#but I guess she's from Year of the Dragon too

[miqojak]

J'kesri Denma/Jak, Alias: The Dragon

Year of the Dragon

Dragons symbolize such character traits as dominance, ambition, authority, dignity and capacity. Dragons prefer to live by their own rules and if left on their own, are usually successful. They’re driven, unafraid of challenges, and willing to take risks. They’re passionate in all they do, and they do things in grand fashion. Unfortunately, this passion and enthusiasm can leave Dragons feeling exhausted - and interestingly - unfulfilled.

Strengths

People under the sign of the dragon are lively, intellectual, energetic and excitable. They often can be leaders and try to go for perfection. When they meet with difficulties, they are not discouraged. They are magnanimous, romantic and sensitive about their reputation. They usually have great ambition and an ingenuous personality. They hate hypocrisy, gossip and slander. They are not afraid of difficulties but hate to be used or controlled by others.

Weaknesses

They are a little arrogant and impatient, while dragon women can be over-confident. Sometimes, 'dragons' are unable to control their moods very well due to being eccentric, tactless, fiery, intolerant and unrealistic. They may feel blank about the future. There is no lack of romance in their life overall, but they seldom give true love; therefore, they do not usually show disappointment in love. They may criticize others for their inefficiency at work. They have a nature ardent to excess and couldn't withstand setbacks which make them flee away. If they overcome these defects, they can have a brighter future.

Relationships

Dragons will give into love, but won’t give up their independence. Because they have quick, sometimes vengeful tempers, their partners need to be tough-skinned. Dragons enjoy others who are intriguing, and when they find the right partners, they’ll usually commit to that person for life.

[msunitedstatesjames]

I've touched on this in a couple of other semi-related posts before, but I find it hilarious and I appreciate how much Johanna Hezenkoss thinks Emmrich is the protagonist of Veilguard. Like, this woman could not give less of a fuck about Rook. She almost always refers to Rook only by their relationship to Emmrich. She refers to Rook as "one of Volkarin's hangers-on," "that impudent whelp following [Emmrich] around," "Volkarin's companion," and as Emmrich's "paramour." None of these imply that she thinks Rook has much agency. Instead, she acts like Rook is just helplessly following Emmrich around like a puppy, helping him complete tasks (which I guess is partly true).

If Rook romances Emmrich, Hezenkoss assumes that Emmrich seduced Rook and not the other way around, even though Emmrich is noticeably older than Rook and has hardly left the Necropolis in years. She's seemingly amazed by it, and yet it never once crosses her mind that Rook might have initiated the relationship (which is actually the case).

She also refers to Emmrich as the one who destroyed her construct, which is technically true, but she ignores the major assistance he had from Rook, another companion, and most notably Manfred. He couldn't have pulled it off without their help, and had in fact given up, but Hezenkoss acts like Emmrich was her sole opponent in that battle.

I've said before that part of the reason for this is that Hezenkoss seems to think of herself as the main villain of the story, so Emmrich must be the main hero. Hezenkoss says that some of the other big bads of Dragon Age, the Venatori, were nothing more to her than slightly useful and genuinely annoying. She clearly thinks herself above an entire organization of some of the most powerful mages in the world. And she sees Emmrich as pretty close to her in terms of raw power, since she almost invited him to her Vengeance Party but ultimately decided he was too much of a danger to her plans. She also states that she tried to get him to join her in the past, which I don't think she would do for anyone she considered to be less than her equal. Emmrich is genuinely the only person in the game she shows any respect for. Though she mocks his age and finds him to be too sentimental, too moral, and too fearful, she shows signs of agreeing with him on some topics, and she obviously respects his abilities if nothing else. No one else in the game acknowledges his frankly ridiculous knowledge and skill level (except Solas in the end) as much as Hezenkoss does.

And really, Emmrich does have main character energy. Though he does have some age and mortality related fears, dude is overflowing with confidence. When you first meet him, looking for a Fade expert, he has absolutely no problem telling you he's the best possible person for the job. Though he apparently hasn't left the Necropolis in years, he's totally down to join the team and go anywhere you want him to go. If you romance him, he is initially surprised, but he quickly turns into the smoothest dude around, and throughout the game you can hear him comment on some of his many relationships through the years. He's well-dressed, well-spoken, charismatic, highly educated, unfailingly kind, extremely powerful, and he's done so well for himself that Harding mistakes the son of a butcher and a cook for a member of the Nevarran nobility. No wonder Hezenkoss thinks he's the protagonist. The real protagonist is just out here winging it on guts and good luck alone.

[faebled-stories]

A Dragon's Deal with the Princess

Itzy's Shin Yuna and Hwang Yeji x Male reader.

Part 2

“Again!” Yeji’s voice echoed around the mirrored walls of the dance studio. It was a routine practice for their upcoming comeback, but today felt different—suffocating, almost. The leader was harsher than usual, picking apart even the smallest mistakes. The girls exchanged glances, unsure how to respond, recognizing the frustration etched on their leader’s face.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Lia suggested, to the silent relief of the group. Yeji looked at her exhausted members—panting, sweaty, barely able to stand. The guilt gnawed at her. She hadn’t meant to push them this hard. With a reluctant nod, she granted the break, and Ryujin and Chaeryeong bolted for the door, desperate for fresh air.

Yeji paced around the studio, lost in thought. Her frustration had been simmering for months. She knew why, but admitting it felt embarrassing. She and Y/N had been together for almost a year, and despite their deep connection, they hadn’t moved past kissing. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t want to take it to the next step; he was patient, respectful of the boundaries she had set. But Yeji was starting to second-guess her decision. 

Being an idol meant caution—her relationship with Y/N, no matter how perfect he was, didn’t matter to the public. What did matter was her image. But still, the guilt of holding back, knowing how much Y/N craved more intimacy, was wearing on her.

“Unnie?” A voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Yuna, the maknae, hadn’t left the room like the others. With her youthful innocence, Yuna still managed to exude a confidence that drew people in. 

“What’s going on? Why are you so hard on us?” Yuna’s tone was soft, almost childlike, and it made Yeji’s heart sink. She didn’t want to be the reason the girls were worn down.

“I’m sorry, Yuna. I’ve just been... frustrated.” Yeji sighed as they both sat down, finally giving her aching legs a break.

“Is it the label again?” Yuna asked, her eyes wide with concern. “Unnie, this comeback will be amazing. I can feel it.”

Yeji let out a soft laugh. Sure, their last few comebacks hadn’t reached the heights of their earlier hits, but her frustration ran deeper than that. She debated whether to tell Yuna the truth but decided against it. Some things weren’t meant to be shared with the youngest member.

As the other girls returned, the conversation shifted, and Yeji was grateful for the distraction. But Yuna wasn’t convinced. She could sense something more was weighing on her leader.

The ride back to the dorm was quiet. The exhaustion from practice clung to the girls, their bodies sore and minds drained. No one even muttered a goodnight as they each disappeared into their rooms.

Yeji showered quickly and changed into her favorite pajamas, a matching set featuring her doppelgänger, Light Fury—one of Y/N’s thoughtful gifts. She smiled at the memory but her thoughts quickly returned to the day’s events and, once again, her pent-up frustration. A sudden knock at the door jolted her out of the moment.

“What do you want, Yuna? I’m busy,” Yeji muttered, flustered, as she opened the door. But Yuna wasn’t having it. Without a word, the younger girl marched into the room and sat on the bed, crossing her arms.

“Unnie, what’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.” Yuna’s tone had shifted—there was no more innocence in her voice.

“It doesn’t concern you, Yuna. Drop it,” Yeji replied, sitting down opposite her, their positions mirroring earlier in the studio. 

But Yuna wasn’t backing down. After a tense exchange, Yeji finally gave in, too exhausted to argue anymore.

“Fine. I’ll tell you, but you can’t say a word to anyone. Promise?”

Yuna nodded, leaning forward, eager to finally get answers.

“Y/N and I have been together for a while and he's amazing, perfect even, but... we haven’t been intimate yet,” Yeji admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Yuna blinked, processing the confession.

“That’s it? You’ve been acting like this because you’re horny?” Yuna’s bluntness stunned Yeji, her face turning a deep shade of red

“What? So you're frustrated that he doesn't want it?” Yuna was getting to the bottom of this one way or another. Yeji’s face was red, almost blending into her hair. This has to be the most embarrassing conversation she's ever had. 

“No, Its my idea” the words barely leaving her mouth, as it registered to Yuna she let out a frustrated whine 

“So what's the problem? just fuck him and be done already. If its your choice to not do it just go to his house right now and make him fuck you, he would probably be done in thirty seconds by how backed up he is” Yuna was starting to get mad.

“Yuna! It’s not that simple... I want my-our first time to be special. He deserves it,” Yeji mumbled, embarrassed. But Yuna caught the slip in her words and wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“You're a virgin? Why? Do you know how many people are dying to have you? You could literally walk down the street at any time and have someone for the night. You didn't even do it before getting with Y/N? Unnie, you're 24 years old.” Shocked didn't even begin to describe how Yeji is feeling right now, she thought she knew her members well but hearing Yuna talk like this, was a new side she's never seen.

“So you're saying you’ve had… y’know” Yeji stumbled on her words before Yuna finishes her sentences 

“Sex? Yeah I’ve been fucked plenty of times. The feeling of a nice thick cock inside you, there's almost nothing like it. Do you remember when I did my performance of “U Go Girl”? The amount of staff members I had in my dressing room” she chuckled, reminiscing about her moments. “Most were smaller than I wanted but there was this one guy that was passable. I had taken so much that day that my makeup was ruined and-”

“Okay stop! Yuna how can you talk about that so openly. I don't want to hear about you getting intimate” Yuna rolled her eyes but she knew the leader was right, the topic should be focused on Yeji’s sex like or lack thereof.. 

“Because it’s not a big deal, unnie,” Yuna replied, arms crossing “Look, I can help you with this. Trust me.”

Despite her hesitation, Yeji eventually agreed. They spent the rest of the night planning, with Yuna more excited than Yeji could comprehend. The next day, they would go shopping for what Yuna called “essentials,” preparing for a moment Yeji was still nervous about.

The following morning, Yuna was up early, eager to drag her leader out for their shopping trip. Before they left, Yeji called Y/N.

“Hey, honey. Can I borrow your car today? Yuna and I are going shopping.”

“Of course, babe. I told you before just text me if you need it. You don’t need to ask” Y/N replied, his voice warm and loving. “Though I do love hearing your voice, maybe I should change my rule.”

Yeji laughed, her heart swelling at his sweet words. “You always know how to make me smile,” she said, feeling warmth spread through her chest.

“Its my favorite thing to do,” he replied softly. “You’re everything to me, you know that, right?”

“I do,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, honey. Have fun and say Hi to the members for me.”

After exchanging one more set of "I love you’s," she hung up, her mind still racing with thoughts of what was to come. a smile playing on her lips. This is going to be unforgettable.

-----

In the mall, the girls walked around in their typical idol disguise: all-black outfits, matching hats, and masks. Most idols knew the disguises didn’t help much, but companies insisted. Yuna led Yeji to a lingerie store, shelves filled with everything from practical undergarments to more provocative pieces. Yuna piled item after item into Yeji’s basket, forbidding her from interfering during the selection process.

With the basket full, Yuna nudged Yeji toward the changing rooms. “Go on, try them on,” she teased, waving her off.

Hesitantly, Yeji slipped into one of the sets and stared at herself in the mirror. She had to admit, Yuna had good taste. The patterns and cuts highlighted her body in ways she’d never seen before. Admiring the fit, she nearly jumped when the curtain rustled behind her. 

“Relax, unnie, it’s just me.” Yuna stepped in, unbothered by Yeji's modesty. Her eyes swept over the outfit. “Wow, you look hot. Y/N’s going to devour you.”

Yeji rolled her eyes, blushing furiously. Before she could say anything, Yuna gave her a playful smack on the butt, laughing as Yeji froze, mortified. 

After the awkward but successful trip to the changing rooms, they made their way to checkout. The line stretched on forever, adding to Yeji's growing anxiety. The longer they stood, the more she feared being recognized. 

Finally, at the register, the cashier greeted them. “Did you find everything okay?” she asked, scanning item after item. Then, her eyes widened as she took in the two idols.

“Wait... are you Yeji from Itzy?”

Yeji's heart sank as she instinctively looked down, trying to hide behind her mask. It was no use, the girl behind the counter already saw her eyes, they were the most recognizable feature of hers

“And Yuna! Oh my gosh, I love you guys!” The cashier’s excitement made Yeji cringe as she realized just what was being scanned. With each passing moment the cashier face turned from excitement to shy and red, almost not looking at her idols as she placed each item into a bag. The awkward silence stretched on as Yeji hastily paid, and they hurried out of the store.

Once outside, Yeji groaned. “Ugh, that was so embarrassing. Did you see her face? She probably thinks we’re buying this for a... date night or something.”

Yuna laughed. “Unnie, who cares? We’re adults, we’re allowed to wear nice things. If people can’t handle that, that’s on them.”

Yeji dragged her feet, understanding but still feeling flustered. They continued shopping for regular items—clothes, makeup—before heading back to the car. As they loaded up their bags, Yeji’s eyes widened in sudden realization.

“Condoms,” she blurted out. “We forgot condoms.”

Yuna blinked, confused. “Unnie, just take a pill. It’s better without the rubber, trust me. You should feel the real thing for your first time..”

Yeji shook her head. “No, Yuna. I agreed with everything today, but this is where I put my foot down. We need condoms.”

Yuna groaned but relented. “Fine, there’s a pharmacy nearby. Go get them, I’ll wait in the car.” She pulled out her phone, but when Yeji hesitated, nervously fidgeting, Yuna narrowed her eyes. “Wait... why aren’t you going?”

“I just... Can you get them for me?” Yeji begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please? You know more about this stuff than I do.”

Yuna sighed, sounding exasperated. “Fine. What size?” she asked, glancing at Yeji expectantly. But the silence stretched on, making Yuna narrow her eyes.

“Have you ever even seen his dick before?” Yuna asked, her tone teasing but sharp. 

Yeji stammered, recalling the one time she accidentally walked in on Y/N in the bathroom. “Uh, I’m not sure what the packaging size would be, but it was... about this big,” she said, awkwardly gesturing with her hands.

Yuna’s eyes widened as Yeji’s hands kept moving farther apart, ending in a size that made Yuna swallow hard.

“Unnie, are you sure? Maybe you misremembered. That’s... pretty big.”

Yeji frowned, her face flushed with embarrassment. “No, I’m sure.”

Yuna blinked, her face heating up as she tried to process what she just heard. “O-okay. I’ll get them,” she stammered, hurriedly getting out of the car, her mind spinning. No way he’s that big... is he?

As she rushed away, a familiar, unsettling feeling bubbled up inside her. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew why she was reacting this way. Ever since she started having sex, she had always been different—drawn to something specific. She had spent countless nights scouring the internet, reading article after article, trying to put a label on what she was feeling. And eventually, she found it.

She was a Size Queen.

Inside the pharmacy, Yuna scanned the aisles, finally locating the condoms. She eyed the options, landing on the larger sizes in the far corner, barely touched. Picking one up, she made her way to the counter, her pace quickening as her cheeks warmed.

"Why isn't there a self-checkout in this place?" she muttered under her breath, a flicker of frustration crossing her mind. This could’ve been done in seconds.

At the counter, the cashier, a woman in her thirties, gave her a knowing look as she bagged the item. Yuna avoided eye contact, mentally counting the seconds until she could leave.

“Have fun,” the cashier smirked, handing over the bag. Yuna tapped her card quickly, face red, before bolting back to the car.

She made her way back to Yeji, before they drove off back to the dorm. She got dropped off with the bags, Yeji saying that she will just return the car to her boyfriend, and she will find a way home. She thanked Yuna for everything before leaving.

The maknae couldn't shake off her feelings as she made her way inside. Dropping Yeji’s bags in her room, she quickly went back into the comforts of her own room, breezing past the other members saying she was tired from shopping. She got on her mattress before leaning to the edge, almost upside down as she reached for a box under her bed. It was a blacked out shoe box making it blend under the bed, hidden from anyone who quickly checks. She opened it before grabbing her trusted toy. 

As she lay back, memories of Yeji’s gesture kept flashing in her mind, along with brief, stolen glances of Y/N. Her thoughts drifted, and before she knew it, the toy felt... inadequate.

She stared at it, comparing it to what Yeji had shown her. No way... she thought, feeling her body react in a way she hadn’t expected. Could he really be that big? She didn't believe that he would be bigger than her toy, the only reason she bought it was because it towered over the guys she had.

Yuna didn’t notice it at first, but just the thought of Yeji’s boyfriend being that well-endowed had her body reacting in ways she couldn’t control. She was dripping, even more than when she had been using her toy. Realizing where her thoughts had drifted, she quickly cleared them. You shouldn't be fantasizing about your leader’s boyfriend, Yuna. Shaking her head, she pushed those ideas away.

Luckily, she didn’t have to distract herself for long, as she heard the front door open. Yeji’s voice floated into the room, cheerful and light as she chatted with the other members.

"He's so too cute. After I returned his car, I told him I'd take a taxi here, but he dropped everything and insisted on driving me himself," Yeji shared, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Chaeryeong let out a playful groan. "He’s so sweet, you’re lucky, unnie," she teased, causing everyone to laugh. "Ugh, when’s my moment to find a man?"

“Well, if you were not cooped up in your room all day maybe you would have found him by now” Ryujin countered, sticking out her tongue playfully

Yeji smiled, excusing herself and knocking softly on Yuna’s door. “I’m going to my room to plan. Come over when you’re ready.”

Yuna sighed, placing her toy back into its hiding spot. She straightened herself before making her way to Yeji’s room. Inside, Yeji sat on the bed, her phone out, clearly ready to take notes. 

“So, in two days I’m going over to his place,” Yeji said, a little nervous. “What then? Do I just, like, ask him to have sex?” 

Yuna couldn’t help but laugh at her leader’s naivety. She shook her head, sitting next to Yeji. “No, unnie. You’ve got to set the mood.” She grinned and launched into her plan.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’ll meet him at his house in the evening, maybe watch a romantic movie. Something to get him in the mood. While you’re cuddling, keep physical contact the whole time.” Yeji nodded eagerly, typing this into her phone.

“Then,” Yuna continued, “you excuse yourself to the bathroom and put on the lingerie we bought today. When you come out, stand in front of him, blocking the TV. Let him get a full look at you. He’ll be shocked—guaranteed. You’re going to climb right on top of him. Confidence is key. If you're correct about his feelings then he won’t be able to resist.”

Yeji’s heart raced as Yuna painted the scene. It was vivid, making the older girl feel both excited and nervous.

“After that, you start kissing him,” Yuna went on, her voice growing softer. “Neck, lips, chest—anywhere you can. Then it’s your choice whether you want to move to the bedroom or keep going on the couch.”

Yeji’s eyes were wide, staring as Yuna’s voice trembled a little, but the maknae kept going, almost in a trance.

“Let him peel off your clothes,” Yuna whispered. “His hands will feel electric, especially since it’s your first time. And then, you can start by either... sucking his cock… his big.. fat… cock… feeling him stretch out your jaw as you take him deeper and deeper until you gag...or-or letting him eat you out, his tongue reaching the deepest depths of you, flicking over your clit until you cum straight into his mouth as he eagerly swallows your juices letting him show you how hungry he is. Then—” 

“Yuna?” Yeji interrupted, eyes wide with red cheeks. “You can stop. I-I think I get the idea.”

Yuna blinked, her face flushing red as she realized how detailed she’d gotten. “R-right! That’s all. Just... have fun... d-do what feels natural” she stammered, standing up quickly and practically bolting to the door, leaving a bewildered Yeji behind.

