#Let the event begin! >:D

[giggly-squiggily]

💝Candy Heart Valentine Event 2024!💝

We're back again- WHOOO!

Heyo everybody! It's the sweetest time of the year; Candy Hearts time! Thank you so, so much to everyone who's participated in the sentence starters survey this year; it really helped me figure out what prompts to keep and which to change out! I truly appreciate it!

Another major thank you to everyone who's also sent in suggestions! There were so many good ones to pick from; and I ended up choosing a few from the ones recommended!

💝 Rules💝

- Send me a pairing (Platonic or Romantic) from the fandoms listed below along with a candy heart phrase (Sentence Starter) from the list! (Ex: ObaMitsu- True Love) and I will write a short dabble for it!

- The event will be open from January 28-February 13th, ending at 8:00 PM EST. I will make an announcement when prompts are officially closed!

-Multiple prompts are allowed! The limit is like- 5? Just be sure to send them in separate asks if you send multiples! (Helps me make sure I get them all :D)

- Dabbles will start coming out Feb 1!

- I do write “Character x Reader!” (If you want it to be platonic, please specify with “Platonic!Reader”)

-Multiple sentence starter requests are allowed!

- Requester’s Choice: This is essentially a blank Candy- you can pick whatever sentence starter you want for it! :)

-Please check my pinned post for any characters/ships/things I will and won't write! Thank you :)

~Candy Hearts and Fandoms Below The Cut~

💝 Candy Heart Sentence Starters 💝

**: Recommended by you lovely folks!

❤️ Be Mine: “Oh that is IT! Come here!”

🧡 Miss You: “When’s the last time you smiled?”

💛 True Love: “I could do this all day.”

💚 Cutie: “You can't hide from me, I can hear you laughing!"**

💙 XOXO: “Hey, do you like raspberries?”

💜 Angel: “What happens if I do this?”

❤️ I love you: "What a brave thing to say for someone so ticklish."**

🧡 Bestie: Requester’s choice: Pick your own sentence starter!

💛 Sweet Heart: “Oh? Is someone ticklish?”

💚 Cupid: “I’m gonna get you!”

💗 Say Yes: “Hey did you- give that back!"**

💙 Smile: “I didn’t know you were ticklish here!”

💜 Hug: “I just want a hug!”

❤️ Darling: “Do you want me to tickle you?”

🧡 Love bug: “What’s so funny?”

💛 Soul Mate: “Not there? What about here?”

💚 Sweet Pea: “Is this a bad spot?”

💙 Adore: “I haven't even touched you yet!"

💜 Kiss me: “Don’t stop? If you say so!”

❤️ Me + You: “No way! I didn’t know you were ticklish!”

🧡 Always and Forever: “Look how red you are! How cute!”

💛 I’m Yours: “You like being tickled, don’t you?”

💚 Puppy love: “Where are those giggles I love so much?”

💙 Only You: "Stop squirming!"**

💜 Hot Stuff: “Come over here and make me!”

🩷 Be My Valentine: "I know all your weaknesses!"**

❤ It's Love: "Hey could You...You Know?"

🧡 Babydoll: "Keep your arms up!"**

💝 Fandoms 💝

-Some of the fandoms on here will have **Limited Request** beside them. This means I will only be taking up to a limited amount of that fandom.

If the fandom is crossed out, it means all slots for it have been filled!

Big Windup

Black Clover

Blue Lock

Buddy Daddies

Bungo Stray Dogs

Chainsaw Man

Code Realize

Collar x Malice

Danganronpa

Demon Slayer **Limited Request**

Dr. Stone

Fire Force

Fruit’s Basket

Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

Given

Haikyuu!!

Heartstopper

Hell’s Paradise: Jirokuraku

Hunter x Hunter (Up to Greed Island arc)

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Jujutsu Kaisen

Komi Can’t Communicate

Moriarty The Patriot

My Hero Academia **Limited Requests**

Piofiore (Dante's route; still working on others)

Pokemon **Limited Requests** (All Gens)

Rain Code: Master Detectives

Sk8 The Infinity

Spy x Family

Toliet Bound Hanako Kun

Tokyo Revenges

Vinland Saga

Yu Yu Hakusho

Thanks again to everyone! I'm so excited to see what y'all have in store! :D

[loopyarts]

Day 7 free day Aceichiji

For my free day slot, I went insane and made a short scruffy kiss animation for them. :3c

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Variation: AU in which Steve and Eddie are at least friends before the beginning of the 1985-6 school year and this silliness takes place during a tryout game in August-September or something to determine whether the Party boys are bad enough dudes to join the Hellfire Club. The key thing is, Gareth, Jeff and Sir Not Named In This Show are all in on it and staunchly pretending this sort of thing is perfectly normal by high school rules. All their characters think this terrible overpowered creature of Steve's is awesome and suck up to him constantly.

Both Dustin and Lucas are getting very suspicious about all this (they both like Steve of course and he's Dustin's BFF but clearly this is not natural) but Mike's bullshit detector is deactivated by how incredibly cool he thinks Eddie is and so, swallowing down bile, he does his level best to play along. And to act like his big sister's cheeseball of a super-Ewok-playing ex-boyfriend is cool too. If it kills him.

At some point Dustin and Lucas (seeing Mike as a lost cause by this point) call for a time-out and go off for a whispered consultation before returning in high dudgeon (Dudgeon & Dragons) to officially Call Shenanigans. They're expecting Eddie to blow up at them and throw them out but they're simply not going to take it. Instead he cracks up laughing and everyone else applauds, full standing ovation.

"Congratulations," Eddie declares, rising from behind his screen and sweeping a bow before throwing them each a club teeshirt, "you saw through my evil plan and proved yourselves true heroes this day. Welcome to Hellfire Club."

Poor Mike is sitting there scarlet-faced with his world crumbling around him, feeling like an idiot, but he gets hit in the chest with a balled-up teeshirt too and Eddie gives him a wink and says "You get in for being a good sport," killing him instantly.

Steve is, as you can imagine, insufferable about it - yet strangely not around very much and he and Eddie always seem to be missing at the same time.

Steve finally agrees to participate in D&D but only because he’s decided to be a shit and play a character who is an Ewok with the serial numbers filed off. He’s allowed to do this because a) Eddie will pretty much let him do anything he wants, including inventing a new species completely inappropriate for the setting of the campaign, as long as he joins in (and plays footsie with him under the table), b) he persuaded Eddie that the fun of annoying the kids this much while both pretending to think this is perfectly legitimate will outweigh any shame he may feel as a DM who’s normally something of a stickler for the rules, c) for maximum annoyance, he’s done a lot of planning and preparation with Eddie and is actually playing pretty well. No one notices at first because the idea is so doofy. They all just sit there making flehmen reaction faces at him while Eddie is giggling behind his little screen.

Lady Applejack forms an alliance with Steebo and soon they’re unstoppable.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!!! :3 🌸

[215-luv]

HQ AS YOUR TYPICAL HIGHSCHOOL BOYS WHO HAS A CRUSH ON YOU

KAGEYAMA: a shy guy who needs the mental support of the whole volleyball team just so he could initiate a conversation with you. whenever you’re in the same room as him he just suddenly finds himself all stiff and unable to function properly. the amount of times where he catches glimpses of you is hilarious because he couldn’t speak a damn word to you no matter how much he wants to.

OIKAWA: to him, there’s something romantic about surprising you by leaving gifts on your desk and locker and there isn’t one day where he forgets to do that, no matter what the occasion is. during huge events such as Christmas, valentines day, you name it — he has everything planned out just for you. he’s actually good at being romantic and he knows that to himself. he’s spoiled you so much and he’s just at the peak of having a crush on you, what more if he’s in a relationship with you.

USHIJIMA: he’s the definition of actions over words. ushijima doesn’t talk much, but his intentions reflect clearly through his actions. one day, he offers to carry your things for you. another day, he offers you his sweater because he hears you complaining how cold the weather is — and that nearly scared the shit out of you because you’re literally at the other end of the classroom?? whenever you’re walking through the stairs, he’ll offer you his hand for support. if he notices your discomfort in a big crowd, he’ll use his body to support you incase someone might bump onto you while using his arm to support your lower back.

HINATA: he’ll always greet you with a ‘good morning y/n! :D’ or a ‘hi y/n! what a lovely morning, is it? how are you doing!’ with a smile on his face every morning before class starts and it goes the same when it’s time to go home ‘cause he always makes sure to see you at the beginning and at the end of his day. he’s so sweet because although he couldn’t bring you home due to volleyball practice, he’ll tell you, ‘have a safe trip home y/n!’ or ‘i’ll see you tomorrow y/n! make sure to send me a text when you’re home, kay!’

TSUKISHIMA: he still sends snappy remarks to you, but the difference between the way he is to others compared to you is detectable. very. so much so that everytime tsukki interacts with you, kageyama looks at him as if he’s possessed. his feelings for you comes out in a different way, but the soft glint from the way he gazes at you reflects his true intentions — because at one point he hears you complaining how you’re having a hard time at a certain subject, and suddenly he drops a whole ass notebook infront of you, all containing his notes of the lesson. he raises an eyebrow at the confused look you’re giving him, “why are you looking at me like that? we don’t want you failing with your empty head, don’t we?” he says with a snicker,,, and a slight blush on his cheeks.

KUROO: he doesn’t hide the fact that he has a crush on you. it doesn’t surprise you with the fact that he’s already leaning against the door frame of your classroom after classes has ended. he also isn’t shy with the fact that he’s sending you winks from across the cafeteria or hallways (he knows you like it). passing by him through the school hallway, at that short moment, he sends you a glance, a cheshire smile on his face as he greets you with a ‘hey pretty’ before passing by you as if he didn’t do shit at all.

AKAASHI: he’s so attentive when it comes to you. he’ll open doors for you and let you enter or leave the room first before he does. everyone is actually close to having no clue whether he has a crush on you or not ‘cause he’s naturally polite in general —but the thing is, his gaze on you is so loving??? it’s not the kind of look he’s ever given to anyone at all & i’m pretty sure the volleyball team has caught up with his intentions towards you. it doesn’t take long until they’re being ridiculously loud at teasing akaashi about it especially when they keep catching him looking at you with that gaze again.

[theleotarot]

Your Next Relationship ♡

Pick the image(s) that you feel drawn to or resonate most with. Pile 1,2, and 3. ♡

Ko-Fi tipping and extended readings

Pile 1

(The Sun, The Moon, The Hanged Man, 6 of Swords, Beaver, Mouse, The Underworld, Self-Indulgence, & Cut Down)

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading. ♡ It looks like your next relationship with your partner is deeply about facing your fears together. I strongly believe that one or both of you have went through a dark period in your life, and when you are with this person, you are able to confide in them, and they can with you as well. I see the both of you doing a lot of inner healing with each other. I do think you, Pile 1, have had so much negativity in your lives or past trauma that it makes you super hypervigilant and it can shift into your relationship, possibly overthinking and sabotaging the relationship in some ways. Although this is a downside, I do see your person being extremely patient with you, not just when you are self-doubting at times, but patient in general. They are the type of person who will wait for you when things get hard like heated arguments, and to the easy things like waiting for you to get your makeup or hair done for an event lol. I see that their patience also is shown through their acts of love. I think your person loves to build things with and for you, Pile 1. I sense that they love making diy gifts for you, or another term- they enjoy crafting new art for your liking. I think your person loves to build the relationship much stronger with you. For some reason, I am getting a construction worker, but take it as it resonates only. If not a construction worker, I do think your person is very knowledgeable about building things, or they just like to craft things on their own time. I also get that your person makes lots of sacrifices in your relationship for you. They would go through riptides for this relationship and for you. I’m hearing that they would put you on a pedestal. In a sense, I’m kind of hearing that they may let you in after a period of rethinking, in other words, they sacrifice their fears of love for you because that’s just how much they love you. As for the relationship on your side, I do believe that you are your person’s “life saver.” You bring them to calmer waters of life, and I just get a sense that you bring them so much peace. I think you are their safe space and they do feel like you’re the protector. I also see that you may be very good at advice, this is one thing that they will love about you as well. You may like to be very organized within your relationship, or just in general. Right now, I’m seeing a vision where you take your person’s hand and say “Cmon let’s do this!” and happily run with them. I get the feeling that when you are excited in your relationship, you’re very quick, witty, and playful. They think it’s cute haha. I do think that when problems arise, someone here does the silent treatment, or just needs time to rethink things, it could be you or your partner. This is one thing that I see that may affect the relationship, however, it does get fixed and both of you are able to overcome it with sacrificing for one another. I really do think that you and your partner let each other in, even during the scariest times pertaining to emotional vulnerability, maybe more so at the beginning of the relationship. One thing I am also getting, you both may like to do certain activities together that are considered frightening or challenging. Perhaps, things like skydiving, skinny-dipping, or maybe you just like to watch horror movies together lol. Pile 1, your next relationship radiates a lot of positivity and light. I am sure that one or both of you have not had such a great past, but with your next partner, they will be your sun and you will be theirs, making life more hopeful for the both of you.

Ko-Fi Extended Reading: Sneak peek into an intimate moment with your next partner

If you enjoyed this reading, please consider donating to my tip jar on Ko-Fi. Any donation is greatly appreciated. 💖

Pile 2

(4 of Cups, The Moon, Temperance, The Magician, Moth, Peacock, The Sustainer, Blowing Kiss, & Phoenix)

Hi Pile 2, welcome to your reading. ♡ For your next relationship, I see that both of you will be very nurturing to each other. I see a lot of providing for one another in terms of money, food, love care, affection, and reciprocity in general. I see that the both of you will always keep this relationship alive because the both of you are very much invested with each other. I think that the activities that the both of you do will be very interactive with each other. For instance, I see that the both of you may love to cook dinner together, draw art together, go shopping together, or take lots of pictures together. You may even like to play instruments together 😢 Maybe sing together too. I strongly feel that both of you bond over similar interests, this is so sweet. I feel like quality time is the love language that both of you do together the most. I'm hearing that you are their rock, and you are their rock. I get a sense that both of you do trust each other and as said before, I think that both of you provide a lot for each other more than any other partners that you may have had in the past did. It’s like, at the end of a day, no matter if it was bad or good, both of you will always be there for one another. “You can count on me like 1,2,3 I’ll be there…” by Bruno Mars is what I’m channeling. I think that when the both of you first come together, you or they have entered a new phase in your life, perhaps from a dark period, and when the both of you unite, you both will become disinterested in anything else that does not serve you anymore. I’m hearing “The rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color” by Taylor Swift. This is kind of how you both feel in the relationship, everything else is white noise because you both found happiness in each other. I will mention that even though you both may block out other people or things when you are together, this relationship is still very healthy. It feels healthy and radiates lots of unconditional love. I also want to mention that I am getting the feeling that maybe this next person that you will be in a relationship with, first, you both will come together, but then have a phase of disconnect, and as time passes, you both rekindle things with each other. Take that as it resonates only. After this phase of disconnect, that is when this unconditional love will grow.

Like pile one, I see that your person will be very patient with you as well. I think they love taking care of you, nurturing you, and showering you with all their love. I think they do a lot of this not only with providing for you or spending time with you, but also in terms of acts of service. If you like your cup of coffee a certain way at Starbucks, they will run to the store and get that exact order for you no matter what time of day or even if they are busy. I can see that they are a breakfast in bed type of person, surprising you when you open your eyes with a homemade breakfast and maybe some flowers. They are also a shoulder for you to cry on whenever you need to release emotions. I think that this person will always wait for you under any circumstance, especially if there are any arguments or separation that has happened will always have that love and care for you so they will be willing to wait to patch things up with you. I'm hearing that they're very fragile with you and they see you as someone very precious and they want to protect your heart. For you Pile 2, I am getting that you are extremely confident in your relationship with this person. Perhaps you love to really show them off to the world. Maybe when you both are out in public you love to tug on their arm and hold them firmer not only because you love physical touch but because you are so glad you are with this person and you're very fortunate enough to be with them. I think you work very hard to also reciprocate your person's love back to them and you would give anything to help them achieve their goals and dreams. Pile 2, I also want to say that I feel like you have always dreamt of having a partner like you're next partner in your relationship, you've always manifested a person like this and I feel like once you are actually in a relationship with this type of person, this is the reason why you treat them like they are such a prize. Because they are everything you dreamt of, even though everyone has flaws this person does fit into your standards extremely well. I believe you are very supportive of everything good that your person sets for themselves, kind of like you are their own personal cheerleader haha.

Ko-Fi Extended Reading: Sneak peek into an intimate moment with your next partner

If you enjoyed this reading, please consider donating to my tip jar on Ko-Fi. Any donation is greatly appreciated. 💖

Pile 3

(9 of Swords, 7 of cups, Ace of Wands, 8 of Pentacles, Mouse, Cheetah, The Mother, Back Stabbing, & Grounding)

Hi Pile 3, welcome to your reading. ♡ Like pile 2, your next relationship will be very nurturing. You and your next partner love to take care of one another, coming through to me right now, both of you love physical touch. You both love the physical acts of cuddling, hugging, kissing, and I just get the sense that both of you love to express your love through nice gestures such as certain hand placements on an area that you love. I see this next relationship being a lot in a home setting and both of you really take time to yourselves to just be in each other's company. Lots of cuddling. I see that this is the type of love that is similar to a “home life.” Not only that but I do see that you both feel very be safe with each other and you both are very reliable when it comes to this relationship. For some reason right now what I'm getting is that for some reason either you or your person loves to feed the other person. Like let's say you both are eating chocolate covered strawberries, one of you would love to feed the other person the strawberry because you just love the act of nourishing the other lol. I’m hearing baths together as well, or maybe you both love showering together. This relationship feels comfortable and safe. Now, I do see that maybe in the beginning of your relationship, there are certain choices that must be made that is causing anxiety or worry in some sort of way. The energy that I'm getting from this is that and maybe in the past you've gone through some sort of pain or loss which has made you or them super independent and protective of your own heart. Then once you find this relationship, someone here will be a bit hesitant to actually be open to be with the other person. This isn't purposely done or maliciously intended, it is just the way that people naturally protect themselves from being hurt. I do see there's someone here is very focused on either their career, school, or money and in a way it kind of stops the other person from entering this relationship at the beginning. It's kind of like a push and pull that I'm feeling because on one side, there's a part of someone here who wants to love and wants the relationship to be happy, but the other side of the person is very hurt from the past and they're afraid to be vulnerable and get hurt again. Of course eventually you both will open up with each other about the past and learn to let the other person in, but I do see that throughout your relationship, when insecurities arise you will feel the anxiety or maybe they will and it may cause stress at times. I do absolutely see the love here and there is stability in this relationship, I just see that both of you need to work together to overcome any type of doubt or fears that you may have during your relationship.

For your person in the relationship, I see that they bring a lot of spark in your life, especially if you feel like your life is very boring, dull, or saddening. I get the sense that they bring the excitement back in your life, and perhaps they inspire you to do even better with whatever goals that you have in mind. I think that your person makes you laugh a lot as well. I think they're a very helpful person in this relationship, and let's say anytime that you need help with a project, they would be there to put their ideas into the project and help you out. I get a sense that they are very resourceful and knowledgeable when it comes to certain projects or ideas, they are very creative. One thing I'm also getting right now is that you may find them extremely attractive. They just bring out a side of you that is literally like a cougar lol. For you pile 3, I get a sense that you're very successful and you've made a lot of achievements in many aspects of your life. Because you work so hard to achieve great things into your life, you've adopted to being very perseverant and hard working that this is deeply shown in your relationship. I do see that this person absolutely admires your work ethic and all your efforts and consistency that you show in this relationship. I think that maybe in the past your person's previous partners may have not giving them their all, but you do, and I see that that's one thing that they really do love about you. I think you also inspire them to do better, in terms of success with practical goals. I really do see you putting a lot of consistency and hard work throughout your relationship, whether it be pushing through obstacles, or one thing I'm getting right now is that you're the type of person to stay up all night to make something for your partner because that's how much you love them. I'm getting that you would sacrifice a lot just for your person and your person does see that in you. They value you a lot. It's a very sweet energy.

Ko-Fi Extended Reading: Sneak peek into an intimate moment with your next partner

If you enjoyed this reading, please consider donating to my tip jar on Ko-Fi. Any donation is greatly appreciated. 💖

[thefandomthings]

Zuko x reader

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Betrayal

Hurt prompt #11: "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Pairing: Zuko x F/Gn!reader

Warnings: Angst, No comfort, Established relationship, !!SPOILERS¡¡, Takes place in Book 2. Ep. 18

Notes: Oh boy, I have so many avatar requests, it's amazing. Thank you guys for participating in my event it makes me so happy! Tell me if y'all want a part 2.

Prompt Event Part 1 Part 2

All you felt was pain, deep inside your chest. Watching your boyfriend take sides against the avatar once again was brutal. What made it even worse was Iroh was to be imprisoned, you would hold the same fate if you were captured.

You stood next to Katara and Aang, Azula and Zuko on the opposite side of the cave. Azula held the same malicious grin on her face, watching the three of you with smugness.

"My, my Y/n. You seem so down, how sad." She mocks you with a slight chuckle. Zuko gives her a glare, his eyes wandering back to you. They are full of guilt, pleading for forgiveness from you. Practically begging you to understand why he did it, to come with him.

"Leave Y/n alone, Azula." Zuko grunts, getting in a fighting stance with his sister. Azula clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes at her brother.

"They're the enemy now, Zuzu. Can't protect them forever." Azula laughs, blue fire erupting from her fists.

The blue flurries of fire woosh past you fastly. Katara quickly blocks the fire with her water. Using her octopus arms she slashes and whips at Azula, both going back and forth. The ground beneath the five of you shakes and cracks.

Aang and Zuko are going at it hand to hand. You watch out of the corner of your eye as Zuko takes a hit by Aangs wind, sending him flying back into one of the crystal pillars. Your heart stops, skipping a beat as Zuko groans.

You curse under your breath and run towards him, Aang is calling your name frantically. You slid against the rock surface and get the few rocks that landed on Zuko off. He lets out a huff of air, the weight of the rock off of his chest allowing him to breath.

He's quick to sit up, using his hands, he does a walk over away from you. Your heart felt like it was stabbed, watching as he gets in a protective stance. He knows you'd never hurt him on purpose, and he'd never hurt you.

"Why are you doing this, Zuko? Why are you so desperate to gain your honor back?" Your voice is meek, tears gathering at your waterline, blurring his figure.

"You know why I have to, Y/n. This is my chance to prove to my father I am worthy."

Zukos heart physically aches, seeing your tears making him question everything. He never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to put strain on your relationship. You're his everything, you've been with him since the beginning along with Iroh. Loving him even when he didn't love himself.

"But Zuko, when you get home and see your father, will he even except you? What if he hurts you again, or what if he tries to kill you?" You plead, knowing this isn't him. He's just confused and fighting himself.

Zuko stays quiet, thinking over your words carefully. You have a point. His father could easily do all of those things, Azula to. Does he really want to go through with this? Having Uncle imprisoned, possibly you too?

He closes his eyes tightly, fists clenched at his side. He lets out a long breath, salty tears slide down his cheeks as he looks back up at you again.

"He won't. I'm sorry Y/n. You can't change my mind. I'm going home." He lifts his fists back into a defensive stance, hands trembling.

"Please...Please forgive me."

You let out a strangled sob at his words, heart clenching and shattering. Zuko grits his teeth, holding back his own cries.

"Get out of here, before Azula realizes I haven't killed you." Without realizing it, Zuko was beside you. Taking you into his arms, he holds you as close as he can. His lips pressing multiple kisses to your head. His nose buried in your hair, taking in your shampoo scent one last time.

"Does this mean you don't love me anymore? Since you're leaving?" You asked, face hidden in his neck, tears hitting his skin like rain. Zuko squeezes you softly, kissing the apples of your cheeks.

"That not what I meant, Y/n. And you know it." He pulls away from you, taking a few steps back to create distance.

Water then wraps around his waist sending him flying. You scream his name as Katara takes you in her arms. You sob holding onto Katara as she sees you down.

