#I'm really sensitive to incest

[bbeeew]

only liking tcoaal only for the dark themes and how it shows codependency and manipulation and not shipping the grave siblings is like walking into an emo club in old western attire.

[lizzyiii]

I LOVE THE DRAGONS TREASURE

Please tell me she claims a dragon

Uhhhh, well why don't you read and see...

The Dragon's Treasure (2)

pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader

word count | 8.5k words

summary | ‘You leaned into the Queen’s side, the comforting warmth of her presence allowing fresh sobs to escape. All you could think was how it felt to be given away by your mother, as confusion and sorrow swirled in your heart like a storm.’

tags | ANGST, ANGST AND MORE ANGST, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes, depression, suicidal thoughts, as always reader is a sensitive queen 👑, reader really goes through it

a/n | I'm SO SORRY this took so long. Also I couldn't put everything in here or else it could've been like 15k words, so guess whatttt, there will now be A PART 3, which will be the final part of this which WILL have a HAPPY ENDING. Anyway enjoy

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 1 is 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 3

Laenor’s frustration hung heavily in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to reach out and envelop the room. "How could you do this, Rhaenyra?" he hissed, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. He paced across the chamber, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone walls.

Rhaenyra, seated beside you as you lay asleep, cast her gaze downward, her expression shadowed by shame. Her injured arm was pressed tightly against her chest, while her other hand delicately brushed aside the strands of hair that fell across your serene face.

"It was the only way to preserve the fragile peace, Laenor," she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper, yet heavy with sorrow as she focused on you.

Laenor’s frustration erupted once more as he countered, "By giving away our daughter?" His tone was hushed, yet the anguish etched across his features spoke volumes.

"And what do you call your intention to abandon her?" Rhaenyra's retort was fierce, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and hurt.

Laenor's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. He clenched his jaw, the weight of truth too heavy to bear. It was true—after much debate with Rhaenyra and Daemon, the decision had been made to stage his own death, allowing him the chance to flee with Qarl. The thought churned within him like a storm. "You should’ve spoken to me first," he murmured at last, his voice softer, tinged with the ache of sorrow.

"Mother," your weak voice echoed in the chamber, silencing the hushed argument between your parents.

A sharp pain throbbed in your head, the remnants of a distant ringing lingering like a ghost. With great effort, you began to sit up, but your mother gently urged you back, her voice soothing yet urgent, "My love, settle back. Do not strain yourself."

The world around you remained a blur as you blinked, trying to shake off the fog that clouded your mind. "What—what happened?" you managed to ask, your voice soft and uncertain.

Your gaze wandered to the window, where the soft light of dawn poured in, painting the room in warm hues. "What is the last thing you remember, my sweet?" your father asked from your other side, concern etched upon his features. You turned to him, puzzled, noticing the deep worry in his eyes.

Closing your eyes, you grasped at the fragments of the night that felt just out of reach. "Jace woke me, and then—there was a fight," you stammered, urgency clawing at your chest as you opened your eyes wide. "Is everyone alright? Is Aemond alright?"

Your mother’s lips pressed together as she exchanged a troubled glance with your father. "Your brothers and cousins are fine," she began carefully, "but… Aemond lost his eye."

Your heart plummeted at her words, and tears brimmed in your lilac eyes as memories flickered like a dim flame. "Luke?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Yes,” your mother whispered gently, searching your eyes with a steady resolve, “but he only acted to protect Jace from Aemond.”

“No,” you breathed out, shaking your head in denial, desperation threading through your voice, “Aemond would never truly hurt Jace.”

“But it’s alright,” Rhaenyra interjected, dismissing your words with an air of resignation. “Aemond said that Vhagar was worth the sacrifice.”

Worth the sacrifice? You struggled to comprehend how anything could justify the loss of an eye. A deep longing stirred within you to see Aemond, to confirm that he was truly alright. Your gaze flitted anxiously between your mother and father before the memory of the loud commotion that had pulled you from your sleep surged back. “Why were you and Father fighting?”

Your father arched an eyebrow, turning his attention to your mother with an air of expectation, “Well, Rhaenyra?”

Your mother offered a strained smile, her hand gently brushing your cheek as if to shield you from any remaining tension in the air. “To ensure peace between our families, the Queen and I have decided to betroth you to Aemond. You will wed when you turn seven and ten. But do not fret, dear one; you and Aemond are the closest of friends.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your father’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Rhaenyra, tell her the rest.”

With a small sigh, your mother looked away, a shadow passing over her face. “During your betrothal, the Queen insists you stay in the Red Keep.”

Feelings swirled within you at the thought of being promised to Aemond. Yes, he was your dear friend, but never had you envisioned him as your husband. As memories of the past returned—those cruel words Aemond had hurled at your cousins and brothers—you felt a knot form in your stomach. Yet, a flutter of hope ignited in your heart as you looked up at your mother. “Does that mean we’re going home?”

Your mother’s eyes widened, confusion washing over you as you noticed tears pooling within them. “No, my treasure,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We shall remain in Dragonstone while you live in King’s Landing.”

The air seemed to thicken around you, and your heart felt like it had cracked open at her words. "What?" You clutched her tightly, burying your face against her soft dress, your voice muffled as you pleaded, "I don’t want to be away from you."

“It will be alright,” Rhaenyra whispered gently, pressing her lips to your brow. “We will write letters every day, and you will come visit us at Dragonstone.” You could hear the tremble in her voice, even as she held you close, tears started to shimmer in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her heart aching as she cradled you in her arms, trying to soothe both your sorrow and her own. “All will be well, I promise.”

It was the only path left before her. By sending you to the Greens, she hoped to weave a thread of peace, to quiet their unrest, and when the time was right, she would reclaim you from their grasp.

You pulled back, your little nose pink and tear-streaked cheeks glistening with sorrow as your gaze fell upon her injured hand. “What happened to your hand?” you asked, concern etched across your cherubic face.

Rhaenyra fought back the urge to weep at your innocent worry. Even through your own heartbreak, you were thinking of her. She offered you the best smile she could muster, brushing a thumb softly against your cheek as she kissed your forehead. “It’s naught to trouble yourself over, my love.”

Her eyes drifted toward Laenor, who stood nearby, his face a mask of despair as he looked down at you.

"I do not wish to leave, please, Father, do not make me go," you whimpered softly, clutching at him as he carried you toward the Driftmark courtyard, where a carriage awaited to take you away. You had heard that Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond had already set sail on a ship, so you would be accompanying the Queen.

"I trust your mother’s wisdom," his voice was gentle. "You know that I love you, don't you?"

You nodded quietly, burying your face into the comforting crook of his neck, seeking solace from the storm brewing in your heart. Laenor paused, his hands steadying you as he whispered, "Look at me, my sweet. I've come to a most profound realization."

With a flicker of curiosity, you lifted your head, your sad lilac eyes searching his face, "What is it?"

He regarded you with a deep, thoughtful gaze for a moment before speaking, "That nothing and no one shall ever hold my heart as you do." He leaned closer and pressed a tender kiss upon your nose, a gesture meant to seal the words in a bond of love, "You are and will always be my greatest love."

At his declaration, your lips quivered, and hastily you retreated into the comforting warmth of his embrace, hiding your face against him once more.

You felt him exhale softly, the sound laced with an emotion you could not name, before he asked with a quiet sincerity, "Do you wish for my happiness?"

"More than anything, Father," you replied without hesitance, your voice a whisper wrapped in sincerity.

With your head nestled against him, you were unaware of the tears that brimmed in his eyes. He brushed his lips gently across your brow, murmuring softly, "Good, that’s good.

As you and your father finally stepped into the sunlit courtyard, you turned your gaze to take in the bustling crowd.

Your cousins, Baela and Rhaena, stood close by, flanked by your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. A frown crossed your face as you spotted your great uncle Daemon standing beside your brothers and mother too close for your liking. Opposite them, before the grand carriage, stood Queen Alicent, her expression poised as she appeared to await your arrival.

With a gentle motion, your father set you down before your mother. As you looked up, you noticed Jace and Luke actively avoiding your eyes, their faces averted. Your mother knelt before you, her hands tenderly cradling your cheeks. "Do not fret, my sweet treasure. We shall be together again soon."

At her comforting words, fresh tears welled in your lilac eyes as you suddenly launched yourself into her embrace, clinging to her waist and burying your face in the soft fabric of her skirts. "I don’t want to go!" you cried out, your voice breaking.

Your small hands tightened around her skirts as you felt your father’s gentle persistence in trying to pry you away from your mother, and you protested fiercely, "No, I won’t go! You can’t make me!"

Your mother, her heart heavy with sorrow, cupped your cheeks in her hands, trying to soothe your tempest of emotions. “Hush, my love,” she whispered, her voice a tender balm against your distress.

Around you, pitying gazes flickered like candle flames—your grandparents’ melancholic expressions, your cousins’ shared discomfort. Jace’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears while Luke, overwhelmed, covered his ears, trying to drown out your wails. Rhaenyra felt a crack in her resolve as she listened to your sobs, contemplating possibly halting your betrothal. But then, a steady touch on her shoulder drew her attention. It was Daemon, giving her a firm nod, a silent promise of encouragement.

Steeling herself, Rhaenyra placed her hands over your tiny fists, carefully prying you away from her gown. She lifted your small face to meet her gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. “You must perform your duty to the crown,” she said firmly, the weight of her words grounding her as she continued, “You are a princess now—act like it.” Each word felt like a dagger to her own heart, yet she managed to keep her voice steady, unwilling to let her emotions betray her in front of the others.

You looked up at her, your large, glistening eyes begging for understanding as you bit down on your lip, desperate to stifle your cries. It was then that you felt a soft hand on your shoulder and you saw your mother’s once-kind eyes harden and her lips set into a determined line.

Behind you, Queen Alicent's voice rang out with gentle authority, “Do not worry, sweet princess. We shall take good care of you.”

With one last lingering gaze at your mother, you allowed the Queen to lead you away. As you settled into the carriage alongside her and your grandsire, the weight of your sadness enveloped you once more. You leaned into the Queen’s side, the comforting warmth of her presence allowing fresh sobs to escape. All you could think was how it felt to be given away by your mother, as confusion and sorrow swirled in your heart like a storm.

Aemond's heart was heavy with worry. No, it wasn’t just worry—it was a deep, gnawing distress that coiled in his chest like a serpent.

The thrill of claiming Vhagar had filled him with such joy, he had felt as if he could touch the moon itself. The moment he soared through the skies on the back of the great dragon, he had thought only of you, eager to share the monumental news. In his mind, you would have clapped your hands and laughed with delight, celebrating the bond forged between rider and beast.

But fate had other plans. Just when he imagined your bright smile lighting up the sky, your brothers and cousins had to swoop in, like crows scattering the sunlight.

He could still picture the way you had stared at him, your eyes wide, but not with excitement. No, there was something else in your gaze—hurt. Aemond’s heart twisted painfully. What did it matter that he had claimed Vhagar? Didn’t you understand? He had done it for both of you, to lift you higher, to make you proud.

