#Healing Hands FF

[collecting--stardust]

It's Sunday already and I'm pissed because I want more holiday but it's race week so not bad

[novaursa]

The Searing Flame

- Summary: Rook's Rest broke you and Aegon both. But it didn't separate you. And Stranger, it appears, has other plans for you.

- Pairing: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon Starfyre. Reader's and Aegon's children are mentioned. If you want to read all parts in chronological order, check out my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (just comfort)

- Word count: 4 078

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The smell of herbs and poultices fills the chamber, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood that lingers in the air. You can hear the crackle of the hearth, its warmth reaching only the foot of the grand bed where you and your brother-husband, King Aegon II, lie side by side. The once-magnificent room is now a haven of convalescence, the drapery muted and the furniture pushed aside to make room for the needs of the infirm.

Your body aches with a dull, persistent pain that pulses with every breath you take. The effort of sitting upright in the bed is monumental, and the bowl of broth before you seems an insurmountable challenge. The spoon trembles in your hand, the mere act of lifting it exhausting. You glance at Aegon, who watches you with furrowed brows and tense lips, his gaze burning with worry that he cannot hide.

"She struggles with every bite, Orwyle," Aegon states, his voice rough with the lingering pain of his own injuries. His piercing eyes lock onto the Grand Maester, who stands nearby with a face of forced calm. "You must do something about it."

Orwyle shifts uncomfortably, the weight of the king's command heavy upon him. "Your Grace, I have done all that is within my power," he responds cautiously. "The potions and elixirs I've administered should ease her pain, and the fact that the internal bleeding appears to have stopped is a promising sign. But… it is difficult to determine the full extent of the damage. Her body is still fragile, and the healing process is slow."

Aegon huffs, the sound more pained than frustrated, as he fights to push himself up on the bed. His burns throb, and his broken hip sends sharp stabs of agony through his side, yet he ignores it with grim determination. He refuses to let his own suffering deter him from helping you. He inches closer, his face etched with the effort of movement.

"That is not enough," Aegon growls, the intensity in his voice betraying the depths of his fear. He grits his teeth, the motion tugging at the scarred skin of his face. "She needs more than promises and half-answers, Orwyle."

The Grand Maester bows his head, his lips pressed thin. "I understand, Your Grace. I will continue to monitor her condition closely. If there is any change, I will be the first to act. But for now, the best I can advise is rest and sustenance, as much as she can tolerate."

Aegon’s gaze flickers back to you, his eyes softening despite the pain that etches deep lines into his features. He reaches out, his hand trembling as it hovers near yours. The sight of your struggle to eat tears at him, and he can’t bear the thought of you suffering more than you already have.

“Here,” he says, his voice gentler now, laced with the tenderness that he shows only to you. He braces himself as he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact is brief, but it sends a warmth through him that no fire could match. With great care, he dips the spoon into the broth and lifts it to your lips.

You try to take the spoonful, but your stomach rebels, a wave of nausea washing over you. You force yourself to swallow, the taste turning to ash in your mouth. Aegon notices the grimace you try to hide and his expression darkens with concern.

“Easy, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice soothing despite the tightness in his throat. “Small sips. I’ll help you.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the pain and determination reflected there, and you nod weakly. You know he suffers as much as you do, perhaps more, for he carries not only his own pain but the weight of his love for you. His hand trembles slightly as he brings another spoonful to your lips, and this time you manage to keep it down.

He stays close, ignoring his own agony, focusing entirely on you. Each movement costs him, but he hides it as best he can, his only thought to ease your suffering. He coaxes you to take another sip, and then another, until the bowl is nearly empty. The strain is evident in his features, but the small victories — each spoonful you manage to swallow — give him strength.

Orwyle watches in silence, his face betraying a flicker of admiration for the king’s devotion. He knows better than to offer more words; they would be hollow compared to the actions unfolding before him. The love between the two of you is a force that no wound, no scar, can diminish.

Finally, when you can take no more, Aegon sets the bowl aside, his breath ragged from the exertion. He settles back onto the pillows beside you, his hand still lingering near yours as if he cannot bear to be apart from you. He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling with the effort of merely breathing, but a faint smile tugs at his lips.

“We will get through this, Y/N,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I will not lose you. Not to wounds, not to fate.”

His words are a promise, one he intends to keep no matter the cost. And as you both lie there, battered and broken but together, you feel a flicker of hope kindle in your heart. The road to recovery will be long, and the scars will never fully fade, but with Aegon by your side, you believe you might survive the storm.

The corridors of the Red Keep are dim, the flickering light from torches casting long shadows along the stone walls as Grand Maester Orwyle makes his way to the private chambers of Dowager Queen Alicent. His heart is heavy with the weight of the news he must deliver, and his footsteps are slow, as though he wishes to delay the inevitable conversation.

When he reaches the door, he pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before rapping softly on the wood. A moment later, the door swings open, and Alicent, her face lined with worry and exhaustion, beckons him inside.

“What news, Orwyle?” Alicent asks immediately, her voice strained with the tension of too many sleepless nights and too many fears unspoken. She gestures for him to sit, but he remains standing, his expression grave.

“Your Grace,” he begins, bowing his head slightly, “I bring some news from the King and Queen’s chamber. Queen Y/N managed to eat today, with great effort.”

Alicent’s breath catches, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. The relief that floods her is palpable, her shoulders sagging slightly as if a great weight has been lifted from them. She clasps her hands together, pressing them to her chest as a sob escapes her lips.

“Thank the gods,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Thank the gods… I feared the worst…”

Orwyle allows her a moment to savor the relief, though his expression does not soften. The moment is bittersweet, and he knows it will not last long. Alicent’s joy is short-lived, for the maester’s next words are as heavy as iron.

“Your Grace… I must also speak of something more… delicate.” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I believe it would be wise to consider… separating the King and Queen into separate chambers.”

Alicent’s head snaps up, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. The mere suggestion seems absurd, even cruel, and she stares at Orwyle as though he’s gone mad.

“Separate them?” she repeats, her voice rising in incredulity. “You would have them suffer the torment of being apart? Even for a moment? They are all that each other has—how can you suggest such a thing?”

Orwyle’s face remains impassive, but there is a deep sadness in his eyes as he continues. “Your Grace, I do not suggest this lightly. I know how much they depend on one another, how their bond has sustained them through these trials. But… it is precisely because of that bond that I suggest this course of action.”

Alicent’s hand grips the armrest of her chair, her knuckles white with the force of her anger. The thought of her daughter and son being parted is abhorrent to her. She shakes her head vehemently.

“No, Orwyle. I will not allow it. To separate them now, when they are both so gravely injured… It would be a death sentence for them both. They will suffer more from being apart than from any physical wound.”

The Grand Maester bows his head, knowing what he must say next will only cause her further anguish. “Your Grace, I fear… Queen Y/N’s condition may be more dire than we hoped. While the internal bleeding appears to have stopped, her body is still fragile. She struggles with every breath, every movement, and I cannot be certain that she will recover.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, and she stares at Orwyle with dawning horror. The implication of his words sinks in like a stone dropping into a dark pool, sending ripples of dread through her. “You… you think she will die,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Orwyle does not answer immediately, but the silence speaks volumes. Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, but they are no longer tears of relief. They are tears of rage, of sorrow, and of fear for her children.

“You want to separate them,” she chokes out, her voice shaking with emotion, “so that Aegon doesn’t wake up to find his sister dead beside him.”

The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and cutting. Orwyle winces, but he does not deny it. “Your Grace… it would be an act of mercy,” he says quietly. “If the worst were to happen… it might spare the King the pain of that moment. And it would allow the Queen to… to pass peacefully, without causing her brother-husband further torment.”

Alicent rises from her seat, her tears forgotten as fury takes hold. “Mercy?” she spits the word as though it is poison. “You would take my daughter from her husband, from her twin, and put her in some cold, lonely room to die alone? You would have her pass without the comfort of his presence, without the warmth of his hand in hers?”

Her voice rises, her grief fueling her anger. “I will not allow it! She will not die alone, cast aside like some… some useless thing! She is the Queen, and she is Aegon’s other half! He would never forgive himself if he were not with her in her final moments—if those moments come at all!”

Orwyle bows his head, accepting her wrath without protest. He knows she is right in her own way, that separating the twins could do as much harm as good. But he also knows the toll that the Queen’s death would take on the King if it were to happen in such a manner.

“Your Grace,” he says softly, “I only wish to spare them both as much pain as possible. But I will not act without your consent.”

Alicent’s chest heaves with the effort of containing her emotions. She closes her eyes, struggling to find some measure of composure. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier, though the pain in it is unmistakable.

“You will do no such thing, Orwyle. They will stay together, as they have always been. If my daughter… if she is to die, then let her die with her husband beside her. And if Aegon is to lose her, then let him be there, holding her, as he deserves.”

Orwyle inclines his head in a gesture of respect. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it that their care continues as it has been.”

Alicent nods, her eyes still filled with unshed tears. “Leave me,” she says quietly, and the Grand Maester obeys, bowing once more before retreating from the room.

When he is gone, Alicent sinks back into her chair, the strength drained from her limbs. She buries her face in her hands, and at last, the tears she has been holding back flow freely. The thought of losing her daughter, of watching her son suffer such a devastating blow, is more than she can bear.

But she will not let them be parted. Not now. Not ever.

In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, the Dowager Queen weeps, her heart breaking for the children she has always tried so hard to protect, knowing that in this, there is no protection she can offer.

The chamber is steeped in a comforting silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. The warmth it offers is gentle, a stark contrast to the coldness that lingers in your bones. The ache in your body has dulled slightly, allowing you to lie beside Aegon without the overwhelming need to close your eyes against the pain. His presence beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, brings a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity.

Aegon is quiet as well, though you can feel the tension in him, the way his body lies rigid against the soft pillows. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. He meets your gaze, and you see the flicker of something in his eyes — a sorrow, a fear that he hasn’t voiced yet. He studies your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch, and you notice the way his brow furrows slightly, as though he is searching for something.

His gaze lingers on your cheeks, and a small, sad smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Your cheeks… they've regained some color," he murmurs, his voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace between you. "But… you still look like a ghost, Y/N. A beautiful ghost… but a ghost all the same."

You try to smile, but the effort is too much, and you settle for a soft sigh. "It’s been a hard few weeks," you say gently, your voice a whisper, nearly lost in the crackle of the fire.

Aegon nods, his eyes drifting down to where your hand rests on the coverlet. His fingers move slowly, aching as they intertwine with yours. For a moment, he simply holds your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch spreads through you, but it’s the sadness in his eyes that draws your attention, the way his jaw tightens as though he’s holding something back.

Then, without warning, his composure cracks. A choked sob escapes his lips, and his shoulders tremble as the tears start to fall. He tries to hide it, turning his face into the pillow, but you feel the tremor in his grip, the way his breathing becomes uneven.

"Aegon," you whisper, squeezing his hand, trying to offer what little comfort you can. "What’s wrong?"

He shakes his head, but the sobs keep coming, his pain spilling out in a way that he can no longer control. His voice, when he finally speaks, is thick with grief and fear. "I… I’m terrified, Y/N," he admits, his words broken by the weight of his emotions. "I’m terrified that I may never be able to… to make love to you again."

The admission hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. You feel a pang in your heart, not for yourself, but for him, for the fear that drives his tears. You know that your bodies have been broken, that the road to recovery is uncertain, and that the intimacy you once shared might never be the same. But to hear it from him, to know how deeply it troubles him, cuts deeper than any physical wound.

You reach up with your free hand, your fingers trembling as they brush against his cheek, wiping away the tears that have gathered there. "Aegon," you say softly, "that isn’t what’s important. What matters is that we’re here, together. As long as we have each other… that’s all that truly matters."

He shakes his head again, his tears flowing more freely now. "But it is important, Y/N," he insists, his voice breaking. "It’s important to me. I… I want to hold you the way I used to, to love you the way I always have. I’m terrified that… that I won’t be able to do that anymore, that we’ll lose that part of us."

You feel his anguish as though it’s your own, and your heart aches for him. His fear is more than just about physical intimacy; it’s about the connection that you’ve shared since birth, the bond that has always been a source of strength for both of you. You know that in his mind, the loss of that connection is tied to the loss of something even greater — the fear that the bond between you might weaken, that the love you share might fade in the face of your suffering.

You tighten your grip on his hand, your resolve hardening. "Aegon, listen to me," you say, your voice steady despite the exhaustion that pulls at you. "We have faced dragons, battles, and betrayals together. We’ve been through hell, and yet, here we are. That connection we share, it’s not something that can be broken by this, by anything. We’re more than just our bodies. Our love is stronger than that."

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "But what if… what if I’m not strong enough? What if…"

"Then we’ll find our way together," you interrupt, your voice firm. "It doesn’t matter how. We’ll heal, Aegon. Maybe not in the way we were before, but we’ll heal. And we’ll find new ways to love each other, new ways to be close. We will not lose each other."

Aegon’s sobs quiet, though the tears still streak down his cheeks. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, the closeness offering a comfort that words cannot. "I don’t want to lose you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, trembling with the depth of his emotions.

"You won’t," you promise, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "We’ll get through this, Aegon."

He nods, though the fear still lingers in his eyes. But there is a glimmer of something else now, something that wasn’t there before — a fragile hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a way to survive this, too.

The aftermath of Rook's Rest still haunts you after many weeks, lingering in the air like the scent of charred flesh. The pain has not lessened, not truly, but you have grown accustomed to it, learned to live with the ache in your bones, the memories that sear through your mind as vividly as dragonfire. Aegon remains bedridden, his hip shattered, but his burns are healing, the flesh knitting together in agonizing slowness. You, too, bear your scars—though less visible, they are no less severe. The Seven have seen fit to keep you alive, and for that, you are grateful. You tell yourself that over and over again, especially on the nights when the pain becomes too much to bear.

Despite the grim prognosis given by the maesters, you manage to rise each day, your limbs heavy as if laden with chains, yet you rise all the same. Aegon watches you with those familiar violet eyes, a mixture of awe and frustration in his gaze as you shuffle to his side, determined to care for him as much as he has for you. He hates to see you struggle, hates the reminder of how close he came to losing you, but there is nothing to be done about it. You are still here, and so is he, and that is enough.

“Y/N,” Aegon murmurs as you approach, his voice low and rough, as if the words themselves cause him pain. He tries to sit up, grimacing as the movement sends a jolt of agony through his hip. You are quick to place a gentle hand on his chest, urging him to stay still.

“Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the bandages that need changing. The scent of salves and ointments fills the room, mingling with the ever-present smell of smoke that seems to cling to your skin no matter how many times you bathe.

Aegon huffs out a breath, frustrated but compliant. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he grumbles, though there is no true heat in his words. “You need rest as much as I do.”

“I need to be useful,” you reply, unwrapping the old bandages with careful fingers. “And there is no one else I trust with this.”