"It'll be alright, Y/n. I promise." She hugs you tightly, the sound of wind echos in the cave as Aang enters the avatar state. Suddenly lighting cracks, blue electricity shoots towards Aang. Shooting into his back like a spear.

"AANG!" You and Katara race towards him, watching as he falls, his body is lifeless. Katara catches him, tears falling from her eyes. You use your bending to keep the three of you protected as Katara holds Aang and bends up the waterfall.

Zuko watches as the love of his life disappears. He lets out a sob, his fist pounding the ground.

He's sorry. So, so sorry. He never wanted to hurt you, cause you this much pain. Yet he has, and he might never, ever be able to fix it.

He hopes you're safe, and he'll come and find you when the time is right before it's to late.

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[funlovinzara]

Monster trio rejecting you Pt.2

The long awaited part 2! I absolutely loved writing Zoros part🙏

Warnings: angst, a bit of fluff

———-

Luffy

Surprisingly it wasn’t as hard to get over him because you knew he was just a knuckle head like that

On your new adventures you met new people, one specifically caught your eye.

Ace.

Ace was caring, funny, charming and very welcoming to be around. You both shared contacts on a transponder snail and talked 24/7, 365. Everyone knew the bond you had and left it alone, except luffy. He always saw you speaking on the snail but never knew who was on the other side.

The crew made a stop to a new island but everyone was waiting for you, who was talking on the transponder snail in your room.

“Finally a new adventure!! Lets go-!”

“LUFFY! Wait we cant leave without y/n!! This island is larger than anything we’ve ever seen before and ANYONE can get lost anytime!!”

Luffy sighed in annoyance and stomped off to your room and busted in

“Y/N!! LETS GO ALREADY!!” He yells with his chest

You jump in fear and quickly whisper to the other side of the snail “i gotta go!” And hung up.

“Who are you always talking to on that thing anyway?”

You sigh in defeat and answer “Ace, i talk to ace.”

“Ace? Huh? Why?”

“Well, I think he’s pretty cool and i like him.”

“I thought you liked me?”

“What?”

“You cant like-like me and like-like Ace? I thought we were just starting to get closer?”

You have a dumbfounded look on your face and you laugh at the misunderstanding. Maybe he understood after all, but i wonder why he would hide it.”

———

Sanji

Of course it was ALOT more difficult to get over him. You were devastated at how unreasonable he was, it was ridiculous.

So you decided to just not respond often when Sanji would speak to you, it was pointless anyway. He was still trying to pick up a conversation even after all that.

Sanji had a really bad dream one night, it was him re-experiencing the events at Sabaody, you werent there during that time but he dreamt that you were.

He woke up inna horrible cold sweat and immediately walked to the front of the ship, he needed some air. However when he walked out to see his crew doing there normal shenanigans, something was off.

He looks over at you to see you chatting, with brook?? How come your more comfortable around brook than him? He was an even bigger pervert than him.

“Y/n, may i see your pant-.” You swat brook on the side of his arm and slightly yell/giggle “no way brook!”

You clear your throat and begin to say “Thank you brook for helping me get over Sanji though, its really nice to have someone to talk to when no one else is around.” You leaned in and gave brook a deep hug.

“YOHOHOHOHO! Y/n it is a pleasure!! You flatter me, im blushing!! Although i am a skeleton so i cant really blush!! Yohoho!”

He hugs back and swings you around and you both laugh in glee. Sanji saw all of this and he thought, what did he even do wrong.

————

Zoro

In this you ARE included in the Sabaody Arc

It was VERY difficult to get over Zoro especially since he would never talk to you anymore. Nami being the jerk she was partnered you and Zoro together to walk around. She said it was for the “bonding experience”

She kept trying to bring back the spark that you and Zoro had but it will never work anymore.

You heard that day there was going to be an auction so you left to go check it out, you found the auction house and decided to take a seat not paying attention to your surroundings.

“X’cuse me?” Said a man next to you. It startled you and you jump. turning your head to look at him.

“That seat isn’t for you.”

His voice was DEEP.

“Oh- ill move- sorry.” A bear in a seat behind him leans over and says. “Come on boss lets let her stay! Shes really pretty!”

“Bepo-.” “Pleaseee!! Come on you need more allies than foes in this place anyway!”

The man grunts, allowing you to sit down again once more. “Law. Trafalgar D. Law.”

“Y/n L/n.”

“Nice to meet’cha Y/N!”

“You’re a straw-hat aren’t you? Hmh. What a tease your Captain isnt first here.”

You chuckle a bit scared at the power law might consist..

Zoro searches nearly the whole place for you, and finally lands at the auction house, he busts in and frantically looks around. He sees you sitting with a man, he cant see his face but he sure can see yours. And your enjoying yourself, this sets something off in him.

Him being your ex-best-friend and all, Hes only used to seeing him make you laugh, but this. This is so different and weird, why does he care?

[the0doreslover]

Stuck forever by the... glue? | t.n x fem!reader

summary: you and theodore are quite literally “stuck together”

warnings: a few innuendos

a/n: so i’ve been MIA for a little while but i hope this 4k piece makes up for it 😬😬😬

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

‘just make it to friday’

These were the five simple words that played in your mind since the beginning of the week.

Maybe it was because your mother had been sending you a letter every day, reinforcing the importance of your success in any exam you are to partake in, or because your professors had seemed to be putting extra pressure on you at the moment, or maybe… just maybe it was because you were simply tired, that every day seemed to be getting harder.

Your friends weren’t much help, it wasn’t their fault, they just couldn’t understand the pressure you had been going through over the past few weeks. You had unintentionally pushed them away.

Friday morning at last.

You had a little while to kill before your first lesson of the day and had decided on sitting in the courtyard.

You were walking towards your usual seat behind the large oak tree when you noticed

a rather peculiar looking sketchbook in its place

You picked it up, and opened the first page, and there in the neatest writing was the words; Property Of Theodore Nott

Great.

You were just admiring the pattern on the front of the book when a hand on your wrist startled you.

Looking up, in all his glory was Theodore Nott.

You didn’t have a chance to fully clock him, when he snatched the book from your hands.

“Did you open the book?” he asked, seeming to be catching his breath

“What?”

“i said did you open the book?” he urged, louder this time.

“No… Nott i didn’t” you answered

“right… well your blouse is undone” he nodded towards your chest.

You gasped slightly pulling your fingers towards the buttons, you felt around for a second until he started laughing “i lied”

“why do you have to be such a dick” you groaned noticing he tried to change the subject away from his sketchbook

“i guess i was born that way” he shrugged, with a slight grin on his face “why do you have to be such a prat?”

“i guess i was born that way” you huffed before walking away from him

Seeing as you had only a few minutes before your lesson, you had decided on going a bit earlier.

Professor Flitwick's classroom was already half-full, the usual chatter filling the air as students settled into their seats.

After what felt like an eternity, Flitwick clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, today we're going to practice some partner work. Pair up and choose the most interesting charm you can think of, the winning pair will be free from the assignment i am giving out later”

You groaned inwardly. Partner work meant having to socialize, something you didn't feel up to after the morning's events. You stayed seated, hoping someone would approach you. Instead, you felt a presence next to your desk. Looking up, you saw Theodore standing there,

"I’ll partner with you” he said taking the seat next to you

You blinked in surprise. Maybe he was trying to sabotage you in revenge of the morning…. but seeing some of the other options for partners, he didn’t seem so bad

"fine"

The two of you moved to an empty corner of the classroom, while you grabbed a study guide to charms.

“We’re not using that” theodore laughed

“well unless you’re secretly a charms dictionary i’m not sure what you think we should use”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick grey book, labelled “A masters guide to charms”

“Sorry Nott i didn’t know you were a master” you mocked him bowing your head down

“yeah yeah funny” he rolled his eyes opening the first page to its contents

“how about this one?” you asked pointing to a picture of a beautiful ocean

“no way i don’t really want to drown today”

you glared at his reply

“let’s do this” he hummed

“no way, i’m not turning everything edible”

“boring” he sighed

“lets do this” “we’ll do this”

you both said at the same time pointing to a photo of a man appearing to be stuck to a tree.

After agreeing on the spell and practising it without wands for a little while, You decided you should try it out.

“i have a pencil and a sharpener. Try on them” you said pulling both out your pocket and placing them infront of him

Stepping back you watched theodore perform the spell.

one

two

three

“nothing happened?” you sighed

“i think i can see that myself” he grabbed the pencil and placed it closer to the sharpener

“let’s do it at the same time. That way it might be stronger” you suggested and picked your wand up.

“one” you looked at him to ensure he was doing it correctly

“two” he watched your hands to ensure you had placed your wand at the right point”

“Three!” Just as you both cast your charm, a sudden jolt sent your wands askew. You glanced up in surprise to see Fred and George Weasley barreling past.

"Watch it!" Theodore snapped, but it was too late.

The spell went haywire. You felt a strange pull on your hand and looked down to see your fingers stuck to Theodore's. His eyes widened as he tried to pull away, but your hands were firmly glued together.

"Fred! George!" you called after the twins, who had stopped and were now doubled over with laughter. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, love, it seems we just gave your charm a little nudge," Fred grinned, winking at you.

"we are very familiar with this charm" George added, chuckling.

"So you can fix this?" Theodore demanded, his usual cool demeanor slipping into frustration.

"Afraid not, mate. You'll have to wait it out," Fred said, still laughing. "The charm wears off in a 24 hours."

“Even if we performed it at the same time?” you asked

This seemed to make the twins laugh even harder

“let’s say an estimate of 48 hours then”

As the twins walked away, still laughing, you turned to Theodore. "This is your fault," you accused, trying to free your hand but only managing to make the bond tighter.

"My fault? You're the one who suggested we practice that spell," he shot back, though there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You said it too!” you argued

“Okay stop pulling! it’s my hand too!” he said

"Well, now what?" you sighed, looking at your joined hands.

“we need to find Hermione"

Theodore sighed "why?"

“because she is literally smarter than you”

Navigating the crowded corridors of Hogwarts with your hand stuck to Theodore's was an exercise in patience.

Students cast curious glances your way, and whispers followed you down the halls. You kept your head down, focusing on getting to the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible.

As you entered the common room, heads turned, and the chatter died down. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting by the fireplace, deep in conversation. They looked up simultaneously, eyes widening at the sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand.

"What in Merlin's name?" Ron blurted out, almost dropping the chess piece he was holding.

Hermione stood up, her brows knitting in confusion. "What’s happening?"

You cleared your throat. "We had a bit of a mishap in Charms. Fred and George decided to 'assist' our spell, and now we're stuck like this."

Harry snorted, trying to hide his laughter. "Of course it was Fred and George."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as Hermione approached, examining your joined hands. "Hmm, let me see," she muttered, pulling out her wand and waving it gently over your hands. "It's a strong charm. They must have amplified it somehow."

"Can you fix it?" you asked, desperation creeping into your voice.

Hermione bit her lip. "It might take a bit of time. This isn't a simple charm to reverse, especially if they boosted its strength. Let's sit down, and I'll see what I can do."

You and Theodore awkwardly made your way to a nearby table, still joined at the hand. Hermione began leafing through her Charms textbook, occasionally glancing up at your hands.

"Are you sure it wasn't intentional?" Harry teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Shut up, Potter," Theodore shot back, but there was no real malice in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face. "Can you please just help us, Hermione?"

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand to shush the boys. "I think I found something. It says here that a reversal spell should work, but it needs to be performed perfectly, or it could make things worse."

"Perfectly?" you echoed, feeling a pang of anxiety. "And if it goes wrong?"

"Well, we might end up with more than just your hands stuck together," Hermione admitted. "But don't worry, I've got this."

“Okay i’m ready… let’s do it” you breathed in

“Wait… i can’t do it now, i need some time to practise it. As i said, it could go very wrong of not performed perfectly”

you groaned and fell backwards onto the sofa.

Theodore glanced at the clock on the wall, then at you, his expression shifting to one of mild panic. "I have to cut our despair short. I have Quidditch practice now."

You blinked at him, still processing the absurdity of the situation. "Okay, go then."

He raised your joined hands, giving you a pointed look.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione burst into laughter. Ron clutched his side, gasping for breath. "Good luck at practice, mate!"

Harry smirked. "Maybe you can use the bonding time to strategize."

Theodore rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Yeah it’s all fun and jokes now potter, but we have a match against you tomorrow."

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to stifle her giggles. "Alright, you two. I’ll need some time to figure this out. Why don’t you… well, make the best of it?"

You groaned again, feeling the weight of the situation. "Great. Just fantastic."

Theodore tugged gently at your joined hands, pulling you toward the door. "Come on, i don’t have all day."

As you approached the Slytherin locker room, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Theodore seemed to sense your apprehension.

"I need to get changed," he said leading you into the locker room. The room was empty, the rest of the team already on the pitch.

You looked around, feeling incredibly awkward. "Um, how are we going to do this?"

Theodore glanced at his Quidditch uniform hanging on a nearby hook, then back at you. "We'll have to cut the sleeve of my uniform."

You stared at him, unsure if he was serious. "Cut the sleeve? Are you sure?"

He nodded, his expression resigned. "It's the only way. Unless you have a better idea?"

You shook your head, feeling a bit guilty. "No, I guess not. Do you have scissors?"

Theodore rummaged through his locker, producing a pair of small, sharp scissors. He handed them to you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your hands.

"Alright, hold still," you instructed, carefully cutting through the fabric of his shirt sleeve. The sound of the scissors slicing through the material was oddly loud in the quiet locker room.

Theodore watched you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. His breath hitched slightly as you drew closer to his skin, "You're surprisingly good at this," he said

You glanced up at him, surprised. "Really? I feel like I'm ruining your shirt."

He shrugged, "It's just a shirt. Besides, you can sew it back together later, right?"

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, I can do that. Don't worry, I'll fix it."

With the sleeve cut, Theodore carefully slid his arm out of the shirt, keeping your joined hands steady. He then reached for his Quidditch uniform

"Now for the hard part," he said, looking at the uniform's sleeve.

You repeated the process, cutting the sleeve of the uniform with as much precision as you could muster. The fabric was tougher, but you managed to make a clean cut. Theodore slipped into the uniform, and you couldn't help but admire how the green and silver suited him. His muscles flexed under the tight fabric, and for a moment, you found it hard to look away.

He smirked teasingly "stop checking me out."

You rolled your eyes, your face flushing. "you’re insufferable… i’m trying to make sure the sleeve fits right," you retorted.

The reality of your situation hit you again as you exited the locker room, your hands still firmly stuck together. Navigating the hallways and the field together was awkward, to say the least.

As you approached the Quidditch pitch, the rest of the Slytherin team was already in mid-practice, flying through the air, tossing Quaffles, and practicing their Beater drills.

The sight of you and Theodore hand-in-hand drew immediate attention.

Draco was the first to approach, a sly grin on his face. "whats happening here?" he laughed, "Nott, I didn't know you needed a babysitter for practice."

Theodore shot his friend a warning look. "Shut up, Draco."

Draco chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “i thought you guys hated each other? when did you make it official?” he laughed louder this time

"You are the only one laughing" theodore said chuckling at him

“i feel sorry for you” draco said towards you “anyway, let’s continue with practise”

You did your best to stay out of the way,

draco had allowed you and theo to simply sit in the stands while someone threw a bludger at him to try and hit.

he clearly didn’t try hard enough as you got hit in your head twice.

A few of the players couldn't resist taking jabs at you and Theodore as they ran past.

"Hey, Nott, maybe she can be our good luck charm!" one of them called out, laughing.

"Or a distraction for the other team!" another added, snickering.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the comments.

“they’re all stupid” theodore would say

Finally, one player took it too far.

"Hey, Nott, why don't you just sleep with her already? Maybe that'll break the spell!"

Theodore stopped dead in his tracks, his face flushing with anger. "That's enough!"

a few members of the team fell silent, taken aback by his outburst. The player who made the remark, Marcus Flint, sneered. "What's the matter, Nott? Can't take a joke?"

Theodore scoffed. "Shut up you tosser, yes, she is a girl, but she didn’t ask to be surrounded by you idiots, so the least you can do is respect her"

You could feel the tension radiating off him, and it was clear that his patience had reached its limit. Flint opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, you stepped forward.

"It’s okay," you said, "We didn't ask for this to happen, but we're dealing with it. So if you're done acting like children, maybe you can focus on your practise."

"Alright, enough," Draco said, his tone firm. "let’s end here today yeah, let’s just hope today was enough to get us our win tomorrow”

As the Quidditch practice ended, the players dispersed, heading towards the locker room.

"I can't go in there," you said, tugging on Theodore's hand to stop him from entering. "I don't want to see anyone...you know, changing."

Theodore paused "Fine, we'll wait out here until they're done."

You both sat on the bench outside the locker room, Silence hung heavily between you, neither of you wanting to break it. Finally, Theodore spoke.

“you should of punched flint, no one would’ve of said anything”

“well, i’m not one to start fights, that would make me reckless” you sighed

Theodore’s smirk widened. “well you did suggest we do this spell” he lifted up your hands “together, that’s pretty reckless.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, turning to face him. “Like you didn’t push for it too. That ‘I’m a master of charms’ act? Such a joke.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned in slightly. “well you’re always whining about how hard life is. If you’re so tired, maybe you should’ve stayed in bed instead of trying to impress everyone.”

“Impress everyone?” you shot back, your faces inches apart. “Nice try, but your house is all about being superior, right?”

“Well, if we’re talking about superiority,” Theodore said, his breath warm against your face, “maybe you should look at your own house, the loudest bunch of show-offs.”

“Loud?” you challenged, your fingers brushing against his arm. “At least we’re not sneaky and backstabbing. I’d rather be loud than be a two-faced snake.”

Theodore’s eyes flashed. “Better sneaky than a blabbering idiot. At least I don’t go around pretending to be perfect.”

“Perfect?” you scoffed, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. “You think you’re so high and mighty. Well, you’re not.”

“Yeah?” Theodore’s voice dropped to a low murmur as he leaned even closer. “Maybe I’m just tired of you acting like you’ve got it all together.”

“You mean like you’re tired of being a pompous jerk?” you spat, “I’m tired of your attitude.”

Your faces were so close now. Just as it seemed like something might actually happen, Theodore suddenly pulled back.

“Honestly, can’t we just have one conversation without it turning into a drama?” Theodore said, crossing his arms and turning slightly away from you.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on handling disagreements?” you retorted,

“Well, you’re not exactly making it easy to like you,” Theodore snapped, turning towards you for the tenth time. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a complete—” you began, but your words were cut off as Theodore’s lips almost touched yours again.

you both sat back

“Let’s just get this charm sorted and go our separate ways.”

You nodded, your jaw clenched.

“your blouse is open” he said staring at the pitch

“yeah nice try”

“i’m not joking” he urged

you discreetly looked down to see that your two buttons were, in fact undone.

you slowly dragged your hand towards your top, pulling theodore’s hand with it.

Your fingers failed to do the button with his hand in the way.

“Nott, please flatten your hand” you said lowly

he cleared his throat “if i flatten it… it would be on your chest”

you breathed out and closed your eyes slowly, before flattening his hand yourself.

Theodore shifted, his hand still pressed awkwardly against your chest. His eyes met yours, and for a brief, unsettling moment, the anger seemed to dissolve into something else.

“You’re such a...” Theodore started

“Don’t start,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You make me feel... things I don’t want to deal with.”

After visiting Hermione, who delivered the disappointing news that you and Theodore might be stuck like this for another day, the reality of the situation set in. The idea of spending an entire night with your hands stuck to Theodore's was less than appealing.

After agreeing on it, you both reluctantly made your way to the Astronomy tower. The tension was high, and you could feel every small touch between you—whether it was Theodore adjusting his position or the slight bump of your hands against each other.

“I guess we should figure out where we’re going to sleep,” Theodore said

“Right,” you replied, trying to sound collected despite the discomfort. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Theodore shrugged, glancing around the tower as if searching for an escape route. “We could just sit here until morning?”

You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up with you. “Fine. Just... let’s try to make this as bearable as possible.”

You both found a quiet corner of the tower and made yourselves as comfortable as you could, given the circumstances.

“So,” Theodore began after a moment of silence, “since we’re stuck together, we might as well talk.”

“Talk?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Plenty,” Theodore said with a shrug. “We’ve been arguing nonstop. Maybe it’s time we actually had a proper conversation.”

You considered this for a moment. “Alright, fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with why you always act like the world is out to get you,” Theodore said, leaning back against the wall.

You stared at him, taken aback by the question. “What makes you think I act that way?”

“You always seem so stressed and ready to snap,” Theodore explained. “It’s like you’ve got this cloud hanging over you.”

“maybe i do”

A brief silence followed, during which you both seemed to be lost in thought.

“So,” Theodore said, breaking the silence, “what annoys you the most about me”

You laughed slightly. “Your carelessness.”

Theodore chuckled softly. “i care about a lot of things actually”

“yeah? like what”

he stared at you in a comfortable silence, leaving that question unanswered

You smiled faintly

As the evening wore on, you both found it increasingly difficult to ignore the closeness of your situation. The moonlight made even the smallest touches feel more significant.

Eventually, you both fell asleep, leaning against each other for support.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Oh, this is just perfect,” you groaned, pushing yourself up and realizing just how tangled up you were. “We need to get to our dormitories and change. It’s almost time for the Quidditch match.”

You glanced around the tower, feeling the urgency of the situation. Theodore sat up, still a bit dazed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Then we need to find hermione”

You both maneuvered to stand up, your hands still firmly attached. It was a delicate balance, trying not to trip over each other as you made your way out of the Astronomy Tower.

The corridors of Hogwarts were quieter at this hour, but you still drew curious glances from early-rising students who whispered and pointed as you and Theodore hurried by.

Once you got to your dorm you instructed theo to turn around while you changed.

after you had gotten ready you both sprinted to the locker room and sighed in relief at hermione waiting there you.

You both lifted your hands infront of her ready to be freed

“i can’t perform the spell”

“what?”

“it’s too dangerous, i even consulted with mcgonagall, she said that we will just have to wait it out”

You sighed, feeling frustration “It’s okay, Hermione. Thank you for trying.”

Hermione gave you both a sympathetic smile. “I’ll head to the stands and watch the match. Good luck”

As Hermione walked away, you turned to Theodore, “I’m really sorry about this, Theo. I know how much this match means to you.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “It’s okay. We’ll have to try and manage.”

The tension between you seemed to dissolve slightly as you both stood there

The Quidditch match was about to start, and with the stands starting to fill up, you found yourselves standing closer than you had all day. The space between you seemed to shrink and In a moment of impulsive decision, Theodore leaned in, and before either of you could second-guess, your lips met his.

When the kiss ended, you pulled back slightly, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. You noticed, with a jolt, that Theodore’s hands were now resting comfortably on your waist. The realization hit you, and you looked at him in surprise. “Theo… your hands are on my waist.”

Theodore blinked, confusion crossing his face, before it dawned on him. “Wait—” he started, looking at your hands which were now free.

You both stared at each other, “I guess we really did have to kiss to break the spell,” you joked with a light laugh.

Theodore chuckled and a genuine smile lit up his face. “I suppose so.”

“Well,” Theodore said, “I’d better get changed before the match starts. I’m sure the team’s been waiting for me.”

“yeah” you said, smiling slightly. “good luck.”

he quickly leaned forward to kiss you one last time before fake saluting you with a smile on his face and turning towards the locker room.

“wait theodore”

he turned around

“your buttons undone” you pointed to his trousers

[bandgie]

Can You Really? | Armageddon Event

Request: Patience | Lee Know (SKZ) by anon song!

warnings!: MDNI18+, bdsm themes, fem!reader, paddle use, impact play, pussy spanking, edging, bondage, nipple clamps, pussy eating (implied), blindfold use

1.1k words

Somewhere in the dark, he hushes you. The sound is meant to be helpful. To soothe your jittery nerves and trembling body. But when you’re tied. When your wrists are bound to your ankles, forcing your legs to bend the knee, it’s anything but. You only shiver more.

It doesn’t help that a blindfold impairs your vision. All you have is your hearing and sense of touch. But that damn hushing. It makes you break out in goosebumps. You even arch your back a little, causing the nipple clamps that attach to your collar by the chain tug.

