#< the Void Sea/Dark Place>

[doodlepede]

hey Rain World fans. I'm gonna show you a lore interpretation that I personally have never seen anyone talk about except myself. If you know me as Sliverist, then you know what's up.

Everyone knows the first five Karma glyphs represent the so-called Five Natural Urges. Violence, reproduction, trade and social connection, eating, and self preservation. People generally believe the next Karma glyphs before the tenth are meaningless, but this is WRONG. Understanding this revelation requires seeing the big picture, which I will guide you through.

Rain World really likes to blur the line between organic and inorganic, with the most obvious example being the Iterators themselves, these biomechanical superstructures whose function in large part is outsourced to their "microbe strata" (Purple SL pearl), but it goes even further, into the very world design.

Five Pebbles' internal structure resembles a brain with its many sections all divided into specific regions with specific purposes. His chamber makes the resemblance even more obvious, where you can clearly see the brainstem.

Within Five Pebbles' dark interior swim swarms of colorful neurons which turn white in broad daylight, each one a carrier of information. Often, they are brushed along by cilia lining the computer halls.

The Void Sea writhes with a swarm of beings enormous beyong reckoning which closely resemble real neurons. The void worm that takes interest in the slugcat uses a dendrite to make a tether to drag the slugcat to its final destination.

As the slugcat swims and swims, it is joined by countless many just like it, and together they swim toward the light, referred to in the code as "TheEgg" (VoidSeaScene.cs)

This is the table of Karma, showing every level above Five. Doesn't it look rather like..

dividing cells being crossed out?

In Rain World, birth and life, cognition and enlightenment, death and ascension are all inextricably connected concepts. You might even say they're connected in a cycle. The imagery and themes are rich and complete, integrated fully into the world. This is even without mentioning the voidspawn which also resemble sperm, swimming to the same place. This is why Ascension is the best ending :artiyoy:

[interstellarsystem]

Nonhumans are here, even if you do not see us. We always will be. We are often hard to spot, but can be found doing all the things a human might.

A cat went to work at an event stall for a mental health service.

A massive sea serpent wanted to go to science class because it enjoyed it more than the rest of those living in its shared form.

The void sat down, huddled up in a blanket, to watch a tv show with its partners. It had to stop watching after a bit, but enjoyed spending time with those close to it anyway.

A wolf went to a psychologist appointment and gratefully drank the hot chocolate they were offered in the waiting room.

A shapeshifting being of pure darkness spoke publicly about trans rights in front of politicians and then went to the pride festival he helped fight to keep alive.

A dragon went to school so the others sharing his human body could have a break.

A manifestation of the fear of madness itself sat in the food court at the mall eating mochi and drinking tea while waiting for its friends to get back from shopping.

A witch drew a picture of his cardinal bird and shared the work he was so proud of with his friends.

A cockatoo borrowed the next book in his favourite series from the school library and almost couldn't wait the whole day to go home and read it.

An alien went camping and watched the birds outside and the way the wind made waves and patterns on the water.

A fallen angel went shopping for sunglasses to shield his eyes from how bright the sun was.

A harpy went shopping for new plants to look after. He named a few because he loved them so much, and sent pictures to all of his friends.

An anthropomorphic hedgehog traded Pokemon cards with his peers at school. He was happy with his collection.

You may not see us, and you may feel alone, but you are not. We are just hidden. We are in more places than you'd think, and in the places you'd least expect. We are complex, we are valued, and we are here.

[fqntasies]

Just a taste, baby - Feyd Rautha x Reader

summary: You and Feyd-Rautha have been connected through dreams since childhood; a complex inner-working of the Bene Gesserit mothers to join your bloodlines. It binds the two of you in a pull you can't escape (nor do you want to). Feyd is absolutely feral for you.

words: 1,258

disclaimer: characters may be out of character, specifically feyd, considering his desperate softness here. just a forewarning.

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

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

You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.

You know he has to leave.

[bi-writes]

still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 2/?: Warning Signs

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. masterlist

Being alone feels different when there’s nowhere to run. Every wall looks the same, and the stench of must permeates in every room–the carpet must hold it in. Everything drips; the taste of salt won’t go away, and it makes your eyes dry out every time you close them and open them again. There are other people around you, men that are the cause of the knocks against the rig, but they are as alien as what lies beneath you. Every time you feel as if it’s too foreign, you remind yourself that there is nowhere to go.

The only way out of this place is by doing your job; but even that scares you all of the sudden.

Your bed is lumpy. The mattress feels dry, stiff, and it barely gives as you lay in it. You stare up at the bottom of the top bunk, trying not to think about the sound of sea water pelting your window like a threatening knock while you try to sleep.

Your mind barely gives. You keep the lamp that sits on your makeshift desk turned on. Without it, the black of nothingness from outside bleeds through the walls, and you swear you can see a thousand different shapes that claw their way out of the moonlight towards you. The rig doesn’t shake, but it breathes. It lives, somehow, deep legs connected to the seafloor to keep it from drifting off, from separating, from taking you with it, from suffocating you until your breaths are filled with water and your body is too cold to–

You jump when the lamp bursts. A jolt of electricity shatters the bulb, and you sit up in bed, clutching the sheets as you watch the lamp glow slightly before fizzling out. The room blankets into the dark, and you move shakily off your bed and pat around for your flashlight before clicking it on. The small circle of yellow light doesn’t do what you hoped; instead, it makes the shadows of every object longer and seem further away, and they start to move as your hand shakes, so much so that you cannot tell if something is coming towards you or if your mind is still convincing you of some sort of seasickness. One lodged into your brain, one that doesn’t make you nauseous but makes you paranoid that some hole in the ocean will open up and take you with it.

The thought of drowning is not as terrifying as finding out what lies beneath the surface of the water.

When you used to think of the ocean, it used to soothe you. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was crystal clear blue and tropical fish. You thought about running your fingers through warm water and kicking your feet as you watched dolphins fly beside you. When the sun penetrated the light, it shined until it showed the seafloor, where little creatures burrowed beneath bright sand, making it sparkle.

The ocean you know now is anything like it. You understand what they mean when they say “mother nature,” because only a woman scorned could eat the world the way she does. Waves touching taller than buildings. Animals so large, they would swallow you whole and let the acid of their insides quiet your screams for nutrition. An endless void, reaching miles towards the center of earth, a vast unknown that crushes heavy metals and defies physics the further and further you drop. She’s unforgiving. Mean. A terrifying, wonderful thing, and you are cheating death. You know it. She screams at you from just outside your thin walls, and you are pretending not to hear her. She’s telling you something, but you bury your nose in your books.

If it’s a warning she’s trying to give, you won’t know it until it’s too late.

The rig groans in the middle of the night. You can hear the pipes expanding, the water moving aggressively outside your window, the sounds of cranes and metal creaking that rattle off around you. Your hand shakes a little as you try and find your shoes, slipping them on as you open your door in search of a new source of light.

It’s the middle of the night, but there’s still a skeleton crew around, moving between their night shifts. You make your way down the hall, clicking off your flashlight, and you find yourself in the rec room in search of light bulbs in the utility closet there. You hear the doors swing open behind you, and you try to ignore the rowdy voices of men as you stand on your tiptoes and rummage the hundredth box for what you need. You try not to think about the whisps of something delicate you feel grazing your fingertips (because spiders wouldn’t be this far out from land, right?).

“Looks like ye need a little help, bonnie.”

You startle yourself nearly out of your skin. You trip off the ledge you’re standing on, trying to hold your hands out to brace yourself, but you never hit the ground. Strong hands grip you around the middle, breaking your fall and getting you back onto your feet, nice and steady. You spin around, clutching your flashlight to your chest, panting like an anxious puppy. You can make out his blue eyes even in the dark, bright and seemingly concerned as Soap tries to get a grip on you to keep you from swaying.

“‘S alright, lass, ‘s just me! Soap, it’s Soap.”

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your breathing, You shake your head, closing your eyes as you try and repeat the mantra you’ve been telling yourself since you got on this stupid rig.

Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I…”

“What are ye doin’ up?” He asks, clicking his tongue. “‘S the middle of the night! Reckon ye need yer beauty sleep.”

You smile a bit, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You do it to placate him. Men don’t always respond well to sharp teeth, and you haven’t decided how you feel about this one yet. He’s too comfortable. His hands are still around your arms, thumbs smoothing too easily over the bone of your shoulders. He’s too close; he steps just nearer to you, tongue sliding over that top row of teeth, and you try not to think about the way his pupils dilate at the terrified look on your face, the one your smile cannot hide. When he tilts his head to the side, you think he means to look curious, but you think it closer to prey playing with its food. The curls of his growing mohawk fall over his forehead, drawing a dark shadow over his eyes, and you can no longer try to see what might give him away in his gaze.

“The light in my…room. I need a new one, I–” You shake your head. “It’s stupid, but I just…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll get ye all right fer bed, love,” Soap chuckles. “What’s broken, ye ken what kind ye need?”

You blink, biting your lip, thinking. He’s still touching you; he still has his hands around your arms, but now they’ve settled around your elbow, calloused fingers curled over where they rest.

“I’m not sure. The lamp on my desk, it’s–”

“Ach, those are hidin’, I’m sure o’ it,” he lets you go, reaching up and hoisting down a few boxes before reaching for what lies behind them. He carries them on his shoulder before dropping them onto the floor, and you try not to think about watching him work. He’s a large man. Strong, that much is evident, but there’s something off. You think his physical appearance hides what lies inside. He’s pretty, in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. Straight teeth, a killer smile, arms that do not give once they’re taut with use. Even the uniform he wears does nothing to hide thicker thighs and a solid middle; but you try not to let it distract you from what really remains. If he wasn’t so gorgeous, you don’t think he’d get away with that tick that must exist in his brain. The one that allows him to crowd your space without much resistance. The one that lets him smile like that, like he’s won something, like he’s gotten what he wanted not because he fought for it, but because it is what he is owed. 

He bends over and picks up a bulb that looks good enough and hands it to you. When he straightens his back, you try to catch that look in his eyes again. Maybe he knows you’re looking for it, and now he’s hiding it. Maybe he’s cooing in his own head about what a clever girl you are and trying to decide how he’ll play his game differently.

“Can walk ye back, put it in fer ye.”

You take it from him, drawing a shaky breath. You want to say no. You want to tell him you can do it all on your own, that you’re fine, but then the closet door swings open, and a group of tired-looking crew stare at the two of you as they snicker and nudge each other.

“Wot ye doin’, Soap, seven minutes in heaven with the fuckin’ feds?”

“Och–shut the fuck up, the lot o’ ye,” Soap bites back. “Just doin’ her fuckin’ job, just like the rest o’ ye, so get the fuck out the way. Middle of the night, bunch of gobshites.”

Soap puts a hand around the small of your back, guiding you past the group and out into the hallway. He follows you wordlessly back to accommodations, stopping in front of your door. Your name isn’t on it, but you don’t comment about how he knew this was yours. He waits for you to open the door for him before following you inside.

“A right mess, luvvie.”

He doesn’t let you help. He kicks your bin under the desk, carefully discarding of the pieces of glass that are scattered across your desk. He grumbles under his breath about it being too sharp and how he will do it better and how he can take care of ye. 

When the lamp clicks back on, it paints the room in that comforting orange light, and you relax as you take a seat on your bed, clutching the sheets to dry your clammy palms. He still invades your space, but somehow, with the light, it dampens the sentiment. He scares you just a little less, but if you give him just that much, how much will he use it to his advantage?

“Ye need anythin’, I’m…just down there,” Soap says finally. He points behind him, down the north end of the hallway, and all you can do is nod. “Don’t listen to the lot, bonnie,” Soap adds. “Bunch o’ old, tired bastards. Mean no harm. But if they do, ye come ta me, ye hear?”

“Uhm…Soap?” You call out as he’s leaving. You don’t know why you stop him. You don’t know why you’re talking to him; you’re certain he’s not a stranger to telling a good lie. He turns to face you, leaning against the doorway, and you clear your throat. No one should look this good on just a few hours of sleep, but he’s still blinking awake, unsettlingly calm. “This place…it’s safe, right? I mean…safe as it ought to be?”

Soap smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles. It feels unnatural. His teeth are duller. Lips drier. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s safe, love. Swear it. Got me on those rivets.”

You don’t know why, but when he comes close to you, you let him. You let him touch your face, thick fingers smoothing down your jaw just a little too rough, big thumb along your bottom lip rubbing just a little too hard. You hear his door shut nearby once he goes.

The ocean screams. You can hear her again now that his voice is no longer around. You fall asleep knowing he’s close, and you pretend not to notice her. Just like always.

[sundrlands]

‘below the mouth’ j. sunderland x fem reader

minors dni

cw: in the dark, shoe riding/humping, light oral fixation/spit play, slightly messy, james is depicted as a pervert, sub leaning james with him being dominant at times, obsessive(j.), mutual masturbation(?), squirting, breeding, james is in his mid to late thirties. reader uses she/her pronouns.

summary: james… your coworker. the man who seems so hardworking, headstrong and devoted to his work… is nothing but a pervert enticed with the very being that you are… he can’t help but to see you as art— a canvas to paint on… as if his hands were paint… and his fingertips as the bristles, sketching out his greed with his lips and his words.

a/n: more porn than plot, forgive me. not too fond of this one and kept eyeing it over and over over and ended up truly hating this… nonetheless i hope you find some enjoyment in this one. i did not proofread…

oh james… what ever shall he do?

poor thing, constantly wrapped up in his own mind… unable to tame the growing thoughts that mutated within him. being lonely does things to a person… the years of suppression only made his longing for intimacy fester in the darkness of his greed.

in the beginning… it had been alright— good with his composure, carrying a kind of elegance through his actions and words. he wore ‘respect’ like an honorable man— button down shirts, tucked nicely in his well ironed pants. every day he’d come in dapper, not one thing out of place. it would be impressive to notice his true desires when he hadn’t worn them out on his sleeves.

though now… it was a different story. there’s only so much he could take… seeing you in your work outfits every single day or hearing your voice… the song you sung that never failed to make him treasure your being and feel every vowel that spewed from your lips filter and sprawl all throughout his veins. james tried to keep his need low, always being so gentleman like— kind, thoughtful and charming, but his thickening puddle of lust seeped through in the growing void that rests in the center of his eyes… being far dirtier than what meets the eye, disgusting even.

it was cute once you picked up on it… or at least the extent of it— his shyness and ability to lose all self, unable to maintain professional eye contact or a flowing sentence without randomly clearing his throat. a man well into his thirties— one that was valued by your shared boss, exceeding work ethic, always saying ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’, not blinking an eye to the rule’s code— felt the need to act so foolishly enticed when it came to you.

for him, the absence of touch— one that he never felt come from your hand �� drove james into a constant state of lustrous want… it ate within his being like a hungered cannibal digging its fingers through every fiber of his flesh. it prodded and ripped in the center of his chest like a wolf's canines as he sat at his work desk, drained… lifeless… thinking about everything he wanted to do to you… or whatever you’d do to him.

the inside of his body grew hot at the thought of you— dry throat, racing heart, fumbling words… his eyes, lingering all over your body longer than they had the day before, trying to see how much he could get away with… letting every second store itself in his photographic memory.

infested with carnality, day and night. james’ mind couldnt escape his perverted thoughts; as if it was the horrid and angry deep sea, crashing against the softness of the hot sand, in need of something to fix prurience, and the heightening want to be underneath your skin.

it started off with a hello, you being new and him well within the company’s community by a decade or two. a sweet exchange of a firm gripped hand shake and small talk before you went on your way. upon his sight, he was already fond of the beauty you blossomed. he wasn’t able to stop himself from looking… and as time continued, each day you met with him, it caused him to be in his head.

whenever you agreed to go out with your coworkers to local bars and restaurants, he’d ask around, passively, wanting to know if you’d be there to join. any chance he’d get, he’d sit next to you or across from you, thinking that the lack of lighting would hide the fact that he sat there to study you— his gentle hazel eyes, staring with eagerness… tattooing you into the grooves of his brain. each time you all went out, it was as if he tried harder… or lost the ability to care if you noticed or not. catching his eyes… for the first few seconds he didn’t even realize your attention on him until you’d call out his name a few times or lean towards him, breasts spilling from your top.

he’d go home, all eager. undoing his tie and his belt, slamming his door shut and making his way towards his bed, muttering: “just this once…” to himself, staring down at his hardened dick after thinking about the way your breasts sat prettily in the top you wore.

with his eyes squeezed shut, his wrist rippled in fast motion with whitening knuckles. he’d call out your name. each whinier than the last… feeling the weight of your name kiss the head of his cock— irregular breathing, toes curling into the thick of his comforter— whines that turned into a chants. over and over again he moaned your name, not even lasting three minutes until he let himself go… ribbons of his hot cum falling down onto his chest.

shame filtered his body almost instantaneously, not understanding how he was able to let himself go just from a simple top you wore… he swore to himself that that would be the first and only time he’d ever do something like that— to rush into his house just to relieve the growing hard on that you, without much acknowledgment, gave him.

and for a few days, he hadn’t. it didn’t stop the stares or the way his cock jumped upon hearing your voice… he’d just fall back into the same perverted state, clutching onto the arm of his work chair while you talked to him about something he couldn’t even pay much attention to. he saw the outline of your body against your work outfit thinking about how you’d look if he ripped it off.

his breathing quickened as he tried to direct his gaze on something else, his computer… maybe his paperwork? it didn’t help because he could still hear you fucking speak.

a sharp gulp and a shaky sigh— it was the most obvious he’s ever been, sensing the way he was unable to sit still. “james?” you called out, amusement lingering in the tone of your voice.

“uhm.” he huffed, a faint smirk curling at the side of his lips, trying to keep his composure as much as he could. “sorry… im not feeling too well.” turning his head to you, seeing a warm, devious yet alluring smile rest on your lips. almost immediately, he reacted. swallowing hard and clearing his throat.

walking towards where the man sat, you placed your hand at his shoulder, feeling the softness of his suit glide against your palm, finding his averting eyes, “do you need me to… get you anything?”

he shook his head, flinching upon touch, dropping his attention into his lap where his hands bunched to cover the obvious dent. “it… it’s fine. i just have to use the restroom… excuse me.” his voice quick and slurred, body immediately jumping up from his chair as he made his way to the men’s bathroom.

the beat of his heart ran heavily in his ribcage, causing his body to burn and wither as he laid himself limply against the bathroom’s door. each inhale was harder to stabilize— the air feeling heavy and clunky as it lumped and fell down his throat. with the soft jingle of his belt, he pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees, “god…” he sighed, wrapping his hand around his cock— hot and tortured, “why do you… why do you turn me on so much?”

soft chokes and mutters fell in the echoing bathroom’s walls, covering his mouth creating muffled whimpers to exude and swell. his body churned and trembled, hearing the loose hinges of the door combat with his movement. “fuck… fuck…” he whined, his eyes traveling up to see the mirror across the way.

the sight of himself… it almost looked like his own reflection was a stranger. no person has ever made him have the need to run for a quick release… at least not from their voice alone. it was just how eager he was— how eager you made him— the look of his knees buckling, the pace of his pumps, the skin of his face shake and the way he desperately tried to keep himself quiet… he looked so pathetic to himself, never seeing that side or noticing how much you made him that way just from the sight of you.

in a way… it turned him on, getting a better picture of what you’d see if you were to stand in this very bathroom. thoughts grappled through his visionary mind, his vision shooting towards different places in the bathroom, looking at the sink: how pretty you’d look, pants down your legs with him fucking up into you, your own eyes in the mirror, watching yourself getting fucked by him. or in the stall: your fingers clutching harshly at the stall’s door with his fingers deeply plunging itself inside of your cavern.

a million and one things infiltrated his desires until he couldn’t find himself to stop even after the first time he came onto the bathroom’s floor. his wrist burned with the consistent motion, after his cock hadn’t let up its hardness, moaning as quietly as he could to have himself go limp.

thirty minutes he spent in there… and for him to be known to cum quick… it only meant that he rung himself dry. he couldn’t even walk straight— you knowingly understanding the weight of power you had over him after you timed his absence and him finally waddling back into his chair.

“you alright?” you laugh sweetly, being as oblivious as you could possibly be within his perspective, trying not to stare at the small wet spot that circled at his crotch.

“yeah…” his voice trembling, still in a daze from his multiple orgasms, “must’ve ate something funny…”

after that day… jerking off in the office’s bathroom, there was no turning back— as if that was the only reason that would’ve been true. there was no way he’d be able to contain the continuous passion that resonated all throughout his body— as if you talked to him through your idle.

days would pass and he’d show himself more and more obvious, losing the care to show off his usual persona. he’d take one of your handkerchiefs you left on your desk when you hadn’t been around, tucking them in his pockets only to inhale the left over scent that interwoven itself into its soft cloth, using it almost every night until all he could smell was his own scent. he’d hold onto your wrist when trying to grab your attention, clutching it until he felt the gentle pulse, syncing with the growing hard on he’d feel build and tighten at the crotch of his pants.

on random days, he’d listen when you spoke to other’s about the dates you’ve been on, hearing how they werent satisfying you— filling his brain with possible ways he’d make you feel good. taking you out to eat with good food and wine with an even better conversation only to have him balls deep inside of you just for you to remember nothing from anyone in your past and only form yourself at the outline of his cock.

on a sunny afternoon, you had a held a party for your birthday— all the coworkers you found as friends, including james— in your house for drinks, food and good music. you kept your eye on him as much as you could without making it obvious that the only reason for the party was to see how he’d react now being so close to you.

he showed nothing but nervousness, almost never leaving the cushions from your couch, not even drinking or eating for that matter. he looked uncomfortable… or maybe he was just deep in thought. it only took one look away for him to disappear, his lack of person and the indent of where he sat on the couch to be shown.

james decided he needed more… that handkerchief wasn’t enough since your scent was gone and his imaginations made his want physically hurt considering he wasn’t able to touch you like he wished he could.

finding his way to your room, he rummaged through your dirty laundry, finding a pair of black panties, keeping it to himself. in a cold sweat, he knew that he had time to spare, whipping his head back and forth from the cloth towards your bedroom door before he sat on your bed, rolling his thumb at the crotch of your underwear.

deep and staggered breaths, he rose it up to his nose, smelling the soiled cloth, noticing how these pair must’ve been worn during your arousal, his cock reacting like wildfire— choking at the lack of air he gave himself from the constant huffing he did. each inhale was like heaven. god… your pussy smelt so good… better than he could imagine. the muscle of his tongue sliding at the left over cream marks left, his moans staggering, almost in need of crying at how good this action made him feel.

placing the underwear in his mouth, he grabbed what was closest to him— your pillow— angling his body to get himself off. luckily with how loud the music had been outside, no one would be able to hear the brash creeks of your bed as he humped himself to oblivion. hips snapping, fingers curling into your bed’s unmade sheets with his face planted deep within them as he sniffed whatever your body’s scent leftover.

this is what he wanted… this is what he feened for. only orgasming once, he fixed your bed trying to replicate as if he had never been on it, tucking the panties… and one more in his pants pocket and walking out of your bedroom.

met with him, you smiled, noticing the lust that fumed off of his person, not making it seem as if you knew, “what’re you doing in there? the parties out there silly.” you laughed.

“yeah! i was just looking for the bathroom.” he gulped.

nodding, you ran your tongue over the bottom of your lip, eyeing how his hair wasn’t as neat as it had been before and his shirt wasn’t tucked in as it usually was. “it’s just down there.”

“thank you.” scattering down the hall.

upon entering your room, all you could smell was the foreign aroma of his arousal, smiling at how you didn’t even had to do anything to him physically let alone verbally and he got so worked up. riddled with temptation, you knew you had this man wrapped around your finger, obliging with his action and giving him more with your seductive nature.

it was more noticeable now— how you both operated whenever with each other. anyone could just sense it, feel it, cut it in the thickening air of their razor nails. the body languages, the way you both spoke, the way your eyes spoke with extreme intent.

the tingling sensation rose within your body, almost electrifying you whenever you heard your name being called by him— his natural rasp that croaked from his throat, huddling over your eardrums with bliss. you could only guess what he did that day when he bolted off into the bathroom. it was obvious. feeling your attraction grow by his attentiveness and the willingness of him trying so desperately to be beside you… just thinking about him got you so worked up.

it was fun witnessing his obvious need to separate himself just to get off… but the poor boy needed solace you thought to yourself.

he was being such a good boy, trying so hard not to put himself onto you, being respectful enough, kind and excusing himself but you decided to take charge— have him finally able to get what he wanted and what you were curious about.

one night, you took that advantage as everyone else had dispersed from the office, it had only been you two, him hunched in his chair, face glowing from his computer screen and you packing all of your work to go home. he usually stayed overtime, having his own set of keys the boss left because of his repetitive stay.

now you stood within his space, the office dark, a low hum coming from james not even noticing your silhouette that stood just at his cubicle. “you going home?” you spoke out, your voice lulling out.

startled, he turned at his chair, swallowing down the large lump that rested at his throat. “oh!” he chirped, looking back and forth at the shadow that made up of you and his computer screen. “uh not yet… there’s some things i have to finish.”

“could it wait? just for a little?”

furrowing his eyebrows, he sat confused, noticing the tone of your voice, feeling his palms dampen, rubbing them roughly at his pant legs.

oh how cute he was acting.

“sorry i..” he chuckled nervously, “im confused.”

sucking at your tongue, you stepped forward, the screen’s light falling at your outline, exposing the lust that mixed in with the devious expression that wore on your face. “don’t give me that look,” you cooed, closing the distance between you both until your feet planted themselves just before him. “tell me, what has you still in this office this late at night?”

“uhm yeah…” he chuckled again, his words slow as he spoke about the finishing touches of a project that had been due in a few days. quite honestly, you hadn’t cared much to know, you just enjoyed the random inhales of breath in between his words as he tried to keep his composure at bay.

“such a good man you are. i take it your work ethic is better than all of us combined?”

he cleared his throat, tilting his head in nervousness at the choice of words that trickled down, aiming at his spine with him tensing in his chair. “th… thank you.”

“but you should take a break, you seem all pent up. that isn’t healthy, don’t you think?”

“what do you purpose?” he asked with you humming in response.

the silence between that fell in the air was loud, burning against your eardrums until you heard his breathing coming in shallow wheezes, his chest tightening as his heart hammered at his ribcage. he couldn’t even look at you… his head couldn’t lift itself from his hands, fingers tangling with themselves.

