#the kind i feel often where you just forget its there

[hajimesh]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐skyfall. suguru geto

part two. sunset (him)

⥅word c. 2,656

⥅warnings. suguru's pov, heavy angst, main character death, mentions of drinking and smoking, depressed suguru, hurt/comfort (?)

𝄢♭turning page ‐ sleeping at last / let her go ‐ passenger

Suguru will never forget the morning you came back to him. He distinctly remembers it was right after a slow night at the bar, the air felt chiller than usual, and the streets were too quiet. He couldn’t wait to get home, already dreaming of his bed and the leftover pizza from two nights ago.

But the sleep vanished as soon as he saw you sitting by the window.

At first, he thought someone had broken into his place until he realized it was you, which scared him even more than the thought of a thief. As soon as he heard your voice, it was as if he felt everything and nothing all at once—it also made him realize he had started to forget the sound of it without noticing.

It was the sight of your cheeky smile, the little wave as you teased him like you used to, that got him out of his stupor. Suddenly, he was on a high, something he hadn’t felt in months.

Gone was the tiredness from working all night as he ran up the stairs to the apartment while his heart beat wildly against his rib cage. However, nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight that awaited him: sitting by the window, the curtains blew behind you as the sky shone with pinks and lilacs, clouds that looked like cotton floating in it. But even such beautiful scenery couldn’t compare to the sight of you, your beauty or the gentle smile on your face.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he felt his soul come back to his body as soon as he had you in his arms. The feel of your fingers carding through his hair immediately relaxed him, your voice soothing the dull pain that had settled deep in his heart.

He feared his heart would not make it through that morning, your presence and laugh — god, how he had missed your laugh — more than enough of a threat to his battered heart. 

That morning, Suguru Geto came back to life after living like a zombie for three months without you, the pain pushed to the back of his mind as he only focused on loving you.

—

He often wondered if he should quit his job, it messed up with his sleeping schedule and mood. But that bar was where he first met you, he still remembered how you walked up to him to order a round of drinks for your friends, and by the end of the night you had left right after saving your number in his phone.

Somehow, it felt wrong to leave a place that held such beautiful memories.

“You’ll be late for work,” he heard you say, light kisses covering his face as they traveled from his lips to his jaw before focusing on his cheeks.

He could tell it was dark outside, which meant that yes, he was most definitely running late. But he was a prisoner of your kisses, he would be out of his mind to push you away.

“Shower with me.”

Suguru was enraptured the whole time, watching the water dripping down your body as you sang each song that played from the speaker you had in the bathroom. The only thing that could stop you were his lips, kissing you nonstop until he had to physically hold you so you wouldn't fall to your knees. 

At that moment, he felt like he fell in love with you all over again.

He really didn't want to leave, but if you were there with him, then it meant that everything was back to normal. It made sense, right?

“See you at sunrise!”

And when he saw you by the window the next day, and the day after that, suddenly he was looking forward to each morning, hoping to see you sitting by the window where you belonged. 

The world could end tomorrow, and he wouldn’t care. As long as he had you by his side, nothing could ruin his happiness.

The rush hour was at its peak, college kids flooding the small bar on a Friday night—finals were over, so Suguru kind of expected it. After all, it was something he used to do just a few years ago.

He worked as fast as he could, lining up the shot glasses and filling them with liquor so Satoru could take them to the right table. It had become part of their routine, both men realizing that they worked well together after two days of being on the same shift.

Satoru placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, squinted eyes staring suspiciously at Suguru.

“You seem… livelier,” he paused, “chirpier?”

Shrugging, Suguru continued pouring drinks, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Still looking at him weirdly, Satoru dropped the subject once the raven-haired handed him another round of drinks, turning on his heel and continuing to work—he could always ask him later.

Meanwhile, Suguru’s mind strayed to your conversation from earlier that day. It had been two weeks since you were back, and it was impossible to get you out of his mind. Before he could stop it, he was smiling at the memory, his heart fluttered at the thought of spending all of your weekends cuddling and watching movies. He hoped that one day, a little version of you both could join the tradition.

At that point, he couldn’t hide his smile.

With a push of his hips, Satoru tried to snap him out of his daydream, signaling with his head to the girl that stood in front of him. 

Suguru stared at her, she seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until she reminded him of her name that he remembered who she was: an old classmate from high school. They had dated briefly during their senior year before he met you.

“I haven't seen you since we graduated,” she smiled at him, “I never thought I would find you here of all places!”

The atmosphere felt awkward, it was as if an elephant sat in the room and everyone could see it but him. He didn’t like that feeling one bit.

“Yeah, I work here.”

The girl hummed and shot Satoru a polite smile, her long nails tapping loudly against the granite.

“I-I was actually wondering if,” she paused, looking bashful as she switched her weight from one heel to the other, “we could go for a cup of coffee one of these days? You know, like, to catch up?”  

Suguru instantly tensed up, “catch up?”

“Yeah! Uhm… like a date?”

He never liked it when people put him on the spot, both Satoru’s and the girl’s eyes set on him as they waited for his answer.

“Sorry, but I have a girlfriend,” he offered her an awkward smile.

Satoru sighed dramatically, wrapping an arm around Suguru’s shoulders and pulling him against his side.

“I don't think she’ll mind,” he winked at Suguru before turning to look at the confused girl, “he’d love to go on a date with you!”

Pushing him away, Suguru looked at him in disgust, “are you out of your mind?”

Both men were too busy staring at the other down to hear the girl excuse herself and leave.

Satoru scoffed, “I should be the one asking you that.”

“The fuck you mean by that!?” Suguru was fuming by now, attracting the interest of a few patrons that happened to witness everything.

“Hey, hey!” a third voice intervened, Nanami placing himself between them, “you two need to calm down.”

Suguru ignored the recently hired waiter, continuing to stare down at his best friend. There was no way he was going to stand there and let him treat you like that. 

“I asked you a question: what the hell was that!?”

“Sorry for trying to get you a date with a cute girl,” Satoru said sarcastically, “one date won’t hurt, and you know it.”

Fed up with his words, Suguru pushed Nanami to the side and stepped closer to whom he had to call his best and closest friend. He had had enough of Satoru’s shit. 

“Disrespect my girl again, and I'll forget you’re like a brother to me.”

With a sneer, Satoru reciprocated the look.

“Suit yourself.”

—

They barely talked again for the rest of the night.

Suguru could feel a migraine coming, the faint palpitations at the back of his head increasing as the minutes passed. All he wanted was his shift to be over, so he could go back to your arms.

He took the trash outside, staying there a few minutes as he leaned against the wall. His lips wrapped around the cigarette as he took a long drag, and unconsciously began to smile once he noticed the sky starting to lighten. 

The sound of the door opening and closing took him out of his daydream.

“Spill,” Satoru stood before him, arms folded in front of his chest with a serious look that Suguru hadn’t seen in weeks, “what’s up with you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t you dare push me away again,” the white-haired jabbed a finger on his chest, “you were finally recovering, and what? You’re letting her control your life again?”

“I would watch my mouth if I were you,” Suguru warned him, his features hardening again, “and she isn’t controlling anything.”

Groaning, Satoru ran a hand down his face, “when are you going to get it through your thick skull?!” 

“Get what!?”

After stepping on the cigarette, Suguru started making his way inside, getting tired of Satoru’s complaints. Only to stop abruptly once he heard him speak again, his blood turning cold. 

“That your girlfriend is dead.”

Suguru never believed in those weird conspiracy theories that Satoru liked to feed him, and even years later, he still managed to come up with the craziest stories.

He believed there's a rational explanation for everything, not entirely a man of science, but if you could prove what you said, then he had no reason to doubt.

Every rational thought told him it couldn’t be possible, and yet there you were, holding his face between your hands as he heard your voice, and smelled your perfume. 

You were supposed to be gone.

He had to hold back from breaking down as soon as he got home, your silhouette standing by the window as if you truly were there, waiting for him like you always used to. He couldn't bear to see you smile, to hear you talk about a future when you no longer had one. He could barely keep it together when you cupped his face in your hands and made him stare at you, something seemed to have switched in your eyes, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“It’s time to let go, Suguru.”

“I can't,” he whispered in a broken voice, “I don't want to.”

Three months without seeing you, feeling you, there was no way he’d let you slip away from his grasp—not again.

Tears ran down his cheeks, his heart pressing heavily against his chest as he fought the need to crumble down to the floor. He could see your eyes glistening with tears, but your pretty smile remained, giving him all the time he needed to compose himself. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault,” you whispered, rubbing your thumbs against his cheekbones, trying and failing to stop the tears, “I could never blame you, I never did.”

Unwanted memories from that day swarmed his mind: the loud screech of tires against the pavement, your body next to his, the sight of your beautiful face covered in cuts and bruises mocking the peaceful look in it. The memory haunted him for months.

What was once the face of an angel, as he liked to call you, twisted into a gruesome memory.

If only he hadn’t convinced you to accompany him to the party, or if he had paid more attention to the road so he could’ve avoided the drunk driver that hit the car as he drove home. You’d still be there, with him, holding him just as you were doing right at that moment.

“I'm going insane,” he sniffled, resting his forehead against yours, “aren’t I?”

“No, no, you’re not. But you aren’t taking care of yourself,” you kept smiling through your tears, your voice gentle as if you were talking to a child, “you either sleep too little or too much, and you haven’t been attending your lectures.”

Rocking you side to side, he dismissed your comment with a nonchalant hum, “but I’m happy now, isn’t that what you want? Just… stay? Please?”

The lack of words on your part was his answer.

“Will I see you again?” 

“Of course,” your smile broadened, “even if the skies fall, or a huge wave takes over the city, you’ll never get rid of me.”

Suguru’s hold tightened, your face hiding in his chest as you both tried to calm yourselves down. He didn’t dare to close his eyes, wanting to see your face for as long as he could. And even with tears clogging up your eyelashes and wobbly lips, you were still as gorgeous as he remembered.

“You’re my sunrise, and I'm your sunset,” he whispered in your ear, “never forget that.”

Not like you could. You had found your very own sunset, only yours to love and admire.

“I would never.”

Even with puffy eyes and tears wetting your cheeks, Suguru still thought you were the most beautiful woman that ever walked the earth. He helped you wipe your tears, watching you sniffle and laugh right after.

“Baby?” you spoke after a few minutes of silence and holding each other, basking in his warmth until it made you sleepy. 

His lips kissed the crown of your hair while his fingers combed it away from your face, admiring your face with love brimming from his eyes, “hm?”

A lump blocked your throat, tears welling up in your eyes before quickly cascading down your cheeks as you ingrained his face into your memory.     

“Look for me in the sky, I promise I'll be there.”

Suguru never saw you again after that day.

It was as if the grief took over his life all over again, the sorrow suffocating him with each breath he took. His body and soul crumpled even lower than the first time, however, with each passing week, the heaviness in his heart became lighter.

It took him a while to open up to Satoru, and when he finally did, the tears were unstoppable from both sides. Satoru felt for his friend and you, you two had had a close bond too after all, and after seeing Suguru shattered after your loss, he knew he had to be his rock.

There wasn’t a place in the city that didn’t have your name, filled with memories of your dates as Suguru and you explored the world together. But it was time to turn the page, with your memory inked on the corner of it and in Suguru’s soul.

He would never be able to forget you, and he didn’t want to.

Sitting by the window, Suguru took a look at the late spring afternoon. Living in a world without you would always be painful, which is why he found himself staring at it from your eyes. That window was your spot; he would always find you there before the sun was up, and right before it disappeared behind the horizon, waving him goodbye as he drove away to work.

The usual bustle of the streets quieted down for a moment, it was as if the world went still. Orange tinted the sky as usual, only this time, hues of blue and lilac blended across it, the wind cold and refreshing as it blew against his warm skin.

Suguru peered up at the skies with a nostalgic smile, a wave of peacefulness making its way into his heart.

“There you are, my love.”

[skenpiel]

WHEW!!!!! got home from school time to try and go to bed since i woke up sick after one hour this morning….

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

in some fandoms, mostly media whose audiences skews younger, theres often an annoying minority who latch onto a comfort character so hard, they genuinely get mad at other fans for putting their comfort characters in situations that make them (the characters!) upset in fanworks. most of it’s, like, kids and teens who haven’t learned how to interact with people yet and theres a smattering of unhinged adults and either way theyre not like. the joking or ironic mad most fans get seeing those kinds of works. these fans’ vibe isn’t “fuck you op /lh” its more “fuck you op /srs/kys”

anyway i already think the concept of judging a work solely based on how its characters feel as if they’re real people with agency, instead of judging the work based on how it makes the audience feel/what the work is trying to say, is uhhhhhh braindead! but also if you look at the comfort characters some of these ppl have its like. most of them follow fandom trends. and by fandom trends i mean most of them favor the angsty, usually white and male, characters who have rly tragic backstories. they don’t have to be particularly well written characters though some of them definitely are. but they’re usually edgy and, i cannot stress this enough, very tormented by events that happen in canon.

anyway i think most of it boils down to people not knowing how to mind their own damn business and just avoid angsty fanworks if they’re not feeling it. but it’s like. buddy, if you can’t stand people making content about your comfort character Going Through Situations, then why did you pick a comfort character whose entire job in canon is to Go Through Situations

[lis-likes-fics]

The Kinder Beast

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader Word Count: 13.3k words Warnings: NSFW, attempted sexual assault, groping, oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, technically coercion, thus dub!con, virginity loss, p in v sex, creampie... A/N: I wrote like at least half of this in one night and then stopped to sleep and ruined my streak. This was supposed to be done like three days ago but I had a bit of a menty b for like...a full day and that didn't happen. Anyway, enjoy me (finally) getting around to writing for Aemond. Thanks! <3

He was always watching you.

Your skin crawled with the feeling of his gaze burning holes into your flesh. Always on you, always watching, daring to get you alone. You could never escape him.

You feel it at dinner as you pour cups of wine, one cup far more than the others. You feel it after dinner while you help the other servants to clean the table. Sometimes it is almost as though you can feel more than one gaze.

It haunts you.

Even as you're alone in the servants’ chambers where all the servants of the royal family slept after everyone has found sleep, you feel it. It's a horrifying thing, to feel so vulnerable so often.

You keep your head down at dinner, holding a pitcher of wine steady in your grasp and hoping against all hope that he would forget you were there. But the gods seemed to laugh at you and your naïve hopes.

“Aye,” he calls, raising his cup. “Serving girl.”

You lay your eyes on Prince Aegon, moving quickly as you cover the distance between you. Every inch demolished is an ounce of your bravery pouring down a drain until you are standing right by him.

You have to be careful tipping the pitcher, lest you spill the expensive drink all over his clothes, a hundred times more expensive than the wine. Though your fingers grip it tight and your palms shake the metal, you successfully manage your task with no issue.

It's as you're fixing the pitcher from its tilt when a greedy hand gropes the cheek of your ass. Your whole body jumps and you close your eyes, pretending all is well and that you are simply imagining the whole ordeal. You breathe in, straightening up and wishing he would let you go. Again, the gods seem to defy your every hope as Prince Aegon's hand begins to discreetly rub.

“Girl.”

Your gaze shoots across the table to an icy one unlike the greed in his brother's eyes. He watches you, his eye dark and his posture so full of poise and elegance—contrasting with Prince Aegon's jaded, dulled position beside you.

Prince Aemond raises his cup toward you, inclining his head back as he sends a gentler order. “More wine, please.”

You nod, keeping your gaze to the ground as you were meant to, and you make your way to his side. Prince Aegon's hand is forced to let go of you, and a weight is lifted off your shoulders—even if the heat of his hungry gaze bore holes into the back of your head that no amount of food or wine would satiate.

Prince Aemond sets his cup down, and you fill it. And when you've finished, he nods softly. “Thank you.”

For a split moment, your eyes meet. Prince Aemond's gaze is much more considerate than his brother's, but it is no less intense. His stare is dark, dangerous. He watches you, and he doesn't stop watching. Just as Prince Aegon never halts his scrutiny, neither does his brother's—at least when you're in the room. Prince Aemond, if nothing else, is kind enough not to stare when he's not in the room.

Prince Aegon never looks away.

You feel like a bird, a bird locked in a cage to be forced to sing, to be looked at and spectated until they lose interest and snap your neck to replace it with something better, something newer and prettier than a common songbird.

Sometimes you wish they would just go on and be done with it.

“You're welcome, my prince.” Your voice is small, a whisper. Though he seems kinder, the both of them scare you to death…one considerably more than the other.

Even now, your hands tremble, the clinking of the cups on the tray you carry echoing through the hollow walls. You take a steadying breath, willing your heart to calm as you assure yourself that you'll be fine.

The door you stand before is large, imposing. The room behind it is suffocating, it's dark and full of dangers that make you want to run. The idea of crossing this threshold into a world beholding so much danger and threat leaves you shaking. But you can't leave. How you wish you could leave…

You knock carefully to announce your presence before you push open the doors and hope for the best.

You take a step inside, glancing around anxiously. “My prince?” you call out as steadily as you can. Your body grows cold at the sight of him, lounging back in a chair with a cup in his hand.

Prince Aegon smiles devilishly at you, his eyes slightly sunken into his face, marked by exhaustion and drunkenness. “Ah,” he says, gesturing toward you with a coarse hand as you continue to walk further inside, keeping your head down. “She's brought my tea.”

The sound of a second voice washes over you in a sea of relief, and you briefly thank the gods for granting such rare mercy upon you. “It's a shame it shall go to waste,” he says. When you glance his way, the sight of Prince Aemond fills your gaze. His eye watches you as he sits back, and his gaze never wavers. “You and I both know you prefer your wines and ales.”

You walk to the table separating the brothers, setting the tray down. Just as you do, Prince Aegon rises to his feet, his cup in one hand as he walks over. You're nearly shaking, staring at the floor as you struggle to find your voice the closer he gets.

You have to clear your voice in order to speak. “Is- Is there anything else you need…my prince?”

He smiles, coming to stand at your side, his face so close to your cheek. You can hear the way he smells you, his sigh blowing against your shoulder. “Yes, there may be something you can help with…” You shudder, staring at the floor and refusing to look his way.

Without turning away from you, the prince speaks. “Dear brother, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

You close your eyes, willing the tears away as you try not to appear weaker than you already do. You flinch when you feel his knuckle brush your cheek.

Prince Aemond hums, clasping his hands in his lap. “But I'm quite comfortable here,” he says matter-of-factly.

You glance up at him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes as you look upon him. He's got the smallest grin on his face, but he doesn't even look at you. He watches his brother as his annoyed glare darts his way.

Prince Aegon looks like he'll fight his brother. His hand drops from your cheek. The breath you let out is silent. “Well, there are plenty of comfortable places in this castle, Aemond. Perhaps you might find yourself there instead.”

He shrugs. “But watch how well my boots fit perfectly when I place them here.” He lifts his feet, one after the other, to rest on the table near the tea tray. Again, he grins at his brother.

“Well, boots belong on the floor.”

“A shame for my feet, really. They do so enjoy a rest every once in a while.”

Prince Aegon's frustration is clear. He rolls his eyes and looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes that frightens you. He lowers his voice to a murmur. “Then perhaps you and I can go somewhere a little more private to…speak.”

You open your mouth to say something—you don't know what, likely just incoherent stammers of little value. Prince Aemond, it seems, is your ultimate savior.

“Unfortunately,” he interrupts, “that is not possible either. You see, she is busy.”