“Ahhh,” you breathe a light moan from the pull. “D-don’t do that.”

Minho giggles and you imagine his bunny teeth poking past his lips. “Do what? I’m not even touching you.”

You might’ve laughed with him, his giggles are contagious, but you can’t even crack a smile when your body anticipates anything and everything he might do. “ ‘m sorry.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing. “I just…fuck…I need to cum.”

He hums at that. You swear you’re about to orgasm from just his voice when you feel the acrylic texture cool against your skin. The paddle has a small, plastic rectangle Minho uses to slide against your body. He trails it between the valley of your breasts, swooping to one boob and rubbing your nipple in small circles.

Your bud is already so sensitive from the constant pressure of the clamp, but the paddle adds pleasure you thought you couldn’t feel. Small whimpers pass your lips and you will yourself to keep your neck still so the chain doesn’t yank.

However, that’s exactly what Minho wants you to do.

The paddle leaves your body for a second before crashing back down. Your nipple takes the landing, a loud slap sound emitting throughout the room. Pain that you blur with pleasure spreads in your body. You throw your head back so forcefully that the clamps pop off.

“Fuck!” You can feel the tears welting in your eyes. “Oh shhhit. I-you-no-” 

Minho snorts. “Eye you know? Forgetting how to speak already?”

You wish you could be snarky back, but Minho drags the rectangle lower and lower until it reaches your pelvis. All you can do is beg for mercy at this point.

“Y-you’re being mean.” The paddle stops just above your cunt. You swear you can hear his eyebrows pinch together. “I’m being mean?”

Crap, maybe you shouldn’t have said it like that. It would be smart of you to try and take it back, but sense is starting to leave you with every drop of arousal your pussy drips. You nod frantically instead.

“Ah. I think I get it.” Minho’s calmness is unsettling. The paddle travels a few inches lower until it catches your clit. You gasp, briefly thrashing against your restraints from the texture. The object has barely been on you for a second, but you're already wildly thrusting your hips for friction.

Surprisingly, Minho lets you. He keeps the plastic in place while you grind away. Your breasts giggle and you can hear the soft jingle of the clamps near your ears. There’s so much arousal on your pussy that there’s no need for lube when it rubs your clit repeatedly. The paddle grows embarrassingly wet, white cream beginning to collect on the surface. It doesn’t take long before slick sounds start to fill the room. 

Minho tuts annoyingly. “You just wanna cum. Can’t get you to stay still and pretty for me without you humping like a dog.” The paddle presses harder against your cunt. The extra pressure makes you whine. His words do little to stop your hips. You only grind harder, trying to find that right angle to get yourself to cum.

It feels like bliss when you find it - having to plant your feet flat on the bed and ignore how your shoulders scream from being tugged on. Minho’s putting just the right amount of pressure. Your clit catches the paddle just right and begins to feel that warmth pooling in your tummy.

Just as your orgasm builds, Minho pulls away. The paddle leaves your soaking lips and you whine desperately. You can’t even complain about how close you were when harsh slaps land on your cunt. 

You arch your entire back off the bed, thighs still apart as you twitch and gasp.

“I haven’t cum either, you know.” Minho’s voice is cold. “I know how to hold out. I know how to be patient. Something a slut like you obviously can’t understand.” It comes back again, this time, hitting your bundle of nerves right on the spot.

You cry out. Tears seep into the fabric of your blindfold and you can feel your pussy throbbing. “I'm sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Minho tilts his head, though you can’t see. “You promise, huh?”

You shakily settle your hips back on the bed, nodding. “Yes. Yesyes, I do. I can wait.”

Something shifts in the room. That teasing, playful atmosphere turns dark. You can taste Minho’s terrible thoughts in the air. You can feel how he drags the paddle a little more cunningly on your inner thigh.  

He continues to trail it along your leg as he says, “We’ll see about that. I think if I just keep slapping this cute pussy of yours, you’ll just cum anyway.”

“I won’t.” You don’t even believe it yourself, but maybe Minho will buy it.

He laughs. “Right. How about this? You keep your legs open for 10 minutes - just 10 minutes - and if you don’t cum, I’ll let you tie me up.”

Him? Left helpless and deprived like you are? It’s almost too good to be true. A trick clearly disguised as a treat, but you have to ask. “What?”

You feel the paddle back between your thighs. Minho soothes your swollen flesh in false gentleness. “What do you mean ‘what’? Just imagine our roles reversed. Think of it as getting revenge. That’s if you can manage, though.”

Minho would look beautiful bound. His smirking face fading into lost pleasure. His cocky attitude turning needy. Domming isn’t really your thing in this relationship, but you’d be damned to pass up on this opportunity. 

You’re already nodding before the words come out. “Yes. Fuck yes. I can do it.”

When he laughs, it sounds far more genuine this time. Like the idea of you merely thinking you can win is hilarious to him. “Really? Okay then.” Minho pulls the paddle away again and you immediately tighten your body. You wait for the sting, the pain, the blinding pleasure, but all you feel is soft lips.

He giggles into your folds, “Good luck.”

[inlovewithpandora]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — Summers Of Pandora ᝰ Day 1 - Age Gap

Artists — Tonowari x fem!Sully!reader

Lyrics — After a long day of Olo’eyktan duties, you help Tonowari unwind by giving him something special and a little thank you for allowing you into the clan.

Music Advisory — nsfw content, porn w/ plot, implied secret relationship, implied age gap (reader in early 20’s / Tonowari in late 30’s or early 40’s), handjob & blowjob, p in v, Sully!reader (oldest daughter of Jake and Neytiri)

Duration — 2.3k words

Index — Yawntutsyìp - Darling • Olo’eyktan - Clan Leader • Yawne - Beloved

Words from Artist — July 1st first is finally here and I’m so excited to share my contribution to me and @neteyamsoare’s event with you guys! I hope all of you enjoy me and Sia’s event and I can’t wait to read everyone’s creations! I haven’t written smut for Tonowari since I first started my blog so I really enjoyed writing this fic because I’m truly a Tonowari girl! Always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — event m.list・main m.list・event taglist ・prompt list

You can feel Tonowari’s eyes burning a hole into your head as he looks down at you sitting beautifully on your knees as your hands are exploring his lower region and your lips are pressing soft kisses along his meaty thighs. As your dainty fingers start untying the man’s loincloth he can feel his heart about to jump out his chest, his breathing starting to become irregular, and his eyes begin to widen and his pupils start to dilate as his animalistic urges start to arise.

“Yawntutsyìp,” his voice is soft and breathy, you can hear the desire that quivers in his tone which stems from the trail of reddened hickeys you're currently leaving along his skin. “W-What are you doing?”

Seeing how this big powerful man is practically like putty in your hands and you’ve barely done anything yet makes a cocky smirk spread across your lips. You lift your head up a little and gaze into his blue eyes while you toss his loincloth to the side and guide him from his wooden chair to the woven mat on the floor. Once he’s comfortable you get back in your earlier position, on your knees and you finally give his cock the attention it’s begging for. It’s rock solid and ready to be touched, his tip is oozing with precum and you notice it twitching with anticipation every few moments.

“I’m taking care of you, Tonowari. You’ve worked so hard today so I want to help you unwind.” Before he has a chance to respond you stick out your wet tongue and give his tip a little lick, letting the salty beads of precum settle on your tastebuds. The intense gaze you’re giving him along with the feeling of your hand moving up and down his lengthy shaft makes his body tremble.

“You d-don’t have to-”

“But I want to, consider this me showing my appreciation for accepting me and my family into your clan.” Ever since you and your family came to Awa’atlu months ago you've had eyes for the mighty Olo’eyktan. It was easy for you to get close to him since he was friends with your father and once you had him hooked on your personality, charisma, and beauty he couldn’t let you go no matter how much he tried to turn the other way due to your age difference. It started off innocent in the beginning and recently it’s turned physical which leads you to this moment, you giving him the pleasure he deserves.

The veins on his underside are prominent and throbbing, you can feel how defined they are becoming with each stroke. Tonowari shudders at the sudden sensation of your pretty plump lips wrapping around his tip and making its way down his shaft, making it your mission to take all of him. The older man’s eyes widen as he watches his cock disappear into your warm, wet mouth. His tip continuously hits the back of his throat and when you gag softly around him a low groan escapes his lips. You begin to move your head up and down, sucking him off just the way he likes and swirling your tongue delicately around his tip, making Tonowari’s soul feel like it’s leaving his body.

“Eywa, woman.” He curses through a whine, throwing his head back and closing his eyes while he moves his hand to the back of your head and tangling his fingers in your hair. You hum around his cock in content, loving the sounds you’re hearing come out of him. Using one of your unoccupied hands you start caressing his balls, slowly and softly massaging them to give him a new form of pleasure. The feeling of your voice vibrating makes his body spasm and his hips buck up and force his cock deeper down your throat, causing you to gag again. “Fuck…” The foreign word slips off his tongue, something he learned from you after you taught him human words and how they can be used.

You can feel him swell and throb in your mouth, that along with his choice of wording tells you that he’s close but you’re not done with him yet so you pull away, allowing his cock to slip out with a soft pop. When Tonowari opens his eyes and notices you trying to untie your loincloth and having trouble loosening the strings he uses his large hands and strong muscles to just rip the loincloth in half and toss it to the side. “Eager, are we?” You say with a little laugh, thinking it’s funny how impatient he is to feel you around him.

“I am always eager when you are the prize.” His comment causes a purple hue to tint your cheeks, making you feel special that he feels that way about you. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips before slowly lowering yourself onto him. Tonowari takes the lead and aligns his tip against your dripping entrance and slowly fills your hole with his length. When you feel him slide into you an unexpected gasp comes out, loving the way he stretches you out.

A mixture of a whine and growl fills the room from your partner, loving the wetness of your core, the tightness of your pussy, and the sweet smell that's emitting from your slick. All of these elements combined are causing the older man to see stars. This is the first time both of you have engaged in sexual intercourse together and he assumed that your pussy would be great because you were so skilled with oral sex but he didn’t know that pussy would be this amazing, it’s practically sucking him in and he’s loving every second of it.

After a few minutes of getting adjusted to Tonowari’s girth you decide to take things up a notch, wanting to rock the Olo’eyktan’s world and make him realize that you’re the only girl he needs. You lean forward slightly and place your hands on his broad tattooed chest, finding the perfect balance before lifting and lowering your hips, allowing his cock to slip in and out of your hole. His thick tip deliciously hits your cervix, making a series of moans fly out your mouth from the wonderful feeling Tonowari’s providing.

“Oh—” Tonowari groans while placing his hands on your hips, forming a tight grip on your soft flesh, not wanting the pleasure to stop any time soon. “J-Just like that.”

“Am I making you feel good, baby?” You ask in a teasing and sultry manner, wanting to make sure he feels taken care of but you already know the answer by the way his face screwed together.

“So good, yawne.”

A deep heat spreads through your core, sending shivers up your spine, causing you to increase your tempo so you can chase your high. While you’re riding him at a steady pace, head thrown back and mouth slightly agape, Tonowari’s mesmerized with the sight of you that’s presented before him. The sweat that glazes your body, the way your breasts are moving up and down in his face, how your folds are kissing his groin— Eywa, it's driving him crazy. Tonowari starts bucking his hips upward to meet your movements, causing you to squeal from the unexpected sensation and feeling like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. “Ah— Ton-Tonwari!”

“Taking me so well, little one.” He praises while removing one hand from your hip and placing it on the bright colored bud that lies hidden between your folds. The older man knows exactly how to make your body tick, how to make your orgasm crumble at your feet, which is why he’s circling the pad of his fingers around your clit, wanting to give you the best experience possible. He knows you’re loving the new stimulation because he can feel your walls repeatedly clenching around him and the moans that were spilling from your parted lips are quickly turning into sweet and desperate whines while curses rapid fire from your mouth every so often when the tip of swollen cock hits your pussy at the perfect angle.

“Fuck— feels so good, feel so full.” His cock was undeniably big, the biggest one you’ve ever seen or taken. He fills you up beautifully, you can feel him all the way in your stomach, you can almost see the imprint of where his cock reaches each time he thrusts in and out. Sex with Tonowari is amazing, being this close to him is amazing, knowing he’s the only one on this whole island that can provide you with such pleasure makes this whole experience so much better. Hearing all the grunts, groans, and moans that are coming from the older man is making your core tighten, and the way he’s increasing the speed on the circles he’s making on your sensitive bud has your brain turning fuzzy.

“I-I’m close!” Tonowari isn’t far behind you, his body is tingling with electric shocking pleasure, the way your riding him as if your life depends on it and how your pussy in devouring him, trying its best to milk him for everything he has in his upcoming load is enough to have him ready to give all to you and fulfill your desire. “I’m co-coming— shit!” Your walls spasm around and your legs begin to shake as you choke on your words, your body bucking in reflex a few times as your mouth hangs open in ecstasy. Your juices coat the Olo’eyktan’s cock and start oozing out of your stuffed hole and smear the inside of your thighs, pushing him over the edge and causing to cum right behind you. With just a few more hard and long strokes you feel spurts of warm, thick seed paint your velvety walls.

Once both of you allow your highs to run their course and allow your heartbeats to settle to resting pace, you slowly move from your current position with Tonowari’s help to make sure you don’t fall due to your weakened legs and lay down next to him. Your head finds comfort on his pecs and your arm wraps around his torso while his hand glides down your back and softly rubs your ass. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the sound of the waves crashing a few feet away from Tonowari’s dwelling plus the tiredness that’s lingering your body due to all the work you just put in during sex causes your eyes to become slightly heavy.

Tonowari knows you want to sleep and of course he won’t deny you your much deserved rest but first he has to tell you something. “You will have to leave soon, your father is supposed to be arriving in a few hours.” Jake wants to discuss war tactics and how they’ll fight against the RDA when the time comes so today is the day for their meeting. Your boyfriend definitely doesn’t want to kick you out but he also doesn’t want your father to come and find you here lying naked next to him, especially since he doesn’t know anything about your blossoming relationship.

You hear what he says and sit up so you can face him, bending your arm slightly and putting it on the floor and allowing your head to rest in your hand. You don’t want to leave Tonowari, the time you’ve spent together today has been far too good just to stop now, good thing you already had a plan in motion. “Actually, I won’t be needing to leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because when he told me at lunch today he was planning on meeting you here I told him that I saw you while I was fishing earlier in the day and you told me to tell him that you’ll meet him at the communal hall around dinner time instead.”

Tonowari can’t help but let out a little laugh at what you just said. Here he was worried about Jake coming and you, his gorgeous partner with a brilliant mind, has already taken care of the situation, even though he didn’t know it would need to be arranged until you made a surprise pop up at his mauri with eyes that were glazed with lust. Now that he’s thinking about it, how did you know to avert your father coming here? Were you planning for this to happen the whole time? He doesn’t mind nor care if you did, he loves spending time with his yawntutsyìp but he just wants to know what was running through that pretty head of yours at that time. “So you planned this whole thing, huh? Changing me and your father’s plans so you could come here and have your way with me?”

It was true, you did in fact plan this whole thing, coming over in something more revealing than what you usually wear, enticing him with sway of your hips and other features while forcing him to sit in his wooden chair so you can begin the first phase of the seduction plan that’s been playing in your head for the past few days. You needed him today and you couldn’t wait a day longer so you pulled a few strings to make it happen and boy did you enjoy every second of it, there’s not one regretful bone in your body. “I did but it was only because this was important, I needed some personal time with the mighty Olo’eyktan.”

“Well, you have me now. We should put this extra time we have now to good use, shouldn’t we?” Before he allows you to answer, his free hand lands on your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss while he tightens the grip he has on your waist and turns you both over, putting you in the position of laying flat on your back and him shadowing over you. The way his tongue swirls around in your mouth and the feeling of his hardening cock resting on your stomach tells you exactly what he means by his previous statement, round two, and you’re more than ready to give him what he wants.

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[with-my-calamitous-love]

CARVE YOUR NAME INTO MY BEDPOST / MIGHT AS WELL BE DRUNK IN LOVE

shouto todoroki x f! reader

at a work party gone wrong, shouto finds a secret moment with you amongst the crowd.

smut! you are responsible for what you read!

inspired by dress + slut!

it was hard to find secret moments in a crowded room.

shouto todoroki, now japan’s #2 hero and possibly one of the most famous men in the nation, was loved everywhere. he was handsome, and just socially awkward enough to be charming. he was the topic of most headlines and gossip tabloids these days- and the press thought the knew everything about him. a 22-year old male capricorn, the youngest sibling and a top ranking graduate of UA high school.

one thing shouto relished in, secretly, was that no one had any idea about you and him.

and its not like they made it particularly easy for him.

like now.

shouto came to this event dressed in a sleek black tie and all eyes on him. at this point, he had grown somewhat used to it. he’d you, his wife, by his side. you’d squeeze his hand 3 times everytime you felt his anxiety flare up, especially when the lights began flashing and the familiar clicks of the reporters came about.

at first, he could handle it. just smile, nod, and let the world watch him act. its what he did for most of his life, anyway.

“shouto! are you still maintaining a relationship with your father?”

“shouto! over here!”

“is it true you and your wife want to raise your first child as a hero?”

“can you tell us about your marriage?”

“are you trying to be more like your father these days?”

“how is your family coping with everything thats happened?”

“shouto! what can you tell us about touya todoroki?”

it was starting to grate on him.

he felt the sweat trickle down his forehead at the constant questions. his fists clenched, wanting to shut off all the noise. they had put him and his family through enough, yet they still looked for more stories and more gossip.

he did his best to answer all the questions, taking a deep breath and disassociating like his PR team had told him to do. he was handling it, up until he couldn’t find you through the crowd.

his blurry and hazed eyes scan the room, looking for you and where you might have gone. the air suddenly began to thin, the years of anxiety and inadequacy beginning to build up at the back of his throat. worst of all, you weren’t there to help him ground himself. he was lost in a sea of people, and none of them were you.

luckily, someone else was there to step in.

“OI! BACK OFF FOR ONCE!”

a familiar blonde barks, much to the relief of shouto. after all, pro-hero dynamight had just as much respect as shouto, and the media was more or less used to his abrasiveness.

he lets out a sigh of relief as most of the reporters and fans take a step back, allowing him and bakugou to escape to different corner of the room. the #1 hero immediately senses something is wrong, specifically the fact that you weren’t with your husband.

“the press getting to you?” the blonde asks, his usual dick-bag self being suppressed to help his ‘friend.’

shouto nods, and bakugou sighs sympathetically. even someone like him, who relished in the fame and praise of being hero, understood the mistreatment shouto had experienced all his life. he saw how that mistreatment was only amplified when the public got involved.

“wheres [y/n]?” he asks, red eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. shouto does the same, like a boy in the sea searching for a raft.

bakugou rolls his eyes, deciding he’ll be the hero. “go look for her. i’ll keep them off your back.” he says, turning back to the media frenzy and adjusting his tie, ready to give them what they want. “but you owe me one, icyhot.”

with one manly pat on the back, bakugou walks back out to the crowd, giving shouto a chance of peace.

he immediately opens some door to a room. its some fancy, pompous washroom only the rich could afford. the size of it could it a family, if it wanted to.

but he didn’t care about the lavish architecture. he cared about the way his heart calmed down at the sight of you, sitting on the counter.

“hey.” he walks over to you, sitting next to you and taking your hand. you immediately note his anxiety, evident by the dryness of his throat. theres guilt that creeps into your throat once you realize you left him all alone.

“hey, sho.” you say, immediately taking his hand in yours.

“i lost track of you in the crowd. are you okay, love?” he asks, bi-coloured eyes staring at you with nothing but love. you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“i’m okay.” you say, chuckling awkwardly. “just, you know… parties.”

he nods sympathetically, understanding how neither of you were particularly fans of big crowds. his gaze flickers over to the washroom door for a moment, making sure the door is locked.

“are you okay, though? those reporters out there were down your throat.” you ask, watching as his expression darkens slightly. from just outside the washroom, the sounds of partygoers can still be heard loud and clear.

he boy sighs, the stress of the media's questioning weighing on him. he appreciates your concern immediately, and he knows he can at least be honest with you.

"it was...a lot," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "they kept asking about my family, and about the you...and i just feel like they're trying to get a reaction out of me."

you nod, understanding his frustrations. you’re quick to validate his worries. “thats exactly what they’re trying to do. they’ll profit off of anything.”

shouto knows that to be completely true.

after the news of endeavour’s abuse towards his family (specifically his firstborn son) came out, shouto felt as though him and his entire family had been engulfed in flames. he soon learned that the paparazzi will do anything for a story. the more you fall apart, the more they’ll flash their camera’s and take notes of your pain.

it seems despite his valiant efforts to get out from his fathers shadow, theres still people that won’t let him forget it.

as if you two share a psychic connection, you can immediately sense whats on his mind. his pain is yours too, and it kills you knowing that there not much you can do to stop it. “i remember when they got a hold of your family story. they took the years of abuse and made money off of it.” you scoff. “its disgusting.”

he feels a pang of anger and disgust at the memory of the media's handling of his family history. he can still remember the way they had twisted and distorted the truth, using it for clickbait headlines and sensationalized stories. it had been traumatic and painful, and they had made it all seem like entertainment.

"it is," he agrees, his voice filled with irritation. “they had no right to turn our lives into a spectacle for their profit. it made me sick.”

you sigh, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “so much talk about your father these days… i can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

shouto ruminates for a second, looking down at his own lap. being young is art, in its own twisted way. being famous means constantly being reminded of what hurts you the most. for shouto, that was the fear that he would one day resemble his father.

they loved to think he’d never forget.

the constant discussion and speculation about his father's actions and legacy has been weighing heavily on him, and he's been trying to distance himself from it as much as he possibly can.

"it’s been...difficult," he admits quietly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “i know who my father was, and what he did, but i feel like everyone is always waiting for me to do the same. like… they're just waiting for me to make a mistake so they can say 'see? you’re just like your father after all.'"

his voice cracks slightly at that last part.

you shake your head valiantly, cupping his face and making sure he’s looking at you. the only other sound that can be heard in the room are the quiet drips from the sink. otherwise, you and shouto managed to drown out the noises from the party. all that mattered was the two of you, together, as if you were in a snow globe.

“shoto, listen. you aren’t your father. you’re so much more. i know the man i fell in love with. i know him because he’s twice the man he came from. he’s kind, and strong, and everything his father wasn’t.”

at that moment, shouto thinks: what if all he needs is you?

“thank you.” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “i needed that.”

you easily reciprocate, feeling his warmth and all that makes him him.

“it’s everything that made you.” you whisper. “all that pain and all that suffering you went through… it made you the man i fell for. all those dead end streets led you to me.” you smile.

with that, he feels truly at peace. if all that suffering led him to you, he’s consider it worth it. he’ll pay the price and you won’t, as long as it means he can love you.

without a word, he leans in to kiss you. his lips fit on yours like the universe especially crafted you two for each other. nothing else matters right now. all of that pining and anticipation, his hands shake from holding back this entire night. he’s desperately waiting to love you, and show you how much he does.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

theres indentations of shouto all over you.

first, your head. because he’s all you think about. his jokes, his smile, and the way he makes you feel.

second, your heart. he never wanted you like a best friend. half the time, he dresses up just so he can feel your hands remove the fabric from his muscles, kissing every patch of exposed skin possible.

third, in between your thighs. literally, because he’s on his knees, head between your legs and pressing his soft lips against your clit. he could carve his name onto your skin if he wanted to, and you’d probably let him.

one of your hands press against your mouth, trying to silence the urges to cry out for him. he looks so fucking gorgeous right now, his tie undone and shirt just unbuttoned enough to show off his muscles. his abs are covered in kiss marks leftover from your lipstsick- a finishing touch to an already beautiful masterpiece.

he’s tugged your panties all the way off, and pushed your dress high enough to give him access. he was salivating just thinking about getting between your legs, tasting you and letting you cum in his mouth.

you tug at his hair in fistfuls, urging to give you the orgasm you need. his eyes are closed, focusing solely on the way his tongue swirls around you. his mouth and chin glisten from all of it, and he’s doing this for his pleasure just as much as yours.

the way you moan makes him tighten his grip on your hips, ever so slightly increasing his pace. he chuckles to himself, acknowledging the effect he has on you. the vibrations of his voice and warm breath pushing against your already pulsing core sends a shiver down your spine.