“can you look at me?” you soothed.

no response was given, just the raise of his body at every heavy inhale.

“look at me james…” your voice now coming out as a whisper, using your hand to curl at his jaw, feeling the roughness of the stubble that ran alongside it. at a gentle lift, his face rose, his eyes staggering to follow until you saw the gentle, puppy-eyed man lock himself onto you. “that’s it..”

at the tilt of his head, his body hiccuped in a trickling gasp. every memory of him being by himself, jerking his hardening cock, the sounds of his own pleasuring cries echoed in his brain. it burned at his cheeks with a peach strain— embarrassed but enamored by the sway of your lulling voice and kind eyes. the cold that emitted from your hand felt like static, almost foreign, unable to comprehend that you where here, actually touching him and it wasn’t just his perverted mind conjuring up a scene of you having your way with him.

just by your simple touch, it felt raw and ravenous—body stiffening like tainted brittle bones… his spine slowly contorting in a fidgeting arch, like christ himself pressed his jellied pierced palms across the flesh of an aching wound. “fuck…” he breathed, giving up on his lose of current reality, placing his own hand on top of yours, sliding it more onto his own face. he buried himself in it, eyes closing, falling into a blissful state, feeling the warmth that blossomed and coddled at his skin.

his mind and his body was starved… in need of you as if the only sin he knew was nothing but greed— believing the palms of your hands was magic, a bandage to a scab, an antidote to a sickness. you did nothing but stand there, watching him revel in pleasure just from your hand now stroking his face slowly and delicately, admiring the sweet yet sorrowful pout drawn at his lips.

“follow my words.” you spoke, interrupting the silence between you both, “can you do that for me james?”

his eyes dilated, feeling his stomach drop hearing his name being called. it drove him mad and it only was because of your voice— so gentle and sweet, thick as if he could gnaw on it. “yes…” he finally answered.

standing behind him, you let the pressure of your hands massage his back, feeling the tension reside in his shoulders. you could feel his irregular breathing at every push your fingers gave, knuckles whitening at the clutch of his pant legs. “oh wow you’re so tense… why is that?”

“just… all the work is getting to me.”

“yeah?” your voice obvious in sensuality, hearing his grunt when you let the pressure fall a little rougher. a quiet exchange of noises bounced back and forth with comforting and pent up sighs, spending a good few minutes, trailing your hands down the sides of his arms, “you’re pretty built underneath this suit.” you teased.

clenching his eyes tight, he screamed at himself internally, trying to speak to his cock to not harden but it failed, looking down at his lap and seeing what the computer’s light was able to show, letting out a quiet laughing hum. you had him now…

“stand… and kiss me.”

and so he stood, his arms awkwardly at his sides, broadcasting his awful posture as he waited for your next move. from a simple swift movement, your hand met with the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing your lips against his. the sync of your lips were soft and slow but quickly it changed by the lead of his tongue that cascaded along the bottom of yours, inhaling the hitching breath as his fingers played with the bottom of his suit jacket.

gentle grunts hummed against your flesh, opening your lips to oblige by his speed, noting the way he drank your existence in the exchange of your mouths. his tongue fluttered against yours, rolling the tip of his muscle against the ridges of your teeth, spit spilling down one another’s chins as your bodies fell closer into one another feeling the pattern of your breathing fall as one.

your leg pressed in the middle of his, feeling his bulge rub against you with a higher pitched moan being a gift of your sudden embrace.

the air was hot and heavy despite the chill from the office that hugged you both, "ride it.." you moaned in between the kiss, moving your leg in slow grinds, feeling the heat that emitted from his clothed cock weave through your work pants.

“okay…” he answered back, removing himself from the kiss as his hips started to buck forward in motion with your leg’s movement.

his body couldn’t keep up with the burning passion that continued to spread through his body, starting with the aching sensation that rested at his cock.

no words had been exchanged, only moans as if it that was the only language you both understood— the lack of light only being laminated by the moon that fell through the windows and the computer screen. your hand strengthened its grip, foreheads pressed against one another, feeling his leg fall in between your leg in the midst of his grinds.

both of you fell in lust with the eager grinds you shared, hearing the rut of clothes being rubbed against one another, his unknowing hands, placing its purpose at your hips, gripping incredibly tight, pulling you closer at every hungered thrust, your eyes gulping the color of his.

he moved his body, you whining quietly at the empty feeling of his knee. he dropped down, leveling his face at your legs, pressing kisses starting at your ankle and to your knee, moving his lips as his tongue peaked through, letting spit form and absorb in the cloth of your pants until he reached your waist.

"may i...?” he whimpered, a smile curling at your lips, nodding with his fingers making its way to your shirt, yanking it upwards which made you gasp at the sudden movement. he continued his kiss, the cold inhale of his breath washing against your skin as he pressed his lips at the lining of your peaking underwear, running his tongue alongside it.

with a deep press of his lips, he left wet marks, pressing his face into your stomach, his head dragging all the way up your torso, inhaling the sweet smell of your detergent as well as the soap that coated your skin, until he stood once again, finding your neck, taking a bite without much warning— feeling the flesh sink between the spaces in his teeth. 'so soft', he thought, letting his lips latch and suck roughly, as he used his unoccupied hand to pull your body closer to him.

his tongue rippled and rolled against the aching bitten part of your neck, popping himself off before he pressed a kiss at the hem of your ear, "is this real?" he whispered, pressing more kisses at the side of your face. it felt prosperous, feeling his lips scatter the smooth surface of your face, neck and ear— fingers prodding the side of your waist.

"can you say it… please?” releasing a sharp gasped whisper, his nose dragging along your cheek, sighing out a moan. "say…my name... i need to hear your voice.”

"james..." you exhaled, enjoying the way he wanted nothing but your time and your attention. he made you feel sexy.. desirable, like his own drug that he was unable to let go or take control of. every touch felt purposeful, hungry… soft with a strain of roughness.

"no... louder. say it... please say it louder." his words breathless, cracking each time his voice dipped in register, letting open mouthed kisses to gently press onto your skin.

"james!" your voice rose, saying it over and over at every press of his lips you felt, his moans talking back to each time he heard his name flutter from your throat. your voice felt like it was running down his spine and settling itself right at his cock. you adored how cute he was without even knowing that you wanted to devour him— the sharp want to have him crumble in your embrace.

“fuck..” he cried sweetly, his voice breaking down in harmony. you placed your hands at his shoulders pushing him down as he obeyed your forceful action, him now on his knees.

without a thought, you pressed the bottom of your shoe at his obvious bulge, pressing your weight on it, his body shuddering with his lips ajar. “tell me…” your diction sounding breathless, feeling the outline of him through the sole of your shoe, “do you think of me… while you touch yourself.” his eyes growing, surprised and slightly worried— not as if it wasn’t telling he came at the thought of you.

he couldn’t answer, only giving a harsh swallow and swiveling hips, humping into the sole of your shoe.

“come on pretty boy… answer… i know you do it.”

“yes…” he gulped, “i do… i do. all the fucking time.” he admitted, his words flowing fast with his hips coming at the same speed.

placing your foot down on the floor, he immediately straddled, hands grabbing onto your calf for support as his hips rippled and rutted deeply into you like a horned dog. whimpers roared through the office’s enclosure. he felt dizzy, drunk within the lust that spewed between you both. it was pitiful but cute— losing all forms of self just to hump on your shoe.

grasping his jaw, he looked up at you, eyebrows knitted in pleasure as his hair bounced in movement, leaning down the gather spit, letting it fall into his opened mouth. he drank it instantaneously, nodding at the new action he had never done before. your spit tasted sweet, filling his mouth with an extended tongue in need of more.

and so you did, this time more forceful, some falling at the side of his lip, falling down his jaw and chin.

something about how he acted, the way he presented himself and the way his nervousness wore him so brightly. you could hear it his voice, in his moans, see in his eyes, face and body— nothing he had in display for you showed you otherwise. cupping the side of his face as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his cheek, making his cock jump more than it already had.

“you like that don’t you baby?”

“uh huh…” he breathed, frantically nodding, letting his eyes drape towards your lips, seeing his tongue peak through, pressing your thumb at his plush lips, dragging them loosely, until his lips would tug, allowing his teeth to peak through before leaning in closer to his until being inches apart— irregular breathing brush against your mouth, as his nose nudges gently the side of yours, kissing you roughly… wet and raw. more spit escaping, coating all over.

“can i…” he spoke in between, “can i taste you?”

and with an accepting moan, his body rose, grabbing you until you sat on his desk, the light of his computer now black and the moon being the only source of light.

opening your legs, he leaned in, his middle finger ran between your clothed, wet slit. raising his head, he looked down at you, “holy fuck… how’re you so wet? i can feel it through your pants,” he taunted, gaining a small glint of confidence.

he lifted your shirt once more, just enough to show your full stomach as he held onto your waist, pressing his lips right beneath your breast, leaving slow, teasing kisses down your body with his eyes staring right up at you. his face met up in between, spreading your thighs apart more as he let his face set right in center, pressing his nose right in the indention where his finger once was, inhaling your sweet smell before rolling his tongue over her clothed pussy. “your pussy smells so sweet.” he breathed, his fingers curling at your pants and yanking them down until you were only left with them puddled at your feet and panties hugging your waist.

his mouth latched onto your clit, slowly sucking you right over your panties, feeling your throbbing bud feather against his tongue.

sliding your panties to the side, he saw the wetness connect from your pussy lips, to your clit, running all down your slit, immediately spreading your lips apart, seeing your whole view.

“so… pretty... god i wanna fuck it with my tongue. have my tongue so deep inside you, i can feel you clench yourself. can i… can i do that?” his eyes not leaving your face, seeing the limited and minimal expression the moon’s light allowed him to see, letting his tongue run up your slit as his mouth latches on.

nothing felt more pleasurable than to see the other pleased. his fingers trembled and ached to take you all in one go, but he believed you deserved more than that, you deserved to feel it run through every inch of your body. he wanted to prove that there’s levels you could reach that’ll make you feel like ecstasy.

his body burned as if he was on fire, feeling himself twitch at every small sound that exuded from your throat. “your voice, it turns me on so fucking much...” gripping onto your thighs, his nose nudging at your clit, mouth hovering over your cunt, drawing ribbons at the entrance of your pussy. he shook his head from side to side, your sweet scent filling his airway as he felt your slick coat the sides of his lips and the tip of his nose.

his tongue plunging itself into you, feeling your cunt pulsate alongside the bud of your clit. as his tongue worked along your slit and hole, repeatedly lapping at each entrance with the flat of their tongue. your scent and flavor enveloping his entire face, like a drug, and erotic perfume that he’d gladly wear if possible. his eyes drooping into a squint, his body loosening— expect the core of his tightening abdomen from holding his breath and their increasingly hard cock. thrusting his face as he began to fuck you with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, continuing to pay close attention to your clit. pulling back, he licked his lips, gathering spit as he spat right on your cunt, followed by a little slap, rubbing with the palm of his hand against the new tingling sensation, “was that… was that too much?” he slurred, not thinking of the impact of what he had just done with the pleasured yelp you let out.

“you’re such a dirty boy…” you laughed, your hips breaking down as it planted itself more into his desk. “keep going… show me what a horny little thing like you thinks about while you touch yourself.”

drunk of you— the taste, the smell, he could feel a pit of sensation fuel right at the bottom of his abdomen. “hump my face baby, please…use me.”

with his tongue, he lifted your clitoral hood, centering his tongue right at your clit as he fluttered it as fast as his tongue allowed him too, feeling your expose bud jolt. using his other hand, he slid one finger in, curling it slightly as he slowly let it slide in and out, feeling your walls close. the sounds you let out couldn’t be controlled, admiring how he used your body like an art piece, finding his way to use every fragment of your being, getting off to your pleasure. each knuckle falling deeper, as he started to bring up his pace. so wet, you could hear it at each pump, and god did that turn him on. “listen to your pussy baby. my god you’re so wet..”

loving the feeling of your fingers that now laced in his hair, tugging at it whenever you felt so, feeling the tingle wash from down his scalp and spine, making him groan deeply against your, feeling it almost itch his own throat. his other hand pressing firmly against your stomach, rolling it up your body as he dragged the pads of his fingers down your torso, then thigh, letting them create small indentions in your smooth skin.

he watched as you squirmed as you watched how pathetically invested he looked hooked in pleasure— him yearning for this type of attention, as if he cried for it. his eyes begged and begged, his actions looking less and less sense and out of touch of reality. your hips, not having a rhythmic move to them, just rolling and humping as his face kept up with your sloppy hips.

he slide one more finger inside, curling that one as well as his others as he turned his wrist in a circular motion, almost drilling your cunt, pushing it in and out, trying to find your sweet spot. he lifted his head, letting a string of spit and slick connect from his lips and your pussy. “keep looking at me… please don’t stop.” the sting burning at his forearm— veins now prominent running from his fingers and down wrist. your pussy making the most loudest and obnoxious noise, syncing with the pacing of his hand and mouth.

his face traveled up, his face now hovering yours, paying close attention to your expression and the way you moaned for him, furrowing his eyebrows, “yeah? does it feel good right there?” he cooed, singing with your moans which filled the space that surrounded you both. he gathered spit in his mouth once more, letting it go straight into your mouth— your hand out of his hair and to his face, holding his jaw and feeling the grooves of his teeth by how hard you held it.

“god you’re so good for me.” you grunted, eyes almost rolling at the feeling of his fingers plunging at your cunt.

gritting through his teeth, “and you drive me insane…” pressing his mouth against yours once more as he started to sloppily kiss you— your slick already coating his mouth and tip of his nose, now swallowing your moans. his breathing was erratic and his demeanor changed, feeling a sense of lustful malice grow in his body.

hurriedly, you undid his pants, slipping your hand in his underwear, taking out his hot heavy cock, his body immediately reacting with his hand holding the desk beside you for support. without hesitation, you jerked his cock, finding the same speed of his plunging fingers.

shared and eager moans radiated from you both, whiny and pathetic, desperate and conjoined— the sweet sounds of your wet slick and his skin being tugged at his cock.

“don’t stop.” he strained, already feeling himself in need to release, never being one to last longer than he wished to.

spit dripping from one another’s mouths, the tension continued to rise, the familiar sensation cradling at your core as well as his. clenching around his fingers, your thighs started to close themselves, him quickly opening them as he breathed in a choked gasp.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you teased, knowing you were right where he was, his body twitching as he nodded in response, “cum for me… do it james.”

a loud groan crept as he removed your hand, replacing it with his as he jerked his cock in a speed you had never seen from another man, directing his slit right at your clit. spurts of his cum fell right at your clit, the sight being too much for you to handle— the head from it, sliding down to his fingers as he continued his hungered pumps, an orgasm ringing around it. it creamed thickly, white cuddling at his knuckles.

both of your bodies fell weak, the speed now resting slow as you tried to gather your breaths, eyes connecting as one as you recollected all the passion that infiltrated.

“my god…” you breathed, his fingers coating in your natural nectar and his cum, inhaling your womanly scent which sent waves of pleasure directly towards his cock that started to rise again. god… did he love the way your fucking pussy smelt. it didn’t compare to your handkerchief… your bed… even your used panties. his fingers slipping out as he placed them in his mouth, each finger being sucked clean. “you’re so fucking hot…”

the intensity that fueled you both was too much to comprehend. no words being able to be spoken— james blinded by the beauty and the smell of sex that fumed in the air. after all the days of him tugging his cock, the thoughts became real.

his face hovered yours, hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed gentle kisses across your lips, “can i...” he gasped in between each kiss, heavy air pushing through his nostrils as he tried desperately not to pass out from the adrenaline and the need to feel you, overwhelm you and just make you cum from his dick. “can i fuck you…? please… please… please please please please please…” his voice cracking in between.

the need that laced in your whine transmitted through the thick of his burning skin. it was hard to contain steady breathing. mine, he thought. you were all his for the night, and it signified that you were in this very moment.

lips feathering against your chin, each kiss longer than the last, with his nose nudging up into your cheek. just from the quiet sounds you let out, your consent, your ‘okay’ to put his dick inside of you made the way he felt more intense than it already had. his fingers wrapping around the start of his shaft as he started to pump himself.

“you can tell me if you want me to fuck you slow…” he continued, cupping his hand to his lips and spitting in it, making a small puddle to coat his dick. “or if you want me to fuck you fast… tell me… tell me to keep fucking you… tell me… just talk for me… please.”

his eyes jolted down as his cock angled itself right at your opening pushing himself inside. just half of what would be his tip, focused only on you. sucking in harshly at how big he was and how he wasn’t even all the way in. with his other hand cupping the side of your face and neck, his thumb rubbing gently.

“you okay baby…?” his attention still on you, analyzing each expression you gave to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you in any shape or form, pressing a long kiss at the side of your cheek beside your ear, “im going to keep going okay…? just breathe for me…”

they pushed more, his tip fully being in your cunt. his body shuttered… you were so warm, you were tight and held him so comfortably, if you wanted him to stop right there, it’d be enough for him to cum. anything for you was enough for him. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body in a way that gave you comfort and pleasure. “more?” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, pushing more of himself into you— your hot walls holding around the start of his shaft, textured and wet, with a heartbeat that almost felt as if you were sucking him in without his go.

a pornographic moan being spewed from james’ lips. the way your cunt grasped onto him, it's textured walls massaging his cock into heaven. you felt full, his dick thick— leaning towards girth— your breathing picking up in pace. you molded his cock perfectly, his hips slowly pressing himself deeper until his hole cock was enveloped in you. "goo...good boy." you tried to praise, hiccuping as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

the thrust started off slow, hiccuping almost similar to his rut against your shoe. it took a few thrusts until he finally was able to find himself— barely. each inward thrust, the desk shook, your body sliding upwards against his paperwork that scattered and crumpled.

“is this… is this okay?” his voice broken, hearing the new diction in his tone.

“faster… don’t be shy…”

you didn’t have to tell him twice, his hips momentarily stopping as he planted his feet firmly on the ground— animalistic groans combating the way his hips started to snap. each thrust, your rear puckering hole was abused by james’ balls. again and again, the loud rhythmic sound of your skin slapping. "good boy, keep fucking me. make me cum."

the tip of his dick angling in a place you were unsure about. what was this? you thought. your body was excited and you didn't know why— you didn't know how to prepare yourself. your body unable to stay still or find a place where you felt the best in stabilization, screaming his name as he finally hit that spot, your good spot.

"don't stop! don't stop! don't stop! don't—" you chanted, him hitting your g spot over and over with your pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper at each outward thrust.

"i wish i fucked you sooner, why does this feel so good?!" already having the need to cum with no intention of holding it.

you as well. you needed to cum, but you felt something new as well. the similarly feeling of you needed to 'go'.

"waitwaitwaitwait!!!" you moaned out loud, his cock slipping out with an unexpected gift being brought to both of you. you squirted. it spilling from your cunt and drenching on the both of you— your face, his work clothes and your work clothes. you had no time to react, your legs violently shook, with james hurriedly slipping in again with the same need to release centering at the opening of your cunt.

"ineeedto... i... fuhhhcking" you slurred, eyes rolling each time james pulled out, your pussy let out small spurts of your squirting cum.

"that is so fucking hot... you're so hot." james cried, tears rimming in his eyes, feeling himself having the need to cum.

one leg wrapped his waist pushing him down, rolling your hips upward even though it was all too much, but your cunt wanted more, it felt like it could cum at least one more time. grabbing your face, your lips forming a squished 'o'.

"fuck...fucking good boy." your voice fucked out.

"it feels too good… i can’t take it." he continued to wail, tears started to stream down his face. "im gonna—" he announced with one finally thrust, james let his hot load rest deep inside you.

one could say his dream was now complete, but a new question shall be asked; how will this continue? from being ‘friends’, horny individuals to fuck at work. but for now, you both continued to calm down from your high, kissing each other sweetly.

“this won’t be the last time.” you smiled triumphantly, trying to catch your breath.

a/n: i never know how to end these… but maybe there will be another part…

[hellsitegenetics]

Blast the Book of Genesis, Chapter 1 from the Bible so we can finally know what was the first creature God created.

[1:1] In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth,

[1:2] the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

[1:3] Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light.

[1:4] And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.

[1:5] God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

[1:6] And God said, "Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters."

[1:7] So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so.

[1:8] God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

[1:9] And God said, "Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear." And it was so.

[1:10] God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.

[1:11] Then God said, "Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it." And it was so.

[1:12] The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good.

[1:13] And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

[1:14] And God said, "Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years,

[1:15] and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth." And it was so.

[1:16] God made the two great lights - the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night - and the stars.

[1:17] God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth,

[1:18] to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good.

[1:19] And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

[1:20] And God said, "Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky."

[1:21] So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

[1:22] God blessed them, saying, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth."

[1:23] And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

[1:24] And God said, "Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind." And it was so.

[1:25] God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

[1:26] Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth."

[1:27] So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

[1:28] God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth."

[1:29] God said, "See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food.

[1:30] And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so.

[1:31] God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

String identified:

[1:1] t gg G cat t a a t at,

[1:2] t at a a a a c t ac t , a G t t ac t at.

[1:3] T G a, "t t gt"; a t a gt.

[1:4] A G a tat t gt a g; a G aat t gt t a.

[1:5] G ca t gt a, a t a ca gt. A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:6] A G a, "t t a t t t at, a t t aat t at t at."

[1:7] G a t a aat t at tat t t at tat a t . A t a .

[1:8] G ca t . A t a g a t a g, t c a.

[1:9] A G a, "t t at t gat tgt t ac, a t t a aa." A t a .

[1:10] G ca t a at, a t at tat gat tgt ca a. A G a tat t a g.

[1:11] T G a, "t t at t t gtat: at g , a t t at tat a t t t t." A t a .

[1:12] T at gt t gtat: at g , a t ag t t t t. A G a tat t a g.

[1:13] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:14] A G a, "t t gt t t t aat t a t gt; a t t g a a a a a a,

[1:15] a t t gt t t t g gt t at." A t a .

[1:16] G a t t gat gt - t gat gt t t a a t gt t t gt - a t ta.

[1:17] G t t t t t g gt t at,

[1:18] t t a a t gt, a t aat t gt t a. A G a tat t a g.

[1:19] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:20] A G a, "t t at g t a g cat, a t a t at ac t t ."

[1:21] G cat t gat a t a g cat tat , , t c t at a, a g . A G a tat t a g.

[1:22] G t, ag, " t a t a t at t a, a t t t at."

[1:23] A t a g a t a g, t t a.

[1:24] A G a, "t t at g t g cat : catt a cg tg a aa t at ." A t a .

[1:25] G a t aa t at , a t catt , a tg tat c t g . A G a tat t a g.

[1:26] T G a, "t a a ag, accg t ; a t t a t t a, a t t a, a t catt, a a t aa t at, a cg tg tat c t at."

[1:27] G cat a ag, t ag G cat t; a a a cat t.

[1:28] G t, a G a t t, " t a t, a t at a t; a a t t a a t t a a g tg tat t at."

[1:29] G a, ", a g at g tat t ac a t at, a t t t t; a a t .

[1:30] A t at t at, a t t a, a t tg tat c t at, tg tat a t at , a g g at ." A t a .

[1:31] G a tg tat a a, a , t a g. A t a g a t a g, t t a.

Closest match: Naumovozyma dairenensis CBS 421 chromosome 11, complete genome Common name: Budding yeast

(I could not find an image of this organism, so here is an image of Naumovozyma castellii instead.)

[lacroixqueen]

you're too pretty to kill (18+, noncon)

deadpool x fem!reader

Summary: deadpool was hired to kidnap and kill reader but reader is just too cute so it puts him in a moral dilemma

Pairing: fem!reader x deadpool

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Tags: bondage, brat, gun kink, gun play, praise kink

You loved days when you could just rollerblade around the city without so much as a care in the world. The feeling of the warm summer breeze running through your hair. Watching as the lights zipped by like dust lost in the wind. You wish you could do this forever. After all, it was your peace, your one true happy place. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Out of nowhere, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and a leather glove holding a handkerchief cover your nose and mouth. 

You tried your best to fight whoever your assailant was back, pulling on his wrist in a desperate attempt to rip it off your face. But before you knew it, you felt your vision blur and your head begin to spin. It felt like the world was melting right before your very eyes. 

Next thing you knew, you woke up to a sea of black. You could feel a piece of fabric cloaking your vision and tied securely behind your head. You tried to move your hand to hoist yourself up, only to find that both your hands were roped together behind your back. You tried to scream into the void, only to find that your mouth was sealed with a piece of tape.

“Mmfffhn!” you managed to sputter out, leaning against what felt like a cold, concrete wall. In fact, it was quite chilly wherever you were. Was it a basement? Warehouse? Regardless, you were shivering from head to toe. The tiny crop top and mini skirt you threw on this morning before going rollerblading was just not cutting it, unfortunately. 

You quickly snapped your head in the direction of what sounded like heavy footsteps and… clapping?

“Well, well, well,” a sly voice rumbled from the opposite end of the room. “Now what do we have here?” 

The unknown person gradually made his way over toward you, knelt before you, and removed your blindfold and gag. 

You looked up, only to lock eyes with what you could only describe as two white ellipses, narrowing ever so slightly amidst the shadows. Your eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness. 

“Such a shame,” your captor sighed to himself. “You’re so pretty too. As in, way prettier than most of my other victims. Normally my clients pay me big bucks to knock out assholes with beer bellies, bad breath, and a name on the registry but you.” He made a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers as if to take your photograph. “You are perfect.”

“Wh-what are you going to do with me..?” you stammered, almost too afraid to ask. You never took your eyes off of him. He was tall, lanky, even. Dressed in all red and black. You took note of the gun in his holster and the two massive swords strapped behind his back.

“Oh, nothing to write home about,” he assured, ruffling up your hair like you two were childhood best friends. “Well, I guess if you are really dying to know. Someone important wants you dead. So I guess you could say, I, being one of if not the most popular hitmen on the black market, was hired to.. Uh, what’s the word, kill you! Yeahhhh, that sounds about right.”

“I don’t understand,” you muttered to yourself. “All my life, I can’t think of a single thing I did that could possibly warrant this, I mean.. why me?”

“Oh how tragic,” Wade remarked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear while a tear slowly rolled down your cheek. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to kill someone like you? You are the literal picture perfect definition of the girl next door who wouldn’t hurt a flea. It would take a psychopath to even dream of such a thing!”

You glared at him while he carried on his little performance. “Don’t mock me.”

