#God of Fire serie B

[ikaikaaaron]

Hearty, bold notes of pepper, leather, natural sweetness, earth, and coffee, raisin, dark chocolate, and espresso.

God of Fire Serie B  Gran Toro 6 x 56

[marklikely]

take me back to 2016 when i could enjoy a star wars without remembering rian johnsons garbage movie and getting mad

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[yoursinfulurges]

Enchantress

Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You would guard your throne from vultures no matter the cost and so the games begins. In which Aemond Targaryen regrets making an enemy of his wife.

Aemond is a cheating hoe. No one wanted this I just really wanted to write some angst. As always your features and ethnicity is not mentioned, background is not specified but you are a highborn. After the Serpentine series I wanted something spicy.

Word count: 8.1k

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By nature you were a patient person, taking great diligence in ensuring emotions doesn't overcome your judgment. But as the hour grows late your forbearance for your husband had begun to wear thin. It nears twelve and you had been waiting for Aemonds return for well over three hours now. With every passing minute you find yourself drowning in madness as you draw a blank on where or what he was up to. Succumbing to the ill thoughts on your mind as the flickering dance and crackle of the fire floods your senses. You're tired, you're anxious and your ears are ringing yet you still sat unmoving. Why?

There was no doubt that the man in question confused you to no end, nevertheless you still made sure to act accordingly and play the part of his wife. Although you're finding it increasingly hard to upkeep the role of his good little lover when the man is hardly in your presence. It was true that your marriage with Aemond was one out of political leverage, but you still did your best to care for him. Always making sure your relationship was fostered and tended to in the hopes of something blossoming.

You had faith that he would grow fonder of you as the years went on, but with every passing day that thought was challenged. It had been a long journey but without fail you acted kind and loving towards him no matter the expense. Valuing your relationship with Aemond a great deal, you were willing to do anything for him.

Even endure his callous behaviors towards you.

It was no secret that the prince was rather displeased with your union. For a man that preached the importance of preforming duty, he was awfully bad at it. You had been wedded for almost half a year now and have yet to consummate the marriage. Not that you weren't willing to, the problem lies with your husband. It was plain to see behind closed doors that he did not take you seriously.

In his eye this marriage was a joke, you were but strangers at best due to his lack of effort. Now you know not of the origins of his distant behavior but you've tried your best to minimize them. Dragging Aemond off to accompany you on walks around the castle, asking him to join you for lunch; everyday without faltering you tried.

But to no avail, your attempts does little to dull the wall between you two. He doesn't interact with you unless it was mandatory or for show, displayed little emotions past cordial. And god forbid laying a hand on you was the end of the fucking world. Was this who Aemond Targaryen was? Cold and cynical? Deprived of all that makes a person human. Every time you looked at him he was a ghost, fading into the background slipping from your grasp. He was untouchable, invisible. His self-righteous aura creating a vortex around him.

The distance between Aemond and you had started to become apparent to the ladies in court. Everyday without fail they would voice their concerns, asking you if you were being mistreated. Of course you lie, a task that comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would since you had little ties with your husband. Though it makes you wonder if Aemond also found it easy to lie to you....

The thought gets lost on you as an intrusive sound rings through your chambers. Brows furrowing at the disturbance, why would Aemond feel the need to knock on your shared room? The train was rather absurd so it leads you into thinking that it wasn't him paying you a visit. Much to your disappointment. With confusion in your voice, you call out to the visitor.

"Come in." Anxiously bringing your palms together on your lap. Your fingers locked themselves in a manner of worry, squeezing tightly as you prepare yourself. Soon the door opens and in follows Ser Larys Strong. His pronounced way of walking evident as the cane hits the ground harshly. The sound announcing and intrusive, almost counting down the seconds before he reaches you.

"I am sorry to intrude on your private time my Lady, especially when the hour is so late but I fear this matter cannot wait till dawn." He smiles sympathetically although you do not like implications behind it. You notion for him to sit across from you, watching the scene carefully. You don't utter a word as he moves to take his place. Ser Larys's visits are always prompted.... And by the look on his face it reads that he knows something you don't... That fact slightly unnerved you...

"I thought this news would be best heard if it were from me.... From a friend..." Bullshit. Larys always had an ulterior motive, he liked cultivating favors from the court only for them to owe him in return. No doubt that he was a sick man that enjoyed manipulating others, finding power in mind games in a way that he cannot with the sword. You were far from friends but played the game together. He only viewed you so highly because you were one of the only people the didn't fall for his lures and cryptic words.

"I take it this news is not pleasant." Lifting a brow at him in question, you kept your manner strong and imposing. He swallows and nods his head briefly, averting his gaze from you to look at the floor.

"Earlier today.... Prince Aemond was caught indulging a servant girl in Harrenhal." He says the words carefully though no amount of safe keeping can withhold your anger. Larys words were vague but you understood clearly what he meant. Shaking in your seat, you calm yourself. Or at least tried to....

You were going to fucking kill him.

"Ah.... I see... Who else knows?" Your words come out strained. Tone cut and tense, implying that you were holding back an outburst as tears of anger slowly clouds your gaze. What did you honestly expect? Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, vision tunneling as rage began crawling up your center. For a moment your breath stills, the abyss captivating you before you snap out of it and focusing on Ser Larys once more. He says nothing as he watches the fire burn, avoiding your venomous stare.

"Just you and me." He nods slowly, finally looking at you, only to drop his gaze soon after. He was uncomfortable beyond measure... His mouth opens to say something once more but stops to take in your shape. You clutched at the chair with a murderous grip, nails digging into the stained leather. Slowly he met your unmoving eyes, taken aback by the poison swimming amongst them. Gods be good... That look never meant well. The tension was heavy and for a moment Larys feared for his own life. You were not sad nor disheartened, instead you were seething in hatred. The room fogs with something unpleasant as the walls welcomed the illness like an old friend. Such atmosphere was suffocating as he watched you shake in retribution, no doubt planning your next calculating moves.

Vengeance. That was all you wanted. Many questions plagued your mind, had you not been good enough for him? You've done all that you could to please him and yet he disrespect your name with his adultery. You honestly didn't know what to say, it wasn't like this was much of a shock to you since a part of you always had suspicions. But you dismissed those thoughts as nothing but intrusive and toxicant. Yet to hear the words out loud coming from a reputable man such as Ser Larys Strong was much different than you telling yourself. Larys was many things but he was not a liar. His words always had claim and a backbone, despite how distasteful the intentions behind them may be. You could not care less about what he wants to get out of you, what you want to know is what else he's keeping locked away. And what will it take to get him talking.

"The servant that caught them and sent for a raven was found killed under.... suspicious circumstances... I only received both letters now, of the girls retelling and of her death.... A dagger through the mouth what an awful way to go..." Larys speaks when you don't, watching the way you thought in silence. He wondered what you were thinking, for he was one of the only people that knew your true nature. You were a murderous woman, manipulative, vigilant, and vengeful... Behind those stupid smiles and shy fronts was an enchantress, turning the tides in her favor. And now an outsider trespasses on your waters. Larys knows more than anything that you were willing to guard your throne from vultures at any cost.

You didn't like coming second to anybody, and for a moment he prays for the prince...

"I understand that this must be difficult for you, but if you are ever in need... I'll be sure to be of service in this trying time..." You scoff at that, the sound reverberating through the room. There it was. The bait he dangles so tempting in front of foolish fish.

"At what cost Ser Larys, I am no fool. I know everything from you must always come at a price." Holding your chin up high, you crossed your arms and leaned back into your seat. Having calmed down a little, you plan a rainstorm of hell fire.

"Not this time... You see, this girl that had somehow managed to enthrall the prince.... She is a nuisance on my side so you can insure my allegiance is with you. As Lord of Harrenhal I make it a point to know everything and anything going on in my own castle, even if I'm not present. I can ensure you that I have eyes everywhere." You ignore the way your stomach turns at the thought of someone else captivating Aemond as you thought on his proposal. It would be quite useful to have someone with such connections on your side. Shaking your head as you corrected yourself. There were no sides nor factions, you were not at war with Aemond. Yet.

"Can you tell me the name of this girl?"

"She goes by Alys Rivers, you may know of her...." It was almost comical enough to force a laugh.

A bastard Strong... How truly ironic and cliche. It would seem that the very vendetta he had against his own nephews would be the cause of his own demise. The pain that rushed through you didn't burn anymore, instead it courses through your veins in bittersweetness, fueling your vengeance and need for revenge. You didn't care all that much about closure, instead looking for all the ways you can induce the same pain onto Aemond. You were patient to a fault, all the unwanted emotions manifesting into pettiness and spite.

To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must be precise and conniving, you couldn't afford any spill ups. In truth the stature he built of himself was great; intimidating, undying, a menace. But beneath all that you knew he was still the same little boy that got bullied for not having a dragon. Scars like that cannot be grown out of, especially when they've left such permanent imprints on him. You were not going to evoke One Eye Aemond who rides the largest dragon, but rather the young little boy he held so dearly to his heart. That was the Aemond you wanted to hurt. Not the man that gave you blank stares and barely spoke any words to you. Not the man that dares call himself your husband when he has not deserved the name. The neglected outcast freak, that was who you were going to murder.

How dare he choose her over you. Suddenly it clouds your vision. All the violence, the fire, the insecurities. Your inability to think clear, the pride and pain of being his wife. Your lust and distaste for the man that caused you such pain. It ruptures your heart. You would trade love for greed just to induce the same feelings onto him. Oh how you wanted to ruin him. Ruin her for him. By the end of it you wanted him begging at your knees, crying apologies. Who does Alys Rivers think she was to steal your husband away from you. And who does Aemond think he was to assume you wouldn't retaliate. Or perhaps he knew and simply didn't care... That was a common theme in your husband, not caring about you. He was more of a fool than you thought of if he thinks you were just going to stand for this and take it.

No. You wanted an eye for an eye. Or more plainly, a heart for a heart.

"Her existence threatens you." Speaking lowly as you projected your thoughts onto Ser Larys. You aren't the only one to have a reason to hate the aforementioned wench. You may be hazed with hatred but you are not blind. There was a reason Ser Larys chose to come to you instead of Aemond with this information. Without him you wouldn't have known anything, and surely the favor of a prince would be worth more than you could ever give him. Yet he came knocking at your door.

"I am the sole heir to my fathers title, if that bastard had somehow managed to persuade the prince then my very seat is challenged. An outsider amongst the natives. I need to ensure my status, my lady. Can I trust you on this." His words were frantic almost, his long brown hair falling over his face as he leaned in close. Ser Larys was pleading, in his own way...

"You can. Now, my friend... what will you have me do?" The smile that spread across your face was sinister as you prompted his guidance. Though it was more rhetorical, you knew what had to be done.

"Seduce Aemond. Capture his attention enough so that he begins to question his love for her." Love? Was that burned between them? Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you thought on it more. It wasn't a bad design, far better than you stabbing a knife through Alys in front of Aemond. Only one minor flaw.

"And how shall I manage to do that!? The man can barely look at me!"

"To the unseeing eye it appears that way. Though the amount of times I've caught his gaze lingering longer than it should is great. You are a smart woman y/n, I'm sure you can figure out a way to break through his barrier."

Could it be that all this time you just hadn't noticed him looking at you? Regardless that was irrelevant as you pondered your first move. You and Larys had the advantage, Aemond doesn't know that you knew of his infidelity. And as far as you're aware your image as his good little wife was still intact, so perhaps you would play into that role more. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize that you've grown stiff as a board. It dulls you as you realize that you've come to be the very woman you pray for. Desperately lost in their marriage. Endlessly dreaming, hoping one day Aemond would come around and play pretend with you. He was taking advantage of you without you knowing it. He sees your very being as something he can twist and turn in his palm like one of his daggers.

At a certain point he was bound to get cut.

To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must hurt that little boy. It had been weeks since your night with Ser Larys and silently you had been scheming. So far you remained indifferent, trying hard to make sure you aren't faltering by acting the same. It was a hard task that you've come to dread as you knew the cold truth behind his behaviors. At day he would be with you, by night he would be deep in her. You only began to notice the missing hours in your days and curse yourself for being so foolish. You thought long and hard about how you were going to approach the situation. Dissecting your husband under a magnifying glass whilst hiding behind timid smiles. And soon enough your praying and mute jealousy had manifested into the form of a golden haired beast bearing red and gold.

Ser Tyrin Lannister...

A handsome, charming young lord that has come to pay the crown a visit... Though you saw him for what he truly was, a prideful and egotistical man that's blinded by arrogance. The perfect pawn for your game. Truthfully, you only picked him out because he beared such acute resemblance to prince Aegon. The only difference in appearance was instead of the famed silver hair his was pure gold. You hoped that your choice of companion would strike a nerve with Aemond, seeing that he's spent so much of his youth being tormented by the image of the man.

And by the way he was glaring daggers at you and Tyrin, your expectations fall true. It was easy to manipulate the Lannister with sugar coated words and flirtatious giggles, the problem lied with Aemond taking the bait. Up until this point you were basically going off theory, but now you can trust that Aemond was a possessive man.

Your laugh rings through the room as you giggle at something Tyrin whispered in your ear. The man was indeed charismatic which made talking to him easy enough. If you hadn't diluted him to nothing but a playing piece you would have found yourself actually enjoying his company. You had been acquainted for quite some time now, ever since his first arrival, and everyday without fail you were with him. Slowly but surely you had began replacing Aemond with Tyrin in your life. It was him you went on walks with, it was him you dinned with. There was no doubt that Lannisters had vanity and he was aware of it, he was aware of how his gracious gifts won you over and softened you. Or so he thought. In weeks time you had managed to accumulate a collection of gold and ruby jewelries from the man himself.

Something Aemond has not taken kindly to, seeing the way his jaw would clench everytime you adorned the treasures. At this point you had purposely made a show of it, parading in a red and gold gown with massive ruby earrings dangling from your ears. All while you showcased a brilliant ruby and gold choker around your neck. You looked more like Tyrin's wife than Aemond's and perhaps that was your goal. Though honestly your endgame gets lost on you as you're having so much fun toying with him. No doubt Aemond had begun to pick up on your absence and it was hilarious to see. His worries and insecurities must've gotten the best of him because now you can't go anywhere without him trailing behind. He was always there, watching in silence, perhaps judging you but you did not care. The fact of the matter was, whatever you were doing was working.

"If you stare any longer I'm sure a fire will start to burn." Aegon says dryly from beside his brother, looking down at his empty chalice before placing it down all together. The elder rolled his eyes at the familiar 'hmmm' that escaped Aemond as he opens his mouth to say something but he turns mute. Instead he narrowed his eyes at the sight.

Contrary to popular belief, Aegon was not a complete fucking asshole. Well... sometimes he wasn't... He sensed his brothers discomfort greatly and although he didn't want to pry, he wanted to know what laid within the inner workings of Aemond's mind. Call it care or intrigue, but he loved gossip like an old widowed wife. Fact of the matter was, Aegon Targaryen was painful self aware and it didn't take much to figure out that Tyrin Lannister was him in lions clothing. Of course Tyrin was him if he actually tried and excelled at things. His drunken habits aside, he wanted to know why his sister in law was so taken by him with golden hair....

"He looks like me..." Aegon turns to his brother only to notice him swiftly walking away at his words. He turns to the man once more, brows pulling in contempt. Maybe he should have been born a Lannister....

To say that Aemond was irritated was an understatement. It was all so ridiculous. The fact that you were throwing yourself so carelessly for a man such as that imbecile. All Lannisters were dazzling armors with nothing truly potent inside. They were blinded by shine and glimmer just as much as everyone else was from their looks. He wouldn't admit it out loud but the resemblance Ser Tyrin had to his brother was uncanny. And he wouldn't dare admit that these unbecoming feelings were derived from that fact alone. Call Aemond what you will, a bitter husband, a possessive man, but he did not like what was playing out in front of him.

Over the passing weeks you had devoted your attention to that man and him alone. From the moment you awoke you were dressed in red and gold, throughout the day you were by his side. He no longer saw you and you no longer sought for his attention. He thought it'd be nice, to finally get you off his back but everyday he grows increasingly impatient. Were you not his wife? He knows he doesn't have a proper claim over you especially with how he's been acting but he still owned his emotions. And he was allowed to feel however he wanted to. Although he doesn't speculate any infidelity from your end, mainly because you weren't the type in his eye, it was plain that you were taken by a lion. Whether you knew it or not, you were dancing with a beast and Aemond would not take such defeat.

In all honesty, he's certain you aren't fucking Tyrin. Now perhaps that was just wishful thinking fueling his denial but you weren't exactly the type. All your marriage he's known you as nothing but dull... The perfect embodiment of who his parents wanted him to marry. Kind, respectable, a push over... In his opinion you were devoted to a fault. Seeing you as nothing but mindless doll who had no other choice but to fall in line and agree with whoever owned them. Hence why when seeking companionship he purposely chose some the exact opposite of you. Alys was older by a few years and had all the experience he craved. It was no question why that he sought for her instead of you. Word around the castle was that you were thought to be too pious to succumb to sins of temptation unless duty was in order.

He hadn't meant to grow so attached to Alys but she was exhilarating. Everytime they were apart he yearned for her body. She was captivating and alluring in all senses, intoxicating him. With long brown hair and a figure that could make the gods envious, she held him with a death grip. His Alys. Aemond knew that what he had with her wasn't love but more so addiction, but he didn't care what it was just as long as he got to have more of it. The differences between you and Alys were stark to see, you were at polars end. But what drawned him to her was the fact that she was so aware of her touch. He liked women that knew how to wield a weapon, and he quite honestly couldn't picture you doing the same. They called her many names for her beauty, searing her as a witch for her dominion over man.

If he wanted an enchantress you would give it to him. You would be better than Alys in every way imaginable. If he wanted someone who can satisfy him then you would drive him into the brink of madness with your touch. You wanted to suffocate and flush out Aemond Targaryen till he was no more than a shell. It started off slow. Switching your clothing in favor of another, something more hugging and accentuating. Your old gowns so colorful and modest were now replaced with darker tones that showed off your body well. It was an odd switch but you felt more comfortable this way strangly enough.

Then you traded innocent stares for something more bidden, your once doe eyes turning siren as you realize the effects of you had. Perhaps Aemond cheating on you was a blessing in disguise. You only now realize how good it felt to be wanted. All throughout court, men and women a like would fall in line for you. They would bow if you commanded so. You looked like someone to be taken seriously and not so much like a walking virtue. Everytime you entered a room eyes would be on you, the silent respect your new aura demanded was intoxicating. You knew who you were and what you were capable of, it was time for them now to know too.

It was empowering. You felt Immortal and unchallenged. To have them speak so nervously to you, the shy stares and permanent blushes. Your new change had prompted many curiosities but what captures people so was your attitude. Cunning, sly and quick witted, all the aspects of your being that you suppressed. You had never felt this in control all your life, like the tides were moved by your will.

All your life you've been taught to be one way despite your true wishes. You painted yourself as the image of what a lady was supposed to be without understanding why you were doing it. Or who you were doing it for. Perhaps this is why the change was so liberating, because you no longer chose to hide yourself. Maybe this was who you were all along and just needed a push to embrace it. You no longer felt like you were wearing a mask and truthfully you don't think you could ever put it on again. Not when they all doted around you. Not they all craved for you. Not when you had such power over desires.

They all fell into line... all but Aemond.... but you had something special for him. For now you let his judgment cloud him. You doubt that he's picked up on your facade faltering. It was quite strange to embrace the very values your teaching went against. Sensuality, unkept emotions, temptation. Having been guided to act one way only to realize that people yearned for the other more. To switch from being subdued to domineering. You no longer let people tell you what to do and how truly inebriating it was.

                                           〄

"You are intoxicating...."

You know not how much time has passed, only consumed on Tyrin's lips as he grasped your body all over. Laughing when his teeth grazed your neck, you threw your head back in bliss. Maybe this was what the Septa was trying to keep you away from, the overwhelming sensations of sex. It rushes through you, sending your skin on fire in it's wake. God, he knew how to please you so. Giggling into your ear as his golden locks curtain the sinful things he whispered, Tyrin's fingers expertly yanks your skirt up. You let him pin you to the bed, a stupid smile spreading across your face. If such an act was so bad then why on earth did it feel so good?

How exhilarating it was to be desired, to be wanted and fondled with care. And to think, all this time you had spent rotting away in your bed chambers waiting for Aemond. If he would not satisfy you then you would satisfy yourself, fulfillment taking the form of a rogue lover. Perhaps it was messy to set your eyes on the men of the court but maybe that's what you wanted. You like the thrill of getting caught, liked the rumors that murmured through the halls. Although you hadn't slept with anyone but Tyrin, you couldn't contain yourself from teasing the occasional lord and lady. Naturally, word got around of your effects and of you and Tyrin's speculated affairs. And not so long after, word finally traveled to your dear stupid husband. Though it wasn't until he caught you in the middle of the act did he finally take it seriously. Up until this point they were but toothless claims, not believing his tight laced wife would ever be capable enough to find her own back bone.

"Faster.... faster..." You say through half lidded eyes, blurry vision locked onto the man in between your legs. Your fingers intertwined with his golden hair as you guide his head at your will. Body heaving and grinding up against his mouth. You pull at your skirts more to get a better view of his face.

All was falling into place and you would make your first strike as footsteps approached up the hall. You were nearing ecstasy as your eyes stay trained onto the door. You had perfectly timed everything and in a manner of seconds you would land such a blow so harsh that it would shatter Aemonds views of you. His boring and dull, obedient little wife coming undone by a man that was not him. You suppress a moan as Tyrin slips his middle finger in you, fucking you in and out as his lips wrap around your swollen clit. Almost there, almost there....

Oh it was all too much yet not enough at the same time. It floods you, sending you over the edge as you desperately grasp onto the bed covers. And at the sound of the door opening you let out a series of gasps turned moans as you lock eyes with the cause of your downfall. The look on his face was satisfaction enough, but you wanted more. Eyes closing in bliss as your head falls onto the bed, a laugh so sinister rings through the room. You pull your skirt over to hide your exposed skin as you smile up at Tyrin. Drawing him close to place a long loving kiss on his lips, you nod your head out the door, whispering empty promises of later. Aemond watches the whole exchange, mouth clenched and fists balled. As the man walked past him and out the door Aemond had to physically stop himself from mauling him and setting him on fire.

There was no doubt about it, he was angry. Shaking in place much like you had in your seat weeks ago. He didn't know what these emotions were blossoming in his chest but he didn't like it. It burned in a way so violent he fears that a hole may form in his chest. He does nothing for a few moments, simply standing in place eyeing you like a predator to it's prey. You do the same, putting all your body weight on your elbow as you laid on the bed unmoving. If he expected a stream of desperate apologies to fall from your mouth then he was not going to get it. You looked at eachother with much venom and alcohol. The gratification you got coursed through you as the image he had witnessed stayed forever burned in his brain.

Good. You wanted him to remember that forever. Much like you'll remember his actions towards you for eternity. Suddenly you were angry. Angry at him, angry at his fucking Alys, angry at Ser Larys. Snarling in hate as your gaze hardens you force yourself to speak.

"Get out." The words were cold, and for a moment Aemond flinches as it echoed through the walls. He does what you command, harshly shutting the door behind him and you fall onto the bed once more.

What had you done?

You were getting even. You wouldn't be here if he hadn't have provoked you first. Truthfully, you didn't know what scared you more, the fact that you could have potentially ruined your marriage or how absolutely addicting it was to inflict pain onto him. One things for certain though, you weren't done.

Aemond didn't know what to feel. He was a mess of emotions, lashing out at anything and everything in his way. A part of him knew that this was only fair yet why did it hurt him so bad? He thought he didn't care about you, thought you were a mere pawn in this game but it appeared that all this time you were playing him. All of it is a mystery to him as he begins to think on your relationship more. What parts of you were actually real, which was really you and which was his wife? Were your affections for him true and had he hurt you so? All this time he thought you were playing a role, or maybe you were. Because the girl laying on that bed laughing like the stranger was not his wife.

No, she was a demon. A succubus getting off on his pain. All of it is so confusing, the bruises you left dragging him down into the depths. Yet why did it excite him a little... Watching you like that.... Aemond feels as though he couldn't breathe, the remaining fragments of his heart shriveled at the thought of falling victim to weakness. He would not allow this, he wouldn't allow a man like Tyrin Lannister to best him and steal you away. The sorrow he felt was akin to an old friend, the bittersweetness that plagued his soul reminded him of his youth. This was a feeling he promised himself he would never endure again. The feeling of being less than and not enough. He had failed you. He had failed you so bad that you had to go seeking for another. Now he knew that he was being a hypocrite on that but he was vulnerable.

Being vulnerable was not something Aemond Targaryen was used to.

〄

"You aren't to see him again." Aemond yelled, trailing after the girl as you entered your shared chambers. The space thankfully empty as you ignored his impending attitude. Your breath quickens as you find yourself caught in a rather unpleasant situation. It had been merely an hour since that gurly sight with Ser Tyrin Lannister, and Aemond finds himself losing all remaining composure he had left with you.

"Huh?" There was something rather vexing about your tone that proved to be daggers in Aemond's ears. The way you expressed such profound boredom and taciturn, as if this conversation was an inconvenience to you. You displayed an tired exposure that puzzled him to no end because the confrontation has yet to begin. Your slack demeanor and annoyed undertone was both riddling and infuriating to Aemond.

"Ser Tyrin Lannister, you aren't allowed to see him again!" Deciding to forgo any avoidance, Aemonds tone was cut clean. He told you how it was, and he did not care about preserving feelings when you were showing such childish behavior. You would either accept never seeing that man, or any man for that matter again, or Aemond would turn to more extreme measures.

"Well... who knew it was possible to evoke such emotions from you. And here I thought you were incapable." Aemond's eye widen in shock as you put on an uncharacteristic display of theatrics. You scoffed and silently berated him with your inflection. This was a side of you he's never seen before. It was a tiny probe that was meant to provoke him by angling into his worries in a brash and unnecessary way. Aemond didn't know whether or not you were intentionally trying to anger him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care if it was deliberate or not.

"...I beg your pardon?" His words wry and barren with any emotions, genuinely taken aback.

"Well then kneel and start begging." You turn to him sharply, backing him against the door as he looked down at you in shock, yet you don't back down.

"You can't tell me what to do. But if you wish to keep believing that you have some sort of power over me, I will try my best to be more discreet with my partners." You wave your hand at him, as if done with this conversation but he was far from finished.

"I will not have you acting like a whore y/n! You are my wife and mine alone!" Aemond did not mean to call you that but as the words slip from his lips he soon finds himself regretting it. Watching the way you hesitated for a moment, a flash of hurt gleaming on your face before turning angry. He knew men have called their wives much worse but not him. His mother had always made sure he knew how to treat women. If only she knew how that back fired...

A whore....

He thought that you were a whore......