“careful, love.” he whispers, only pulling away from you slightly. “wouldn’t want anyone to find us, hm?”

“i know.” you whimper. “fuck, just don’t stop.”

he happily obliges.

“good girl.” he whispers, his tongue slowly circling the bundle of nerves in a messy pattern. his tongue moves in a maddening pace, sending brain-melting waves of pleasure to you.

the ecstasy is inescapable, and you’re not even gonna try. this was your secret. those people out there, that thought they had you and your husband figured out, had no idea what was actually going on right now.

you’re his one and only, his lifeline. forever, he wants to wake up by your side. you’re the only person who makes his hand shake and heart beat despite all the pain he’s gone through.

“say my name.” he says, looking up at you.

“shouto!”

and everything just stops.

he’s lovesick, all over his face. his tongue blessedly picks up the pace, not daring to stop for even a second. you’re lovelorn and nobody knows. everyone wants him, and thats your crime. you silently cry out, head throwing back while you feel that not in your abdomen slowly begin to unwind. he guides you threw it, making you cum from nothing but his mouth.

and when you do cum, he takes it all happily. because in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.

the two of you were all dressed up- they may as well be looking. shouto came to that party with a sleek black tie, and left without it. he only bought it for you to take it off.

tags! 🫧

@crushmeeren @whenanafallsinlove @bbluefllame @satirediary

p.s i don’t normally write smut so i have no idea if this is good or not 🥹 thank you for reading!

[spirit-lanterns]

FAST AND FURIOUS

synopsis: you catch the eye of the infamous street racer.

featuring: kafka, serval, seele, stelle, bronya

rating: 18+ n.s.fw (men and minors dni)

warnings: street racer! AU, dom! afab female reader (bronya), sub! afab female reader (kafka, serval, seele, stelle), car se.x, fingering, se.x while driving, cunnilingus, face riding, strap on, illegal street racing (obviously).

art credits: initial D

KAFKA

Street racer Kafka! Who catches you staring at her when she pulls up to the starting line in her sleek, jet black car. It’s smooth and elegant, just like her, as she beckons you to come over to her window, gloved finger enticing you to come closer…

Street racer Kafka! Who takes your hand into hers and plants a sweet kiss to your wrist. Her bold, red lipstick marks you as hers as she flashes you a flirty wink through the window. “For good luck, sweet girl. When I win, I want to take you home with me…”

Street racer Kafka! Who smirks when you shamelessly grow flustered and agree, letting you walk back to the crowd as she gets ready to win the race of a lifetime for you. She had plans of where to take you tonight after all. You were the one she was after, not the prize money…

Street racer Kafka! Who, as you may have guessed, wins the race by a landslide as she pulls back up to the starting line and gets out of the car, smirking and sweeping back her sweaty hair as she wanted nothing more than to get her prize. You. 

Street racer Kafka! Who chuckles as you fawn over her and pulls you in by the waist to kiss you, placing her sunglasses over your head and officially sealing you as her prize for tonight. And maybe forever, who knows…

Street racer Kafka! Who drives you back to her hotel with you in her car. Her hand on your thigh as you can’t help but follow it as it goes up up up… practically stroking up to your clothed pussy and playing with the buckle of your shorts. “I don’t think I can wait anymore, sweet girl…” Kafka purrs lowly, one hand on the wheel while the other begins to tug your shorts downward. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eyes on the road…”

Street racer Kafka! Who slips her fingers into your panties and starts massaging your clit with her eyes glued to the road, her experienced driving making you wetter than you already were as she was just so good at multitasking. 

Street racer Kafka! Who starts plunging her fingers deep into your walls and driving her fingers faster as she accelerates. The car streaking down the road as the adrenaline of speeding and getting fucked by Kafka at the same time had you squirming and squeezing at her fingers. “Let’s see if I can get you to finish in time…” She laughs softly, deciding it was time for the main event.

Street racer Kafka! Who has you squirting all over her hand and passenger seat as she pulls up to the hotel parking lot with a smirk, slowly pulling out her fingers from beneath you and humming in satisfaction at the mess. “Looks like I won again…”

SERVAL

Street racer Serval! Who is an experienced mechanic and personally built her car to make it the fastest anyone has ever seen. Not only is it fast, it’s flashy, and Serval grins with confidence as she leans against the hood of her car with her arms folded, waiting for the race to start.

Street racer Serval! Who notices you admiring her car (and her) and smirks to summon you over for a closer look. “Don’t be shy, you can take a closer look…” she grins, taking your hand as she shows you all the special little features of her car. “Pretty isn’t she? She’s a beauty, just like you…” 

Street racer Serval! Who sighs when the crowd gathers to finally start the race, a smile stretching upon her lips before casting a small wink over to you. “Wish me luck, princess. I’m winning this for you!” She flashes you a blinding smile and gets into her car, revving up the engine as she prepares for sweet, sweet victory.

Street racer Serval! Who wins her race with ease and gets out of the car with satisfaction, fist pumping the air before taking her custom helmet off and smirking. “Phew…that was a close one…!”  she laughs out humbley, dropping her helmet to the floor as she waves you over to come join her on the stand. 

Street racer Serval! Who’s all sweaty and messy from the ride, yet still looks hot as ever as she pulls you in for a hug and lifts you off the ground, so happy to have won for you. “Taking you out to eat, what do you say?” She smiles flirtatiously, looking at you with hope in her eyes. Of course you agreed…

Street racer Serval! Who took you out to eat but not in the way you were expecting. Her face buried deep in your folds as she licked and speared her tongue into your hole to taste all you had to offer. “Tastes like victory alright…” she couldn’t help but joke, lifting up your thighs to keep you spread as she ate you out quicker than she could even drive her car.

Street racer Serval! Who was currently eating you out on her winning car in an abandoned parking lot after the race. Your legs spread over the top of her painted hood, as she wanted nothing more than to see your cum drip down your legs and onto the glossy paint that she herself had applied. “Don’t worry, I could always give her a good ole scrub. For now though, you could make a mess of her however you please…”

Street racer Serval! Who groans when she sees how much you leak onto her car, glistening cum sliding down her hood as she smirks and licks it all up…

SEELE

Street racer Seele! Who is rough around the edges and comes in with a slightly scarred yet durable car. She was a champion racer long before this race, and this car was the one that helped her win on many numerous occasions…

Street racer Seele! Who can’t help but let her eyes wander through the crowd and spot you smiling in the distance. Her cheeks go red at the sight before she blushes and looks away, grumbling to herself and scratching the back of her neck nervously. 

Street racer Seele! Who was usually very confident and snarky before her races. Seele was known to be a very reckless and “go with the flow” kind of driver so she had survived many dangerous stunts and tricks. However, it was her first time racing in front of such a pretty girl like yourself, and she couldn’t help but want to show off to you. 

Street racer Seele! Who blushes as you hand her a water bottle and say “good luck!” to her in that sweet little voice of yours. It had Seele smiling awkwardly as she flashes you a confident smirk. “Thanks. That money is as good as mine…”

Street racer Seele! Who speeds through the road and decides to go the extra mile to show off to you on the cameras. Taking a quick yet very dangerous detour with ease and sliding right through to first place. 

Street racer Seele! Who’s slick back hair is all wild and messy the moment she gets out of her car, heart thumping from the adrenaline as she just pulled off some of the most dangerous stunts known to man for you. The moment she sees you cheering and running over, she laughs and shyly takes your hand, squeezing it before kissing the top of it charmingly. “You’re a cute cheerleader…”

Street racer Seele! Who blushes madly when you grab her hand and whisper seductively in her ear. Telling her how she “deserves a wild ride tonight and should go a round or two” with you. The racer too flustered to even fathom the thought of saying no to you. 

Street racer Seele! Who is gasping for air underneath your cunt as you ride her face to your heart’s content. Hands gripping on her dark purple as you moan and writhe at her tongue thrusting in and out of you. She’s so fast, so lithe. The leather of her gloves gripped your hips firmly as she drove your body back and forth on her tongue, savoring the tang and precum of your body…

Street racer Seele! Who looks up at you dreamily in the dusk of her backseat car. Breath coursing through her throat as she groans and pushes her nose deeper against your clit, too sex-drunk in her prize to notice how you’re tensing up on her touch. Too dumb to realize until it was too late, as you creamed all over her face and let it spill down on the leather seats of her car…

STELLE

Street racer Stelle! Who arrives at the race in a battered up and beaten down car. Does she care? Of course not. This trashed up car is her baby and she loves it! No matter how many people laugh at her…

Street racer Stelle! Who just looks so cute and happy to be there as she looks around with big ole puppy dog-like eyes. She spots you smiling at her in the distance and gives you a playful wave. Honestly, you felt bad that everyone was laughing at her vehicle, she was just too cute! And she didn’t deserve to be teased like this…

Street racer Stelle! Who seems to ignore all the teasing and flashes you the most confident of smiles! She jogs up to you with contagious excitement and shakes your hand as you approach. “I saw you looking at my car. Do you like it? I scrapped it myself…!” Ahhhhh that was adorable and you couldn’t help but agree. How could you not love this woman? She was adorable!

Street racer Stelle! Who tosses you a good luck charm before running back to go start her car. It was a small, battered up raccoon keychain with the fur all matted and gray from use. You didn’t mind, in fact your heart swooned at the sight as the little chubby raccoon plush reminded you of the goofy woman.

Street racer Stelle! Who…surprisingly wins the race!? When she gets out of her car she has a look of pure shock and adrenaline before grinning and fist bumping the air. “Noice!” She chants, looking over at you in the crowd with a smile. “My good luck charm worked…!”

Street racer Stelle! Who is way too happy about winning the race with her dingy old car. So much so that she rushes up to you and gives you a big hug, lifting you off the ground with hidden strength and smiling ever so sunnily. She has to show her gratitude! She has to!

Street racer Stelle! Who shows her gratitude to you by pounding into you with a strap on she had in her car. Happy grunts emitting from the overgrown puppy woman, as she sinks her cock deeper into your walls and loving how you twitched and gripped onto her shoulders for dear life. “Is that good? I hope it’s good…nngh…mmpf…”

Street racer Stelle! Who doesn’t stop when you climax for a second time, or a third, or a fourth. Her relentless stamina allows her to keep plowing you with your legs in the air as she spears you open with all that she has. “Thank you…thank you thank you thank you…” she’s so grateful and happy to please, gasping and kissing your neck feverishly. “You deserve more…I’ll give you more…”

Street racer Stelle! Who leaves your legs sore and neck covered in bites the following morning. The poor puppy woman looking at you with an apologetic gaze, before murmuring a small “Sorry…” when she sees you unable to walk…

BRONYA

Street racer Bronya! Who is the heiress of a wealthy family but sneaks out at night to drive in street races. She always pulls up in a sleek, brand new and expensive car that she borrowed from her mom, but that’s okay because her family has like eleven others hidden away in their garage…

Street racer Bronya! Who people thought was too delicate and princess-like to race in such dangerous events, yet here she was. Dressed in leather attire and a stone cold look on her face as she prepared herself for the race. She’s not overconfident or cocky, but you could tell she was a professional given how calm she was at the starting line. 

Street racer Bronya! Who glances at you through the crowd and keeps silent as she watches. You’re a pretty face, and it’s cute how curious you look as you admire her expensive uniform and car. ‘I suppose I could treat her for the night…’ Bronya thinks, ‘Perhaps I’ll even get her to experience the ride with me…’

Street racer Bronya! Who somehow gets you to sit in the passenger seat of her car before the big race. Her calm nature puts you at ease despite how dangerous street racing can be. “No need to worry, I’ll keep you safe.” She says softly, a gentle smile splayed on her lips. As she kicks the engine to start…

Street racer Bronya! Who’s car is so fast and sleek, it sends your heart rate racing. Despite the speed bursts however, Bronya makes sure to keep one hand over your chest to protect you everytime she makes a sharp turn. Gray eyes sharp and focused, as she keeps a hand on the steering wheel while protecting you at the same time.

Street racer Bronya! Who streaks through the finish line with you cheering on beside her. A soft chuckle emitting from her throat before glancing over at you. “How was that? Pretty nice, hm?” She blushes when you suddenly lean in to kiss her cheek, eyes wide before laughing bashfully at the reward. “Ah…thank you…”

Street racer Bronya! Who somehow found herself gasping in her seat with your fingers playfully teasing her. Unable to hear what you were saying as the most she could make out was “so good…” and “you deserve this, doll…”

Street racer Bronya! Who is just so surprisingly cute and whiny under that cold exterior. Gripping onto your wrist and trying to push your fingers even deeper while she moves her other hand to unzip the leather racing uniform. As the zipper is seperated, Bronya’s cute breasts spill out from beneath the confines and urge you to move over and fondle them. You cooed at how cute she was reacting to your touch, as she was acting like such a spoiled princess that you always knew she was…

Street racer Bronya! Who realizes she has to get back home before her mother wakes up, but decides ‘fuck it’ and continues riding your fingers with lust. Tongue lolled out in utter ecstasy as she drives your fingers faster than she could drive her car…

[targaryenimagines]

Shattered Wings

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 21,652

Summary: You had known, from the moment you stepped foot onto Westeros, that this cursed land would take from you more than you were willing to give; rip you apart, only to put you back together slightly off so you were never truly whole again. You just never expected, never even believed, that it’d be your darling son, your precious Prūmia, your Viserion, that would have to pay the price; and that it would be all due to the actions of your Khaleesi.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, angst with a happy ending, angry/grieving sex (trying to numb the pain), dark thoughts, grief, self-worth issues, and slight self-harm (R digs her nails into her arms). Reader is not in a good place. (This is just very angsty.)

Notes: Still not over how the sweetest baby Viserion got treated by D&D (nor how we barely got any scenes of Daenerys dealing with said event — both in Season 7 and in Season 8 when she found out he was enslaved by the Night King; even a scene with her and his shattered body would have been something). Hopefully, in this story, I can do their bond justice (along with the reader's bond with him, of course). Forewarning as well that the Reader puts Dany through the wringer; anger and grief can change someone in ways that you’d never imagine… Is it wholly fair to Dany? Absolutely not. Just wanted to let you all know that beforehand as it’s not pretty for a bit… Also is this the source of Daenerys not being able to sleep without the Reader next to her? Yes… Yes, it is.

Series Masterlist

The salty breeze of Dragonstone carries with it the scent of the sea, mingling with the distant cry of seabirds that circle the rocky cliffs, brushing across your cheeks in a phantom caress; its presence cool, but not cold, against your skin — a gentle reminder that summer was still hanging on even though its grip was beginning to weaken.

You had known it’d be a beautiful day from the moment you had awakened. A feeling that had only grown as the sun began to rise high into the sky and the world seemed to come alive underneath the splendor of its golden presence.

Even now, the sky was a deep blue, unmarred despite the growing bank of clouds on the horizon — holding an ominous presence as if the storm they promised would happen in only a matter of time, but, for the moment, they were fine with holding back, waiting until it was the perfect time to roll in. You had always known the weather within Westeros wouldn’t be like Essos. With the shimmering rays of gold and the endless crystalline expanse of the sky, but you hadn’t expected it to be quite so fickle.

Or perhaps, you muse, this rocky isle, not unlike the ones who had claimed it, had a temperament that was ever changing. Always one step away from a roaring storm or a clear sky.

Despite the overarching beauty of the day, and the initial lightness it brought to your chest, you couldn’t help the heaviness that was beginning to weigh you down as it continued to progress. Something that you could normally attribute to the simple knowledge of the shifting weather, but the tension coiling within you didn’t feel like the apprehension one would face in concern of a coming storm.

Its source, in fact, wasn’t one you could truly place — only heightening the tension further.

You’re currently seated on the edge of a cliff, a familiar perch where you often found peace, the waters of the bay below sparkling under the sun, a stark contrast to the gathering gloom ahead; one that soothes your wayward thoughts for the moment. Drogon soars above, his massive form casting a shadow that briefly blots out the light as he passes above you, continuing to dip and dive; his playful movements a reminder that despite his appearance, he was still young. His roars of joy, carrying easily upon the ocean wind, echoes across the bay, the familiar sound pulling your lips into a smile.

Rhaegal lay beside you, his large head near your lap, bronze eyes half-lidded in contentment. His breaths slow and rhythmic, the warmth of his body radiating through the cold stone beneath you, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the ridged scales of his brow; an action that causes Rhaegal to hum softly in response, a deeply resonate sound.

While Viserion, your golden boy, is curled up on the opposite side; large body coiled around you. An aureate gaze closed, but far from asleep — his breathing too measured, too conscious of your every move — and his attentiveness, even as he basked underneath the sun, soothed you. Leaning against his side, being lulled by the rise and fall of his chest against your back, you go back to watching Drogon dance upon the wind. Every now and then, you notice, out of your periphery, that Viserion’s tail flicked lazily, a sign of his growing restlessness; an emotion that was stemming from your own — even as you try to distract yourself with the world around you to halt it — due to the bond that you share. While you’re bonded to all of your sons, and love them as any mother would her children, the connection you have with Viserion goes a bit deeper; there’s an intrinsic understanding, one that goes beyond mere words. He knows that you’re troubled, even if he doesn’t know the cause, his continued presence is meant to soothe, to shield you from whatever is brewing within your heart, and you couldn’t be more grateful for him. For the love that he has for you.

The wind picks up slightly — a howl beginning to intertwine within it — bringing with it a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. Your eyes, as if pulled by some greater power, shift back to the horizon; to the dark clouds that continue to gather, seemingly growing thicker and thicker with each passing moment. It’s a sight that causes your previous sense of foreboding to make an instant reappearance, curling tightly within your stomach, and, in response, you press back into Viserion; seeking the warmth and reassurance only he could provide. The unease doesn’t subside, not in a manner you wish it would, as it decides to gnaw at the back of your mind instead; reminiscent of a splinter you couldn’t remove. An unsettling entity but one that you’d be able to handle given enough time and care; that’s what you hope, at least.

Looking down at the beach below, where a mixture of Dothraki and Unsullied work hauling Dragonglass and other needed supplies, the smallest of frowns furrow your brow. From this vantage point, and due to the simple fact that few were idiotic, and even fewer brave, enough to approach slumbering dragons — especially dragons that had one of their mothers nearby — left the area upon the cliff free of anyone else, you’re able to see how the few Northerners that had made the journey to Dragonstone were treating them; bodies tense, eyes narrowed in barely concealed agitation, whispered conversations taking place the moment they’re left to congregate amongst themselves, hands constantly reaching towards their hips for swords that aren’t present. It’s a sight that leaves a sour taste in your mouth and a protective outrage roaring within your chest.

The Dothraki and Unsullied did not ask for this war; did not ask to be treated with such obvious disdain from the people that supposedly needed their help. They had agreed to come to Westeros, to fight underneath the banner of House Targaryen, of Daenerys Stormborn, to reclaim the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister, but their loyalty, their faith, in their Khaleesi led them to where they are now. If the North is in such dire need of help why are they biting at the hand that’s offering it to them? 

Your brow furrows into an even more pronounced frown, but, before you’re able to delve even deeper into the thoughts that would, no doubt, dampen your already darkening mood, the sound of raised voices coming from behind you causes your attention to snap back to the world at large. Twisting, and leaning slightly to peer around Viserion’s head, you see Daenerys storming across the rolling grass with Tyrion following behind; even from a distance you can tell it’s a heated discussion. Tyrion is speaking once more, words likely chosen carefully, but whatever it is he’s saying it isn’t easing her agitation. You’re not able to see your dragon’s face, but you’re able to surmise what must be etched across it from memory, and Tyrion’s own expression, alone — eyes narrowed in determination, nostrils slightly flared, some amount of frustration evident, focused solely on her Hand.

As if she’s trying to bend him to her will through sheer force alone.

Not being able to hear their words doesn’t inhibit you from understanding what they’re discussing, your heart turning heavy at the realization. The plan to capture a White Walker had been a thorn in your side since it had been constructed — believing heavily that it was a gamble that relied on too many unknowns. That night, in your shared chambers, you had argued, even falling to the point of pleading, for Daenerys to take King’s Landing first; to solidify her claim and then use the might of the Seven Kingdoms to march North, but your words had fallen on deaf ears. Jon Snow, with his depictions of the Night King and the Army of the Dead, had shifted her focus entirely, convincing her that the real war lay beyond the Wall; not in the South.

At what cost? You remember asking her, in the quiet that had followed your discussion, after all the plans had been laid out. What would happen if our children got hurt? Or worse, killed? For a plan that rests on the hope that they might bring back a creature of myth?

Daenerys had tried to reassure you, warm hands cupping your face, lips gentle against your own before peppering lingering touches across your forehead, but the fear, like the multiple kisses that had been laid upon your skin, had lingered; a cold knot in your gut that refused to loosen.

Now, watching her argue with Tyrion, you can’t help but feel the fear twist into something sharper; something that bordered on anger. How could she risk so much for so little? How could she gamble the lives of your children — as you had heard the varying conversations about potential rescue missions — who had been with you both since the beginning, who had saved you more times than you could count, with such a plan?

Letting your eyes slip shut, trying to center yourself once more, you press a kiss to Viserion’s snout, a gentle rumble sounding softly in response. The clouds continue to gather, something you’re certain of despite your current blindness to them, but you force yourself to focus on the warmth of your sons; the steady breaths of Rhaegal and the comforting presence of Viserion.

Footsteps growing closer cause you to innately turn towards the sound — already knowing, by the lack of reaction from your sons, who it would be — and watch as Daenerys heads towards you; Tyrion still behind her with concern written across his face while Daenerys’ own was unreadable. Her approach causes the knot within your chest to loosen somewhat, as her presence has always wielded a calming influence unto you, but the tension within your shoulders grows just a bit more. You know that the coming conversation will not be an easy one, but it’s one that neither you, nor Daenerys, could avoid any longer.

She halts a few paces away, gaze softening when it lands on you. “There you are,” she greets, a note of warmth suffused within her tone; something that eases the tightness in your chest momentarily. It’s a fleeting entity, quickly remembering the subject matter behind the impending conversation, and taking notice of the determination within her violet depths. A sight that you’re all too familiar with, the burning resolve that has taken her through countless trials, the appearance of it being one that typically soothed you, but, with everything happening, it only deepens your concern.

“You’ve been arguing with Tyrion again,” you comment, trying to maintain a level of calmness that the roiling storm of emotions beneath the surface wished to disrupt.

The observation causes a soft sigh to fall from Daenerys’ lips, a delicate hand quickly rising to brush silver-gold strands behind her ear, while she moves to sit beside you; pausing only briefly for her gaze to linger on the forms of your shared children, before gentle violet finally settles back to you. “Tyrion thinks I’m being reckless,” she admits, the faintest creasing of her brow giving away the frustration she feels. “He just doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation.”

“Do you, Daenerys?” You rebuke, unable to keep the edge from your tone. “Do you understand what you’re asking them to do? What you’re risking?”

A spark of defiance roars into life within her gaze. “I’m not asking them to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.”

“That’s not the point.” Taking a breath through your nose, trying to maintain a level head, you continue. “The point is that this plan, this rescue mission you and your council have concocted, is too dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if one of our children gets hurt? Or worse?”

They’re questions you’ve asked before — countless times since hearing about the possibility of your Khaleesi heading North — and you’re certain they’ll be met by the same response.

Daenerys looks away, jaw clenched. “I can’t let them die.”

“You don’t even know if this will work,” you argue. “We didn’t know enough about the White Walkers, about their strengths or weaknesses, and those men left with that knowledge, understanding what they were getting into, because apparently one of those creatures may convince Cersei Lannister to help us.” Irritation lances through your heart. “Now, after all of that, you wish to head North, with our sons, to potentially rescue men that understood they may not come back once going beyond the Wall.”

“I have to try,” she replies firmly, eyes blazing within renewed determination. “If we do nothing, we’ll end up risking everything. The North, the South, everything we have ever fought for would be for nothing. If there’s even a chance that Cersei might listen, and that Jon Snow is still alive, and, with him, our only ties to the North, then I have to take it.”