Shaking her head, Yeji decided to unpack the shopping bags from earlier, laying out the clothes on her bed. As tried to make space she picked up a shirt Yuna had been sitting on, her fingers brushed against something damp.

“What the—?” Yeji frowned, looking closer at the fabric. The patch was wet, darker than the rest of the shirt. Confused, she glanced at her comforter and found a similar damp spot soaking through the material.

Her eyes widened. “How did that get there?”

-----

Yeji’s heart raced as she finally stepped into Y/N’s apartment. The night she had meticulously planned for was finally here. Every detail had been carefully thought out—from the lingerie she wore under her clothes to the small duffel bag packed extra clothes. This was it. After almost a year with her boyfriend, she was ready to lose her virginity, and she was determined to make the night perfect.

But her confident smile faltered the moment she entered the apartment. Standing there, much to her shock, was Y/N’s mother, greeting her with a wide grin. Before Yeji could fully process the situation, she was pulled into a warm hug.

“Oh, Yeji! It’s been so long! My, you just get prettier every time I see you. Don’t you agree, Y/N?” she gushed, oblivious to the tension quickly building in the air.

Y/N shot Yeji an apologetic look, silently conveying that he had no idea his mother would be visiting tonight. Yeji’s heart sank, her grand plans for the evening dissolving before her eyes.

Instead of the romantic night she envisioned, the three of them ended up having dinner together. Y/N’s mother dominated the conversation, sharing stories and asking questions. Yeji did her best to remain polite, nodding and laughing at the right moments, but inside, she was simmering with frustration. This was supposed to be her night. She and Y/N barely ever had time alone, given her demanding idol schedule, and now it felt like it was slipping away.

After dinner, Y/N’s mother excused herself to the guest room for the night. Yeji forced a smile but mentally pouted, knowing her seduction plans would now have to be postponed.

“So,” she asked, trying to keep her tone light as Y/N sat next to her, “what time is your mom leaving tomorrow?”

Y/N sighed, sensing her disappointment. “She mentioned leaving in the afternoon,” he said.

Yeji’s mind raced. She didn’t want to waste this rare opportunity. An idea flashed in her mind she remember that all of her members would be away from the dorm tonight, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Actually,” she began, “I forgot something back at the dorm. I was planning to use it tonight.” She gave him a playful look. “Do you mind coming with me to get it?”

Y/N hesitated, thinking for a moment and although he was a bit confused, he trusted her. “Sure,” he finally said, “let’s go.”

As they drove to the dorm, Yeji’s excitement bubbled beneath the surface. Her plan was still on, and she could hardly wait to make it happen. As soon as they arrived, she wasted no time, pulling Y/N straight to her room.

Inside, without saying a word, Yeji started undressing, revealing the sexy lingerie she had bought just for this night. Y/N stood frozen, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of his girlfriend in the daring outfit. She looked stunning, and the air between them crackled with anticipation.

Yeji walked over to him with purpose, placing her hands gently on his chest. Her heart was pounding, but she leaned in close, her lips brushing his in a slow, deep kiss that set the stage for everything that was about to come.

They made out passionately, soft sounds of kissing and heavy breathing filling the room. Yeji guided Y/N to sit on the edge of her bed before kneeling down in front of him. She reached out to unzip his pants, freeing his hardening cock. It smacked her on the face and she smiled. She did remember correctly

Yeji and Y/N continued their passionate foreplay, his cock throbbing in her hand as she stroked him. Y/N then reached for the box of condoms that he spotted beside her bed, Yeji snatched it from his hands and held it in hers before remembering what Yuna said, the lust was making decisions for her now as she tossed it behind her as she looked up at him with hunger filled eyes, biting her lower lip seductively. "I'm ready Y/N, let's do it," she breathed.

Y/N's heart raced as he forced a kiss between them while laying her on the bed and positioned himself between her spread legs. He teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, both of them shuddering at the contact. Y/N gazed down at Yeji, drinking in the sight of her flushed face, parted lips, and heaving chest. Her dark eyes locked with his, stormy with lust and anticipation. "Its time Y/N, make me yours," she whimpered

Yeji yelped as a sharp pain radiated from between her legs. Her plush bottom was being pressed down to the bed as Y/N's girthy shaft stretched her untried walls, burying itself half way. "Aaaah!" she cried out, eyes wide and unseeing, she felt a tear and her face contorted in a rictus of mixed agony and ecstasy.

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as he bottomed out, his pelvis flush against her tender folds. Yeji could feel every thick, pulsing inch of him throbbing deep inside her formerly untouched core. It felt like he was rearranging her guts, reshaping her innocence into his own perfect sheath with his invasive hardness.

"Y/N," she whimpered pitifully, voice wavering with virgin trepidation. Her hands scrabbled at his broad shoulders as he loomed over her, breath hot against her face.

"Fuck," his guttural groan washed over her in a wave of raw masculine desire. "You're so tight..." He gritted the words through clenched teeth, battling back the urge to rut into her slick heat like a beast in heat. Yeji shivered at the primal nature of his tone, knowing she would be utterly ruined by his lust soon enough.

Yeji whimpered, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so incredibly full. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as Y/N slowly began to move, his thick cock stretching her untouched walls with each gentle thrust. The pain mixed with pleasure was overwhelming, making her dizzy.

"Shit, Y/N, stop please! Ugh, you're so big!" She gasped out, her nails digging into the sheets. The burning sensation of her innocence being taken made her wince with each twist of Y/N's hips.

Y/N groaned at the pressure, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he struggled to stay put. He could feel every flutter of her walls around him, hugging his cock like a vice. Her untouched pussy felt like heaven, so tight and wet around him.

Yeji's hands clawed at the sheets, twisting them into her fist as Y/N was still inside her, not moving at all. "Nnngh... Y/N... It feels strange... I'm stuffed so full of you..." She panted brokenly, her hips starting rolling to meet his own. Using that as a sign Y/N slowly started moving his hips. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Yeji let out a high-pitched moan as Y/N's thick cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "A-Ah! There! Please Y/N, right there Ffuuuck!" Her whole body jolted, pussy clenching down on him as he stirred up her inner walls.

Y/N cursed under his breath, Yeji’s needy cries driving him wild with lust. He picked up the pace, snapping his hips faster testing the waters. "Yeji, you take my cock so well baby, your pussy feels incredible. You like this don't you?"

"Yes, yes I love it! It's so good, don't stop!" Yeji keened, back arching off the bed. Her breasts bounced with each rough thrust . Y/N latched onto one of her stiff nipples, sucking hard enough for the suction to lift up her chest as he pulled away.

Yeji yelped, the mix of pleasure and pain making her dizzy. She could feel herself rapidly approaching her peak, her untouched body overwhelmed by the intense sensations. "I-I'm gonna cum Y/N! Make me cum on your cock!"

Y/N growled possessively, doubling his efforts. He pounded into her sopping cunt, stirring up her cervix with the thick head of his cock.

"Ahhhnnng fuuuuck!" Yeji threw her head back, a silent scream on her lips as her orgasm crashed through her. Her velvety walls rippled around Y/N's length, milking him for all he was worth. Clear juices mixed with blood gushed out around his pistoning cock, soaking the sheets beneath them.

But just one thin wall away, unbeknownst to them, the youngest was in her room. Earlier at the bar, she hadn’t felt motivated to hook up with a random person, so she decided to call it an early night.

And now Yuna could hear everything—the sounds of Yeji’s breathy moans and gasps filtering through the thin walls like a forbidden melody. Her heart raced as she pressed herself against the barrier, each noise heightening the fire simmering inside her.

Without hesitation, Yuna grabbed her toy, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it close. It apparently wasn’t as big as Y/N, but as she squeezed it in her hand, she let her imagination come through. Her hand hovered near the waistband of her silky shorts, her body alive with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. Every moan from her unnie acted like a cue, guiding her deeper into her own mounting arousal.

As Yeji’s cries escalated, Yuna’s breath quickened, her face flushing as she slid the toy down, pushing it past her shorts. The rhythmic thudding of the headboard sent jolts of heat through her core, and Yuna pressed the toy against her slick entrance, biting her lip to keep from moaning. She thrust it inside slowly, her body tingling at the sensation, trying to imagine it was Y/N’s thick cock stretching her instead.

Her hips began to rock instinctively, the toy sliding in and out as her mind blurred with fantasy. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her pulse raced, matching the frenzied sounds from the next room. Every moan, every gasp from Yeji fueled her desire, the toy pumping inside her as her fingers moved to tease her clit, intensifying the sparks of pleasure shooting through her body.

Yuna could barely hold herself together, her breath hitching with each thrust as the heat inside her built to an unbearable level. Her hand tightened around the toy, her hips moving faster, grinding against it, desperate to chase the release she could feel rising. 

Then, with a sharp gasp, a guttural moan ripped from her throat as her body tensed, the dam of pleasure finally breaking. A powerful wave of bliss crashed over her, sending shockwaves of electricity through her limbs. She trembled violently, her climax rolling over her in wave after wave until she finally collapsed, breathless, flushed, and utterly spent. Still listening to the massacre that's happening next door Yuna laid there, panting, her mind still buzzing from the intensity of her orgasm.

Meanwhile, in Yeji’s room, the couple was lost in their own world of passion spurred on by Yeji's pleasured cries. They had switched positions as per Yeji’s request, she was now on her knees, her hands gripping on the headboard as Y/n was slamming into her from behind "Harder Y/N, don't hold back!" she urged all the pent up frustration is now being aired out, and he complied with fervor, giving her everything he had, the bed creaking beneath them. 

The bed frame creaked in protest as Y/N pounded into Yeji's dripping pussy. Her screams of ecstasy echoed through the "empty" dorm, mixing with the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. "Y/N, it feels so good! I'm about to cum again" Yeji cried out, her walls clenching around his thick cock like a vice.

Y/N felt her body spasm beneath him, her inner muscles milking his shaft as she came hard. "Fuck Y/N, I'm cumming! Oh shit!" Yeji practically screamed, her eyes rolling back in pure bliss.

Feeling his own climax approaching, Y/N slammed into her one last time before spilling his hot seed deep inside her hungry cunt. They collapsed together, sweaty and panting. Y/N slowly and carefully pulled out of Yeji, hissing at the sensitivity. She whimpered softly, feeling empty without him inside her. A rivulet of blood and cum dripped down her thigh, evidence of her loss innocence.

Y/N reached over the side of the bed, fishing around in his coat pocket. He pulled out a packet of wet wipes, tearing it open. Yeji watched through half-lidded eyes as he kneeled between her splayed thighs.

"Let me clean you up, baby." Y/N cooed softly, gently wiping away the proof of their union. He carefully swiped at her puffy folds, cleaning up the blood and cum. "You took my cock so well... I made a mess of your perfect little pussy, didn't I?"

Yeji gasped as he tenderly wiped at her sensitive slit, his touch gentle and loving. She squirmed at the sensation, pussy clenching down on nothing. "Mmm... It's sore... But it felt really good, Y/N. I love you so much and I'm so glad it was you who took it.

He smiled and brought her into a kiss as they now cuddled. Yeji, basking in the afterglow of her first time, smiled softly to herself. It hadn’t started off perfectly as planned, but losing her virginity to Y/N had been everything she could have hoped for. Her heart swelled with love and gratitude as they lay together, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

What Yeji didn’t know was that their intimate moment had an unintended witness. Yuna, still pressed against the wall, was coming down from another one of her climaxes, her breath finally slowing as her hand slid away from her body. Her face flushed with a mixture of shame and satisfaction.  Stepping away from the wall and leaving her unnie to bask in her newfound status as a woman.

As Yuna stood and composed herself, her eyes caught the desk across the room, staring at the handles, her mind racing. Slowly, a twisted smile curled at the corner of her lips, her thoughts taking shape. She knew her unnie very well and now.

An idea had sparked—one that could change everything.

-----

When Yeji awoke, the first thing she felt was his hardness still buried deep inside her. A delicious weight pressed against her pelvis, stretching her walls in the most pleasurable way. Confusion swirled in her mind, then clarity washed over her as yesterday night's events came flooding back. She distinctly remembered shoving Y/N's cock inside her while he was asleep before drifting off, herself, wanting to feel him there for as long as possible.

Needing to get up, she got off her lover with a groan, her body aching in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Her legs felt heavy, sore, and she could barely walk without wincing. Each step reminded her of the night before—the pleasure, the intensity, and the way Y/N had taken her so completely. A slight blush spread across her face as she remembered how he had unloaded inside her so deep she could practically taste it..

But as quickly as it came thought now sent a ripple of concern through her. As much as she loved what had happened, she wasn’t ready for the consequences. Panic crept in as she realized she needed to do something, and fast. That’s when it hit her—there was only one person who might have what she needed.

Yuna.

Barely managing to stand, Yeji put on one of her stolen Y/N's hoodies that fell to her thighs and dragged herself down to the closest room and knocked on Yuna’s door hoping she was there. It swung open, too fast, almost like she was expecting her arrival. Her expression was casual.

“Unnie? What are you doing here so early?” Yuna asked, her voice light and playful, as though the night’s events hadn’t left her affected at all.

Yeji swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing. “I... um... I need something from you.”

Yuna raised an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Oh? What’s that?”

“A morning-after pill,” Yeji whispered, barely able to meet her eyes.

Yuna didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. Without a word, she turned toward her desk, opening the drawer and pulling out a small bottle. She shook out a single pill, then turned to hand it to Yeji.

Grateful, Yeji smiled but just as she reached for it, Yuna’s hand pulled back, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You can have it...” she paused, her voice lowering. “In exchange for Y/N.”

Yeji’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of Yuna’s words settled between them, leaving her frozen in place.

The pill dangled between Yuna’s fingers, tantalizingly close. But the price...

Yeji stood frozen, her mind racing as Yuna’s words echoed in her head. The playful expression on Yuna’s face didn’t match the seriousness of the offer, sending chills down Yeji’s spine. She tried to process what was happening, her eyes locked on the pill in Yuna’s hand, but her heart was pounding for a different reason now.

“In exchange for Y/N?” Yeji whispered, her voice shaky. “What are you talking about?”

Yuna’s smile grew, a knowing look flashing across her face. “Oh, come on, unnie. You know what I mean. You had your fun with him, but... I want my turn.” She took a small step forward, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Give him to me, just once. Then, you can have this.” She twirled the pill between her fingers before slipping it back into the bottle, her eyes never leaving Yeji’s.

Yeji's heart raced, a mixture of disbelief and anger building inside her. “Yuna, that’s insane! You can’t be serious. He’s my boyfriend.”

“I know,” Yuna replied, her tone still maddeningly calm. “But... you don’t have to worry, I won’t take him from you forever—just for one night. I know you don’t want... complications, unnie.” She gestured toward the pill bottle, the unspoken threat hanging in the air between them.

Yeji’s body trembled with frustration and fear. The soreness from the night before was a constant reminder of the passion she and Y/N had shared, and the thought of Yuna being anywhere near him made her stomach twist. But the consequences of not taking the pill loomed large, making her head spin.

“What if I say no?” Yeji finally managed to ask, her voice small, barely holding together.

Yuna’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. “Then I guess you’ll just have to deal with whatever comes next.” She shrugged as if the matter didn’t concern her, turning her back to Yeji and heading toward her desk.

Yeji's eyes darted to the pill bottle, her mind racing. She knew what was at stake, the fear of an unplanned complication gnawing at her insides. But then Yuna’s voice came again, cutting through the tense silence with deceptive ease. 

“You know,” Yuna said, pausing as if this were an afterthought, “the pill might not even work if you don’t take it within 12 hours. You’ve already passed that window.”

Yeji froze, her heart skipping a beat. “Twelve hours?” Her voice wavered, barely a whisper. Her eyes widened as dread washed over her, the information hitting her like a physical blow. Inexperienced and overwhelmed, she tried to steady her breath, but it came out in shallow, uneven bursts.

Yuna’s smirk grew, predatory in its subtlety. “Yeah. So... it’s up to you what you want to risk.” Her words dripped with quiet satisfaction, knowing exactly what they were doing to Yeji.

But the truth was, Yuna was lying, and Yeji had no idea. The pill was still effective within 72 hours, but Yuna was deliberately sowing seeds of panic, feeding Yeji false information to manipulate her. Every word Yuna spoke was calculated, a cold weapon designed to break Yeji down in her most vulnerable state.

Yeji’s head spun, the lie twisting around her like a suffocating vine, leaving her feeling trapped, desperate, and utterly powerless.

Yeji’s thoughts were a chaotic blur—she couldn’t believe Yuna had the nerve to suggest something so twisted. But time was slipping away, and every second that passed felt like it was pushing her closer to a breaking point. She could walk away, but what would that mean for her future? Her career? Her life with Y/N?

The silence in the room felt suffocating as Yuna sat down, shaking the pill bottle with a smug grin, eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “Tick tock, unnie. What’s it going to be?”

Yeji swallowed hard, her mouth dry, heart pounding as she stood there, torn between protecting her relationship and the fear gnawing at her insides. The pill bottle seemed to mock her, a constant reminder of the impossible choice that weighed on her heart.

And then, in the silence of the room, Yeji made her choice. Without another word, she stepped forward and reached for the bottle sealing her fate.

[queers-gambit]

Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader -> technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Muña (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: At the start of the Dance of the Dragons, you host a familiar face. But it is not your husband who darkens your doorstep. It is his nephew.

Warnings: Daemon haunting the narrative. Smut. Body image issues, self-esteem issues. Tully! Reader (Reddish undertone hair) Implied mommy issues. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink

A/N: I got no explanation for this. Might end up writing a part 2 if this does well. Pt 2

“THERE IS a dragon at our gates.” One of your guards announces. You get up from your seat, a wave of nausea already beginning to make herself known. You would rather not face your husband. Not today. Not ever, if you are being truthful with yourself.

You have gained weight. The slim figure that you flaunted at sixteen is long gone. There is more weight in your hips and chest, a bit of softness around your middle. You know he will mock you for it.

“Open them.” You order, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable encounter. You can’t bar him entrance to what is his home too, despite him not visiting in years. “Tell him to leave the dragon there. I’ll send it some food.”

The guard bows and exits the room. One of your companions, Lady Whent, starts to pace the hall. She fears what your husband coming here might mean for you. The rumors said he had loudly proclaimed he would deal with you himself.

Your choice to keep the Riverlands out of the war effort is controversial, but predictable. Surely, no one in their right mind thought you would aid your husband install his Queen. Not even him. Not after he had left your shared home and started living in sin with her, shaming you in front of the whole realm. Yet again, no one would have called Daemon Targaryen the epitome of saneness.

You go sit on your throne, placing your embroidery aside. Your tenants are happy enough that you don’t hold court as often as the other lords. And when they are not, they still refuse to bring their problems to you unless absolutely necessary. No one wants to burden their poor lady more.

You wish they did. The days would seem less empty that way, rotting away in this castle, your house’s sigil mocking you from every corner. Family, Duty, Honor, they had promised you. None had come.

The guard comes back. You remain sitting on your throne, the one you hardly use. You intend to receive your husband from a position of power, not allow him to cower you. But when you look at the man next to the guard, your breath catches.

This man is not your husband. This man is not even one of Rhaenyra’s men.

“Lady Tully.” He says, taking a deep bow. Very respectful, which would make you doubt his relation to your husband were it not for the fact he shares his silver hair.

“Prince… Aemond.” You say, looking at his face. It’s your best guess as to his identity, considering he has a green banner and an eye patch. He wears all black, the color of House Targaryen. You stand up, and curtsy.

“My lady.”

“My husband is not here.” You say, hurriedly. It’s your first instinct. You do not want that dragon of his torching your tenants.“You are welcome to check the castle and my lands, but there is no love lost between us. I assure you I am not hiding him.”