You both look at him to elaborate. Prince Aegon glances around the messy room and shakes his head. “I don't see a job needing tending to.”

You could name a few, but you really just want to leave.

Prince Aemond is unfazed. “I do,” he counters. He looks at you. His gaze betrays no sentiment, simply focus and a bit of amusement at frustrating his brother. “Girl, you are to take His Highness’ boots over there and shine them until they are brighter than the sun.” He tilts his head. “We can't have the prince walking around with dirty boots… Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, standing a little straighter. “Yes, my prince.”

He nods. “And they are especially disgusting, you might acquire some help while you do.”

You don't know why he is helping you, but who are you to question him when he is being so kind?

“Yes, my prince.”

He turns away from you then, reaching forward to grab a cup of tea from the tray. As he stirs it, he hums. “Make haste then.”

You move quickly, nodding as you break away from Prince Aegon's presence. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches his brother. You snatch up the boots, stopping by the door as you leave the both of them, not daring to look either in the eye. “My prince… my prince.”

You flee, and the door closes loudly behind you as you do. Aegon turns to his brother, shaking his head as he moves to sit once more. “My boots are not disgusting.”

Aemond hums. “You haven't seen your boots.”

~

The sound of fire and laughter and music fills the air. It's dark out, so dark it would be hard to see without the giant bonfire raging at the center. It's the most fun you've had in a while. Queen Alicent released you and a few of the other servants from duty for the night to enjoy the festivities as gratitude for hard work.

“Come on! You're no fun when you do not join the dance!” Emalia urges, pulling lightly on your arm so you would come with her and the others.

You lean back on your heels, laughing as you shake your head and balance your cup in your hand. “No! I do not need to make a fool of myself in front of the whole dynasty by tripping over my feet and falling flat on my face, Emailia.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please! Nobody is watching you.”

You wish that had been true.

“Besides,” she smirks at you slyly. “You may attract a man's eye.”

“All the more reason not to go.” She groans, unimpressed by your insistence of remaining a total bore. You smile, letting her go. “Go dance. I am perfectly content to stand here and watch.”

She hums, giving up as she turns on her heel to leave. You laugh lightly to yourself. As you cradle your cup in your hand, you raise it to your lips for a drink.

You'd been alone for no more than a minute, watching people holding hands as they danced around the roaring flames, before you had, in fact, caught a man's eye.

“Don't you look pretty tonight?”

You fumble your cup as it falls to the ground, spilling its contents over the dirt. Chills rush down your spine, devouring every slip of comfort in your body and leaving you cold. You keep your eyes down, staring at the wine in your cup as you try to find your voice buried in your distress.

His voice comes from behind you, a dark hum haunting your being. You try to keep your voice level, but it's hard when your entire body feels like it's shaking. “Th-Thank you, my prince,” you croak, your voice as quiet as can be.

Prince Aegon stands so close, you feel his body brush yours. You try not to tremble, but it's a useless task. His eyes bore into the side of your face, and you feel the heat of his gaze devouring the rest of you.

“So pretty, I just want to…steal you away.” He steps closer, his lips right by your ear as he whispers in a low voice, “Would you like that? For me to steal you away from here?” You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to remain calm. “We could do anything, just the two of us.”

You swallow thickly, plastering a wobbly smile on your face. “I'm sure it would be…a lovely opportunity my prince, but..” You open your eyes again and take the smallest step away, turning slowly toward him. He steps even closer, hardly a foot away now. “But, um, I have to stay here with my friends… They'll be missing me if I go.”

Foolishly hoping to the gods that they hear your plea, you're met with the sight of his dark gaze. Your breath hitches as you take a step back. He pursues, shrugging lightly as he tilts his head.

“Or I could order you,” he says. “If I say you must go, then they cannot argue. I am the prince, after all.” He smirks, lifting his hand to touch your cheek. You flinch, but it only makes him chuckle. “Would you like me to order you, pretty girl? To take that burden off your shoulders?”

The way he says it… “pretty girl”. It makes your skin crawl. You wish you'd just gone and danced, or never shown up at all.

Your mouth opens, but words are very hard to find as you struggle to speak. “I…”

You can't refuse him. You can't send him away and tell him that the thought of his hands on you makes you want to vomit. You could be punished, killed. There's no version of this where you come out safely.

His gaze burns into your skin. His hand raises to pinch your chin, and his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. As you struggle to find an answer, to find a way out of this very dangerous situation, Aegon feels another gaze upon his own skin.

He turns his head, his eyes searching for the object of his sudden unease.

A frown overtakes his lips as his glare locks onto another. For a moment, he keeps staring. It's a silent battle of wits, a battle of will. He should be able to have whatever he wants. He's the fucking Targaryen prince, and what he wants is your bound-to-be-virgin cunt wrapped around his cock. He is owed whatever he desires.

But this icy glare is one he cannot withstand. With a huff, he drops his hand from your face. You hold your breath, glancing up carefully to see what has changed.

“But alas,” he mumbles. “It seems my mother is calling me.”

The shock is written all over your face, a mix of fear and surprise that has his desire for you growing in his belly. He smirks again, taking one last step into whatever space you had left as he takes your hand.

You purse your lips as he eyes bore into yours. Prince Aegon raises your knuckles to his face, slotting his nose over them as he inhales your sweet scent. You shudder as he presses his lips to the round bumps of your hand. You jump when he nips them.

His eyes peek up at you as he grins. “I will be seeing you.” He drops your hand.

You swallow thickly as he takes a couple steps back. Tentatively taking your skirts in your hands, you curtsy. “My prince.”

He hums, and then he's gone. You stare after him, letting out a relieved breath as you come back to your senses. You bend slowly, retrieving your cup from the ground as you try to catch your breath.

When you rise to your feet, your gaze is caught by that of the prince across the field from you. He flickers at the other side of the bonfire, his gaze just as hot and just as burning as the fire itself.

He stands there and stares at you a few seconds more. Then, just like his brother, he disappears into the night.

You're left standing there, frightened to the very base of your being.

~

Quite frankly, you despise the training grounds.

It's dirty and full of spectators eager to drink in the sight of sparring princes. It even rained earlier that night, so you are left to stand in the filthy mud, holding a tray of water in your hands and waiting for the imminent end of this session.

They always train so early. Sure, you would have been awake either way, but your sleepiness mixed with the anxiety of the princes (mostly Prince Aegon) is not a good mix.

He keeps looking at you.

Prince Aegon's eyes follow you when he's not on an active attack. You do your best to keep your eyes on the wine, hoping it would keep his gaze from you. But it's hard to do so when the lingering heat of his watchful eye burns you from out to in.

You can't tell if you're grateful or not for Prince Aemond's seriosity in his training. On one hand, his hard focus on his opponent means he's not watching you. But on the other…that means Prince Aegon is not too inclined to keep his eyes forward.

You feel your arms growing tired the longer you stand there. With a sigh, you turn toward a table behind you, setting the tray down to offer your arms reprieve. You linger for a moment, closing your eyes to breathe before switching out the two pitchers of water to seem busy.

When you turn again, you nearly drop the tray onto the ground. The smallest yelp erupts from your throat as you're met with Prince Aegon's dark stare.

“Forgive me, my prince,” you nearly stutter.

He hums, grinning lightly. “That's alright.”

You duck your head a little, balancing the tray in one hand and refilling his cup with the other. You pass it carefully to him.

“Many thanks.”

You give a short nod. “You're welcome, prince.”

He watches you over the top of his cup as he takes generous sips. He never looks away. It’s awful, being forced to see. You look away from his intense eyes, finding it increasingly difficult to do what he wants. But this works for him either way. He loves to see you cower…

Prince Aegon sets the cup back on the tray. Not anticipating the action, your weak grasp tilts and sends the tray askew. The cup tips off the side, and your eyes widen in panic as you watch it spill its contents all over the front of his gear.

A terrible gasp rips from your throat at the sight of it, Prince Aegon's gear drenched in water, his cup on the muddy ground, you standing there unable to figure out what to do other than grovel at his feet.

The words stumble uncontrollably from your lips, drenched in utter terror at his response. “Oh, gods! I am so sorry. That was an accident. I didn't mean to–!”

But Prince Aegon is not angry. In fact, he's amused. He chuckles to silence you. “Come now, pretty girl. No need for that.”

You stare up at him, your eyes clouded by unshed tears invoked by such sudden fear. He takes a step closer, in permanent violation of the space you have to your person. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks. “You and I can sort this out. Just the two of us… in my chambers… tonight.” He tilts his head. “What do you say?”

You freeze, staring wide-eyed at the prince as you struggle to find a way to get out of this. You can't refuse him, you can't. But he isn't going to let you go. How are you meant to shed this man from your life? He has implemented himself and ensured there was no way to escape him, not without force.

Your mouth drops open but no words come out. But, as it seems to be like clockwork, temporary salvation settles over you.

“My prince!”

You both turn your head, laying eyes on Ser Criston Cole as he holds onto Prince Aegon’s training sword. He offers it to him. “Leave the poor girl alone, and come fight your brother.”

Prince Aegon rolls his eyes, swatting a dismissive hand at his knight as he turns back to you. His smirk returns, if only for a moment. “Will I see you again?” he wonders.

“Prince Aegon!” He grunts. “Leisure is the death of men.”

“I’m coming!”

He looks back at you, setting his frustration to the side for just a moment. You’re always interrupted, there’s always something requiring attention. But not tonight. No, tonight…he would have what he wants.

He tears his gaze away to stalk back toward his knight and his brother. Ser Criston hands him his sword. Your eyes shift, and you find Prince Aemond…just as you always seem to do.

He watches you—just for a single second. A single second that always seems to last so much longer. He takes you in before blinking away, as though he’d never laid his eye on you to begin with.

You duck your head and try to forget the whole thing.

You duck your head and pray to the gods that Prince Aegon will forget the whole thing…

~

“Girl.”

You close your eyes as you stop walking, planting your feet in the middle of the dimly lit hall. You hold your breath as you turn, bowing your head and properly addressing the man with a curtsey, a basket of sheets in hand. “My prince.”

Prince Aegon’s eyes are nearly as dark as the night surrounding the castle. They always seem so…consuming. Consuming in a way that begs for breath in depleted lungs. Consuming in a way that cries out for an end to the constant burning of eternal fire. You stare at the floor.

He crosses the space between you before he speaks. “I didn’t see you in my chambers.” He stands right in front of you now, generous with the couple of feet he distances you with—though he does not have much of a choice with the way you hold the basket between you.

You had hoped you’d been sly with your avoidance the night before. After he was dressed for dinner, you made quick work of tidying his chambers before you went to attend with the other servants to watch over the small feast with the royals. When he returned to his rooms, there was nothing else for you to do… You had no other reason to return, so you did not.

You had hoped he’d missed it.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry, my prince.”

“What kept you?” He steps forward, always stepping forward.

“My, um–” You struggle to come up with an answer quickly enough. “My-my errands. I was caught up with…with dinner.”

He tilts his head, not quite believing you as he continues his agonizingly slow advance. You find some solace, however, in his snail’s pace. It means every tiny little step you take away goes slightly unnoticed as you move to keep some distance between you and the prince.

“Well, dinner is over, and I require your assistance,” he insists. He raises his hands and takes the basket in his own hands. You try to keep your breath steady, but you’re hot with fear and anxiety. “I am your superior, am I not? You must obey me, and I say that you…” he takes your basket and drops it onto the ground without regard, walking farther past it, “...must come with me. We have a few wrongs we must right.”

When the cold feeling of the wall shoots up your spine, you’re frozen with fear. You nearly choke on your words, you struggle to even breathe correctly as you look around frantically for any sign of help. But it is so late, the castle is sleeping and any other servants awake at this time of night are preoccupied with their own tasks. Even if someone was awake, clouds cover every inch of the sky, and no one wishes to be bothered with the potential of rain in the open halls.

No one is going to help you.

“Forgive me, prince, but…” Your pulse is loud in your ear, you can hardly hear your words over it. You swallow thickly, speaking around your stutter, “I have… I have other duties.”

He’s getting frustrated now. He’s been denied you so many times now, too many times. You don’t expect him to display much patience anymore as he stands so close that your shoes touch and your arms are pinned to your chest. You can feel his breath on your face, thick with the permanent smell of wines and ales. His height over you is commanding, and you may just start crying before anything is done.

He speaks quietly, low. It’s a threat in the disguise of a reminder, and it hurts more than a slap to the face. “Your only duties, pretty girl, are to me.” He shakes his head gently. “I will not ask you again.”

His hands find your hips, and your whole body flinches at his touch. The smallest yelp drops from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re shaking. You don’t actually realize it—there’s too much happening at one time—but you’re shaking. It feeds Prince Aegon’s hunger.

You force your eyes open, force yourself to look him in the eye as you shake your head.

“I don’t want to.”

He tuts gently, shaking his head as a terrible grin takes his lips. He even chuckles, it’s the faintest sound but it’s a chuckle and it shakes your soul. “Such a pity,” he hums. He tilts his chin down and whispers. “You don’t have a choice.”

One of his hands raises to grasp your face, but you swat it away. Surprised by your protest, something flickers in his eyes, and you know you’ve made a mistake beyond hitting a prince. He tries again, faster this time, but you’re so full of adrenaline that you’re faster. You keep smacking his hands away, squirming vastly as you try to shed his hands from you. When he does not relent, for even a moment, pressing his hips into you just to pin you into the wall, you do the unspeakable.

You slap him. Your palm meets his cheek with a force that whips his head to the sound, and you pale as you watch his skin turn pink.

The most dangerous smirk crosses his lips. He finds great pleasure in your fight. It’s the first real fight you’ve put up since the beginning of his conquest. It’s exciting, it’s thrilling. His blood pumps at the prospect of a hunt.

He turns back to you slowly, watching you with eyes that have become so much darker. They’re like black tar, an oozing kind of look that melds into your skin and leaves you feeling like you’re going to die. Maybe you will.

His hands grab you so tightly that you can’t possibly move him away. You fight anyway, flailing your arms and legs and trying to call out for anyone to help. You know your sounds are echoing, you can hear your shouts bouncing off the walls and filling the night… But part of you knows that no one will come to help.

Even if they can hear you past the thick walls, no one will come to help you.

Because he’s the prince, and you are just a servant girl. What are you to keeping their lives?

Prince Aegon wrestles you to the ground and lays you on your back, despite your protests, despite your resistance. He forces you to the ground, takes your wrists in his hands, laughs when the tears spill. You argue for him to stop, to let you go, to leave you be. You hope and pray and beg for him to listen. You curse the gods for their cruelty—you curse the Mother for her lies.

He gathers your wrists to one hand, and you think you’ll be sick when his hand gropes your breast so roughly that it hurts. “I knew you would be fun, pretty girl.” He laughs, high off the thrill. “I’ve waited so long for this, it’s only fitting we make it last–”

A harsh grunt leaves his throat when your foot finds purchase at his leg. Using all the strength you have, you manage to land a kick. His hands loosen considerably, enough for you to yank yourself from his hold. Just to give yourself more time, you kick again. This time, you manage to find purchase at his side. A string of curses falls from his lips, but you don’t have time to listen to them.

As soon as you’re free, you stand to your feet and bolt down the hall. You don’t know if you’ve ever been faster, the way you speed through the corridors. Your heart thunders in your ears, your tears tickle your face, your breath scratches your throat. But you can hear him behind you.

It’s a stalking sound. That kind of sound that tells you he doesn’t waste strength trying to run after you. His pursuit is taunting, it’s haunting. It forces more sobs from you, and it makes it hard to see past the tears gathering in your eyes. You look behind yourself. It feels like he’s right there–

You run into something solid. Knocked to the ground, you grunt at the pain that blooms along your body at the fall. You open your eyes and look up to see what’s stopped your escape, and you feel a sudden wave of relief. It’s not a gaze that especially calms your nerves, but it’s enough to know that you might actually have a chance at safety.

“Prince Aemond!” you cry, moving to kneel before him as you duck your head. You stumble over your words, it’s so hard to speak past the fear, the pain in your throat, all of it. You do your best. “I-I’m sorry, you… Your brother, he’s chasing me and he-he’s trying to, to hurt me, and I–”

There’s no use in trying to speak coherently anymore. You break down into sobs, sobs full of broken rambles that are fueled by the emotions demolishing you. You look truly pathetic like this, you know you do—covered in tears, your lip wobbling, your chest heaving with desperate breaths.

Prince Aemond looks upon you, his face a mask of almost indifference. There’s a spark of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But, quite frankly, you don’t care. As long as he helps you. He’s been helping you all this time, surely he won’t turn his back now when you truly need him.

You don’t know what possesses you to grab his hand. You’re just glad he doesn’t seem upset when you do it. You hope he understands you when you beg, “Please don’t let him touch me, please!”

His taunting footsteps re-enter your mind as they come to a stop somewhere behind you. Your blood runs cold when you hear him.

“Brother.”

You startle, genuinely yelping when you scramble to your feet and rush to stand behind Prince Aemond, putting him between you and his brother and using him as your shield. To your sweet relief, the prince puts his hand out and holds your arm, keeping you behind him. Keeping you under his protection. You let out a shuddering sigh.

“Aegon,” he returns, his voice calm and measured. His gaze is unyielding, as it always is. You just hope that, as it always is, Prince Aegon is no match for it. “Are you tormenting this poor girl again?”

He laughs. “Tormenting? Heavens no. We’re just having a bit of fun,” his gaze shifts to you, “aren’t we?”

You press yourself more into Prince Aemond, hiding as best you can.

Prince Aegon can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed. “And even if I was, the little thing put her hands on me.” He raises his brows. “These things can’t go unpunished.”

It’s silent for a moment as Prince Aemond contemplates something. He glances over his shoulder, not quite looking at you as he questions. “Is this true?”

You swallow thickly. You can’t lie. It’s the prince’s word against yours, and you did put your hands on him… If anyone finds out, you could—would be killed. Your voice wavers as you confess timidly. “Yes, my prince.”

Prince Aegon smiles. “You see? She admits it.” He takes a step forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Terror grips you. “No–!”

“Step away, brother.”

He stops in his tracks, staring at his brother with a furrowed brow. Unimpressed by his jest, he gives an empty laugh. “Excuse me?”

Prince Aemond tilts his head, raising a brow. “I do not believe a stutter passed my lips.” His hand lands on the hilt of his blade, a warning. “I said step away.”

Prince Aegon’s lips curl in a sneer, but his eyes…his eyes hold a predatory gaze that make you feel like you’re already trapped in the beast’s maw. “She’s my servant girl. I can do as I please. Give her to me now.”

He remains unfazed. “I do not believe I will be doing that.”

“Get out of my fucking way, Aemond.” He advances, his eyes on you as he comes forward to take what is rightfully his. You begin to protest, scared sobs falling from your lips as you panic.

But Prince Aemond takes his own step forward, but his gaze is much harder, and his determination is much more dangerous. “Touch her and we shall both be half blind, brother.” His threat is level and true, and you feel yourself alighting with more fear at the sound of it. He tilts his head. “Now run along. I’m sure you’ve got a pillar to milk.”

Rage covers every inch of Prince Aegon’s face. He huffs as he shakes his head, moving to cover the distance. “You fucking–”

Everything seems to go completely still for a moment. The air is stagnant and all breath ceases when Prince Aemond raises his blade to his brother’s face, the sharpest end only inches from his blue eye.

But Prince Aemond remains unfazed. His gaze is piercing, his posture is strong. His voice is low and level.

“Do it.”

They stare at one another, another silent standoff. You’re still holding your breath.

