#ali's fanfic

[thefreshprinceofjunes]

soriku endgame: an imagining

OKAY WELL HERE IT IS

TEN WHOLE PAGES OF HOW SORIKU ENDGAME MIGHT ACTUALLY PLAY OUT

i was rewatching vin play RE2 and fsr this invaded my thoughts and wouldnt leave

this is barely proofread and i reused a lot of the same words/phrases BUT its just meant to be an outline/abridged version so keep that in mind

(if i got any lore wrong tho pls let me know)

btw if you dont want to read this on tumblr for whatever reason, heres a link to the google doc

note: this is going off the assumption MoM saw everything (or at least everything soriku) through the gazing eye

scene is quadratum probably. master of masters (or whoever the bad guy in kh4 is) has sora and riku caught in a bad situation (for temporary visuals im picturing something similar to the dark guardian restraining aqua and ven in kh3)

sora and riku are struggling to break free, while the MoM just laughs. some kh dramatic banter occurs, before MoM changes the subject and starts monologuing (with sora and riku probably interjecting here and there)

MoM: [to sora] you still havent figured it out yet, have you?

MoM: dont you ever wonder why rikus heart holds as vast of a darkness as it does?

MoM: its not because of jealousy, or ansem, or even his desire for strength since you were children.

MoM: no, its much simpler than that.

MoM: remember that dream you had, sora? before the islands were destroyed?

MoM: there was a voice speaking to you, from deep within your heart:

MoM: 'the closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes.'

MoM: well, the road goes both ways, kid. the deepest of darknesses can only come from the brightest of lights.

sora: wh-what are you saying?

MoM: its been in front of all along, but you were too blind to see it.

cut to voiceless flashbacks of all the times sora encountered the brightest light: when receiving the keyblade, when almost pulled out of sleep by the memory of aqua on DI, during the dive to heart at the beginning of kh3 (assuming it really happened and wasnt just for gameplay purposes), and after using the power of waking at the KBG (the tunnel scene)

sora looks at riku, then back at MoM. riku is grimacing.

sora: that… that was… that was rikus light?

MoM: bingo!

MoM: but theres even more to it than that.

MoM: theres another force of power in this universe that keeps light and dark in harmony

sora: another…?

MoM: you feel an unfathomable depth of it in your heart for, well, pretty much everyone youve ever met.

MoM: what lies in rikus heart, however, comes from the same place, but is also very, very different. its something you claim to not understand, even though youve encountered it many times during your adventures.

rikus eyes widen and he tries to interject, but the MoM physically stops him; sora calls out for him

MoM: its more than just friendship. its hearts that are really, truly connected between two people.

MoM: think about it. think about all the times when everything seemed hopeless, but something, something, kept the bad guys from winning. it wasnt light.

cut to voiceless flashbacks between many of the disney couples sora has met: the beast arriving at hollow bastion out of sheer force of will in his search for belle, flynn sacrificing himself for rapunzel and her tears bringing him back to life (some shit with will/elizabeth and sam/quorra too maybe idk), and finally, herc gaining his strength back as he rescues megara from styx, followed by herc saying, 'people always do crazy things when theyre in love.'

sora stares ahead at nothing in particular, before wincing in pain; suddenly, a forgotten memory surfaces in his mind (if the convo with NS confirms he hasnt completely forgotten, then its the key details that have been missing):

rikus sacrifice in the KBG

riku calls out for him and struggles, but MoM just laughs so more.

MoM: there, now its coming back to you. and that wasnt the only time riku sacrificed everything for you, yknow, although it was probably the most heroic instance. remember him taking on ansems form to beat roxas? and his dive into your heart to wake you from slumber, despite the tremendous danger? you only met her briefly, but one of the princesses of heart experienced something very similar.

MoM: aurora. maleficent placed a curse on her when she was a baby, causing the princess and the rest of the kingdom to fall into a deep sleep on her 16th birthday. but the heir to a nearby kingdom, prince phillip, valiantly fought his way to the castle, and woke up the sleeping beauty– through a kiss. a kiss, of true… 

MoM trails off and looks at riku, then back at sora, expectantly. riku is still struggling to free himself before the truth is revealed, but its no use.

sora stares off again, before looking MoM in the eyes.

sora: … love…?

MoM does jazz hands and poses.

MoM: ding ding ding ding! we have a winner! it only took you, what, 12, 13 years to figure it out? honestly, i just couldnt stand watching it go on for any longer.

MoM: but, hey, i still have my honor. if im wrong, im more than happy to apologize.

MoM turns to riku then.

MoM: well? am i wrong, riku?

riku doesnt respond, and MoM sighs dramatically.

MoM: still no answer? okay, guess well have to do this the hard way.

MoM starts hurting sora, causing him to cry out in pain while riku watches helplessly 

MoM: come on, riku! do it! use your true strength! unleash the power hidden within your heart!

sora gasps and winces, barely getting out rikus name 

suddenly, theres a bright flash of pink energy (maybe rikus eyes also turn dream eater pink too?)

(if the power of love is too cheesy even for kh, then maybe its a black and white darkness/light combo attack)

riku breaks free of whatever MoM did to him, and then channels the energy through his arm, blasting it through soras restraints.

unfortunately, sora was being held in the air, and starts to fall– but in the blink of eye, riku is there to catch him in his arms.

MoM laughs in triumph and draws back slightly.

MoM: there we go!

MoM then shrugs.

MoM: well, this was fun, but ive got places to be. and im sure you two have a lot to talk about. toodles!

MoM disappears, leaving sora and riku in stunned silence.

after a moment, riku sets sora down and turns away from him, avoiding soras gaze.

sora meanwhile takes a second to catch his breath, before staring at riku with wide eyes.

sora: r… riku… is… is that...? is that really… how you feel?

riku clenches his fists at his sides and stays turned away. after a pause, he responds.

riku: … even if it is, it doesnt matter.

sora: what do you mean?

riku: i know… im not the one for you.

riku takes a deep breath.

riku: … when you were put to sleep for a year to fix your memories, some of them found their way into xion. they happened to be your most important memories– the ones you couldnt wake up without.

riku: those… were your memories of kairi. and xion took on her appearance because of them.

sora is stunned, only having been vaguely made aware of what happened in that year.

sora: k… kairi?

riku nods solemnly.

riku: yeah. and the only reason your memories got messed with in the first place is because the organization forced namine to make herself the person most important to you, instead of kairi.

sora pauses.

sora: you mean… castle oblivion.

riku nods again.

sora watches, before feeling a pain in his heart and grabbing at his chest instinctively.

underneath his hand, he can feel the cold metal of his crown necklace.

and thats when it finally clicks.

everything blurs, and theres a sudden rush of memories.

(maybe a memory sequence that you actually play through?)

sora, holding kairis wayfinder in castle oblivion. suddenly, the memory gets static-y, like during soras memory restoration.

cut to namine confessing to sora shes not the girl he cares about– but every time the word is feminine, its distorted by video static. (this is how we fix the aitsu thing)

"no. the g̸͓̦͙̫̮̦̠͗͐͗̊͑̕͝i̷͖̝̝̱̐ͅͅŗ̸̄̆̓̆̊̄̿l̶̮͉̦͓͔̹̀̂͗͝ͅ you care about...the one who was always with you... its not me. its ḧ̴̳͔̻̾̇e̵͚͂̀r̸̺̣̠̓̂̀̚."

cut to namine speaking to sora before he goes to sleep.

“but theres another promise you made—a promise to someone you could never replace. s̵̹̀͗͜h̷͇͇͌̆̐e̷̡̛̱'̷̦̆s̵̫͖̦̄̈̄ your light. the light within the darkness. if you can remember h̷̼̼̜͚͒e̸̢̡̤̹̬͖͐̒͒̾r̸͓̣̜̼̜̠͚͂̋̃...all the memories lost in the shadows of your heart will come into the light."

cut to a flashback of repliku talking about their shared promise. again, the feminine words are indecipherable.

"there was a meteor shower one night when s̶̳̄͑̆̅̆͗h̴͍̞͖͙͑̔̋̈́̎̈̾ę̷̧̰̰̖̝͆̆̕̚ and i were little... n̸̨̙̼͑̽ả̴̗͕̮́͊͝m̴̻̳͚̒i̸̳̟͑n̶̡̥̋̑̌é̸͍̦͑͐͋́ got scared and said, what if a shooting star hits the islands? so i told ḧ̷̡̬̽̅͆̊ė̸̙̩̠̥̿̃̚͠r̶̛̥̻̖̉̾̽͝, if a shooting star comes this way, ill protect you! and then—"

cut back to the memory pod.

"look at the g̴̬͛̄̚͘ŏ̴̞̙̰̍͂̀ö̴̘̥̗̱̐͋͆ͅď̷̨͙̙̩̓́͝ ̸̢̋̈́̂̚ļ̷̯̥̲̪̐̋͌̾̚ṵ̵̼̥��͖̎c̸̱̟̹̚ķ̸̭̱̖̓̇ͅ ̷͇̳̃̑́͑͐͜ͅc̸̢̤̈̈́��̚̕h̵̙̗̓͊̾ͅą̷̣̮̞̾̈́r̶̜̜͓̥̀́͋͝m̸̺̖͈̖͓̊̀̕. i changed its shape when i changed your memory. but when you thought of ẖ̴͚̙̆ȅ̴̡̛̞̲̥̼̋͐r̸̹̱̐, it went back to the way it was."

finally, a few more lines from namine.

"remembering one thing leads to remembering another, and then another... your memories are connected, like links in a chain. those same chains are what anchor us all together. i dont destroy memories. i just take apart the links and rearrange them. you still have all your memories."

cut back to sora in the real world. everything is still blurry, but now rikus voice can be heard in the background calling for him, distorted.

and then, a flash of light.

nighttime. its still. everything is quiet and peaceful.

young sora and riku are walking back from the beach.

suddenly, theres a bright streak across the sky. 

sora and riku both gasp.

then, another. and another. and another.

the night of the meteor shower.

riku watches the sky in amazement– until he feels a tug on his arm.

he glances at his side and sees sora, utterly terrified and clinging on to him for dear life.

sora: wahhhh!! r-r-riku, the sky is falling!!

riku laughs.

riku: no, those are shooting stars. theyre way up high in the sky.

sora however is not convinced, and keeps shaking as tears start to well up in his eyes.

sora: b-but…! theres so many of them. and theyre so fast!! what if a shooting star hits the islands?!

the reality of soras mood finally sets in, and riku is left staring as he tries to think of what to do.

hanging from his pocket is his wooden sword.

the words of the man with the real sword echo in his mind:

“no more borders around, or below, or above, so long as you champion the ones you love."

riku grabs his sword then and holds it up to the sky as he looks at sora, courage glinting in his eyes.

riku: if a shooting star comes this way, ill protect you! ill hit it right back into outer space!

sora sniffles as he watches riku swing the sword around.

sora: r-really?

riku nods his head confidently.

riku: i will. i promise!

after a moment of thought, riku reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver chain with a crown dangling from the end.

riku: here. take this. i found it the other day.

with the magic of cutscene, riku somehow turns the chain into a necklace, and then reaches over to hang it around soras neck.

riku: whenever you get scared, all you have to do is look at this, and remember that ill always be there to protect you. no matter what.

tears run down soras face as he looks at the necklace.

the voice of the strange girl theyd met before rings through his mind:

"so then if something happens, and riku is about to get lost—or say, he starts wandering down a dark path alone—you make sure to stay with him and keep him safe. thats your job, sora, and im counting on you to do it, okay?"

sora gulps and then reaches out to grab rikus free hand in both of his own. riku is surprised by this.

sora: ill… ill protect you too! i-i know im not as strong as you, but ill… ill try! i promise!

riku is taken aback for a moment, before he smiles gently at sora.

riku: … thanks, sora.

afterward, a multitude of quick flashbacks to all the times sora and riku protected each other, culminating in seeing the KBG sacrifice one more time.

fade to back.

in a hotel room (or smth similar), sora suddenly sits up straight in a bed, heart beating rapidly.

sora: riku!

(paralleling when riku called out for him after waking up from the dive into his heart in ddd)

riku has been seated at the edge of the bed, waiting and worrying. when he realizes soras awake, he scoots down the bed towards him.

riku: sora! youre okay!

after catching his breath, sora looks around the room, confused.

sora: … what… happened?

riku: you passed out, so i brought you here. how are you feeling?

sora puts a hand to his head, grimacing slightly at his pulsing headache. but that doesnt matter right now.

sora: im… im fine. listen, riku… i saw… i saw some of the things that happened at CO.

rikus eyes widen.

riku: you did?

sora: yeah. i saw you… well, a version of you. and namine. namine…

sora looks into rikus eyes.

sora: she… she was wrong. or… maybe i was wrong, and she just played along for my sake…

riku: huh? what are you talking about?

sora swallows as his voice starts shaking, just a little.

sora: kairi… kairi wasnt the one most special to me. you were. i remember… i remember the night of the meteor shower.

sora clutches at the crown necklace.

sora: all this time, id thought id remembered everything important… but i forgot about it. [sighs] im sorry, riku

riku stays quiet for a moment, before putting on a forced smile.

riku: its fine, sora. we were little kids.

sora frowns.

sora: but… you never forgot, did you?

riku shrugs, and theres a moment of silence between them, before riku speaks again.

riku: maybe i was the one most important to you back then, but its not the same now. thats alright. im just happy to be your friend. i know how you feel about kai-

sora suddenly moves forward, closer to riku, now yelling as he cuts him off.

sora: i get to decide how i feel, riku! its my heart!

riku is taken aback at the shouting, and stares in shock. sora realizes hes gotten loud, and takes a moment to calm down.

dearly beloved starts to play in the bg

sora: i… i know now. maybe it took me a long time, but… i figured it out. the person most important to me… all along, its been you.

riku freezes up in pure shock. he cant believe what hes hearing. hed talked himself out of hoping for this day long ago.

sora finally smiles again.

sora: youre the one i love.

(paralleling prince eric with ariel)

BOOM FIREWORKS MAGIC SORIKU ENDGAME

riku is absolutely speechless, staring at sora with his mouth agape.

sora gives riku a sheepish grin, now growing nervous at the lack of a response.

sora: and… im the one you love… right?

after a second, riku returns soras smile– and, for the very first time in the series, starts crying.

he nods, shakily.

riku: … yeah. yeah, i do. i always have.

riku wipes at his eyes to stop crying, but its futile. the tears flow even harder.

sora feels himself start crying, too, but hes laughing at the same time.

he pulls riku into a hug, grabbing his upper back tightly.

without any hesitation whatsover, riku returns the embrace, holding onto sora in the same way.

(like so [sora in orange, riku in teal])

fade to black.

then they kill the MoM, get married, and live happily ever after. the end. :)

love balancing light and dark is largely taken from these tags by @osrinlore on this video of mine btw:

[she1smyscar]

Imagine, the whole coven still alive and actually being protective of Rio when they're out and about and she's being quirky in the real world and people in public say shit or look at her weird and then the entire Coven of Chaos simultaneously starts insulting people all at once and no one can make out what they're shouting over each other at the same time and Lady fucking Death just smiles "innocently" (but also thankfully) behind them even though she could totally handle her own

[venusbyline]

5 HOTD characters who definitely like period sex?

HEADCANON: 5 HOTD characters most likely to enjoy period sex

— tags/warnings: female!reader, period sex, blood kink, blood licking, oral sex (female receiving), fingerfucking, fingering, rough sex (but kinda fluff too), scissoring/tribadism, lesbian sex, menstrual cramps, overstimulation, creampie, safeword use mentioned, implied underage sex, established relationship, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

1- CREGAN STARK

He's a Northman, he certainly wouldn't mind a little blood during sex. Actually... Cregan finds it so hot and it's one of his biggest kinks. Whether he's eating you out and getting his face all messed up with your lunar blood or just fucking your tight, velvety cunt and seeing the mess of his seed and your reddish liquid running down afterwards, staining the bedsheets.

Cregan always opens your legs to fuck you missionary style, then he can watch how your blood looks so delightful coloring both of your thighs as he moves in and out. His big, thick cock hitting so close to your cervix might make your menstrual cramps kinda worse, but Cregan will make it up to you later, warming you in his embrace, his large, sweaty body snuggling you and caressing your hair until you fall asleep.

2- DAEMON TARGARYEN

Guys... This man also loves giving oral sex when you're having your lunar blood. It's morally disgusting in some people's eyes, but for him it's one of the best tastes there is, better than any wine. I think Daemon is more a oral receiver than a giver, but if you're on your period he'll get addicted to your cunt.

As much as Daemon's focus is on using his mouth on you, he'll fingerfucking you for a few minutes, just so he can stick them down your throat then, forcing you to swallow the small but more solid red remains that came out of your own body. He'll definitely wanna make you cum (and bleed) in his mouth for hours, until you're so overstimulated that you'll actually have to beg him to stop.

3- ALYS RIVERS

Where are the readers who are in love with that "sweet" witch? Alys is definitely in the TOP 3 and also is the HOTD female character most likely to enjoy period sex (and blood kink in general). If you're on your period, she'll lick you, putting her fingers inside you until your lunar blood is all over her arm. She might even use your blood for some of her freaky potions.

If Alys is on her period, you can fuck her out as much as you want if you're into it, the feeling of your mouth around her sensitive clit will leave her moaning loudly and grabbing your hair tightly, pressing you even more against the pubic dark hairs and now also with red drops. If you're both menstruating at the same time, the mess will be even better, because Alys will definitely wanna fit her legs between yours to share each other's blood when the two of you are rubbing your cunts against each other.