Aegon falls silent, watching you with a mixture of concern and affection. The truth is, he needs this too—the closeness, the reassurance that you are both still here, still fighting. The loss of your sons weighs heavily on both of you, their absence a gaping wound that refuses to heal. And then there are the dragons—Sunfyre and Starfyre, once magnificent and untouchable, now grounded by wounds that mirror your own.

“How is she?” Aegon asks quietly as you tend to him. “Starfyre?”

You pause, your hand lingering on his shoulder. “She heals, slowly. As we all do.”

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something akin to hope. “Perhaps, when this is all over…”

You nod, understanding what he cannot bring himself to say. When this is all over, when the blood has stopped spilling and the war is won—if such a thing is even possible—perhaps then you will find a way to live again, to reclaim some semblance of the life you once knew. But for now, that future remains distant, an unreachable dream.

A knock at the door draws your attention, and you glance over your shoulder to see Alicent standing in the doorway, her expression weary yet relieved as she takes in the sight of her children together. She enters the room with careful steps, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile peace that has settled over you both.

“My Queen,” Alicent greets you, her voice soft. “How do you fare today?”

“I manage,” you reply, offering her a small smile. “As does Aegon.”

Alicent’s gaze shifts to her son, her eyes softening with maternal concern. “You look better today,” she notes, her tone hopeful.

Aegon snorts, though it’s more self-deprecating than anything. “I look less like a corpse, you mean.”

“Hush,” you chide gently, though you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Mother is only trying to help.”

Alicent’s lips press together in a thin line as she surveys the two of you, her heartache palpable. “I wish there were more I could do,” she says quietly. “For both of you.”

“You are here,” you reply, reaching out to take her hand in yours. “That is enough.”

Alicent squeezes your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I pray to the Seven every day, for yourstrength, for your healing.”

You nod, though your thoughts drift to darker places. The prayers of the faithful have done little to save your children, your dragons. The thought claws at your insides, a bitter resentment that you can never quite quell.

“Do you think she will ever pay for what she’s done?” you ask suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the deaths of our sons, for breaking our bodies and our dragons?”

Aegon stiffens beneath your touch, his jaw clenching as the old rage flares anew. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, but she does not shy away from your question.

“Rhaenyra will answer for her crimes,” Aegon says, his voice hard as steel. “She will burn for what she has taken from us.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a promise, a vow that neither of you can afford to break. Alicent bows her head, as if in prayer, and you feel the weight of your shared grief pressing down on you once more.

But in that moment, with Aegon’s hand resting over yours and Alicent standing beside you, you also feel a flicker of something else—a determination, a resolve to see this through to the bitter end. You will survive this, together, and one day, Rhaenyra will pay for the blood she has spilled. The Seven have kept you alive for a reason, and you intend to see it fulfilled.

[damnfeelings09]

A.N: special thanks to the lovely @xobunni0 I love how you write my boy and futuristic lovers is a masterpiece. This one is inspired in the song E.T as well as on your work, thank you darling! I suggest you all go to her blog if you haven't already.

Also, you will find OC name here (like in other pov's of mine) but this is still an xreader ff, it's just that I dont quite like putting y/n or _____ :( sorry *Also (this is the last one I promise) english is not my first lenguage so there could be some grammar errors and so, sorry in advance!

E.T - Shadow's version

“You're so hypnotizing Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?”

190605. You entered the code, and the door made a metallic sound before opening, revealing a second door that required voice access.

“Special Agent Dr. Moon,” you said confidently. The door opened for you. You walked into the GUN facility; floor -16 was cold and dark, the lights flickering on as you made your way to room 296. You scanned your ID and waited a few seconds before turning the handle. There, in front of you, was the hedgehog you loved so much. The ultimate lifeform was lying on the cot, tossing a ball and hitting the ceiling over and over again. His ears twitched, catching the unmistakable sound of your heels.

“Back so soon?” he said, sitting up. “Careful, doc, they’ll think you’ve lost your mind.”

“And do we care?” you smiled, standing just a few inches away from the large polycarbonate cristal like wall that separated you. You quickly raised your hand and rested it against the wall. Shadow didn’t waste any time, using his speed to reach your side in one second, placing his hand against yours.

“Your touch, magnetizing Feels like I am floating Leaves my body glowing”

You didn’t really know when or how it had happened. You had been working in GUN's medical wing for five years, initially as a field medic, until, after two years, you were promoted to Head of Medical Staff. Later, you decided to focus on Mobian medicine—not because you had much to work with, but when the opportunity arose to learn more about this fascinating species, you couldn’t refuse. At first, it was just a few check-ups for Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, a few tests for speed and strength, samples of their fur and blood, studying their anatomy and physiology. While it wasn’t all that different from humans, it wasn’t exactly the same either. They healed faster, could endure higher levels of pain and temperatures—something that would kill an average human would only cause temporary damage to a Mobian. Furthermore, human diseases didn’t affect them, but that didn’t mean their diseases couldn’t cause a worldwide pandemic.

Eight months ago, Commander Hillsprung had tasked you with analyzing a different specimen. Something that wasn’t entirely Mobian, but also wasn’t human. In fact, no one was sure what it was—the Project Shadow, as everyone called it. At first, the project was falling apart. Despite Shadow volunteering, he didn’t agree with the tests they were putting him through. Five different people had tried to study him—scientists, physicists, even veterinarians—but he wouldn’t let anyone get close enough. He’d remove the equipment, refuse to give samples. They didn’t know what else to do. Just when it seemed like the research would fail, that’s when you appeared.

“They say, be afraid You're not like the others”

Shadow looked at you attentively. You hadn't approached him like the others, nor did you look at him the same way they did. Although he could sense the uncertainty, there was something else… curiosity, perhaps admiration? He wasn't sure, but he knew you were different. The fascination you felt for him was written all over your face, like a big, glowing sign. This allowed Shadow to lower his guard, just a little.

You spoke to him and recognized him for what he was—an equal. Over time, Shadow grew accustomed to your presence. You would arrive early, much earlier than the other agents, and have a brief conversation where you'd tell him about the findings you'd made about him. Shadow always listened with interest to everything you said, enjoying the fruit you had kindly brought him. He could hear the enthusiasm and excitement in your voice, loved the smile that appeared when you made a new discovery, and noticed how you furrowed your brow when the tests didn’t turn out as expected.

"It will work," Shadow would tell you as he followed you across the room from his side of the glass.

"And what if it doesn’t? I’ve failed the last three attempts. The component isn’t stable enough; I can’t reach your DNA. My samples are running out."

"There’s more where that came from," he remarked, shrugging in a nonchalant tone.

"I don’t want to puncture you with the needle again. Your skin heals in less than a minute, the wound has to be large enough to get a good sample, plus... I don’t like hurting you," you said, meeting his gaze.

"You’re the only one here who cares about me. I only trust you to do this. Besides, this will help me know where I come from, what I am, who I am."

When you heard him say that, something inside you broke. Shadow was alone, lost, and trusted you to help him learn everything he could about himself. Instinctively, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers through the small window where they passed his food.

"I promise I will."

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

After that, Shadow had become dependent on you, and you on him. At first, you controlled it well, one or two stolen glances, shared smiles, the brush of your hands when you examined him, staying late to see him again, pretending you had forgotten an instrument in his room just to open the door and sit by his side, shoulder to shoulder, all to be close to him. That worked, until a speed test at the HRW training center (used to me High Range Weapons center) of GUN. A stupid agent launched rockets toward Shadow, boasting that if he truly was the ultimate lifeform, it wouldn’t be anything for him. Six heat-seeking rockets pursued Shadow across the platform as you shouted at the agent while trying to stop the missiles with the computer. "Let it go," said Commander Hillsprung. "But... but sir, Shad... Project Shadow is not ready yet, the tests are still incomplete in the lab, it’s too risky considering the new rings are inhibiting his powers even more." "If I didn’t know you, Agent, I’d think you were concerned about the... alien." You paled at his accusations. No one, especially Commander Hillsprung, could know that you were fraternizing with Shadow. "They wouldn’t understand," you thought. "N-no, sir, not at all. I just think about what’s best for the research," you said, controlling your breathing as calmly as possible. "Then let the test proceed. It’s time for the ultimate weapon to show us what it’s made of."

You couldn’t do anything but watch as Shadow jumped and ran, dodging the missiles. Yes, he was the most powerful being on the planet, heck… he was the most powerful being in the galaxy as far as you knew, but knowing that he couldn’t use all of his powers to save himself made your insides twist with dread. Shadow dodged four of the missiles with the grace and ease of a gazelle. He was fast, strong, precise. Every hit he delivered destroyed the missile without leaving a scratch. When only two missiles remained to be destroyed, Shadow stopped, standing still in the middle of the platform. A small smirk appeared on his face as he thought, "Is this all they’ve got? Pathetic." Both missiles were heading toward him, but just before they hit, Shadow leapt so high, leaving the missiles below him as they exploded into each other. You celebrated Shadow’s victory, while the high-ranking officials watched in stunned silence at what had happened. The agent who had launched the missiles had his jaw clenched so tightly that you’d swear his teeth were going to break. He was upset, no, he was furious. He was tired of that lab rat taking all the attention.

“You're so supersonic Wanna feel your powers Stun me with your laser “

You quickly made your way to the training center entrance, running towards Shadow while cheering him on for the excellent job he had done, your heart racing with excitement, overjoyed with happiness, as you extended your arms toward him. He met halfway, smiling, happy with what you had both achieved together.

“Your kiss is cosmic Every move is magic”

You enjoyed the moment so much, the warmth of your arms, that you didn’t notice when a seventh missile was launched directly at you. With no time to get both of you out of there, and without his Chaos Control to teleport, he decided to save you. It didn’t matter what would happen to him, Shadow only knew you had to be safe. He threw you a few meters away from him, your body hitting the hard ground and your head slamming against the wall. Your vision was blurry, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to recognize anything around you. Someone grabbed your arm, shaking it, and in the distance, you heard your name, but couldn’t understand anything else. More agents ran to the left of the training room, and a stretcher passed in front of you. The next thing happened like a flash. The stretcher carried something black on it, cables and tubes surrounding a thin, small body, agents in lab coats running behind the stretcher. That’s when you reacted to what had happened. Shadow had been hit by the missile’s explosion directly in an attempt to save your life. As best as you could, you got up and ran after the stretcher, stumbling along the way. Your colleagues tried to stop you, but there was no force in the world that could separate you from Shadow.

“This is transcendental On another level Boy, you're my lucky star”

Regaining your vision, you approached the medical room where they had Shadow. His jet-black fur, once as bright as the night sky, was now covered in dirt and bloodstains. He wore a mask covering his mouth and nose, his breathing was labored, and his heartbeat irregular. “An arrhythmia” you thought. The panic and fear of losing him overtook you, but this was not the time to run off and cry; Shadow needed you. "10mg of adenosine," you requested from the nurse beside you as you searched for the IV in his arm. "Dr. Moon, you should..." she tried to persuade you. "10mg of adenosine, NOW, or we're going to lose him." After administering the medication, you noticed his heart rate normalized to 250 bpm, something normal considering his condition and the fact that we were talking about a supersonic hedgehog. "I want everyone out of the room." "But, boss..." "Didn't you hear what I said? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The entire medical team exited the room. You quickly approached Shadow, took the device you always carried with you, and lowered the power of the inhibitor rings. Shadow needed to recover fast, damn it, you needed him to recover fast, and he wouldn't be able to achieve that if he was at 10% of his power.

“I wanna walk on your wavelength

And be there when you vibrate For you, I'll risk it all, all”

"You'll be fine," you said as you wiped his muzzle, removing the dirt and blood that you found along the way. Your hand rested on Shadow's cheek, it was warm, which was a good sign, right? You positioned yourself on his right side on the stretcher, counting each breath, each heartbeat. Shadow made a sound, a tiny whimper that you wouldn't have been able to hear if you weren't just inches away from his face. You quickly removed the mask from his snout, and he slowly opened his eyes, focusing his sight as if searching for something, until he saw you by his side. "Mo-mo...on?" he said, followed by a small whimper. "I'm here," you said, leaning in and bringing your forehead to his. Shadow sighed, gently stroking your cheek, relieved to see that you were alright. "You saved me," you whispered for both of you, your warm breath meeting Shadow's mouth.

“Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me Infect me with your lovin' Fill me with your poison Take me, ta-ta-take me Wanna be your victim Ready for abduction”

You both opened your eyes at the same time, the fire making itself present in the crimson orbs of Shadow, without thinking, without planning, you succumbed to what your heart longed for and kissed him. A deep, needed, desired kiss. Your tongues dancing together a dangerous waltz, small bites on your lower lip, courtesy of his sharp canines created the perfect mix between pain and satisfaction. Your hands stroking his quills, careful not to prick you, although at this point it was the least of your worries. The monitor that Shadow was connecting to shooting at 1000 lpm while taking you by the waist sitting you in his lap. Fuck, how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. It had been a while since the looks and smiles were no longer enough for him. Shadow had dreamed of this moment more than he would admit, spending his moments fantasizing about what it would be like to taste those pink lips, what flavor they had, if they were as smooth as he imagined.

They were not, it was even better than what he imagined.

You separated ‘cause the lack of air, with your breathing agitated, choppy, just before you pulled away, Shadow took you by surprise, giving a caress, licking your cheek, causing you to blush instantly, not because you disliked, but because he had seemed so... tender.

 Shadow’s heart rate normalized again, settling on the stretcher as a reddish blush painted his muzzle. The dim light, the rise and fall of your chest, the strands of hair falling over your face, your lips red from the make out session that had just occurred.

“A goddess” thought the hedgehog. You reached out for his hand, fingers entwined, no one said a thing, it wasn’t necessary. What you felt for each other was more than enough.

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

[redr0sewrites]

Ok so uh- I’ve been having brain rot about having Muzan sitting on readers lap cockwarming y/n and struggling to do his work as reader is enjoying seeing him struggle

(male reader if possible please <3)

-🪳 roach anon

yes. YES. YEEEEEEESSSSSSSS.

🥀Cw: smut, amab!reader, edging, brat!muzan, dirty talk, just filth

🥀minors dni

muzan twitched, shuttering as you shifted your hips. he had lost count of how long he'd been sitting in your lap, your cock filling him so nicely as he struggled to focus on his work.

"something wrong?" you coo, grabbing his face and forcing him to turn and look at you, smirking as muzan's cheeks flush. "it can't be that hard to focus, can it, doll?" muzan shoots you a glare, ripping his face from your grasp and turning back around.

his behavior makes your blood boil sometimes, and you harshly grab his hips. a needy squeak is pulled from his throat as you buck your hips up, pushing your cock deeper against his prostate. muzan mewls, eyes glazing over in pleasure as he fights to stay coherent. his nails are digging into the desk, his painfully hard cock dribbling precum all over his thighs.

"awww, are you really that needy already? i havent even done anything!" you snicker, slapping his inner thigh so, so close to his cock. muzan lets out a hiss in pain, and even as the flesh heals almost instantly, the stinging pain serves as a reminder of who is truly in control.

muzan tries to focus on his work as time drags ever so slowly onwards, sweat dripping down his face as his hands tremble. you find a sick sense of pleasure in the occasional whine that slips past his lips whenever you shift below him, and while you adore torturing him, you're beginning to grow impatient. slowly, you drag your hands from his hips to his nipples, pinching both roughly.

