that is what you truly think of me then—you wound me.” 

You shook your head, ready to retaliate once more with your words when he swiftly made his way to you and held you by your shoulders. “ I love you. I am certain what fuels this frustration and hatred toward me is the love you feel for me,” his voice was gentle, his features softening. His eyes held you in your place, as your body longed to be closer to him. A mere touch and a part of you was already screaming at you to forgive him. 

The two of you stood there for a moment, staring at each other’s eyes not saying a word. You had no strength to pull away from his grasp, “ Your heart will move on. It will find love in another,” your response was reduced to a whisper by the end. You weren’t sure if you were trying to comfort him or yourself with your words. 

He shook his head, “ My dearest, the heart here has no say. I cannot say I love you with all my heart for it will one day stop beating. I love you with my entire soul, for my love for you will live on with it for all eternity. I am forever bound to you.” James’ declaration tugged at your heartstrings. 

“James. . .” his name dropped from your lips in a pleading whisper. Whether that was for him to stop or keep going—you weren’t sure anymore. You were left speechless. Any protests or rebuttals that were initially in your mind were gone with one declaration. He pulled you in closer—if that were possible—and embraced you, planting a passionate kiss on your lips. You returned it with as much intensity.  

You melted into each other, the reciprocated love burning into you. This one kiss ignited within you all of the feelings you were trying so desperately to extinguish. James tasted of wine and smelled of sandalwood, a combination you found strangely addicting. 

One of James’ hands slipped down your back, your own gravitating to the nape of his neck. He pressed his body against yours, a small gasp escaped your lips allowing him to deepen the kiss. The continuous kisses he bestowed upon you grew needier by the minute. If his words weren’t getting through to you, he wanted to make sure his lips did. 

His mouth moved down to your neck, continuing to show his devotion to you. Your body betrayed you as it leaned to the side giving him easier access. You held in a breath at the sensation. It was evident no one could make you feel the way James does.

This was the opposite of what you had been striving for these last few weeks. Your father made it clear to you how important it was for the family for you to rise to the status of a princess. The prince had been kind and charming, but he was no match for James. You knew there was no argument to be had with your father since now that a prince was interested in you, there was no way in hell he was going to accept a Duke as his son in law. You didn't care and figured that in time he would forgive you once he realized how in love James and you were. You hoped he would see what your mother saw and accept this path to your happiness. 

That was before the incident.

  A month ago you took a carriage ride to James’ home accompanied by your Lady’s maid Kate. The purpose of this escapade was to confide in James over your father’s intentions. Unbeknownst to you, his true intentions would be brought to light instead. 

Your carriage was merely a block away when you spotted them. They were laughing as James’ footmen escorted both him and Lady Natasha inside. There was no one else in sight and no one else entering the home with them. This meant they were in there alone and unchaperoned. Only impatient lovers would resort to such means knowing a scandal could break out if they were caught.

You clutched at your chest, overwhelmed with the way it ached. You felt as though James had come up to you and ripped it out of your chest, exposing it to everyone to gawk and laugh at. To laugh at how stupid Lady Y/n had become in thinking the biggest Rake in town had truly, madly, and deeply fallen in love with her. 

Kate took you in her arms and ordered the coachmen to take the long way back home. You sat there, crying into her shoulder throughout the entire journey. You vowed that day to never fall for James’ charms ever again.  

The memories of that day hit you full force and knocked the air out of you. Your body caught up to your brain and with as much strength as you could muster you pushed James off of you. He looked shaken by your reaction, staggering back almost tripping over a cluster of purple hyacinths. 

With your anger at his betrayal still fueling you, you lifted your chin in the air and spoke your final words to him,“ You cannot water what has already withered and believe it will come back to life.” 

You didn’t bother to look at him this time, knowing too well the expression on his face was one that would make your resolve crumble in an instant. You quickly turned and ran out of the greenhouse and back into the garden. The rain was still coming down in a pour, soaking you from head to toe. Tears were streaming down your face and the ends of your ball gown were now covered in mud. In spite of that, you continued to run to the furthest part of the garden closest to the carriages and farthest from Lady Maximoff’s manor.

You were yearning to be home—to be in your mother’s arms and bask in her comfort. To have Kate prepare you the warmest cup of tea and sugary scones to indulge in. Anything to remove the taste of wine and the smell of sandalwood that was now deeply imbedded into your senses. This in hopes to forget the events of tonight ever happened. 

“ Miss Y/n, you are soaked to the brim, we must get you home. I shall fetch the Marchioness at once,” your coachman draped a blanket from the servant’s quarters over your shoulders and helped you into your carriage. You hugged it tightly against you as the coachman walked away to get your aunt, the Marchioness of Syracuse. You had completteley forgotten she was the one who accompanied you tonight. How were you going to explain your current state to her? 

“ Miss Y/n?”

That voice—you know that voice.  It belonged to the person you least wanted to see at this moment. A lady should never let a prince see her like this. 

“ Your Highness, I beg of you not to look in the carriage. I was caught in the rain and I am not proper,” the door of the carriage was wide open, the prince’s emerald green attire coming into view. You angled your body so that he could only see the bottom half of your ball gown, hiding your face from him. 

“ Your wish is my command, my lady,” he stood by the entry of the carriage facing froward, his side profile visible to you. Your shoulders relaxed, relieved he didn’t have to see you at your worst. His personal attendant was beside him, holding an umbrella above him to ensure his royal highness was not touched by the rain. 

“ I must thank you for bestowing upon me the pleasure of dancing with you tonight. I regret we did not get to spend more time together. You looked absolutely breathtaking in your dress,” he complimented you, bringing a smile to your face. “ You flatter me, your Highness—thank you. I will make sure to not get caught in the rain next time, so that our dances may continue.” You made light of your situation, bringing out a soft chuckle from him. 

“ No matter if there is rain. I would gladly charge right into the storm of it if it meant I could have you by my side,” he stated, a warmth overtaking your cheeks. Any flirtations coming from another man other than James were foreign to you and flustered you easily. James’ flirtations were inviting and expected, while others were far from it. They felt wrong to hear and to accept. In doing so, it was as if you were being disloyal to James. 

You would have to keep reminding yourself there is nothing more to be disloyal to. 

“ You’re too kind, your Highness. I am not sure it is worth catching an illness over this weather for a dance,” you responded, trying to keep your voice gentle and light. You didn’t want any negative emotions to take charge just yet. They could do so once you were in the privacy of your bedchambers. 

“ For me it is. You are worth it, Miss Y/n,” the prince had never confessed his love to you, but with this sentence, it was clear his feelings toward you were much stronger than you had previously believed. Many proposals were given on attraction alone—to have a proposal based on love was the rarest of blessings. 

You stilled in your seat, his words making your heart skip a beat. From the bottom of your heart it was clear to you, you were not in love with this man. Nonetheless, you thought, maybe in the future you would. Maybe if you tried hard enough your heart could move on even if your soul refused to. 

“ Oh! Prince Loki, your highness, what a pleasure to see you here with my niece. . .” your aunt arrived just in time, saving you from having to respond. Your mind wandered off, your aunt’s voice and the prince’s getting lost in the background as they spoke to one another. 

You draped the blanket over your head to cover the stream of tears that refused to stop flowing. If you pretended to be asleep than you could avoid all of your aunt’s pestering questions on where you had snuck off to while the prince was waiting for you. 

No, you did not love Prince Loki.

Yes, you were in love with James Barnes the Duke of Brooklyn.

However, for the sake of a love lost along with fulfilling your duty, you would have to learn how to love another. 

Rake:  A rake is a 19th-century term for a womanizer or a man who flaunts their exploits with women and avoids any real romantic attachments.

[tainted-liquor]

𓇼𓈒ㅤׂHow Curious... 𓆉 [4.11.23] - ft. Miles G. Morales 𓆡 genre: fluff, part 2 of Sea Grillz!

What a liar.

Two years ago, you met a human. A beautiful, beautiful human who promised that he would come back and visit you. You waited around the coral for months, breaching the surface of the freshwater haven every now and again to see if the familiar red metal cargo ship ever showed up again. You kept that piece of soft cotton fabric wrapped tightly around your gills in hopes that one day the boy would remember you and come back. What was his name again? Prowler?

