#a searing faith | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 4 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 ��𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #cregan stark #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones

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audreywritesfantasy · 2 years ago

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shy-writer-999 · 2 months ago

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Summary: Law has a thing for you, so when he catches you and Luffy fooling around one night, the captain makes him an offer that he can’t refuse. This is very Law-centric. ~2.8k words.

CW: Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns used a few times), double penetration, plz note that this is consensual~

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Law didn’t like admitting it to himself, but he was painfully infatuated with you. Each moment he spent on the ship (when he wasn’t actively dealing with the Strawhat crew’s nonsense) was occupied with thoughts about you. You were an itch in his mind that he couldn’t scratch.

He realized he had a problem when you caught him staring at you. You asked him straight up, “Is there something on my face?” He stuttered and apologized, excusing himself by saying that he “spaced out.”

Law’s favorite thing about you was your eyes. They were like magnets. Anytime you were around, he could feel himself being pulled towards you, with the nagging desire to just look into your eyes. He had never felt this before and was having difficulty coping. His fixation with you was taking up too much space in his head, it was starting to cause him genuine distress.

Along with missing his crew and Luffy driving him up the fucking wall, your presence agitated him. He was snappy, rude, reserved, and unreadable in every interaction. He swore to himself that he wasn’t this much of a dick usually, but the ship was driving him crazy.

Law was in denial about how intoxicating your presence was. One day he caught himself accidentally musing about what it would be like to ‘room’ and ‘shambles’ you out of your clothes and into his bed. He pretended like it was a momentary aberration.

The next night at dinner, you finished your food and got up to wash your plate. Law’s eyes followed you. Luffy went for another portion of meat at the same time as you, and when he walked past you, he unceremoniously slapped the ever-living fuck out of your ass. You were unfazed, and so was everyone else on the crew.

Law was flabbergasted and his jaw literally dropped. To think that Luffy was involved with you in that way… it broke Law’s brain. He just didn’t see it coming. It made him question his own judgment—why was he caught so off guard by that? Why didn’t he expect the captain of the Strawhats to pull? And why didn’t anyone else on the crew react to that? It must have been a normal occurrence.

He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn’t shake the sight of Luffy smacking your ass, especially the way your ass had jiggled when Luffy’s palm made contact.

Law cursed himself. Fucking hell, he told himself. Get a grip.

Luffy annoyed him beyond comprehension. Sure, Law admired his faith in the crew and his strength, but god, he was annoying. It annoyed him even more to think that Luffy was with you.

A week or so later, Law stumbled into the kitchen after a long day buried in textbooks. It must have been 2AM. Sanji told him there were leftovers in the fridge, so he was going to grab a plate and get back to his cabin.

His eyes were met with a sight that would be seared into his brain forever. He took in the whole scene, in an instant.

Luffy’s back was facing Law, and his shorts were pooled at his feet. You were on the counter, legs spread, naked, with your arms thrown around Luffy’s neck.

He was fucking you, and wet slapping noises sounded through the room—it was a wonder Law hadn’t heard them on his way to the kitchen.

While Luffy fucked you, Law’s eyes darted to the counter. There was a discarded plate of meat a few feet away from where you were being railed. Law put the pieces together. It looks like Luffy wanted a midnight snack, but he found a meal instead.

In the split second that Law stood in the doorway, you locked eyes. Your eyes were lidded, your mouth hung open and sweet sounds were falling from your lips. Your cheeks were ruddy, and your hair was askew.

Law couldn’t pull himself away. His heart did a twisting thing seeing your eyes glossy and lustful like this, and he didn’t even think about looking at your cunt yet. He was entranced, getting harder by the millisecond.

Luffy’s head turned.

“Oh, Traffy!” The captain smiled and did his classic goofy laugh. “Funny seeing you here!”

“Fuck, Strawhat.” Law choked out the words, incredulous. “Can’t you do that in your room?”

Luffy’s hips kept crashing into yours. “What, you don’t wanna try some?”

Law froze. Was Luffy offering you up like some sort of meal? Asking him if he wanted a taste? Law’s cock twitched in his pants. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was wildly out of character and felt downright wrong. But the way you just sat there, taking Luffy’s cock with that fucked-out look on your face tortured him. He wanted you.

“C’monnnnn,” Luffy entreated him. “I think she wants you too.”

Law blinked, speechless as he saw your hand creep over to your clit. You started to draw circles on it, eyes locked onto Law’s still. What little shred of reason and inhibition left in Law was thrown unabashedly out the window the second he saw your fingers rub your sensitive bud like that.

Without a word, you nodded at Law eagerly and he felt his body go into autopilot. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, hard cock lining up with your entrance.

A fleeting moment of reason flashed through his mind. What the fuck am I doing? He banished the thought and brought himself back to the present. You were ready for him.

Your folds were already dripping wet and inflamed. Law’s hands were on your hips and your fingers snaked up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. He watched your pupils dilate barely, and his heart stopped for a second. He knew what that meant.

Law pressed into you slowly, and you arched your back with a whine, swallowing up his inches greedily, like it was nothing. His cock was girthier and longer than Luffy’s, stretching you out deliciously. It felt better than you could have imagined. And yes, you had imagined it before. How could you not?

Law didn’t even register that Luffy was next to him, fucking his own fist to the sight of Law’s shaft disappearing in you.

“Law, fuck.”

His name coming out of your mouth sounded like music to him. It tingled in his ears, raised his pulse, made blush creep up his neck. He rolled his hips into your core, producing sparks of electrifying pleasure every time his tip nudged your g-spot.

Your walls clenched around Law’s cock and he let out a low groan. The way you were staring up at him, the way that your tits bounced so prettily on your chest, the feeling of your fingers pulling on his hair—it was all going to his head.

“Hey Traffy,” Luffy’s jarring voice cut through Law’s dreamlike state and reminded him of what was actually happening. “Doesn’t she feel so mushy and warm? She likes it when you get her all messed up inside.”

Before Law could choke out an answer, you pulled his neck down and crashed your lips into his. When your legs wrapped around him and squeezed him closer, he was so turned on that he felt like he was going to pass out.

Of course, you loved Luffy’s cock. He knew your body inside and out. But Law’s cock was just different, in a good way. Before he initially pushed it into you, you had observed that Law’s tip was redder and more inflamed than Luffy’s usually was. It was a bit curved too, just barely, and his head was more defined.

Law fucked you differently than Luffy, too. Law treated you delicately and gently, like he was worried he’d hurt you. His eyes were so innocent and shocked that it made your heart melt, and his thrusts were haphazard. Each breath was ragged and shuddering. He was so obviously nervous and flustered.

Luffy kept stroking himself as Law get worked up and lost in pleasure fucking you. Anything having to do with you turned Luffy on—regardless of who was fucking you, Luffy was just happy to see you wet and panting.

Each jerk of Law’s cock into you elicited some desperate variation of a groan or grunt from him. You had admittedly underestimated how muscular the doctor was. He was shredded—his pecs were defined and hard, along with his arms, abs, every part of him. His tattoos emphasized how gorgeous he was.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself, Traffy,” Luffy frowned and huffed. He liked to see you getting ravaged like this, but he wasn’t full yet. ��Wait, I have an idea.”

Law paused his hips and pulled out of you. When you whimpered at the emptiness, he felt like he would implode.

Luffy commanded Law to lay down on the floor (which initially Law thought “fuck no” to, but he realized that he’d have to comply if he wanted more of you). You sat on top of Law, cowgirl-style. As you sunk down on his cock, his hips bucked up inadvertently. He threw his head back and turned crimson—he could hardly control his body and it was taking every morsel of discipline to stay still.

Luffy told you to lean forward. You collapsed, bracing yourself on Law’s bare chest with your ass in the air. Law’s heart was beating so fast that you could feel it, and if he didn’t know better, he would have been worried it would stop entirely.

As you nuzzled your face in the crook of Law’s neck, Luffy positioned himself behind you. He started loosening up your other hole, working it open gradually as you let out sounds of whiny protest.

While you laid there nestled up to him, Law could feel you pulse around his cock. You cockwarmed him few minutes before Luffy decided you were sufficiently loosened up. Each rogue throb of your cunt made him feel crazier. He had half a mind to flip you over and fuck you prone bone until you screamed his name.

Meanwhile, the captain spat in his hand and rubbed saliva and his precum down his shaft, lubing up before he pressed his tip to your entrance. “You ready for me?” He asked gruffly, and when you nodded into Law’s neck, Luffy began to enter you.

You moaned in what was a mixture of pleasure and pain. Law could feel the pressure from Luffy’s cock making you tighter. He couldn’t comprehend the reality of this situation. If he had been in his right mind, he would have just ran out of the room the second he saw you and Luffy fucking. But he wasn’t in his right mind, and he hadn’t been since the first time he saw you.

When Luffy bottomed out you twitched in discomfort. “Luffyyy.” Law could hear the frown in your voice. He felt your hot breath on his neck, and it gave him goosebumps. “It hurts. ‘m too full.”

“Hang onnnn, it’ll feel good soon.” Luffy responded carelessly, rolling his eyes. He started to rock his hips into you slowly. Law laid motionlessly with his cock in you. He was worried about hurting you. He closed his eyes. No point in watching Luffy fuck you from this angle.

After a minute or so, you let out a muffled keen in Law’s neck. You latched your lips onto it and sucked harshly; his breath hitched.

Nothing could beat the feeling of being filled up like this. Sometimes Luffy would do it with toys, but having another cock inside you along with Luffy’s was just an unreal sensation. The pleasure wasn’t just in the feeling of being double penetrated—that was an added bonus. What set this apart from the toys Luffy would use on you was the fact that Law’s cock was real, warm, fleshy, and jumping. It was accompanied by a man, by this man, who looked even better up close, blushing bright red and buried inside of you. He smelled good, musky and clean at the same time, he looked hot with his hair ruffled a bit, and his stubble felt nice anytime it brushed your cheek.

When you were warmed up enough, you started to grind down on Law’s cock and back into Luffy’s, effectively fucking yourself harder with both. Now that heat was burning in your cunt again, you were insatiable.

“I told you it would feel good,” Luffy teased when he felt you pushing back on his cock, and you murmured a quiet “mmmhmmm.”