"ff-fuck- uhhngh-" a pitiful noise is ripped from deep inside him, catching him off guard. muzan's whole body shivers, hips bucking backwards instinctively as you continue to grope at his chest. one hand continues to abuse his tits, palming the flesh there and rolling the hardened nub between your fingers. the other hand slowly begins to trace down over his abs and stomach to the base of his cock. precum is dripping from his tip, and his poor dick is almost purple with neglect. you move to massage his balls, then moving up towards his tip, catching some of the pre on your fingers and smearing the creamy liquid on his head. muzan whimpers, throwing his head back and clawing at the desk as you begin to pump him ever so slowly. his hole is squeezing your cock so tight, and even the slight stimulation your giving him is enough to make his release build.

"awww, does that feel good?" you sneer, biting down roughly on his shoulder. you begin to pump him faster, still groping at his chest as you palm his cock. muzan begins to rut up against your hand, hips stuttering as you begin to grind against him as well. your cock is hitting all the right places inside him, and the stimulation is making his whole head fuzzy.

"ngh- ye-y-yes, plea- oh ffuck, please, mhngh-" hes practically sobbing now, the coil in his abdomen so close to snapping yet so, so far. muzans thighs are trembling so much that the entire desk is shaking, and you stand up abruptly, bending him over and shoving whatever he had been working on aside. your hand moved from his chest to the back of his neck, pushing him down while the other continued stroking him. you could tell he was close, his whole body seemed to be quivering in anticipation.

"please, fuck- fughnngh pleeass- im so close please mmnhh-" he gasped out, hole clenching around you so tightly as his cock twitched in your palm. you removed your hand from his dick, and muzan let out a pathetic whimper. his orgasm fades, and tears begin to form on his lashline as he grinds back against you, trying to get you to move inside of him.

"fuck, be patient," you grumble, grabbing his hips with the hand not wrapped around his neck and snapping your hips against his, setting a rough pace almost instantly. muzan lets out a choked moan as you manhandle him so that he is arching his back, still facedown against the desk as you continue railing into him. you know you aren't going to last much longer, and from the looks of it, neither is muzan. his eyes are glazed over, and you squeeze his neck tighter making him let out a choked moan. you only fuck him harder, his knees giving out as he collapses beneath you.

"ple-please, master, fuuck, mhm, please..." muzan was begging with tears in his eyes, chasing his high so desperately as he grinded his ass back, desperate for release.

"please- shit- please what?" you managed, cursing as his hole squeezed around you so tightly. yoh were almost at your wits end, and you knew both of your orgasms were close but you wanted to hear him say it. "be a good boy and use your words like ive taught you," you spit out, thrusting into him so deeply he swears hes seeing stars.

"i- i wanna come, please, i need to come! i need it- i need it so bad-" muzan was practically blubbering, looking back at you with teary eyes, and your cock twitched inside him at the sight of his flushed face.

"fuck- go on doll, you can come" you murmur in his ear, and muzan whimpers, shaking as his orgasm finally washes over him. it pulls him under like a tidal wave, snatching the breath from his lungs and making his whole body quake. your own euphoric high comes at the same time, the both of you gasping and whimpering as you come down from the rush of lust. muzan is quivering, his desk and abdomen is coated in his own release. you chuckle, pulling out and whispering praises to your lover as he winced in overstimulation. a ring of white coats the base of your cock, and the both of you look like fucked out messes. muzan reaches out, sitting on his desk and pulling you into a hug.

"are you okay?" you ask, gently running your hands through his hair as his shaky breathing evens out.

"shut the fuck up," he replied, burying his head in the crook of your neck. ah, some things never change.

THIS GOT SO LONG AND FOR WHAT LMAOOOO PLSSSS HES SOOOOO URGHRRHRH sorry this kinda sucks i havent wrote smut in a while and its also like 12:00 😭 ANYWAYS I HOPE U ENJOYED SEND IN MORE SUB MUZAN THIRRSSSSTSTSSSSS HES SOOO

[falsemneme]

ACOSF, Ch. 37. The Inner Circle tortures two obviously ensorcelled Autumn Court soldiers. ("Rhys had tried to get into their heads but found nothing but fog and mist.") Feyre introduces ethics, an uncomfortable topic for a group of people who were just a second ago happy to watch Azriel torture those prisoners for a solid 10 minutes without question.

NOTE how Cassian "knew" that Rhys is mentally apologizing for "making Feyre witness even the ten minutes Azriel had worked" [emphasis mine]. NOT apologizing for torturing two people who are not fully in control of their own minds and bodies for a whole ten minutes, but apologizing for making Feyre watch Azriel torture two people who are not fully in control of their own minds and bodies for a whole ten minutes. FFS.

(Orange was just me highlighting how Feyre seems to accept his apology at face value. There's no push for meaningful change. If they get their hands on another set of soldiers, they're going to get tortured too because as I pointed out in this post, that's just what the Night Court fucking does.)

How Mrs. Human-Heart could've withstood watching ten whole, gruesome minutes of torture WITHOUT piping up in defence of the prisoners is... interesting. It's like SJM wants me to see Feyre as this compassionate person who cares about how others are treated, but Feyre just let them get tortured for 10 fucking minutes before bringing up that this is not ethical and... they just LEAVE them there. She doesn't call for Madja to come heal their wounds??? That's not included in the text???

I just... look, they don't need to be good people, right? But it feels like SJM wants me to think they're good people instead of incompetent, unfeeling leaders with the decision-making skills of a despot. Their compassion is activated only after they've Done The Thing(TM) and even then all they do is stop. They don't fix, they don't mend or make right, they don't change. They are the Court of Nightmares. It's just the nightmare is having them as rulers.

Editing to add like a petty person how quickly Helion assesses the Autumn Court soldiers without attempting torture even once. Man was in and out in like two minutes.

[dee-the-red-witch]

SPOOKY SEASON PINNED

Because who knows if I'll have time to update this thing in October.

Hi. I'm Denice. Normally there'd be a big spiel about how I'm a 40-something year old trans lesbian who does a fuck of a lot of stuff. Or the books I have coming out later this year. Or the leather, tattoos, etc. That said, this isn't the time, because I'm stuck in the middle of what I'm calling

OPERATION GTFO

I'm getting my ass out of a relationship and household that went from tense and neglectful over the last ten years to toxic and abusive in the last two. And I need help doing it. And it's all on a freaking doomsday clock because the lease here ends at the end of this month, and so help me, I'm not signing another under these conditions. And of course, to make things more complicated, I have my gcs and ffs surgeries coming up at the end of november. So I have to have all this settled by then. Real Final Girl Transition moments here, and so help me, if I have to, I'm crawling out of the house by the end. So, yeah, needing help. I need to get an apartment, probably secure it by prepaying a few month's extra rent (because my credit got fucked with my legal transition and my rental history got fucked by my ex) , and get my hands on shit like basic furniture, because right now if I moved tomorrow, I'd be sleeping on a couple of floor blankets in the new place. All of which means money and a lot of it. I know I posted about this earlier, but, well, new month. Right now, I'm at about 550 of what needs to be 5-8 thousand. And seriously anything helps here. You can donate at http://paypal.me/tormentedartifacts

Or if you want to get something awesome in return (THAT WILL LIKELY NOT BE SHIPPING UNTIL AFTER JANUARY), there's http://tormentedartifacts.com

If you want to just donate on the gender surgery side of things, there's also my gfm: https://www.gofundme.com/f/dees-gender-confirmation-surgery-fund

But if you can donate anything on any end of this, even if it's just a few bucks, it helps a lot. It gets me thorough this. It gets me to a place where I can heal from all this. Where I won't be needing help so freaking much. I just need to get out, first.

And reblogging and sharing this everywhere you can ALSO helps a ton, so please, do that too.

[mellowwillowy]

I raise you counter cannibalism scenario: the overblot squads are the cannibals their prey is immortal!MC. Like lets say that MC is cursed so that nothing but old age can kill them, so they have an extreme healing factor. Cue yandere cannibal OB squad constantly taking chunks out of them.

(I almost write Kalim as the OB and realized it's Jamil ffs)

I think both Azul and Idia would be crying as they eat you literally, Azul's tentacles soothing you down from every angle while he kisses your wound after he takes a chunk of your meat with ink spluttering all over you. Idia on the other hand keeps on feeling his sharp teeth out of guilt as he sobs after gaining some clarity. He couldn't contain his hunger so please forgive him okay?

Riddle and Vil would always ask for your reassurances selfishly as they gnawed on your flesh, they tried their best to suppress their guilt just like how they suppress their hunger but as you can see, they failed.

Vil is kind enough to make sure you look presentable after all this mess despite his inner mind being a mess himself while Riddle is already hit by clarity and can't stop hurting himself mentally and physically.

Leona and Jamil would be pretty unapologetic and even went as far as to berate you if you look down. Sure they loved you but that didn't mean they must suppress their hunger because you were being selfish. Even without Jamil's snake charmer, his tongue was already skilled in lulling you deeper into the idea of you being selfish while Leona was cunning enough to make you feel worthless with each word he spat.

Nb: Jamil's aftercare is as good as Vil's

Malleus would try his best to not eat you no matter what, even went as far as to eat himself only to hate every bit of its taste and hurt himself more. He was different until he wasn't. A starving dragon consuming the largest portion of your body which was your whole arm in one go after he tried his best by clawing at his own arms.

Verdict: Stay away from Leona, Jamil and Malleus

[gunsandspaceships]

Chiron

"Kheiron's name was derived from the Greek word for hand (kheir) and meant something like "skilled with the hands." In myth it was also closely associated with the word kheirourgos "surgeon."" (Source)

Fragment from "The seven physicians"

"Wisest and justest of all the centaurs" immortal Chiron, mentor of heroes. He invented pharmacy, medicine and surgery and taught Asclepius, the god of medicine, himself.

He lived in a cave on Mount Pelion until he was driven out of his home.

Statius, Silvae 1. 4. 98 "If there be any herb [to cure this illness] in twy-formed Chiron's health-giving cave."

Pindar, Nemean Ode 4. 55 ff "Then [Akastos] sought Pelias' son [Peleus], stealing his sword, the blade of Daidalos' (Daedalus') magic, to contrive his death by ambush; saved by Kheiron's (Chiron's) hand, the fate destined by Zeus he made his own."

Ho Yinsen, an Afghan surgeon, saved Tony in a cave using his innovative surgical methods after Tony was betrayed by Obadiah Stane, who stole his weapon and ordered the "wild centaurs" to kill him from an ambush in the mountains.

Propertius, Elegies 2. 1 "Medicine can cure all human pains . . . Chiron, son of Phillyra, healed the blindness of Phoenix."

Ho and the Ten Rings "healed the blindness of Phoenix" Tony by showing him what was really going on with his creations and that he couldn't trust the people in his company. Yinsen also helped Tony see his true self.

Statius, Achilleid 2. 96 ff "Also did he teach me of juices and the grasses that succour disease, what remedy will staunch to fast a flow of blood, what will lull to sleep, what will close gaping wounds; what plague should be checked with a knife, what will yield to herbs; and he implanted deep within my heart the precepts of divine justice".

"Chiron holding Achilles"

Chiron was wounded by a poisoned arrow while visiting the cave of the centaur Pholus. Even though Chiron was a master of medicine and healing, he could not heal himself from the poison and suffered excruciating pain for several days. He wanted to give up his immortality and die to stop the pain.

Chiron went to Zeus and offered to exchange his life for the life and freedom of Prometheus.

He died willingly so that Prometheus could go on living and continue his mission of teaching humankind and bringing it science and technology.

"Chiron sacrifices himself for Prometheus"

Gifs by @thepunisher

[make1wish]

sequal of Sylus: Bloodnight Blaze

Dragon Sylus x Fem! Reader

TW: noncon, blood, NSFW 🔞

*setting: I (a female) was condemned as a witch by the masses and sentenced to death. To survive, I made a deal with Sylus - I would free him from human imprisonment, and in return, he would save my life. A unique bond formed between us. I have a stubborn and competitive personality, and I dare to challenge authority.

Hey guys! It’s my first time writing a fanfic about Sylus, hope you enjoy! :3

The ancient cave's crystalline walls caught the dim light, casting ethereal shadows across its vast expanse. Precious gems embedded in the rock face sparkled like countless stars, their light dancing off pools of clear water that dotted the cavern floor. The air was thick with an otherworldly warmth, a reminder of the dragon's presence that usually filled this space.

I paced anxiously near the cave's entrance, my footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Every few moments, my eyes darted to the cave's mouth, searching for any sign of Sylus's return. The magical crystals I'd prepared for healing lay carefully arranged on a smooth stone surface, their soft blue glow pulsing gently in the semi-darkness.

The sudden rush of wind announced his arrival before I saw him. Sylus's massive form blocked the cave entrance, his white hair gleaming like freshly fallen snow against the darkness. But something was wrong. His usually proud posture was slightly hunched, and dark liquid - blood - trickled down his armor, staining the ruby embedded in his chest plate.

"You're hurt," I whispered, my voice carrying more concern than I'd intended. My feet moved of their own accord, closing the distance between us.

Sylus's blood-red eyes fixed upon me, intense and unblinking. Despite his wounds, his presence remained commanding, filling the cavern with an almost palpable energy. "Your concern is... touching," he murmured, his deep voice resonating through my body. A slight smirk played across his lips, even as he winced from pain.

I reached toward one of his wounds, but hesitated, my hand hovering inches from his skin. The heat radiating from his body made my fingers tingle. His scales caught the crystal light, creating mesmerizing patterns that drew my gaze along his muscular form.

"Don't tell me you're suddenly shy," Sylus teased, catching my wrist in his large hand. His grip was gentle but firm, and he guided my palm to rest against his chest, just beside the glowing ruby. His scales were smooth and warm beneath my touch, and I could feel his heart beating steadily under my fingers.

"I saved your life once," he reminded me, his thumb tracing small circles on my wrist. "Surely you can return the favor?" His voice dropped lower, taking on a honeyed quality that made my breath catch. The way he looked at me - predatory yet tender - sent shivers down my spine.

My other hand reached for the healing crystals, but Sylus didn't release his hold on my wrist. Instead, he pulled me closer, until I could feel his breath ghosting across my face. The scent of smoke and something uniquely him filled my senses, making it difficult to focus on the task at hand.

The warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips sent waves of electricity through my body. I tried to focus on the healing crystals, but Sylus's presence was overwhelming, his massive form towering over me as I worked. Each brush of my fingers against his scales drew a subtle reaction - a sharp intake of breath, a slight tensing of his muscles.

"Your touch is... different today," he murmured, his deep voice rumbling through the cave. I kept my eyes fixed on the wound I was treating, refusing to acknowledge the heat rising in my cheeks. The dragon's words carried a weight that made my heart race, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my composure crack.

"Hold still," I commanded, surprising myself with my boldness. A low chuckle resonated from his chest, and I felt rather than saw his amused smile. His hand came to rest on my waist, the touch seemingly casual but deliberately placed.