4- JACAERYS VELARYON

Considering the canon and not my HCs about dark!Jacaerys (for the happiness of the harassing anon hahahah), I think Jace would be a fancier of period sex, but for softer and more romantic reasons. If you're his wife, he'll definitely try to help you ease your menstrual cramps by using sex to your own good (thanks to my dear @thesongoficeandfir3 and her Jace's fic "Mine to take care of", now I got the vision hahaha).

In my opinion, he focus more on using his tongue, so you can cum in his face while he eats you out gently and trying not to make your period pains worse.

5- RHAENYRA TARGARYEN

Princess and Young!Rhaenyra prefers you to focus entirely on her when she's on her period. She's totally spoiled and acting like a brat until you satisfy her sexual desires, as the Targaryen Princess definitely is the type of girl who gets even more horny when she's bleeding. Rhaenyra lays you down on the bed and sit on your face to being able to take control of the entire situation and use your mouth and even your nose, making your pretty face all bloody.

Queen or Adult!Rhaenyra in general is more a giver, but with dominant manners too. She gives you pleasure when you're on period, but putting you on all fours, your ass sticks up in the air as she fucks her fingers inside your cunt, the drops of blood splattering onto the bedsheets. After you cum so many times, Rhaenyra puts her dirty long fingers inside your own mouth to make you feel the metallic taste and kisses you soon after, saying praises and caressing your body with an almost worship way.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ your girl ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo held your hands carefully, his fingers scarcely brushing the raw, incensed marks from the rope burns. the reddened skin stood out against your pallid complexion, making the injuries look worse than you tried to let on. you flinched slightly when he turned your palms upward, his touch so delicate it made your chest ache. “it’s not so bad,” you murmured, your voice light, though the sting was anything but mild. you glanced up at him, hoping your slight smile would ease the worry etched into his exhausted, weary features.

˚ ༘♡ his brows furrowed together, your futile consolation doing little to calm him. his thumb drifted near the worst of the burns, as if he wanted to soothe the pain but didn’t dare. “i’m sorry,” he spoke, his voice desolate and tormented, as if it was meant for your ears alone, the others no concern of his. he shook his head, his jaw tightening. “if they’d given us water or even a cold drink, it might’ve helped. don’t put too much pressure on your hands, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ you gazed at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “sang-woo, really, it’s nothing. we all got burns from the tug of war game,” you replied, your countenance softening as you glanced down at your scorched hands. “i’ll be fine.” the sincerity in his cloudedngaze made your heart burn with adoration, although the sting from your injuries grounded you.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes lingering on your hands like he could will the pain away by staring at it long enough. for a split second, it seemed like he was about to say something, something you weren’t sure you were ready to hear, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh and bit into the corn cob the guards had distributed to the surviving players as meal rations. the stiffness in his shoulders stuck around, an indicative sign of his unease.

˚ ༘♡ “and you, babe!” mi-nyeo’s voice cut through the air, loud and exaggerated, she was player 212, who had been on their team for the last game. “three steps forward, huh? so cool.” her giggle was thick with flirtation as she strutted closer to sang-woo, clearly angling for his attention.

˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t so much as glance at her. not a single flicker of acknowledgment crossed his face. instead, his gaze flickered back to you for the briefest of moments, his lips pressing into a thin line when he saw your discomfort. you shifted uncomfortably beside him, your fingers curling slightly against your lap, but his knee brushed yours, whether intentional or not, it was enough to send a reassuring warmth through you. gi-hun, noticing the awkwardness brewing between everyone, laughed, his tone cheerful. “hey, sang-woo’s got a girlfriend already, so give it a rest.”

˚ ༘♡ mi-nyeo froze fora beat, her playful smirk disappearing. her eyes darted toward you, sitting stiffly next to sang-woo. she blinked in disbelief, her gaze flitting between the two of you before settling on you. “the foreign girl?” she scoffed, her voice rising. “seriously? come on, sang-woo, you can do so much better…”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but sang-woo beat you to it, his voice slicing through the tension. “why don’t we eat in silence?” his tone was cold, sharper than you’d ever heard it, and it left no room for argument. his dark eyes narrowed on mi-nyeo, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate another word from her.

˚ ༘♡ a small tinge of satisfaction warmed your chest as mi-nyeo’s face fell, though you kept your expression neutral. she paused for a moment, clearly trying to think of a way to regain control of the conversation. eventually, she shrugged, her grin returning with a sly twist. “if that’s what you want,” she declared, drawing out her words before sauntering away with an exaggerated sway in her hips.

˚ ༘♡ the minute she was gone, you let out a slow breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly. sang-woo hadn’t moved, his posture rigid and his dark eyes fixed on the ground, though his tensed muscles revealed his lingering frustration. you glanced at him, hesitant but apprehensive. “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, your voice soft enough to be carried away by the air around you.

˚ ༘♡ his head turned toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours witha strength that brought you to stop speaking. “yes, i did,” he said, his words hushed and certain, as if it were the most evident notion in the world. “she doesn’t get to talk to you like that.” his manner of speech carried a modest intensity, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make an impact.

˚ ༘♡ you blinked, surprised by the tenderness of his response. “it doesn’t bother me,” you said, though the strain in your voice betrayed the pitiful lie. you wanted to brush it off, to convince him, and maybe yourself, that it didn’t matter with how dire the circumstances were. yet he didn’t look away, and the way his eyes searched yours made it unthinkable to hold the facade.

˚ ༘♡ “it should,” he said quietly. his gaze went to your wounded hands again, fixated on the burns as his fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. “you don’t deserve that insolent mockery and those rude insults.”

˚ ༘♡ the raw honesty in his voice made something inside you ache. you swallowed hard, your heart catching at the way he looked at you, in a way that betrayed that he cared more than he was willing to admit. “we all deal with it,” you said gently, the words feeling inadequate even as they left your lips.

˚ ༘♡ his expression didn’t change, but his voice softened just enough to make your chest tighten. “that doesn’t make it right,” he mumbled, almost to himself. he leaned slightly closer, his tone faint enough that it felt like the world around you had fallen away. “if i could make it easier for you, i would.”

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected affection of his words settling solemnly in the little distance between the two of you. for a brief period of time, neither of you spoke, the solitude stretching out in a way that felt strangely comforting. you could feel the unspoken significance of everything he wasn’t saying, everything he couldn’t put into words, and it was enough to make the misery of the desolate world seem distant, something nonexistent.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you,” you finally whispered, your voice barely able to be heard but carrying more meaning than the mere words could communicate.

˚ ༘♡ he gave the smallest nod, his lips pressing together as if to keep himself from saying more. the short-lived instance of genuine affection had ended, but the feeling it left behind stayed with you, lingering, quiet, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

a/n: a more lighthearted cho sang-woo fanfiction! let me know if you have anymore requests for him as well as your thoughts! 🤍

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 15

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (piv, fingering, double penetration, cock warming) violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys i think hes trying. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You don't know how many times you and Daemon walked around the fountain. Truth be told, as the seconds bled into minutes, you began to fear he would get impatient with you and ask you to stop your walk before you were ready to. It didn't help that every time you looked to examine his demeanor, he was already looking at you. His gaze was scalding. You could not keep it for more than a second.

You could not help but pick at the flower in your hand until all its petals were scattered on the floor. You felt uneasy around him.

At some point, you became too restless walking around with him that you opted to sit down and be done with it. "Very well," you mutter, sitting on the wide ledge of the stone fountain, "I shall tell you."

Daemon sits next to you, brows furrowing at the way your breath hitches.

You suck in a deep breath, "our children are-"

"You need not speak of them this instant," he takes your hand, squeezing it, "not if it is unbearable."

You look at his hand. You look at him. You see the softness of his gaze. You feel nothing. You mutter his name.

He mutters your back in response, reaching for your cheek.

You pull away, both your head and your hand.

He gulps, watching you scoot back. He retreats and digs his nails into his lap.

"If I do not tell you now," you shake your head, looking over your shoulder, "I do not know when next I will be willing."

Daemon watches you watch the water trickle. He shifts, "I do not mind."

"I do," you whip your head back, "I do not want to keep you waiting."

He watches your dark hair flow with the wind. He so badly wants to brush it out of your face. He shakes his head, "you have waited enough for me."

You chuckle dryly, "you misunderstand," you look away and reach for the flower drifting over. You grunt as you stretch your arm out, "you make me uneasy."

Daemon's face twitches. Poison spreads through his thorax and an invisible noose tightens around his neck. He opens his mouth, but only a shudder leaves him. You say this so casually too... what horror.

You manage to reach the flower and relax back in your spot after grabbing it. You stare at the rose before turning to your husband. He looked so unlike what he did the day he left you. His hair, which was once nearly the length of yours, now couldn't cover his ears. And his eyes... they were uncharacteristically soft. You lower your gaze, "there was once a time I put a flower in your hair... do you recall it?"

He knits his brows.

You brush your rose petals.

He does not recall. "I recall the day you littered your brother and your ward with blossoms you picked from the field."

You chuckle as you fidget with your rose, "pity."

Daemon swallows a thick lump in his throat, "would you help me recall it?"

"Twas the same day," you smile, looking up at him.

He is winded, "I-"

"I pity you, I really do."

Deep lines form on his face. He shakes his head as his voice breaks, "I... do not mean to forget."

You chuckle again, though there was no trace of amusement in your chest, only tightness, "I know you don't," you tentatively raise the flower and take a deep breath. It takes a few moments for you to gather the nerve to secure the rose by his ear.

Daemon stills as you do so, then helps you put the flower in place.

You pull away, looking at him and his rose. You noticed the way his breathing grew heavy, how his eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. You sigh and shrug, "I remember placing a bud in your hair and thinking you-" you stop to chuckle. Youu shrug and shake your head, "-were devastatingly handsome I could not help but stare."

His lips part and his nostrils twitch.

You wait for him to react.

He does not.

"Do you not recall this either?" you raise your brows, "those were your own words."

He knits his brows, sheepish over how you were seemingly teasing him so suddenly for his vanity.

"You came from the City Watch," you clarified, "I did not know it yet, but you had razed King's Landing and executed criminals in the streets—"

His jaw slacks, "ah."

"—you were covered in blood. I stared because I was concerned and that," you point to nowhere, "was what you told me."

He shakes his head, "a poor jest of a man who thinks himself funny," he turns to the bushes, "forget the memory."

You knit your brows, "I do not want to forget."

He looks back at you.

"I did agree," you mutter, "though instead of devastatingly handsome, I would have called you beautiful."

Daemon wanted to speak, but then the flower in his hair was being blown off by the wind. He keeps it in its place, forfeiting the moment to respond.

"It must be terrible to have only the capacity to recall things that cause you rage or suffering."

A wind blows between you and the air in his lung is pulled along with it. Daemon shivers when you reach a hand out to him. He looks at your outstretched palm before taking it in both of his. His heat causes your skin to prick with goosebumps. His hand felt as hot as dragon fire.

"I recall your scent and the feel of your skin," Daemon scoots forward, "I recall your tenderness and your fire. I-"

"You must understand," you cut him off, placing your other hand atop his, "I do not ask you to recall merely to reminisce," you take a few deep breaths, "I do this to explain I no longer feel that way."

His stomach drops. He realizes then this stoic countenance you held was not that but indifference to him. He whimpers and lowers his head, "no, please-"

"I feel nothing for your sadness," you mutter, "I cannot lend you any more of my pity, for where I once saw beauty, I now see only grief..."

Tears stain his cheeks.

"And loss," you pull away to wipe his face, "my babes looked so much like you."

He presses his hands atop yours and pushes them into his cheeks so that you would not let him go.

"Our babes," you correct yourself.

He whimpers. He screws his eyes shut, trying to recall their names. He cannot.

"I did not write about them for I knew you took many lengths to avoid having children with me."

His eyes are suddenly wide open. He is blindsided.

"I, myself, could not believe it when the maester told me I was with child. He explained to me that it is possible to conceive with premature ejaculation."

Daemon's hold on your hands loosen. You knew what he was doing all along? You pull away.

"I was deeply afraid you would doubt me, doubt their parentage because you never spilled inside of me, but... you should know that my tw— our twins both had silver hair," you sniffle, "and violet eyes."

You begin to weep as the punishing memory plays in your head. He feels helpless to see you this like this, twice over because he knows if he touches you, you will retreat.

You whimper and shake your head, "many bore witness to my... miscarriage."

The thought horrifies him.

"Your brother being one."

Daemon's face is aghast.

"You can go to him if you ever wish to accuse me of infidelity."

"You think the worst of me," he groans.

You stare at him for a moment then burst into dry laughter, "I do not. You attacked my guards for something you misheard me mutter in my sleep— I think exactly what I know of you."

He makes a sound, "but I-"

You wait for him to continue.

There is nothing left for him to say.

"You must," you sigh, "understand... I am only trying to make you understand. Where you yearn presently I yearned for three years."

"But I don't understand," he shakes his head, "had I not returned today, would you have still written to me?"

You inhale deeply, "I would."

"Then why don't you want me?"

"Because, Daemon!" you come to a stand, "had you not returned today, you still would have ignored me!"

He looks up at you.

"And my children would remain unburied!"

His jaw drops, "w-what?"

"I did not have them buried!" you point to the side, "I had them kept rotting in a box so that they would be acknowledged once by their father and be sent off in the traditions of their house."

Daemon slowly rises to his feet. He gulps, raising a hand.

You step back, "do you understand?"

He clenches his fists, then relaxes. He nods, "what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prepare the funeral rites for my children and I want their bodies honored tomorrow."

He stares at you for a moment before nodding again. He mutters under his breath, "eminna ziry gaomagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." I will have it done, my love.

"Ȳdra daor yne brōzā bona." Don't call me that.

He is taken off-guard, forgetting that you now speak his mother tongue.

You wipe your face and smoothen out your robe, "I nightly have supper with my sister and nephew."

He watches you shake your head. Something happens to his heart as he imagines how you've lived without him.

"You are more than welcome to join us, so long as you promise to keep your manners."

He perks.

"But you ought to know I normally invite whichever ward is keeping me guard to dine with us."

His eye twitches. He aimlessly examines the sky, "I..."

You watch his expression closely.

"I do not think I can stomach being around your wards, let alone dine with one."

"But I've explained that-"

He raises a hand. You clench your teeth, watching him shake his head. He releases a deep breath, "it is not my desire that you resent me more than you already do."

You watch him reach a hand out to you.

"Let me walk you at least?"

You stare at his hand for a moment. When you take it, you feel your stomach drop and Daemon feels his spirit lifted.

The walk you take is silent. When you arrive to the solar you dined at, Daemon rubs your hand before pulling away. You watch him fade down the hall and you feel conflicted to see him go.

He walks off to gods know where and aimlessly continues to do so until he hears someone call his name. When he turns, he sees his brother's face.

Viserys had been smiling, up until he got close enough to see Daemon's face. The king's brows furrow. He places a hand on his brother's arm, watching tears stream from his face, "skoros iksis pirta?" What is wrong?"

"I could not ask her... but she said you saw them," he mutters, gripping Viserys by the arms. His lips wobble and his brows tighten, "vestas ao ūndan ñuha riñar." She said you saw my children.

Viserys tenses when Daemon's grip tightens, out of aggression or desperation, he was not sure. To his brother, sometimes the two were one in the same. He places his hands on Daemon's shoulders and tries to calm him down.

Daemon shudders, "what did they look like?"

It hits him. He thinks of the moon you left for Oldtown after Daemon left for the Stepstones and how Alicent worried that it would cause conflict between in your marriage. A sourness spreads in the king's mouth as he recalls Alicent worriedly relaying her sister's worries to him— that Daemon would accuse her of fleeing to Oldtown because she had strayed. Viserys clenches his jaw, "they're your children, brother."

Daemon's brows furrow, "w-what?"

"They're Valyrian— silver hair, violet eyes-"

The prince shakes him, "you misunderstand me." He shakes his head, a whimper leaving his lips, "what did they look like?"

Viserys watches Daemon's eyes water all over again.

"Did they look like me? Did they look like her? Did they have her nose? Her lips? Her brows? Or mine?" He shudders, "were they beautiful?"

Viserys feels his lungs tighten when his brother sobs into his chest. His own eyes water and he throws his arms around Daemon. He leans into him as his brother's arms tighten around him. Viserys does not recall the last time Daemon's wept in his arms.

"Shijetra nyke. Nyke shifang aōha ōdres sir," Daemon says through tears. It forces tears to fall from Viserys's eyes. Forgive me. I understand your pain now.

Viserys holds him a little tighter, "ñuha valonqar." My (younger) brother.

The two remain this way until Daemon was calm enough to part from the embrace.

After supper, you make your way back to your chambers, frowning to see it empty. You take a candle and light it, heading out of your room to look for your husband. In truth, you did not know why you were doing so, for all you knew, he was out in Fleabottom, reliving the early days of your marriage. Still... here you were.

You pad quietly down the halls and ask the occasional servant you pass if they had seen Daemon. The response was the same between them all: no, princess. You nod and bid them good night each time before walking off.

You realize soon your feet were silently leading you somewhere, which is why you stop when you reach the hall to the Kingsguards' quarters. You find your eyes falling to the door that lead to the shared room of the Cargyll brothers. You momentarily recall the rather cold dismissal you gave them, which was so unlike you. Your heart calls for you to check on them. The next thing you know, you're knocking on their door.

You watch the light on your candle flicker as you wait for an answer. You watch it go off when the door opens with a, "princess."

You look up, finding Arryk's worried face, and soon, Erryk behind him.

"Has something happened?" Erryk asks hurriedly.