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, the air crackled with tension. Your stupid cousin had lunged, and in that moment, everything exploded into chaos. And then much worse — his bastard nephew had struck you. It didn’t matter if it was an accident or a deliberate attack; Aemond saw only red. All he could think of was defending your honor, standing up for you. But that brave impulse led to disaster—the sharp, searing pain of loss as your bastard brother struck him down, taking his eye and leaving an aching void in its place.

The pain was unlike anything Aemond had ever known. As the sharp impact seared through him, a crimson tide flooded down his cheek, hot and frightening. For a fleeting moment, fear clawed at his insides; he truly believed he would not survive this. The world around him dimmed, distorted by the sudden absence of sight, as the maester began to stitch the ravaged flesh, one painful tug at a time. In that disorienting haze, it felt as if all the light had been extinguished, leaving him vulnerable and alone.

In the throng of shouting, his mother alone stood as his shield, her voice rising powerfully over the din. Where was the king? His father seemed indifferent, preoccupied with the whispers of bastardy that tainted his grandson's names, ignoring his son’s suffering. Aemond felt a pang of betrayal deep in his heart, a bitter realization that the bonds of blood carried chains as much as love.

But more damning still was your stillness. You lay unconscious atop a small cot, the aftermath of your collision against a stone wall. His worry for you gnawed at his mind, a relentless ache more piercing than the wound that marred his face. Around him, the fighting raged on, but all it did was intensify the throbbing where his eye had been, and in desperation, he called out, declaring that his lost eye was a worthy sacrifice for a dragon—any dragon.

Then his mother came to him, her expression conveying hope. She spoke of a betrothal, weaving a promise between the two of you like a delicate thread. In that moment, Aemond's heart swelled with a light that eclipsed the agony gripping his face.

You would be his wife; destined to stand at his side forever. It was a beautiful twist of fate meant to be, a binding forged that made him forget, at least for a heartbeat, that he was now a boy with only one eye.

But now, after a fortnight spent back in the imposing halls of the Red Keep, he still had not laid eyes on you since that fateful night in Driftmark. At first, his mother had told him you were too distraught, struggling to settle back in King’s Landing without your mother and siblings. Aemond could understand that; he knew how deeply you loved his sister, though he had no clue as to why.

Yet, days passed, and the weight of your absence grew heavier. Then, the letter arrived. A letter relaying how your father, Laenor Velaryon, had been murdered. His mother, with a grave expression, had explained that you were in no condition for visitors, grief stricken and devastated. Aemond felt a surge of frustration mixed with a pang of empathy. How could he possibly comfort you from afar?

Despite his mother’s warnings, he refused to be deterred. Each day, without fail, he ventured to your chambers, his heart pounding with hope and desperation. Each time, he was met with the same stony refusal from your sworn shield, Ser Rowan. The knight’s demeanor was unwavering, his expression a mixture of duty and pity that only fueled Aemond’s determination.

With a final, resentful glance at the shield that stood between him and you, he turned away, but not before giving your door a lingering look—his heart aching to see you, to offer even a word of solace.

That’s when a cunning idea sparked in his mind. He recalled the tales of Maegor the Cruel, who, in his paranoia, had carved secret tunnels through the very walls of the Red Keep. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way in. Aemond’s pulse quickened at the thought of sneaking through those hidden passages, unseen and unnoticed, until he could finally stand before you.

He took a deep breath, his determination solidifying. No more waiting, no more barriers. He would find you, even if it meant crawling through the dark, twisting shadows of the Red Keep. You were destined to be together, and he would not allow the two of you to be apart any longer.

It had taken Aemond a full week—seven days of frustration, of feeling like a fool. He had spent those days pacing the cold stone walls of the Red Keep, touching every surface in hopes of discovering one of the fabled tunnels of Maegor the Cruel. They said the king had built secret ways throughout the castle, but Aemond had no guide, no map. Only his determination kept him searching. Then, at last, he'd found one—hidden behind a grand tapestry depicting dragons in flight.

Excitement had quickly turned to terror. Once inside the dark, winding passageways, Aemond realized he was hopelessly lost. The stone walls seemed to close in on him, their narrow confines suffocating. Hours passed before he finally stumbled out, breathless and covered in dust, into the kitchens. The sky outside had turned to night, and his stomach gnawed at him from hunger. He looked a sight—dirty, disheveled, and no closer to his goal.

The next time, he would not make the same mistake. He had prepared this time, studying the first tunnel he’d discovered and memorizing the paths it led to. He knew now how to navigate these secret ways, and his heart raced at the thought of where they might lead him.

Tonight, he sought your chambers.

Quiet as a shadow, he slipped through the concealed door in the wall, pushing it open just enough to sneak inside. His eyes darted around the room before he found a hiding place behind a tall dressing screen. From there, he could see only part of the room.

Aemond stood quietly behind the carved wooden screen, peering through the delicate patterns to catch a glimpse of his mother, Alicent. She sat beside the bed, where you were hidden beneath a heavy blanket, your figure barely visible. He strained to hear the conversation, his curiosity mingling with worry.

"You must eat, my sweet princess," Alicent's voice trembled slightly, though she tried to keep her tone soothing. Her words echoed through the chamber, filling the air with tension that made Aemond's heart tighten.

He frowned, sensing the tension in the room, the weight of his mother's concern. But you gave no answer, not even a whisper, and the silence only deepened his anxiety.

"If you do not eat," his mother continued, her voice sharper now, filled with urgency, "you will waste away. You will die."

Aemond swallowed hard. He hadn’t known it was this bad. He pressed himself closer to the screen, his young mind racing. What could he do? How could he help?

The silence finally broke, but the sound of your voice was weak, and it made Aemond's stomach churn. "I do not care," you said, the weariness in your tone hanging in the air like a shadow. Aemond frowned deeply, his heart racing. It sounded as though you hadn’t spoken in days.

"I wish to be with my father," you whispered, and Aemond felt the words like a blow. His hands clenched at his sides as his chest grew tight.

Queen Alicent gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Princess..." she murmured, her voice barely above a breath.

A heavy silence lingered for a few moments, only broken by the sound of Alicent’s soft sigh. She leaned forward and gently caressed your brow, her fingers smoothing your hair with a mother’s care. "I shall return later," she said softly, though there was a hint of sadness in her tone. "Perhaps by then, you will be in better spirits."

She rose from the bed, her gown rustling softly as she turned to leave. Aemond stayed perfectly still, his breath held until his mother had exited the chamber, her footsteps fading down the corridor. Only then did he dare to move, waiting a moment longer before stepping out from behind the screen, the weight of your words still heavy on his mind.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped cautiously toward your bed. The tension in the room made the air thick, and his hands had already begun to tremble. He cleared his throat, though it did little to ease the nervousness tightening his chest. "Niece," he called softly, hoping the word might draw some warmth from you.

But you lay there, still as stone, offering him no sign that you’d heard. His heart quickened, not just from excitement but from something colder—apprehension. "It is me, Aemond," he said, trying again, this time louder, as if his voice could somehow break through the wall you had built around yourself.

"Leave," you croaked, your voice rough from disuse. The word, though weak, struck him like a lash.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he edged closer to your bedside despite the rejection. His heart ached at the sight of you, eyes barely open, a sliver of sharp lilac staring back at him with the irritation of a cornered animal. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I know you are in pain—"

"Go away," you interrupted, your voice fragile, cracking under the weight of your sorrow as you pulled the covers over your head, shielding yourself from him, from the world.

Aemond stood frozen, his brow furrowing deeply, the sting of your words sharper than he expected. He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the vulnerability he had tried so hard to bury rise to the surface. His voice was barely above a whisper as he let slip the truth he had kept locked away. "I… I’ve missed you."

Your silence stung worse than anything you could have said. Then, muffled beneath the covers, you spoke firmly, your voice laced with bitterness. "Leave me be, Aemond."

Desperation took hold of him. His face grew hot as he reached out toward the blanket that hid you, fingers trembling. "Please," he whispered, voice cracking, "just speak to me. Let me help you."

Suddenly, the covers flew back, and you sat up, your face twisted in an anger that made Aemond step back as if he had been struck. The look in your eyes—sharp, hateful—was something he had never seen before, not directed at him. "Now you wish to help?" you spat, your voice ringing through the chamber, venomous and cold. "You’ve ruined everything, Aemond."

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. "What?" He stared at you, confusion clouding his mind. What had he done?

"Because of your selfish ambitions," you snarled, your voice rising with every word, "my mother had to give me away. If it weren’t for you, I would still be with them—still be with my father!" Tears brimmed in your lilac eyes, the sight of them making his stomach churn.

Aemond felt like the floor had dropped from beneath him. How could this be his fault? He didn’t understand. "Niece—please," he whispered, but his voice sounded small and powerless, even to himself.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and when you spoke again, the words shattered him. "I hate you, Aemond. And I will hate you for the rest of our lives." Your voice broke as the tears finally fell, streaming down your cheeks. "Now go!"

Your scream echoed through the room, and Aemond felt wetness on his own cheeks. His chest tightened, and the lump in his throat grew unbearable. He flinched as he heard your knight call for you from outside the chamber, likely drawn by your raised voice.

Breathing heavily, Aemond glanced at you one last time, your tear-streaked face seared into his mind. His body moved on instinct, turning away, his feet carrying him swiftly back toward the secret door he had come through. His heart was heavy with a pain he had never felt before, not even when he had lost his eye, and as he slipped away, the weight of your words followed him into the darkness.

Queen Alicent paced the length of her chambers, her mind in turmoil. She had never anticipated this outcome when she brought you to the Red Keep, far from Dragonstone, far from your mother, Princess Rhaenyra. She had believed that under her guidance, you would flourish. As her ward, betrothed to Aemond, your closest companion, she imagined you would grow into a graceful, dutiful princess—one who would restore the honor of House Targaryen, untarnished by the reckless whims of your mother.

In her heart, Alicent had even dared to hope that you might surpass Rhaenyra, earning the love of the people as the true 'Realm’s Delight.' But those dreams now seemed distant and foolish.

It had all gone wrong.

Alicent had grossly underestimated the bond you held with your mother, the Princess. The spirited, joyful girl she had known—the one who ran through the halls of the Red Keep with Aemond at your side—had withered before her very eyes. In mere weeks, you had become a ghost, hollow and silent, consumed by grief and loneliness. Being torn from your mother’s side, followed by the sudden news of your father’s death, had shattered something deep within you.

Alicent was powerless. She could feel the weight of her failure pressing down on her, and it terrified her. You had stopped eating, and each time she visited your chambers, the sight of you grew more distressing. Your once-cherubic face had grown gaunt, your cheeks hollow, and the dark rings under your violet eyes seemed to deepen with every passing day. The life that had once shone so brightly within you was now dim, fading with each moment that you refused to take nourishment.

In truth, Alicent no longer cared about the feud between her and Rhaenyra. She no longer saw you as a pawn in the game of succession, a princess bound to her son. All of that had crumbled in the face of her growing fear for your health. She couldn’t stand by and watch you waste away, not like this.

She had tried everything—soft words, coaxing, but nothing had worked. You remained trapped in your sorrow, unreachable, silent. Desperation clawed at her heart, and in that desperation, she did something she had not imagined she would ever do.