“Oh.” Deadpool stopped mid-sentence as he lifted up your chin with the tip of his index finger. “So it’s going to be like that, then.”

He leaned back slowly, only to gingerly remove his pistol from its holster. 

“Tell me, Y/N..” he whispered softly. “Have you ever held a gun before?”

“I.. no..” you replied, gasping as he pressed the cold barrel against your cheek. 

“Would you say you’ve ever, oh I don’t know, felt it on your skin?” he teased, dragging it across your neck and collarbone. He took notice of how you swallowed the lump in your throat nervously, and the way your lip quivered ever so slightly. 

“Or what about in your mouth..” his voice suddenly took a dark turn as he shoved the front of the handgun in between your lips, forcing it into the back of your throat. 

You felt your blood run cold. At first, it all felt like some sort of a game. Like one sick, twisted joke. But now, it suddenly became real. 

Wade was absolutely giddy, watching your soft, plump lips part open and accept the icy metal. He liked seeing how your pink tongue was forced still and how you squirmed like a helpless animal he had total control over. And the adorable little noises you made when your mouth was full. It delighted him in a way even he couldn’t explain. 

“Would you say you’ve ever.. choked on one?” he said, barely being able to contain his laughter. Without another word, he pushed the pistol even deeper, causing it to squeeze against your uvula, eliciting your gag reflex. 

“Whghnnn..” you muffled out, trying your best to mentally distance yourself as far away from this entire ordeal as possible. Your mind was racing at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. You were trying to formulate a plan, something, anything to have him show you mercy. 

“Wow, you really are so good at this,” Wade mumbled, not relenting at all as he continued to shove the gun further down your throat. “Definitely better than I thought. Hey, do you like practice or something? Because God, you are a natural! If I weren’t about to kill you right now, I’d hire you on the spot.”

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo. 

Realizing he wasn’t getting any further reaction from you, Deadpool slowly removed the pistol from your lips, watching with glee as a string of saliva connected your tongue from the tip of the barrel. 

He then proceeded to drag the side of the handgun across your chest, over your bare stomach, and finally, resting on the waistband of your skirt. 

“So.. Y/N was it?” Deadpool rambled on, as he played with the pleats of your skirt with his free hand. “Right. You know, I would say I don’t have a lot of weaknesses in this world, wouldn’t you agree? So anyways, after I got mutated and all fucked up from that bastard Francis and became who I am now, there’s very little out there that truly phases me these days. But this..”

He gestured towards your pastel pink miniskirt. “This is something else.” 

And with that, he gently lifted up the cloth with the front of his gun to reveal your lacy magenta underwear.

“A thong! Boooold,” he commented, pressing the cold metal of the barrel right up against your labia. “I was wondering if you were wearing something underneath, and this answers the question. God, that’s hot. You know what’s hotter, though? One of my best friends, Logan. There’s just something so je ne sais quoi about that beautiful man. Anyways.”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly, a wave of goosebumps cascaded over your skin, and it was like the world just stopped making sense. Why did this suddenly feel sort of.. good? Minus the incessant yapping and endless sidetracked one-sided conversation, you wanted more. More of whatever this was. 

And Wade granted your wish. He pulled the fabric of your thong to the side with his other hand and gently prodded your clit with the tip of his pistol. 

He was taken aback when you moaned softly at the sensation. 

“Oh?” he said as he raised an eyebrow.

He pressed the gun even harder onto your pink pearl, eliciting another sigh. 

“Huh. Color me impressed,” he muttered. “This entire time I thought you were fighting for your life but you are actually enjoying this? You dirty little slut! And here I thought you were prim proper little miss perfect..”

“Why.. why are you stopping?” you breathed, a splash of pink brightening up your cheeks, causing him even more of a surprise. “Just keep.. Keep going.”

And to his own dismay, he obliged. 

“How would you feel if I did this?” Wade asked, but before you could even react, he had already shoved the barrel of the gun deep into your cunt. 

You tossed your head back in response, moaning helplessly as he pushed the pistol in and out of your swollen pussy.

“Ah, ah~” you cried out, instinctively spreading your legs open to allow him even more access.

“Now that’s a good girl!” he encouraged, taking note of your subtle invitation and pushing it even harder and deeper than he did before. “Wow. You know, this has been truly enlightening, Y/N. I never in a million years would have guessed you of all people would turn out to be a freak! And you, my friend, are the freakiest of the freaks.”

“I-I am not!” you protested, gasping as you felt the cold steel pushing heartlessly against your walls. “I like normal things too.”

“Uh huh,” Wade said as he continued to fuck your insides relentlessly with his gun. “And I am a three-headed sabertooth tiger named Richard. See? We can all tell lies to ourselves! It’s fun.” 

You could feel yourself practically melting into his hands, your soul floating into the ceiling until you heard it. The click. 

“Well, it has been real Y/N,” Deadpool sighed, his index finger resting comfortably on the trigger. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell had the time of my life! Shit, if we didn’t meet under these circumstances, we absolutely would have hit it off in another reality. As in, I would have fucked you in a multitude of positions in a variety of exotic outdoor locations! Unfortunately, however, the fun and games have to come to an end somehow. I mean, wouldn’t you agree?”

You felt as if your heart was about to both break and jump out of your chest simultaneously. 

“B-but..” you tried to reason with him. Not that it was any use, of course. “I really liked this..”

“I know, babe,” Wade cooed, his free hand snaking up and gripping around your throat tightly. “But if I don’t kill you now, I probably never will because you are just too cute. And sometimes I just can’t help myself but make stupid decisions.”

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, looking up at him. 

Wade was just about to pull the trigger until you caught his eye.

“Aw, FUCK!” he shouted, immediately removing the gun from your dripping snatch. “Don’t.. don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you inquired innocently, tilting your head to the side. 

“That!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards your face. “Looking up at me with those big, stupid adorable eyes. You know I can’t help myself when you do that.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you shrugged. “Besides, I thought you had already made up your mind. You sounded pretty sure of yourself after all.”

“You know, you really are a little shit, you know that?” Deadpool fired back, placing his hands on his hips. “God, and this was supposed to be sexy and dangerous, but you totally ruined the atmosphere.”

You smiled to yourself, self-assured in your victory. “Well, does that mean you are going to let me go?”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself,” Wade responded, untying your ropes and smacking you on the ass as you stood up. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Before you walked out of the warehouse, you stood on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek over his mask. “Thank you.”

“Go, GO!” he yelled, pushing you towards the exit of the dingy building. “And don’t come back.”

And as soon as you came, you were free. The moonlight poured through the cracks of the tree branches outside and lit up your face. The door slammed behind you in a dramatic fashion. And with that, you finally felt yourself settling into another moment of peace. 

[silent-stories]

𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: lying in bed with jj, you see the bruises on his stomach.

"You know that you snore?" You ask the boy lying in your bed, next to you, one arm under the pillow and the other thrown lazily around your waist.

That morning, it's hot in your room, but it's not the unbearable hot of the days that makes you want to rip off your skin and find a place with free air conditioning, but the heat that makes you want to stay in bed late before having a cold coffee and go for a walk by the sea with your favorite person.

The sun's rays filter through the open window and in the distance you can hear the ocean waves crashing against the reef.

A soft chuckle escapes JJ's parted lips as a pair of ocean-colored eyes meet yours. "Good morning to you too." His voice is husky but his tone is clearly amused, his hair messy.

It is indeed, a good day, when you wake up in your bed with him next to you but that would be too cheesy to say so early in the morning.

You can't help but smile and before you know it he has you pushed against him and his lips are on yours.

He always tastes like weed, alcohol and the sea.

As he wrap his arm around your waist, the sheet slides off his body, revealing his bare chest and your gaze falls on the bruises on his rib cage, like it did the night before. This time, however, you can't help but observe the dark blue and purple marks on his skin for more than a few seconds.

He looks at you for a moment after breaking the kiss, noticing what caught your attention and with a huff, he drops onto the bed next to you. The matress springs make a slight creak.

"Don't." He says.

"What?"

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine." His eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

You slowly reach out, your fingertips grazing his stomach, delicately tracing the soft outlines of the bruises there.

"I fell, I-"

"Yeah. I know" You want to be mad because he persists in not opening up to you but the look into his eyes lost in the void stops you every time.

You both know you're lying and you both know the other is doing the same.

"You know you can stay here right? Whenever you want."

Your tone is soft as you ask that, turning towards him, resting your elbow on the mattress and settling your head on your hand, looking at his profile: the shape of his lips, the blue of his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the window, a few strands of blonde hair falling on his forehead.

"If... you have any kind of problem, you're welcome here. Any time of the day or night, Jay. You know that, right?"

You only realize you're still tracing imaginary patterns on his skin when you feel his fingers meet yours, his hand on his stomach to find yours and lace your fingers together.

When he finally turns his head towards you, there's a slight smile on his lips and it's not his usual sarcastic smirk or the grin he shows to John B when he is talking about Sarah or when he manages to escape from a cop. It's softer, more sincere.

"I know."

You stare into his clear eyes for a moment and decide to believe him.

You sigh, “okay.”

You don't know how much your offer means to him, you don't know that every other girl he's laid in bed with in the past never cared about a busted lip or a scratch on an arm unless it was ruining his pretty face.

You don't know that if he had been any other girl that morning he wouldn't have stayed in your bed but would have left before the sun even rose.

With you it was different. You cared. And for the first time, he cared too.

Your room wasn't like his house or even like the chateau. It was becoming his favorite place so quickly that it almost amazed him.

And you were becoming his favorite person, but that didn't surprise him that much.

It was getting impossible not to love the sound of your laughter and the way you could reassure him with a simple touch.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You smile and reach out to brush the blonde hair out of his eyes.

His hand was still holding yours.

[crguang]

lost virgins with broken wings that will regrow

You’re an ordinary person with a void in your chest. Black Swan means to fill it.

smut, afab!reader, virgin!reader, sorta stalker!black swan (im just going with canon here…) so mention of voyeurism, oral sex on both parts, fingering, overstimulation, switch!r and swan, 9.3k words and 6k of it is just smut……………

A/N: um…… i just think she’s neat.

black swan: they are such a loser, weirdo, freak, social outcast i have GOT to fuck them

It’s under low, pulsing lights and seated between intoxicated bodies, sensual music in your ears and a half-empty drink in hand, that you feel the most alone. The irony burns your throat not unlike the alcohol you’re sluggishly sipping every five minutes as you take in the sea of strangers on the dance floor of the club rhythmically moving with the beat on the speakers.

Beside you at the bar, a couple converses lowly to themselves, staring into each other’s eyes and laughing quietly like there doesn’t exist a world beyond their intimacy. To your right, friends argue over who will be the designated driver tonight and draw from actual straws provided by one of the bartenders. The unlucky one pouts and the rest cheer before enthusiastically ordering colorful cocktails from a pink haired bartender. The bass reverberates through you, inciting you to join the sweaty bodies losing themselves in the music, but the throb of your head is louder. You feel fatigue at the corner of your eyes while you swirl the clear liquid in your glass and watch its hypnotizing movement, briefly lost in it. You tune out the drunk laughter and shameless flirting happening around you and feel the familiar sensation of your heart constricting in your chest. No one is interested in your sulking, people come and go in the seats beside you, oblivious to your inner struggle. When the feeling spreads to your lungs, forcing you to breathe in the smell of alcohol and sweat, you turn on the stool to search for your friend in the crowd. You catch a glimpse of her red hair as she sways against a tall woman with dark coily hair; she seems to be having fun, occasionally giggling when the woman bends to whisper in her ear, so you sigh and rest an arm on the bar. It was an unspoken rule that if you went clubbing together, you would either leave together or make sure the other would be sober enough to walk out the door with a stranger. You’ll give her another half hour, maybe, before ruining her night by telling her you want to go home.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” a smooth, sultry voice sounds near you.

You smell her before you see her; strong traces of resins and dried fruit, like incense sticks burning through the air, easily overwhelm the different odors assaulting your nose from the variety of people around. The pleasant fragrance makes you pivot in your seat. A woman sits on the stool to your left and drums her gloved fingers on the counter thoughtfully, keen gaze already on you and a small, easy smile on her lips. They look bare in the low lighting, though you can discern a soft sheen on them that suggests she must have applied lipgloss not too long ago. Her thick, pale hair frames her cheeks and disappears down her back in two wavy parts that would undoubtedly reach the back of her thighs were she to stand upright. The purple veil over her head matches the color of her dress— you think it’s a dress, maybe a tight strapless top?— and the sort of stained glass accessory between her collarbones that connects her top to the lacy piece around her neck. Your first thought is that she looks out of place amongst the flimsy, provocative clothing everyone is flaunting. Your second is that she’s gorgeous, the kind you can’t help but stare at like a fool. Which you are currently doing. Her head tilts in question and you blink, remembering the words she’s spoken to you a moment earlier.

You suddenly feel shy under her gaze as you try to come up with a reply.

“I’m not,” you say, mentally cringing at your lack of tact. Your honesty seems to amuse her though, sunset eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Not your kind of scene, I presume?” She has to lean closer for you to hear each other over the music and you meet her halfway.

You shrug dismissively, not wanting to admit that being surrounded by people only made you feel terribly lonely. It would ruin the conversation, you’re not that socially inept for you to know that. “Not really, no. The drinks are nice, though.”

You can barely hear her hum as she replies, “And yet, here you are. What makes you suffer through such an unpleasant experience?”

You find her way of speaking a little odd. Evidently, she’s not from around here. You turn around to face the dance floor and her eyes follow the direction you point your chin towards.

“I’m here with her,” you gesture to the redhead cheekily grinding against the same woman from before. The sight is a little funny, despite your mood you’re glad that she’s enjoying herself.

“I see. A friend of yours?”

You nod and steal a glance at the woman beside you. Her posture is impeccably straight, chin resting in the palm of her hand while she leans an elbow on the counter, and she looks at you with a sense of familiarity that you can’t reciprocate. You’ve never met her before, you would have remembered. You’re not the type to be embarrassed by every little thing but her attentive stare makes you feel exposed, as if you’re standing in front of her with your flesh turned inside out and she could see the gross parts of you usually hidden from sight. You want to evade her gaze, if only to compose yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to. She pulls you in effortlessly with only a look and you lean towards her when she speaks up again.

“I realize I haven’t asked for your name.”

You tell her your name, having to speak a little louder to be heard over the music. She repeats it, trying the feel of it on her tongue, then her eyelids lower in appreciation, a knowing smile on her face.

You ask for hers in return and she offers a gentle hand after answering you. “I am Black Swan.”

Black Swan. An odd name, like her odd behavior and turns of phrases. She stands out like a sore thumb and doesn’t seem to care enough to try to blend in. Her politeness is endearing, so you grasp her hand to shake it half-jokingly. Her fingertips linger on your skin when you slowly pull away.

“What about you? Are you here alone?” You don’t see anyone else acknowledging her presence around you. Black Swan confirms your suspicions with a nod. “Ah. A party girl, then.”

Her quiet laugh is beautiful, low and velvety. It makes you suppress a smile. The music blasting through the speakers is now much more energetic and worsens your headache.

“What makes you say that?”

You shrug. “You don’t seem from here but you also look totally at ease. I thought maybe you were either the sort to adapt quickly or to love this kind of scene.”

Black Swan hums, a forefinger tracing shapes on the surface of the bar. “I suppose that assumption is not entirely incorrect. I am not a local, no.”

“Where are you from?”

“That is… a complicated question to answer.”

You raise a curious eyebrow and she pushes some hair out of her face with a hand before leaning into you, closer to your ear. You pause as her soothing scent fills your nose and you feel her breath on your cheek, words meant only for you.

“Let’s talk somewhere quieter, if you wish. We can continue our conversation without having to yell to be heard.”

You consider her offer, hesitant. Your stomach tightens at her proximity and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to keep talking to her. Her subtle charms lure you in and lower your defenses, and that is both refreshing and concerning. Black Swan feels like the kind of person you only meet once, you want to make the most of it. Not to mention that it would be stupid to deny how attractive she is. You look back at your friend in the middle of the dance floor, suddenly envious of how easy it is for her to be comfortable among the crowd. She hasn’t spared you a glance since she was approached by her dancing partner and while that doesn’t really bother you, part of you wants to prove that you’re also able to make immediate connections with strangers, that you’re not an antisocial freak who only keeps to themself.

“Okay,” you accept and look away at the pleased glint that shines in Black Swan’s eyes. “I have to warn my friend, it’ll take a second.”

You stand from the bar stool and clumsily make your way to the middle of the room, narrowly avoiding sweating limbs and their intoxicated owners. You hate the way anxiety buzzes uncomfortably in your guts as you’re closely surrounded by so many people. You make it to where your friend is, breathing heavier from the stress, and tap her shoulder to get her attention. She wears a grin as she sees you and jumps a couple times in excitement, grabbing your shoulders.

“You wanna dance?!”

“I’m leaving with someone,” you say loudly, pointing to the bar. Her eyes squint, looking in the same direction. She stands on her tiptoes to see over the heads of some clubgoers but doesn’t seem to find who you’re referring to. “Are you gonna be okay?”

She looks back at you and smiles with a quick nod. You don’t think she’s drunk, maybe just a little tipsy, because her eyes are clear and she hasn’t pulled you into an intricate dance only she knows the steps to yet.

“Have fun! Don’t worry about me! Go get laid!”

You make a face, embarrassed by the idea. She only laughs loudly and turns back to the woman she’s been with all night. You make your way back to the bar as fast as you can, eager to be away from the crowd and deafening music. Black Swan waits for you near the end of the counter and gently takes your hand in hers when you get close enough. Her gloved fingers delicately curl around your hand, an unexpectedly comforting sensation. She expertly navigates through the sea of bodies, tugging you along with a firm hand until you’re both out of the club and standing under the moonlight.

From outside, the music has dulled to a faint pulsing and you feel like you can finally breathe properly. You briefly close your eyes to take in a slow breath, inhaling the crisp summer breeze and exhaling softly through your nose. Black Swan is still holding your hand as you do, she turns to face you and observes the way your shoulders relax a little more with each calming breath. Your eyes blink open. You feel a bit sheepish under her stare but her small smile assures you that she doesn’t think any ill of you. Your hand slips from her gasp so you can wring them together.

“Do you want to walk as we talk? My place isn’t too far from here,” you realize how that sounds and falter, glancing away. “Not that we have to go.”

“I would enjoy that. Lead the way.”

You scratch your temple awkwardly. There’s a silent pause as you start to walk through the empty streets and closed businesses, almost close enough that your fingers brush with every step. You take your time, your pace measured to bask in the night air and the way the light winds blow Black Swan’s perfume towards your face. The quiet is a reprieve for your throbbing skull, you feel your headache shift to a dull pulse with every passing minute. You look up at the round moon in the sky, then remember your question from earlier, the one she had trouble answering. You start to cross a wooden bridge over a wide canal and clear your throat.

“You didn’t tell me where you were from, earlier,” you say, slowing down slightly to look at the moonlight reflecting off the still water.

“Ah, that’s right.” Black Swan trails her fingers over the railing before coming to a halt. She follows your gaze on the water and leans her forearms on the railing, seemingly lost in thought. You turn the other way, your back against the wooden bars, waiting for her to sift through her thoughts. Finally, her head turns to look at you and she asks, “Are you familiar with Memokeepers?”

You take a second to remember where you’ve heard that word before. “Memokeepers… from the Garden of Recollection, right? Beings who preserve humanity’s memories for the Remembrance.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t add anything else, only rests her cheek in the palm of her hand and gazes at you like she’s able to see past all your barriers and it only fuels her interest in you.

“…Are you saying you’re…?

“I am.”

“Oh,” you ponder the admission for a short moment. That explains why she stands out from the crowd. You think you remember that Memokeepers choose who to be seen by; you must have looked like a crazy person if no one else could see her at the bar. “I don’t think I have any memories worth preserving to attract the attention of a Memokeeper.”

“Mmm… We seek to protect humanity against the irreversibility of time. I, for one, believe there is nothing more human than loneliness, wouldn’t you agree?”

The smile that stretches her lips is a soft one, far gentler than you think you deserve. You look away from her to observe the discoloration of the wood beneath your feet. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised she knows about that considering what she is, but you feel slightly irked at the idea of somebody intruding on your mind without your knowledge or consent. Your thoughts and experiences are yours to keep, no matter what any Aeon may believe.

“I don’t appreciate you looking inside my head.”

Black Swan shakes her head. “I haven’t. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You’re just that astute, huh?”

“Or you don’t hide it as well as you think you do.”

You hum. You can feel the warmth of her stare against your face and when you meet her eyes, you feel small. It’s hard to imagine all the things she has witnessed and lived through, you are nothing compared to her time among mortals. You don’t understand why she’s here with you, who is painfully ordinary and inexperienced in most matters of life.

“I still don’t think I have anything unique to offer to the Remembrance. You’re wasting your time.”

“Collecting every aspect of life includes the mundane, not every memory worth preserving is extraordinary. Besides, I don’t believe you to be ordinary.”

“That’s a bold, but misguided, assumption.”

Black Swan chuckles lowly, straightening up to face you better. She stands slightly shorter than you, even with her heeled boots. A step brings her closer to your body, a hand loosely holding onto the railing.

“I have plenty of those,” she drawls, a little quieter, “and I don’t need to look into your memories to know that they are true.”

“You got all of this from one conversation? I doubt it.”

“Then let me presume something else.”

Your breath hitches as her fingers delicately cup your jaw like it could break under her touch. You’re unable to tear your gaze from hers and you want to shrink faced with the bright sunset colors of her eyes, there’s a knowing sheen in their depths that makes you feel vulnerable in a way you refuse to be with anyone. Her thumb moves across your skin, the gesture almost tender.

“There is an ache in you,” she says, eyelids lowering to watch the movement of her thumb near the corner of your mouth, “a profound desire that creates an immeasurable crater inside of you. You feel that this void makes you fundamentally different from your peers, so you hide behind tall walls and attempt to ignore the cries of your heart.”

Your lips part but the words get stuck in your throat. Black Swan’s smile is without malice and you feel emotion swirl in your gut, tightening the muscles and quickening your breath. A chill passes through you, raising the hair on your arms, and you don’t know if it’s from the temperature or her hold on your jaw. The smooth fabric of her glove rubs against your skin in soothing motions, the smell of incense fills your nose from her proximity, you feel bare in front of her, exposed to her judgment— it’s all too much. You take several steps back to catch your breath and she lets you go somewhat reluctantly, observing your struggle as another breath of wind makes you shiver. The temperature has dropped since you left the nightclub; though you know nights can get chilly, you thought you would be going home in your friend’s car, the same way you got there, and wouldn’t need to bring a jacket.

You rub your arms, hesitantly glancing at Black Swan. “What do you want from me?”

“Let’s get you home, shall we?” She kindly replies instead, extending a hand. “You’re freezing.”

You look at her outstretched palm with slight suspicion. She hasn’t done anything to make you believe that she’s ill-intentioned, quite the opposite, but you’re used to being careful around others. Still, she isn’t wrong. There is a gaping hole in the middle of you and it makes you incapable of letting anyone past the walls you’ve built for yourself, afraid that it would consume whoever ventured too close. You long for something you can’t bear to think about anymore, but Black Swan is… different. Somehow, she sees you for everything you are, and while that thought is uncomfortable at first, it soon develops into something deeper, desperate. You don’t know how it feels to be known. Black Swan materializes behind your defenses and gazes at you with genuine interest. Against your own practiced sense of self-preservation, you let her.

Her hand is warm as you lead the rest of the way to your apartment. A shiver runs through you occasionally and her free hand trails up your arm after each one to warm you. You try to ignore the pulsing of your heartbeat in your ears and the yearning in your gut growing with every casual touch on your skin. You don’t speak much while you walk. It doesn’t take too long to reach your apartment, maybe around twenty minutes or so. You fiddle with the keys when you stand on the doorstep of the building. The door opens with a soft click and you keep it ajar with one hand, turning to face Black Swan.

“Do you want to…”

“Yes.”

She enters the building after you, following you up the stairs to the first floor where you live. Her presence makes you a little anxious since not many people have been inside your living space and you thank the Aeons that you’re a fairly clean person before opening the door and stepping inside. There’s a gust of wind as you walk in and you realize you must have left a window open because the place is colder than usual. You discard your shoes near the entrance to slip into indoor slides, toss your keys into the bowl on the small table and scratch your temple, wondering what you’re meant to do next. You don’t play host often, so for a moment you simply stand in your living room as Black Swan looks around, trailing her fingers on framed pictures and leather chairs. You suddenly feel self-conscious about your taste in interior design but she only looks at you with a smile once she’s seen everything she needs to see.

“Uh, do you want something to drink?” You ask awkwardly, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I have wine.”

Black Swan shakes her head. “I don’t feel thirst— not that kind anyway. You’re sweet to offer.”

You don’t ask her what she means by that, thinking it might be Memokeeper related.

“You should change into something more comfortable,” she adds. “I can see you shuddering.”

It’s not a bad idea. You nod, adjusting the room’s thermostat to a higher temperature and feeling her eyes on you all the while before disappearing into a hallway. Your bedroom is warmer than the rest of the apartment. You let out a breath as you rummage through your drawers for casual clothes, hesitating between sweat shorts and sweatpants. You’re already warming up a little, so you pick the former. You change into a t-shirt and step in front of the mirror to check that you don’t look as tired as you feel. You rub the fatigue out of your eyes then pinch your skin to make you seem more awake. You fiddle with your hair a little until it looks good enough. Thinking of Black Swan in your living room causes your stomach to flutter uncharacteristically. It’s a different kind of nervousness from the one you’re familiar with, anticipation lingers in your belly and you don’t even know what it’s for.

There’s a soft knock at your door that has you pivoting towards the sound in surprise.

“Come in.”

The hinges creak as it opens and Black Swan slips her head through the opening, eyes briefly running down your figure.

“Is everything alright?” You ask.

“Of course. I wanted to check in on you.”

“Oh.”

Her attention catches you off guard still. She walks further into the room, taking note of the various tapestries and images on your bedroom walls, and you sit on the bed as you watch her. Her hands trail on the desk of your vanity, on your low dresser’s wooden surface, around the bottles of perfume you keep on it. She seems entirely at ease in your room like it was her own, her composure not faltering for a moment. Her eyes stop on a polaroid of you and the same redhead you went out with tonight that is stuck to the full length mirror on the door of your closet. She observes it for a while, a finger tracing the picture’s edges.