You shake your head, "no... I," you look at the smoke wafting from your candle, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Arryk, even through the darkness, could see your bare décolletage. His eye lingers before he shakes his head, "you needn't worry about us. My brother and I are well."

"It was your husband that ended up badly injured," Erryk quips.

Arryk looks over to his brother. Erryk has his eyes on you, or rather, your candle. He reaches out, "allow me to relight it, my princess."

You watch him take your candle and a shiver runs down your spine as the wind blows down the quiet hall.

Arryk notices and steps aside, "it will not take long, but please, take a seat."

You walk into their room and Arryk motions to one of the beds. You take a seat and watch Erryk look through his drawers, grumbling, "where the bloody hells did I put that damn flint?"

Arryk drapes a blanket on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother, "hang on."

You tighten the blanket around you, immediately feeling warm, not only because of the added layer, but because it smelled like your ward. You watch Arryk dig through his own drawers and the moment he grumbles like his twin, you realize you it was going to take long. You didn't mind at all though.

You decide to lie down and make yourself comfortable. You yawn, knowing then you were, in fact, exhausted.

Erryk decides his flint is lost and snaps at his brother, "where's your fucking flint?"

Arryk glares at back at him, "mind your manners, worm."

Erryk immediately tenses, remembering why he was looking for flint in the first place. His eyes turn to you, throat tightening to see you lying down. He steps forward, calling out your name.

Your heavy eyes open wide, only to fall again at the sight of Erryk, "hmm?"

Erryk kneels beside you, "you cannot sleep here." His hand twitches, dying to touch you.

Hearing his twin's words, Arryk turns. He rubs his chest and curses under his breath.

You merely hum again, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

Erryk speaks your name once more.

You sigh, "yes?"

"Princess," Arryk says, clenching his fists in an attempt to steel himself away, "I do not think we will find flint to light your candle."

Erryk ignores reason and listens to desire; he places a hand on your cheek, belly burning when you lean into his touch.

Arryk gulps at the sight of it. His voice is soft and shaky, "y-you cannot sleep here."

You sigh once more, finally pushing yourself up from the bed. You tighten the blanket around you with a groan. Your heavy eyes look upon Erryk, knelt on the floor, his own eyes were blown, wholly opposite to yours. You then turn to Arryk, stood rigid by his drawers. You notice the way his fingers twitch.

You place your hand on Erryk's shoulders, intending push yourself up on him, that is, until you feel the heat of him; he is impossibly hot. You examine his face, lips parting at the sight of his furrowed brows. Erryk whimpers when your colder hands come to his cheeks. He wants for nothing else than to warm you.

"Do you want me to leave?" you mutter.

Erryk immediately shakes his head. Arryk immediately calls out your name.

Erryk ignores him, eyes lowering to your neck, or what was left uncovered by your blanket.

You turn to Arryk, licking your lips before asking slowly, "do you want me to leave?"

Arryk gulps, lowering his head.

"You're welcome to leave, brother," Erryk mutters, hands coming atop yours. He hisses at the coolness of your skin and mutters rather pathetically, "please."

You ignore Erryk, eyes on his twin, "Arryk?"

Arryk scoffs, lifting his countenance. He does not say a word. He merely walks to the door and locks it before walking in front of you to kneel beside his brother.

Erryk whines when your hand leaves him. You shush him as you take Arryk's cheek, "the gods gave me two hands to hold you both at once."

Arryk leans into your touch, nearly choking on his spit at the smell of your fragrance on your wrist.

"Please," Erryk begs for the second time, "my skin grows hotter. I need to warm you."

You relish the feel of their cheeks a moment longer before pulling away completely. Their eyes watch you like a hawk and you bask in the attention before pushing the blanket off your shoulders. You sigh and nod, tilting your head back.

They are immediately upon you. Four hands roam you at once, two hot mouths on either side of your neck. They move in sync, never colliding with a hand that did not belong to them, their touches somehow contrasting yet complimenting all at once.

Arryk, ever the more level headed and patient, kisses against your throat slowly and gently. His hands work to undress you, to massage your breasts, to assure you of his devotion. Erryk, ever the more hungry and eager, licks and nips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, though not in a manner that would ever be unpleasant. His hands work to pleasure you, to make you moan, to make known his yearning.

Like clockwork, each twin finds your most sensitive part, loath to part from your skin. Though one was as greedy as the other in their desire for you, your own desire came before theirs, and never has there been a moment where either of them kept you wanting.

You lean into Arryk, eyes screwing shut as you chase after his mouth. He does not make you wait; his hand comes to the back of your neck and the other moves to the opposite breast, pinching your nipple, knowing it will get you to moan. He immediately feasts on your moan, tongue dancing into your open mouth. His hand kneads your breast to warm it like he did the other.

Erryk, now that you were tilted to one side, takes this opportunity to part your thighs more by bringing your leg over his lap. He easily finds his way past your bloomers and rubs your clit, moaning at the feel of your building wetness.

The twins work in efficient tandem, and soon you're all three of you naked and hot. The bed for the guards are unlike your own; it was barely just enough for one, let alone three, and yet, you made it work; the desire to be close to each other made it work.

It was not enough to have Arryk pressed behind you and Erryk in front, you were desperate to have them inside, and you relayed just that by reaching for Arryk's cheeks and throwing a leg over Erryk's hips. Receptive as ever, Arryk kisses your hand and Erryk rubs your thigh.

"I need you both," you mutter.

"You have us," Arryk assures, rubbing your belly.

Erryk manages a kiss on your jaw, "who do you want first, my princess?"

"Both."

"Fuck," Erryk tightens his hold on your thigh.

Arryk's brow furrow, "are you certain?"

You whimper at the feel of fingers brushing between your legs. You mewl as someone pumps in and out you. You arch your back and ride out the sensations, "please."

"She's more than ready, brother."

"We should make her peak first."

"No," you whine, eyes opening to look at them both, "I can take it."

They are about to protest, but their words are smothered by how you grind back into Arryk and grab Erryk's cock, each as hard as the other. You pant, "we've done it before."

Arryk squeezes your hip. His voice is heavy, "a-are you certain?"

"We do not want to hurt you," Erryk softly offers.

You nod and turn to Arryk, kissing him reassuringly. You then turn to Erryk doing the same as you stroke him a few times before guiding him into you. His reaction is instant, he moans when his tip feels your wetness, and the only reason he does not plunge into you is because he holds your comfort higher than his own need.

Arryk kisses your shoulder as he leans into you. The first stretch is the one met with most resistance and he, along with his brother, always ensure you have ample time to adjust to them before even thinking of their own comfort. It's all worth it in the end, because, gods, when they're both sunked in, the feel is maddening.

The sounds that you emit when they begin to move starts soft, but both of them know better than to think it would remain. As soon as they begin to pick up the pace, they muffle your mouth with their own, assuring you have enough room to breathe though your sounds are garbled.

In truth, they could only dampen the noise so much, as there was the sinful sound of wet skin slapping to account for. Soon, the thrusting and squelching became unmistakably lewd. Soon, dampening the uncontrollable sounds scratching up your throat became near impossible.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter— then snap.

It was good that Arryk knew your body so well that he clamped his hand over your mouth just before you clenched around their cocks. The sound that left you was loud, loud and to the bone obscene. You make another sound at the feel of them pulsing and twitching inside of you; the twins single-mindedly ride out the pleasure raging across you all with increasingly sloppier thrusts.

Arryk eventually pulls his hand off your mouth, only to replace it with his mouth, and Erryk kisses you soon after. You three remain entangled like this, hot and satisfied. You want nothing more than to sleep in their arms.

An instant stream of hot seed spills down your thighs when they pull out. You whimper in protest, never liking it when they leave you before you are ready. You're rarely ready.

They tell you what they always do, they'd never leave if they hadn't just done so, and they ought to clean you up.

And they do; they clean you up and you whimper some more, this time to complain about the cold. So there, in that tiny bed, all three of you slept, keeping each other warm.

That's when Daemon starts from his own bed, heart racing, body sweating. He is severely disoriented as he turns to the window, blinded by the morning sun, then to space on the bed beside him. He heaves as he scans the emptiness, mind racing with the terrible nightmare he had woken up from.

He scratches his eyes as tears begin to prick in its corners. He jumps, throwing the blanket aside and forfeiting slippers as he marches off. He reaches the door, but then he starts when he hears a squeal.

You gasp, one hand on your chest, another on the door sill for balance. You had just emerged from the bath, startled to see him sprinting off.

Daemon immediately comes to your side, gripping your arm. He notices the smell of your soap first, then the presence of your servants behind you second. He gives them a look and leads you off, silently dismissing them.

Your servants scurry off as Daemon leads you to your vanity.

You look at him, noticing the manic expression on his face, "is everything alright?"

He does not turn to you as he sits you down.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"You," he blurts and shakes his head rapidly, "I was looking for you."

You watch him scratch his eyes. He takes the comb on your vanity and only once he's untangling your hair do you see from his reflection that he looked distraught and teary. You mutter, "Daemon-"

"When did you come bed?"

Your brows quirk and you're about to respond, until he yanks through a tangle, causing you to wince.

Daemon stops and immediately shakes his head as he looks at your reflection, "I did not mean to."

You frown, slowly enunciating, "Dae-"

"Do not answer," he clenches your comb in his hand.

He looks erratic. Your heart rate picks up, "what?"

"I change my mind. I do not want to know when you came to bed," he shakes his head, combing through your hair again. You swear you see his hands shake as he does. He whispers to himself, "or if you came back at all."

You do not catch it, but you do catch his hand, forcing him to stop combing.

Daemon shivers as you come to a stand. You look at him, face falling at the tears so suddenly streaming down his face. You furrow your brows and reach for his cheek. You are taken aback when he pulls away.

You gulp, unsure if you should step forward or back. You decide to stay put and slowly call out to him.

Daemon wipes his face, "I-"

"Is it the wake?"

"..."

Your own eyes begin to water, "... did you, perhaps, have a nightmare?"

He is at a loss for words. He flinches when you take a step forward.

You watch him closely as you raise your hand. He does not move away up until you touch his arm. You must admit, the way in which he shrugs you off stings. Still, you compose yourself with a sigh and nod. "Very well," you step back.

His hand raises, "wait."

You are rendered frozen when he grabs your arm. Your chest begins to tighten and your eyes begin to water against yourself. You shrug and chuckle dryly, "I do not understand."

Daemon's face is pained as he releases you. He lowers his head and steps back, "neither do I."

You both stand there for a moment. You wait for him to say something but he never does. In truth, Daemon was waiting for you to do the same.

He was rather disappointed to hear you say, "perhaps you should take a bath."

He watches you wipe the tears off your cheek and wonders why it was tears found you so easily. Was it your affliction? Or just him? He nods, "very well."

Your gaze is fixed upon him as he heads to the bathroom. You sigh deeply, sitting back in your vanity chair to gather yourself.

[elcoffin]

alysmond love child 🦉🔮🗡️💎

[starogeorgina]

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝

Parings: Alys Rivers x reader, Daemyra x reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, choking, incest, slight dubcon (under the influence of magic)

You had yet to decide if being forced to travel to Harrenhal alone in the name of your brother and king, Aegon, to persuade the river lords to fight for him was the best or worst thing to happen to you during the war. You arrived days before Daemon did, but you had barely spoken to anyone; you had been far too trapped in your own mind to rally an army.

“Good girl, just like that.”

Alys’s praise causes the throbbing between your legs to worsen. If the rumors were to be believed, Alys Rivers was a witch, and you weren’t sure if you believed she was anything other than a temptress. From the moment your dragon landed at Harrenhal, you sensed something shifting—a charge in the air. You arrived during the hour of the owl, and Ser Simon Strong had been a gracious hoist and honest about not bending the knee to Aegon from the beginning. He also warned you to stay away from Alys.

She starts rutting against your face while you suck on her clit. “Are you going to do everything I say, precious?”

Unable to answer verbally, you nod.

“Good. I know that tongue of yours can be used for more than just a witty comeback, so I expect you to use it on the silver-haired queen.”

You nod again.

Alys looks down at you with a smirk on her face; she thrives welding such power over a dragon. She strokes your hair and says, “You’ll take the king consort's seed and seduce the queen. Pleasure her as you do me.”

Perhaps Alys was a witch; it was the only logical reason why you would agree to such a thing.

Alys squeezes your breast, causing you to press your thighs together. She moans, “I want you to moan for them. Let them hear the sweet sounds of you coming undone.”

You finally remove your mouth from her cunny. “What do I do after?”

“When they are done fucking you, you come and find me.” She smiles down at you, her hand delicately resting above your forehead. “But first, you will finish pleasuring me, and then I shall return the favor until the time is right.”

—

“She’s been too busy burying her head between the witch's thighs to raise an army.”

Daemon wasn’t wrong; you were preoccupied with Alys when Rhaenyra arrived at Harrenhal. The army her husband had gathered bent the knee to her, and the couple had reunited. You raise your brows, challenging him, “Jealous?”

His lips twitch as he fights back the urge to lash back, but the look on Rhaenyra's face prevents him from saying anything further. She had you brought to their bedchamber to speak in privacy. “Last we spoke, you mentioned your mother was pushing to find you a match; did you make one?”

“I refused every man she put before me.”

The line of questioning had nothing to do with the war being waged. Perhaps the witch was messing with everyone's minds.

“Why?” She asks sternly.

“Mirre se vali sia nākostōbā.” (All the men were weak.)

She smirks, “You want to marry someone who shares the blood of the dragon.”

“No, I don’t want to marry them. I just want their seed.” You chuckle, “Don’t look so surprised, sister; we both know the men we choose to marry don’t need to father whatever children we bear. I don’t see an issue with wanting to keep our bloodline pure.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon share a look. They silently exchange words, and when Rhaenyra nods her husband's strut over to you, he takes your chin in his hand. “The queen is not only generous; she is merciful. She will spare your life and will allow me to fill you with my seed, but only if you swear to fight for her.”

“I swear.”

“Sȳz riña.” (Good girl)

Rhaenyra traces her hand along the curve of your ass. “The child and any dragon they bond with will only fight for me.”

“Yes.”

Daemon comes up behind you and rubs your breasts through your dress. When he feels your nipples become hard, he pinches them. His lips brush against your ear. “Say yes, my queen.”

“Yes, my queen.”

He chuckled cruelly, “such a wanton princess.

“A spoilt princess,” Rhaenyra adds. “Strip for us.”

Quickly, you take off your dress and stand naked in front of them. The thought of being touched by them both excited and terrified you.

Rhaenyra looks you up and down with a wicked smile on her face. “Lay on your back and open your legs.”

Following her command, you get onto the bed and lay on your back. The blue sheets beneath you are soft against your skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you spread your legs open and expose yourself to both of them.

Rhaenyra tuts seeing how wet you are. “And I suppose I’ll need to make sure you’re ready to take the king's cock,” her tone mocking, yet she slides her nails across the soft flesh of your thigh, then slides a finger into your wet cunny with ease. “She is tight.”

“Oh,” Daemon taps his cock against your mouth. As soon as your lips parted, Daemon shoved himself into your mouth. “You are indeed a merciful queen.”

Rhaenyra removed her own clothing; the curves of her body are a beautiful sight to see. She stands between your legs and leans down. She flicks her tongue over your clit a few times, but when you moan, she stops. “You are enjoying this far too much. This is a privilege you should be working harder for.”

Like an obedient worker in a pillow house, you take him deeper into your mouth. Daemon groans, feeling the vibrations of you gagging on his cock. He wipes the saliva pooling from your mouth and spreads it across your breasts. “You enjoy being used; perhaps we will bring you back to Dragonstone to be the queen's whore. Would you like that?”

You nod while choking on him.

“She’s so wet.” Rhaenyra kneels between your thighs, and her tongue dips in between your folds.

Daemon pulls his cock from your mouth and watches as his wife scissors two fingers inside your cunt and sucks on your clit, stretching you out for him. From the skilled way Rhaenyra fucks you with her finger and mouth, you know this isn’t the first time she’s touched a woman.

Coming undone, you arch your back and coat her fingers with your juices.

Rhaenyra and Daemon switch places, and while he slides the head of his cock between your folds, you take Rhaenyra's breast into your mouth and suck greedily.

Daemon mumbles something in High Valyrian, then roughly pushes into you, stretching your cunt on his cock.

Feeling your body tense, Rhaenyra glides her hand over your stomach and, using two fingers, starts rubbing your clit. “You are taking him well. Is this your first time being bedded by a man?”

You let go of her breast to answer her, “Yes.”

Daemon lightly slaps your thigh.

“Yes, my queen.”

Smirking Daemon says, “The princess is learning quickly.”

Alys voice echoes inside your head, telling you to please Rhaenyra just as you did her. “My queen, please, let me pleasure you with my mouth.”

Her free hand is suddenly around your neck, and Rhaenyra squeezes hard to make you squirm without completely cutting off your air supply. Her lips graze against yours. “Do you think you deserve to taste me?”

“No, my queen, I don't. But I do wish to make you feel good.”

Rhaenyra smashes her lips against yours, then abruptly pulls away. Daemon speeds up his thrusts while Rhaenyra gets onto the bed and straddles your face. Alys has taught you how to fuck a woman with your tongue and fingers, and it doesn’t take Rhaenyra long to start moaning your name.

Her screams of pleasure are silenced by Daemon when he captures his lips.

The sounds of them kissing are exhilarating. Your legs are gripped tightly and held open wider as Daemon’s thrusts become sloppy. It only takes a few more rubs at your clit for you to come undone again, but your moans are muffled by Rhaenyra’s cunt. The vibrations of your moans tip her over the edge; she squeezes your breast harshly while riding her high against your face.