“I know.” He answers, lips twitching into a smirk. You find nothing humorous about it, but you do not dare voice it. You do not understand what he is doing here, if not chasing after Daemon. “I understand your people… Resent him.”

“It is not our place to judge.” You say, voice firm. This man is at least ten years your junior, you will not allow him to intimidate you. No matter how he towers over you, no matter how menacing and mean his features seem. He is no Daemon Targaryen, this green boy. Your husband is the only man you had truly feared. “Only the Seven are perfect, and thus, entitled to judge others' actions.”

“Very devout.” Aemond steps closer to you, his smile widening. The way his face contorts, sharp and with too many teeth, reminds you of one of the piscivorous fishes you have seen swimming up the stream during summer. The look in their eyes is the same he sports now, right before they decide to feast on an unaware trout. “Just like us. Seems like we have a lot in common.”

You gulp. You wish you were less easy to intimidate.

“We do?”

“We do. I don’t like your husband either. The tales of his prowess have been overly exaggerated. And I do not think you are too keen on bowing to Rhaenyra, considering your marriage will be annulled.” A pair of his fingers pluck a stray curl from your up do, twirling it between his fingers. The slightly copperish undertones of it glint under the candlelight.

The threat looms in the air, uncontested by you. Both Prince Aemond and you know that Queen Rhaenyra would be dissolving your marriage as you speak, were it not for the fact that your husband and her need your lands and men for her war. Annulment in exchange for your life would be a much less cruel punishment than whatever they are cooking.

If you were a quieter woman, a less brave one, you would accept your fate. You would say your marriage had been unconsummated, that you will aid your new sovereign and your ex-husband in their war. But you won’t leave your people to their tender care. With the privileged position your lands have, they are also in the privileged position to be amongst the first to burn.

You are not so craven as to save your life in exchange for the ones of your subjects. Hence, neutrality. Hoping it will spare you. All of you.

“Do you think I want to still be married to him? After all this?” It is not enough, you see it now. With the green banner inside your hall, with the one eyed prince himself sent to rally you behind their cause. Neutrality won’t save you. You need to resist Daemon, not just sit praying he won’t attack you. The Seven know he has no such qualms.

“Perhaps we can make a widow out of you yet.” Aemond says to you, a hint of a smile making his expression turn even more menacing.

Tasting freedom on the tip of your tongue for the first time in years, you smile back.

YOU ARE on your side, Aemond thrusting into you from behind. His hand envelops your hip, greedily grasping your flesh. His other arm is under your head, serving as a pillow. For once, you are not self-conscious.

How could you be, when he had practically begged for entrance to your bed? He wanted you, and the thought of that was as thrilling as it was foreign. You hadn't broken your marriage vows ever since you took them. No man had dared voice interest, considering who your husband was.

Aemond had to convince you to get you here, and you had fumbled like a maiden every step of the way. You didn’t dare defy Daemon either. Despite your loneliness over the years, you had never taken another to your bed. No matter how tempted you had been.

When you had seen Aemond, you weren’t planning to, either. He was your good nephew, Daemon’s family. It was utterly scandalous, yet here you were.

You weren’t too sure how you had ended up into this predicament, though. One second the two of you had been making plans, your Lord Commander eager to be at his service, and the next, Aemond was crowding you against a wall and kissing you with unparalleled hunger. Your doubts had been quieted by his warm hands and eager mouth, as he forced you to writhe on his arms and try to divest him of his clothes. Perhaps he had carried you to your room then. You can’t remember, you just hope no one saw you.

“Did he fuck you like this?” He mouths at your ear, lightly biting. No matter how much you want to banish the thought of Daemon from your mind, Aemond doesn’t let you. It makes you feel guilty, breaking your self-imposed celibacy with your nephew in law, but he seems to get a secret thrill from it.

You don’t have the heart to tell him Daemon and you have only gone to bed together once. The night of your wedding.

You stay silent. His hand slides over your stomach, down to your mound. A single, long finger, slips through your folds and starts to rub circles on your pearl.

“Did my uncle ever make you peak?” Aemond asks you, still rubbing those maddening circles. You can’t think. All that is on your mind is a cloud of pleasure, warm and shameful. You shouldn’t be in bed with Daemon’s nephew. Nor should you be breaking your vows.

Aemond bites at your nape, sharply. Just like his uncle, he doesn’t take kindly to not being the center of attention.

“I asked you a question.”

“No.” You tell him, closing your eyes. Your face burns with your shame. Perhaps it is the embarrassment at your husband hating your bed so much he never visited It any longer, or perhaps it is the fact that you are breaking a vow you had really believed in. But Aemond doesn’t seem to like it, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder in an attempt to relax you.

“I'll give you one.” He promises, rubbing your pearl. His thrusting slows down, allowing the head of his member to hit deep inside you. “In my bed, you won't want for anything.”

The way he says it startles you. Dark, possessive. As if he doesn’t intend to let you go after one night, as if he intends to keep you.

“I don't belong in your bed.” You moan, trying to resist the pleasure that seems so sinful in your eyes. You clench around him despite it, not wanting him to leave your body. His free hand, the one serving as your pillow, grabs at your hair, the auburn mane as a bracelet in his pale arm. The pain of the tug only heightens your pleasure, making your body soar above the wave that threatens to crash and drag you under on the pools of hedonism.

Never before had you felt like this. In your encounter with your husband, as he huffed and puffed over you, you had only felt a quick pain and a vague feeling of shame. He had focused on his pleasure first, kicking you out of bed as soon as he was done.

But Aemond. Aemond stares at you, proud of how you unravel in his arms. He encourages you to do it, taking great delight in watching you fall apart.

“You do. With your gorgeous hair and your delicious cunt, I won't allow you to go elsewhere. You are a gift from the Mother herself.” He whispers, darkly. “I’ll worship you how you deserve, Muña.”

The last word seems to amuse him greatly, for it prompts a chuckle out of him. It’s an odd sound to hear coming from him. He seemed the kind who took himself too seriously. He licks at the shell of your ear, at your face, slobbering all over you.

It should disgust you, yet you can’t help but sigh in his arms. Surrender tastes cloyingly sweet in your mouth.

“I… Married.” You repeat, trying to get Aemond to see reason. You claw at his hands, trying to stop him from bringing you this overwhelming ecstasy that makes your body tense, and your thighs quiver. Your mind feels foggy, your wit reduced to half whimpers and softly spoken words.

“I'll wed you, and place my son on your belly.” He grins against your nape, contemplating his final triumph against Daemon. “My seed will take, where his never could. He is weak.”

“I am already married.” You repeat, a bit more firmly. Aemond laughs, rubbing at your pearl once more.

“Shhh, quiet. Quiet, Muña.” He whispers, pulling you to lie under him. He enters you in a single thrust, not giving you a moment of respite. You cry out, nails raking down his back. “I'll kill him. He is just an old man.”

You mutter something. Maybe a reply. Your lips move, incoherent, and you are screaming, the wave of pleasure finally crashing and pulling you under.

“That’s a good aunt. Squeeze your tight little cunt for me.” He grins, and you think this is it. The two of you are going to the Seven Hells.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 7)

Masterpost

Danny was very happy to be dragged around by Damian being introduced to all of his pets, first outside to the barn to meet Bat Cow and his ducks, and the giant weird dragon creature which was so cute!! It was all over Danny too, obviously liked him. Danny had a feeling if he woke up from nightmares or couldn’t sleep he would end up finding his way back to the barn to cuddle up with these animals. At this time of year it would probably be a bit cold and night but the cold never really bothered him and Goliath was warm. 

Then back into the house to meet all of the pets, the dogs, and snakes, and Alfred the cat, and finally a second cat and her kittens. 

“This one is just a foster,” Damian said, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed in a half lotus as Danny sat on the floor next to the box the mama cat was in with her four little ones. Danny felt like he might cry, it was so cute! The mama was a little wary of him but he was easing her way into her trust and good graces.

“Mhm?” Danny sounded, he was listening but he was scared to move since the mama cat was sniffling his fingers.

“I found her while she was heavily pregnant, feral cats usually have kittens in spring, at this time of year they would have been too vulnerable outside. I’ll rehome them when they’re old enough,” Damian explained. “I was glad I got her to trust me enough that I could be present and make sure nothing went wrong while she had the babies.”

Danny held his breath as he tried to pet the cat. The quiet stretching between them until he felt ready to talk without scaring the cat. “Am I your next pregnant stray,” Danny joked.

Damian gave him a guarded look over. “... I have been told humans don’t like being compared to animals,” He said bluntly, and Danny laughed. 

“Ya most don’t. But you take very good care of your animals, when you’re making this comparison, I’m guessing what you’re trying to say is that you’ll do what you can do be here for me and make sure I have what I need for me and the babies to be healthy and safe?” Danny said, giving Damian a fond smile. 

“Yes,” Damian said stiffly. This was why he usually preferred animals, they could read his intentions and didn’t require him to say such embarrassingly vulnerable things. At least Danny was saying them for him so he just had to agree. 

Danny finished petting the cat and moved to sit next to Damian on the bed. “It’s okay Damian, I really appreciate that. I know handling these emotions can be hard, they feel too big for our bodies and they’re hard to express. I’ll let you in on a secret though, they’re more easy to express physically, and I’m not made of glass just because I’m pregnant. We should spar later.”

“Are you formally trained?” Damian asked stiffly. 

“My mother was an expert martial artist and she taught me, but I’m very strong too. I promise you won’t hurt me Damian,” He promised, bumping his shoulder against the kid’s and giving him a smile. 

“Alright, I will go easy on you.” Damian promised, just as stiffly.

“Until I prove you can’t afford to,” Danny joked and Damian scoffed and shoved Danny’s shoulder. “But really, thank you Damian. It means a lot that you and your family are willing to stick your necks out for me like this.” He sighed, if he didn’t know better he might have wished his parents had been the ones to protect and support him like this, but wishes were dangerous things.

“This family is made entirely of strays, tragedy is a prerequisite. You’ll fit right in,” Damian promised before getting up from the bed, apparently that was enough emotion. “Do you want to train now?” he asked looking back at Danny. 

“Sure, I assume this being the home of the bats and birds there’s some sort of training space?” Danny asked getting up from the bed. 

“Yes. This way,” Damian agreed and trotted out of the room with Danny on his heels, making sure to close the door behind him so none of the kittens could wander out. 

--------

Jason took off his helmet and dropped it on the couch with a sigh of relief before wandering back into the kitchen to grab a drink. So what if he was technically still too young for it? He’d done a lot worse just in the last 24 hours then half a glass of scotch. He had been off grid for a couple of days on a mission and had just gotten home. He was exhausted and half of him wanted to have his drink and go to bed, leaving his phone off for another day so he could get a proper rest. 

But he had responsibilities, both to his gang, his turf, and more recently even to his family, so he turned it back on and grimaced when more than a dozen notifications popped up in a row. Damn, something big must have happened while he was gone. Why could there never be just a quiet day around here?!

He opened the most recent message from Bruce that just said; ‘can you call me when you have the chance?’ which made him sigh. But at the same time, it wasn’t urgent, it was ‘when he had a chance’ not immediately or anger about him not answering sooner. So knowing that he scrolled back down to the oldest message so he could get a feel of what was going on.

Cas, 28 hours ago: New brother! 🤗

Oh, well that was a very good start to the context, it seemed that Bruce was in the process of adopting some other poor schmuck. Well, hopefully they’d do better by it then Jason had. And explained why Bruce wanted him to call, he always worried now how Jason would react to new siblings, as if he wasn’t well over that. He’d only been mad about Tim at first but he wasn’t even Really mad at Tim anymore! Ya he felt the urge to attack him regularly, but only the same way Jason did with everyone else in the family now.

Tim 22 hours ago: I’ve got a favour to ask, or maybe a tip for you depending on how much you want to kill someone right now. Vlad Masters brought a pregnant 16 year old to the gala last night. Apparently he’s the baby daddy. 

Oh that had Jason seeing green, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. That man was good as dead, especially when Jason paused to google him and saw someone who must have been old enough to be the kids Father, if not even grandfather judging by the gray hair! 

Tim 19 hours ago: Don’t rush in! Turns out he’s got superpowers of the magical variety. You’re going to have to prepare for this one, and talk to Danny.

Danny must be the new kid then, the pregnant 16 year old Bruce was no doubt making quick steps to at least foster. Where were the kid’s parents in this? 

Tana 16 hours ago: Please make sure your wards are set up and you have that anti-possession charm we gave you. There is a situation still developing. 

Huh, well, good to know both that she was involved and what sort of powers they might be dealing with. 

Tim 8 hours ago: We have the parents in custody but didn’t have the resources to hold Masters. Danny and his sister are staying at the manor for now. You’ll like her, tough-as-nails red head.

Jason rolled his eyes, he dated one amazon and now everyone thinks the only people he’s into are tough ladies! He likes tough boys too god damn it! Why doesn’t no one get after Dickie about this?! (He knows they do.)

The last text from the family before Bruce’s was one from Damian, which was rare.

Damian: Hello Todd, you should know before you meet him that Danny has also previously died and come back. I believe you and he are quite similar and I do not know if that will mean you get along well or if you will repel one another. You should know that if you hurt him there will be consequences. 

Well wasn’t that just the cutest! Demon brat didn’t usually get attached to new people so soon.

He texted Bruce back: No I will Not call you. But I can be bribed to come for dinner tomorrow if Alfred makes lasagna. 

He checked the messages he had from his lieutenants about business and replied to the ones that needed it. Then the ones from his friends. He was just about to turn his phone off again when he got a text back from Bruce. 

Bruce: Done, we’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry Jay.

Well that was ominous. Jason sighed and turned off his phone, setting it down on the coffee table and heading to bed. He needed to fucking sleep. Whatever the hell Bruce was sorry for could wait until tomorrow.

--------

Bruce had asked Jasmine for a copy of her slideshow, and Tim for a copy of his notes and updated the files on Danny, Jasmin, Damian, and Jason. He always felt a bit odd about the files he had on his own children, but they were important! Both because his memory wasn’t infallible and he needed to remember all this, and because if he needed to tell someone about his children quickly it was good to have all that already typed out and ready.

Not he was just sitting at the Bat-Computer, staring at the cover picture of the slide show. All of them were so young, and all dead or irrevocably changed by the actions of adults around them. His goal, all their goals, had always been to make a safer world for children, and everyone but especially children. And every time he was confronted with the abject failure to protect a child it tore at his heart. If he found who had blocked them from contacting the JL he was going to have very strong words with them.

“You can’t save every child Master Bruce,” Alfred said making Bruce jump. He must have been staring at the computer for longer then he realized, to not notice the butler’s approach. “There are billions of people on the planet, you cannot catch every single one, especially the clever ones who hide it well. They’re responsible for the harm they cause, not you for not being able to stop it.”

They’d had this conversation before when Bruce got too hanged up on the people he’d failed. He knew that wallowing didn’t do any good, and depression got in the way of action, but he couldn’t always help it. As hyper-logical as he tried to be to compensate, he was still human, and seeing these things would always hurt.

“It’s not just Danny and Jazz,” Bruce said, rubbing his face. “It’s Jason too, I’m trying to figure out how… how what Jazz said about liminals and ghost changes how I feel about him. She says they can look like their immoral but it’s always amoral, following their obsession. I feel like I failed him that this is how he came back. And I blamed him so much, and put him down so much. She said their obsessions have to be supported, if they don’t indulge in their obsessions they die.

“No wonder he’s reacted so negatively every time I talked to him about this revenge quest, this thing that he’s doing. Now that I know I wonder if we can compromise, if we can’t then what? I don’t know if I can blame him at all for what he’s doing, but I know what he’s doing is wrong. I don’t know what to do Alfred.” Bruce said, rubbing his face hard.

“Well, it sounds to me you’re putting the cart before the horse Master Bruce. You haven’t even spoken to him about it yet, and you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Sleep, then talk to him, then you’ll know how worried to actually be,” Alfred advised.

“You’re right, as usual,” Bruce chuckled and got up, shutting down the bat computer. “What would I do without you,” He chuckled, patting Alfred’s shoulder affectionately. 

“I’m sure you’d be just fine,” Alfred said, in a tone that made it clear he was just being polite and a playful twinkle in his eyes that made Bruce laugh. 

“Thank you Alfie. Let’s all get some rest.”

Next

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 4) - Above The Gods Eye

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I had envisioned bonus chapters as not too integral to the main plot (as in, you will be able to follow the story without reading them), but this one... this one might just count.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

A series of moments from the vault, occurring in part eight of the story, now yours to enjoy. 🤍

The one with the second sons…

The photoshoot has wrapped, and the cast of House of the Dragon has drifted into all corners of the set, exchanging laughs in between much-needed sips of caffeine. The next item on Entertainment Weekly’s agenda is the video segment recordings, pairing cast members for various games and interviews.

Fabien and Freddie finished their narrative recap of season 2, with more jokes than actual informative recaps. Harry and Bethany played a game where they guessed whether the line is from House of the Dragon or Game of Thrones. Tom and Emma played a ‘which sibling' game, leaning into the dynamic between Aegon and Rhaenyra that clearly should have been explored in previous seasons.

As it happens, Matt and Ewan are paired up for an Aemond or Daemon game, meant to give the audiences a glimpse of what to look forward to. Their notorious rivalry, culminating in a battle that will be their last. 

The two film their segment in Studio E, the set consisting of the great cellar of the Red Keep where Balerion’s massive skull looms on a pedestal. The dozens of candles surrounding it have been lit, casting dramatic shadows as they take their seats, facing each other in what could easily be mistaken for the start of a duel.

“My name is Ewan Mitchell and I play Aemond Targaryen,” Ewan starts.

“And I’m Matt and I play the Daemon Targaryen,” Matt follows. “And we’re about to play Second Sons: Aemond vs Daemon.”

“Let’s go,” Ewan rolls his shoulders, his sense of competitiveness all fired up, intensified by the fact that the man in front of him potentially could become his rival off-screen. That is, when it concerns the battle for your affections. 

He can still hear it ringing in his ears, the sound of your laughter in the background, distracting him during the photoshoot. That laugh, so addictive, so yours, was a melody he could listen to forever - except when it’s Matt Smith who’s the culprit. 

The lads take their cue to read the first prompt displayed on a screen above the camera. The game begins. 

“Who is the better swordsman?” Matt reads aloud with a smirk. “Well, that’s obviously Daemon, mate. He’s older - ”

“Age doesn’t always mean better,” Ewan counters smoothly.

“Ah, but he’s battle-tested. He fought in the Stepstones, and was the Commander of the City Watch, for heaven’s sake. What’s Aemond got?”

“Aemond spent years and years training with Criston Cole in the Red Keep yard, honing his skill,” Ewan argues. “He clearly has the dedication. He’s disciplined.”

“Training,” Matt scoffs, turning to the camera as if sharing an inside joke. “Put Aemond out there in a real battle, then we’ll talk.” 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan concedes, biting his cheek to keep from saying more. “Next one. Who’s the better dancer at the royal ball?”

Matt can’t help but chuckle, “Neither of us are inclined to - ”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“But if we had to pick, then I'd say Daemon. We saw him dancing in the first season, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think Aemond would be much of a dancer,” Ewan says, before adding with a smirk to the camera, “unless it’s with Vhagar.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt asks him. “Short of dancing partners, is he? Can’t say I’ve got that problem. I’ve got Rhaenyra, I’ve got my daughters, and of course, the lovely Alyna.” His voice drops at the mention of your character, and he notices a telling flicker in Ewan’s expression. The younger boy latches on to it, hook, line and sinker. 