Normally you wouldn't let such meaningless words effect you so but that was exactly it, it wasn't  meaningless. Not when it came from the mouth of the person you once thought the world of. Aemond used to be everything to you, and to hear that coming from him was disheartening to no end. Yes you knew that he was just angry because you pushed him so, but that fact became irrelevant as you begin to feel claustrophobic from your emotions. You felt frail, burning with a thick blanket of insecurities and rage constricting you, like a greedy serpent, ready to prey and corrupt you whole. You felt like Alice, falling into a dark rabbit hole of anxiety and panic, despair beginning to pull you down. It was all too much, and you suddenly began to feel so small. Your once defiance now subdued and replaced with the image of a shaking girl maddened. You felt afraid... not of Aemond but of your emotions...

Compose yourself, you were not going allow such disrespect and you were not going to fall into your old ways again.

"Don't play the fool, Aemond. You started this. Quite honestly what did you think was going to happen?" You yelled firmly in his face, trying so hard to push your emotions away. But thoughts of Alys tainted your mind. He would never speak to her this way. He would never act this way around her. You let the bitterness hug and empower you. The same need to hurt him reignited.

"I am simply playing the game that you started." You were reticent but in a prolix and unnecessary way. You would not reveal that he had hurt you so. Aemond opens his mouth to say something but doesn't for a few moments.

"What prompted this change..." He sounded desperate, his words breaking as he desperately searched for an answer.

"I don't know! Maybe now I don't feel the need to hide behind a mask anymore." You say to him honestly. This need for revenge and affinity for spite and pettiness, it had always been there. Aemond just didn't look at you long enough to notice it.

"I'm tired Aemond. I'm tired of doing my best to please you only for it to not be good enough!"

It wasn't just about you or Aemond being possessive anymore, it was the fact that you had reached your end. Was it so wrong to want a partner that actually loved and cared for you? Was it so wrong to want to be loved? The more you thought the more empty and hollow you felt. You can feel your soul decaying all together as anxiety crept up on you. He didn't want you.... The little voice in your head spoke. He thinks Alys is better than you..... stop... Why do you try so bad? because I must... You don't deserve to be with him... yes I do... No you don't... The voices in your head taunted, feeling feverish and flushed, you took a step back from Aemond. Suddenly afraid to be too close to him. But it did no help to calm the mean words the whirlwind through your brain. It picked at you, in a way that the thought of Alys couldn't but funny enough it was the personification of her plaguing your mind.

He doesn't think you're good enough...

I don't think you're good enough...

He doesn't think you're good enough...

We don't think you're good enough...

It's not just her anymore, the voice that invades your head is your parents speaking to you..... Then it's the King and Queen screaming... And after that it's Aegon and Helaena laughing at you...

It's Aemond talking down to you, —it's everything, it's everyone, all at once, all-consuming, suffocating and demanding. And suddenly the ability to hear is ripped from you; it's nothing. You're forced into a pliable mass being sullied, your body isn't yours anymore. It's a vessel of flooding anxiety and negative thoughts.

"I want somebody that loves me...." You say, looking at the man with such betrayal.

Be strong....

"I want a happy life with a husband that can actually stand to be in my presence. I want children of my own to fill the hole you left." You spoke after a short minute, your voice small and fragile, pleading... Aemond watches you shake and cry from where you stand. He had done this to you...

"I have spent so long loving you but that love has never served me..." Your words were soft, a timbre of spite concealed with broken confidence. You hated this... hated how you got in your own head and ruined your own self esteem... Pain feeding off your scorched heart and the embers of your love for Aemond. It was agonizing... agonizing to watch him look at you cry like this. But perhaps he needed to see you this way.

He had hurt you so badly and the moment he finally got a taste of his own medicine he ordered you to stop. It was the consuming fear of not being enough for him that killed you so, the thought of not being able to live up to the expectations. And for Aemond to stand there and call you a whore when all you ever did was try to love him.

"Forgive me my dear wife... I did not know that you have been suffering so badly all this time. Had I known...." He softens for a moment, trying to get you to understand whilst failing to consider that you didn't need to, he did.

"But you did! You knew and you still went off in search for something I cannot give you. Had you have known would it have changed anything?" You scream in broken anger and despair.

"No..."

You never learn, hearing it in your own head was a lot different than hearing it out loud. It will never be the same, it will always be ten times worse. Aemond had just confirmed your words. Of course you knew that he thought this way but it hurt a lot more. Just like that night with Ser Larys. Your shoulders slump in defeat, frowning as tears began to prick at your eyes. Aemond takes notice of this, swiftly cupping your cheeks with his large hands and forcing you to look him.

"No, because either way you would have been discontent. I cannot give you the life that you wanted." Yet you can give it to her?

"Why not!?" You yelled with such anger and rage, ripping his hands off you. Your voice echoing through the room as you cussed the boy out. You were frustrated beyond measure and above all else heartbroken. Was it truly too much to ask for? You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having him treat you like this. Maybe weeks ago you would've swoon at the thought of his hands caressing you. But that was then and this was now.

"I am not made for love..." You fear that you can slay Vhagar with the great efforts it takes you now to remain calm. That was his excuse? A pitiful one at that. He had you standing there.... sad and broken... and all he can come up with was that love wasn't in his nature? Pain is the perfect word to describe this sensation oppressing your chest at those words. This doesn't stop you from peering up at him in question. You felt a calling to yell at him but you couldn't, no matter how badly you wanted to you. Staying baffled, every cry dying in the back of your throat. Your visage contorting in somber at Aemonds blasphemy.

"I don't believe you!" You yell at him, pushing at his chest when he tries to hug you. You break down in his arms, collapsing onto the floor as you weep into him. Aemond desperately held you close, oh what has he done to you.... He felt a myriad of emotions wash over him. Guilt, sadness, shame... He was ashamed he pushed you to this point. So he held the woman he barely knew well enough to call his wife.

"Tell me Aemond! Does your heart belong to another? Tell me now, please and I'll stop." You didn't know what you meant by stop. Stop trying? Stop loving? But if he said the words you would end it so. Aemond looks down at you, hugging onto the portrait that was once his wife.

"No! No one has captured my heart, those who came second to you, they mean nothing. They are nothing..." He says quickly, his words ringing truthful. He didn't know what prompted this new change but he panicked at the thought of losing you.

"Prove it to me." You whispered slowly. Uttering the words in a tone so cold and firm, your gaze locks onto Aemond's. Your wide eyes morphing into something else as a small smirk pulls at your lips. Distraught gone from your face as the water flow of tears halt.

"Bring me the head of Alys Rivers."

"How do you know..." He looks at you in shock for a moment, your expression ridden of distress and replaced with something sinister.... Watching his expression carefully, you place your hands on his shoulders and leaned into his ear.

"Do it and I will be yours again." It came out as a pur, a tempting whisper urging him, and Aemond found himself liking the way it sounded. That was Aemond's cord. He was as possessive as he was jealous. Much like you, he didn't like being second to anyone, but would that be enough. Turning your head to meet his gaze, it would be so easy to kiss you but he keeps a firm hold on your waist.

"If not then I will take it myself." Nodding your head briefly, you remove his arms from around you. Standing up, you walk over to your shared bed, wiping away the rogue tears before sitting down. Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion, you were much more composed now and hidden behind your eyes was a sense of coldness.

"It appears that I have much to learn about you my lovely wife. But If it will please you then as you wish." Aemond stands soon after you, nodding his head as he planned to make amends.

"You're willing to kill her just like that?" Turning your head to him slightly, you questioned where his loyalty lied.

"I told you she means nothing to me... Did you think otherwise?" His sly expression displayed a certain vainglory that caused you to turn away. So maybe you had thought otherwise but your insecurities had to come from somewhere.

"If you're lying to me Aemond I will have your other eye." Threatening may not be the answer but you liked the hesitancy it triggered from him.

"I suppose this is my fault.... you don't trust me." Nodding his head as he walked slow steps towards you, Aemond kneels down in front of the bed and takes your hands in his.

"You have given me every reason not to trust you." With a stiff lip, you turn from him.

"I know... But let me make it right." Guiding your chin with his fingers to make you look at him, you noticed a hint of regret and shame swimming in his eye.

"The road to forgiveness will not be easy." You tell him firm.

"I know... my love." You ignore the butterflies that awoke from that title and watch as he rose to grab his riding coat. And so it begins...

༺━━━━━━━━━༻༒༺━━━━━━━━━༻

Autho's Note:

Let me know if you guys want more! There's more to this story but I chopped it up into two parts because I wasn't done and I wanted to have something out for you guys. I swear to god I drop fics unannounce then dissappear for months lmao.

- Armoni

[featherandferns]

daylight - two

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 2 of the daylight series | read part 1 here

content warnings: drinking, mentions of sex

word count: 3k.

blurb: you join jj's friends at the chateau and find yourself playing hot seat.

“No.”

“Come on! It’s cute!”

“I mean this with all due respect: burn that top.”

Rolling your eyes, you look down at your t-shirt. You’d thrifted it from a shop near the harbour. Born to fish, made to work. You thought it was hilarious, and it was washed and worn-down into comfort. Stretched at the collar and slightly big on your frame, you fell in love. Mimsy? Not so much. 

“It’s funny. I think it’ll go down well,” you tell her, keeping it on. You tuck the front into your pair of shorts before sitting down at your desk. Grabbing your hair brush, you begin taming your hair. 

“This is the first time you’re meeting hot-mechanic-man’s friends and that’s what you’re wearing?” Mimsy says, disapproval heavy in her voice. “God, you really are lost without me.”

Mimsy had dubbed JJ ‘hot-mechanic-man’ after you recounted the story from two nights ago, when your car decided to call it quits on some random country road. All you’d done was tell her his name and that he was from the Cut, and she’d stalker master-minded her way to his Instagram. It was just as you had pictured it to be. Snaps of him surfing, some shirtless (score), and photos of him smoking. His friends were on there too. You’d counted it as homework for tonight in your sleuthing. John B with a head of brown-ish hair, curled and fairly long; Kiara with a brimming smile and ‘save the turtles’ branded backpack; Pope with his awkward grin which did not match his well-toned body. They seemed fun from the photos.

There was a video on his Instagram which you think Mimsy might have watched fifteen or so times. It was of JJ shot-gunning a beer with John B, stood in a yard beside a campfire. You’d watched it too, eyes fixated on his bobbing Adam’s apple, and promptly clicked out of the video. So, despite your teasing, you were grateful for Mimsy’s talents. 

“How’re you getting there? Parents giving you a ride?”

“I’ll skate,” you say. 

Mimsy nods. “Is it a good skate scene out there?”

“S’alright,” you shrug. Flashing her a smile through the camera, you say, “would be better if you were here.”

“Yeah, well, most things are,” she jokingly returns. The smile that follows is solemn. The two of you missed each other like crazy. 

Mimsy looks past the camera into a mirror and continues working glitter onto her eyelid. It sparkles against her tanned skin. She's going out tonight to your usual haunt. Fake IDs got you into a social-club style bar in your local area, where most of your friends went. You missed the smell of liquor that clung to the walls and that uncomfortable tackiness of the floors. 

“You nervous about meeting his friends, then?”

“I guess,” you say. “Kinda nervous about meeting him again.”

“Yeah, hot guys will have that effect on you,” Mimsy returns with a cheeky grin. 

Rolling your eyes, you go to fire something back but get interrupted by a crackled yell through the speaker. Mimsy turns around in her chair, towards her door, and hollers back to her mother in Spanish. 

“Pol el amor de Dios,” she mumbles as she turns back to the camera. “Sorry, babes. Gotta go.”

“Have fun!” you grin. 

“Oh, you too,” she returns with a telling wink. Then she clicks off the screen. Your room is unnaturally quiet without her voice and company.

Checking the time, you get to your feet, pull on a pair of beat-up Reboks, and grab your bag and penny board. Jogging down the stairs of the two-story home, you call out to your parents. Your dad mumbles his reply just as you slip out the door. You take off down the street and head towards the address JJ text you. Your backpack is heavy with beer cans and unopened chips, and your cased digital camera. It felt wrong to leave your house without some form of camera: polaroid, digital, disposable. You were attached like a child to a safety blanket. 

As you pull onto the road which supposedly leads up to John B’s house, the amount of tarmac depletes. Making the rest of the way on foot, you’re only semi-cautious as you start down a dirt trail to an old fish shack that’s only just visible through overgrown shrubs and trees. The echo of energetic chatter which carries to you calms your worry. You round the corner to find JJ stood on top of a tree stump, arms expanded as he tells a story. When his eyes catch yours, he stops mid-sentence and jumps down. 

“Yo! You made it!”

The rest of the gang turns as JJ bounds over to you. He grabs you by the shoulders and coaxes you into the gathering. 

“This is the girl I was telling you guys about,” he says to his friends. 

They nod, wave and smile their greetings. JJ stands behind you, hands planted on your shoulders, and announces your name like you’re visiting royalty. 

“That’s John B, Kiara and Pope,” he introduces. You think you do a good job acting like you’ve never seen any of them before. 

"You're the damsel in distress JJ's been telling us about?" Kiara asks.

Laughing, you say, "that's not how I'd describe myself but sure."

The group smiles. John B nods down at the penny board you’re carrying. “You skate?”

“No, no, I just carry it around for street cred,” you dryly return. Pope sniggers. 

“See! Told you she was funny!” JJ says. He makes his way to the beer cooler. “Beer or seltzer?”

“Beer,” you reply.

He tosses a can to you like he did at the garage. You catch and crack it open, and then take the empty lawn chair beside Kiara. She’s sitting crossed legged, nursing a bottle. The only lighting comes from the porch behind you. Everyone is sat in a wonky circle, lounging in their various seats. JJ has claimed the hammock. Chickens coo in a run not far from the group. The marsh water near John B’s home soothingly laps at the land. Crickets and owls accompany the quiet hum of music playing from a beat-up Bluetooth speaker. 

“You came at the perfect time,” Kiara tells you. “JJ was just telling us a very interesting story.”

“Thank you, for that,” he replies, gliding past the almost-insult. “As I was saying, Priss snuck outta the party and nobody knows where she's at, right? Then, I'm heading out and guess who I fuckin' see her mackin' on? Fuckin' Bradley G.”

"You're so full of shit," John B snorts, shaking his head.

"I swear on my life! I swear on my God blessed grave, Priss and Brad G hooked up at that keggar the other night!"

You glance at JJ's friends and nobody seems very convinced.

"You're not allowed to go to parties unsupervised anymore," Pope says in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Shut up, Pope. Like you ever go to parties anyway," JJ mutters before taking a hefty swig of his drink.

Rolling her eyes, Kie looks to you. “Anyway. JJ says you’re new to Kildare?”

“Yep,” you reply. 

“Where abouts you living? On the Cut?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes from here, actually,” you say. “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys by the way.”

“Course,” she smiles. 

“Oh!” You suddenly remember your bag. Delving in, you produce two large bags of chips. “I brought snacks and drinks too.”

John B gets up and gladly takes the beers from you, placing them in the cooler with thanks. Kie tosses a bag of chips to JJ before opening the other, offering it around.

For a while there’s little chatter as you all relax. Kie hums along to the Bob Marley song that plays and Pope reads. John B’s head is reclined back, eyes shut, and a cloud of smoke sometimes billows out from the hammock cocoon JJ’s placed himself in. It’s reminiscent of how your friends used to be back in Vancouver. Chilled and cool, no pressure. 

JJ breaks the quiet with a groan, shifting to sit up. “A'right. I’m bored. Let’s play a game or something.”

“Not strip poker again,” Pope demands. 

“Oh come on! Why not!?” JJ protests. 

Kie rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a card shark.”

“And because you always end up getting your dick out,” John B tags on. You snort into your can. 

“Alright, alright, what then? I can’t be arsed setting up beer pong,” JJ grumbles, plopping himself down in a seat just opposite you. 

“What about hot seat?” you offer. The group looks to you. 

“Hot seat?”

“Yeah, it’s when someone sits down in a chair and they’re grilled for five minutes by the group. Any questions, no rules. If they don’t wanna answer, they drink,” you explain. “It’s fun.”

“I���m down,” Kie shrugs. 

“Me too,” Pope agrees. John B nods. 

JJ gets up, grabbing another abandoned seat (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and placing it in view of everyone, mimicking that of a courtroom layout. 

“Alright, who’s first?” he asks. After a round of highest-lowest, Pope winds up in the hot seat. He shifts nervously as Kie readies her timer. 

“Ready? Go!”

With that, an influx of questions follow. They range in severity: some joking and trivial and others bordering on existential. Pope drinks only once when asked if he’s into anybody, and before more prying can follow, the timer goes off. 

“Now you get to choose who goes next,” you explain, somewhat giddy with the others. 

“John B, you’re up,” Pope prompts. They swap seats and the group eggs the brunette on as he steels himself for questioning. The timer starts and the questions begin. 

“Blow job or hand job?”

“Blow job,” John B answers JJ. 

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Do you think the Royal Merchant is real?”

“Damn straight,” John B replies. You frown. Royal Merchant? 

“Hottest girl in the county?”

John B deliberates. When he seemingly can’t decide, he takes a drink. More silly questions follow, most of which stem from JJ, and the group starts to crack up. The alcohol helps, easing everyone out of any boundaries. When John B’s round finishes, it’s followed by Kiara. She takes a joking bow before hopping into the seat. She’s calm and collected under their scrutiny. Rolls her eyes at JJ’s prying queries and entertains your own curious questions. From the way the group answers, and what they answer, you gain a better sense of their personalities. JJ is the next one up. He throws his hands up as he walks over, as if he’s heading into a boxing ring. He then man-spreads in the seat, shorts hitching up his muscular quads, and vapes as Kiara resets the timer. As your eyes skim up and down his body, they return to his face to find him watching you, amused. 

“Timer’s going,” Kiara says. You snap your eyes away from his.

“Favourite sex position?” John B asks. 

“Damn, that’s a tough one,” JJ replies. His finger swipes his lip almost tauntingly as he deliberates. You’re shamelessly intrigued. “Toss up between doggy and missionary.”

“Weed or beer?”

“What!? That’s evil!” JJ argues. “Weed, I guess.”

“Surfing or fishing?”

“Surfing. No! Fishing. No, no, wait…Can I choose both?”

You chorus with the others: “drink!”

He does as he’s told, swigging back his can. Nods when he’s done to prompt another question. 

“If you could travel somewhere in the world, where would you go?” you ask.

JJ looks to you. His answer comes quick. “Anywhere. Fuck it - everywhere! I’d go to Mexico, and then Brazil, and then Argentina, and then I’d go to the Caribbean islands to see what’s happening there. And then Japan and China and all those places, and then a little backpacking stint around Europe and stuff. Finish off in Africa with the elephants and shit.”

The group hums their approval. As you glance around, you get the sense none of them have been very far. Neither had you. The farthest you’d ever been was North Carolina. Your family had never ventured out of Vancouver before; the only reason your parents had settled on North Carolina was because of your dad’s ties. He was born here and grew up not far from Kildare, in Wilmington. You think he might have been chasing nostalgia when he announced that you were all moving to Kildare. 

“You into anyone right now?” Pope asks. 

“Why? You offering yourself up?” JJ teases. Pope rolls his eyes, mumbling jerk under breath. “Yeah, I am.”

“Who?” Kie prompts, curious. 

JJ’s eyes flash back to you and a telling smirk sneaks onto his face. “She already knows who she is.”

The group’s low whistles and ‘oo’s aren’t the only cause for your flushing. JJ’s stare is too. It flits down your figure tactfully before returning to your eyes, smirk only wider. You clear your throat, press your legs together and sip your beer. The timer goes off. 

“Who’s up?” John B asks JJ.

“New girl,” JJ replies, clearing the seat for you to take his place. You gladly do so, laughing at the applause and whoops that come from the others. 

“Do your worst,” you grin, squiffy from the beers.

Kiara starts the timer and the gang comply with your request. 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

You bark out a laugh at Pope’s question. “Shit, starting off heavy. Um…Crashed my friend’s bike.”

“As in push-bike?”

“As in dirt bike,” you cringe. “Brand new dirt bike.”

“Damn, that is rough,” John B chuckles. 

“Thing you like the most about yourself?”

“We talking physically or...?”

“Intellectually,” Kiara clarifies. 

“And physically,” JJ happily tags on. 

“Physically? My wrists, I guess. Don’t ask, I know that’s weird,” you laugh. “And intellectually…” Your eyes downfall to the grass ahead as you ponder. “Maybe my faith in others? I always try and see the best in people.”

Kiara nods, content with your response. 

“What about the thing you dislike most about yourself? Intellectually, that is,” Pope wonders. 

Your smile twists. “My faith in others.”

It was a double edged sword: you’d learnt that the hard way. You wash down the memories with a swig of beer. 

“Body count?”

The sudden change in tone makes you laugh.

“You can’t just ask a girl her body count!” you exclaim through your giggles. JJ exaggerates his shrug. 

“Why the hell not!? Anything goes right?”

You shake your head with a smile. As you sip your drink, you stare JJ down. 

“Alright, favourite sex position then,” Kie says.

You comply with that question. Grinning, you say, “cowgirl. Or reverse cowgirl. Either, really.”

John B whistles as Kiara teases, "okay, girl, okay."

“If you had to hook-up with anyone here, who would it be?” JJ asks. 

Laughing, you look to the sky as you toss back your head. “I met most of you guys like two hours ago!”

“Going off first-impressions, then,” JJ says. You can hear the grin in his voice. 

There’s an obvious answer, at least to you. It’s the blonde who you’ve spent the whole night trying not to stare at. His rugged handsomeness and bedroom eyes mixed with the sheen of daytime sweat and sunscreen that settled on his skin, bathing him in beauty...Fuck, it’s not fair people like that exist. You want to know the recipe God used to make him. Want to keep it to yourself so he can’t make it anymore.

Fixing your posture, you train your eyes on JJ. Then, you take a long, long sip of your drink. Kiara laughs under her breath with John B. You swear you see JJ’s demeanour darken. It’s like a game of who can break first. In the end, it’s you, thanks to the surprise of the timer. 

“That’s time…”

“John B. Get your butt back in this chair,” you say, getting to your feet.

He does as asked whilst you return to your old spot. When you glance up, you find JJ watching you. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips and a barely-there expression on his face, but you can’t decipher what either means. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about it though. Reminds you of the same type of smile you saw almost a year ago, back in Vancouver, on a different guy's features. You look away and wash it down with your drink.

The game eventually dies down after two more rounds, without you or JJ returning to the hot seat. By now everyone is bordering on drunk.

The energy has amped up and the atmosphere is upbeat. As Kie, Pope and John B fall into a loud debate about something or other, JJ finds the spot next to you. He nudges your leg with his. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you smile. “Thanks for inviting me along tonight.”

“Course. You thinking you might a Pogue?”

“Maybe, maybe,” you reply non-committedly. You take another sip of your beer. 

“Look, uh, I’m sorry if I weirded you out at all tonight, with all the hot-seat things,” JJ randomly says. 

Frowning, you look at him. “It didn’t weird me out. I told you that at the garage, didn’t I? That it doesn't bother me?”

“Yeah, but, after tonight…Just don’t want to make you feel weirded out around me,” he replies. 

It’s sweet that he cares about that. JJ seems the kind who talks first and apologies later. Whilst you know half of it's joking, you appreciate him checking that you’re comfortable with it. You’d had flirty guy friends before. Hell, you had flirty girl friends too. Mimsy, to name one. Maybe the different thing here was that you wouldn’t exactly turn JJ down. It wasn’t him that was keeping you at bay.

“Nah, you’re good,” you say. Glancing down, you watch your sneakers fidget in the grass. “I just, uh…I just have a lot going on right now and I don’t wanna jump into anything. Even if it’s casual, you know? At least not until I figure things out a bit more and get settled.”

It’s only half of the truth. There was something deeper holding you back. You could feel it now, creeping up behind you, always looming since December.

But you just met JJ. He didn’t owe you anything the same way you didn’t owe him. And trauma dumping isn’t the most certifiable way to make friends. 

“Nah, I get it,” JJ hums, nodding. “Sides, if you’re gonna be one of us, we have rules.”

“I’m sorry, you have rules?” you snigger, looking to him. 

JJ laughs. “Alright, alright, I know it sounds intense but hear me out! They’re to keep the peace and stuff. Keep us together.”

“That’s sweet. I, too, often trap people into friendships with rules,” you sardonically return. JJ nudges your leg away in joking disapproval. You laugh. “Go on, then. What are these rules? Should I get a notebook or…?”

“Alright, rule number one: no pogue on pogue macking.”

“Macking?”

“Kissing. Hooking up. That sorta thing,” he explains. 

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Guessing that came about after your collective balls dropped and you realised Kiara’s hot?”

JJ doesn’t speak but his silence is answer enough. You laugh. A particular outburst from Pope catches your joint attention. John B and Kiara fall into hysterics and you smile at their joy. It distracts JJ from further rule-telling. Reaching down into your backpack that’s nestled under your seat, you fish out your camera and settle it on the trio. You snap a few shots. They’ll look perfect with a black and white filter. JJ watches you flick through them. 

“You a photographer or something?”

“Kinda,” you reply. “I do it for fun, mostly.”

“Wanna take one of me?” It seems a rhetorical question.

Chuckling, you lift the camera and snap a shot of a grinning JJ. In one hand he holds up his drink and in the other he makes a surfer symbol. It’s cute. Shows his dimples and crowsfeet by his eyes. It reminds you why you were so infatuated by him at the kegger. The way the camera paints him is like a Monet. Before you can protest, JJ takes the camera from you and turns it. You complain as he snaps a shot: it feels unnatural being on this side of the lens. You snatch it back. 

“Dickhead.”

“What? You look cute! Especially in that shirt - I fucking love that.”

You try to hide your fluster by placing your camera back. JJ gets to his feet. Offering out a hand with a smile, he helps you up. The casual touch somehow feels like you're shaking on something. An agreement, to be simply friends, at least for now. So, passing a smile and naturally retracting your hand from his, you follow him to the others.

“What we talking about?” JJ asks.

“Oh, shit! You guys have got to hear this story!” Kiara struggles out.

They all shuffle to make space for you and JJ. John B wordlessly offers you another can whilst Pope recounts his tale. As you settle into laughter with the others, cracking up at JJ’s teasing of his awkward friend, you find yourself happy with the thought of becoming a Pogue.

read part three here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where the fire department is called. And Nirvana might not just be a word on a hoodie. or The twenty-sixth installment of the Skz!Pack Prequel series.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ!Pack, Pack!prequel, ot8, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, skz smut, skz fluff, skz angst, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, abo, a/b/o, skz abo, alpha beta omega, femreader, poly!skz

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Title: Emergency Stop

12 Hours Earlier

Chan sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, spinning a few aimless circles as he lets his gaze wander across the tiled ceiling of the student studio. 