Prince Aegon’s lips curl into a smirk. A chuckle slips past his lips as he takes a step back. He yields.

“Well played, brother.” He sucks on a tooth, turning his dark gaze to you as his eyes glitter with apparent amusement. You’d hoped you were turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth, but the only thing you’ve achieved tonight was sweetening the prize. “Don’t worry, pretty girl… I will be seeing you soon.”

He spares one last glance at his brother before turning on his heel and walking away. Prince Aemond relaxes a bit, letting his blade return to its holster as he sighs gently. When the other prince has fully retreated, he hums.

“Come with me.”

He turns and walks down the hall. It takes you a moment to catch up as the adrenaline begins, slowly, to fade, replacing itself with an immense amount of exhaustion. You turn and walk after him, wiping your face to try to rid yourself of the tears that had begun to dry.

You follow him down the winding corridors until you eventually end up on the familiar path of his bedchambers. When you arrive, he opens the doors without a word. It’s implied that you follow, so you do. He closes the doors behind you, and you slowly come to stand in the room, feeling so awkward here. It’s so late, surely you need to leave and try to retire for the night, put this whole thing behind you for a few hours.

Your voice is timid, your fingers hesitant as you rub at your face. “Are you sure I should be here?”

The prince walks past you, trailing to a table where a bowl of now-cold water and a cloth sit. “You can be wherever I say you can be,” he says dismissively. As he wets the cloth, he beckons you closer. You have to urge your legs to move, dragging yourself over to sit in the chair he is gesturing for you to take. You don’t look at him, anxiety still whispering in your bones.

“Are you hurt?” he asks as he tilts your chin up, beginning to carefully wipe away the tears that have covered your face.

It feels strange, but…nice. It’s nice to be taken care of. You’re too drained and too quieted to wonder why you’re being taken care of. You just want to calm down.

“No,” you mumble, sighing to calm your nerves. “Thank you.”

He continues to dab at your face. “Don’t thank me yet.”

You furrow your brows, looking up as you lock eyes. He’s…sort of pretty. You hadn’t really had the time or the mind to notice it before, but you don’t intend to make a habit of noticing. Once this night is over, you intend to forget it all.

“Beg pardon?” you wonder.

He stops what he’s doing, setting the cloth back in its bowl. Looking back at you, he tilts his head. His voice does not change. “You laid your hands on the prince.”

Just like that, the fear and anxiety return. You’re already tongue-tied as you try to defend yourself. “He was trying to hurt me–”

“It does not matter,” he says, as though it means nothing. And it does. He shrugs as he continues to watch you. “My brother has a reputation but he is the prince, and you are just a girl.” He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tilting your head to look up at him a little more. “Who do you think they will believe?”

Your breath picks up once more, a heavy thing in your chest that makes you feel like you may faint. You wet your lips, shaking your head. “It was an accident. I was scared, a-and I panicked. I–”

“It is not I who questions your words,” he hums. “It will be the public’s when they learn you tried to seduce the prince.”

Your heart pounds so heavily in your chest. You swear you can hear each thump against your ribs. “But I didn’t–” You pause at the look on his face. It is not him who questions your words. You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands clasped in your lap as you try to gather your thoughts. Your voice is so quiet when you speak again, weak with your defeat. “What am I to do?”

He seems pleased that you have begun to ask the right questions. He pulls away from you, removing his holster from around his waist to set his weapons down. “Even if he says nothing, you are still his servant, and I cannot be there at every turn to help you.” He looks at you once more, his eye unwavering. “One way or another, he will have his way with you… and no one will care when they hear your screams down the hall.”

You duck your head, fiddling with your hands as these terrible feelings eat away at you. But then he speaks again, carrying words that have you glued to his every sound. “There is a way, of course, that I can help you.”

You sigh. “I’ll do anything.”

The slightest smirk curves his lips. He walks back toward you, his steps so slow, so measured. Every step he takes fills you with a strange kind of dread. His voice is so soft, the opposite of the fear-inducing sound of Prince Aegon’s.

“My brother will care less about you if you are…” he raises his hand to the top latch of his garb, undoing it slowly, “...already sullied.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him unlatch each metal piece with a clink, clink clink. A shivering heat courses through your veins, the kind of heat that has your body covered in gooseflesh. A million thoughts rush within your mind, but you haven’t the slightest clue what any of them are saying.

Had he been any other boy from in King’s Landing—a peasant from Flea Bottom, a servant in the Red Keep, a merchant from Cobbler’s Square—you would have watched with bated breath, accepted his proposal with a shy grin, fingers shaking only with the anticipation of a night of pleasure. Had he been anyone else, you might have considered sharing the night, knowing and accepting that you’d likely have to take his hand to avoid the shallow slanders of society.

But he is not a merchant from Cobbler’s Square, or a servant in the Red Keep, and he most certainly is not a peasant from Flea Bottom. He is Prince Aemond Targaryen, the son of Queen Alicent and King Viserys I, the rider of Vaghar, the second largest dragon in the world.

You cannot do this and come out unburnt.

Your throat is dry as you try to shake your head. “I-I can’t.” You stumble over your words uselessly. “I’m— You’re— We–”

He hums. “I can just tell them that you attacked the prince.” Fear strikes your head like a chord. “Of course, you would lose a hand…if not your life.”

A tear slips down your cheek to replace the old ones. “Please, my prince–”

“There’s only one way to solve this,” he says, walking toward you once more so that you’re forced to look up at him. He’s taller than Prince Aegon, and his gaze can be just as dark. “I can give you back to the beast, who will maul until he gets what he wants…” Your eyes close, trying to force the memory from your mind. He tilts his head and waits for you to look at him again.

“Or I can ruin you for him.” His proposal sends an unwanted shiver down your spine. You audibly sigh at his suggestion. “Then he shall no longer have interest in you.”

The gods have a strange sense of humor. Every time you suppose they’ve answered your prayers, they offer an alternative that you fight to determine better or worse. No win can ever simply be a win, no salvation can ever simply be salvation. It seems even now…that you’ve traded one beast for another. Now you’re forced to choose between the lesser of two evils.

Your throat is dry. You have to clear it in order to find words to speak, timid words that find a lot of difficulty in breeching your lips. You look up at him, your eyes wet.

“He won’t want me anymore?” You wipe at your eyes, trying to dry your constant tears. “You’ll…” You clear your throat. “You’ll protect me?”

Prince Aemond watches you closely, his gaze betraying no hesitance. He raises a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb under your eye line to rid yourself of your tears. “You have my word,” he nearly whispers.

You look down at your hands, steeling your nerves as you squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s one night. Then you shall be free from the torment of the eldest Targaryen prince. Your troubles shall be put in the past. Just one night…then all will be well.

You just pray this beast is kinder.

You slowly rise to your feet, your fingers almost lethargic in their movements as you hold your breath. He's taller than his brother, just by an inch or two. It's enough that you have to crane your neck even more to look up at him. It has a strange effect on you, one that makes you even shier than you were two moments ago.

You sheepishly raise a hand to your shoulder, pushing your apron off until your arms are free from it. Letting your breath free, you release your arm from the sleeve next. It takes forever, it feels like, to shed yourself of your clothes. But when you’re bare before him, you can’t help but to cover yourself with your arms, trying to preserve what little ounce of dignity you have left.

But there’s no use in it now. He raises hand, slowly so as not to scare you, and touches your waist. You nearly shudder at the feeling, so foreign to you. He drinks in the sight of you, feasting on your body in gentle praise. You drop your arms, allowing him to see all of you.

“My brother was right about one thing,” he hums, licking his bottom lip between his teeth. “You are a pretty girl.”

It feels so different when he says it. It shouldn’t. His actions are almost as selfish as his brother’s, though at least you gain something from your nearing fate. But those words on his lips, they caress you. They send shivers down your spine and offer the smallest salve to the raging nerves preventing you from being calm.

You struggle to find your voice, not yet able to meet his eyes.

“I…” you sigh in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I am at your…your full service, my prince.”

One of his hands continues to rest at your hip, holding you close as his palm strokes your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. It just…it feels so nice. It’s so hard to resist a touch as nice as this one. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and you’re forced to open your eyes to meet his gaze.

He brushes the apple of your cheek, staring into your eyes. His words have your blood rushing, your breath becoming thin. “Have you ever had your lips around a cock before?”

Your eyes flutter at the question as you shake your head. “N-No.”

“Someone’s mouth on your cunt?”

Your throat is so dry, you keep having to swallow. “No, my prince.”

He hums. You can’t tell if he sounds pleased or not. “I suppose you’ve done nothing.”

“Never.”

His thumb strokes your cheek again. You lean absently into his touch. “That’s alright,” he says. He lets go of you to shrug the top layer of his clothes off, leaving him in his tunic and trousers. It’s already such a forbidden sight, heat rushes to your cheeks at a glimpse of it—as though you were not already standing bare before him. “I shall teach you.”

When his lips meet yours, you gasp against his mouth as your head begins to spin. You’re so startled by the sudden movement, it takes you a moment to actually realize what’s happened, let alone for you to gather the sense to kiss him back. His hand wraps around the back of your head to bring you closer, and a whining sound comes out of you when you feel his tongue slipping into your mouth.

This whole thing is so foreign to you, so forbidden and exciting and terrifying. Your breath shudders against his lips, and he feeds off your apprehension. He steps forward into you, and you nearly stumble back in an effort to keep up. You’re forced to stop your backpedal when the hard wood of the table digs roughly into your back.

Your stomach churns with a feeling unfamiliar to you, and you lean into it because you have nowhere else to lean. Aemond’s hands hold you tightly, his lips never relent as they suckle around yours. The tingling in your body has become so strong, your legs feel like they’re trembling, like your knees will give out any moment now.

When he pulls away from you, your breaths mingle in the short amount of space between you. They’re thick with whatever it is you’re feeling, this all-consuming lust that leaves you dizzy and wanting. You’re still so close, your lips brush against one another in a silent, teasing chase.

And you know you’ve passed the point of no return when you capture his lips once again, sighing into his mouth and delving into the desire driving you. You’re losing breath and your legs are becoming less and less capable of keeping you up, but you don’t care. You just need to keep tasting him, his lips, his tongue.

You reach for his tunic, pulling the fabric from his trousers and slipping your hands underneath it to feel the strength in his belly. He’s soft, smooth, but you can feel his muscles flexing against your touch. Aemond is the one who pulls away, panting heavily as he watches you. A smirk curves his lips and leaves you weak. You watch him take a small step back, lifting his shirt over his head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. You’re drunk on the sight of him, your lashes fluttering as you drive your teeth into your bottom lip.

When he pulls at his belt, you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, watching his deft hands as they begin to unbuckle it, pulling it from its proper place with a grand sweep. It drops heavily to the floor, and his trousers soon follow.

You hold your breath, staring at the erection between his legs. He’s long and flushed pink. You don’t know what to do, how to react. As you both stand naked before one another, the only thing you can really think to do is drink the other in.

Aemond interrupts your thoughts as he grabs your face again, smashing his lips against yours. You whine again, your tentative hands grazing his sides with a hesitant appreciation. He keeps kissing you as he moves, and you’re too distracted with the way his mouth feels against yours to do much else but stumble after him.

You’re forced to part when he sits down, his hands falling to your hips as he grips them tightly. “Get on your knees for me, pretty girl.”

The words wash over you with a shudder. You know that saying that is a show of power, a flaunt. He stole you from his tyrannical brother, and now you fall apart at the sound of the same name he’d been calling you. With no choice but to obey—both from obligation and a crumbling will—you do as he says as you slowly sink down to your knees.

You stare up at him, your eyes glittering, your lips parted. Aemond takes a moment, admiring the view before him with a sigh and the shake of his head. He thinks you look simply…perfect like this, awaiting his instruction with such an innocence about you.

“I want you to lick it,” he says simply.

You flush, feeling the heat burning in your face, feeling your core pulsing with a sudden desire. Your lips open and close, trying to figure out how to respond. You don’t know how.

Aemond wraps a hand around the back of your head, his fingers weaving their way through your hair. Slowly, he pulls you in until your nose nudges his cock. You sigh, the warm breath fanning over him and making him twitch. Swallowing thickly, you steel your nerves as you timidly let your tongue slip past your lips. Closing your eyes, you do as you’re told and you lick it.

He has an interesting taste, a salty kind filled with a heady scent that invades your senses. Your mind is clouded by lust, your fingers tremble. He closes his eye as he sighs. “Good, just like that. Do it again.”

You lean into the gentle praise, becoming a little braver as you continue to lave your tongue along the underside of his cock. It’s not hard to become addicted to it, his taste, his smell. It’s like you’ve been doused in a potion, one that intoxicates you with the strong scent of him.

You let his sighs guide you as your tongue presses against the vein running up his solid cock. He’s hard, and it’s daunting that he feels so stone-like. You take the initiative as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, suckling gently around it as you swirl your tongue along the slit.

Aemond’s lips part, and he opens his eye to look at you again. “Good,” he says. “Very good. Suck harder.”

You do, rewarded with a gentle grunt that sends shivers all throughout your body. His hand flexes in your hair, and your breath hitches slightly when he pushes you an inch further onto his cock. Adjusting your mouth, you move to take him deeper, sucking him down however you can. Then, just as he’d pushed you down, he guides you back up. Following his lead, you move on your own, moving up and down and up down until you’ve built a steady rhythm.

“Good girl,” he breathes, this kind of hum that is far more rewarding than you would have thought. You follow his sounds, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with a growing enthusiasm. “Give me your hand.” He holds out his own for yours to take, and you do, pulling off of him with a sigh.

He guides your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of him. His hand consumes yours as he covers it, squeezing it tight until a groan falls from his lips. He moves it up and down, setting your rhythm, up and down, just like before, up and down.

His hand guides you back down and you take him back into your mouth. You hear the faintest “fuck” breach his lips, and a light feeling floods your system. You must be doing it right. Another “good girl” falls from his lips, and you melt.

You build up some speed, squeezing hard and sucking harder to give him the pleasure he needs. Your jaw and your neck aches, but you’re too caught up in the way his moans sound to care. Your throat catches on a gag when you go too deep, and you gasp on your way up, pausing for a moment to adjust before you take him again.

You feel Aemond’s hips beginning to twitch, rising off the seat a bit as he seeks the warmth of your mouth. When they buck up into you, forcing a gag to erupt out of you, your other hand shoots up to hold him still, nearly panicking when he does. “Yes,” he huffs. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl.”

A whimper leaves your throat, and his breath hitches. As your hand jerks at his cock, he grips your hair and pulls you off of him with a grunt. Your tongue lolls from your mouth, and you have to catch your breath as fresh invades your lungs. His next curse is much clearer as his chest rises and falls with his desire.

“Fuck,” he huffs. His gaze finds you, and he smirks at the sight of your wet eyes and plump lips. “Very good, my sweet thing.”

One of his hands wraps around your throat, and you gasp before his lips find yours again. You lean into it, loving the way his mouth slots so perfectly with yours. He grabs a hold of you as he wills you to stand with him. “My prince,” you sigh between kisses, drinking the lust he pushes down your throat.

You yelp when he dips down and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walks away with you. You hold on tightly to him, finding it so difficult to pull away from his lips. “Aemond,” he corrects you, his teeth closing around your bottom lip. You lick it, pleasantly startled by it.

The smallest scream passes your lips when Aemond suddenly drops you onto his bed. He chases after you, bending over it just to continue his attack of your lips. You cradle his face in your hands, indulging in this forbidden pleasure. He breaks from your lips, his mouth finding your neck as he kisses and licks and sucks and bites at the skin. You gasp at the feeling, your mind hazy with it.

His hands roam your skin, his dull nails grazing it with a certain longing. His lips trail down, down, down. He kisses the lowest part of your belly, lifts your leg as he moves to kiss your knee. He watches you as he does it. He doesn’t say a word, he just stares into your eyes with every peck against your flesh.

Uncontrollable shudders rush through you as his lips press against the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting to lick, his teeth nipping. He goes farther and farther, closer and closer. You don’t think you’ll be able to handle it when he reaches the prize he seeks.

Your words come out as a peep. “My prince.”

He pauses at the very center of your being, his mouth so close that his breath ghosts over you, teasing you. He lingers there, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs. “Aemond.”

His voice is low, almost dangerous. You feel too light and floaty to feel the real danger that is this man. You’re in no position to refuse as you take in a shallow breath. “Aemond,” you whisper.

Then he smirks. It’s a devilish thing that leaves you burning.

You gasp when he dives between your legs, his hot mouth meeting your hot cunt as he laps and sucks at your folds. Your back arches off the bed, and you’re overcome with this consuming feeling that leaves you wanting more, more, more. You whimper, stumbling over your incoherent words. “F-Fuck, Aemond.”

He’s hungry for you, starving as he devours you. It’s hot and heavy, and you’re left absolutely shaking in his grasp. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you close and keeping you down.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping his silver locks and holding them tight to find something to ground you. You can't breathe, you can't think. It's all white noise, the sounds of wet on wet, his heavy breaths, your weak moans. It's utterly intoxicating. You don't think you'll survive.

“Oh, g-gods,” you gasp. “I c-can't. It's so… fuck, it's so good. Please don't stop!”

It’s like music to his ears. The highs of your moans, the lows of your grunts. It feeds his hunger, his pride, his desire. It writhes within him like the fire that writhes within his mighty dragon.

Aemond’s tongue licks and flicks at your clit, coaxing you closer and closer. As you tug at his hair, deep groans erupt from his throat. As your release nips at your heels, beckoning you, luring you toward that edge like a siren’s call, his name echoes off your tongue. He holds you down as you grind against his face, searching for more of him, a glutton for the pleasure he provides.

“Aemond,” you gasp, your body tensing as you get closer. “I’m so close. Please don’t stop–”

Your mouth drops open, your entire body suddenly alight with ecstasy as you reach that boiling point. White flashes behind your eyes as desperate shudders wreck you from the inside out. Your thighs tighten around his head, and his tongue never lets up as he continues to lap at your cunt. You gasp and moan and ride out your high like you’re afraid you’ll never feel it again.

He doesn't let up through your orgasm. He drinks it down, ever the starved man craving your honey. When the trembling has dulled down, and he thinks you can breathe again, Aemond sits up with a rather pleased look on his face. “You taste,” he hums, a large smirk covering his face as he licks his lip, “magnificent, pretty girl.” You melt at his praise.

When his finger teases the seam of your cunt, you look at him quickly, unsure of what you’re looking for. You whine when he presses his finger inside of you, pushing it in deep. The sensitivity matched with the slight stretch is maddening—and when he curls it, you lose your breath in your whimper.

You curse, not quite sure how to feel between your fresh release and his long finger seated so nicely within you. You cannot tell if you want to beg for more or ask him for a reprieve, if only for a moment. A moment to catch your breath, which is so frequently lost with this man.

But he’s far too happy to watch you tremble—and you do tremble. It’s hard not to when he plays your body like a player to a lyre. He thrusts his finger slowly in and out of you, content with the way you pant until he isn’t. As he adds a second finger, you clench your teeth and stifle a moan at the stretch. It’s a nice kind of stretch, it’s pleasant and warm but it drives you to madness.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling them against a spongy spot within you that arches your back in the same manner. The more he strokes you, the more you moan, and the faster he goes. His rhythm is quick and precise, and it's so blinding as it fills the air with the sounds of your moans, your squelching cunt, his eager breaths.