You moved your lips from Law’s neck to his ear, biting on his earlobe. He inhaled sharply again. You somehow managed to turn him on more than he thought was possible. “Harder, Law.”

He jerked his hips up at your words and you moaned again, directly into his ear. That was almost too much. He was holding on for dear life. Your lips wandered from his ear to his jawline and smashed onto his, giving him sloppy kisses as you fucked yourself with his cock. You bit his lip and parted his lips with your tongue. He was a spectacular kisser. You suspected as much.

Luffy’s shaft in your ass made you feel extra tight—Law couldn’t believe how good you felt. He felt like he was floating in pleasure. His hands came up to rest on your waist as he pushed up into you—he (once again) forgot Luffy was there.

Your thighs shook and Law groaned with every thrust. His voice was deep, carnal, and gravelly.

Luffy could tell that you were about to cum. He pulled out.

“Traffy, you can cum in her. I know she’s hungry for me, so I’ll wait.”

“L-law,” you mewled into his mouth and pulled your lips away from his. A string of saliva connected your bottom lips. “I’m close. Fuck me harder. I need you.”

Law nodded clumsily. If he was more cognizant of reality, he would have thought it was odd for Luffy to just pronounce and claim that it was fine if he (Law) came in you. But since you didn’t seem to have a problem with it, he guessed that he didn’t either. (You didn’t have a problem with any of it, and Luffy knew that.)

Law’s hands wandered down to grab rough fistfuls of your ass, kneading and pulling your cheeks apart as he rutted his cock up feverishly.

“Gonna cum, Law” your voice was strained.

“F-Fuck, do it,” he grunted, breathless. “Cum for me.”

You bounced on Law’s cock, desperately angling him towards your g-spot for a few more moments before you started to squirm and writhe, whining his name at a deafening level. You convulsed in pleasure, creaming around his cock in ecstasy.

Feeling you spasm around him and moan his name—something he had fantasized about countless times before—sent him over the edge. He shuddered and bucked into you one last time before he was completely lost in oblivion. His hot cum exploded in you as his whole body tensed.

Law’s seed oozed out of your cunt and down his shaft as he let out one last body-wracking groan—but you cut him off with a kiss, a passionate and sweet one. He didn’t know the nature of your relationship with Luffy, but he wondered if you kissed Luffy like this. Your kisses were tender and soft, unexpected and welcomed.

“Gosh, I know you like him a lot, but I’m starving over here.” Luffy complained impatiently and you pulled away from Law’s lips with a smile. Luffy rolled his eyes. “You guys can keep kissing later but now it’s my turn.”

Law was confused but tickled, beyond his better judgment. Had he heard that right? You liked him a lot? He could keep kissing you later?

When you pulled yourself off Law’s cock, Luffy picked you up and sat upright. He made you straddle him as he fucked you silly. Law, in a daze, watched Luffy coax another orgasm out of you, and when Luffy came inside of you he pulled you off his cock and sat you up straight. You could hardly hold yourself up.

“There. Law, your turn now. Go get her cleaned up or keep fucking her, I don’t care. I’m gonna get something to eat.” You giggled and Law sat up on his elbows. Both of those things happened, coincidentally enough—Law got you cleaned up then brought you back to his bed and fucked another couple orgasms out of you; it should go without saying, but they were euphoric and toe-curling. It wouldn’t be the last time.

ta-da!! i think this is another one of my faves so far for my kinktober thingy.

here’s my masterlist and here’s my posting schedule for october.

also, trick or treat?

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livelaughloveluffy · 2 months ago

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confession - portgas d. ace

a/n: im starting to run out of pictures to use for law and ace 😭😭😭 i'm going to forever and always continuing the hunt for more of these colored manga panels on pinterest, but if you see me starting to reuse the same pictures... no you didn't 😭😭

a/n: now that my brain has connected these fics with songs, it can't stop. here's the song pairing for the ace version of this series.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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the second you stepped foot on the moby dick, ace instantly knew he had to be around you. he didn't shy away from introducing himself to you.

instantly taking you under his wing, bringing you to all his friends, because he knew what to was like to feel alone and isolated, and he didn't want that for you.it really wasn't too long until meeting the infamous fire-fist, that he began warming up to you.

often making sure you were with him and his group for meals, sharing jokes and stories with you, bringing you along for small adventures and missions. he did anything and everything in his power to see a smile on your face.

that's just the man he was.

•♡•

by the time ace finally had a spare moment to check in on you, it was already late at night.. not wanting to wake you, he didn't bother knocking on your bedroom door.

a little defeated, he slowly began to sulk away from your door, when he noticed the dancing light of small candle shining on the floor leading him to a secluded spot outside on the deck where he found you.

"it's a nice night, isn't it?" ace announced, his honey-coated voice hearing the sweetness and thoughtfulness behind his statement. "how are you finding the rest of the crew? you're getting along okay with them?" he asked, sitting down right next to you, he put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close to him before he realized what he was doing.

the sudden burst of vibrant pinks on your cheeks called attention to his action, suddenly feeling the need to explain he started up "sorry, you just looked a bit cold. and i've got enough heat to go around" but with your eyes landing on his sheepish smile, you couldn't be bothered to brush him off. he was really warm.

adjusting to ace's warmth, pulling yourself a bit closer, it was only when you got comfortable that you finally began to answer ace's questions. "i'm doing okay... sometimes, it can be a bit intimidating to be around so many men.." your voice soft, and a little unsure.

"let me know if any of those guys give you trouble, okay? feel free to grab me whenever." he replied with his signature charming smile, giving you no problem putting your faith and trust in him.

•♡•

after that, there was hardly ever a time that you didn't have ace at your side. growing used to his boyish charm, his wide smile, his adorable obnoxious laugh, his huge appetite, and his kind heart, his presence was like a warm blanket around your body. all encompassing and comforting.

he had done more than kept his words. the amount of times he instantly and wordlessly stepped in for you when men got too drunk and handsy around you, shielding you from them and sweeping you away, when the boys rough-housed too hard with you while messing around, when you could feel the unwanted stares and male attention being seared into your body, night or day, time and time again, ace was there for you.

swooping in like a knight in shining armor, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with appreciation for the freckled boy. and he would accept none of it. brushing you off with comments such as: "it's no big deal!" and "don't sweat it! that's what i'm here for!!"

your connection was one that you didn't quite understand. the chemistry the two of you shared was truly unmatched, and it almost felt like second nature.

•♡•

one night, you happened to stumble upon the whole gang, laughing, drinking, and star-gazing on the deck. deciding you could go for a couple of drinks, you scanned the group, looking for ace. once your eyes met his, your feet started to move on their own, making your way over to him.

once you were within arm's length of ace sitting on the deck floor, it was without a second thought that ace had pulled you into his lap. a gesture you had greatly appreciated, since the darkness of night mixed with the sea breeze created an especially cool chill, and with ace's warm bare chest and devil fruit powers, you were able to stay nice and toasty cuddled up into him. while normal to the two of you, his friends momentarily paused as they witnessed this transpire.

ace gave them his typical sly half smile, as if to say "..and? what about it?" and the group returned back to normal, eventually shrugging off this little habit of the two of you.

it wasn't until you guys were enough drinks into the night that you started to lose count that you felt ace's arms pulling you closer so your back was flushed against his chest. ace leaned down a bit, putting his lips centimeters away from your ear. "it's a bit crowded here, wanna come up to the crow's nest with me?"

•♡•

once the two of you were alone in the crow's nest, as per usual, ace pulled you into him, warming his body to keep the night's chill off your skin. "it's a nice night, isn't it?" he said, his smooth soft voice was music to your ears.

"it is... so what's up in the crow's nest? any specific reason you wanted to come up here?"

he leaned closer to your ear as he began to whisper "it's not really romantic to tell you in front of all of those idiots that i'm in love with you."

he could feel your cheeks heat up as the blush appeared on them. you turned your head slightly to look at him with wide eyes, trying to process if he actually said what you heard. so he repeated it, "i wanted to tell you that i'm in love with you. i don't really know what it is, but i know you feel it too... at least i think you do.."

"i'd be an idiot not to." as your eyes met his for the second time in the crow's nest, you couldn't help the smile that creeped up on your lips as you pulled ace closer to you, and knowing that this warmth was now just yours.

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a/n: sorry if ace's fic is a bit shorter than the rest of the boys 😭😭 i honestly cant bare to look at my laptop anymore 💀 lowkey, it's hard to imagine a direct confession scene with ace because he seems like the kind of guy where the second you meet him, it only seemed to be fated to end up with him and every action and moment before officially making it official was really just like dating but without the title. (god i hope you guys get what im trying to say 😭😭😭) maybe i am just crazy though 😭

a/n: long story short, i gave it my best shot 😭😭 if i ever feel like rewriting this, you guys will definitely find out about it, but for now, it is what it is 💀

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece portgas d ace #op portgas d ace #portgas d ace #one piece ace #op ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #op ace x reader #portgas d ace fluff #portgas ace fluff #ace fluff #fluff fic #via's fics

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theheartpyre · 2 years ago

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Have you been wondering what I changed between the first season of the audio drama and the book?

Do you want to stay up to date with the development of season 2?

Do you want to read the first 7 chapters of the book FOR FREE?

Then signing up to my newsletter is just the right thing for you! Here is what you might find in your free sample (and the rest of the book):

a NEW first chapter that introduces Rena’s family

ANOTHER new chapter that happens in Halvint

the bestest boy Vincent gets more pets!

more visceral storytelling and stronger signs of ptsd (sorry about that one)

more anxiety! more vomiting! (yeah, sorry about that one too)

the found family is familying more

more details about everyone’s backstory (patch notes: family members added to several characters)

Curious? Sign-up for the newsletter here, and start reading the story right away!

(I promise I won’t send a lot of mails, maybe once (or twice) a month, basically only when I have new announcements)

#audio drama #books #indie author #booklr #The heart pyre #a searing faith #mine

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plutoswritingplanet · 10 months ago

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake.

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast.

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst.

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed.

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground.

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides.

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside.

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers.

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day.

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing.

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill.

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless.

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising.

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again.

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere.

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile.

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties.

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression.