He listens to the sound of fingers clicking across keyboards, the quiet hum of equipment, and then announces finally, to no one in particular, just to get it off his chest, “I think she’s avoiding me.” Hongjoong pulls his headphones off his ears, letting them drop down around his neck, as he turns from his current project to stare at Chan in exasperation, one dark brow arched. 

“I think that’s a little dramatic, mate.” 

“Wellllllll-” Changbin hems from the other side of the room, a grimace going across his features, as he swivels in his chair to face them, not quite meeting Chan’s gaze. 

Chan bolts upright, his voice loud with triumph. “Ah ha! I knew it!” 

“Oh my goood.” Hongjoong groans, scrubbing at his face with his hands, before he must decide that they’re not worth the trouble, turning back to his computer and pulling his headphones back up- on both ears this time. 

Changbin’s lips twist to the side in an obvious guilt ridden expression, his dark eyes finally meeting Chan’s. 

Chan feels his stomach drop as he regards his best friend and packmate’s worry. 

“What?” He asks, suddenly breathless, leaning forward in the office chair, his alpha suddenly on high alert. “What did I do? How did I fuck it up? You gotta tell me how to fix it, Bin, it’s fucking with my head.” 

Changbin reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, Chan recognizes the nervous gesture, and clears his throat, his eyes darting around the room, as if trying to focus on anything except the man in front of him. 

“You didn’t do anything, hyung. I swear to god, but I can’t tell you anything else, because (Y/N) will fucking eat me alive.” 

“She is pretty fucking scary.” Hongjoong chimes in once more, glancing over his shoulder at Chan, his fingers paused on the mouse. “Almost in Seonghwa’s league. Almost.” 

Chan glances back to Changbin, who is nodding avidly along in agreement with what the other alpha is saying. 

Chan’s alpha is growling at his mate’s resistance, at the way he’s holding back, even if he knows how to fix this whole mess, but he takes in a deep, steadying breath, and clamps his hands in his lap, willing the angry wolf back down. 

“Bin.” He tries again, glancing back to the other man, his voice steady, calm, imploring. “You gotta tell me something. If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t fix it, and I’m going crazy over here.” Changbin’s chest heaves with a sigh, and then he swallows, Chan watches the way his Adam's apple bobs, as he looks up to the ceiling, as if for some form of silent approval. 

Finally, he sighs again, audibly this time, and rakes a hand agitatedly through his dark hair. 

“Fine.” 

Chan feels his entire body tense, waiting on what comes next. 

He can sense a headache starting to pound to life behind his left eye. 

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the current situation, or because he hasn’t really seen you much over the last week, and his alpha is taking direct note of the loss of contact. 

Changbin shakes his head slightly to himself, as if he can’t believe what he’s going to say, going to reveal, and then he grits out, “She’s worried about something she said.” 

Chan’s mind races, going over every tiny interaction the two of you have had in the last week and a half. 

Nothing significant comes to mind. 

“What?” He asks, puzzled, as if Changbin can reveal the clues to him. 

Instead, the other alpha gives a half hearted shrug. 

“I dunno, hyung. She wouldn’t tell me anything besides that. I’m sorry, man.” 

Chan shakes his head, still analyzing every time you’ve spoken, or interacted, since he saw you during Jeongin’s heat. 

Honestly, it wasn’t much, considering you’d been avoiding him at all costs. 

He manages a weak grin, and stands, walking over to pat Changbin on the back. 

“Nah, it’s fine, mate. Thanks for telling me that much. I’ll figure it out.” 

Changbin glances up at him, expression unreadable, and gives a curt nod, already reaching for his headphones again. 

“She feels things really fucking deeply. Deeper than the rest of us. Sometimes she just needs a little space to figure it out. But she cares about you, hyung. A lot. She wouldn’t be this fucking worried if she didn’t.” 

Chan grips his shoulder a little tighter, a silent sign of acknowledgement, and goes back to his own work station. 

He knows Changbin’s right. Knows he speaks from experience. 

So why is his stomach still in knots? 

*******

Fuck. 

Your eyes dart around the small kitchen, helplessly looking for an escape route, before they settle on the two men sitting at the table, staring you down. 

You clear your throat, and try to work up an easy smile. 

“You were talking about me? I’m flattered Min.” 

Minho’s smirk widens, growing sharp and dangerous, as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to do. 

You’re sure he does. 

He pats the chair beside him, in the middle of he and Chan. 

“Have a seat.” 

You can’t think of literally anything worse in this moment, your skin already hot underneath Chan’s stare, your fingers itching at your side, your alpha begging you to please get the fuck out of here already.

You take a step backward, back toward the safety of the hallway. 

“That’s okay, I actually was just leaving to go on a run.” 

Minho’s brow arches a little higher. 

“At eleven PM?” 

There is amusement in his tone, as if he knows he’s caught you in an outright lie. 

You give a little shrug, and take another step toward the door. 

“I do my best running at night. Must be the wolf in me.” 

You don’t dare look at Chan, not when he’s right here, staring at you, expression unreadable. He hasn’t said one word since you entered the room, and you can practically feel your body withering from the shame of his heavy gaze. 

It’s like he can see right through you, and you need to get out of here, right now. 

“Anyway-” You’re halfway into the hallway now, the front door, your shining savior, within sight. You give the men a little wave and another unconvincing, weak smile. “-gotta go. Have fun.” 

You dart for the front door, nearly bowling an emerging Jisung over, sending his popcorn flying. 

“Hey!” He protests with a glare in your direction, but you don’t stop, tugging on your sneakers with record speed, before you barrel out the door of the apartment. 

“Sorry, Jisungie!” You call over your shoulder, because you are, but honestly, in times of crisis-

You can breathe easier out here, in the quiet darkness of the dorm hallway, even though you’re still practically jogging, headed directly for the elevator. 

You’re making a beeline for your dorm a few floors down, and you’re staying locked up in there until Chan decides to leave. 

Well, not leave, because he lives here too, but at least until he decides to go back to his own kitchen and stop talking to Minho about whatever the hell they were discussing. 

You slide through the gap of the doors in the elevator before they’re fully open, and pound the second floor button a few more times than necessary, catching your breath as you wait for the doors to close. 

They’re almost down to a sliver, and you think you’ve gotten away with your hasty escape, when an arm shoots through, bouncing them back open, and Chan steps into view. 

Immediately, the breath you’ve just regained leaves your body, as he joins you in the elevator, the doors hissing shut quietly behind him. 

There’s silence, the space suddenly feeling smaller than normal, as you stare him down warily from your corner. 

“What-” You start to say, in an attempt at least to fill the uncomfortable quiet, but Chan beats you to it.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He demands, dark eyes flashing, as the elevator jolts into motion. 

You brace yourself against the wall, your mouth dropping open at his serious, commanding tone. 

“I’m not avoiding you-” You start to protest weakly, the lie sounding unconvincing to even your own ears. 

“Bullshit” Chan cuts you off once more with a growl, taking a menacing step toward you, and suddenly, you know, you’re not dealing with Christopher Bang any longer, you’re dealing with his alpha.

His irrational, incredibly pissed off and slighted alpha. 

Fuck. 

The elevator feels tiny now, saturated with the scent of thunder, and you swallow hard, your own alpha flattening its ears in response. 

The sound of a ding signals the arrival of the next floor, and before you can make a move to do something, anything, Chan reaches behind him without a glance, and slams his palm down over the emergency stop button. 

The elevator grinds to a sudden halt with an eerie shriek of gears, and then there is silence, all movement ceased. 

Your mouth falls open once more, but you feel your own anger flare to life in the pit of your stomach, rising to meet his. 

“Chan, what the fuck do you think you’re doing-” 

He stalks toward you, and you shrink back into the corner, the cool metal of the hand bar digging into your back. 

“Exactly what I should’ve done when this whole nonsense started.” He growls, caging you in as he puts his hands on either side of your head, fingers digging into the slick, cool brushed metal of the elevator’s walls as he glares down at you. 

You’re choking on the storm now, your heart pounding against the wall of your ribs. 

But you hold your ground regardless, lifting your head as defiance flashes across your gaze, and frost starts to crackle outward from you, freezing the storm. 

“Oh? And what’s that? Emergency stop an elevator in a little temper tantrum?” 

His dark eyes flash, and a muscle ticks in his jaw, but his voice is steady when he responds. 

“If I have to trap you in a room with me to get you to talk over things like an adult, like my mate, then yes.” 

You scoff, looking away from his burning gaze. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“That’s not what Changbin said.” 

Your head jerks up, your angry gaze meeting his. 

“Fuck Changbin.” 

“I do, and I enjoy it.” Chan fires right back without missing a beat, crowding you into the corner further, his scowl deepening. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about, is it?” 

“I’m not. Avoiding you.” You grind out through gritted teeth, your jaw clicking with the immense pressure of keeping your rage back. 

It’s a blatant lie, and you both know it. 

Chan’s eyes darken, dripping golden around the pupils now, and when he parts his lips, his teeth flash in what’s almost a snarl, dangerous and threatening. 

You can practically feel his alpha’s teeth poised warningly over your exposed throat. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry before. 

“You think-” He begins, and his voice has dropped dangerously, a menacing growl in the back of his throat, a rumble in his chest. “-that even if I was stupid enough not to notice, he wouldn’t?” 

Your lips part, ready to spit something back, but something about his words ring true in the hollow pit of your stomach. 

He’s right. You could avoid him all you wanted, but your alpha, and his, would know. They were the ones who were suffering because of the distance, keening for their mates. 

Fuck, if it was hell for the two of you, it was fucking torture for them. 

Chan’s gaze hasn’t wavered from your own, not once, and when he speaks again, his words are just above a murmur, and you don’t miss the way his breath trembles on his next inhale. 

“I can’t fucking sleep, (Y/N.) I can’t eat, I can’t study, I can’t produce, I can’t do anything, because every single waking moment is spent trying to figure out what I did wrong and how to fix it.” 

You feel guilt drop like a hot pound of lead into the pit of your stomach. 

You lean your head back on the wall behind you, and meet his gaze head on, your voice quiet, but steady, when you reply back, “It wasn’t anything you did.” 

Confusion starts to pool into his expression, easing some of the anger, and you feel your own fury start to melt away like sand with the tide, leaving your body tired and heavy. 

“Then why?” He questions back, gaze boring into your own. 

You sigh, and glance behind him to the still blinking emergency stop button, wondering how much time you have before someone notices the elevator hasn’t moved and calls the fire department to rescue the two of you. 

That’s all you need right now. Better hurry this up. 

“I said something.” You announce without preamble, shifting your gaze to meet his own once more, sudden fear rising like bile in your throat. You force through the feeling, and swallow hard. “The day you asked me for help during Jeongin’s presentation.” Chan watches you closely, silently, and you give a little shrug and half a laugh-it’s awkward, and fleeting, and leaves the space in between you feeling heavier than before. 

“And I wasn’t sure if what I’d said-what I’d admitted-made you feel weird. I was scared I’d messed shit up, and I wanted to give you space to deal, if that was the case.” 

Chan cocks his head-the motion is endearing, like a puppy-and you resist the urge to reach up and push some of the curls back off his forehead with your fingers. 

Confusion is clear on every inch of his features now. 

“What did you-” He starts to ask, and then something clicks behind his expression, his eyes going wide and his jaw going slack. “Oh, you mean the love thing.” “Oh my god.” You groan, covering your face with your hands, already feeling your cheeks heat up. “Do we have to call it that?” 

When you peek back through your fingers, Chan is smiling, his lips pulled crookedly to one side, the gold fading slowly from his gaze. 

“That’s why you were avoiding me? You were worried about that?” 

“Yes!” You shriek,a little bit louder than necessary, and Chan’s grin widens even more. “I mean, that’s a fuck of a thing to announce to someone out of the blue, when they’re already dealing with a ton of shit and I didn’t know how you’d take it.” 

Chan tilts his head, regarding you. “But you’ve already told me you love me. Once before. Remember?” 

You stare at him like he’s just grown another head, and then it clicks. 

“That didn’t count!” You cough out, choking on your own spit, waving your hands wildly as you try to regain your breath. “That was like a post fuck thing, I was feeling sappy,  I just threw it out there to everyone in general, you guys had just saved me and given me the best orgasm of my life and it wasn’t-” “True?” Chan finishes for you, though there’s no hurt on his face, only slight amusement. 

“No!” You protest, growing angry again as you grow more flustered by the second. “It was true, it just wasn’t so-”

“Direct?” Chan tries once again, watching you closely. 

“Yeah.” You finish helplessly, your shoulders slumping. 

Chan gives a little laugh, and slides one of his large hands down the elevator wall to grip your chin in his fingers, raising your embarrassed gaze to his once more. 

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth settling into an affectionate smile, as you struggle a little and try to resist his gaze. 

“Baby. Look at me.” 

You finally do as he says, reluctantly meeting his eyes, and he arches a brow at you. 

The air between you is heavy with ice and storm, but it doesn’t feel so oppressive now. 

In fact, the headache you’ve been battling all week seems to be miraculously gone. 

Chan’s lips twitch, and you huff at him a little, folding your arms across your chest at his obvious amusement in your sheepishness. 

“Listen. If it hasn’t been incredibly fucking clear since the first time I met you that I’m head over heels for you, then I must not be doing enough to prove it to you.” 

Your own lips twitch into the hint of a smile then, and you begrudgingly uncross your arms from your chest. 

“No, you’re doing enough. Trust me. Following me around like a little lost puppy when I openly hated your guts for the first couple of weeks definitely sold it.”

Chan laughs, and the sound sends warmth cascading down your body. 

Your tired muscles feel a little more manageable now. 

 Chan leans in, and rests his forehead against yours. 

You take a moment to breathe him in, and then he murmurs, breath warm on your face, “Now, say it again, but don’t run away this time.” 

You smirk, keeping your eyes closed as you whisper back, “There’s not really anywhere for me to go. You saw to that.” 

He chuckles, breath fanning across your skin, but doesn’t move to pull away. 

You take in a deep breath, and let your hands skim up the warm length of his arms, letting your fingers take him in for a moment, before you breathe out, “I love you, Christopher Bang. Even though I hated your guts, and fucked up a couple of huge things, and you trapped me in an elevator with you-twice, I might add, against my will-I love you, and I don’t think that’s ever not been true.” 

Chan opens his eyes, and you stare into the golden flecks of his irises, before he pulls back, and his lips curve into the start of a smirk. 

“Now, was that so hard?” 

You swing an arm out and hit him lightly in the chest, giving him a fake glare. 

“Say it back.” 

He grins, and leans in, caging you with his forearms once more against the cool metal behind your head, his nose brushing your own. 

“I fucking love you, (Y/N), I always have. Even when you hated my guts. In fact, in retrospect, I think that made me love you even more.” 

You giggle, and Chan covers your mouth with his without warning, swallowing the sound. 

You let your hands trace up his back and into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls, as he flicks his tongue between the seam of your lips and into your waiting mouth. 

The sharp points of his canines graze and tug at your bottom lip, and you moan, breaking the kiss as you let your head fall back to the wall behind you, breathing heavily, as Chan presses kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat, tickling and teasing your skin as he nibbles your collarbone, traces your scent gland with his tongue. 

“They’re gonna send the fire department after us, you know.” You gasp out, gaze flicking beyond him once more to the flashing button on the wall, as he drops to his knees in front of you, fingers finding your hip bones. 

Chan looks up at you, lips red and kiss bitten, a grin stretching the pink skin over white teeth. 

He arches a brow. 

“Lucky for you, baby, they’re not incredibly known for their fast response time, and I’m a fairly quick worker.” 

You reach out a hand to stop him as he reaches for the closure of your pants, and when he looks up at you in confusion, your lips lift into a smirk. 

“What if I told you I wanted to take my time?” 

His lips slowly lift into a wicked grin of his own. 

“I think we can make that happen.” 

********

Your apartment is closer than Chan’s (by one floor, but hey, a floor is a floor), so after apologizing to some severely annoyed alphas who were waiting on the stalled elevator, you push through your front door and Chan doesn’t wait a second before he pounces. 

He backs you against the wall of the hallway, his hands dropping to your waist once more, his mouth already on yours. 

His tongue swipes around the inside of your mouth, and you groan into him. “About that taking our time thing-” 

Chan chuckles huskily, the sound going right to your core, and if you weren’t already incredibly wet before, you sure as hell are now. 

There’s a quiet sound behind the two of you and you freeze, leaning up to glance over Chan’s shoulder, suddenly on full alert. 

“Jeongin?” 

Chan follows your gaze, your mouth open in shock, to the omega standing beside the front door, waving sheepishly to the two of you, his cheeks almost as red as his hair. 

“Hey, noona.” 

You slip out beneath Chan’s arm and approach him, surprise clearly etched across your face. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I was waiting for you.” Jeongin gives a little shrug, but he won’t meet your eyes, embarrassment clear on his pretty features. “You said later earlier and I thought-” 

Oh. Fuck. 

You let out a sigh, suddenly feeling more than a little remorseful. “Sorry, Innie. I was hanging out at Minho’s and then Chan was there-” 

Jeongin glances down, scuffing his shoe into the worn carpet. “No, it’s fine, noona. I was just gonna sneak out when I heard the two of you, but I should’ve known I had no chance when up against a wolf’s hearing.” 

His hand reaches for the doorknob, and without thinking, you reach out and stop him. 

“Wait-” You swallow, his large, dark eyes flicking to you in surprise. “I mean. You can join us? If you want?” 

Jeongin stares at you, his pupils huge. 

“What?” Chan approaches, his hand going on your shoulder as he addresses Jeongin. “Yeah, Innie. It’s up to you, but we don’t mind-” 

You notice the way Chan reaches up to rub his neck as he speaks, as if he’s just as nervous over this as Jeongin is. 

“Don’t feel any pressure.” You hurry to reassure the omega standing in front of you. “I know you don’t have much experience, and one alpha on a good day is a lot, so if this is too overwhelming-”

Jeongin bites his lip and glances between the two of you. Finally, he says hesitantly, voice barely above a whisper, “I think I’d like that. But-” He takes in a nervous breath. “Can I just watch for a little bit first? Would that be okay?” 

You smirk. “Oh, so you’re one of those?” 

Jeongin instantly flushes, and you rush to reassure him you were only teasing, looping an arm around his shoulders as you lead him back toward your room, Chan following on your heels. 

“I’m just kidding, baby. There’s nothing wrong with a little voyeurism. Minho loves to watch.” 

“He also loves to boss.” Chan says with a slight smirk, as he steps ahead of you and pushes open the closed door, allowing you both to pass first into the room. 

“That he does.” You laugh a little, and then turn to Jeongin. “Okay, pup. Pick your poison.”

Jeongin glances around, clearly still a little shy given the circumstances, and then he settles into the desk chair in the corner of your room, opposite the bed. He pulls his knees up to his chest and nods. “Okay. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Chan has come to stand against your back, tickling his fingers up and down your spine, brushing his nose across the juncture of your throat, and at Jeongin’s words, he groans, and you feel him press into you from behind. He’s still clearly worked up from before, the momentary pause hasn’t even phased him. 

“That’s gonna be pretty hard to do when you smell so fucking good, pup.” 

Jeongin looks wide eyed at Chan’s throaty admission, and leans over to not so subtly sniff his own shirt. “I don’t smell anything crazy.” 

Chan growls in his throat, and you smirk, reaching back to palm him through his jeans. He bucks his hips up into your hand, his fingers digging into your shoulders. 

“That’s because you’re used to how you smell, but you’re kinda blooming, Innie. It means your omega has sensed the presence of alphas-pack alphas-and is desperately trying to get our attention.” 

“Oh.” Jeongin murmurs, looking suddenly small. “I’m sorry, I can leave-” He makes a move to get up. 

“Sit down.” You command, and his pupils dilate at the sound of your timber, but he does as he’s told. You soften your tone a little. “You’re fine, Innie. You’re not going to distract from anything. If anything, your scent is going to make this all the more enjoyable.” 

Chan’s teeth graze over your scent gland, and you glance back at him, arching your brow. “Eager, are we?” 

Chan growls again, the sound a low rumble against your back, and snakes his hand around your waist, letting his fingers find the inside of your thighs. He applies pressure with the palm of his hand, and you arch your back in response, letting out a quick hitch of breath. 

“Very.” He replies, licking a stripe up the side of your neck with his tongue, tasting you. 

You turn to face him, your eyes flashing gold to match his own, but before you fully lose yourself in him, you glance once more at the omega over your shoulder, saying in a soft, serious tone, “Innie, if you want us to stop at any point, say something, and we will. Without hesitation.” 

He nods. “Yes, noona.” His eyes are wide, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches Chan pull you toward the bed. 

“Sit down.” Chan orders you, much like you had commanded Jeongin earlier, and you do so, but not without a slight smirk in his direction. 

“I’m not going to make this easy.” You warn, settling onto the edge of the bed, your expression wicked. 

Chan knocks apart your knees and stands between your legs, a look of annoyance on his features. One hand tangles into your hair and he yanks your head back, forcing you to look at him, as the other hand comes to loosely wrap around the front of your throat. 

You feel your pulse quicken under his hold.

“Don’t play that game, pet. Not right now. You already made me wait far too fucking long already.” Chan lifts his lips into the hint of a snarl, and the flash of his sharp canines has your inner thighs slick with want. 

He slides his hand slowly up the column of your throat, finally letting his fingers find purchase beneath your chin, tilting your head back even further. 

“But you know that already, don’t you?” He murmurs, staring down at you with something akin to a hungry predator in his dark gaze. 

You swallow beneath the hold he has on your throat, and arch a brow pettily in response. “Care to remind me?” 

Chan’s lips curl, and another animalistic growl slips through the barrier of his teeth. 

You hear Jeongin let out a sharp exhale from the corner, but you don’t look over.

Your entire body is electrified, waiting for Chan’s next move. 

“I could remind you who you belong to-” Chan muses, eyes flashing golden as he stares at you. “-but I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?” 

He leans down, and without warning, slips a hand down underneath the band of your pants. 

His fingers immediately touch your heat, and just by the look of satisfaction that flickers across his features, you can tell he feels just how wet you are already. 

He pulls back, and holds up his slick, glistening fingers for you to see with a cock of his head. 

“I think you already know.” He repeats in a low tone, advancing toward you now, backing you onto the bed, until he’s straddling you, leaning over your prone form. “Don’t you?” 

“Yes.” You breathe out, tired of playing already, tired of staying away from him. 

“Yes what?” He prods, lips curling up into the hint of a dangerous smirk, as he moves to strip you of your clothes. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

Chan freezes, his pupils blowing at the nickname, and a muscle in his jaw ticks, as if he’s silently fighting himself for control, his hands curling into fists beside you on the bed. 

You openly smirk up at him. “Oh, I knew you’d like that one. You know, given your certain proclivities.” 

His irises are completely drowning in gold now, his lips parted slightly as he stares down at you, his breath coming in harsh pants, his chest heaving. 

Still smirking, you roll your head to the side and find Jeongin in your line of sight, arching a brow in the omega’s direction. 

“Did you catch that, Innie? When he was fucking you through your presentation?” Your voice is smooth like butter, dripping with taunting. You’re playing with the alpha on top of you now, and you all know it. 

Jeongin stares at you, his stare moving slowly to Chan and then back again. “Catch what, noona?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been holding his breath. 

You shift so you’re staring back up at Chan, looming over you, and your lips tick upward into a dangerous expression meant to goad. 

“Our Channie here has a little obsession-a fantasy, if you will-with breeding. He probably went easy on you the first time he knotted you, because you’re inexperienced, but he just loves to fill you up when he fucks you, loves the idea of stretching you with his seed and then his pups, hm, Channie?” 

A low growl rolls from Chan’s chest, and you hear Jeongin’s breath catch. 

The smell of cinnamon is overpowering. 

Chan pins your hands above your head in one smooth, quick motion, and leans over to bite down-hard-on your scent gland in the curvature of your shoulder. 

Not hard enough to mark or draw blood, but damn near close. 

Your body goes limp beneath him, your mind going blank, your jaw slack, and suddenly, any of the teasing from before is long gone, and the only thought is-alpha, alpha, alpha. 

He pulls back, licking his lips with a wicked smirk, and fuck it, he knows he’s won already. 

“I should punish you for teasing me, pet, but lucky for you, I’m far to eager to feel you squeezing every last drop out of me to make myself wait any longer.”

And without warning, he leans over and sinks his teeth into your muscle once again, sheathing himself fully inside of you in the same frantic motion. 

You cry out, the sensations hitting you all at once, and arch your body up into his hold. 

He hadn’t prepped you, but honestly, you were wet enough that he slid in without much resistance, and the friction was honestly close to pushing you over the edge already. 

Chan growls, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin, muffled by his hold on your shoulder, and thrusts wildly a few times, like an animal gone mad with desire. 

You let him, your fingers scrabbling at his skin, and letting your head roll to the side to give him more access to your neck, you catch sight of Jeongin, watching the two of you with something clearly hot, but tentative, on his features. 

Reaching a hand out, you splay it across Chan’s bare chest, stopping his movements, and he releases his teeth’s hold on you, as you say quietly to get his attention, “Chan.” 

He’s panting, but he stills, and the feeling of him filling you without moving is enough to drive you crazy, but you keep your focus on Jeongin as you hold out your free hand. 

“Done watching, Innie? Wanna join in?” 

The omega swallows, you see the way his throat bobs, and then he stands, looking suddenly nervous, but you can tell he’s intrigued and more than a little hot and bothered at this point if the tent in his pants is any indication. 

He approaches the bed, and swallows again. 

“You don’t have to.” You say softly, taking his hand in yours and rubbing his fingers. “I know this can be overwhelming, but if you want to-” 

He nods, glancing down at you, his eyes trailing down the length of Chan’s body atop yours, before he meets your gaze once more with a look of determination. 

“No, I want to.” 

“Good boy.” You praise, before you tug him forward and onto the bed beside you and Chan. You jerk your head at his clothes. “Take those off.” 

He does so quickly, and then sits back down beside the two of you once more, looking unsure. “Now what?” 

You give him an encouraging smile. “Now, you’re gonna kneel above me and slide yourself into my mouth.” You open your lips and lean your head back to show him, careful not to jostle Chan. 

Jeongin’s eyes go wide. “What? But what if I hurt you-?” 

A raspy chuckle leaves Chan’s lips, and he gives the omega a soft look. “You’re not gonna hurt her, pup. I promise.”

“You’re not.” You reiterate, as Jeongin finally takes a breath and moves to kneel above your head. You glance up at him, as you wrap your hands around the back of his thighs. “And besides, now is as good a time as any to talk about safe words and safety gestures. I won’t be able to talk, obviously, but if I need you to stop at any time, I’ll tap you twice, like this, okay?”

 I tap the back of his thigh with two fingers hard, twice. 

Jeongin nods, staring down at my head between his knees. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” You repeat back, parting your lips once more. “Whenever you’re ready.” Jeongin hesitates briefly, glancing to Chan, who gives him a little nod, and then he leans forward and places the tip of himself into your mouth. 