The pleasure swirls in your brain. It's the kind of pleasure that is just as much in your head as it is in your body, and you can hardly think past it. Bending down to meet you, his lips capture yours again. You moan into his mouth as they slide against each other. There's nothing tender about this kiss. There's never been anything tender about it. He's needy and primal, and it's the opposite of the composure this man holds as he walks about the castle with all the regality and elegance of a prince.

The way that you feel this pleasure is anything but elegant. You feel it with jerky limbs, with sharp gasps, with whining moans. You feel it with tugged hair and clasped thighs and clenched jaws. It's uncontrolled and incredibly indulgent. There's no restraint, as much as you try to keep yourself in check, he yanks these things from you and makes it impossible to be elegant.

“Such a good girl, you are,” he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. The praise goes straight to your core, straight to your pulsing clit. You're already so close, you feel the ebb and flow of a release pulling at you. “I can already imagine how perfect you'll feel around my cock.”

A whimper escapes you—a pathetic sound, really. He swallows it down like a sweet elixir, drunk on the taste, drunk on the feel. He could spend forever here, with his fingers shoved in your cunt and his mouth all over your body.

When he breaks away from your lips, he moves down your body and attacks your cunt, fingers still thrusting. You react immediately, rolling your hips against him as his tongue laps at your clit. You're so caught up in it that it takes no time at all for you to come again, this time all over his hand.

You shake as you shout, high-pitched whines and shallow breaths and blinded eyes. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he keeps coaxing the ends of your release from you even after you've settled.

When you go limp against the sheets of his bed, he pulls his hand out of you. You feel heavy, your eyes drooping and your chest still full of needy breath. You forget, for a moment, that you're not done. It's hard to keep up so fresh out of your virginity. You never thought you would lose it so thoroughly.

Aemond kisses your release from his fingers, humming at the taste of you with a growing appreciation. His hand wraps around his cock, and he groans. He's still so hard, and you wonder briefly if it hurts.

“Sit up, pretty girl,” he beckons, holding a hand out for you.

It takes a moment for your body to follow the order. When you do you grasp his hand as he helps you up. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other at his side as he pulls you in and kisses you with as much hunger as he began.

When he lets you go, he does so to move off the bed. You sit there, attempting to gather your thoughts. Everything is still so hazy, there's a slight confusion that is so difficult to gauge.

Aemond sits at the head of the bed, sitting back as he watches you for a moment. He seems to be giving you the moment you're needing. It doesn't last too long, though, because he reaches an arm out and wraps it around you to bring you to him, back to chest.

You can feel his cock pressing into your back as his lips brush the shell of your ear. A shudder runs down your spine.

“I am going to fuck you now,” he purrs in your ear. The smallest whimper escapes you, and his lips kick at the sound. “But before I do, I must tell you how much I've been craving you.”

You lean into him, no sense or care for the danger this situation puts you in. “I've been watching you.” A dull tingle sparks in your gut, arising in the tips of your fingers, of your ears. He was always watching you.

“You're such a lovely little thing.” He hums, “A sweet girl, a shy girl. No wonder my brother wants you so much. It's the only sensible thing he's ever done.”

He takes a deep breath in, his nose pressed into your hair as he does. With a sigh, he chuckles. “How lucky I am to have gotten to you first.” His hand flattens against your belly while the other strokes the inside of your thigh.

“You see, my brother…he would have ravished you.” The idea makes you cold, you have to force away the heat that pushes at your eyes. “But me…” you can feel his smirk against your ear as he whispers, “...I am going to ravage you.”

Your voice is a small murmur of a thing when you speak. You reach over your shoulder, your fingers finding his hair. “Please…” you whimper.

Aemond turns you around, lifting you up as he moves you to sit in his lap. His cock sits against your belly, and you lose breath just looking at him. You watch his face as his gaze covers you. His arms wrap tightly around your body, and when he kisses you, he has to move up to do it.

You cradle his head in your hands as you do, grinding your hips against him in your haste. He groans as you do, enjoying the way your pussy rubs against him. His strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting you up again as he positions you over him.

When he eases you down, you whine into his mouth. But the intrusion doesn't stop as he presses deeper and deeper into you. Your thighs meet his lap, and you break the kiss to let out a heavy sigh at how far he sits within you.

You linger there, your mind hazy with the stretch as your body goes limp. It feels so good.

Aemond's hands flex on your thighs, and you moan when he presses you down, squishing your bodies together in an attempt to go deeper. “I can feel you clenching around me,” he huffs. “Do you want me, pretty girl? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

You roll your hips a little in his lap, your voice a permanent whine in your ear as you keep him close, your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please fuck me, Aemond.”

He shifts his hands to grip your ass, and the moan that falls out of you is high and heavy. You hold him tighter, grinding down into his lap.

You fall into a steady rhythm soon enough—his hands guiding your rolling hips, your pitched moans, his strained breaths. Your thighs shake around him, it's so hard to keep it steady when you need more.

It drives you as you fuck yourself on his cock, searching even deeper for that pleasure, You're not used to the heat curling in your belly. It's white-hot, consuming. It makes you so hard to focus as it slowly begins to become all you know.

For a moment, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be a dragon. This overwhelming heat which makes a home inside of you. Hoarding, nesting, conquering. You wonder if this feeling is what makes the Targaryens what they are, rulers.

But then you remember. You remember who you are. You remember that dragons are fierce, and you could never even imagine being as fierce as even the smallest of the Targaryen beasts.

So you lose yourself in the pleasure until all you know is Aemond. His lips press against your skin as you ride him, his fingers digging into your skin as he licks and bites at your neck, your collarbone, your chest. When his lips wrap around your nipple, you're done for as you throw your head back. Pushing your chest closer to him, you bounce in his lap and indulge in this pleasure.

His moans vibrate within you. You're left gasping as his tongue digs into your nipple and sends electricity flowing through your veins. “Aemond, please,” you mewl. “Don't stop.” His tongue glides toward the valley of your breasts, and you arch your back into him when he claims your other nipple.

A sudden crack of thunder resembling a dragon's roar deafens you for a moment, and a startled gasp slips from you at the sound. You had not even realized it had been raining. If it weren't for the bliss clouding your mind, you would feel foolish for not hearing the rain sooner as it slaps against the windows of his chambers.

In your brief distraction, Aemond brings you in tight as he pushes you onto your back, and you yelp as you tighten your arms around him. His figure towers over you, and you hesitate for a moment as you stare into his eye.

He's pretty. It has an almost sobering effect on you. If you forget who and what he is, if you forget (for the moment) why you are here… you think that this is the man who you would allow to sweep you off your feet.

But he isn't, and he can't be. He is your prince and (for lack of better word) savior. You owe him a debt, which you will pay and move on.

So when his hips snap into you, you lose yourself all again to make all of this easier. Like the pouring rain outside, his sudden thrusts are quick and persistent. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt matches that of the rain smacking against stone, against earth. You hold onto him, arms and legs, as he fucks you.

He holds you close, like he'll keel over if you disappear. His sounds, though deep and heavy, hold a certain desperation in them that transcends blind lust. As you moan in his ear and ramble nonsensically about how good he's making you feel, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and feasts at your throat.

Somehow, this position allows him to drive deeper within you. You're left gasping, seeing stars with every slap of his hips. One hand cradles the back of your head, tangled in your hair as you moan. The other grasps your hip and refuses to let go as he holds you still.

The rain outside carries on. It's more fitting than a silent night. The thunder rumbles and roars, just like the heat writhing within the both of you. “Do you like it, pretty girl?” he mutters in your ear, his breath thin and his voice low. “Do you like how I’m fucking you?”

You’re losing it, teetering on the edge of senseless bliss. There’s too much pleasure shooting in your body and nowhere to put it as you clench and shake and moan. “I can’t–” you stutter, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Please, my prince, I can’t!”

“Do you want me to make you cum, pretty girl? Is that what you want?” His excitement and desperation mix in a heavy encouragement that has his hips thrusting rougher into your own. It feels so good for you to be able to think about what he’s asked. All you know is that he’s going to let you cum, and that’s all you want right now. You crave it, like the soil craves water, like your lungs crave air.

As you pull him tight within your embrace, you're driven by your need as you nod. “Yes, yes, yes, please.” You gasp at the roll of his hips. “I’ll do anything. Please give it to me.”

He loves hearing you say that. I’ll do anything. Part of him wonders just how far you would go. You’re already fucking him, the prince, in order to escape his brother, another prince. If he had his way—and it’s likely he will—you’ll find yourself in this position more than once following this encounter.

He just supposes you ought to be more careful to whom you speak those words.

“Beg for it,” he demands, his lips lazy against your skin. “Beg for me to keep fucking you. Beg for me to cum in you, to let you cum on my cock. Beg me to give you what you want, pretty girl.”

You’re too far gone to care, and your dignity has long since been shed. You’ve already sold your soul, you’ve already given up the virginity that’s meant to be reserved for a husband—were he ever to find his way to you. You have nothing left to lose but your life, and that has already been sold to the Targaryen reign.

So, as the thunder rumbles, you let the pleads fall. “Please, Aemond, let me cum,” you stutter. “Please cum inside of me. I need you.”

He’s losing control. It’s a confusing, conflicting feeling. He needs the control, he needs to feel it in his hands, especially as he takes you—something that was rightfully his when he decided you were. But you…oh, you just had to be so perfect, so obedient, so good. His control was slipping, and it was your fault, and part of him didn’t even care.

He held you still and he held you down as he fucked his cock into your squelching pussy and cricled his dept fingers over your aching clit. The sight of your tearing eyes as your foreheads pressed together was addicting.

You are the first to cum. The thunder outside of his window is loud, a terrible rumble that almost silences your desperate moans, the sobbing breaths that fall from your lips as you see white. The pleasure overcomes you like the pouring rain that drowns the ground in its consuming cover. You hold him tight, too tight perhaps. But there’s not enough sense in your mind to care.

You clench so tightly around his cock, he doesn’t understand how he was supposed to resist. With a few powerful thrusts, he spills inside of you with a low groan that sounds like a roar with the way it is drowned by the raging crack of thunder that deafens you both. Your cunt swallows his cock and his cum down, milking every last drop as he fucks it into you in deep, short thrusts.

You shake and tremble, still so caught on the ride that is the orgasm still ripping through your body. Aemond’s teeth graze the skin of your throat as his breath fans over your skin.

It takes a long time for either of you to come down. Tremors glide through your muscles as you lay on your back, your limbs very slowly loosening from around him as you lay limply on the bed. Your breaths mingle, an exchange of sobering lust which turns to solemn clarity for you and satiated hunger for him. As his gaze catches your face, he hums as he leans in and captures your lips.

As wrong as you know it is—though you know you’ve passed the point of moral obligation—you can’t help but to kiss him back. This man has consumed you, body and mind and soul. He has a claim on you now that goes even deeper, somehow, than the cum he’s shoved into your womb. You don’t know what you’re going to do, but for now…you simply give in to the intoxication of his desire.

When he pulls out of you, it's with heavy sighs and weak whimpers. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to sit up, leaning all the way back until he’s laying against the pillows at the top of the bed with you right at his side. Despite your better judgment, you seek his warmth as you rest your head on his chest. Aemond throws one arm over you and the other behind his head.

Neither of you look at one another. It’s an unspoken agreement, while you both think over things in your mind. No gazes really need to be exchanged.

You thought, like some great metaphor, that the rain would begin to slow now that the frenzy has faded. You thought that the thunder would settle and the harsh patter of rain at the window would begin distant flicks of water on glass. But as you lay there, wrapped in Aemond’s embrace, the storm refuses to cease.

It’s a while before you find your voice. When you do, it’s still so quiet, and now hoarse with its overuse throughout this dark night.

“Will…” you lick your lip, swallowing thickly with a sigh. “Will Prince Aegon truly leave me be now?”

Aemond doesn’t respond right away. As he stares at the ceiling, you feel his thumb begin to stroke slow circles into your shoulder. It remains quiet for a long time. “My brother does not care whether you have your virtue or not.” His words would have pulled a gasp from you, were you not subconsciously expecting them from coming from his mouth. “He would have raped you all the same.”

Still, despite your suspicions, despite your inhibitions, you sit up just enough to look at his face. Despite everything, remaining oblivious seems like an easier choice than facing what you already know: he lied to you, and you let him do it because one evil is easier than the other. “What?” you whisper, apprehension in your eyes as you watch him. He stares back at you, taking in the sight of your innocence. He could not have chosen better.

“But he shall not,” he says, a firmness in his soft voice that eases your worry. “He will not cross me, and I shall have you transferred to my chambers instead of his to keep my eye on you.” He takes your chin in his grasp, pulling you close. “I promise my protection, it is yours.” His lips hardly brush against yours, it is you who closes the distance (no matter how much you convince yourself that it is him). You sink into him with a gentle sigh.

“He will not touch you. Now…” his eyes are dark when he says it, “...you belong to me.”

You always knew this was the route. You knew, whether you would ever admit it to yourself or not, that he always meant to own you. And you let him. You let him do it, despite knowing what he is.

He is a Targaryen, and all Targaryens must be beasts in the end, some more than others.

Prince Aegon is a cruel beast, a monster truly favored by none… but Aemond is no less cruel. He is a subtler beast, the kind that lies in waiting, charms with smiles and soothing promises, the kind that bargains in the dark and sways the monsters of the daylight. The difference between the princes is not the difference between good and bad. You know this. You have known this. You always will know this.

But Prince Aemond’s cruelty is kind…and you’d rather be monstrously deceived than beaten bloody and bruised.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

[niniiko]

Astrology Observations part 2

*not a professional astrologer these are just my personal observations!

SLIGHT TW!!!!

♠️ Taurus venus men usually like women who are on the curvier chubby side

♠️ People who have an 8th house lilith or even saturn sometimes feel guilty for their sexuality and many people also tend to make them feel guilty for being sexual, they often feel repressed

♠️ Nobody talks enough about how Virgo risings have an amazing face bone structure... I've noticed that their cheekbones are often prominent and their face features are so femenine

♠️ Aquarius placements and their unique voices? We can take as an example Jungwon of Enhypen and Rosé from Blackpink, i also noticed that when they sing they have this kind of nasal type of voice and it's so pleasant to hear (can also apply to people who have Aquarius over their 3rd house!)

♠️ Mars over the 6th house can give someone a VERY sensible skin (even allergies) Virgo also rules over the skin since its a Mercurial sign and if Mars is there the native could have a lot of issues with their skin. I have a friend who has this placement and she always has something going on with her skin 😭

♠️ People who have Moon in conjunction with Jupiter can be prone to over eating

♠️ Mercury square Saturn individuals often have a hard time expressing their love through words, they cringe at the idea of doing it

♠️ Libra placements (specially Mercuries) don't shy away from talking about current issues when it comes to politics, injusticies etc... They have very clear ideas and know how to send across their message

♠️ Whatever house Neptune falls into is where people tend to copy you the most:

1st house: your appearance, the way you dress, your energy

2nd house: your material possesions, the things you buy, your finances

3rd house: your personality, internet persona, the way you talk

4th house: your house furniture

5th house: your romantic partners, your vibe

6th house: your daily routines, your connections with people

7th house: your romantic partners, your clothes, your beauty

8th house: your depth, your way of thinking

9th house: the places you travel to, your ideas

10th house: your career choice, your skills

11th house: your friendships, your connections, your popularity, your goals

12th house: your spiritual side, the way you see things in a unique way

♠️ Leo placements like to show off their partners and making sure EVERYONE knows they have a partner, i have some leo placements friends and they are always posting their partners, i think it's very cute

♠️ Pluto in the 2nd house individuals (specially if they also have Taurus placements because Taurus rules the neck and throat) have some sexy and deep voices . . . they also tend to be very possesive 🤣

♠️ If a woman has her Mars in conjunction with her Sun chances are she looks very much like her dad, a friend of mine has this placement and she inherited her dads height and she looks so much like her dad

♠️ Having 12th synastry with someone is beautiful and painful at the same time, specially if personal planets are in there like the moon for example, if your moon falls in their 12th house it's probable that you have a more than physical connection with that person, even if you guys are not together you might still dream of them or viceversa, a very hard to forget connection

♠️ Someone with a lot of Air and Fire placements might be into dancing or doing some sort of creative and artistic stuff

♠️ Air mars's are the real masterminds . . . 💅🏻

Thanks for reading! I wanna thank the people who have interacted with my post, it was my first astrology observations post and I've been learning astrology for just a year and seeing how many people have agreed and rebbloged my post made me very happy 🥹 My intuition told me to post one and after some days of hesitating I decided to upload my personal observations and im glad I did! Anyways, thank you so much I love you always 🤍

[violettwrites]

jealousy, jealousy 🏹 daryl dixon

summary: daryl noticed you growing closer to another member of the group and becomes increasingly jealous as days go by. when you finally confront him, it leads to confessions of feelings that had been pushed down.

author’s note: hi guys !! this is just something that i vaguely wrote at work until i had time to edit it 🥲 it’s been sitting in my drafts for days now but i hope you enjoy !

don’t forget to like, reblog, leave a comment, or give me a follow ! i appreciate the support 🫶🏻

as always, my ask box is open for requests x

warnings: angst ?? vulnerable!jealous!daryl

word count: 1,295

— — —

life in the apocalypse had turned into a ( somewhat ) steady rhythm of survival, yet often overtaken with moments of fear, exhaustion, and fleeting happiness. you’d always felt fortunate enough to be apart of such a strong group— strangers that had turned into close friends and family. and as the days blurred together with long hours on the road to find a new place to call home, you had found yourself spending more time with glenn. he was easy to talk to; wise, a good listener, and had a calm presence that made the chaos of the world a little easier to handle.

but daryl noticed.

he noticed every laugh, every smile you shared with glenn. at first, he tried to shrug it off. of course you’d get along with glenn; he was a great guy, trustworthy. but the more he watched the two of you, the more he felt the knot twist in his chest, a feeling he wasn’t familiar with at all.

jealousy.

he’d never been the kind of guy to voice his emotions like that, never been the one to let himself care too much. especially in a world like this, when you could be ripped away from him in seconds. caring got people hurt, and in this world, there was no room for distractions. but no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter, it did. and everytime he saw you with glenn, it became harder to ignore.

days passed, and his usual gruffness turned colder, his responses to you were shorter. you had noticed the shift in his energy towards you— the way he had become distant, pretty much avoiding you completely. confusion clouded your mind as you wonder where it had gone wrong. daryl had always been protective over you, but this was different. he was pulling away from you, and you had no idea why.

after a long day of clearing out walkers from the gates of the prison the group had decided to make their new home, you found daryl sitting alone on the rooftop of the prison lookout tower, sharpening his knife. the moonlight illuminated his face, highlighting his tensed jaw. taking a deep breath, you stepped closer towards him.

“daryl,” you spoke softly, careful to not spook the male.

he didn’t look up. he continued to work on his knife, the scraping of metal filling the silence between the two of you.

“daryl.” you repeated, your words a little more sterner as you stepped towards him, minimising the space between the both of you. “what’s wrong? why are you ignoring me?”

daryl paused, his hands stalling their moment before he finally looked up, blue eyes glimmering from the moonlight. “nothin’,” he muttered, but the edge in his voice betrayed him.

you crossed your arms over you chest, brows furrowed in confusion and a little bit of frustration. “it’s not nothing. you’ve been acting weird to me for days now, and i don’t know why. what did i do?”

the brunette male scoffed, shaking his head as he stood up, sliding his knife into its holder on his belt. “ain’t about what ya did,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

“then what’s this about?” you pressed, blocking his path by stepping in front of him as he tried to walk around you. “talk to me daryl, please.” you had always been much better at confrontation than he had, and it was something he admired about you. the way you got straight to the point, instead of avoiding it all together like he did.

daryl stopped when you had stepped in front of him, his shoulders tensing. there was a long silence before he finally let out a breath, frustration and… something else flickering over his features.