Alicent sat at her desk, trembling hands grasping a quill as she penned a letter to Princess Rhaenyra. She pushed aside her pride, her anger, her fear of what this might mean for the tensions between their families. None of that mattered now. Only you mattered.

“Princess Rhaenyra, your daughter is unwell,” she wrote, her heart heavy with each stroke of the pen. “I ask—no, I beg you to come to the Red Keep at once. She needs you. I fear that without her mother, she may not survive this grief. Please, come swiftly.”

The letter was sealed with wax, her hand shaking as she pressed the Targaryen sigil into it. For once, Alicent did not think of herself, nor of the coming war over the Iron Throne. She only thought of the fragile girl with lilac eyes, fading away in the chambers of the Red Keep.

"Send it," she ordered the servant, her voice tight with emotion. "Have the fastest raven dispatched to Dragonstone."

But a week had passed, and there had been no response. Alicent cursed Rhaenyra’s negligence. How could she ignore such a plea? How could she allow her own daughter to wither away in the Red Keep, as if you were some pawn to be discarded?

What Alicent did not know was that the letter had never reached Rhaenyra’s hands. No, it had fallen into the possession of Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince had taken one glance at the letter and, with a smirk of indifference, tossed it into the flames of the hearth. In his eyes, you were of no use to him. Another heir of Rhaenyra’s blood, one more obstacle between him and his ambitions for his own children. Let the girl perish, he thought with cold calculation. It was one less threat to his plans for the Iron Throne.

Alicent, unaware of this, grew more anxious with each passing day. No response from Dragonstone. No sign of Rhaenyra. She could not wait any longer. In her desperation, she turned to another—a hope that perhaps your dearest friend, Helaena, might reach you where others had failed. Helaena, her sweet daughter, only three years your senior, had always been close to you, sharing dreams and secrets in happier times.

Alicent clasped her hands together as she stood outside your chamber, her nerves taut. She turned to Ser Rowan, your sworn knight, who had guarded you since your first breath.

"Any change today?" she asked, though her voice betrayed little hope.

Ser Rowan, his face dark with guilt, shook his head solemnly. "No, Your Grace. She has not stirred."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, and with a nod, she pushed open the door, Helaena trailing close behind. The chamber was as it always was—quiet, heavy with the air of grief. You lay in the bed, as still and silent as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

Alicent cleared her throat, trying to inject warmth into her voice. "Princess," she called gently, "I’ve brought a guest for you."

You did not stir. You did not acknowledge her at all. It was as if the words had fallen into an abyss.

Alicent’s heart sank. She glanced down at Helaena and gave her a nod of encouragement. Perhaps, just perhaps, her daughter could say what she could not.

Helaena moved slowly, her steps light as she approached your bed and sat beside you. She said nothing at first, simply humming a soft, melodic tune under her breath. From the small chest she had brought, she carefully lifted something between her fingers. The sight of her silent actions caught your attention, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, your small head peeked from beneath the covers, your curiosity piqued.

Alicent held her breath, hope blooming in her chest.

Helaena continued to hum as she gently played with the small creature in her hands, a soft smile on her lips. After a few moments of silence, you finally spoke, your voice weak and quiet. "What's that?"

Without glancing at you, Helaena murmured, "Buprestidae."

Your face scrunched in confusion, and Helaena, with her usual dreamy tone, elaborated, "It is more commonly known as the jewel beetle."

Your eyes widened in quiet wonder as you gazed at the shiny emerald insect in her hand. Its iridescent shell shimmered in the dim light, captivating your attention. "It’s very pretty," you whispered.

A faint smile touched Helaena’s lips. "My books say it is one of the most beautiful insects in the world," she said gently, her voice filled with affection as she watched your interest grow.

"Wow," you breathed, your small voice barely audible. Then, with a glimmer of your old self shining through, you looked up at Helaena, your lilac eyes filled with a trace of life. "Will you tell me more about them?"

There was a brief pause as Helaena's eyes drifted toward the untouched tray of food sitting beside your bed. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but firm as she made her quiet bargain. "I will... but only if you finish your soup."

Alicent’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched you hesitate, the tension in the room thick. She held her breath, praying to the gods that you would comply. After a moment of silence, you reached for the bowl and, with slow, deliberate movements, lifted the spoon to your lips.

Alicent nearly wept in relief as you began to eat, her heart lightening for the first time in what felt like ages. Helaena, true to her word, continued in her calm, melodic voice, speaking to you as you slowly finished your meal.

"Most jewel beetles are active during the day," Helaena explained, her tone soothing, "and they spend the night nestled beneath leaves or in the bark of trees. Their shimmering colors help them attract mates, especially under the bright sunlight, which makes their beauty shine even more..."

Alicent stepped back, her gaze lingering on you as the weight on her chest finally began to lift.

You found solace in Helaena’s presence, though at times her words felt like riddles, their meaning drifting past you like the wind. Still, there was something calming about her company, something soft and soothing in the way she moved and spoke. Her visits had become the brightest part of your days, a welcome distraction from the deep sorrow that still gripped you.

The ache of being separated from your mother, weighed heavy on your heart. You missed her fiercely, and the news of your father's death had only deepened that sadness. But when Helaena was near, for just a little while, the burden lightened. Her quiet, gentle presence helped you forget, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Today, the two of you sat in the warm light of your solar. Helaena perched on the chaise, her hands busy with her embroidery, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric with practiced ease. You, content with your own thoughts, sat nearby with parchment spread before you, sketching the insects Helaena had shown you in previous days. The jewel beetle, with its shimmering emerald wings, was your favorite to draw.

As your hand moved across the parchment, your mind began to drift. Your thoughts slipped away from the beetles and the quiet peace of the moment, wandering back to the last time you had seen Aemond. You could still see the hurt etched on his face, the way his expression had crumpled when you yelled at him in your grief. Your words had been sharp, and though part of you still clung to the anger, another part felt something different. Guilt. Regret.

You had missed him—more than you wanted to admit. Since you were a babe, it had always been you and Aemond, bound by blood and by the shared weight of the Targaryen legacy. You had thought that, no matter what, it would always be the two of you against the world. But then he had claimed Vhagar.

Everything had changed after that. He had left you behind, the only one of your kin without a dragon. And more than that, he had spoken cruelly, lashing out at your brothers and cousins with venom you had never seen in him before. His words had cut deeper than any sword.

But now, as you sat in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had overreacted. Yes, Aemond had been harsh, and yes, he had taken Vhagar without thinking how it would make you feel. But could one misstep, one painful choice, truly undo the bond you had shared for so long? Was your friendship, your connection as kin, so fragile that it could be shattered by a single moment of anger?

You paused, the charcoal in your hand hovering over the parchment as you considered. You missed him. Truly. And perhaps, deep down, you wondered if he missed you too.

"I do not wish to marry Aegon."

You looked up in surprise, her words catching you off guard. The castle had been alive with preparation — maids sewing new gowns, cooks laboring over feasts, and courtiers whispering about the upcoming union. You knew it was common among your kin for Targaryens to wed each other, like your great-grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, who were siblings. But still, the thought of Helaena marrying Aegon unsettled you, and now it seemed to trouble her too.

You knew why, of course. Your uncle Aegon was cruel, more interested in wine and women than anything else. He frightened you sometimes with the way he looked through people, as though they didn’t matter at all. You couldn’t imagine him as a kind husband.

"Why don’t you tell the Queen?" you asked, leaning forward on your seat, your eyes wide and hopeful. "Tell her you don’t want to marry him."

Helaena didn’t look up, her gaze fixed on her embroidery as her needle moved with careful precision. “Mother says it is our duty,” she murmured softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “To keep the blood pure. But... I don’t believe I shall be happy.”

The way her voice wavered made your heart tighten. Without thinking, you blurted out, “What if we leave?”

Helaena blinked, her head turning slowly toward you, confusion clear in her violet eyes. “Leave?” she repeated, her tone soft and bewildered. “I do not understand.”

“What if we just left?” you said again, more firmly this time, your words coming quicker now as the idea took shape in your mind. “We could fly away. Dreamfyre is strong. We could ride her across the Narrow Sea, go somewhere far away where no one could find us.”

For a moment, Helaena only stared at you, her needle paused in mid-air. “Niece...” she began, her tone hesitant, unsure.

“Yes!” You leaped to your feet, your excitement bubbling over as you grabbed her hands, your small fingers wrapping around her delicate, unmarked ones. Your hands were still smudged with charcoal. “We could see all the wonders of Essos — the great temples, the golden fields! We would eat cakes every day and never have to worry about anything.”

Helaena’s eyes softened, though a flicker of something uncertain lingered there. “And what of coin?” she asked after a pause, her voice gentle but cautious. “How would we live?”

You waved your hand dismissively, grinning. “We have a dragon, Aunt Helaena! We wouldn’t need anything else. Dreamfyre could take us wherever we wanted. No one could stop us.”

But Helaena’s gaze grew distant again, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We would be leaving our family behind,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Your smile faded as you sat back down beside her, your shoulders slumping slightly. Your mother had already left you behind when she sent you to King’s Landing. You had not seen her in months. Aemond… well, Aemond had Vhagar now. He didn’t need you anymore. He’d probably already forgotten about you.

“They don’t care about our happiness,” you said softly, trying to convince yourself as much as Helaena. “Why should we care about theirs?”

Helaena turned her face away, her expression distant, as if lost in her thoughts. Her lips moved slowly, forming words that you didn’t quite understand, though her tone was soft and strange, like a distant lullaby. “As shadows stretch and sky turns cold, fear within, like dusk, takes hold. Alone you stand, though hearts may yearn, in darkness waiting will light return."

You blinked, completely baffled by her words, but you simply shrugged and smiled brightly. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

Helaena’s head snapped back to you, her eyes widening in alarm. “Wait—”

“We’ll meet tonight at the Dragonpit!” you declared, bouncing up from your seat, your excitement renewed. “I’ll go pack my things!”

Before she could say another word, you were already running toward the door, your heart racing at the thought of your grand adventure. You didn’t hear Helaena call after you, nor did you see the torn, pained look that crossed her face as she watched you leave, uncertainty clouding her gaze.

Sneaking out of the Red Keep was, by far, the most reckless thing you had ever done in your ten years of life. Well, perhaps not the hardest, but it certainly felt like it as you plotted how to send Ser Rowan, your sworn shield, on a task that would occupy him long enough for your escape.

Stepping out of your chambers after so long, you saw Ser Rowan look at you with wide eyes, as though he had seen a ghost. It had been months since your return and you had not left your chambers since. your presence at such an hour clearly startled him.

“Ser Rowan,” you began, trying to keep your voice even, “could you fetch me some strawberry cakes from the kitchens, please?”

It was the middle of the night, and you knew full well that no one would be stirring in the kitchens at such an hour. Ser Rowan frowned at first, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Might it wait until morning, my princess? Surely—”

You interrupted with wide eyes and a slight pout, a trick you had learned from watching your mother use many times. Ser Rowan sighed, defeated.

“As you wish, my Princess,” he said with a small bow. “I shall return as swiftly as I can.”