Ewan’s brows scrunch, not missing the bait. “Oh, she wouldn’t dance with you,” flies out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Alyna wouldn’t?” Matt tilts his head, feigning hurt. 

“She’s… she’s too busy fighting the war,” Ewan quickly musters. “She’s got better things to do.”

“Mate, I think we all are. But that wasn’t the question.”

“I just don’t think she - ”

“She’ll dance with Daemon,” Matt says confidently. “Once she realises how good he is, then it’s game over.”

“I disagree,” Ewan easily says to the camera, willing the viewers to side with him.

“Next,” Matt continues, “Who’s more likely to get into a fight at the tavern? Is this… so far, it's been all Daemon! This one too.”

Ewan nods, but adds slyly, “Aemond’s not one to waste his time at the tavern, no.” His answer is an apparent concession to Daemon, until he adds, “which is why Alyna would prefer to spend her time with him. He’s calmer… more reliable… no unnecessary tavern brawls or anything…”

“Calmer, mate?” Matt rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself. “Come off it, yeah?”

“Compared to Daemon, he clearly is.”

“He killed Luke and Rhaenys!”

“That was an accident,” Ewan shrugs. “He feels bad for it.”

“Alyna better steer clear,” Matt points to the camera, making his point. 

Ewan shakes his head in protest, “I don’t agree.”

“So, for this one, again, it’s Daemon,” Matt finishes. 

Ewan lets it go, the Alyna comment lingering in the back of his mind. It didn’t seem like an Alyna reference; it felt like a message to you. His stomach twists, suspicious of the other game Matt seems to be playing at. Turning to the prompter, Ewan reads, “Who’s got… the better hair care routine? Oh wow.”

“Daemon’s been at some dingy castle,” Matt says, “clearly no showers there. Forget it.”

“Aemond’s got this locked down,” Ewan grins.

“Has he? Alright then,” Matt responds, amused. “He does have that pin-straight hair, doesn’t he? It’s almost like… well it’s almost like it’s a bloody wig!” He laughs, and some of the onlookers behind the camera mirror the sentiment. 

“I did read somewhere about Aemond having a 20-step hair care routine… ”

“20 steps? Blimey, mate. I’m surprised he even makes it out the door,” Matt says. “Would you say he’s got better hair than the women on the show? Than Alicent or Alyna maybe?”

“Oh,” Ewan leans back, mulling it over. How to one-up Matt without making it seem too obvious? He’s about to respond, when he hears some soft giggling in the corner. It appears that you’ve made your way into Studio E with Phia and Liv. The sound came from Phia, who gives him a thumbs up when she notices his diverted attention. 

Matt notices your presence too, and when the director waves a hand for them to carry on, he answers for Ewan, “We could say Aemond has the better hair. Alyna’s way too busy training with Daemon anyway. We do tend to get into that rough and tumble during our sword fights.”

“Mmm,” Ewan narrows his eyes. He then ignores or conveniently forgets the fact that it’s Matt's turn to read the next question. “Who’s more likely to fight a dragon for their lover?” 

The two men lock eyes, the air between them charged, more so due to your appearance. If a rivalry is what the viewers expect, then that is what they’ll get. 

Matt puts a hand up. “I think Daemon’s the one with the guts to fight a bloody dragon. Daemon will stand against anything and anyone. Without a doubt.”

“It’s different with him, though, isn’t it?” Ewan responds. “Daemon would be doing it for the glory. He’d be doing it for himself. Whereas Aemond… he’d be doing it out of pure devotion.”

“Are you talking about the same devotion he had for his brother? I’d say he’s more likely to burn his lover to a crisp, than fight a dragon for her.”

“There is a completely different dynamic with his brother,” Ewan explains. “I think that when Aemond falls in love, there is nothing at all that he wouldn’t do for them. In season 2, we already kind of saw him leaning into this reputation of being the most wanted man in the realm. So… he’d fight anything for his lover, that’s for sure. He’d burn the seven kingdoms down if necessary.” He turns to look at the camera, but he catches your eye instead. You’re shaking your head slightly at his answer, but the small smile that graces your lips tells him that you enjoyed it. 

He simpers at your apparent show of approval, but Matt cuts the shared moment short. 

“I think Aemond’s a young buck,” Matt says, “who’s desperate to make his mark. He wouldn’t know the first thing about devotion. But Daemon… that’s been his internal struggle this whole time. He’s proven that he stands behind his brother and Rhaenyra, no matter how much he tries to act to the contrary. But yeah, we’re going a bit off track here. What was the question? Who’d fight a dragon… ”

“For their lover,” Ewan finishes. “I would still say Aemond. Daemon is too unpredictable.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Matt wags his eyebrows at him. “But I’m standing by my answer. We clearly saw Daemon basically pledge himself to Rhaenyra in the last episode. What more proof do you need?”

“Aemond’s got something up his sleeve,” Ewan says. “He just wants to be loved, that’s it, and when he finds that, there’ll be no question of what he’s capable of doing for Al - ” He catches himself at the last second, before he fully lets slip your character’s name. “I mean - ”

Matt’s eyes light up, sensing an opportunity. “For Alys, you mean?” To the camera, he adds, “spoiler alert, everyone.”

“Right,” Ewan lets out a breath, “Of course.”

“Can’t be anyone else,” Matt challenges him. 

“I don’t know for now,” Ewan tries to keep up. 

“You currently have a bit of a lack in the lover department,” Matt smirks. 

Ewan narrows his eyes at the apparent insinuation. He better be referring to the show. “Fine, then, we can give this one to Daemon. But as to their real-life counterparts,” he locks eyes with you again, “who’s to say? I bet I have this in the bag.”

Matt follows his line of sight, pleased when your attention switches to him. “I think that’s yet to be decided.”

“Alright, we’ve got some more,” Ewan quickly says, in an attempt to divert Matt’s gaze from you. 

Matt reads, “Who’s more likely to maintain a good social media presence? Oh, bloody hell, we’re crossing over into uncharted territory with this one.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I’ve never touched it myself,” Matt shrugs. “I’m not on anything, only Facebook for a moment ages ago, but I did not have any desire in going back. Oh wait, we’re meant to answer for our characters. Apologies.”

“Hmm,” Ewan nods. “I don’t know if Aemond would be on social media, no.”

“Yeah, this is a weird question,” Matt says. “Maybe Daemon then? But only to post pictures of Caraxes or something. What do you think?”

“Yeah, Daemon can take this one,” Ewan replies. “Personally, I’m not on social media too much - ”

“But didn’t you jump into the fray recently? With… which one was it?”

“Instagram? Yeah, yeah, that was something.” His mind flashes back to the pictures he had up, both attesting to his love for you. But you had asked him to take the latest one down, which led him to deactivate the account altogether. Temporarily. If the fans assumed that the action was meant to symbolise an end of his involvement with you, then now would be the perfect opportunity to prove them wrong. “I did have to take a step back, because it was kind of overwhelming. I just needed to take some proper time off.”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t know,” Matt says. “Did you actually share some photos there?”

Ewan smiles, pleased at being able to answer this question. “Yeah, I shared a few of my most treasured ones. They were some great pictures, but I’ve got loads more of the same in my phone, and I - ” He throws a warning glance to the camera “ - I think I’ll be keeping those to myself for now.”

Matt, oblivious as to what he’s hinting at, reads the next one. “Who’s the better brother?”

“Aemond for sure.”

“Clearly Daemon.”

And so the banter continues for a couple more prompts, sharp yet flowing naturally, foreshadowing the frenzied fan reactions when the segment is shared online for all to see. 

The one where Ewan needs his cowgirl…

Ewan paces around his dressing room, settling into his outfit, awaiting his cue from set. The outfit is a bold mix of traditional Western elements and high fashion: a tailored deep brown leather jacket with intricate embroidery, a crisp white shirt with ruffled cuffs, fitted trousers, and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His boots click against the wooden floor as he moves. He’s nervous but determined to impress you, even though it’s always been you with a knack for making his heart race.

After a while, he makes his way out of the dressing room and into the bustling set. The set is decked out to the theme. The director and crew are scattered all around, but Ewan focuses solely on finding you. 

When he finally does, his world seems to slow down. You are standing near a vintage saddle, dressed in your own Western-inspired attire. Your smile is radiant as you speak to your assistant, and the way your eyes light up when you see him makes his heart skip a beat. No, it never gets old, he realises, you will always have a maddening effect on him.

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and saunters over with as much swagger as he could muster. “Howdy, darling,” he greets in his best cowboy lilt.

You look him up and down with a smile. “Why, hello, good sir,” you say, even doing a playful curtsy. 

“Ready to give them a show?” he asks, gesturing to the expanse of the set. Ready to be my cowgirl, darling? He wants to ask instead. 

You hum a response. “As I’ll ever be. I’d say you’re a natural at this whole cowboy thing.”

“Oh, darling,” he smirks, “you’d be surprised by what I can do with my lasso.”

“Down, Mitchell.”

“Whatever you want, my cowgirl.”

The atmosphere is electric throughout the shoot, with Ewan constantly leaning down to whisper suggestive lines in your ear. 

He finds himself getting lost in the intensity of the shoot, but his focus remains on you. It isn’t as if you are making it easy on him, with your lingering touches and flirtatious remarks. 

The camera's shutter clicks away, and Ewan and you pose for one perfect shot after another. The set is alive with activity, but he only sees you, the lighting casting a warm glow on your rouge-stained cheeks. Forgetting where he is for a moment, his hand reaches up to caress your face, and he leans in slightly. 

You pose accordingly, likely thinking that he’s just giving the shoot what it demands. 

“What was that you were saying about a lasso?” you smirk, in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but it only spurs him on. 

“Care for a demonstration?” he shoots back.

“Why not?” you reply easily, adjusting your stance. 

“We may need a more intimate setting for that, darling.”

“More intimate than this?” you laugh breathlessly, the warmth of it fanning his face. He’s close enough that the tip of his nose brushes against yours. 

He smiles, deaf to the low warning that escapes your lips when he leans in for a kiss on instinct. 

Just as his lips are about to graze yours, the director’s voice cuts through the charged silence.

“Cut! Break, everyone!”

The spell is broken instantly. Ewan pulls back, his expression shifting from one of intense concentration to surprise and a hint of frustration. 

You stand facing each other, flustered and left wanting. Ewan wants nothing more than to just reach for you and pull you in a closet, and show just how well he can use that bloody lasso. If you want him to. But he forces himself to croak, “To be continued, darling?”

You mirror his heated gaze, nodding once, before turning on your heel and heading to the break room. 

When the set is mostly emptied, Ewan picks up the hefty lasso that’s been put aside. With a determined look on his face, he swings it expertly through the air, causing a resounding thwack. The movement is deliberate, a release of his frustrations about you. About Matt. About everything. 

But it doesn’t quite bring him the relief he needs, because only you can offer that. 

It’s only ever been you. 

The one with the first date…

You glance at your phone to check the time, heart fluttering with anticipation. Matt had promised to pick you up at 2, and it is only a minute past, but you’re already standing nervously in your living room. Not a moment too soon, your buzzer alerts you of his arrival, and you press the button to allow him upstairs. 

You sneak one more glance at the mirror, smoothing a hand over your t-shirt and jeans. You opted for a casual look, dressed up with some jewelry and heeled boots. 

Finally, there’s a knock at the door and you grab your purse as you walk up to meet your awaited visitor. 

There he is, standing in the doorway, as impossibly charming as ever. Matt’s dressed in a perfectly fitted black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, paired with staple dark jeans. His tousled hair looks like he ran a hand through it on his way over, and his signature mischievous grin plays at the corners of his mouth as he takes you in.

“Hello there,” he greets cheerfully.

“Hey, Smithy,” you blush under his gaze. 

“You look absolutely incredible,” he says, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over you, “As can be expected. You are my Alyna, after all.”

“Thanks,” you manage to say, your voice soft, almost breathless. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Glad to hear it. I was worried I’d underdressed,” he teases, though the way he carries himself shows that he knows exactly how good he looks. He steps a little closer, his hand lightly grazing your arm as he does. 

“You ready to go?” he asks, his voice just a shade deeper, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that still catches you off guard, no matter how exposed you have been to his charms.

“Yeah,” you nod, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing, the air between you thick with tension. “Let’s do this.”

The late afternoon air is crisp as you walk with Matt down a quiet street near Hyde Park. The anticipation from earlier has settled into something more relaxed, yet there’s still an undercurrent of excitement, an unspoken awareness of the new territory you’re both navigating.

Matt leads you to a small café tucked away from the bustle of the city. It’s quaint, with ivy creeping up the walls and soft lights glowing through the windows. As you step inside, the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries envelops you, and you can’t help but smile. The interior is just as charming as the exterior, and a few patrons sit scattered throughout, each absorbed in their own worlds. Too absorbed to notice two somewhat renowned actors entering the premises.

“Pick a spot,” Matt says, his hand gently brushing the small of your back. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to send a warm tingle up your spine.

You choose the table with a view of the park just beyond the glass. Ever the gentleman, Matt pulls out a chair for you before settling into the one across from you.

“Hope you like this place,” he says, his tone easy and genuine. “It’s one of my favourites. Feels like a bit of an escape from everything, you know?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, taking in the cozy atmosphere. “I can see why you come here.”

A waitress comes over to take your order, and Matt gives you his recommendations which you happily go along with. The familiar way with which she addresses him as Mr. Smith confirms his frequent visits. Once she leaves, you lean back in your chair, letting yourself relax into the moment, though you are aware of his eyes watching you the entire time. 

“So, how are you finding the city? It’s different from set life, that’s for sure.” Matt asks, his eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something deeper. Something you can’t pinpoint just yet, though it’s not unfamiliar. You’ve seen that look before. From Ewan. The sudden thought of him drives a wedge in your focus, and you have to shake it off before you answer.

“It’s been great,” you say, smiling. “It’s nice to be able to explore it more this time around, since I've got some downtime. And, of course, the company’s been pretty good too.” You add the last part with a playful tone, which makes him chuckle.

“Oh, I’m sure it has,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eye. “But don’t let Ewan monopolise all your time. I’m around if you ever need a break from him.”

The mention of Ewan brings a subtle shift in the conversation. It’s light, but there’s a hint of something more - an awareness of the connection you share with Ewan that both complicates what you have, or what you could have, with Matt. 

“You’re a good friend, Matt,” you say, your tone still light but more sincere. “I appreciate that.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “Friend, sure,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “But, just so you know… I’m here, if you ever want more than that.”

It’s a simple statement, but the weight of it hangs in the air between you. He’s not pressing, not trying to make you uncomfortable, but it’s clear that he’s laying his cards on the table. Matt’s always had a way of being direct without being pushy, and this moment is no different.

You meet his gaze, feeling the sincerity behind his words. There’s a part of you that’s tempted, drawn in by the way he makes you laugh and feel seen. But there’s something - someone - holding you back. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, smiling softly. 

Matt nods again, his smile resurfaces, as sure as the sun rising. “That’s all I ask.”

The waitress returns with your coffee and pastries, breaking the tension with the clink of cups and the sweet scent of buttery croissants. 

After a moment, Matt takes a sip from his own cup and raises an eyebrow. “You know, I heard that drinking coffee in a café like this can increase your charm significantly. I think it’s working, do you?”

You play along, pretending to consider this. “Hmm, I don’t think you need help in that department. But… I’ll still be careful. Just in case you charm me into agreeing to a second date.”

Matt leans closer with a grin. “Second date? Love, if I’m being honest, I’m already planning our third date.”

The conversation shifts back to lighter topics - your favourite places in the city, funny stories from the set, and his many revealing anecdotes about Fabien. Like the one where he got properly sloshed after a night out at the pub, so much so that he stuck some croissants in his washing machine thinking it was the oven. 

“To his defense,” Matt exclaims as you giggle uncontrollably, “the two appliances are similarly shaped!”

As the date progresses, you feel undeniably warm and comfortable in Matt’s presence, but you also can’t ignore the lingering thoughts of Ewan. Your phone had buzzed at some point, and when you snuck a glance at the screen, it lit up to reveal three missed calls from Ewan One-Eye. He knows you’re on a date, so he must be interrupting on purpose. Thankfully, Matt’s enthusiastic regaling keeps you from lingering on Ewan - from worrying about him, missing him… from wishing that he could freely allow himself to take you on a date just like this. 

As you and Matt stroll back to your apartment, the city lights cast a warm glow on the pavement, creating a magical backdrop for the end of your evening. His arm around your shoulders brings you a sense of ease, and you no longer feel that nervous flush as earlier. 

He walks with you inside your building, and when you reach the door to your apartment, Matt pauses by the entrance, turning to face you with a gentle smile. “Well, this has been quite the evening,” he says. “I’m really glad we got to do this.”

You return his smile. “Me too. It’s been a lovely night.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a shared look that speaks volumes without words. 

“Well, I - ” you swallow, your nerves returning, “I better head inside.”

As you reach for your keys, Matt’s hand gently wraps around yours, causing a jolt of electricity to travel up your arm. “Before you do,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

You look up at him. Screw your newfound sense of ease. Your heartbeat now pounds in your ears like an erratic drum. “Oh? And what’s that?” But something tells you that you know just what he means. 

Without breaking eye contact, Matt leans in slowly, his face drifting closer.

“This,” he mumbles the word as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And then his lips touch yours.

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Some notes in the margins...

This poll caused quite the stir amongst yous, I see. Consider me amused. Since part 9 isn't out yet, and my mind isn't set either - if you've got something to let off your chest, some supporting arguments, you've got one more chance to let me know below (or let each other know) 😉 I always read all your opinions, and they are properly taken into account. What did you think of Matty after this?

When Ewan called her at the end of part eight, do you think she had company? Anyway, something sweet is coming in part nine with Ewan and his darling!

To those who are seriously worried about the outcome, note that is and always has been a Ewan x reader fic. I am a Ewan girl just like yous. Hold fast and have fun on the wild ride, darlings 💙

[dunmeshistash]

Idk if I say this right did the manga style changed over time from first chapter were tiny details on it, to the end it is more detailed? Bc it got me gasping of the improvement of author's art style

Yep, Dungeon Meshi was published over 9 years and Kui's style got more detailed as it went on. If you look at her older manga before dunmeshi you can see she had a very "inky" and minimal style. Here's some pages from Seven Little Sons of the Dragon from 2011~2012 (Taking the chance to do kui propaganda)

I'd say that's impressive work even back then and I think it's cool how expressive it gets and how much she puts across with just clean linework

Here's Dungeon Meshi from 2014 when it began (2~3 years after this)

It's still BEAUTIFUL art but her simplistic character drawings are still there from her older work, I think she's going for more detail and less minimalism when she starts dungeon meshi tho, I guess she still had to find her footing in the new style?

I think chapter 1 Senshi is the biggest offender in that transition from very simplistic characters to very detailed characters (think of a furry transitioning to drawing more humans, her monsters and animals were always very detailed but her humans were mostly that face Laios makes)

Them in the first cover

Them in chapter 35

You can tell she really found the consistency on how to draw them and upped the detail on her character work, I do think she improved! (you'd hope so after 9 years) but I like to give credit to her earlier work too, she was working upon a solid base to get where she is.

I also wanted to say simple doesn't mean worse, it all depends on what you're trying to achieve, I think Kui had a vision for dunmeshi that demanded more detail so she got out of her comfort zone? That's all assumptions tho, either way she's an amazing artist and has been for a long time.

Anyway this is the Ryoko Kui art analysis nobody asked for by an artist that draws like once a year.

Edit: sorry fixed the date it was supposed to be 2014 not 2013

[myjealouseyes]

Request from an anon: Hello! I would like to request a Harry x Reader who’s from Hufflepuff. She’s very sweet and often finds herself surrounded by many magical creatures (even dangerous ones like dragons, etc..) I want to know how Harry would react and feel by this type of reader.