“yer gettin’ real close to glenn,” he said, his voice low. almost a growl. “real close.”

you furrowed your brow in confusion, taken aback by his words. “glenn? what does he have to do with anything?”

daryl huffed, running a hand through his hair. “ya don’t see it, do ya? e’ry time i turn ‘round, yer with him. laughin’, talkin’— it’s like ya don’t even see me anymore.”

your heart skipped a beat as the realisation of his mood change set in. “wait.. are you.. jealous?”

he looked away, clenching his jaw, annoyed you had somehow caught on so quickly to his shitty mood. “ain’t about bein’ jealous. just.. i dunno.. you and him? feels like ya don’t need me around anymore.”

“daryl,” you sighed softly, stepping closer to him. “glenn’s just a friend. i’m not interested in him like that— plus he’s got the hots for maggie.” you raised a brow at him, eyes locked on to his as you gaged his reaction.

“then wha’ about me?” his eyes held your gaze, uncertainty written across his face. the question hung in the air, heavy with all the things that had been left unsaid for so long. your breath caught in your throat as you realised this was the moment. the moment to either push forward, or walk away.

“daryl,” you whispered his name again, taking a step closer to him. “i’ve always needed you around, and i always will. more than anyone else.” you watched the lump in his throat as he swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. and when he didn’t find any, he copied you, stepping closer to you, closing the distance between your bodies.

“thought.. thought maybe ya didn’t feel the same way,” he admitted, his voice strong with vulnerability.

you reached out for him, hand pressing gently against his bicep. “i’ve always felt this way about you, daryl. i just didn’t think— i didn’t think you wanted that.”

a low breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes for a moment as if he was trying to steady himself. when he opened them again, there was a softness there that you hadn’t really seen before. a tenderness that made your heart ache. “been tryin’ to push it down,” he said. “didn’t think i had the right.. not in this world.”

you shook your head, stepping even closer to him so you were inches apart. “you have every right, daryl. we both do. the world might be broken, but we’re still here. we’re still allowed to feel.”

his hand slowly lifted, hesitating for a moment before he cupped your cheek, his thumb ghosting over the skin of your cheekbone. you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand causing your heart to pound against your chest.

“dunno how to do this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“you don’t have to know,” you replied, your own voice quiet. “we’ll figure it out together.”

for a moment, everything else fell away— the dangers, the fear, the uncertainty of tomorrow. all that mattered was the way daryl was looking at you. the way his thumb continued to stroke the skin of your cheek, grounding you in this moment.

slowly, he leaned down, his forehead resting against your own. his breath was warm across your face, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe. like everything might actually be okay.

“i’m here,” you whispered, your hands gently resting on his chest. “i’m not going anywhere.” and with that, the last of daryl dixon’s defences crumbled. he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you into him as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. you held him just as tightly, feeling the unspoken promises in his embrace.

in a world full of loss, you had found something worth holding onto. and for the first time, daryl allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to fight for.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Leaving lipstick marks on various CRPS 1/2

this is probably going to change because queue stuff but i might not write the second part of this with the other characters i write for unless theres a demand for it- brains going crazy but not for writing rn hisshiss characters: slenderman, splendorman, masky, hoodie, ticci toby notes: reader is GN and wears makeup CWs: none

SLENDERMAN

if you can get him to bend down so you can actually reach his face, he lets you pepper his face for as long as you want... assuming he doesnt have anything else that needs to be done

ive mentioned before that physical affection isnt something that slenderman does often, at least in terms of giving... but hes not going to stop you from showing your love for him however you like

if you can catch it, you can see the faintest raise in his cheekbones- hes smiling!

may lightly press where his mouth would be against your own mouth in his own gesture- even though he doesnt do this sort of thing often he knows its important to you... so he at least occasionally returns the favor!

the lipstick marks on his face dont tent to remain on his face for that long, though...

SPLENDORMAN

loooooooves when you kiss all over his face, loves getting affection from you in general

soft chuckles and giggles as you cover his face in lipstick marks, hes trying so hard to remain still for you so the marks dont smudge too bad

keeps the marks on his face for a while, usually until he needs to go interact with someone who isnt you... not that he wants to hide your relationship or anything like that- he wants to keep appearances is all!

will kiss all over you in return, even though he doesnt really wear makeup

you can sometimes hear the bells on his tentacles chime as you hold his face

MASKY

the best youre going to get is kissing on his mask, he... doesnt like taking his mask off around other people.. including you... actually now that you think about it youre not sure if he takes it off even when hes alone

very still when getting kisses from you, its almost a little unnerving how still he is during the entire exchange

sometimes your lipstick leaves stains on his mask so sometimes he may deny you if youre wearing any makeup

not really anything mean against you... he just doesnt want random splotches on the material... you may be able to convince him to take it off so you can clean it for him

will occasionally nuzzle his face against your cheek after you kiss him all over

HOODIE

hes still like masky, but hes more likely to snake his arms around your waist to pull you even closer to him

his mask is made of a fabric so kissing it kind of... feels off.. on top of that you cant see the marks left behind that well due to it being black

though... hoodie may feel inclined to lift his mask up just enough for you to kiss on his actual face- he only ever pulls it up high enough to see the bottom of his nose

sometimes forgets to wash the marks off so when you see him lift his mask up to eat something you just see color splotches all over his skin

grinning the entire time youre kissing him

TICCI TOBY

takes his little mouth cover off for you so you have more skin to kiss, though this only really happens later on in the relationship when you two are closer... hes not exactly ashamed of his cheek scar however he knows it may... put you off..

takes a while for him to warm up to physical affection although he wants it so bad, give him some time and hes going to welcome you with open arms when you want to leave your marks all over his face

literally... hes going to wrap his arms around you and pick you up- if youre close enough to a bed or couch hes going to fall back

typically turns into a bit of a cuddle session as well

sometimes hates that your makeup can leave patches of color, but he loves the attention more than he hates the cleanup

[harleywarley18]

God of prophecy, music, and plague 𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I was supposed to post this Sunday but got caught up with stuff so here's a midnight rundown on my relationship to Apollo ;-;

Apollo began showing up around a month after I began my worship to Aphrodite. I was afraid at first. Not of him, but of the idea of worshipping another deity. In the past, I had only ever worshipped one at a time. As a neurodivergent person I was also afraid that my relationship to Aphrodite was just a hyperfixation since I had been playing Hades a lot.

The thought of worshipping Apollo only further worried me. I wanted to assure Aphrodite that she wasn't;t a mere hyperfixation and that she would not be forgotten. The first time I tried to communicate with Apollo via tarot cards, Aphrodite showed up instead and voiced her concerns.

She was afraid that I'd abandon her and forget about her. I knew where this was coming from because I had told her about Hades. Early 2023 I had begun worshipping Hades but after about a month and a half it became too much for me to continue and I kind of just stopped my worship and never went back. I had felt so bad but worship can be so draining sometimes.

Anyways, after reassuring Aphrodite many times I believed I had the okay to begin doing proper research on Apollo before reaching out to him. What interested me about him is his Lo'xias epithet, meaning god of prophecy or messenger of Zeus. I was so drawn to it because throughout my entire life I have always had crazy intuition and predictions.

At first I chalked up to the fact that I'm autistic and can recognize patterns really well. Specifically, I take "data" I've collected about a situation or people and use it to make predictions about what will happen or what they'll do. But, too often did I predict something and it actually happened in a scarily accurate manner. There have been multiple times that it's felt as though I've actually spoken things into existence. For example, while I was ranting to my sister about someone who had talked major shit about me and I said that (for the sake of privacy I will not describe what I said) this specific scenario was going to happen to them. I said it out of anger and in passing but that very weekend exactly the thing that I said would happen to them HAPPENED.

With tarot cards, especially, my readings are always insanely accurate. Even my sister, who is not a believer in anything that I do, is wary about my readings because she knows that whatever the cards say will happen will actually happen. Furthermore, when I first moved to college I had visited a metaphysical store with my cousin and there the owner overheard me say that it had been so long since I had really done tarot that I probably couldn't ever do it again. And she said to me "tarot reading is like riding a bike, you learn once and never forget. She then brought out her own personal oracle cards and had me do a reading on her and her husband. She wanted me to use the cards to tell them who they are. According to them, everything I had said was more than true.

With Apollo, I thought I could use his help to groom and cultivate this proclivity of mine.

After having properly reached out to him, I've come to the realization that I love more than just his prophetic aspect. I stated in my previous post that I had been struggling due to a situation that occurred earlier in the school semester. Even when I was back home, I was struggling with panic attacks and bouts of major anxiety. What always helped, however, was taking my dogs out on their walk and feeling Apollo's rays of sunshine beaming down on me.

Every single time I stepped out of the house-heart racing, hands shaking, ears ringing-suddenly it would all melt away into nothingness the second I felt the sun on my face, enveloping my person, weaving its heat through my curls and over my ears. Even if it had been storming, when the time came to walk the dogs, the sky would magically become clear enough to allow the sun to shine through.

Eventually, I started keeping the tarot cards I dedicated to Apollo under my pillow and asking him to visit me in my dreams. The first night I saw a beautiful, swirling ball of light above my bed, with orange and yellow flares coming out of it. The second night, however, I woke up in a dream. I was in the back of this van sitting next to this man. He looked young with beautiful, black curls. He had his arm wrapped around me and my head rested on his shoulder.

I remember him feeling so warm. He felt like home. He felt like snuggling up under the covers in a cold room. And I just lay there, hands holding his, watching the scenery of the drive we were on. I woke up that morning with the sun shining on my face, clearly attempting to wake me up.

I've heard a lot of people say that Apollo feels like a golden retriever boyfriend of nice frat boy. And while I respect that everyone's experiences with deities is different, Apollo to me feels like some guardian. Maybe an older brother or a father or an uncle. I think people expect Apollo to be boyish and naive because he's always been described as a young thing. We forget that he is just as wise, if not more, as his cousins and aunts and uncles.

Praise Apollo, averter of evil, dark-haired, messenger of zeus!

[solbaby7]

… can i have an old fashioned/long island neat?

i already did long island neat, sweets. so i’ll whip you up a quick old fashioned instead—here’s some snacks while you wait 🧁🍿🥜

[ “no, no. leave your clothes on for me” + azriel ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

It’s not very often that Az gets in these kinds of moods.

The kind where he allows the darkness of his job in Hewn to bleed over into the bedroom. To be fair, he’s significantly subdued but that cloudy storm in aureate irises is unmistakable—he craves. Desires the thrill of a hunt that’s more satisfying than whatever remains in those dungeons. “Rough night?”

He hums in agreement, hands flexing at his sides as a breeze cuts through a cracked window. “Want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” It should be shameful how eager you are to please, already shuffling away from the safety of warm sheets and fluffed pillows just to stand before him.

There’s still blood on his leathers but the bulk of his weapons are gone, neatly set aside for now. Small ones remain, little daggers, easily concealed switchblades, throwing knives tucked in most if not all of the little pockets sewn into his fighting gear. “ ‘M a little wound up,” Azriel confesses tersely, his stance too rigid; his touch too restrained when a thumb grazes the line of your cheekbone. Unbound hair is nudged away from your shoulder and you only watch the darkness in his eyes grow when the palm of his hand splays around the length of your neck. Your pulse flutters against his fingertips under the gentle claiming, grip applying enough pressure to make your lids go a little lazy. “Looking for a chase—think you can run for me?”

He can feel you swallow, the roll of your throat in his grasp as your sleepy brain arouses at the implication. So much power you surrender over to him; trusting that he won’t abuse it. There’s no request he’s ever asked for that you haven’t given. “Can I get a head start?”

There’s a fondness in the way he looks at you when he nods, shadows teasing around the bulk of his shoulders, resting against him like a prowling panther. “Sure pretty, only because you’re smart enough to ask.” The praise makes you forget to bother with a coat and excitement bubbles in his belly when you snag an elastic to tuck your hair away. “Make it good for me.”

A brow raises, gaze seeking him out over your shoulder. One finger dips under the straps of your nightgown, flimsy fabric beginning to slide down your frame when he tuts his tongue. “No, no. Leave your clothes on for me.” Greed stains his tongue; shows its head when shadows writhe in barely controlled restraint—predators salivating for suitable prey; for a satisfactory hunt. One that leaves his blood pumping and adrenaline soaring through his muscles; casting iron around his bones and shifting him from male to beast. “I’ll take them off once I’ve caught you. It’ll be my prize.”

A devilish grin spreads across your face. “You mean if catch me.”

[andreas-river]

helloo!! i got a request ofc if you don’t mind<33

its reader x 141 + könig where we are complete sweethearts and we never raise our voice, everyone like thinks we are too innocent to even be there with them.

but one time someone completely pisses us off and we are already mad so we just snap and start threatening them and stuff. i would love to see their reactions:))))

if you don’t want to do this feel free to change this or ignore!

take care of yourself!<333

right and before i forget, do you take emoji anons? i kinda wanna be -💎

BYEEEEEE💕💕

141 + König X Reader Who Snaps At Them And How They Would React

Warnings: anger, mention of insult, female period (so fem!reader), light mention of sex.

Disclaimer: nothing at all, but remember: anger is never the best way to solve problems!

A/N: hi anon, sorry it took so long! And sure, you can be -💎, but if you even gonna request NSFW, please don't use the anon button!

════════════════════

 Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost has never been the kind of person to be affected by the behavior of others: he can handle his own emotions as well as those of others around him better than anyone else;

At first, he paid no attention when he saw you with the eyes of a hyena, looking at everyone around you with the intention of devouring them; but as soon as he heard you raise your voice to him, he froze in place;

He knew that he was not the cause of your anger, that you were having one of your worst days - someone had even insulted you and he had refrained from dealing with it personally - but now the situation was as if it had gotten out of hand;

He had never seen you in such a state: your hands clenched in an iron grip, a pen between your fingers even showing a crack in the material, your face completely red, your lower lip trembling slightly, and your eyes filled with tears: you were not the kind of person to get angry, and that emotion was not good for you at all;

And so, without saying anything, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, letting you take your anger out on him: he didn't care if you punched him in the chest or if your tears soaked his shirt.

He knew what that feeling was, and it's not easy to let it out without hurting objects or people: so he kept his arms around you as you let it out, creating a space for you that felt good as you released your anger.

¤

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap always knew a thing or two about anger: he often had moments when he could not hold it in, so he often went to the base gym and took out all his frustration on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling;

But seeing you angry for the first time in his life made him regret all the decisions he had made in the last few days - how did it happen? Why were you so angry? You've never been angry since he first saw you;

Even when he made all his attempts to help you look futile, he decides to take a completely different approach: he moves your attention to him, tells you how to get it all out safely without consequences for you, and both end up in the gym while he shows you how to punch the bag, the same one he has been punching almost every day;

He's not bothered by your attitude, and he's going to help you through it.

¤

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"Oh Lord help me," will be his first thought when he sees you pacing around the room, fists clenched at your side, not paying much attention to your surroundings; he already knew about your terrible day, your terrible training, and even your period;

But no, he wasn't ready for you snapping at him, your finger pointing at his chest while he thought your eyes were capable of piercing his body. He immediately understood your anger and why you snapped at him like a rubber band, so fast he didn't even notice;

He took your hands and led you to the couch, encouraging you to talk and release the anger with him, even if it was difficult to explain what was going on inside your head; he listened to all your words, and even if at some point you were exhausted from all the rage boiling inside you, he continued to hold you, even if you fell asleep right in his arms, humming softly a melody for you.

¤

John Price

Being surrounded by angry people made him stressed beyond his own limits, but he learned to deal with it in any way he could;

The first solution was the cigar, the smoke always had a calming effect on his body, helping him to relax when he needed to;

You were so calm, so gentle, even your mere presence was something he craved in his own moments, but when he saw you throwing a punch at your desk, he jumped out of his skin at your flared nostrils, your white knuckles at the side of your head, and your body stiff as a violin string;

He walks behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, but you shrug him off harshly, not even realizing how he's reacting;

He never, never expected you to snap at him, you've always been a sweetheart to him, and in that moment it looked like he flipped a coin and could only see one side;

He sees how your anger fills your movements, pacing back and forth without even looking at him, trying to pull you out of the feeling you were experiencing: it was obvious that you were "new" at this, plus it was a reason why you never got angry even in the worst situation;

He took control of the situation by putting you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, making you even more annoyed with his actions: but he continued, locking the door of his own office and putting you down on his chair;

Both out of breath, he just looks at you, his hand running down your body, watching you and how you try to wriggle away, but he just rests his hand on your tight, whatching you with a playful smile and eyes filled with a different light.

In the end, he knows how to make you forget even the reasons for your anger.

¤

König

He never coped well with his own anger, which led him to run away when someone was angry at him: probably a trauma response, or his anxiety kicking in. The only healthy way for him to deal with it was sparring;

And he freezes in place when you unintentionally snap at him, not even thinking about how he would react; he just stands there, listening to your unconnected words, witnessing your anger for the first time.

He doesn't speak or move, he doesn't even dare to react physically: he just watches you carefully, noting every movement, how you speak, how you try to hold something in your hands but almost break it;

That's when he realizes how to take the anger out of you: his sudden change of behavior makes you fall silent while he invites you to follow him. When he takes you to the mat for sparring, he gets into position and waits for you, and it doesn't take long for you to step in front of him;

Even if he doesn't put all his power into the fight, he notices that his plan is going right: he makes you let off steam by giving all your attention to him, to the fight, and to his movement;

Even if you don't get angry anymore, sparring has quickly become the best activity for both of you.

[frostdayz]

its you in my dreams i find

Aegon x reader (f! reader)

Genre: angst (mwuahahahha I will die on this hill but angst is so much better than fluff)

summary: Aegon is betrothed to his sister but his heart belongs to someone else. With his wedding only mere seconds away he goes to find you just to see your face one last time. (time jump included)

wrds: 2.63k

note: I saw this one quote on twitter and I just had to use it. Anyways so this has 3ish parts? The story + aegon and readers pov when they see each other again I made them different so it can also be little stand-alones! Enjoy :)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Today, Aegon would wed his sister, cementing alliances and securing the Targaryen bloodline. The air was filled with the sounds of celebration, but my heart felt heavy with sorrow.

I slipped away from the festivities, making my way through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle. My feet carried me to a secluded chamber where Aegon and I had often met in secret, away from the prying eyes of the court. It was here that we could be ourselves, if only for a brief moment.

When I entered, he was already there, his regal attire a stark contrast to the vulnerable expression on his face. He looked up as I approached, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and pain.

"Y/N," he breathed, closing the distance between us. He took my hands in his, holding them tightly as if he could anchor himself to me in the storm of his duty.

"My love," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He nodded, his grip tightening. "I know. But before I walk down that aisle, I needed to see you. I need to remind myself of what truly matters."

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked up at him. "You do not have to do this. We could run away, leave this place behind."

He shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips. "You know I cannot. My duty to my family and the realm binds me. But my heart... my heart belongs to you."

I choked back a sob, the reality of our situation crashing down on me.

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear. "You are mine, Y/N. In every way that matters, you are mine. This marriage is a formality, a duty. But my love for you is real, and it will never be changed."