You shake your head. “At what cost?” The old question, once again, falls from your lips, imploring Daenerys to actually hear it. “What will you do if they truly are gone? If, by doing this, our children are hurt?”

For a moment, the briefest crack appears in dragon-scaled armor, Daenerys hesitating, expression faltering as her vulnerability makes an appearance, but, before you can blink, it quickly buried beneath a resolved demeanor; one that has defined her since you’ve known her. “Every day I make choices that could mean the difference between life and death for thousands. I carry the weight of every decision, every sacrifice, but I cannot, will not, be paralyzed by fear,” she intones, even as her voice cracks ever-so-slightly, betraying the sense of fear she’s trying so hard to conceal. “I’ll do what I must. Like I have always done.”

Your heart clenches at the words; the anger you had been trying so hard to suppress flaring into something more intense, but, only by a small margin, you’re able to stay calm. “I’m not asking you to be paralyzed by fear, Dany. I’m asking you to consider what you’re risking. I’m asking you to think about what you’ll lose if this goes wrong,” you reiterate, reaching out for her, knowing how much physical touch means to her. “We can find another way. A way that doesn’t risk more lives.”

Daenerys only looks down at the proffered appendage for a moment before taking it in hers. “That’s something I never stop doing, ñuha perzys. I have considered every option, and I wish it were that simple,” she murmurs sorrowfully. “But the time for simple solutions is over. This is the only way.”

You pull your hand back, the warmth of her touch only deepening the growing ache in your chest, tension coiling in your shoulders. “And if it fails? If they’re already dead? What will you do then? If our children die in the pursuit of this mission? Will it be worth it? Will you be able to live with yourself?”

“I have to believe it will work. I have to believe that this is the way to save them. To save us all.”

Lips thinning into a line, her response pressing down onto you like a physical burden, you can’t help the strained quality within your voice. “I can’t do this.” The wind ghosts across your face, offering its own form of support for you to continue. “I can’t watch you risk everything, risk our sons, for something so uncertain.”

“I don’t want to lose them either. Of course, I’d never wish to lose our children.” Her voice cracks slightly at the thought of it. “But, I can’t stand by and do nothing, I can’t let those men die without trying to stop it.”

A long silence settles between you then, only the distant roar of the ocean against the surf, along with the occasional huff from either Rhaegal or Viserion, intercepting it, the tension palpable, its presence a heavy weight that neither of you can shake.

Finally, after another beat of silence, you let out a shaky breath, hands digging into the exposed skin of your forearm slightly, as you gather the strength needed to say what’s on your mind. “If you do this,” you begin, the words sour on your tongue, stomach twisting. “Promise me that you’ll come back. Promise me that you’ll bring them back.”

Daenerys looks at you then, the emotion within her eyes telling you she understood who you were referring to. That you weren’t asking for a promise to bring the men back — your words weren’t a plea for the plan to work; they were a mothers desperate attempt to ensure the safety of her children — and your Khaleesi doesn’t hesitate. “I promise,” she affirms. Even still, a weight has settled within you that wouldn’t become easier to lift until she returned back from the desperate attempt to right a wrong that wasn’t her fault. There wasn’t more to truly say after that, no argument that you could come up with that’d make her change her mind, so you settle, once more, into the silence that descends.

The storm on the horizon draws ever closer, dark clouds beginning to loom over the bay, while the wind picks up speed; whipping through your hair and clothes as if trying to pull you away. You’re aware of what she’s about to do, even if she hasn’t outright said she’d be departing now, and it absolutely terrifies you.

Daenerys stands, gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, before it shifts to the dragons. Knowing what is to occur, even if that doesn’t make it any easier to digest, you follow her lead, rising to your feet and move over to Viserion. Your precious boy lifts his head in response, bright eyes locking with yours, not unlike his other mother had done a moment prior, and you feel a pang of sadness deep within your chest. You reach out, hand resting against his cheek, the warmth of his pebbled scales seeping into your chilled skin. 

“Be safe, Prūmia,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek; Viserion nuzzling against you in response, a low rumble vibrating through his body. The sound being one of comfort, of reassurance, but it does little to ease the fear beginning to gnaw at your heart.

You move over to Rhaegal next, placing a gentle kiss to his nose. The soft huff, a warm gust of air that seems to sink deep into your soul, brings a small smile to life; despite the tears that were welling within your eyes. “Don’t do anything rash, Bāne.”

Finally, you approach Drogon, who had landed nearby, watching you with his crimson gaze. Once you’re near, he lowers his massive head, allowing for you to scratch the underside of his chin, a spot that has been his weakness since he was a hatchling, and you respond with a light chuckle of your own when he admits a huff of amusement — the closest thing, you’ve found, to laughter that a dragon can emit — the corners of his mouth seemingly lifting into a smile of his own. “Protect her, Mīsio.”

It’s a rare moment — even with your warring emotions — of levity in a time that feels anything but light.

Daenerys, simply watching as you say your farewells, meets your gaze steadily once you finally turn back to her, greeting you with a soft expression; the love she feels for you evident within pools of violet, but, underneath it all, hidden away in a place only you could find, there was sadness, genuine regret that she was parting with you mixing within it. It’s only when she steps closer, wrapping her arms around you in a much needed embrace, that the tension, you hadn’t even realized had been there, slackens. Her hold on you was tight, as if she was trying to anchor herself to you one last time before the storm took her away. Daenerys had always likened you to home; the one safe harbor she felt she had within this world. Where she could lay down her titles, her shield, and her worries, to truly be herself once more — simply Dany.

“I love you,” she whispers into your ear, voice trembling. “More than anything. Please know that.”

You press your cheek against hers, inhaling the familiar scent of the love of your life; a gentle fragrance of something sweet mixed with lavender, underscored by smoke and dragon fire. The duality of Daenerys Targaryen showcasing itself even within something so mundane. “I love you too,” you reply. “Always.”

Not wishing to let go, you cling to each other a moment longer, the world fading, as it always does, as you focus on the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart, but, all too soon, she pulls back, violet eyes glistening with unshed tears as she reluctantly steps away. Only to return, seemingly unable to stay away, to place a gentle kiss upon your lips, her words ghosting across them. "I will be back soon,” she vows. “You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

With one final embrace, and another brief kiss, Daenerys approaches Drogon, who had been waiting patiently, and climbs onto his back, the great dragon unfurling his wings with a powerful gust of wind; Rhaegal and Viserion following suit, their massive wings beating in unison as they rise into the sky.

You watch them, heart aching as they disappear into the horizon, get swallowed by the gathering storm, the weight in your chest nearly unbearable; a mixture of fear, sorrow, and an overwhelming sense of loss that you couldn’t comprehend. The smart thing to do would be to head inside, to find shelter from the oncoming storm, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you stand on the cliff's edge, the wind whipping through your hair, as you look in the direction of where the woman you love and your children vanished into the darkening sky.

A tear slips unbidden down your cheek and you don’t bother to wipe it away. The void within your chest, that had been created by the unceasing weight pressing upon it, threatened to consume you once you realized just how along you truly are now. Your children, alongside the love of your life, were heading into the unknown, and all you could do was stand, waiting within Dragonstone, and hope that they would return.

But, deep down, the sense of unease, the tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter, that continued to gnaw at you, was now settled like a stone in your gut; an unshakeable feeling that something terrible was about to happen settling over you.

For now, until your family returned to you, persevering was the only option — even if it meant burying the dark emotions welling up — and hope that Daenerys would keep her promise, that she would bring them back to you. That she would come back to you.

And, as the first rumble of thunder echoed over the bay, you closed your eyes, silently praying for the strength to face whatever was to come.

When the storm had rolled in, many within Dragonstone believed it would abate quickly, but it had only seemed to worsen as time wore on — as hours turned to days and those days turned to weeks — and, within that period there hadn’t been any news from the North.

It’s late. The kind of late that bleeds into the early hours of the morning, when even the wind is quiet, too tried to howl against the ancient castle; despite the storm still being an ever-present entity. Typically, it’s considered to be a tranquil hour to be awake, despite the earliness of it, and that the sky was still dark, but the silence of it was suffocating — pressing down on you with a weight that makes it hard to breathe. You had become too accustomed to silence, to the sound of your heartbeat and thoughts uninterrupted by anything else, and you absolutely detest it. When Dragonstone awakens — when servants, guards, and dignitaries alike travel through its halls — do you feel more at ease, because, at least when you hear them, you know you’re not truly alone.

The chambers you share with Daenerys, so shockingly cold without the presence of your dragon, to warm it, were dark, save for the faint embers that still valiantly clung to life within the hearth, and the stone walls seemed to close in around you. Ever since Daenerys had left this room had felt like a prison; each hour within it that passed stretching into eternity as you waited for word — any word — of Daenerys and your children. You had barely been able to sleep, being unable to banish the terrible images that haunted your dreams when you tried. Your dreams become consumed by what-if scenarios, each one darker than the last. You see them, your children, in your mind’s eye, falling from the sky, their magnificent wings torn and battered, fire extinguished as they plummet to the unforgiving earth below. You see Daenerys, silver-gold hair matted red with blood, the bright fierceness of her eyes dulled by the hand of death. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you prayed to the Gods to grant you mercy, even if it was only for a short while, those images wouldn’t stray far from your mind; they were relentless, merciless, in their endeavor to tear you apart from the inside out.

Still, even when you were awake, you found no solace, not a sense of peace. The idea of your family, all that you truly had within this world, flying into that forsaken land, facing dangers beyond comprehension, you couldn’t properly stomach it; couldn’t discern the varying emotions that had constantly been battling within you. Anger and fear had been your constant companion — Tyrion, Grey Worm, and Missandei tried to help but there wasn’t much they could do; not when you shut yourself off from the world — and, within that time you’ve spent with them, you understand that the majority of it, while directed towards the events as a whole, centered around Daenerys and her unwillingness to bend. Her fervent need to prove herself, to be the hero.

You know that Daenerys, for all of her pride in being a Targaryen, was weighed down by the actions of her father and brother, know that she desperately didn’t wish to become something that many had already foretold her being, that she was so afraid of becoming Queen of the Ashes. It’s something you detest — the fear that had been instilled into your ferocious dragon; clipping her wings the moment she had stepped ashore Dragonstone— and something you’ve been trying to dispel; never truly understanding why Daenerys would wish to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms if the common folk detested her so based simply off the actions of her forefathers.

Understanding all of that, knowing the insecurities that plagued her, you could see why Daenerys had made the decisions that she has, but you couldn’t understand why she was willing to risk the people that had already proved their loyalty, their unwavering devotion, to serve people that’d sooner call her the Mad Queen, the next coming of Maegor, then see her for what she truly was, to see beyond the fact that she shared blood with Aerys Targaryen.

Even still, knowing this, no matter how much it may squeeze your heart, you couldn’t help the growing chasm of anger that has settled within your gut at her actions. Wishing that, for once, she’d just let sleeping dragons lie, but, on the other hand, if she did, she wouldn’t be the woman you had fallen in love with, which is why a gnawing sense of fear had decided to accompany the anger in a sickening duo.

Daenerys had promised she would come back, that they would all return, but promises are fragile things, easily shattered by the brutality of war, by the merciless cold of the North, and the seemingly unending nightmare of the Night King’s army. Even still, her promise, her commitment to you, was the only thing you could truly still hold onto without falling apart, because, despite everything, you had faith in your Khaleesi, believing in her gave you the hope to believe that everything would turn out okay in the end.

Now, even in the dead of night, when the world is still, and the air is thick with the scent of salt and sea, as you lie awake staring at the ceiling, you hold onto that hope, to the one source of light that would guide you from the darkness. You’re not sure how long you lie there, caught between sleep and waking, your one shred of hope battling against the dark twisted dreams that wish to prey upon you, when you hear a disturbance: the creaking of the door, a faint rustling of fabric, as someone enters the room. And, without having to even look at, you know it is, you would always know. You could feel her presence like a healing salve to your soul, the warmth that radiates from her, the smell of smoke and ash with something sweeter, something distinctly Daenerys, that fills the air — replacing the scent of the sea.

You turn to look at her slowly, heart pounding, a strange mixture of relief and dread coursing through your veins. She’s back. She kept her promise. But, as you make out her form, standing there in the dim light, you know something is wrong.

Daenerys — the unstoppable force that brought many to heel, your dragon that burned with the fires of Old Valyria through her veins, who loves you with an ardency that rivaled the sun itself — looked broken.

There’s no other word for it: shoulders slumped, usually bright eyes dull and haunted, face drawn and pale. She looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders — more so than usual — and, for a moment, you can’t breathe.

She doesn’t say anything as she walks towards you, her movements slow, each step measured in a way you’ve never seen before, as if each one took an enormous amount of effort. The bed dips slightly as she sits on the edge of it, and you can see the way her hands were trembling, imperceptible if you had been anyone else, when she reached out for you. “I’m back,” she whispers, her voice so soft that it’s almost lost in the quiet of the room, but there’s something in her tone that makes your blood run cold.

You sit up, eyes searching hers for answers, for some kind of reassurance, but all you see is pain.

“Where are they?” The question slips out before you can stop it, fear clogging your throat making it even harder to breathe. “Where are the boys?”

Daenerys flinches at the words, at such a seemingly innocuous question, that you know within an instant. You know before she even says anything — understanding intrinsically where the aching hollowness had appeared from; a gaping void where your golden boy had once been — in response, but you can’t accept it. You won’t.

Violet eyes fill with tears, and she looks down at her hands, the one that had been abandoned by your own twisting in the fabric of the bedspread, as the other rests uselessly in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stops, the world stops, everything just stops as her apology hits you with the force of an arrow; the meaning behind it crippling in its intensity. The room, that had become your prison since she left, seems to close in on you: the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at her, waiting for her to take it back, to tell you it’s not true.

She doesn’t.

Daenerys just sits there, tears valiantly remaining in place, whole body trembling as if she’s going to shatter into a million pieces.

You shake your head. “No,” you whisper, refusing to believe that it could be true; willing it to not be true. “No, no, no, no…” The words spill out in a desperate wave, pleading as if you can somehow make reality change by denying it.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys repeats, voice thick with held back tears, and she reaches out for you once more, but you jerk away; the movement is violent, instinctive.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, sharp and harsh, tone filled with a venom you hadn’t known you were capable of. The grief, the anger, the pain, all crashing down on you at once; a tidal wave that threatens to drown you. “Say it. I want you to say the words”

Daenerys flinches at your ire, just barely, but enough for you to notice; to feel the faint sting of seeing her so shaken. Her lips part, as though she’s about to speak, but the words catch in her throat, and she finally looks away, unable to meet your gaze.

“Say it,” you repeat. A part of you needed to hear her say the words, because, you know, a small part of you would cling onto the shred of hope that it wasn’t true, that Daenerys must be mistaken, if she didn’t. “Say it, Daenerys!”

She still doesn’t turn to look at you, but her shoulders slump even more. “He’s gone. Viserion is gone.”

Why does expecting a blow not make it hurt any less? Why does knowing the pain is coming fail to lessen its sting? Your mind cries out as your heart begins to break. Is it because the expectation of the hit, of knowing what’s coming, evolves into its own kind of torture? Amplifying the pain as it echoes through your mind long before the blow ever truly lands.

You’re the one that flinches this time, the words piercing through you as easily as Valyrian Steel would flesh, and can’t keep the pained noise lodged within your throat trapped any longer; a noise that instantly has Daenerys reaching out for you, trying to comfort you as she has always done. Only this time you couldn’t stand to be near her, didn’t think you’d be able to handle her touch, not when your entire world had been thrown on its axis. Jerking away from her touch, as if it burned, you scramble off the bed, needing to put distance between you, needing a moment to breathe.

Daenerys stands in response, movements slow, hesitant, as if she was afraid that one wrong move will shatter whatever fragile thread that’s holding you together. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move closer even though you can tell she’s fighting her natural urge to do so, allowing you a moment, giving you an opportunity to sort through your thoughts. It’s something she had done since your friendship began — back when she hadn’t been the Khaleesi, hadn’t been what she is now, when she was a lost girl with a vindictive brother — when things got overly heated, overly emotional, and it never failed.

Until now.

Until you realized that the thoughts spiraling through your mind weren’t your own — not truly — as they were all poisoned by the darkness of your grief, of your anger, of your pain and bitterness. The longer you were left to listen to them now gave you more and more time to get lost under the sea of anguish that’s refusing to let you come back to the surface.

“How?” You don’t know why you’re asking, it’s not something you truly wish to know, but you just wanted the thoughts to stop, to let you breathe without reminding you that Viserion would never do so again. “How did it happen?”

Daenerys hesitates. “The Night King.” That you had surmised as there would be nothing in this world that would have saved Jon Snow if he had been the one to physically kill your son; him being a short-sighted imbecile notwithstanding. “H-He had a sp-spear—”

You don’t let her finish, you can’t let her finish, not when the imagery of those simple words alone was enough; the haunting dreams coming to fruition. The bubbling anger, that you had been trying to stave off since she had arrived, finally erupting. “I told you not to go!” You shake your head, turning away from her with your hands clenched. “I told you that this would happen!”

When Daenerys doesn’t respond, you turn back to look at her, seeing the tears that were now steadily making trails across fair skin, clearly having lost the battle that she had fought earlier by not letting too many tears escape. It’s a sight that should soften your heart — the woman you love more than anything in this world in clear anguish — and make you want to comfort her, because, it’s obvious, she’s lost too, but all it does is fuel the fire of your anger; something that causes another piece of yourself to wither away.

“How could you do this?” You demand, wanting to know, aching to know: your Dany wouldn’t have done this, your Dany would have tried everything before risking the lives of your sons for a fool's errand. “How could you risk them like that? How could you risk him?”

“I had to,” Daenerys replies. “I had to save them.”

Despite yourself you take a small step closer. “At what cost?” A wave of emotions rushes through you, burning your throat with grief. “At what cost, Daenerys? You’ve lost him! We’ve lost him!”

“I know,” she cries out, anguish palpable. “I know and I’m sorry, but I had to do it. I had to try.”

“But you didn’t have to risk him!” You scream, the dam within you finally bursting as tears stream down your face, your grief and anger consuming you whole. “You didn’t have to risk Viserion! He’s dead, Daenerys! He’s dead because of you!”

The words are out before you can stop them, before you can think about the impact they’ll have, and you watch as Daenerys recoils as though struck, eyes wide with hurt and shock. For a moment, the anger drains from you, replaced by a sickening sense of guilt, but it is too late to take it back; the damage has been dealt.

Daenerys takes a step back, the first time she had put distance between you instead of trying to close it, arms dropping back to her sides, an expression of heartbreak, with the barest hints of disbelief, directed at you. “Do you truly believe that this is what I wanted? That I wanted this?” She questions, voice quivering. “You think I wanted to lose him.”

‘No.’ You want to will the word through your lips, to make any sort of noise that’d indicate that you didn’t believe that — not truly — but, even if you had said it, you’re not certain if she would have heard.

“I did what I had to do,” she continues. “I did what I thought was right. We lost Viserion because of it, which will be something that I’ll live with for the rest of my life, but I had to make that choice. I had to do what I thought was best for all of us. For you, for them, for the world.”

“For the world?” You repeat, not even trying to dampen the bitter sarcasm laced within the words. “What about our world, Daenerys? What about our family?”

Her gaze softens, even though the tears remain ever present, and she takes a tentative step forward, reaching out for you again; bridging the gap that she has made earlier. “We’re still a family,” she insists, unwavering. “We still have Drogon and Rhaegal. We still have each other.”

You shake your head. “It’s not the same,” you whisper. The truth in those four words sends another lance of pain straight through your heart. “It will never be the same.”

“Please,” Daenerys begs, realizing that she was losing you, setting in; a desperate panic begins to take form across her beautiful face. “Please don’t push me away.”

How can you not? When her mere presence is a living reflection of the conflict warring inside of you; part of you, buried deep, wanting to reach out, to be held, while the other part wanted to make her hurt like she has hurt you, to get some form of justice for Viserion. So, you do, you push her away with a force that has her stumbling back, tears blurring your vision as you turn and flee from the room.

Your feet carry you down the cold, winding corridors of Dragonstone; shadows looming around you like specters. You don’t have a destination in mind, just the overwhelming need to get away, to be alone with your grief.

It isn’t until you reach a familiar door that you realize where you’ve been heading all along — a room deep within the heart of Dragonstone; where the remnants of the egg shells, the very shells from which your sons had hatched, are kept in separate, ornate cases. The sight of them is enough to send you fully over the edge, your knees buckling as you collapse onto the stone floor, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of your loss crashes down upon you.

Viserion.

Your sweet, gentle Viserion. You’ll never feel his warm breath against your skin again, never hear his soft purrs as he nuzzled into you, seeking comfort and affection. The bond you had shared, that indescribable connection, is gone, severed by the cruel hand of fate, by the cold touch of the Night King.

You reach out, fingers trembling, and brush against the case that holds the remnants of Viserion’s egg; the smooth, hardened shell that once contained the precious life that was now lost to you forever. The tears flow freely down your cheeks, dampening the stone beneath you, as you weep for your son, for the life that was so violently taken, for the gentle flame that had been put out too soon.

Tugging the box closer, your breath catches at the familiar sight of the cracked shell that Viserion had emerged from so long ago.

The shell was pale, a shimmering blend of cream and gold, almost ethereal in its beauty. It sits nestled in the box, as if cradled by the very Gods themselves, the cracks across its surface, that once promised the appearance of new life, are now jagged reminders of all you’ve lost. You reach out once more, fingers trembling even more as they brush against the surface, the coolness of the shell seeping into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you carefully lift the shell, memories flood your mind, each one yet another blow to your already broken heart. You remember the day Viserion had hatched, the first time you had seen him when Daenerys had emerged from the pyre, a miracle of life amidst the barrenness of the Red Waste. He had been so small, his scales soft and glistening, his eyes wide with wonder as he observed the world from near Daenerys’ feet, until his aureate gaze locked onto you. It was in that moment, you knew he was yours, your Prūmia, your beloved son.

You had watched him grow, from a curious hatchling to a majestic dragon, his pale scales shimmering like molten gold beneath the sunlight. He had always been the gentlest of the three, his temper calm, his touch tender. Where Dragon was fierce, and Rhaegal wild, Viserion was your peace, your warmth on the coldest nights, the soft presence that guided you when all seemed lost.

The shell feels heavier now — as if the weight of your grief had embedded itself into it — making it impossible to hold. A sob escapes your lips, raw and broken, the sound filling the room, echoing off the stone walls until it is all you can hear.

You close your eyes, cradling the shell to your chest, the way you once cradled Viserion when he was small enough to fit in your arms. Your mind is a storm, torn between the memories of his soft purrs, the way he could never get enough gentle scratches underneath his chin, and the knowledge that his lifeless body was now lost within the frozen landscape beyond the Wall.

“Prūmia,” you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The words feel hollow, wholly inadequate in the face of the overwhelming loss that has consumed you. They’re empty, meaningless, a feeble attempt to make sense of the senseless, to find solace in a world ripped apart. You press your forehead against the shell as if, by some miracle, you could draw him to you; as if your love could bridge the gap between life and death and bring him back.

But there is no answer, no soft purr, no warmth to chase away the cold that has settled into your bones. There is only the silence, the crushing weight of the reality that he’s gone, and you are alone within the room that used to represent life and love, but now could only ever be likened to one thing in your eyes.

A tomb.

In the darkness of your grief, you can almost convince yourself that you feel his presence, the ghost of his touch against your skin, the whisper of his breath as he used to curl around you in sleep, but when you open your eyes, there is nothing, only the shell in your hands, a reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.

Viserion was gone and, with him, a part of you died too.

The world is a blur of icy winds and burning cold, a barren wasteland where the air itself is laden with dread; a storm rages, tearing through the desolate landscape, howling its fury as it sweeps across ice and snow. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of fear and despair, as you search the endless white horizon for a glimpse of gold — his gold.