A/N— sunshine!reader has my heart!! ☺️

Content warnings: none. (Shirtless Harry but it’s not suggestive and it’s not a major point of importance.)

Send a request here.

“Is it true you’re friends with the Giant Squid?”

Harry asks casually, as he juggles all the bundles of yarn you’ve handed him on your quest for the red one you need. You practically stripped him of his Gryffindor sweater when you noticed the hole in it. It was small. He hadn’t even noticed it, and even if he had he would’ve just left it alone or gotten a new sweater. You weren’t having that though, insisting that you’d patch it for him. He asks this question with hopes that the answer will distract him from the fact that his extremely lovely girlfriend who he’s in her dorm with alone, is seeing him Shirtless for the first time.

You don’t seem to be affected by this moment of significance as you continue your search for yarn, only pausing to give him a slight smile and a head tilt. “You mean squidy? ‘Course I am! He saved me from drowning in first year.” And if Harry needed another reason to be head-over-heels, just like that, he had it. Not only were you friends with it, you’d even given it a nickname. Just being around you is enough to make his heart ache with fondness. It’s quite sickening really.

“The Giant Squid saved you?” Despite the underlying wonder in his tone, he believes you a thousand percent. It’s so on-brand for you; having an aura so bright that a squid that seems to torment the rest of the student body somehow likes you enough to save you, and become your friend. “Yep!” You respond enthusiastically. “He’s very lovely, but because of how big he is and his…less than ideal way of trying to make friends, everyone’s always afraid or at least annoyed with him all the time. It’s a very lonely existence.”

Harry has to purse his lips to keep himself to audibly cooing. He’s not sure he’ll meet ever someone else even half as caring as you are. The way you believe every single being, including the ones known for trying to grab people and drag them under, is just worthy of having friends makes him worry you might be a little too sweet for this world. You huff in disappointment as you see that you’ve run completely out red yarn. You hold up a dark pink one instead, closest to red you have. “I guess I forgot to grab some. Would the pink be too noticeable for you?” The slight guilt In your voice and pout on your face makes him want to smother you in a hundred kisses and buy you a new sweater, but he just brings your hand up to his lips for just one on palm instead.

“Pink sounds wonderful.”

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 GAMES

EDIT: shit i forgot this was in queue 😓 merry christmas i guess (if you celebrate)

Her fingers worked furiously, eyebrows furrowed and lip tucked between her teeth as she breathed heavily, "Fuck!" She groaned, leaning back against the chair as she threw her head back against the headrest softly. Her fingers slowed to a halt, stopping her moments entirely to breathe for a moment.

"GAME OVER," the screen read, flashing white for a moment before it asked if she wanted to play again. And, of course, she pressed, "YES." Billie had been at this for what felt like an eternity, playing some stupid video game instead of paying attention to you. Not even your lazy attempts at bringing her water worked, and it was starting to irritate you intensely.

So, you finally pull the oldest trick in the book: Whining her name lowly, lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed as you squirmed on the bed. Her posture was quickly fixed as the sound reached her ears, fingers pausing once again on the controller she held so possessively. Then, the screen paused, and Billie finally set the controller down on her desk, spinning around in her chair.

Her eyes landed on you immediately, clad in only your undergarments as it was almost midnight. Way past the usual time you and her fell asleep, "What's wrong, Ma?" She asks, voice husky due to the insane amount of yelling she'd done in the past few hours. Her tank top hugs her chest perfectly, and as she stretches, you can't help but stare at the dragon tattoo that peeks out as the fabric rides up.

She yawns quietly before manspreading, hands resting on her clothed thighs. She hadn't even gotten ready for bed before she started the game, and even that was irritating you. You whine again, your pout deepening, "Want'chu in bed, Bills..."

Billie's lips curl into a smirk at your tone, her tattooed hand coming up to run through her soft hair. It doesn't even take you ten seconds to scurry into her lap whenever she motions you over with her two fingers, clinging to her body like you hadn't seen her in a million years—Because that's what it felt like. Her head nuzzles into your neck, breathing in the faint smell of your perfume as her hands wrap around your waist, holding you possessively.

Your body shakes slightly, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of her touch for the first time in a few hours, earning a quiet, amused chuckle from your girlfriend, "Someone's excited to see me, hm?" Billie comments, one of her ring-covered hands coming down to pat your ass softly. Your hips buck subconsciously, arms wrapping tighter and tighter around her body as your breath becomes uneven.

"Jus' missed you," quickly falls from between your lips, voice quiet and laced with sleep and something else. Something she can't quite put her finger on. Your eyes flutter shut as you relax in her embrace, your hips continuing the slow, grinding movements against Billie's lap. It's only when you mewl straight into her ear that she notices what you're doing and what you're feeling, "I can tell."

Your arousal leaks through your panties, coating a small patch of her sweatpants. Billie gasps just to humiliate you, "Missed you—Bills, missed you s'much." You babble, hips starting to move faster with the help of your girlfriend's hands guiding your movements, "Wan'—Need you, baby," you cry softly, voice breaking. Billie stays silent, her breathes becoming heavy, head falling back against her headrest.

"Yeah?" She asks, voice teasing and raspy. Her nails dig into your hips, eyes locking onto yours as she pulled away from your neck, "Well, c'mon, show me how much y'missed me, babygirl." She nods her head towards your trembling figure, a devious smirk playing on her lips. Your cunt clenches around nothing, clit throbbing with each movement of your hips, head lolling back and revealing more of your neck, "S—So mm..much!"

"Missed you too, sweetie," she mutters, biting her bottom lip as her hands continue to rock you back and forth on her lap. She's already dripping herself, and she swears she could cum just from the sight of you alone, "Sorry for bein' so distracted. Didn't mean to ignore my pretty baby's needy pussy." You huff at her words, sweat beginning to bead on your hairline, "Gonna cum—cum f'you, Bills!—"

Her hands are quick to halt your grinding hips, heart beating rapidly in her chest as she looks up at you with that same mischievous glint in her eye that never left. She spun her chair back around, hands leaving your hips to grab her controller once again. God, you never thought you'd be able to hate an inanimate object as much as you hated that stupid controller.

"One more game." She breathes into your ear, kissing your jawline, "Then I'll treat you better than ever."

𐙚 amiyaps : how not to hate every single thing I EVER WRITE

𐙚 tags : @sophloveswomen @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ HE MADE A SLAVE OF ME | daemon targaryen x targtower!reader, minor aegon ii targaryen x twin wife!reader

summary: confined to the sullen walls of the red keep, there isn’t far you’re afforded to wander. entertained only by the people you silently watch, you find excitement in the visit of your older sister and uncle. though the latter is far more appealing to spend the night with, and more willing.

warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest (uncle x niece), porn with minimal plot, p in v, rough sex, slapping, degradation, masochism, blood play?, praise kink, breath play/choking, breeding kink, a lil’ stomach bulge, cheating on both halves, swearing, inaccurate high valyian (i tried?), weird pure bloodline shit, fiending for that valyrian d, hightowerphobic daemon, bastardphobic reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: daemon is so ugly but he’s so hot it’s so bad. okay, i can’t see daemon as a rough lover except maybe with a cunty targtower so this was the only way i could bring myself to write this 😭 (this was my inspo for this entire fic, bless tiktok editors 🙏🏼🙏🏼)

As a daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, you'd found that most people bent to your will regarding requests. The lords would bend over twice fold if it meant a chance at earning your hand, and the girls at court dared not step a foot before you in the case you'd remove them from your entourage of highborn ladies.

With eyes so doe-like and lips like honey, one would mistake you for just that, a doe, not the dragon draped beneath green silk that shifted like flames in a hearth.

That's how you'd created yourself. How you'd curated each step and each titter of laughter, every slow blink at every lord and all those tight lipped smiles at ladies of court who came too close to your family.

People at court had said that you were the best half of your twin brother, that he had taken all the bad traits so you could shine as the darling of the realm. Poor, sweet Aegon. Ever the scapegoat and always the perpetrator.

So as you sit across from your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, you find yourself rather... without.

He sits beside your half-sister. A beautiful glow on her skin as she laughs along with something your father had said. She's stunning, Valyrian in every sense of the word. With her pale hair and aquiline nose, you can see why she was adored.

Other than the Realm's utter Delight, dinner is less than… familial.

Everyone can clearly see the divide between both sides of House Targaryen. The Hightowers sat to the right of the King, the mix of Targaryen and brown-haired Velaryon to his left. You find no warmth in this arrangement, other than false pretenses of civility and feigned love for each other, the entire affair is only for show of the poor old King.

Though there is an affair that consumes your thoughts, a tryst that would no doubt end messily. So you opt to speak with your family, with a spare glance thrown his way just to divulge yourself after all these years of self-control.

-

Daemon understands the weight of your gaze on him. Even from across the table he can feel the way your eyes trace his features, the way you're devouring him without lifting your fork or grinding your teeth or even touching him. Your supposed indifference to the sides that the house of the dragons has taken makes his fingers twitch around his goblet. You're speaking with Baela and Rhaena as if you've sat beside them in court for years, doting on their new dresses and telling them snippets of what they've missed at the Red Keep.

Jacaerys' gaze is flittering over to your figure every couple of seconds, eyes dipping to your dangerously low neckline of your green dress, every time you laugh and your chest heaves he looks away like a wide-eyed virgin. Red at the ears as he scolds Lucerys for holding a fork wrong, Daemon guesses, with the way the older boy points to another utensil.

And your family, gods.

Your twin brother, Aegon, is attempting to drink away his sorrows but you're always quick to scoop the cup out of his grasp and palm it off to a servant. The fool simply allows you, resigning to watch everyone speak as you have him by the balls practically. And to still have him fawning over you, his pretty little twin-wife, is absurdity.

Aemond is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra's boys and Helaena is off in an entire world of her own.

When he looks back to you and finds those lilac-coloured iris' already poised on him, his jaw clenches and he takes another pass at his Dornish wine. The way your hair falls in pure white curls around your face and frames the heavy gorget necklace that adorns your neck, inlaid with moonstone and rubies that look eerily similar to the ones from the Conquerors crown. Spoiled Hightower brat.

Daemon is far from naïve. He's been apart of how many wars?

He's a seasoned veteran to these types of women, to their greedy plans and treacherous thoughts.

Though... that colouring that she has, so clearly a staple of House Targaryen, he's not so convinced that he's entirely immune. He's sure that his nephew is beyond stupid to not have made you a mother sooner. With tits like that and eyes so sweet? He'd have you swollen with babe two moons after your last birth.

He watches the way you lick a droplet of wine from the corner of your mouth, watches the way your eyes flicker from Jacaerys to him, and he can see it then. Something so wanton in your gaze.

Perhaps paying a visit to his dear, sweet niece tonight would not be such a bad thought.

You arch up into the touch —his touch— as shivers run along the length of your spine. His hand smooths over the swell of your breast in response, easing your ache as you squirm for more. It travels over the fat of it until his fingers pinch roughly at your nipple. A stuttering breath punches its way from your throat as he stares down at your face.

“So eager, aren’t we?” He admires the way your lips part, the way your eyes dance back into focus and meet his heated gaze. The way you seek out the eye contact. Want to know he’s watching the show you’re putting on.

Just as you’re forming the vowels on the tip of your tongue, he’s grabbing a fistful of your thigh and pushing his hips impossibly closer to yours. It makes you shudder, makes you want all the more. But there is no give to his press, he’s seated far too deeply inside you to move any further in. He’s pulling his hips back just the smallest fraction before he starts inching back in, heavy and hot and oh-so deep it burns.

Your tongue swipes over your lips, your hand moving to clutch onto the arm that props him up above you. The thickly corded muscle makes holding onto him all the easier, makes your cunt flutter and your chest heave and your eyes water. He’s so large, far different from your husband, this pure-blooded Valyrian —this man— he’s encompassing your body and stuffing you all at the same time, filling, holding and folding you how he wants.

You move to weave your fingers into the loose strands of his hair but the hand that was cradling your thigh is quick to grasp your wrist, tugging the appendage away as he begins dragging his hips back. “Where did all your words go, dōna riña?” (sweet girl)

You swallow thickly, fingers balling up as he oh-so slowly pulls out til’ just the tip rests in you. It’s agonising, having been so full not even moments ago, you feel empty. It’s involuntary, the way your hips lift towards him, cunt greedily taking him as you stifle the way your breath hitches. His thighs tense up as he groans, fingers tightening around your wrist as his hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit.

“Daemon, please.” It’s breathy, spoken from someplace in your chest that you feel with every inch of your body. “I want you.”

Your eyes only just catch the tic in his jaw as he drops your wrist, immediately grabbing a fistful of your tit and pushing back into you. Hips meeting flush as he glares down at you. The grip he’s got on your fit fucking hurts, but you’d be damned if it doesn’t set all your nerves on fire.

“Ilībio,” He all but snarls. (whore)

You don’t even register the next thrust before he’s pulling out again. He leans forward, large hand coming to press down onto your throat. His fingers curl around your neck —encompassing it entirely as he presses down onto you— using you for leverage as he fucks into you.

You moan, mouth falling open as he uses your body and paws at your tit messily. You can feel the flesh spill from between his fingers, feel the sensitive peak rubbing against his rough palm.

It’s driving you insane.

The hand leaves your tit, moving to the next and grabbing on just as roughly. He hits a particularly forceful thrust that has you jolting up the bed, back arching up as you whine. Your legs curl around his hips, thighs bouncing with each stroke, making a distinct slapping as he fucks you into the plush sheets of your bed. You roll your pelvis to the rhythm he sets, it’s practised, timed and purely filth.

“You belong in the,” He pauses as he sneers down at you, watching his cock sink deep into your tight little cunt. “Street of Silk.”

You can only sigh out a breath as his hand clamps down on your throat, your air coming in short bursts only when he pulls out to thrust back in.

“Your husband mustn’t have fucked you well enough.” He thrusts violently on husband, heavy cock bullying its way back into you as your cunt clenches.

His words are driving you closer to the edge, making you feel all the slicker as he fucks you, uses you like he’s your husband. Like you belong to him. Like you’re the sister he married in the ways of Old Valyria —in the ways of your house— in blood and fire.

The thick drag of his dick brings you back from your cock drunk haze, his words ringing in your brain as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Tight like a Lyseni virgin,” He buries himself into you until oxygen evades you entirely, all his weight resting on your throat as he leans in, licking a stripe up your throat and biting at your pulse point. “Wet like a pillow house whore.”

You writhe beneath him, fingers curling into the thickly corded forearm that presses you down into the bed, he teasingly slows to a stop only to rocks forwards. Watching your eyes turn hazy as your hips twitch up onto him. Jerkily grinding onto him as you struggle to take a breath.

“Struggling to breathe and you still want me to fill you, tala.” He smiles down at you, lifting a hand from your throat to caress the bone of your cheek. “So desperate for it.”

Oh, how badly you want to spit an insult at him. How badly you want to punch him and pull on his hair and suck marks into the muscled line of his shoulder.

He lifts the heel of his palm slightly, just when the edge of your vision was beginning to cloud. A quick respite of air before he’s pressing a bruising kiss to your pouty lips. Teeth digging into your bottom lip as he fully cups the side of your face. Tongue pressing into your mouth intrusively as he overwhelms you. Full of cock, his tongue, and being pinned to the bed by the entire weight of him.

The red hot coil in your stomach is cooling quickly, fading away into nothing as he devours you in the most deliciously possessive kiss you’ve ever had. His thumb presses roughly into the bone of your cheek as he thrusts gently into you. There’s a bloom of pain in your lip as he begins pulling away, teeth biting your bottom lip as he lifts himself back up. Blood smears your pearly white teeth, and you can taste it on your tongue.

Your chest heaves as you grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his face back down so you can kiss him roughly. You practically consume him with this kiss, wanting and needy as you fight to gain control. He pants out a chuckle, thumb pulling on your chin as he licks over the cut and your teeth. Your fingers tangle in his white strands and you give a sharp tug, the rasp that escapes him sends a needy throb through your cunt. But you take his unfocus as a chance to lick into his mouth, cunt throbbing as his lower half folds you over, sinking into you so deeply it makes your hips twitch and writhe in pain.

You fight against the pain, neck aching as you crane up against his weight, biting his lip harshly until you feel the break of his skin between your teeth. Blood mixing in your mouths as he pants into your mouth, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth as he looks down at you with something akin to satisfaction.

“Smile, tala.” (niece)

You breath in shallowly, greedily taking in air that you neglected yourself of.

“Uh-uh,” He squeezes your cheeks together, until your lips pout and he presses down onto your jaw hard. “Smile.”

And you do, lips pulling up as best they can with his fingers holding your jaws apart. He lets his fingers loosen so he can watch your teeth peak out from beneath your abused and bloody lips. You can guess that you both look the same, blood staining your teeth a burning carmine. The colour of House Targaryen.

“Good girl.” His voice is condescending as he pats your cheek roughly, pushing himself back up, and sitting back on his knees as he stares down at you through wispy strands of platinum hair. Dick sitting heavy inside you, fill to the point of it being a bit hard to breathe. Your sheets reeks of sweat and sex, and the iron tang of blood sits in the air and on your tongues.

His hands smooth over your thighs, thumb running along a pink scar nestled closely to your knee.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tits on full display while you look up at him through those pretty lashes, admiring the scars that mar the pale skin of his torso and the blood the runs a rivulet down his chin. “What are yo-“

He unwraps your legs from his waist, grabbing at the back of your thighs and pushing them towards you. You whine at the sudden movement, the blunt tip of him nudging against what the deepest parts of you. Pressing you in half with ease until he can hold your legs against his chest with one arm. The other coming to rest against the soft spot of your stomach as he hovers over you.

“Fucking an heir into you,” He presses a quick kiss to your calf before he’s snapping his hip forward and pressing down on your stomach. And that’s when you feel him. You let out a breathy moan as he fucks you, with your back arched toward him as you let him take you.

Like a virgin during her bedding ceremony.

His fingers leave pale prints in your skin as he grips onto the meat of your thighs so tightly. His thighs slapping against the backs of your legs while he fucks his length into you. With his arm wound tightly around your knees, there’s no way you can move or adjust or even move with him, you’re practically in his lap as he uses your hipbone for leverage.

Choked-out pants and whiny breaths are the only noise you can make as the hand that was holding your legs together drifts to your soaked pussy. Thumb slipping through until he bumps into your clit —he can tell by the way your tits heave and your cunt clenches impossibly tighter— and he can’t help but snicker as he presses down onto the poor thing. Hands used for more than just sword fighting, skilled in pleasing wives long gone that were no doubtingly three times older than you, are so deliciously textured.

“Hightower votrītsos nȳmagon wal morghūljagon.” Your maternal house is spat with hatred, he punctuates it with thrusts that grow more violent as he claims you. (hightower cunt calls men to die.)

“Iksā kempa isse nyke, issi ao daor, kepa?” You heave the sentence, attempting to speak without falter as he continues his selfish pleasure seeking manhandling. (you are heavy in me, are you not uncle?)

He grunts, nose scrunching up for a moment as a strand of hair dangles between his eyes. Silver locks messy. His thumb flicks over your clit again —a full-bodies shudder follows— so he can stare intently at your bouncing tits without the chatter.

“Aōha Valyrio Eglie jorrāelagon mirre.” (your High Valyrian needs work)

You admire the way his hair falls to his shoulders, undone from its hairstyle tonight at dinner, the slope of his shoulders to the plains of his front. A battlefield of cut muscle and scars that create ridges and valleys. Your eyes dart up as his nails cut into the skin of your calf, his lip curls up as his eyes finally drift from the harsh jerk of your pliable body beneath him, to your lilac eyes.