You adjust slightly to allow easier access as he slowly slides between your lips. 

You see the way his body tenses as he feels your tongue on him, but he still gives you a worried sort of glance. “Okay?” 

You nod slightly, and hum a sound of affirmation, before you let yourself suck, creating suction with your tongue. 

Jeongin instantly groans, his head falling back and his hands scrabbling to tangle in your hair. 

Chan takes that as his cue to move again as well, and he resumes his thrusting from before, his hips moving more rhythmically now. 

You feel Jeongin hit the back of your throat, and oh god, he tastes just like he smells, and fuck, with Chan moving like that-

You can feel the muscles in your body tensing, readying for release, as you keep working Jeongin with your mouth and Chan shunts your body over and over with his. 

“Fuck, noona, I-” Jeongin starts to say, and then he’s shuddering, and you feel him release, tasting the sweetness on your tongue. 

“Fuck.” Chan swears, watching Jeongin come for you, and then he leans forward, his sweaty skin sticking to yours as he rests his forehead on your chest, fingers digging into your wrists, and roars through his own release. 

Everything whites out for a moment as your own body uncoils, and you have to remind yourself to breathe, as Jeongin slowly pulls himself from your mouth and Chan lies on top of you, catching his breath. 

“Fuck.” Jeongin repeats, staring down at you, his eyes full of awe. “Fuck.” 

You give a weak little laugh and reach out to brush Chan’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. He glances up at you, his chin on your chest, and releases his hold on your wrists, one of his hands moving to your jaw and pinching your mouth open so he can look inside. 

A small smirk quirks the corner of his mouth as he says hoarsely, “A shame to waste all that perfectly good come on your mouth, baby.” You grin down at him, wincing slightly as he pulls himself out of you with a long, low groan. 

He flops down beside you on the bed, covering his face with his arm as his chest still heaves. 

On your other side, Jeongin collapses down as well, his hand finding yours, even though his eyes are closed. 

After a few moments of silence, Chan pushes himself up with effort, and scoots to the edge of the bed. He waves a finger between you and Jeongin’s prone forms. 

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

You give a sound of assent, but don’t open your eyes. 

Soon though, you hear the sound of his footsteps padding back, and he nudges you with his hand. 

“Drink this, baby.” You crack open your eyes, and take the bottle of water he offers you, passing the other one to Jeongin, who guzzles it down immediately. 

Chan slides back onto the bed between your legs, and begins to wipe down the sticky skin of the inside of your thighs with the warm rag, cleaning up all the residual juices that were left behind. 

You relax into his gentle motions, and when he’s finished, he turns to Jeongin, arching a brow at the younger boy. 

“Can I?” He asks, and Jeongin hesitates, before he nods slightly, spreading his legs for Chan to clean him up as well. 

You watch them-how gentle Chan is, how trusting Jeongin is-and you feel warm from head to toe. 

Warm and content. 

When he’s finished with Jeongin, you finally sit up and reach for the rag, motioning for Chan to lay back on the bed. 

“Okay, now you.” 

He opens his mouth, as if to protest, but Jeongin pushes him down gently with a hand to his chest and a small smile. 

“C’mon, hyung. It’s only fair.” 

Chan rolls his eyes, but lets you wash him over with the warm rag anyway, and you can tell, by the slight hint of pink on his cheeks, that he enjoys the tender touches just as much as you do. 

When everyone is cleaned up, you motion for Jeongin to snuggle down between the two of you, your arm looped comfortably across him, your fingers making nonsensical patterns on the warm, bare skin of Chan’s chest. 

Leaning over to press a kiss to the tip of Jeongin’s nose, you say softly, “I love you.” Jeongin glances up at you with large eyes, and his lips curve into a smile. 

“I love you too, noona. And you, hyung.” 

You grin and press another kiss to the top of his soft, red hair, before he glance across to Chan, who is watching you affectionately, a small smile on his lips. 

He arches a brow at you and whispers over the top of Jeongin’s head, “I’m proud of you. You’re getting better.” 

You grin back at him, and reach up with your free hand to cup his jaw, before you squish Jeongin between you as you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips. 

“I love you, Bang Chan.” 

He tugs you forward for another kiss, and Jeongin whines slightly at being squished. 

“I love you too.” ********************************

“So, I’m guessing the two of you made up?” Changbin remarks offhandedly, leaning against the desk as he eyes you with an arch of his brow and a smirk on his lips. 

You give a little shrug, sifting through Chan’s papers to find the one you’re looking for. “I guess. How can you tell?” You stop, glancing back at him with a narrowing of your eyes. 

Changbin grins, his eyes dropping pointedly to the large black hoodie you wear. “That’s his favorite hoodie.” 

You hold out the heavy fabric so you can see the Nirvana logo printed across the front of it, staring at it skeptically. “Really? This old thing? I just stole this the last time we went over to his dorm after hide and seek.” 

Changbin laughs and shakes his head, leaning around you now to pluck up a piece of paper and present it to you. 

It’s the one you’ve been looking for. 

You snatch it from him with a teasing glare. 

“Really.” He nods, tugging at the hood of the hoodie teasingly. “This fucking thing is his favorite fucking thing on the whole planet, so the fact that he let you take it and wear it-” He shakes his head in slight disbelief, and smirks down at you. “-well maybe that just means that he has a new favorite fucking thing on the whole planet.” 

You grin at that. 

“I kind of like the sound of that.” Changbin grins back and tackles you onto the futon in the corner of the studio, tickling you as you shriek and struggle to get away from him.

“I knew you would.” 

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

I've just been reading your A/B/O series and it's so so so good. I was wondering if you would accept an ot8 request where their omega gets in trouble with another pack and Straykids are really worried?

No worries if not x

𝕃𝕦𝕟𝕒 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖

Warning: Angst/mention of death/Blood/MPreg/MxM

A/B/O dynamics:

Omega (Han, Felix, Y/n)

Beta (Hyunjin, Seungmin, I.N)

Alpha (Chan, Changbin, Leeknow)

The series might traumatize you. I really hope you guys like it and enjoy it.

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

run

run

run

run

Her breathing burned her chest as sticks and stones dug into her skin. The branches from the big, tall trees ripped her skin apart as she tried to fight the demons chasing her.

It has been raining for hours, and the lack of clothes that wrapped around her body did not protect her from the cold air.

"Just leave me alone," she cried as her body was slowly giving up on her. The lack of water and food from the past week was now catching up to her as she felt her body shut down.

Her vision was clear. Thank God for Omegas having super sight and smell, but that wasn't helping her at all as she made it down the forest.

They already made her loose enough; the pain in between her legs and womb was evidence of just how much she had lost.

She was close. She was close.

She couldn't hear their footsteps anymore, and their scent was getting even lighter than before, but still she knew she had to keep going or else they would catch up to her and track her blood down.

It was like the thunder in the sky was now overcrowding her senses, as all she could do was fall to the ground. She was scared. Who wouldn't be, but the sound made it 10x worse.

She was close. She was close.

The familiarity of her surroundings made her crawl. If she could just get to the village. If she could just get someone's attention, it would help save her life but even her body couldn't allow this. Her screams, obviously useless as she fell back to the ground.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When Chan felt his heart tighten he decided to ignore it knowing there was no way possible for her to be able to get through the bond. He just knew he was probably being paranoid and his brain was playing with his feelings.

"Where you going, Hyung?" Felix asked, looking at his pack alpha.

"I'm going to patrol the area; I feel something wrong," Chan simply replied, removing his shirt.

"I'll come with you," Felix replied quickly, getting up. He knew Chan had a lot on his mind, and he simply didn't think if he went out there he would be safe at all.

"No," he snapped. "I'm not losing another omega to those rogues," he growled. Felix instinctively took a step back with wide eyes. His sweet lemon scent turning sour, "Fuck, I'm sorry, Lix, for snapping. I just can't put you in harm's way," he quickly pulled him into a hug, making sure to scent him and calm him down.

"It's okay, baby." He knew Chan didn't mean it; it was just that the week had been so tough on all of them, especially him. "Hyung, you now think it's too dangerous to be out there alone,'

"Fine, I'll take Leeknow and Changbin." He gaveup. His eyes met Felix's, and his alpha couldn't help but feel like a failure. All his omegas had been in pain ever since Y/N's disappearance, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was any God out there to help put out the fire.

"You know none of us blame you, Chan," Felix's hand lays onto his cheek while softly carressing it. "She'll come back to us, I promise." He whispered, putting their forheads together.

"I can't talk about this anymore; I'll see you in a bit." He looked away, shutting his eyes as he held back the tears. His hands slowly land on Felix's 5-month-old baby bump before kissing it and making his way out the door.

Felix couldn't help but let a few tears run down his cheek. He wished the alphas could understand that they had no fault in this but he only knew they would be better if she came home.

Once Chan stood outside, he let out a loud howl, and a few minutes later, Leeknow and Changbin ran down the stairs, passing Felix and running away in the night.

By the time they catch up to Bangchan, he's already shifed. His black fur shone in the nighttime moonlight.

Wait up, love. Minho called out through the bond as he tried to catch up.

Where are we going? Changbin asked, panting.

Someone's here; I need you to patrol the territory line, Chan responded with a growl.

Minho and Changbin didn't want to argue with their pack leader. He had been paranoid for the past week, and they couldn't blame him. They had taken something that was his right in front of him. They would be ashamed to watch that happen again, so they didn't complain, thinking that maybe it would also make them feel better if they checked things out.

I'll take the east side, Changbin said before taking off in the cold night.

I'll do west Leeknow replied before nudging at Chan with his snout. Everything will be okay, was the last thing he said before taking off in the night.

Chan growled. Nothing was okay. Not until everyone was back in one piece. Be safe; use the bond if you see anything, he told them before heading south.

The village was still awake, and Chan knew that some kids would be out playing, so he wasn't shocked when he saw a bunch of kids playing near the territory line but he was very angry. Anyone in the pack knew that kids weren't allowed this out in the woods, but yet it seemed like they didn't want to listen.

"Channie-Oppa!" One of the youngest screech for him. He instantly picks up on her, scared. His alpha instincts kick in hoping none of the kids are hurt.

"Channie oppa quickly! You have to see this," another girl screeched; she was one of the oldest. Chan made sure to know everyone in his 65-person pack; it was his duty.

His steps were quick as he made his way to the children. They were circling around something, and he let out a growl. They all quickly take steps away, knowing their pack alpha was just being protective over them.

What happened, little ones? He said through the bond to communicate with them.

"Its luna-ssi! We were going hunting and we found her. We can't carry her, and mom said she was getting help."

Did they just say Luna? as in Y/n? He's heart skips a beat before he instantly shifts back to his human form and makes his way into the middle. There she lay. There she lay. His luna, his girl, his mate that was taken from him. She was here, and she was back, but she was in horrible conditions.

His hands gripped at her body, the blood soaking into his skin as he let out a painful howl for.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When Minho and Changbin had heard the howl, they knew something terrible had happened. They couldn't even get through the bond, yet they felt all the overwhelming emotions.

What happened, Hyung? Leeknow urged but got no response.

Talk to us, im almost to you, what is it? Changbin begged as well.

y-y/n, Chan let out a cry that almost knocked out I.N., who was at home trying to calm the situation down.

Changbin had never thought he would run this fast in his life; nobody knew, but here they were beating time.

It's only a 5-minute run before their right by his side. When they shift, their eyes are glowing. Anger and hurt is all they feel.

"Get the kids away; they can't see this," Chan instructs his second in command, who is instantly on it.

Leeknow leads the children, who are all worried and crying for their Luna. Who would do such a thing to her? Was this why she left a few days ago?

"Will she be okay?" They cry to him as he holds them tight.

"Yes, hush now. Go on home. It's late," He encourages as he walks with them.

"Chan, we need to get her to Hyunjin, now." Changbin was straight to work. Trying to gather his pack alpha off the floor. Chan studied her face as he carried her.

"Come on, y/n, come to me," he cried. His hands gripping onto her as if it would give her a sense of comfort.

"Fuck Changbin," he cried again. His eyes studying her body. Her bump was gone.

She lost the baby.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Taglist: @ihrtlix@bowsnbang@katsukis1wife@thegingerthatwaited@thicccurls

@xxeiraxx @paleangelsweets @klaydohart @eastleighsblog @ivrespace

@galaxy4489 @purplepursepaint @catlove83 @sillystormsstuff @iwuberic

@cocofia143 @royal-shinigami @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz @memersanonymous

@skz-stay13 @seungminsbest @hogwartslife64 @sinfulfic @hyunnesblog

@maisyyyyyy @cluelessred3 @leezanetheofficial @cocofia143 @lemonn015

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@aalexyuuuhm @kenaicantcommunicate @fiestaplum-skz

(open: i believe i've added everyone but if you don't see your @ please comment down below)

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.  

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her.  “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.  

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

��Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

-

[mountainsandmayhem]

Stay Still, Little Dove

Joel Miller x Female!Reader

18+

Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel takes matters into his own hands to deal with your newly insatiable sex drive with a little help from a u shaped friend. TW: softdom!Joel, female orgasms (like a lot of them), oral (fem!rec), this is all about her A/N: THANK YOU for all the comments, likes and reblogs on my last story! I fully believe only 1 or 2 people will read these and I'm just floored by the response so far. I wish I could write without a plot, but I added some backstory about these two. Word Count: 4.3k

Ellie has always been a tornado in your life. Her biological mom was your childhood best friend. She had her demons, so you can’t say you were surprised when during her weekend trip to visit you with her new baby she disappeared, leaving you with little Ellie. 

Overnight, you went from a 22-year-old young woman starting your third year of your degree to a 22-year-old adoptive single mom pushing through your third year of college. 

Your parents were helpful, driving four hours from the small town you grew up in every weekend so you could work or do homework. They offered to take Ellie for a while or help you find people to adopt her, but that little tornado of a girl was your priority and you weren’t going to abandon her like her mother. 

She broke her arm at 2 on her big wheel, and at 3 she needed 10 stitches across her eyebrow from when she tried to leap from the kitchen table to the granite island. Safe to say the granite won as she still bears that scar today. At 4, she bolted up the stairs to the high dive and jumped off without an ounce of fear. Thank god she was already a strong swimmer.

She seemed to crave chaos, so when she befriended the girl with wildly curly hair on her first day of school you just shook your head, predictable little tornado. 

Thankfully Sarah Miller was a sweet and kind-hearted girl, maybe even a little shy. It also helped that Sarah’s young dad, who didn’t wear a wedding ring, resembled a Greek god. Tall and broad with tanned skin, he owned some sort of contracting business based on the truck he’d do school pick up and drop off in. When the girls introduced you two, he flashed you a small smile, revealing that goddamn dimple. 

You’re both pretty sure the girls played a hand in the two of you eventually getting together, granted they both conveniently don’t remember playing tiny matchmakers. They’d ask for sleepovers and playdates almost daily, or sign you both up to the same shift at school events.

“Mommy, I swear on the moon that the teacher picked!” Ellie said when you had the coat check station at the Valentine's Day dance. “Buuuut you might want to put on lipstick.” 

It’s been a little over 14 years since then and he still sets your blood on fire with that dimple. 

Both of you approached this new empty nest phase apprehensively, but it turns out that having the house to yourself (with no risk of one of the girls walking in) opened a whole new set of rather kinky doors. Not that you were necessarily vanilla before, but while they lived there you didn’t have ropes and paddles hanging on your bedroom wall, or the hooks on your four-poster bed.

You also never would have been how you are now, bathroom door wide open in only the trousers you planned to wear to work. 

“Not that I’m complainin’ sweetheart. But why are you topless?” Joel asks on his way to the kitchen. 

“It’s too damn hot in here.” You grumble, getting out your skincare and makeup. 

Joel shook his head to himself as he walked to the kitchen. He knew better than to bring up that it wasn’t the temperature, it was you and your recent perimenopause diagnosis. He hated to see you suffering, but your newly insatiable libido gave him an idea. 

As you get ready, Joel leans against the bathroom door frame drinking coffee, observing you through the mirror. 

You see him most days in his typical work attire - dark jeans, a t-shirt with his company logo, and a flannel or denim button-up. But it will never get old to you. You almost find him sexier in this than in a suit. Especially when he has the cuffs rolled like he does today. 

“Little Dove?” His voice is deep and scratchy. 

A slight blush paints your cheeks, knowing that it’s going to be one of those days. 

“Yes, sir?” 

He slowly walks towards you as you lean into the mirror to blink on some mascara. He stops just a hair away from you, not touching you but close. Close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him. He waits until you’ve put the mascara wand away, and uses his free hand to trace a line slowly down your spine. 

A shiver runs through you, and you let out a small moan. Partly from the feeling of him, but mostly at the reprieve from the hot flash you’re experiencing. 

“How many orgasms do you think I could give you before you beg me to stop?” He kisses the top of your left shoulder, watching your eyes widen slightly in the mirror. 

Goosebumps spread across your body. If he wants to play, you’ll make it difficult for him. “Well, after the little kidnapping the other night you gave in after three.” 

“This is about you giving up and not me giving in,” His free hand continues a light trail along your bare back. 

“And didn’t you say you felt like you had done an intense Pilates workout the next day?” He adds teasingly.

You were hoping he’d forgotten about how you groaned as you lowered yourself into the bathtub to soak your sore muscles. Even though your hormones seemed to think you were a teenager again, your body took a little longer to recover. Joel cared for you in a way that only he could; making dinner, wrapping you in your beloved heated blanket, and gently massaging your hips and legs. 

You don’t want to give up this easily so you scoff and say, “Please, old man. You’d get tired before I’d quit.” 

The next two things happen so quickly that it’s over before the excited squeal leaves your lips. He spins you to face him and lifts you onto the countertop, caging you between his arms, his hands gripping the vanity on either side of you.  

“Now now, Little Dove. I’d be careful who you call old.” His recently playful tone is back to a deep gravel-like command that settles right between your thighs. 

“You will refer to me as sir in these moments and nothing else. Do you understand?”

You nod eagerly sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fuck you love him like this. 

He kisses down your neck towards your right breast. Pausing he adds, “Words, Little Dove,” before gently dragging your right nipple through his teeth. 

You let out a desperate moan arching your back into the pain, “Yes, sir.” 

Joel quickly steps back, taking his coffee cup with him. “Be a good girl today.” 

+++++

You spend your workday trying not to think about Joel. You immerse yourself in your to-do list and your team gets a few projects done early and sent off for approval. You’ve almost forgotten about the morning events when you hear your phone buzz. 

Joel: When I get home I want you in that little black lacy thing, Little Dove. I’m bringing home dinner. 

You reply with a funny ‘yes, sir’ gif.

Joel: Oh, my sweet Little Dove. I’m almost starting to think you like it when I punish you. 

You: Do your worst, I won’t tap out.

Joel: Tell me what you’re going to be doing when I get home.

You find a photo of you wearing the aforementioned ‘little black lacy thing’ and attach it to your message that says, “Wearing this, sir.” 

Joel: Be kneeling beside the couch when I get home. 

You: Yes, sir. 

++++

The rest of your day goes by tortuously slowly, yet the drive home seemed suspiciously fast. You laugh to yourself picturing a speeding ticket in the mail and Joel’s reaction when you tell him he has to pay it since it’s his fault. Maybe you’ll ask him when he’s in a sir mood.

You hop in the shower, shave and touch up your makeup before clipping and clasping yourself into the outfit Joel loves so much. As you step back to admire yourself in the full-length mirror you realize certain squishy parts of your body don’t look great in this.

Focus on the positive, you remind yourself. 

The deep v-halter of the one-piece garment accentuates your breasts, you spin to take in the low cut back and high cut cheeky bottom that highlights the globes of your ass. 

The familiar sounds of Joel’s truck pulling up the driveway sends a rush of nervous and excited butterflies through your stomach. You hurry to the sitting room, grab a throw pillow from the couch and kneel. 

Your eyes follow as Joel heads to the kitchen, holding a bag from your favourite sushi restaurant.  He places it on the island before looking up at you with dark eyes

“Look at the ground and put your hands on your lap.” He commands. 

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling as you look down and do as he says. 

“Little Dove, don’t roll your eyes at me.” His voice deepens with every word, instantly setting your core on fire. 

He’s silent for a moment and you can feel his eyes on you. “From now on when I say to kneel, this is how you’ll be. Understand?” 

You squeeze your thighs a little tighter, breathing starting to shallow at the sound of his voice as he slips deeper into sir mode. 

You reply with a breathy, “Yes sir. Sorry.” 

Joel walks over and pets your head. “You look stunning like this.” He whispers, before turning and leaving you alone. 

His words feel like warm honey being drizzled down your spine. No one makes you feel as desired as Joel and immediately your earlier body insecurities vanish. You can hear him moving things around the bedroom before he walks back to the kitchen but you don’t dare look up. You’re a good girl, Joel doesn’t like brats, and right now all that matters is pleasing him. 

Joel sets up dinner, arranges the sushi on plates, opens the wine and lights a candle before sitting at the table, legs spread, facing you. 

“Crawl to me, Little Dove.” His deep voice washes over you. Almost as if it puts you in a trance. You know your knees are going to regret this in the morning, but you’re so turned on that you don’t hesitate to crawl across the area rug and then onto the hardwood flooring Joel installed himself.

Stopping between his bare legs, his strong hand cradles your chin and tilts it up, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and tight black boxers. But it’s the sleek black remote control vibrator in his other hand that steals your attention.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He says with a soft moan, gently stroking your cheek. “Go put this in, and then come back and have dinner with me.”

He helps you to your feet and hands you the vibrator. He turns you towards the half bath off the kitchen and pats your bum gently while you walk away. 

Joel has laid out everything you might need on the counter. After cleaning the toy, you push the thin fabric of your lingerie aside and slide it inside yourself. You can already feel pressure on that little spongy part inside you that Joel loves to tease. As you wash your hands you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

I can do this, you say to yourself. 

As soon as you step out of the bathroom and make eye contact with Joel the toy comes to life. Your false confidence from a few seconds ago buckles along with your knees as you brace yourself on the door frame and let out a breathy gasp. 

“I want you to keep count and thank me for each one, Little Dove. Understand?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you moan, crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs, all while maintaining eye contact. 

The vibration stops, you take a few deep breaths before standing up tall and walking over to the table. Always the gentleman, he pulls out your chair and kisses the top of your head before taking his seat. 

“Eat while we go over some ground rules, Little Dove.” 

You don’t have to be told twice, you love sushi and you’re probably going to need your strength for the evening. 

“You are going to need a safe word tonight.” Your mouth goes dry and you become accurately aware of the small remote control in his possession. 

“We are going to use a colour coding system, much like traffic lights. If I ask you for a colour tonight you have three options. Green means you want to keep going,” he emphasizes the word you. 

“Yellow means you need a break and will let me know when you’re ready again. Say red and we stop.” Joel pauses and looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply in between bites. 

He picks up his wine and takes a sip before continuing softly, reaching across to grab your hand. “But baby, you can say yellow or red at any time. If you need a break or reassurance, say yellow. And if it’s too intense and you need me to stop, say red. We’ve done our research on this. But you need to know that if you say stop, or that you need a break, or even if you’re crying and saying I’m hurting you, I will not stop. Colours only. Understand?”

You nod while taking a big mouthful of wine, the nervous excitement that you’ve been feeling all day courses through your body. As your wine glass is put back on the table the vibrating starts again, stronger this time. 

“You should know by now that you need to use your fucking words, Little Dove.” He says darkly. 

“Yes,” you stammer. “Yes. I under….I understand, sir.”

The vibrating stops and you let out a breathy, Oh god.

You both eat your dinner and finish the wine, this man could give you whiplash with how quickly he can go from sir to family man.  He asks about your day and tells you about the new apprentice he’s hired. When you both finish eating he takes the dishes to the sink. He turns to face you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. The sleeves of his t-shirt stretch over the ropes of muscles lining his biceps. 

“Little Dove, do I have your consent to make you come until you use a safe word?” 

Again, the whiplash. 

Your mouth goes dry as you reply with his preferred ‘yes, sir.’ 

The toy comes to life again, on a higher setting than the last 2 times. You lean forward so your ass is slightly off the chair to ease some of the intensity. You’re not a stranger to a vibrator, but never one that’s pushed this firmly against your g spot and your clit. The seat of your chair is clamped between your fingers as you cry out in pleasure. 

“Don’t make me tie you to that fucking chair. Sit down, Little Dove.”

You do as he says, letting out a desperate moan as the hard seat presses the two ends of the u shaped toy deeper and harder against your g spot. 

“Oh fuck - fuck - m’gonna…” you close your eyes and your head falls back as the white heat in your center starts to reach its breaking point. 

Joel strides over to you and grabs your chin, twisting you slightly to face him. “Look at me, I want to see it when you come.” 

“J-Joel,” his hand doesn’t leave your chin and he watches you with such admiration as you start to come undone. 

“That’s it, Little Dove,” he whispers as he places a few kisses along your jaw towards your ear adding, “Let go for me.” 

Your orgasm hits you hard, spreading from the base of your spine and out to every inch of your body. Wave after wave flows through you, intensified by the look of admiration spreading across Joel's face.  

“There you go - good girl.” 

Your fingers start to ache as you fight to stay seated in the chair, his wishes are your command and you’ll do anything to hear him praise you again. You squirm against the seat as overstimulation starts to take over. 

“Please, sir,” you beg, “fuck! I need…I need to move.” 

“So beautiful when you beg, Little Dove….count it for me” He says. 

“One sir, thank you.” It comes out weak and breathy, a voice you didn’t expect after only one orgasm. 

“Give me a colour, baby.” His voice is almost soothing as he torments you with the vibrator. 

Current state aside, you’re not giving up or giving in after one orgasm, even if it is still coursing through you minutes later. 

“Green!” You scream, shifting yourself off the chair slightly as he switches to a new vibration setting.  Its intensity varies and shifts, and the anticipation of never knowing what might hit you next is a new level of wonderful torture.

Joel slides your chair out and kneels in front of you, pushing your hips back down to the chair. 

“I will tie you down if you don’t stay still, Little Dove,” he growls before slamming his lips into yours.

A second orgasm tears through your body, your hands move to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you try not to move. It’s no use, the vibrations are too intense and you buck your hips up while your head falls back breaking the kiss. 

The kitchen fills with your cries of ecstasy. Somehow you manage to count and thank him for the second one before he turns off the toy and pulls you to your feet. You grip his strong forearms to steady yourself, your pussy still fluttering against the weight of the vibrator. 

“You have five seconds before I turn this on high, Little Dove. Unless you can make it to the bedroom before that.” 

Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, but your competitive side kicks in and you sprint down the hallway as he loudly and authoritatively counts to five. You almost make it through the bedroom when you feel the most intense vibration hit your swollen g spot. You stumble forward, folding your upper body onto the bed. Your brain scrambles to catch up to your body as it processes that you’re not in pain but instead in a state of agonizing pleasure. 