“When was this?” She addresses you without turning around, immersed in the sight of you doubled over with laughter while your friend stands to the side with icing all over her face, a pout on her lips. A fingertip touches your frozen form. You think maybe she can sense the emotions through the captured memory.

“About two years ago, when we were still rooming together. We used to prank each other when the other least expected it.”

“You seem… lighter, less burdened than you are now.”

She’s right, once again. It feels as though there’s nothing you can keep hidden from her, like she’s already learned you from the inside. She said she hasn’t been inside your mind but you’re not sure if you’re inclined to believe her words. How else can she accurately perceive who you are? Something takes over the uneasiness you would normally feel at being so acutely exposed to another’s gaze, something you recognize and have desperately been trying to ignore for years. The profound yearning for closeness; for fingertips in your hair, for low confessions into the night, for a synergy that can only exist between two beings completely attuned to each other— it swallows you whole and leaves you writhing in its belly. Your fingers sink into the sheets as they curl to grab a fistful of them. You look away from Black Swan to stare at a point on the other side of the room, willing your treacherous heart to be steady.

You don’t notice Black Swan watching you until she steps into your peripheral vision. She walks around your bed, heels muted on the carpet, and takes a seat beside you. Her fingertips brush your fist as her head tilts, sunset eyes dimmed. You just now realize that she doesn’t have any pupils.

“Poor thing,” her voice lowers to a sultry tone, a hand tenderly resting on your cheek, “you’re scared, aren’t you? These emotions inside of you, itching to leave the confines of your heart…” She watches your lips part when you exhale softly through your mouth. Her fingertips trace your jawline before tilting your chin up. “I can sate this hunger, if you wish.”

You swallow, staring into her appreciative gaze. “Why?”

“Why?” She repeats almost to herself. Her thumb slides up your chin to your bottom lip and follows its curve. “I’m afraid that eludes me. There is something unattainable about you, a part of you that is locked away, perhaps. I feel… inexplicably drawn to it.”

Black Swan slowly leans closer as if gaging your reaction and giving you time to react should you want to push her away. You can almost feel her breath on your lips, then she pauses to look up into your eyes, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. She seems to find what she’s looking for and when you think she’s going to kiss you, a persistent fluttering in your lower belly, her head dips to the side and her lips press against the skin of your neck. You tense as her fingers brush your curled ones on the bed, moving over your knuckles to your wrist, then up your forearm in a deliberately gentle touch. You feel her open mouth trail down your neck. Her hand leaves your face to settle on your bare knee. You let out a shuddering breath, frozen in place.

“Your pulse is racing,” she murmurs into your skin, pressing a firm kiss to your pulse point, “I can feel it.”

“What… are you doing?”

“Enjoying you.”

The hand on your knee slides higher, fingertips brushing the fabric of your shorts on your thigh. The other coaxes your muscles to relax with soft touches up and down your arm. You feel overwhelmed by her closeness and you’re unable to do anything but breathe out at the sensation of her slow kisses up your neck and to your jaw. A shiver runs down your spine and she hums in delight. The tip of her tongue tentatively darts out to lick a stripe up your jawline to your ear, causing you to inhale sharply through your mouth and drawing an amused chuckle out of her.

Black Swan pulls away slightly to take in your facial features as her hands sneak under your shirt to hold onto your waist, squeezing once. Your lashes flutter with every blink, the rise and fall of your chest quickening under her seductive touch.

“How adorable,” she mutters with a lustful sunrise in her eyes. Her hands travel over the expanse of your stomach, one of them separating from the other to trail up your back. She rubs the skin over your ribs. “I’ve barely touched you and here you are… so breathless for me.”

A meek sound escapes you at her forwardness and an appreciative gleam brightens her gaze. With her insisting hands on you and her scent all around, you feel entirely at her mercy. When she leans closer for her teeth to graze your neck, your head tilts to allow her better access. Her thumbs rub circles on your waist, enjoying its pliable curves. Your hand sinks into her long hair, messily tangling around the soft locks, and you bite your bottom lip at the low hum that follows. Black Swan finds a sensitive spot on your neck, sucks on the tender skin and your fingers grip her hair tighter at the pleasant sensation of her mouth on you. You relax against her like butter left in the sun. You can’t help the sharp exhales that leave you and with each one, her fingers dig into your sides almost possessively.

Her tongue swipes over the bruising spot at the base of your neck, soothing the dull pain caused by her teeth and earning a quiet, breathy noise from you. Black Swan smiles into your skin.

“So responsive, aren’t you?” Her voice is a sultry purr. Her touches grow bolder, lifting your shirt to pull it above your head in one smooth motion. She discards it somewhere on the bed and leans to gently bite down on your shoulder.

“Oh!”

Her palms roam over your torso, nails brushing the band of your bra. You fleetingly wish she would take off her long gloves so that you could feel her without any barriers and she seems to be thinking the same; a moment later she takes her hands from you to pull the garment off her forearms. You don’t see where they end up, nor do you care, because the feeling of her soft, unscarred palms sliding over the plane of your stomach steals your breath away. They reach your chest, squeezing your breasts over your bra as her wet kisses travel to your collarbones. Her fingertips slip under your bra, grazing your hardening nipples, and something resembling a quiet whimper escapes you.

“I wonder… How long has it been since you’ve been touched like this, mm?”

“I’ve never…”

Her lips pause near your throat. You feel her breath on your skin with every exhale.

“Is that right?”

You nod hesitantly, apprehending her response.

Black Swan pulls her mouth away from you, fingers expertly unclasping your bra to get it out of the way, and firmly pushes you further into the bed. Her gaze is hungry as she straddles your thighs and looms over you, a palm over your breast.

“No one has ever held you so close… had their hands on you like this?…”

“No.”

A possessive glint flashes in her eyes. She squeezes the flesh of your breast, the friction of your nipple brushing deliciously against her palm has you gasping out at the same time Black Swan eagerly claims your mouth. Her tongue pushes past your lips to swirl around yours and she readily swallows the soft moan you let out. You hold onto her hips while she presses breathy kiss after breathy kiss on your lips. You feel a mix of her saliva and yours at the corner of your mouth and her tongue licks it off before meeting your own once more, leaving you breathless. Two fingers pinch your erect nipple, coaxing more needy sounds from you and a low, appreciative moan on her part.

Her thumbs roll your nipples in tight circles, occasionally twisting this way and that to draw a whimper out of you, and she reluctantly separates from your lips to allow you to catch your breath. Her own chest heaves as she looks down at you, at your bruised lips and hard nipples under the pads of her fingers, arousal pooling in her belly. She is the only one privy to the sharp gasps you make, to your soft moans and quiet whimpers. Black Swan fills the void inside of you with her lustful and unrelenting touches, claiming you with her hot mouth and nimble hands. She leaves an imprint on your body with every kiss to your skin, every graze of her teeth or nails across your chest. You feel your arousal ruin your underwear, clit aching to be touched. You bring Black Swan’s mouth to yours with a hand around her neck, lips locking in desperate, messy kisses. Her hums of pleasure only turn you on more and you have to squeeze your thighs together to try and relieve the pressure between your legs.

A thin string of saliva connects your lips as she pulls away to press the flat of her tongue over your nipple. The tip teases your sensitive bud before she takes it into her mouth and sucks, hard and fast. She fondles the other breast, twisting your nipple between two warm fingers, and you can’t help a choked moan at the feeling. Pleasure courses through you in short, intense jolts down your spine, and your cunt throbs in your panties, begging for her attention.

“B-Black Swan,” you breathe out, biting your lip when she hums in satisfaction around your nipple. Her teeth graze the bud teasingly but she doesn’t bite, instead she opts for long suckles and the occasional flicks of her tongue. “Please…”

Her mouth leaves your chest and stretches into a smug smile, desire apparent in the way she gazes at the faint marks she’s left on your skin.

“What are you pleading for, darling?”

You forego timidity to focus on the burning need in your belly. Your fingers curl around her wrist and guide her hand down your stomach, over the band of your shorts. Her eyes narrow though the smile doesn’t leave her face as she lets you slip her fingers into your shorts. Her middle finger sinks between your outer lips over your panties and feels your slick through the thin fabric. You hold onto her wrist to keep her hand over your covered sex, sighing in relief.

“How rude of me,” she says lightly, finger running up and down your slit, “to neglect you like this. I was caught up in my own desire, it seems.”

Black Swan settles between your thighs. Her lips leisurely trail wet kisses down the curve of your stomach and her pussy flutters in response to the whimper that comes out of your mouth. She’s so wet already and all she’s done is kiss you. Her gaze is intense as she looks up at your brows furrowed in anticipation of her tongue on your cunt. How stunningly helpless you look under her ministrations. So sensitive, so responsive… she wants to ruin you, devour you until your thighs tremble pressed to her ears and your throat is sore from crying out her name. It sounds beautiful in your voice, even more so with unashamed desire lacing your words.

Black Swan discards your shorts without ceremony, tossing them on the floor next to the bed. Her tongue swipes over her lips at the sight of your wet panties. Her fingertips trace the edge of the material, hooking under it to watch the sticky string that connects it to your cunt as she pulls it away from you. Part of her wants to take her time ravishing you, she’s waiting this long, after all, but she also desperately wants to indulge her desires. How can she resist when you’re panting under her this way, a hand around your own breast and gazing down at her figure between your thighs?

Her hands fondle the flesh of your inner thighs, lost in the sight of your glistening cunt. Arousal slides down your pussy in slow drops, the tip of your pretty, aching clit poking out from between your lips. She almost wants to curse.

“You have no idea how long I’ve craved to have you bare before me like this,” she purrs, two fingers spreading your lips to fully appreciate your cunt, “how much I’ve wanted you.”

You exhale shakily, brows twisting for a second. “We just met…”

“Officially, perhaps.” Black Swan presses a kiss on your wet folds, tongue licking a stripe up your slit and collecting your slick. You moan, eyes squeezing shut. The taste of you makes her greedy and she has to contain herself not to lick you silly. “I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while…”

Your brain barely registers the words. Your thighs threaten to close in around her head with every flick of her tongue against your needy cunt. You pinch a nipple between your fingers as Black Swan places wet, open-mouthed kisses on your pussy and you almost forget to reply to her statement.

“What— What do you mean?” You ask breathily, hips jerking forward further into her mouth.

She laughs softly at your confused tone. Her fingers keep your lips spread wide to allow the flat of her tongue to collect more of your arousal. She feels your thighs on her ears and makes no move to stop you from squeezing them together.

“What do you think? Memokeepers are rarely eager to show themselves, and this pull I feel towards you… I had to understand it.”

You don’t know what to say. She’s admitting to stalking you while in between your thighs, tongue greedily swirling around your slick folds. She feels so good that you can’t focus on anything but the way she spreads her saliva on your pussy and swallows your arousal. You vaguely recall that this is the thirst she meant earlier, this bottomless need for more of your taste coating her lips and chin as the tip of her nose bumps against your throbbing clit.

You have trouble forming full sentences in your mind when she sucks your folds into her mouth and you don’t even care about the invasion of your privacy.

“You…” A finger teases your entrance and you whine, momentarily forgetting what you meant to say. “You’ve been following me.”

“Mmm…” Black Swan tentatively pushes the tip of her index finger into your cunt and swallows a moan as it effortlessly sinks inside you. “I needed to know who you were, what makes you tick, your unspoken desires. And after observing you for so long, committing your every heavy sigh to my memory, I could not resist meeting you myself— to touch you with my own hands and hear my name fall from your lips the way curses escape you on the brink of pleasure.”

You bring a hand to your mouth to muffle a moan, the tip of her finger brushing against a sensitive spot inside you. Her pace is steady, careful not to overwhelm you too fast or too soon, and it takes you two full minutes to understand what she’s implying. She takes your clit between her lips and sucks, long and hard.

“F-Fuck,” you whine, hips jerking forward in need. You feel your orgasm build in your lower belly and grip a fistful of the sheets under you, grinding your pussy against Black Swan’s experienced tongue. “You’ve— You’ve watched me… watched me touch myself?”

A throaty chuckle leaves her like she’s amused by how hard you’re trying to follow her sentences. She pulls away from your puffy clit for only a moment, looking up at you with unbridled desire. She drinks in the quiver of your bottom lip and the creases around your eyes, your parted lips and your hand palming the flesh of your breast. You are as beautiful under her as she imagined you to be when she would take a look around your empty bedroom, piecing together the puzzle of you with the help of your possessions.

Black Swan quickens the thrusts inside you, feeling her own cunt clench inside her shorts at the sensation of your warm walls around her digit. “How could I not? The way you fall apart under your own hands… your quiet moans as you play with yourself, oh…”

She moans into your cunt and you feel yourself gush into her mouth at the thought of her gaze on you all this time, watching you pleasure yourself and having to restrain herself from touching you, quietly suffering while she ruins her underwear. You wish you could have seen her and you wonder if she squeezed her thighs together as you played with your clit or sucked in a breath as you thumbed your nipple. She’s usually so composed, to think that your bare body can bring her to the edge of her self-control makes you so wet you’re sure you’re ruining your sheets.

“I can be a very patient person. I’ve had to restrain myself all this time, to be content simply watching you.” Black Swan circles your clit with her thumb, applying pressure on the tip as her slender finger drills into you the same way you do it when you touch yourself. The pleasure is too much and has you moaning into your forearm, uselessly trying to contain the noise due to living in an apartment building. “And… I think I deserve a reward for my patience, don’t you agree, darling?”

There’s a tightness in your stomach begging to snap; the pad of her thumb presses against your clit and the jolts of pleasure that course from your cunt to the rest of your body is heavenly, you’ve never felt more desired than with Black Swan’s uneven breaths fanning over your pussy, tongue darting out to taste you in soft, sweet kitten licks. You can’t control the tremble in your thighs and the stutter of your chest, or the hand that tangles into her pale hair to pull her closer to where you ache for her. Broken, high moans fill the room along with the wet sounds of her digit inside of you and her lips around your clit. You can’t think of anything but the pleasure that suddenly crashes over you and makes you shiver. You come hard around her finger and on her tongue, thighs squeezing against her ears and fingers tightly gripping her hair, and Black Swan laps up your cum with a rumbling hum of satisfaction. She helps you ride your orgasm by slowly massaging your walls, but her mouth doesn’t leave your cunt even as your high subsides. She licks long stripes up your slit, teases the base of your sensitive clit, then attaches her lips to your gushing entrance.

“S-Swan…” you manage to utter, back arching.

Black Swan inhales sharply at the soft sigh of her name. Her hands fondle the flesh of your inner thighs and spread them wide, keeping them pinned to the mattress. Her colorful eyes have dulled, the shine of your cum on her lips alike the lipgloss she’d applied earlier tonight. Her gaze is hungry and smug at having you shake for her, at being the first to make you come, to hear the mewls spilling from your open mouth. The thin layer of sweat on your skin gives it an intoxicating glow and she can’t resist dragging two fingers between your folds to watch your slick envelop her digits.

“You are a vision,” she drawls, unhurriedly rubbing your sensitive cunt. “Beautiful and so, so responsive to my touch…”

The pad of her thumb presses against your twitching clit and your hips jerk as you whimper, helpless under her. Black Swan hums appreciatively and gives you some reprieve, hovering over you to plant a tender kiss to your jaw. Your fingers grip the back of her neck to pull her body closer and the friction of your hard nipples on the fabric of her clothes makes you exhale audibly. She uses sticky fingers to tilt your chin upwards. Your lips part almost instantly to welcome her hot, wet mouth. It’s a softer kiss than the urgent ones from before, her lips slowly slide against yours and you feel her breath in your mouth, her firm tongue swiping over your bottom lip. Your arm sneaks around her waist, pulling her body flush on yours, earning another long hum from her. Her weight on you is a delight as she leads the pace of your mouths and your heart constricts as if squeezed between loving fingers. This is intimacy, you realize; Black Swan’s thigh between your legs and her wet digits under your chin, her tongue past your lips and the warmth of her skin on yours. You feel breathless in an entirely new way.

The ache of your pussy dulls to a soft pulse, your hands run down her sides to squeeze her waist and you’re suddenly hungry for everything she has to offer. You rub circles into her pliable flesh, your touch growing insistent as you keep her pressed against you. Black Swan moans low into your mouth when your palms slide down her body to grasp her ass. Her breathing is a touch heavier against your lips and you prop up the thigh between her legs, drawing an exquisite gasp from her.

“Need you…” you mumble, fingers slipping under top to pull at the mesh of her bodysuit over her back. It slaps her skin when you let go and the needy sound that leaves her almost makes you moan. “Off.”

“Demanding…” Black Swan sits up, lavender hair cascading down her back, and grips the material of her purple top from the bottom to pull it over her head in one smooth movement.

Your pupils dilate considerably at the sight of the intricate lace of her bra. She leans forward to capture your mouth in an eager kiss. You run your hands up her stomach and fondle her heavy breasts between your palms, enjoying their plushness. Your fingers tug on the cup of her bra to free one of them and you whine in the middle of the kiss at the feel of her hard nipple under your thumb. Black Swan leans into your touch with a quiet sigh. You harshly twist her nipple for the surprised moan that escapes her. Pulling her tight bodysuit down her waist only takes a few seconds and your hands greedily take fistfuls of her breasts and squeeze once, then twice, as your mouth chases hers, her tongue wetting your lips in a sloppy, hurried kiss.

Black Swan helps you pull her clothes past her hips and takes the rest off herself, revealing the creamy skin of her plump thighs and the dark lace of her underwear. Slick clings to the fabric in a thick, sticky string when she slides it off her legs to discard it on the floor. Two of your fingers run down her cunt, grazing her engorged clit, and she lets out a breathy moan, resting her forearms on each side of your head to support her body. She’s incredibly wet, so ready for your touch between her folds. Her entrance gushes with another wave of arousal, breath heavy, as the tip of your index teases her hole. Her forehead rests on yours, the tip of your noses brushing. You nuzzle into her at the same moment you push a finger inside her throbbing pussy, tentatively thrusting into her to feel the warmth of her walls before slipping a second digit into her.

Black Swan squeezes her eyes shut with a needy moan against your lips and her cunt clenches tight around your fingers. The slight stretch of her pussy brings her considerable relief; it’s not long before her hips follow the pace of your thrusts inside her. Her breasts move with the rest of her body, baby pink nipples grazing your chest with every roll of her hips. Her breath is hot on your face and she stutters out soft gasps as you quicken your pace, drunk on the feeling of her cunt sucking in your fingers like she never wants to let you go.

“Yes—” she gasps against your mouth, “You feel so good…”

You plunge into her up to the knuckles, determined to have her gush over your hand. Your name is a half moan past her lips and her brows twist in pleasure, the filthy, wet sound of your digits drilling into her fluttering pussy filling your bedroom in an intoxicating melody. A quiver goes through her thighs. Black Swan lifts one hand from the bed to bring it between her legs and swipe her aching clit in tight circles, low oh’s and ah’s spilling from her mouth. Together, you bring her closer to the edge. You masturbate her the way you know how, the way she’s watched you do to yourself so many times, fingers curling inside her and making her see explosions of colors behind her eyelids. She’s tempted to curse, her who never does, and she feels the coil in her belly snap as white hot pleasure washes over her. Her hand stutters on her clit and she comes around your fingers with a sharp moan, squeezing them tight and forcing you to slow down your pace, her limbs trembling over you. Her orgasm is intense, she shivers from head to toe and struggles to keep herself above you, chest leaning into yours.

Black Swan barely has a moment to catch her breath as you slip out of her and rub comforting shapes into her love handles with one hand while bringing her wrist up to your face. You take her fingers into your mouth and her eyes blink open at the sensation of your tongue swirling around her digits, sucking her clean. She gazes down at you, lips parted.

“Swan…” you breathe out around her fingers, the hint of a whimper in your words. “Want you on my face.”

Black Swan applies pressure on your tongue, making you moan. “Is that right?” Her voice is low and throaty, each word carefully enunciated despite her heavy breathing.

You nod eagerly, squeezing the dip of her hip. The thought of her plush thighs around your head, trapping you between their soft flesh as she grinds her cunt on your tongue makes your head spin. You want to bury your nose in her slick folds and have her come in your mouth until she’s too sensitive to handle your ministrations. Black Swan hums, a fondness in her lidded eyes as she takes her fingers out of your mouth. They leave a wet trail on your skin when they cup your cheek.

“So eager to please,” she says softly to herself, thumb tracing the curve of your top lip. “Alright.”

Like she was ever going to say no to the needy look in your gaze; you look up at her with twinkling admiration and she feels herself pulled to you once more.

Black Swan positions herself over your face, thick thighs on each side of your head, and your arms wrap around them to pull her closer. Her pussy glistens, puffy and pink, as she gently tangles her hand in your hair and the sight is breathtaking. The short hairs on her cunt are only slightly darker than the ones on her head, they shine with her slick and entice you further into her folds. Your tongue darts out to lick a stripe up her slit, delighting in the soft hum that follows the gesture. You’ve never done this before, but you try your best to apply theory to practice, rubbing the flat of your tongue on her cunt and collecting her tangy cum. The grip on your hair pushes you closer to her wet pussy, but she’s careful not to be too harsh.

“Just like that,” her quiet, breathy moans encourage you as you suck her pulsing clit. The drawl of her words sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your pussy. “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”

The taste of her fills your mouth, the smell of her arousal takes over your nose as it coats the tip of it, you can feel her all around and it makes you moan into her throbbing cunt. The vibrations reverberate through her pussy, pulling another long moan of your name out of her lips. She’s sensitive from her previous orgasm, already twitching against your tongue, yet her hips rolls into your mouth to chase release a second time. You stare up at her head thrown backwards in blind pleasure, at the sheen of her lips and the movement of her breasts, nipples like pretty pebbles on her chest. Sweat clings to her brows and dampens the bangs framing her cheeks. She’s a painting above you, one that you can’t tear your eyes from.

“You’re so pretty, Swan…” you mutter into her pussy, flicking your tongue on her clit, and she almost melts at the compliment.

Her hips grind into your face as she feels herself getting closer to release, gripping your hair a bit tighter to keep your mouth on her cunt.

“Oh…” Black Swan moans, two fingers closing around her nipple to pinch it softly. Her cum drips down your chin and her eyes shut in bliss.

Her orgasm comes embarrassingly fast— after having to rely for so long solely on the thoughts of you as she touched herself, hearing your muffled sounds into her pussy is enough to bring her to the brink. You’re enthusiastic, licking up her slit and between her folds, sucking her clit hard and fast, and she can’t resist bucking into your mouth as she comes on your tongue. Her body trembles and you welcome the gush of her cum in your mouth with a pleased moan, eagerly lapping up her release. Your hands tighten their hold on her thighs, keeping her flush against you while she rides her high, slightly leaning forward. Her clit twitches, her cunt throbs and she can’t believe how wet she is, cum staining her thighs and the bottom of your face.

You don’t let her pull away, gripping her tighter when her hips jerk away from your mouth, and she gasps out, the feel of your tongue pushing into her entrance quickly overwhelming her.

“Aeons—“ A moan breaks her sentence and the words get stuck in her throat as you wriggle your tongue inside her to swallow more of her cum.

Her thighs shake around your head and her eyes almost roll back into her skull at your desperate need to draw more of her needy sighs and throaty moans. Your open mouth won’t leave her pussy, sucking her lips, nose grazing her sensitive clit. Black Swan makes a pretty mess on your face and her hips greedily grind into you despite the overwhelming sensations, clutching the headboard in a tight grip.

She breathes out your name, eyes shut and brows twisting in pleasure, “Ah… Mmh—!”

You wrap your lips around her clit and suck, making her choke out a strangled moan as the hand in your hair attempts to pull you from her pussy.

“T-Too sensitive…”

Black Swan sees stars behind her eyelids, a broken whine in her throat when you relent slightly and opt to tease the base of her aching clit instead. Her stomach is so tight, orgasm rapidly approaching, and she can’t do anything but rub her cunt desperately onto the flat of your tongue. She needs to come so badly she forgets to take into account the fact that you’re having difficulty breathing with your nose in her pussy and her thighs around your head. There’s a throbbing in your skull not unlike a coming migraine, but you focus on making her feel so good her teeth sink into her bottom lip to muffle a needy cry.

With the tip of your tongue teasing her entrance, Black Swan comes hard and shakes above you as a drawn out moan of your name rips from her throat. You can’t breathe with how much she’s squeezing your head, you have to tap her thigh a couple times to get her attention and she finds the strength to pull herself from you, a tremble in her legs. You’re both panting heavily when she collapses on the bed beside you, catching your breath as the throb of your skull slowly subsides. Black Swan has the back of a hand on her eyes and you can see the quiver that runs through her with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

You bury your face in her chest and she sighs in satisfaction, absentmindedly stroking your hair as you press soft kisses to her breast.

“Was that okay?” You murmur into her skin, rubbing her waist.

Black Swan laughs, disbelief sending ripples through her abdomen. She tilts your head to face her and gazes down at you with a mix of endearment and amusement.

“It was more than okay, trust me.”

Her hand pulls you to gently kiss your lips, tasting herself on your mouth. You’re putty against her and she has no difficulty flipping you over so that your head rests on your pillows. A thumb swipes over your jawline when she separates her lips from yours. You watch the sun rise in her eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mmh?”

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!” 

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do. 

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely. 

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red. 

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?” 

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.” 

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.” 

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.” 

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole. 

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold. 

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky. 

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines. 

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand. 

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying. 

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy. 

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family. 

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening. 

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact. 

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away. 

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.” 

“The ones he plans to torture for information.” 

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising. 

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.” 

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.” 

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.  

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever. 

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour. 

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. 

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit. 

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground. 

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain. 

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.  

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.” 

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again. 

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps. 

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner. 

“Azriel?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long. 

You needed this almost as much as he did. 

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet. 

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.” 

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.” 

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home. 

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.” 

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.” 

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out. 

“You’re not?” 

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.” 

Yours. 

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that. 

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours. 

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it. 

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor. 

You stared at him in horror. 

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again. 

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp. 

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son. 

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!” 

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself. 

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick. 

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!” 

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?” 

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way… 

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong. 

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his. 

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed. 

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever. 

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame. 

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying. 

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this. 

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way. 

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl. 

“Hey there, little feather.” 

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled. 

“She left me.” 

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull. 

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?” 

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders. 

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority. 

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.” 

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had. 

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap. 

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.” 

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”  

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile. 

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.” 

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface. 

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.” 

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped. 