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer.

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question.

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals.

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful.

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved.

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar.

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly.

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness.

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh.

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you.

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head.

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall.

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed.

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine.

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach.

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall.

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast.

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go.

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face.

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure.

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic.

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips.

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs.

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes.

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you.

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee.

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you.

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him.

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess.

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics.

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure.

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment.

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely.

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches.

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything.

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should.

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements.

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet.

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up.

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles.

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture.

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void.

So you dance.

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

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minhosbitterriver · 4 months ago

Text

📷 STILL FRAMES ( stray kids )

❛ After fainting during a photography class outing, you're tenderly cared for by a seemingly cold classmate, Seungmin, leading to an unexpected and heartwarming connection between the two of you.

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 30 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was written and completed a few months ago, but I recently found it and decided to share it with you guys! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Descriptions of being overheated, anxiety, and fainting, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The summer sun blazed with an intensity that bordered on cruelty, its golden rays casting a relentless furnace upon the cityscape. The air shimmered with the heat, every street and alley seemingly wincing under the oppressive glare. The heavens above were a fierce, unyielding expanse of cerulean, devoid of mercy or shade.

Amidst this searing trial, you navigated the urban labyrinth, your every step a testament to perseverance. Your digital camera, a faithful companion clutched in your hand, was your shield against the unrelenting heat. It was your instrument for capturing moments of beauty amid the starkness of summer’s tyranny.

As you trailed behind your classmates, each one a silhouette against the blistering backdrop, your gaze flitted with restless anticipation. You wandered through the city streets, your eyes seeking fragments of inspiration to breathe life into your assignment. The buildings rose around you like silent, stoic sentinels, their facades glistening with a harsh, metallic sheen. In the shimmering distance, you hoped for the elusive spark that would transform the mundane into something extraordinary.

The chatter of your classmates had long faded into a mere whisper, a distant hum that barely registered in the periphery of your consciousness. Conversations ebbed and flowed like an unremarkable current, a symphony of voices blending into a soft, indistinguishable murmur. Yet, this isolation was not an anomaly but a chosen retreat, a familiar haven you embraced with quiet contentment.

Surrounded by the bustling dynamics of camaraderie and friendship, you stood apart, an island of introspection amidst a sea of social engagement. It wasn't that you were unfriendly or aloof; your laughter often mingled with theirs, your voice joining the chorus of shared jokes and light-hearted banter before and after the structured rhythm of class. But when the subject turned to the art that captivated your soul, a transformation occurred.

Photography, to you, was not just a hobby but a profound and passionate pursuit. It demanded your full attention, a devotion that bordered on reverence. Your camera was not merely a tool but an extension of your vision, a conduit through which you sought to capture the world’s hidden beauty. The play of light and shadow, the fleeting expressions on faces, the intricate details of everyday objects—all of these were fragments of a larger, more intricate tapestry that you sought to weave with each click of the shutter.

In those moments, the world around you faded into soft focus, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your art. The bonds of friendship, though cherished, were momentarily set aside, replaced by a singular concentration that sharpened your senses and heightened your awareness. This solitary journey through the realm of photography was your sanctuary, a place where you found solace and inspiration in equal measure.

The only other person in this class who might share your penchant for solitude was Kim Seungmin. He, too, seemed to navigate the world with an air of quiet detachment. Yet, there were differences in how each of you manifested this introversion. While you made a concerted effort to connect with those around you—engaging in brief conversations and sharing moments of camaraderie when class was not in session—Seungmin was an enigma, a shadow that flitted away the moment the lecture ended.

Seungmin's presence in the classroom was a paradox of visibility and invisibility. He was always the first to arrive, slipping into the room with the quiet grace of dawn's first light. Despite his punctuality, he maintained a palpable distance from the rest of the group, an invisible barrier that set him apart. His demeanor, while not unfriendly, exuded a clear message of preference for solitude.

During the lulls and intermissions, when the classroom would usually be filled with animated discussions and the laughter of budding friendships, Seungmin could be found in a corner, absorbed in his own world. His fingers danced nimbly over his camera, adjusting settings, capturing candid moments, or meticulously reviewing his shots. At other times, he would be engrossed in his phone, the screen's glow reflecting the deep concentration etched on his face.

To you, Seungmin was a mystery, a puzzle wrapped in layers of quiet introspection. There was a certain allure in his aloofness, a silent invitation to unravel the story behind his reserved exterior. Yet, you never dared to cross the unspoken boundary that he had set. His solitary nature, so akin to your own, commanded a respect that you were unwilling to breach.

Seungmin remained a figure of curiosity, a fellow traveler on the path of photographic artistry who chose a parallel yet distinctly separate route. His quiet presence was a reminder of the myriad ways one could navigate the delicate dance between isolation and connection.

Despite his reserved and enigmatic demeanor, Seungmin possessed a rare and extraordinary talent for photography. His artistry behind the lens was nothing short of breathtaking, a fact that did not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all the professor. At the conclusion of each class, a ritual unfolded: the professor would meticulously review everyone's photographs, sifting through the myriad of images to select the ones that stood out the most. Without fail, Seungmin's work consistently earned a place among the top five, a testament to his remarkable skill.

Each of Seungmin's photographs was a revelation, an abstract masterpiece that captured the world through a uniquely creative lens. His ability to see beyond the ordinary and delve into the depths of the abstract added a layer of profound beauty to his images. Where others might see a simple street scene or a mundane object, Seungmin uncovered hidden dimensions and intricate patterns, transforming the mundane into the extraordinary.

His compositions were a symphony of light and shadow, each frame meticulously crafted to evoke emotion and provoke thought. There was an unmistakable depth to his work, a silent narrative that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The interplay of colors, the juxtaposition of textures, and the harmony of forms all coalesced into visual poetry, each photograph a verse in the grand tapestry of his artistic vision.

The professor, a seasoned connoisseur of photographic art, often marveled at Seungmin's ability to convey such profound beauty through his images. His praise, though sparing, was always effusive when it came to Seungmin's work. "A true artist," he would often muse, holding up one of Seungmin's photos for the class to admire. "His eye for detail and his innovative approach are truly remarkable."

Seungmin's talent was unmistakable, a beacon of brilliance that shone through the veil of his quiet, self-imposed solitude. Each photograph was a testament to his exceptional ability to capture the essence of the world around him, a gift that set him apart and elevated him to the ranks of the truly gifted. In his hands, the camera became not just a tool but a portal to a realm of infinite beauty and wonder.

The dryness in your mouth abruptly pulled you from the intricate web of thoughts weaving around your enigmatic classmate, who now lingered at the back of the group, his camera poised to capture yet another fleeting moment. The parched sensation nagged at you, growing more insistent with each passing second. You reluctantly tore your gaze away from Seungmin, reaching into your backpack in search of your water bottle.

As your fingers fumbled through the contents of your bag, your eyes remained vigilant, scanning your surroundings to ensure you wouldn’t stumble over any unexpected obstacles. The bustling city around you was a blur of movement and color, but you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

Finally, your hand closed around the cool plastic of your water bottle. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Your heart skipped a beat when you unscrewed the cap and peered inside, only to find a single, solitary sip left. The realization that your meager supply of water was almost depleted sent a ripple of anxiety through your chest. The class was far from over, and the sweltering heat showed no signs of relenting.

A wave of apprehension washed over you, prickling at your chest like tiny, invisible needles. You finished the last sip, the tepid water doing little to quench your thirst, and tried to steady your racing thoughts. With a shaky breath, you reassured yourself that you could endure the remaining time. Surely, there would be a place nearby where you could refill your bottle.

Determined not to let the anxiety take hold, you pressed on, reminding yourself that the city was vast and filled with countless opportunities. Somewhere among the winding streets and towering buildings, an oasis of hydration awaited. All you had to do was stay focused and keep an eye out for that small but vital reprieve.

The merciless sun, as if sensing your growing anxiety, seemed to blaze even hotter, its relentless rays wrapping you in a suffocating embrace. Beads of sweat clung to your skin in a sticky shimmer, making each movement feel laborious and sluggish. Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. Your eyes roamed the cityscape, seeking inspiration amidst the familiar charm of the urban sprawl.

You recalled the instructions given by your professor before the class set out on this journey. Find something that has two textures that contrast each other, and find a way to make them complement each other in your photo. It seemed a simple enough directive, especially considering the rich tapestry of your surroundings. Yet, the sun's unyielding assault made concentration an arduous endeavor.

As you navigated the bustling streets, your gaze flitted over the varied textures that adorned the city. Rough, weathered brick walls stood in stark contrast to the sleek, reflective surfaces of modern glass buildings. The interplay between the old and the new, the rugged and the refined, offered endless possibilities for your photographic assignment. But the oppressive heat made it difficult to hold onto any coherent thought for long.

The thirst that had been barely quenched earlier resurfaced with a vengeance, its gnawing intensity magnified by the knowledge that your water bottle was now empty. Your mouth felt as dry as the arid pavement beneath your feet, and each swallow seemed to scrape against a parched throat. Anxiety prickled at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm your resolve.

You scanned the area for potential sources of relief, hoping to spot a fountain, a café, or any place where you could refill your bottle. The city, though familiar, seemed an endless expanse under the punishing sun. Every step felt heavier, the weight of your camera pressing down on you like a leaden reminder of your mission.

Yet, amidst the discomfort and the thirst, you remained determined. You sought the contrasting textures your professor had described, letting your eyes linger on the juxtaposition of smooth marble and rough concrete, or the way a delicate flower pushed through a crack in the asphalt. There was beauty to be found here, even in the harshest of conditions.

With a deep breath, you resolved to keep going, trusting that your perseverance would lead you to both the perfect shot and the much-needed water. The city, with all its contrasts and complexities, held the promise of discovery, if only you could endure a little longer.

"It’s so hot," you vaguely heard a classmate complain, her voice barely cutting through the heavy, sweltering air as she fanned herself with a weary hand. The others nodded in weary agreement, their faces etched with the shared misery of enduring the relentless sun. "We should all go for some ice cream after this," she suggested, a hint of hope sparking briefly in her eyes.