Daemon fingers dig into your hips. He grunts, spilling his seed inside you.

Rhaenyra gets off you and tenderly kisses your neck; her skin is shinny with sweat, and her head is disheveled. She looks beautiful. “What are you thinking about, princess?”

“That Harrenhal is cursed.”

Confused by your answer, she rests her head against your shoulder while Daemon caresses your leg with one hand and strokes his half-erect cock with the other. The king consort was far from done with you.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Alys giggling. Taking Daemon’s seed was only the beginning of her plan.

[yoursinfulurges]

Enchantress

Reader x Aemond Targaryen

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

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

Word count: 8.1k

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

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

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

Even endure his callous behaviors towards you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to fucking kill him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At a certain point he was bound to get cut.

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

Ser Tyrin Lannister...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                           〄

"You are intoxicating...."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had you done?

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

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

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

Being vulnerable was not something Aemond Targaryen was used to.

〄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whore....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be strong....

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

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

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

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

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

"No..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bring me the head of Alys Rivers."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺━━━━━━━━━༻༒༺━━━━━━━━━༻

Autho's Note:

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

- Armoni

[oleafia-art]

some golden guards + caleb

i wanted to take a break and do some character design of a few golden guards based off of some of the ones seen briefly in canon. i also drew hunter and caleb as references for faces and stuff. i tried to make them as similar as possible, but also looking very individual to one another. since belos claimed that hunter looks the most like caleb, i tried to stay true to that while keeping the other three looking similar but not quite as identical. anyways i love them <3 they’re like the most mentally ill family ever to me

these weren’t supposed to be real ocs or anything but then i ended up giving them names and backstories and so i wrote a little about them aaaand now im obsessed. i will try to make a full body ref for them, especially alistair and/or constance, if i have time

i apologize for my godawful handwriting 💔

[wholoveseggs]

Phantom Desires

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} Harrenhal is tormenting Daemon, blurring the lines between what is reality and what is a dream. The damp, cold castle is driving him mad—until he meets you. You smell like summer, feel like a dream, and your lips taste like honey. If only you weren't a ghost.

♡♡ I was super inspired by Daemons bad time at Harrenhal and I decided he needs more trauma ~xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smuttt, ghost!reader, oral sex {m! & f! receiving}, Harrenhal lore, spooky shit, fiery death, Daemon is losing his mild, ghost sex, Alys Rivers being Alys Rivers {I love her}, horrifying as it is horny ...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

My love, please… 

Daemon was woken by a voice calling him softly from across the room. It sounds like the breeze through the curtains, but when he opened his eyes, all was quiet.

He loathed this place, the damp made his bones ache and in every dark corridor he felt as if he was being watched. He could hardly sleep a full night in the cursed castle.

My love, come with me…

This time when Daemon's eyes snapped open, he could see a figure at the end of his bed, silhouetted against the moonlight that shone through the open window. He reached for his dagger, but stopped when the figure stepped into the light and disappeared.

"Fucking hell." Daemon cursed, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Maybe the damp really was making him lose his mind. He couldn't even trust his own eyes anymore.

He laid back down and closed his eyes again, pulling the furs around his body tighter. Sleep. He told himself. Go. To. Fucking. Sleep...

You stood there, watching him sleep from the foot of his bed. He was a handsome man, his blonde hair was tousled against the dark furs of his bed, the moon casting silver across his features.

You crept closer, kneeling down on the edge of the bed, your hands smoothing the sheets. You longed to touch him, to feel his warmth, to feel his hands upon you.

My king…

You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. He would never hear you, no one could hear you. You watched him stir a little, his eyelashes fluttering, his face frowning in his sleep.

Please, I'm begging you. I don't want to burn. Don't let me burn…

Daemon's eyes snapped open. He was sure he had heard something. There it was again. Crying. Someone was crying.

He needed some air, this place was starting to make him paranoid. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulled on his breeches and a jerkin before grabbing a torch and stepping into the hall.

The castle was quiet, his footsteps echoing along the empty halls. He wasn't a fool, believing in tales of ghosts and the like. But this place... he had seen things he couldn't explain.

Maybe it was the stress of the war. Of the guilt he was trying so hard to ignore. All the lives lost because of his actions. The lives of people he loved.

A sob cut through the silence, pulling Daemon back from his dark thoughts.

Don't burn me alive…

A voice, soft and pleading, echoed from the end of the corridor. It had to be a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and the damp.

Please…

There it was again. Daemon turned on his heel, following the sobs until he found himself outside a small door. A woman's voice came through the wooden frame, crying, sobbing, pleading.

His hand went to the doorknob, he was shaking, terrified. What was happening to him? He had become so unmoored that he had lost his grip on reality? He knew the only way to get it back was to confront it head on.

When he pushed open the door, he saw you, standing in the dark corner of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself as you sobbed.

For a moment he just wanted to turn around and leave. He didn't have the capacity to console a crying woman right now. But then, he couldn't stop staring at you.

You turned, looking straight at him. Daemon felt a jolt in his stomach. Your eyes, they were beautiful. They seemed to glow with their own light.

"Are... Are you alright?" He asked you, cautiously, looking around the room for someone else. There was no one.

You wiped your tears, the reason you had been crying had already slipped your mind. The moment you saw the man before you, his blonde hair shining like the moon and his eyes, they were so piercing, like he could see right through you.

"I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost." You said, taking a step towards him.

He looked you up and down, his face twisted with confusion. You were dressed in finery, soft silks and velvets, the kind of thing a noble would wear. But this room, it was bare, cold and damp, not fit for a mouse let alone a woman of your beauty.

"I'm afraid I must have missed your introduction." He replied, giving you a curious look.

You smiled softly, it was the first time in so many years you had a visitor. He was handsome, strong, everything a man should be. You knew what he was, a Targaryen. A dragonrider. Born with fire in his veins.

You reached your hand out, and his eyes darted to it. He hesitated before taking it, half expecting his hand to pass right through you, but instead your fingers were warm, solid.

"I'm sorry for intruding, my lady. I thought this room was empty."

Your heart was pounding, the blood rushing to your ears. His touch, it felt like fire, power and there was an odd void to it. Like death rode beside him.

"It's alright." You whisper, not wanting him to let go.

"Are you a ghost?" He asked, his hand sliding up your arm, as if testing you, checking to see if you were real.

You laughed, how silly, "A ghost? No."

Daemon let out a shaky breath, "Thank the gods."

"Do you want something warm to drink? It can get so cold here," You asked, you wanted him to feel welcome, to calm the fire in his veins.

He seemed hesitant at first, but then he nodded, a small smile forming on his lips.

He followed you down the dark halls, keeping his torch aloft to light your way. The flames illuminating the damp, cold walls and the dust that floated through the air.

"You know, it wasn't always like this." You said softly, as you walked through the narrow passageways, your fingers running along the cold wet stone. "It was once a beautiful place, warm, welcoming."

He glanced around at the rotting floors and the moss growing along the stonework. He couldn't imagine it.

"My understanding is that it was always a cursed place, even before Aegon's arrival," he stated as the two of you entered the kitchens.

It was just as cold as the rest of the castle, but there was a fire going, and a basin full of fresh water. He lit the torches around the room and you began pulling out ingredients and preparing the tea.

Daemon leaned against the table, watching you work. You didn't look like you belonged in this place, you were too clean, too soft. Yet you behaved like you owned everything you touched.

"They say that before Harrenhal was built, it was a vast forest of heart trees," You said, focusing on putting some herbs and root vegetables into the pot over the fire, "That the trees themselves were Gods, and their roots are still underneath the stones, waiting to reclaim what is theirs."

"Sounds like a lot of nonsense," Daemon replied bitterly, his skepticism evident. 

"Yes," You agreed with a small smile, "But old stories often have a grain of truth to them."

He didn't understand why he was so drawn to you, why he sat and took the warm cup of tea that you handed him, or why he asked you to sit down next to him. He wasn't in the business of trusting people, but you... it felt like he had known you his whole life.

"The witch that resides here, Alys, said something similar," he added, remembering how she spun a tale about how this place was cursed. 

Your eyes darkened and your lips set in a line.

"Do not trust her," You tell him, your voice firm, "She sees things that are not there and hides secrets that are not her own."

He laughed and shook his head. "And what makes you so certain?"

You shrugged, "I see things too," you replied nervously, twiddling your fingers on your mug.

Daemon took a sip of his tea, an amused smile on his face and his eyebrows raised, "Is that so? Well, what do you see about me?"

You looked at him, your eyes studying every inch of his face, his hair, the scars along his neck. "You wish for things you don't really want," You whisper, "You seek violence, but deep down, you only want peace."

Daemon's face darkened, his jaw clenched and his hands tightened around his mug.

"Peace is for the weak," He replied harshly, his voice low, threatening, "Only the strong survive, and take what they want."

He looked so sad, so lonely. You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you were scared. There was a rage in him, and a desperation that seemed to engulf him.

"I didn't mean to offend." You apologize, lowering your gaze.

You didn't look at him, your fingers running around the rim of your mug, until you felt him move closer to you.

"You didn't." He answered you, his voice softer, "Tell me more, about yourself. If you will."

You looked up at him and you could see his eyes had changed, softened, there was a curiosity there.

"How did you end up here?" He asked you, watching the fire dance in your eyes.

He could see a shadow of sadness in them, pain, worry. But then it disappeared, hidden behind a mask of a beautiful smile. You fascinated him, such a pretty flower growing amongst the cold unforgiving stone.

"My husband put me here." You told him, tracing your finger along the scarred wood of the table. "He's gone now, lost in smoke,”

You could tell he didn't know how to respond. But his expression told you that he had lost someone too. He just quietly nodded, taking another sip of his tea. He was starting to relax a little more, the warmth of the fire and the comforting smell of the drink was starting to put his mind at ease.

"Why did you think I was a ghost?" You asked him softly, your hand coming to rest on his arm, as though to remind him you were real, solid. 

Daemon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, he didn't know how to answer that question without sounding insane. You could sense that a shadow hung around him like a stormcloud. His secrets coming to the surface.

"This place... It has a restlessness to it," he said, his voice low, cutting through the silence. "Some nights I lay awake listening to the walls groan, as though they are shifting and moving. I can hear... I can hear..." He trailed off, his voice getting hoarse.

You placed a hand on his cheek, his skin was rough and warm, and he leaned into your touch. You liked the way your skin felt against his, you wanted to assure him that you were trustworthy.

Daemon couldn't explain why he was telling you so much, but there was a calmness to you. When you touched him it felt like Dragonstone on a summer's day, like the feeling he got when he was alone in the clouds, flying far away from everything.

"Perhaps you are just lonely, and the castle is lonely too," You suggest to him.

Daemon couldn't deny the loneliness that plagued him. The nights were the worst, he had no one to confide in, no one to love him. He didn't want to think of his wife, his queen, far away and angry with him. Or his brother, dying alone and in agony. He had hurt them in ways that he could not atone for.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted, taking your hand from his cheek and intertwining it with his own. 

You watched him, the firelight dancing across his handsome features. His blonde hair was like liquid silver and his eyes were beautiful, like a summer sky.

"Stay with me tonight," He told you, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, his eyes pleading. There was a vulnerability in him, one that drew you in.

Daemon couldn't tell if he was being a fool, or if he was simply desperate to not be alone. The practical part of his brain told him that a good fuck would help him sleep, but this felt like something else. You were beautiful, there was no denying that, but you also felt like a dream, a figment of his imagination.

You didn't say a word, just stood up, still holding his hand, and led him from the kitchen, through the hall, past the courtyard, up the steps to his bed chambers.

The journey there felt like a blur, he couldn't take his eyes off you. The way your dress swayed, the way your hair bounced, the way the moonlight lit up your skin. It was like you were made of mist, or smoke, something that could fade away any moment.

The room was colder than when he left, the air smelled stale, and the curtains were flapping in the wind. It had a haunted quality, like a portrait whose eyes follow you around the room.

He had left the fire burning, but the warmth had been extinguished, and the flames were low. You moved to light the candles, giving the room a soft glow, but the darkness remained.

You turned to face him, he was watching you intently, waiting for you to make a move. You stepped closer, closing the distance between you, your hands sliding up his chest. He was so warm, so solid, full of life and power.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your face closer, and your lips met. It was a gentle kiss, hesitant, almost afraid. Like he was doing it for the first time.

His mouth was warm, the taste of the tea still on his lips. You could feel the desire building, the fire growing inside him. You pulled away, looking up at him. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, a hunger in them.

"Please don't burn me," you whispered, the words sounding strange to his ears.

Daemon didn't understand what you meant by it, and his lust was too powerful to care. He captured your lips again, kissing you deeply.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The light of the candle flickered across his chest, illuminating the texture of his scars.

"You have seen battle," You comment, tracing the mark on his chest, a reminder of the war and the violence he craved.

"Many times," he said, his voice low, heavy with desire, "And I have many more to see."

"So much suffering," You whisper, leaning forward, kissing one that stretched across his chest, "So much blood."

He closed his eyes, letting the heat of your touch wash over him.

You moved down, dropping to your knees, pressing your lips against his stomach, feeling the hardness of his muscles. Your hands reached for laces of his breeches, untying them and freeing his cock from the confines.

He let out a shaky breath as your hand wrapped around him, slowly stroking his length.

"My king," you whispered, kissing the underside of his shaft.

Daemon let out a moan, his head falling back, his hand reaching out to grip the back of your neck. He needed more, needed to feel your lips wrapped around him.

You obliged him, opening your mouth, taking his cock into your hot, wet mouth. He groaned, his hips bucking forward, pushing himself deeper.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair.

He looked down at you, his cock disappearing between your plump lips. The sight made him harder, and he was struggling to control himself. He wanted to fuck you, claim you.

Your hand reached down, cupping his balls, massaging them gently. Daemon moaned, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling your head forward, forcing his cock further down your throat.

He tasted like power, like a dragon made flesh. You could feel his pulse throbbing, the heat of his blood, the energy that pulsed through his body.

Daemon pulled you back by your hair, his cock popping out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you. He stared at you for a moment, before bending down and picking you up.

He carried you to the bed, dropping you onto the sheets. You looked up at him, his eyes were wild, and the smile on his face was pure lust.

He untied your dress, pushing the fabric aside, his hands sliding across your breasts. He bent down, his lips wrapping around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub.

Daemon groaned, his hands moving down, tugging on your skirts, pulling them up around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

He continued kissing his way down, his lips trailing across your stomach, his hands lifting your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

He settled between your legs, kissing your inner thigh, gently nipping at the tender skin. You felt his warm breath against your cunt, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He chuckled, pressing his face between your thighs, inhaling your scent. You could feel his tongue licking the length of your pussy, his fingers probing, pressing inside of you.

You gasped, your back arching, your hands clutching the sheets. You had never felt anything like it before, the feeling of his mouth and fingers moving in tandem, making your whole body tingle.

"Don't burn me, don't burn me," you whispered, over and over.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with concern, but he did not speak, did not ask you what you meant.

Instead, he pressed his lips against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you moaned, wanting more.

His eyes were gentle, trying to convey a tenderness he did not have, and his voice was quiet, as he whispered, "You are not going to burn."

Your hands went to his chest, clutching his shoulders, and you let him spread your legs. He was still fully clothed, but his cock was free, the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance.

You gasped as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. You clung to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him, moaning softly as he began to thrust.

He moved slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, but he quickly increased his pace, pounding into you, the sound of flesh slapping together echoing through the chamber.

"My king, my king, please don't-" you moaned, feeling him hit a good spot inside, sending sparks through your body.

He didn't listen, didn't understand what you meant, just continued to fuck you, his fingers digging into your thighs. He could feel his climax building, his cock throbbing inside of you.

You could feel him getting close, his breathing becoming ragged, his movements becoming erratic. You fell over the edge together, crying out as he released his seed deep inside you.

"My king, oh my king," you moaned, your nails digging into his back, leaving deep red marks.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his head resting on your chest. He didn't know why you kept calling him king, perhaps you were a bit confused about his status. But he wasn't going to correct you, he enjoyed the way it sounded coming from your lips.

You stroked his hair, his breathing slowly returning to normal. You could feel his heart beating, his warmth, his power.

"Don't leave," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I won't," you promised him, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

You felt him slowly fall asleep, his weight comforting on top of you.

There was a strange peace in the room, the darkness and the chill receded, the candlelight dancing across the stonework.

You held him, running your fingers through his hair, humming a tune that was as old as the castle itself.

Daemon woke to the sounds of screaming. His eyes shot open, his hands grabbing for his sword that was always close by. He was alone in his bed, the fire long since extinguished, the only light coming from the full moon.

He didn't have time to worry about where you had gone, the sounds of people shouting and a dragon roaring had him jumping out of bed, quickly dressing.

He ran down the corridor, the stones were ice cold, and the air smelled stale, the shadows dancing menacingly along the walls. He had to push against a door, it was swollen from the damp, but when he burst through, the smell of burnt flesh was thick.

You were in the courtyard, standing in the middle, your white dress glowing in the moonlight. You turned to look at him, your eyes full of tears.

"Please don't burn me," you begged him, your voice breaking.

The roar of the dragon filled his ears, and the sky was lit up with orange flames. He looked to the sky for the source of it, had Aemond arrived with Vhagar?

He was horrified when he saw that the dragon was not Vhagar, but the largest dragon he had ever seen. It looked like Balerion, but it had three heads.

He watched as it descended, its wings so large that with every movement, the sound of the wind would change, becoming deafening, thunderous.

He turned to look back at you, to tell you to run, but you were now right in front of him. Your face was mere inches from his own, burned black, melted, half of it hanging off.