His eyes are dark, ringed by what little purple you can see in the darkness of your lonely chambers. The way he looks down at you, the look of curiosity, of lust, of hatred, it burns in your throat and makes your thighs quiver as he just stares.

You could nearly compare it to the way Aegon admires his cups, the way he drinks in every hitch of your breath, the way he huffs your scent, the stutter in his hips at every flutter of your cunt around him.

(Akin to Aegon’s lust for Dornish import wine, he drinks you in and savours the way your body begs for the extra inch.)

Your fingers tangle up in the silken sheets of your bed as you stutter, stomach quivering as he keeps his hips in motion, brining you oh-so close to your peak. Though it’s barely enough, used to the drunken fumble of your twin, you need a rougher edge, a little more pain. He’d just need a push.

“Iksā iā buzdari naejot kasta orvorta. Hae se dārys.” (you are a slave to green cunt. like the king)

He hums, brows pinching together as his thrusts grow sloppy and unpractised, like the green boy your husband had been on your wedding day.

“Kostilus ziry ūndan mirros hae bisa,” He circles your clit roughly, pad of his thumb rubbing deliciously against your slick cunt. “gōvilagon aōha muña grēza.” (perhaps he saw something like this, beneath your mothers dress.)

You let out a strangled moan, hips rocking up to meet his every thrust. The coil in your stomach is tightening and heating and making your thighs twitch and tense, and he doesn’t seem to take the movement kindly. The rhythm stutters when he forces one of your legs to his side as he surges forward to capture your mouth in a crushing kiss. Your other leg is caught over his shoulder as he moves in and it stretches muscles you hadn’t know existed in your legs as he bullies his way deeper and deeper, like he owns you, like your his to ruin.

“I would have loved taking your maidenhead.” He breaths the word into your mouth as the cuts on your lips open anew, smearing blood across your mouths, cheeks and noses. The kiss he pulls you into next is careless and messy, all knocking teeth and hot breathes.

“I- I’m,” He cuts you off by wrapping his hand back around your throat, pinning you down as his nose buries itself in the hair on the side of your head.

A blinding heat curls in your stomach and your cunt flutters around the abusive cock he fucks you with. The one leg that wasn’t pinned between you both is quick to pull his hips flush to you as you moan wantonly, though it’s smothered by his hand. Chest heaving and pale baby hairs sticking to your forehead as your lashes flutter closed. Taking the last few cants of Daemon’s hips as he finishes inside you, spilling deep inside you with heavy panting accompanied by a groan.

Everything is all warm, floating in your soft bed as the heavy man above you lets his weight onto you fully. Cock keeping you stuffed with his seed.

The hand on your throat drifts to your hair —you gulp down air as you feel an ache begin to form— deft fingers stroking at the loose strands behind your ear as he breathes in the perfume oil of the Dragons Breath flowers you'd chosen for tonight.

“I may take you to wife, with a cunt like that.” He murmurs, fingers tightening around those stray strands of hair as he lifts his face to meet yours. Pupils blown wide as he rolls his hips to nestle nicely between yours. That leg wedged between you both falling loose, and landing on the bed softly.

Oh?

That sentence shouldn't have made you so giddy, nor should it make a delighted grin pull across your bruised lips.

A plan well curated is always fruitful.

TAGS: @avalyaaa

[raventreehall]

a storm of swords dash simulator

🍋ladyjonquil Follow

i don't want to reveal too much but i had a really great day today hawking and riding and received some really exciting news (and maybe a potential marriage offer!) wow wow wow!!! haven't felt like this in so long 🥰

🤡florianthefool Follow

i'm so happy for you my jonquil

🐦littlefinger Follow

thanks for sharing my lady

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PISSED OFF AT MY BF RN 🤬🤬🤬 NEVER TRUST A SOUTHERNER AND ESPECIALLY NEVER TRUST A CROW!!!!!!!

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by the law of the dothraki she must return to vaes dothrak to take her place alongside the crones of the dosh khaleen. it is known.

🐉3heads Follow

shut up and go sack a defenseless city or something

🍁weirwoodzz Follow

hey do you guys remember when theon greyjoy took winterfell last year and killed the stark boys? has anyone heard anything else about that? feel like it kind of just disappeared from the news cycle, what happened to greyjoy?

🪓cerwynnation Follow

lord bolton's bastard killed him

🍁weirwoodzz Follow

oh really? wow. kind of extreme but deserved i guess

💗ramsays-sharpest-blade Follow

Ramsay isn't a bastard, King Joffrey legitimized him two months ago and Lord Roose is going to make him castellan of the Dreadfort soon. He loves his son and trusts his abilities. Plus, Ramsay is being awarded for his efforts in saving Winterfell and putting a stop to the ironborn raids in the North by being betrothed to Arya Stark—would a bastard be granted that honor? I don't think so.

Also, Theon isn't dead, Ramsay is (rightfully) flaying him for his crimes in the dungeons beneath the Dreadfort. Gods, I'd love to see Ramsay thrust the knife under his skin!!!!! 😜

#ramsay bolton #house bolton #our blades are sharp #theon greyjoy

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i'm boutta come into thome real money real thoon 😈 💎💎💎💎💯

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🐟greenfork Follow

TW: Red Wedding, death, violence

A masterpost on what happened at the Twins and what it means for the Northern independence cause, the War of the Five Kings, and the realm in general.

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🐺direwolfing Follow

TYWIN LANNISTER IS DEAD 🦀🦀🦀🦀

💙cassssanna Follow

actually i think it's still for king joffrey

🦁lann1sporter Follow

lol i thought it was for robb stark

🥂arborgold Follow

maybe it's for the mountain?

⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow

DOLOROUS EDD LORD COMMANDER 300 AC

⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow

DOLOROUS EDD WILL LEAD US TO VICTORY AGAINST THE OTHERS

🕊️ just-a-humble-sparrow Follow

mother have mercy i was walking by the great sept of baelor (i wanted to pay my respects to our blessed king joffrey) but i was blocked by a knight of the kingsguard—i believe it was one of the kettleblacks, unfortunately i always forget which one has been elevated to the kingsguard—because the queen was keeping vigil over her son, so i prayed outside instead. yet only a few minutes passed when i swear i saw the kingslayer arrive (he seemed to be missing a hand!) and enter. then, and this is the most disturbing part, i swear to the father that i heard noises of fornication coming from inside! i know for a fact that the only other person inside was the queen mother. could the rumors be true? i feel dirty even writing this. i wonder if i should tell my septon.

❤️‍🔥stannis-sweep Follow

stannis has literally been telling y'all and you didn't listen 🙄

🏳️ bannerless Follow

is it just me or is lady stoneheart kinda 👀

[starogeorgina]

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen reader, minor Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, violence, blood, incest, major character death, cruel Daemon

1.04

Holding Daenys close, you breathe in the sweet smell from the back of her head, a thick mop of silver hair tickling your nose. She was freshly bathed, and I wouldn’t be long until she was asleep. Jacaerys holds up a toy that belongs to one of his brothers that makes a rattling sound, and Daenys takes it into her chubby hand and starts shaking it, causing you both to smile.

She was so pure and innocent, just as Jace and his brothers are.

“I don’t understand, so it was part of your plan?”

“Yes,” Jace whispers. “I’m letting Daemon believe the greens are going north so that he is distracted.”

For so long the two sides of your family were pitted against each other, mainly by your own mothers doing, but seeing Jacaerys eyes gloss over as she holds tightly onto a toy seahorse that you’d seen Lucerys play with years ago saddens you. All he wanted was his brother back. It wasn’t something you could do, but perhaps you could help protect his three other brothers.

“Tis a clever move.” With your free hand, you squeeze his arm. “Hopefully it will keep him occupied enough for my plan to work.”

In a low voice, Jace asks, “Do you think he will be kinder now that you are with child?”

“The noose around my neck may be loosened, but I'm not yet free of it.” You rest your palm against your stomach; the evidence of Daemon’s seed taking root was yet to show. “If something goes wrong, it will be my sweet girl who pays the price, not me. I need to keep her safe.”

You had thought long and hard about the best way to protect your daughter and unborn child, and you saw no other solution than to kill Daemon.

—

The castle had a stillness to it that you did not like; it makes you feel on edge. Dressed in nothing but a nightgown and thin robe, you walk the empty halls feeling nothing more than a little mouse being hunted by a lion, knowing at any moment Daemon would appear; he was like a creature from a storybook, always lurking and hiding within shadows and corners of the magnificent fortress.

Your location inside the castle was impregnable.

If Aemond flew in on his dragon with a hundred men in tow, it would take far too long for them to find you.

Humming you round a corner that leads back towards the royal chambers you have been placed in and head footsteps echoing in the distance.

You stop, it stops.

Taking a deep breath, you hold your position and remain standing in the same spot, trying to listen and guess how close he is, but even still, you are taken aback when you feel Daemon’s hot breath hitting the tip of your spine.

“You shouldn’t be wandering the halls alone at this time.”

You wait a beat before turning to face him. “I could not find sleep.”

“Why?” He frowns. “Do you feel unwell?”

“N…no, just a little warm.”

“Then sleep naked,” he snaps. He spins you so you face the door into your chambers and starts guiding you towards it. “I will not have you risk my child’s safety because of the weather.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” you pout. “You don’t understand the frustrations that come from being in my condition.”

“I don’t recall either of my wives ever being this dramatic.” He shoves you inside the room and slams the door shut, causing Daenys to stir. “If you continue behaving this way, I will have you thrown into the dungeon and chained to the wall until the babe is ripped from your arms or womb.”

Ignoring him, you meet the terrified handmaid's gaze and go over to her and take Daenys from her, cuddling her in an attempt to stop her from whining. Poor little girl. The loud noise frightened her. “Please, Daemon,” you say between kissing your crying daughter's cheek. “None of it needs to be this way. Let us go home. This is not what Rhaenyra would want.”

This was the moment; Daemon’s answer would be the final decider of what happens next.

Daemon grips your jaw between his fingers. His voice is laced with venom. “You’re nothing but a spoiled cunt.”

“Ella,” stepping back, you turn to the handmaiden. “Can you please take her to the nursery?”

It pains you to hand Daenys over, but she couldn’t be in the room for much longer. You knew Daemon too well and knew exactly how to rile him up and when to strike. The prince was taller, stronger, and dare you even think it, but he is probably smarter than you, so you’d need to make him vulnerable.

Soon as the door closes, you push against his chest, “You’re a twisted old man.”

“Yet you crave me.”

Without removing your hand from his chest, you scoff, “Excuse me?”

“You may hate me, but you are intrigued. Infatuated.”

Groaning, you lean into him, letting your nose brush against his neck. “I’m not infatuated; I just become... needy while pregnant.”

“You’re no better than a whore in a brothel craving my cock for a coin,” he pinches your nipple. “Perhaps once the babe is born, I’ll put you to work in a whorehouse; depraved men will pay a lot for a silver-haired bitch."

You flinch at his words.

“What are you waiting for, niece? Remove your clothes and go lay on the bed.”

—

God, you hated this man.

Daemon grunted beneath you as you moved your hips up and down, feeling disgusted as Daemon stretched you out. It had taken the prince some time before finally letting you go on top. You kept repeating that it was all a means to an end to yourself. Daemon was only weak and vulnerable after sex; he could go for hours before being overcome by tiredness.

You lean down so your breasts are swaying in his face, and as expected, he turns his attention to them. He takes a hardened nipple into his mouth while growling at your other breast.

Your arms are strained as you place your hands on either side of the pillow beside his head. Time was everything; you’d never win one-on-one combat, so you needed to play dirty to survive. A niggling doubt was lingering in the back of your head, but then you think of how much physical and emotional pain the prince had caused you, all the bruises left on your body. You needed to do this, no matter how big a sin it was.

The second Daemon closes his eyes, your fingers tighten around the blade hidden underneath the pillow, just Daemon’s head, and in a blink of an eye, you slash his throat.

His hands immediately go to his throat, attempting to stop the blood from pouring. His voice is gargled, “fucking cunt!”

Crying out, you jump from the bed and scramble to throw the nightgown back on, and at the same time, Daemon falls from the bed. Not wanting to find out if the cut was deep enough, you run away, leaving the man who tortured you to die alone.

—

“Jacaerys!”

It was of no surprise to you that your nephew was waiting in the nursery; he knew you had a plan, just not what it included. The second his dark eyes land on you, he looks as if he’s going to vomit. Daemons blood coating your body had soaked through to your nightgown.

“I don’t have long,” tears stream down your cheeks. “We need to go.”

“You cannot leave dressed like that.” He was trying to be brave, but his voice was cracking. He looks at the handmaid who was shaking and says, “Bring the princess a pair of my mother's shoes and cloak, quickly. Do not mention what you have heard or seen to anyone.”

She scurries off to do as the prince says. Your heart rattles in your chest; how long would it be until someone discovers what you have done?

—

Sand fills your shoes as you make your way along the beach towards King's landing. The sun was now starting to rise, and it wouldn’t be long until someone spotted a silver-haired princess covered in blood carrying a crying babe.

The closer you were, the louder you could hear Stardust’s cries. You presume she was currently in the dragonpit; otherwise, she would have flown straight to you. The bond between dragon and rider was strong, and you just knew Stardust would be able to sense you.

Jacaerys wanted to stay with you, but you begged him to fly home while it was still dark. The last thing you wanted was for Vhagar to appear. Vermax may be faster, but the dragon was still only young, and you feared they may suffer the same fate as Lucerys and Arrax since Aemond would act before thinking.

By the time you arrive at the gates leading into the courtyard, now escorted by the kingsguard who had spotted you, the word of your return has reached the keep, and you come face to face with your husband.

He looks older, more worn out, and broken.

Just like you.

—

Your skin is red and feels sensitive to touch; not only was your body now scrubbed raw to remove Daemon's blood, but so you could finally feel free of him. The lilac-coloured dress that once was the most flattering clothing you owned now looked different on you. Your breasts now larger from breastfeeding and pregnancy threaten to stretch the fabric covering your chest, and the material now clings over to your stomach, doing nothing to hide the changes your body has gone through.

You only had a short time to gather your thoughts and briefly speak to Aemond before being bombarded with questions.

All you wanted was to push the bad stuff to the back of your mind and just be a mother, cuddle, and play with Daenys without fearing someone would take her from you. But it wasn’t to be. The dowager queen, Aegon, Ser Criston, and your grandsire had burst through your chamber doors, distributing the little peace that you had.

Your eyes jump between Aegon, who was continuously ranting about sending men to kill your eldest sister despite your protest, and Aemond, who was suspiciously quiet. He had said very little.

“Aegon!” You snap, slamming your hands against the table. “My dragon is twice the size Sunfyre is, and I swear by the gods that if you harm Rhaenyra or her children, I will burn this fucking castle down with you inside. Do I make myself clear?”

“She is a threat—”

“No, Daemon was the threat, but he is dead.”

Ser Criston clears his throat, “Perhaps we should let things rest for a couple of days, my king. The princess has been through something unimaginable; we need to let her rest.”

It was beyond frustrating; Aegon only cares how things appeared to the smallfolk over what actually happened. Jacaerys helped you survive on Dragonstone; he ‘accidentally’ left the blade in the room you were kept in. Tears aping to your eyes, “Our nephew helped me. I will not allow him to be killed for it.”

“I’m glad you have returned home, granddaughter, but we do need a story to tell our council.”

You stare at Aemond, waiting to see if he has any input, but he remains silent. “Say that it was a joint effort to recuse me; this is a lie, but it’s not as if my brother ended up on the throne because you spoke the truth.”

“A joint effort?” Aegon scoffs.

“I had to kill our uncle so I could escape, because I knew nobody was coming for me! Did anyone even read the letters Jacaerys sent telling you where I was?”

Your grandsire sighs, “You need to understand our position; it could have been a trick.”

“Get out.” You step away from him. “I want everyone to leave me alone!”

“Nought will be done tonight,” Aemond suddenly storms towards the door. “This conversation is upsetting my wife and will resume in the morrow.”

—

Between wiping away tears, you finish writing a letter addressed to Jacaerys. You had caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra while traveling to the dragon mount, and she looked more like a ghost than a human. You weren’t entirely sure how, but you would find a way to protect them.

Hearing a knock at the door, you call out, “Come.”

Maester Orwyle enters; he avoids making eye contact as he places a foul-smelling tea in front of you.

“What is that?”

“Moon tea, princess.”

“Why is it in front of me?” You push the small plate in front of you further across the table, away from you. “I did not ask for it.”

A look of panic crosses his features. “Forgive me, princess; I was under the impression you did.”

Before anything else can be said, Aemond walks into your shared chamber; he had awoken and left before you awakened.

“Leave us.” More tears spill, but this time it’s caused by rage. “I told you I was with child in confidence, and yet you betrayed me by speaking with the maester and having this brought to me. What if I had drunk it without knowing what it was?”

Aemond stares at you, looking defeated. “He—Daemon did unthinkable things to you.”

“I am so sick and tired of men telling me what to do!” Frustrated, you toss the cup of tea at the wall. “I am not the same person I was, Aemond. I will not allow anyone to tell me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he says, striding towards you until he’s close enough to cup your cheek. “I asked Orwyle what options you had; I did not think he'd brew the tea before we had a chance to talk.”

“My heart still aches for Anya and Rhaella.” You bring his hand to gently rest against your stomach. “It may be hard to understand, but this baby is mine, not his. I will care for this boy or girl as much as I do, Daenys. Can you?”

“I’m afraid that it will be a constant reminder of what was done to you.”

Your foreheads touch. “Then let it be a reminder of how hard I fought to get back to you, to save our daughter.”

A single tear falls from his eye. “I thought about you every day. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I will try my best to set things right.”

—

You return to your bedchamber after visiting your sister to say goodnight emotionally exhausted. You had remained cooped up inside your chamber to avoid dealing with the rest of your family, but you missed Helaena and needed to see her. You had refused any assistance from the handmaids on the assumption Aemond would already be asleep. Starting to untie the back of your gown, you reach the side of your bed, and your stomach drops. The cot at the foot of your bed was empty.

Just as you go to scream for the kingsguards standing on the opposite side of the door to enter, you hear a humming coming from the far side of your chambers. Sprinting over, you see Aemond standing by the fireplace, gently rocking your babe in his arms.

“She woke up fussing.”

“Tis not surprising; all this change has been a lot for our little princess.”

Aemond places Daenys into her crib, then sits in the chair beside it, his eyes glued to her the entire time. “Jacaerys, Rhaenyra, and the rest of her children will be spared.”

You fiddle with the loose ribbons hanging from your dress. “Aegon changed his mind?”

“With some persuasion.” Aemond takes hold of your hand and guides you to sit on his knee. “It does not please me to see him remain on the throne; our brother is a fool, but the matter is settled. He will allow Rhaenyra to remain queen of the rock she lives on.”

“Hmm,” you rest your head on his shoulder, letting Aemond hold you close. “I don’t ever want our daughter going through something like I did.”

“I cannot say what our futures will hold, but I swear to you now nobody will ever take you or Daenys again.” Aemond kisses your forehead. “I will keep the both of you safe by my side, always.”