You zoomed through the warm currents of the 'Big Lagoon', otherwise known as the Caribbean Sea by the surface dwellers in search of some new findings at the bottom of the ocean. Your tail eagerly jerked through the waves, propelling you forward with the force of a bullet train as you scanned the ocean floor for any new finds. You had somewhat of a collection; a brass hand mirror, several giant beady 'pearls' of some sort, silky gloves, and a plethora of coins from all ages and times. It was dark, barely visible as your eyes struggled to pick out every minor detail due to the lack of sunlight. But truth be told, you only had one thing in mind as you glided through the pure water.

You breached the surface, hair falling along your shoulders as your beautiful coral and shell necklace rested against your collarbone. You looked up at the warm skyline, losing yourself in the vibrant shades of orange, pink, and yellow that decorated the world and illuminated your skin. You raised a hand out of the warmth of the ocean, watching as your skin morphed from a pale blue to your natural melanated tone. Your jewelry consisted of pearls, small shells, your swamp blue scales that you lost along the way, and solid diamonds that shimmered on the horizon. It was perfect; no humans to disturb the mesmerizing crash of the waves or the blue tint of the water.

You felt for your cold neck, grazing your soft fingertips over the ripped piece of cotton wrapped around your neck. A sense of melancholy suddenly filled your mind, missing the man that appeared before you and swept you off your fins. You looked around the bare ocean, whispering a silent prayer to whatever may be listening. Oshun? Ikatere? Whoever ears it fell upon, you'd hope they'd hear you.

"Please come back tomorrow..."

You bowed your head before darting back under the deep blue, blazing through the current with no other goal than to get home safely. It was hard to describe this feeling of grief. Maybe it was the promise he muttered that remained broken, or maybe it was his sense of style with those iron-clad claws and shiny teeth. He hadn't left your mind since he sailed away, but you sure left his. You cozied up next to the soft pink anemone, allowing its tentacles to flick and wave at your nose.

The ocean surface went from gentle pinks obscured by ripples of water to pitch black. The inky sky glowed with speckles of stars as you laid back on your lively 'pillow', gently running your fingers through the rough nylon of the rope attached to your waist. You thought to yourself for a moment, dancing over the buttery kapa fabric that covered your chest. It was just like every other night, staring at the water's edge while you attempted to lull yourself to sleep. But there was a sudden urge for you to get up and swim out far east.

You gasped, hopping up at the speed of light, tail twitching with an unfamiliar sensation. Your iridescent scales glimmered under the moon...something was nagging you to swim east. So what did you do? Swam as far right as you could.

"Tú en mi cama..." Miles muttered, deep purple Prowler mask glimmering in the moonlight as music flooded his brain. He knew he was stupid for sailing out in the middle of the sea for no reason, but he had to see that pretty little mermaid again. The one with the big beady eyes and the baby-soft skin, yeah. That one. It had been two years since he last saw that face, and you've been burned into his brain ever since. So now here he was, out in the middle of the sea as his new watch spewed out coordinates for him to follow.

Still in that same red cargo ship he stole two years prior, he sped out into the uncharted waters in pursuit of the woman with the blue skin. and the perfect scales. It was a dark and eery atmosphere as he voyaged forward. The ghostly hue of the moonlight led him forward, serving as his candle in the abyss. The ocean shimmered, each wave highlighted by the fluorescent white as Miles put the engine in reverse and allowed the boat to bob above the water.

He stepped away from the helm of the ship, his heavy-duty boots making a loud thudding sound against the deck as he swung both legs against the railing. He hummed along to the reggaeton music that was blasting through his headphones and took another glance over the sea line. His twin braids swayed gently with the low whistling of the wind, as the cold air kissed every inch of Miles' exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Everything seemed to follow a pattern; the waves would flow and crash against the ship, and the wind would puppeteer his braids. Until there was a familiar deviation in the water.

You darted forward, ducking and weaving between corral, debris, and anything that stood in your way as judgment guided you forward. You passed by the little crabs and gave a couple pats to some adorable Mahi-Mahi before you saw it; the strange shadow you were met with long ago. Your eyes widened with hope and adoration, making no effort to conceal your presence as you breached the surface. "Hey!" You shouted upon seeing the familiar purple glow from some sort of mask. The small white eyes widened, glitching from their regular slits to tiny hearts as you swam closer towards the ship.

"Oh, shit-...Chiquita! ¿Cómo has estado? I missed you!" He shouted, lowering down some sort of boat attached to some ropes that he gestured for you to climb into. You held on to the edge of the smaller wooden boat, lifting yourself up with all your strength as you plopped down onto the rickety oak. He hoisted you up, using all his strength to pull you up on the deck with him. The floor of the ship was freezing cold, floorboards creaking under the added body weight as you flopped on the ground. You lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands, coming face-to-face with the strange 'prowler' once again.

"Where have you been! I've been waiting for you for...for...forever! You said you'd be back!" You shouted, wasting no time as your sopping hands grazed over his exposed arms. His skin was cold to the touch and littered with goosebumps as you attempted to take off his mask, earning a low chuckle from the boy in front of you. He grabbed your wrist, gently moving your hands away from his face as he went to speak. "How often do you think I can boat out to the middle of the ocean? Hmm?" He asked, his tone laced with gentle sarcasm and slight heartbreak. He really did want to come back sooner, but time has never been a friend of Miles.

"I see you found more jewelry," he commented, gently taking your glimmering hand in his as he examined the diamonds, aquamarine, gold, and blue calcite that decorated your knuckles. You were worth millions...fins or no fins, you had a killer jewel collection that could fund an entire generation's college ride. Miles sat on the floor so he could be at eye level with you, pulling you in his lap as he collapsed his retractable mask. "I got jewels too," he mumbled, before opening his mouth just enough for you to see the shimmery glint of...teeth jewelery?

Your eyes widened, pupils dilating as you leaned forward to get a good look at his mouth. His sharp canines were covered by a silver outline, while his bottom teeth were lined with what looked like pure diamonds as you ran your fingertips against the smooth metal. "This is...wow," you sighed, admiring the sparkling gems as Miles smirked at your reaction. "This is called a grill," He muttered, closing his jaws before you made an attempt to put your head in his mouth. You nodded, still processing his flashy sense of style as he scanned over your ethereal garments and figure.

"So what y'all be doin' down there? What's it like on the ocean floor?" Miles asked, gently kissing the thenar of your palm as your hand came to caress his face. You thought for a minute, letting the cold wind blow against your frostbit skin. "It's dark...I mean, I have angler fish! But other than the dark, it's very cozy," You shrugged, hands dancing across his black cotton turtle neck. "It's got a lot of cool things, and a lot of coins. Definitely a lot of coins..." You chuckled, feeling the soaked fabric trickle water down the nape of your neck.

"Damn...New York is never dark," Miles laughed. His laugh was cold and hollow, but oddly comforting as he fixed your makeshift 'waist beads' made out of a piece of rope. He took your face in his cold, and rough hands as he admired your perfection. He'd never seen such a pretty girl in his life, and she was miles away out at sea. Your button nose perfectly complimented your full, two-toned lips. Whoever invented that fuckass 'Phi' system was wrong, YOU were the most beautiful girl in the world; with your glimmering scales, flashy gems, and gorgeous eyes.

He wanted to take you back with him and keep you all to himself, so the greed of the world could never reach out and take from you like they took from him. But deep down he knew there wasn't a place for you in his world. He placed a cold, comforting kiss on your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "C'mon, tell me about what you did while I was gone," Miles chuckled, hoisting you up as he waltzed toward the helm of the ship. He wanted his conscience to narrate his thoughts in your voice, that thick islander accent and velvety tone talking to him about his own moves.

You talked his ear off for hours, sitting pretty on his lap while he learned all about Aycayia culture, what you eat in a day, and how prevalent 'rare' gems are in the deep blue sea. He didn't care that he was soaked from head to toe, or that he was losing feeling in his legs the longer you stayed on his lap. He just wanted to hold you for a little bit longer as you mindlessly fiddled with his silver chain. His hands gently caressed your hair before reaching into his back pocket to pull out a small pinkish purple metal 'watch'. "I gotta go, I'm so sorry..." he muttered, attaching it to your wrist as the futuristic bracelet emitted a soft glow.