Joel walks up behind you, pressing himself against your ass. “You’re doing such a good job for me,” he praises before landing a hard slap on your right ass cheek. 

Your body is suspended in that moment right before you come. You almost feel like you’re floating and the pleasure is so intense that you can’t even make a noise as you clench the bedsheet in your fists to try to ground yourself. 

He uses his body to pin you down, folding over you and whispering “Give me a colour,” in your ear. 

“Green” comes out in a shaky whisper. 

“That’s my girl.” He says proudly, biting your shoulder blade. 

Again it’s his words that do it, my girl, and you finally tip over the edge and tremble underneath him. Joel kisses and sucks the skin of your upper back, every inch of your body feels encompassed by him and crying out for relief, but you’re not giving in. 

“Ah - fuuuuck…” you feel like this orgasm has been going on for hours.

“I wish you could see how good you look right now.” 

“Stop. P-please. Stop,” you beg in between gasps of air. 

As you come down from your high the vibrating slows to a small tickle, not enough to make you come again but enough to remind you that it’s there.

Can someone die from an orgasm? 

“Take off your clothes,” Joel growls in your ear, slapping your right ass cheek as he peels himself off of you. “I’m not stopping until you use the safe word, Little Dove.” 

He pulls his shirt off and watches as you undo the clasps and clips of your lingerie and slide it off with shaky hands. 

As you lay on the bed you say, “I’m not a fucking quitter, sir.” 

Joel smirks, laughing through his nose a little as he wraps a silk cuff around each ankle, spreading your legs apart for him. “How many are we at so far?” 

As he cuffs your wrists you reply. “Three. Thank you, sir.” 

He kisses your forehead as he slowly removes the vibrator. “Fuck me,” he says, “look at this mess, such a good girl for me.” 

You close your eyes and let the praise wash over you like a warm bath. Joel shifts his body between your legs and places two little kisses on your swollen clit making you whimper and suck your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He uses two fingers to lightly circle your clit making you come instantly with a whimpering ‘four, thank you, sir,’ at the end. 

Joel doesn’t stop, switching to use his tongue while keeping the same pace and pressure as you come again.

“Ah - five, thank you, sir!”

….and again….”fuck, six. Thank you, sir.”

...and again….”s-seven - oh god - thank y-you, sir.” 

Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat as a cool liquid drizzles down your pussy. You gasp at the new sensation, eyes shooting to his face. 

“Stay still, Little Dove.” 

As he runs his fingers up and down your pussy, the lube turns warm and tingly, heightening his touches. Joel draws circles on your clit with his thumb, pursing his lips and blowing cool air. The warmth turns icy cold, and when he stops blowing, heat rushes to your pussy, pulling another orgasm from you. 

Yes, I’m certain someone can die from an orgasm. 

“Count, Little Dove.” 

A whine escapes your lips as you try to tug your legs together. His thumb has slowed down but it’s all becoming too much. “Eight. I can’t anymore, sir.” 

He blows cool air again and the heat rushing has you keening all over again. 

“Please, Joel. I can’t. Please.” Tears spring from your eyes. 

“You’re ok. You can do this, baby.” Cool air hits your pussy again and you come apart.  “Good girl. So gorgeous. Count it for me, Little Dove.” 

“Nine. N-nine,” your eyes slam shut as he pulls away from you. “T-thank you, sir.” 

Before you’ve even finished thanking him, he slides his middle finger inside you, lightly massaging your g spot that’s still so sensitive from the vibrator. He pushes one of his strong hands down on your mound as he torturously works you toward your tenth orgasm. 

“No…please. Sir, I,” you gasp as you try to pull free. 

“I can’t,” the pleasure is almost painful at this point as the pressure from your arousal builds. He knows your close, he’s been dying to make you squirt again after the other night. 

“Color,” Joel says tenderly, slipping a second finger inside you and hooking the forward. 

You swallow hard against your sore and scratchy throat. You whine ‘green’, as you arch your back to try to ease the intense mixture of pain, pleasure and pressure that you’re experiencing. 

“Stay still, Little Dove,” Joel pushes harder on your lower belly. “Give me number ten. Show me, baby. Show me how good this feels.” 

You swear that everything stops, including your heart and time, as you fall apart under his touch and gush all over his hand. The walls of your pussy are clenching around Joel’s fingers and you can feel a puddle forming underneath you.  You think you hear Joel praising you, but the sound is muffled by your gasps and moans.  If you lived in an apartment your neighbours might think you were being tortured based on the loud cries coming out of you. Joel is sure that he’ll be making you a hot toddy to ease your throat later, but right now he’s hyper-focused on getting you through this orgasm.

As you start to come down his hand slows, “relax, baby.”

 “Red. S-stop. Fuck Joel, red.” 

Joel gently removes his fingers, shifting quickly to undo your restraints. You’re shivering and exhausted as he pulls you into his arms and away from the soaked sheets.

Everything Joel Miller does is done with the utmost care and attention, including aftercare. Your heated blanket is already warmed up, tucked near the headboard. He pulls it over you and places a featherlight kiss on your sweaty forehead. 

“I got you, darlin’. Shhh. I got you.” He holds you tighter as you melt into him. 

After a few moments of silence, you tilt your face up to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asks gently.

You bite your bottom lip to stop a smile. “Ya, that was - amazing.” 

You laugh a little and tuck back into his chest. “Are you sure? I’m so proud of you for using a safe word, but I need to ensure I didn’t hurt you.” 

You shake your head and fight to stay awake. “No…you didn’t” you mumble sleepily, stifling a yawn. “I’m great - just one minute…then I’ll do something for you.” 

Joel laughs softly and tilts your face up to his. He presses his lips to yours gently. “That was for me, Little Dove. Sleep for a little bit, I’ll wake you up for electrolytes and food.”

The warmth of your blanket takes over, you whisper an ‘I love you’ just as you drift off, thanking whoever brought this beautiful man into your life. 

++++++++++

Taglist: @corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @mermaidgirl30 @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut

[novaursa]

Ashes of the Faithful

- Summary: After Faith of the Seven has sent an assassin to kill you, Maegor declares war against the gods.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story is part of Fire and Blood series, and it happens right after Fragile Hope. The masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The flickering light of torches casts an eerie glow over the Great Hall, illuminating the black banners emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The air buzzes with the voices of lords and ladies gathered to celebrate Maegor’s victories and his long-sought return to the Iron Throne. A bitter smile plays across your lips as you shift your hand to rest protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft, burgeoning weight there—the promise of Maegor’s heir. After years of separation, of exile and whispered prayers in the cold halls of Dragonstone, you’ve finally returned to his side, bound by his unbreakable will. Maegor’s unwavering gaze follows you as you rise to mingle with the guests, his expression one of fierce pride and possessiveness.

The evening wears on, and you share fleeting glances with your husband from across the hall, silently marveling at the sheer force he exudes even from a distance. Though your union remains contested by the Faith, and many openly despise him, none would dare deny the power Maegor wields. The hall quiets as he rises to make a toast, raising a goblet of wine.

"To House Targaryen, unbroken and bound by blood and fire," he declares, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commands attention. "And to my queen, who carries our future within her.”

The guests raise their goblets, voices mingling in a chorus, though you can see the apprehension in some eyes, the covert glances exchanged by certain highborn lords and pious knights, wary of the Faith's condemnation.

As the applause fades, you make your way toward the shadows for a brief respite from the crowd, grateful for a moment to gather your breath. But in the next heartbeat, the chill of steel presses against your throat, and you realize—too late—what is happening. The assailant’s voice is a venomous hiss in your ear, dripping with fervent conviction.

“Your unholy union will end here, for the gods do not suffer blasphemy.”

You struggle, reaching instinctively to shield the precious life growing within you, but the assassin’s grip is unyielding. A muffled shout erupts somewhere in the hall, and the clash of steel on steel fills the air. In the chaos, you’re suddenly yanked backward as Maegor’s knights descend upon the attacker. The glint of Maegor’s own sword, Blackfyre, catches the torchlight as he strides forward, his face a mask of pure, unrestrained fury.

His voice is a low snarl. “Who sent you?”

The assassin glares defiantly, his eyes bright with fanatical zeal as he spits, "The Faith will never bless your bastard line."

The words are met with the brutal swipe of Maegor’s fist, sending the man sprawling. Maegor’s rage is unmistakable, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. He barely spares a glance for the blood pooling beneath the assassin as his gaze shifts to you, his voice softening, though the raw intensity remains.

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, reaching a trembling hand toward him. "Our child… I feared…"

He clasps your hand in his, grounding you with the weight of his presence. “No one will dare harm you again,” he promises, his tone as unyielding as iron. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a rare display of tenderness that only you are allowed to see, and in his eyes, you catch a glimpse of the lengths he would go to keep that vow.

The assassin, barely conscious, is dragged upright by Maegor’s guards. Without hesitation, Maegor approaches, towering over the man like an avenging shadow. “Tell me the names of those who sent you,” he demands.

When the man remains silent, defiance flickering in his gaze, Maegor lifts his sword. Blackfyre’s blade gleams ominously in the torchlight, and his words are laced with icy finality. “If the Faith dares to send another of your kind, I will burn their septs to the ground. And you will be the first to watch.”

A ripple of fear passes through the onlookers, their expressions a mix of awe and terror as they watch their king take vengeance. Maegor turns to you, his voice softer. "Return to your chambers, Y/N. I will handle this."

Though you hesitate, knowing the bloodshed to come, you nod. "I trust you, my king," you whisper, pressing a hand to his cheek before leaving.

In your chambers, guarded on all sides, you try to steady your breathing. The shadows outside flicker, signaling the torches carried by men as they move through the halls. Soon, shouts echo from the square below, where you know Maegor has gathered his court to witness the assassin’s fate, a display meant to instill fear in any who would challenge his claim—or threaten his family.

As you sit, the quiet hum of life within you reassures you. Whatever comes, you and your child are shielded by the relentless force of Maegor’s love, a love bound in fire and forged through blood.

Hours later, he returns, smelling faintly of smoke and steel, his eyes softening when they meet yours. "It is done," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and conviction.

You reach for him, pulling him close, and whisper, "Thank you, Maegor. For us… and for our child."

He presses his lips to your forehead, a rare, almost reverent gesture. "No one will take you from me, Y/N. Not the Faith, not the realm. None can come between us."

And in that moment, beneath the pale moonlight, you believe him.

The dawn breaks in a haze of gray clouds, but for you, the morning feels no less ominous. You watch from a high window in Maegor’s hall as Balerion, the Black Dread, spreads his wings wide across the sky, casting an enormous shadow over the land. Maegor’s resolve is unshakable, and he has vowed that the Faith will answer for their transgressions. He has given orders, brief and absolute, his voice carrying the weight of his fury. None could miss the look in his eyes—the wildfire rage that demanded to be sated.

As he prepares to mount Balerion, he approaches you, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and relentless, seem to devour you.

“This realm has mocked me for the last time, Y/N,” he says, his tone simmering with a quiet rage that sends a chill through you. “They do not know loyalty or respect; they only know fear. I will make them remember it.”

You rest a hand over your belly protectively, feeling the faint stir within you, as if the child growing there senses the dread. “And the Starry Sept?” you ask quietly, knowing all too well what its destruction would mean, not only for the Faith but also for the Hightower family—his late wife’s kin.

His lips twist into a cruel smile. “That den of false gods and hypocrites? It shall be the first to burn. None will dare to insult my queen again.”

You nod, feeling an odd mixture of fear and awe as you stand beside him. The Maegor before you is no longer just a man—he is a storm incarnate, a maelstrom of fury bound to a creature of fire and shadow. “They will see Balerion’s flame from miles away,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

He leans in, his hand settling over yours on your stomach, where his heir grows. “I do this for you and for our child. So you will live without fear. So our child will not know a world that questions his right.”

You swallow, feeling the intensity of his words and knowing that, in his twisted way, Maegor does love you deeply—perhaps as much as he can love anything. “Come back to me,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “Return to us, Maegor.”

He gives you a rare, almost tender smile, before pulling away, the steel in his eyes returning. “Wait for me, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm. “By the time the moon rises, the Faith will feel the fire of House Targaryen.”

With that, he mounts Balerion, and you watch as they rise into the sky, becoming a dark silhouette against the dawn. The moment they disappear over the horizon, you turn back into the hall, nerves tingling with the knowledge of the destruction to come.

The Starry Sept in Oldtown stands proud as it always has, a beacon of the Faith’s ancient power. Its towering walls, adorned with stars and golden trimmings, seem almost untouched by the passage of time, a testament to its sanctity. The Faith Militant, dressed in their glinting silver armor, stand guard outside, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

And then, a shadow falls over Oldtown.

The people in the streets look up, gasping, children screaming as they behold the black shape in the sky, his massive wings blotting out the sun. The bells of the Starry Sept toll, signaling a warning, but it is already too late. Balerion lands with a bone-rattling impact, his claws digging into the earth just outside the grand doors of the sept. Dust and debris fly as the ground trembles beneath his weight. The Faith Militant immediately raise their shields and swords, but they are little more than ants to the dragon that towers over them.

Maegor, seated upon Balerion’s back, calls out, his voice echoing like thunder through the city. “I am Maegor Targaryen, your rightful king! And I declare the Faith Militant enemies of the realm!”

There is a murmur of defiance from the knights below, and one of the septons dares to raise his voice. “You blaspheme, Maegor! The gods themselves deny your union. You will face judgment!”

Maegor lets out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at the man with disdain. “Then let your gods protect you from my wrath.” He raises his arm, signaling to Balerion.

With a rumbling growl that reverberates through the stone walls, Balerion opens his jaws, and a torrent of fire bursts forth, consuming the sept’s doors in an instant. The flame spreads with terrifying speed, licking up the stone walls and turning them to blackened, smoking ruin. The Faith Militant try to flee, but Balerion’s fire is relentless, consuming them as they run, their silver armor melting, the flesh beneath charring to bone.

The people of Oldtown watch in horror from the streets and rooftops, their faces pale, their voices strangled with fear. Maegor’s voice rises above the roar of the flames, clear and unyielding.

“This is what happens to those who defy the Crown,” he shouts, his voice filled with the fury of a man wronged for too long. “To those who think they can take my queen from me.”

The sept’s grand structure crumbles as the fire sears through wood, stone, and glass alike. The stained glass windows, depicting scenes of saints and the Seven, shatter in the intense heat, raining shards upon the Faith Militant and those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Balerion’s fire leaves no sanctuary, no corner of the sept untouched. Statues of the gods melt under the flames, the Seven themselves reduced to ash and rubble, as if even they cannot withstand Maegor’s wrath.

From his perch atop Balerion, Maegor watches with an unsettling satisfaction. His expression is grim, merciless, as he surveys the destruction below. The High Septon himself, garbed in his white and gold robes, flees the Starry Sept, clutching a holy tome to his chest as though it might shield him from the flames. Maegor’s gaze locks onto him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

“You, who claim to be closest to the gods, will not escape their punishment,” Maegor calls, his voice carrying across the square.

The High Septon falls to his knees, raising his trembling hands in a plea. “Spare me, Your Grace! I have served the gods faithfully—I am but their humble servant!”

Maegor’s face hardens, the glint in his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Your Faith sent assassins after my queen, my child,” he growls. “You will burn for that.”

With another signal, Balerion releases another torrent of fire, engulfing the High Septon in a scorching blaze. His screams echo through Oldtown, a terrible symphony of agony that seems to reach even the highest towers of the Hightower itself. The onlookers, paralyzed by fear, watch as the flames consume the last remnants of the Starry Sept and those who served within it. The High Septon’s cries fall silent, leaving only the crackling of fire and the distant sobbing of townsfolk horrified by the display of power.

As the Starry Sept collapses in a smoldering heap, Maegor directs Balerion to soar higher, circling the ruined city below. His gaze sweeps over the Hightower, a place where he once lived when he took a wife from among their daughters—a wife who dared to defy his queen, to question the place of Y/N at his side. Her blood, like that of the septons below, was shed without hesitation. Maegor has always ensured that no voice rises above his own, not even those of the gods.

But now, his voice rings out again across Oldtown, a decree that none can ignore.

“Let it be known throughout the realm,” he declares, “that the Faith Militant and any who align themselves with the false righteousness of the gods shall face the same fate. No man, no god, no Septon shall question the rule of House Targaryen or my right to claim my queen.”

The words echo in the silence, seared into the minds of all who listen, the weight of them settling upon the city like a brand. And then, with a final glance down at the burning ruin below, Maegor commands Balerion to rise, leaving a trail of smoke and ash in their wake.

Hours later, Maegor returns to the capital, his armor and cloak singed, his face streaked with soot but unbowed. You wait for him at the entrance, heart pounding, watching as he dismounts Balerion and strides toward you, his gaze hard and impenetrable. Yet, as he nears, that hardness softens, if only slightly, as his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, you reach for him, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the heat still radiating from his armor. “You’ve done it, then,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but protective. “No one will dare threaten you again. They have seen what becomes of those who defy us.��

You meet his gaze, searching for the man beneath the rage, the one who has risked everything for you, who will stop at nothing to secure the life of the child growing within you. “And the Faith? Will they stop?”

His jaw tightens, and his voice lowers, almost gentle but carrying a fierce undercurrent. “If they don’t, I will burn every sept in the Seven Kingdoms until not a single one remains.” His hand slips to your belly, resting there possessively. “They will never again come close to you or our child.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his promise, the depth of his wrath. Maegor may be feared, hated even, but in his own brutal, unyielding way, he is yours, and he will keep you safe no matter the cost.

He steps back, exhaling, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tonight, let the realm know that House Targaryen’s fire is boundless,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. “I will destroy all who oppose us. And in time, they will kneel, knowing they have no choice.”

In that moment, you feel a surge of fierce pride, not only in Maegor’s power but in his loyalty, however ruthless. With him, you will carve a place in this unforgiving world for your child, even if it must be forged in flame and blood.

“Then let them see,” you reply, matching his intensity, feeling the strength of his determination coursing through you. “We will stand together, and the realm will learn to fear us.”

Maegor’s hand tightens over yours, a silent vow exchanged between the two of you. And as he pulls you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, you know that whatever comes next, you will face it together—bound by blood, fire, and an unbreakable loyalty that no god or mortal can shatter.

[heavenlyvision]

Bare

Word count: 9.3k

Pairing: Liu Kang x F!Reader

A/N: This is a bit different to my other works so far, at least it feels different! I am stoked about the people who encouraged me to write this!! You guys have been the kindest to interact with and really encourage me to keep writing <33 (P.S. If you're having trouble picturing the position in the smut scene, it’s pretty close to the full nelson, hopefully you can picture it with just my description though 😅😅)

Summary:  Through a series of unfortunate events, you find yourself befriending a God and making his life more difficult, it’s just a bonus that he’s friendly, kind, and really hot.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, grinding, p in v sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, Liu Kang might be a little ooc and I am sorry but he’s hot and I had to write for him.

Living in the temple with Liu Kang is an odd feeling, you’ve been here for a while now, but you still feel out of place. Maybe because there isn’t any real reason that you’re here, you know he has plans and is a Fire God and something about a tournament with another realm, but you don’t fit in to any of that. You’re just some person he felt bad for after making friends with and is now allowing you to stay in his temple????

To be fair, he didn’t really befriend you, he asked if you were okay and then you held him verbally hostage. He looked friendly and so you started talking to him, something you would usually be too reserved to do. Having conversations with strangers isn’t something you’re in the habit of, and you especially don’t start them, but you’d had a series of unfortunate events happen to you in the course of a week and he looked nice. You think he was too polite to ask you to stop talking to him, but he eventually engaged in the conversation.

It was a little cafe not far from where you used to live, Liu Kang had been there by chance, he tells you now that there was something he had to take care of in that area, but he kept coming back after that first encounter. Every time you were there, he was also there, and he listened to you.

When you first met and spoke with Liu Kang you complained about how your partner broke up with you but actually he was cheating on you and had been for months, so you had to leave his apartment, which was originally yours before you were both on the lease. But you didn’t leave by choice, he locked you out and left your stuff in front of the building, which obviously, some of it was missing.

Whether he kept it or if some of it was taken by strangers you aren’t sure, but it sucks either way, you didn’t tell Liu Kang that last thing at the time though. Being kicked out of your own apartment and cheated on was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to know you were also robbed.  

While visiting that café everyday hoping to see Liu Kang, your personal circumstances kept getting worse, you didn’t keep bombarding him with your issues though. He was nice and funny in a polite way, and he was becoming a friend to you. So, you didn’t say anything to him but the friend you had been staying with turned out to be who your partner was cheating on you with, so you had to rush to find another place to stay, which you managed. And things would’ve been okay from there if you hadn’t lost your job due to cutbacks in that same week, so not only were you living off your quickly depleting savings, you were also trying to find a job, while living in a shitty, tiny apartment, an apartment where, if you had all your furniture, you wouldn’t be able to see the floor.

The only thing you looked forward to were the afternoons in that café talking to and getting to know Liu Kang. It was unfortunate luck when your ex-friend and ex-partner walked in and saw you talking with him. They didn’t mind their own business, and that was how Liu Kang had found out how much worse things had gotten for you in the few months you had been meeting with him.

After he learned about the extent of things he brought up living with him at the temple, he said it would be more for him than for you, claiming to need help and that you were perfect for it. But you knew he didn’t really need any help; he’s a literal God and you’re just a person. So, you kept declining, he’d bring it up once a month and you would tell him no every month, determined to make things work for yourself.

But eventually, you were fed up with all the dead-end jobs and being dismissed after only a few weeks, you were looking down the barrel of eviction and you caved, asking Liu Kang for help. Something he was more than happy to provide.

It felt odd, making friends with a stranger, only to find out he was a God and then that God feeling so bad for you that he offers to make your life easier by letting you live with him at his temple. You can’t help but feel pitiful about giving up all your responsibilities and running away but there wasn’t anything left for you in that city.

Staying by Liu Kang’s side has introduced you to so much beauty, it’s expanded your small world, and you don’t feel even a little bit of regret for leaving, not anymore. Though you still feel out of place, your heart is at peace.

Currently, you’re drinking tea with Liu Kang, it’s something you two do every afternoon and it reminds you of the café. Even though he’s busy, he always has tea with you, every afternoon.

Conversing with him always starts the same way, you say something completely random or make an observation and he sighs at your inability to sit in silence for more than a minute at a time.

“You know, I think he still has my favourite book.” You say in reference to your ex.

There’s a book you owned, and it was a classic, not worth anything, but you had annotated it to high hell and the love you have for it is shown in your scribblings and all the sticky notes. It’s something you immediately noticed was missing but never said anything about.

He has a confused look on his face, “What? Why didn’t you ask for it back?”

“He’d just say that I lost it, or that it got stolen when he left my boxes outside the apartment,” You shrug at him.

“He… left your belongings… outside of the apartment, where strangers could rifle through them… and steal from you?” He questions, his tone is calm but the pauses in his sentence display contempt.

“Did I not tell you that?” You wonder.

He’s looking at you, eyes squinting, scrutinising you and trying to determine if you were purposefully keeping that from him, “No… you have not mentioned it.”

In all honesty, you thought you had already told him that. You aren’t trying to hide it anymore, it’s already done. You just feel a bit sad about your favourite book, you’ve been wanting to reread it lately and you like reading the notes you’ve made previously as you do.

“I was just thinking about the book, it was annotated,” you sigh.

“I can take you to go get it, if you’d like?” He offers.

“He probably won’t even admit to having it, let alone give it back but thank you.” You offer him a smile, he’s always so kind to you, a gentle God.

He considers you for a moment, “I have some books, if you’d like to read them.”

“I found your library months ago, read a bunch of them but it isn’t the same.” You appreciate his suggestion, but other books can’t compare.

He sips at his tea, before saying, “You’re picky.”

“No, it’s just that I cultivated that book with all my thoughts and feelings on the story and now it’s gone,” you huff out.

Liu Kang frowns a bit, thinking about your words, “I do not like him.”

“Neither,” you laugh, “You know, he wasn’t even worth it, never made me org–” you stop abruptly, realising what you were about to say… to a God, “Uhm what I actually mean is, he was a… bad partner, not… attentive?” It comes out like a question, but you aren’t asking anything.

He chuckles and shakes his head at you; he always seems to find you amusing, “That’s a shame,” he mutters.

You want to question him on what he means but he speaks again, “Why did you stay with him?”

“After a while, I felt… trapped,” you sigh, “He was kinder in the beginning of our relationship, but he grew colder, meaner, he didn’t talk to me… he didn’t like talking to me, always saying I talk too much,” you give him a wry smile.

He hums, “I like listening to you.”

You feel flush at his words, he does this sometimes, says something innocuous without realising how the kind words have you falling for him. But, it’s a feeling you don’t let yourself indulge in, for a number of reasons but mostly because you feel unremarkable compared to him. You feel small and your feelings feel unimportant, so you don’t entertain them, not wanting them to grow stronger with nowhere to put them down. He makes it hard though.

“I like talking to you,” you reply.

Relationships aren’t something you’ve had much success in, your only one that lasted longer than a couple weeks being the one where you lost your apartment, belongings, friend, etc etc.

“I sometimes wonder if he ever loved me,” you confess to Liu Kang.

You stayed out of obligation and convenience, leaving was too much effort, but why did he stay for so long, only to do what he did. Sometimes you feel sick thinking about it, because if he never showed you love then what does it look like? And are you capable of recognising it in someone else? In yourself?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, “I can hear you thinking from here, stop it.”

“You can hear thoughts??” You’re a little worried as you say it.

He restrains himself from rolling his eyes at you, “Not what I meant; I cannot actually hear your thoughts.”

“Oh thank god, don’t say things like that.” You place a hand over your beating heart.

“Why would I be able to read minds?” He queries.

“I dunno, you’re a God, you can’t say stuff like that, I’ll take you literally,”

He hums, “Noted.”

Both of you sit in the silence, normally you would say something else but for once you’re a little lost for words. Still wondering if you’ve ever been loved, properly. An ache fills your heart, and you aren’t really sure what it means.

Liu Kang’s grip squeezes on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him, “If he never loved you, then he is a fool.”

And there it is again, something meant as comfort said so tenderly to you that your heart feels like it might implode.

“Thank you,” you say, hand coming up to rest on top of his.

He looks deep in thought for a moment, “I think you should learn self-defence.”

It’s abrupt, the way he brings it up, you pull your hand away and turn so you’re facing him properly, “Why?”

“I think I would feel better about you being a part of this world, if you could defend yourself.”

You consider his words, your lips pouting in thought, “I’d rather not.”

His response is to frown at you, “Why not?”

“I’d rather not, just ‘cause I don’t wanna have strangers train me or whatever, don’t like the idea of being touched by them,” you say it flippantly, waving a hand as you do.