"My king," you cried, your voice a broken, raspy sound. "Why did you burn me,"

Daemon screamed, then woke up in his bed. His body covered in a sheen of sweat, his heart pounding.

The bed next to him was empty, cold, the fire still burning low. He could still hear the screams, the dragon, the pain and suffering, still smell the ash and the charred flesh.

The sun was shining through the window, the sound of birds singing. Everything was peaceful, the castle was still, silent.

He sat up, his breathing slowing, his pulse returning to normal. He looked around the room, there was no sign of you, no sign that the night had ever happened.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. It had just been a dream, a vision. Nothing more.

But he could still smell you on the sheets, and the image of you was burned into his memory. He got up, dressing quickly, needing to move, to do something.

He spent the day meeting with vassals and lords, discussing matters of the realm. Trying to keep his mind busy. He felt as though he was slowly losing his grip on reality, he swore he could see you around every corner, could hear your voice in every creak and groan of the castle.

The sun had set, and the candles were burning low. The castle was quiet, the servants had gone to bed, the halls empty. He felt like he was completely alone, the only one left in the vast void of this wretched place.

He made his way down to the kitchens, looking for you. It was a foolish thing to do, he knew, but he had to find you, had to see if you were real.

He found Alys, sitting on a stool next to the fireplace, her nose buried in a book.

"Evening," she said without looking up, "Tea is in the pot."

Daemon didn't want tea, he didn't want anything other than to know you were alright.

"Have you seen the new girl?" He asked her, trying to keep his voice even, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Who?" She asked, still not looking up.

"She..." Daemon tried to describe what you looked like, but when he tried to picture you in his mind, the only image he could see was the one from his dream, your burned and melted face.

Alys watched him with a slight smirk, this dragon lord was unraveling so quickly, it was delicious. She went back to focusing on her book. "Doesn't ring a bell,"

He knew there was no point in trying to get more out of her, so he gave up and left the kitchen.

"Perhaps she is where you left her?" Alys suggested, her laughter echoing after him.

He walked back to his chambers, his heart pounding, his palms sweating. He stood outside the door for a moment, before gathering his courage and stepping inside.

The room was dark, the curtains were still closed, the air cold. There was a book lying open on his bed, one he did not remember leaving there.

He picked it up, holding it far away from him, like it could burn him. It was a book of the histories, of the conquest. Of Harren the Black and his sons burning alive.

He wondered who else died in the blaze, the nameless faces who were forgotten by history, the servants and slaves, the wives and daughters.

Daemon was sure he was losing his mind, the castle was haunting him, and it was only a matter of time before he became one of its ghosts.

Don't burn me… My king…

He remembered the fear in your voice, the sadness, the pleading. Anger and confusion bubbled in his chest and he threw the book across the room, the pages fluttering as it landed.

He needed sleep, this was all because he wasn't sleeping. Once he was rested, his mind would be clearer. He put no stock in dreams or visions, ghosts and monsters, that was for children and fools, this was all just because he was tired.

He got ready for bed, blowing out the candles, the moonlight casting shadows across the walls. He settled into bed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

You watched him lay there, his brow furrowed, his face troubled. He tossed and turned, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

You laid down next to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. He calmed at your touch, his breathing slowing. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, his skin warm, and his hair tickled your lips.

"My king," the words fell from your lips, barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes, nearly jumping out of bed when he saw you, laying right next to him, your head on the pillow.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his voice harsh, his hand gripping the dagger under his pillow.

You sat up, your hair falling around you, your dress slipping off your shoulder. "I was just... I just..." You tried to find the words, tried to think of what you were doing, where you were. "...I missed you," you said, the words not feeling quite right, but they were the only ones that came.

He stared at you, his eyes wild, his hand gripping the dagger so tightly, his knuckles were white.

"How did you get in here?" He asked, his voice low, dangerous.

You thought about it, trying to remember, but it was like there was a fog covering your mind.

"I don't know, I've always been here," you said, your voice trembling, tears starting to form. "I just wanted to see you."

He let go of the dagger, and took a deep breath.

"What is your name?" He asked, his eyes studying you.

"I- I don't know," you stammered, the tears falling freely now.

He reached out and touched your face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. His hand lingered, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"You're not real are you?" He asked, his voice full of sadness.

"Yes I am," you cried, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your cheek. "I'm right here."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Who do you think I am?"

"You're the dragon king," you said, smiling through the tears, “the great conqueror,”

He stared at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. "What is my name?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Aegon," you said, the word felt right, like it belonged in your mouth, but the fear in his eyes told you otherwise.

He pulled away from you, moving to the edge of the bed, his back to you. He felt your arms wrap around him from behind, your breasts pressing against his back, your head resting on his shoulder.

"You're not really Aegon," you whispered, "Are you?"

He shook his head, his eyes staring at the floor.

"I'm not real?" You asked, your hands clutching his shoulders.

"No, no you're not," he whispered.

Suddenly you were kneeling in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs, your head tilted to look at him.

"Then why can I touch you?" You asked, running your hands up his thighs.

He didn't answer, just pulled you into his lap and pressed his lips to yours. You melted into him, his hands on your waist, his lips parting.

You tasted sweet, like honey, like a spring day, the flowers blooming. He needed you like a fire needs air, like a man needs water, his hands moving down to your hips, pulling you closer.

He moaned into the kiss, your hips rolling against him. You could feel his hardness beneath the fabric, the heat radiating from him. Your hands untied his shirt, pushing the fabric aside, revealing his bare chest.

You kissed his neck, biting and sucking on the tender skin. He groaned, his hands moving to your hair, tugging, pulling you away from his neck.

You stared at him, your eyes dark, full of lust, your lips swollen. He pulled you back in, his mouth crashing into yours, his hand moving to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

He lifted your skirts, his hand dipping beneath the fabric, easing a finger inside you. You gasped against his lips, his touch sending shivers through your body, your hands gripping his shoulders. He slipped another finger inside you, pumping slowly, then adding another. His eyes never left yours as the intensity increased, moving faster, your breath coming in short gasps.

Your lips brushed his, your voice a breathy moan. "Please my king.... Don't burn me, don't burn me,"

Daemon froze.

"I can't burn you," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're already dead."

Your face crumpled, the tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body. The sound of you crying echoed strangely in the chamber, the shadows growing longer, the light from the moon turning crimson.

"I'm dead? You killed me?" You cried, trying to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you go.

"I didn't kill you," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "That was someone else, in another time,"

You looked at him, your eyes wide, your mouth open in a silent scream. He watched in horror as your skin began to bubble and blister, peeling off in chunks. It was like you turned into sand in his arms, slowly crumbling, falling through his fingers.

You screamed, a blood curdling, terrible sound, like the screams he had heard in his nightmare. You were being consumed by fire, the flames eating away at your flesh, burning, boiling, the smell of burning meat filling the air.

He couldn't look away, couldn't let go. He was frozen in place, trapped, watching as you were destroyed. Then you vanished from his lap, fading into nothing.

Daemon sat in his bed, his skin clammy, his breathing ragged. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. He couldn't take this anymore. He was going mad.

"Don't leave me here in this place," he whispered, he did not know why he had said it, but he did. It was a plea, a desperate, hopeless plea.

But you had left. Because you were never real.

And this wretched castle was just as lonely as before.

[alygator77]

∅ - smut ♡ - fluff ๑ - angst

GOJO SATORU

≫ series

⚜ motherhood and matrimony [masterlist] ♡ ∅ ๑

satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

⚜ beat of my heart [masterlist] ๑ ∅ ♡

being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realizes it’s too late?

≫ longer fics

⚜ moment of weakness/passion [part 1] [part 2] ∅ ♡ ๑

after a rough night at the bar, you are drunk out of your mind and decided to ask your best friend satoru to come pick you up to take you home. but during the car ride the alcohol starts giving you courage, making you feel rather bold as you make a move on your best friend. did this ruin your friendship? was this a mistake, or does he reciprocate your feelings?

≫ one shots

⚜ masked affairs—sold to desire ∅♡

it's a lavish charity masquerade, and you find yourself under satoru gojo’s spell once again. tonight, he’s playing a dangerous game—a discreet, remote-controlled toy designed to tease and torment you—hula beads. as the night unfolds, you walk the fine line between obedience and defiance, but testing him could be your undoing—satoru is unforgiving, and he holds the key to your pleasure.

⚜ behind the screen ∅

when a late-night swipe on an anonymous dating app leads to a sultry phone call, you think it’s the perfect way to escape your work stress—especially your infuriatingly smug coworker Gojo Satoru. but when the man on the other end starts sounding eerily familiar, secrets slip out.

⚜ cursed in color—satoru's new look ♡

satoru gojo faces a challenge no amount of cursed energy can prepare him for—his daughter’s makeover. with pigtails, polish, and plenty of giggles, satoru finds himself utterly powerless to resist her antics.

⚜ unwrapping you ∅♡

it’s satoru’s birthday, but tonight, you’re the one giving the surprises. taking charge in a way he never saw coming, you leave the strongest man completely unraveled—and utterly yours.

⚜ echos of time, a love unspoken ∅ ๑

overwhelmed with grief and regret, you are desperate to reconnect with your closest friend and secret love, satoru gojo. when you discover an ancient relic that allows you to travel back in time, you are given the opportunity to finally share your true feelings

≫ drabbles

⚜ long distance satoru ♡ ∅

⚜ arranged clanhead satoru ∅ ๑

⚜ supermodel satoru ∅ ♡

[fioiswriting]

The lust we share

Summary : When your husband takes you to Harrenhal, you meet his lover. And things don't turn out the way you thought they would.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x reader, Alys Rivers x Reader, Aemond x Reader x Alys

TW : pwp, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, light angst, threesome, unprotected sex, breeding kink (implied), praising kink, loss of virginity,  not proofread.

Words count : 3652

AN : hi everyone!! How are you doing ? SO I know. I know I should be working on all my other works in progress BUT I had this idea and…Well. I had to write this. Who else is excited to see Alys??? Btw I’ve finished my exams and my internship, so I should have more time to write <3

Sorry, it’s filthy. As always. 

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

From the moment you see her, you're mesmerised by her striking beauty, which makes her mysterious and dangerous. There's something intriguing about her gaze, as if she's reading through you, and it sends shivers down your spine every time. She seems to pierce your soul, deciphering your deepest secrets, leaving you both entranced and unsettled. She moves with a graceful confidence, her long black curls bouncing behind her. You don't know where to look. She's mesmerising. Your gaze is relentlessly drawn back to her.  She has curves where you don't.  A confidence you don't have.

You can only see in her what you lack in yourself, and in a way, you understand Aemond.

But Alys is surprisingly gentle with you. Her eyes show a kind of pity. You were nervous, frightened, and the edges of your thumbs can testify to that.  After all, Alys is the other woman. Or maybe it's you, the other woman. Alys was there before you, after all. And she exudes a confidence, a poise, a maturity that you'll never be able to match, as if she were able to bend anyone or anything to her will. You can see why they say she's a witch. 

With you it's different. Alys is patient. You just don't like the pitying tone she uses when she talks to you, as if you were a frail little thing to be pitied, as if she's afraid to break you – but you're no doll. You're not made of glass. You don't need pity. She knows you had no choice. You were forced to follow your husband to Harrenhal.  Maybe that’s why she pities you.

She wonders how you manage to stay by his side, when you know the horrors he's committed, and it's something you wonder too. Every step he takes is made of ashes and blood, and you know the cries still haunt the walls of Harrenhal.  The blood is probably still fresh, soaking the cobblestones.

She's made a habit of brushing your hair, stroking your long curls, cradling you and talking to you, and there's something comforting about the way she mothers you. You seek solace in her arms, when your husband is distant. At least you are not alone.

Your marriage to Aemond is recent. She listens as you confide in her and caresses your head. You are young and frightened, and you know the King needed an alliance to continue the war - your father had military and financial support to offer him.  Marrying into the Targaryen family is a privilege no one can refuse. And especially not when your husband is the Prince Regent.

"Does he treat you well?" Your gaze meets hers in the mirror, but you are quick to look away. There's something too sincere in looking into her eyes. You feel as if she can see into your soul, read the truth, reveal your secrets, and that makes you uncomfortable. 

" He's cold. Distant," you reply. Because it's true, Aemond is caught up in the gears of war, and he doesn't have much time for you, but you accept the place he's given you.  He has a need to control, you've noticed. He controls and owns and dictates the rules of the game. Maybe it's comforting, for him, maybe it's his way of coping.  He never shows vulnerability, at least not to you. 

"Does he satisfy you?" Your face immediately turns red. You don't know how to tell her that you haven't consummated the marriage yet. You got married in a hurry. You didn't have time for -

At least he insisted you accompany him to Harrenhal. He didn't want you waiting for him in the Red Keep, he wanted you close to him. Because you are his wife, he said. 

"We... We didn't..." You babble. You search for your words. And then you see her smirk, a subtle hint of a smile, almost imperceptibly curling the corners of her lips. You hardly know her, it's strange to discuss such intimate matters with your husband's lover. She knows him better than you do. Perhaps he showed her vulnerability, perhaps she knows what scars his soul. You wonder what she's thinking. She's indecipherable. Alys is a mystery. She exudes a special aura.

" What a pity," is all Alys answers. She has finished combing your hair. She takes the strands that have fallen across your chest and pulls them back behind your back, admiring her work. You hardly recognise yourself. You look bold. Almost confident. Your cleavage is accentuated. You look pretty.

You let her fingers brush over your bare shoulders, the touch light and pleasant. She places the finishing touch around your neck; a sapphire necklace. 

"Now you look like a future queen," she whispers, her lips painted red in the hollow of your ear, and you shiver. With desire or surprise, you don't really know. There's a kind of certainty in her voice that intrigues you. You're not quite sure what that is. For a brief moment, you have the feeling that you detect some truth in her words, and you say nothing. Her eyes are shining. 

Perhaps there's a part of unspoken desire there that you keep hidden beneath your innocent appearance.

You feel your husband's burning gaze on you all evening. You are alone at dinner. The two of you. The servants have brought the dishes and left immediately. He's at the other end of the table, his head held high, separated from you by steaming plates that make your mouth water. He has barely spoken, but you know that Aemond is a man of few words. He's all about quality.

"You look beautiful."

You politely accept the compliment. You like to feel that he fancies you. But then again, who doesn't like compliments? You cut your meat, your movements precise and delicate, like the lady you've been taught to become all your life. You play your role to perfection, it's a form of comfort, at least.

"I'm pleased that you find me to your liking, husband."

He looks satisfied. A silence falls over you. You are still hesitant in his company. You still have to adjust to him. You need to know how far you can go. What are your possibilities and your limits.

" She's intriguing, your Alys. "Your voice doesn't sound quite the way you would like it to, and you blame yourself. It gives the impression that you're reproaching him. That's not what you want. He stares at you with his one good eye, unreadable. 

"My Alys," he muses. "She is, indeed." He lets a doubt linger, and you regret having brought up the subject of Alys. "She sees much and more. She saw a future for me." He pauses. You raise your eyes to him, puzzled. "For us."  You and him, he means. And for a split second, you wonder if this has anything to do with what she told you.  A future queen. She said you looked like a future queen.

Your pulse quickens. The idea seems dizzying.  But there are certain desires that should remain buried, you know it. You don't want to appear power-hungry, even if your core is burning at the thought of having the whole Kingdom at your feet. 

Perhaps your husband can see it in your eyes.

Aemond wears the Conqueror's Crown on his head like the Prince Regent that he is, and you can't help but think that it suits him so well. It's what he is made for. He looks like a statue carved in marble, ethereal and suspended in time, the embodiment of Targaryen beauty and grace.

How can such an angelic face hide such a cruel man?

"But don't be jealous, wife." He continues in the face of your silence. His voice is cold. It cuts through the air like a sharp knife. "For it is you I have chosen to marry, and I intend to be a dutiful husband."

You feel your cheeks flush. He's watching you so intently. His good eye shines even brighter than the sapphire you know hides under his eye patch. You feel as if he's undressing you with his gaze. 

"I want you, tonight."

The statement sends a wave of heat between your thighs. You know what he means. You want it too. But to hear him express his desire so clearly, as if leaving no room for discussion, awakens a familiar sensation in your core. Aemond wants to take what he wants, what is rightfully his, and you may be sick in your head because the idea excites you as much as it frightens you. He's dangerous.  You know what he's done. And yet. And yet, you can't help but want him. 

By the time the meal is over, he's already standing in front of you. Tall. He towers over you, and as he leans towards you, forcing your chin up with the tip of his forefinger, he whispers, "You wouldn't deny your husband, would you?"

Gods, you can feel your arousal forming between your thighs, spreading across the fabric of your underwear. He's looking at you, his purple eye burning with desire. Between his legs, a visible bulge is already stretching the linen fabric. You notice it easily; it reflects the hunger you can read in his eyes.

"I wouldn't. Not when you are already so desperate."

To back up your words, your eyes drop to his crotch. He clenches his jaw and remains silent for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, what thoughts are racing through his brain right now. He looks at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if studying an unknown specimen. Maybe you've been too bold.  Maybe he likes it. 

"I bet you are already wet."

A shiver runs down your spine. He doesn't look away, not for a moment, and your eyes are relentlessly drawn to his, as if hypnotised. 

" Check. "

He doesn't waste any time. His fingers run down your body, slipping under the thick layers of your dress - you're wearing green to please him, but it's not the colour of your house. They work their way up your leg, up the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin in a long shiver of pleasure. You feel him brush against your folds; a touch so light it's like a ghost. But isn't that his purpose, to haunt you in the depths of your soul? When he ventures between your warm folds, your teeth bite your lower lip to prevent the slightest sound from escaping your lips. You don't want to give him that privilege. You don't want to show him that you need him.