Your head cocked to the side, trying to make sense of the strange device. "This will show me your coordinates. Don't lose it. I'm gonna bring you with me one day, I promise," He mumbled, holding you as close as possible. The wind sang a song of melancholy, the ocean coming to a still as you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. You wanted him to stay, to tell you more stories of his life as 'The Prowler'. You hated the idea of not seeing him for another two years, tears pricking at your waterline as you smushed your cheek against his.

"I really...really love you. Please don't take too long...?" You whispered, the top half of your body hanging off the rim of the ship.

"...I love you too."

@ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x  @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc @al3xwqz @l0starl

[feliraeth]

solamorlyrque !

a perspesque term for wanting the lyrics "I loved you like the sun" from the song The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives to be deeply intertwined with how others see you.

[id: three rectangular flags. the middle one has seven stripes that start at the middle left and fan out, with the middle stripe being the thickest. the others have seven horizontal stripes with the middle and outer two stripes being thick. the colors on both flags, from outermost to innermost, are a gradient from yellow to red. end id.]

etymology ; sol meaning sun + amor meaning love + lyr(ic) + que from perspesque

pronunciation ; soul - ah - more - leer - ka

requested by ; no one :3

[divine-donna]

Hi can I request headcanons for HOTD where they fall into their crush’s breast and what would their reactions be?

hi! of course you may. some of these might sound a little awkward? mostly because i feel like most of the characters would be a little more graceful. so for some of them it's not exactly falling and more like leaning into.

ser criston cole

ser criston was a man of grace. or so he would like to believe. in truth, he was a bit clumsy outside of battle. after all, the feet needed for battle was much different than the feet needed for dancing. today was a festival for the mother, a very important day for people who worshipped the seven. but it was especially important considering queen alicent’s ascension into unofficial power, acting in accordance to her husband. she was, after all, the mother of the realm. you invited ser criston to dance with you, which he found unacceptable. but alicent insisted he take the night off, have some fun. there were other kingsguard to make sure she was safe. and when he danced with you, he fumbled a bit. and somehow, after tripping over his own feet, he lands in your chest. you’ve never seen a man get so embarrassed and red, as if he was already drunk. he apologized profusely afterwards for his...accident, we’ll say.

“i...i am so sorry. my apologies (y/n). i didn’t mean to be...indecent. i greatly respect you and it was not my intention.”

daemon targaryen

daemon’s tired and exhausted after a long day of work. so when he comes to visit you in your room, you’re surprised to hear him say that he doesn’t want anything. things were not going his way and he placed a heftier pouch of coins than usual, telling you he just wanted your presence. you sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard as he strips down to his undershirt. and then, he approaches you, falling into your chest face first. you ask if he’s comfortable and he lets out a muffled response, which you interpretted as my brother is a thorn in my side. of course, daemon’s liked you for some time now. but he doesn’t feel anything but peace when he lays on you. he just sits there, basking in the comfort of your presence.

“my brother aims to be rid of me. but i see those men for who they truly are, especially the hand. alas, i do not want to talk politics. your chest is almost too comfortable.”

rhaenyra targaryen

not many people would choose to ride with the princess. but syrax was now big enough to fit two people and of course, rhaenyra asks you to ride with her. as someone sworn to protect her (secretly, of course, an oath you swore to queen aemma during her final days), you agreed to go with her. considering that you were the more sturdy of the two of you, you sat behind rhaenyra. syrax ascended into the sky and naturally, she leans back into you. but you fail to notice the way her cheeks dust pink, how she realizes that beneath her head at the moment is your chest. it’s almost too embarrassing for her, to be nestled between the chest of someone she cared about on a romantic level. by the time syrax levels out, she’s quiet with embarrassment which is unusual.

“i’m. ahem. i’m just fine (y/n). it’s a bit chillier up here than usual, which is to be expected since the seasons have begun to shift.”

alicent hightower

pregnancy was exhausting. of course it would be! her body was changing, organs being crushed against one another, her own bones being taken by her child. alicent just needed to lay down. she had been walking all day, somehow, without rest for her sore feet and aching muscles. she found you reading at the godswood, studying for your exam most likely. and she approaches you, asking about your day. of course, you’re taken by surprise. the queen after all is asking for you. she’s always asking for you it seems and you were blind to the fact that she desired you, wanted you. of course, her father’s agenda would not let her pursue you outside of secret meetings and subtle hints (which you did not get). seeing how lethargic she looked, you offered her to lay on you, as a buffer between her body and the rough wood. she was all too eager to take it, sitting down between your legs and laying back. it wasn’t until a few minutes later did she realize just where she had laid her head.

“i am perfectly fine (y/n)! thank you for your concern. i am just...tired. aegon is a boy with too much energy and i cannot keep up in this state.”

aegon targaryen

it’s not unlike him to be drunkenly wandering the red keep late into the hour. most people tend to shrug the prince off since this was common place. but you were surprised to see him open the door to your room and shut it behind him. aegon has this wide grin on his face. it wasn’t the sadistic kind of grin that you were used to seeing from him, but kind of...sad? and lovelorn. he mutters something as he crawls onto the bed and hugs you, burying his face deep within your chest. you let out a small sigh and run your fingers through his hair, letting him mumble to himself and fall asleep. he doesn’t even have a reaction in the morning when he wakes up, still in the same place. all he knows is that he likes you.

“the duties expected of a prince are too much. i wish to run away and drink only wine and ale and eat only bread. a life of luxury.”

aemond targaryen

you were very much a fighter. it was for that reason that aemond became obsessed with you. he wanted to best you in combat since he was a young boy. you always seemed to beat him. not this time. he has surpassed your skill level. and to be fair, the last time you saw him was years ago after his scar had finally healed up. he was a handsome young man and he had an obsession with you that reached deeper than just merely besting you. there had been rumors that you were to be with his older siblings (helaena or aegon, the details were fuzzy). and helaena quickly deduced from the way he talked about you that he was smitten. she teased him lightly of course and he denied it. but he couldn’t deny it that afternoon when he finally bested you, having you pinned to the ground and the side of a dagger pressing lightly against your skin. yield. is what he said before being kicked down. and falling into your chest. not squarely in the middle, a bit above it. but he feels it nonetheless and never have you seen a man move so quickly, getting off of you to throw something at his brother.

“helaena, it was a disaster. after all these years, i finally best (y/n) only for aegon to come ruin the moment. what do i do? what if (y/n) thinks i’m indecent and not a proper man?”

helaena targaryen

helaena just needed to reach for something that happened to be above you. she was conducting her own research and needed a book to refer to. you just happened to be there and she had already started reaching, getting on her tippy toes. it was then she leaned forward a bit too much and placing her face in your chest. you fail to notice how flustered she gets, only turning your head slightly to reach up and get the book she needed. thank the gods you were oblivious. she would probably collapse from embarrassment if she knew you saw how red she was.

“i am not sick aemond! i am healthy. something...happened in the library. with (y/n). and before you get angry and jump to conclusions, please let me explain.”

jacaerys velaryon

you have been seeing the prince for a while now. being on dragonstone was still surreal to you. nevertheless, the two of you spent a lot of time at the beaches of dragonstone, soaking in each other’s presence and enjoying each other’s banter. but you failed to notice the inkling of attraction developing in jace’s eyes whenever he looked at you. he always looked forward to seeing you. what happened was so sudden: he just tripped over something and you caught him, his face buried in your chest. his ears went bright red and you figured it was because jace, usually light on his feet, managed to trip over nothing (perhaps your own habits were rubbing off onto him). he apologizes afterwards and his ears deepen in color at your light teasing.

“it’s...it’s not that funny! someone could witness us and think the wrong thing!....of course i do not care what others think! i just worry...for you.”

[di-writes-stuff]

So It Goes…

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Chapter 1

A/N: This Barbie can’t stop thinking about Glen Powell!

TW: Not much, cursing, alcohol, suggestive content. Not quite smut, but close.