The idea of ice cream, cool and refreshing, was undeniably appealing. Yet, you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. The fear of worsening your situation held your tongue, a silent specter of anxiety that kept you from speaking up. As you glanced around at your classmates, their faces blurred by the heat, a flicker of desperation ignited within you.

You tried to remember if you had informed anyone about your fainting spells, but your mind drew a blank. The memories were elusive, slipping through your mental grasp like water through a sieve. The thought of revealing your vulnerability gnawed at you, and although you knew you should at least ask if anyone had spare water, your anxiety clung to you like a vice, rendering you silent at a moment when you needed help the most.

The world around you seemed to shimmer and waver in the oppressive heat, the vibrant colors of the city dulled by the haze of your growing discomfort. Your throat felt like sandpaper, each breath a laborious effort. The idea of speaking up, of asking for something as simple as water, felt insurmountable. Your classmates, though kind and considerate, seemed distant and unreachable in your moment of need.

Silent, you continued to endure, your thoughts a turbulent mix of desperation and fear. The sun beat down with unwavering intensity, each ray a reminder of your growing thirst and vulnerability. You scanned the faces around you, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign that someone might notice your distress without you having to voice it.

But no such sign came. The conversations continued, the suggestions of ice cream and relief from the heat weaving through the group like a distant promise. You swallowed dryly, your silence a heavy burden, and resolved to press on. The city held the promise of respite somewhere, and you clung to the hope that you could find it before your strength gave out.

The more you pushed forward, the more acutely aware you became of the blood coursing through your veins. It was as if each heartbeat reverberated in your ears, amplifying the sense of impending dizziness. The city's vibrant energy seemed to swirl around you, the once steady ground beneath your feet now an unpredictable, undulating surface.

As the sensation of spinning grew more intense, you reluctantly allowed yourself to fall behind the group. You sought refuge against the cool, reassuring solidity of a nearby building, leaning against its weathered facade. Taking deep breaths, you tried to steady yourself, inhaling the warm, sun-baked air and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm the storm within.

Your classmates, absorbed in their own artistic quests, continued on without noticing your absence. This anonymity, usually a comfort in your solitary pursuits, now only served to heighten your anxiety. You couldn't blame them for their oversight; it was common for someone to linger behind, captivated by a potential photograph. Still, the reality of being unnoticed in your moment of need felt like an invisible weight pressing down on your chest.

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to focus on the rhythm of your breathing, hoping it would anchor you in the present moment. The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant conversations, the hum of traffic, the occasional birdcall—creating a cacophony that both grounded and overwhelmed you.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the receding forms of your classmates, their laughter and chatter fading into the background. The distance between you and them felt insurmountable, not just in physical space but in the gulf of your unspoken struggle. You pressed your back more firmly against the building, feeling the rough texture of the brick through your thin shirt, a small reminder of the world outside your internal chaos.

You knew you needed to rejoin the group, to press on and complete the assignment, but the dizziness and rising anxiety made the thought of moving almost unbearable. You considered calling out, asking for help, but the words stuck in your throat, trapped by the fear of appearing weak or needy. Instead, you remained silent, hoping that your moment of respite would be enough to regain your composure.

Your body shivered uncontrollably despite the oppressive heat, a strange and unsettling contrast that heightened your sense of unease. The world around you seemed to blur and waver, your vision losing focus at an alarming pace. Each step felt like wading through thick, invisible molasses, and even the simplest movement became a Herculean effort. Despite this, you managed to lower yourself to the sidewalk, the rough pavement a harsh but necessary support.

You concentrate on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the here and now. Yet, the ringing in your ears grew louder, a piercing sound that drowned out the city's ambient noise. It was a familiar, dreaded precursor to the fainting spell you knew was imminent, a relentless force poised to take control.

In the midst of this growing chaos, a voice pierced through the din, a lifeline in the swirling haze. "Hey, are you okay?" someone asked, their concern clear even through your muddled senses. The effort to lift your head and identify the speaker was beyond you; the world had narrowed to a tunnel of indistinct shapes and sounds.

You tried to respond, to assure them or perhaps to call for help, but your words dissolved into a string of incoherent babbles. Your tongue felt thick and uncooperative, your mind struggling to form coherent thoughts as the darkness edged closer. The last thing you registered was the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the realization that your body was betraying you in this critical moment.

As the blackness enveloped your consciousness, you felt a profound disconnect from the world around you. The sounds, the heat, the distant figure of your classmate—all faded into a void, leaving you suspended in an abyss of nothingness. The struggle to stay present, to remain in control, slipped through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

In this void, time ceased to have meaning. Seconds or minutes, it was impossible to tell how long you lingered in that state of unconsciousness. The city, with its vibrant life and relentless sun, continued on without you, a stark reminder of your fragile existence.

When you finally awoke, it felt as though you were emerging from a dense fog, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented reality around you. The disorientation was palpable, each moment stretching as your senses slowly reconnected with the world. Your head rested on someone’s lap, and though he was turned away, his presence was both unfamiliar and comforting in your vulnerable state.

Sounds began to filter through the haze, grounding you further. The low, urgent tone of the voice above you became clearer, barking orders with a mix of authority and concern. "Get some water!" Though you couldn't see who he was addressing, the urgency in his commands cut through the remnants of your confusion.

As your awareness sharpened, you noticed your arms were held aloft above your head. This small detail triggered a memory from your past, a practice you had shared with others in case your lips ever turned blue—a sign of your body’s desperate need for oxygen. The position was meant to untie the invisible knot in your lungs, allowing air to flow more freely and ease your breathing.

With this realization, a wave of gratitude washed over you. Even in your disoriented state, you recognized the significance of this gesture. The person cradling your head had either known or intuitively understood what to do, providing a lifeline in your moment of need.

You tried to speak, to express your thanks or perhaps to reassure the person helping you, but your voice was weak and unsteady. The effort drained you, and you opted to focus on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a conscious act of reclaiming control over your body.

It wasn’t until a groan escaped your lips that the person holding you turned to face you. Instantly, your face flushed with a deep wave of embarrassment upon recognizing him—it was Seungmin. The reassuring smile he sent your way was a beautifully rare sight, and for a fleeting moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. His lips moved, forming words that your still-dazed mind struggled to comprehend.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus, but the words eluded you. Noticing your confusion, Seungmin pursed his lips and turned to someone out of your line of sight. Almost immediately, a cold bottle of water with a straw was handed to him. He settled it gently by your head, positioning the straw so you could drink. The sensation of the cool water on your parched throat was heavenly, and you drank greedily, almost draining the bottle before you realized it.

Seungmin chuckled softly at your eagerness, the sound light and comforting. You felt your cheeks heat up again and averted your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Despite your embarrassment, the relief from the water was undeniable. Your head cleared a bit more, the world coming into sharper focus.

Seungmin continued to watch over you, his expression a blend of concern and gentle amusement. His presence, usually so distant and enigmatic, now felt unexpectedly comforting. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t diminish the warmth of his care, and you felt a small surge of gratitude.

As you finished the last of the water, Seungmin reached out to steady the bottle, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, but it was grounding, a reminder that you were not alone. He murmured something softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. Though the exact words were still lost to you, the intent was clear—he was there for you.

Gradually, the ringing in your ears subsided, and your breathing steadied. You risked a glance back at Seungmin, who was now focused entirely on you, his eyes full of quiet resolve. The vulnerability of the moment hung between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

You tried to muster a smile, a small token of thanks. Seungmin's eyes softened, and he returned the smile, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, the barriers of his usual aloofness seemed to fall away, revealing a depth of kindness that you hadn’t seen before.

Gradually, your hearing began to reawaken, stitching itself back together with your muddled senses. The familiar symphony of the bustling city—a cacophony of distant car horns, murmured conversations, and the steady hum of urban life—slowly emerged from the background noise, anchoring you to the present moment.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Seungmin’s voice cut through the haze, his tone edged with concern as he noticed your growing awareness. You managed a shaky nod, your head still spinning slightly. His brows were knitted together in a deep frown, a tangible expression of his worry.

“Can you sit up, or do you need to stay down a little longer?” he asked gently. “There’s no rush. Please, stay there if you’re still feeling dizzy.”

With a quiet determination, you placed your hands onto the pavement, the rough texture grounding you as you clumsily pushed yourself away from him. Seungmin’s steadying presence guided you with careful hands, helping you to lean against the same building you had previously sought solace from before losing consciousness. You groaned softly, closing your eyes to escape the persistent whirl of the world around you. When you reopened them, the dizziness had ebbed, though remnants of the earlier chaos lingered at the edges of your vision.

In front of you stood a middle-aged man, his apron stained with grease and his hands clasped together in a gesture of concern. His eyes were fixed on Seungmin, waiting for instructions, his face etched with worry for your well-being. The weight of his concern was palpable, and it added another layer to the unfolding scene.

Seungmin exhaled deeply, a sigh that seemed to release the tension of the moment. He settled himself beside you, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his chest, and his gaze remained focused on you with an almost protective intensity.

The ambient noise of the city continued to swirl around you, but in this small, sheltered space, it felt as though time had slowed. Seungmin’s presence was a steady anchor amidst the chaos, his concern a quiet reassurance that you were not alone. The man in the greasy apron lingered nearby, ready to assist at a moment’s notice, his worried gaze shifting between you and Seungmin.

The world slowly regained its equilibrium, the spinning sensation giving way to a more stable awareness. The tenderness of the pavement beneath you and the warmth of Seungmin’s concern combined to create a cocoon of comfort, allowing you to regain your composure and begin to piece together the events of the past moments.

“How are you feeling?” The middle-aged man’s voice was gentle, his eyes darting between you and Seungmin with a mixture of concern and kindness. “You should eat something. Come inside—whatever you get is on the house.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over you, coloring your cheeks a deep red. You felt a pang of guilt for having worried such a considerate stranger. Just as you were about to politely decline the generous offer, Seungmin’s voice intervened with a firm yet caring tone.

“I agree, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a note of unwavering resolve. “You need to eat something after fainting like that. Let’s go inside.”

Seungmin’s tone left no room for argument, the decisiveness of his words compelling you to acquiesce. You sighed softly, nodding in acceptance. The man’s face lit up with a wide grin, clearly pleased by your agreement. With a quick, eager step, he rushed into the restaurant behind you.