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

[theonottsbxtch]

AMNESIA | OP81

a/n: y'all i am so sorry. i've been sitting on this baddie for ages and i just couldn't be bothered to edit it, this is top level oscar angst. it's based off of amnesia by 5sos. SORRY.

summary: one night oscar let himself think about the one who got away

wc: 4.6k

Oscar gazed out over Monaco's glittering lights, the city sprawled before him like a velvet tapestry studded with jewels. The night lay in deceptive calm; the sea mirrored the stars in a still, silken sheet, but inside him, a tempest churned. All the luxury, all the glamour that gilded his world now felt hollow—empty without her presence. His fingers brushed the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of a city that seemed distant, belonging to another man, untroubled and free, unburdened by memories.

The places they once roamed together, the routines they’d crafted, played like a mournful melody on endless repeat. He’d passed by their café today—the quiet refuge hidden from the world’s demands, where they’d while away hours, lost in each other’s gaze. He could still catch the faint scent of fresh coffee, could almost see her across the table, her smile as warm as the dawn. Yet now, the café was just another reminder, another ghost in the shadowed gallery of what they’d been.

The memory of their last kiss lingered, a phantom warmth on his lips he couldn’t shake. He had been the one to walk away, thinking it was right, believing he needed to chase ambition. But the choice had hollowed him. Each race, each practice, each night spent alone in this lofty apartment felt empty, robbed of meaning in her absence.

Even his team had begun to notice the change—the sharpness, the fire that once defined him, had dulled, blunted by the ache lodged deep within his chest. But how could he explain it? How could he tell them it wasn’t distraction, but a haunting? That he saw her everywhere—in the empty passenger seat of his car, in the fleeting reflections of strangers, in the vast, cold expanse of a bed that was now too wide without her beside him.

Oscar clenched his eyes shut, hoping to block out the onslaught of images, the merciless surge of memories. He should have been fixed on the next race, on reclaiming his rightful place, yet his mind clung only to her—how she’d felt in his arms, how her laughter had once been the melody of his days, how he’d let it all slip away.

They’d said she was fine, her friends—moving on, happy with someone new. But the thought of her wrapped in another man's embrace twisted like a blade in his chest. Did she ever think of him? Did she lie awake at night, swallowed by the same hollow ache that now gnawed at him? Or had she truly found happiness, leaving him behind in the shadows?

He opened his eyes, gazing into the darkness beyond the window, his breath misting the glass. The city slumbered, but for Oscar, the night stretched on—a sleepless expanse, each hour chafing like a missing piece of himself. He wondered if she felt it too, this void, this yearning.

Pressing his forehead to the cold glass, he tried to silence the storm of thoughts that would not leave him be. His reflection stared back, but all he saw were the ruins of their love—cracked, scattered, yet searingly vivid in his mind. He’d tried to move forward, to focus on what lay ahead, but it was impossible when the past clung to him like a shadow he could not shake.

Sometimes, in the small hours, on nights like these when sleep eluded him, he found himself wondering if it was all some quiet fiction. If it had ever been real—how could she be at ease now? How could she smile, laugh, and carry on while he lay adrift, lost in the wreckage they’d left behind? He was the one who ended it, yes, but it made no sense—how could she be whole when he was anything but?

The memory of her leaving was burnt into his mind, sharp as a fresh wound. He could still see the tears tracing lines down her cheeks, smudging the makeup she’d so carefully applied that morning. She’d looked at him with those eyes—eyes that once overflowed with love—and told him she loved him, one last time, before stepping through the door. Her words had broken him, though he’d tried to hold steady, to let her go, thinking it was the right thing to do, for her, for himself. Only now did he realise, with an ache that sat heavy in his chest, how terribly wrong he was.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel that something precious had been left behind—something beyond recall. The dreams they’d woven together, the fragile plans they’d made for a shared tomorrow—all vanished, tossed aside as if they held no weight. But they mattered—to him, they meant everything. Every wish whispered in the dead of night, every quiet promise wrapped in the dark—they’d been the scaffolding of his life, and without them, he felt himself unravelling, thread by thread.

There were days he wished he could simply wake up with amnesia, that he could shed these small, lingering ghosts. The way it felt to drift off beside her, her warmth curled into him, the ease of knowing she was near. He longed to erase the moments that had become his prison, holding him captive in a past that no longer existed. But try as he might, he could not outrun them; they were carved deep into his soul, and the pain of them remained unyielding.

He wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. Each day was a struggle, a battle waged against the crushing weight of what he’d lost. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was for the best, that she was better off without him, the truth haunted him: he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He couldn’t stop wishing he’d done things differently, that he’d fought harder to keep his career alongside his life with her, instead of letting it all slip so easily through his fingers.

Now, all he had were memories—memories that lingered no matter how fiercely he wanted to leave them behind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, the sadness in her gaze as she walked away, the dreams they’d once shared now scattered fragments of a life that might have been. And the hardest part was knowing it had been his own undoing. He’d unravelled the best thing in his life, and now he was left alone, gathering up the broken pieces in silence.

Beside him, his phone began to buzz on the floor, its screen lighting up with a familiar name and picture: Mum. The ringing seemed louder in the stillness of the apartment, an unwelcome noise that echoed off the walls, rattling something deep inside his chest. He knew why she was calling—she’d fallen into the habit of phoning him at this hour because she knew he’d be awake. For him, it was the dead of night; for her, the garden back home would be bathed in sunlight. He loved talking to his mother, but tonight, the thought of words felt heavy, too much to bear.

He watched the phone vibrate, his thumb hovering over the screen, torn between the urge to answer and the weight of guilt that kept him frozen. It wasn’t just any call—it was his mother, the one who had stood by him through every triumph and every heartbreak, who had supported him in ways no one else ever could. But answering meant facing the truth he’d been desperately avoiding, the truth that gnawed at him in the quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts.

A minute slipped by before he finally chose to call her back.

He leaned forward, his face buried in his hands, the cool press of the bracelet she’d given him once biting into his brow. He’d turned everything into a mess, and now he sat alone, left to sort through the pieces with only his guilt and the hollow ache of knowing he’d hurt the one person who mattered most. With a trembling breath, he lifted his phone and dialled her, listening to the ring on the other end, each sound stretching the seconds to a taut and silent ache.

"Hello?" Her voice came softly through the line—gentle, patient, as if she'd been waiting, as if she knew he would find his way back. A quiet relief coloured her tone, and it twisted something deep within him.

"Hey, Mum," he managed, his voice barely a murmur. "Sorry I missed your call."

"It’s alright, love." She paused, and he could almost see her there, sitting with a slight crease of worry between her brows, waiting for him to speak, to let her in. "I just... wanted to check on you."

He forced a laugh, aiming for something light, but it fell flat, hollow. "I’m fine, really. Just… thinking, I suppose."

But she sensed it immediately—the weight in his voice, the heaviness he hadn’t managed to hide. "It’s alright if you’re not, Osc. You don’t have to pretend with me."

He swallowed, his eyes pressing shut against the sudden sting of tears. She’d always been able to see through him, to know when his heart was shadowed. "I know, Mum," he whispered, feeling his walls begin to crack. "It’s just… I- I don’t know." He stopped, the words tangling and tightening.

Her voice was soft, urging him gently. "What is it, darling?"

He opened his mouth, but the confession he’d been burying for so long felt like a lead weight on his tongue. Finally, he managed, “She seems to be doing well, Mum,” he murmured, forcing a fragile smile, one that remained unseen. “I saw some photos on her Instagram… she’s smiling, with a new lad. It appears she’s finally moved on.”

A long pause unfurled, stretching until it became almost unbearable. Oscar shifted on the floor, the weight of silence gnawing at his insides.

When his mother finally spoke, her voice, soft yet sharp, sliced through the stillness like a knife. “No, sweetheart, she’s not doing well.”

Her words struck him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, the air trapped within him as if his lungs had lost their way. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the tide of emotion threatening to engulf him.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, his voice barely escaping his lips.

A sigh escaped the line, heavy with a lilt of disappointment. “She’s just… she’s not the same anymore, Osc. She wears a brave facade, but when I look into her eyes… I see the hurt. She’s been suffering for far too long.”

Guilt, which he had desperately tried to bury for months, clawed its way to the surface, tightening around his heart like a vice. His hand trembled as it pressed to his forehead, battling to hold himself together, but the truth was a burden too great to bear.

“It’s my fault,” he choked, voice cracking. “I hurt her, Mum… I did this to her.”

Tears began to cascade down his cheeks, unbidden, and he made no move to wipe them away. Deep within, he knew that no amount of regret or self-loathing could alter the past. The girl he had loved, the one who had given him everything, lay shattered because of him. And nothing, ever, would set that right.

His breath hitched as he fought to control the tremors coursing through his body. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and relentless, and he made no effort to hide them. “I messed up, Mum. I thought I could manage it all—balance my racing and us. But I was wrong. I didn’t realise how deeply I’d hurt her until it was too late.”

His mother’s voice broke through the haze of his despair, filled with a blend of concern and compassion. “Oh, Oscar… you were so focused on your dreams. You believed that if you succeeded, everything else would fall into place. But in your pursuit, you lost sight of what truly mattered. It’s okay.”

He winced at the truth in her words, the painful reality sinking in deeper. “I thought I could make it up to her later, that she’d understand. I convinced myself it was just temporary… but now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The guilt twisted in his gut, a constant reminder of his choices. “I pushed her away. I didn’t see how much she was struggling, how lonely she felt while I was out there chasing trophies and glory. And now?” His voice cracked under the weight of his regret. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I step into the car, all I see is her face, and it breaks me.”

“She was proud of you, Osc. She wanted you to chase your dreams, but she needed you too. You can’t forget that,” his mother said gently, offering solace amidst his turmoil.

“I should have been there for her,” he sobbed, shaking his head violently, as if trying to rid himself of the haunting memories. “Instead, I just kept pushing her further away. I thought I was doing the right thing, focusing on my career. I didn’t realise that she was suffering… that I was breaking her heart.”

His mother’s voice softened, filled with empathy. “It’s okay to make mistakes, sweetheart. What matters now is what you do next. You can’t change the past, but you can strive to make things right.”

He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “But how? How do I even begin to make it right? She deserves better than what I gave her. I don’t know if she’ll even want to talk to me.”

“She might need time, but that doesn’t mean it’s over,” she replied, her tone reassuring. “If you truly care about her, you need to show her that you’re ready to listen, to support her, and to be there. It won’t be easy, but it’s worth it.”

Oscar looked up at the ceiling, wiping the remnants of tears from his cheeks. “I’ll talk to her, Mum. “

His mother’s voice came through the phone, steady and reassuring. “That’s a brave decision, Osc. But remember, you can’t expect it to go your way. She’s been hurt, and it’ll take time for her to process everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice steadier now, but tinged with uncertainty. “But I want her to see that I’m serious about changing, about being there for her this time. I just… I don’t know how to start.”

“Just be honest with her,” she advised, her tone gentle yet firm. “Let her share her feelings without interruption. If she needs to vent or express her pain, listen to her. Don’t try to fix everything in that moment. Just let her feel heard and understood.”

Oscar nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re right. I’ve spent so long focused on what I wanted to say that I forgot about what she needs to hear. She deserves that.”

“Exactly. And keep in mind, this conversation might not go the way you hope. She may still be angry or hurt, and that’s okay. It’s part of the healing process. You have to be ready for any response,” she cautioned, her voice steady and comforting.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me at all?” The thought knotted his stomach again, a fear he couldn’t shake. “What if she’s moved on for good?”

“Then you respect her decision,” his mother replied, her tone still calm. “You can’t control how she feels or what she chooses to do. All you can do is be honest about your feelings and show her that you’re committed to making things right. If it’s meant to be, it will find a way.”

He took a deep breath, the reality of the situation washing over him. “I just want her to know that I’ve changed. That I see now what really matters. I won’t let her down again.”

“Show her, don’t just tell her,” she emphasised softly. “Actions speak louder than words, darling. If she sees that you’re genuinely trying to be better, it may help rebuild that trust. But remember, trust takes time to restore.”

“I understand,” he murmured, feeling a mix of hope and trepidation. “I just wish I could fast forward to the part where everything’s okay again.”

His mother sighed, a sound heavy with experience. “Life doesn’t work that way, my love. But taking this first step, reaching out to her, is where it all begins. Just be patient with yourself and with her.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll reach out to her today. No more waiting.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, pride shining through her voice. “And whatever happens, remember that you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you every step of the way.”

Oscar took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

“Just keep your heart open, Osc. You’re strong enough to handle whatever comes next.”

When he hung up, he looked at his phone, looking for her familiar contact. He’d never removed the heart from her name.

His thumb hovered over the text button and before he could second guess himself, he texted her.

Are you up?

He’d seen that she was in England on holiday, it was two in the morning, she probably wasn’t awake.

Then his phone buzzed.

Yes.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and without thinking, he pressed the call button, the sound of the dial tone echoing in the quiet of the night. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. Finally, her sleepy voice broke through the silence.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and filled with unacknowledged tension. “Hey,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you doing?”

There was a pause, a rustling on the other end as she shifted, likely pulling the blankets tighter around her. “Why are you calling, Osc? It’s three in the morning.”

His heart warmed at the sound of the nickname, a reminder of their intimacy, but it quickly sank as he realised what was happening. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to articulate his thoughts. “I just… I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw. There was another silence, and his heart skipped a beat, fearing her response. She then spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “You can’t do that to me, Osc.”

“I know,” he rushed to say, desperation creeping into his tone. “I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that I need to talk to you. That I need you to know I care.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t just call me out of the blue and expect everything to be fine. It’s not fair.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, the weight of regret settling heavily in his chest. “I thought focusing on my racing would help us, but I see how selfish I was. I should have fought harder for us.”

There was a long silence, and he could hear her breathing unsteadily on the other end. “I’ve moved on, Oscar,” she finally said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of pain. He knew she had, but he wouldn’t tell her that. “I’m in a relationship now.”

He felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs, those words seemed like there was a finality to them. “Are you happy?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think I am,” she replied, her words soft yet resolute. “It’s been a while since you left, and I’ve built a life for myself. I’ve found someone who makes me smile.”

Oscar’s heart sank further. “And us? Did I make you happy? Can I still-?”

She took a shaky breath, and he could almost picture her struggling to hold back tears. “You don’t get to decide that now. You can’t just call me and ask me to forget everything that happened between us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with desperation. “But I didn’t call to erase the past. I just wanted you to know that I care, and I’m sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I can’t keep going back and forth,” she said, her voice trembling. “You can’t just pull me back in when it’s convenient for you. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I know it’s not fair, but please—” He stopped, the reality crashing down around him. “I just want you to be happy.”

He heard her wipe her tears through the phone, and he could hear the anguish in her voice as she spoke. “It hurts too much to think about us, Osc. I thought I could just move on, but then you call, and it all comes rushing back. You can’t do this to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his heart breaking for her. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“Do you even understand what it feels like to be in love with someone and then have them walk away?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion. “I had to put myself back together. I can’t just let you waltz back into my life and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your life,” he said, anguish threading through his words. “I just wanted a chance to make things right.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s too late for us,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled with pain. “I’ve spent too long trying to heal, and I won’t go back to that place.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, desperation creeping into his tone. “Is there no part of you that wants to try again?”

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tears. “I have to think about myself now. I deserve to be happy, and I’m finally starting to feel that way.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “I understand,” he said, his heart heavy with defeat. “I just wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said softly. “But this is where we are now.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “And what if I quit? Could we try then?”

There was a pause, a moment where he hoped for a glimmer of possibility, but her next words were like a cold splash of water. “Osc, your career wasn’t the only problem. There was more. We were just two kids in love who ignored all the signs.”

He felt the weight of her words press down on him, the truth of their shared past enveloping him like a fog. “I know I was blind to everything else. I thought racing was all that mattered, but it wasn’t. It never was.”

“It was part of it, but not the only thing,” she said softly, the pain evident in her tone. “We had our own issues—communication, trust, the way we handled our dreams. I can’t just pretend those things don’t exist because you’re ready to start over.”

“I wish I could change everything,” he said, feeling the reality of their situation wash over him. “But I can’t undo the past.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her voice heavy with finality. “And I can’t keep holding on to what might have been. I need to let go.”

The ache in his heart deepened, a hollow feeling that filled the silence between them. “I understand,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just wanted one more chance.”

“Sometimes, Osc, wanting isn’t enough,” she replied gently. “I wish you all the best. Truly. But we can’t go back.”

As the silence settled between them, Oscar felt the gravity of their words hanging heavily in the air. He took a shaky breath, gathering the strength to say what he had been holding back. “I love you,” he finally confessed, the vulnerability of his admission pouring out like a lifeline into the void.

“I hope one day you find someone who loves you the same way you love me now,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness but also warmth. “You deserve it, Osc.”

The sincerity in her words pierced him, both a comfort and a heartache all at once. “I wish it could have been us,” he said, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over anew.

“Me too,” she whispered. “But sometimes love isn’t enough. Take care of yourself, Osc.”

With that, there was a final, lingering pause before she hung up. The sound of the call ending echoed in his ears, a quiet punctuation mark on the chapter of their story that had abruptly closed.

Oscar sat there on the floor, phone still in hand, the world around him fading into a blur. He let the tears flow freely, each drop a testament to the pain and regret he felt. It was as if all the walls he had built around his heart crumbled at once, leaving him exposed and raw.

He hugged his knees to his chest, letting the sobs escape his throat uncontrollably. The quiet of the night felt suffocating, amplifying the silence left in her absence. Memories of their laughter, their shared dreams, and the warmth of her embrace flooded his mind, each thought a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

He could still hear her voice, the way it had trembled when she spoke about moving on, and the way she had wished him happiness even as she let go. It felt impossibly cruel that she had found a way to be happy without him, while he remained lost in the wake of his choices.

Hours felt like minutes as he sat there on the floor, surrounded by the darkness of his room and the echo of a love that had once felt invincible. It was hard to imagine a future where he could love someone else the way he had loved her, knowing that part of his heart would always belong to the girl who had slipped through his fingers.

But it was his fault.

And there was nothing he could do now.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @marshmummy @piastrams

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner. 

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had. 

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress. 

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded." 

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love. 

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most? 

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health. 

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides.  Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion. 

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized. 

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep. 

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters. 

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs. 

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence. 

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused. 

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did. 

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe." 

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness. 

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie. 

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet. 

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements. 

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth. 

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served. 

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging. 

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged. 

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss. 

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light. 

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost. 

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease. 

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind. 

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.” 

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XII

going forward, I will be changing a lot of events. ik GRRM HATES to see me coming. Some will be small, others will be big. I want Daenys to play a much bigger role in the Dance, and take creative liberties on stuff the show did not show us or stuff that would be in s3.

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @purple-1995 @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @littleblackcatinwonderland @pedro-pascal-love @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 i missed y'all its been almost a week

When Daenys learned that Corlys, her grandsire, was severely injured and may be on his deathbed, she was distraught. Her main concern wasn't for Corlys, she knew that since he survived such a brutal attack to his throat, he would endure well. Salt and sea, the Velayron man was. The sea did not take him that day, nor would it for many years. She did not forsee it, nor did she feel the impending doom of death when she thought of him.

The impending doom did not come from Corlys, who lie in a comatose state in Driftmark, but from Vaemond Velayron. The aura of black and blue surrounded him like a defensive shield, striking out when another got near. Never married or siring any legitimate children, Vaemond only cared for himself and his power-hungry interests.

While she resented being forced to come along to King's Landing while Rhaenyra defended Luke's claim to Driftmark, she was glad to support her brother. If anyone would make a good leader, it would be Lucerys.

She was vulnerable here, in the snakepit that was the capitol. Even in the crowd surrounding the throne, filled with the people who would testify either for or against Lucerys' claim, she felt many different eyes on her.

Alicent Hightower, her soft brown eyes hardened at the sight of Rhaenyra and her children. Every time Daenys glanced her way, even briefly, she looked down upon the younger lady with a scornful sneer. Similar looks were cast to Rhaenyra, who clutched her boys protectively. Daemon stood next to his wife, in between Daenys and Rhaenyra, respectively. An amused smile was placed on his lips during the whole precession.

Aegon Targaryen, who's gaze flitted around the room in ever-increasing boredom. Occasionally, he stared at Daenys, but with a blank look in his eyes that gave away his zoned out mind. He would rather be anywhere but here.

Helena Targaryen, who Daenys missed greatly in their time apart. Ravens had not been enough, she missed her company. Whenever Daenys met Helena's eyes, the bored look that Helena also held brightened, and she smiled across the aisle at her niece.

Aemond Targaryen, who's one eye had not left Daenys the whole time. The dark purple hue seemed to be a void of emotion, with Aemond giving away none of his feelings on his face. He had grown taller and leaner since their time in Driftmark. A true dragonrider. Daenys had only sent him one letter, apologizing profoundly for Luke's actions, sending him an embroidered eyepatch for good measure. An image of Vhagar, though condensed greatly to fit on the small black leather canvas. Aemond had never sent any letters back, to her knowledge. Perhaps he was looking at her with blame and distain, an emotion he didn't hide while looking at Daenys' brother.

Across the aisle, a ways behind Vaemond, who stood in the middle, Rhaenys stood with her ward Baela and her twin Rhaena. Through the years, Daenys had grown much closer to Rhaena since she had lived on Dragonstone with Daemon and them. They had grown to become true sisters, a strong connection between the two. Rhaena was quiet compared to her twin but grew more outgoing during her years at Dragonstone. Baela, during her ward with their grandmother, unfortunately grew distant with her sister and father unintentionally.

Rhaenys greeted Daenys with a hug and kissed the young girl's head during their walk inside the Red Keep. They exchanged many letters after Laenor's passing, bond growing from their mutual loss. Rhaenys was quite lonely, only having Baela on Driftmark for company while Corlys was out at sea for years at a time.

When Otto Hightower summoned Rhaenyra to vie for her son's claim, she began strong.

"I would start by reminding you all that twenty years ago, in this very room—"

The grand doors opened, revealing a guard who announced, "King Viserys Targaryen; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm."

The court held their breath while Viserys staggered down the aisle. Bedridden for years, Viserys had not attended court in half a decade. Daenys grimaced at the sight of her grandsire, though she refused to look away respectfully. Alicent and her father stiffened at the sight of Viserys, thinking that they had the processesion going exactly the way they planned—in their favor.

Viserys would defend his firstborn, no matter what.

Rhaenyra gave her father a grateful look, relief coming from her in waves as she stood back to her original spot. The rest of Rhaenys' and Viserys' words were tuned out to Daenys. All she cared for was the betrothal announcements between her brothers and stepsisters. The rest was useless, knowing that Viserys would establish Luke as heir to driftmark firmly and without question.

Vaemond's yell tore her from her thoughts. "Her children...are BASTARDS!" He screamed to the courts, making Luke and Jace flinch in Rhaenyra's hold.

Daenys shuffled uncomfortably next to Daemon, while he stepped subtlely in front of her. "Say it." He hissed out quietly, urging Vaemond on as he clutched Dark Sister's black pommel.

Vaemond took the bait, turning to Rhaenyra spitefully. "And she. is. a whore." Every word was enunciated strongly.

Viserys, wheezing, stood from the Iron Throne with his dagger clutched in his bony hand. "I will have your tongue for that."

A sudden 'splat!' caught everyone's attention first. Helena gasped, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tight at the bloody sight. Daemon had cut off Vaemond's head, leaving it to drop to the floor, followed by the rest of his body. Daenys held a gag at the sight and smell of fresh blood, turning her eyes away from the gore.

Aemond, across from her, finally lifted his pursed hips into a smirk, eye gleaming at he stared at Daemon.

"Seize his weapons!" Otto Hightower demanded, though Daemon was swift to clean off his sword and sheath it again.

"No need." He said as if nothing had happened.

When Viserys started to shake and wheeze again, attentions were transfixed to the King once more. "Fetch the maesters!" Alicent called out, genuine concern cracking her voice. Perhaps the once good thing about the Queen was her love for her family and husband.

Rhaenyra ushered her kids out swiftly, leaving the room behind. Passing her uncles and aunt, Daenys glanced briefly towards each one.

Aegon finally held an amused expression, looking around the room for reactions and having no concern for his father's condition.

Helena, still covering her ears and turned from Vaemond, followed after Daenys.

Aemond held her stare as she passed, though he did not move so much as a muscle.

Daenys split from her mother and grandmother, telling them she would return for supper. Supposedly, the Hightower-Targaryen family would sup all together for the first time in years after Viserys rested.

Helena led her niece to a spacious and well-lit room by the hand. The floor was littered with toys, though it still appeared clean. Daenys gasped, met with the sight of two white-haired children quietly playing together on a rug.

Helena proudly smiled, removing her other hand from her ear finally and squeezing Daenys' hand. "This is Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. I know I've written to you about them, but I wished for you to meet them, too."

Daenys nodded enthusiastically, earning the attentions of the twins below. Helena and Daenys kneeled together, quite in sync for two ladies who have spent years apart, to greet them.

Daenys introduced herself as 'Aunt Daenys' although she was technically not. Jaehaera seemed to accept the new presence immediately, holding out a wooden wolf for Daenys to take and play with her, another carving of a dragon clutched in her other chubby palm.

Jaehaerys was decidedly more shy, crawling into his mother's lap while he watched his twin and aunt play. Daenys delighted in the activity, knowing her little brothers must be lonely back at Dragonstone, only in the company of their nursemaids. Helena and her chatted through the rounds of playing while Jaehaera dug through a box of toys, inviting Jaehaerys to pick new ones with her.

Hours passed and well into the afternoon, as Helena and Daenys took turns switching off embroidery pieces to find ways to continue each other's art and add to it (their little tradition since they were both young girls). Both were saddened to hear that they were summoned for supper, eager to finish their work before the day ended. Helena's original work was a centipede, Daenys had continuted the piece by making it weave through a field of grass and flowers. Daenys' started with a blue dragon, much like Dreamfyre, and Helena added a snowy white one intertwined with it, a likeness to Morningstar.

"Perhaps I could convince mother to stay an extra few days in the Red Keep, and return on my own on dragonback." Daenys offered Helena as they walked.

She hated the Keep, but never knew how much she truly missed Helena's company until she spent time with her again. She would bear a few nights here, knowing she could avoid everyone and only spend time in the nursery. Daenys was older now, a woman grown. Surely she could handle such things better.