It's been a long time since you've been human. Since you've strayed from the well honed weapon you've been so meticulously trained to become. Always ready for the next order, the next mission, ready to die. It's never been more apparent than when you picked up the phone, heard that cold, stern voice on the other end.

"You've been called back to Top Gun."

The readiness with which you accept the order would scare you if it hadn't become so commonplace the second you signed on the dotted line. Married yourself to a military that couldn't care less if you live or die.

After all, there's always gonna be cocky youths from shitty homes eager to prove themselves. Be great, be something for the first time in their life.

You just actually managed to do it. Become great. Incredible, really. One of the most talented pilots in the Navy. So good, in fact, that you're neck and neck with the other best pilot in the Navy.

Jake fucking Seresin.

It's not as if you don't like him. He's horribly arrogant, and quite possibly the most insufferably conceited person you've ever met.

But, he's Jake. And as humiliating, practically degrading as it is, he worked on you. Stupidly well. The grins he'd send your way anytime you dared look at him. The lame one liners he'd try, the ones that'd make you smile even as you gave him endless amounts of shit for it.

The genuine moments, few and far between, when the facade dropped, when he was a person rather than a caricature.

A person who wanted you.

You'd convinced yourself it was just sexual later.

You'd reveled in the idea that it wasn't in the moment.

But it wouldn't work. It couldn't work. Not when your career hung in the balance. The one thing you'd ever built for yourself. The one thing you'd be risking to be with him. It'd be fraternization.

Forbidden.

And really, you couldn't pass it off as just sex, no matter how hard you tried. Not with the way he'd looked at you the first and last time you ever woke up in his bed. And so it ended.

Now you just have to hope to God he won't be there to start it up again.

……………………………………………………………………………………

The steps up to the Hard Deck are almost more familiar than your house's porch at this point. The creaky, aged wood beneath your boots, bowing under your weight after too many years of use.

As you walk in, the atmosphere is busy, but not uncomfortably so. Music floating from a jukebox, Penny at the bar ringing the bell to signal someone breaking one of her beloved rules. And of course, at the back of the bar bent over a pool table.

Jake.

The rest of your squadron is there too, but you couldn't care less. Not when like magnets clicking together, his emerald eyes flash up to meet yours, a grin appearing on his face as he stands up straight, propping his cue against the table.

Damn, he looks good. After years in the military, the whole "men in uniform" thing had become lost on you. Disenchanted. But...wow. His shirt is adorned with different service ribbons, all indicators of his numerous achievements.

You're even with him, something you're sure he'll manage to gripe about later.

"Vulture." He greets you with the call-sign he coined as he walks over, a smirk plastered on his face when he stops in front of you. You still remember how proud he'd been when he came up with that.

He was beside you at this very bar, leaning in as he explained it to Penny like a kid showing off a toy. "If she's in the sky, something's dead below." It was cool, you'd admit. Not to his face, of course.

"Hangman." You respond, trying to keep your voice even, dry, safe, despite the smile fighting its way onto your face.

He gives you an amused look, leaning against the wall beside you and staring down at you, his eyes dancing across your face like they can't pick a feature to focus on. "You know, sweetheart, you could muster up a little more enthusiasm."

You roll your eyes at the pet name, trying to come off annoyed. Yet, the smile wins over, spreading across your face as you look up at him. "Give me a reason to." You quip back, falling into a pattern with him as simple as breathing.

"We're friends, aren't we?" He asks, but he knows that's putting it simply. Overly simply. The layers to your relationship are innumerable, each different, half of them contradicting each other. Friends, co-workers, competitors... and something more. Something you're not sure there's a word for.

You're not willing to use the one that seems to fit. Four letters and dangerous.

"Is that what we're calling it?" You ask before you process that you shouldn't. It's risky to even skirt the subject. Openly discuss what you're both already painfully aware of. Because he'll see it as a green light. A gleaming sign that tells him he has a shot with you.

And that, more than anything, that's what he wants. What he's wanted since he met you.

"Bending the rules?" He asks cockily, ready to swoop in, widen the gray area that you just brought up.

"No." You answer sternly, feeling like a teacher reprimanding your rowdiest student. You walk past him, hoping he doesn't follow. Denying him gets exhausting, especially when deep you, you don't want to.

He trails after you quickly, knowing you're heading to the bar before you even make the turn.

“You know, I’m more stubborn than you are.” He says as he slides into the seat next to you, each move he makes smooth, practiced, even. “I’ll wear you down.” He adds, making you snort.

“Well, since you haven’t yet…” You trail off, knowing exactly what’s coming next. You walked into it, and a small part of you did it on purpose. For the reminder. The flashback to that perfect, drunken night.

You choose not to dwell on the morning that followed.

“Didn’t I?” He asks, lowering his voice, a smirk on his lips that makes shivers run down your spine. You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“That doesn’t count.” You answer just as quietly, stiffening up a little as he leans in even closer to hear.

He just smiles, leaning back a little, shockingly trying not to draw too much attention. “No take-backs, doll.” Every word, every response from his mouth is like he’s reading from a script. Perfectly delivered, perfectly timed.

Perfect.

It’s getting hard to remember why you won’t just give in.

“You’d never let me forget it, anyway.” You grumble back, propping your chin in your hand and making certain not to look at him, not to get caught in those green eyes like a fly in a web.

He scoffs, feigning offense as he leans against the bar top, trying to get you to look at him. And since you can only be strong so long, you give him what he wants. A dazzling smile spreads across his face when you turn to him, the tiniest glimpse of a matching one on yours. “Now why would you want to? You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.” He’s got a horribly smug look on his face as he watches your eyes widen at the brazen volume he’s speaking at.

“Piss off.” You quip back with no real anger, looking away pointedly to hide the amused smirk on your face, the blush coating your cheeks as you recall that night.

His mouth right by your ear, hot breath fanning over your shoulder as he interlaced your hands, holding you firm as he whispered softly to you.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear ya.”

A soft kiss to your neck, then a searing one pressed to your parted lips.

“Doing so good for me. Just like that.”

The way his hands roamed over every inch of your body, carding through your hair, pulling your head back and giving him easy access to the sensitive skin of your neck. Then to your waist, like an anchor as a dent began to form where the bed frame was slamming against the wall. Your hips next, his hands staking their claim before his mouth, pressing kisses to each, slowly sinking lower down the length of your body, closer to-

You snap out of it as, similarly to then, his voice sounds close to your ear, his southern drawl more apparent the lower his voice goes.

“Reminiscing?” He asks, and you can practically hear the shit eating grin on his face. You look back to him, your faces impossibly close as he looks down at you, something more than pride glimmering in his eyes.

There’s no point in lying to him, he already knows he’s right. Besides, you’re sure he’s looked back on that night just as much as you have. Barracks get lonely, after all.

“This can’t happen again.” You say softly, hating how serious you have to be. Despising the way his face falls ever so slightly. A fracture in the act. A display of humanity, of proof that there’s something real, something tangible to this game you two play.

“We could make it work.“ He says, and the certainty in his voice isn’t just a byproduct of his ego. No, he really, truly believes it.

God, you wish you could too.

You sigh, the air around you suddenly feeling heavy. “No, we can’t.” Your voice is weak, like you’re begging him to prove you wrong. “We’re colleagues. That’s it.” You say with a finality you hate.

He just nods along, watching as you flag down Penny, ordering a drink. He quickly pulls a couple crumpled bills from his pocket, sliding them across the counter, his eyes locked on yours all the while.

“We’ve never just been colleagues, darlin’.” He says confidently. And he’s right.

You can’t take back what you did, and you certainly can’t change how you feel.

“Just…don’t make this harder than it has to be.” You say as you slide off the stool, knowing if you stay here longer, let his words make you dizzier than any liquor here, you’ll wake up in a bed that isn’t your own, and he’ll have won.

The nod he gives you says yes, but the look in his eyes speaks nothing but the truth.

The two of you could never be easy.

[noellerain]

Antithetical ♡ [suguru x afab!reader]

noe: this man is living rent-free in my mind for days now so you can consider this fic a brainrot/love letter to this gorgeous son of a bitch.