As soon as he disappeared down the corridor, you darted back into your chambers. Your hands moved quickly, fastening a dark cloak over your nightgown, pulling on your boots, and securing a small satchel around your waist. Inside the satchel, you placed the few things you could not bear to leave behind—a few trinkets, a drawing of your family, and the little wooden dragon Aemond had carved for you.

Heart racing with excitement, you slipped out, careful to avoid the guards as you moved silently through the Keep. You kept close to the stone walls, where the shadows were deepest, and prayed no one would see your small figure darting from one corner to the next.

Somehow, by sheer luck or skill, you made it past the castle walls. You retraced your steps, recalling the times you had secretly followed your brothers, Jace and Luke, on their way to their dragon lessons. The path to the Dragonpit came to you as if you had walked it a hundred times before.

The pit was dark and silent, save for the occasional low rumble of a sleeping dragon. You knew you should have waited outside for Helaena, but your curiosity won out. The thrill of being here alone, surrounded by the presence of dragons, was too great to resist.

The deeper you ventured into the pit, the more your heart pounded with a mix of fear and awe. And there, before you, stood Dreamfyre, Helaena’s dragon. Even in the dim light, her blue scales shimmered like precious gems.

You gasped, startled, as Dreamfyre let out a heavy breath, a plume of smoke curling from her nostrils. The sudden movement made you cough, and Dreamfyre’s eyes flickered open. For a terrifying moment, the great beast stared at you with narrowed eyes.

You froze, holding your breath, certain that you had made a grave mistake. But after what felt like an eternity, Dreamfyre closed her eyes again, seemingly uninterested in you. Slowly, you let out a breath of relief, the tension easing from your shoulders.

You had not anticipated how long it would take for Helaena to arrive. The excitement of your escape began to fade, and the long wait in the cold of the Dragonpit made your eyelids heavy. Without thinking, you found yourself sitting against Dreamfyre’s rough, warm side. Her body heat was comforting, and before long, your head drooped, sleep threatening to take you.

Just as you were about to doze off, the sound of footsteps echoed through the pit. You jumped to your feet, hastily smoothing out your cloak and dress. Heart racing once more, you called out eagerly into the darkness.

“Helaena? Is that you?”

But the voice that responded was not hers.

“No, it’s me.”

A surge of confusion washed over you as Aemond stepped into view, a torch held high in his hand. The flickering light cast sharp shadows across his face, illuminating the scarred half hidden beneath his eyepatch. The sight of him, standing there with his frown and fierce gaze, made your heart drop. You hadn’t seen him since that terrible confrontation, you had not even noticed his injury. And now, seeing him like this, the guilt and confusion from that night flooded back.

You swallowed hard, your voice quivering as you asked, “Where is Helaena?”

“She’s back in the Red Keep, where you should be,” Aemond replied, his tone firm and commanding.

He hadn’t seen you in months, and though he felt relief to see you healthy and well, there was also a deep, gnawing hurt inside him. He had been shocked when Helaena told him of your plan to run away, and that pain twisted in his chest. You, his betrothed, were going to leave him behind so easily. And as much as he would have never admitted it aloud, if you had asked him to join you, he would have gone without hesitation.

Hurt flashed in your eyes, and your lip began to tremble. “Why isn’t she here?” you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

“She told me about your plan,” Aemond said quietly, his violet gaze never leaving you. “She sent me here to tell you that she has changed her mind.”

“No,” you shook your head fiercely, your voice cracking. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”

“She realized what you were doing was wrong,” Aemond said, stepping closer, his voice calm but stern. “The two of you have duties —”

"That's so easy for you to say," you snapped, your voice suddenly sharp and filled with anger. Neither of you noticed Dreamfyre’s eyes slowly opening at the sound of your raised voices. Tears welled up in your lilac eyes as you shouted, "You’re not the one being used as a broodmare! A mere vessel for heirs!"

Aemond flinched, pain crossing his face. He reached a hand out towards you, trying to soothe you. “Niece—”

But you stepped back, tears spilling down your cheeks as you slapped his hand away. Without another word, you turned and ran, your feet flying across the stone ground as Aemond’s voice echoed behind you.

But you didn’t stop. You ran through the Dragonpit, tears blurring your vision as you navigated the winding paths. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you, but you pushed forward, taking every shortcut you knew to avoid him.

When you finally reached the Red Keep, your legs were aching, and your breaths came out in sharp gasps. You felt utterly betrayed, the sting of Helaena’s broken promise cutting deep. Your ribs ached as you hurried back to your chambers, your sobs the only sound in the cold, empty corridors.

Then, as you turned a corner, you collided with Ser Rowan, who had just returned, a tray of strawberry cakes in his hands. The tray clattered to the ground as he caught sight of your tear-streaked face, his eyes widening in alarm.

“Princess!” he exclaimed, dropping to one knee in front of you, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?”

But instead of answering, you flung yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and sobbing into his steel-clad shoulder. The weight of everything crashed over you—your mother’s abandonment, Aemond’s actions, and Helaena’s betrayal. It all felt too heavy to bear, and in that moment, Ser Rowan was the only one who hadn’t turned his back on you.

You clung to him, crying into his armor, while the castle around you remained cold and silent, just like the hearts of those you had once thought loved you.

So what do you think about that reader/rhaenyra parallel I snuck in?

“we could ride her across the narrow sea, go somewhere far away where no one could find us. we would eat cakes every day and never have to worry about anything.”

—reader

“i want to fly with you on dragon back, see the great wonders across the narrow sea, and eat only cake.”

—rhaenyra

TO BE CONTINUED...

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@evernores @jouryuu @dbd-mommy @g-cf2020 @sl-ut @radiantdanvers @sillysillygyalsmh @callsignwidow @missyviolet123 @thelastemzy @lechat-rouge @sonichkkaaascreams @djarinsstuff @yovrnewromantic @strawberymilktea

[dark-konohagakure2]

I'd like to request Deidara seeing his sister for the first time after going rogue, he can't be without her now. Some of his hand stuff, kidnapping, incest, noncon. Please

tw: incest, sibling incest, noncon, kidnapping, obsession, molestation, groping, kissing, possessiveness, yandere

All characters depicted are 18+

Deidara was never a stellar older brother, he was never very attached to his little sister, seeing her as a brat that never understood his art, so he had no qualms with ditching her when he joined the Akatsuki, but by some bizzare stroke of luck he ends up running into her again years later, and his opinion on her does a drastic shift.

She's grown into quite the lovely young lady, now having curves that she didn't posses before. Deidara's opinion on her goes from indifference to a complete obsession with her, he doesn't want to be away from his sexy loveable sister for even a moment now, he wants her all to himself.

His sudden investment in her is incredibly jarring for her, but Deidara will just brush all her concerns off, telling her that he just missed his baby sister, he'll even take her to his home, generously letting her stay at his place, but what he doesn't tell her is that he'll never let her leave now that he has her.

It doesn't take her long to realize that her less than stable older brother has no intention of letting her leave, and Deidara isn't really subtle about it when she does find out, in fact, he sees it as the perfect time to take what he wants.

"Oh shut your mouth, un! It isn't kidnapping if we're family, yeah? So stop whining and let big bro take good care of you..."

Deidara wants to get a good handful of her body, but he doesn't just feel her body with his hands, he can taste it too thanks to the mouths on his palms, his hands will lick and bite her most sensitive spots while his actual mouth will be forcibly clamped onto hers, shoving his tongue down her throat and stealing her very first kiss.

He rambles on quite a bit when he's fucking her, going on about how good her pussy feels and how she grew up to be such a good lay. Deidara doesn't care that she's his sister, all he cares about in that moment is getting his rocks off and keeping her for himself.

Deidara is a virgin, the only experience with sex he has is using his hands to give himself a blowjob, but he's never gotten to sink his cock into some wet cunt until now, so he gets a bit overwhelmed, blowing his load almost immediately, but he won't stop after that despite his embarrassment.

When he's done with her he'll cuddle her close, even if she's crying and pushing him away, telling her all about how good that felt, and now that he has her, he's never going to let her escape his grasp ever again.

"See?! I told you it'd feel good you cute little idiot! You better get used to it, sweetie, because I'm going to be showing you a lot more of how much I love you~"

Deidara really ends up regretting leaving his sister behind all these years, not because of any genuine remorse for leaving his sister alone without so much as a goodbye, but because it meant he couldn't get inside her sweet little pussy sooner.

[gurokiitty]

Hiii! I read your Jimmy fanfic and I absolutely love it so so so much.

I was really curious as to if you could do a babysitter! jimmy x reader, where reader is Curly’s younger sibling and, despite them being of age, Curly is adamant on them being babysat (just in case because he’s a caring brother ☺️) and Jimmy comes to babysit the reader. They order pizza, put on a Christmas movie and get cosy under a blanket. Jimmy starts to get handsy under the blanket and it ends with the Reader sucking Jimmy off on the living room couch.

Thought a sort of Christmassy fanfic would be good this time of year :3

Lots of love, 🌺 ~🫶🫶

a/n : i'm giggling n kicking my feet, anon <33 i love this idea! thank you for your request :3 AND HAPPY HOLIDAYSSS

DON'T TELL

{ babysitter! jimmy x f! reader ]

word count : 1594

warnings/tags : DUBCON, legal age-gap, pre-tulpar, reader is curly's adopted sister, implied incest, groping, rough n messy throatfucking.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn’t him. When you opened the door, he was there—leaning lazily against the frame, all wiry angles and slouching indifference.

Jimmy, you’d assumed, though the man standing on your porch was a far cry from the image you’d pieced together in your mind. The stories your brother told painted him as someone reliable—maybe even admirable, in Curly’s own begrudging way.

But the real Jimmy looked like he’d been scraped off the bottom of a gas station parking lot. His leather jacket was cracked and scuffed, so fatigued it shone in patches. His hair was slicked back, greasy enough to catch the dim porch light like an oil spill. His jaw was shadowed with dark stubble, and his eyes—so dark they almost swallowed the whites—flicked over you with a quick, cutting assessment.

“Curly’s sister?” he asked finally, the cigarette smouldering between his fingers leaving a faint trail of smoke that curled in the frosty air.

You nodded, though something uneasy had stirred in your chest. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice thinner than you wanted. “That’s me.”

You stepped aside, pulling the door open wider, the words spilling out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Come in.”

“Little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” he drawled, stepping over the threshold as the faint scent of sweat and smoke trailed after him.

He was right—you weren’t a kid, and yet here you were, playing host to someone Curly had insisted on sending to keep an eye on you. It felt absurd, letting this wolfish man into your home just because your brother trusted him. And yet, you did, because trust in your brother was second nature.

Now, the two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows across the room. The Christmas movie you’d picked plays in the background, all twinkling lights and syrupy holiday cheer, but your focus has drifted elsewhere.

It had started innocently enough—Jimmy stretched out at one end of the couch, you curled at the other, a safe distance between you. But slowly, inexorably, he’s crept closer, his presence consuming more and more of the space around you like mould festering, proliferating, spreading to places that were once unspoiled. His knee brushes against yours, then lingers. The blanket you’d wrapped around yourself is now shared, his hand tugging it over his lap as though it had been his all along.