You know he would want to take you to that academy or have someone specifically train you, but you aren’t fond of strangers, and you especially don’t like the idea of their hands positioning you and such, it’s a very uncomfortable idea.

Your face must be betraying how much you dislike the idea, “Stop making that face,” Liu Kang sighs.

“Sorry,” your face drops into a neutral expression, you hadn’t realised you were making one.

“Things are going to pick up soon, I would feel better if you’d consider it.”

You frown again, this time on purpose.

He looks into your eyes, it feels like he’s trying to stare you down, “That won’t work, I don’t like being touched,” you remark.

He raises a brow at you, “You let me touch you.”

You look away from him and mumble, “That’s different.”

“How?” He inquires.

How nosey of him, “It just is…” you shrug at him.

“What if I teach you self-defence?”

You look back to him, “Maybe.”

If you had a choice, you’d rather not be taught any kind of self-defence, but you guess if it’s Liu Kang teaching you, you could be amicable to that, eventually.

Both his brows raise, “Are you going to make this difficult for me?”

You repeat your previous answer, sly smile on your lips, “Maybe…”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been almost a full week since that conversation with Liu Kang, you keep putting off training with him. He’s a patient man but you think you’re slowly chipping away at it. His concern for you growing the more you put it off.

You understand that things will be changing soon, with his champions and what not, but he keeps you fairly separate from all that anyways. You know of the Lin Kuei and their involvement, along with the brothers but you’ve not met them, and he’s not asked you to. So, you aren’t really sure why he’s become so caught up on getting you some kind of training.

It’s late in the evening and you’re walking to the library, which maybe you shouldn’t be, but you feel the need to read something. Get your mind off of everything that’s been happening. Maybe you’ll find a new favourite book and annotate that.

But because you have the luck of someone who’s broken a mirror every day, it starts bucketing down rain. Usually, you enjoy rainy weather and a good book, but this isn’t that. You’re walking the temple grounds one minute and the next you’re fully drenched, down to the bone. Clothes soggy, shoes filled with water, and to top it off, the torrential downpour is making your visibility awful. You can’t make heads or tails with all this rain; it would probably be just as bad even if it wasn’t dark out.

Just your luck, there isn’t much you can do but stumble blindly through the grounds, hoping you’re going the right way. But predictably, that is not a good idea, you’re about as wet as a person can be, shaking from the cold breeze, you need to find shelter somewhere soon.

Some of the buildings are recognisable, you think? You can’t really be sure, but you think you recognise the building Liu Kang resides in. Hobbling up to the door, you knock on it, hoping that some higher power takes pity on you and that Liu Kang is home… and also awake.

And wouldn’t you know it, he’s not home, the only solution you can think of is to sit under the small shelter surrounding the building, to at least prevent yourself from getting any more wet, not that that’s even possible at this point.

The rain doesn’t stop, the rate at which it’s coming unchanging. Spending all night here is not a feasible option, sadly, you will have to move again and hope you find your own quarters or somewhere open you can tuck into. It’d be embarrassing to sleep on Liu Kang’s doorstep only for him to trip over you in the morning.

You decide to try knocking one last time, maybe he didn’t hear you. Wrapping your knuckles against his front door, you knock harder, wishing for him to be home and that your first knocks went unheard.

Waiting a moment before you give up, he’s obviously out doing some God business or whatever, you don’t really question his movements. Turning your back to his door, you look out at the rain, working yourself up to going back out into it.

Just as you step out into it again, you feel a hand grab your upper arm and pull you back, bending your head back to look up, you realise it’s Liu Kang and a relived smile breaks out across your face. You turn around to face him properly and he lets go of your arm.

The look on his face is one of complete confusion, “What are you doing out in this rain?”

“I was looking for the library but then it started raining… and I got lost but I recognised your building, and I knocked a couple times, but I thought you were out, so I was gonna look for somewhere else to try and get warm.” You’re shaking like a leaf in front of him, teeth chattering as you talk.

He frowns at you and grabs you again, pulling you inside. The escape from the unforgiving wind is very welcome to you.

“Why were you out this late to begin with?” His eyes are firm as he looks at you.

You look away from him, feeling like you’re being scolded, “I… wanted to read a book… can’t stop thinking and I can’t sleep.”

You’re standing in front of him and staring at the floor below you, still shivering involuntarily, a puddle of water being created on the wood, “Do you have a towel, your floors getting wet.” Your head nodding downwards to the puddle.

“I am not worried about my floors,” he sighs, “Come with me.”

You shuffle down the hall after him, you feel like a wet cat who got caught outside when they’re meant to be inside. There’s a trail of water droplets trailing after you, you feel bad getting his floors all wet, you’ll have to remember to clean up for him.

Following behind, you properly look at him and notice his upper half is bare, only in pants for bed, you can’t help but stare at his large frame and muscular back. It’s a very human display, for him to be shirtless and in sleep pants, his hair down, he looks good, but he always looks good. You feel like a silly mess.

He leads you into his bathroom and hands you a clean towel, “Have a shower, get warm.”

You stand there looking at him for a moment, “What will I wear?”

Liu Kang walks past you and further down the hall, you briefly wonder if you’re meant to follow him or start showering. You decide to pull off your jacket and slip out of your shoes while waiting.

His footsteps are coming back towards you, “Here,” he offers you some of his clothes.

You think about whether the shirt would even close, he’s always wearing shirts that show his chest and they don’t exactly look like they’d offer you any modesty, even if you do it up. You unfold the shirt and you’re thankful to see it will, in fact cover you.

“Something wrong?” He asks.

Shaking your head at him, you say, “No, I was just wondering if you gave me one of those shirts that doesn’t actually close properly.”

He sighs at you, “Have a shower, then we will talk.”

You drop the shirt down from in front of you to look at him but he’s already walking away and shutting the door behind him.

The showers heat is what you imagine heaven feels like, or maybe getting really high. Muscles that you hadn’t even realised were tensed finally relax and you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the shower floor. You hadn’t noticed just how cold you were, if you had stayed out all night you might’ve actually turned into a popsicle.

After you’ve washed and dried yourself off, you look at Liu Kang’s clothes, he gave you pants but you’re worried they won’t fit. Which is troublesome because you can’t put on your wet underwear, not unless you wanna squirm in place all evening.

Closing your eyes, you huff out a sigh, considering your options. Telling him that you have no underwear is a mortifying thought. So, you pull his shirt on and do up the buttons, it comes down pretty far on your body, which shouldn’t be shocking; he is a large man but seeing it come more than halfway down your thighs makes you remember the size difference.

Considering how far it comes down on you, you wonder if you even have to say anything. You decide it might be better not to say anything, the risk of whatever conversation would ensue undoubtedly would embarrass you to death.

Which, before you met Liu Kang, you never really got all that embarrassed but the effect he has on you makes you feel self-conscious of all your choices and little mannerisms.

Padding down his hallway, you meet him in his living area, he’s sitting on his lounge. Rounding it, you hold onto the hem of his shirt, you feel nervous; like he’s about to give you the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ talk. It always worked on you as a kid, it’d probably work now too.

When he looks up to you, his eyes skate up your body slowly before he meets your gaze, “What’s wrong with the pants?”

“Don’t fit,” you mumble.

He nods at you, and you go to sit next to him.

“You smell like me,” he notes.

You had noticed that, his scent is overwhelming you, making you feel warm.

You change the subject, “Thank you, for the shirt and shower... and for letting me in.”

He looks concerned, “Why would I not let you in?”

You shrug at him, you aren’t really sure why you said it, maybe it’s the being locked out of your own apartment memories haunting you again. You fidget in your seat a bit, uncomfortable from both not wearing underwear and this conversation.

You change the subject, “Do you have a mop or another towel, I can dry your floors.”

He shakes his head at you, “You do not need to do that, I’ve already done it.”

He readjusts his position, moving to the side, one leg crossed on the couch and an arm coming up to rest on the back of the couch. He’s facing you completely now, you’re sitting forward with your knees touching, looking into your lap and toying with the hem of his shirt, conscious of the fact you aren’t wearing underwear.

“I would have done it,” you mutter.

“I know, that is why I did it first.”

You don’t say anything, which is out of character and it’s starting to concern Liu Kang.

“What were you going to do tonight? If I hadn’t answered my door,” he questions you, his tone concerned.

Your lips pout and you look away to the side, staring at his now very interesting wall.

“I dunno, I mean, I was planning to go back out and try and find my place or somewhere else warm at least, I wasn’t just gonna sit on your doorstep all night,” you shrug, still not facing him.

The couch cushions move as he shuffles a little closer, “That would have been reckless, your lips were almost blue before, you need to have more concern for your wellbeing.”

“I care about myself,” you turn to look at him, he had moved closer than you expected, you stumble over yourself a bit at his proximity, “…I do care, I didn’t know what to do and I made the best choice in that moment, it’s not like I wanted to go back into the rain… I knocked again… just in case you didn’t hear the first time…”

He looks at you intensely, it’s making you nervous and you look away from him, eyes turning downwards to your lap again, legs rubbing against each other as you continue to squirm.

“Look at me,” he says gently, you turn your head to look at him properly, he continues, “I am so aware of how human you are, and I worry about your safety because of it, you do not inspire confidence in me when you do stuff like this.”

“I think you’re taking this too seriously; I didn’t know it was going to rain and–”

“–That is not my only concern,” he gives you a pointed look.

“And we are back on this?” You ask.

He nods in response.

A deep sigh is pushed out of you, “You know, you are quite persistent… pushy even.”

“If you give in now, it would save us a lot of time,” he replies, making his stance clear, this is not something he is willing to compromise on. At least, not any more than he already has.

“I don’t understand why you want me to do this so bad? You’ve kept me separate from everything so far, so why would I need any kind of training?”

“For my peace of mind,” he says, rather abruptly.

Taking a deep breath in you let it all out at once, “You really aren’t going to let this go?” You ask, double checking.

“No,” he confirms.

“Then… I suppose… I will allow you to train me,” you huff, you’d cross your arms, but you’re worried about his shirt riding up your thighs.

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

You hum noncommittally, “This is such an unlucky night for me.”

He chuckles at you while getting up from the couch, “I am going to put some tea on, can you watch it?”

“Yeah,” you also get up from the couch and follow him to his kitchen.

Opening cupboards, he pulls out everything and puts the kettle on, then he wanders down the hallway leaving you to watch it. You don’t really know what he’s gone off to do, you’re a little peeved that you’ll have to be training for a possible threat, not even a tangible one. Plus you think he’s not telling you everything, but he seems to be a bit touchy right now, so you won’t push it.

Especially since you seem to be the reason why he’s being a bit short. But everything that happened tonight was just a series of unfortunate events, which at this point is par for the course for you. You don’t want to try and argue your case again though because, well, you were walking around an area you aren’t completely familiar with in the middle of the night, so you might be a little in the wrong.

Mindlessly, you watch the kettle, it feels a little ironic considering that old phrase, ‘a watched pot never boils’. From behind you, Liu Kang’s footsteps stop, you turn around to look at him.

“What were you doing?” You ask him, before you realise he’s holding all your wet clothes, including your underwear, the underwear that you are currently not wearing. Underwear that you should be wearing.

“What are you wearing underneath my shirt?” His gaze is even, unreadable.

“Uhm, well… like, r-right now?” You ask for clarification, your eyes wide.

“Yes, right now,” his tone is equally unreadable.

You suck on your teeth uncomfortably, “Well, right now… in this moment… I guess… nothing.”

“Right, thought so, considering I found these,” he holds out your underwear with one finger, showing them to you, “amongst all your other clothes.”

“Okayyyy, but you see…your pants didn’t fit and well, I didn’t want to put on wet underwear…” you avert your eyes from his, feeling exposed, “so, I decided, not to wear any…” You trail off, not really sure where to go from here.

He hums at you in understanding, “So, while I was telling you to care more for yourself…you were sitting on my couch, squirming because you chose to forgo underwear, is that right?”

You look upwards, feigning deep thought, “Mhm, pretty much, yeah…but I wouldn’t say I was squirming.”

“You were squirming, I thought it was because the conversation was uncomfortable.” He retorts.

“Well, it was…just in multiple ways,” you smile innocently at him, “Uhm, can I have those?”

“Are you going to put them on?” He asks.

You nod at him, “I was considering it, wearing wet panties has to feel better than this.”

His eyes close momentarily at your words, he intakes a breath. You feel ashamed to admit that this conversation is working you up, it would probably be for the best if you cover yourself properly.

Walking over to him you go to grab your underwear, but as you reach up to pluck them from his hand, he reaches further up. Not completely out of arm’s length but if you do reach up, you would be exposing yourself completely.

“That’s not nice,” you huff.

“It isn’t nice showing up on my doorstep just to get into my clothes and then sit on my couch with nothing underneath them.” His eyes are full of mirth.

“Can I just have my underwear…please?”

He pretends to be in deep thought, mimicking you from earlier, “Do you really want to put on wet underwear?”

“…Yes.” No. You don’t really want to, but not wearing underwear around someone who knows you aren’t wearing any is…horrifyingly revealing.

“So, you were fine not wearing any underwear when I didn’t know, but now you’d rather be uncomfortable in wet panties, instead of being bare?”

“You’re asking me too many questions,” you’re frowning at him, but he doesn’t seem to find it menacing, his eyes still playful.

“You normally enjoy talking,” he jests.

A scowl is pulling at you lips, “Liu can you please just,” you look away and huff, “give me my underwear,” you mumble it out.

“Is there a specific reason that you need them now?” His implication is heavy, and you are not admitting to anything, you’d sooner die.

Rolling your eyes at him, you grab your clothes from his other hand and walk over to his dining table. You place them over the back of his chairs, so they have the chance to dry.

He shows mercy and moves to you to give you your underwear. As you hold them you make a face of displeasure, they’re soaked still, and you really don’t want to put them on.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow raising.

“Nothing,” you lie.

He pushes, “Put them on then.”

This situation is too much for you, this side of Liu Kang paired with his bare skin is making you dizzy, your pussy getting wetter by the second. It’s incredibly embarrassing that, him knowing and teasing you for not wearing underwear, is making your skin hot and body yearn for him. Even more embarrassing that he seems to have some kind of inkling about your arousal for him.

“I will,” another lie, you are not putting these on.

“You know, your facial expressions are incredibly honest,” he observes.

You try your hand at a poker face and it has him smiling in response.

Giving in, you confess, “I don’t want to put them on, they’re too wet.”

His face is bright, pleased at his victory, “You are an odd person,” he teases.

You’re exasperated, “Can’t you just pretend to not know?”

“I can try.” He shrugs and gives you a sweet smile but it doesn’t feel sweet, not after what he just put you through.

You put your wet underwear on the chair next to your other clothes, preferably you would clean them but they’ll do for getting you back to your room tomorrow.

You huff past Liu Kang as you walk to sit on his couch again, still holding onto the hem of his shirt as you sit, not wanting it to ride up. Not willing to risk it, especially since he knows how bare you are underneath.

He makes the tea and brings it over to you, both of you sitting in silence. You can’t help but squirm a bit in your spot. Wanting to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief but that would be way too obvious. So, you try focusing on your tea, the flavours of it, the smell, the warmth.

But then your thoughts wander, and you’re thinking about Liu Kang’s arms, his chest, his tattoos, his hands, the playfulness in his voice, his eyes as he looked at you. The stern voice he used on you earlier, everything about him sets you alight, you huff in annoyance next to him.

You hear him sigh lightly beside you, “You’re squirming again.”

“No, I’m not,” a boldfaced lie.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing,” you take another sip of your tea.

He grabs your mug from you, placing it on the table, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t need help,” you scowl at him.

His expression is dubious and not believing you for a single second, “Come here,” he pats the couch between his spread thighs.

Your face is shocked, “What for?”

He rolls his eyes at you, “I was not born yesterday, do you want my help or not?”

You argue, “Still don’t need help.”

Both his brows drop, “You’re sitting there, bare and squirming on my couch.”

“You’re supposed to pretend not to know,” you comment.

“I can only ignore so much,” he retorts.

You look at him for a bit, his expression unchanging, seemingly steadfast.

“How are you going to help?” You’re curious now.

“Find out,” he pats the couch again.

Looking upwards and away from him, you consider it for a bit, this might not be a great idea but he’s really hot and offering to help you, so against your better judgement you move over to him and sit between his spread legs. He moves forward, chest pressed to your back, his lips right by your ear.

“Can I touch you?” He checks with you.

“…Yes, please.”

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your body, resting atop one of your thighs.

Tapping it, he says, “Open your legs.”

Your skin feels hot but you listen and open them, the outside of your thighs touching the inside of his.

“Perfect,” he mumbles beside your head.

His hand slides down, caressing your inner thigh now, his other arm is wrapped around your torso, keeping you still. The hand on your thigh slowly inching closer to where you need him most, it feels like everything he’s doing is taking a million years. He’s taking his time to tenderly touch you, working you up more than you already are.

Your own hands come up to the one wrapped around you, holding onto his forearm, “Can you just… touch me please?” You ask him, voice the slightest bit breathless.

“In a moment,” his hand moves further away from your aching heat, instead tickling up the length of your inner thigh.

Your body feels like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin, his barely there touch turning your brain into mush. Slowly, his hand travels back up your thigh, and he cups your pussy, his two middle fingers slipping between your folds.

His chest rumbles with a groan behind you, “How long have you been this wet?”

You turn your head away from him and to the side, trying to avoid his words in your ear. It doesn’t work, if anything he can get closer, his head leaning down and breathing hot air onto your ear. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine in response, your teeth biting into your lower lip to supress the small sound you almost make.

“Probably when I confronted you, right?” He hits the nail on the head.

His fingers keep running through your folds, spreading your slick all over your pussy, the tip of his middle finger pressing into you the slightest bit, you cant your hips in response and he pulls away, instead repeating his previous motions of rubbing his fingers through your folds. His teasing pulling a huff from you.

“You know how I know?” he probes.

You shake your head at him, you’re a little bit curious as to what gave you away.

“I know because you are so honest, your facial expression, your movements, your eyes,” he practically purrs in your ear.

You shuffle against him, whether to get him closer or get yourself free, you aren’t sure but he holds you still against him. His fingers making a mess of your pussy, he moves them to your clit, giving you only the slightest amount of pressure. It has your hips rising to chase the sensation, wanting his fingers to be firmer. The arm around your torso pulls you back to him, holding you steady.

“You’re still squirming,” he comments.

“It’s –hah– your fault,” you quip.

“Mmm, is that so?” He wonders out loud.

Finally, he adds more pressure to your clit, the stimulation almost knocking the wind out of you, a small whimper falling from your lips involuntarily. Liu Kang hums appreciatively at your reaction to his touch. His nose runs up the length of your neck, tickling you.

“You seem to enjoy being touched right now,” he breathes the words against your neck.

He rubs circles into your clit, firm and even, never picking up or slowing down. Your hips wriggle against him, you want more, want him inside you.

A breath of air is pushed out his nostrils, amused at your movements, “Need something?” He’s still holding you firm, “If you do, you need to ask.”

“Want you to touch me,” you request.

Tone serious but his words have humour behind them, “I am touching you.”

“Want your finger, inside,” you whine at him, hating how desperate you must look and sound. No man ever having pulled you apart with such minimal contact but he isn’t just a man, is he?

His chest vibrates under you, his fingers slipping down to your pussy hole, middle finger pressing into you slowly. His large finger a stretch for you, his thumb rubs at your clit, trying to coax you into relaxing enough to take it.

“I don’t think you could be any tighter,” he murmurs to you.

Your hips are wanting to wiggle down onto his finger but you’re being held in place, when he does get his finger fully inside you, it has you instinctually trying to close your legs. Liu Kang tsks at you in disappointment, the hand around you briefly moving to place your legs over tops of his. You’re completely spread on him, the crook of your knees resting over top of his legs.

“This is embarrassing,” you mutter.

His hand moves back to hold you around your middle again, “You won’t mind soon.”

This man is going to be the death of you.

The finger inside you crooks up, stroking at your inner walls, the pleasure has your body writhing in his hold again. He pulls you back into his chest further and looks over your shoulder, down to where his finger is seated inside you. As his finger draws back from you, wet sounds follow the movement, and when he pushes it back inside, your cunt clamps down on it; a gasp jumping out of your throat.

He fucks his one finger into you continuously, your slick dripping from you, hips jumping against him. Eventually, you want more, want to feel fuller.

You pant out, “More, Liu – hah.”

He obeys, pressing his ring finger into you, his pace slowing to make up for the stretch, the small amount of pain not enough to bother you, your arousal outweighing it. Your hips grind down onto his fingers, taking the both of them deeper. His thumb rubs at your clit again as he fucks both his fingers into you, your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes glazing over.

“Getting all fucked out on my fingers, that’s cute.” He observes.

His fingers are completely seated inside you; your hips grind into his hand. He allows you the small moment to rock your hips back and forth. Before he suddenly starts fucking them into you, pulling them out and slamming them back in, the tips of his fingers brushing something devastating. The feeling has your body shaking and whimpers falling from your lips, he hums in delight at your reaction and targets the one spot. Fucking his large fingers into it over and over again, wanting to have you falling apart for him.

Your insides start twisting in on themselves, panting breaths coming quicker, an odd feeling overwhelming you. You go to warn Liu Kang, “Feels weird.”

Liu Kang can feel your walls clenching down on his fingers, “It’s fine.”

You huff out at him, both from the feeling and his response.

“Poor girl, her ex-boyfriend didn’t only never get her to cum, she’s also never orgasmed before, mmm?” He questions, taunting.

If that’s what this is then you guess you really haven’t orgasmed before, you could’ve sworn you had but it never felt like this.

You gasp at his words, uncharacteristic of him and also really hot. Your brows knit together as his fingers keep moving inside you, his pace picking up slightly. The wet squelching of your wet cunt prominent in the otherwise quiet house.

“Stop fighting it love, just let it happen,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. He leaves wet kisses against it.

Your skin heats up in reaction to the pet name, your pussy spasming around his fingers, a whiny gasp of his name ripped from your chest. You go to keel forward but he holds you to him.

“There you go,” he purrs into your skin, “Doing so good, love.”

Your thighs are shaking on top of his, small whimpers leaving you as he continues fucking his fingers into you, prolonging your high. Aftershocks wracking your frame, jolting in his hold, slowly his fingers come to a stop, your head had dropped forward during your orgasm.

His unoccupied hand comes up to press against your forehead and pull your head back to his shoulder, you’re panting against him. Chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes unseeing for a few moments after.

When he pulls his fingers from you, he holds them up to marvel at them, admiring the way your cum has sticky strings falling from his fingers when he parts them.

“Look at that,” he says with the brightest tone, genuinely enamoured by the sight of your cum on his fingers.

You shy away from the display, turning your head to the side, unfortunately for your self-consciousness, you see the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks your cum off of them. The shameless display has your skin burning you from the inside out. After he’s sucked them clean, he wipes his spit off on your inner thigh.

“Can’t believe you were with a man who couldn’t make you orgasm for that long,” he says, almost out of nowhere.

You don’t respond, still embarrassed and a little fucked out, you don’t feel present in your own body. Wiggling against Liu Kang, you feel his very pronounced erection dig into your ass.

You mumble to him, surprised, “You’re hard.”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” he’s confused by your shock.

You remark, “You didn’t get any pleasure from that.”

“Love, I got so much pleasure from that.”

His response makes you blush.

“Your ex is some piece of work,” he claims.

You lift your shaky legs up and off of his, back to your previous position of outer thighs to his inner thighs. He lets you lay on top of him for a bit while you collect yourself, but you want to look at him.

Clumsily, you get up and shuffle around, climbing on top of him and straddling him, now face to face. You sit back a bit on his lap so you can see him properly.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks, feigning exasperation at you.

You don’t reply, instead lazily taking in all of his features, your eyes zero in on his lips. Wanting to kiss him but unsure if that’s crossing an invisible line. You don’t move, but you pull your eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eyes again.

Lightly rolling his eyes, he huffs out a sigh, his hand comes up behind your neck and pulls you towards him. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and sweet. At least it is until you shuffle forward and sit right on top of the bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of his hard cock pressed up against your bare cunt, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

His tongue explores your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hand holds onto your neck, keeping you in place for him to kiss you how he pleases. It’s is unlike any other, you’re realising now, you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed with so much desire, need.

Groans are pulled from his chest at the way you’ve started mindlessly grinding against him. His free hand coming up to encourage it, appreciating the friction. Having been hard for far too long with no relief. Your hands move to his shoulders, holding onto his warm skin.

You keep grinding clumsily onto his cock, back and forth along the length of it. He keeps his mouth on yours, his groans and your whines shared in it. When you pull back to breathe, his hand comes away from your throat and holds onto your other hip, using both his hands to drag you up and down his cock more forcefully.

You’re huffing out whimpers every time the head of his dick grazes your clit, Liu Kang is getting lost in the feeling of you soaking his cock through his pants. His head dropping back on the couch, you’re getting desperate on top of him. His dick is twitching under you, feeling him jerk against you has you rutting into him.

“Liu,” you call out to him.

“Mmm?” He hums to you.

“Want you inside,” you whimper.

His head shoots up to look you in the eyes, his hands stilling your hips causing you to whine pitifully. His cock jumps under you at the sound.

“Are you sure? Could barely take my fingers,” he’s double checking before getting his hopes up.

Nodding your head at him, you say, “Mhm, need it.”

His chest rumbles with a guttural groan, before he’s tapping the side of your thigh, asking you to stand on your knees for a moment. You lift yourself up and he pulls his pants down, enough to get his fat cock free.

The size of him shocks you slightly, his hands grab your hips again, pulling you down to sit on it. He starts the previous rhythm, grinding you down onto him, his cock slips between your folds, your pussy getting his dick wet and ready for you.

Gliding up and down his cock has your slick leaking from you and as you slide up, the head of his dick catches on your pussy hole, the feeling catching you off guard. You can’t help but push down onto his cock, stretching yourself on him, Liu Kang gasps at the feeling. His hands gripping your hips harshly, grounding himself.

Frustration grows in you at the difficulty of getting him inside you, so you force it and drop down quickly, more of his big dick filling your small cunt. The feeling too much, not so much pain but a large shock, your hands grasp onto Liu Kang roughly. His own body jerking forward, hips moving up on their own accord, a woosh of air exiting him like he’s been punched.

You whimper as your pussy contracts on his cock, right on the verge of an orgasm out of nowhere. Liu Kang realises this; his thumb moves to your clit and rubs quick circles into it. You’re cumming embarrassingly quick on him, his dick only halfway inside you and your eyes are teared up, your pussy creaming on him.

He growls enthusiastically at the sight and feeling of you cumming on him, only stuffed half full.

“Look at that,” he hums, “for someone who’s never had an orgasm, you cum easily.” He remarks.

You’re spasming around his cock, thighs shaking from holding yourself up.