Warnings: [ DEAD DOVE! ] dark smut, noncon/rape (reader to Suguru), somnophilia (reader to Suguru), femdom, babytrapping (reader to Suguru), profanities (vulgar words), intoxication, spitting, implied that Suguru is drugged but not by the reader, obsessive behavior (reader to Suguru), proofread once, Gojo has a cameo lol, just over all madness. [LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING! THANK YOU!]

+ BLOCK, DON'T REPORT!

[If you read the warnings then proceed to click/press the cut button, you consent on reading the dark material below.]

Suguru Geto is midnight personified. His jet-black hair reminds you of the night sky when it's void of the moon and the stars. His eyes are blackholes that can consume your entirety if you look hard and long enough. His scent smells like the Earth after rain: a unique, addicting scent that makes your stomach flip yet still brings you a sense of warm melancholia.

Suguru Geto is way out of your league. You know that. But while everyone is fawning over his annoying best friend, Satoru, your love-struck eyes are fixated on that enigma of a man. Just one look, whether it's intentional or in passing, can shake and blow you away like the flimsy petals of dandelions.

Tonight, as you stand in the dark corner of Satoru's living room while everyone else drinks and dances to the rhythm of the song booming from the speakers, the walls seem to close in on you. 

There he is, sitting on the couch with his arm around a girl. His hair is up in its usual bun; tresses hanging on the side of his face. He's wearing a simple white shirt and black cargo pants. The simplicity amplifies his good looks.

They say that he and Satoru are two different sides of the same coin. Satoru's boisterous personality is on the face; one look at him and your alarm immediately goes off. Meanwhile, Suguru's serenity is the reason why he catches people off-guard when his true colors show.

He is a fucking mastermind. He plays the good guy role; carefully making the bed and patiently inviting his victim to lay down on it. Perhaps that's their difference: Satoru's always in a rush, his thirst never quenches. Suguru, on the other hand, takes his time. You conclude that it makes the game more enjoyable to him. That sweet, sweet reward of fucking someone dumb after all the efforts you exert may be Suguru's personal brand of drugs.

He leans closer to the girl, whispering something in her ear. She laughs and the bubbling jealousy in your chest tastes more bitter than the liquor you're currently drinking in a red cup.

It's a vicious cycle of his. For two years now, you've been nothing but a bystander. Always in the corners, watching. You've seen him lay out an elaborate plan, working his way down to different women's panties. When he finally gets what he wants, he puts his pants up and throws them away like ragdolls. Then he puts his façade— back to square one again and again and again.

Your face contorts into a frown when he smoothly puts his hand on the girl's knee. From your perspective, it looks unintentional; like his hand just happens to be there. She smirks at him, obviously enjoying the situation she's in. Your eyes narrow on his long, slender fingers, now gently rubbing her skin. It's fucking funny how life slaps you in the face over and over; there he is, the object of your obsession, sitting next to someone else, to anyone else, to everyone else but you.

His fingers slide up her thigh and give them a squeeze; the hem of her miniskirt bunches up on her lap. Your mind is beginning to go into overdrive. It's so unfair. So fucking unfair. What do others have that you don't? You take a big gulp on your drink.

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise!" Satoru's loud voice snaps your mind to sanity; your soul back to the dark corner where you're standing.

You look up at him as he strides lazily over to you, a red cup in his hand as well. He's wearing a tight black shirt and jeans that hang loosely around his waist. "I don't usually see you at my parties. What's a pretty girl doin' here in the dark?"

He leans against the wall and takes a big gulp on his drink. You don't humor his attempt for a chat. You can still feel your simmering envy as you look down on the brownish liquid in your cup.

"Not gonna entertain me, huh?" He laughs; an annoying sound that grinds your ears. "I understand, though. After all, I have a better vision than my best friend over there."

You whip your head to him, confusion all over your face. Heart beating loudly in your chest at the mention of Suguru, his one and only friend. Your lips are pursed and your brows are deeply furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He drinks again, his electric blue eyes glimmering with malice. When he puts down his cup on his side, he gives you an impish smirk. "Heh. Watch."

He pushes himself off of the wall and begins to walk away. But before he's beyond your earshot, he yells: "Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

You roll your eyes. As usual, Satoru is a menace. A baffling menace. You do not get a single word he says and you have no plans on trying. After all, guys like him are meant to be heard, not to be listened to.

Your eyes go back to Suguru. He's still on the couch but fortunately, his hands are now off the girls' body. Instead, he's pressing his forehead with his thumb while his eyes are shut tight as the girl next to him continues to babble away. The sight strikes some chords in your heart. You notice the creased skin between his forehead. It only goes away temporarily when Satoru appears and hands him a red cup.

You gnaw on your bottom lip as he taps on his forehead again with the pad of his thumb. You glare at the girl whose red lips continue to move. What is she even saying to him?

Your mind begins to wander. If it's you who's next to him right now, you're fairly certain that you won't be talking at all. You'll stare at him and listen to everything he says; hang on to every word. But Suguru is not selfish like Satoru. You know that it will be a conversation between the two of you; not just him yapping away like Satoru does.

Your heart skips a beat just by imagining how he'll look at you while you talk. He will nod, smile... Laugh. Gives you pennies for your thoughts. You pray to a higher power for the chance though you're certain that you won't be able to mutter anything coherent.

A few minutes pass by and the girl leaves. Suguru also leaves and a part of you dies inside again and again every time you see him with another girl. Where are they going? Is he going to sleep with her? Kiss her, touch her, claim her in places your mind does not dare to imagine? You finish your drink in one gulp before storming to the kitchen to grab more.

Your childishness tells you that your anger and envy are valid. After all, you've been pining over Suguru for two years now. Every time you try to move on, there is a pang of guilt in your heart. You never had him but he lives in the trenches of your heart, his name emblazoned in your mind.

But the rational part that's left of your intoxicated brain tells you that it's wrong. That you have no right to feel this way. Suguru doesn't even know you. How can you let him put a chain in your limbs and control you this way?

You wipe the liquor that dribbles down your chin. You look up and see through your hazy eyes that there are less people in the living room now. What time is it? You look down on the bottle of alcohol that you're cradling in your arms. Hiccuping, you realize that you drank half of its contents.

You stand up and the world around you begins to spin rapidly. Your knees feel like boiled noodles, unable to keep themselves upright. But still, you persevered. You leave the living room, determined to see Suguru. You decide that the madness has to stop once and for all. You can't live your life—

"Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

"Fuck you." you mutter beneath your breath as you hit your head with your fist repeatedly. For some reason, Satoru's voice decides to pop up out of nowhere.

You hiccup and begin your search to find Suguru. You look for him outside, trying to spot him in smaller crowds. At the pool area, staring at the people fucking on the water, the bathrooms… he's nowhere to be found.

You crawl your way upstairs, opening the rooms but either they're locked, empty or some people are fucking like rabbits inside.

You squint your eyes as you peek through the crevice of another door you opened. Another couple is fuck— wait. The jeans pooling on his ankles, the tight black shirt and the messy mop of white hair...

"Satoru," you drawl, inserting your head through the space between the door and the doorframe.

He whips his head, bullets of sweat dripping down his face as he smirks. "Hey. Anything I can do for ya?"

His breath is labored as he speaks; his hips continuously drilling against the girl's cunt. You can't see her from the angle but knowing Satoru, he's into beautiful girls. Beautiful, whiny girls. Her moans sound pretty, too.

"Where's Suguru?" You ask, blinking slowly.

"Told ya," he laughs. "Second floor, last room on the west wing."

"K," you sigh. You close the door and pray for the poor girl. You've never seen Satoru in action before but gods, are the rumors right. He is merciless and bursting with vigour.

You drag yourself to the last room on the West wing. Frankly, you don't even know what you're going to say to him. Does he even know you? Is he going to even hear you out?

Dread fills you to the brim when you stop in front of the door. What if he's not even here and Satoru is just messing with you? Worse, what if you see him fucking someone else inside? Gods.

You slap your cheeks to try and get a hold of what's left of yourself. It's a good thing that you're still somewhat sober despite drinking half of that bottle. You thought the liquor will make you forget but here you are, about to make the most stupid choice you've possibly ever done in your life.