I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes to savor the warmth of his hands. "I can't bear the thought of you with her. Your sister is kind but I cannot fathom the thought you bedding another woman."

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I won't be. Not in the way you fear. My heart, my soul, they are yours. Always."

For a moment, we stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace in the closeness that would soon be taken from us. The world outside could not touch us here, in this stolen moment of love and loss.

"I have known you since we were children," Aegon murmured, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. "You are a part of me, Y/N. This throne compares not to you or this out of body feeling I have when your eyes meet mine. What we have is something people look for all their lives.

I clung to him, my heart breaking with the knowledge that this might be our last meeting. "Promise me you'll never forget."

He pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes with an intensity that took my breath away. "I promise. You will forever be tethered to me and I to you."

The sound of distant bells reached our ears, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. Our time was running out.

"I have to go," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "But know this, Y/N: When I lay me down for bed, you're always on my mind; and when I close my eyes and sleep, it's you in dreams I find."

With one last lingering kiss, he turned and left the chamber, leaving me alone with my sorrow. I watched him go, my heart shattering with every step he took.

As I made my way back to the shadows, I clung to his words, finding strength in the love we shared. We were star-crossed lovers, bound by fate and duty, but our love was a flame that could not be extinguished.

And though the path ahead was filled with heartache, I knew that as long as I held onto his promise, I could endure anything. Aegon might be bound by duty, but his heart was mine, and that knowledge would sustain me through the darkest of days.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Readers pov:

Years had passed since I last saw Aegon. The world had moved on, and so had I, or so I told myself. Life in King's Landing was unpredictable, but I had found my place in it, working at a modest inn and living a life free from the court politics and royal intrigues.

One evening, as I laughed with a kind man who had become a close friend, I felt an inexplicable pull. The inn was bustling with activity, filled with the noise of patrons enjoying their evening, but suddenly, it felt as if everything had quieted. I glanced towards the entrance, and there he was.

His presence was unmistakable, even after all these years. He stood in the doorway, his fine clothes setting him apart from the crowd. But it wasn't just his appearance that drew my attention; it was the look in his eyes. A mixture of surprise, longing, and sadness.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Memories flooded back—our secret meetings, the stolen kisses, the whispered promises. All of it came rushing back in a torrent of emotion that left me breathless. But as I looked at him, I realized something had changed. He was still Aegon, but there was a heaviness about him now, a burden that he carried with every step.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped. The noise of the inn faded into the background, and all I could see was him. But then I remembered where we were, who we were. He was a king now, married to his sister, bound by duty and responsibility. And I was a part of his past, a chapter that had ended long ago.

I forced a smile, turning back to my friend, trying to push the memories aside. I laughed at some sill story he has told 100 times, though I didn't hear the words. I could still feel Aegon's gaze on me, a tangible weight that pressed down on my heart.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him take a step forward, as if he intended to come over. My breath caught in my throat, a part of me yearning for him to close the distance, to bridge the years that had kept us apart. But then he stopped. I saw the conflict in his eyes, the war between his heart and his sense of faithfulness to the crown.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of his crown pressed down even harder. He watched me for a moment longer, his eyes reflecting a world of unspoken words and lost dreams. Then, with a final, lingering look, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I watched him go, my heart aching with a mixture of love and resignation. Aegon had chosen his path, and I had chosen mine. Our lives had diverged, and though our love had been real and deep, it was now a memory, a beautiful, bittersweet memory.

My friend noticed my silence and gave me a concerned look. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I wiped away the tear, offering him a reassuring smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Just... lost in thought for a moment."

He nodded, accepting my answer without pressing further. As the evening wore on, I tried to push thoughts of Aegon aside, focusing on the present, on the life I had built for myself. But deep down, I knew that a part of me would always belong to him, just as a part of him belonged to me.

And though our love had been strong, it was now a whisper in the wind, a memory that would forever linger in the corners of my heart.

And so, I laughed and smiled with my friend, cherishing the moments of joy and companionship that life had given me. But every now and then, when I lay down for bed and closed my eyes, it was Aegon I saw in my dreams, a reminder of a love that could never be, yet would never fade.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Aegon's pov:

I often found myself lost in thoughts of Y/N, the woman who had stolen my heart and whose absence left an unfillable void. The memory of her was a constant companion, a nostalgic reminder of what could never be.

The day had started like any other, filled with the mundane and the ceremonious. My friends, eager to lift my spirits, convinced me to join them for a walk through the streets of King’s Landing. The bustle of the city was a welcome distraction from the confines of the Red Keep and the duties that awaited me there.

We strolled through the market, the vibrant colors and the mingling scents of spices and roasted meats filling the air. The sound of laughter and chatter was a stark contrast to the solemnity of the court. As we turned a corner, my heart suddenly lurched in my chest.

There she was, Y/N, standing at a vendor’s stall, examining a piece of fabric with a smile on her face. She looked radiant, more beautiful than I remembered. Time had been kind to her, and seeing her now, happy and carefree, was both a joy and a knife to my heart.

She was not alone. Beside her stood a man, laughing at something she had said. The sight of them together was a sword to the heart. I felt a surge of jealousy and sorrow, emotions I had no right to feel. She had moved on, found happiness in a new life, and I was a mere shadow in the new world she made for herself.

My friends continued their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me. I watched as the man leaned in closer to Y/N, his hand resting on her arm. She laughed again, the sound a melody I had longed to hear for so long. But it was not meant for me anymore.

I knew I should turn away, leave her to her happiness, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from her. Every fiber of my being wanted to rush to her, to hold her and tell her that I had never stopped loving her. But what right did I have to disrupt her life? She deserved happiness, and if this man could give her that, then who was I to interfere?

“When I lay me down for bed, you're always on my mind; and when I close my eyes and sleep, it's you in dreams I find,” I murmured under my breath, a silent reminder of the words I spoke to the woman I love from the last moment we met.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to step back, to let go. My friends were moving on, and I needed to follow. But as we walked away, I couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Y/N was still laughing, her eyes shining with a light that had once been reserved for me.

As painful as it was, seeing her happy was a balm to my soul. Knowing that she had found joy, even without me, gave me a strange sense of peace. Our love had been real, and it would always be a part of me, but it was time to let her go.

Back in the confines of the Red Keep, I found myself standing on the balcony, staring out over the city. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the rooftops. I thought of Y/N, somewhere out there, living her life, and I whispered a silent prayer for her happiness.

“I will always love you, Y/N,” I said softly to the wind. “But I’m glad you’ve found your own path.” A soft smile lingering on my lips.

As the first stars appeared in the twilight sky, I made my way back inside. Y/N would always be in my heart, a cherished memory, and knowing she was happy was enough to carry me through the darkest of days.

[wesstars]

love, at second glance

tara carpenter x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: that’s what you do when you love somebody else… wc: 1k tags: all characters 18+; no ghostface au. angst, horribly excessive use of italics (seriously, everything in italics is either a quote, a thought, or actual emphasis. it’s terrible) a/n: what’s up y’all (title from 715 - CR∑∑KS by bon iver)

masterlist

Tara wondered when it all began.

You and me, me and you.

A mantra that used to be comforting, it now left her mouth dry, mind frantic. 

Sometimes, when it got real bad like it did today, she’d drive out to your—our—deserted garage, and look up into a pitch black night, blinking away tears. It was easy to scream at the sky: how could you forget about me about us about milkshakes shared about distances closed about how I love you and love you and love you—but to you, she’d say nothing.

She couldn’t say anything, while you basked in the glow of a new hand to hold. It was all over in a helpless shrug. That was it, and really, it wasn’t your fault. Nobody’s fault. You couldn’t help it, Tara reasoned, you weren’t cruel. Even at the very end, you were endlessly kind. Commitment was a choice, but love, love happened to you away from Tara and she couldn’t do anything but watch.

Tara switched the engine off, leaning back in her seat. The stars shone barely brighter than the city lights. It was strange, the way that when she was on the brink of losing everything, the world looked that much more beautiful. Every breath in that particularly cold winter felt like it was being swallowed up by the vastness of air itself, precious in its scarcity. 

“But I love you.”

You said nothing for a moment, a troubled little frown twisting on your lips. “Tara, I—”

“I love you.” She heard, rather than felt, herself repeating it. As if stopping you from speaking would make that cold reality any less crushing. “That’s all.”

It was odd, Tara decided, to go online and see your life in the pictures she used to be part of. She put her phone down. From tide pulls to seasons changing, there wasn’t exactly a world where she envisioned herself going on without you. There was something in that sinking feeling, like you were holding her down with a hand on her chest, when she saw you laughing with your friends, with anyone, a smile so brilliant it couldn’t possibly have Tara as the cause. 

You’d always wanted a little cabin in the woods (“not in a creepy way,” you’d insist) surrounded by mist, and it would always be raining. “You’re the only sunshine I need, Tara Carpenter.” She could still hear the way you’d tease her, lying on your side next to her, tracing the bridge of her nose with your fingertip. So easy it was, to tumble back into those shining memories where absolutely nothing would go wrong, you wouldn't let it, because she was yours.

The top floor of the lot was empty, and the moon spilled onto the windshield, into the empty passenger seat. She was lucky, you both were lucky, to have even come as close to the sun as the two of you did. Tara knew, deep inside herself, that if she just let it all go, she would be okay. The blood would rush back into her fingertips—you wouldn’t be there to massage the feeling back into them, the way you often did on winter nights like this—and then she would be okay.

Tara thought that she remembered too much for someone so hurt. Your hand on her thigh while you drove, wiping her lipstick off your cheek, the way you seemed so so so unhappy when you sat her down for one last time. You didn’t even look the same then, like you were somebody else, you weren’t hers anymore. It was getting colder in the car, but Tara didn’t feel anything but the searing coil of shame. 

Sunkissed March found you and Tara lying side by side on a picnic blanket, sodas losing their fizz as time forgot to move the two of you. A breeze ruffled the leaves, and if she really listened, Tara could hear the frogs in the nearby pond. You loved it here—you said it reminded you of hot summers spent in the countryside, the days as long as wildflowers. Not half an hour ago, you were braiding together the stems of daisies into a lush crown. 

“For you, Queen Carpenter,” you said in a posh accent. “A gift from your humble knight—each braid represents a ‘forever,’ and each flower is an ‘always.’” You set the crown atop Tara’s head, kissing the tip of her nose as she rolled her eyes.

“And what has compelled my knight to bring me such a gift?”

“Only all of the love I carry for you, your majesty.” You scooped her up in your arms, smiling as she giggled, rolling the two of you over to settle into the knolls of grass.

There was a certain bravery in the way your fingers wrapped loosely around hers, the way the heels of both your shoes made indents in the dirt—proclaiming, we were here. Even in her doze, Tara could feel you there, each moment stretching on like strings of eternity, unfailingly. 

The moment did end, as moments do. The crown, dried and shrunk, still hung from the rear view mirror in the car. The daisies themselves were long gone, but the dried stems had somehow stayed bound together. Tara’s head dropped into her hands, eyes sore and red. She’d thought so much and so often about where the two of you went wrong, she felt like she had turned over every stone in your path, ones that didn’t carry with them the weight of a goodbye. Tara would give anything to even know what it would take for you to stand in the sun with her one more time.

The abrupt knock on the window should’ve startled Tara more than it did, given that it was four in the morning in an empty parking lot, and she was supposed to be all alone. But all she could do was watch with wide eyes as the knock came from you, at your tight lipped smile. She rolled down the window, unable to feel anything but shock as she took in your mismatched shoes with untied laces, your shirt way too thin for the cold night. You weren’t looking at her, guilt evident in the hunch of your shoulders. Your voice comes out exactly as she remembered it. 

“Hey… can we talk?”

--

a/n cont'd: don't super feel like i like this but writing it came naturally so

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[l4long-winded]

o.s. the phone call regarding the onions

summary: richie won't stop calling and despite how busy carmen is, he picks up the phone. he didn't know richie would take so long to tell him about his trip to the farmer's market, let alone how impatient you would be in his lap (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: i wrote this last night and edited it this afternoon. i find i have a hard time writing dialogue because i always want it to flow with my other descriptions. it's tricky for me, so this was an interesting challenge for myself. indulgent? yes. but intriguing nonetheless. as always, enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, kissing, phone call during sex, riding, religious allusions, more cursing, pussydrunk!carmen (the best kind), longwinded descriptions, slander of the elderly, cynicism, filth, secret girlfriend!reader, humorous dialogue, richie being richie, set before or during season 1 ig, double entendre ending, very slight dirty talk, overuse of the word "cousin" (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,101

“Are you even listening to me, Cousin?” Richie’s voice irritates Carmen’s eardrum drastically more than it usually does, and that’s saying something considering how his tone and words always sift right under the flesh of Carmen’s forearms to scrape against his bones. He should really tell Richie to shut the fuck up, to get to the godforsaken point of this overdrawn story about his trip to the grocers, but Carmen can’t find the speech in him to do so. As a defensive and sharp individual, Carmen seldom runs into the issue of not being able to come back with a witty remark of his own speckled in a seasoning of honesty, but his brain’s already having difficulty concentrating on his shallow breathing. If he loses focus on that particular aspect, he would never hear the end of it. Richie’s too much of a pain in the ass to hang up on, in fact, he’s part of the reason Carmen’s in this predicament.

Richie just had to keep on calling over and over and over and over again. Carmen’s phone buzzed and buzzed and buzzed and the motherfucker on the other end would not take the fucking hint. Carmen recalls catching the flustered, frustrated, and deprived expression on your features as you looked at him, disappointment in your blown pupils because you knew you had to climb off his lap in the middle of your shared fun. Carmen assured you that it wouldn’t take long, to remain where you were because he couldn’t bear to depart from your heat for a single second in this state of mind, the state of nothingness possessed by desire. He’s confronted that compelling phenomenon too often with you and it’s absolutely everything for him. Richie’s call, Carmen surmised and explained to you during the fifth ring, would only take three minutes, five at the most.

Carmen forgets how bad at math he is until it smacks him upside the face and attempts to ruin his day. Richie’s been yapping on the line for about… how long has it been? Carmen stares up at the ceiling, phone pressed to his ear, pink lips parting as your tongue and teeth glissade down his neck. He can feel his body’s primal need to roll his eyes far into the back of his head, but he somehow sustains his half lidded gaze so he can raise his phone away from his ear to check the call’s duration.

14:53. 14:54. 14:55.

Seriously? Fifteen minutes of this bullshit? Carmen’s close to tossing his phone across the room so he can fuck you properly against his bedroom door, but he knows Richie. Richie would bolt on over here to tell Carmen his story in person, stomp away on Carmen’s remnants of alone time with you before he’s back to busting his ass in the kitchen. Carmen can’t have that. A fucking crowbar couldn’t pry you off his cock, and he’s sighing out shakily, pushing the mic away from his mouth far off to the side of the couch and into the cushion so he can release the tendril of fucked out noise you’re igniting in his stomach. Its smoke is climbing up and up, swirling around his lungs, collapsing into purrs and grunts of pleasure since he can’t be any louder than that. You haven’t made his mistake easy on him, fluttering your walls around him, arching as you rise and fall, adding in your lips and dutiful tongue into the sum of his impending eruption. He notices the twinkle atop the slim rings of your irises, how in awe and turned on you are from hearing those little noises he can’t will himself to wrangle down.

Do you like that?

He mouths.

Yes,

you nod your head.

For a moment, resolve slips. Carmen’s other hand maneuvers from gripping the throw pillow on his couch to gripping your thigh, sliding slightly down where he sits so he can roll his hips up into you. He revels in the gasp you inhale, your hands steadying yourself by the use of his shoulders. A ghost of a smile forms on his lips catching your pout and he’s about to inform you to behave when his phone speaks from under the cushion, still in Carmen’s other hand as he was trying to metaphorically and literally smother Richie, but the bastard’s gumption defeats Carmen’s efforts. He tightens his top and bottom lip together as he snatches the phone in agitation from under the cushion to lift it back to his ear.

“Carmy? Carmy? I’m fucking talking to you, Carmy,” Richie grits out, the bass in his voice scratching an unpleasant portion of Carmen’s ear. Carmen shuts his eyes, instructing himself soundlessly to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth… the same mouth you kiss, your hands cupping his cheeks, tongue shyly petting his. He should put a stop to it. He’s powerless when you kiss him, it’s why he avoided doing so this entire phone call with Richie. He knew he couldn’t stop you, the hand once at your thigh palming up to your ass, his middle finger slipping under the fabric of your lacy panties that you still had on. It rests there, like it’s part of the ensemble (or lack of), twitching and clutching as the lace hugs him and tethers his digit to you.

“Hey, bozo, are you going to answer me or not?” Richie snarls, and Carmen almost tells him to fuck off, but you’re the one who takes mercy on him. Your mouth slides back down, lapping over a sensitive vein in his neck. Carmen finds himself falling back into the couch, licking his dry lips, a desire in him present to curse his friend out.

“I hear you, Richie, I fucking hear you,” Carmen blurts suddenly. He’s got a breathy rasp to him due to the sex, crimson in the face, yelling almost in the same fashion he does at work. You hide your amused grin under your hair as you tenderly kiss his jaw, picking up the speed of your hips. Before, your movements were gentle and small. But now, you have intention as you fuck yourself on Carmen’s cock, sucking spots on his skin to conceal your moans away. The worst part is that even though Carmen can barely hear them, he can feel the hum of each one vibrating against his flesh. And it feels like he knows you sound. How does someone begin to describe that? The walls of a cathedral must know exactly what he’s experiencing, angelic hums reverberating through their surfaces, etching sound waves into crevices and making them whole. That’s it. He feels whole. Complete. It’s almost as good as when he swallows those moans into his mouth and feels them alive in his throat.

“Yeah? Yeah? Then what the fuck did I say, huh?”

Shit… yeah, what the fuck did he say? Carmen’s horrid at multitasking outside his craft and he’s especially inept at maintaining his control and composure when he’s watching his secret girlfriend impale herself repeatedly on his throbbing length. He closes his eyes again to subtract sight’s distraction, middle finger sweeping back and forth so that your lace can rub his knuckle and jog along his memory. Oddly enough, it helps him collect the thoughts you’re so keen on dissipating with those gorgeous, enticing hips of yours.

“You said… you went to the farmer’s market,” Carmen begins, gulping heavily as you clench. “You went to… uh,” Carmen tilts his phone away from his mouth, biting hard on his index finger to refrain from hissing out. He glares at you, you’re being unfair, and the mischief is written all over your gaze despite the innocent smile you attempt to give him. He’s definitely going to pay this back. He’s not a saint, he holds grudges, and he’s harboring one against you for almost causing him to moan into his phone.

“Carmy,” Richie disrupts Carmen’s plans for vengeance and fortunately, Carmen instantly recalls what they were talking about like an epiphany, no thanks to you.

“You went to pick up the onions!” Carmen rushes, his syllables spilling over one another. He hates how he sounds. It’s different from his regular speaking voice and if they weren’t dealing with shitty cell service, Richie probably would’ve noticed.

“Then, what? I’ve been talking for almost twenty minutes,” oh, Carmen fucking knows, “and that’s all you’ve gotten from that?”

“Richie,” Carmen says as sternly as he can as your tightness sinks to his base. He sucks onto his upper row of teeth, pulsing increasing, lighting up with heat inside of your delectable walls. This is your fault, too. You and your enveloping warmth. You and your pretty face and your pretty cunt and your persistent needs, your pliant open legs as you ride him and make him drunk without a smidgen of alcohol around. He might as well have bathed himself in scotch, the effects most likely easier to handle than the vise you’ve got on his mind, body, and cock. “Did you, or did you not get the fucking onions?”