You barely register the movie anymore—some forgettable scene flashing on the screen, colours bleeding into each other without meaning. The warmth of his body radiates through the layers of fabric between you, but it’s his hand that holds your attention. It rests lightly against your thigh beneath the blanket, his fingers splayed just enough to make your breath waver. He doesn’t look at you—his eyes remain fixed on the screen, disinterested, as though his touch is incidental, meaningless.

But it’s not meaningless—not when it shifts higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You should say something, do something, but you sit frozen, your breath shallow, your hands clutching the blanket as though it could shield you. His fingers inch upward, a silent threat to claim the space between your thighs.

“Ever been touched like this before?” he murmurs, his raspy voice cutting through the music on-screen. He finally turns to look at you, his lips stretching into something that resembles a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You swallow hard, your voice barely audible. “My brother—” The words tumble out, an incoherent plea. "He'd be so angry... I don't..."

Jimmy's eyes narrow, his fingers digging a bit harder into your soft flesh like a warning. "Then don't tell him."

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing yours with a force that steals your breath. The kiss is all tobacco and heat, and it leaves your head spinning. Your hands hover uselessly in the space between you, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, your brother's voice echoes—a reminder, a warning—but it’s drowned out by the way Jimmy’s free hand drifts higher, his palm pressing against your chest through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your body betrays you, your hips shifting, grinding subtly against the palm he’s pressed between your legs as the blanket falls to the floor. The friction sends a jolt of sensation through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shame and desire warring. Curly would hate you if he knew, you think desperately. He’d never forgive you. But even that thought isn’t enough to make you pull away.

When Jimmy finally releases you, there’s a faint trail of saliva connecting your lips, glistening like honey. He grips the back of your head, his fingers tangling roughly in your hair, as his other hand fumbles hastily with his belt. The metallic jingle is sharp, invasive, and your stomach knots as he pushes his jeans down just enough to free himself.

“You worked me up,” he mutters, his voice rough, cracking slightly at the edges like something about to snap. "Now you’ve gotta finish the job." His hand tightens, and he pushes your head down toward his lap—toward his hardening cock.

The world narrows to the feel of his hand gripping the back of your head and the press of his fingers biting into your scalp. His scent curls inside you like a living thing, nauseating and strangely intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans is rough against your cheek as you shift, your lips parting hesitantly over his leaky head.

Salty precum stains your tongue before you can think to resist—his palm driving you down his length. Your warm, wet mouth envelops him, his girth stretching your lips as he invades your throat. He worms his way deeper, making you cough and sputter around him, your trembling fingers seeking the edge of the couch for support.

He’s unrelenting, pushing you down until your nose grazes the coarse hair at the base. Your lungs burn as you struggle to keep up, the pace frantic and uncaring, and you can feel spit beginning to drip from the corners of your mouth, pooling in a glossy mess between you. Your body shudders, muscles straining against the force, but he only growls low in his throat, moving you like a doll in his hands.

His fingers knot tighter, and he begins to guide you up and down, each motion sharper than the last. For a moment, your resistance slackens entirely, your head moving in time with the jerking motions of his hips.

His pelvis lifts slightly, an unspoken command, and you obey, your movements automatic, practiced. You can feel your cheeks hollow with effort as you take him deeper still, your lips brushing against his base with each downward stroke.

The slick sounds meld with the movie playing, obscene and rhythmic, each bob of your head sending a fresh wave of spit down your chin. You swirl your tongue around him with precision, tracing patterns you know by rote, and he groans above you, his fingers tightening as he presses you down further, deeper. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breaths jagged, and you can feel the heat of his shaft pulse against your tongue.

"F-Fuck, where’d you learn to suck cock like this, huh?" Jimmy pants, his hips stuttering as your motions turn quicker, more deliberate.

The words lodge in your chest, clawing at your ribs. Your stomach churns, and for a moment, you falter. Your brother's name blooms in your thoughts unbidden, sharp and sour like bile rising in your throat. It’s there, screaming inside your head, his voice intertwined with the memory of his hands—guiding, demanding, teaching.

Jimmy’s grip on you tightens as if sensing your hesitation, dragging you back to the present—to the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and the searing stretch of your throat. “Hey,” he growls, "I didn't tell you to stop."

Your body responds before your mind catches up, your head dipping again, lips sealing around him with renewed vigour. You move faster now, your tongue fanning over the underside of his cock, pulling needy sounds from him that vibrate in your ears. Your hands find his thighs, nails digging into denim as you try to steady yourself, spittle and mucus bubbling from your nose and mouth, trailing in sticky threads down your jaw.

He holds you there, his breathing ragged as he thrusts shallowly into your throat. You can feel his thighs tense, quivering beneath your fingers as the muscles in his stomach coil tight like a spring. He throws his head back, a steady groan escaping him as his release surges down your constricting throat in thick, pulsing streams.

It floods your mouth, hot and acrid, and you gag as it forces its way through. You tap desperately against his leg, your glassy eyes fluttering open in a silent plea. Finally, he lets you go, and you lurch back, coughing violently as you drag in a breath that burns all the way down. Strings of milky white trail from your lips, and some of it escapes your nostrils to trickle in sticky rivulets down your chin.

Your tangled hair clings to the dampness of your face as you sputter, choking out thick globs of spit and cum. Jimmy leans back against the couch, his breath still heavy, and watches you with a smug curl to his lips. "Shit—if I knew you were such a little slut, I would've babysat more often."

[cookikiixp]

Hello Dreamers.

WELCOME TO BLUISH SPACE

🛑‼️I'd love to make it clear that I'm uncomfortable about some stuff like people talking bad about kiki without knowing anything nor just who hates oc / ocxcanon must leave my acc immediately, I don't accept tracing,stealing, being copied, etc. please dni.. people who supports incest and proship should leave.‼️🛑

ꕥHi hello it's me KIKI :3

ꕥ you can call me kiki i really don't mind being called by my ocs name it makes me feel happy

★I'm the creator of★

OMORI KIKI and OMORI DAISY!

(which u can reach with the tag of #omorikiki #kikiomori #omoridaisy #daisyomori #omoriboydaisy #daisyomoriboy)

↑ my omori ocs that i spent days to create and put my heart n sweat N many more things :3 (shh)

{i also have an omori au called awaremori but it's on my Instagram highlights and i didn't finish the charts yet like i said I'm lazy 💔 BUT MAYBE İN FUTURE ANYWAY}

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🫧𓇼𓏲*Lets take a close look to KIKI and DAISY✩‧₊˚🎐

🎨 the real world kiki 🖌️and headspace kiki

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Kiki's symbolizing colour: Baby blue

Kiki's symbolizing flower: Daisies 🌼

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/ᐠ - ˕ -マ and this is DAISY the omori boy comic version (literally the beta KIKI!)

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now we also have BLACKSPACE KIKI! she's out of ink... pain.... tears... sadness..fear.... ooohhhh .......

tho... I'm sure she'd love some company

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✎ᝰ. please feel free asking questions about her it'll also help me to develop her story further which I'm trying to update soon (as soon as possible I'm just lazy)

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✎ᝰ.ᐟ WARNING 𓇢𓆸

! my account is mostly about

OC X CC (oc[kiki/daisy]×cc[basil/flower)

but i also do fanarts of the main cast and omori characters I'm making so if you hate oc x canon or feel uncomfortable at all please dni or just block/leave etc

[YOU CAN REACH MY OTHER ACCS FROM HERE]

[Also you can reach her drive files that have many official stuff+lore in here]

! I'm someone pretty sensitive so please be civil.

‼️ALSO PLEASE BE AWARE that I'm SO uncomfortable of being COPIED/TRACED/STOLEN/ETC‼️

★about the★

OC[KIKI/DAISY] X CANON[BASIL/FLOWER]

(You can reach it with the tags #omoribloombrush #bloombrushomori #omoriboybloombrush #bloombrushomoriboy #basilxkiki #kikixbasil)

ᓚᘏᗢ

it's like my personal free therapy that's why i feel happy drawing abt them and receiving fanarts about them!!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 so please feel free to make fanarts of them!! (it makes me so happy that i start to run around squealing)

here take a look at her character charts!!

PLEASE DON'T USE NOR TRACE^^

i also have many aus of her from my friends au's or other aus so don't feel embarrassed to ask!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Of course, since this is my last year at school, it's debatable whether I can be very active... anyway sometimes i get too lazy and get into art block so idk if I'll be able to make arts just so you guys are aware :D(it was much longer than i expected it to be?? idk i tried my best! :3

[starpoweredv1b]

tw. fem pov, incest, guided masturbation, overstimulation, corruption, ddlg-vibes(?), dub-con

dad!zayne noticing how you've been so restless these past few days after school. when he tries to ask what's the matter, you'd just brush it off with that pout still on your face. adorable but still annoying because the answer still eluded him. so here he was sitting across from you for the rare free lunch periods he has, tapping the side of his fork as he looked at you through his silver framed glasses.

"honey, how am i supposed to help you if all you do is sulk? i'm worried about you, sweetheart."

his voice was so gentle despite his worry and frustration that was building up. long gone were the days of simple rationality. days where he only had himself to look after. as much as he loved you and his wife with the wntirety of his heart, the complication that irrational-deemed displays brought along was not lost on him. love and care was a weird thing, really. not one proper diagnosis can be made.

"dad, i've just been feeling so restless lately. i think it's just my period maybe."

ah. periods. so this must be her...ovulation period? huh. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in thought as he mulled over her answer. you were a pretty late bloomer if he must say so himself. already an adult and still so clueless about 'bodily needs and functions' in that sense. you still struggle to refer to body parts without going all shy and blushy. he let out a soft sigh as he looked at your adorable face. the way your eyes were trying to gauge his reaction to your response. a nosy one. just like her mom, he thought fondly to himself.

"let dad help you out, alright? i'll show you a massage we can try after you finish eating. see if it'll make this restlessness of yours disappear."

he tells you, lips curved into that small warm smile only you and your mom managed to wring out of him. that was how you found yourself sat between his legs on the couch. he stroked your hair as his warm hands parted your skirt clad thighs.

"what you're feeling right now is ovulation, sweetheart. you're a grown woman now and grown women have needs that...need to be met."

he says, methodically lifting your legs to put over his thighs and lifting your skirt.

"dad's going to show you how to get rid of the restlessness now, okay? look at what i'm doing closely."

he instructs against the shell of your ear. his long fingers traced down your panty clad mound the way a surgeon would to measure the incision they were about to make. you stifled a whimper with your palms against your lips.

"it's natural to make sounds, sweetheart. it's a biological response. now relax and watch what dad's gonna do."

he began circling the fabric over your clit, pads of his fingers drawing precise and consistent strokes that had you writhing between his legs and your spine arching against his firm toned stomach. you were so sensitive, he worried that you would orgasm before he could finish his demonstration.

"this is your clitoris. if you rub or stimulate it with your fingers over the fabric, the friction will make it feel really good."

he continued guiding you with his fingers all over your sticky wet pussy, parting your lips and even stretching your arousal and letting it drip to show how wet you must be before the next step. he wondered if you were even listening by now. your eyes were half lidded and face so flushed. he could barely even hear what you were whining. he pulled his fingers away and gently slapped your inner thigh.