"Giving orders to a dragon?" His words carried a dangerous edge, but his grip remained gentle. "Have you forgotten who saved whom?" The ruby in his chest plate pulsed with a deeper red, matching the intensity in his eyes.

I pressed the healing crystal harder against his wound, drawing a sharp hiss from him. "And have you forgotten who freed you from your chains?" My defiance was met with a growl that should have terrified me, but instead sent shivers down my spine.

Sylus's other hand caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I forget nothing," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Every detail of our contract is seared into my memory." His thumb traced my lower lip, the gesture both threatening and tender.

The healing crystal slipped from my trembling fingers, but before it could fall, Sylus caught it with inhuman speed. His movement brought us even closer, his armor pressing against my chest. The cave seemed to grow warmer, the air thick with tension.

"Your heart is racing," he observed, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "Are you afraid of me, little witch?" His hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me firmly against him.

"No," I answered truthfully, though my voice wavered. My hands rested against his chest, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The wounds I was supposed to be healing seemed forgotten as his scales shimpered beneath my palms.

His grip tightened possessively, and he leaned down until his breath ghosted across my ear. "Perhaps you should be," he whispered, his words carrying a promise that made my knees weak.

His whispered threat sent shivers down my spine as his warm breath caressed my ear. Without warning, his lips brushed against my neck, drawing a soft gasp from my throat. His scales were surprisingly smooth against my skin as his hands traced up my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Let me show you what a dragon's touch can do," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant. His clawed fingers carefully undid the clasps of my robe, each movement deliberate and controlled. The cave's warmth seemed to intensify, matching the heat building between us.

I couldn't help but arch into his touch as his hands explored my newly exposed skin. The ruby in his chest plate pulsed with a deep crimson glow, matching the rhythm of our racing hearts. His touch was both gentle and possessive, each caress claiming me as his own.

His lips found mine in a searing kiss, stealing my breath away. The taste of smoke and something uniquely him filled my senses. My fingers tangled in his white hair, pulling him closer as his scaled hands mapped every curve of my body.

The healing crystals lay forgotten on the cave floor, their soft blue light mixing with the ruby's red glow to cast purple shadows across our intertwined forms. Each touch, each kiss, built the tension between us higher, transforming our contract into something far more primal and intense.

His lips were scorching, whispering into my ear, "Let me show you how dragons mark their possessions." His fingers gently traced my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Those golden eyes shimmered with a dangerous yet captivating light, as if to devour me whole…

(For the smutty follow-up content, plz go to Wattpad! Love y’all :p

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

JJK FF/ ROYAL GUARD

CHAPTER ELEVEN | SERIES

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

Ch. 11

When you keep bumping into your personal royal guard by accident not knowing he is your guardian angel

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook!fallen angel!royal guard! × fem!reader!virgin!princess 

Word count: 3k

Rating: 18+ smut

Genre + warnings: Fluff, smut, dirty talk, crying, tears of happiness, lap straddling, a lot of pussy fingering, biting, nipple play, Jungkook groans a lot, full nakedness, big dick!jk, a little bit of rough French, neck kissing, hard orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys :D) - she probably pregnant by the time he is done with her - upss - also mentions of marriage, paranormal romance, historical fanfiction, Kook being cold and mysterious, being his sexy self. Caring and possessive!jk! Really horny towards his princess, being a big seductive tease. A lot of swearing, cursing and a little bit of crying. The story isn’t real, just my imagination running wild so just enjoy reading!

Still waiting in Jungkook’s chambers, you nervously fidgeted, your fingers picking up stray pieces of your dress whenever your leg bounced up and down, unable to calm yourself.

This couldn’t keep happening!

Everytime you think about what happened in the forest, it makes you tremble with fear. Your palms feel sweaty and your heart is beating loudly.

What if something happened to him?!

What if they caught him?! If anything were to happen to him...

You shook your head violently.

Stop thinking like this!

Taking a deep breath, you sat straight in the chair, crossing your legs and resting your hands on your lap, trying your best to control your breathing.

Just then, the door opened revealing a servant, the lovely octopus Moe, bringing in another tray of food.

“My lady, you need to eat something. You can’t go on like this,” he said softly, afraid that he overstepped his boundaries,” The king will be back soon, don’t worry.”

You smiled at him, “ Thanks but I’m not hungry,” trying to convince him otherwise, your stomach decided to complain with a grumbling sound loud enough for him to hear and you blush with embarrassment, not believing yourself for making those kind of sounds.

He tries to hide his surprise with a polite bow and leaves the room when he finishes setting up your late dinner since it was really late, the darkness outside having already started to cover the entire castle.

A couple minutes pass by when suddenly, the door opens with a bang which caused you to jump in your seat. A familiar man enters the room.

His whole armor was covered in blood, his wings torn in some places with dried blood on them. The sight makes you gasp when he steps into the room, the door closing behind him with a bang in the same way how it was opened.

Throwing the sword on the carpet, he doesn’t even notice you sitting there by the window when he removes his face mask, revealing his beautiful face full of bruises and wounds, the right eye already forming a blue bruise on his left cheek.

A sob escapes your mouth, tears streaming down your face as you stand from your seat and hurry to him.

Grabbing his wrist, you run your fingers lightly along the purple mark that now appeared on his skin.

“Why are you here so late? Did you get attacked? Who did that?!” You asked frantically, not knowing how he even got injured like this.

Do magic beings even heal faster like from the myths?

Jungkook looks at you in surprise for a second before his expression melts into concern when he notices your teary eyes.

“Darling, please don’t cry. Everything is fine.” He says reassuringly.

Relieved, you put both of your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, not caring whether or not you dirty your dress with his blood.

“I need to shower . You know I can’t stay with you smelling like blood,” he whispers, his warm breath hitting the side of your cheek as his chin rests on top of your head.

You nod, tightening your hold on him.

“Okay. But make sure to be careful. You can slip in there if it’s too slippery,” you warn him seriously and your words makes him smile at you, looking at you like you’re some wonder of the world.

“I will be extra careful and If I slip, I will call you,” he smirks with a teasing note in his promise to which you laugh and hit him gently.

“Stop making fun of me. I was worried about you when you went to fight vampires again. I thought that I will never see you again,” You said truthfully.

The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly in response, showing that he understood your meaning.

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” He says, caressing your cheeks with the tips of his fingers.

Then without saying another word, he walks to the wardrobe and takes out his clothes before leaving again.

Since he went to shower, you decided to clean yourself too since your dress had bloodstains. Taking the change of clothes, you went to the other bathroom , washing yourself as fast as possible.

Once you were done, you quickly dressed in your nightgown and walked to the bed where you lay down, staring into space, your thoughts still filled with worry.

The image of him fighting in the battlefield flashed through your mind again making you shiver uncontrollably. Why did you insist on going outside the castle if there’s danger?

With a tired sigh, you feel hot inside. Fanning yourself, you go to the big window with the balcony doors and open them wide, letting the fresh air enter the room, allowing your mind to be free of any doubts.

Trying to relax, you closed your eyes, trying to clear your mind. The last thing you wanted was to dwell on what happened earlier in the day.

After a while, you hear the bathroom door open and close softly. Not opening your eyes, your heart rate started to rise when you heard his footsteps approaching you.

He moved like a silent panther with soundless steps as it wasn’t him moving at all.

Feeling him behind you, Jungkook wraps his arms around you to nuzzle your neck.

“I missed you, princess,” he purrs, nuzzling your neck affectionately, pressing kisses against the spot between your shoulder and neck.

You hum softly in return, letting your eyes flutter shut and leaning into his embrace, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body and the smell of his cologne and fresh scent enveloping you.

“I heard that you were a bad girl for me while I was away,” he murmurs, nosing the shell of your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His breath sends chills down your spine but he didn’t seem to mind at all as his lips brushed against your earlobe gently.

"It's my duty as your future husband and your king to punish my princess whenever she does something wrong," he adds huskily.

You feel confused,” What are you talking about?”

You feel him smiling against your neck,” You didn’t eat anything , so your body needs time to recuperate. I ordered Moe to bring you some food and a glass of wine and you haven't touched it,” he explains softly, rubbing circles on your back with one hand, the other hand resting gently on your hip.

You flush in embarrassment as you realize that he caught you. "I'm sorry."

"Don’t apologise. It’s perfectly normal to miss someone while you’re away,” he replies, his thumb brushing across the curve of your waist.

Your eyes widen as you turn around in his arms, your face only inches from his.

His eyes are blazing when he looks at you and the longer he holds eye contact, the faster you let your own drop down at your feet, too shy to see his intense stare directed at you.

“Now,now. Don’t be shy now, darling. I don’t bite,” he coos softly.

There is irony in those words because you both know that you have been bitten by him before so this sentence was necessary.

When you look up again, you lock your gaze on his black eyes, seeing his pupils dilate and his eyebrows drawn together with a sexy smirk on his lips.

Suddenly, his hands are grabbing yours, pulling you closer, his hot breathe tickling your face, forcing you to tilt your head upwards so he could kiss you more deeply.

Your hands automatically move up to his hair, holding onto him securely as he deepens the kiss; his tongue slipping past your parted lips and exploring the inside of your mouth.

Suddenly, he breaks off the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, still not breaking your stare.

“Are you still sore?” he mumbles quietly and you shake your head, trying not to giggle at his question, you were more than eager to feel him in you again.

Your hands roam through the soft locks of hair on the back of his head, slowly pulling him down until he connects his lips with yours again, kissing you passionately, his tongue invading your senses. His hands roam the rest of your body, leaving heated trails everywhere they touch.

His lips trail down to your jawline, grazing his tongue over it teasingly before biting the delicate flesh there. Making you moan in pleasure, you grab handfuls of his hair, tugging playfully.

His mouth moves from your jaw to your collarbone, sucking hard as he bites your skin once again, licking the area tenderly before moving his mouth further, finding the perfect place to leave a wet hickey under your collarbone.

Panting, he lifts himself from your body, giving you no choice but to open your eyes to look at his beautiful face as your eyes traveled down to his bare chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers with a sad little smile as he looks straight into your eyes.

Your heart clenches painfully as you take in his state.

“What do you mean?” You ask confused.

He shakes his head,” I have blood on my hands and you still let me touch you. If I wouldn’t be the king or your guardian angel, we would never be this close. You would never have been mine in the first place,” He says brokenly.

Your eyes welled up with tears at his confession as you couldn’t believe what you just heard. You knew how he feels towards you and it kills you to see him like this because you love him.

Tears roll down from your cheeks as you wrap your arms around his neck, your eyes locked with his.

“But you are my king, my guardian angel, my guard, my everything. And as long as I have you, nothing else matters. That includes blood and death and being forced to watch you kill anybody who threatens us or our family. We need to protect them and knowing that you try to protect me despite facing danger, that’s enough reason to marry you,” you confess with a small sob, burying your face into his neck.

He lets out a chuckle in disbelief, pulling you even closer to him.

“I’m glad you see it that way because I can’t wait to make you mine and you to finally be mine forever,” he replies happily as he pulls your face back to look at him.

Lifting a finger to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks with such tender care, you smile at him.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you. You’re perfect man to be my husband,” you say lovingly.

Jungkook’s expression from warm to serious,” You make me do things to you if you keep saying these kind of sweet words , Y/N. How am I supposed to resist you now?”

You laugh at that and lean forward to press your lips to his as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

Before you can stop him, his hands lift you by the waist and he carries you onto the mattress, settling you in his lap, one of his hands traveling down to your leg while the other is holding you firmly around your waist.

Your eyes open wide in surprise at the sudden move and you feel him grinning at you wickedly before placing his lips against your neck again.

Your legs automatically wrapped themselves around his torso, pulling him closer to you.

Your eyes fall shut tightly, overwhelmed by his loving touches and his soft kisses on your skin. You couldn’t help but melt under his ministrations.

“My queen, look at me,” he says quietly as he kisses your neck again.

Slowly opening your eyes, you find him gazing right at you with love filled eyes,” Look at me when I speak to you. You belong only to me and nobody else. Only me,” he declares.

Tears form in your eyes as you blink at him, feeling overwhelmed by his passionate declaration. You nod silently with tears filling your eyes.

His lips brush against your cheek softly as he brushes his thumbs on your tears, “I’ll shower you with affection everyday if it means that you don’t cry anymore.”

You let out a small laugh,” It’s tears of joy that will make me cry. I won’t stop crying. Because I’ve already cried enough times tonight alone,” you tease him slightly.

“No. No more tears. Not after tonight. You won’t get rid of me that easily,” he states, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Leaning down, your gown’s right strap falls of your shoulder to reveal your pale flesh and even further when your breast is revealed completely. Your blush darkens and you bury your face in his neck.

His sharp breath makes you moan when he gets a clear sight of your bare nipple. Kissing your neck, his tongue hits your sensitive spot as he sucks your hardened tip lightly, making your knees weak and hands clutching on his hair.

You whimper softly, letting out small noises of pleasure as his lips travel lower down your body.

‘God, what is he doing?’ you think to yourself, your breathing growing heavier with every passing second.

Before you can question him, he slides your gown up your thighs till your bare pussy is exposed to his hungry eyes.

“Jungkook-!” you exclaim breathlessly, your whole body tensing up with nerves and anticipation, anticipating his next move.

“Shhh, don’t talk. I haven't stopped looking at you,” he murmurs huskily before lowering his face towards you.

Kissing you on the lips, he traces a path with his finger to your entrance. You let out a gasp and he immediately takes control, thrusting in two fingers. The burning sensation shoots straight to your clit making you arch your body upward, making him groan loudly against your ear.

“Breathe. Just breathe for me baby girl,” he breathes out harshly as he continues to finger fuck you slowly but steadily.

You can’t help but to whimper as his fingers are moving slowly inside of you, driving you crazy.

His tongue then slips inside your mouth, his fingers still moving inside you, causing you to let out another low moan as his mouth covers yours aggressively, thrusting inside of you relentlessly.

Bucking your hips against his lap, you felt his erection pulsing under your ass beneath that towel. Since he was in the shower, he didn’t put on any clothes on.

Moaning from the pleasure, you could only hold on, almost to the point of pain, not knowing how long will you last.

“Jungkook, Oh, Jungkook,” you pant against his lips and then your guard lost it, seeing you so close to orgasm.

Ripping the towel off his body, there was a second of silence, only your harsh breathing was heard in the room when he

enters you roughly. Your eyes flutter closed in shock before opening back up when you realize how deep he was.

The sound of air hitting your ears was the only thing you could hear as he began thrusting slowly into you, stretching you in all ways possible. The feeling of his thick muscles squeezing around your insides sent waves of arousal shooting through you and soon you were moaning into his lips as his thrusts became harder and harder.

You were coming apart at his touch. Your toes curled in pleasure as your body shook in his hold, your nails digging in to his shoulders as you came undone.

Jungkook moans loudly as he watched you come undone in front of him. His own orgasm was approaching quickly too.