Richie scoffs, “Ugggghhhhhhh,” into Carmen’s ear. Annoyed by it, Carmen grips his phone tighter as he pushes it away from his head for as long as Richie does it. He shakes his hair out of his eyes as he retracts the phone back to its original position, his stare greedily finding where his cock disappears and reappears with more and more of that wonderful slick that glides him in deeper and deeper. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! The fucking old broad from the lot gave me that dirty ass look as she took all of the product right in front of me. What the fuck is some old chick with a bad hip going to do with sixteen onions, Carmy? She had her stumbling grandson with his little toddler hands dropping the motherfuckers on the floor right in front of me because he couldn’t carry them all. Like, are you kidding me? Are you cooking French Onion soup for the whole neighborhood? For the next winter?”

“Richie,” Carmen grinds out as you grind down on him. His teeth clatter as he scrapes them together. “Richie… Richie…” He can’t gain Richie’s attention back as he rants in Carmen’s ear, as you swivel your hips and whine at the stretch. Carmen’s holding himself back, painfully hard from the experience you’re condoning.

“Next time I see her, it’s on. Watch what fucking soup she can make when I buy the whole stock and flip her the bird,” Richie continues, the sound of a trunk being harshly slammed on the other end. But Carmen’s had enough. He can’t take it anymore. He feels feral, he’s going to burst any second and he refuses to do so with Richie still on the line.

“Cousin, Cousin, Cousin, Cousin,” Carmen parrots, rolling his eyes as he increases his volume with each repetition.

On the other side, Richie talks over him. “She’s driving some ugly ass Pontiac, no wonder she’s bitter.”

“Cousin, Cousin, listen to me.”

“Do you think they’ll notice me if I take a stab at one of her tires?”

“Richie!”

“Nah, you’re right, it looks like there’s a bunch of fucking narcs around here.”

“Motherfucker, stop talking,” Carmen spits and that’s when Richie shouts back, his own irritation building because that entire time, he could hear Carmen babbling on and on. Apparently no one knows how to listen to a fucking story anymore.

“What? What, Carmy?” Richie responds with a yell. He must be inside of his car because Carmen heard a crash right after. Carmen pinches the bridge of his nose having finally snaked his other hand away from your underwear.

“So, you’re telling me… you don’t have the onions?” Carmen asks.

Richie sighs. The reason he felt the need to orate what happened is because of Carmen’s temper regarding the restaurant. He had one task today and he failed it because of some greedy elderly woman. Though, he understands how Carmen’s busy. Through this phone call, Richie hasn’t been able to hold his Cousin’s focus for very long. He doesn’t think there was any interval longer than three minutes where he had it all to himself.

“No, I… I don’t ha—”

The line goes dead. Richie looks down at his phone, fully tempted to call Carmen one more time to explain himself and make his stubborn, mule-headed friend see his point of view for once. He only doesn’t because he swears Carmen sounded like he was about to explode.

[v4mpgutz]

HOW TO DISAPPEAR, Rafe Cameron [ DRABBLES ]

— i know he's in over his head, but i love that man like nobody can

rafe cameron x ditzy gf reader

warnings — sfw + nsfw hcs, slightly mean rafe, ditzy (silly, forgetful) reader, corruption, choking, blood mention, dacryphilia, petnames (baby, sweets), dumbification, piv sex

note: *laughing manically* its time to give the people what they want

rafe never really thought he'd be in a committed relationship. it wasn't that he preferred non-commitment or that he didn't like being tied down — he just had some form of abandonment issues which he would never admit to.

so one day when ward welcomes you into tannyhill as wheezie's new babysitter (sarah was running around with pogue's and he didn't trust rafe), rafe is a stuttering mess at first. he saw you, this innocent, silly little thing who seemed as pure as a baby lamb and decided maybe he did want to date someone.

when you two began dating, he very quickly realised that you seemed a little out of your head at times. you were very clumsy, causing accidents such as running into doors to happen often.

-> you sat on the counter in front of rafe, sniffling and wiping stray tears from your cheeks as he gently applied rubbing alcohol to the bloody gash on your hand where you'd chopped a little more than just capsicum.

"such a clumsy little thing, huh?" rafe teased with a chuckle as he gently patted your thigh once he finished. "gotta be payin' more attention, baby," he tutted with a shake of his head. "stop bein' so up in the clouds, yeah?"

rafe absolutely thrived off of you coming to him for any kind of help but especially when you forgot things. you often forgot specific chores ward and rose would ask you to do while you babysat wheezie and would hurry up to rafe's room for help.

-> "rafey," he'd hear you whine from the doorway and turn around with a raised brow.

"whatcha want, sweets?" he asked you, tongue poking his cheek as he bit back a smirk. he already knew what you came to him for and god he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it.

"forgot what ward wanted me t'do..." you mumbled with a frown, brows pinched together as you tried to think but to no avail.

"don't you remember?" rafe chuckled lowly as he approached you, large hands coming to hold your waist as his thumb rubbed circles into your hip. "he said you don't have to do anything today other than watchin' wheeze."

— NSFW

it wasn't true, of course. but rafe knew how ward was when you didn't complete chores and he loved to see you crying when you'd get scolded. you'd come running into his arms like always, crying into his chest as he tried to hide his boner that strained against his shorts.

sometimes rafe was gentle with you, thrusting slowly which had you crying out and scratching his biceps. feeling every inch of him with the slow pace as he buried himself deeper inside you. he loved when your brain would practically grow numb, eyes rolling around in your head as you whimpered and whined.

-> "feels good, huh?" he laughed and continued to push his hips forward and back again, slowly pistoning inside your sensitive heat. "so good i've turned you completely dumb for me. stupid little doll, right?"

all you could do was let out a whine as your muscles convulsed, eyes cloudy with tears of pleasure. rafe brought a hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. small little black dots filled your vision as he cut off your oxygen, not enough for you to pass out. a strangled moan escaped your lips as he chuckled and sped up, slapping your face gently.

"come on, baby," he grinned as he let out a few groans of his own. "look at me. awe, y'can't can you? too dumbed out to even see."

WHEWWWW LORD this was fun to write i am sweating ahahaahahahhhskkdf i need him rn

tags: @ladyinbl00d

comment to be added :o

[ghostmaldo]

ꨄStardew Valley Headcannons: Artist farmer leaves a sketch for their love interest to find ꨄ

This took me so long to write, I’ll cry if this flops, but its fine ;-;

I might draw out the poses honestly… gives me something to do hehe Xp

No warnings, fluff, comfort, GN!Reader

Ask box: Open 💙

~Maldo

ᡣ𐭩 Penny ᡣ𐭩: Ooooh this sweet child, I just want to take her away from all of her troubles-

~It’s been a long day for Penny. She’s been spending most of the day tutoring Vincent and Jas, taking them out into the wilderness and to the library. Standing outside for a moment while the rain pelted the library rooftops. Of course, eagerly chatting with farmer while they ran around town doing their usual chores.

~ Between all that of course she’d have a altercation with her mother. Nothing she can’t handle but that dosen’t mean it dosen’t hurt any less. So, she practically dragged her feet back to her camper (RV? Whatever that thing is called).

~She reaches out for the handle of the door, then she stops. What this…?Her eyes blowing open slightly as she sees a neat envelope sticking out of the crack in the door. She see’s her name written in a sparkly gel pen as she retrieves from the door. Her heart starts to beat a bit harder in chest…

~She carefully opens the envelope. The scent of a sweet smelling perfume pulls at her heart strings further. Someone must have put a lot of thought into this little gift…for her…?

~Unfolding the paper from inside, she takes in a sharp breath. It’s a portrait drawing, of her sitting in fields. It’s gorgeous… It looks exactly like her… Penny marvels at each pencil stroke. Even the little smudges at the ends of the paper catch her eye. She almost feels like crying. And a single tear does fall when she sees the signature at the bottom.

From: (Farmer)

~The farmer, as if one Que, appears behind her. “Oh you found it! I was worried it might-“

~She can’t hold herself back from throwing her arms around the farmer and hugging them tight. The farmer returning the embrace happily. Penny didn’t know how the farmer knew, but she needed to see this after the kind of day shes had.

~She frames the drawing and keeps it in a special place her mother can’t find. Often looking at it when she needs a pick me up and instantly she feels a little better about life.

ᡣ𐭩Shane ᡣ𐭩 Disclaimer: Due to my own personal experiences/triggers I’ve been warned by my friends I shouldn’t play his route and I’ve only really picked up things here and there so it may not be perfect, but I still want to include him as he is still very deserving of affection. That being said, this is where farmer and Shane have a few hearts between each other and he dosen’t hate them entirely ^^

~Another late night walking back alone to his Aunt’s house from the saloon. His head is swimming with all the beer in his veins, swaying from side to side on his feet as he walks. Eventually arriving to his doorstep, through his blurry visions. He makes out his name on the front of his door. “Shaaane… thats my name.”

~His a bit confused at first. Reaching out to touch the letters of his name written in the sparkling gel ink. That’s when realized his name is written on an envelope of some kind. The confusion on his face only deepens. What kind of joke was this? He certainly wasn’t laughing.

~He grumbled as he fumbled with opening the letter. Revealing the picture of himself with his chicken Charlie… He blinks… and blinks again… He stares at the picture for a long time. His drunken mind unable to process what his looking at. At the bottom of the page he reads:

“From (Farmer)”

~He feels a tightness form in his chest. He almost wants to be angry the farmer left this for him to find… Yet… he thumbs over the thin strides of ink forming his face.

~After several minutes of just standing there holding the drawing, he carefully tucks the drawing into his coat pocket. Wondering inside and briefly forgetting about it as he throws himself into bed to sleep off the hangover. The farmer somehow finding themselves into his dreams.

~He won’t bring up the drawing for a few days I think. Not exactly knowing what to say. It isn’t until he sees the farmer one random afternoon buying supplies from Marnie that he catches them before they leave.

“Uhh, thanks for this.” He takes the folded piece of paper out from his pocket, unable to look the farmer in their eyes. “It’s nice…”

ᡣ𐭩Maru ᡣ𐭩

She’s having her afternoon sit near the saloon. Enjoying the warm air and peaceful chirping of the birds near by. Penny usually does by to sit with her sometimes, but she’s pleasantly surprised to find the farmer waving at them. A brand new battery pack in their hand, instantly she perks up, wondering if perhaps…

~ It is! She’s overjoyed to receive another battery pack from the farmer. Maru already knows the exactly project she’ll use it for. She waves the farmer good bye as they have other things to do.

~Once they’ve gone. Something feels different… about this battery pack. Sitting back down and inspecting the object more closely. She noticed theres something attached to the battery. An envelope with her name written on it. “Hmmm?”

~Cursorily, she thumbed the letter open. Using the upmost of care to unravel the drawing inside. Her eyes went wide with surprise. A drawing of her at the clinic writing something on a clipboard. It was so… life like. Just by looking it over, Maru could tell it was done with care. She smiled fondly. A loud, she read: “From, (Farmer)

~Quickly, she hurried after the farmer, hoping they hadn’t gotten to far. Seeing them about to head back to their farm, she blitzed it. Hugging them from behind as she reached them. “Thank you farmer! This is the best!”

~Another one to frame it and place it somewhere special. Considers it one of her most prized possessions.

ᡣ𐭩Sebastian ᡣ𐭩

~Lizard blinking at 10am in the morning. Sebastian reaches to turn the alarm off on his phone. He groans and grumbles for a few minutes before deciding to sit up and move over to his computer. He placed his fingers on his keyboard, the abruptly stopped when he felt a strange sensation on the pads of his fingers.

~Tilting his head, he spotted… an envelope His name written in a neat sparkly cursive. Ugh… he hoped this wasn’t a joke from his mother. He carelessly ripped the envelope open, though he was careful with the contents inside. Unfolding the paper, his eyes landed on a drawing of him… one of him working on his motorcycle. One of the corners of the page reading: From (Farmer)

~Sebastian.exe has stopped working-

~He takes a slow deep breath in, heart beating wildly inside his chest. He found the gesture to be so… sweet. Sebastian admires the piece for a long while before he can focus on anything. He places it somewhere safe but where he can still admire it within his working space. It’s all he can think about for the entire days (And probably for several days after)

~In the evening time, he purposely places himself near the mines so he can show his appreciation to the farmer. He waves them over as soon as he sees them. He becomes a little shy rubbing the back of his neck nervously, but he does want to say something. “Hey, I found the drawing on my desk… Thank you… That was very kind of you…” Will hesitate to go in for a hug but if farmer meets them halfway he will gladly embrace them.

ᡣ𐭩Leahᡣ𐭩 Disclaimer#2: I haven’t tried to romance Leah yet and I know the very baseline of her personality so I apologize (again) if this one isn’t perfect but also still wanted to include her.

~Leah’s been inside her small home for most of the afternoon working on her latest project. Deciding to take a stroll through town to take a small break and stretch her limbs out. She opens her door and catches the glimpse of something fluttering downward and landing on her door mat. An envelope? What could this be?

~ Inspecting the object, she traces her finger over her name. Some of the glitter from the Gel pen rubbing off. She can’t hide the smile that creeps onto her face. She’s a bit giddy over receiving something so mysterious and thoughtful!

~She opens the letter and finds the portrait of herself inside. She’s smiling happily with her house in the background. Lead is amazed by the penmanship. Her eyes glaze over every detail, her heart swelling with emotion. At the bottom of the page is a signature: From (Farmer). She lets out a happy squeal and lightly presses the drawing to her chest.

~Quickly, she runs inside to find a frame for the piece. Placing it on a special place on her wall where she can easily admire it. Then she takes off into town as originally planned. Now with a new motive in mind.

~She’s happy to find the farmer running around town. Lead quickly catches them and pulls them into a warm hug. “Farmer! I didn’t know you could draw! I love the gift you left for me! We should have drawing sessions together!” She’s just so happy and excited to have someone to relate too and the gesture was so sweet to her.

ᡣ𐭩Sam(son) ᡣ𐭩

~Okay, okay, so his already well into his morning routine before he notices anything. He comes back into his room to retrieve his skateboard when he then notices something tapped to it. An envelope with his name written on it. He eyes cursorily as he picks it up. Honestly having no idea what the letter could possibly be about.

~Opening it up, he find the drawing of him on his skateboard. A really well done drawing of him on his skateboard. “Wow.” He grips both ends of the paper and takes a moment to admire it. Eventually finding the signature at the bottom corner of the page. From: (Farmer).

~He breaks out into a wide smile. He can feel the warmth of his own face and his heart swoons. He places the drawing on his dresser before taking off without his skateboard. He briefly pauses outside, having mean to have grabbed it. But his brain is spinning so much he just waves off the skateboard and takes off on foot to see if the farmer might be wondering around somewhere.

~And his right. He catches them coming out of the community center. He approaches them with a smile thats returned to him. “So, when did you have time to sneak into my room hm?” He teases lightly, and they share a laugh together. “Hey but really, that was really nice of you. You’re really talented!”

~Another one to become shy when he goes in for a hug but once he feels the farmer wrap their arms around him, his content.

~He’ll stick around a moment to catch up with farmer, inviting them to hangout with him and his friends sometime at the saloon. He gives them one last hug before letting them get back to their work. The whole walk home his smiling like his on top of the world.

~ Tapes up the drawing somewhere in his room, his mom asks him about one time and he blushed the whole time as he explained the farmer gave it to him. Mom finds it sweet and teases her son about it.

ᡣ𐭩 Haleyᡣ𐭩

~ Haley opens the door to her shared home and finds the farmer standing there, mud and all, trying to place the envelope of the frame of her door. They stare at each other for a moment before he nose scrunches up as she notices the mud caked around their boots. “What are you doing?” She asks a bit dryly before she notices her name inscribed on the letter.

~”Oh! Is that for me?” She plucks the letter from the farmers hand before they have anytime to explain themselves. They stand there awkwardly as she doesn’t hesitate to rip the letter open. Revealing the drawing of her with her camera. Her face turns into one of surprise, a little oh leave her lips. it’s a bit hard to tell at first if she likes the drawing…

~Then she smiles gleefully. Spinning around with the drawing still in her hands and hugging it to her chest (not so gently as Leah but the drawings fine ^^). She goes to hug the farmer but stops when they realize they’re still covered in mud. So, instead, she gently lays her hand on their shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

~”You made me look so pretty! Thank you! If you maybe… clean up a little maybe you can join Emily and I for dinner?” The farmer happily agrees. At dinner time is when Haley hugs them properly now that their clean. Even going as far as to compliment the shampoo they used. “So much better now that all the mud is gone!” (It’s a compliment, I promise)

~At dinner time, the farmer can see Haley’s placed the drawing in a frame and has it in her living room where everyone can gaze upon her beauty capture by the farmer.

ᡣ𐭩 Harveyᡣ𐭩

~”Alright (Farmer), just take this medication as directed and make sure to stay hydrated okay? And try to be careful in those mines!” Harvey’s gives the farmer a friendly smile as they are discharged from their clinic. Linus having brought them him when he found them exhausted in mines some time during the day. He was glad to see they were alright and hoped they found some time to get some rest.

~As his going to finalize his paperwork and pass it on to Maru, he sees an envelope on top of his other paperwork… when did that get there? He read his name on the letter, lightly pulling it from his clip board. He rest up against the counter, pulling the drawing from inside. A drawing of him taking a stroll through the patchy area in town. It’s so lovely… it takes him a moment to realize it is him. “From… (Farmer)”

~His so touched by the kind gesture he just stand there for a long time. Maru has to come find him to notify him he has Marnie waiting for him and he quickly has to tuck away the piece of paper in his coat. Clearing his throat and desperately trying to compose himself. “Sir your face is a little red are you okay?”

Stutters out a: “O-Oh yes! I-I’m fine just a little warm is all.”

~His a little distracted throughout the day and he can’t seem to stifle the rapid beating of his heart. His already thinking of something he can give to the farmer as appreciation… but he can’t seem to find anything he deems would speak his gratitude… Oh well maybe…!

~After locking up the clinic for the day, he catches the farmer out of the corner of his eye. He hollers for them and smiles brightly as they approach him. He lightly scolds them for not being in bed and resting, but quickly forgives them when they show him the bottle of water tucked away in their overalls (Or however farmer may carry this item ^^)

~”Oh and thank you for the uh… letter you left me. That was nice of you…” Is a blushing red mess and his nervously fiddling with his hands. “Um don’t worry about the bill this time. I’ll take care of it… just this one.” His startled when the farmer hugs him out of nowhere. The scent of the earth coming of their clothes makes his mind go a little blank., though deep down he enjoys the interaction.

~Has the drawing carefully tapped onto his clipboard so he always had it with him.

ᡣ𐭩Emilyᡣ𐭩

~Emily’s happily bursts through the doors of the saloon for her shift. There dosen’t seem to be too many patrons yet as she walked over to the other side of the counter. Gus appeares suddenly and catches her attention. “Hey! Secret admirer left this for you.” He claims with a wink as he slides over an envelope to her.

~”Oh! A secret admirer?” She looks at her name on the letter fondly. Closing her eyes as she holds it up above her face, almost if she were trying to conjure a face of who would have left this for her. The anticipation becomes too much as none of the faces she makes seem’s right. She impatiently opens the letter and finds the drawing of her dancing elegantly inside.