“Prūmia.” It’s a whisper on your lips, the name that had never been uttered without fondness was now intertwined with a darkness you couldn’t escape from; it’s a plea, a prayer, but the storm swallows your voice leaving you with nothing except the howling wind and biting cold.

Viserion was out there, somewhere within this forsaken land, a simple fact that you knew as surely as your heart felt the panic clawing at your insides. He’s out there, battling the storm, the ice, the cold — battling death itself.

And you are helpless to reach him.

You run, as you always do, feet pounding against the ice — slipping, sliding — as you race against the storm. Maybe this time will be different? Maybe you’ll be faster? Maybe you’ll be better? Each step feels like a lifetime, each heartbeat a desperate cry for time, for fate, for anything to have mercy on you. Your hands reach out, fingers trembling, aching to touch him, to feel his warmth once more; as if the very act would make him appear, would bring him back.

The world shifts around you, the ice cracks, and you’re falling — falling into the abyss of nothingness, into the frozen depths where hope dies.

You see him then, above you, flying through the storm, searching for you too. His wings beat with desperate strength, pale scales shimmering through the haze of snow and darkness. For a moment, just a fleeting blip of time, you feel relief washing over you like a balm. He’s there. He’s alive. He’ll catch you. He’ll—

Everything around you shifts once more, ripping you away from your one semblance of peace, tilting everything into chaos. Your body slams into solid ground once more, but you barely notice it, not being able to tear your eyes from the sky above you.

Darkness swarms around him, creeping up his massive form like tendrils of death, and you can only watch in horror, suspended in time while everything beyond seems to move too quickly, as the night closes in on him. His roar shatters the air, a sound of agony, of finality; you scream his name, the sound tearing from your throat like a roar of your own.

Viserion’s aureate gaze finally finds yours and, for a split second, everything stops — the storm, the wind, the world itself. In that moment, you see the fire within him, the life, the soul that is yours as much as it is his. You reach out with all that you are: your heart, your soul, your everything, trying to keep him with you.

But ice, as you have found, is relentless; it strikes with lethal precision, piercing through the fire, freezing it from the inside out. Viserion’s roar turns into a strangled cry, his wings faltering, body writhing in the throes of death. The golden light in his eyes dims, flickers, and then — like a candle snuffed out by the cold — it vanishes.

You scream, heart shattering into a million pieces, as he falls from the sky; his massive form crashing into the icy ground with a sound that rips the world apart.

Running to him isn't even an action you registered doing, it was just innate within, instinctual to the most basic degree. You had always come running when any of your children had gotten hurt — tending to their aches and pains, the majority of which being healed by a simple kiss to the affected area — but, as you fall to your knees beside him, you know that this won’t be something you can fix with love, with tender affection.

Your hands reach out to his lifeless body — being unable to not at least try; even though you’re aware it would never work — and shudder at the coldness you find. The ice spreads, creeping over his golden scales, turning them to blue, to white, to nothing. You try to fight it, try to warm him with your touch, try to bring him back from the depths of the chill coursing over him.

But there was no bringing him back from where he’s already been lost.

His golden eyes are closed, his chest still, his fire extinguished, and you are left with nothing but the cold, the darkness, and the empty, hollow ache that gnaws within you.

Another scream rips through the air, but this one is a completely different entity. It’s not a scream of fear, or of pain; it’s one of rage, of a fury so deep you felt like you’d never find the bottom of it, of a mother’s desperate anguish at the loss of her child.  It echoes through the void, reverberating through the emptiness, through the nothingness, tearing at the fabric of the world itself.

The world doesn’t care. It keeps spinning, keeps turning, oblivious to your loss, your grief, your pain.

And, in that moment, as the ice claims Viserion’s body completely, as the cold creeps into your bones, you know one thing with absolute certainty.

This is all your fault.

You failed him.

You were supposed to protect him, to keep him safe, to be the mother he deserved, but you didn’t.

You let him go. You let him fly into the storm, into the darkness, into death.

Now he’s gone.

The darkness closes in around you, the storm howling its triumph, and you are left with nothing except for the icy void that has taken Viserion from you — that now represents your life without him.

You fall into it, letting it claim you, letting it consume you, because without him, there is nothing left.

Awakening with a start, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you, a suffocating shroud of grief and despair, is something you’ve become all too familiar with. The room around you is dark, cold, unfamiliar — the walls pressing in around you like the ice that claimed Viserion.

With your body still trembling, you sit up, skin damp with sweat, and you try to shake off the nightmare even though you know it’s no use. The images are burned into your mind, seared into your soul: Viserion’s lifeless eyes, his body turning to ice, his fire snuffed out by the cold — they haunt you, refusing to let go.

You bring your hands up to your face, trying to steady your breathing, trying to calm the storm raging within you, but the void is still there at the end of it all; still gnawing hungrily at every scrap of weakness it can find, leaving behind a hollow ache that nothing could fill. The cold still lingers over you — icy tendrils creeping over your skin, freezing you from the inside out — and you rub your arms to chase it away but, like with all of your actions, it does nothing. Yet another cruel reminder of what you’ve lost.

Prūmia.

The name is a whisper within your heart, a desperate plea to the Gods to bring him back, to undone what has been done, but you know it’s futile. The Gods are cruel, indifferent to your pain, to the loss that still doesn’t feel real.

Viserion is gone and nothing can bring him back.

Not being able to handle being in bed any longer, you swing your legs over the side of it, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor, sending a jolt down your spine. The room still hasn’t become familiar to you, even after the two days you had been using it, a level of coldness remaining that you couldn’t shake, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort of the chambers you shared with Daenerys, but you couldn’t stay there. Not after—

You can’t even think about it. The pain is too much, the grief too raw, a wound that refuses to heal.

Rising from the bed, not even surprised anymore by the trembling of your legs — your body weak from the weight of what your grief has done — you make your way over to the small window that overlooks the sea. Moonlight reflects off the waves, casting an eerie glow over the water, but you don’t see it, not truly, not as you once would; all you see are the barest hints of darkness, like a veil of sorrow draped over the night. The water, once a canvas for the moon’s gentle touch, now seems a restless sea of shadows, each ripple a whisper of your pain. Argent light, fractured and cold, dances on the waves like the fleeting echoes of a forgotten lullaby. While the serenity of the night has become a vast, indifferent expanse, a mirror reflecting the hollow cavern of your grief, where each shimmering wave is a silent testament to the void left by Viserion’s absence.

The sharp pain of your nails digging into your forearm is a welcome distraction, one that helps pull you from the void, even if it was only for a minute, and you drag them down, leaving red welts in their wake. It’s a fleeting sense of pain, but it’s barely a whisper compared to everything else.

Your thoughts spiral, a whirlwind of guilt, of anger, of pain. You should have done more. You should have protected him. You should have been the mother he deserved.

You failed him just as you have failed yourself.

Tears come then, hot and bitter, sliding down your cheeks in silent streams. You don’t bother to wipe them away; they are just another small comfort that you’ve been able to find for yourself, a release, a way for you to let some of the pain escape.

It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, but it was something.

Cold stone greets your back when you can’t find the strength to stand straight anymore, your body beginning to shake with the force of your silent sobs, as another wave of grief washes over you, drowning you in its icy depths. There’s no solace, no comfort, no reprieve, at least not you’ve been able to find; only the void, the darkness, and the unbearable weight that seems to only get heavier as time went on.

You can’t fight it, you’re not sure if you even want to, not when it’s all you have left of him: this grief, this sorrow, this endlessly aching pain.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, leaning against the wall with the last vestiges of your strength, body still trembling. Time had lost its meaning long ago — hours blending into one endless stretch of darkness and despair — but the tears eventually came to a gradual halt, leaving you drained. The void is still there, feasting away, but it has dulled somewhat; leaving behind a numbness that is almost worse than the agony.

While the agony hurt, fierce and relentless, it was a constant, burning reminder of what you had lost; it was sharp, immediate, and painfully real, a torrent of raw emotion that you could still grasp and confront. Now, the pain has given way to a familiar numbness that seeps into every corner of your being, a heavy, suffocating silence that drowns out even the sharpest cries of grief. This numbness was insidious — it doesn't allow you to feel the sting of loss, but instead wraps you in a cold, unfeeling shroud. Stripping you of the ability to mourn, to scream, to find any kind of release; an absence of feeling that gnaws at you, leaving you stranded in a void where even the pain is too distant to touch. It’s a feeling that makes every moment feel like a slow drift through an endless abyss where nothing can penetrate or soothe the emptiness, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of being lost and alone.

Pushing away from the wall, as if trying to distance yourself from the feelings, or lack thereof, plaguing you, you make your way back to bed on unsteady legs. The sheets are cold, unwelcoming, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Crawling beneath them, curling into a ball, your body innately searching for the warmth that could only ever be provided by one person, you will sleep to take you. It’s a pitiful attempt, you’re aware of this, but you can’t bring yourself to stop trying — not if it meant that you might finally be fast enough.

You turn on your side, conceding to the lost battle to find sleep for the time being, and stare at the wall, watching the shadows dance across the stone. You know you should go to her, to Daenerys, but you can’t. Not with everything that’s happened, not with the anger still rising to the surface every time your mind drifted to her.

So, you stay here, in this cold prison you had created for yourself, because it’s easier that way. Blaming Daenerys was easy, being angry at her was simple, but it wasn’t the only reason you had locked yourself away; it wasn't the only reason why you’re haunted by the ghost of your precious boy.

You should have stopped her. You should have convinced her to stay at Dragonstone. You should have kept firm, not bending to her will, or, at the very least, convincing her that all three of your sons needn’t have gone.

You should have done something.

Instead you had done nothing and Viserion was dead because of it.

It’s a truth that you can’t bear to face during the light of day — not when it was so much easier to blame her, when you can get lost in the angry spite that erupts within you.

Staying in this room, locking yourself away — letting them consume you — is the only thing that feels right. It’s the only thing that feels like it would ever be enough to atone for what you’ve lost.

For what you’ve done.

Days pass in a blur, each one blending into the next, indistinguishable from the last, causing you to lose track of time, lose track of everything that isn’t beyond the four walls you’ve trapped yourself within. The world outside your small chamber might as well not exist — there’s nothing there for you, nothing that can pull you from the depths of your despair.

You eat little, sleep even less, and spend most of your time staring out the small window; watching the waves crash against the rocks below, their ceaseless rhythm a dull backdrop to the storm raging inside of you. You don’t leave the room, don’t venture out into the halls of Dragonstone, don’t seek out anyone — especially not her.

She’s worried about you. Even after the fight, even after your continued silence, you can still feel her presence outside your door, hear the soft footsteps as she lingers just beyond the threshold, hesitating uncertainty. Characteristics that were so unlike her it nearly made you weep for an entirely different reason. You know she wants to come in, to comfort and hold you, but you can’t bear it. Can’t stomach the thought of being near her, of feeling the icy numbness transform into raging anger, as you try to come to terms with the part she played in Viserion’s death.

It was her need to save everyone that caused this, your mind hisses. If she had just heeded your words, if she had just listened to you for once, this wouldn’t have happened.

The spiteful anger, the ferocity that scorched through your veins, even if it has been held back by chains, as you don’t wish to unleash something you don’t know if you’ll be able to control, isn’t one you’ll ever get used to, but it’s one that offers you some form of solace from the numbness and unending cycle of grief and pain. Pacing your room in controlled anger, fists clenched at your sides, was much more bearable than sobbing in a ball underneath the covers of the bed.

But you hadn’t pressed her on it either. You didn’t let her know what you were feeling. If you had shown her what you were feeling, if you had shared that with her, maybe she would have listened. The other part of your mind whispers, the part that had been progressively getting beaten back to the recesses of it as the anger began to take over. Neither of you knew this would happen. How could you? Go to her. Be with her. Grieve with her.

You don’t. You push the pleading words away, ignoring the ache of your heart, as you push the rest of the world away with them; letting the silence wrap around you like a shroud.

Not that it gives you any reprieve. The silence was also your enemy — as it’s in the quiet moments, when the world is still, that the memories come; unbidden, unwelcome, dragging you back into a nightmare.

You see his eyes — golden, warm, full of life — turning cold, lifeless, as the ice claims him. You hear his roar — strong, fierce, filled with fire — turn into a strangled cry of pain as death takes him. You feel his warmth, his presence, his soul — so intricately intertwined with your own — fade into nothingness.

Digging your nails into your arms, into your legs, anywhere you can reach, as you tried to feel anything besides the gaping hole inside you, but the pain is fleeting — it’s not enough to keep the darkness at bay for long; not when the pain is done by your own hands and not its own.

The room felt smaller tonight; the walls closer, the air more frigid, the festering emotions welling with you more pressing. From the small window — your only connection to the outside world — you can see that the moon has begun its ascent, casting pale silver light onto the world below. An almost eerie silence descending upon the small chambers you have made into your sanctuary, despite the crashing of waves on the rocks below, the faint whistling of the wind, you’ve grown used to the silence, to the empty numbness that it typically brought, but something feels different.

It’s not until a bolt of anger shoots through you, sudden and sharp, like the crack of a whip against your skin, that you understand that the most fiery of the emotions that had been growing within you — the one you had tried to control more than the others, even if it was always present — had been silently working its way through the tight bonds you had held it in; choosing this moment, this silent night, to finally break free; one that promised only more destruction.

You try to calm yourself, to take a deep breath and wrangle the anger back into its cage, back where it belongs, but it only flares hotter in response, stronger in its defiance to not be leashed any longer. Like a wildfire catching the wind. Clenching your fists, nails biting into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract you enough to allow your anger to be reined back in, but not even the subtle sting could ground you.

The fire within you has been smoldering for too long and now that it’s finally had a chance to ignite you couldn’t stop it.

Why did she go beyond the Wall? Why did she risk him, risk everything? The questions that have plagued you for days spin around in your mind with no relief, no answers. You know the reasoning that Daenerys had given you, but it never felt good enough — never the exact words that you needed to hear on why she had risked it all on something that would obviously end in some manner of death.

You’ve isolated yourself, hoping the distance would dull the sharp edge of your grief, of your bitterness, and fierceness of your anger, that staying away from Daenerys so she wouldn’t ignite the anger that’s been lit all by itself.

Pacing the room, each step heavy with the weight of your emotions, hoping that the repetitive movement that you’ve grown used to would soothe you in some way, but the restless motion seems to agitate you further. The chamber feels too small, too cold, too far removed from the life you once had. From her.

Because, no matter how angry you are with her, no matter how much a part of you hated her for the part she played in Viserion’s death, you still needed her like the air you breathed.

It’s a realization that strikes through you like lightning, a sudden, almost violent, force that ignites every nerve, feeling it burn through your chest, a molten heat that rises to your throat. Now unleashed fully, it overwhelms the grief, filling the hollow space inside you with something sharp, something dangerous.

Your hands tremble, breath quickening, as the anger flows through, unbound from its chains, feeling the heat radiating throughout your body, and, before you know it, you’re moving — feet carrying you swiftly toward the door. 

You don’t think as the anger propels you down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, each step harder than the last, until you reach the chambers you once shared with Daenerys. The place that had been yours together, now nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve lost.

Without pause, knowing if you faltered you’d self-destruct in a different way, you push open the door to the chambers, the heavy wood creaking under your forceful shove. The room inside is dim, lit only by the flickering flames of the hearth. She’s there, seated by the fire, her silver-gold hair catching the light as she stares into the flames, lost in thought.

For a moment, she doesn’t notice you, and you stand there, seething, your heart pounding with the force of your anger and pain, and, for a brief moment you believe that just looking at her would be enough to soothe the flames within you, but the moment she looked up, her violet eyes meeting yours, something snapped inside of you.

You don’t give her time to speak, to offer apologies or explanations; even as she stands up to greet you properly. You don’t want to hear them. You can’t bear to.

In an instant, you close the distance between you, your body colliding with hers in a forceful, desperate motion. She gasps, her breath catching as you press her against the wall, your hands finding purchase on her waist, fingers digging in harder than you mean to. You’re trembling, the anger boiling just beneath the surface, and all you can think is that you want to forget. You need to forget, even if it’s just for a moment.

Need to forget the warmth of Viserion’s gaze, the sound of his loving croon as he nuzzled you, the way his scales sparkled so ethereally underneath the sun… The way you had felt the bond snap within your heart — leaving you adrift, untethered from what you had always believed would be there.

Daenerys looks at you, her expression startled, her lips parted as if to speak once more, but you don’t let her, can’t let her; silencing whatever words she might have uttered with the heat of your body pressed against hers, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

Her hands come to rest on your shoulders, hesitant, unsure, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. The rage, the grief, it’s all too much, and you need something, anything, to drown it out. You don’t care that it’s rough, that it’s unrelenting — knowing that Daenerys would be able to push you off if she didn’t wish for your attention; that, even in your darkness, you’d stop the moment Daenerys wished for you to do so — you just need to feel something other than the crushing, unbearable void that grown larger as the days went by.

You lean in, your forehead pressing against hers, nose gently grazing her own, breaths coming in ragged bursts. She can feel the tremors in your body, the raw emotion barely contained, and her hands, though gentle, feel like fire on your skin, fueling the storm inside you.

“Please,” Daenerys murmurs, voice trembling with the weight of her own pain. “Talk to me. Let me help.”

You can’t — talking won’t help.

Words won’t bring him back, and, as of right now, the only thing that feels real is the heat between you, the desperate need to lose yourself in something other than the pain. Your fingers tighten on her waist, your breath harsh against her neck as you wait for her to take charge; to be your Khaleesi.

She doesn’t disappoint.

Without warning, she crashes her lips against yours; an action that causes your heart to flutter in your chest — not out of love, but out of the need to forget, to make the pain go away, and finally receiving that release. It’s a desperate kiss, full of anger and need, your hands rising to fist in her hair as you pull her closer, demanding more.

Needing more.

Daenerys gasps into the kiss, her hands gripping your shoulders, body pliant, yet unyielding, against yours — a duality that only she could possess. She doesn’t push you away, doesn’t fight you, simply letting you take what you need, her lips moving against yours in a way that only feeds the fire burning inside you; tongue grazing against your own as she sought to taste you after so long apart. Her own desperation became apparent.

Even as your bodies pressed together, as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, of the warmth seeping into your skin from every inch of you she caresses, the pain still lingers, just beneath the surface. The anger, the grief, was still there, simmering, waiting to pull you back under, and you refuse to let that happen.

Your fingers, that were still woven through the silky strands of her hair, tug her head back, forcing Daenerys lips away from you own; a snarl of displeasure rumbling from your dragon’s throat at the added distance, but the look in your gaze must have halted her from reclaiming your lips in a feverish embrace. “Claim me.”

Make me forget…

The force in which Daenerys collides with you again, fingers digging more incessantly into your waist, causes you to stumble back, only her arms keeping you steady against her solid form, as she descends upon you with a fervor that nearly takes your breath away. Her lips traveling down the length of your neck, tongue and teeth clashing in a heated battle to ensure you wouldn’t forget her presence, even after she had pulled away, down towards your breasts.

Daenerys kissed as much skin as your dress would allow, small noises of displeasure rumbling from the back of her throat when the fabric of it impeded her progress on tasting you further, the frustration mounting in a manner that Daenerys was typically able to temper, but it had been too long since she held you in her arms, since she had you squirming beneath her as waves of ecstasy cause you to clench around her length.

It’s an image that causes a hint of darkness — lust mixed with her natural possessiveness — to flicker through her violet gaze, giving you all the warning you needed, when, with a soft grunt, Daenerys simply gripped the thin material of your bodice and ripped it apart; exposing your heaving chest for her hungry eyes.

“That’s better,” Daenerys purred, mostly to herself, as she lowered her head to take a nipple into her mouth; biting the hardened tip before she soothed it with the warmth of her tongue. Your dragon, ever the thoughtful lover, giving your neglected breast much needed attention with her hand; slender fingers rolling a hardened peak in the exact way that caused your back to arch, a moan catching in the back of your throat. The halted noise causes Daenerys to bite down on the underside of your breast — teeth sinking into the tender flesh, ensuring you’d have her mark for days. “None of that, ñuha perzys, I want to hear you sing, I want to hear all of your pretty noises.”

The sound that’s released from you when Daenerys finally pushes you down onto the large bed, her undershirt hanging open, revealing full breasts that caught the eye, but didn’t hold your attention like the growing hardness within her breeches, is practically wanton in nature — a noise that belonged in a pleasure house that the ancient stronghold of the Targaryen legacy.

With your dragon hovering above you — lithe arms bracketing your head — the darkness recedes, the flaming entity that is your anger transforming into burning lust. Your hand trails down her chest, briefly tweaking a hardened nippled before continuing, descending until you got to the laces of her breeches, making quick work at unfastening them in order for you to slip your hand inside.

Hardened warmth greets your palm as you grip Daenerys’ throbbing member — an action that causes her to hiss sharply through her teeth, hips flexing as she tries to hold off from intuitively thrusting forward — ensuring you had her by the base of it.

“You would do anything to bury yourself in me, wouldn’t you?” Even if your core clenched at the thought of being stretched by Daenerys’ thickness, you wanted her to work for it. This night was about your pleasure, about lust and desire being stronger than anger and grief. “To have me mewling beneath you as fill me again and again.” Each word is coupled by a stroke of your hand, feeling the way Daenerys began to tremble under your touch, clearly fighting herself to hold back, to let you run the show for the moment; a response that is rewarded by a quick swipe of your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum down the rest of her shaft to give you an easier time. “Answer me, Daenerys, or I’ll stop and you’ll have to deal with this on your own.”

The spark of fire that ignites within the violet depths sends a powerful jolt to the apex of your thighs, more wetness appearing because of it, as you know you’ll be paying for this in the best possible way later, but Daenerys, not wanting to even take the chance of you leaving, finally relents. “What will you have me do, vāedar hontes?”

Instead of answering her vocally, your hand unlatches from her cock, giving you a clear view of the wetness clinging to your fingers as you bring them to your mouth sucking off Daenerys’ essence; loving the salty, yet slightly sweet, flavor. It’s a sight that causes Daenerys’ eyes to darken further, but you don’t give her time to say anything, your fingers popping out from your mouth as you shift to grip the back of her neck, pushing her downward to where you needed her most.

“Put that talented mouth to use, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys bites your hip bone in retaliation, the sharp sting being soothed with her tongue after a beat, as her mouth trails lower; veering away from your aching center to lavish attention to the trembling thighs. Peppering kisses on the heated flesh, leaving more marks that’d remind you she had been there, as she cleaned the wetness from them, humming lowly at the taste.

A wet kiss pressing against sensitive skin, right next to where you need her the most, a shiver wracks your body, goosebumps rising all over. Gentle puffs of air greets your overheated flesh as Daenerys peers up at you between your legs, ensuring that you’re watching her as she takes her first lick through your slit; from top to bottom and back again.

Daenerys’ hands, sturdy with slight callouses from gripping onto Drogon, glide over your thighs to keep you held open for her; in the next moment it seems as if her entire mouth covers your center, tongue lashing across the little bundle of nerves that makes your entire body quake, before barely dipping into your entrance. You knew that Daenerys probably wished to tease you, to prolong your pleasure as she typically does, but it had been too long since she last had you — since she had felt you cum in her mouth, since she had been buried inside of you, since she had felt you falling apart in her arms — and, selfishly for once, she refuses to wait, her aching length getting little relief from the thick blanket beneath her.

Moans escape your lips brokenly when Daenerys begins to scoop her tongue inside of you, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts of Daenerys’ talented tongue, the sound of Daenerys’ clear enjoyment at the act — soft hums, the clear sight of her swallowing your juices, and a hooded expression on her beautiful face — only adds to the intensity of the entire act, heat pooling with more fervor as two fingers begin to stimulate your clit.

Needing Daenerys closer, you thread your fingers through silky locks, tugging her further into you as you continuously roll your hips. “Fuck,” you cry out, a sharp keen ripping itself from your throat. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

A familiar pressure was building in your core — the trembling of your thighs keying Daenerys into what was about to occur, her efforts doubling as she latches onto the small bundle and sucks.