Enveloping you with his wings, you see only darkness with his eyes glowing white,” Oh, my God! Oh, god, oh, god..! Yes! Fuck!” You scream out loud, feeling his hard cock hit the spot in you where you needed him most. As you start to tremble with pleasure once again, your eyes widen realizing that you couldn’t take a break,” Oh, yes, yes…” you don’t know how you even lived without this feeling before but you can’t stop thinking about him being here, now, with you, giving you pleasure like nothing you had ever experienced before.

Jungkook was beyond thrilled at the sight of you. Every time you came undone at him it was the best feeling in the world.

Taking your throat, he hits the spot deeper when your eyes roll back and you almost pass out.

“Fuck!” He growls, not even stopping when he finds his own realise.

There’s so much seed that you feel it spilling on both of you which causes your vision to blur for a moment. A small gasp escapes your throat as you come undone yet again, making you moan in pleasure.

After you finally finish your climax and your walls start feel sore, you slowly sit up on his lap, your hand on his chest.

Jungkook watches you intently, his gaze so hazy with lust and love, it’s almost scary to see him looking at you like that.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest.

“I will arrange a priest to come to the castle tomorrow,” he murmurs against your ear.

“For what?” you ask, not understanding his purpose.

“To marry you, of course. I want you to be mine forever,” he answers and his voice sounds rough and strained, like he has been running for miles.

From his words, your walls clench around his cock and he groans, burying his head in your neck,” You like that, baby? Knowing that you will be my wife,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

Licking your wet skin, he lets his teeth nip softly at your exposed shoulder and you let out a soft moan as goosebumps cover your entire body.

“Yes.” You whisper in return, tightening your grip on his muscular shoulders and pressing yourself to him,” I would like that very much.”

“Then it's settled. We shall get married as soon as possible,” he mutters into your ear.

You smile happily before leaning closer and placing a quick kiss on his jaw,” Okay, husband.” But not before you bumped your nose against his.

Your guardian angel only smirked," We really need to stop bumping into each other."

Be continued…

p.s. All images and gifs are not mine, some of the edits are mine edited but not every picture. All the credit goes to their rightful owners

DO NOT REPOST THIS WORK AS YOUR OWN BECAUSE THIS IS THE ORIGINAL OWNER’S STORY

If you like, please reblog or like the post so I can post the next chapters :)

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[novaursa]

The Blood We Choose

- Summary: Gwayne brings you to Dragonstone, to your sister. But it is Daemon who awaits you both.

- Pairing: Gwanye Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after Where Banners Fall. If you want to read parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 4 356

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The scent of salt and brine clings to the air, sharp against the faint undertones of decay and blood—a constant reminder of the battle left behind at Rook’s Rest. You can still feel the memory of fire scorching your skin, the cries of Silverwing echoing in your ears as she fell from the sky, taking you with her. 

Your body aches, every breath a laborious effort as you sit propped against the rough-hewn wall of the small cottage. The village is a quiet one, nestled by the coast, far from the eyes of any lords or soldiers. A place where neither banners nor blood oaths hold sway. Here, you can pretend, for a brief moment, that the world is not consumed by war.

But it’s a fleeting delusion. The searing pain that courses through your side is a constant reminder of how close you came to death. Silverwing’s warmth had shielded you as much as she could, but nothing could stop the might of Vhagar. You know that if it weren’t for Gwayne, you would have perished alongside your dragon, your body left among the ruins.

Gwayne Hightower. His name lingers on your tongue, filled with both bitterness and something else you dare not name. He betrayed his own for you—forsook his House, his loyalties, everything that defined him as a knight of the Greens. For you. The memory of his desperate voice calling your name as he found you below Silverwing’s wing is fresh, a rare vulnerability exposed beneath his normally composed demeanor.

“Y/N,” Gwayne’s voice, low and rough, breaks through the silence of the small room. You look up, meeting his gaze from across the dim space. He’s seated near the hearth, his own wounds not fully healed, a dark bruise blooming along his jawline and his side still tightly bound. 

“What is it?” you rasp, wincing as the movement strains your ribs.

“You should eat more.” He gestures to a small bowl of fish stew beside you. The smell is unappetizing, but you know he’s right. You need strength if you’re to survive this war, if you’re to return to Dragonstone—to your family.

You give a small, reluctant nod, dipping the spoon into the lukewarm broth. The taste is bland, the texture thick in your mouth, but it’s enough to soothe the gnawing hunger in your belly.

“Daemon’s been searching,” Gwayne says after a moment, voice hesitant. “Caraxes was seen flying from Harrenhal. He’ll come for you.”

There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his tone, a tinge of possessiveness that makes your chest tighten. Daemon. Your husband. Your son’s surrogate father. You hadn’t told Gwayne about the child until that morning when pain had stripped away all pretense and left only raw confessions in the dark. It was the first time you saw something break in his eyes, something beyond duty or loyalty. Gwayne is a man forged in duty, yet in that moment, his loyalty had been to you, and only you.

The silence stretches between you both, heavy with unsaid words, unshed tears, and the tangled web of emotion that neither of you are willing to fully confront. How could you? You were always meant to be Rhaenyra’s little sister, the one whose role was to support, never to lead. Yet here you are, a thread woven into a tapestry that binds you to two men who could tear each other and you apart.

“If Daemon finds us…” Gwayne starts, his voice trailing off.

You lower the spoon, your hand trembling slightly. “You’ll run.” It’s not a question. You know what will happen if Daemon catches Gwayne with you, the traitor Hightower who saved his wife instead of leaving her to her fate. Daemon would kill him without hesitation.

His jaw clenches, eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and resolve. “And leave you alone? I think not.”

You shift, ignoring the pain lancing through your body. “This was never supposed to happen,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. You close your eyes, picturing Silverwing’s brilliant wings and the sight of Dragonstone on the horizon—your home. You ache to be back there, where the sea winds carried the scent of salt and freedom, where you could be Y/N Targaryen again instead of a broken remnant.

Gwayne’s presence is a steady warmth in the room, a contrast to the cold reality of the war raging beyond these walls. You want to hate him for making you feel something other than loyalty to Daemon all these years, but you can’t. Not after he’s saved you, cared for you, and stayed by your side despite the danger. Even now, with your heart and mind divided, you know that whatever he feels—duty, love, or perhaps something in between—it is real. And it terrifies you as much as it comforts you.

“Why did you do it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering. “Because I couldn't let you die.”

Your breath catches. The simplicity of his answer is profound. No grand declarations, no lofty promises, just the brutal, honest truth.

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel outside the cottage makes you tense. Both of you are on edge, the brief sense of peace shattering like glass. Gwayne moves instinctively toward the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

It’s only the fisherman, his weathered face peeking through the gap in the door. “Tomorrow,” he says quietly. “The boat’ll be ready at dawn. The tides’ll be with us.”

You nod in gratitude, relief mingled with apprehension. Dragonstone is so close now, but you know the return will be fraught with more dangers than those you’ve already faced. 

As the fisherman retreats, Gwayne turns back to you. “We’ll get you home,” he promises, though there’s an edge to his voice that betrays his own uncertainty. 

Home. But what awaits you there? Daemon’s wrath? Your sister’s grief? And what of your son—your son whom you’ve not seen in so long, raised by a Targaryen father who knows nothing of the man who just saved his mother’s life?

For now, you can only rest, listening to the steady rhythm of Gwayne’s breathing across the room as you both try to find sleep in this fleeting calm before the storm resumes. You close your eyes, letting yourself drift, even as a part of you dreads what dawn will bring.

The sky above Dragonstone is dark, heavy clouds gathering as if reflecting the storm brewing within the walls of the ancient castle. The great red dragon, Caraxes, lands with a furious roar, shaking the stones beneath his claws. Daemon slides from the saddle, his face twisted in rage, eyes burning like molten steel. Every step he takes towards the Great Hall is filled with barely-contained fury, the kind that simmers just below the surface and waits for the slightest spark to ignite into violence.

He bursts into the hall, his armor still stained with ash and soot from his fruitless search. Rhaenyra stands by the fire, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though seeking warmth. She turns as Daemon strides in, but before she can say a word, his voice cuts through the silence, sharp as Valyrian steel.

“You sent her to Rook’s Rest? You sent her?” His words are laced with venom, each one a dagger aimed directly at her heart.

Rhaenyra flinches, but she holds her ground, lifting her chin defiantly. “She volunteered, Daemon! She insisted. It was her choice.”

“Her choice?” he spits back, stepping closer, his anger radiating from him like heat from a forge. “She’s no warrior, not like Rhaenys! You sent her to die, Rhaenyra! To die at the hands of Aemond and that wretched beast of his!”

Rhaenyra’s composure cracks then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I trusted her! She’s my sister—our blood! I thought… I thought Silverwing—”

“Silverwing is dead!” Daemon’s voice thunders through the hall, a raw, agonized sound. “She fell, trying to protect her rider from Vhagar and Sunfyre. And Y/N? She’s gone, Rhaenyra. Taken by Gwayne Hightower. A Hightower! You might as well have killed her yourself.”

At that, Rhaenyra’s tears break free, streaking down her pale cheeks. “I never wanted this! I would never—”

“Spare me your tears,” Daemon snarls, his eyes narrowing in cold fury. “You speak of choices, yet you chose war over your sister. You sent her out to face death while you remained safe in your castle, protected by your crown. Do you know what it’s like to watch the skies, knowing that the one person who never turned her back on you is likely lying dead, or worse, in the hands of our enemies?”

Rhaenyra’s sobs wrack her slender frame, but Daemon is relentless. He steps closer, so near that he could reach out and touch her, but his hands remain clenched at his sides. “You sacrificed her for a battle that did nothing but weaken us. Aegon still holds King’s Landing. Silverwing is dead, Luke is gone, and now Y/N… she was the last thread of innocence left in this gods-forsaken war, and you ripped it apart.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head desperately. “I thought—Daemon, I thought she could reach them. Convince them to surrender before more blood was spilled. She believed in it too.”

“And now she’s paying for that belief with her life,” Daemon hisses. “Do you understand? Her life, her blood. And for what? Nothing.”

The hall falls silent, the air thick with tension, with grief and fury that neither of them can fully articulate. For a moment, Rhaenyra looks utterly lost, her shoulders sagging under the weight of all the loss that surrounds her. “What am I supposed to do, Daemon? Tell me. What can I do now?”

Before he can respond, a new voice cuts into the fray, youthful but tinged with urgency. “What’s happening? Where is my mother?”

Daemon stiffens, turning slowly to face the boy who has entered the hall. He’s just shy of manhood, tall and lean with the unmistakable features of House Targaryen—silver-gold hair, sharp cheekbones, and the stubborn fire in his gaze. But his eyes, those striking eyes of clear blue, are not Targaryen at all. They are Gwayne Hightower’s, and they haunt Daemon every time he looks at the boy.

The boy’s name is Vaeron, the son raised by Daemon as his own, the boy who never knew the truth of his parentage. Vaeron looks between his father and his aunt, sensing the tension, the raw pain in the air.

“Where is she?” Vaeron’s voice trembles now, the bravado slipping. “Where is my mother?”

Daemon’s expression softens, if only by a fraction. He crosses the distance to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Your mother was ambushed at Rook’s Rest,” he says, each word carefully measured, as if they’re knives he’s forcing down his throat. “Aemond and his dragons brought her down. Silverwing is dead.”

Vaeron’s eyes widen, disbelief and horror written across his face. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head as if denying the truth will somehow change it. “She can’t be dead. Mother can’t be—”

“She’s not dead, not yet,” Daemon cuts in, his voice harsh. “But she’s missing, taken by Gwayne Hightower. And I’ll find her, Vaeron. We’ll find her together.”

The boy’s gaze sharpens, anger and grief mixing with determination. “I’ll go with you,” he says, the words coming out more like a plea than a declaration.

Daemon nods, the cold steel of his resolve hardening. “You’ll mount your dragon, and we’ll take to the skies. We’ll search every inch of the realm if we have to.”

Vaeron swallows hard, the weight of what’s being asked of him sinking in. He’s still so young, yet there’s no more room for youth in this war. He nods, determination etched across his face. “For her. For my mother.”

Daemon’s grip on his son’s shoulder tightens for a moment, the only hint of the fierce protectiveness he feels beneath the layers of rage. “For her,” he agrees.

As they turn to leave, Rhaenyra reaches out, her voice breaking. “Daemon… please… I’m sorry…”

Daemon doesn’t look back. “You can’t afford to be sorry, Rhaenyra. Not now. Not ever.”

The boy’s eyes meet Rhaenyra’s for a moment before he turns away, following his father out into the cold winds of Dragonstone. They leave her behind, standing alone in the dim light of the hall, tears streaming down her face, a queen weighed down by guilt and grief.

The dragons will soon take flight again, this time driven by fury, by a father’s desperation and a son’s determination. And neither Daemon nor Vaeron will rest until they bring her back—no matter the cost, no matter the blood they must spill.

The small fishing boat creaks under the weight of the sea’s relentless pull, the salt spray clinging to your face as the wind howls around you. Each dip and rise of the vessel feels precarious, the threat of capsizing ever-present. You cling to the rough wooden edge, your body still weak and aching from your injuries, but your eyes remain fixed on the silhouette of Dragonstone on the horizon. The ancient fortress looms like a jagged tooth against the darkening sky, its towers piercing the clouds.

Gwayne stands beside you, his gaze scanning the skies as if expecting danger at any moment. His face is shadowed, exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, but there’s a tension there too—an unspoken fear that you both share.

The fisherman grumbles curses under his breath as he wrestles with the sails. He’s an old man, his hands gnarled from years at sea, but his sharp eyes occasionally flicker toward you, a mixture of recognition and pity in his gaze. “Prince Daemon’s got the skies set ablaze with his searching,” he mutters, his voice rough like gravel. “And now that boy of his—Merothrax near sunk me last time they flew overhead.”

As if on cue, the air vibrates with the distant sound of wings, a deep thrumming that sends shivers down your spine. You glance upward and catch sight of them—two dragons cutting through the sky like living shadows. Caraxes, with his serpentine neck and blood-red scales, moves with a terrifying grace, his roar echoing across the waves. Beside him is Merothrax, Vaeron’s dragon. Sleek and deadly, the young dragon’s scales are a deep, shimmering indigo, laced with streaks of silver that catch the light when he dives. His wings are larger than one would expect for a dragon of his age, giving him a natural agility in the air. His eyes, a piercing shade of gold, scan the sea below, hungry and watchful.

The boat rocks violently as Merothrax swoops low, his wings stirring the water into frothy waves. The fisherman shouts a stream of curses at the sky, clutching at his hat as the gust from the dragon’s wings nearly tears it from his head. “Damn Targaryens, more fire and madness in them than sense!”

Gwayne’s hand is suddenly on your arm, steadying you as the boat pitches. “They’re looking for us,” he says grimly. “Daemon won’t stop until he finds you.”

“Or finds you with me,” you say, your voice quieter than you intend. There’s a deep tension in your chest, not just from the pain but from the knowledge that each moment brings you closer to facing the storm you left behind. 