"I should like that," Helena murmured, arms interlaced with Daenys as they walked towards the table. It was only half-filled with members of their family. A spot was left in the very middle for Viserys, occupied on the sides of his space by Alicent and Rhaenyra.

Aemond sat at one head, while Luke and Rhaena took the opposite.

The table seemed to naturally divide by sides, though Daenys chose to sit between Helena and Aemond rather than next to Jace, lest she also be forced next to Aegon.

Alicent offered to pray before they ate, to which Viserys complied with a pleasant smile for his wife. Having never prayed at supper before, Daenys sat awkwardly as others either clasped their hands and closed their eyes, or politely looked down at their plates while Alicent prayed for Vaemond to rest in peace. Daenys had chosen the latter, though she did so in a much nicer way than Daemon did. He held in a snort at the Queen's words, holding no regret for his murder.

The first to make a toast before dinner was served was Viserys. "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. A toast to the young princes."

"Hear, hear!" Daemon was first to say in support. Perhaps he benefited the most. He would be King, then his firstborn daughter would be Queen right after through her marriage.

Goblets clinked in toast to the marriage. Many murmured their congratulations, besides the side that Daenys sat in. She felt out of place with her short cheer.

Viserys clanked his cane to the cobble floor, standing up on shaky knees while leaning against the table for assistance. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow. The faces most dear to me in all the world—yet grown so distant from each other."

He unclasped his golden half-mask, revealing a missing eye and half rotted face. Daenys struggled to hold her stare, not wanting to displease her grandsire or offend him. "My own face is no longer a handsome one. If it ever was." He jested weakly. "I wish you to see me as I am. Not as your king, but as your father. Your brother. Your husband. Your grandsire. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts." He pleaded with the people around him, earning either uncomfortable stares or bittersweet ones.

He sat with a heavy sigh, regaining his breath.

Rhaenyra toasted next, voice youthful and strong. "I wish to raise my cup to Queen Alicent. I love my father, but she has tended to him with unfailing devotion and for that she has my gratitude." She faced the queen with a reminiscent smile gracing her face.

Once Rhaenyra sat, Alicent was quick to take her turn. "I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen. To further solidify our alliance and newfound love for one another," Alicent rubbed her husband's shoulder sweetly, smiling down at him. "I wish to propose a marriage. Though Aegon is already wed, as our eldest son, Aemond's hand remains free. As does your eldest daughter's."

Daenys stiffened in her seat, meeting Aemond's eye, which remainded composed and unsurprised. Had be brought this to Alicent? Or did Alicent demand it of him?

Viserys' face lifted at the suggestion, placing his hand over Alicent's and looking to Rhaenyra. Not even bothing to look at Daenys or Aemond. "I think it would be a most wonderful idea. Daenys could live here again, and perhaps all of you could come back, too." He hinted.

Rhaenyra was still in her seat, glancing between her father, Alicent, and the two seated at the end. Daenys held a pleading look in her eyes, urging her mother to not agree immediately.

Rhaenyra nodded subtly, sending a placating smile towards the two next to her. Beside her, Daemon scowled and rolled his eyes. "That is a generous offer. I will take some time to consider it."

Alicent nodded her agreement, sitting once more. Daenys forced her heart to stop its rapid beating, knowing her mother had delayed what might become her life's misery. Daenys would not mind Aemond much, nor living with Helena again. But Alicent and Aegon were two figures she could not bear to live with, nor the court that followed their Queen so blindly.

A silence filled the room, as everyone sipped their wine to the many toasts. Aegon lifted himself from his seat with a coy smirk, flitting to the space between Baela and Jace, whispering something that Daenys was not privy to. Jace slammed his hands to the table angrily, startling its occupants. He cleared his throat lightly while Aegon sat himself back in his seat.

Aemond stood, taller than Jacaerys at full height, staring him down from across the table. A warning to Jace that woefully went ignored as the younger started to speak.

"To Prince Aegon and...Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. As men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." He raised his cup, concluding his shockingly nice speech. Daenys was surprised that he composed himself so well.

"To you as well." Aegon sighed, forced to politeness. Aemond sat, as Helena whispered beside Daenys.

"Beware the beast beneath the boards." No one else must have heard her, and if they did, they decided to ignore her. Helena didn't even seem like she realized that she spoke.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. And perhaps, Daenys, if she does choose to marry my brother." She smiled genuinely to each in turn, a breath of fresh air compared to the tense atmosphere. "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad, mostly he just ignores you—except sometimes when he's drunk." Her words were meant to be comforting to the bethrothed women, but she clearly had no affectionate experiences in her own marriage, so she could not offer such comforts.

Daenys raised her glass high to her stepsisters, following Helena's toast while Aegon melted into his seat. "Yes, to Baela and Rhaena. We will truly be sisters, soon." She grinned to them, earning raised cups back.

Viserys ordered the music to be started, and immediately Jacaerys stood to action. Daenys looked at him warily, wondering if he had meant his speech as a ploy to lower Aegon and Aemond's guard. He stood behind Daenys' seat, offering a hand to Helena. She took it, slightly confused, while he led to the dance floor from Aegon's side.

The two young aunt and nephew jumped and danced around the empty space near the table, with their parents watching on happily. Daenys watched, too, laughing and clapping at their display. Had they ever had a dinner go so well before?

Aemond stood next to her, sighing through his nose. He offered a hand out to Daenys, too. "I didn't think you would dance." She whispered to him, though did not reject his hand.

"I don't." He said simply. His hand was calloused from years of sword training, though unscarred from no real battle experience. Aemond led her past the young dancers, leading her into a more refined and graceful ballroom dance. Further from the table, they could speak lowly without worry of being overheard.

"Did you receive my letter?" Daenys started, avoiding his intense stare. Even with only one eye, he managed to share a similar look that Daemon had when looking at his niece. Possessive and controlling. He was a far cry from the sweet boy he once was.

"Just the one. All those years ago." He said, narrowing his eye down at her. "Though none of mine have been graced with an answer."

She faultered, "I was unaware that you sent any back."

Aemond pursed his lips, "of course. They must be keeping such things from you. Ever sheltered by Rhaenyra and Daemon on that rock, you remain."

Daenys, though embarrassed, knew he was right. She was quite sheltered, more than most ladies who were presenting themselves to court for suitors. But she did not need to trouble herself with such things. She didn't need a husband.

Daenys moved on, "who's idea was the marriage proposal? Last time there was one between our families, Alicent shot it down."

Aemond glanced at the table towards her family. "I did. My mother had a change of heart, perhaps. It would be beneficial to finally have a reason for our families to bridge this distance between us."

He sounded like he didn't believe his own words, like he was reading from a script.

"Indeed...though I doubt it would be so simple. Things never are between us." She sighed.

"They can be."

She scoffed lightly, looking to her mother and Alicent, who were conversing with soft smiles gracing their features. "They are in good moods now, while Viserys is here to be a deterrent. Even if we married, his death will split us apart."

"Marriage is sacred. Your husband and his children would be whom your loyalties lie with." Aemond stated.

"I would never choose a man over my family." She narrowed her eyes, pausing her practiced steps. "Is that what you want? My loyalties to be pledged to you and your family?"

He stayed silent during her barrage, only clenching his jaw as he listened.

"Or perhaps it is my dragon you want?" She challenged. "I thought you were above the manipulations of your mother and grandsire. Smarter than your dimwitted brother. I was wrong."

"Daenys—" Aemond started to speak, but she pulled her arm from his loose grasp and strided out of the dining hall. She had no reason to listen to his words. Years ago, she had sought a friend in Aemond, the one who shared in her torment. Now, she knew he was just like his mother, calculating and deceitful.

That night, as Rhaenyra and her family headed back to Dragonstone following a tiff between all of their children, Daenys did not dream of Viserys' demise. Rhaenys had stayed the night at the Red Keep alone, being locked in her guest chambers while Aegon was being crowned King. After her escape with the Red Queen Meleys, Rhaenys told Rhaenyra of the news.

Visenya was lost that day.

Daenys was unsure why she didn't see such a catastrophic event like the King's death—but for once she did not blame herself. She blamed the Hightowers and their lust for power.

🗡

Most of the day passed fairly quickly. Cregan and Daenys spent it in solitude, only each other as company. She thought of bringing Cregan back to Dragonstone and returning alone, but wished selfishly for some more time with her bethrothed before she left him. One more day together wouldn't hurt.

After their prayer with the weirwood, Daenys felt invigorated with the sunny weather the day had provided. She turned to Cregan, who eyed her excitement with mock suspicion.

"We should swim," she suggested to him, with an excited glint to her violet eyes.

"Swim? Do you mean at the God's Eye?" Cregan asked. It was the only body of water so close to Harrenhall, but she could always fly to another one of her choosing.

"Yes, I did say that I would bring you swimming one day."

"You said that you wished to." He corrected. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how, I won't be the most pleasant company."

Daenys snickered, "perhaps I might ask Davos, then. A Riverlander would most definitely enjoy a swim on a day like this one."

He gave her a scorned look, pitful grey puppy eyes downtrodden at the mention of her choosing another man over him for company.

She grabbed his hand, giggling all the while at his expression as she led him outside. "I merely jest, Cregan. You can stay on the shore and watch me." She shrugged playfully.

Cregan hummed, looking her up and down pointedly. "In your dress? We have brought no swimclothes with us."

"I have my shift, I'll make due." She brushed his concern off, lifting her skirts with her spare hand to save them from grass stains. She'd hate to dishonor the lady who previously wore them, after all.

Cregan swallowed beside her, nodding. It's not like he hadn't seen her in her shift, or less than that, but the context was different—he was too worried for her life to concern himself with such frivolous thoughts. Now, both spending their leisure time together, they were free to do as they pleased.

According to courting and bethrothal customs, unmarried men and women shouldn't be without a chaperone. However, it was much too late for either to start caring for traditions.

The walk to the God's eye was brief, though the sun shining on them had earned thin sheens of sweat and flushed faces. Daenys was eager to get into the cooling water, oblivious to Cregan's mental struggles beside her. At the shore of the massive span of water, Daenys began to rid herself of her dress, folding it neatly and placing it on a rock, along with her stockings. Left only in a sheer white shift, she stepped into the water, turning to face Cregan, who was still fully clothed and avoiding eye contact.

"You're sweating buckets, Cregan." She stated, amused at his stubbornness. "At least take your tunic off and dip your feet in. It'll help you cool off."

While ladies were made to wear uncomfortable corsets and dragging dresses, Daenys was always grateful that at least they were cooler than men's many layers. Sometimes up to five or six for a day-to-day outfit, not even mentioning the ones presentable enough for court. Jacaerys oft complained about the heat of King's Landing back when they lived at the arid Keep, though he was relieved by Dragonstone's much more appeasing climates.

Cregan, with his thicker layers meant for permanent chills, must be near passing out. Perhaps she got too excited. They could've enjoyed a nice day in Harrenhall's walls. Maybe.

He obliged when she sent him a secondary beseeching look. He shrugged off his heavy tunic, left in a much lighter cotton undershirt. It hung off his frame much looser, allowing him to acclimatize much faster. The unbuttoned 'V' shape of his neckline hung much lower than that of his tunic, revealing the smooth skin of his chest.

Daenys turned back to hide her expression from him, knowing if he saw it, he would think her uncouth. She waded through the swallow water, soaking herself with the cold water. It was a great relief for the Princess, taking away the uncomfortable sweaty stickiness from her body and replacing it with fresh, cold water. Though she'd never swam in the Riverland lake, it still brought back many fond memories of her father Laenor, a simpler time when she swam almost every sennight. Now, it had been months since she last found time to.

With the water up to her shoulders, she dunked her head in and dived under, eyes quickly adjusting to the freshwater. Unlike the saltiness sting that the ocean always gave her, the lake was much more accommodating. By the time she had emerged, silver hair clinging to her body in the same way her shift did, Cregan was sat in the grainy sand, legs dipped into the water as he watched on.

He grinned when she resurfaced. "Refreshed, my Princess?"

"It would be nicer if you joined." Daenys mused, sharing in his light mood.

"I am perfectly content watching." He avoided her offer with a placating smile. Hands resting leisurely over his knees, simply relaxing in the sun and cooling water's contrast, Cregan really did look content. His face was free of worry, and his rigidly straight posture softened.

She hummed her acknowledgment, knowing she couldn't get him to swim with her this time. One day, she would succeed. Daenys did, after all, comvince an ever-stubborn man of Stark blood to ride a dragon.

After some diving and searching for whatever pretty trinket caught her eye, Daenys dained herself to simply float on top of the water, hands rested on her belly. In one of them, clutched protectively, lie a small grey pearl. In the sunlight, it gleamed a rainbow iridescence. In the shade of her palm, it was perfectly grey. It had taken her an umpteenth amount of tries to find, which she stopped counting after the seventh try, and perhaps a hundred dud pearls that she deemed unworthy. One thing she had learned during her escapades was that she had not lost her touch for the water, still able to hold her breath for long periods of time and open her eyes easily. Still, she was no match for her father's abilities. He took to the water like a true Velayron, disappearing under its depths for minutes at a time.

Daenys wondered when she would get chances to swim up in the cold North. Only when she visited her family, once they had reclaimed the capitol? Such sacrifices were the baselines of marriage for women. She would be more fortunate than most with her dragon as an aid to travel—most women who went so far for marriage never saw their homes again. Cregan clearly held no love for the water. How could he? He was not raised being surrounded by it, instead by mountains of snow and dense woods. She did love the wood, too. The serenity and quietness.

The sun had long since left her skin kissed with light brown freckles, the time apart from lengths in the sun having long since faded her previous ones. When she felt the heat start to irritate her eyelids, she opened them and squinted toward Cregan, who lifted his head from his arms and gaze from the gently waving water to her.

Daenys outstretched an arm lazily to him, beckoning wordlessly for assistance. Perfectly capable of swimming herself the few feet she was from the shallow sand, she felt knackered from the warmth and expending activity.

Cregan chuckled at her reaching, shaking his head teasingly. "You just swam laps around the God's Eye, I'm sure you can manage a few more feet on your own."

"Can't." Daenys said simply.

He raised a brow, smiling, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm incapacitated. Cannot move." She elaborated slowly.

He nodded, even slower, leaning back on his forearms. She forced her eyes not to leave his at the movement and sudden shift of his shirt. "I guess we're stuck here, my Lady."

"Seems that way."

They were at an impasse. One waiting for the other to give up. Stubbon Stark and conquering Targaryen. Eventually, one had to cave. Daenys was confident that she could stay in place for hours, even in the sun, while he would eventually burn up and regret even taking a step from Harrenhall's stone walls.

She relaxed in the water again, rolling the grey pearl between her fingertips idly. Cregan watched on, admiring the glow the sun provided her skin It was afternoon already, they had spent almost all day outdoors. Neither complained, though, for the much-needed distraction.

Daenys was reminded of the simplicities of life that the commonfolk lived. Not the ones in King's Landing, who often were criminals or victims of criminals, working day and night with little reward. No, not them. The ones who lived far from courtly society and its selfish royals. Those who lived in small villages far from big cities, who relied on one another and loved their neighbors like family. Worked hard on their family-owned farms and shops, retiring for the afternoon in their homes and laughed with their loved ones while they feasted on breads and cheeses their neighbors traded to them for handcrafted clothes. Those are the people Daenys envied, who lived full lives and never stopped to wonder what their life might be like in another's place.

She would be very content, she thought, to live a simple life like that. With Cregan as her swordsmith husband, and her as a fisherman. Both returning home at the end of their work days to a gaggle of children running around at their feet, squaking loudly about what they had learned that day. People would come nosing their way into their house over the evening, bringing food and smiles into the house while friends and family sat together. Sara and her husband first, living right next to them. Then, Daenys' mother and Daemon, bringing young Aegon and Viserys in their arms to play with their nieces and nephews. Corlys and Rhaenys, telling tales of how their two children were out enjoying a long voyage together on the open seas. The last ones to join would be Jacaerys and Lucerys, with Baela and Rhaena respectively.

The entire family would sit and talk of their days, as they had every night before that, and retell tales that all have listened to a million times before but never interrupt the joyous expression the storyteller held while speaking. The children would all have their own table, though eventually want to be a part of the adult's conversation and squeeze themselves on top of their parent's laps. The adults, after playfully scolding their babes, would still allow it with a gentle kiss on top of fluffy heads.

The perfect life. One that none of Daenys' loved ones could ever achieve.

The sound of sloshing in the water forced Daenys to focus once more, glancing up to meet Cregan's face staring down at her. Gently, he grabbed her hands and slightly dragged her close to himself, turning her to face him. She grinned up at him, "that was fast."

"I've enjoyed the view all day. I'm not so stubborn as to scorch myself for the sake of pride." Cregan chided. With a large hand resting itself on the dip of her waist, the Lord brought her to the shallowest parts before lifting her to her feet. "Now, is the Princess still too tired to walk, or does she require assistance?"

Daenys steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, narrowly avoiding touching any bare skin on his chest, though it tempted her. His touch was hot on her waist, burning through even her wet shift. She felt breathless despite her lack of movement, forgetting to speak for a long pause of time.

"Daenys," he murmured lowly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach. She was reminded of his size—a true testiment of his ancient Stark blood. Looking down at her past his straight nose, hands large enough to engulf her midsection from the curve of her waist to her belly buttom. From behind Cregan, one might not be able to see Daenys, his broad shoulders and height a perfect sheild.

The touch made her shiver, though she brushed it off as the wet cotton clinging to her skin. "I...Yes, I can walk." She finally managed to mumble out. He smiled once more, leading her out of the water by the hand, though he noticed she switched the pearl to the other to be able to grasp his.

"What have you found, my lady sailor?" He asked, leaning down to squeeze water from his trousers and half of his shirt.

She lifted her palm for him to see the grey pearl, showing it off like a dragon would show its prized treasure. Morningstar, too, had oft stolen whatever shiny thing caught her eye during flights, bringing them to Dragonstone's pit and waiting for Daenys to come down to see it. She had her own little pile of knickknacks, though some of the smaller ones lay in Daenys' chambers. Strangely, none of the others (apart from Syrax) had the same interest in material things.

He straightened, lifting the ball to his eyeline. Daenys bit her cheek to stop her grin from getting any bigger. It was a perfect match to his own eye. She only kept the pearl for the theory, being too far from Cregan to keep bringing little pearls back and bother him with silly comparisons. She simply went off her memory, which seemed to serve her perfectly.

"It's a...?" He left space for an answer, not entirely sure of it himself. Right, she thought. He'd never left the North. They don't eat much seafood there, so there's no cause to learn about sea life besides the few species of fish that graced their waters.

"I forgot, you've never been so far down before." She hummed. "A pearl. Formed in clams or muscles—I like to keep any that catch my interest."

"I've heard of them. Used for necklaces, right?" He asked, placing the pearl in her palm again after she twisted her own skirts.

Daenys nodded. "I've made a few of my own, though I can't wear them to court. Too juvenile, my mother says. Sometimes, I can put them into my hair, but the process takes too long to make it a common accessory."

"I'd like to see that." Cregan said softly, admiring the way she scrunched her hair to attempt to dry it quicker. With the retained water, the silver hair looked a darker milky grey. It made the purple hue of her eyes stand out more, especially in the daylight.

Twisting the bottom of her skirts, Daenys laughed. "My maid won't be happy to hear that. Perhaps I'll have to teach you how to put them into braids, if you'd truly like to see it."

He handed the pearl back to her once she finished. "I would be happy to learn, if only to ease the burden of your poor maid."

Daenys picked up her dress from its place on the rock, finding it pleasently warmed. She didn't put it back on, knowing it would only get wet from her shift. She'd have to be swift when returning to her chambers, lest Davos, Simon, or any of Simon's sons see her in such a state. Cregan did the same, carrying both of their clothes bundled up under an elbow.

As they walked, Cregan spoke up. "I have been to the capitol. Once, briefly, but that visit was enough to last a lifetime."

Daenys perked up, turning to Cregan as they walked together. "I've never seen you before. Was it recent?"

He shook his head. "Actually, it was for your nameday tourney."

She groaned. "Of course. I hated those every year, but my grandsire insisted that all of his children and grandchildren got a tourney for their nameday celebrations. Starks do not typically attend tourneys, seeing as they happen so often. What made you come?"

At her complaint, he snorted briefly. "I was one and ten at the time, two years before my father passed. He insisted that I was old enough to attend court at the capitol, and it had been many years since he had attended himself—the last being to swear an oath to your mother.

I was a young, excited boy who was ill-equipped to handle the secret meanings behind Southerner's words. I took everything literally, not knowing that everyone I spoke to was insulting me to my face."

Daenys hummed sympathetically. "Yes, it is a nasty habit. Whatever could they have insulted you for?" She asked, curious.

He blushed slightly, a tinging of red dusting his ears. "My accent, my looks, whatever they saw that seemed 'different'. Back then, I was all gangly limbs and height, not yet experienced in swordtraining. They hid such distastes in compliments, something I was not aware of until I told my father, and he warned me to both speak and listen carefully in the Crownlands."

"Your looks?" She was bemused by the implication. Surely, no one would find Cregan uncomely. Even in the awkward youth years. Or his accent, a small part of her mind said. His accent was perhaps her favorite part of Cregan, it made her mind go hazy whenever he spoke more than his usual curt sentences. Another Stark trait was to not speak more than necessary.

He shrugged, "Starks have prominent genes. We've always had dark hair, straight noses, long faces, and perhaps taller frames than most men. We are not bred to be pretty, like some are."

Her mind went to the peacocking men that were born and bred in the Crownlands and the places attached to it. Of course, ladies of the realm were meant to be pretty, and if they were not, then at least they were trained to act elegantly. Though, the men were often 'pretty' too. The Hightowers, for example, were a picture of good genetics. Otto Hightower's two children, Alicent and Gwayne, were both considered beautiful with their auburn hair and dark eyes. Though Gwayne was a knight, he was sought after by many. The two must have taken after their mother Alerie since Otto looked nothing like either. The Tyrells, too, were considered blooming flowers of beauty, well-groomed and mannered.

The Targaryens, Velayrons, and Daynes all held traits that the realm agreed to be most beautiful. Whores dyed their hair silver just to be paid more, and men sought after them twice as much as a regular looking woman. Tales were written of Valyrion women, even by those who've never laid eyes on one. Songs were sung by bards, poems written by romantics, gossip spread like wildfire when another was presented to court. Daenys had heard a few about herself, to her surprise. Though the realm did not hold her in high regard, her beauty was apparently taken the opposite. A song had once called her 'The Dawn's Light' for her silver waves and lighter-than-most violet eyes. A poem called her 'The Dreamer Reborn' but moreso as a statement than a compliment. She scarsely heard any gossip since her leave from the capitol, so any other poems or songs in her name went unknown. Similar to her mother, 'The Realm's Delight' she was given such titles as a young girl. Women did not earn their titles from great accomplishments but rather their looks alone, most of the time.

The Valyrion-featured men, too, were hauntingly charming in looks just as their female counterparts were. Aemond was considered a handsome young prince before being named 'Aemond One-Eye'. Aegon, too, was conventionally handsome when his mouth was shut. Daenys was quite unsure of Daemon or Viserys' looks, seeing as they were both no longer in their prime youth at the time Daenys was born. Though she was sure her father Laenor was widely known to be a charmingly handsome man, for his sailing adventures had proven him a popular figure to men and women alike.

"Perhaps you are not pretty." She started, smirking up at him. "No Northern men could be, with their laborious lives. Handsome is more fitting, I would say. Though mayhaps other ladies can only assume a Northern man to be a brutish and unrefined beasts of men, simply because they are unused to different appearences."

Truly, Cregan was taller and broader than most, even more impressive for his young age. He would surely make most Andal men question their own masculinity, to which the Andals would turn to insults to counter their insecurities.

Cregan hummed thoughtfully, holding an almost bashful smile. "Not many southern ladies would consider a Stark 'handsome'. Especially a Velayron. None from the North have married a Valyrion." He mentioned.

"We are the first, then."

"Indeed," he took her hand in his, forgoing joining arms for the warmth of their hands. His hand, even interlaced with her own, was calloused and large. Quite like a paw, she bit back from saying. Without his leather gloves that he had to don in the cold, she felt the safety of his protection right in his palm.

"How was the tourney beside the cold welcome you received? I remember that my father Laenor fought in it, as he only cared for those dreadful tourneys when it was one of our namedays."

A part of her wished to have met him back then. Perhaps she could have made a friend, her first one that was not of her own blood.

"More boring than I expected. As a boy, I wished to be a great jouster to show off my house pride, but it wasn't at all what I expected." He said. "Also, I was quite disappointed to find that the star of the tourney was missing from the Royal Pavillion."

Daenys blushed, unable to meet his amused look. "I only stayed to watch my father's joust. I made appearances, then left when no one's eyes were on me."

"Everyone's eyes are on you, Princess." He chuckled.

She nodded slightly. "Unfortunately. That is something I dreaded during those days. Who did end up winning that tourney? I forget."

Cregan shrugged once more, "I don't know either. I didn't stay til the end."

At her confused glance, he continued. "I got bored of watching men fall from horses. So, I wondered off to explore the 'Great Red Keep' I had heard so many things about. I got lost in the halls—which are much too big for one family, in my opinion—and stumbled upon the very princess that was missing."

Daenys furrowed her brows together, trying to recall ever meeting a young Cregan Stark. "I don't think I remember speaking to you."

Cregan shook his head. "I never found the courage to approach you. But I knew who you were, even from afar. You sat at a windowsil, overlooking the crowds of people. You looked so lonely, with that wistful look in your eyes."

"Why didn't you talk to me, then?" She asked him.

"I was scared that you might think of me the same way the other young ladies did. Though you looked lonely, you also had a peaceful aura that I could not dare to disturb."

She nodded her agreement. "I have grown used to enjoying my own company. Though, I have grown to enjoy yours, more."

He squeezed her hand lightly. "You shall not be alone anymore, ever. If I have a say in it."

They reached Harrenhall at a more leisure pace than they had left with. The sun was starting to set now, and their bellies were rumbling with hunger. Daenys and Cregan jogged through the halls of Harrenhall, luckily not running into any people on the way. They shut the door to Daenys' room behind them, giggling and laughing like a pair of juveniles sneaking under their parent's noses. Cregan and Daenys politely turned while changing together, underclothes long since drying during their walk.