Seungmin rose swiftly, brushing off any imaginary dust from his clothes with a swift motion. He extended his hands towards you, his expression one of quiet encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, then grasped his warm hands. The touch was gentle, and a subtle tingle spread through your fingers, a physical reminder of his comforting presence.

Though you felt more stable now, Seungmin’s hands remained hovering near your waist, a silent gesture of support as you made your way inside the restaurant. His protective stance was reassuring, a steadying force guiding you through the threshold.

The restaurant’s interior greeted you with a comforting embrace—a cool respite from the heat outside. The space was warmly lit, with the soft hum of conversation and the tantalizing aroma of food creating a cozy ambiance.

The tantalizing aroma of Korean comfort foods wafted through the air, weaving its way into your senses and causing your stomach to rumble in eager response. Each fragrant note of sizzling meats, simmering stews, and freshly steamed vegetables seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, making you profoundly grateful for both the man's generous offer and Seungmin's insistence.

Seungmin guided you with gentle assurance to a table nestled at the far end of the restaurant, where the hum of conversation was softer and the space felt more intimate. The dim lighting at this secluded spot cast a gentle glow, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He carefully pulled out your chair, his movements measured and considerate, and nudged you forward slightly to ensure you were settled. With a courteous smile, he then made his way around the table, taking his own seat directly across from you.

His smile was a touch awkward, a charming contrast to the seriousness he had shown earlier. He glanced around the room, searching for the man who had so kindly attended to you, only to spot him approaching with a welcoming presence. The man carried a bottle of water and two menus, the promise of nourishment and choice clearly reflected in his hands.

As he reached the table, he placed the items before you with a friendly nod. You accepted the bottle and menus with a grateful bow and a warm smile, your heart swelling with appreciation for his kindness. The bottle of water was cool to the touch, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, while the menus promised a delightful array of dishes.

Seungmin’s gaze softened as he watched you, his concern now mingled with a gentle sense of relief. The atmosphere around you seemed to ease, the initial tension giving way to a shared moment of calm. As you began to peruse the menus, the delicious scents and the comfort of the setting enveloped you, making you feel more at ease and ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of a meal with someone who had shown such unexpected care.

The air between you was thick with awkwardness, a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging in the space after such an intensely personal moment. You busied yourself by fixating on the vibrant images on the menu, using them as a comforting distraction from the lingering embarrassment. Each picture of steaming bowls of soup and colorful plates of food seemed to blur together, a vivid kaleidoscope that kept your eyes occupied and your mind from dwelling on the recent upheaval.

After a period of shared silence, you both placed your orders, the clatter of menus and the murmur of your choices filling the brief lull. There was no longer any barrier between you and the reality of the situation. With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and, in a voice softer than you intended, you managed to say, “Thank you.” Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the table, refusing to meet his gaze, as your cheeks and ears flamed with a blush of sincere embarrassment. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could almost feel his warm, understanding smile directed at you.

“You don’t have to thank me at all,” Seungmin replied, his voice infused with genuine sincerity. “I hope you don’t mind, but I texted the professor to let him know what happened, so he’s aware we won’t be finishing the class with everyone else today.” His words were a pleasant surprise, causing your eyes to widen slightly as you briefly met his gentle gaze. The kindness of his gesture momentarily pierced through your discomfort, but you quickly looked away, your shyness reasserting its hold.

In response to his concern, you offered a grateful nod and a shy smile, the simplest acknowledgments of his thoughtfulness. The question he posed next was gentle, yet it carried an undercurrent of genuine concern. “Do you pass out often?”

At his question, you let out a soft, resigned sigh, the sound almost like a whisper of the weariness you felt. “Sometimes,” you began, your voice barely more than a murmur. “It’s been happening since I was a child, though no one seems to know why. I’ve been checked for things like epilepsy, but they haven’t found anything.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, each syllable revealing a fragment of a long-standing uncertainty.

Seungmin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with a deep, attentive concern as he absorbed each word with tender care. His silence was a soothing balm, a quiet testament to his empathy. As you recalled the moment he had lifted your arms, a question escaped you almost impulsively: “How did you know to lift my arms?”

His initial reaction was one of surprise, his eyes widening as he blinked at your sudden inquiry. But the astonishment quickly softened into a shy, almost hesitant smile. “Oh,” he began, his voice gentle. “My mother also had fainting spells, usually when it was too hot or if she had an injury.” His revelation was accompanied by a look of nostalgia, a subtle hint of the personal connection he felt to the subject.

You were taken aback once more by this shared experience. “Your mother sounds a lot like me,” you responded, your tone light but tinged with genuine reflection. “I also faint for similar reasons—when I’m overheated or emotionally overwhelmed.”

A serene silence settled between you as Seungmin gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes drifting into a distant gaze that spoke of deep, unspoken reflections. The quietude was a gentle cocoon, wrapping around both of you as he lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

You turned your gaze to the window beside you, your eyes tracing the hurried figures moving briskly down the bustling street. Each passerby was a blur of motion and color, a stark contrast to the stillness enveloping your corner of the restaurant. The scene outside seemed almost surreal, a vivid tapestry of urban life against the backdrop of your subdued conversation.

Soon, the soft clinking of dishes announced the return of the man from behind the counter. He placed your meals before you with a warm, welcoming smile, the steam rising from the dishes creating a fragrant mist that made your mouth water in eager anticipation. You bowed in gratitude, your appreciation for the meal palpable in your respectful gesture.

With a mixture of impatience and hunger, you watched him take his first bite, his expression shifting to one of satisfied pleasure. Unable to resist any longer, you dove into your own meal, an involuntary sigh of delight escaping your lips as the flavors danced on your palate. Each bite was a revelation, the taste a symphony of comfort and culinary excellence.

In moments like these, the silence between you and Seungmin felt less like an awkward void and more like a shared, unspoken agreement. The simple act of enjoying a meal together, coupled with the mutual understanding forged through your earlier conversation, made the quiet a soothing presence rather than an uncomfortable gap. The gentle hum of the restaurant’s ambiance and the shared pleasure of the food created a cocoon of calm, transforming the once-unbearable silence into a space of peaceful companionship.

As the last morsels of your meal were savored, a lull settled between you, allowing your mind to finally formulate a conversation starter. You swallowed your bite with a mix of anticipation and nervousness before glancing up at Seungmin. His features were softened in concentration, his gentle demeanor captivating as he focused on the last remnants of his dish.

“So,” you began tentatively, your voice betraying a hint of shyness, “how did you get into photography?” The simple question was laden with curiosity and the desire to connect, and as his eyes met yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Seungmin’s initial silence was a quiet contemplative pause, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a thoughtful intensity before he began to speak. “My grandfather passed away from Alzheimer’s,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. The weight of his words seemed to settle heavily in the space between you, and your heart tightened with a pang of empathy.

He continued, his tone imbued with a delicate sadness. “He always spoke so fondly of my grandmother, who died before I was born. He used to thank her for her love of photography because it helped him hold onto who he was and the life he lived for a long time. To keep his memories vivid, I started taking pictures of everything around me. I had them developed so he could have tangible memories to hold onto—hundreds of photos of myself, my parents, my cousins, but also of the places I cherished: my room, his house, my house…simple, everyday moments that mattered to him.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the significance of his words. You struggled to find the right response, your mind racing to articulate the depth of your feelings. Seungmin’s smile was tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia as he turned his focus back to his meal, leaving you in a space filled with reflection.

After a few moments, you finally found your voice, your tone warm and sincere. “That’s incredibly sweet, Seungmin. I think it was very noble of you to do that for your grandfather.” His response was a soft grin, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink as he swallowed. The sight of his smile, so genuine and heartfelt, made your heart swell with an emotion that was both tender and profound.

In that moment, Seungmin’s vulnerability and kindness transformed your perception of him. The image of his earlier aloofness seemed to fade into a distant memory, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the depth of his character. His quiet grace and the meaningful gesture he shared painted him in a more beautiful light, revealing layers of compassion that drew you closer to him.

As the last remnants of your meal were savored, Seungmin turned his attention to you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “What about you? How did you get into photography?” he inquired, his voice gentle and inviting. You had finished your meal shortly after him, the shared silence now ripe for deeper conversation.

You gave a shy shrug, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I fear my story is not as sweet as yours,” you began, your tone light yet introspective. Seungmin’s playful roll of his eyes and encouraging nod urged you to continue, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” you continued, your gaze drifting as you recall your past, “my mother always bought magazines whenever she went grocery shopping, so our house was filled with stacks and stacks of them.” A nostalgic smile crossed your face as you painted a picture of your childhood. “I remember being a child, endlessly flipping through those magazines whenever boredom set in. I would get lost in the pages, captivated by the photographs. They seemed to tell stories of their own, each image a window into a world I found enchanting.”

Your voice grew softer, imbued with a gentle warmth as you shared how that fascination evolved. “One day, I decided to try my hand at capturing my own moments, inspired by those images I loved so much. What started as a simple curiosity quickly became a cherished hobby. The camera became a means for me to explore and create, and somehow, it just stuck with me.”

As you finished, you looked up to find Seungmin’s eyes still fixed on you, his expression a blend of interest and appreciation. The connection you felt through the shared conversation seemed to deepen, the personal stories weaving a tapestry of understanding and mutual respect. In the dim light of the restaurant, the simple act of sharing your paths through photography brought a new layer of intimacy to your budding friendship, making the quiet moments between you all the more meaningful.

“I think it’s cute,” Seungmin remarked with a lighthearted chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. The unexpected compliment made your cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, a mix of surprise and shyness coloring your reaction.

“You’re a good photographer, by the way,” he added, his eyes twinkling with sincere praise.

The words hung in the air like a soft melody, but you couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I’ve made it to the professor’s top five favorites only twice since I joined his class last year. You’re always the one receiving accolades for your work, which, I must admit, are truly remarkable.”

Seungmin’s gaze remained steady, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I think it’s a bit unfair for you to view it that way,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “The whole idea of being in someone’s top five is a flawed measure of talent. It’s based on one person’s subjective preferences and doesn’t truly reflect our abilities. While I’m grateful for the recognition, I’ve seen your photos and always found them to be exceptional.”