Gwayne doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, lost in thoughts he hasn’t voiced since you confessed your secrets that day—secrets you had buried for too long. The memory of that confession hangs between you both, a reminder of how fragile this moment of safety is.

“You’re thinking of Vaeron,” Gwayne says softly, finally breaking the silence. “Of what happens when he sees me.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightening. “He’s never known who you really are. Daemon raised him, taught him to ride, to fight. Vaeron idolizes him… but he deserves to know the truth.”

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, and his hand drops away from your arm. “I knew of the boy. Rumors reached me—stories of the bastard prince raised by the Rogue himself. But I never… I never thought he’d…” His voice cracks at the end, and you hear the quiet grief in his words. The grief of a father who never had the chance to be a father. 

You turn to him, your heart aching for what you’re about to say. “He’s yours, Gwayne. He always has been.” The admission is heavy, laden with all the years you’ve kept the truth locked away. “Daemon knew from the start. He saw it in Vaeron, even before the boy could speak. But he accepted him anyway, for my sake, and for Rhaenyra’s cause. He never let Vaeron feel unwanted, never let him know he wasn’t his own blood. But those eyes… they’re yours.”

Gwayne’s expression is unreadable, but you see the storm behind his gaze—the battle between duty, regret, and a father’s yearning. “I should have been there,” he says hoarsely. “I should have been the one to raise him, to teach him. Instead, I’ve been chasing ghosts and loyalty that never truly mattered.”

“You would have been hunted down if you claimed him,” you remind him, your voice laced with the bitterness of harsh reality. “Your House would have disowned you—or worse. You would’ve been executed for treason.”

“And now I’m here, having betrayed everything for the woman I…” Gwayne stops himself, the words strangled in his throat.

You don’t push him. The truth lingers between you like a wound too fresh to be probed. You lower your gaze to the churning sea, feeling the boat rock again as Caraxes circles back toward Dragonstone. “He’s a good boy,” you say quietly. “Stubborn, with fire in his blood. But he’s kind, too. He has your strength, even if he doesn’t know it.”

Gwayne’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, the roughness of his palm familiar and grounding. “I want to meet him, truly meet him. But what do I say, Y/N? That I’m the man who should have been there, but wasn’t?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “You tell him the truth. Vaeron deserves that much, even if it’s painful. We both know there’s no easy way to face it, but hiding it any longer would be a greater cruelty.”

The boat jerks violently as they begin their final approach to Dragonstone’s rocky shore. You see the shadow of the fortress loom closer, the narrow docks already in sight. The fisherman mutters another curse as Merothrax’s tail lashes the air overhead, nearly capsizing the boat. 

Gwayne leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “No matter what happens when we land, I’ll be by your side. If Daemon tries to take him from me, or if he tries to strike me down for what I’ve done, I won’t back down.”

Your heart clenches at the promise in his words, at the weight of everything that lies ahead. The shore draws near, and you steel yourself for what awaits—a reunion not just with Daemon and your son, but with all the truths that can no longer be avoided.

Above, the dragons circle, their roars echoing through the skies like thunder. The war rages on, but now it’s not just a battle for the throne. It’s a battle for the lives torn apart by secrets and the relentless march of fate. And as you prepare to step onto the stony shore of Dragonstone, you know that the hardest fight has only just begun.

The small boat bumps against the dock with a dull thud, the sound lost beneath the howling wind and the distant crash of waves against the jagged rocks. The air is thick with tension as the fisherman throws a rope to secure the vessel, muttering prayers under his breath, his eyes wide with fear as he glances toward the two dragons perched on the ridge above. Caraxes and Merothrax sit like twin sentinels, their eyes gleaming with the predatory awareness of beasts ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

You step onto the dock first, your legs trembling beneath you, both from the strain of your injuries and the weight of what’s about to happen. Gwayne follows closely, his hand hovering near his sword hilt, though you both know it would be futile if it came to a fight. The wind pulls at your hair and cloak as you move forward, each step taking you closer to the confrontation you’ve dreaded.

Ahead, you see them—Daemon and Vaeron. Daemon’s expression is cold as stone, his eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a hard line. Beside him, Vaeron stands tense, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of worry and anticipation. He’s grown so much since you last saw him, more a young man than a boy, but the flash of relief in his eyes when he sees you tells you he’s still your son, still that child who would run to you for comfort.

But before he can take a step toward you, Daemon’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, holding him back. “Stay where you are,” Daemon orders, his voice as sharp as a blade. Vaeron’s brow furrows, confusion and frustration evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. He simply watches as you and Gwayne approach, his gaze flicking warily between you and the man who saved you.

The tension in the air is palpable as you reach them. Before you can speak, a detachment of royal guards emerges from the path leading to the castle, armor clanking as they fall into formation around Daemon. The commander steps forward and bows deeply. “Prince Daemon, we stand ready.”

Daemon’s eyes never leave Gwayne as he gives the command. “Seize him.”

The guards move forward, hands reaching for Gwayne’s arms. He doesn’t resist, but you see his jaw clench, muscles tensing as iron manacles click shut around his wrists. Panic flares in your chest, and you step between the guards and Gwayne, your voice rising in desperation. “No! You can’t just lock him away! He saved me, Daemon—he saved my life!”

Daemon’s eyes flash with something dangerous as he looks at you, his expression hardening further. “He’s a Hightower, and a traitor to his House. His loyalty to you doesn’t absolve him of that.”

You take a step closer, your voice trembling but determined. “It does when it’s a debt of blood. He risked everything for me—for us. He’s not the enemy here, Daemon.”

But Daemon’s gaze is unyielding, his anger a simmering force barely restrained. “The enemy is anyone who serves the Greens, no matter the reason. You think I care that he chose you over his House? That only makes him more dangerous. He’s already betrayed his own; what’s to stop him from betraying you, or Vaeron, when it suits him?”

Gwayne meets Daemon’s gaze, holding it without flinching, though you see the strain in his eyes. “I gave up everything for her. I’d do it again. But I know what I am, and I don’t expect your forgiveness.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Good, because you’ll get none from me.” He turns to the guards, his tone cold and final. “Take him to the dungeons. I’ll decide his fate once I’ve had time to consider what to do with him.”

The guards tighten their grip on Gwayne and begin to drag him away. You move to follow, but Daemon’s hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Enough, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice a mix of anger and something softer—concern, perhaps, though it’s buried deep beneath his rage. “He’s done what he thought was right, but it doesn’t change what he is.”

You jerk your arm free, glaring at him with all the defiance you can muster. “You’ve lost sight of what truly matters, Daemon. Gwayne’s no longer a pawn of the Greens—he’s here because of me. Because of Vaeron.”

At the mention of Vaeron, Daemon’s eyes flicker, but he remains resolute. “And I’ll not have him jeopardize our son’s safety, not for some misplaced sense of gratitude.”

Your heart aches as you watch Gwayne being led away, the clink of his shackles echoing in the quiet that follows. He walks with his head held high, shoulders squared, but you can see the brief flicker of pain in his expression as he passes by Vaeron. The boy says nothing, but his eyes track Gwayne’s every move with a curious intensity, as if trying to understand the connection between the man being led to the dungeons and his mother’s desperate pleas.

When Gwayne disappears around the corner, swallowed by the shadows of the castle, Vaeron finally breaks the silence. “Mother… who was that man? Why did he save you?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet your son’s gaze. “He’s… someone who once served the Greens but chose to protect me instead. He’s no longer a threat, Vaeron.”

Daemon releases his hold on your arm but keeps his eyes fixed on Vaeron. “He’s not to be trusted. Remember that.”

Vaeron nods slowly, his eyes still lingering on the path Gwayne was taken down. There’s something in his expression—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of recognition that he doesn’t fully understand. But he doesn’t press further, sensing that there are answers he’s not yet meant to know.

Daemon turns to you, his voice softer now, but still laced with frustration. “We’ll speak more inside. You’ve been through enough, and I’ll not have this discussion out in the open.”

With that, he leads the way toward the castle, the guards following closely behind. You fall into step beside him, though your thoughts remain with Gwayne, locked away beneath the stone walls of Dragonstone. Vaeron walks beside you, his young face set in determination as he tries to piece together the events swirling around him.

And as you approach the darkened halls of the castle, you can’t shake the feeling that the truths left unspoken will tear at the fragile peace you’ve only just regained.

[lovezella]

The Witch Westeros

CHAPTER ONE - sneaking in a castle

disclaimer:

I do not own House of the Dragon nor the Scarlet Witch and her powers. Credits to Marvel and Stan Lee.

gif not mine, I got it from pinterest.

this fanfic does not follow the plot of the series nor its books. storyline belongs to me.

note:

as promised, here's the chapter two! i am so sorry for leaving this ff discontinued but i lost my motivation in writing and continuing it, so i hope y'all forgive me😭 and ofc, the suggestions for the love interest is still open! that's all, thank you xx

warning:

mentions of wound and blood but that's all (i think) NOT EDITED!!

Rhaenyra Targaryen paced around her chambers with a frown on her face. She was angry, sad, and betrayed. Her son, Lucerys, has been missing for three days and no one knows where he is or if he is alive. His dragon, Arrax, arrived wounded at the castle without his rider this morning and Rhaenyra’s paranoia grew. Her eldest son Jacaerys wouldn’t rest and flew with his dragon all day to look for his brother. Rhaenyra had soldiers roaming around King’s Landing and where he was last discovered, in hopes that they would find him.

Her son Joffrey’s name day is to be celebrated tomorrow but she couldn’t find it in her to celebrate while her second born son was out there missing. Alicent had suggested to have a gathering in honour of Joffrey’s name day, despite the young prince’s protest of not wanting to celebrate without his elder brother. Her father, Viserys, couldn’t have a say about it since he’s currently bedridden because of some sickness— that her uncle Daemon seems so sure that it was the greens’ doing.

Rhaenyra sat on her bed and sighed. She hoped that her son was alive, if not, she prayed for the one who caused his death that would receive her wrath.

-x-

You were used to not getting enough sleep in the past. Often staying up, staring at the ceiling and thinking of your family and ‘what ifs’ invading your mind. However, tonight was different. You shifted on your side, pulling your blanket up to cover you more as you pondered the events that can occur tomorrow.

When you saw a floating body on the waters yesterday, you never imagined it would be a prince. Maybe a commoner, a soldier harmed from a war, or even a pirate—do they even exist in this world? Hell, you don’t know,— but a prince? If you were to waltz into the castle with the young prince who was declared missing, you might—no, you will get into more trouble.

You let out a groan, rubbing your face tiredly. There goes your plan to lay low until you find a way to go back to your universe. Sighing, you gave up trying to sleep and went down to the kitchen, hoping baking will help you ease your nerves.

Tomorrow is going to be fun.

-x-

Lucerys Valeryon woke up with the sun beaming on his face, the distinct sound of the waves from outside and the fresh smell of bread making him realize where he was. He winced as he sat up from the soft bed he laid, rubbing his torso and arm where a cloth wrapped around his wound. He looked down and softly sighed, seeing the blood seeping on the cloth. Lucerys mustered up the strength to stand up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring the shooting pain on his muscles each step he took.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, seeing the young prince you took in last night staggered in.

“Dear, you should be in bed!” You fussed, meeting him half way and guiding him on a stool. You tsked, grabbing another cloth to rewrap his wounds. “How are you going to heal if you are not resting?”

Lucerys shook his head, “I’m alright, my lady. I don’t think I can handle being in bed for too long.”

“Such a stubborn boy,” You sighed, focusing on your task in hand. Lucerys didn’t reply but stared at the dozen plates of bread and dishes on the table. You finished wrapping his arm and torso with a cloth and saw his gaze at your table.

Your face flushed from embarrassment, “I…I cook and bake when I’m nervous.” you explained, throwing the bloody cloth away, “It helps me get my mind off of things.”

Lucerys smiled lightly, thinking of his brother who does the same thing with training when he wants a distraction. “There’s no need to be ashamed, my lady. My brother does it too. He drowns himself in training to distract him from his duties or well…everything.” You stare at him with a light smile, seeing the warm look on his face as he talks about his brother.

You stood up to fetch him breakfast, grabbing two plates from the table which consisted of scrambled eggs and bacon and a piece of butter toast— all you made from scratch. Since this period is lacking supplies you needed to cook, you decided to just conjure some from your magic. No one would know, and if they do, you can just erase their memories. Easy as a pie. You placed the plates on your living room table since you can’t eat at the kitchen table, and pushed Lucerys’ food to his side. Lucerys stared at the plate in front of him with a confused look on his face.

“My lady, I do not mean to offend you, but…what exactly is this?” He asked, hesitantly picking the fork up.

You chuckled and waved a hand, “Don’t worry, Luke, you didn’t offend me. That is scrambled eggs, bacon and butter toast.” You hoped it was enough for him as you were sure he eats more grand foods growing up.

“That is quite…peculiar.” Lucerys raised an eyebrow, “I have never heard of such a meal.”

You paused as you were about to take a bite. Shit, you forgot people from this era are used to eating just bread, fruits, and wine in the morning. “It’s a traditional meal from my home.” you quickly came up with an excuse, “Meals like this are common when we break our fast.”

Lucerys accepted your answer and took a bite of his food, eyes widening as he chewed. “This is delicious!” he exclaimed once he swallowed. “I should visit your home country if the food is as delicious as this.”

Not knowing how to reply, you just chuckled and nodded. You both ate breakfast in silence, caught up with your own thoughts to make a conversation leading to an awkward silence. You cleared your throat, “I was thinking that we should visit the castle once they finished the celebration. In that case, we would not be causing a ruckus and you can get to your family safely.”

“My lady, if I may,” Lucerys started, “I…I want to attend my brother’s name day.” You purse your lips at his words. You had figured he would say that and already formed a plan to sneak you both in.

“I can make it happen—” You said, and the young boy’s eyes widened in delight, “—But we have to do it discreetly.”

“And how, my lady, are we going to do that? I thought only invited high borns are allowed to attend? Are you a high born, my lady?” Lucerys couldn’t help but ask. Your house doesn’t exactly scream noble or rich to him, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Although, from your looks, posture and manners, some can mistake you as one.

You chuckled, seeing the curious look on his face. You know he doesn’t mean any offense, he’s young and it’s normal for him to be curious. “No, but I can be very convincing.” You winked, subtly making your eye flash red. Lucerys didn’t seem to notice but trusted your words enough. After all, you did save him.

“We leave tonight, is that alright?” You asked, gesturing to his wounds. Lucerys nodded furiously, excited to see his family.

-x-

The moon shined bright and the streets were alive as ever for the celebration of the prince’s name day. Lucerys and you strode to the castle with hoods up to cover your faces. As you approached, a wheelhouse passed through the open gates before it snapped shut. Knights stood by the side; one was staring at you and Lucerys with a suspicious look.

Lucerys tugged your hand, “Perhaps we should just leave. We won’t be able to cross them.” his eyes nervously looking anywhere but the knights.

“It’s alright.” You squeezed his hand and walked confidently to the knights. “We’re here for the gathering.” you said with a smile.