~She gasps and her eyes double in size…. Then promptly screams in absolute delight, jumping up and down on her feet. Gus shaking his head and smiling in the back ground while he prepares for the salon. “Make sure to read the bottom left corner.” When Emily hears this, she seizes her jumping and looks back at the drawing. From: (Farmer)

~ It’s at that exact moment farmer walks through the front doors. Emily sequels happily upon seeing them. Immediately running to practically jump into their arms. “(Farmer)! This is so sweet, I love it so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gives you a tender kiss on the cheek that has farmer melting. Me too farmer, me too.

~Invites them to have a drink at the bar while she works. Every so often coming over to talk with them. Anyone can tell she has an extra pep in her step and her eyes are dazzling every chance she speaks with the farmer.

~ Frames the drawing and places it in a special spot in her room. Frequently picks it up and talks to it as if it the farmer themselves.

ᡣ𐭩Elliotᡣ𐭩

~Elliot is peacefully taking his afternoon walk, his mind a bit busy with thinking about his writings. On his way back, he crosses paths with the farmer. Seemingly in a mad dash to get where they were going, though they do wave at each other and smile before they disappear from his sight.

~Upon returning home, he instantly spots the envelope on his door. “My, my, what is this?” He says to himself, gingerly picking up the letter and delicately prying it open. Inside, is a beautiful drawing of him at his piano. A hushed gasp leaves his lips. He covers his mouth with his finger tips as his in pleasant shock. His eyes travel all over the drawing until he finds the signature at the bottom. From: (Farmer)

~He shakes his with a smile on his face. “Oh, that farmer.” He speaks lovingly. He takes the drawing inside where he sets it on his piano like a sheet of music. Theres something brand new brewing in his mind. He sits himself before the piano, fingers tapping away at the keys experimentally. Until theres a new song dancing on them. It’s not long before his scribbling notes on blanks sheet music.

~Before the sun goes down, Elliot decides to take one final stroll through town. In hopes to find the farmer still running their many errands. Lucky for him, he finds them doing just that. Snagging them as gently as he by the arm, he playfully swings them around. “There you are (Farmer)! If I may have a few moments of your time.”

~Sits them down on the nearest bench and shows them the song he wrote for them. (Yay swooning yet?) Together they sit and chat long after the suns gone down. Invites them over the following day so he can preform said song for them. “For your art of me. I was touched by it (farmer), allow me to show you my appreciation.

~The drawing sits on one side of his piano much like sheet music

ᡣ𐭩Abigail ᡣ𐭩

~Abigail is wondering the valley late into the evening. Hitting all of her usual spots and now headed for the graveyard. It’s a pretty normal evening when she first arrives. Then theres something laying on the ground that catches her eye. An envelope with her name on it, sitting in the middle of a gravestone. “Ooooh, spooky!”

~She reached for the envelope and looks over the writing. She turns it over a few times to see if there’s anything else mysterious about the object. When she dosen’t find anything more, Abigail opens the letter. Finding a drawing of her playing her instrument in a majestic looking manner. “From: (Farmer)”

~She holds the drawing up to the light to admire the details closer. She’s so touched by the gesture. She has half the mind to run over to the farmers house right now. But decided to simply find them in the morning. By the time she gets there, they’ll be long asleep.

~Best believe as soon as she wakes up for the day shes at the farmers door knocking. When they open the door, she dosen’t waste a second in throwing her arms around the farmers neck in an embrace. “Thank you so much for the drawing! It’s beautiful! I had to come over and say thank you!”

~She’ll stay awhile and chat with the farmer before heading home. But not before she invites them over to possibly have a game night or hangout at the salon.

~Frames the picture and has it in her room where she sees it at least once each day.

ᡣ𐭩Alexᡣ𐭩

~His outside throwing the football to himself before deciding to come inside. His grandparents are out and about at the moment, so he decides to sit at the kitchen table. Once his settled, he noticed something on the table. White envelope sitting undisturbed with his name on the front.

~Thinking its a note from his grandmother, he opens it without a second thought. His face drops when he sees the drawing of him inside. Football in hand. He gawks for a moment, totally caught off guard by the illustration. At the bottom he finds the infamous signature: From: (Farmer)

~He smirks at the discovery. Leaning his head into his palm while still holding the paper with admiration in his eyes. His ears momentarily perk up as he hears a familiar voice outside. His granny, and behold, the farmer themselves!

~Alex quickly gets up from his chair and quickly makes his way outside. Nearly running into his grandmother, she walks inside with a happy, knowing smile on her face. Chasing after the farmer, he catches them just in time. “Running away when you’ve left me such a charming gift?” His smirking but his mostly playing around.

~ Chats with the farmer and manages to slip in they should come over for dinner with him and his grandparents. To which farmer gladly agrees.

~While Alex was away flirting with the Farmer, his grandmother finds the image on the table and decides to place it on the fridge. Alex dosen’t have the heart to move and honestly its the perfect place for it.

[donaweasley]

Promises to Keep

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Plot:

Geralt is tasked with protecting a princess but his feelings keep poking at him, urging him to shed his tough armour and give in to his heart. But the witcher is a righteous man. He won’t succumb to his feelings so easily. Will he?

Some pining, some fluff that will lead to a “part 2” of this story.

Warnings: A bit of m.at.ure stuff. K.i.d.s better stay away!

Read time: ~15 mins

Note: This story has been based in a timeline before the fall of Cintra, and so, Geralt has not yet started his quest for Ciri. Oh, and he doesn’t fall in love with Yennefer. 😉

Prologue:

Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with many a difficult missions but the hardest of them all was probably not killing but protecting a person. That person was a princess whose parents had specifically called for Geralt to take their daughter under his wing as Nilfgaard marched towards their doorstep.

The princess could fight; she had been in battles but Nilfgaard had morphed into something entirely different from what the Continent had previously seen. It was as though Hell itself had poured into their army, leaving a trail of ash and blood wherever it went.

And so, turning all cries and protests from the said princess to deaf ears, her parents sent her away, in return of an assurance from her that, should their kingdom fall, she would come back and restore it to its glory, flying their banners from every nook and corner.

They knew she could, they had said.

The journey with Geralt had not been easy, moving from camp to camp, from inn to inn, not to mention the complications of his profession. But time gradually made things easier for them both, eventually bringing them to a point where they could comfortably pose as husband and wife so as to protect her identity, and avail a temporary shelter in a village.

And even though they were living a lie of being a married pair, their hearts often wished to forget reality, and enjoy the bliss of domestic life with one another. To be with each other unconditionally, forgetting all rules and boundaries.

But Geralt was a man of ethics, and she did not want him to bear the burden of guilt just because her stupid heart could not stop fluttering for this kind, brave gentleman with a heart of gold!

And thus, neither, for fear of straining what they already had, could ever utter their feelings to each other. After all, they had promises to keep.

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

A few months ago:

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

She hurt herself on the thick leather armour as she flung her arms around his neck. But she did not care. That was a pain she would happily endure if it meant seeing Geralt at her doorstep safe and sound.

He smelled of sweat and blood and the swamp. He probably tasted like it, too. Alright, so what? The man returned after three weeks from the edge of the Continent. And perhaps from the edge of life. She couldn't care less about what he smelled or tasted like. But did he really…? She was very close to confirming her assumption - almost there - when Geralt suddenly remembered his place: the protector of the princess, a mere witcher.

“Princess,” the rich baritone vibrating in her ear woke her up from her purple dream. She could not help but lean back when she found her “husband” doing the same.

Geralt spread his arms slightly, and smiled with that usual softness in his eyes that came to the forefront only when she was around. “Safe and sound. Just like I had promised.”

“I am honoured!” She jested, and stepped inside, making room for Geralt to do the same.

“Give me a minute. I'll draw a bath for you. And once you have cleaned that mess off you, you'll have a warm dinner waiting,” she smiled and turned to make her way to the bath when Geralt gently but firmly held her wrist.

Neither could deny the spark that coursed through their veins at the contact. But neither would confess. Involuntarily, the witcher’s thumb made faint circles over her veins. Once he realised what he was doing, he slowly released her but their fingers lingered over the other’s before finally making some room between them.

Geralt pleaded with her to stop fussing over it all but the woman was ecstatic! Who could stop her from doing everything she could for the man she was falling in love with! Not even the strongest witcher.

And so, she hopped away to prepare a warm bath for him while he busied himself with the relieving task of removing his armour and weapons.

Geralt lay in the bath, pondering over the unsaid things that have been passing between the princess and him. Especially the ones that happened that evening. They had never been this close before, and it only made his breath shallower every time he thought about it. His mind wandered away unleashed every time his drunken heart slipped into fantasies of what could have happened had he not pulled away from her embrace…or what might happen if he allowed himself a bit more liberty with his feelings…

A gentle knock on the door startled him, bringing him back to the reality of the small room lit by two candles, back to the fact that the woman living under the same roof with him was his mission, not his real wife, as the villagers knew her to be. There was no way a witcher could dream of having a wife and a family, let alone with a princess!

“Need anything?” The voice was gentle, happy…it was caring. It made Geralt smile to think that someone cared so deeply for him, that he was actually having a domestic life, even though a fake one.

“Your company would be nice,” he quipped.

Geralt grinned wickedly. He did not need to see her to know the blush creeping up her ears and cheek.

Over the months their relationship - real or fake, whatever that was - had built into a strong bond, one that was made of cares, banters, challenges, huffs (and not just from the witcher), puns of all kinds and fluttering heartbeats. And though neither backed down during the banters or the puns, either one of them definitely ended up with blood rushing up their cheeks.

(Y/N) bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Two could play this game. Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open. It startled Geralt, and she could tell it without seeing his wide eyes and parted lips.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about from your adventure?” She slowly walked in, eyes straining to look anywhere but at him.

She did not receive an immediate response. How could she! Geralt was spellbound by the boldness of this woman! It was inspired by his own recent boldness, perhaps, he wondered.

He cleared his throat, “Indeed.”

She picked up a small wooden stool, and sat with her back to him. “You were saying?”

“I would detail everything but are you sure you can stomach all that? And before dinner?”

Glimpses from his previous tales crept back, and she gulped at the gory imaginations that his words had painted in her head. Perhaps she could not. But would she confess? No!

“I’m tougher than you think, witcher.”

This was their usual way of addressing each other: “Witcher”, with a sarcastic stress in the middle of the word, and “Princess”, with a vanity enveloping the word.

When they had set out for their journey, she had requested him not to call her “princess”. “I have a name, and I would like to be addressed by it,” she had insisted. But Geralt had decided on maintaining his propriety.

When asked whether he would like to be addressed as Geralt or Witcher, he had simply mumbled, “Whatever you like, Princess.”

“Witcher it is then.”

And that has ever been going on, until recently when some rare moments witnessed them addressing each other by their names, and not what they were to the world.

In the small bathroom now, she heard a slosh behind her, signalling the rise of the large man from his bath. She tried her best to stop her shameless mind from picturing his wet body, dripping with water as he stood and stepped out of the tub, as he reached for the towel nearby and dried himself with it before wrapping it low around his waist. But the quiet of the night made sure that every little sound and movement reached her ears, leaving her a slave to her unabashed imagination.

Geralt grunted, the sound coming from right above her head.

“I know you can’t take it…Princess,” the last word was practically breathed on the shell of her ear.

Leaving her a total mess, Geralt sauntered out of the bathroom with a promise to indulge her in his stories after dinner.

That night, in the faint light of the moon, nimble fingers traced the contours of the witcher’s face as he slept - brows slightly arched, lips parted, face as serene as a dawn in Spring. She watched him breathe peacefully, devoid of the cares of the world, until a small smile cracked at a corner of his mouth. With eyes still closed, he placed a hand on hers and brought it to his lips. A chaste kiss was all it was, and yet it had her heart thundering. He had never - ever - shown any affection other than soft looks and gentle smiles.

“Sleep princess,” he rasped in a sleepy voice.

He opened his eyes once, to watch her smile at him, before holding her hand snuggly and drifting back to sleep.

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

Present day:

The sound of the door cracking open brought her back to the present. Quickly slipping a little more below the soapy water, she gripped the hilt of her sword.

It was Geralt. The moment he set one foot inside, his eyes went wide. It took him hardly a second to swing on his heels, to look away, but the sinful image had planted itself in his head. Probably for eternity.

“Pardon me. I…I did not know… I thought you were done. I just returned from outside; I did not notice that you were not anywhere else. I…”

“Geralt!” His name. She spoke his name! That, along with her soothing tone put an abrupt end to his string of stammering apologies. “It’s alright. I know you had no ill intentions.”

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet for a couple of seconds, he asked, “Do you need anything?”

Her lips stretched into a smirk as she recalled an old conversation that had occurred under very similar circumstances.

“Your company would be nice,” she quipped, just like Geralt had a few months ago.

The witcher recognised the joke immediately. A small smile escaped his usual serious features.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about your first kill,” he jested just like she had back then.

The sigh that filled the room made Geralt wonder if he had said something uncalled for. She was shaken by the incident but if she was making jokes now, she must be recovering. Right?

“(Y/N),” Geralt called without looking at her, “are you alright?”

“No, if truth be told,” came the confession.

He understood. Keeping his gaze focused on the floor, he took a few large steps until he was standing near the foot of the tub. In one smooth move, he was sitting on the floor with his back to her.

There was something about Geralt that made her feel protected all the time. Even in her most exposed and vulnerable state, she felt safe and comfortable with him around. And it was not just the love she felt for him. It was something else. It was something…very “Geralt”.

“The monsters we kill haunt our minds till long after. You never get used to it no matter how many kills you have made,” he sighed.

(Y/N) listened quietly. He was a man of few words, and at most times it seemed as though he was not even listening. But he always understood every single unexpressed emotion, every single unsaid word that she carried within her.

“Every time I close my eyes or every time I hear something, fear grips me,” she shivered at the thought. “You are right. I'm haunted by its memory, and … I cannot seem to shake the thoughts off. No matter how hard I try! I cannot even be courageous enough to convince myself that it is all in my head!” She slapped the water in frustration.

Unlike the witcher, killing monsters was not her profession nor did she volunteer for it. But what she did volunteer for was accompanying Geralt to a trip to the river caves for some herbs. Despite the witcher’s efforts to shield her inside the safety of their home, she managed to argue her way out of the proverbial safety net. Which is what led to the unforeseen event of her first close encounter with one of the many monsters that had become part of Geralt’s life. It also led her to, for the first time, being at the receiving end of Geralt’s fury for risking her life .

‘You were very courageous back there,” Geralt smiled at the memory of her driving her sword through the neck of the drowner, thus saving his own neck in the process.

“I had to be! Couldn’t just stand there and watch my favourite grumpy fellow die!” She jested about it but a shiver ran up her spine as she spoke. “It was disgusting, you know? I can still feel all the blood and slime on my skin.”

“It was also very brave. You saved my life!”

He had thought that his statement would make her proud but he was met with silence.

She spoke after a while. “You do know that I shall not be able to live anymore if something happens to you, don’t you? I shall only survive.”

Geralt’s heart suddenly felt very heavy in his chest. What she said was known information to him. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that she loved him. But to hear it aloud was totally unexpected.

“I shall be fine, princess,” he used his most assuring voice. “Do not worry about me.”

Unseen by him, a smile formed on her countenance. “I know, witcher.”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” He suggested. “Take your mind off the monster?”

“Hmm… How is Jaskier?” She suddenly asked.

Geralt almost turned his head towards her in surprise. Almost. She was naked, having a bath, and the first “something else” that came to her mind was the bard??

“Jaskier?” He asked. “You wish to talk about Jaskier now?”

“Well, you wanted to talk about something else!”

Was that jealousy that she was sensing in his huffs? She hoped it was.

“He must be fine. I do not know.” He ended the topic as quickly as it had begun.

“Hmm.”

The princess laid her head back on the tub and closed her eyes. There was a comfortable silence. So comfortable that she did want to leave, did not want to do anything that might disturb the moment. Even though it was getting late. Even though Geralt still had to wash himself.

Geralt still has to wash himself! Shit! He must be hungry!

Her eyes shot open. “I’m sorry, I forgot you have to wash up, too! I shall be quick.”

The sudden splash of water pulled Geralt out of his own reverie, inadvertently causing him to turn around so as to ask her not to hurry. But the sight before him left him speechless. It was fortunate that she was too busy to see him else he would never have been able to face her in shame. Geralt turned back and shut his eyes as soon as he snapped out of his trance. But that did nothing to erase the image imprinted in his mind. Not that he wanted to.

She had pulled herself up slightly, as she tried to reach for the towel on the nearby stool. In the light of the candles, her body glowed golden as water cascaded off every curve of her body… down the side of her neck, her shoulders, two perfect globes that highlighted particularly well in the candlelight, perky nipples that had hardened in the water, the beginning of a lustful waist…

He did not hear her step out of the tub, did not hear the rustle of clothes as she got dressed, no. His mind was replaying the same thing over and over again. There was an evident twitch somewhere down his body. He faintly heard something about dinner and changing the water. The creak of the door pulled him back.

“I shall…” His voice was hoarse. “I shall change the water. You may leave.”

The change in his mannerism surprised her but then both his voice and attitude were gravelly most of the time. With a small “alright”, she exited, leaving him to his thoughts.

Dinner was quiet as Geralt tried to suppress the feelings bubbling inside him. He wanted to look at her and lose himself in her eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt. Wanted to show her what it meant to unleash months of bridled love that he had been carrying within his entire being. He wanted to…

Gods! There were so many things that he wanted to do. But every time he talked himself into taking one step forward, his reality made him take two steps back.

And so, once again, he retired to bed without telling her anything at all about the whirlwind in his heart.

Geralt woke up sometime in the middle of the night, sensing some movements near him. Once sleep stopped fogging his senses, he realised that it was (Y/N) tossing and turning beside him in her sleep. Not only was she being restless, she was mumbling something incoherent that only got louder with her movements. It hardly took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was having a nightmare!

Geralt tried to wake her up: called her name, shook her. But she was trapped deep in her own head. He thought he heard something like his name but could not be sure. Seeing his efforts go in vain, he took her face in both hands and shouted her name while shaking her once more. He wasn’t sure if it would work but luckily, it did. With wild eyes she stared at him, as if trying to figure out where she was, trying to put up a wall between her horrid imagination and sweet reality. When she finally came around, she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, causing him to tumble to the mattress with her below. Once again, he fought with himself as a wave of relief washed over him, eventually crashing into a strong desire to keep her encased in his arms and caress her for the remainder of the night.

“I dreamt that you were…” she almost sobbed. “That I had…” She couldn’t bring those bitter words to her tongue.

Geralt understood.

“You will never lose me. I shall always be by your side. I promise.”

In the dark veil of the night, in those weak moments, he made her a promise that even he did not know how he would keep, for she would be married to some royalty some day; she would have to go away, leaving him with his solitude and monsters. He could not keep her to himself nor could he watch her be with somebody else.

But that was a worry for another day. Right then, she was in his arms, and no one else’s. Even if for a moment, she was his. He lay on his side and pulled her to his chest. A hand cradled her head, drawing soothing lines through her hair, until her warm breath on his skin had become stable.

Geralt never seeked help or answers from the gods; he did not believe in them. But as he kissed the crown of her head that night, his lips prayed for her safety and happiness, and if possible, for her to be bound to him for eternity.

He knew he was being selfish. He did not know who heard his prayers or even if there was someone who might hear them. But he whispered them anyway, believing that it was the only way to make his wishes come true.

***