He continued, his words flowing with thoughtful consideration. “You have a remarkable skill for capturing unique subjects in their most authentic form. It’s a talent to reveal their essence so clearly, especially within the constraints of our assignments. It’s something I find quite impressive and not easy to achieve.”

The sincerity in Seungmin’s voice, combined with his unwavering gaze, made your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and admiration. The conversation took on a new layer of depth, as his words not only offered comfort but also illuminated a newfound appreciation for your own work. In the softly lit restaurant, amidst the lingering aroma of your meal, his encouragement created a warm and supportive atmosphere, allowing you to see your art through a more appreciative lens.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks, a vivid response to the cascade of compliments from Seungmin. The praise seemed to flutter around you like soft, golden leaves in the breeze, making your face flush a deep crimson. Seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, you allowed your gaze to wander towards the window, where the sun was gently descending, casting a golden hue over the city.

“Oh,” you began, your voice tinged with an innocent attempt to redirect the conversation. “How long have we been here? The sun is setting.” The urgency in your tone was barely concealed, and Seungmin, following your gaze, glanced out with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the fading light and chuckled softly.

“I should probably start heading home,” you continued, a note of unease threading through your voice. “I don’t like walking home alone at night.” The admission was laced with a quiet vulnerability, and as you spoke, you could feel the familiar pang of anxiety gnawing at you.

Seungmin’s head turned sharply towards you, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s no problem at all.”

A playful back-and-forth ensued as you and Seungmin debated the offer of him walking you home. Despite your initial reluctance, a sense of acceptance settled over you, allowing you to concede to his persistent kindness. You attempted to settle the bill for your meal, but the generous man from earlier refused with a warm, unwavering smile. Even when Seungmin stepped in to offer payment, the man remained steadfast in his refusal. In the end, you both left a generous tip, a token of your gratitude for his exceptional kindness.

With the bill settled and the evening stretching out before you, you and Seungmin began your walk towards your apartment building. The path was bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk, casting long shadows and a serene glow over the city streets. As you strolled side by side, the conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and lighthearted banter.

The initial stiffness gradually melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease and camaraderie. It was genuinely delightful to witness this side of Seungmin—a side that seemed to elude the confines of your shared photography class. His laughter, his thoughtful insights, and the warmth of his presence revealed a depth of character that was both refreshing and endearing.

In the gentle embrace of the evening, as the city lights began to twinkle like distant stars, the walk became more than just a journey home. It was a moment of genuine connection, a rare and cherished glimpse into Seungmin’s world, which felt like an honor to experience.

Eventually, you find yourself standing before the gleaming glass doors that lead into the lobby of your apartment building. The weight of the day’s end settles upon you, a bittersweet twinge in your chest as you come to terms with the departure of this unexpectedly pleasant companionship. The evening air, cool and gently perfumed with the scent of blooming night flowers, wraps around you both as you pause at the threshold.

Seungmin, his hands casually tucked into the front pockets of his jacket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The motion, coupled with his contemplative gaze, creates a picture of relaxed anticipation. His presence, so close to yours, carries a sense of warmth and quiet intimacy.

“This is me,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper, blending with the stillness of the evening. You turn to face him fully, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking care of me earlier. I’m really happy you were there.”

His response is a smile—genuine and radiant—that lights up his features and seems to fill the space between you with a comforting glow. Your heart swells at the sight, an involuntary smile curving your lips in return. Seungmin’s eyes hold a tender seriousness as he speaks. “Please take it easy, rest all that you can,” he advises, his concern palpable in his tone.

You nod in agreement, the sincerity of his words resonate deeply with you. The air between you feels charged with unspoken sentiments, a silent understanding blossoming amidst the dimming light. “It was really nice to spend time with you,” he continues, his admission eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

“I had a really nice time with you too,” you reply, your voice imbued with genuine warmth. “Maybe we can do it again sometime soon—without me having to pass out for it.”

At your light-hearted comment, Seungmin laughs—a sound that is both musical and contagious. The laughter bubbles up between you, mingling with the evening air, and you find yourself laughing along, the shared moment creating a lingering sense of joy.

As you part ways, the memory of his smile and the warmth of his laughter accompany you, leaving a soft, lingering glow in your heart that makes the end of this day feel less like a farewell and more like a promise of things to come.

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @mrsjohnnysuh @your-favorite-god

King’s Landing looms ahead, the sprawling city spread out beneath you like a sprawling beast, its narrow, twisting streets a maze of stone and shadow. Silverwing soars above it all, her powerful wings beating against the wind, her silver scales gleaming in the midday sun. The Sept below, a vast and imposing structure of pale stone and stained glass, stands as a symbol of the Faith’s influence—a symbol that is about to be obliterated.

You guide Silverwing down, your heart a steady, unyielding beat in your chest. The wind whips past you, carrying the distant sounds of the city—cries of alarm, the tolling of bells, the shouts of people fleeing as your shadow falls over them. You can feel Silverwing’s anticipation, the simmering rage that mirrors your own as she descends, her massive form casting a dark shadow over the grand edifice.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, the word a deadly promise, a sentence of destruction.

Silverwing’s roar splits the air, a sound of pure, unbridled fury. Her jaws open wide, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing wave of heat and fire that engulfs the Sept. The stained glass windows shatter in an explosion of color and sound, shards raining down as the stone walls crack and blacken under the onslaught. The air is filled with the acrid stench of burning wood and melting metal, the screams of those inside drowned out by the roar of the flames.

You guide Silverwing lower, her claws tearing into the roof as she lands, the stone buckling and crumbling beneath her weight. The flames surge around you, the heat searing, the smoke rising in thick, choking plumes. Below, the once grand interior of the Sept is a blazing inferno, the pews and altars consumed by the relentless fire, the sacred tapestries reduced to ash.

Silverwing roars again, a fierce, triumphant sound, and you raise your sword, the blade gleaming in the light of the fire, a symbol of your wrath, your vengeance. “This is what you deserve!” you shout, your voice carrying over the roar of the flames, the destruction. “This is the price of betrayal!”

The city watches in stunned silence, the flames casting eerie, dancing shadows over the rooftops and walls. The Sept, once a place of worship and power, is now a blazing ruin, the Faith’s hold over the city crumbling to ash.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings beating against the smoke-filled air as she rises above the burning structure. Below, the flames continue to rage, the fire spreading, the screams of those trapped inside a haunting counterpoint to the crackling of the inferno.

Your gaze sweeps over the city, taking in the chaos, the panic. This is your city now. The city that once a cheered for you now screams. And you will drive every last remnant of the Faith from it, root and stem, until not even a whisper of their influence remains. And they will scream more.

With a final, defiant roar, Silverwing turns, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoldering ruins, back toward the Red Keep, where the rest of this grim play is set to unfold.

Within the high, forbidding walls of the Red Keep, the atmosphere is charged, every face pale, every movement edged with fear. Rhaenyra strides through the corridors, her presence a storm of barely contained fury. Daemon walks beside her, his expression that of cold determination, Dark Sister at his hip, ready for whatever comes.

They reach the throne room, the doors swinging open with a heavy, echoing thud. Inside, Aegon sits slumped on the Iron Throne, his crown askew, his face drawn and haggard. Alicent stands before him, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Beside her, Helaena clutches her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over them, her eyes hard, unyielding. She steps forward, her voice ringing out clear and cold. “It’s over, Aegon. The city is ours.”

Aegon lets out a bitter, broken laugh, his head dropping back against the cold metal of the throne. “Is it?” he mutters, his voice filled with a hollow mockery. “You have the city, but at what cost?”

Rhaenyra ignores him, her attention shifting to Alicent, who takes a shaky step forward, her face taut with desperation. “Please, Rhaenyra,” she begins, her voice trembling, her eyes pleading. “For the sake of my children, for my grandchildren—”

“It’s not up to me,” Rhaenyra cuts her off, her voice sharp, final. “I am not the one who will decide their fate.”

Alicent blinks, confusion and fear flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze is steady, unyielding. “It is for my brother-husband to decide. He will decide their fate as he decides the fate of those who betrayed him, who crowned you king in his place.”

Alicent’s face drains of color, her hands trembling. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “You must stop him. He’ll destroy us all.”

Rhaenyra’s expression doesn’t change, her eyes hard and cold. “He’s finishing what he started. He’s driving the Faith from this city, from his throne. And when he’s done, he’ll come here. And then we’ll see what justice is to be done.”

Daemon steps forward, his gaze locked on Aegon, his voice low, edged with menace. “You thought you could steal the throne, and there would be no price?”

Aegon’s eyes meet his uncle’s, a flicker of defiance in their depths, but it’s weak, hollow. “What would you have me do?” he mutters, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Kneel?”

Daemon’s smile is a thin, dangerous thing. “It’s too late for that, boy.”

The room is silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all. Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her hands clutching at her skirts as she looks from Rhaenyra to Daemon, her voice trembling. “Please… please, I’m begging you…”

Rhaenyra turns away, her expression closed, unreadable. “It’s out of my hands.”

And as the tension thickens, as the silence stretches, you can feel it—the storm building, the moment before the strike, before everything changes forever.

And soon, very soon, the fate of King’s Landing will be sealed in blood and fire.

The heavy, iron-studded doors to the throne room creak open, the sound echoing through the vast, silent space. You stride in, your armor stained with soot and ash, the scent of smoke clinging to you like a second skin. The flames from the Sept still linger in your eyes, a searing, fierce light that draws the gaze of everyone in the room.

Rhaenyra and Daemon stand at the base of the Iron Throne, their faces a mixture of relief and resolve as they watch your approach. Behind them, Alicent and her children are gathered, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance. Aegon sits slouched on the Iron Throne, his face pale, his eyes hollow, his fingers drumming nervously against the armrests.

In your hands, held with reverence despite the blood and grime that stain your gloves, is the crown of Visenya Targaryen, its silver and black jewels gleaming dully in the low light of the throne room. You come to a stop before Rhaenyra, your heart steady, your gaze locked on hers.

“Rhaenyra,” you say, your voice carrying through the stillness. “I found this in the ruins of the Sept.”