"focus for me, honey. we're moving on to the inside massages now."

he'd smear your juices all over his long fingers and pussy before gently pushing in his middle finger and curling it up just right.

"you're really tight, honey. relax for dad, hm? let dad help make you feel so good."

he'd thrust his finger all the way to the knuckle, scratching the spongy spot inside your walls just right. and when you're a moaning mewling mess, he'd introduce another finger and scissor you open so sweetly. your thighs are trembling and you were panting so hard, body shuddering against his bigger firmer one.

"hah- you're doing so well, sweetheart."

he'd softly grunt against the shell of your ear from the effort. as soon as he feels you tightening, he'd gently rub your inner thighs and then use his other hand to circle your clit lazily. he kisses your head and hair as you let out a strangled cry before quickly rubbing your pussy to drain all the leftover juices in small squelch spurts. the orgasm was so intense that you were tearing up, burying your face against his shirt.

"feels better now right? you feel lighter and less frustrated?"

he cooed sweetly, gently stroking your head and peppering you with kisses on your head. his little girl's all grown up now into the prettiest woman. just like her mom. she even came all cute and pretty like her mom. he felt a swell of pride in his chest. as your pussy twitches finally slow and your breathing evened out, he gently took your hand and placed it on your soaked mound once more.

"now it's your turn, honey. show me what you've learned, hm? we're gonna make sure you really get it down."

[heremob]

Presentation!

I'm Mob! Call me Mob! :D

If you want my other socials my card is: https://theremob.carrd.co/

• Artist

•Obssessed with ghosts

• 16 years

• He/him

• Speak any language you wish

• Doing my best i love interacting!

• i have diagnosed severe Depression and Social Anxiety

• even tho my blog is mainly cute silly things if you feel uncomfortable with sometimes gore and blood you might wanna not follow this blog! sometimes it has organs and blood!

TAGS:

I use #Mobasks for asks

#Mobquests for requests

#Mobart for art

#mob stuff for rambles

Bounderies:

• Be really careful with your jokes! Most of the times i dont get them and im really sensitive XD

• Im fine with asks! I love asks :3

• feel free to draw my ocs! I love when somebody draws my sillies 😭😭

• Im fine with art requests! but dosen't mean i will do them if i don't feel comfortable

• i don't do OC art requests (unless If i ask!)

• shipping requests are A-OKAY!

• I strongly dislike nsfw topics so please dont talk about It with me, i feel uncomfortable with sexual topics.

• Please avoid spaming and please don't ask for propagation

• problematic shippers/zionists/zoophiles/incest/pedo dni

[fangdokja]

Hello! I love your writing. I wanted to know if you're actually Christian or if you simp for Jesus (genuine question, no offense either way) Thank you!

Okii, prepare for rambling and unstructured talking. And, I'm glad you're enjoying my writing. Thanks so much :)))

TW. Contains sensitive real-life themes of suicide, depression, mental illnesses, and other sensitive issues. Reader discretion is strongly advised. But if you want to know more about me and why I write dead dove content? Read away :))

Yeahhh, I do. I know, pretty weird considering what I write, correct? But, rest assured, I do simp for Jesus. JESUS STAN. I am well aware it's weird and strange considering I'm "Christian" but I write this stuff, whether it's the vanilla yanderes from Genshin and HSR, or the AHD and FF more intense yanderes.

But, I really am. I don't really know how to explain it. But, unlike most, I really find writing and reading dark content therapeutic for me. Contrary to most, I actually hardly feel anything at all, even when writing the "nastiest" or most "fudged up shiz" that (to me, I don't mind it, I sleep well without trauma from it) to others are a turn off or won't like at all.

Everyone has different tolerances. I can read anything, gang rape, incest, gore, vore, murder, etc. every controversial and taboo issue under the sun. Because well most say that I have a strong tolerance. To me, such things aren't alarming, and I can read and write it just fine. If you can't stand it, then don't read it. No worries. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone, even yourself, if you really can't stand it. Just stop reading it.

It's also why I take the effort to put trigger warnings, even though it literally takes so much space in the post at times. But, it's necessary. Some things I write, especially explicit R18 stories are only for certain niches and audiences. It's not for everyone, a small community even.

Most prefer my more vanilla works, and that's fine. Just make sure to read the TW, and mentally prepare yourself that you know what you're generally getting into. And prepare sometimes that it's even more than what you expected (I have gotten comments of shock and surprise that the story was too much from them, which kind of made me go ??? since there were explicit warnings and such, but my friend said sometimes it can be more than expected to people even with TW).

I write for a vast audience, because that's my writing style. I sometimes like writing more vanilla yanderes, nothing too explicit. Other times I prefer writing erotic horror. Depends on my mood really.

Actually, when I write. Honestly? I don't feel anything at all. LIKE NOTHING. It's actually extremely rare for me to feel anything. It's why it's a miracle my husband and God is able to make me feel at all.

If you can't read that stuff, no need to read it. Just because I write it doesn't mean I condone it. It's why I write rape but no consensual porn sex. It romanticizes porn, same goes with most LGBTQ+ stories. I may write these themes, but I don't romanticize it. If it looks like I do, well, it's probably my flowery writing style. But, the emotions behind it are of the fear, anxiety, thrilling you're gonna get hurt and die kind of way.

Hmmm. One way I explain things on why I write this, aside from that I love spending time with God and my husband; since it requires me to talk to them voluntary or I would not be able to write at all— is simply I hate myself to the point of death.

I have a lot of self-worth issues until now, lots of stuff in my head in general. Like, I honestly could care less if I die. BUT.

God and my husband would be sad if I died, and I don't want them to be sad or whatever. So, it's why I keep myself alive, and make a conscious effort to do things that make me happy.

I'm not some holier-than-thou Christian. I love God, I really do (or I would literally have offed myself several times already). But, it doesn't mean I don't go through struggles. And, I'm not some perfect human who doesn't doubt, who still struggles with sin or whatever. I do. I really do. EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It's a common misconception that if you struggle with sin, you don't love God, that's wrong. Numerous people in the Bible struggled with sin, and yet God still uses them. To name a few:

Abraham literally lied and gave away his wife because he was afraid to be killed, even though God promised that He would make Abraham into a great nation through this woman.

Noah was a drunkard who slept naked (during that time, he was witnessed by his sons in a compromised position of his own making). But, he succeeded in the building of the Ark and his family believed in God in a world full of sin at that time.

Paul literally killed and persecuted Christians. He was part of the religious group who did so (further proving religion isn't always good. it's not about religion. It's just JESUS). Paul later became responsible for spreading the Gospel to the Gentiles and outside with the help of his comrades.

David killed a married man and committed adultery with the wife, (most likely raped) Bathsheba. And, still God called David "the man after my own heart."

Solomon had thousands of wives and fell to greed. And yet he was still known as the "wisest man", known for his wisdom.

Jacob literally stole his brother's blessing by lying and ran away from home.

Moses killed an Egyptian and ran away, before he later returned to bring the Israelites out of Egypt.

A famous one, Peter denied knowing Jesus.

Aaron made an idol of gold while Moses was literally talking to God on Mount Sinai.

Sarah (Abraham's wife) laughed at God's promise that she would have a son. She was even impatient and got Hagar involved to sleep with Abraham to get a son, and eventually drove Hagar away due to jealousy (after Sarah had Isaac), even though it was originally her idea.

Judas, a fellow disciple, (no I don't hate him, I understand. and honestly? if he didn't give into despair, God would've forgiven him like what God did to Peter. Judas has a sad ending. and before you judge him, a lot of us literally betray Jesus everyday for other gods) betrayed Jesus.

AND MUCH MORE. The Bible is so legit. My favorite book.

This is stuff LITERALLY found in the BIBLE. We're not saying it's correct what they did. But, it's meant to show, these broken people who even commit mistakes over and over, or big mistakes, God still uses them. God still loves them.

Why would you be any different? (trust me, I also have a hard time with this until today)

People sometimes don't know this, or don't talk about the "bad sides of people in the Bible". And yet, God still called them and cherished them. God already knows what they would do, what would happen, both good and bad, and yet God still suffered and died for them and us.

If God really wanted us dead, we wouldn't have existed and would already be dead.

Sometimes, Christians (or whatever denomination you may be, I don't care, it's about Jesus in the end) and even outside think "Oh, you struggle with sin, so you must not be Christian." It's not true at all. In fact, Jesus Himself said in this world, there will still be suffering. "But take heart, for I have overcome the world."

Actually, I would say you would suffer more following Jesus, because you're not from this world anymore. And the world hated Jesus. They literally crucified him, religious leaders, people in power, masses agreed to let an actual criminal go to crucify a man with no fault.

If the master suffered, what makes you think the servants won't suffer as well?

It's why Lamentations is my favorite book in the Bible (before it was Ecclesiastes). If you guys like dark content, I strongly recommend reading these two books. Lamentations especially for depressed people like me, lolll. Others prefer Psalms, but I prefer these two books.

But, in conclusion, even with my writing (dead dove, explicit stuff, etc.) I love JESUS. I literally hate myself to death, so how do you expect me to love myself and others if I'd rather just die than live? It's honestly a big enough accomplishment that I live everyday. I have a difficult time doing so, but I do it. Not because of feelings.

"The heart is deceitful above all. Who can understand it?"

But, because I love Jesus and I love my husband. I know they'll be sad if I offed myself. So, that's why I don't do it. And writing all this? Well, to me, as weird as it sounds, it's "therapy" for me. I can never relate to "happy and fluffy stories".

I won't expound. But, no one just one day wants to kill themselves. It's a gradual process. I'm not trauma dumping you all, but it's to show that even with what I have (and more), I love Jesus and Jesus is what keeps me going and doing everything. Even my very next breath and to live everyday is by Jesus.

When you have nothing. When you lose everything. When you're so used to darkness. You learn to appreciate the light more.

Jesus once said this even: Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” (Luke 5:31-32)

Let that sink in. SINNERS. He's calling the SINNERS. The lost sheep. The outcasts. The ones rejected by people and society. The poor (not simply monetary, but those unloved and weak, who have nothing to offer even to Jesus). In fact, Jesus even said, you would find Him among these people. The weak, the brokenhearted, the rejected.

Did you find him among kings? Among royalty during his time? He visited them to help them, or to heal, etc. But, usually. You would find Jesus among people who can't offer anything in return (and if they could, they could be like tax collectors hated by everyone else).

If you really want to know more about Jesus, read the Bible for yourself. The source. Be a skeptic, look at evidences and proofs before deciding if Jesus is reliable or not. It works the same with any research. Have the ethical integrity to study. Not simply relying on secondary or even false (misinformation) sources. Including your own bad experiences with religion. Get it from the primary source.