[mingi-s-dimples]

Embers of Love - Yungi

KINKTOBER DAY 7 - REQ. BY @crazylittlebisexual

~"Breeding kink with Dragon hybrid Yunho and Dragon hybrid Mingi with fem reader. Plot: Reader has been having major baby fever but is too shy to tell the boys. Eventually it comes up during a conversation and the boys agree immediately. I would also like to push the monster cock Yungi agenda. *Blushes like a whore* ehem anyways thank you love you have an amazing day. 🫶🫶"

pairing: dragon hybrid!yungi x fem human!reader

genre: 18+, pregnancy trope, filth

summary: you were on the phone with your best friend and got a major baby fever from her words.. and you decided to do something about it.

wc: 2.5k

warnings: pregnancy trope, dragon hybrid x human, harsh dom!yunho, monster cocks!yungi (obvi), breeding kink, double penetration (same hole), unprotected (wrap up irl!), impregnation, lots of cum, manhandling, slight pregnancy info in the start (the diaolgue between reader & her friend + at the end telling them the result after a period of time - NOTHING TOO WILD), completely consensual, unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: I actually had fun writing this? I said I'd never write pregnancy tropes, but this one felt a little bit easier to write than expected. I guess it's because it was a general pregnancy trope and not some detailed shit like feeling the kicks/fucking while pregnant etc. Hope you like it lovie!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members.

The late afternoon sun bathed the living room in a golden glow, filtering through the gauzy curtains as you lay sprawled across the couch, phone pressed to your ear. You were half-listening to your best friend’s excited voice on the other end of the line, but your mind kept wandering to the soft lull of her words.

“…and when he kicked for the first time? Oh my god, it was the most magical feeling. Like, you can’t really describe it, you know?” she gushed, her voice tinged with the kind of joy that only motherhood could bring.

You shifted slightly, curling your legs underneath as you stared at the ceiling, a strange warmth spreading through your chest. “That sounds… really amazing,” you replied, voice quieter than usual.

“It is,” she continued, “I never knew I could feel so much love for someone I haven’t even met yet. It’s just… everything about pregnancy is incredible, from the cravings to feeling them grow inside you. It changes you.”

You could hear her smile through the phone, the pure, unfiltered happiness that came with preparing for a new life. Your heart squeezed, a longing you hadn’t recognized before slowly unfurling inside. It was strange—until this moment, the thought of pregnancy, of having a baby, had never really crossed your mind. You had always been content with where you were, happy with Yunho and Mingi. The three of you had been together for three years, and while it was unconventional, it was yours.

The two of them, dragon-human hybrids with a connection that ran deeper than anything you'd ever experienced, had come into your life so naturally. Being with them was effortless. It had never felt wrong to be with both of them at the same time; instead, it was like they each filled a different part of your heart, a perfect balance that made the relationship stronger. They were your home, comfort, everything. But babies? That had never been a conversation you'd had. Until now, the idea hadn’t even occurred to you.

But listening to your friend talk, describing the tender moments of her pregnancy, something stirred inside you. A flicker of longing that you couldn’t quite ignore. Was it possible that you wanted this, too? The thought sent a ripple of warmth through your body, but at the same time, a wave of uncertainty. How could you even bring this up with Yunho and Mingi?

“I’m so happy for you,” you said after a long pause, trying to keep your voice steady. “It sounds incredible.”

“Thanks,” she replied, a soft chuckle following. “I know it’s not for everyone, but if you ever get that feeling, you’ll know. There’s nothing quite like it.”

You wrapped up the conversation not long after that, and you hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment as if it held the answer to the sudden whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your head. Babies. Pregnancy. Parenthood. You sat there for a long time, thinking about what it might be like, to hold a baby of your own, to create a life with the two men you loved more than anything.

But the thought of bringing it up to them—well, that was something else entirely. For all the intimacy and closeness you shared, this felt like a huge leap, one you weren’t sure how to make. It wasn’t like you were afraid of their reaction; You knew Yunho and Mingi would listen to anything you had to say. But would they want the same thing? Was this something they had ever considered?

---

Later that evening, the familiar creak of the front door announced Yunho and Mingi’s return. They came in together, as they often did, filling the house with their presence. Yunho, tall and warm, immediately made his way over to where you sat, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Missed you," he murmured, his voice a comforting rumble.

Mingi followed close behind, his grin wide and his golden eyes shimmering with that playful spark that never seemed to fade. "We were thinking of grabbing dinner soon. Want to join us?"

You smiled at both of them, the usual warmth spreading through you as you watched them move around the room with their usual ease. They were so different in many ways—Yunho, calm and steady like the earth, while Mingi had an energy that was as bright and unpredictable as fire. Yet together, they balanced perfectly. And you loved them both for it.

"Yeah, that sounds good," you said, trying to push aside the nervous flutter in the chest. It wasn’t the right time to bring up the thoughts swirling in your head—not yet.

You went out for dinner, the three of you slipping into the usual rhythm of conversation and teasing. But your mind kept drifting, the idea of starting a family with them nagging at the back of your thoughts. you kept imagining it—the three of you welcoming a baby into your lives, raising them together. The more you thought about it, the more the idea settled into something that felt… right.

By the time you got back home, you still hadn’t said anything, too nervous to bring it up out of the blue. But it wasn’t long before the topic came up anyway.

You were lounging on the couch, Mingi stretched out with his head on your lap while Yunho sat besides, one arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. It was peaceful, like so many other nights, but something about this moment felt different. Your mind was still buzzing with thoughts of family, of the future, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“Have you guys ever thought about… kids?”

The room went silent for a moment. You felt Mingi shift slightly, lifting his head to look up at you, and Yunho’s arm tensed just a little around your shoulders. You instantly regretted bringing it up, heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for their reaction.

Mingi sat up fully, his golden eyes locking onto mine. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered, feeling suddenly shy. “I was talking to my friend earlier, and she was going on about her pregnancy, and it just got me thinking, I guess. I mean, we’ve never really talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if it was something you guys would even want, but… yeah.”

Another beat of silence followed, and then, to your surprise, Yunho spoke first.

“Actually,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve thought about it before. I just didn’t want to bring it up if you weren’t ready.”

Mingi nodded in agreement, his lips curving into a small smile. “Same here. I didn’t want to push anything, but… I’ve always liked the idea of having a family with you.”

You blinked, staring at both of them in disbelief. “Wait, really?”

“Of course,” Yunho replied, his hand moving to gently squeeze mine. “We love you. And the thought of raising a child together… it sounds perfect.”

Mingi leaned in closer, his eyes soft and filled with warmth. “If that’s what you want, then we’re all in.”

A rush of emotion hit you, and yoi couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The thought of starting a family with them, of creating something so precious together, suddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I want that,” you whispered, heart swelling with love as you looked at them. “I want that with you guys.”

They both smiled, and in that moment, everything felt right. You had been together for three years, and now, the idea of taking the next step—of starting a family—felt like the most beautiful possibility.

---

Something shifted in the atmosphere. It was almost like it got heavier, darker. Yunho looked at Mingi, giving him an understanding nod.

Yunho’s eyes darken slightly, the intensity of the conversation sparking something deeper inside him. His hand moved to your waist, his touch slow and deliberate. He leans closer, his breath warm against your neck as he speaks, his voice low and almost primal. After all, he was a dragon hybrid. He was totally different while turned on.

Yunho started talking, "You know... if this is what you want, maybe this is the perfect moment to do it. Right now."

His words send a wave of heat through you, heart pounding even harder. There’s an undeniable tension in the air now, thick and electric, as his hand lingers on your waist, pulling you a little closer.

Swallowing hard, your voice trembling slightly "Yunho…?"

Yunho, smirking, his eyes full of desire as he leans in even closer. "I’m serious. If this is what you’ve been dreaming about, maybe we shouldn’t wait any longer."

Mingi’s gaze grows more intense as he moves in on your other side, his hand sliding up your arm, his touch both comforting and filled with the same heated anticipation. His lips brush lightly against your ear as he speaks.

He whispered softly, "We’re ready whenever you are. You just say the word."

Your breath catches, caught between their intense stares and their soft touches, the air around them thick with desire. It’s as if the world outside fades away, and in this moment, all that matters is the three of you. Heart racing, the weight of their words sinking in as you realized they’re offering you everything you've ever wanted.

Softly, barely above a whisper, "I... I think I’m ready." you said.

Yunho’s lips curl into a grin as he pulls you even closer, his body pressing gently against yours, the heat between you undeniable now. Mingi’s hand slides to the small of your backk, his touch sending a shiver through you as he leans in, his lips just barely grazing yoi neck.

Yunho's voice, husky, filled with need, "Then let’s make this moment count." to which he hovered his hand over your clothes, softly taking them out. He was taking his time, which was unlike him. He was usually very rough when turned on. Tho, as soon as he saw your pink nipples harden at his touch, all the patience that was left in him dissipated.

"You look so damn good, baby." he whispered.

"And you look so... tasty." he was followed by Mingi.

"I love you, both of you, so much..." you lovely said.

"We love you too, y/n.. Now, turn around, on your fours" Yunho said.

The utmost difference between the two was that when you were fucking with them, they were the complete opposite of how they usually are. The calm one, Yunho, would become a menace and destroy you, while Mingi, the hyper one, would be all in for your pleasure. You absolutely loved their different dynamics.

You turned around as told and lifted your ass up, just how you knew they liked it. You always felt so little and vulnerable in their eyes, being eye fucked by both. Their gazes hovered over your body, inspecting every inch with lust and need in their eyes.

---

Mingi's hand went for your breasts, rubbing and pinching your nipples softly. Your back arched at his touch, but soon being restricted by Yunho's huge hands. His hands travelled around on your body and went for your ass, squeezing it. He then spread out your folds with two of his fingers. Now, you had to be honest to yourself. They were... huge. Yunho's two or three fingers were never enough to prep you beforehand but.. you absolutely loved seeing them struggle to fuck you every time, working their way in.

Today. Yunho was not even slightly patient and didn't bother fingering you for too long. The thought of finally feeling you without a condom must've made him go insane, you thought. He spread your legs out and pushed himself in, barely halfway. He forced the note, slowly thrusting his way in. It hurt so damn much but oh god... how good they fucked you.

As Yunho was wildy fucking you, his eyes glistening red with lust - he was a dragon hybrid after all - Mingi was rapidly stroking his length, looking at the two of you.

"Now now now.. this is my idea, baby." Yunho started. "We'll both impregnate you.. how? I don't know yet, but the thought makes me go feral" he purred ad bit your shoulder, anticipating his high coming closer.

Mingi was close too, turned on only by the sight he had in front of him.

"Come here" the older one said and showed Mingi where, and it was exactly betweem your thighs. He flipped you over to make you watch them.

"Spread yourself out" Mingi said, signaling you with his brows.

You did as told and slowly spread your folds out, your cunt on full display in front of them.

"Beautiful" both whispered.

"Mingi, lift her up and sit on the couch." Yunho said with a strict tone.

"On it" and he did as told, sitting you in his lap and feeling his gigantic cock straining against your back. Yunho slowly lifted your legs up, putting them around his waist. You were now basically pressed between the two men.

Yunho did exactly what you thought he'd do and started fucking you again, even more wildly. He raised his brow at Mingi who was waiting for a sign, amd he took it. He guided the tip of his cock to your hole from under you and slowly pushed himself in. As always, only the tip fit in if one of them was inches deep inside you. Yunho pulled out halfway, basically making way for Mingi. Both their tips now fit in your cunt, barely fitting at least w inches inside, but it actually didn't matter. Your hands instinctively touched the boys' dicks, pumping them in any way you could from that position you were in. Both men kinda pushed the limits and thrusted in at the same time, a loud moan coming out of your slowly rising chest. It hurt so damn bad, tears formed in your eyes.

They never planned on stopping tho. As soon as they were satisfied with the touched depth, they started fucking you rapidly, cocks rubbing against each other, even more friction driving them insane.

"We're so close, our love" Mingi purred and soft whines left his chest as he felt you clenching around him, Yunho doing the same. You kind of basically milked them off, both boys coming right down your hole at the same time. They fucked you through their orgasm, overstimulating and overwhelming you. You also came down from your high, head dizzy from all the motion.

"This was.. damn hot" Mingi affirmed.

"Agreed." you faintly said.

"Everything good, baby? You look tired." Yunho said, back to his caring self.

"Huh, seriously? " you giggled along with your boyfriends.

You continued, "Thank you.. my loves" and gave each a soft kiss, them reciprocating it.

----

"Fast forward 4 weeks"

"MINGI! YUNHO! LOOK!" you happily ran from the bathroom. You were holding a pregnancy test.

"Congrats, our love." they excitedly said and embraced you in the warmest hug, air filled with anticipation of what the future held for you, starting with this moment.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwaluv @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Taoba (Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Daemon Targaryen)

Summary: Daemon and Aemond settle their pending score.

Warnings: Aemond being a BRAT. Daemon being a sugar daddy (I guess?) Violence. Targaryen way of conflict resolution. 

A/N: Final part of the Muña series. This is very unhealthy, but I needed to give it a satisfactory conclusion that felt in character to me, so it stopped using my brain space. 

THERE IS NO Sept in Pentos. At least, not in the part of the city where the manse is located. You do not dare go exploring further than a few timid excursions to the surrounding markets. 

Being out in the open makes you antsy. Your departure from Westeros is still too fresh, you have not yet settled into a life where you are not at war. Searching for a Sept in which to pray properly seems too trivial. 

You still light your candles, one for each person you have lost, plus another one. For yourself. 

Aemond is as unsettled as you are. To him, the loss is greater. He has had to shed his identity, cut his chair and remove the characteristic eye patch and leather clothes for more simple ones. He is now a dragonseed, brought along as a paramour to a happily married couple. 

“What can I say?” Daemon had laughed, when questioned about it by a magister. “I love my wife, and she does love her toys.” 

It had prompted a roar of laughter from his friends. You weren’t too sure you liked being known as a sexual deviant, but you had little choice in the matter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, after all. 

Even Vhagar. She is now known as The Cannibal. The Essoi know so little about dragons that an intimidating name to match the intimidating reptile in their city satisfies them. 

Daemon, in contrast, settles in as if he had never been at war. He has already been in one before, and has lost little. He still has his name, his money, and his marriage. He even has his old pentoshi friends. They had greeted him warmly, clapped him in the back, and it was as if he had never left. 

While Aemond continues to share your bed, Daemon is content to haunt the place. You worry despite yourself when you realize he is not out whoring or drinking as usual. But you are too busy with your inner turmoil to try to fix him too. 

Having run away from the only home you knew leaves you unsure about whom you really are. When the war started, you were different. You would have done anything to protect your people. Now, you were a coward who ran with her tail between her legs at the first hint of trouble. 

It was difficult to feel such a passionate love for them when they had started resisting your orders. As soon as the Blacks gained a bit of terrain, they started questioning your leadership. By the end of it, they were cursing your name.

Running was easier, after that. Playing Daemon’s wife again wasn’t. 

It all comes to a head one evening when you are asked to sweep into that role again. Daemon has insisted on hosting a dinner for some of his friends, and so, you have little choice but to squeeze yourself into a fine gown he commissioned for you. It seems fair that if he is housing you and your lover, you do something for him. 

You plan the night to perfection. It is what you have been raised to do, and you thrive on it. There is such an innate sense of control that comes with choosing a menu, the seating arrangements, the entertainment. You enjoy the task so much, you wish you had put it into practice more in your other life. 

Aemond sulks in a corner the whole evening, even when Daemon has gotten him a matching doublet. He seems to dislike the implication of being a bastard too much to enjoy himself in a company that cares little for his origins. 

“I hate this dress.” He complains, once you have ushered out the last of Daemon’s friends. Aemond toys with the laces on the back of it, making you frown. “Makes you look washed out. Ugly.” 

You flinch. You have never liked discussing your appearance, not after many years of mocking. During a good week, a remark about your looks can set your budding self-esteem back a moon. Hearing Aemond say so during a bad one guts you. 

Aemond was supposed to understand you. To see you. 

“I happen to like it.” You say, picking up the last goblets of wine and setting them into a tray to be taken down to the kitchen. Your household is sparsely staffed, Daemon’s savings not enough to keep it running at full capacity.  You find you don’t really mind. The lack of resources during the war had made you go through much worse, and you find you enjoy the privacy. “I enjoy the fullness of the skirts.” 

You are careful to keep your back turned to the men, but you cannot hide the tenseness of your shoulders, the stiffness of your spine. Perhaps the insult stings more because you do like the dress.  Despite how tight it was, you had felt pretty after putting it on. The seamstress had complimented you, even. 

The style was more form - fitting than what you usually wore, a bit more risky. It had been inspired by what the women here wore, and you knew Daemon wouldn’t let you embarrass him. That fact had prompted your confidence to wear it in the first place. But now, you just feel old and fat. 

A hand presses to your back, warm and gentle. You stiffen more, thinking it’s Aemond’s. 

“You look beautiful in it.” Daemon compliments, softly. And because he cannot resist it, he throws in a dig at Aemond too. “The boy is just bitter because he can’t pay for anything half as fine.” 

“That is not true. I could become a…” Aemond starts, and you groan, pressing your hands to your eyes. You have heard the tale of the sellsword plenty. He is a good swordsman, perhaps good enough to take up that sort of life. But he is out of practice. Most of his battles have been from the dragon, not the horse. Unlike cavalry, dragonback doesn’t provide such experience. 

“If you become a sellsword, you will die. And all I did would be in vain.” Daemon sits down, placing his boots on the table. You shove him. It’s not as if any of them do any cleaning, but Aemond is far neater. You do not clean either, but as the person in charge of the servants, you prefer not to be embarrassed by how piggish they can be.

Daemon has gone through great pains to secure you a home and safety. You try not to feel too indebted to him, considering the horrible years of marriage and shame, but cannot help it. He is finally behaving like you were taught a husband is supposed to behave, and it pleases your stupid brain. 

He provides for you. Pays for your home, dresses, lets you run a household. He protects you. Keeps you safe from the outcome of the war, rescued you from the likely revolt from your tenants. He makes you happy. Daemon pays to keep Aemond safe and healthy, too. 

It messes with your head. You shouldn’t feel grateful, you shouldn’t like him and yet…

Siege mentality. That must be it. Your current situation makes you believe it’s Daemon, Aemond and you against the world. 

Aemond doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He has been behaving oddly ever since you got here. The first week, he had been on edge, wary Daemon was going to murder him in his sleep. The second one, he had not left your bed. And then he had settled into an odd sort of depression that involved making everyone around him as miserable as possible. 

Aemond was a man born and bred for war. It wasn't unusual that he was struggling with peace. 

“Apologize, Taoba.” Daemon orders. While this is not the first time Aemond lashes out, it is the first time Daemon bothers with demanding an apology. It is also the first time Aemond’s temper has been directed at you. 

“I refuse to apologize for my opinion.” Aemond smirks. He toys with his goblet, before leaning in. You know the look in his face. It’s the one he wears when he plans to deliver the killing blow. “The dress makes you look ugly.” 

You suppose it is better than being outright called ugly. The thought isn’t as comforting as you thought. 

“An opinion no one asked for.” Daemon’s tone is icy. You look at him, begging him to let it go. But Daemon has never listened to you, not in all the years you have been married. He won’t start now. “And a false one. I can’t just voice the opinion that the sky is red. Now, apologize or…”  

“Or?” Aemond challenges. This time, you turn your pleading eyes to him. Out of the two of them, he is slower to enact his revenge ploys, while Daemon chooses to take immediate and decisive action. You hope that means he can be persuaded to postpone the confrontation. 

“Aemond, why don’t we go to bed?” You ask, voice soft and meek. But Aemond’s gaze is fixed on Daemon. 

The older man smirks. He leans back on his chair, forcing it to balance precariously on its hind legs. 

“I’ll make you.” 

It happens faster than you can react. One second they are glaring at each other, the next Aemond has lunged over the table, sending the goblets clattering. He punches Daemon, making him fall off the chair. But before Aemond can get any other punch in, Daemon grabs him by the hair and slams him against the table. You scream. 

“My goblets! The tablecloth!” You realize you sound insane, but you feel it too. Your hands tremble. One would think war has desensitized you to violence, but it is one thing to know a battle is being fought and another to see the man you love get beaten by your husband. 