Her eyes widen, the breath catching in her throat as she stares at the crown, a mix of sorrow and pride flickering across her face. You step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you raise the crown, placing it gently upon her head. The cold metal settles against her brow, the weight of it a testament to her birthright, to her strength.

“For you, my Queen,” you murmur, your voice filled with a fierce, unyielding love. “For Visenya.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes shine with unshed tears, her hand lifting to touch the crown lightly, her gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “For everything.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a fierce, protective pride, and then your gaze shifts, your eyes hardening as they fall on Aegon, still slumped on the Iron Throne. He looks up at you, his face tightening with fear, his body shrinking back as if trying to meld with the twisted metal of the seat.

You take a step forward, your gaze locked on Aegon, the silence in the room crackling with tension. Aegon’s eyes dart around wildly, his fingers gripping the armrests of the throne so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Brother,” he begins, his voice wavering, but whatever words he’s trying to find seem to choke in his throat.

You ignore him, your steps slow, deliberate, your gaze never wavering. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, the air thick with fear and anticipation.

Alicent moves suddenly, her face stricken, tears brimming in her eyes as she steps into your path, her hands outstretched, a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please,” she begs, her voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t do this. I know… I know there’s still a part of you left from when we were young. I know you remember.”

You pause, your eyes meeting hers. There’s a flicker of something—an old memory, a distant echo of a time when things were simpler, when you were different people. But it’s buried beneath the weight of all that has happened, beneath the anger and the loss that have shaped you into the man you are now.

Your gaze shifts past her, to where Helaena stands, clutching her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked. The sight of them tugs at something deep inside you, but it’s not enough to sway you, not enough to pull you back from the path you’ve chosen.

“Step aside, Alicent,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though there’s a dark edge to it, a finality that sends a shudder through her. “This is not your choice.”

Alicent’s face crumples, her hands trembling as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, her voice breaking. “Please… they’re just children. He’s your brother.”

You pull away, your eyes hardening as you push past her, your steps sure, your gaze fixed on Aegon. The athmosphere in the room is suffocating, every breath a struggle as you ascend the steps toward the Iron Throne, your heart pounding with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

Aegon stares at you, his expression set in fear and confusion, his mouth working soundlessly as he tries to find words, to find some defense against the storm bearing down on him.

“Please, brother,” he finally whispers, his voice breaking, his body hunched as if to shield himself from your wrath. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted any of this.”

You stop before him, your eyes cold, unyielding. “And yet you took it,” you say softly, the words heavy with all the bitterness, all the betrayal that has brought you to this moment. “You took what wasn’t yours.”

Aegon’s face crumples, his body trembling as he shrinks back, his eyes wide with terror. “I was pushed… they made me—”

“No more excuses,” you cut him off, your voice a sharp, unforgiving blade. “You took the crown, you took my throne, and now you will face the consequences.”

The room is silent, the air thick with the weight of what’s to come. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, can feel the fear and hope and anger swirling around you like a living thing.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you reach out, your hand closing around the armrest of the Iron Throne, your gaze never leaving Aegon’s.

“It ends here,” you say, your voice steady, implacable. “The time of the usurper is over.”

The silence that follows in the throne room is suffocating, each breath held in a suspended, uneasy stillness. Aegon sits rigid on the Iron Throne, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests, his eyes darting around the room, fear and confusion written across his pale face. Alicent remains frozen, her expression stricken, Helaena clutching her children, their soft sobs echoing in the stillness.

You turn away from Aegon, your voice carrying a calm, implacable authority as you speak to the guards positioned around the chamber. “Take them to their chambers,” you order, your tone brooking no dissent. “They are to remain there, under watch, until I decide their fate.”

Aegon’s breath leaves him in a shuddering exhale, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen upon them. He looks up at you, his expression a twisted mix of relief and resignation. “Thank you…” he murmurs, his voice trembling, but you ignore him, your gaze already moving to the next battle ahead.

Daemon steps forward, his presence a looming shadow of grim determination. “Aemond is still at Harrenhal,” he says, his voice carrying the barest hint of a challenge, his eyes fixed on yours.

You nod, your mind already racing ahead, the thought of your younger brother a burning coal in your chest. “I’ll deal with him,” you say, your voice steady, your resolve unyielding.

Daemon’s eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “You almost died last time,” he reminds you, his voice hard, his concern thinly veiled behind a mask of irritation. “You know what Vhagar is capable of. Let me go. I’ll handle Aemond.”

“No,” you say firmly, your gaze meeting his, a silent, fierce determination in your eyes. “I need you here, Daemon. To hold the city, to keep order. If anything happens to me…” You let the words hang, the unspoken possibilities stretching between you.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes searching yours, his mouth tightening with frustration. “You’re risking everything,” he says quietly, the words almost lost in the cavernous silence of the room. “There’s no telling what that mad dog will do. You need to think this through.”

“I have thought it through,” you reply, your voice a low, controlled burn. “Aemond won’t stop. He’ll keep coming, keep fighting, until one of us is dead. This has to end. And it has to end now.”

The room seems to close in around you, the weight of your decision pressing down, the air thick with tension. You can see the worry in Daemon’s eyes, the anger, the fear he’s trying so hard to hide. But you also know he understands—better than anyone—the cost of inaction, the price of hesitation.

He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking away, his jaw clenching. “And if you die?”

“Then you’ll do what you have to,” you say, your voice softening, the edge of command giving way to something deeper, something raw. “You’ll protect Rhaenyra, the children, the throne. You’ll finish what we started.”

Daemon’s eyes snap back to yours, his expression fierce, almost defiant. “You’re not dying,” he says, the words a low, harsh growl. “Not like this. Not to him.”

You reach out, gripping his shoulder, the contact solid, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” you promise, a ghost of a smile touching your lips. “But this ends now.”

He looks at you for a long moment, the storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes, and then, with a reluctant nod, he steps back, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “But if you come back with so much as a scratch, I’ll kill you myself.”

You chuckle softly, the sound incongruous in the tense, heavy air of the throne room. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With a final glance around the chamber, your gaze lingering on Rhaenyra, who stands watching, her eyes dark with worry and understanding, you turn and stride from the room, your steps echoing through the silence, the weight of what you must do settling on your shoulders like a shroud.

This is it. The final move in a game that has cost so much, that has left so many scars. You know what you must do, what must be done to end this. To bring peace, or at least, something resembling it, to the realm.

And as you step into the cool, shadowed corridors of the Red Keep, the roar of dragons echoing faintly in the distance, you let yourself feel, just for a moment, the fear, the uncertainty. And then you push it aside, your heart steady, your mind clear.

This will end. One way or another, it will end.

The sky above the God’s Eye is a vast expanse of dark clouds, roiling and churning like the surface of the lake below. The air is filled with the promise of rain, the scent of the storm mingling with the tang of smoke and ash still clinging to your armor. Silverwing’s powerful wings beat rhythmically beneath you, carrying you higher, closer to the heart of the approaching tempest. You know what awaits you in the storm—Aemond, Vhagar, and the final reckoning that has been a long time coming.

You spot them in the distance, a dark silhouette against the storm clouds, Vhagar’s enormous form dwarfing even the vastness of the sky. She is a beast of legend, her wings stretching wide, her body coiled with lethal strength, and Aemond, perched atop her back, is a small, dark figure, his gaze already fixed on you, even from this distance. The sight sends a surge of anger through you, but you force yourself to remain calm, focused. This is what you came for. This is how it must end.

Silverwing roars, her voice a defiant challenge that echoes across the skies, carrying through the thick, stormy air. She pulls back her wings, gaining altitude as you approach, your gaze locked on the monstrous form of Vhagar, her ancient eyes gleaming with a dark, terrible intelligence. Aemond’s face is set into grimace of rage and something else—anticipation, a fierce hunger for the battle he knows is inevitable.

You draw Blackfyre, the blade heavy and familiar in your hand, the dark steel gleaming in the flickering light of the approaching storm. The wind whips around you, tearing at your cloak, but you hold steady, your focus narrowing to the task ahead, to the fight that will determine everything.

“Come on, Aemond,” you mutter under your breath, your voice swallowed by the wind, the storm. “Let’s end this.”

Silverwing surges forward, her wings cutting through the air with a powerful beat, her body coiling and tensing, ready for the clash. Vhagar responds with a deafening roar, her jaws snapping open, flames licking the edges of her teeth as she dives toward you, her massive form a terrifying sight against the darkened sky.

“Dracarys!” Aemond’s voice carries across the distance, his command a whipcrack of fury, and Vhagar unleashes a torrent of flame, the searing heat turning the air around you into a furnace.

“Dive!” you shout, leaning forward, urging Silverwing into a sharp, gut-wrenching descent. She responds instantly, her body twisting and folding as she drops, the flames barely missing you, scorching the air above your head. The force of the dive tears at you, your vision narrowing as the ground rushes up to meet you, but you hold on, gritting your teeth against the pull of gravity, the force of the descent.

Silverwing levels out, her wings beating furiously as she skims the surface of the God’s Eye, the water churning beneath her, the spray dampening your face. You glance up, your gaze tracking Vhagar as she follows, her massive body plummeting toward you, a dark shadow against the storm.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings straining as she climbs, spiraling upward, the water spinning away beneath you. Vhagar follows, her roars shaking the air, her massive form closing in, her claws outstretched, her jaws snapping. You twist in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade catching the dim light, a stark contrast against the darkness of the sky.

Aemond’s face is a mask of fury, his eye blazing with hatred as Vhagar closes the distance, her jaws snapping at Silverwing’s tail, her breath hot and foul. You can feel the heat of her flames, the searing intensity of her rage, but you don’t flinch, your focus locked on Aemond, on the end that is coming.

“Is this what you wanted, brother?” you shout, your voice raw, your words a challenge thrown into the wind, the storm. “Is this the price you’re willing to pay?”

Aemond’s laughter is a harsh, jagged sound, echoing through the storm. “You’ll die here, just like you should have above the Storm’s End,” he snarls, his voice filled with a cold, pitiless fury. “You’ll fall, and your family will burn.”

You grit your teeth, your anger surging, the fury of his words igniting something deep and primal within you. “Not today, Aemond,” you growl, your grip tightening on Blackfyre. “Not today.”