"Indeed, you are."

He captures your innermost essence with the tip of his finger and immediately withdraws his hand. His forefinger touches his thumb, and he inspects the transparent thread that stretches between his fingers. You look away. Your cheeks are flushed. You're burning with embarrassment at your body's betrayal.  He wipes his fingers and straightens up as if nothing had happened.

"Be there when I call for you."

And with that, he leaves the room. You're left alone, staring at the flame dancing in the middle of a candle. Between your thighs, your centre throbs.  Your husband is a mystery.

You are lying on the bed. Panting, you are drowning in a combination of feverish pleasure and anticipation of what is to come. Alys plants kisses on the back of your neck, spicy and intoxicating like the finest Dornish wine. Her fingers brush over your nipples, and with a deft movement, she rolls them between her forefinger and thumb, pinching them gently.  She is behind you. You lie with your back against her full breasts, her legs on either side of your body. Her long black hair tickles your collarbones as she leans towards you, and an herbal scent wafts through the air; a mixture of sage and lavender.

Her lips were between your thighs a moment ago. With devotion, the tip of her tongue explored your still untouched womanhood, collecting the fruits of your desire, her fingers drawing circles against your entrance. She's experienced. She knows what she's doing. You've never felt anything like this before. And when your thighs have closed around her face, one of your hands buried in her thick mass of black hair, she welcomed your climax into her mouth. Her half-closed eyes looked up at you from under her long lashes, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She seemed proud of herself, and of her work.  You're sure she can still taste you on her lips.

When she had finished, she remained between your legs for a moment, tracing little circles on your lower stomach, her lips still glistening with your essence and her own saliva. Your chest rose and fell quickly.  Red with embarrassment, you didn't dare meet her eyes and see the blatant traces of your shared sin still staining the lower part of her face. She let you catch your breath. Regain your senses. Come down from that little cloud you're still on.

It's Aemond who moves first. He stands and joins Alys, wiping what's left of your desire on her lips with his thumb. He looks satisfied. You wonder if he liked what he saw, if he liked seeing his wife tremble under the caresses of another.  He pushes his thumb between Alys's lips, forcing her to taste you once more, and she sucks his finger with infinite compliance. You can see in their eyes that they know each other intimately, that he has already tasted her body. You can see it in their eyes, in the glances they exchange.  You wonder if there has been more than carnal pleasure. You think there is. He kisses her chastely on the lips.

Aemond looks in your direction. He burns with desire, excitement and anticipation. You are about to become his and he can't hold back any longer. He needs to possess you. 

"She did well," Alys murmurs, amused. "Give her a moment."

But he doesn't want to wait, he wants his wife. He undresses, and that's when Alys comes up behind you. She strokes your hair and whispers a series of praises into the hollow of your ear. You're cottony between her fingers, but your core is throbbing again at the thought of feeling your husband inside you.

"Open your legs," Aemond commands. And Alys gently spreads your thighs so that you reveal yourself to your husband.

Aemond details your body. Every part, from your lips to your breasts, from the valley between your breasts to your navel, and then the curve that leads to your centre. Alys follows the path of his gaze - her fingers on your nipples, and then her fingers running along your abdomen to your folds, caressing them gently.  Her index and middle fingers slide between your flesh.

"Look how ready she is for you," Alys whispers to Aemond. You’re wet. His eyes are locked on you, right where you want him most. His member is hard, slightly curved against his belly, its angry red tip already leaking white beads.

And you are ready. You're just waiting for it. Desperately. The orgasm Alys gave you with her tongue has awakened a new, hungry desire in you.  You stifle a moan that Alys encourages you to express with her lips along your throat. 

Aemond leans over you, capturing your lips with his own. He nibbles at your lower lip. You feel his dominance, his need to own you. He's rough with his kiss, as if he's waited too long. Maybe he has.

You moan. Where Alys' body is soft and full of curves, Aemond's is angular and made of muscle. 

"I want you," he whispers again against your lips. His fingers slide down your body, lingering on your breasts as he caresses your already erect nipples. Then he moves them between your thighs. He's meticulous with his movements. Precise. He traces your slit, spreads your folds to tease your little bud. You stifle another moan.

"And I can tell you want me too."

His fingers are against your entrance, which clenches around nothing as you feel him draw circles without ever entering you. It's frustrating. Slowly, he inserts a finger. You move your hips, desperate for more contact, desperate to welcome him deeper into you.

"Stay still," Aemond whispers, pressing down on your lower body. Behind you, Alys runs her hand through your curls. She strokes your long hair and when you move, she shushes you.

"You'll take what I give you," he adds, his lips against your jaw, his fingers inside you. "But if you are patient, you will be rewarded. I always reward good girls." You feel a slight stretch as a second finger enters you, and the sensation is delicious. Delicious, but not enough. Even when he starts to move his fingers back and forth - they are subtly crooked inside you, even when he traces the curve of your breast with his mouth, catching your nipple between his lips. 

"You're doing well," Alys breathes, praising you. There's her body behind you, and Aemond's lips on your breasts, his fingers buried inside you, deep, and your body is on fire. But it's not enough.

"I'm ready," you moan. "Please."

Behind you, Alys chuckles softly, her chest rising and falling as she senses your desperation, senses your desperate need for more. The impatience of the youth, she thinks - for Aemond is like that, too. Impatient. Impulsive. She had to teach him as well. As Aemond withdraws his fingers and positions himself between your legs, you feel Alys hold your thighs apart. Her fingers are hot against your skin, but there's something soothing about having her against you, around you. Her presence calms the too-rapid beating of your heart - an inevitable form of apprehension at the thought of what is about to happen.

There's something strange about the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with your husband and his lover. It's not what you imagined, and yet you love the feeling of having them both against you. You're safe. You feel safe. The war can't reach you when you're between their bodies - it's a silly thought.

And then, his round tip rubs between your folds, testing your entrance. The contact is hot. When he finally enters you, the stretch catches you off guard, your fingers close in the sheets, then around Alys' arm.

"Fuck. You're tight." Aemond grunts.

The sensation is new and incredible - the slight pain you felt at first quickly dissipates, replaced by pleasure. 

Soon you feel nothing else. Alys' hands leave your legs and move up your body. One hand on your breast, the other at the top of your folds, where she draws slow circles around your pearl.  She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing, and so does Aemond. And there they are, both slaves to your own pleasure.

He sets his pace. She sets hers. You know you won't last long; your walls are already beginning to tighten around his member. You feel him so deep inside you, and there's this one spot, this one precise spot that he hits at a steady pace that makes you feel like you're seeing stars.

Soon your husband's movements become sloppy, messy. 

"Fill your wife, Aemond." Alys whispers in a commanding tone, and there's something about hearing her give orders to your husband that sends a wave of warmth through your lower belly. She reaches out her hand, strokes his hair, his cheek. "You need an heir, don't you? So, spill your seed, I know you can." She addresses Aemond, but her honeyed voice echoes in your ears. You shiver, once more. The thought. The thought is -

You feel your release sweep through your body like a wave washing over you. You throw your head back against Alys, who is already kissing you.  Her fingers leave your folds. Aemond brings them to his mouth - he cleans every trace of you that still stains her skin with a hm. It's filthy. It's indecent. But you're too far gone to think about that now. 

All you can think of is Aemond's arms around your waist as he pulls you up so you're sitting on top of him, facing him, his forehead against yours, as he spills his seed deep inside you, white ropes painting your wombs. He holds you against him, his hands on your waist, the grip mean and possessive. You put your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest. And he holds you like that, against him, when his member stops throbbing between your inner walls, when he feels his member softening inside you. When you come to your senses, still high from your second release of the evening.

"Now you truly belong to me," he whispers against your lips, and all you can answer is "Yes, I do".

As you lie back, you can still feel the sticky combination of your two fluids dripping between your thighs. But your eyelids are already heavy - your lovemaking has exhausted you. Alys strokes your hair, under Aemond's watchful eye. He's still hesitant, despite what's happened between you - but it's hard for him to be vulnerable.

"You did well," she mutters, but she doesn't know if you can hear her or if you're already asleep. Aemond finally reaches out to caress your face with a gentleness you don't recognise; his thumb against your cheek. He's soft. You look so peaceful, asleep between them.

You are not sure what tomorrow will bring. You are not sure what the future holds. But when you close your eyes, your dreams are made of crowns and sapphires.

Ashes and flames too - but you'd rather forget that. Outside, the war still rages.

[meadowfics]

first date

cho sang-woo x f!reader

a first date was needed for the both of you, even if it feels like you were with sang-woo for ten years already

warnings: post squid game au, where sang-woo survives and not gihun. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 21yrs-24yrs. sang-woo did not k*ll sae-byeok in this au. angst. reader was in the games too and survived with sang woo, not sure how but anyways... reader is a yapper and sang-woo is a listener.

sang woo arrives at the restaurant first, always one to be punctual.

he sits by the window, back straight, hands resting on the table as he waits for you.

when you walk in, he notices immediately.

you’re wearing a simple ivory colored sweater and blue jeans, looking cozy and effortlessly beautiful.

the older man's lips twitch up slightly, the closest thing to a smile you’ll get from him in public.

you slide into the seat across from him, resting your chin in your palm.

"you got new glasses,"

you point out, eyes twinkling.

he adjusts them slightly, feigning nonchalance.

"my old ones were broken,"

he says, as if that’s the only reason.

he knows that you know.

you were there in the games when he lost those old ones.

you grin.

"i like these. they suit you."

for a second, his ears turn a shade of pink.

he glances away, pretending to focus on the menu.

but you see it. the look.

the soft affection he always tries to hide.

"what are you getting?"

he asks, eyes scanning the menu like it’s a financial report.

you shrug.

"probably something warm. i don’t care as long as it’s good."

"that’s not a real answer," he says, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

"neither was yours,"

you shoot back, making him huff a quiet laugh.

you both order, the conversation flowing naturally.

it always does.

it did during the games.

there’s an understanding between you two, something unspoken yet solid.

"do you ever think about them?"

you ask suddenly, voice soft.

this might not be appropriate during your first dinner with sang-woo as a couple, but you know that you can talk to him about anything.

he knows exactly who you mean. he takes a breath before answering.

"I do."

"gihun would’ve dragged us to some barbecue place instead,"

you muse.

"and he would’ve argued with the owner about the price,"

sang woo adds, lips curling slightly.

you laugh, then sigh.

"and sae-byeok… she would’ve just sat there, barely eating, watching us argue."

there’s a pause. a heaviness settles over you both, the weight of memories pressing against your ribs.

"i wish they were still here,"

you admit.

sang woo nods, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

"me too."

the food arrives, and for a while, the two of you eat in silence.

it’s comfortable.

there’s no need to fill every moment with words.

eventually, you shift the conversation.

"cheol’s doing okay, you know."

sang woo looks up, interest flickering in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"yeah. my mom loves him. she says that he’s… adjusting. still quiet, but he smiles more."

context: your mother adopted sae-byeok's orphan brother. after you promised a dying sae-byeok that cheol would be okay.

sang woo nods thoughtfully.

"that’s good. he deserves a normal life."

"so do we,"

you say, watching him carefully.

he doesn’t respond immediately, but you see the way his jaw tenses.

"normal,"

he murmurs, almost like the word is foreign to him.

you reach across the table, taking his hand.

his fingers are slightly calloused, warm against your softer skin.

he stills for a moment, then gently squeezes your hand in return.

"we’re doing okay,"

you reassure him.

his thumb brushes against your knuckles, absentmindedly.

"we are."

when you finish eating, you don’t leave right away.

you linger, just enjoying each other’s presence.

"it’s kind of funny,"

you say suddenly.

"most people date for a while before moving in together. we’re just jumping straight to it."

he raises an eyebrow.

"you’re the one who suggested it."

you grin.

"I know but you didn’t say no."

he shakes his head, a small, fond look in his eyes.

"of course i didn’t."

you study him for a moment, admiring the way the dim restaurant lighting reflects in his new glasses.

you like looking at him, even if he never quite believes it when you say so.

"you really love me, huh?"

you tease, tilting your head.

he scoffs, but his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

"what do you think?"

you smirk.

"i think you do. i think you’ve been in love with me for a while now, actually."

since the first game back in that hellhole..

he sighs, shaking his head.

"and here i thought you were shy."

"only when i first met you. now i just like bothering you."

"that much is obvious,"

he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words.

when the bill comes, he grabs it before you can.

you open your mouth to protest, but he gives you a look.

"just let me do this,"

he says simply.

you shut your mouth.

it’s not worth arguing over, and honestly? you don’t mind.

it’s just another way he shows love...through actions, not words.

as you both step outside, the air is crisp, cool against your skin.

you don’t say anything at first, just standing side by side.

then, suddenly, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

the touch is fleeting, but it lingers, making your heart skip a beat.

"come on,"

he murmurs, starting to walk.

you follow, smiling softly.

you don’t need anything grand or extravagant.

this...just being with him, knowing he’s yours...is enough.

masterlist

[venusbyline]

Haunted ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 28, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Rivers!reader x Alys Rivers

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: breast fucking

— summary: In fact, Harrenhal was driving Daemon insane and seemed to be so fucking haunted, because as soon as he woke up, there was no trace that what the three of you did during the night had actually happened.

— word count: 1.4k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 28th day, female!reader, Alys Rivers's younger sister!reader, dark!Alys Rivers, dark!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, breast fucking, rape/non-con (but becomes dubcon later), breast worship, non-con somnophilia, threesome (female/female/male), Rivers Incest (older sister/younger sister), large breasts, forced orgasm, cum eating, cum shot, curse words, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, rough kiss, overstimulation, hallucinations, ambiguous/open ending, cheating, mind manipulation, age gap (older man/younger woman/older woman), implied breastfeeding kink, mommy issues, erotic dreams/nightmares, implied Targcest (mother/son), open to interpretation, bisexual!reader, bisexual!Alys, Rivers sisters are witches, haunted castle, The Curse of Harrenhal, married Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen, referenced Daemon Targaryen/Alyssa Targaryen, implied Mysaria/Rhaenyra Targaryen, Laena Velaryon mentioned, Alicent Hightower mentioned, sadism, switch!Daemon, dom!Alys, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— crossposting: AO3

One of the things Daemon Targaryen loved most about women were their breasts. He was a great breasts lover, whether they were large, small or medium, different colors of nipples...

Although Daemon liked cunts, butts, thighs and hips too, nothing compared to his appreciation for breasts. He loved Laena's medium breasts, he had loved Rhaenyra's small breasts when she was young and then he also grew to loved how big they were after she was pregnant six times. And even though he hated to admit it, he actually enjoyed watching Alicent's tiny underdeveloped breasts covered by her pretty dresses when she was a teenager, before she married his older brother and became a fucking annoying bitch with each passing year of her adult life.

With his arrival at Harrenhal, it all seemed too much. Maybe it was the conversations with the weird healer, Alys Rivers, but he was feeling... Tempted. He was constantly having dreams and nightmares, involving Rhaenyra, Laena and even his mother, who he could not even meet because she passed away when he was just a little baby. His mind was tormented by strange and troubled thoughts, peculiar desires. Daemon was never known for being the most loyal partner in the world, but he did never even considered cheating on Rhaenyra during the recent years.

However, staying at Harrenhal was destroying what little sanity that he still had. When it was not the nightmares and macabre visions in the wreckage of the castle or Alys Rivers talking cryptically to him, it was you trying to seduce him. He did not know almost anything about you. From the few rumors he heard in those days, you must be some daughter of Alys Rivers or more likely her younger sister. Either way, you were probably a bastard of House Strong too. He did not care much about your constant glances in his direction, or how you seemed to devour him with your hungry eyes. Daemon had more important things to do than care about a little girl who was turned on about him.

Well... At least he thought that way until he woke up from a nightmare. Another terrible nightmare. Another erotic dream with his mother, Alyssa Targaryen. He did not even know her, but his mind was making him think about her all the time during the dream. The full and pretty lips, the pointed nose, the extremely beautiful and sensual violet eyes, the delightful body and milky skin, the curves of the hips, the stretch marks on the stomach, the large breasts... Damn, those damn breasts. What kind of curse could that stupid castle be poisoning him, making Daemon dream he was being breastfeeding by his own mother? The woman he had never even met. It was so disgusting, and yet he could not help but groan in frustration when he woke up, realizing that there was no more milk on his lips. Alyssa was not truly called him her favorite son, she was not stroking his hair while he was being fed...

Daemon was about to stand up and take a deep breath, before his eyes widened as he felt his member being pressed. Or rather, crushed against two soft things.

"Seven Hells... What the fuck?" He moaned in confusion, opening eyes with his vision still blurred, despairing when he saw you smirking, rubbing his cock between your big breasts.

"Another nightmare?" You teased, your voice sounding more sensual than all the brothel whores he had fucked in the past. And the quantity was really high. "About your hot mommy?"

Daemon kept his eyes wide, stuttering like a pathetic little boy. He did not look like the almost fifty years old King Consort and exceptional warrior anymore, you had turned him into a confused mess, moans echoing as you pressed your own breasts harder, making his cock disappear in the middle. "S-Stop it! Stop it right now or I will rip your head off!"

His death threat was not real. Both of you knew that. He would not kill you. He did not even truly want you to stop. He needed more physical touch, he needed to have sex, to feel the warmth of a woman again, something Rhaenyra had been denying him since the labour of the stillborn Visenya and Lucerys' murder, as well as the death of his father, the usurpation of her Iron Throne caused by the Greens and her anger knowing that Daemon was the causer for the death of a little child. The innocent Jaehaerys, firstborn son of Helaena and Aegon.