Staring hard at the door, you take a sharp breath in. Your shaking fingers close around the cold knob before slowly turning it. The door finally opens and you feel your heart throb in your chest.

You peek inside then gasp in surprise.

"Su... Guru?" You whisper, pupils blown wide from the sight sprawled in front of you.

He's laying down on the mattress with his luscious long black hair spilling on the pillows. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving erratically. Bullets of sweat drip down his forehead and there is a deep frown on his face. He seems asleep but he looks far from being peaceful.

You enter the room; your eyes languidly take in the curves of his shoulders, the muscles on his arms and his chiseled torso that are illuminated by the shaft ray of moonlight pouring through the window. Suguru always opts for loose clothing; his naked image that you've sculpted in your mind is a drastic comparison to the real thing. You thought he's going to be built like the gods but... He isn't. There is still softness; a mix of godhood and humanity in his features and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch and hold him.

Your eyes travel down his black sweatpants. The poor garment is hanging on for its dear life on his prominent v-line. His lower abdomen has a pathway of light black bush that leads to his...

You swallow thickly. There is an indentation of his dick against the fabric. You know it's wrong but your body begins to feel that familiar warmth. Here he is, the source of your mirth. The destination of your late night adventures when deep-seated desires stir. The subject of your dreams, of your fantasies, the muse of your high as thick hot cum dribbles down your inner thighs while you gasp for air; reality settles and you feel pathetic with your fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt.

You should leave. But then what? Remain on the sidelines, longing for him, envying other girls and touching yourself to the idea of him? Here he is, served with his walls down. If you can have him once, just once…

You close the door. The sharp sound of the lock's bolt sends tingles all over your body. Slowly, you approach him. Shame burns your gut and makes your cheeks flushed. But you're here. You're here now. What matters is right now.

Slowly, you kneel in the space between his spread legs. The mattress shifts and you eye him nervously. But Suguru is still in deep sleep even when you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and his cock springs free.

"Ah..." You breathe out, calming your heart. It's beating in your ears now as you stare at his length that's resting on his lower stomach.

The picture of his dick that you've crafted in your head is similar to the real deal and that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. It's on the longer side and its bulbous crown is pinkish in color.

With shaking fingers, you reach for it. He stays still even as your hand closes in around the base and gives him a few pumps.

"Suguru…" you whisper. The normalcy of you whispering his name like a prayer is true only in your bedroom as you touch yourself. But right now…

You continue your ministries as you stare at him anxiously. Is he going to wake up? A part of you wishes he does. Hoping that you will get to experience the stories you've heard from the women he fucked before. For him to watch you as you serve him, the memory ingraining in his mind. Your chest burns with envy again but you get a grip of yourself.

Who cares? The pad of your thumb caresses his tip. Your experience will be different. Exclusive.

You lean your entire torso down, your ass hanging in the air. You purse your lips and gather a blob of saliva before spitting it out on his dick. You use your own fluid as lube, pumping him a little bit faster now.

"So pretty, Suguru," you giggle when he breathes deeply. His cock is smooth and it's now starting to take a rigid stance. "I'm sure you taste pretty, too."

You descend your lips and pepper his length with feathery kisses. Lolling your tongue, you give him a few kitten licks, particularly the tip that you find endearingly charming.

He smells so good, too. Sweet like warm vanilla. You open your mouth and shove his length in. He's a bit longer than what you can take so your hands wrap around what's left of his dick, pumping it simultaneously as you bob your head.

He moans in his sleep, tossing a bit. Tears prick your eyes when his length hits the back of your throat. Your hands instinctively squeeze his hips, putting him in one place. You hollow your cheeks and pick up your pace, tongue swirling and licking the tip that's now leaking with precum.

"Haaa…" he gasps and you freeze.

You look at him; your eyes widen when you meet his dilating pupils. "W-what…"

He seems at loss but he doesn't push you away. Suguru blinks a few times at you as he heaves. You can almost see the cogs in his brain turn as he takes it all in.

You quickly release his dick with a loud pop before straddling him by the waist. "Shhh… It's okay."

You cup his face as panic settles in your nerves. You stare deeply into his eyes but notice that they're… absent. It's as if they are somewhere else even though they're looking at you.

"It's fine," you whisper. "It's fine. You're good. Trust me."

His head falls back on the pillows and he winces. You take the chance to finally kiss him, your legs pressing against his sides. He lays motionless, his eyes now closed. Panic dissipates from your nerves… now replaced by the thrill of it all.

You cup his cheeks and forcefully slither your tongue in. You shut your eyes and moan into his lips; he tastes like peppermint. Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck on his tongue.

When you pull away, a string of saliva keeps your lips connected. He opens his eyes, whispering something along the lines of "Who are you?"

You don't answer. Instead, you kiss and lick his skin. Worship every nook and cranny of his flesh, marking him. Your hands are all over the place too, touching him, staining his body with your shameless, scorching affection that you can no longer contain.

Your mouth envelops around his nipple as your other hand kneads on the other. You look up at him while you suck like a starved baby. He groans, his weak body trembling a bit.

"You like it?" You ask, swirling your tongue on his perked nipple. "You like being sucked like this, Suguru?"

He mumbles something that you didn't catch and do not honestly care about. Your lips go south, reaching his happy trail and his cock again.

"S-sto…p," he sighs when you press your face against his dick. "Stop… it…"

"But it makes you feel good, though…" you reply. "See? You like it. You're hard."

You shove it in your mouth again. Suguru groans like an angel as his hips buck upwards; his dick reaching the back of your throat again. He says he wants you to stop but his entire body's reaction does not match his words.

"Stop!" He screams, trying to pull away. But you keep your head in place, gripping his hips. Greedily, you suck him off until his cock trembles and spurts hot ropes of milky cum in your throat.

You pull away and swallow hard— he tastes salty. You smirk at him. He's frowning while gasping for breath.

"Wh…"

"Shhh," you shush him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "It's alright. You taste so good, Suguru."

The words spilling out of your mouth, as well as the desire that is overtaking your body are beyond the heavens now. Your mind is in a haze and your pussy pulsates with need. You want him. You want him so bad it hurts.

"You seem weak," you whisper. "What happened to you?"

"I…" he mumbles.

You coo and kiss him again. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe with me. I love you so much, Suguru. I love you so, so much."

You sit up on his stomach and take off your top. Your breasts spill out of the garment and Suguru can only watch with droopy eyes.

"I've always wanted you…" you mutter as you lift your hips. You take his hand and bring his fingers to your mouth to suck them.

When they're wet enough, you guide them to your aching cunt. You hold onto his index finger and use it to rub your warm clit. You keep your eyes on him as he remains still, letting you do whatever you want. He looks confused and it makes your heart ache. What's going on with him?

"Gonna put 'em in…" you whisper and slowly ease in two of his fingers inside you. 

A moan rips out of your lips when his slender fingers fit snug inside your walls. You move your hips— up and down, up and down until his entire fingers are coated with your cum.

You take them off, licking the middle finger before you align the index in his mouth. He whips his head to the side— a stubborn act of defiance that makes you annoyed.

"What the fuck? You did this with other girls, I bet. Other girls that don't fucking care about you," you angrily snap, cupping his jaw. "And you can't do it for the one who loves you? How dare you?!"

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips form a small opening. You shove his index finger in, coated with your cum. With a maniacal smile on your lips, you watch as he struggles.

"I taste good, right?"  You laugh and kiss him on the lips, tasting your own essence on his tongue. "I taste so good."

"S…sto—"

"Sh," you hush him. "Don't say anything. I don't want to hear you talk. I only want to hear you whine and moan. Understood? Such a good boy, Suguru."

You get off of him. Hastily taking off your jeans and underwear, Suguru's eyes widen in panic. Before he can move away, you position yourself on his waist, straddling him again into place.

"I was so fucking envious of the girls you fucked," you laugh. "They say you're good in bed. I'm a bit sad that you're too weak to show me but don't worry, okay? I love you. I love you so much, I'm going to make you feel good."

Suguru shakes his head when he sees you lift your hips. He winces when he feels you drag his dick along your clit, using your cum as lube. You spit on the crown before finally shoving him in.