[katakosmos]

tw: abuse!!!!!

one thing that really surprises me, especially when it comes to rosier twincest, is how many people in this fandom refuse to believe that evan was, most likely, an abuser. i've read all sorts of different versions of "toxic" evan, but none of them even come close to suggesting that he might have psychologically and/or physically abused pandora and barty.

we always make sure to specify how crazy, insane, cruel he is, but by some strange astral coincidence, every time evan's a psychopath who hurts others, he always does it with the other person's consent. we always let him do the worst kind of things to barty, "because that's what turns barty on!"; even the idea of incest disgusts us less than thinking about the implications of evan's fucked up behavior.

sorry, but in what universe do you think pandora could have ever agreed to have a relationship with her brother spontaneously and voluntarily? i'll tell you, in none. pandora may have given her consent at the beginning, but it's a consent that is the result of years of psychological abuse, where evan has led her to believe that she's a useless and worthless woman. and the same goes for barty: even making them both psychopaths, doesn't diminish the gravity of evan's actions. and, in the middle of a story that talks about a toxic relationship, throwing in a conversation about consent in bed won't save evan from all his previous behaviors. at this point it's better not to put it, and accept what evan is (an abuser), even if you don't want to admit to yourself.

obviously, i'm not saying evan has to be a horrible person in every context or story. but when it comes to sensitive topics like violence, consent, toxic relationships, we need to stop justifying his every action by bringing up kinks, or pretending that his behavior is even remotely acceptable. sure, it's fiction, but it's still abuse. evan is an abuser, and therefore he abuses people. let's start calling things by their names.

[tarotwitchy]

Hey, its me again, tysm for your response, its very insightful. Now, I wanted to ask about another synastry placement between me and my mother - her pluto (virgo) squares my moon (gemini). How does that play out, and do you think it affects the Pluto-Asc synastry too?

I also natally have moon (10h) opposite pluto(4h) square asc(virgo).

♡

I'm glad I was able to help you with your previous inquiry. Parent-Child synastry and composite posts really are quite rare here, so I try to answer them when they come. I hope this one helps as well! 🙂

• PLUTO IN VIRGO SQUARE MOON IN GEMINI •

Both of the signs that govern these planets are under Mercury's intellectual influence. When your mother's Pluto in Virgo squares your Moon in Gemini, there's a battle of emotional intensities between the two of you. I wouldn't be surprised if it's common for both of you to have conflict on how to interpret and handle situations that require emotional sensitivity.

Growing up, you may have felt as if she's the one who dictates how you should feel about yourself, about certain scenarios, and about other people. As simple of a situation as watching a movie together, she might have been that parental figure that had comments on the characters on screen during emotional scenes, and she also might have always given her "two cents" on how she would have reacted if she was the character in that movie. In a way, her control over interpersonal and intrapersonal interactions (or relationships) have shaped you today, and you could be experiencing an internal "push and pull" because of that.

Your internal voice could mimic that of your mother's. You either love it or absolutely hate it.

Another manifestation of this abrasive synastry placement is how she could have an overbearing mothering style over you, or if she was completely neglectful. I have only ever heard of this Parent-Child synastry twice, ever. (You're the third). And both of those have vastly different parenting styles. In the first pair, the mother was very much stifling and smothering—imposing her emotional chokehold (almost emotional incest) over her son. With the other pair, the mother was quite literally emotionally absent. Now, I don't know where you fall on this spectrum, but this placement usually has one aspect that swings toward an extreme.

{masterlist}

Copyright © 2024 by TarotWitchy

[Do not repost, copy, or reword]

[kinky-candyland]

Yet another MHA thirst for your feed.🙈 (pt2 of this post)

tw//: incest (sister x sister) (I don't condone it, the only reason I'm ok writing it is because it's fiction)

warnings:// aged up characters (I'm horny, not a monster, both are in their 20's), smut, 🔞, wlw, oral (f receiving), angry sex, sex as stress reliever, rough sex, toy insertion (v and a), quirk use for sex, cum marking, wall sex, floor sex, tit sucking, oral (f receiving), scissoring

The Yaoyorozu sisters were invited to a dinner party hosted by Shoto Todoroki, meaning Momo’s sister was out of the house, in Momo’s clothes and underwear, Momo’s cum inside of the underwear. Everyone at the dinner party knew the two to be sisters, so Denki had no shame in making constant passes at the sister. Saying thinks like “where’s your sister been hiding you?” with that dumbass smirk of his. He really didn’t need to know. He just wants some free Yaoyorozu pussy.

The sister just silently walked away from him, going back to her sister. Momo immediately knew what was going on when Denki dared call her sister “baby” within earshot of her. Momo had to excuse herself and her sister, leaving the party after explaining to Shoto that they needed to.

Momo wasn’t upset at her sister, the sister who never even entertained Denki, the sister who never spoke a word to Denki, the sister who walked away from Denki, the sister who chose her over Denki. Her faithful sister. Her good sister. Her sister. Momo was upset at Denki for the things he said to her little sister.

With plenty of foreplay (Momo eating out her sister though the underwear) on the way home in the back of their limo, Momo was immediately on her sister the second the door shut. Pushing her up against the wall before roughly kissing her. Momo’s sister knew she wasn’t angry at her and kissed back with as much passion. Momo pulls the skirt her sister was wearing down, pulling the cum stained lace underwear aside, exposing her sister’s cunt covered in their mixed orgasms not one hour apart.

Momo lifted up her own dress up and took her panties off, a 8in strap on appearing on her. Momo immediately thrusts into her sister’s pussy, making her whine. Momo fucks her sister against the wall before roughing pulling out, pushing her to the floor on her back.

Momo sinks to her knees, sliding her fake cock back into her little sister, fucking her ruthlessly, but the sister was enjoying it. The sister’s boobs bounced with Momo’s thrusts, causing Momo to move the blouse she was wearing up so she could have a view of them. The sister came hard, screaming out Momo’s name. Momo gently slides out, apologizing for being so rough on her.

Momo’s sister reaches for Momo’s dress, pulling it down to reveal her breasts, latching her lips around a nipple and sucking on her for a few seconds before going to the other one and giving it the same attention. After Momo’s sister had her fill, she moved so she was on all fours, moving her underwear aside so her ass is towards Momo, who takes it as initiative to slide the fake cock into her. Momo’s thrusts were gentler, but still rough. Just like her sister liked her ass to be handled.

The sister came again and Momo pulled out as her sister turns around, pulling her skirt and underwear off. Momo lays on the floor as her sister hovers herself over Momo’s lower body, pulling the dress back up before wrapping her mouth around Momo’s clit and gently sucking. Momo was always sensitive and came quickly.

But Momo wasn’t done with her sister. She gently moves her sister so their pussys could be slotted next to each other as they rubbed against one another, coaxing their last orgasms of the night. After the two came as one, the sister falls asleep against her sister’s chest. Momo gently stripped her sister before cleaning her off, taking her to their shared room to sleep off the excitement.

The two had no plans the next day and Momo wasn’t scheduled for hero work, so that gave Momo the entire day to just be with her sister, knowing full well that her sister is her own.

[i-3at-s0ap]

Hey! Welcome to my blog!

[plain text: Hey! Welcome to my blog!]

FUCK TERFS 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕 THIS BLOG IS RUN BY A TRANSMASC!!!!! I LOVE TRANS PEOPLE (because a couple of TERFs are following me for some reason 🤢)

Info below the cut :3

He/they 🏳️‍⚧️

Bisexual, possibly demiromantic

I'm not going to share my real name here but people call me Rat so that's my name now lmao. you can also call me Soap.

Go check out my doll based side blog @custom-dolly ! (Even if you don't like dolls very much I also post doll houses which are more about the craft than the dolls lmao.)

I mostly post fanart, and I try my best to make all of them have an image ID, please tell me if I've forgotten :)

Drawing requests are OPEN right now, and I will...

Do ✅

- fanart for fandoms I'm in

- OCs (I'll need a reference pic)

- ships for fandoms I'm in

Not do ❌

- furries (I love y'all, the thing is I'm shit at drawing animals and furries sorry. I'm working on it lol)

- severe body horror

- NSFW (sex, kinks, you get the idea)

- Harry potter shit (fuck JKR)

- incest/large age gap/step sibling ships/pedophilia

I reserve the right to decide whether or not I draw something.

This blog has like no tagging system but here are the few I do have

#I-eat-art -> my art

#look at my suicide posting boy -> where I talk about my mental health, usually not super sensitively, feel free to block this tag if that kinda stuff upsets you /gen

#Rat in situations -> small drawings I make about my life, mostly goofy stuff

#fish woman -> the tag I use for my OC named Morwenna (she is indeed a fish woman)

If there are any trigger/content warning worthy things in my art/posts I will tag them as such, if you feel like there is a warning missing please tell me!

Avatar of the Hunt 🐺

Fandoms:

Dungeons and daddies 🎲

Arcane 💣🌈

Hermitcraft ⛏️📺

The Magnus archives 📼 👁️

Dungeon Meshi 😋🍲

(and kinda Camp Here and There but not really pls don't follow me if you are expecting CHTH stuff lol)

DNI:

Transandrophobes

Swifties

Racists

Fatphobes

anti-Semites

Homophobes

Transphobes

Ableists

TERFs

Zionists

Transids

Detrans/misgendering kink blogs (if you've detransitioned but you're not transphobic I love you btw)

Pedophiles

People who think "narcissistic abuse" is real

Bigots

Pro eating disorder/thinspo blogs

You get the idea

[enemywasp]

I believe the line between fiction and reality is different for everyone. Certain depictions of behaviours and topics are going to feel more real to some people than others. And that's what it all comes down to really.

Like live action depictions of some stuff tend to make me more uncomfortable than a cartoon. As it feels more "Real" to me. That's not to say that anyone who isn't uncomfortable by the same things are disgusting, just that they have a different boundary than me.

Depictions of pedophilia and adult/minor ships, make me uncomfortable to see fanart of or ship fics. I don't really immediately think "oh fiction!" I think "ew wrong!!", and then register that it's just fiction and that as disgusting as I may initially find it, that doesn't make it wrong for other people to like it.

And I like a couple adult/minor ships! Where I age up one of the characters. I know some people will still have the same initial reaction I did to the ships with the age gap. That doesn't make them sensitive or wrong, just that they have different boundaries. As long as they don't hate on me for it, as I wouldn't hate on others for what I don't like, then I don't care.

Some things I'm comfortable with and others I'm not. I don't really equate fictional incest with real incest, it doesn't make me uncomfortable in the same way it might in real life. (This may also be to do with the fact I have never experienced or witnessed incest so i actually dont have much to base my feelings on, but not the point)

Then some people do see fictional incest and equate it similarly to real incest y'know? As long as they understand that it's all down to personal boundaries and where each person draws the line, it's fine.

Thats where I think a lot of antis have trouble, they react based on their initial reaction of disgust rather than taking two seconds to realise that this is actually down to their own feelings and perception of fiction.

[cassetteinability]

hidden camera / 931 words

tw: incest duh

@microcest

I really thought I had kept it micro this time oops

Mind if I crash at your place tonight?

Everything okay?

Yes.

I just need a break from my roommates.

Sirius let out a chuckle that his brother wouldn’t be able to hear through the phone. Regulus’ roommates were always a handful; Sirius idly wondered what they could be doing to drive Regulus mad enough to need a break.

I’m still out of town. You have a key, right?