The knight scoffed and said, “High borns only, lass. Your kind is not allowed here. I’m not letting you in.”

Lucerys glared at his offense but you tugged his hand, silently telling him to stay down.

“Oh, but you will.” You tilted your head, your iris turning red and with simple magic, the knight was under your control. “We are from House Maximoff, will you let us in?”

“Of course, my lady.” The knight said in a monotone voice. He shouted orders and before you knew it, the castle gates were open.

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy pt. i

Pt. Two | Three | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: When Edward goes to the Volturi seeking death he accidentally exposes Bella's sister. Not taking any chances Alec is sent to finish you.

Warnings:

I haven't written ff in forever soooo...

Also I have trouble with the whole Y/N thing.

Language

Kinda, sorta NSFW I guess? Lot's of kissing.

Word Count: 1,938

A/N: Alec is aged up.

Aro let his mouth twist into a cruel smirk. Apparently, the Swan girl was dead, a sad waste of possible talent he lamented silently, but what was done was done. Edward had had no intention of turning her anyway, so what did it matter?

However, there had been another problem that Edward hadn't meant to expose.

Her sister.

"NO!" Edward shouted. "No! No, she's not aware. She doesn't know-"

"Now, now Edward. We cannot take chances, you know this. The girl already has her suspicions."

Edward's face crumpled into a half snarl. Going to the Volturi for your own death was one thing, but not only had he been denied this sweet relief, he had sentenced another to death. Surely he could get them to understand that Y/N was completely in the dark. Sure she had suspicions but that was just it. Suspicions. And aside from a few shopping trips with Alice (in which Alice had to practically drag Y/N out of the house in an attempt to get to know her better) she had stayed relatively far away. What Bella should have done, he thought with a cringe.

"Alec." Aro called over his shoulder.

Alec was at his master's side in less than a second, staring blankly ahead and awaiting orders.

"You are to head the Swan household in Forks. Take care of Bella's sister."

"Of course Master."

Alec gave a bow before sharing a look with his own sister and heading out of the throne room; Edward's renewed attempt at talking Aro into sparing the other Swan girl's life fading away ever so slightly. He couldn't help but smirk. Fresh blood that didn't have to be delivered. A chance to hunt. Maybe he would play with his food before he finished her off. Make her run. Make her beg. Or perhaps... a different kind of begging. A begging brought on with kisses and meaningless words whispered in her ear. His smirk twisted into a smile. There were always different ways to play, right?

Dad,

I'm with Alice. Edward's in trouble. You can ground me when I get back. I know it's a bad time. So sorry. Love you so much.

Bella

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

With a groan I let the letter slip from my fingers and back to its original place on the kitchen counter. I knew Bella was still healing, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture her dropping everything and just taking off for the boy who dumped her.

I paused, leaning against the counter with my head in my hands, wondering if I should just go ahead and call dad or wait to break the news to him when he got home. On the one hand if I called him now, it would distract him from his job... however if I didn't tell him now and he finds out I knew before he got home, I could possibly land myself in hot water and get grounded myself. And oh boy was Bella going to get grounded. Probably for the rest of the year if not her life.

She probably figured I'd find the letter first and would butter dad up anyways. Soften the blow that his eldest daughter went missing with a barely half-assed explanation. Well, she would be wrong about the latter at least. She'd be dealing with dad by herself on that one. As much as I loved her, I didn't want to be mixed up in her shenanigans.

Mind made up, I picked up my cell to make the dreaded call, and as expected dad picked up on the first ring.

"Uh, hey dad..."

I'm dreaming of him again. The boy with the red eyes.

He was standing in front of a familiar house, just watching. Waiting. I could see it in his eyes as they flicked back and forth. He was contemplating something, his head tilting just slightly as he took in the sloping roof and the off-white siding that was in severe need of cleaning. A truck and police car rested in its driveway, silent and empty.

My heart leapt. Why was he in front of my house? I'd dreamt of this boy plenty of times before, but never had he been in my own yard. Or anywhere I was even familiar with.

Instead, he was usually shrouded by a fine black mist. Sometimes, if I was lucky enough, he would simply be doing something rather mundane, like reading a book or walking in a garden. Other times my dreams would be rather violent, and I could hear the screaming of his victims as he ripped them to shreds. Then there was the girl that usually stood by his side. If the boy was violent, she was easily a hundred times worse. It was like watching a horror movie come to life and I couldn't close my eyes. I found that I didn't want to close my eyes. He was fascinating to me.

Or maybe it's because I'm a weird and sick individual.

He circled around to the back of the house now, his eyes trailing upwards until they landed on the second-floor window, a smirk beginning to curl on his lips.

My window.

I woke up with a gasp, clutching at my sheets.

What the fuck?

My imagination was finally getting away from me.

I couldn't help but look towards my window, still tightly shut and locked, only the soft glow of fairy lights winking back at me. Untangling myself from my sheets, I slipped from my bed and plodded over to the window. Nothing's out there, I thought. It's a stupid dream. They've all been stupid dreams. The red-eyed boy doesn't exist, Y/N. I unlocked the window and pushed it upwards before sticking my head out and looking around. Of course, I couldn't see worth shit but I squinted my eyes anyway, you know, just in case it would help me see better.

The yard was dark and empty. No handsome, red-eyed boys anywhere to be found.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief before a loud jingle broke through the silence, causing me to jump and slam my head into the window.

"Fuck." I hissed, cradling the spot that I could now feel a nice bruise forming.

It took me a moment to realize that the jingle was coming from my phone. Scrambling towards my dresser I managed to trip on the sheets I'd thrown off just minutes ago and go crashing to the floor. Tonight was just not my night. Despite my new entanglement, I reached up and managed to grab my phone, flipping it open without looking at the caller ID.

"Y/N? Y/N?" The voice on the other end was frantic.

Bella. I finally let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, the tension easing from my shoulders for the first time in days.

"Who else would it be?"

Despite my irritation and anger from her stunt I couldn't help but crack a grin as relief flooded through me. She was safe. I could already feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up. But that was quickly quashed as a new voice spoke from behind me.

"You're just as clumsy as your dear sister."

I whirled around and promptly dropped the phone as my eyes took in the dark figure standing at my feet. He was beautiful. Sinfully so. Dressed in all black, his pale skin stood out all the more. Agonizingly perfect and flawless, with dark hair sweeping across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh those eyes. My dreams didn't do them justice. Didn't do any piece of him justice.

"You." I breathed; eyes wide.

He suddenly tensed as our eyes met.

"You." He repeated.

Before I could blink, he was right before me, a gloved hand cradling my face. My mind was going haywire, trying to comprehend just what was happening. What was this pull I was feeling? What is this warmth? Did he feel it too?

"Your eyes." I whispered.

He arched a brow in amusement. "What of them?"

"They're beautiful. Like- like rubies." I stuttered quietly, feeling myself flush. "Am- am I dreaming again?"

Now both brows shot up. He probably thought I was crazy. And at this point he would be right. The boy that I had literally been dreaming about since I was a child was right in front of me.

"Y/N!"

The faraway crackle of my phone pulled me back to reality and I slowly picked it up, watching the boy in front of me. He made no move to stop me, only brushing a cool thumb across my cheek.

Wait, when had he lost the glove?

"I- I'm here."

"Did you hear anything I said?"

It was Alice Cullen

"Er- no."

"Listen," Alice began hurriedly. "I know this a lot to take in, but Alec isn't going to hurt you. It's- mates are a complicated thing in the vampire world."

"I'm sorry, what now?" I blinked rapidly as I tried to process what she was saying.

There was a low growl before I felt the phone being taken from my hands gently. I would be lying if that growl hadn't sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Cullen. Given your talent I think you would know that Y/N is perfectly safe with me." He leaned in as he tilted my head back, his nose running along my neck. "She is my mate after all."

My breath hitched at not only his words but the little nips and licks he began to trail along my neck, cool against my flushed skin. Oh gods, this could not be legal.

"Please inform Aro that Bella's sister will be coming to stay with us soon."

With a click he snapped the phone shut and molded his lips mine. I was pretty sure that my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Finally, he let me come back up for air with a small nibble on my bottom lip and burying his face back into my neck, his hands running down my sides in a slow caress.

"So- so you're Alec?"

He let out an actual purr at the sound of his name. "Say it again."

"You know people usually introduce themselves before making out right?"

There was a growl in response, and I almost let out a moan. Oh fuck, please stop doing that. It was doing weird things to my body.

"Alec."

He lifted himself up to look at me again, eyes no longer that beautiful ruby red but nearly pitch black. He kissed me again and again, swiping his tongue along my lower lip before delving into my mouth with a hunger that shot heat straight between my legs. This time I moaned. He chuckled as he pulled away, placing light kisses along my jaw until he reached my ear and nibbling yet again. Lord did this boy like to nibble.

"I will be back, mio cara."

Suddenly he disappeared just as my door opened and my dad stood there looking rather alarmed. I just blinked at him in a daze.

"I heard voices." He grumbled, looking for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed... which he had.

I felt my face heat back up, trying to figure out exactly what he had heard and trying to come up with an excuse.

"Uhm. I heard from Bella!"

For once my sister saved the day.

NEXT

{Masterlist}

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[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 4

chapter 3 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 5

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

a/n: hiya! i already mentioned all of this in my snippet post, but i'll do so again. in this chapter we are going down some dark path. probably not wise considering how shit has been going down as of late in the pedro pascal fandom. i have tried to write this chapter as sensibly as i could given the circumstances reader is in. i know this is a sensitive topic so please, PLEASE, read the warnings before you go ahead. i promise i'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter. other than that, i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! i love engaging with you guys. take care of yourselves <3

warnings: MDNI, 18+. please proceed with caution. if any of the following warnings trigger you, skip this chapter. DARK THEME. r4pe threats (it doesn’t happen, but still). death threats. mention of voyeurism. unsolicited dirty talk. slapping. reader is humiliated. derogatory terms (bitch, whore). swear words. masturbation (m to himself). body shaming (well deserved though). blood. violence. gore bc joel loses his shit. murder (but it’s okay because i say so). soft!caring!joel. pet name (dove). reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n.  joel's and reader's pov.

w/c: ~2.3k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

Joel groaned, face down on the ground. His head hurt like hell, to the point where he could not even open his eyes. A drilling pain on the back of his skull pierced through the whole way to the space between his eyebrows. He squeezed his eyes, in an attempt to clear his sight, before opening them. The whole world spun around him like a merry-go-round ― he felt like throwing up.

He motioned his hand backwards to where the searing pain was coming from, only to find a new source of aching ― his right shoulder felt like it was dislocated, but the reality was that he had been shot.

I have been shot, he repeated in his mind.

Why though? He couldn’t remember what had happened nor where he was.

“Joel! What the fuck is going on?!”, Tommy’s voice forced him to close his eyes again. He kneeled beside Joel, putting pressure on his shoulder. “Where is she?”

Where is who? he wanted to reply.

And then it hit him. You both gave in to your passion, and he ruined it by labelling it “a mistake”. And then hell broke loose ― his last memory was your screams before you were dragged away.

Consciousness flooded back into him. Joel sat up quickly ― too quickly as his head pulsed in excruciating pain.

“Easy, Joel”, said the younger Miller, removing his hand to inspect the wound and tying a piece of clothing around the shoulder to contain the bleeding. “The bullet has gone through cleanly. You’re going to need to take care of that wound but should heal just fine”.

“They’ve taken her, Tommy”, Joel managed to mutter.

Doom washed over him. He felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what your destiny might be. He should have paid attention; he should have known you both were being watched. But at that moment in time he was thinking with his cock, not with his brain. He put you in harm’s way. He knew he shouldn’t have exposed you like that. He would not have done it had he known someone was spying on you both.

His last words to you basically meant that you were a mistake he regretted. His heart contracted so hard at the realisation of what he had said, his lungs evacuated all air within them. Where those going to really be his last words to you?

Joel gulped down the knot in his throat. He truly was a damned man. Everyone he touched, died. His deceased wife, Sarah, now potentially you too.

Death might be her best way out, that intrusive thought scared the shit out of him. He shook his head at the idea, in denial.

“Who have?”, Tommy asked. Joel could hear fear in his brother’s voice, mirroring his own.

Joel stood up with the help of Tommy and touched the back of his skull, finding the sore spot. It was wet ― blood covered the palm of his hand, which he cleaned on his jeans.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. If something happens to her, I swear to fucking God, Tommy, I will―”.

Tommy nodded in understanding and handed Joel the rifle and his jacket.

You were finding very hard to come back to consciousness. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, not being able to connect them in a way that made sense. You felt like you had been sleeping for ages, but it had only been five minutes. Your heart was beating slowly on your chest, your breaths shallow.

You heard two male voices nearby. For a second, you thought they were Joel and Tommy. But even in your semi-conscious state, you knew it wasn’t them. You managed to open one eye, looking around. Memories started to crawl back ― you and Joel fucking like the world was ending, him being a prick once again, then the gunshot, Joel falling to the ground, two men approaching and taking you away. Your heart began to race.

Was he alive? He had to be. He couldn’t have died. You would know, you would feel it in your guts. You felt like your chest was being crushed. No, he can’t be.

“God, I am gonna come”, you spotted the first man you saw, the one who shot Joel, jerking off besides you.

Had you been fully conscious, you would have retched when he cleaned the cum off his hand on your T-shirt.

“She was fucking that guy like a whore, she won’t mind if we use her for a bit”, said the second man. “I bet her cunt is still fucking wet. But we should wait for the others to get here first”.

You were slowly coming back to your senses, starting to understand the gravity of your situation. By the way they talked, it was pretty clear what their plans for you were. The prospect of being raped awakened your fight-or-flight instinct, your brain racing with thoughts, trying to come up with an escape plan. Either you fled, or you died trying.

You were sat up, your back against a tree, your hands loosely tied up in front of you. You rubbed one hand against the other, the right one slowly coming off the knot.

“I want to fuck her mouth so bad ― I don’t think that lucky bastard did”, you were not sure who said it, but you didn’t care.

“With such a small dick, I bet you I still would have plenty of room in my mouth to be able to talk unbothered”, you couldn’t stop the snarky remark.

The first man didn’t take your comment very graciously, probably ashamed of such a small dick. He slapped you with such force, the ring on his finger slashed the skin on your right cheek. You fell to the ground on your belly, your hands becoming free in the process, which you hid under your body so that monkey of a man wouldn’t notice.

“We’ll see how much you laugh after we’re finished with you and leave your broken body somewhere for your boyfriend to see”, he threatened with a laugh, touching himself again. "Open up, bitch".

He grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to face him, his ridiculously tiny dick too close to your mouth. You pulled away from him with all your might, releasing yourself from his grasp.

Although you put on a mask and pretended this was not affecting you, you were so fucking frightened. Your survival instinct kicked in again when the same ape tried to snatch you by the T-shirt as you slithered away, partially ripping it. You turned around quickly and scratched his face ― your nails sinking in his skin as deep as you could. You thought you hit his eye ― and you wished him blind. You growled like a cornered animal when the second man approached you, while the first one was on his knees wailing like a newborn baby.