You hiss in pain as his bulbous tip bullies its way inside you. Suguru thrashes for a bit before you finally take him all in. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you quickly move to ease the pain; bouncing your hips on his cock.

You look down and see him completely helpless. He's too intoxicated to even think straight, moreso move. It delights you to see him like this; beneath you as you use him like your personal toy.

"Suguru," you gasp for breath, leaning closer to him. "Does it feel good? I feel so good."

He whips his head to the side again but you don't care this time. You're too lost in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you; caressing your gummy walls perfectly.

You anchor your hands on his chest and pick up the pace of your hips. It's starting to strain your legs and thighs but you're determined to reach the highest of highs. Strings of whimpers and groans escape his lips. You laugh upon realizing that he doesn't have a condom on and you're not taking any pills.

"Hey, Suguru—" your breath hitches in your throat when he hits that particularly sweet spot inside you. "You're gonna be so mad at me when you wake up tomorrow. Might as well get my fill, huh?"

It's all getting in your head. You arch your back as you put your hands on his knees to anchor yourself. You throw your head back, sliding in and out of him with ease. The squelching sounds of your skins are music to your ears.

Your mind wanders as your legs begin to tremble. God. What happens if you get pregnant? Just the thought of carrying Suguru's baby makes your entire body tingle and the knot in your lower belly tighten. You look down at him and smirk.

If by chance, you get the privilege of carrying his child, will he stay in your life? That's uncertain. But one thing's for sure and that is you will have a piece of him with you forever. A laughter slips out of your lips as the knot in your belly loosens and turns into a mess— hot cum gushes out of you and sprinkles his lower abdomen.

But you continue to move despite your shaking body. You need him to reach that high. You need him to cum deep inside you and fill your womb. Suguru's hips stutter as he lets out a guttural growl. You laugh once again when you pull out and see his sticky cum drip down your inner thighs. Quickly, you gather the fluid and shove your fingers inside you, not letting a drop go to waste.

The reality sets in, akin to the times you spent alone in your bed. But this time, it's different. You don't feel pathetic. Matter-of-fact, you feel happy. Your dream is now fulfilled. This experience is yours and yours alone. And even if Suguru fucks other girls, it doesn't matter anymore. You have a piece of him in you now. You're certain that no girls had their ways with him until you. You were in charge and that made you feel powerful.

Suguru's eyes flutter until they finally close. Sweat drips down his forehead as his chest begins to heave deeply. His face does not look like he's in pain anymore and that makes you smile.

You lean towards him and kiss him for the last time on the lips before you get dressed. You pull up his sweatpants, his cock now flaccid. You don't bother wiping him clean. Even just for tonight, you want him all over you.

You leave the house with your head above the clouds; your throbbing cunt misses him already.

[honeybeefae]

The Way I Hate You (Lucien Vanserra x Reader)

KINKTOBER DAY EIGHT: HATE FUCK

Summary// He couldn’t stand you. Not in the Spring Court, not in the Night Court, and not in the Mortal Lands either. You and he had helped Feyre escape, and for some reason, Rhysand had sent you both as emissaries to stay with Jurian and Vassa. He obviously wanted to torture him more because even looking at you made him want to jump off a cliff. His hatred for you came to an all-time high when you were alone in the manor, your nails tapping against the spine of a book while he was trying to write. Something in him snapped, and he just needed to show you how much he hated you.

(It’s been a while since I’ve written, and I truly missed it, and you guys as well! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Between the two of us, Eris might have a run for his money with my new-found liking for Lucien ;))

WARNINGS: 18+, smut, hate fuck, rough sex, slapping, fire bondage, degradation, they really hate each other, or do they?

The fire in the grand hearth was roaring as you lounged lazily in the library, legs dangling off the edge of the chair while reading the latest romance novel recommended to you by Vassa. You had lost track of time but from looking at the high moon in the sky, you knew it was quite late. Fortunately, with Jurian and Vassa away on some business, you didn’t have to worry about disturbing them.

However, the one-eyed redhead sitting across from you at the oak desk, flicking through papers at breakneck speed, was another story. Lucien had been a thorn in your side since you had met him. The two of you were constantly at each other’s throats, throwing snide comments and glares at each other whenever possible, so it mattered little to you if you were being too distracting.

You dared to spare a glance at him, the flames from the fire causing light to dance across his golden skin and capture your attention for a moment too long. He looked up and grimaced, his stare full of contempt.

“I know I’m the most handsome man you’ve had the privilege of seeing, but if you could stop ogling me and let me work, I would appreciate it.” Lucien snarked, ignoring how his body reacted to the immediate flush of your cheeks. 

“You most definitely are the most egotistical man I’ve ever met, but fortunately for every other woman on this earth and me, we could find someone much easier on the eyes just by walking down the street.” You clipped back quickly with a sarcastic smile, turning back to focus on your book. His gaze was burning into the side of your head, but you refused to rise to his challenge anymore.

Lucien huffed out an angry breath and went back to his paperwork. The tension in the room was thickening with every tick of the clock behind him, it was as if he could feel it in his bones. You were the very bane of his existence, he hated how much you got under his skin, but what truly drove him wild was how with every passing day, his desire for you grew and grew.

He tried to blame it on the loneliness, the stress from the events going on in the world, anything other than the fact that he could actually be attracted to you, but it was getting harder to deny.

It was making him slowly lose his sanity. Lucien had had plenty of other lovers before, but for whatever reason, you were the one who was causing him the most grief. He wouldn’t compare it to what he had with Jesminda, nothing would ever come around like that for him again nor did he want it to. But there was something there that created an itch that he couldn’t get rid of.

And on the other side of the coin, you were no better. At the beginning of your “relationship,” it was easy to nitpick everything he did. The way his voice sounded, his mean comments whenever you spoke or even looked in his direction, and even the way he walked. It was almost too easy how much you hated him, you could have written entire novels about it. 

But that loathing turned into something deeper and scarier over time. Where you used to sneer at him at dinner you now found yourself admiring how he licked his lips after tasting a new wine, or how large his hands were compared to the silverware. It had your mind and heart scrambling for dominance as you suddenly tried to get close enough to smell his scent or make a sarcastic remark just so he would look at you. 

Whatever had shifted between the two of you was growing every day and you were powerless to stop it. Even Jurian and Vassa had noticed it, both of them making bets on who would strike first though you had no idea. 

However, as the clock continued to tick and you began to innocently tap your nails on the spine of your book, the tension grew to a crescendo. Lucien’s fingers gripped the pen tighter and tighter, his jaw clenching in a mixture of rage and lust before he finally slammed the pen down and sent his papers scattering across the floor below.

“Can you please either stop that incessant tapping or simply leave me the hell alone?” He exploded, rising from his chair with his hands planted firmly on the edges of the desk. You jumped in surprise, confusion flashing across your face before swiftly being replaced with anger. 

“What the fuck is your problem? I’m not doing anything to you, Lucien. Why don’t you leave me the hell alone?” You retorted, tossing your book beside you in preparation for a fight. “I don’t know what’s up your ass but maybe you should go and-”

Before you could finish what was sure to be a very explicit suggestion, he was in front of you in two strides. That russet-colored eye was smoldering as he gripped a fistful of your hair and yanked, hard. You cried out in surprise and tried to shove him off but he was quick to all but ram you into the nearest bookshelf, pinning you between that and his body. 

“You, you are my problem Y/N,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, his lips mere inches from yours. “The way you walk, the way you talk, how every single time I look at you I can’t decide if I want to choke you or fuck you. It’s you.”

Your mind was trying to wrap around everything he just confessed to while your body screamed for more, your gaze flickering between his mouth and his eyes. Was this really happening? Had you fallen asleep while reading or did this man, the man who you equal parts hated and wanted, just admit to feeling just as you did?

His chest was rising and falling in quick succession, waiting for you to flee. However you knew this was a one-time opportunity, that you both just needed to get this out of your systems, and the last thing you were planning on doing was refusing him.

“Why not both?” You breathed out, looking him dead on with a raised brow. “Or does your lackluster performance of emissary duties carry over to the bedroom as well?”