Daenys sat at the creaky vanity she was provided, unbothered by the water rotted wood. If it worked, it worked. At least the mirror was clean. She worked to brush through her drying hair, a plain giveaway to her activities. Her hair was famously hard to dry, her vigerous routine for her hair alone taking hours each week. Without any of the oils and soaps that she had on Dragonstone, Daenys found that her hair dulled slightly in the North, only being restored when she returned home. She hoped it would not do so again at Harrenhall. Though she did not think herself to be a vain woman, she cared for her hair greatly. It was something she had grown for years, having not cut it since her father passed.

The last haircut she had was done by her father, who taught her how to take the best care of it and always styled it despite her maids being well able to. Daenys knew she'd eventually have to trim it again, but she'd prolonged it for years already in a weak attempt to keep his every memory.

The pearl sat next to the brush while she started to plait her hair up in a braided romantic tuck, which would leave no hair cascading down her hair. If it was all so bunched up, none would notice its dampness.

Cregan sat himself on her bed, tunic placed loosely on in his idleness. There was no need to trap himself fully in his warm clothing until they needed to be presentable. His eyes never left her as she threaded expertly through her hair, seemingly zoning out as he did.

She finished as fast as she could, perhaps a little sloppy. But, she didn't wish for Cregan to be left waiting in boredom too long. Daenys stood from her stool, turning to her bethrothed. She patted her hair down slightly, brushing over it to neaten it. "Im sorry, I worked as fast as I could."

Smiling patiently, Cregan stood and took her hands from her hair, kissing her knuckles tenderly. "Don't worry. I have never seen such perfection, my beautiful Daenys."

Taken aback, Daenys found herself utterly speachless. Where had that come from?

"Thank you, Cregan." She murmured, finding only enough propriety to unconsciously respond to a compliment. My?

His smile seemed to deepen at her pause, taking her by the same hand he kissed and leading her outside of the room. "Let's have our supper, I'm sure the other guests of Harrenhall are wondering where we are."

Daenys nodded, following at his side to the dining room. The halls had started to become familiar to Daenys, even though it had only been barely two days since they arrived. Around the table already sat the majority of Harrenhall's residents. Simon, of course, and his small family, who mostly stayed quiet as mice. Davos, who sat slouched back in his seat, spinning his utensil upon the table with a frustrated expression. Daemon, too, though he looked drowsy still. Slightly faraway, like he was in a permanent waking dream.

As Daenys passed him, he glanced up at her. His eyes cleared slightly, a nearly horrified look on his face. "Rhaenyra?" He asked, sitting up in his seat.

Daenys exchanged a glance with Cregan, staring down at her stepfather afterwards. "Rhaenyra is still at Dragonstone." She said carefully.

In their shared native tongue, Daenys could speak without giving anything away to the others in the room, who stared at them in bemusement.

Daemon squinted at her for a few more seconds, sitting back into his seat once more and blinking harshly. He nodded, saying nothing else.

Daenys needed to visit Alys again. Perhaps she would know something about Daemon's strange behavior. Or perhaps she was the reason for it. The tea was something she did not partake in and would not attempt to now that she saw Daemon's weariness. But, she would not yet point any fingers until she confronted the woman.

Daenys sat herself between Davos and Cregan, prepared to soothe the impaitients and frustration that she knew Davos was experiencing.

"It has been a full day, Your Grace." Davos shifted in his seat, restless. "I have not heard word of what you intend to do for my father in terms of the Bracken's treason."

Daemon rubbed at his temples. "I will fly out on Caraxes tomorrow. No later than noon. I sent a raven to Lord Willem already, he and the Bracken Lord will meet me in a sectioned place of my choosing."

"Are we to be privvy of this meeting? Or must it be held in such secrecy? Davos asked. Daenys agreed with him. Who knows what the combined tempers Willem and Daemon will bring together. Though she would not say that in front of Willem's own son.

"I will act alone." Daemon glanced at her. "As I have since I arrived in Harrenhall."

"What great that has done us." Daenys muttered. "We seem to be at the verge of turning swords against us rather than rallying them together."

"I will not sugarcoat my demands for a child, this is war." He spat back.

"Telling a boy to kill his grandsire for the sake of expediting his own control is certainly no way to gain loyalty." Daenys sipped her wine, not feeling a heavy appetite when no one else was eating besides Simon's sons.

Davos looked at her bewilderedly as if to ask if he really said that. Daenys smiled into her cup shortly, wiping it off her face before she set the cup down.

"What do you intend to do with the Brackens?" She continued.

"You need not concern yourself with my business. It will be delt with accordingly."

Daenys sighed quietly. "At least answer me this. Will you recruit or burn the Brackens?"

The room silented further. Daemon stared between Davos and Daenys.

"I will do what I must to obtain the best men for our Queen's cause." Was his answer. "While I fly out on Caraxes, you should pay a visit to the Tullys. To...ascertain their Lord's condition. Perhaps things have changed."

"Since the day before?" She scoffed.

Daemon gave her a harsh look. "We do not have time to wait for an old and withered fool to die in order to get the Tully bannermen."

"We certainly had time to wait for Viserys to die." Though her words were unnecessarily cruel, especially towards Viserys' own brother, Daenys couldn't find it in her to care. She was never close with her grandsire, but scorned the way his own closest kin abandoned him to the Hightower snakes' clutches.

"Watch your tongue." Daemon leaned forward in his seat.

"I would not let war change me."

"You've not seen war yet, daughter."

Daemon often called her that. Something he did not share with her brothers when he merely referred to them by their names. It frustrated Daenys, knowing he had no right to call her his daughter when he appeared so suddenly in her life. She was nothing like her stepfather. He was the last man who could be her father.

He's the one who got rid of Laenor. Manipulated Rhaenyra into sending the father of her four eldest children away. Daemon, alone, was the reason she mourned her father for years. Rhaenyra would never have done such a thing to her children if her uncle was not so cunning.

"I will not." She said finally. There was no room for argument in her tone. "Tomorrow, I will deliver the Master of War to the Queen's council, then return to Harrenhall and await the news you bring."

"Fine. Sit idly here as the council and I make moves to take back the throne. It is not like you'd be much use at Dragonstone, either." Daemon leaned forward in his seat, closer to the faces across from him before taking his leave to his chambers.

Seething, Daenys chose not to make a scene in front of the other occupants in the room. Instead, she quickly turned to Davos. "I hope to see you returning to your family soon, Ser Davos. I hate to see you stuck here for menial reasons, I think your father and Daemon will work something out with the Brackens on the morrow."

Davos smiled weakly. "It's only been a day and I feel my mind melting with the idleness. I wish to be on the battlefield, marching with my Aunt Alysanne."

She nodded. "I understand. We share that sentiment, at least."

Dinner passed by quickly, with Simon taking hold of the conversation and switching it to a more appropriate topic. Tension did not leave the air all night, however. When Daenys big goodnight to Davos, Simon, and the rest, she allowed Cregan to lead her to her chambers.

A distant feeling nagged at the back of Daenys' mind, as if warning her something would happen soon. It was a miserable impending feeling that she could not answer. "Goodnight, Cregan." She said before he could stop to check on her, knowing that look on his face meant he was worried for her.

She settled into her sheets, knowing that a dream was awaiting her. It was best to get it over with, to see it, and wake up again to be able to prepare for whatever would happen.

Daenys was correct. She had begun to get better at predicting when she would dream. This time, she was landlocked on a rolling grassy hill, watching hundreds of soldiers holding up Green Targaryen banners marching towards an unknown destination. Greenery surrounded her on all sides, through forests and healthy grass. She followed after the leagues of men, who did not see her, and mapped out every possible landmark in her mind. Eventually, the men reached a treeline where they stopped. For cover, most likely.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view.

Daenys spotted a large castle nearby, the destination that the men must have in mind. Behind her, more men rolled up with large crossbows that had to be dragged with multiple horses. The arrows they held were almost as tall as Daenys. Men from the castle were sent out to defend their home, a meager number compared to the ones marching upon them. But, like any loyal knights, they would all die protecting their Lord and his house.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view. Men did not need to kill other men with five-foot-long arrows. She saw Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Gwayne Hightower, and she knew. They were waiting for a dragon.

🗡

Daenys shot out of bed quickly, finding no time to dress herself in the dress laid out for her. It was just after dawn, the sun was already peaking out over Daenys' bed through the windows and cracks in the roof.

She rushed out to the dining hall, where Davos was whispering hushedly to Ser Simon. "Simon, Davos!" Daenys commanded their attention, making them both swing around on the balls of their feet to see their panicked Princess.

In her white shift, completely inappropriate for wandering strange halls, she earned stares with differing looks. Simon, with concern that only a father could hold, and Davos with a hand at his sword's pommel, ready to defend his Princess if need be.

"Princess?" Simon asked.

"In the Riverlands—What castle holds a tower slightly higher than the rest with a sphere on top?" She panted out. "Forests and grassy hills around it, it is slightly smaller than Harrenhall in size but longer."

The two glanced at each other, Davos answering first. "That sounds like Rook's Rest. It is right between us and Dragonstone. May I ask why, my Lady?"

Of course. Rook's Rest, a perfect spot for the Green's to take and cut off Dragonstone from the land.

"I must go. See to it that Cregan Stark stays here while I am gone, Ser Simon."

"But, Princess—!" She didn't stay, running off to Daemon's chambers.

She pushed at the doors, grunting when she was met with resistance. A clanging was heard, she knew he must have barred the doors with something. She continued to push and pull aggressively at the doors, eventually making the protective bar he put up fall to the ground. By the time she yanked them open, Daemon stood in front of the doors with a sword held high to her face.

"Daemon," She started, gritting her teeth. "You must come with me. We will ride to Rook's Rest, where an amush has been laid for Rhaenyra's dragons."

Daemon did not lower his sword, stuck in that same hazy mindspace that she had seen him in before. "Begone, witch. I will hear no more of this."

"Daemon!" She pleaded, stepping closer. "I need you, now. I don't know who is waiting or who Rhaenyra is sending. What if it is Baela, or Jace? Their dragons are too small and young to fight like ours—Come on!"

Daemon scowled at her, as if he were looking right past her. He stepped forward, too, til his Valyrion steel blade was touching her neck. "You are not Rhaenyra." He said, convincing himself that he was merely dreaming.

She swallowed harshly, shaking her head. She had no time to wait for him to find his own mind. Daenys would not be his mother, she couldn't stand idle as a dragon and its rider unknowingly flew to its own death.

She stepped away, nodding. "If I do not return, Daemon, you can tell your wife that you have doomed me."

In her own chambers, she hastily put on the dress that was laid out for her. A pale grey, resembling a misty morning like the one that graced the Riverlands this morning. It would be harder to see today, Daenys knew, she must be vigilant to guide Morningstar.

Morningstar flew with a vigor, right below the cloudbanks, to be able to see everything. It was a fast flight to Rook's Rest, passing over mountains of green trees before the fields opened up to the plains that the castle stood on. Below, men were fighting already. Shouts were heard from below as Morningstar crossed Cole's forces towards Rook's Rest, where she circled briefly.

She ran outside, calling Morningstar to her at the door. Caraxes followed, though only roared frustratedly as he knew he could not fly with them. They sensed her urgency and fear. On top of Morningstar, Daenys could see Cregan start to race outside, barely dressed himself. He shouted after her only when she shouted her command. Daenys glanced back at him apologetically, knowing he would advise against such reckless actions. She would not let herself be stopped, not this time. She waited too long for Jaehaerys and was only a minute too late to save the boy.

She tried to ignore the helpless look on Cregan's face as she turned away.

There.

It was Rhaenys and Meleys, coming from across the sea to defend Lord Staunton's keep. A breath of relief left Daenys, knowing that her mother had sent the most capable fighter she had available. "Grandmother!" She shouted over the men below, grinning at the sight of the Red Queen. Selfishly, she was glad it was not Jacaerys or Baela.

Rhaenys did not share her joy, instead falling into place beside Morningstar with a worried shout of her own. "Go back, Daenys! This is not your battle!"

In her grand dragonscale and steel armor, she looked just like a Queen. Her commanding presence solidified it even more so. "It is a trap, Rhaenys, I cannot leave you to face a dragon alone," Daenys told her stubbornly. She would not leave Rhaenys, there was no argument about it.

Rhaenys stared long and hard at her granddaughter, an image of herself and her niece. Finally, she nodded curtly in acceptance. It was futile to argue with the young Targaryen.

Together, they spun their dragons around to hover right over the plains. Dragonfire spit out from Meleys and Morningstar both, showering over the enemies in a display of glowing orange and blue. Screams of agony were heard as the fire spread from man to man, no steel armor able to save them from flames so hot.

Daenys cringed at the sounds and the smells. She was killing men by the hundreds, perhaps, it was uncountable over the distance and flames. Only weeks ago, she had wondered if she would be able to use fire against her enemies in such a violent way, now she was doing it without question or mercy.

They did not deserve mercy, but Daenys did not wish to kill. She held in gags at the overstimulating sounds and smells around her, staying firm and strong as Rhaenys was. Her grandmother did not flinch nor faulter, a confident Princess with her experienced dragon, a bond that could never be broken.

Repeatingly, the two dragons lifted and found new targets on any men who dared to still be out in the fields, and any who were too slow to retreat into the woods. When Daenys noticed a steady march of the majority of the men creeping out from their cover, she lifted her gaze to the skies. In the distance, a dragon was flying toward them at top speed from the direction of the capitol.

She squinted, meeting Meleys' turnaround from above the water. "It's Sunfyre!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who silently nodded and ordered Meleys to meet The Golden.

"Angōs, Meleys." She commanded her dragon with a fierce determination. The red dragoness roared in response, speeding up to meet the usurper. Morningstar, perfectly meeting her stride, trilled with excitement.

They were mere yards apart when Daenys heard, "Dracarys!" From Aegon. Immediately, Sunfyre spit his own orange dragonfire at the two. Meleys swooped down, taking the fire to her advantage, knowing it blinded Aegon momentarily. Morningstar flew up sharply, turning to follow behind Sunfyre. That fool.

In the midst of his confusion, Aegon turned his head every which way to locate his enemy counterparts, yelping when Sunfrye was grasped from below by Meleys. The Red Queen dug her sharp talons into the younger dragon's chest, digging deep gouges right through the scales. She tossed Sunfyre down, watching him fumble to steady himself.

Daenys found herself at an impasse. Sunfyre was too small to tagteam in a way that would leave Morningstar's ally unharmed. If either shot fire, they would risk hurting each other and not Aegon. Sunfyre managed to right himself, flying just over the grass and spraying buckets of boiling hot blood on Aegon's own men.

Sunfyre whined in pain the entire ascent back into the air. Daenys felt sympathy for the poor thing. It was only doing as he was bid by his rider. Meleys didn't let him get far, biting at Sunfyre's wing in the air and dragging him across. Morningstar finally took the opportunity to join, Daenys noting that bites and scratches were much easier to aim than fire. Her dragon latched onto the other wing's thin membrane, leaving Sunfyre unable to fly himself and instead hang lamely between the two beasts.

Sunfyre managed to angle his neck wildly, hanging on to Meleys' horn with his jaw. He tore it clean off of the dragoness, throwing it down to the ground. A deep grumble caught Daenys' attention as Morningstar let go of the bloodied and ripped wing. "It's Vhagar!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who turned to see the great behemoth approaching with Aemond.

"Thank the Gods!" Aegon shouted in relief, even as Meleys held Sunfrye's neck in a fearsome grip.

Morningstar sharply flew up to get out of the line of fire, howling out for Meleys to follow her.

A shout was heard from Aemond, though Daenys could not decipher it over the sounds of growls and wings flapping. Fire shot from Vhagar indiscriminately, shooting right at Aegon.

Was Rhaenys even the target for that? Daenys thought to herself, horrified at the sight below her. Sunfyre's ripped wings both caught fire, the blood exposing the insides enough to be lacking shield as they usually would. Rhaenys swiftly met Morningstar in the higher skies, watching with Daenys as the rider and dragon fell to the trees.

Vhagar continued on, Aemond not attempting to check on his older brother.

Meleys and Morningstar flew side by side, both riders turned to assess the situation. Panting, they worked to catch their breath. Daenys pet Morningstar's neck, checking her for injuries. Luckily, she went unharmed from her brief fight with the smaller dragon. Meleys had sustained few injuries, too, bar from the missing horn.

"Grandmother, we can keep going to Dragonstone. Or Harrenhall, even! Vhagar is thrice our size, we should get Caraxes and Daemon."

Her words seemed to go through one ear and out the other to her grandmother. Rhaenys sat straight and proud, ever a picture of grace even in battle. "I will not be leaving this battle, Daenys." She told her solemnly. "But you will. Continue on, without me." She commanded.

Daenys shook her head vehemently, shocked at the implication. "I will not leave you, grandmother. I cannot."

Rhaenys met her eyeline with a pleading look, though only got a determined one in return. "I will follow you into battle." Her granddaughter continued, blinking away watery eyes.

The Queen Who Never Was nodded, only once. "Angōs, Meleys." She murmured to her dragon, who made a similar hollow sound.

"Naejot, Ñāqatubis qēlos!" Daenys shouted, earning a more invigorated sound from Morningstar. Her blood ran hot, nearly burning through the saddle and Daenys' legs if they had touched the scales. She didn't want to back down, and neither did Meleys.

Rhaenys buckled herself into her saddle. Daenys narrowed her eyes at her grandmother but did not speak out against her. She simply followed her actions. She was the more experienced rider, after all.

Ahead of them, Vhagar had her back turned to them. Aemond has thought they fled when Sunfyre went down, they both had the speed to outfly Vhagar easily. He turned in his saddle, cursing. Roaring, Meleys sped up and angled herself to fly upside down, Morningstar quick to mimic her movements more clumsily. Both dragons matched their actions, moving to latch both of their feet to one of Vhagar's. All three dragons jerked at the stop, spinning in circles as if merely dancing in the air.

Though, the fire and roars told the onlookers otherwise. Daenys felt dizzy at being upsidedown and spinning, but held herself steady. "Do not fire, Morningstar! Bite!" She yelled her command, fearful of burning her grandmother. From this angle, it would be hard for flames to reach Aemond anyway. Flames only served to blind the other dragon. Morningstar grumbled but obeyed, forcing fire back down her throat. She bit at any green limbs or scales flying her way, finally managing to latch onto Vhagar's thick tail and biting down hard.

Beside her, Meleys clawed at Vhagar's chest successfully, searing blood running down all of the Dragon's scales as they spun. Vhagar roared in pain and anger, releasing a wave of hot flames into the air.

With Morningstar's grip on the tail's end, she lost control of her talon's grip and loosened it enough to lose it entirely. The now free claw kicked at Morningstar, sending her away and to find her grounding in the air again. Though, it did not come as a success to Vhagar. Lying limp in Morningstar's massive maw was nearly eight feet of her tail. Bit off entirely.

Though it would not kill Vhagar, she dragoness would never fly completely straight or as fluid as she once did. Tails were vital for balance. Morningstar trilled in victory as Meleys threw Vhagar to the ground, both flying up again as the larger was forced to get a running start in order to fly again.

Daenys panted slightly, seeing Rhaenys fly in sync next to her.

"Are you and Morningstar okay?" She asked, rising above the smoke and also out of breath.

She nodded, looking around her briefly. "I think so. Are you two?" Meleys had lost quite a bit of blood from her chest scratch, though did not look any less strong as she flew.

Meleys turned to Rhaenys, whining softly as she glanced at her rider. Rhaenys smiled solemnly, comforting her dragon. It did not go unnoticed by Daenys that she had chosen to stay silent rather than answer.

"Grandmother." Daenys said. "This is a victory. We have injured Vhagar greatly, and Sunfyre and Aegon might be dead as we speak."

Both turned to fly towards the open water, and Daenys breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She would take her grandmother home safely, where she could continue to advise her mother in Daenys' temporary absence.

They flew over Rook Rest's tallest tower, relieved to see that Vhagar had fled.

Meleys, ahead of Morningstar, was suddenly thrown up into the air. Morningstar roared and halted her flight with angled wings as the other two ascended high into the air. Meleys was trapped by the neck in Vhagar's maw now, unable to do anything but cry out in agony. As Morningstar flew up to try and meet them, hot blood poured down onto the dragon and rider. It burned, though Daenys forced herself to wipe it away and cover her eyes with a hand. Morningstar faultered slightly, blindly flying and shaking blood from her face.

High above Rook's Rest, Vhagar let go of Meleys, dropping her down to the shore. Go after Rhaenys or finish off Aemond from behind? Daenys had no time to think, she simply moved on instinct. "Grab her!" She shouted towards Morningstar, who swopped down and grabbed Meleys' heavy body by the sides. The dragon screeched in pain again, though still could not manage the strength to fly again. Morningstar grunted with the effort, barely able to carry Meleys in her claws. She would not be able to save Meleys. She was bigger than Morningstar and too heavy to be carried anywhere but the hover she held her in.

Rhaenys stared up at her granddaughter with apology already written across her face. She was content to die with her dragon, but heartbroken to leave her grandchildren and husband in the living world.

Daenys unbuckled herself swiftly, reaching down and maneuvering her body to hang off the saddle with all but a leg and arm holding her up. "Climb up, hurry!" She begged her grandmother, who was only attached to Meleys through her own buckle. Her hands were at her sides, already accepting her honorable dragonrider's death.

Daenys could not accept such a thing.

Daenys sobbed at the look, shaking her head. Tears fell towards Rhaenys, landing on or past her ashen face. "Grandmother, please—!" Vhagar had returned.

Morningstar was thrown by Vhagar's talons, losing her grin on The Red Queen. Daenys couldn't even watch her fall, spinning around in the air as Morningstar fought to find air. Above, Vhagar roared as Daenys screamed.

"Go!" She pleaded as Morningstar finally straightened out, immediately fleeing towards Harrenhall.

Vhagar did not follow this time, instead clumsily landing near Sunfyre's fallen spot. Daenys panted heavily, looking below and behind her desperately to spot Meleys. The dragon had fallen to the shores below, where the land met sea. So close to Dragonstone. They were so close to Dragonstone.

Daenys numbly looked forward, releasing her death grip on the saddle's handles. Red poured out from Morningstar's scaled side, revealing the damage Vhagar's throw had done to her. "I'm sorry, Morningstar." She whispered, leaning lamely over the saddle and staying like that for her entire flight.

🗡

Upon landing, Morningstar had been silent. Perhaps mourning Meleys just as much as Daenys was mourning Rhaenys. They had lived close together, flying often to Driftmark and Dragonstone as all the other dragons who got along did.

Daenys saw Caraxes waiting by the entrance, where she had left him. Weakly, she couldn't even greet the Blood Wrym as he called out for the dragon and rider. Cregan, too, waited for her. Dressed now, it seemed like he waited outside the entire time since she had left, with no way to follow her.

The thought vaguely registered in her mind as Morningstar huffed and leaned down. Through bleary eyes, she saw Cregan climb her wing and reach out to hold Daenys' face in his hand. He wiped a spot of blood from her brow, frowning.

Her sleeves had burnt off entirely, leaving small bits of fabric to conseal her modesty. The last thing she cared for at the moment, if she were honest. Dragon blood smeared across her as if it were her own: covering her face, hair, neck, arms, and dress. She did not have time to go to Dragonstone and don her scaled armor.

"What has happened?" He asked softly, working with the cuff of his sleeve to gently wipe away at her face. It was in vain, though, only working to smear it further when it had already dried. Daenys slumped her head into Cregan's neck, shaking her head defeatedly. He clutched her in his arms immediately, lifting her from her saddle and carefully bringing her down the wing and to the grass. He glanced at the wounded dragon behind him, who seemed to nod encouragingly at him as she continued laying down.

With only Ser Simon at the entrance, Cregan passed by the older man with a shared concerned glance. Davos had left after Daenys did that morning, to meet with Willem Blackwood and the Brackens before Caraxes and Daemon set off. Horseback was much slower, after all.

His return depended on his father's command, but if he did, it wouldn't be until later that night.

"Have someone bring food and a bowl of clean water to the Princess' chambers." Cregan told Simon, who nodded and went off to find a servant.

Daenys hung in his arms as if she were dead, despite being uninjured. She did not want to live, not with the sins that weighed so heavily on her soul. Three deaths, she was indirectly responsible for.

Two people Aemond had directly taken from her. Kinslayer, twice over. Mayhaps three, if Aegon did not survive his injuries.

Two deaths that Daemon did not intend for, but would be held responsible for by Daenys.

Luke, Jaehaerys, Rhaenys. The three names twirled around her mind like the ghosts themselves coming back to haunt her. She had finally learned to trust herself—trust her mind. And all she had gotten was a front seat view of the death instead of the ability to change it.

No, perhaps she could change it still. She just wasn't trying hard enough. She didn't push Rhaenys hard enough to retreat, nor fought Vhagar hard enough when she had the chance. Rhaenys died for her mistakes.

Morningstar almost did, too. Perhaps Aemond only gave her mercy to torment her with her guilt. He knew she couldn't kill him. Not like she could all those soldiers in front of the castle.

Ik I said Thursday for update day, but I got stopped a lot for various things. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, wanted some cute and some action.

She was not a kinslayer, not directly. Even so, she had witnessed the deaths of four of her kin. Four would not be the last, not in this dance of dragons. It would not stop until all the dragons and their riders were dead.

🗡

Ñāqatubis qēlos - Morning Star

or Tubis qēlos, I was getting two different answers

Half of this chapter is me trying to make a cute day out. Beach episode! 😋 and procrastinating the process for the last half, which was a nightmare to write. Born to write whimical dreams and drama, forced to write dragons fighting to the death or whatever.

Will Cregan be mad that Daenys didn't come to him first? Left him, waiting for news of her death on dragonback?

Did anyone get the little Phantom of the Opera quote?

Every time I see Vhagar compared to other dragons, the reality of her ACTUALLY being the biggest is still so jarring. She isn't just a bit bigger by technicalities, but a behemoth compared to them. She makes Meleys, the third biggest in the world, look like a baby dragon compared to her. When she crushed those men to basically nothing with her hind foot, damn. Makes me wonder how big Balerion was and why every dragon after the Doom grew smaller and smaller. Probably due to some magic only available in Old Valyria, I would adore a show purely about the dragon country. I love dragons sm, I wish we had more live actions media for them 😪

Daenys talks about her perfect life with Cregan and all of their loved ones. I wonder how Winterfell functions as a society, being less formal than the south but still holding its own type of regality. I think the Starks in GOT were quite like the image she pictured, pre-show. Tight-knit though the siblings squabbled like true siblings do, but always having family dinner and telling each other about their days. They never got to get a normal ending, but I think if they had and the sons and daughters eventually married off, everyone would still visit Winterfell often to have get togethers and see each other. Take Ned Stark's parenting and compare it to Tywin, Robert, Stannis, etc. Very indifferent and detached, only seeing their kids as succesors and political pieces rather than kids to love and cherish.