“Sit down,” he says.

Taking a deep breath, you keep going, overstimulated and worried that him breathing on your pussy would have you cumming again. But you persevere, sinking down on him slowly, taking all of him in carefully. Eventually, you’re sitting on him, taking him to the hilt, the full feeling makes you dazed. Liu Kang’s head is thrown back slightly, his own gaze looking a bit fucked out, just from you sitting on him.

You can’t help but grind down into him, hips moving back and forth with him fully seated inside you. His big cock brushing against spots you didn’t know existed, it has you quivering on him. Your grinding gets desperate, and he lets you rut against him how you please, head leaning back and watching you squirm against him devotedly. Small grunts and moans escaping him every now and again. Your own noises more frequent and louder, your hands press into his pecs, using him as leverage.

His own hands leave your hips and instead come up and rest behind his head, holding it up. He’s leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock however you need. The sight of his torso stretched out and watching you blissfully ride him makes your pussy clench. Your clit grinding into his pelvis over and over is eventually what undoes you, cumming with a drawn-out whine, Liu Kang groans at the feeling of you cumming on him again. His self-control waning thin but he wears a large smile as you cum on him again, nonetheless.

“It’s my turn now,” he murmurs.

He manhandles you off of him, turning you so your back is to his chest, then he’s re-entering you from this position. The way he easily manoeuvred you has your heart beating and cunt leaking.

He feels different from this angle, feels delightfully deep. His arms come up and under the crook of your legs, holding them in his elbows. You’re spread so open for him; he slips deeper inside you and it has you keening. His hands hold your tits, playing with them, tugging at your nipples over his shirt. You’re practically immobile in this position, making you feel helpless.

His hands leave your tits and hold onto the front of your shoulders, his hips draw back, his cock slipping out slightly, before he’s shoving himself back inside you all at once. He repeats the motion over and over, fucking up into your immobile body, taking what he needs from you now. Your head falls back on his shoulder, whines and pants freely falling from your lips. Hands scratching at his thighs, grappling for some stability.

It shamefully doesn’t take you long again to finish, not with the punishing pace he set and the sounds spilling from his mouth right by your ear.

“Cumming again? Already?” His words are teasing but he seems overjoyed at your third orgasm on his cock.

His words have your cunt drooling on him, creamy ring at the base of his cock from all your orgasms. You’re silent when you cum this time, more pants than anything else, your pussy strangling his dick. He groans at the feeling of you shuddering on his cock, he continues fucking you through it, not stopping and holding you open.

The brutal pace he’s set is a lot for your abused cunt, the overstimulation getting to you. The pleasure shooting through you is sharp and you jump every time the head of his cock bumps up against something heavenly inside you.

“One more for me?” He asks you, feeling you getting close to the edge again.

You shake your head at him, “Too –hah– much.”

“You can take it.” He encourages, determined to throw you off the edge if you won’t go willingly, “Just one more, love.”

His words, his voice, it sends you over the edge, your orgasm is sharp and sudden. Punching you in your gut, a needy whine spilling from your lips, you’re shedding actual tears from the force of it. Liu Kang is still fucking up into you, pace picking up, chasing after his own high.

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” it’s barely coherent when you say it, you aren’t capable of actual speech at the moment, effectively fucked dumb by him.

A large and guttural groan is ripped from him, you can feel it in his chest. He’s cumming hard, releasing it all inside of you, he pushes you down as he fucks up into you. Holding your cunt to the base of him, grinding against you as he finishes. The sensation of being filled by him has your cunt fluttering around him.

You gasp at the feeling of his dick twitching violently as he releases inside you. He holds you to him for some time as he comes down from his own high, and then he’s gently untangling your legs from his arms. He slumps back into the couch, you’re careful to keep him inside you. Not wanting to ruin his couch more than you already have.

You feel limp against him, “You’re gonna get cum on your couch,” you warn.

He groans at you, disapproving of your observation, “Just keep me inside you.”

“That’s not gonna work…” You feel bashful as you add, “It’s leaking out around you.”

He pushes himself up and looks down from over your shoulder, wanting to see it for himself. A satisfied hum leaves him at the sight of his and your cum leaking out of you and down the base of his cock.

“Liu,” you press him.

His hand moves to your cunt and holds there as he slips out of you, holding your pussy, stuffing what’s leaking out back in. You thought he was going to keep his hand there so it didn’t get on the couch but this is the opposite of that, he’s scooping it off his pants, your thighs and the couch and then stuffing it back inside of you.

“You’re making an even bigger mess,” you worry, brows creased.

“It’s fine,” comes his nonchalant reply.

Eventually, after he’s satisfied with what he’s stuffed back inside you, he puts his dick back in his pants and picks you up. He carries you into his room and places you on his bed.

You sigh, “I would be more comfortable with a pair of underwear.”

“I have some boxers that would probably fit you,” he mentions flippantly.

“Why didn’t you offer that from the start?!” You exasperate.

“You didn’t ask, and then you asked me to pretend your bare pussy wasn’t on my couch,” he shrugs at you.

He grabs a pair of boxer briefs and hands them to you, he stands next to you so you have leverage when you stand up yourself. Your legs feel like jelly, you stand there struggling to even stand on both feet let alone one to put the boxers on.

He huffs at you, amused at your struggle, “Sit down, I’ll put them on.”

You sit back down and he slips them over your legs, after he’s gotten them up as far as he can get them while you’re sitting, you grab onto him and stand so he can tug them up the rest of the way.

You mutter at him, “Can’t believe this was always an option.”

He smiles softly at you as you crawl into his bed, you sit up against the headboard. On his bedside table you notice something. 

“What’s that,” you ask, nodding your head at it.

“That’s for you,” he says, grabbing it and handing it to you, he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. Watching your reaction.

And when you realise what it is, you feel like you might cry because it’s the most perfect gift. It’s your favourite book but Liu Kang has gone through it and annotated the pages with his thoughts and feelings. It makes you ridiculously happy.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile.

“Would have preferred to get your copy back but I thought this was the next best thing,” he says.

You shake your head at him, “This is better.” You’re excited to read your favourite book again but this time with all of Liu Kang’s thoughts filling the pages.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A/N: Thank you for reading!!!! I had trouble with my characterisation of Liu Kang so I am sorry if you guys feel like I didn’t do him justice, but I appreciate any and all support!!! <333 I am down bad for this man atm so I had to get him out of my system. I have an idea for a miniseries of sorts or a part two at the very least, so if you guys like this one, I’ll write the next part <333 Requests are always open, that also goes for if you have any questions in general about me, my blog, or specific fics :)))

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Nov 4th

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1. A) Hello! I am looking for a couple of pics that I have been unable to find. They may have already been found, but if so, I am missing them. First one is Wei Wing dies at the siege and is transported back a thousand years or so, before the sects started up I believe. He becomes immortal or a god, can't remember which and travels to learn other magic and cultivations while he waits for the years to catch up to when he was born. I think its a wangxian pairing, but not sure.

B) Hello! Looking for a fic where Wei Ying is not oblivious to his feelings for Lan Zhan. He asks Lan Zhan on basically a date to the town, and the part I remember is he deliberately didn't take an umbrella/coat because according to Nie Huaisang, it would be a perfect romantic opportunity to have Lan Zhan offer the umbrella/coat or vice versa. Lan Zhan thinks Wei Wing is just playing with him and I remember a scene where Wei Ying proves his intention with a kiss and Lan Zhan believes him. @marietsy40-blog

1A)

FOUND? An Unusual Betrothal series by ahealthydoseof (G, 74k, wangxian, time travel, age difference, immortality, BAMF WWX, younger LWJ, older WWX, misunderstandings, fluff & crack, worried parents, rabbits, food, non-sexual intimacy, murder, fix-it of sorts, developing relationship, humor, arranged marriage, jealousy, friendship, family feels, dysfunctional family, fatherhood, angst, hurt/comfort, mentor WWX, natural disasters, sworn brotherhood, serious injuries, kissing)

1B)

FOUND? 🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 887k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

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2. hi! i’m looking for a fic where wangxian friends and family try to arrange them to get married (i think maybe post sunshot campaign). lxc brought in jgy to help him with negotiations, while jyl and jwy bring nhs to help them. they try to find wx to tell them only to find out they basically ran of and eloped (without knowing that this was happening). the fic should be completed and around 3-8 chapters. thanks! @monyeorel

FOUND? i believe that we can make it (i believe in all of you) by Stratisphyre (T, 17k, WangXian, 3Zun, Canon Divergence, Wedding Planning for Love and Justice, Golden Core Reveal, Getting Together, Everybody Lives)

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3. Hello I want ask something... I can't seem to find this fanfiction I have once read long time ago but this is mainly wangxian ofc and what I remember that this fanfic is modern, wei ying I think he was going to debut or not? Lan zhan is his teacher? Since he called him xiansheng (something like that) Jiang yanli is married to Jin Zixuan in this. Wei ying keeps on updating on social media something like that.

FOUND? 🧡 I Don’t Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality show, Idols, Actor LWJ, Forced Contestant WWX, Tencent’s 2021 Idol Producer)

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4. For fic finder: the allied sects are losing the sunshot campaign so they ask for the aid of the immortal yilling patriarch. He agrees, in return for lwj's hand in marriage. Lwj is very concerned but he gets to burial mounds and finds things are fine actually but there are a lot of unruly children. He starts teaching them and living life, confused by his mostly cold and distant but sometimes friendly husband. Turns out wwx is falling in love with him but thinks lwj is a spy for the jin and after the tiger seal, and married him because he wanted to catch him in the act and make him be a double agent. Lwj is unaware that the jin sect even has designs against his husband because he hates politics. He discovers this after he nearly dies defending A-Qing from an attack by Xue Yang and wwx comes clean. I could say more because i remember a lot about this fic but not the important information like name or author. Thanks!

FOUND! 💖🔒 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, but sorry kids! it’s gonna happen!, rated E but the the NSFW stuff doesn’t begin until chapter 19!, bottom LWJ in chapter 20 and 27, Mojo’s post)

NOT FOUND!🔒and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending) Pretty sure the bunch of kids in the burial mounds fic sounds like Varnes' delightful sound of music au "and having a wonderful time" but there are at least three fics I've read that come close to that.

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5. good dayy!! do you guys know this story. i forgot the title and been using modern with magic tag but i cant find it. i dont know anymore but the story is like this:

its a modern with magic, madam lan is one of the teacher and one of her student is wwx. there's a scene where wwx visited his brother in the alpha dormitory then lwj saved him(?) from some rude alpha. there's two version of it, alpha lwj x omega wwx and omega lwj and alpha wwx. there's a mission(?) and he met wwx outside the university, they also shared a room. omega wwx also has a solo room for being the only male omega.

the omega lwj version of it is lwj owns a 2 stuffed toy bunnies, he told wwx their names and wwx said it to madam lan.

im not sure if im mixing different stories or if i remember it right but i hope u'all can help me. thank uu in advance!

FOUND? 🔒 Other Half series by Hanguang_Jun, Wuxian_Biscuit (Charlie_Biscuit) (E, 819k, WangXian, JC/LWJ, WWX/Self, LWJ/Self, LWJ/WWX/JC, LWJ/JGY/WWX, Roleplay, Fantasy, Magic, Omegaverse, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Switch WangXian, Bottom LWJ, Alpha LWJ, Slow Burn, Omega WWX, eventual mpreg, Alpha/Alpha, LWJ gets off on submitting to another alpha, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Knotting, If LWJ being submissive puts you off then do not read this, Top JC, Top WWX, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX, From Sex to Love, Tentacle Porn, Safewords, Rude LWJ, A bit of magic recreational drug use, Sex Toys, Lingerie, Omega/Omega, Alpha JC, a/o and o/o and a/a, Selfcest, A bit of dark wangxian (but it's not permanent), Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Accidental Voyeurism, JC does not interact with wangxian, Intersex Omegas, Pregnancy, Consensual Non-Consent, Vaginal Sex, Bondage, Omega JGY, Bodyswap, Dubious Consent, Due to Basic Premise, Knifeplay, Choking, Birth)

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6. Hello, I am searching for a modern wangxian fic on ao3 where wei ying is invited in Jiang yanli's wedding. Nie huaisang is the wedding planner and Meng yao is his assistant. The wedding is at the time of Christmas and they played a game that each one will send another a gift till Christmas and the receiver's name is decided through lottery. Lan wangji was the one who was giving gifts for this and wei ying was giving gifts to yu ziyuan. All the names will be revealed at the day of Christmas.

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7. I don’t know if it got deleted or I just didn’t bookmark it but I’m looking for a fic with Fox!WWX. LWJ is maybe a dragon or just a regular cultivator who helps him get all of his 9 tails through dual cultivation so it’s rated M or E. i feel bad i don’t remember much more but any leads will be greatly appreciated 🥺 thank you for all your work

FOUND? 💖 Paths of Light and Darkness Converge by ataratah (E, 30k, wangxian, fox WWX, dragon LWJ, secret identity, non-human genitelia, crack treated seriously, fluff, angst w/ happy ending)

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8. im looking for a fic where Wie ying became a god after death saved Mo Xuanyu and adopted him when he trayed to bring him back . wie ying changed his hair to white and his eyes red @leo1fan

FOUND? Wuqian, the Local God of Yiling by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (M, 80k, wangxian, WWX & LSZ & LWJ, major character death, canon divergence, angst w/ happy ending, god WWX, Chinese mythology & folklore, pining, temporary character death, WIP)

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9. hi im looking for this fic where xue yang and xiao xingchen are dating, and then one day song lan (xiao xingchen's ex) comes back so xue yang lets those two get together even though he feels very jealous, and then one day him and song lan hook up and later they become a throuple @ashxi-wx

FOUND? Fine Line by fouxes (arundels) (E, 13k, SL/XXC/XY, Modern, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Minor Violence, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Love Rivals to Lovers, XXC is kinda useless in this sorry, Not Super Healthy Relationship Dynamics, but nothing crazy terrible, also XY is a cage fighter cos why not) it used to be posted under a different pseudonym of theirs

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10. I’m trying to find a reaction fic that takes place after the siege on Burial Mounds. I remember that the sect leaders are having a meeting at Lotus Pier and get trapped in a room by Chenqing to watch WWX’s life. Suibian also later gets involved and they also get LWJ and a-yuan to join.

FOUND? Seeking Solace by Devourer Of Worlds (Taer01), DragonHeart (Taer01), Taer01 (M, 124k, WangXian, Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Hurt, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Canon Divergence)

FOUND? Misunderstood by Silver_Flame_2724 (M, 250k, WIP, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst With Eventual Happy Ending, Family Feels, Family Angst, Misunderstandings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Family Fluff, Canon Divergence, Not Everyone Dies, by that I mean the bad guys will die, Hurt, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Suicidal Thoughts, Gore, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Breakdown, Night Terrors, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Destruction, Dubious Morality, (not WWX of course), Cannibalism, Reincarnation, PTSD, Internally Screaming LWJ, Demonic Possession, MXY Lives, Scum Villain References, WWX Has an Angry LWJ Kink)

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11. Hello ! I've been looking for a fic for a long time and I can't find it.

It's in the post-canon, wangxian are married and investigate a ghost woman who attacks white-dressed cultivators. In fact, this woman has feelings for Lan zhan and seeks to have him all for herself.

At one point, under a disguise she tries to trap them by wanting to make Wei Ying believe that Lan Zhan is cheating on him with her and Wei Ying pretends to be jealous and angry against Lan Zhan who immediately understands the plan.

In short, I really liked this fic because it really showed this precious trust between the two and I really want to read it again and this time save it in my bookmarks 🥺 @wesenyr

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12. Hi ! I am looking for a popular fic, where WWX participates at the Great British Baking Show (or something equivalent) and LWJ is a cameraman. NHS and LXC are the hosts and LQR is one of the judges.

Thank you ! @massivecollateralproblem

FOUND! on your marks, get set, bake! by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 41k, Modern, College/University, The Great British Bake Off AU, Humor, no GBBO knowledge required for entry)

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13. Hi, I’m trying to find two older fics, A) the first I remember it being on AO3, and I want to say it had more than one part to it. Basically when Wei Ying came back and then of course ended up in Gusu Lan, Lan Zhan had a son (not A-Yuan) but like another child that was his and Wei Yings, A-Yuan is also present though. He’s very much like how he is presented in the novel, but the child that was Lan Zhans and Wei Yings is more like Wei Ying. A bit of a trouble maker, kind of aggressive maybe. Energetic? Lan Zhan of course clocks that Wei Ying is Wei Ying, but they wait a while before actually telling the kid that this now seemingly random figure in his life is his father. And if I remember correctly the kid doesn’t take it well right away.

I also could be combining to fics in my memory, but I also want to say Lan Zhan may have had chronic pain, or he had been whipped while pregnant and he was just gonna roll with it until he collapsed early and they found out about the pregnancy.

B) The second definitely was on AO3 as well, with multiple parts. But I remember Lan Zhan definitely had chronic pain and weakness from being whipped. I specifically remember he has scars that snake down to his hand, and that arm/hand is visibly smaller or weaker looking compared to his other. At first he won’t eat or drink in front of Wei Ying because of it. His hand shakes I think. He also keeps his hair braided to the side so it doesn’t touch his scars, that way he doesn’t have to use his core as much to dampen the pain. He travels in the winter because the cold makes his pain worse. A-Yuan is also present in this fic. I think there’s a coming of age type ceremony at the end…. Although that could be a part of the first fic I’m looking for. @captainimpossiblyangrycolle-blog

13A)

FOUND? in a river you wade by bleuett (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Postpartum Depression, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Good Uncle LQR, Family Feels, Happy Ending, Kid Fic)

13B)

FOUND? 🔒 the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death) the little details sound like "the map of days by everythingispoetry" i do not know for certain though

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14. Hey!! Thank you so much for all your hard work.

I read a fic ages ago, that the themes have really stuck with me, but for the life of me I cannot find!!

It was in the veins of heavy angst? hurt no comfort maybe? but i dont remember how it ended!

It was from (mostly?) wwx’s perspective, the plot was basically how broken & damaged wwx was as demonic cultivation/starvation were slowly killing him? None of his injures had ever healed since he lost his core (he had a broken back !?). A key point (I think) was that none of the people around him really realised how badly injured/how much pain he was in. They knew he wasn’t well but not that he was being pretty much held together by resentful energy. Even Wen Qing didn’t fully understand his condition I believe?

Maybe knowning he was dyinging wwx set out to destroy the st seal (or did???) as a final release??

I think it did kill him but I’m not quite sure, i think i remember Jyl & Lwj having a scene where they are mourning him together or commiserating over how ravaged wwx’s body is. I think they also realised wwx never intended to survive destroying the seal??

I’m desperate to read it again but for all my searching I cannot find it at all, hopefully someone knows it!

Have a great day! @3f2pmb

FOUND? 梅花开放 | the plum blossoms bloom by doubletan (E, 6k, WangXian, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Established Relationship, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Post-Canon, Anal Sex, Kissing, Crying, a lot of crying)

FOUND? The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

~*~

15. Hi! This is for ficfinder. I dont remember much. The scene that i remember is someone send an assassin for baby jin ling but he survives because if wwx gift and the assassin is killed by ewx who visit him. Another scene is JGS wants to assault JYL but failed because if wwx gift too. And everyone found out about it and embrassed JGS. That all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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16. Hi I’m not sure if this is where I ask but I’m looking for a fic. The plot was that after wei Ying died Lan Zhan went to the burial mounds and found A Yuàn. For some reason this made Lan Zhan go into heat ( cause of grief or finding a malnourished child. idk ) and then he didn’t have a heat since. I think it then skipped to the future and Lan Zhan was like a ‘broken omega’ cause he didn’t get heats then I think wei Ying came back and things got fixed ?? Thx for any help u can give

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17. Hello, I am looking for a fic. It's set during a canonish era war and follows WWX. I think he's on his own leading troops and not with other main characters. After things are done the Madame Yu and JC are found to have committed war crimes. She is executed and JC is made to go help the people they harmed w/ his core sealed for a number of years. Any help is appreciated.

FOUND? 🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

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18. I need help finding a fic. I remember it was during CR era (I think) and LWJ gets cursed into having a lady part and the only way for him to return to his previous form is to orgasm. He doesnt know how to do that with female parts and WWX offers to help him with it. Starts off slow but they end up having sex multiple times over multiple nights. LWJ eventually gets close to an orgasm but stops WWX cause he thinks breaking the curse would mean he and WWX have to stop having sex. @727432rehhjkdjhe

FOUND? Coming Back to Yourself by acernor (E, 21k, wangxian, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Pining, Gender or Sex Swap, Vaginal Sex)

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19. looking for a fic in which wwx and jc are at a cultivation conference and lwj is terrifying actually. kinda yunmeng bros reconciliation but idk??? @skyerie

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20. Hi!! I'm trying to find a fic I'veread a while ago, but I can't find it anywhere. Wy, once reborn, didn't see Lz's scars while Lz was bathing in the cold springs and he tried to steal the jade pass. Once they get together is where the plot kinda flees from my mind. I don't remember if Lz only ever had sex with Wy if he (Lz) was almost fully clothed or if he just straight up refused to be intimate. I guess Wy fearing that Lz didn't find his new body attractive and voicing that fear to Lz is what makes Lz tell him the truth??? I'm not sure tho. Anyways, in the end, Lz reveals the scars that the discipline whip left on him, and tells Wy that he's never been ashamed of his scars, but that once Wy came back and they got together, he became terrified that Wy would find repulsive how deformed the scars made his back look.

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21. hello! do you know of the dad!lwj fic where wwx falls in love with a-yuan and lwj via video calls

FOUND?🔒Wishing on Runway Lights by inflight_gremlin (E, 45k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & OYZZ, Modern, Pilot LWJ, Flight Attendant WWX, Single Parent LWJ, Meet-Cute, Relationship Speed-Run, Matchmaker LSZ, Adopted LSZ, Domestic Fluff, Brief Mention of Child Neglect (not from wangxian), Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, POV Alternating, LSZ Knows What He Wants, Slight Misunderstanding, Sexual Tension, no one is skipping meals, romcom vibes, Attempt at hallmark movie feels, Temporary Accidental Child Aquisition)

~*~

[crookedteethed]

Just discovered your blog and the startlet reader fic was amazing, I can totally see that becoming a series!!! Idk if you're into it but can I request an even darker fic related to that one shot, where producer!rafe does take her in as his own, but he's really mean and toxic to her?

Hope you have a good day 💗💗

A/N: Ahhh thank you for the request! 💕 I'm thrilled you enjoyed the Producer! Rafe fic, and I hope you have an even better day!! producer!rafe is literally the king of mind fucking reader in this 😭

Pairing: pornproducer!rafecameron x starlet!reader

Warnings: 18+ Oral (male receiving) + (mentions of fem receiving) con-non-con, drug usage, cursing, Rafe slaps reader with his dick, praise kink, power imbalance, Possessive!Rafe, reader is a p*rnstar, Rafe is a delulu asshole, slut shaming, low-key I think Rafe likes seeing reader have sex with other men but want to shame her for it : (

As your male co-star's plump lips encircled your swollen bud, you couldn't help but feel unease at the ominous gaze that appeared to track your every move, the gaze belonging to Rafe Cameron.

Rafe's intense body language clearly communicated frustration and anger, creating an intimidating presence on set. His cerulean eyes turned dark, and his puffed-out chest conveyed a sense of power and dominance, making it clear that he was not to be crossed. 

You didn't know what you were doing wrong. 

Could I be too lifeless? you think, leading you to arch your back from your co-star's touch, run your hands through his perfect Ken doll hair, and tell him, "How amazing this feels." This then prompted Rafe to call it "cut."

You were given a silk bathrobe to use as a cover, and a water bottle was offered to you before you departed the set, designed to resemble a feminine bedroom's interior.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stumbled upon Rafe, sitting on the couch in your trailer--doing a line of coke on the porcelain heart-shaped tray you brought from home. 

More so shocked to see him doing lines, not shocked to see him inside your trailer because he was always sniffing around your trailer and seeing what you were up to between breaks. 

You're the first to speak: 

"Whatever it is I'm doing wrong, I swear I'll do better on the next take, please don't fire me." 

The bustling nerves, the bright lights, and the presence of the camera all contributed to your performance feeling surreal in the moment. Now, as you stand before a visibly and deeply disappointed Rafe, you can understand why he appeared so frustrated.

Rafe scoffs. And through hooded eyes, he cuts another line with the credit card in his hand before he goes nose-first into the white powder. 

"I bet you fucking like that shit." he sniffs. 

The sensation of tiny insects crawling on your skin commenced, and before you had the chance to inquire, a response was already pouring out of Rafe's mouth: 

"You like having him fuck you." He spits. 

You were confused, to say the least, because when it came to your films, Rafe had a preference for only allowing oral activities rather than penetrative sex due to his belief that "Pretty girls don't do disgusting things."

"Rafe what are you talking ab--" The limited confines of your trailer emphasize Rafe's larger stature as he rises, interrupting your interaction.

"Fucking come here." He snatches your forearm in a bruising grip, hurling you onto the couch. 

He looms over you, his powerful physique obstructing any chance of you moving.

"Rafe, please--," you say, squirming as he forcefully removes your bathrobe, his strong hand then trailing down to cup your cunt. He seizes control of your body. 

"You're wet." He states. "You're fucking wet." He says again, this time with a laugh that lacks genuine amusement. 

"God, you're such a slut." He says, his calloused fingers cradling the edge of your chin, tilting your head up so his cerulean color eyes meet your glossy ones. 

"Always wanting it." he says insincerely. "That's why you really wanted to become a 'star', not because of fame, but because you always want your pretty hole dicked down." He spits. 

"No, I swear." You whimper.

Rafe's thumb wipes the tears that fall from the apple of your cheek, and he fakes a pout. 

"Somehow, I don't believe you." He says in a phony whimper that sounds similar to yours. 

"Y'know I can have you fired for some shit like this?" He says, back in his tantalizing tone. 

"Please Don't--" you choke over a sob. 

"I can fucking blackball your ass, make sure no one sees your name in the big spotlights." 

You were so close to achieving fame, with it practically within your grasp, your fingers nearly grazing the prize, only for it to be taken away at the last moment.

"Rafe, I swear I'll do better. Please don't do this to me," you say between choked cries. You start to forget what the dispute is about, but all you know is that your career is in jeopardy, and you must do anything to protect it. 

"Prove it to me," Rafe says. His favorite four words. "Prove to me you'll do better."

His blown-out eyes motioned down to his bulging cock. 

You blink slowly at him. 

His hand once cradled your chin, then yanks on your hair. 

Hastily, your trembling fingers work to undo his belt, your slender digits encircling the sturdy leather.

The moment your fingers unfastened his belt and tugged on the waistband of his jeans, Rafe's finger, still intertwined with your hair, pulled on it as he muttered impatiently, "Hurry up."