Lucien may have had you pinned but you were the one with the upper hand, his arousal evident as it pressed into your hip. You weren’t going down without a fight and he was going to give you a full-out war.

“Who said anything about a bedroom?” He smirked before flipping you around so that your front was now pressing painfully against the aged books. “Whores like you would be lucky to get a floor.”

Two hands came up the back of your lounging dress and, with less strength than it took to lift a chair, ripped it clear down the middle until it fell to the floor and pooled around your bare feet. You had a flimsy bra and panty set underneath but Lucien got rid of those just as easily, leaving you bare before him.

“So take what you’re given like the good whore I know you are.” He growled into your ear as he grabbed a fistful of your ass, squeezing roughly as he slid down to gather your slickness on the tips of his fingers.  

Your eyes squeezed shut at the sensation, knowing you were absolutely soaked, while his taunting laugh sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t have the gentle touch of a lover. He knew what he wanted, what you needed, and he took your body like his name was carved into it.

“Ah, fuck!” You hissed when two fingers slammed into you, the hand that had held your hair now coming to roughly turn your face to the side so he could see how he made you feel. 

Lucien curled them and dragged them back out slowly, his eyes closing briefly to memorize every crevice of your walls before he set a fast pace that had you crying out. 

“I’ve barely even started and you are about to cum around my fingers. You really are a desperate thing, aren’t you?” He teased, bending down so that his lips were at the shell of your ear. You glared at him from the side, your breasts aching as he bit down on your lobe. “And here I thought you would put up more of a fight.”

Using his cockiness to your advantage, you had successfully snuck your foot behind his foot and just as he withdrew his fingers for another thrust, you took him off balance and switched your positions. 

“And here I thought foxes were supposed to be smart.” You cooed while cupping him through his pants, licking your lips at the sheer girth and length you could feel. He moaned as you squeezed him tightly, your fingers making quick work of his ties that held him up. 

“At least you’ve got something to work with, little Lucien.” You smiled while watching his pants fall, his cock standing proudly against his stomach. It was the same color as his skin, with a rosy tip that had already begun to dribble seed, and one of the bigger ones you had seen. He also had a slight happy trail leading down to it, the hair as red as the ones on his head. 

His head fell back against the books as you stroked him slowly, licking the hollow of his throat as he tried and failed to come up with a response. Seeing him melt under your hands was like injecting drugs into your veins and you were quickly forgetting you were supposed to hate the man.

You bit down on his neck at the same time as you tighten your grip around the head of his dick, smearing the cum that had collected there across it, and almost buckled from his needy whisper. 

“Y/N…” He swallowed thickly, grabbing your chin and forcing you to meet his eye. Both of your cheeks were flushed, the room smelt like sex and embers, and you knew this game wasn’t going to last much longer. “If you want to back out, do it now.”

“I-” You started but he shook his head, pushing off the shelf as you took a few steps back. Lucien threw his shirt off and onto the couch, never breaking eye contact as he started to stalk toward you.

A primal thrill made your stomach flip as you continued to back up, the heat from the hearth wrapping around your legs like a snake. It felt like your entire lower half was on fire and when you spared a glance down you realized it wasn’t the hearth…it was actual bands of fire.

Your head shot back up only to find him right in front of you, your back bumping against the desk. “I’m only going to say this once so I need you to listen.” He ordered, his hands gripping your waist so tight that you knew you would bruise. “We do this once and get this out of our system. I’m not going to be gentle, I’m not going to make love to you. I am going to fuck you as you deserve.”

You could feel yourself grow even wetter from his words, your nipples brushing against his chest as you took in a deep breath. 

“This is the only warning I will give you. Take it or leave it.” Lucien growled, the pads of his fingers drumming impatiently against your skin. 

The tendrils of fire tightened around your thighs as you bit down on your bottom lip, desperately wanting to know what they would feel like wrapped around your neck. 

You needed to know, hating him be damned.

“I want you to fuck me like you hate me.” You whispered, voice hoarse. Lucien’s nostrils flared at your words, his lips tightening into a thin line. “Don’t disappoint me like the other women you’ve bedded.”

Without any warning he forcefully turned you over and bent you across the desk, the oak groaning from the weight of the two of you as he wrapped a fistful of your hair into his hand. He jerked it sharply, your neck craning backward, and lined himself up with your hole.

“I hate you.” He snarled before thrusting into you in one motion, the two of you letting out moans loud enough to shake the entire house. His cock had your cunt stretching to impossible limits, the burn only adding to your pleasure as he set into a savage pace.

Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto, the ink jar spilling across the floor as you grabbed the other edge of the desk. It was biting into your abdomen from the ninety-degree angle but you didn’t complain, your breaths coming out in pants as he grabbed another fistful of your ass before slapping it as hard as he could. 

“Such a fucking, ah-” Lucien groaned, throwing his head back in utter bliss as you sucked him back in greedily. “Whore. Look at how this greedy pussy swallows me, like it was made for it.” 

“I can’t, fuck, please!” You gasped as he hit the spongy spot inside of you, your vision turning white for a brief moment. “Mother above…”

A dark chuckle came from behind you as he zeroed in on that spot, his balls aching from the need to spill his seed inside of you. He could tell you were getting close from how your walls fluttered around him, but he’d be damned if he came first.

“Is the poor little emissary already close?” He taunted, letting go of your hair in favor of shoving your face into the desk sideways. You struggled against his grip, hating how you were losing the upper hand but also loving how he was making your body feel. “Are you gonna cum all over my cock, Y/N? For a man you despise?”

“Fuck you.” You grunted despite your legs spreading wider for him, letting him go deeper. He noticed, of course, and the smirk on his face grew. “I hate you.”

“That’s not what your cunt is saying, pet,” Lucien said as he looked back down at your union, snaking one of his hands underneath your body so he could play with your clit. “It’s practically begging for me.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t really, because as soon as you opened your mouth he pinched your clit as hard as he could. The mixture of pain and pleasure made a guttural scream rip from your chest, oddly sounding like his name, as an orgasm wrenched throughout your body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chanted as you rose to your tiptoes, your juices coating his cock as well as the floor as wave after wave of rapture flowed from your head to your toe.

Lucien grabbed your waist harshly and made sure to fuck you as hard as he could, the desk scraping across the floor as he followed close behind you. The fire wrapped around your legs grew so hot that you winced, feeling it burn into your skin, but you could care less.

“Take it, little whore.” He roared while spilling inside you, his hair sticking to the sides of his face from the sweat that coated his body. “Oh, Y/N, fuck…”

Even his cum felt like liquid fire, warming you up from the inside out as you came down from the best orgasm you had ever had. Lucien’s heavy breathing slowly came down as you started to wiggle away from the overstimulation, his hand shaking as he slowly pulled out of you.

And although he would never tell you this, he burned the image of your cunt dripping his cum into the back of his mind. It took every ounce of his control not to collect it on his fingers and shove it in your throat. 

You gingerly raised up on your arms, your entire body sore, before turning around to face him directly. Both of you look like you just had the fuck of your lives. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and your bodies almost glowing from sweat. 

The room was now silent save for the clock that was still ticking. He shamelessly looked you up and down, admiring his handy work, while you did the same. After a few moments, you cleared your throat to get him to look back up at you.

“I suppose that wasn’t the worst time I’ve had in my life.” You mused, looking down at your legs that now had red, raised swirls around them. “Though your form needs some work.”

“I would thank you but like always, I did most of the work.” Lucien grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and standing tall. “It was good enough for a one-time fuck.”

A small laugh bubbled from your chest as you shook your head and walked past him to gather your tattered clothes, hips swaying in temptation. His eye followed like you were his favorite dinner, watching as you began to make your way towards the door. 

When you reached the door handle you stopped and turned to look at him over your shoulder, throwing him a very sultry stare as you said, “Imagine what we could improve with two, fox boy.” 

He inhaled sharply, his dick jumping to attention as he imagined all the different ways he would claim you, as you gave him a wink and left him to his own devices. Lucien ran a hand over his face at the situation as a whole, glancing at the scattered papers, spilled ink, and general mess left behind by you.

He hated you, hated everything about you, and if tonight was any indication…he needed to hate fuck you every day to make sure you knew it. 

And you felt the same way.