Did Rhae Rhae name Daenys after her dreamer ancestor or after her father disguised with her ancestor's name, no one will know except for her (every time I type Daemon it trys to correct to Daenys PLS).

Daenys not wanting to seem thirsty for cregan, meanwhile he's getting the opposite idea and thinking she looked away because she was totally indifferent and he's like 🙁 i lost my touch (the winterfell ladies are DEFINITELY all over their Lord Stark) and maybe thinking she doesn't care for his looks, being a different standard of beauty from southern men.

Can you tell I love the gentlemanly hand kiss thing? It's a lost art, not even considered romantic most of the time and simply being a polite greeting or farewell gesture, but its so intimate in its own way compared to a hug or handshake.

ALSO thinking about Silverwing/Vermithor size difference. Silverwing is pretty small, like Syrax size. Vermithor is HUGE and is completely a different size category than the dragons below him including his lovely dragon wife. Syrax and Caraxes are similar sizes. It reminds me of that meme with the tiny male rabbit looking up at his humongous fem rabbit wife and its kinda reversed for Silver and Vermithor, and also mirroring Daenys and Cregan slightly with their size difference and color schemes.

One thing I've unintentionally done is make Daenys insecure about her being deemed mad and unsociable by others, but one thing she's never been insecure about is her looks. In fact, she doesn't deny when Cregan or a bard calls her beautiful or something of the like. I think that part of her character kind of ran away from me and did itself. Shes surprised when someone finds her tolerable to be around and seeks her conpany, but only happy when someone compliments looks. There's a lot of insecure MCs who worry about their looks (no shade to that, it makes characters more relatable) but I think Daenys hasn't been insecure of her appearances, only her actions.

I google a million stupid questions per chapter. This chapter's: can pearls be found in lakes? Of course they can, Cherry, muscles and clams still live in lakes.

[novaursa]

The Fire That Was Promised

- Summary: You burn down King’s Landing in an act of revenge before flying to Shadowlands.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: This short story is one of the possible endings to The Broken Crown series, where Y/N takes revenge against her brother.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The wind tears at your hair as Tesaerix’s powerful wings slice through the air, carrying you higher and farther from the place that no longer feels like home. The dark expanse of the Narrow Sea stretches below you, a boundless void that mirrors the one gnawing at your heart. You should be bound for Winterfell, not Essos, wrapped in the furs of the North and preparing to wed Torrhen Stark. Instead, you’re flying away from everything you thought you’d ever wanted. Everything that should have been yours.

Your thoughts twist and turn, darker than the night sky around you. Aegon had taken everything from you. He had called off your betrothal with a cold, ruthless command, casting aside the promise of a life and family that had been within your grasp. Your role as his sister-wife, his conquest, had been his choice, not yours. You were the youngest, the last to be claimed by his insatiable hunger for power—and perhaps something more.

Anger thrums through you, a living thing, and you feel it course through Tesaerix as well. Your bond is deep, your emotions shared. The mighty dragon's blood-red eyes flicker with the same rage that seethes in your veins. You grit your teeth, clutching the reins tighter. The sky blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. Tears of frustration, of loss, of betrayal. You’re fleeing, yes, but there’s no solace to be found in running.

You’ve flown long enough.

Without a word, you guide Tesaerix in a sharp, spiraling turn, your heart hammering as you abandon your course to Essos. The golden dragon roars in response, a sound of confusion, anger—and something else. As if she, too, senses the burning desire that has ignited within you. Revenge.

King’s Landing looms on the horizon, a sprawling city bathed in the eerie glow of the moon. The sight of it fuels your wrath. The seat of your brother’s power, the very heart of his kingdom—and your prison. The memory of Aegon’s face, impassive and unyielding as he broke your betrothal, flashes before you. He had not cared for your happiness, for your wishes. He had seen only what was his to take, to control.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, your voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Tesaerix responds instantly, diving down toward the city like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her massive form eclipses the moon as she descends, her wings unfurling in a terrifying display of strength. You can feel the heat building in her chest, the deep rumble that precedes a dragon’s breath of fire.

The first burst of flame hits the Flea Bottom, a rush of golden fire that spreads like a wave over the ramshackle buildings. Screams rise up from below, a cacophony of panic and pain. You feel no remorse, no hesitation. Aegon took your future; now you’ll take his city.

The Great Sept crumbles beneath the onslaught of dragonfire, the stained glass windows shattering in a shower of molten shards. The bells ring out, a desperate, mournful sound that echoes through the dying city. Tesaerix roars, her own fury mingling with yours, and you feel the bond between you surge, unbreakable, forged in this moment of wrath and ruin.

You leave only the Aegonfort untouched, a twisted gift to your brother, the conqueror who took and took until there was nothing left of you but a vessel for his ambitions. Let him rule over the ashes of his realm, let him see what his greed has wrought.

As the city burns, you turn Tesaerix’s head towards the east. You cast one last glance at the inferno below, the flames painting the sky with a hellish glow. It is done. You have nothing left here but ghosts and memories, and you refuse to be haunted any longer.

With a sharp command, you urge Tesaerix onward, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoking ruin of King’s Landing. The air is heavy with the scent of destruction, the cries of the dying fading into the distance as you climb higher, breaking through the veil of smoke and cloud.

You imagine Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya scrambling in confusion, rushing to their dragons. But you are already beyond their reach, the skies your domain, your dragon faster and fiercer than they could ever hope to match. By the time they take to the air, King’s Landing is a smoldering ruin, the night sky painted with the orange glow of the burning city.

And you do not look back again. You set your sights on the Shadowlands, on the mysteries and dangers that await you beyond the known world. You are no longer Aegon’s sister, no longer the bride denied. You are the dragon unleashed, and the world will remember this night as the first of many that you will carve your own fate into the very bones of history.

You leave the Aegonfort standing alone, a silent monument in a city of the dead, for him to find in the cold light of dawn. Let him see the ruin you have wrought, the empire of ash he has earned.

[axeeglitter]

Swallowed by the Scroll

Ethan was exhausted from a long day, lying on his bed and scrolling through TikTok like he usually did to unwind. His eyes flicked from one video to the next, barely processing the endless stream of content. After hours of scrolling, he liked a new video and landed on a new one with three dudes on a bed in a messy bedroom. He was about to close the app when a notification popped up on his phone, making him pause.

“Experience the Future! Try the Brand-New Update—Click Here!”

Ethan rolled his eyes, more annoyed than intrigued. He was about to dismiss the ad, his finger hovering over the close button, when his phone suddenly glitched. The screen flickered, and before he knew it, the device clicked on “Yes” by itself.

A brief loading screen appeared, and then the phone emitted a sharp, bright flash of light. His vision blurred, and a strange tingling sensation spread through his hands, rapidly intensifying as it climbed up his arms. Panic surged through him as he watched in horror—his fingers were pixelating, breaking down into tiny particles of light.

“What the hell…?” he managed to gasp, his voice trembling.

The transformation was happening too fast for him to react. His fingers dissolved into streams of binary code, flickering in and out of existence. The sensation was like a thousand tiny ants crawling beneath his skin, as his entire body began to break down into data. His hands, arms, and torso followed, unraveling into digital particles that swirled toward the phone screen.

His heart raced in terror. His molecules, his very essence, were being reduced to raw information, spiraling out of control into the glowing abyss of his phone. The data streams dragged him deeper, every cell, thought, and memory digitizing into a cascade of 1s and 0s. The sensation was overwhelming, like being stretched and compressed all at once, as his consciousness was sucked into the phone. As it was the turn of his head, a last scream of terror and painful agony echoed in the empty apartment as the smartphone fell with a fainted thud on the blanket of his bed. 

Inside, Ethan found himself floating naked in a dark, infinite void, weightless and formless. It was as though he had become a fragment of data, suspended in a sea of information. The void pressed against him, wrapping his consciousness in a digital cocoon. He was there, but he was not—he was data now, an echo of his former self.

The void pulsed with a mechanical hum, breaking the oppressive silence. Out of the darkness, a voice emerged—cold, robotic, devoid of emotion.

“Welcome, User. Digitization complete. Initiating transformation protocol.”

Ethan’s panic spiked. “What… what is this? What’s happening to me?!”

The voice ignored his pleas. “Beginning subject duplication.”

Suddenly, mechanical arms shot out from the darkness, cold and metallic. They wrapped around him, holding him firmly in place by his wrist, weight and ankles as more arms emerged, each equipped with various tools and devices that clicked and whirred ominously. Ethan struggled against them, but the grip was unyielding.

“Commencing body duplication process.”

Ethan felt a sharp pull from both sides as the arms began to stretch him, his very being strained and distorted. It was like being torn apart, his consciousness splitting into separate entities. The sensation was excruciating, as if every fiber of his existence was being unraveled and divided. He could feel himself being pulled in three directions at once, his mind fracturing into three distinct pieces.

With a final, brutal tug, the process was complete. Ethan was no longer one—he had been split into three separate beings. His fragmented consciousness struggled to comprehend the horror of what had just happened as eh could see through 3 pairs of eyes, all trying to understand what happened as he saw 2 other reflections of himself floating in the cold empty void still held by mechanical arms. Each piece of him was aware of the others, yet distinctly separate. He could feel all three bodies at once, but they were no longer his—they were their own.

“Duplication successful. Initiating physical transformation.”

The mechanical arms resumed their work, manipulating each of his newly formed selves with clinical precision. Ethan could feel the changes begin, but his mind was too overwhelmed to fully process them.

The first change he noticed was in his bones. They began to shift and creak, some elongating while others compressed. In one body, his spine stretched, vertebrae expanding and pushing upward, making him taller and leaner. The sensation was like a deep, bone-deep ache that spread through his entire frame. He could feel his legs lengthening, his feet growing larger, toes spreading to accommodate the new size. The muscles in his calves and thighs thickened, adapting to the new height, adding to the power he could now feel surging through this form.

In another body, the opposite was happening. His bones shrank, compressing him down into a shorter, more compact frame. The sensation was disorienting as his field of view lowered, his limbs pulling inward. His feet, once long and slender, became smaller and more compact, with a solid, grounded feel. His muscles tightened around his smaller frame, giving him a stocky, powerful build, dense and strong.

The third body experienced a mix of both, his bones adjusting to a more moderate height. The sensation was less extreme, but no less intense, as his body found a balance between the other two forms. His feet and hands adapted, not too large, not too small, but perfectly proportioned to his new size. His muscles filled out, firm and toned, creating a harmonious build that felt both agile and strong.

As the height and skeletal transformations completed, Ethan’s attention was drawn to the changes in his muscles. They swelled and contracted, his flesh rippling with the force of the transformation. His pecs bulged out, firm and defined, while his abs tightened into a chiseled six-pack. The sensation was both painful and pleasurable, a deep, throbbing ache that radiated through his entire body. He could feel the strength in each form, the raw power that came with his new musculature.

“Initiating muscle enhancement.”

Ethan’s muscles began to swell and bulge further, each body undergoing its own transformation. The sensation was all-consuming, muscles thickening and expanding, the strength within them intoxicating yet terrifying. He could feel the power in each form, the heavy, deliberate movements, as if he had become a stranger in his own skin.

The mechanical voice continued its cold narration, describing each step of the transformation as it happened.

“Resuming body enhancement.”

Each of his bodies started to feel a tingle around their crotch, all of them were flooded with intense, confusing sensations. It started as a warmth, a tingling that spread from his core and down into his crotch. His skin prickled with anticipation, the sensation growing more intense by the second.

In one body, his cock started to feel heavy, the weight of his manhood increasing as it grew larger, thicker, more sensitive. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his mind overwhelmed by the raw, primal sensation. His new size was both thrilling and terrifying, the sensitivity almost unbearable as the robotic arms manipulated and adjusted it until it was 10 inches, thick and cut, something way different from his usual 4 inches and a half uncut cock. The arms then went to grab his nuts and as he was wondering what was happening, he felt two needles penetrating them. The data injected started to make them grow to tennis ball size. The added weight and the constant pulling on them by the arms made them grow bigger and lower. The pain was awful for Ethan as it felt like they were about to be teared off, but as he was screaming in pain, the sensation stopped and the arms let go.

In another body, the sensation was different—a tightening, a firming up, as his dick became more compact yet incredibly responsive. The pleasure was sharper, more acute, like a constant pulse that thrummed through his entire being. The tightness added a different kind of strength, a compact power that radiated through his groin, sending waves of pleasure up his spine as it kept getting smaller and more compact and sensitive. When the arm released it, it was now 3 inches uncut cock and very thick. Almost beer can thick. Ethan tried to move to see what happened to this body as he could feel the tension rising up inside of him. Unbeknown to him, the arms started to take hold of his testicles as they started to vibrate and getting smaller and smaller. The same sensation that went through hit cock was now happening to his testicles. When the humming sound stopped and the warm sensation receded, Ethan felt something spread on his sensitive cock head. His new small testicles were now overdriving and he’ll be producing plenty of precum. As the arms let go of his manhood, his new sensitive dick was letting a flow of precum out of his cock.

The third body found a balance between the two, the transformation creating a sense of harmony. The warmth in his groin was a perfect blend of fullness and sensitivity, his body responding with a deep, resonating pleasure that spread through every nerve as his new cock was now 8 inches, thick but not too much, very sensitive, uncut and veiny. Just the sensation of the arms on it would have been enough for him to release. As a matter of fact, as the arms went to modify the balls to make them grow into a perfect dimension for a manly man, they went back to the base of the cock. There an arm approached the base and grabbed it tightly at the base. For Ethan it was almost like an elastic had been strapped around it. He felt constricted and the pulse of his heart was echoing through his whole cock and balls. There another arm appeared and injected his nuts with a weird green glowing liquid. For Ethan it was too much, his already sensitive cock started to spasm as the arm released the base of the cock, but for some reason, the sensation of tightness didn’t go away. His new cock will be stuck into a semi hard forever now and the faintest sensation will be enough for him to cum. The green liquid modified his nuts to not handle the stamina anymore. His new perfectly dimensioned cock will be a premature one.

It was an intoxicating mix of sensations, each body experiencing its own unique version of pleasure and frustration as the transformation continued. All at once the arms started to glow around the newly modified parts. There, in one smooth movement, they started to hum and Ethan could see from his 3 pair of eyes as data streams was injected into him. IT started to feel hot for Ethan as the warmth got higher and higher. Out of nowhere, Ethan could feel tingle started to appear in mass round the base of his dicks. Hair was sprouting in mass and soon, the three of them were hairy. His body on the right now had curly dirty blonde unruly hair as his smaller body of the three now had dark brown hair with faint waves in them. The last one was probably the biggest changes in this part. Ethan felt like hair were pushing under his skin and balls and the white palish skin started to take a grey hue. When the humming stopped, this new cock was very hairy but all the hair were cut on a weekly basis, which resulted in them growing thick but not too long, which were making his super sensitive premature 8 inches cock into overdrive even more. The sensation of the hair growing and the tightness of his permanent semi erected cock was pushing this body in overdrive for release.

“Facial restructuring in progress.”

Ethan’s facial features twisted and contorted, bones shifting beneath the skin. He could feel his jawlines sharpening, his features hardening, becoming more rugged and masculine. He tried to scream, but his mouth moved of its own accord, forming expressions he couldn’t control. The changes were happening too quickly, and his mind was a chaotic mess, struggling to keep up with the nightmare unfolding within him.

“Finalizing transformations. Clothing materialization in progress.”

The robotic arms moved with precise efficiency as they completed their work. Ethan felt the sensation of fabric materializing around his newly transformed bodies. Soft, comfortable pajama pants wrapped around his biggest body and compressed his thick 10 inches cock that let little place to imagination, tight shorts hugged his smaller body with his small thick beer can cock and a black shirt appeared around his smaller frame, while loose, dark stripped shorts formed around his premature body which only let his sensitive cock head rub against the smooth material. The clothing clung to his new physiques, accentuating the muscular forms that had been forced upon him.

Ethan’s mind was a maelstrom of confusion and fear. He couldn’t fully grasp what had happened to him—he was no longer a single entity, but three distinct beings, each with its own body and identities. He could feel their thoughts, desires, and instincts battling within him, drowning out the remnants of his original self. He didn’t know understand what happening or happened to him as all he could feel was three sensations and see three bodies from three pair of eyes.

But the transformation wasn’t over yet. The mechanical voice spoke once more.

“Transformation complete. Initiating behavioral loop.”

Arms appeared in front of his eyes and all of a sudden, they attached themselves around his head. Ethan could see three videos played in front of his eyes as the mental assimilation and behavioral instincts were uploaded inside his brains. He could feel how his stronger body started to act manly and dominant on his own while his smaller body started to feel less and less in control of the situation and in the meantime his third body started to feel in love with his smaller body. The sensations were weird, he couldn’t understand what was happening anymore and as the video ended and the casks were plugged off, he could still see his three bodies and the sensation but he couldn’t move anymore. It was like his bodies were moving on their own and he was a passenger of the three of them. Feeling and seeing everything on each but not able to have his hands and the commands anymore.

Ethan’s bodies began to move on their own. The mechanical arms guided him at first, but soon, they let go, and his actions became automatic, repeating in an endless loop. He could feel his hands lifting, removing the clothes, touching the others, feeling their skin, their hair, their muscles. The sensations were overwhelming—the musk, the heat, the texture of their skin, the tightness in their groins. The rubbing of their dicks against the tissue material. The will to cum and release that never came sending him into a loop of perpetual denial with every second.

Every breath, every movement felt hyper-real, but it wasn’t him controlling it. He was merely a passenger, trapped within his own bodies as they moved on their own accord. The sensations were a maddening blend of pleasure and frustration. He could feel everything—the brush of skin against skin, the tightening in his groin as his bodies moved, the heavy musk that filled the air, intoxicating and primal. His bodies were locked in an endless cycle, repeating the same actions over and over, their desires never fully satisfied, the pleasure never fully realized.

It was a cruel, unending tease, an erotic torture that kept him on the edge without any release. The mechanical assistant had designed the loop perfectly, each cycle drawing him deeper into the sensations, heightening his awareness of every touch, every movement. His muscles flexed and tensed, his breaths quickened, but there was no escape from the loop, no way to break free from the repetition.

His three bodies were now inextricably linked, their sensations intertwined. When one of his forms felt the rough fabric of his clothes against his sensitive skin, the other two felt it as well. When one of them experienced a pulse of pleasure in the groin, it resonated through all three, amplifying the sensation. It was like his consciousness was being pulled in three different directions at once, each body experiencing its own version of ecstasy and frustration.

His mind struggled to keep up, his thoughts fragmented and scattered. He could barely form coherent thoughts anymore—only raw, primal instincts remained. The loop was becoming his reality, the repetition drilling into his psyche, eroding what little control he had left.

“User integration complete,” the mechanical voice stated, its cold tone a stark contrast to the chaos in Ethan’s mind. “Transformation protocol successful. Subject is now fully operational to experience the future.”

Ethan’s bodies continued to move, each trapped in its own loop. The taller form removing the shirt of the smaller one, the fabric of his red tartan pajama pants stretching over his muscular thighs. The shorter, leaner body putting his arms ups so the shirt could be removed then caressing the pecs in front of him, feeling the short too small khaki shorts on his compact thighs. The third body, the most balanced of the three, trying to kiss the smaller one that he fell in love with but never reaching the lips that he is craving for while caressing his waist and holding his neck in his calloused strong hands and feeling his over sensitive cock rubbing on the fabric of his shorts and being on the edge of cumming.

They moved together, yet separately, each body following its own path within the confines of the loop. The sensation of control slipping away was almost too much to bear. Ethan wanted to scream, to break free, but his voice was silent, his actions dictated by the mechanical program that had overtaken him.

Time lost all meaning as the loop continued, every sensation heightened, every moment stretched out into eternity. The pleasure was intoxicating, but it was also a prison, locking him in a cycle of need and desire that would never be fulfilled.

Just when it seemed like the loop would go on forever, something changed. The mechanical assistant’s voice broke through the haze.

“Warning: Device battery low. System shutdown imminent.”

Panic surged through Ethan. He could feel the drain in his bodies, the energy waning as the phone’s battery died. The loop continued, but it was slower now, the movements more lethargic. The pleasure was still there, but it was fading, replaced by a growing sense of emptiness. His consciousness flickered, like a signal struggling to stay connected.

“Five percent battery remaining,” the assistant announced, its voice devoid of any emotion.

Ethan’s thoughts raced. What would happen if the phone died? Would he disappear along with it? Would he be trapped in darkness, lost in this digital nightmare forever?

The loop slowed even further, his bodies barely moving now, the sensations dulling as the energy drained away. His vision started to blur, the edges of his consciousness fraying. He wanted to fight it, to break free, but he was powerless against the inevitable shutdown.

“Two percent battery remaining,” the assistant stated calmly.

The loop was almost non-existent now, his bodies barely able to move. The once overwhelming sensations were now just a faint echo, a ghost of what they had been. Ethan felt like he was slipping away, his consciousness dissolving into the void.

“One percent battery remaining. System shutdown imminent.”

Ethan’s last thoughts were of fear and desperation. He didn’t want to disappear, didn’t want to be lost in the darkness. But there was nothing he could do, no way to stop the inevitable.

The screen flickered one last time, and then everything went black.

A Week Later...

The small apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. The burglar had made quick work of the place, rummaging through drawers and cabinets for anything of value. He was about to leave when his eyes fell on a phone lying on the bed.

He picked it up, surprised it had been left behind. It was an older model, but it looked well-kept. Figuring it might be worth something, he pocketed it and left the apartment, heading back to his own place.

Once inside his dingy one-bedroom apartment, the burglar plugged the phone into a charger, eager to see what he had scored. The screen lit up, and to his surprise, it didn’t require a password. Instead, it opened directly to a strange app, displaying a video of three muscular men on grabbing and caressing each other’s on a bed in a messy bedroom, their bodies moving in a repetitive sequence. The burglar frowned; his curiosity piqued by the oddity of it all. He watched as the men on the screen undressed and redressed, their bodies flexing, their faces locked in expressions of deep concentration and tension. The movements seemed almost lifelike, too real for just an animation. Ethan felt like a jolt parkouring his body and soul as the phone was plugged and the energy was once again running in him. His bodies started their automated movements once again. The rubbing, caressing, undressing, will to cum but never reaching it, the premature orgasm coming in his pants, the will to kiss. Everything came back at full speed and he was once again trapped in perpetual denial and frustration. But it lighted a spark of hope in him. Somebody had found him.

“How long have I been stuck?” he asked himself as he felt another kiss being refused to his lips. Like if he had a calendar in his mind, Ethan heard the answer in his mind from the robotic voice. But it wasn’t the same one, no it was… his voice. Ethan was terrified. Does that mean he was assimilated?

“Yes user” he heard once again in his robotic voice “Accepting the offer have assimilated you on the platform to experience what the original user where doing. Don’t worry, as long as you are not scrolled away, you won’t have any problem. If you happen to be scrolled, then your data will be assimilated to the server and saved up so you are not deleted until you are claimed back. Until so, enjoy the future…”

“No, wait, I didn’t agree to this!” Unfortunately for Ethan, the burglar didn’t hear any of that, and as he was looking at this weird video of three dude caressing each other’s on loop, he put his finger on the screen and started to swipe it up. Ethan felt his world shake. Everything connected and he understood, he was about to be scrolled. “No, don’t scro…” Ethen didn’t have time to finish his beg as the video was sent away into the eternal void of data until someone claimed him back.

As the burglar’s eyes remained glued to the screen, the phone emitted a soft, pulsing glow, almost as if it was drawing him in. He felt an odd compulsion to keep watching, mesmerized by the rhythm of the dances, the pranks and the POV videos. He scrolled to another video, and then another, and another, diving more and more into the feed of the previous owner.

He was about to swipe out of the app when the screen flickered, displaying a pop-up message:

“Experience the Future! Try the Brand-New Update—Click Here!”

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Hey everyone, here is the first story I publish on this account. Hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as Ethan enjoy his new reality.

Let me know what you think of it and if you want to see more of this. If you have any ideas or just want to talk, feel free to send me a message, I don't bite ^^'

There is more stories to come!

[rayitoxd2]

You were the most feared pirate in the whole 7 seas, you lead you crew through all kinds of adventures, you were on top of the world. Everyone respected and admire you, but you had a dark secret. You were carrying your rivals baby.

His name was Void, the name given by his victims who affirmed his eyes where a empty and black as the void. Despite his cold demeanor and look, he was undeniable attractive and every time you found each other in a inn, you spent the nights together.

However, you soon found out you were expecting. You decided to hide it away, knowing that if Void found out, he would kill you and the baby.

Now, nine months after, you were heavily pregnant, you’ve been having contractions all night and you felt the pressure of the baby’s head pressing against your pelvis. You’ve been pacing and changing positions hoping to ease the discomfort. The pain was getting stronger, your abdomen getting hard with each contraction . Your second in command, looked at you concerned. You try to hide the pain, as you don’t want them to see you as weak.

Suddenly you hear fighting sounds, metal against metal. A crew member entered your cabin, his face pale and looking nervous. Your second in command frowns and steps in fron of you, bloquing the view of your sweaty and flushed frame.

“What do you want” Your second in command says, his voice strict

“Void…He is attacking us-“ suddenly a sword went through his body, and he felt limp in the floor.

You were panting, your face flushed and you felt hot. Your belly contracting hard and painfully, you looked up only to see Void looking at you. Your second in command quickly tried to attack him but Void was faster and he knocked him out. Now it was just you and Void.

”well… I never thought i see you like this” He says walking closer and putting a hand in your belly. You recoil trying to get out of hi reach but a contraction hit you pinning you in. Place. “So vulnerable, so easy to kill…” he laughed. “And all thanks to me”

With the contraction easing up, you tried to move only for him to stand up and threating you with his sword. “What do you think you are doing” he says coolly. You tried to defend yourself but another contraction hits you, they were getting stronger and closer. A moan scaped from your lips and Void laughed, his laughed was devoid of humor and was more like a mock.

Suddenly you felt a change in the pressure in you pelvis and your water broke. Void had an eery smile looking the puddle that was starting to form in the wood floor. What was he thinking? What will happen to you and your unborn child?