For the sake of your career, you obeyed Rafe's commands, freeing his hardened cock from the confinements of his briefs. 

Your body does that thing again when it goes against you, similar to what it did when your co-star was eating you out; your mouth waters at the sight of Rafe's hard pink cock. 

For one second, you look up at Rafe with wide, doe, teary eyes; it's a silent cry for help, hoping he sees your distraught state and thinks to himself that you could do no wrong. 

To your dismay, Rafe finds your pathetic look amusing, which only turns him on even more. With the movement of his pelvis, he uses his reddened—mushroomed—tip to slap your cheek lightly, snapping you back into the moment. 

Before putting him whole into your mouth, you slide his cock in between your lips slowly, flicking your tongue under the head of his dick where it meets his shaft.

Rafe winces at the feeling your slobbery tongue, praising you about how much of a "good slut" you are.  This urges you to take him whole, his wet, girthy length sitting in your mouth, weighing down your tongue. Rafe again yanks your hair, whispering, "I thought I told you to hurry up." 

And with the same hand that previously yanked on your hair, Rafe guided your head in a fast-paced—throat-burning—motion—his dick now effortlessly sliding in and out your throat.

The girth of his member gradually penetrated deeper into the back of your mouth with each bob of his splayed hand.

As Rafe started thrusting his pelvis into you, the sound of your strained throat was the sole audible noise emanating from your trailer:

"glug, glug, glug."

Rafe mumbles something to you, something about how he'd be an idiot to let you go, not with a pussy and mouth like this. However, all you can focus on is the discomfort in your mouth, how Rafe's size grows with each movement, and how you keep pressing your nails into Rafe's exposed thighs because you feel like you're struggling to breathe.

Your body was filled with conflicting sensations, pleasure, and discomfort. The burning in your throat and the soreness in your mouth were reminders of the intensity of the encounter. Yet, amidst the physical pain, an undeniable pleasure coursed through you, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Which causes you to moan when Rafe announces that he is about to cum. 

You felt your eyes start to water as you gagged around him, your throat tightening. Rafe's grip tightened, his thrusts more intense as he came, his orgasm ripping through him. You continued to swallow around him, your throat burning and sore as he finished.

"Swallow it." He spits at you, his warm, thick seeds sludge down your gullet. 

This wouldn't be the first time Rafe came inside of you, so you happily swallowed his cum, opening your mouth wide to him to show your proof. 

"What did I tell you, always fucking wanting it." He smirks at you as he fixes himself. You wipe the drool and caress your draw as he does so. 

Then, to your surprise, Rafe takes your jaw in his fingers again and brings you into a passionate, sloppy kiss--tongue and all. 

"You do know that you're my favorite girl, right?" He says, a boyish smile tugged on his lips. "My star girl." 

The sudden change in Rafe's behavior left you feeling conflicted and uncertain. Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of the situation, questioning your desires and boundaries. It was a stark reminder of the complexity of human emotions and the blurred lines between pleasure and discomfort.

"So you're not going to get rid of me?" you squeak.

"Baby, I'm never letting you go; you're stuck with me." He says this in a lighthearted manner, but his words hold a much more profound significance than they may initially appear.

But who really has time to dissect every word Rafe says? After all, your career was saved, and you had nothing to fret about anymore. 

So, as you and Rafe walked back to set, Rafe's arm wrapped around your side, you had to regain your composure quickly and smile as if you could do the take all over again.

You knew you had to stay in character, and your reaction had to be perfect. You had to ensure Rafe was satisfied with the result and that you would remain a star, whatever it may take.

[ossifer]

On the Mechanics of Lyctorhood

I want to preface this by saying this is a long, long post that is going to delve deep into lyctorhood, skim the surface of physics and biology, and fully embrace conjecture! If I'm right about all this then I'm very happy, but I also cannot wait to be disproven in Alecto the Ninth.

Thanergy

Thanergy is the product of the decay of thalergy: this is the principle that underpins all of necromancy. All necromantic adepts are capable of manipulating both thalergy and thanergy, but necromancy is shown to be reliant on thanergy specifically, and is most geared toward utilising thanergy as a result.

“Thalergetic decay causes cellular death,” you said carefully, pressing the nail in harder, “which emits thanergy. The massive cell death that follows apopneumatism causes a thanergetic cascade, though the first bloom fades and the thanergy stabilises within thirty to sixty seconds.” [Harrow the Ninth]

As shown by @pokkop15 in this post the term thanergy is almost certainly derived from Thanatos, the Greek God of Death, but thalergy's origins are more murky: likely candidates are thaleros (a greek word that means lively), Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming), or Thalassa (divine personification of the sea in greek mythology, which would fit considering how life is very associated with saltwater in TLT).

The Eightfold Word: What is Lyctorhood?

According to the resident tall glass of skank and questionably reliable narrator, Ianthe Tridentarius, the Eightfold Word is composed of the following steps:

Preserve the soul, with memory and intellect intact.

Analyse it—understand its structure, its shape.

Remove and absorb it: take it into yourself without consuming it in the process.

Fix it in place so it can’t deteriorate.

Incorporate it: find a way to make the soul part of yourself without being overwhelmed.

Consume the flesh [NOTE: Ianthe says 'a drop of blood is enough to ground you', which to me indicates that this step serves as a way to ground the incorporated soul into the lyctor's body, by having material from the soul's original body. This is very significant.]

Reconstruction—making spirit and flesh work together the way they used to, in the new body.

Hook up the cables and get the power flowing.

Lyctorhood seemingly works by providing the necromancer with, among other things, a near limitless reserve of thanergy that is presumably derived from the incorporated soul once the power is flowing: as we see with Cytherea healing herself, lyctors are either unable to generate thalergy—or their ability to do so is lessened in comparison to their ability to generate thanergy—and must instead siphon it from external sources when their own thalergy is depleted.

In Nona the Ninth we are introduced to Palamedes' conception of Lyctorhood in terms of Lysis: the Lyctorhood we are most familiar with is Petty Lysis, where only one of the components dies, while Grand Lysis is a mutual death—a gravitational singularity creating something new, as is the case with Paul. Lysis is a term used in biology that refers to 'the breaking down of the membrane of a cell', which as I've explored before

In the series, Lyctorhood is spoken of in terms of fire: there are repeated references to Gideon's soul being made the furnace of [Harrow's] Lyctorhood and serving as a furnace of power, Mercymorn refers to her cavalier's mortal soul burning in her chest, John says that the risk posed by fully incorporating Alecto into himself completely would be that he'd probably burn to death, and Paul's birth results in Camilla's body being consumed by flames. This leads us on to how lyctorhood is also characterised as consumption: eating the cavalier, absorbing their soul, burning it for fuel.

What is the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood?

Lyctorhood is barbaric, it is cannibalism, it is taking another and burning them in yourself for power. But that raises the question of where that power comes from. By the way that thalergy/thanergy are spoken of with terms reminiscent of radiation, coupled with how lyctorhood is rendered through metaphors and imagery related to fire and/or consumption, it would seem that the logical conclusion behind this is that the soul is being subject to continual thanergetic fission.

The terminology Tamsyn uses is something that lends credence to this: nuclear fission 'occurs when a neutron slams into a larger atom, forcing it to excite and split into two smaller atoms—also known as fission products'. Sudden, sharp decay/conversion of thalergy into thanergy could be the mechanism behind thanergetic fission, as we see with Harrow's description of apopneumatic shock and how the burst of thanergetic energy (a neutron slamming into a larger atom, forcing it to excite) is sufficient to prevent liminal osmosis from taking place: "In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated."

But from what we know of the nature of the thanergy, thalergy, and the soul, this explanation makes no sense. Thanergy is emitted by thalergy decay, but souls in of themselves are not a source of thalergy nor thanergy, as shown by Anastasia's tripod principle: “The body needs thalergy and a soul to keep the lights on. Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable … after a while it gives up and shuts down.” [Nona the Ninth]

Going back to the nuclear terminology, I'm going to cut straight to the core of this theory: the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood is thanergetic fusion.

What is thanergetic fusion?

The term I use here is a misnomer, because a more accurate term would be pneumatic fusion, considering how Tamsyn Muir is fond of using the Greek pneuma to refer to the soul: nuclear fusion 'is a reaction in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles'.

A nucleus in physics is 'the positively charged central core of an atom, consisting of protons and neutrons and containing nearly all its mass', while in biology the term refers to 'a dense organelle present in most eukaryotic cells, typically a single rounded structure bounded by a double membrane, containing the genetic material'. Palamedes uses the term lysis for Lyctorhood, which as you'll recall refers to the disintegration of the cell membrane, thus exposing it's innards: such as the nucleus. The soul is the nucleus.

Nuclear fusion involves combining two or more atomic nuclei to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles: the difference in mass between the reactants and products is manifested as either the release or absorption of energy; as a rule of thumb the fusion of lighter nuclei releases energy, making it an exothermic process, while the fusion of heavier nuclei results in energy being retained by the product nucleons, and thus the resulting reaction is endothermic. An exothermic reactions releases heat, causing the temperature of the immediate surroundings to rise, while an endothermic one absorbs heat and cools the surroundings.

In the context of this nuclear fusion explanation of Lyctorhood, an exothermic (exothanergetic) reaction releases thanergy while an endothermic (endothanergetic) reaction absorbs thanergy: the fusion of lighter souls release thanergy, the fusion of heavier souls absorbs it.

What are the implications behind these mechanics?

The question that comes to mind is what is a heavier soul? The answer, once again, lies in physics: "The heaviest atomic nuclei are created in nuclear reactions that combine two other nuclei of unequal size into one; roughly, the more unequal the two nuclei in terms of mass, the greater the possibility that the two react." [Wikipedia]

How does John explain the soul of a planet to Harrow?

John: “And what has a soul?” Harrow: “Anything with a thalergetic complexity significant enough to … have a soul. So, humanity.” [...] Harrow: “A planet’s a ball of dust. Its thalergy comes from the accumulation of microbial life. You can’t consider it one coherent system.” John: “Call it a communal soul. What’s a human being, other than a sack of microbial life?

Planets' souls are communal, formed from the thalergetic complexity of an entire world coalescing into a nuclei that lies at its heart, heavy in a way a human soul is not: a human soul is light, a planet's soul is heavy. In other words, Alecto is a heavy nuclei and John is a light nuclei, with the resultant nuclei of their combination forming something heavier than either: an endothanergetic reaction.

Moving back to thanergetic fission and the apopneumatic shock of a violent death, we can now examine what happens when John becomes God:

He becomes aware of Alecto when Cristabel kills herself in front of him.

Now aware of Alecto, he creates a massive flood of thanergy by inciting the violent deaths of millions, possibly billions, through the detonation of nuclear devices.

Empowered by the mass thanergetic fission caused by an untold number of apopneumatic shocks, 'I became a demigod', he finishes off the rest.

He kills Alecto, takes her soul in his hands, and attempts to become one with her.

He almost fails, and during this flawed process is forced to split her soul between his body and another, hiding himself in her and herself in him.

Fusion still occurs, this reaction is endothanergetic and allows him to near absorb a massive amount of thanergy in one sitting: "And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God."

He violently kills the rest of the planets in the system, flipping them and creating a surplus of thanergy, a process of large-scale energy creation and transferall: to quote Ianthe once again, "You see, my field has always been energy transferral … large-scale energy transferral. Resurrection theory."

What this all means is that the secret behind the Resurrection is that John's Lyctorhood works fundamentally differently to that of his Saints, because his is endothanergetic where theirs is exothanergetic, a reaction between a heavy and a lighter nuclei.

Not only is it endothanergetic instead of exothanergetic, it generates a different form of energy. Emperor John Gaius produces thalergy.

Resurrection Theory

As we know from Anastasia's tripod principle, thalergy alone cannot make life, a soul is also needed—meaning that the inverse is true, in that a soul alone cannot make life, thalergy is needed; In order for John to have performed the Resurrection, he would have needed to imbue bodies with both their soul and thalergy to recreate the life he took in the first place. Logically, this means that John would have to be able to create thalergy. John is the only being in the universe who is able to generate thalergy, namely via the continual fusion reaction between a heavy soul and a light soul, also known as Alecto and himself, to produce it.

Let us return to what Augustine says of the nature of his power: “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time.”

John is the source of fresh thanergy in the system: he produces thalergy, which he can decay into thanergy. The thanergy in the system is finite, it would drain away after enough time, but his heavy and light soul reaction producing thalergy that can then be decayed into thanergy allows for new thanergy to be introduced into the system; John's necromancy's unique in that it relies on the rapid creation of thanergy via accelerated thalergetic decay, resulting in thanergetic fission.

Why do I say thanergetic fission? Becase it could explain why his necromancy is shown to manifest as large amounts of light, because what does thanergetic fission result in? We see when Palamedes utilises the rapid thanergetic fission of his thanergy reserves to blow up in Cytherea's face:

The sickroom exploded into white fire, and the bonds pinning Gideon snapped. She fell hard against the wall and spun, drunkenly, lurching back down the corridor as Palamedes Sextus made everything burn. There was no heat, but Gideon sprinted away from that cold white death without bothering to spare a glance behind as though flames were licking at her heels.

White light that gives off no heat. What happens when John reassembles himself?

White light. It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

Speaking of that scene, it is likely the most definitive proof we see that John produces thalergy, because there is no way for his body to function without thalergy, and thanergy cannot be converted to thalergy (as far as we know). That thalergy has to come from somewhere. John, the Resurrector, is able to create thalergy.

Do you know where else we see what is explicitly called a form of resurrection? The endothanergetic reaction that created Harrowhark Nonagesimus: "My parents gassed fifty-four infants, eighty-one children, and sixty-five teenagers, and harnessed that thanergy bloom to conceive me. My mother used the resultant power to modify her ovum on a chromosomal level, so thanergy ignition wouldn’t compromise the embryo. She did this so I would be a necromancer." [Harrow the Ninth]

A large amount of thanergy is generated within an instant by closely-timed apopneumatic shocks caused by sudden death via what Harrow specifically names as nerve gas [Gideon the Ninth]. This brings to mind thanergetic fission as opposed to fusion, due to the fact it relies on thanergy, but the key detail here lies in two factors: the unequal size of the nuclei (souls) involved here, and the fact these souls are shown to have been manipulated.

The souls—emphasis on souls, as opposed to thanergy—of a large amount of children, of varying ages, are forcibly prevented from passing to the River via liminal osmosis due to the sheer amount of thanergy involved, and they are tied to Harrow's soul, as shown by Abigail commenting on her unique spiritual signature: "I’ve counted up to one hundred and fifty signatures contributing to you, and there’s more—they’re stamps rather than complete revenants, of course, which means their spirits were manipulated to leave marks on you in some way, which is fascinating if it means…"

What is a planet's soul? A communal one, the thalergy complexity of a world. What is Harrow's soul? A communal one, exactly two hundred sons and daughters of her House, manipulated to be stamped on her original one. I cannot speak of what this means, but it means that Harrow's soul is naturally heavier than John's: a nuclei formed from two hundred others.

Conclusions

Lyctorhood is nuclear fusion, with souls as the nuclei: the combination of souls produces thanergy as a byproduct of the process of forming a new nuclei; Souls are not a perpetual energy source, and are unable to generate thanergy or thalergy on their own, it is the combination of them that creates thanergy or thalergy.

Petty Lysis, the Lyctorhood of the Saints, is an exothanergetic reaction which produces thanergy as the two souls involved are melded over untold years: it is not a one-way consumption, it is a fusion, but the power transferral does only go one way, due to the fact it is not a mutual death. Grand Lysis is a more complete, and thus powerful, version of this reaction wherein the two nuclei are fully combined within an instant, as opposed to gradually combined.

John's joining with Alecto works on the same fusion principle of Lyctorhood, but the difference lies in the nature of the reaction at the heart of it: he is endothanergetic and produces thalergy as opposed to thanergy, which he can subsequently decay into thanergy to fuel his necromancy. The Resurrection was made possible by him generating thanergy.

Final Note:

I want to point out something before anyone else can, and that is the fact Lyctors could be interpreted as working on pneumatic fission as opposed to fusion: meaning that the constituent souls are split to produce power, and that the exothanergetic and endothanergetic reactions would be reversed—John exothanergetic instead of endothanergetic, and vice versa with Petty Lyctors, which explains why they appear to be thanergy voids: they absorb all thanergy in their surroundings.

I considered this while writing this theory, but ultimately I found that fusion seemed more likel. Alternatively, both Paul and John are examples of pneumatic fusion due to their more complete Lyctorhood while the Petty Lyctors are working on pneumatic fission. I prefer the idea that all Lyctorhood is pneumatic fusion, which is why I ultimately leaned into that interpretation in this post.

Thank you for reading.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

bonuses

imagining for winston quant billions the kinds of spontaneous stims or other Sudden Adjustments that could arise when focusing etc while alone and able to tap into that, like “hang on a sec [holds own breast] okay.” then drawing it

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter xii

Summary: Does she stay or does she go?

Warning: Mentions of War. Emotion Distress. Separation Anxiety.

Word Count: 2271

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A/N: Happiest of birthdays Seb.- Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

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Steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead, you took a deep breath. “James, please,” your voice quivered with emotion. “I do not wish to depart from Winter’s Reach. I do not wish to leave you.”  

Lord James’ expression was pained, the azure of his eyes reflected both resolve and a hint of sorrow. Reaching out, he clasped your hands in his. “I know, my love,” he whispered. “But, please, you must understand, it’s for your safety.” 

Shaking your head, tears began to burn in your eyes. “I feel safe with you. What transpired was… it was beyond your foresight. You could not have known.” 

“But I should have,” he insisted, tightening the grip on your hands. “I swore to protect you, and I failed. If harm were to befall you once again… I could not endure it.” 

“James, my lord,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “Leaving will not make me safer. It will only take me away from the one person who makes me feel secure.” 

He closed his eyes, the lines of his face etched with the weight of his guilt and love for you. “I cannot risk it,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I will not risk losing you.” 

“You will not lose me,” you promised, rising on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I need you, James. And I believe you need me too.” 

Leaning into your touch, his eyes filled with pain. “I do,” he admitted. “That is why I must make this decision.” 

A sob rose in your throat, your heart rendering apart at the thought of parting from him. “Please, do not make me go,” 

Wrapping his arms around you protectively, Lord James drew you into a firm embrace. “I love you too dearly to risk your life,” he murmured into your loosely braided hair. “I cannot allow any more pain to befall you.” 

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his cloak's fur. “I will go,” you finally said, your voice choked with emotion. “But, promise me you’ll end this war. Promise me you will bring me back.” 

Pulling back slightly, his fingers gently lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I swear, on the old gods and the new,” he paused, brushing his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the stray tears. “Once the war is done, you’ll be back here, in my arms and as my wife.” 

You nodded, whispering with a voice steeled with resolve. “I will hold you to that.” 

Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, Lord James vowed. “And, I shall hold myself to it. But now, we must begin your preparations and bid our farewells. The sooner you are safe, the sooner I can set my sights on ending this war for you.” 

~

Dusk fell over the Reach, and you, Natasha, and Yelena were led to a chamber prepared for them, their temporary sanctuary within Winter’s Reach. Warm and inviting, the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a gentle glow across the stone wall. Your sisters began to settle in as the scent of lavender and cedar filled the air. 

Guiding you to a chair near the hearth, Natasha’s eyes filled with concern as she looked over your exhausted expression. “You should rest,” she softly said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “We have a long journey ahead of us in the morrow.” 

While checking the window’s latch, ensuring the chamber was secure, Yelena glanced over at you. Her gaze softened as she caught the weariness in your eyes. She had always been your protector, keeping you safe from harm's way, and the sight of your distress twisted something in her chest. She never wanted you to leave Belova, believing you would be safer at home, yet she also couldn’t bear to be the one to take you back, knowing how you longed to stay.

“You’ll be safe, little lady,” she tried to reassure you, an uncharacteristic gentleness in her voice. Crouching beside you, her hand rested upon your knee. You could sense her own inner conflict, the desire to protect battling with the understanding of your heart.  

Unbearably heavy, your heart was leaden with a weight that dragged you down; The idea of leaving Winter’s Reach, a place that had become more than a refuge, of being pulled away from the man you loved. Separated in such a trying time, was almost more than you could bear. 

Sensing the turmoil within you, Natasha reached out, giving a gentle squeeze to your shoulder. Her grip was firm and reassuring, grounding you and offering a momentary anchor in the storm threatening to overwhelm you. “You’ll get through this,” she spoke, a quiet determination filling her voice. She held a strength in her eyes that you clung to. 

But, despite your sister's words and unwavering support, a tear slipped down your cheek. A silent testament to the pain that neither of their comforts couldn’t banish. 

As the night wore on, you struggled to relax. Your sister eventually fell into a quiet slumber, even, and steady breaths between them, but sleep eluded you. 

Finally, after what had felt like hours of tossing and turning, you quietly slipped out of bed. The chamber began to feel too small, and the need to see Lord James became overwhelming. Careful not to wake Natasha nor Yelena, you crept toward the door. 

The only sound to echo through the silent halls of Winter’s Reach were your footsteps on the cold stone floor. The Reach bathed in the pale light of the moon, shadows casting as you moved. By now, you knew the way to Lord James’ chamber, and your feet carried you there without thought. 

You paused once you reached his door, your heart pounded in your chest as you debated whether to knock. What if he was already asleep? What if he had not wanted to see you? Gathering your courage, the thought of spending, what was potentially, your last night at the Reach without him drove you to push the door open and slip inside. 

The dying embers of a fire gave a dim light throughout the room, casting a soft, orange glow. And, laying in the large bed for the first night in days, his form visible even under the heavy blankets, was Lord James. For a quiet moment, you thought he may be asleep, but then his eyes found yours as he turned his head in the darkness. 

“Come here, my love,” he whispered, his voice strained with exhaustion. He held out his hand toward you, and without hesitation, you crossed the chamber and took it, climbing onto the bed and in beside him. 

Lord James pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest, the moment you were close enough to him. Your frayed nerves calmed as your hand found its way to his chest, the beat of his heart steady. Burying your face in his neck, you inhaled the familiar scent of him as his arms, protective and strong, tightened around you. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you murmured, your voice muffling against his skin.

“Neither could I,” he admitted as he gently kissed your forehead, keeping his voice low and tender. “I’m glad you came.” 

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw. “I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, the confession slipped from your lips before you could stop it. 

“I know,” he replied, regret thick in his tone. “But it is the only way I can ensure that you are safe.” His arms held you even closer as if he could shield you from the harsh reality that awaited outside the walls of Winter’s Reach. 

You both lay in silence for a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath your cheek and the crackling of the dying fire. A part of you began to fear that once you left, your memory of him would be all you had. You used this moment to memorize as much detail as you could– his scent, the way his arms felt wrapped around you, the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, he brushed his lip against your forehead again as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax. You knew when you woke, the dawn would bring the inevitable separation, but for now, you were safe, and that was enough.

~

Dawn crept through the curtains stirring Lord James awake. His arms were still protectively around you, holding you as if he could keep you there forever. His gaze fixed on you as you slept, watching your peaceful, steady breathing. 

He remained still, not wanting to disturb you, hoping that the longer you stayed in slumber, the longer he could keep you close. But, he knew time was slipping away.

The door to the clamber creaked open just as you began to stir, and Lord James’ handmaidens entered quietly. As they readied to begin their duties for the day, they saw Lord James holding you, and their eyes widened in surprise. They had not expected you this morrow, believing you were in a chamber with your sisters. Shooting them a sharp, warning glance, Lord James’ blue eyes flashed with a silent command to leave and not to wake you. Quickly bowing, the handmaidens retreated, softly closing the door behind them. 

As you blinked awake, you forgot everything for a moment– the impending journey, the war. The feeling of warmth from Lord James’ body against yours and the comfort of his arms, was all that mattered. 

“Good morrow, my love,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection. 

Looking up at him, a small, bittersweet smile played across your lips. “Good morrow, James,” you replied, your voice hoarse, thick with sleep. His hand brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face, keeping his touch light and respectful. 

“Did you sleep well, my love?” he asked, his voice a low murmur against your hair. 

Nodding, you were still half-lost in the warmth of his embrace. “I did, as well as I could knowing what the day is to bring.” 

His arms tightened around you ever so slightly as a shadow passed over his features. “I wish we had more time,” he admitted, regret filling in his voice. “But I shall take solace in knowing you were here with me, even for just a little while.” 

Your hand found his cheek, fingers brushing over his facial hair. “These moments will be what carry me through, my lord. I’ll hold them close until I can return to you.” 

Lord James let a soft sigh escape his lips, his heart racing as he knew the time was near. “We should get ready,” he said reluctantly, his voice barely audible. 

The time for your departure had drawn near, and reluctantly you both began to untangle from each other. The warmth of the bed gave way to the cool morning air of the Reach. Lord James watched as the handmaidens returned, helping you dress. His heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last morning, the last moments you would share together.

“I love you,” you softly said, turning to face him.

And with two strides, Lord James crossed the room and pulled you into his arms. “I love you,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Till the end of the line.” 

After a lingering final kiss, you stepped out of the chamber and faced the day ahead. Pride, love, and sorrow filled the lord's heart as he watched you walk away. 

~

The dragons awaited, their forms cast huge shadows in the morning light over Winter’s Reach. Sunny stood among them, her bright eyes widening as she saw you approach. Her scales gleamed, a vibrant contrast to the stone walls around her. Letting out a low rumble, she seemed to understand as your gaze locked on the sight of Honeybreeze being brought out of her stable. 

“Soon, my girl,” you whispered to Sunny, your voice barely above a whisper as you slowly approached Honeybreeze. The chestnut horse nickered softly as your hand trailed down her sleek neck, and you whispered soothing words to her. 

Standing a short distance away, Lord James’ eyes fixed on you and the horse. His expression was somber but determined as he approached you. 

“I’ll take care of her,” he said keeping his voice steady. “She’ll be here waiting for your return.” 

A lump formed in your throat, you nodded as you swallowed it. “Thank you, my lord.”

With one last look at Honeybreeze, and a final, tearful glance at Lord James, you mounted the dragon. Sensing the weight of the moment, Sunny shifted beneath you. Natasha and Yelena were already on their bonded dragons, waiting for you to prepare for flight. 

And, before you knew it, the time had come. Urging Sunny upward, her powerful wings infurled. She took to the sky with a mighty leap. The cold wind rushed past you as you began soaring above Winter’s Reach.

Lord James remained stood in the courtyard, gently stroking Honeybreeze’s mane as he watched you and your sisters ascend. “It’s alright, girl,” Lord James murmured, his voice low and soothing as the mare nickered softly. “I’ll bring her back to us.” 

His heart grew heavier with the ache of your departure, and even as you flew farther away, becoming a distant silhouette against the light, his eyes never left the sky. 

No matter what it took, he would return you to Winter’s Reach, to him, and to the future you were meant to create together.

---

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