“So you’re a fighter, huh?”, he chuckled.

When he got close, you knocked him off his feet by swinging one of your legs sideways under him. That was your chance ― and you took it. You got up and started running, the second man shouting blasphemies while going after you.

You had only run like five yards when a gunshot echoed in the middle of the night. You ducked and tripped, falling to the ground.

You looked back and saw that guy face down on the dirt, not moving. The back of his head was blown to pieces, half of it had disintegrated into thin air. Blood and brain bits had started to soak the leaves under him.

Then you saw Joel a few feet back, rifle on hand, Tommy just a few metres behind him.

You sighed with relief.

Joel had one look at the state of you and wished he hadn’t shot that man. He should have suffered a more terrible death. He felt anger ―no, fury― burning up his insides. Joel was seeing red, not being able to tame his feelings back under control. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins with solace ―you were alive― but also with rage.

“Man, we’re sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not what it looks like, I had nothing to do with this”, begged the man who had shot him ten minutes earlier.

Joel slowly turned around to face him. The asshole was on his knees, his left eye bleeding profusely, trousers pulled down and his micropenis dangling out of his underwear. With his eyes fixated on the poor excuse of a man praying on the ground, Joel handed the rifle to Tommy and unsheathed the folding hunting knife he kept in his boot.

“No, please, I promise you I didn’t touch her, I would never―”, his pleading fell on deaf ears.

“You fucking liar”, Joel said under his breath, positioning himself behind the kneeled man.

Joel grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head backwards to expose his neck. He could see tears on the edges of his eyes. He was young, probably around twenty, but Joel didn’t give a fuck. He deserved to die. Joel unfolded the hunting knife by removing the safeguard, placed it under his chin and slit his throat slowly but steadily. The man gagged, desperately trying to fill his lungs with oxygen ― his hands had flown to his neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but blood was pouring out like a fountain.

Joel looked at him dead in the eye until the man’s arms fell to his sides. When he was sure that motherfucker was dead, he let go of the head, the body making a thudding sound when it hit the floor.

Only then he dared to look in your direction. He wasn’t ready to see you down on your knees, dry tears on your cheeks. You looked like a baby deer in the middle of the road at night, blinded by the headlights. One side of your T-shirt was ripped from top to bottom, one of your breasts showing. You were not moving, your big eyes widened in shock.

Joel did not want to imagine what had happened to you, but he saw semen on your T-shirt and his brain started wandering off to the darkest of places. He was frozen in place for a few seconds before finally approaching you slowly, afraid you were going to step back away from him. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He put away the knife before kneeling in front of you ― his hands, palms down, up in the air.

“Are you…?”, he didn’t finish the question because it was obvious you were not okay.

“It’s okay”, you answered immediately.

Joel gave you a puzzled look.

“No, it’s not fucking okay”, he whispered.

Then reality dawned on you. Your body had been on high alert this whole time, your instincts forcing you to put your feelings away so you could focus on the task at hand ― escaping as unscathed as possible. It wasn’t until those men were dead and Joel faced you, that you allowed emotions to take over you.

Your eyes welled up, your entire body shaking as the adrenaline abandoned your system.

“I… I don’t… It’s just…”, you couldn’t form coherent sentences.

Joel closed the distance between you two and hugged you. You buried your face in his chest and sobbed silently for minutes on end. His left hand stroked your hair as he held you and whispered calming words in your ear. When your eyes dried up, you looked up at him through damp eyelashes and he swept away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, the rest of his fingers gently placed on your jawline.

“Your cheek”, Joel’s lips wrinkled as he hovered his thumb over the wound.

You could tell he was trying to control himself, but as the seconds went on, he got calmer.

“Can I?”, he muttered, looking down to your teared T-shirt.

You nodded and he helped you take it off. Joel blocked Tommy’s vision with his broad body while he removed his jacket and helped you put it on, discarding your dirty T-shirt to one side.

“They didn’t…”, you tried to explain, your bottom lip trembling.

“We don’t need to talk about it now, only when you’re ready ― if you’re ever ready”, he spoke softly.

You greatly appreciated he didn’t push you for an explanation of what had happened. You were not sure you could talk about it without breaking down again. You breathed in deeply and nodded again. Then you noticed the blood on his shoulder. You raised one hand, softly touching the improvised dressing.

“You’re hurt, Joel”, you mumbled.

“It’s nothing, it’s not even painful. Let’s go back to the cave. You need to rest and I need to clean that wound on your cheek before it gets infected”, said Joel while helping you up.

You saw Tommy in the distance ― he had been kind enough to give you some privacy. Joel guided you through the trees, his left arm firmly wrapped around your waist to aid you in your walking.

You didn’t get too far though, not even with his help. Your legs were so wobbly you were afraid you couldn’t stand any longer. Joel saw you struggling and with no hesitation whatsoever, he picked you up in his arms to carry you to the cave.

"You're gonna hurt your shoulder even more, Joel", you complained.

"Nonsense", he whispered, softly kissing your forehead.

You did not protest after that again and hugged his neck, your face hiding in the curve of his neck.

In his arms, you felt safe. Your haven on this twisted, revolting earth.

“One of the men said they were waiting on more people to arrive”, you remembered suddenly.

Joel briefly looked down at you. You could tell he was controlling his face expression.

“Don’t worry about it, dove. I’ll take care of each one of them”.

That was a promise he kept religiously.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for abandoning my party in the middle of a notoriously tough dungeon?

i (26m) was playing ffxiv and had just unlocked a new dungeon. all my friends were asleep and i was too excited to wait, so i decided to go against my social anxiety and run it with randos.

the scant handful times i'd run dungeons with randos before went great - earlier that day after another dungeon i'd even gotten player commendations from two of the players in a party i was healing for - so i was more or less confident this time would be fine as well.

boy oh boy was i wrong...

i got matched with three players we will simply call tank, healer, and dps (age and gender unknown for all three). i went in as a bard (all my other jobs were too underlevelled), filling the remaining dps role.

things went awry almost as soon as we set foot in that dungeon. i died in the first room to some enemies that aggro'd on me and ganged up on me. the rest of the party left the room pretty much immediately after all enemies were dead.

i politely asked to be resurrected, to which healer reluctantly complied. they told me to "just rez next time", which would've sent me to the beginning of the dungeon. in hindsight that would've prolly been fine since it was only the first room.

after i caught up to the others i once again got swarmed with monsters. this is gonna be a pattern if you couldn't tell. after i'd died to this pattern a couple times tank yelled at me for "constantly pulling everything ffs".

for those who don't know, tanks (at least in this game) have a special ability that basically acts as an aggro magnet. i have a strong suspicion tank wasn't using said ability considering how often i got swarmed, but we'll never know for sure.

now the mid boss was where it truly went to shit. no matter how much of a distance i kept from that damn thing, no matter how well i evaded its aoe attacks, i just kept dying over and over again. one time the rest of the party even got sent back somehow. i'm not sure how.

and why did i keep dying you may ask? because healer never healed me. not once after they resurrected me at the beginning did i notice my hp go up aside from when i used hi-potions or my one (1) healing spell, both of which have a very long cooldown. i think they were glued to tank the entire time, completely neglecting me and dps.

and yet, i was the one taking the blame for everything. for pulling the enemies tank should've pulled. for constantly dying, which i couldn't help because healer never once touched me after that first resurrection.

it was really starting to affect me so after i let my dead body be sent back to the beginning of the dungeon i finally put my foot down and left the dungeon. this disbanded the party, not only kicking everyone from the dungeon, but likely also penalizing all 4 of us because of my actions.

i will clarify that this wasn't just any old dungeon; it was aurum vale. it's a dungeon you need to be at least level 47 for. while i don't know much about it myself, judging by the way my friends talk about it the semi-universal verdict is that it sucks major balls. it' would's not be a fun dungeon to have to redo, that's for sure.

i was on the verge of tears for well over 30 minutes afterwards, both from the emotional afterquakes of fear and anger but also from the guilt of abandoning these people like that.

so, am i the asshole? am i too sensitive? should i just have sucked it up and kept going?

tldr; i felt like my party of randos were blaming me for being the weakest link while doing their own jobs poorly, and decided to prioritize my own feelings by leaving the dungeon, dissolving the party and forcing the others to start all over again

Oh no. Oh honey. I am so sorry Aurum Vale is just like that. I'm gonna put the poll here and some extra INFO/advice under a readmore because it's a bit long, but please read on before voting.

First: don't let leaving bother you too much, it didn't kick everyone from the dungeon, that's not how it works. If one person leaves, the queue just refills the party with a new person and the dungeon continues like normal, or everyone else now has the option to leave without penalty.

Aurum Vale's first room is a motherfucker--basically it's an older design with lots of wandering monsters, so on the first room especially you need to hug the left hand wall as tight as you can to aggro as little as possible. Let the tank go first and grab aggro on mobs. Don't pull for the tank, especially at this level range. Let them do their job. I can't say for sure whether they had their aggro-generating stance on, could go either way, but I can see why they got annoyed at someone pulling stuff they weren't ready for yet. While wall-to-wall pulling is pretty standard in this game, that's the tank's call to make, not the dps's--and some of these older dungeons with funky level syncing or enemy pacing make wall-to-walling more difficult and not for everyone.

(BTW, as an aside, tank stance works as a personal buff, not a magnet--they do still need to hit things to grab their aggro, sometimes more than once if someone else has already established on them. If they already have a pack they're working on and you grab something way on the other side of the room, you'll have to bring it over to them so they can take it off you!)

If you do die to mobs between bosses, sometimes the best thing to do is just release and respawn! If you get a rez, you'll have a debuff that makes you weaker for a while. Definitely if it's the very first room, releasing is the move most of the time.

As for dying to bosses: was it definitely the mid boss, the cyclops? Because the other two (the plant and the morbol) both have mechanics that make you take slow damage over time unless you eat a fruit to get rid of it. You want to eat a fruit every 2-3 stacks of the debuff that you get because that's where the damage starts to get more severe; before then, the healer can probably handle you.

Basically, it seems like this party mistook inexperience for malice and was rude to you in response. Not healing you, for example, is absolutely inexcusable. You did some things suboptimally that made the dungeon harder for the group, but honestly we were all there once, don't let it get to you too much. Try it again with your friends bearing the stuff I mentioned in mind, and it'll go much better! But as an aside it SUCKS to heal, if you have a more experienced friend you should let them handle it haha

[bossuary]

taking the deal [AO3]

Rating: M Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Emmrich Volkarin Tags: healing, hands and fingers, hurt/comfort, deep kissing, lap-sitting, someone finally touches that slutty waist, Lucanis makes a cheese joke Word Count: 743

Summary: when you're trained to focus on everything, that's what you do. like whether you'll get an infection from-please shut up. let the handsome necromancer kiss your goddamn wounds. you both deal necrotic damage ffs.

__________________________

Emmrich moved onto the table beside him, shifting close, stopping Lucanis from buttoning his shirt. Stopping him from pretending he wanted to. 

“So, there are easier ways to get close,” Lucanis said, with a small nod of self-reproach. “Good to know.”

It wasn’t as if Emmrich hated this. The damage had been a little more severe than Lucanis had bargained for. But, with the good professor sitting close enough now to share a coffin, it was evident he liked this part.

“Your, um, novel approach got us here, now,” Emmrich said, low and inviting. He swept Lucanis’ hair aside. “Want to see where else it leads?”

The instant Lucanis nodded, Emmrich bent to press a firm, lingering kiss on one of the wounds striping across his shoulder.

Emmrich’s mouth was hot, and welcome. Lucanis leaned in. Fingers cupped the back of his head with just enough pressure to coax. A second kiss skimmed atop another wound, higher. Lucanis braced a hand on Emmrich’s thigh. Pinpoints of information, brief but disruptive, flashed at him: the dual tempo of heartbeats increasing, the scent of blood fading to herbal green salve, and sympathetic wisps buzzing faintly in their candle-like flicker.

And, in a dismal corner of his mind, there was still Spite, who gibbered about wounds, infections, and mouths. 

Lucanis heard his own hoarse voice say, “Isn’t that bad for–” 

A swift intake of breath sucked down whatever words might have followed, as Emmrich kissed his neck again. This was higher, behind his beard, along the juncture of jaw and ear. The skin there was sensitive. With every kiss and nuzzle, Lucanis made small, unresolved sounds in his throat, each one breaking on the last. 

His left hand tightened on Emmrich’s thigh.

“If you were a little less reckless,” Emmrich rumbled against his skin, just beneath his ear, “think of all the places it would be safe to kiss you.”  

So far, Emmrich had kept things light and unhurried, giving Lucanis space to assess, adapt, and respond. It didn’t take long. Spite wouldn’t have it. Lucanis was coming out of his skin, burning for more contact. He twisted to face Emmrich.

“I’ll take that deal.” 

He guided Emmrich’s face close to his own, and brought their lips together. Tender, teasing pressure, and light flicks of tongue tips quickly drove them into a deeper kiss. Lucanis moved his hand from Emmrich’s thigh to brace himself on the tabletop. The loss of contact elicited a barely-there groan from Emmrich, though his mouth and tongue remained dedicated to the kiss. His left hand snaked around Lucanis, splayed across his lower back, and dragged him close. 

Lucanis responded the way his body was trained to respond to most physical situations. Usually, in combat, this meant maneuvering for maximum damage, blocking, or escape.

In this case, with his lips hungrily locked to Emmrich’s, and his body twitching for more touch, the optimal move was to throw his right leg over Emmrich’s hip, and roll up until he was seated on Emmrich’s lap, with both knees on the table.

He could use his hands freely now. He gathered Emmrich to him with one hand gripping silver hair, and the other on his shoulder. Emmrich kissed his chest, his clavicle, his mouth. He drew out the kiss while he tugged Lucanis’ shirt out of the waistband of his trousers.

“That was…a surprise.” Emmrich was breathing hard when he pulled back to gaze up at Lucanis, his hair mussed and his pupils wide. “A marvelous one.”

He hadn’t meant the slick move that put Lucanis in his lap. His appreciation for that was hard to miss. He’d meant the kiss, which seemed to have pleased and dazed him as much as it had Lucanis.

Lucanis smirked. “We don’t get many of those.”

Emmrich’s hands circled his waist and pushed up under the loose shirttail, idly stroking a shiver from Lucanis’ overheated skin.

“Not lately,” said Emmrich, a little more melancholy than Lucanis liked.

He dipped his head to capture Emmrich’s mouth again. Hands tightened around his waist. He rocked, flexing his hips, bringing friction to bear on his own rigid cock and Emmrich’s. They shared a groan, passed from tongue to tongue behind raw lips. 

Emmrich broke the kiss. 

“Perhaps the dining table isn't the setting for this,” he murmured, though his hands continued roving.

Lucanis was slipping vest buttons from buttonholes.

“My place is close,” he deadpanned, “but I have aging roommates.”

Notes: this is my FOURTH Lucanis x Emmrich tumblr ficlet. this one was inspired by this art from @ibahibut, give them some love! it's their birthday <3