Overwhelming pleasure courses through you, mouth falling open in a silent scream, as your climax finally crashes through, tilting the world on its axis as you buck into Daenerys’ mouth. The earlier intensity from her tongue turning gentler as she helps you down from you high, softly cleaning you up, groaning headily at your taste, before she pulls away completely; resting her cheek on your thigh as she looks up at you.

She looked completely debauched — slick shining wetly on her face, hair in complete disarray from your hands, face slightly red from her efforts — but she didn’t seem to care in the slightest; not as crawls up you body, taking a nipple briefly into her mouth, sucking harshly, before she settles firmly on top of you.

“I believe it’s my turn now,” she husks, barely giving you a moment to react before she’s fully sheathed within you — your wet heat stretching to accommodate her thickness — a moan leaving you just as a soft groan escapes Daenerys. “Perfect.”

Daenerys, knowing you didn’t want soft or gentle tonight, not with the way you had come to her, sets a brutal pace from the beginning; where it was almost imperceptible to notice when her cock wasn’t within you, thrusting so hard she hit the sweet spot within you over and over again. Your back was officially off the bed as you cling tightly to Daenerys’ back, nails sinking into fair skin, as you had torn her undershirt off ages ago, as broken moans keep falling from your lips, barely able to take a proper breath as your dragon refuses to falter.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, intercepted by a mixture of low grunts and high-pitched moans, as the air thickened around you; mingling both of your scents into a heady concoction that caused you to instinctively tighten around Daenerys’ rigid length. An action that causes Daenerys to press her face against your neck with a low groan, teeth digging into your shoulder, as if she was keeping you in place, as she continued to rut against you; your walls continuously milking her, trying to keep her inside for as long as you could, before she plunged back in, and the process continued.

Needing to do something your mouth, as you could feel the urge to talk, as you typically did when your Khaleesi was lost in her passion like this, but knowing that you weren’t here for that — you didn’t come here for normal, you came here for Daenerys to fuck you until you forgot everything — so you force Daenerys away from your shoulder and claim her lips in a sloppy kiss; tongues battling as teeth clash. It was raw, dirty, and completely what you needed as mewls continued to escape, Daenerys unrelenting as your pleasure grew higher and higher — until the familiar peak was in sight.

Daenerys grips the rumpled blanket next to your head as her pace begins to speed up, feeling the way your walls were beginning to flutter, more wetness coating her cock, as a familiar heat begins to build within her own body, but she wouldn’t release until you did. “Come for me, ñuha perzys,” Daenerys whispers hotly against your ear, biting at the lobe as she jerks harshly against the sensitive spot within you. “Let me feel you tighten around me.”

It was as if your body has been waiting for Daenerys’ permission, waiting to feel your dragon’s warm breath against your skin as she whispered sinful words to you, as a cry rips itself from deep within your chest as your body spasms, walls tightening to such a degree that Daenerys couldn’t even thrust anymore — not unless she wished to potentially hurt you — but her own orgasm soon follows, lithe form hunching over you as strong jets paint your insides white with her seed, hips slightly jogging in order to get it as deep as she possibly could. The feeling — of her warmth steadily filling you — only prolonged your own release, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your vision went completely white. Leaving you floating in a void between pleasure and the real world.

When you come back to, chest heaving in exertion, skin gleaming with sweat, you notice that Daenerys had shifted positions; having leant back so you were now straddling her lap, her slowly softening cock still within you, as Daenerys soothingly ran her hands up and down your spine. An action she always did in order to help you settle back into your body, a lovingly gentle action that causes a chaotic array of emotions to run through you, as Daenerys hums an older Valyrian hymn against your ear.

But it was too soft, too much, as the familiar dark emotions that had been lurking beneath the lust and flames of desire, began to make a reappearance. So, you scratch down Daenerys’ back, causing her humming to stutter to a halt, and begin to roll your hips, feeling the way her length began to immediately harden within you, claiming her lips with your own — tongue immediately requesting access so you could get lost in the taste, in the feeling, of her.

You needed to forget and, as Daenerys began to respond with her own thrusts into your core, you knew that this was the only way you’d be able to do so.

A cocoon of darkness, is what you become aware of first, finally pulling yourself from the light slumber that your earlier passion had sent you into, embers from the dying hearth sending small slivers of orange to dance across the stone walls; while the air is thick with the lingering heat of your bodies, sheets still tangled around your legs, dampened by sweat. Lying next to Daenerys, chest heaving, skin still humming from the intensity of what had just occurred, you take note of the aftermath your coupling had wrought across the bed; rumpled linen, pillows cast to the stone floor, sheets strewn in a manner that only came from the most intense of passion. It’s a chaos that aptly matches the turmoil in your heart.

Daenerys shifts beside you, breath slowing, skin warm against where she presses against your own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, her very presence, so familiar to you; yet she had never felt farther away.

Once this would have been enough.

Once the quiet moments after lovemaking would have brought peace; a refuge from the outside world that no one but the two of you could ever enter. 

Now, with everything that has happened, the peace is unattainable, shattered by the memories that haunt you.

The anger that had driven you to her, the overwhelming grief that had spiraled into fury, has been temporarily sated. It’s something you can still feel — a dark cloud on the edge of your consciousness that has decided, for the moment, to remain elusive until it decides to rain hell upon your world once more — however you’re semi-secure in the knowledge that it had been soothed for now. You have tried everything to escape it — drown it in drink, bury it under layers of numbness, letting it loose to the winds in an agonized cry — but nothing has worked.

Not until now.

Not until this moment — a moment enshrouded with the raw, physical connection alongside the woman you love with your entire being.

The woman you blame for your pain.

It leaves you feeling sick with the knowledge that everything you had tried to grasp, to gain control over, had already been out of reach, lulling you into a false sense of security, allowing you to take without thought; the guilt of using Daenerys to temper the roaring typhoon of emotions within your body is yet another emotion you don’t wish to deal with. That you don’t know how to deal with.

Closing your eyes, willing the tears that sting the corner of them to stay at bay, wishing, with every fiber of your being, that you didn’t feel this way. You didn’t want to be angry with her. You didn’t want to blame her. You didn’t want to have all of these dark emotions swirling within you. The way you felt for Daenerys had never been eclipsed by any other emotion except love — by the Gods how you love her — but that very love is now tainted with the bitterness of loss, of a stinging sense of betrayal, and the fiery anger you can’t seem to shake. It festers inside you, feasting on all of the soft parts leaving nothing except a hard exterior behind, turning every moment of closeness into a reminder of what you’ve lost.

You turn your head to look at her, heart aching at the sight; silver-gold hair spills across her pillow in a wild halo, lips swollen from your kisses, violet eyes half-lidded in the aftermath of your intimacy. She looks peaceful, ethereally beautiful, and for a moment, as you observe the love of your life, you almost forget: the pain, the anguish, the grief, the anger. For just a moment you allow yourself to believe that things were as they used to be; before the Wall, before Viserion, before everything changed.

Daenerys moves once more, her hand now resting on your chest, and you feel the warmth of her touch seeping into your skin. It’s comforting — in a supremely twisted way given the raging emotions within you and the state your relationship is currently in — to feel her there, to know that she’s real, that she’s here with you. Your eyes slip shut once more, letting the sensation wash over you, part of you hoping this contact will help soothe the burgeoning anger, trying to hold onto this fleeting moment of peace.

“I missed spending moments like this with you,” she whispers, her voice soft, barely more than a breath. “When it’s just us and the rest of the world fades away; nothing else matters in the end.”

The words are innocent, a simple reflection on the time you’ve spent together, on the love that has bound you together, but they’re an unintentional dagger to the heart. How can she speak of moments like this like nothing has changed? How can she talk about the world not mattering when your own has been torn apart? When Viserion is gone and the emptiness he’s left behind is all you can feel?

A surge of anger, that you’ve been desperately trying to suppress, rushes to the surface, sharp and searing. The brief moment of peace you had found within her arms shatters — leaving you raw and exposed. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend that everything is alright; that her touch is enough to keep the darkness at bay. Feeling all the negative emotions at once — the loss, the bitterness, the helplessness — drives you out of the bed, tearing yourself from the loose embrace.

Daenerys sits up, alarm flashing in her eyes as she watches you scramble to your feet; movements frantic, desperation tinged within each motion, as you rush to try and escape. “What’s wrong?” She asks, concern so apparent within her tone, but you didn’t think you could respond to her if you wanted to; not having the wherewithal to explain the storm that rages inside you.

You need to get away, to put distance between yourself and the source of your pain, but before you can reach the door, Daenerys is standing before you, blocking the way. Sometimes you forgot how quick she could be if she had good enough reason to be; having already pulled on the tunic she had previously discarded.

“Don’t run from this,” Daenerys pleads, taking a hesitant step closer. “Don’t run from me.”

It’s an understandable request given the situation, and the years you have spent together, but it’s not one you can acquiesce to. You can’t face her right now; not with everything that’s boiling up within you. “I can’t do this,” you manage to choke out, hands shaking due to the force of your broiling emotions. “I can’t pretend that everything is alright.”

Her expression crumples at your words, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, Daenerys reaches for you, her fingers brushing your arm, trying to ground you, to keep you from slipping away. “We’ll get through this,” she insists, voice a mixture of desperation and determination. “Whatever we have to face, we will do it together. Just like we always have.”

The heartfelt plea is one that’d normally soften your countenance, opening your heart back up to the warmth of her love, but you don’t think you could bear it now. Not as your thoughts twist and turn the light your shared love has brought to you into unending darkness; reminding you that she was the one that brought Viserion beyond the Wall, the one that left you behind, the one who’s actions have caused a death that could have been avoided.

“The fire that burns within a Targaryen is a double-edged sword,” you muse, a sardonic twist to your lips, as the realization suddenly settles within you; something you had been too blind, too besotted with love, to notice until now. “It can forge a kingdom from the ashes or it can reduce a kingdom to cinders. Those who follow them must always be prepared to walk through the flames and emerge either as conquerors or as nothing more than ash.”

Your words hang heavily in the air — striking Daenerys with a lethal precision, making her flinch as if you’ve physically struck her — but you can’t stop the torrent of emotions that have been unleashed.

“It’s a neat adage, don’t you think? Something I read long ago, in Meereen perhaps, but I have never given it much thought since. Never let it settle long enough to become tangible within my mind,” you continue, the bitterness welling within you impossible to mask. “You’re the Mother of Dragons, Dany! The Unburnt! You’ve always walked  through flames and those who follow you — those who love you — have no choice but to do the same, but not everyone emerges unscathed. Not everyone survives.”

Realization dawns within her violet gaze, Daenerys finally understanding where your words were heading. “Don’t,” she murmurs, voice breaking as she reaches for you once more, but you step back, shaking your head; even if your heart tugs at the sight of her despair.

“Viserion didn’t survive,” you press on, the statement a dagger to your own heart as much as hers. “You took him beyond the Wall and now he’s dead.”

Violet eyes shimmer with unshed emotion — her desperation causing her to try and bridge the distance between you both once more, but you hold up a hand, keeping her at arm's length. “I never wanted this,” she breathes. “I never wanted to lose him. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you snap. “You did, Daenerys, and now I have to live with the consequences.”

She shakes her head, tears falling freely, but her eyes never waver from yours. “Please,” she begs, raw with emotion — completely open at this moment, allowing you to see every single portion of her pain. “Please don’t leave me. We can’t let this tear us apart; not when we’ve already lost so much. I-I can’t lose you too.”

Her words, the sincere emotion behind them, cut deep, cause you to hesitate; the love you feel for her, that you will always feel, warring with the overwhelming grief that has consumed you, but the pain is too great, the loss too unbearable, and you know staying here will only add salt to an already stinging wound.

“I need time.” It seems like a reasonable request. You know, deep within yourself, beyond the anger and pain, that you need Daenerys, but, at the current moment, you can’t be in her presence and heal to the level you need to. However, you allow her next attempt to touch you, knowing that she needs physical contact, not having the heart to deny her again, and soon her hand makes contact with your arm, gripping in a firm, yet still gentle, manner. “I need to think. I need—” You breathe harshly through your nose. “I need space.”

The grip on your arm tightens slightly, her eyes searching yours, looking for something — for anything — that might give her hope. Something that you can’t give her right now. Not when everything was still so fresh. Not when you didn’t even know if the person you used to be — the woman that Daenerys had fallen in love with — was still underneath all of the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you say, meaning the words despite everything else. “I can’t stay.”

It’s in that very moment that you see her heart break — the realization that you’re truly leaving, finally registering — and it tears at something inside of you, but you push that feeling deep down. Right now, all you can think about, all you can handle doing, is getting away; finding some peace, some clarity.

“Please,” Daenerys whimpers, a sound you never expected to hear her make, let alone be the reason behind it. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

That, more than anything, causes your breath to catch in your throat, a new kind of pain searing through your chest. You hated this — the parts of you not held down by the darkness were screaming at you to stop this, to hold your Khaleesi and never let go — but there’s nothing else you could do. Not in the state you were in because, if you stayed, if you bent, then you’d keep bending until you were broken completely.

You try to ignore the growing sense of distress emanating from your dragon, moving ever closer to the door of the room, subtly switching to the position she had once held, you shared within Dragonstone — a room you knew you wouldn’t enter for a long while after this — to ensure a quick escape.

Daenerys steps forward. “Ñuha perzys.” Hands outstretched to take your own once more — panic-stricken desperation etched across her face, while violet pools shimmer with more tears — but you twist away from her. Knowing, deep within yourself, that if you let her touch you, if you let her in now, you’d crumble, and that’s not something you’ll allow yourself to do. Not now. Not with this. Not when your son was dead and you’re still breathing, and you still needed to come to terms with that. “Please.”

But, even now, even with all the pain, the grief, the anger, swirling within your body, the familiar urge to look at your Khaleesi, to find solace within her gaze, within her presence, trickles through you like a mountain stream; eroding the miasma of emotions for just enough time that you felt compelled to listen. Maybe because you knew it could be the last time you do so?

The sight that greets you is one that’ll haunt your dreams — just like the emptiness within your heart will forever carry Viserion’s loss — and you wish, for just a moment, that the love you shared with Daenerys wasn’t so strong, so overwhelmingly life-changing, so you could look at her, look at the woman that took away your son, your Prūmia, and feel absolutely nothing at the sight of her devastation, of her anguish.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think, watching as Daenerys tries to center herself, hands curling around the ends of the loose tunic she had thrown on in her haste to catch you. She has always made you feel too much. Awakening things within you that you never believed possible. You just never imagined that she’d be the cause of this much darkness when she’s always been your light.

“I never thought this would happen. Never even believed it to be a possibility.” A bitter smile curls your lips, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, matching the ones falling across Daenerys’. “It’s my own fault, of course. For not foreseeing this to some degree. I was foolish enough to fall in love with a dragon never expecting to be burnt. Now I’m left behind with the scars of what once was and the ashes of what could have been.”

You don’t give her time to respond — knowing that nothing will change the outcome of this, because no matter what she said, no matter what reasons she gave you, or how much she pleaded, how much she begged, Viserion would still be gone when her words turned into mere echoes within Dragonstone — fleeing from the room that had once been your sanctuary in times that have always been rife with uncertainty.

Ignoring the wail of your name as the doors slam shut with a finality that’d echo within your memories for far longer than you think you can bear.

It’s the second time you have done that, you realize. The second time you had left her behind.

It hadn’t gotten any easier nor do you think it ever would, and you hated yourself just a bit more for falling back into her arms, for seeking her out, and causing more pain because of it. There was more than enough of that already.

Viserion was gone, your son was dead, but there was some form of peace in that, in knowing that he was laid to rest. Even if his memory would still haunt you until the day you drew your last breath. While Daenerys was a living ghost, a tangible phantom, who’d bring her own whirlwind of grief and agony.

You don’t know which is worse; living with the memory of your dead son or with the living ghost of the love of your life that caused his death — both haunting you, one in every shattered dream and the other in every hollow embrace.

Daenerys may still be alive, but you’ve lost her just the same, and you don’t know if you’ll ever find her again.

The days following your disagreement with Daenerys passed in unending monotony, self-inflicted numbness casting the world into varying shades of gray.

But could you truly trivialize the harsh words you had hurled at Daenerys as a mere disagreement? It’s something that you have wondered every time your mind inevitably went back to that moment — observing how everything came into fruition; how a brief moment of peace had been torn apart due to the unending despair that has plagued your every waking moment since you heard the news — wherein your normally loving words had twisted into something that seemed like it was coming from someone else.

They were a poison, seeping into the fragile bond you both had fought so hard to build, had spent years strengthening into an enduring relationship built upon a foundation of love and trust stronger than even Valyrian Steel. The memory of her eyes, usually burning with resolve, haunted you — clouded with hurt and grief, not just for Viserion, for the bond that had severed the moment he fell from the sky, but the knowledge that she had possibly lost you too. You had seen the pain you caused etched on her face, and that image refused to leave your mind.

Even thinking of it now, the despair so clearly burning within her normally vibrant violet gaze, causes you to flinch at the reminder that you had been the one to cause such a state; something that you had always vowed to never do. You had seen the way Daenerys clung to people that had earned her loyalty, earned her love, her devotion. She had already lost so much: her parents, her siblings, her husband and unborn son, warriors that had sworn to fight under her banner, and numerous others that promised to be there for her but had proved to be nothing but snakes in the end; just waiting for a time to strike while reaping the benefits of being in the presence of the last dragon.

You had loved Viserion as fiercely as any mother loves her child and his death had shattered you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. The bond you shared with him had been unlike anything else in this world — an extension of your soul, a piece of your very being. Now, with him gone, it felt as if that part of you had been violently torn away, leaving behind a bleeding, festering wound that no amount of time could ever hope to heal; a wound that had birthed the vicious words that you had hurled at Daenerys — they were daggers, sharp and unforgiving — with the sole purpose of hurting her in the way that she had hurt you.

Spite and cruelty had never been part of your repertoire — kindness and compassion had always been at the very crux of your being — but it has suddenly become the only thing you could stand to grasp. As if, in the absence of love, bitterness was the only armor strong enough to protect the shattered remnants of your heart. The warmth that once defined you has been buried beneath layers of resentment, each act of malice a desperate attempt to shield yourself from further pain, even as it pulls you further away from the person you once were; from the woman that you have loved since she had awakened the feeling within you.

Grief is a poignant beast, you’ve come to realize, dragging its heavy claws across the heart, carving deeper and deeper burrows that widen into an endless chasm; devouring the light, leaving behind a void so vast that no bridge of time or love can seem to span it. A chasm that yawns wider with each passing day, echoing with the sounds of what once was, relentless and unyielding in its pursuit of every lingering joy. Until all that remains is the hollow ache of absence and the weight of memories too heavy to bear.

Dragonstone had become almost unbearable to traverse during the day: filled with Dothraki and Unsullied, with advisors and allies, with friends, all knowing what had occurred between you and Daenerys. Their gazes ranging from pity to curiosity to a protective rage — an emotion that gave you an inkling about how Daenerys has been faring in the days since your disagreement — and you couldn’t stand to be analyzed in such a way, couldn’t stand to be the source of courtly intrigue, nor could you stand the constant need for people to try and help; even if it’s from the best possible place. 

You found that the nights didn’t bring you much solace either. In the stillness, the weight of your grief pressed down even harder, a suffocating blanket of despair that wrapped around you, refusing to let go. The walls of Dragonstone, cold and unyielding, seemed to close in, amplifying the emptiness inside you. Sleep eluded you, and when it did come, it still brought the nightmares that have consumed you since you heard the news — visions of Viserion taunting you; his comforting roar turning into a screech of agony, golden eyes that blazed like the sun being extinguished, his fire, his warmth, disappearing forever. Each time, you woke with a start, the sound of his loving croons resounding in your ear, following each beat of your shattered heart.

So, not knowing what else to do, not being able to withstand the prison you had constructed any longer, you sought refuge on the rugged cliffs of Dragonstone; away from the bustling interior of the castle, but not too far to make you feel completely disconnected from the world around you. It’s a haven you find yourself standing upon now, the cold wind whipping around you as you stare out at the churning sea below.

Here, amidst the raw beauty of the cliffs, you let your thoughts wander; the vast expanse of the ocean stretching before you gives the perfect view to let go, to let your eyes watch the soothing way in which the waves continue to move, a stark contrast to the confined spaces of Dragonstone. It feels like a place where you can breathe, if only slightly, away from the prying eyes and well-meaning, but intrusive, concerns of the court.

Your thoughts shift, as they often do, to Daenerys wondering what she could be doing in the wake of everything that has happened. Your mind’s eye brings a vivid picture of her in the chambers that you had stormed out of days prior, a place that you used to find solace, now filled with a heavy silence. How does she cope with Viserion’s death? With the burden of your anger still lingering in the air? Does she, too, seek refuge in the quiet spaces of Dragonstone? Or is she out there, being the indomitable conqueror that’d make her ancestors proud, dealing with the fallout of her decisions; attempting to carry on despite the wounds that she now bears?

The thought of her enduring similar pain tugs at something within you. Despite the anger and pain that still chokes you every time you take a breath, despite the grief that’s still burrowed deep within your heart, a part of you — the part that is still trying to hold all your shattered pieces together; the part that remembers the kindness and love that had encompassed who you are — understands that she is as broken by the loss as you are. It’s a realization, one that had taken days to finally come to terms with, that makes your own pain more poignant; knowing that the woman you’re at odds with is also mourning. Possibly even feeling abandoned and misunderstood — yet another promise that you had broken in the dark abyss of your grief.

You think about the last words you had exchanged, the vitriol behind them on your side and the pleading desperation on her own, and it stings to remember how your pain had twisted your words into something that only deepened the ever growing rift between you both.

If only you’d been able to see through your anger, you think, jaw clenched in an effort to stop the scream that wished to tear itself from your throat; announcing to the world the depths of the opposing emotions within you. If you had then you might have been able to approach her with the understanding that, despite everything that has transpired, she was grieving just as profoundly.

Standing on the cliff, cool air washing over you, the sound of waves crashing against jagged rock resounding within your ear, you try to clear the fog of anger and regret that has hung over you. Reconciliation had always been something you knew would be inevitable — despite the pain, the anger, and overwhelming sorrow — understanding that a life without Daenerys wasn’t a life worth living. You also know that, if you truly wish to reconcile with your soulmate, you need to move beyond the blame and confront your own feelings. Reconciliation wasn’t about who was right or wrong, but about finding common ground in your shared loss.

But how could you?

How could you bridge the gap when your emotions were so tangled? When the anger and grief that you directed at her felt justified in your own suffering but wrong when you considered her side? The hurt had been real, but it wasn’t all that defined her actions; she had lost Viserion too, and her heart was likely just as broken as yours, though perhaps in different ways.

The waves continue their relentless assault on the rocks below, and you find a kind of solace in their persistence; they remind you that even in the midst of turmoil, there is a rhythm to life that continues, a reminder that healing is a process that takes time and effort. It may not be possible to find perfect words or to erase the pain that has accumulated, nor do you think that pain will ever truly go away, not when its origin is the way it is, but you have to try.

Determined, you turn away from the edge and make your way back to the castle. Perhaps the path to healing is not in grand gestures or perfect apologies, but in the simple act of showing up, of being willing to face the difficult truths and seek understanding.

To honor the love that, despite everything, still exists between you.

You brace yourself for the confrontation that looms ahead; the entire thing feeling inevitable. The days of avoidance, of festering wounds and unspoken grief, have stretched on for far too long. Hearing Daenerys out, allowing her the chance to air out her pain, the anger and sorrow that has been gnawing at her heart since Viserion’s death was the least you could do after everything you’ve already done. Even if all the things you hurled towards Daenerys, at the time, felt justified, you know that they’re anything but; now they’re simply an added weight that you must now shed if you are to continue forward.

If you are to heal.

But healing doesn’t come easy and it certainly won’t come without more pain. You’re aware of this, knowing that when you face Daenerys it will not be simple apologies and easy forgiveness; she will be rightfully angry and hurt. You had abandoned her in the aftermath of Viserion’s death, retreating into your own grief, leaving her to carry the burden alone; with the added weight that she might not have only lost her son but you as well. Daenerys was strong, the strongest person you’ve ever met, but you know her, know that beneath her strength lies a heart that feels too deeply, a soul that has been wounded again and again. Your actions had only wounded her further, something you had promised yourself you’d never do so long ago, with your absence, with your vitriolic words and then your silence, and, potentially above all, your inability to stand beside her when she needed you most. 