Daemon knew he should understand her reasons. But he was also a man with high sexual desires, and given the chaos in their marriage, he was more than eager to cum.

Considering how sensitive and even sore his cock already was, Daemon pictured you had been taking advantage of his body for hours while he slept, raping him during his erotic nightmares. Now, he was sure you already knew what he was dreaming about and what he wanted and needed so much.

"Would you rather kill me or cum on my breasts and my face for the third time?" You asked mockingly and the man frowned, swallowing hard with embarrassment and some irritation when he finally noticed that your breasts were already covered with his cum and your face had a few drops of it too. You were making the most of the situation.

Instead of answering you, Daemon swallowed hard again and pushed his hips higher, starting to help you to fuck your breasts, your tongue touching the head of his cock and making him moan and growl, desperate for a distraction and eager to cum as many times as possible his body could handle it. "Y-You are going to pay for this..." He groaned, squirming when you placed your hands on your breasts and tightening them harder. "O-Oh, fuck. You fucking bastard whore... Rhaenyra will want to kill us when she finds out about this." Daemon threw his head back, body trembling while he released his seed with a guttural moan, painting your face with those white drops again.

Daemon heard you chuckle and saw you run your fingers over your cheeks, licking the cum and smirking at him, who was still panting and with a look mixed with anger, lust and hesitation. He wanted so badly to strangle you or fuck you until your breasts became even bigger and heavier after the bastard children that he would insist on placing inside your womb.

"I have my doubts that your wife will care about your incestuous dreams or your extramarital affairs here in Harrenhal. She is too busy wanting to fuck your ex-lover. Mysaria, I guess." The sudden appearance of Alys Rivers and her words left Daemon stunned. He wanted to tell her to fuck off and that she was just lying for fun, but he fell silent when she started tearing off her nightgown, her body with beautiful breasts approached the two of you as she crouched next to you on the bed, crushing and scratching the soft flesh of your chest with her long nails, giving you an intense kiss, both of your mouths hungry for each other, blood dripping from the bites. Daemon's eyes remained focused and wide at the sight, just as his cock became hard again. "I guess Daemon can handle a few more orgasms before he goes completely insane, right, little sister?" Alys Rivers teased and you nodded with a giggle, giving her one last kiss before the two of you smirked at each other, watching as Daemon closed his eyes so he could try to control himself as you began to pump his cock, already so creamy with his own seed, ached and sensitive. Alys took advantage of the fact that your hands being busy and she put Daemon's big and thick member inside her mouth, one hand caressing his balls carefully and the other hand fingering deeply and roughly her sister's tight little cunt.

In fact, Harrenhal was driving Daemon insane and seemed to be so fucking haunted, because as soon as he woke up, there was no trace that what the three of you did during the night had actually happened. Every day staying inside was like being on the brink of complete madness. He never knew what was real or a hallucination. All he knew was that during the following afternoon, he saw you and Alys sharing mocking giggles at the sight of him looking very scared and confused, walking around the castle.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ dark but just a game ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ guard!cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you had never intended to find yourself entangled in a brutal series of death games, but with debt mounting to over fifty million won and loan sharks breathing down your neck, you had no choice. every option you had once clung to had crumbled beneath you, leaving you hollowed out and desperate. the loans you’d taken weren’t unreasonable, not in your mind, they had been necessary to pay for medical expenses for your family living outside of south korea. your own job instability, a relentless and bitter cycle, had only worsened the situation. bankruptcy wasn’t an option. not anymore. so when the mysterious offer to join the squid game appeared, luring you in with the promise of a fortune beyond imagination, you made a choice, and now you were paying the price for it.

˚ ༘♡ despite the aftermath of the horrifying massacre that was the first game, the sickening realization that the smiling, painted doll mask and vast game arena disguised an execution ground, you had returned. others might’ve run, and you had been tempted. but what waited for you back outside was worse in its own way, hunger, homelessness, death at the hands of men who didn’t wear pink jumpsuits but carried just as much coldness in their eyes. at least here, you had a slim chance at survival. slim was better than none.

˚ ༘♡ the choice to return wasn’t as straightforward as you pretended. you had barely slept the night after red light, green light. your hands still trembled at the memory of gunshots ringing out akin to firecrackers, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw bodies falling, twisted on the cracked concrete. you’d thrown up twice in the morning after staggering back to your apartment. your reflection in the bathroom mirror had been ghostly, pale, clammy, with a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. you weren’t ready to die, but you weren’t sure if you could endure staying, either.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere, in the midst of that daze, you had done something foolish. you had pulled out your phone, hands shaking, and opened the contact you swore you’d deleted months ago, your ex-boyfriend, cho sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ you hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year, not since he left you. still, your fingers hovered over the screen, your chest tight, as if the past could crawl back out of the ashes and offer you some small sense of solace. it hadn’t. he hadn’t answered, hadn’t even seen your message. just like all the others.

˚ ༘♡ now, standing on your balcony with the humid night air pressing down on you, you scrolled through the string of unanswered texts, each one a painful remnant of how pathetic you’d felt in those first few months.

˚ ༘♡ a text from three months ago, “please call me. i just want to talk.”

˚ ༘♡ another text from two months ago, “did i do something wrong? why won’t you answer me?”

˚ ༘♡ the most recent text you sent one month ago, “sang-woo, please.“

˚ ༘♡ the messages had only gotten shorter as the silence stretched. eventually, you stopped texting altogether, though you hadn’t deleted the thread. not yet.

˚ ༘♡ you tipped the bottle of beer to your lips and let the stale, bitter taste burn its way down your throat. the linen pajamas you wore, loose and slightly frayed at the hems, felt too light in the breeze. you had bought them during one of your better months, before everything collapsed. ivory-white. it felt ironic now, standing there in something that once made you feel clean and new, as if you hadn’t spent the past six months clawing at the edge of a financial abyss.

˚ ༘♡ he hadn’t even broken up with you properly. just a voice message, sent in the early hours of the morning, after what you thought had been a perfectly normal week together.

˚ ༘♡ “it’s over. i’m seeing someone else.” that was all he said. no explanation. no apology. it was the last time you’d heard his voice.

˚ ༘♡ you clenched the beer bottle in your hand, your jaw tightening as the memory resurfaced. maybe it shouldn’t have mattered anymore. maybe it didn’t, not really. you had bigger problems than a broken heart.

˚ ༘♡ that night, when you had tried to call him after the game, it wasn’t solely love that had driven you, it was fear. bone-deep, marrow-crushing fear that curled into your stomach and refused to leave. you had been entrenched in loneliness, suffocated by the silence of your empty apartment, unable to shake the memory of bodies dropping all around you. the crack of gunfire still rang in your ears like a phantom sound. you had seen the raw, naked terror on the faces of people who, just moments before, had been laughing and chatting like ordinary men and women trying to make ends meet. you had run for your life, muscles screaming, breath ragged in your throat. yet here you were, alive, if that word even meant anything anymore.

˚ ༘♡ you had wanted to hear a familiar voice, something that grounded you. and in your desperation, you had reached for him. you should have known better.

˚ ༘♡ your hands twitched, numb and shaky as you stared at the endless void of unanswered messages, your name likely long since blocked or ignored. the strain of everything pressed into your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your grip on the beer bottle loosened. the glass slipped from your fingers, tumbling to the ground. it shattered against the concrete floor of your balcony, sharp fragments scattering around your bare feet. jagged edges slashed at your ankles, but you hardly noticed. warm blood trickled in thin, crimson ribbons down your skin, but it felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. all you could think about was him. you missed him so ardently.

˚ ༘♡ despite everything, despite the way he had discarded you so easily, like a brief financial setback in his long list of losses, you still longed for him. you hated yourself for it. it made no sense. he had left you. he hadn’t cared, not when you called, not when you cried, not when you begged him for an explanation. and yet, in the deep recesses of your mind, you remembered the way he had once held you, his fingers threading through your hair as you dozed off in his lap while a movie played in the background. you remembered how he would press a warm palm to your cheek when you were upset, his thumb smoothing over your skin in quiet reassurance. he had been gentle then, loving in the smallest ways.

˚ ༘♡ you had convinced yourself, naively, foolishly, that he had loved you as much as you loved him. yet it had all been a sham.

˚ ༘♡ your friends had been right. they had warned you, time and time again, but you hadn’t listened. you had defended him, telling them he wasn’t like other men, that he wasn’t just another sleazy businessman hopping from woman to woman for a night’s pleasure. he was different. he was yours. except he wasn’t. not anymore. maybe he never had been.

˚ ༘♡ you forced yourself to move, blinking back the sting in your eyes as you took a step forward, only for a sharp, burning pain to shoot through your foot. you hissed, looking down to find a shard of glass embedded in the arch of your foot, fresh blood dripping onto the tile. before you could clean it up, the doorbell rang.

˚ ༘♡ for a minute, you stood frozen, your pulse spiking. no one visited you. no one ever did. who the hell would be here at this hour?

˚ ༘♡ you limped to the door, ignoring the sting in your foot as you pulled it open, only to be greeted by an empty hallway. your breath caught, eyes darting left and right. no one. not even the sound of retreating footsteps. but there, lying on the ground, was a small, rectangular card.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened as you reached down, fingers trembling slightly as they closed around the thin cardstock. you didn’t need to flip it over to know what it was. you had seen this exact card before, pressed between the fingers of a well-dressed salesman who had lured you into this nightmare with a simple game of ddakji.

˚ ༘♡ it was an invitation. an invitation to return. you knew what it meant. you had seen the consequences with your own eyes. returning would put your life in grave danger. it was more than just a game, it was a death sentence for all but one. but what choice did you have?

˚ ༘♡ there was nothing for you out here. the loan sharks would find you eventually. if not them, then starvation, or illness, or some other cruel twist of fate waiting just around the corner. at least in the game, you had a sliver of control over your life. a chance at a different life.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers tightened around the card. you called the number on the back. the voice on the other end was eerily calm. the instructions were the same. “meet at the designated location. don’t be late.”

˚ ༘♡ that night, the same sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb outside your apartment. the tinted windows gave away nothing, its surface reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights. you hesitated only for a second before stepping inside. the door shut behind you with a soft click. before you could process anything, before you could even think to resist, the faint hiss of gas filled the cabin. your eyelids grew heavy, your vision blurred at the edges, the world tilting sideways. your body slumped against the seat, consciousness slipping through your fingers.

˚ ༘♡ when you awoke, you were back in the dormitory. the harsh, sterile lights buzzed overhead. the cold metal bunk beds stretched on endlessly in neat rows. the air smelled faintly of sweat, anxiety, and something metallic beneath it all. you sat up, the familiar weight of the forest-green uniform settling around your shoulders. player 017. that was the number stitched into the fabric over your chest. as you looked around, bleary and disoriented, you saw the same faces as before. most of the players had returned, just like you. you swallowed, rubbing your eyes before exhaling shakily. you had made your choice. there was no turning back now.

˚ ༘♡ dinner that night consisted of a bento box filled with plain white rice, a folded egg omelet, and pickled vegetables. the portions were small, meager, as if designed to keep you just on the edge of starvation without tipping over. the smell of vinegar from the pickled radish stung your nose, mingling with the faint metallic scent of blood still clinging to your memories from the day before. but you had no appetite.

˚ ༘♡ around you, other players dug into their meals with fervor, shoveling food into their mouths like they hadn’t seen a proper meal in weeks. some ate in silence, their eyes darting around as if expecting someone to snatch their rations away. others whispered among themselves, cautious yet eager, already beginning the inevitable process of forming alliances. you made no move to approach anyone, instead sitting on the edge of your cot, your arms draped over your knees, watching them in silence. you knew how this worked. alliances were necessary, but they were fragile things, born out of convenience rather than loyalty. at some point, when push came to shove, they would fall apart.

˚ ༘♡ “excuse me, miss.”

˚ ༘♡ the voice was unfamiliar yet kind, breaking through your detached observation. you glanced up and found yourself looking at a middle-aged man standing before you, his expression open and friendly. the number 456 was sewn onto his uniform.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’d like to, you can join our team,” he offered, his smile pleasant despite the lines of exhaustion on his face. “we’ll work together and protect one another in the next games. it’s better to have people to rely on.”

˚ ༘♡ behind him stood two other players. one was a man of south asian descent, curly-haired with a gentle face, player 199. the other was frail and elderly, with thin white hair and a slightly dazed look, player 001. the sight of them together was oddly endearing, as if they were an unlikely little family.

˚ ༘♡ “i remember you from the first game,” 456 continued. “you were really agile and quick! you didn’t hesitate at all.”

˚ ༘♡ his words caught you off guard. you hadn’t thought anyone had been paying attention to you specifically, not with the sheer carnage unfolding all around. you tilted your head slightly, considering the offer. alliances were fickle things, but so was survival.

˚ ༘♡ “if you don’t mind having a woman on your team,” you said, your voice neutral.

˚ ༘♡ “of course not!” player 456 responded immediately, his grin widening. his enthusiasm was almost infectious.

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled quietly and gave a small nod. “all right, then.”

˚ ༘♡ he beamed, and behind him, player 199 gave you a friendly nod, while the old man chuckled softly to himself as if he found something amusing. you weren’t sure what to make of them yet, but for now, they were better than nothing.

˚ ༘♡ that night, despite having people to watch your back, you struggled to sleep. the dormitory was eerily quiet, yet the tension in the air was suffocating. the rhythmic breathing of the other players did little to ease your unease. above you, a gleaming light flickered every so often, casting brief, disorienting shadows across the ceiling. you stared at it blankly, thoughts tumbling through your mind akin to loose stones down a cliff.

˚ ༘♡ cho sang-woo. your fingernails dug into the skin of your palms, your heart aching at the thought of him. had he so much as read your pathetic text messages? did he know that you had disappeared from your home in the midst of night? was he out there, living his life as if nothing had changed, as if you had never existed? it was foolish to think about him. pointless. yet, despite your exhaustion, sleep refused to come.

˚ ༘♡ morning arrived with the dull clang of metal gates and the sound of approaching footsteps. breakfast was as simple as the dinner before it, nothing more than a bottle of milk and a single piece of bread.

˚ ༘♡ you had eaten nothing the previous night, your stomach empty, gnawing at itself in protest. forcing yourself up, you dragged your weary limbs toward the serving station. most players had already collected their rations, eager to eat before whatever horrors the next game had in store for them. you were the last one in line, and as you approached the station, you noticed something unusual.

˚ ༘♡ only one guard was left behind. he stood behind the makeshift counter, taller and broader than the others. the standard pink jumpsuit concealed most of his features, but there was something about the way he held himself, rigid, disciplined. you took a step forward, reaching for the meal, and as he handed you the bottle of milk and bread, something caught your attention.

˚ ༘♡ the scent of tobacco. it was faint, barely perceptible beneath the sterile, controlled air of the dormitory, but it was there. familiar. clinging to the fabric of his uniform, lingering in the space between you.

˚ ༘♡ for a short while, the world around you faded. your mind snapped back to another time, another place. late nights curled up on the couch, the bright gleam of city lights through the window. the burning scent of cigarette smoke woven into his clean-cut suit, clinging to his skin. you used to scold him about it, nag him to quit. “it’s bad for you, sang-woo. you’ll regret it one day.” he’d always laugh, a soft, wry chuckle, and tell you he’d quit the following week. but he never did.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers brushed against the guard’s gloved hand as you took the food. it was an accident, merely a momentary slip, but he didn’t pull away.

˚ ༘♡ the intimacy lasted only a second, maybe two, but it felt longer. you could feel the intensity of his gaze behind the mask, the pressure of something unsaid in the space between your hands. then, just as quickly as it happened, you snapped out of it. your fingers recoiled, your hand withdrawing, clutching the bottle of milk tightly. you cast him a strange look, but the mask gave nothing away.

˚ ༘♡ without another word, you whipped your head around and walked back to where your newfound team sat, your pulse quickening for reasons you didn’t fully understand. the milk was lukewarm, the bread dense and dry, but hunger gnawed at your insides, leaving you no choice but to force it down. across from you, player 456 introduced himself as seong gi-hun, speaking through mouthfuls of bread. he had a boisterous, comforting presence, someone who had probably been the most talkative in any room he’d ever walked into. beside him, player 199 offered a polite nod and a warm smile. “ali abdul,” he said, his tone peaceful despite the hardened exhaustion in his eyes. player 001 sat at gi-hun’s side, an amused glint in his gaze, though when it came time to say his own name, he faltered. his brow furrowed in confusion, his lips parting, but no answer came.

˚ ༘♡ “i… i can’t seem to remember,” he murmured after a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun patted the old man on the shoulder with an easy familiarity, as if this weren’t a place where people were going to die. “don’t worry about it, sir. happens to the best of us.”

˚ ༘♡ you said your own name last, voice steady and neutral. you weren’t sure why you bothered, given the likelihood that most of you wouldn’t make it out of here alive. but names were powerful things, even in a place like this.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun’s eyes widened. “what a coincidence!” he said, chewing the last bite of his bread with enthusiasm. “a childhood friend of mine has a girlfriend by that name. cho sang-woo. really smart guy. graduated from seoul national university, the pride of our neighborhood, actually.” he grinned, nostalgia coloring his voice. “he was always a little serious and distant, but a good man. saw him not too long ago, actually. talked about her with a lot of affection.”

˚ ༘♡ you considered staying silent, letting his words pass, but your sentiments got the better of you. “you’re mistaken,” you said, your voice carefully measured. “you must mean ex-girlfriend.”