Silverwing roars, her voice a furious, defiant challenge, and she dives again, her body twisting, her wings folding as she drops beneath Vhagar, the wind whistling around you, the ground a blur beneath your feet. You shift in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade gleaming darkly as you aim, your heart pounding, your mind clear.

“Dracarys!” you shout, your voice a command, a promise.

Silverwing’s jaws open, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing, blinding wave of fire that engulfs Vhagar’s side, the heat of it turning the air to steam, the sound of it a deafening roar that drowns out everything. Vhagar roars, her body turning, her claws slashing through the air, but Silverwing is already moving, her wings beating powerfully as she pulls away, the flames still licking at Vhagar’s scales.

Aemond curses, his voice a harsh, guttural sound, and Vhagar lunges, her massive jaws snapping, her claws tearing at the air. Silverwing twists again, her body coiling, her wings beating furiously as she dodges, her movements fluid and graceful despite the size difference.

You see the opening, a fleeting moment where Vhagar’s massive body shifts, exposing Aemond, his face twisted with rage and frustration. You don’t hesitate, your hand steady as you raise Blackfyre, the blade poised, your heart a steady, unyielding beat.

“This is for my son you wanted to slay!” you roar, your voice carrying over the storm, over the chaos of the battle, and you hurl yourself from the saddle, the wind tearing at you, your body hurtling toward Aemond, Blackfyre gleaming in your hand.

Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to this single moment, this final, irrevocable act. You see the flash of shock in Aemond’s eye, the sudden, dawning realization as you close the distance, your blade aimed straight for his heart.

Blackfyre strikes true, the blade piercing Aemond’s armor, sinking deep into his chest. His eye widens, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his body jerking as the steel drives home. The impact knocks you both from the saddle, Vhagar’s roar of fury and pain a deafening, all-encompassing sound as you fall, the wind tearing at you, the world spinning in a dizzying blur.

You feel Aemond’s body convulse beneath you, his blood hot and slick on your hands, his eye staring up at you, wide and uncomprehending. There is no more hate, no more fury—only shock, only pain, only the cold inevitability of death.

The water of the God’s Eye rushes up to meet you, a dark, churning expanse, and you feel the impact, the icy cold engulfing you, pulling you down, down into the depths. You hold on to Blackfyre, the blade still buried in Aemond’s chest, the weight of him dragging you both down, the world fading to black around you.

And then, there is nothing but the cold, and the dark, and the silence of the deep.

An Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn

The Reign of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and the Aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons

With the death of Y/N Targaryen, eldest son of King Viserys I, in the skies above the God’s Eye, the Dance of the Dragons reached its final, bloody crescendo. His confrontation with his half-brother, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and the destruction that followed their deadly clash, marked the beginning of the end for the bitter war that had torn the realm asunder. Yet, the consequences of his life and actions would continue to ripple through Westeros for generations to come.

Rhaenyra’s Reign and Legacy

Following her husband’s death, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen held the Iron Throne, her claim uncontested for a time, though her rule was fraught with tension and unrest. The death of King Y/N left her heartbroken and enraged, but she remained resolute in her determination to rule in his memory. Rhaenyra's reign, while short-lived, was marked by a period of brutal consolidation of power.

The destruction of Oldtown, the ancient seat of the Hightowers, and the burning of the Citadel sent shockwaves throughout the realm. The loss of so many maesters and the destruction of centuries of knowledge left a scar that would never truly heal. The Faith of the Seven, deeply weakened by the annihilation of their central seat of power, was forced into a position of subservience, the remnants of their once formidable influence shattered.

For years, Rhaenyra ruled with an iron fist, her sons—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys—by her side. It was said that she kept Visenya’s crown close, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the blood spilled for her throne.

The Fate of Prince Daemon Targaryen

After the tragic death of King Y/N Targaryen above the God’s Eye, Prince Daemon Targaryen, his uncle and closest confidant, was left to navigate the aftermath of the war that had claimed so many lives. Known as the Rogue Prince, Daemon’s life was marked by bold decisions, fierce loyalty, and unyielding ambition. The loss of his nephew and the violent end to their shared struggle left an indelible mark on the man who had once been the scourge of the Stepstones and the terror of Oldtown.

Daemon's Role in the Aftermath

With Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, Daemon took up the mantle of protector and enforcer of her reign. As the queen’s most trusted general, he was tasked with maintaining the tenuous peace that had settled over the realm. His presence in King’s Landing, commanding the loyalty of the City Watch and wielding the fearsome authority of his dragon, Caraxes, kept potential dissenters at bay. Despite his age, he remained a formidable figure, his sharp mind and ruthless disposition ensuring that no one dared openly challenge Rhaenyra’s rule.

Daemon's ruthlessness in quelling rebellion, particularly in the aftermath of the war, became a source of both fear and respect. He was instrumental in crushing the remnants of Green loyalists and those who still harbored sympathies for the late Aegon II. His actions were decisive and often brutal, his reputation for dealing harshly with any who threatened his family solidifying his position as Rhaenyra’s enforcer.

The Decline of Daemon Targaryen

As the years passed, the fire that had driven Daemon began to wane. The loss of his nephew and brother-in-arms, combined with the weight of his own advancing age, left him increasingly isolated. Those close to the prince spoke of his growing melancholy, a shadow of regret that seemed to haunt him. The Rogue Prince, once so full of life and passion, began to withdraw from the court and the world he had helped shape.

In his later years, Daemon spent more time at Dragonstone, where he had first made his mark as a young prince. He took solace in the company of his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, and in the memories of his lost loves and lost battles. The fiery spirit that had once driven him to lead men into battle, to carve out his own kingdom in the Stepstones, and to burn Oldtown to the ground in vengeance, seemed to flicker and fade.

The Final Flight of the Rogue Prince

It is said that in the end, Daemon’s last act was one of defiance, an echo of the man he had always been. Mounting Caraxes one final time, he took to the skies above Dragonstone, his dragon’s roars echoing over the island. Where he flew and why is the subject of much speculation among the chroniclers of the time. Some say he flew to the site of the God’s Eye, the place where his nephew had fallen, seeking some form of peace or perhaps simply to rage one last time against the cruel hand of fate.

Others whisper that he flew west, to the lands beyond the Sunset Sea, chasing some distant, unreachable dream. Whatever his final destination, Prince Daemon Targaryen was never seen again in Westeros. Caraxes, too, vanished from the skies, leaving only rumors and legends in his wake.

The Fate of Alicent Hightower and Her Children

After the fall of King’s Landing, Dowager Queen Alicent and her remaining children were confined to their quarters in the Red Keep under constant watch. It was here that the woman who had once been the power behind the throne slowly withered away. Alicent, stripped of her influence and wracked with grief over the loss of her son Aemond and the destruction of her ancestral home, spent her remaining days in isolation, her pleas for mercy unanswered by Rhaenyra.

Aegon II, who had briefly held the Iron Throne, was imprisoned and remained a shadow of his former self. The torments of his mind, compounded by the separation of his dragon Sunfyre and the crushing weight of defeat, left him broken. He spent his final years in a gilded cage, watched over by guards who once knelt before him as their king. His life ended quietly, his body found cold in his chambers, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror resting beside him—untouched and unworn.

Helaena Targaryen, gentle and soft-spoken, was spared much of the cruelty that befell her mother and brother. Allowed to live out her days in the Red Keep, she devoted herself to her children, her love for them a rare light in those dark days. She passed peacefully, though some whispered of a sorrow that had never left her eyes since the day the dragons came.

Daeron Targaryen, the youngest and only survivor of the old king’s sons, was missing for years after the fall of Oldtown and the death of his dragon Tessarion. It was rumored that he had fled to Essos, the scars of war etched deeply into his heart. He never returned to Westeros, and his fate remains one of the many mysteries left in the wake of the Dance.

The Legacy of King Y/N Targaryen

The war on the Faith waged by King Y/N forever altered the relationship between the Iron Throne and the Seven. The destruction of the Starry Sept and the Citadel not only broke the Hightower’s influence but also diminished the power of the Faith of the Seven to challenge the Crown. His brutal campaign, while criticized by many as an act of barbarism, effectively cowed those who might otherwise have stood against Targaryen rule in the name of the Seven.

The maesters of the Citadel, decimated and scattered, struggled for years to rebuild. The loss of so many records and the erasure of much of their accumulated knowledge left a void that could never truly be filled. The Citadel became more cautious, its influence waning as the memory of dragonfire over Oldtown haunted its halls.

The smallfolk, left in the ashes of their burned city, spoke of King Y/N with a mixture of fear and reverence. He was both the dragon who had laid their homes to waste and the warrior who had avenged his daughter, Visenya. His legacy, like his life, was marked by fire and blood, his name etched into the annals of history as one of the most ruthless yet undeniably effective Targaryen princes.

The Line of Succession

After Rhaenyra’s death, her eldest son, Jacaerys Targaryen, ascended the Iron Throne as King Jacaerys I Targaryen. His reign, though challenged by those loyal to the memory of Aegon II, was one of relative stability. He was known for his efforts to heal the scars left by the Dance and to restore the fractured realm his parents had fought so fiercely to claim.

King Lucerys, Jacaerys' younger brother, succeeded him, and his rule was marked by a more peaceful consolidation of the Targaryen legacy, though his life was overshadowed by the tragedies of his youth. The remaining brothers, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys, played significant roles in the court, their presence ensuring that the Targaryen line remained unbroken, their family ties unassailable.

Conclusion

The Dance of the Dragons left the realm scarred and divided, the shadow of the conflict lingering long after the final dragons had vanished from the skies. Yet, it also forged a new era, one in which the Targaryen dynasty emerged both weakened and strengthened, their hold on the throne unchallenged but their losses incalculable.

The legacy of King Y/N Targaryen, his war against the Faith, and the burning of Oldtown remain topics of fierce debate among the maesters and lords of Westeros. Was he a tyrant, a madman driven by grief, or the necessary fire that cleansed the rot from the realm? Perhaps he was all these things, and more.

But one truth remains unchallenged: the fire he unleashed, the blood he spilled, and the throne he fought to defend shaped the destiny of the Seven Kingdoms, and the echoes of his actions will reverberate through the histories of Westeros for generations to come.

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