With each step back towards the castle, the enormity of what you’ve done presses down upon you — it’s not only about Viserion, not anymore, it’s about the distance you’ve allowed to grow between you and Daenerys; the love that’s been overshadowed by loss and anger.

Blaming her had been easier — allowing him to go North, not protecting him as fiercely as you would have — but you now know it had all been a smokescreen for your own feelings of failing as Viserion’s mother; for not being there to save him like he had always saved you.

And now you’ve been absent in saving the only other person who matters most to you — Daenerys.

The ancient castle looms ahead, its dark silhouette stark against the fading light of day, the closer you get causes your chest to tighten. You don’t know how to fix this, don’t know how to find the words that will make her understand how much you regret what’s happened, how much you hate the distance that you’ve created, but you have to try. You don’t know what you’d be if you didn’t.

Viserion may have been your heart — your Prūmia — but Daenerys was your soul.

Moving through the corridors of Dragonstone, each step louder in the silence of your surroundings, as the air around seemed colder in comparison to the warmth of the sun; the fire that had once warmed the halls seems dim now, almost as if it was reflecting that coldness that had descended between you and Daenerys. Not knowing where exactly your dragon was, but allowing your instincts to guide you, you find yourself heading towards the chambers that Daenerys often retreats to when she needs solace.

When you reach the doors to the chambers you had once shared, the flickering torch light casts your shadow on the stone walls; a subtle reminder of the darkness you’ve both been carrying.

It’s a long time before she responds — leaving you to linger in the silence you’d rather forget — but then the door finally opens, Daenerys standing before you, a vision of fragile strength: silver-gold hair falling in loose waves around her face, undone from the typical Dothraki braids, a pallid hue to her skin that brings out the darkened circles beneath her brilliant violet gaze.

A gaze that was harder than you could ever remember, but all that you could imagine yourself deserving after everything that’s happened. Sharper, as if the amethyst hue had been honed by the same grief and guilt that had cut into you, the room behind her, lit by only the hearth, causes a glow to wrap around her — ethereal as your dragon has always been.

“Why are you here?” It’s a pointed question, one that lingers due to the coldness within her tone; protective walls firmly in place. “Is there something you need?”

You open your mouth to speak, the words die as soon as they’re born on your tongue, her questions hanging in the air between you, but the answer you wished to give seemed so much more complicated than you could ever put into words.

Why are you here? To apologize? To seek forgiveness? To mend what’s been broken? Perhaps you wished to do all of it, but none of it feels like enough. 

“I came to—” You search for the right word, but you can only manage a feeble one, voice quieter than you intended. “—talk.”

Daenerys narrows her eyes slightly, the hurt and anger she’s been carrying apparent, but she steps aside; allowing you to enter, but the distance between yourself and your dragon felt more than physical. It feels as though the Narrow Sea stretches before you — filled with all the things left unsaid, all of the pain neither of you had fully acknowledged, simply letting it drown in the murky waters — but if the Dothraki could find the courage to cross it then so would you if it meant your Khaleesi would be waiting for you on the other side.

Taking in the room, a familiar sight but somehow different all the same — just like everything between you and Daenerys; similar but different, right but wrong, close but distant — as the fire crackles in the hearth, doing little to warm the coldness that had settled within the chambers. You watch as Daenerys moves to stand beside the hearth, refusing to sit, seemingly believing this wouldn’t be a conversation long enough wherein she’d have to get comfortable, her posture defensive; her violet eyes filled with a wariness that should never be within her gaze.

“You said you wished to talk,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “So talk.”

You swallow hard, the words still struggling to come out: Where do you even begin? How do you properly explain the storm of emotions that had made their home within your body since you had been told the news of Viserion’s death.

“I’m sorry,” you finally reply, the simplest of all words, but heavy with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. “I’m sorry I left you to deal with everything alone. I’m sorry that I had let my anger control me that night. I’m sorry for blaming you when—” You falter for a moment, remembering the way you had sharply blamed Daenerys, putting the horrific accusation into words, even though you had never said it since. “—when it wasn’t your fault.”

Daenerys’ expression slightly softened, her head tilting as her eyes searched yours as she decided whether or not to believe you.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” It’s a bitter question, one borne from your constant rejection of her love, and it’s something you deserve to shoulder. “You left me. Twice. You blamed me. You abandoned me when I needed you most. And now, after all this time, you show up and say you’re sorry?”

Her words sting like a blade to the heart — making you realize exactly what your own, much harsher, words had done to her; as Daenerys wasn’t aiming to hurt you, not truly, but when you had been lost in your grief, in the darkness it brought, you had been doing so. “I know,” you concede, not even trying to defend your actions. All you wished to do was explain and see where it led you and Daenerys from here. “I hurt you, I made things worse, and I don’t have an excuse except to simply say that I was lost. When Viserion died it felt like a part of me died with him. I didn’t know how to handle it.” You look away from your Khaleesi then, shame lying heavily upon your shoulders. “I didn’t know how to stay.”

Violet eyes blaze into life from her anger — the flicker of emotion she’s been holding back finally breaking through — as she tenses. “And you think I didn’t feel the same? He was my son too, I loved him just as much, maybe in a different way but no less profound, but I didn’t get to fall apart, did I? I didn’t get to disappear. I had to keep fighting, keep leading, keep moving forward, and where were you?” Her voice cracks with emotion and, for a brief moment, the anger in her gaze is replaced by something far more vulnerable; pain, raw and unfiltered. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of the truth. You hadn’t known where you were. Not truly. Your body may have been in Dragonstone physically, but you hadn’t truly been here for such a long time. “I don’t know why I couldn’t stay, I should have, but I was so angry.” Fists clenching at your sides, you shake your head, as if to clear the fog from your mind. “Angry at the world, at everything that had happened, and I took it out on you because you were the only person I could blame when I didn’t wish to face the truth. It was easier to blame you than facing the fact that I couldn’t protect him. That I wasn’t there for him in the way that he deserved.”

The silence that follows your admission feels like a chasm, similar to one the darkness had created within you, vast and unbridgeable, as you watch the way Daenerys tenses even further, lips thinning, as she struggles to hold back her emotions further.

“I needed you,” she whispers, finally breaking the silence. “And you weren’t there.”

Those words, devastating in their simplicity, shatter something inside you, causing you to take a step toward your dragon, but she doesn’t move. Daenerys’ arms remain crossed, her posture still defensive, but the violet pools you adore were shimmering with unused tears. And it breaks you even more to see her like this — your strong, unconquerable dragon — like this.

To know that you had been the one to cause it.

There’s nothing you could truly say to make up for what you’ve done — what you’ve put her, and yourself, through — but you’d never stop trying. “I know,” you say, regret filling you. “I failed you, Daenerys. I let my own pain blind me to yours, I let the grief and bitterness consume me, and I left you to bear the weight of it all alone.” Your lips thin into a line, nails slightly digging into your palms. “And I hate myself for that. I hate that I wasn’t strong enough for you, for us, like you have always been towards me.”

The tears that had been gathering in her gaze finally spill over, cascading down her cheeks like falling stars, glimmering underneath the light, and she turns away from you; as if she was trying to hide the vulnerability in her expression, her hands gripping the back of the chair that was situated before the hearth, knuckles white from the effort.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” Daenerys’ typically strong voice trembles under the weight of her emotions, her confession hanging in the air; as if on a delicate thread made entirely of fear and vulnerability. The room seems to shrink around her, the silence amplifying the rawness of her words. Her fierce exterior, always so carefully maintained, now cracks, revealing the depths of her isolation. “I didn’t want to carry the pain alone, but I didn’t have a choice when you left me.”

You take another tentative step toward her, heart aching at the sight of her crumbling before you; the woman you have seen standing tall before armies, who had survived betrayal, loss and death, in a manner you couldn’t truly comprehend, now stood before you broken because of your absence, by the weight of the grief you shared.

“I didn’t know how to be there,” you admit. “I didn’t know how to stay when hurt so much, when I could barely contain the anger within me, but I know now that leaving you was the worst thing I could have done.”

Daenerys turns to face you once more, and this time you don’t find any anger within her violet gaze — only pain that mirrors your own. “Why now?” The fragility of the question showcasing how afraid Daenerys was of your answer. “Why come back now?”

The words that flow from your lips leave as easily as a dragon flies through the air — an innate response that you didn’t need to ponder, to question, or feel as if it wasn’t enough. “Because I can’t do this without you. It took me a lot longer than I’d ever like to admit, to realize that I was using my isolation as a shield and you as the martyr I needed to disappear.” You shake your head, agitated at what you’ve done even if you know that it might have been for the best at first, but you shouldn’t have continued to stay away, continuing to let the darkness fester within you. “As much as I tried to shut out the pain, trying to convince myself that it’s easier to stay away, because then I’d be away from the woman my darkness had blamed, it wasn’t. It was yet another lie my mind had created, a feeling of false security, to ensure I wouldn’t get hurt again, trying to protect what I had left. But it didn’t help, it only made things worse, unbearable, because I need you, Daenerys. I always have and always will.”

Her expression softens at your confession, your heartfelt admission to how you almost lost yourself to your own mind, the rest of the sharpness in her gaze fading away, becoming open. Taking a step forward, you watch, with bated breath, as Daenerys’ arms uncross and she tentatively reaches for you, testing if it was safe to touch again — clearly remembering the times you had rejected her affection. When the warmth of her hand finally rests upon your chest, over your heart, the contact is like a lifeline you’ve needed for so long, pulling you from the murky waters that have been trying to pull you under, grounding you in the reality of her presence.

“I missed you,” she confesses in return, voice thick with emotion. “Every day, I missed you. Even when I was angry, even when I was hurt by your actions, even when I thought I hated you.”

The words hit you like a wave, almost causing you to detach from the buoy her touch had given you, but you refuse to let yourself sink again, to be consumed by the darkness when finally in the face of your sun. You reach up to take her hand in yours, holding it tightly to ensure she didn’t slip away, as you reply. “I missed you too. Even when I was at my worst, even when my thoughts didn’t feel like my own, some part of me, the truest part of me, missed you too. I’m just glad I didn’t ruin everything.”

Daenerys shakes her head, tears still steadily slipping down her cheeks, but she no longer looks devastated. “We’ve both made mistakes,” she admits. “We’ve both been hurt, but the one thing that could never change is the love I feel for you, not even when it felt like everything was falling apart, my love has always remained true.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer, blurring your vision for a moment, as you pull her into your arms, holding her as tightly as you can; trying to make up for all the time you had lost while apart. Daenerys, in return, clings to you just as tightly, body trembling against yours as the weight that seemed to have pressed upon day-by-day began to finally lift.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper against the soft skin of her neck, your face pressed as close as you can manage; delighting in the familiar scent of your Khaleesi. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” Daenerys soothes, arms tightening as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry too.”

For a long time, you just hold each other, the silence that had descended between you — not the familiar entity that had kept you company for so long — filled with an unspoken understanding that you both had been through hell, but you’ve managed to come out on the other side.

The scars are still there, the wounds still fresh, but the love that has been between you is there, shining through the pain. A North Star in the darkness that promised salvation, leading you home within your Khaleesi’s embrace.

Eventually Daenerys pulls back, only slightly as she didn’t wish to put too much distance between you, but just enough to be able to look at you fully. Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying, are filled with a warmth that you haven’t seen in such a long time; amethyst pools shining like the precious gems as Daenerys seemed to glow from within.

“We’ll get through this,” Daenerys vows, determined to not falter again. “We have to get through this, ñuha perzys. We belong together.”

All you can do is nod in response, throat too tight with emotion to allow any form of speech, instead you lean forward to press a kiss to your Dany’s cheek, nuzzling against the warmth you find there, heart swelling with a mixture of relief and love.

Knowing, with everything within you, that as long as you had her by your side, your Khaleesi’s warmth keeping the cold at bay, you’d be able to face whatever comes next.

Together.

[fictioninmyblood]

Back to Bed

Summary: Terry and Y/N had been married for just over 7 years with 3 beautiful children and a blooming self defense business they’d built together to show for it. Having started their relationship at the beginning of Y/N’s journey into discovering her submissiveness and Terry’s first stationing as an instructor - Terry had been her only dom and thus knew her like the back of his hand and Y/N has been the only sub to experience the harshest version of his dom giving her the same privilege over him. Having been pregnant with their baby girl upon coming home to the Sandy Springs situation, Terry has been using it as an excuse, too afraid to lean all the way into his dom personality the way he had with Y/N before his last tour.

After they get into an argument, again, about the events of Silver Springs and how even after the last few years of stitching their life back together, he still only talked to Summer about everything that happened and was handling her with kid gloves, Y/N separates from him best she can. Completely at a crossroads of what to do to feel like she’s still her husband’s wife and losing all the fight to try and figure it out, she gives Terry the silent treatment and isolates from him, doing her best to only be in the same room with him when the kids are. After weeks of her barely acknowledging him or the argument, Terry is tired of going to bed alone when his wife is sleeping in the guest room right below him. His plan? Let the dom in him handle it and finally confess his monsters.

WARNINGS: 18+ themes, Minors DNI, d/s themes, pre-smut, angst

A/N: Thank you to all the Terry girls out there that have created a monster in me for this man in literally less than a week. Story inspired by @megamindsecretlair ‘s “I Swear I’ll Never Leave” oneshot and @keyaho ‘s “R.E.L.L.S.” series.

A/N: There will be at least a part 2. Kinda proofread, sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Y/N had been napping peacefully in the spare bedroom when she heard her kids start screaming excitedly, waking her all the way out her sleep in panic. Once she identified their squeals as gleeful she relaxed, but decided it would be in her best interest to check and see what all the commotion was about. Imagine her surprise when she entered their living room to see her parents sitting on the couch with her kids talking over one another and Terry coming downstairs with their weekend-trips-backpacks. The moment she locked eyes with her husband, Y/N gulped, somehow understanding exactly what was going on behind those piercing eyes. Her father had been too wrapped up in the kids, but her mother saw her daughter the instant she entered the room, her motherly instincts in overdrive. 

As soon as Terry let them in she could see that he was even more exhausted than usual, his reliably calm demeanor obviously frazzled. Whenever they usually came to pick up the kids at his request, everything was already packed and ready, the kids fed the most recent meal or snack, and Terry had them waiting by the door. Y/N was usually who they waited on. It was completely out of character to have to wait for him to finish getting them ready or be told they haven't eaten at least a snack so far into the afternoon. Dinner was around the corner and school had been out for at least 2 hours. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. She watched the unspoken conversation happen between the two when he came back downstairs and hoped that Terry asking them to take the kids to hang out with them overnight would help to resolve whatever marital issues they were having. Her daughter looked just as bad as her son-in-law and judging by the fact she looked like she just woke up and came from their guest bedroom rather than the masters upstairs that was no surprise. Her daughter had always slept better cuddled up next to someone her whole life and Terry had become the ultimate sleeping aid when they met. She’d had to stock up on his clothes for the times he was away while in the military just to get a wink, conditioning her body to accept no one’s presence but his to help her sleep.

“Hey baby, how are you?” Y/N’s mother asked.

Y/N tried to muster a smile but felt how off it was, she hoped her mom wouldn’t ask further questions when she said, “I’m fine mommy. What are you guys doing here? I thought we were going to see you on Sunday for the family barbecue.”

Y/N walked over to her parents to hug and kiss them, she sat next to her mom and leaned her head on her shoulder when her mom kept rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and welcomed the affection, it’d been weeks of forcing herself to not seek Terry out for physical contact and it had been hell. That was her top love language and as much as she loved them, kid hugs and kisses only went so far. 

“You sure baby? You look tired.”

Y/N locked eyes with Terry again and sighed, “Yeah ma, I’m sure.”

Her father answered her question when he said, “Terry thought it might be a good idea if they had the opportunity to hang out with all the cousins that live nearby that’ll be hanging out tomorrow. Plus I’m sure he’d like some alone time with his wife. It’s been too long since you two have asked for a weekend anyway so it’s no problem.”

“Oh okay. That sounds nice,” she lied through her teeth, avoiding eye contact with Terry at all costs at this point. Diverting her attention she said, “You excited babies?”

She smiled the first genuine one since coming out of the room at the chorus of yes’s that graced her ears.

“Well I got everything in the car, carseat included,” Terry said, closing the front door behind himself, “and here’s some funds for the weekend.” He slipped some money into her father’s hand before he could register what’d been put there.

Her father looked down at what Terry gave him and got up to try and give it back. “Son, we do this everytime.”

“Then you should know that you’re leaving here with that money.”

Her father clapped Terry on the shoulder and they shared some chuckles as he couldn’t do anything, but shake his head and shake his son-inlaw’s hand. Not once since they had kids did Terry ever ask his parents-in-law to watch the kids without making sure they had a good chunk of change. The twins alone had been a handle full and a half since birth but babygirl turned their little hurricanes into big ones. He knew that whenever his wife tried she couldn’t win that argument so he’d made a point to be the one who did to keep the balance they both sought.

“Right you are son. Can’t blame an old man for trying though.”

“I can’t,” Terry said still chuckling. Thank you,” he looked to his mother-in-law as she stood up beside her husband, “both of you. We really need this.” 

Y/N’s mom laid her hand on his face and said, “Anytime. You two need to take care of yourselves and each other first more often.” She moved towards the door trying to make this as short as possible. “Now let’s get family, leave these two lovebirds to nest alone.”

Terry and Y/N smiled at each other for the first time in weeks at the sound and sight of their kids saying “ewww” and fake gagging. It brought a pang to Y/N’s heart and she immediately frowned at the realization that they hadn’t seen or heard those reactions in too long.

She stayed seated, the kids coming up one by one to give their mommy a goodbye hug and kiss before they left, as Terry stood holding the door open and hugging and kissing everyone on the way out the door. She damn near cried when her mom kissed her on the forehead, the silent sign that her mom knew something was wrong and they would talk about it later. When Terry finally shut the door and turned around to stare her down all that had been left unspoken seemed to come out from the shadows and sit between them.

“Y/N, kitten?” Terry asked. She stopped looking past him at the door and finally looked at him at the pet name. He had his arms folded and was gripping his biceps to keep from rushing to touch his wife who hadn’t given him permission to touch her in the 5 weeks since she moved to the guest bedroom. They hadn’t played together in over 6 months, her figurative silence having been brewing longer than the weeks she was literally silent. She knew that he was asking for permission with the declaration, handing over his control of the situation with just the two names. 

She gulped and whispered back, “Yes, big daddy?”

Terry let out a sigh of relief and released the hold he had on his arms, his hope restored that he hadn’t lost her. He still had a chance to fix this.

“It feels nice to hear you address me again, I’ve missed your voice little one,” he said as he walked towards his wife while rolling up the sleeves on his long sleeve shirt. He had turned the air up a few hours prior and put on the shirt in preparation of this moment. Y/N had a weakness for his arms and hands - over the years he’s learned that wearing long sleeves was the best way to use that to his advantage. With the way her breath hitched, her nipples pebbled beneath her outfit, and she got stuck eyeing his movements was a sight for sore eyes, it’d been too long since she let herself look at him like that. Since she got out of her head long enough for her body respond to him as it had always naturally done. In fact he knew the reason she had been avoiding him and sleeping in the guest room was because he was always able to get back in her good graces with just a few moments of existing. Any of their disagreements always ended with her folding no matter how mad she was throughout their whole relationship, so these last few weeks were a megaphone announcement that she was not playing around this time. 

“Huh kitten?” 

Y/N had no idea what words were coming out her husband’s mouth. Her pulsing pussy was ringing in her ears and she was lost in thinking about everything those hands could and would do to her. By the time she focused on his words again, Terry was standing in front of her grasping her chin to look him in his mesmerizing eyes.

“Did you even hear what I asked you?”

She gulped again and shook her head no. Curse this man and the hold he had on her. 6 weeks of holding out, staying quiet, and standing ten toes down on her frustrations, and all it took for her to let him back in was a few words and him rolling up his sleeves. Terry hadn’t even done anything yet and she knew that no matter how right she was, no matter how much she wanted to maintain her resolve, and no matter what Terry finally told her about what happened, she would be forgiving him. Hell, she already had the moment she walked into the living room to see her parents.

Terry repeated himself. “I said I missed hearing you address me little one. Did you know that? How much I’ve been aching to hear you speak to me, to be able to touch you. I have permission to touch you now though, don’t I kitten?”

“Ye-,” Y/N had to clear her throat, though it did nothing to clear the lust that had changed her voice to the breathy thing it was, “Yes big daddy.”

“Yes you know how much I’ve been aching or yes I have permission?”

“Yes to both big daddy.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “How did you know lil mama? We haven’t been talking so I haven’t had time to tell you.”

“Cause I’ve been aching too,” she squeaked out while the wiggle of her hips increased as she tried to create friction with her thighs. Y/N the woman could not help her right now, the only one present was the submissive.

“Have you? I couldn’t tell kitten.” Terry’s neutral expression turned into a frown as he cupped the base of her skull, gripping her locs to pull her head back, eliciting a moan from Y/N as her eyes slid close.

When Y/N opened her eyes again she was met with the fire behind Terry’s eyes and though it wasn’t what she was trying to do, it brought her great joy to see the dom in Terry. Not the soft one he’d been using as a shield, but the real dom, the one she fell in love with all those years ago. It had been entirely too long since he’d come out to play and she was starved. She nodded her head yes.

“Well you’ve done too good of a job hiding it from me these last few months mamas. I think it’s time we fixed that, don’t you?” he asked.

Y/N nodded again, best she could and Terry couldn’t help himself. He slapped her with an open palm, not to hurt her but to bring her focus back and make himself clear as he spoke, his voice deepening with the lust that now clouded every fibre of his being. “Words kitten. You will use them or I will stop.”

“No!”

Terry’s grip on her hair tightened and he raised an eyebrow.

Y/N stuttered to correct herself. “I mean no big daddy, please don’t stop. I’ll use my words.”

“Good. Now we will have that conversation and I will tell you everything you’ve been begging to know, consequences be damned, but I need to release some pent up energy and I know you do too. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes big daddy.”

Terry loosened his grip slightly and his face softened as he took in his wife, hanging onto every word, listening with all of her attention, already neck deep in subspace. “I don’t think you understand.”

“I do, I promise.”

Terry closed his eyes and shook his head. He was terrified, she was too trusting, too ready to give herself over to him for his release. She had no idea how much anger and grief he’d been storing these last few years and he had no idea what letting himself go to indulge would look like anymore. He’d been afraid of himself since the day the Chief handed him that money and he knew before ever seeing with his eyes that Mike was dead. “No you don’t. Kitten, I got a monster that I’ve been hiding from you, hell from myself half the time too, and I know I said I’ll explain later but I gotta make sure you’re warned properly before you agree. I don’t know if I can maintain my control tonight, it’s been too long-”

Y/N cut off his speech to start her own. Briefly breaking character for a moment, she laid a hand on his face and said “Terrance.” His eyes welled with tears he had to do everything to keep from falling when she continued. “I have waited almost 4 years for you to trust me with these shadow parts of yourself. I’ve been missing the version of you who trusted himself enough to allow me to be his release for almost 4 years. I don’t just miss my husband, I don’t just miss my dom, I miss you. Having access to all of you. I trust you.”

One rouge tear escaped and Y/N wiped it away before it make it too far down his face and stood cupping his face with both hands. Terry let his hands fall to her love handles as she kissed him and he let out a deep groan at the sight of her kneeling at his feet, clasping her hands together at the base of her spine and looking up at him with an expression that matched her declaration. “I’m ready big daddy. Do what you will.”

Terry wiped at his face and with his head thrown back he let out a long, “fuck.” Now that he’d started them down this road, he had a feeling that she was going to make him go the distance and it made him feral. His monster had been wanted out, but she just waved a proverbial red flag in front of him. She wanted to meet his monsters so bad? Bet. They wanted to devour her anyway and now, looking at her offering herself up so pretty, he would let them.