Sirius and his own roommates were on vacation in a small beach town for the week, leaving their large apartment entirely vacant, save their kitten.

Yes. I'm on my way over there now.

Take my bedroom

Sirius dropped his phone into the cup holder of his folding chair and ran back toward the shallow ocean waves, knowing Regulus wouldn’t need anything else from him.

****

“Sirius!” James called from the sand. He was bent over and drying his hair with a towel, his voice barely carrying over the sound of water crashing and birds cawing. “Your phone!”

Sirius pushed against the water as he made his way back to the beach, worried that Regulus was having issues getting into the apartment.

“Who’s blowing you up while you’re on vacation?” James asked, handing Sirius his own towel once he was within reach. “You just got like twenty pings.”

“Reg asked to sleep at our place tonight,” Sirius said, swiping his phone open once his hands were dry. It was a series of notifications from their doorbell camera as well as the camera he had hidden in his bedroom.

Sirius didn’t typically keep a camera in there, but James had asked a neighbor to take care of the cat in their absence, and Sirius wanted to be sure his bedroom remained unexplored.

“Looks like he got in okay,” James said, looking over Sirius’ shoulder and watching the video clip of Regulus pushing into the front door. James clapped him on the back before collapsing down into the sand and cracking open a beer from their cooler.

Sirius nodded his head, only half paying attention to his best friend as he continued scrolling through every video. He had never used the nanny cam before this trip, and it was significantly more sensitive than he had anticipated. It seemed to go off every time Regulus moved, capturing thirty second clips before it was triggered again, capturing another thirty second clip.

The first clip was of Regulus setting a duffel bag on the floor at the foot of Sirius’ bed.

The second clip was him unpacking pajamas.

The third was of him stripping his jeans and t-shirt off.

Sirius tried to close the app, tried to stop himself from watching his baby brother undress; he excused himself from his friends’ presence instead.

The seventh video clip was of Regulus scouring Sirius’ room in nothing but his underwear. His slender body was pale in the dim light of his bedroom, long fingers trailing over the glass of each and every photo lining his dresser. Sirius zoomed in on the footage and watched as Regulus’ fingertips made contact only with Sirius’ face, nail grazing over every set of Sirius’ lips.

Sirius felt his breath catch in his lungs as he watched, a sudden longing filling the space where the air was now gone from.

In the twelfth video, Regulus began rummaging through Sirius drawers.

He found the toys in the space between that one and the next; the thirteenth video clip began with a dildo poised at Regulus’ lips.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispered, sitting in the wet sand at the edge of the shoreline. The bulge in his swim shorts would do nothing to deter his friends’ questions — if not spur the questions on entirely.

He let the cold water lap at his legs in an attempt to steel himself before focusing his attention back to his phone.

Video sixteen, and Regulus was entirely naked.

Nineteen, and the dildo was filling his hole. The camera angle was perfect, the view absolutely filthy and delicious — obscene in the best way. He cursed himself for not splurging on the nanny cam that came equipped with sound.

By video twenty-three, Sirius’ hand was pushing into his own shorts, fighting the way the water made the fabric cling to his skin.

Sirius watched with rapt attention through every subsequent video, eyes glued to his brother’s face, to his hands and his dick and his legs. Sirius spilled into the receding ocean waves with a low grunt, just seconds before Regulus finally came. Their heaving breaths pumped at a matching pace, and Sirius was sure their hearts would be beating the same rhythm as well.

Guilt crawled up Sirius’ spine, filling his veins with it even as he sat sated, high from the weight of his orgasm. He shook his head, willing the shame of what he had just done to not eat him alive for the duration of his beach trip.

That was, until video thirty-four.

The clip where Regulus stared knowingly into the camera and winked, a self-satisfied grin splitting his beautiful face. He tossed Sirius’ favorite throw blanket over the camera, casting the frame in absolute darkness.

Sirius barked out a disbelieving laugh before exiting the nanny cam app and pulling up his text messages. He’d be damned if he didn’t tell Regulus what a brat he was for doing that to Sirius right there on the beach.

If he didn’t beg his little brother to take the blanket off the camera so he could watch him do that again and again.

If Sirius didn’t demand that Regulus still be there in his bed when he got home from his vacation in three days’ time.

[littleplantfreak]

~Mari's 100 Follower Event~

Hi! I made it to 100 followers which is quite the feat y'know. So although I don't normally take requests I figure it'd be refreshing to try it out! I'll just cut it off at 15 requests (if I even get that many lol) and I'll post to let everyone know when I've reached that number. Otherwise I'll just end it on Monday with however many I get.

Here's the do's, don'ts, and won'ts!

My blog is primarily Wind Breaker, so although it's silly for me to have to say, I'd like to be safe and specify that currently it's only for Wind Breaker characters

I can write for any character, but I don't excel in all of them and if it's one I'm not used to writing, it may take time (please be patient with me I'm so slow even with normal writing)

I can write SFW and NSFW and I'm pretty fine with most kinks (except for maybe scat, incest, or something extremely non-conish. Dubcon is new for me to write but I can try my best)

I don't really feel comfortable writing too much about self harm, miscarriage, other kinda sensitive topics like that, because I don't always have the ability or experience to properly handle them. If there's one you want to ask about though, by all means ask because i may not know if I can write it until you tell me what you're looking for.

I can do either headcanons or just plain writing a scenario/scenes/fic/drabble. If you don't have a preference I'll just pick whichever seems like it'll work for that specific prompt.

If you can't think of anything to request, you could always ask for a sequel to something I've already written or with characters i haven't done that prompt for before. Or you can get on my ass to finish something I've talked about writing but have been procrastinating >_>

I'm always up for AUs.

You could also just bring up something about a character and I'll yap about them if that's want you want. If you didn't already know from following me, I never shut up.

Oh! If you're asking for headcanons please limit the characters to 5 maximum and if it's a longer writing piece maybe 3 max. Otherwise it'll take me too long to go through everyone else's requests :(

I'll have a special tag I keep this event stuff in, and it'll be linked in the masterlist as well.

If there are similar requests, I might pair them up

Sorry I wrote so much! And thank you guys for being so sweet and awesome all the time. You really make it tons of fun to write and chat here, so even if you don't have a request, my DMs and inbox are always open!

[princelylove]

Your Prince, I do believe there is no statement on what your highness prefers for flavour! Do you prefer a sweet, savoury, or spicy snack? I find myself leaning heavily to sweets, or extreme spice.

I also wanted request: can we please to hear your thoughts on how Narancia may feel about a feminine reader that doesn’t play into their gender role well? I saw in a previous post your highness sees him as a bit sexist (and I loved it). Terrible cook, doesn’t clean up the apartment while he’s gone, responds with the same annoyed deadpan he gives when he demands something. I find myself on the “stir the pot until it gets you kicked out or killed” end of suicidal; it’s fun to annoy people.

I hope this doesn’t break your rules about specific readers, but I’d like to hear your thoughts! Thank you

Mmm.... well, it depends. If you're having dinner, you want something savory. If it's during the day, spicy, because I adore salads with a bit of a kick to them. But, other than that, sweet. All of my favorite foods are. Rice pudding with either cinnamon powder, pistachios, or coconut shreds in them, dates, more I can't think of at the moment..... my heart belongs to sweet things.

My rules are kind of iffy because if something interests me enough I will abandon my morals to talk about it. Sometimes it's just factual that a character has a sister/mother complex and I feel like it's doing an injustice if I don't write the character's psychology accurately, regardless of how much I don't want my page to be ridden with emotional incest even as a background not the main topic thing. So it really depends on my mood. Just develop a gambling addiction if you're going to be a consistent anon of mine, it'll help you cope with me choosing to answer something one day and then declining the same thing another time.

Narancia may just not fall for someone that isn't feminine. He's not a "oh the potential" guy, he's an "I'm seeing this and I like it and it's mine now" kind of guy. The only case where he might like someone that isn't feminine leaning is if he can sexualize them in some way, like how there's a whole trope of "tomboy but hot" in a lot of older movies.

Buuut, someone who is feminine but not playing into gender roles is different. As long as you look good, Narancia could fall for you, regardless of your behavior.

Narancia lives by his favorite artist's words of wisdom, the prettiest bitches are the most scandalous hoes. Pretty women are just like that. His type of woman can be as bratty as she wants to be, as long as she's hot. He thinks he's just doing something wrong and that's why you're acting extra crazy. Going to grumble to himself about how frustrating bitches are and keep trying, no matter what. As long as you're not pushing him away, anyway. Then he crashes out and kills you. Who said that?

Initially it honestly agitates him. He can't understand what the hell he's doing that's pissing his bitch off this bad. Women are too complicated, they say one thing and then really mean twenty other things. He may snap at his darling here and there, but he's stubborn. He's not going to just give up because you're frustrating, he's a man about his problems, he's not a quitter.

Women, they, uhh, you can break one if you're not careful. They're sensitive, you know? Maybe he broke you and didn't realize it, that's why you give him that dead fish stare when he wants a kiss goodnight. He'll try to make you feel better with physical affection. A hug, cuddling, rubbing your hands and praying you didn't just get the ick and want to leave him....

The whole not cooking thing is definitely one of two things. One, you can't cook and you're embarrassed about it. Two, you just don't know what he likes and you're too shy to ask! Or, you're too shy to ask for ingredients in general. That's three things. He can count. He has no problem going on a little shopping trip if you write down what you want, you know...

Narancia... his basis for how women act is his mother, and girl magazines. Women are either delicate, not really fully there, in need of a provider, or a playmate. He typically goes for someone in the second category, but if he caught you and you're broken, he was obviously wrong. Don't worry, though! Narancia would never abandon his darling because they're got some stuff going on. Difficult or not, he wants to love you, and surprisingly has the patience to not take it personally if you're despondent. Only if you're despondent, though. Aggressive types make him anxious and more aggressive- Narancia's first instinct isn't violence, it's verbal aggression. He'll only hit you if you hit him first.

You know, Narancia may be stupid, but he's not entirely moronic. He can tell if you're acting out for attention because he does it all the time. It may take him a little while, but eventually, it'll click. Maybe you've stirred the pot for no reason too many times this week. Maybe Pannacotta made some offhanded, bitter comment that changed his perspective. Who knows. He's a weird guy. Once Narancia convinces himself you're doing this all for attention, he just doubles down on his love. He'll cook, albeit terribly. He'll be home a lot more- as much as he can, comes straight home after his 'business' he had to 'deal with.' He'll make chores a two-man job. You want attention, your needs aren't being met, he understands that. He's been there. He's just like you. He was you, once. Isn't that the best feeling in the world, to understand someone entirely like that?

Honestly there's no other reason you'd behave like that. It clicks, you know? You've been doing all of this because something in your head is telling you that he doesn't love you, you're insecure- he knows how that works! He can fix that! Well. He can't fix it immediately, but he's willing to prove how serious he is about you. Then you'll act right. That totally makes a ton of sense!

If you're not acting right after a little while, he just thinks he still hasn't proven himself to you yet. It's a process. He can learn to be patient about it, no matter how much you denying him makes him want to rip your nails out. It'll happen. Women are just crazy sometimes. Aren't there meds for that?