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun blinked, confused. “no… i saw him just the other week. he said he was still together with her.” then something seemed to click in his mind. he sat up straighter, his expression shifting from curiosity to outright surprise. “wait a minute… you’re her, aren’t you? you’re sang-woo’s girlfriend?”

˚ ༘♡ you stiffened. ali glanced between you and gi-hun, his expression cordial. the old man merely hummed to himself, watching the exchange with a clouded haze in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “what are you doing in a place like this?” gi-hun continued, baffled. “if you were in financial trouble, why didn’t you ask sang-woo for help? he would’ve been happy to give you money if you needed it, i would think.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a sharp, bitter pang through your chest. you fought to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the beginnings of a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. “i was under the impression he didn’t want anything to do with me,” you said carefully. “he broke up with me months ago and told me he was seeing another woman.”

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun’s brows furrowed. he shook his head. “that doesn’t sound like sang-woo at all,” he said, his voice firm, almost disbelieving. “you’re the only woman i’ve ever heard him talk about.” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “ah, you know, he was always so focused on school, then work… i don’t think he’s ever had a serious relationship before. at least, not that i ever heard of.”

˚ ༘♡ your hands bent into fists beneath the table. you weren’t sure what to make of that. was sang-woo lying to gi-hun? or had he lied to you?

˚ ༘♡ you bit your lip, pushing the thought aside. “i think our time is better spent discussing what the next game could be and what our strategy will be,” you said, keeping your tone level.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “you’re right. no point dwelling on things we can’t change.”

˚ ༘♡ you all turned your focus toward the upcoming game. gi-hun tossed out a few ideas, tapping his fingers against the table as he spoke. “gonggi, maybe?” he suggested. “or elastics?”

˚ ༘♡ “hide and seek,” ali offered. “or maybe rock-paper-scissors? it must be a simple children’s games, the first game was one.”

˚ ༘♡ you frowned, thinking back to red light, green light. the first game had been straightforward, but brutal. if this was a pattern, then the next challenge would be similar, easy in theory, but deadly in execution.

˚ ༘♡ “whatever the next game is,” you murmured, your voice low, “our lives will be in danger.” no one disagreed.

˚ ༘♡ before anyone could say more, the blaring sound of the intercom echoed through the vast dormitory, its robotic tone devoid of humanity. “all players, please prepare for the second game.”

˚ ༘♡ a deep, mechanical hum followed as the immense steel doors at the far end of the room slid open with a hiss. the air inside the dormitory seemed to shift, thickening with tension. guards stood at attention beyond the threshold, faceless and motionless, their pink uniforms stark against the sterile white walls. there was something ominous in their stillness, as if they were waiting for something, anticipating the inevitable.

˚ ༘♡ a dense lump formed in your throat as you swallowed back unease. around you, players hesitated before pushing themselves to their feet, each movement sluggish with dread. one by one, you all fell into line, shuffling forward like cattle to the slaughter.

˚ ༘♡ the pastel stairways loomed ahead, their paths painted in bright, childlike colors. the contrast was sickening. bubblegum pink railings, sunflower-yellow steps, sky-blue walls. it should have been whimsical, playful even, but instead, it felt like a nightmarish illusion, something meant to disarm you, to lull you into a false sense of security before tightening its noose.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun walked beside you, his expression bewildered. ali stayed close as well, his usually warm features stiff with apprehension. even player 001, the elderly man who had, up until now, seemed oddly cheerful despite the circumstances, was quiet.

˚ ༘♡ as you descended the final set of stairs, the doors before you parted with an ominous heaving. you stepped inside, the room was a playground. your breath became erratic as you took in the scene before you.

˚ ༘♡ the walls and ceiling were painted a brilliant cerulean blue, dotted with illustrations of fluffy white clouds. slides, jungle gyms, and brightly colored structures filled the space, mimicking the innocent joy of a schoolyard. but the momentary illusion of normalcy was just that, an illusion. you knew better than to trust the childish aesthetic.

˚ ༘♡ above, speakers crackled to life. “welcome to your second game.”the same feminine voice from before. at the far end of the room, four doors stood side by side. each bore a simple, distinct symbol, a triangle, a circle, a star, and an umbrella. “please choose one of the four shapes and stand in front of the corresponding door.” that was it. no explanation of what game awaited you. no hints, no clues. merely a demand.

˚ ༘♡ your pulse quickened, your gaze flickering toward gi-hun, who looked just as lost as you were. “what should we do?” you asked, your voice hushed.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun exhaled. “i don’t know if we should split up or pick one door as a team.”

˚ ༘♡ you turned your head slightly, scanning the other players. some had already made their decisions, rushing toward their chosen symbols with varying degrees of certainty. others lingered, hesitating, unsure.

˚ ༘♡ then, movement caught your eye. near the door marked with a red triangle, a guard stood unnaturally still. taller than the others. broader shoulders. something about him felt… different. the way he stood, the way his masked head was aimed ever so slightly in your direction.

˚ ༘♡ a shiver ran down your spine, you turned away abruptly, refusing to acknowledge whatever that was. whoever that was.

˚ ༘♡ “i think we should go with our gut instinct,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “but we should choose different doors. it increases our chances.”

˚ ༘♡ ali gave a firm nod. “i’ll go with circle.”

˚ ༘♡ “i choose triangle,” player 001 said, his voice lighthearted despite everything.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun turned to you, offering you a choice. “you can pick either star or umbrella.”

˚ ༘♡ your lips parted slightly, eyes flickering between the two remaining doors. neither gave you any indication of what was to come. but as you stared at the star, something tugged at the back of your mind, a memory. late nights with sang-woo. the two of you walking through quiet city streets, your hand in his, the sky stretched out above you, endless and dark, speckled with distant stars. you remembered how you used to tilt your head up, watching them twinkle, feeling so small but safe at his side.

˚ ༘♡ “… i’ll pick star,” you said softly.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun grinned. “then i’ll do umbrella.”

˚ ༘♡ you weren’t sure why, but something about that made you uneasy. when your group dispersed toward their respective doors, the locks clicked open. beyond the doors, a small station awaited, with a single guard seated at a table. thin, round metal tins were stacked neatly in front of them.

˚ ༘♡ slowly, you lifted the lid. inside, nestled within the tin, was a sweet dalgona sugar candy. etched into its surface was a perfectly traced star. your stomach dropped as realization sank in, the intercom crackled again. “the second game is dalgona.” your fingers clenched around the metal case. “each player must extract their shape cleanly within ten minutes to pass. failure to do so will result in elimination.”a timer appeared on the screen above. “let the game begin.”

˚ ༘♡ when the words left the intercom, the countdown started. your hands shook slightly as you picked up the thin needle provided, moving toward the slide where you could sit and steady yourself.

˚ ༘♡ a sudden, sharp noise split the air.

˚ ༘♡ you flinched, your body tensing instinctively, then a piercing bang. a gunshot.

˚ ༘♡ your head snapped up just in time to see a woman’s body hit the ground, her shattered dalgona candy slipping from her limp fingers. blood pooled beneath her corpse. a guard loomed over her lifeless form, lowering their pistol. around you, murmurs of horror rose. some players froze entirely, paralyzed by fear. others broke out into a cold sweat, their needles trembling against the brittle candy in their hands.

˚ ༘♡ your own grip on the tin tightened, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. if your candy cracked, you would die.

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled shakily and turned your focus back to your own dalgona. the star shape was intricate too many edges, too many delicate points. one wrong move, and the candy would snap in half. your hands were damp with sweat, your fingers slick against the cool metal of the needle. you swallowed hard, then, carefully, you began.

˚ ༘♡ as you sat in the vast playground, carefully working your way around one delicate point of the star in your honeycomb candy, that feeling intensified.

˚ ༘♡ a guard loomed inches behind you, his masculine presence impossible to ignore. he was taller than most of the others, broader in the shoulders, his stance unnervingly rigid. though his mask revealed nothing, you were certain, absolutely certain, that it was the same guard from before. the one who had lingered too long when handing you your breakfast, the one who smelled of cigarettes, the one whose gloved hand had ghosted over yours just long enough to send a shiver up your spine, the one who stared at you relentlessly before the second round began.

˚ ༘♡ but now was not the time to fixate on him. your entire existence balanced on the fragile line of sugar and patience. you kept your breath steady, hands trembling as you scraped your needle along the delicate shape. all around you, screams of anguish rang out, followed swiftly by the deafening crack of gunfire. players sobbed, begged, collapsed in pools of their own blood, but you forced yourself to ignore them. you had to.

˚ ༘♡ your world was reduced to this tiny, brittle shape in your hands. until it wasn’t.

˚ ༘♡ the sound of a faint, practically imperceptible crack reached your ears. your breath caught in your throat. slowly, fearfully, you looked down. a single, jagged fracture ran through the middle of your candy. broken. the game was over for you.

˚ ༘♡ your stomach dropped. your hands went numb, a cold dread washing over you like ice water. you had lost. and you knew what came next.

˚ ༘♡ slowly, as if in a trance, you turned. the guard behind you stepped forward, raising his pistol.

˚ ༘♡ you had seen this happen to others already. a merciless execution. one bullet to the head, and your body would crumple to the floor, just another nameless corpse in this twisted game.

˚ ༘♡ your legs trembled. “please…” the word left your lips before you could stop it, barely above a whisper, pathetic in its desperation. but it was in vain. no one had been spared before. no one ever would be.

˚ ༘♡ the guard leaned in closer, the cool metal of the gun pressing against your chest. and then, a voice. so low you almost thought you imagined it. “play dead.”

˚ ༘♡ that voice. it couldn’t be.

˚ ༘♡ regardless of every rational thought in your mind screaming at you that it was impossible, you knew exactly whose voice it was. cho sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ your body went rigid, shock paralyzing you as the burden of confusion surged through you. but there was no time to think.

˚ ༘♡ the gun lowered slightly, shifting away from your head and down toward your chest. you barely had a second to comprehend what was occurring before a red-hot explosion of pain tore through your side, a bullet sinking just below your ribs, missing anything vital but still slicing through flesh and muscle with terrifying ease. the force of the impact sent you stumbling backward, your vision blurring as agony shot through every nerve in your body. you wanted to scream. you wanted to sob. but you didn’t. you couldn’t.

˚ ༘♡ you let yourself go limp. your body collapsed to the ground, your limbs falling still, your breath shallow. you forced your eyes shut, ignoring the unbearable pain radiating through your chest, ignoring the warm trickle of blood pooling beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you willed yourself to become nothing. just another body. the potent scent of blood filled your nose as you felt hands, his hands, grab onto your arms.

˚ ༘♡ then, the sensation of being dragged. your body scraped against the cold, hard floor, pain flaring with every inch you moved, but you kept still, fighting against every instinct screaming at you to cry, to breathe harder, to react. you couldn’t. you had to stay dead.

˚ ༘♡ footsteps moved around you. guards passing by, other bodies being disposed of. slowly, the sounds of the execution grounds faded. the doors shut behind you. you were being taken somewhere. your heart pulsated in your ears, your blood running hot and thick down your side, staining your uniform. and through the dizzying haze of pain and terror, one thought remained, echoing over and over in your mind. only of cho sang-woo.

a/n: let me know if you have any thoughts or wish to see another part to this story!!

[lihhelsing]

"Can I get your coffee order?"

STWG daily prompt 6/2/24 (let's pretend it's not two days late): Coming Out Pairing: steddie | tags: coming out, coffee shop au, modern au, meet cute, fluff

Eddie was used to seeing the same guy in the coffee shop every day. It was impossible not to notice him because he was gorgeous and Eddie was a simple man who liked to admire beautiful things. 

So Steve would come in every day and always at the same time, ordering the same thing. Double Espresso with a shot of Vanilla. It suited him, Eddie thought, but he would always see him looking at the menu as if he was considering ordering something different, just to end up with the same thing every day. 

It was kind of cute. 

Sometimes he would sit alone for half an hour, face buried in his phone. Sometimes a loud brunette girl would join him but then they would never stay for long. Eddie didn’t like those days even if he thought she looked like a nice person. 

And then sometimes Steve would come in and order for two, then he would proceed to sit at a table and in a few minutes a girl would join him. Always a different girl, which told Eddie none of them were his girlfriends. 

One could even think this was some sort of job interview because it was pretty clear Steve wasn’t fully into the conversation. He was trying, sure, but after an hour the girl would inevitably excuse herself and leave. Steve would hang out for a few more minutes and then leave too, not looking back. 

And he’d do it all over again on a different day. 

Eddie couldn’t even feel guilty about paying attention. Steve always came in when the rush hour had passed and the coffee shop was mostly empty, and Eddie didn’t have much to do. And yeah, sure he was also a little obsessed with him so he was curious what was all that about. 

Surely Steve didn’t seem the kind of guy to have dating issues. 

The day Eddie noticed something was different was when Steve came in and ordered a Chai Latte. For anyone else, this might mean nothing, but Eddie knew better and he had watched Steve for long enough to know that if he finally changed his order after months, something was up. 

He didn’t want to look like a creep so he smiled like he always did and thanked the fat tip Steve left him, like he always did. And maybe Eddie flirted a little, but who could blame him? Steve was just too handsome for his own good and Eddie was just a man. 

Eddie gave him his drink and politely waited for a few minutes just to make sure Steve wasn’t expecting anyone, and then he finally moved in. 

“Hey, how’s your drink?” Eddie asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. Steve looked up at him through thick eyelashes and Eddie wanted to die a little. 

“Oh, it’s good. I never had one of these so I can’t really compare it to anything else, but I like how it tastes.”

Eddie hummed, “Well, tell you what, I make a mean Matchá if you ever feel like broadening your horizons.”

Steve chuckled and nodded, “I might take you up on that, actually.”

They stood in silence and Eddie was ready to accept his defeat when Steve spoke again. 

“I just… Started to realize I might want to try different things.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “how so?”

“Well, I used to drink the same coffee every day and it was good, don’t get me wrong. But I kept looking and looking and it felt like I was... Missing something,” Steve frowned as he spoke, almost as if he was talking about coffee but thinking about something else. 

“It’s what they say, don’t knock it til you try it, am I right?”

Steve chuckled and Eddie was under the impression he was just being polite. 

“For sure. It’s just hard sometimes, to try new things. Even if you are… Curious.”

“I say just go for it. The worst that can happen is you spend a few bucks on something you will never want to drink again, but if that ever happens I got you. I’ll get you something different on the house,” Eddie said and then he winked because he was a sick little man. 

The blush that crept onto Steve’s cheek was beautiful, though, so he was only half-sorry. 

“Oh, what if… It’s not coffee that I want to try?” Steve said, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. 

Eddie smiled and motioned his hand to the drink menu, “Lucky for you we have an assortment of drinks like refreshers and matchá and even some teas-“

“I mean, what if this isn’t about drinks?” 

Now Eddie was completely lost. He looked back to meet Steve’s eyes and there was an intensity behind them that gave him chills. 

“What do you mean?”

“I, um…” Steve looked around as if making sure the place was empty and still lowered his voice a little. “What if I’m not as straight as I always thought I was?”

Eddie tried to contain his surprise and forced his expression to remain neutral, not wanting to spook him. 

“That’s ok, too. Lord knows I’m gay as it comes and it took me a few tries to figure it out,” Eddie chuckled, but Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I mean, you don’t have to be gay either! You can be bi or pan or-“

“Sorry, I made this awkward. I’m sorry. I’ve just been having these feelings and Robin says I can always talk to her but it feels that if I even ask it will be real and then if I turn out to be just confused then she will be disappointed because she always said I was her straight token friend but I know she would be happy if I wasn’t-“

“Hey, hey,” Eddie moved his hand and touched Steve’s shoulder lightly. He just hoped he wasn’t crossing a line. That definitely wasn’t the first time a customer said something incredibly personal out of the blue, but it was the first time someone was coming out to him like that. 

Steve looked up at him with huge brown eyes and Eddie felt his insides melting a little. Here it was, this cute guy having a sexuality crisis and just looking even cuter. 

“I don’t know you and obviously don’t know this friend of yours. Robin, is it? But if she loves you, and I’m assuming she does, she will love you no matter what. Even if you have to come out to her as… Straight?” Eddie said that and got a snort back from Steve. 

At least that was better than the desolation he had in his eyes before. 

“I guess you’re right,” Steve said, nodding his head. 

“And hey, you can definitely try things out and figure out you were straight all along, but from my experience, straight people don’t usually question their sexuality or even feel the curiosity to do so. They just are. So my best bet would be on you being one of us. Assuming your friend Robin is also not straight.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Steve said, laughing and he just looked so much better like that. 

“Well, ok Steve, then my job here is done! I’m sure Robin will have much better advice to give to you, but you can always count on me to try different coffees,” and there it was, the fucking wink again. Who did Eddie think he was? 

Steve blushed again and now Eddie could see they were pretty damn close. He slowly pulled his hand from Steve’s shoulder as to not make him uncomfortable, but it seemed that Eddie’s pep talk had done the trick because now Steve had this glint in his eyes. 

“Can I buy you coffee?” he asked, smiling slowly. 

“Uh, what?”

“You know, since I’m already trying things I thought it would be nice to try uh… A Matchá, you said? And a… Date?”

Holy fucking Jesus. Steve was fucking smooth. Eddie felt his cheeks getting warm and he looked around to conclude they were still alone at the coffee shop. There was not a single reason for him to turn this down even if Steve ended up figuring out he was straight. Yeah, fat chance. 

“Lead the way, big boy,” Eddie motioned for the counter and Steve smiled, nodding and following him right into their first date.