You make an aborted motion towards them, unsure if trying to get between them is a good idea. You settle for clenching your hands into fists, powerless to stop the situation around you. 

Daemon jerks Aemond upright, holding his hands between his back. 

“Aōla gēlȳni iēnkā, taobus!” You can tell Daemon is mocking him. Familiar as you are with his methods, you step forward, hovering. 

Were Daemon mocking you, this would be the part where you would defend yourself. Aemond, instead, simply smirks. 

“Sa Tida, Kepus.” 

Daemon’s face turns into an expression of absolute, murderous rage. His grip on Aemond tightens. He turns to you, almost in… Disbelief? You aren’t sure. You do not know what they are saying, but it can’t be good. 

Aemond blushes with pleasure. He smiles a cocky grin, and his chest puffs up with arrogant satisfaction. 

It is only at that display that color returns to Daemon’s face. 

“I must admit, you had me fooled.” He releases Aemond, and gives him a shove. “But your games will not unnerve me tonight. Not again. We will settle this.” 

“Daemon…” 

“As much as it pains me, he is right.” Aemond sneers. “There is a debt to be paid, Muña. Do not interfere.” 

He gives you a warning glance, before bowing his head. It’s the last time he looks at you. 

His attention is now focused on Daemon. He looks up at him, body taut with fear. If you didn’t know Aemond that well, you would miss it. But to your well-trained eyes, it’s obvious. He is terrified. 

Aemond ends up lowering his eye again. Daemon’s fierce stare seems to have him unbalanced, unable to hide his emotions as well as he usually does. Knowing Daemon, he must be delighted his intimidation tactics are making him squirm. 

Daemon thrives on fear and humiliation. He has perfected his methods through the years, his reputation as a rogue only aiding him in his task. His eyes are like daggers. Instinctually, you know that is better to stay silent for now. 

Aemond seems to share your thoughts. He averts his eyes, face red with embarrassment. You wonder what has Daemon said to him that he is so out of sorts. 

“You should be kneeling.” Daemon finally says, his eyes on you. For a second, you think the instruction is actually meant for you, but before you can do anything about it, Daemon has turned back to Aemond. He towers over him, somehow, despite being the same height. “You're such a pathetic creature.”  

Daemon steps towards him. Aemond takes a step back, and Daemon smirks. He can probably sense the weakness in the same manner wolves sense fear. 

“Insulting your woman after claiming to be better than I. Hypocrite. But what more could you ask from a Hightower.”  His face tight with anger, Daemon unsheathes his dagger and grabs Aemond's chin, tilting it up. 

Never in a million lives you thought you would see Daemon defending your honor. How life surprises us all. 

You pity Aemond. His skin is turning red where Daemon is grabbing him, and he is breathing hard, eye closed. He seems to be expecting pain, and it fills you with the urge to comfort him. 

Aemond shouldn’t be having to brace himself. This is a storm of your own making. But he has asked you not to interfere, and you do not wish to wound his pride. You stay quiet. 

The dagger Daemon holds is now pressed to Aemond’s throat and this time, it is too much.  You advance on them. 

“Stop it.” 

Daemon ignores you. He leans in, close enough that he could kiss Aemond. His hair tickles Aemond’s face. 

“And you still fucked my wife without my permission.” He snarls. “Open your mouth,”

Aemond swallows. He seems cowed, for the first time in his life. 

“Stop this. Right this second.” You repeat, but neither heed you. Much to your dismay, Aemond makes eye contact with you before opening his mouth. Daemon’s dagger brushes against his lips. He shakes like a frightened bunny, but he still doesn’t attempt to defend himself.

“Open wider.”

Aemond has no choice but to obey.  You are struck by how young he looks, how young he truly is. At least ten years your junior, twenty or so than Daemon. He has been a man for such little time, and yet, has done much more horrible things than most people twice his age. 

The lesser of those sins is bedding a married woman. 

Daemon’s voice is harsh. 

“I said wider!” Aemond opens his mouth wider, obediently. “Now, stick out your tongue.”  

“… Why don’t we all calm down..?” You feel your hands shaking. Daemon is capable of cutting his tongue. You know it. Aemond knows it. And still, he sticks out his tongue like an obedient dog. 

“Your tongue would make a fine gift to my wife. An apology, for all the insults I sent her way.” Daemon smirks. “And a penance, for how you dared treat her, petulant child that you are.” 

Your eyes sting. Something like a sob surges on your chest, but it doesn’t get out, caged between your ribs. It takes residence there, caught. 

It’s unbelievable. Once, you had prided yourself on knowing Daemon. You had been so finely tuned to his moods, out of an urge for survival, that you could tell with just a glance what he was thinking. His anger had always been transparent to you. 

This time, you aren’t sure if he is serious about cutting Aemond’s tongue for the slight, or if it is about the infidelity. 

“I do not want his tongue. Daemon. Stop it.” You beg, stumbling back into your chair. You hold your head between your hands, realizing this is punishment for you too. For daring to be an adulterous wife. 

Aemond’s face is pale. He is trembling slightly, and his tongue is caught between Daemon’s finger. It makes him drool. He attempts to pull back. 

Daemon's eyes flash with anger.  There is a dark satisfaction in his face. 

“Don't move.” Daemon's voice is low and sinister. “Keep it there. Less my pulse falters, and I leave you without a tongue before deciding.” 

“Don't!” You plead. 

Aemond doesn't move, the blade still pressed to his tongue, his mouth open. 

Daemon softens at the obedience. Perhaps because he has always liked control a bit too much. 

“Good boy.” He grins. Aemond sends him a look made of pure hatred, but keeps still. His eye is glued to Daemon’s, set on not backing down. 

If someone doesn’t intervene, something bad is about to happen. And there is no one else here, but you.

You stand up, furious. 

“That is enough! I happen to like his tongue where it is, inside his mouth and unharmed.” 

“You're nothing but a sniveling coward.” Daemon presses the dagger harder into Aemond's tongue, taunting him. “What's the matter? Do you like the taste of the dagger on your tongue? The feel of the metal against your flesh? Sick little boy.”

Daemon laughs. Aemond closes his eye, but both you and Daemon see it. A single tear falls down his face, mouth still wide open, dagger pressed inside. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, like one of the tapestries Daemon used to hang around showcasing Targaryen deviance. 

“Do you like that?” Daemon leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. You know through first-hand experience how devastating that feels. Somehow, seeing them together, Daemon holding Aemond almost in a lover’s embrace, makes you throb with shameful arousal. “Being completely helpless and humiliated? It should hurt. It shows you your place. On the ground, at my mercy.” 

Aemond tries to close his mouth, but Daemon's hands keep his face pushed back as he presses the tip of the blade into his tongue. Aemond's face tightens, a look of pain flashing across his eyes, but he can't say anything. The only sound out of his mouth is a painful groan. 

Daemon's expression is cold and hard. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Just like kissing the cunt of a married woman?"

“Daemon! Enough!” And this time, you finally gather the courage to do what needs to be done. You get between the two of them and shove Daemon out of the way. “That’s enough.” 

Daemon licks his lips. Aemond swallows, a hint of blood in the edge of his mouth. You wonder if he is tasting copper. 

“What a pathetic display of weakness. I've seen a thousand pigs slaughtered with more bravery than you.” Daemon sheathes the dagger. Aemond’s face turns frighteningly angry. Torching the Riverlands kind of angry. 

His breathing is deep and labored, like a hurt animal. You rush to his side and hug him. 

“You are bold to speak of weakness…” Aemond says, with great effort. His body shudders against yours, and it is a testament to how shaken he must be that he doesn’t jerk out of your grip. “When it was your own what led your wife to my bed. Make no mistake, Muña. An old dog cannot learn new tricks.” He then spits blood at Daemon’s face.

Daemon wipes his face with his sleeve, horrifyingly calm. He then looks at both of you, and bursts into genuine laughter. 

“I was wrong, boy. You have balls.” He gives him a hand, helping him to a chair. “We might make a man out of you yet.” 

Aemond accepts his help without fear. You stare. 

“Both of you are unhinged.” 

Daemon turns to you. 

“Oh? Then what would you do in my situation?” 

“Apologize? Agree to move on and let go of the past?” You offer, weakly. 

Daemon scoffs at the suggestion. “Apologize? Apologize! You think that will solve everything?” But he does look over at Aemond, who has now relaxed in his chair, exhausted.  “I suppose I should try to be diplomatic, if only for your sake. Fine. I apologize for calling you terrible things, trying to murder you and to cut out your tongue. How does that sound, Taoba?”

Aemond swallows again. He seems unsure if he should be trusting Daemon’s words. He gives you a look. You shrug. If they want to try normal conflict resolution, you won’t stop them. 

“Thank you. I apologize for fucking her without your permission.” 

Daemon gives him a small smile. Aemond meets his eyes. A strange mixture of emotions seems to pass between them. Daemon looks as if he is seeing Aemond for the first time. There is a new interest in his eyes, one you do not like at all. 

Or perhaps, you like it too much. You can’t decide. 

“Is that all, then? Or do you have more to say, nephew?” He purrs. 

Aemond scratches his nape, embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to know how to react to being flirted with. Because this is what this is. Daemon is looking at him with utter hunger. 

“Nothing.” 

Daemon looks him over, inspecting Aemond like a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” 

Daemon studies him for a moment, not looking convinced.

“Someone looks guilty.” He is like a shark, smelling blood in the water. Aemond looks painfully awkward, nothing like the cocky young man that seduced you moons ago. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you attempt to shift Daemon’s attention to you. 

“I apologize for bedding him.” You offer, in your meekest tone. 

Daemon doesn't acknowledge your apology, his eyes still fixed on Aemond, filled with curiosity. 

“I accept your apology.” Then his eyes harden, his face turns serious. “Now, come here. Both of you.”

Aemond’s eye widens, but obediently gets up and creeps closer.  Daemon reaches a hand towards you. You go easily. 

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Daemon teases, his eyes never leaving Aemond's face, searching for some hint of weakness.

Aemond nods silently, too intimidated to speak. Daemon grabs him by the back of his neck, firmly. He presses his forehead to his. 

“Aōha ēdruta vāedas. Vezof jin azantys, vestri sȳz. Se ābra dracarys jēdo nūm.” 

Aemond nods, solemnly. As if he were accepting a vow. Then, they both turn towards you. 

“Consider this my repentance.” Daemon says, with a smirk. Aemond looks properly chided. Contrite, even. 

“I apologize for being rude. The dress makes your cleavage look phenomenal. I was just… Jealous, I suppose. I used to protect you and now…” He offers, sounding much like a child who has gotten caught with his hands on the cookie jar. 

“Now you find yourself in the unusual situation of having me as the protector. I have been shielding you from Daemon and Daemon has been…” You realize it as you speak it. Aemond had come to rescue from your solitude, and your evil, up to no good husband. You had been his damsel in distress, until you had stepped into the role of the protector and Daemon into…

“Providing.” The man himself barks out a laugh. “Seven Hells, am I a stand-in for Viserys? I thought I had issues.” 

Aemond blushes. 

“It isn’t like that.” 

But Daemon insists. He takes a lock of your hair and twists it between his fingers.

“Fuck, I married Alicent. Fucking Alicunt.” 

“I am not her!” You protest. 

“You do look like my mother a bit. In the right light.” Aemond concedes, and you don’t know if to laugh or cry. “I… I want to do better. And I…” 

“I want in. In what you two have.” Daemon’s smirk turns more devious, gently tucking the strand of hair he was still holding behind your ear. “Normally, I would threaten you with kicking you out, or hurting your lover over here. But I have been told it is in bad taste to try to force myself into your bed.” 

So he had learned his lesson from the last time. You fight off the pleased smile. 

“So. The choice is yours. My nephew and I reached an agreement already, one that will be void without your consent. Otherwise, we can go as we are.” Daemon finishes his offer, placing his hands behind his back. 

You look between Aemond and him. Aemond seems encouraging. 

“Will you be content to pay for your wife and her lover the rest of our lives? How selfless.” You arch an eyebrow, doubtful. It sounds too unlike him. 

Daemon shrugs.

“What can I say? You inspire selfless devotion.” 

“He is right. You do.” Aemond says, hugging you from behind. You feel him bury his face on your hair, quietly grounding himself. He has had a taxing evening, for sure. 

“What do you think of this?” You ask him, voice low. 

“If he is involved, I would feel more settled. Like it is not charity.” Aemond says, kissing your temple. 

“I see you have learned from whores, haven’t you?” Daemon mocks, creeping closer. “Being my kept man and my kept woman. How lucky it is to be a prince.” 

“Cunt.” You say, giving him a shove. 

“Your cunt.” Daemon smirks. He leers at you. “And what a delicious one you seem to have…” 

You slap a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Aemond fights with a smile, and it is that which convinces you.

“Fine. You win. And we actually prefer trophy wife and boy toy.”

“Talk for yourself.” Aemond tugs at your hair, and you laugh. 

[throwaway-yandere]

𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

a/n: this was inspired by my favorite childhood TV show, House MD & Oedipus Rex. The plot was supposed to be something else but dingleaf happened one 4AM ago. Anyways, welcome to our first Throwaway-Thursday this End of Year Blues!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: Everyone held their breath when they heard ex-defense attorney (Y/n) say these words: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges."

CW: yandere themes, reader has so much spite I can fry an egg, hurt/NO COMFORT. Please prioritize your mental health if these CWs are triggering to you. (Note: The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ, so he doesn't know about what happened to Vautrin.)

“Why the pale expression? Has the trial last week caused you tremendous pain?”

"Such pallor is caused by pity, not grief.” Neuvilette made his fragile excuse to reassure Furina, but the words did not reach her ears. The ringing of raindrops outside was louder, more convincing. Fontaine is vexed with storms near-daily. The sad verdant earth will soon sponge and dry the hydro dragon’s tears as always, but every man hopes they won’t drown first. 

At first, he was convinced what he harbored was pity. For the pessimists, Fontaine is a nation where virtuous pagans paraded themselves as rich and devoted ran amok. Absolute justice is a cartoonish ideal– lack of entertainment is the death sentence. 

Lady Furina was starting to believe he lives his life by a certain suspect’s final envoi: 

Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.

"Are you insane?!" Navia held your shoulders, eyes wide. 

This was the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend. 

"Maybe I am." You told her, chuckling slightly as your thumbs caressed the nerves behind her palms. Navia, as intimidating as her occupation was, never once gripped you this hard. 

You wish you could hug her fully.

But these prison bars are holding you back.

"Can you blame me, Nav?"

"Don't." She glared. "Don't do this."

Navia trembled.

"Please, don't follow Dad..."

The blonde woman was reduced to a young, hopeless girl. You saw a reflection of the small Navia who lost Callas, and that short glimpse was stretched into a whole tragic spectacle. 

"I'm begging you, (Y/n). Please… d-don't go away. Don't leave me too…"

This was the cruelest you've ever been to someone you love.

But also the kindest you've been to yourself.

"There's nothing else I can do, Nav."

"W-We can always do something! There must be a way!" She screamed gutturally. "We'll find a way to make that Chief Justice pay instead. If there's a will—"

"But there's none. There is no will in me left."

"Then hold on to mine, for Archon's sake! Depend on me!"

"What for? We both lack the means to grasp our Archon's hand." You shook your head, grinning without life. 

You wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a small fraction of time, you trembled, showing a bit of soul.

"Our Goddess has abandoned me. Everyone and everything but you had." You said. "Dear Navia, don't make this harder for yourself. Let me go."

"(Y/n)..."

Her grip relaxed.

Navia finally let go.

But that was not the scene's last word.

Clorinde sprinted towards your cell, seething in electric rage. Navia stepped back. Their relationship might be less than cordial, but Clorinde was also your friend.

And after all these years of friendship, she never would've guessed you would elicit such melancholic frustration within her.

She knows she'll come out of this duel victorious.

She knows if she doesn't say a word, she'll be the one to bury you six feet under.

Clorinde's fists clenched and her breathing grew harsh and difficult, unable to accept your inhumane gaze.

"Is this your solution, (Y/n)?"

From the tone of her voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation. One wrong word, and you'll see a side of the Champion Duelist not even her court opponents knew.

You nodded.

"Yes."

"State your reason."

"Because this is the only way I'll die with dignity."

…

"Die… with dignity?"

Something inside her cracked.

"Yes." You nodded again, becoming uncertain. "At least with this, there would be something Neuvillette cannot decide for me. And (Y/n) (L/n) chooses a dignified death."

“DEATH HAS NO DIGNITY!!!” 

You and Navia flinched at the sudden sound.

Clorinde screamed, feeling her eyes burn. Her veins became more prominent in her face and her skin reddish. The sheer force of her scream was enough to bring your full attention to her, yet to the duelist, her uncharacteristic outburst meant nothing.

“DEATH WILL ALWAYS BE UGLY!!! DEATH– DEATH IS NEVER BEAUTIFUL!!! IT IS ALWAYS SINISTER— LOATHSOME AND VILE.”

"Clor—"

She pulled you by your collar.

“There– there is only dignity in living.” She trembled, casting her gaze down. “You can live with dignity– but you can’t die with it.”

For a while, only her unsteady breathing could be heard.

Clorinde eventually calmed down, her heavy sighs and frantic pants slowing as the red hue of her face somewhat returned to its usual pale complexion. She couldn’t afford a second more to process her growing grief.

"Find another duelist."

As a successor to the Marechaussee Hunters, there's no one else you need but her.

"But I want you."

"(Y/n)."

"You've always been my idol, Clorinde." You told her solemnly. "I always thought you at least made my clients have a clean death under your blade."

Clorinde paused.

That, she cannot deny. 

She did spare mercy to the people you defended. But she doesn't understand how you fail to comprehend why she couldn't bear to bring herself to enact the same reprieve for you.

"Retrieve your gloves. I don't and I won't accept your challenge." Clorinde closed her eyes. "Live your days in the Fortress instead. Death is not the solution."

You laughed. As if you'd let yourself be under Wriothesley's guidance when you can smell from miles away that he's one of Neuvillette's lap dogs.

"Isn't this suffering enough?" You spoke with a casual lack of self-preservation. "I don't want to live under Neuvillette's scrutinizing eyes. Not anymore."

You looked up.

That empty smile was no longer on your face.

And that was somehow more frightening than it should be.

"So do your job as a champion and end it all, just like what you've done to Uncle Callas and the others."

Your last conversation with the Duke was not as memorable as when he caught you spiking the Iudex’s cup, yet you’d give his personality credit where it is due. His was certainly a memorable one.

Wriothesley stood a few steps away from the bars while you purposefully cornered yourself. The distance was noticeable. It was clear that neither of you was close to each other. This was mere formality brought about by one of your should’ve-been victims.

“So, you sure don’t want to be roommates?” Wriothesley asked. "Or you know, see old friends and family down there?"

"I'd rather not disappoint them with my presence."

“So, you're a coward?" He asked, intending to provoke you.

"Maybe?" you answered, mimicking his tone. "Wouldn't know. Last time I checked, I was an honorable defense attorney. But suddenly, the Iudex had a change of heart."

"Neuvillette didn't have a change of heart. You are a terrorist."

You laughed sardonically, "suppose so."

You both weren't entirely wrong. Friends and foe alike know you've turned to rebellion after the justice system had failed you repeatedly. Neuvillette's lovestruck fixation was merely the final straw.

“You’re walking on a death sentence.”

“No shit,” you clicked your tongue and continued. “What else do you think this is for?”

“The Iudex was convinced that you’re acting out because you had a guilty conscience, and he’s very willing to drop those charges and forgive you.”

“Guilty conscience?! HA!!!” You laughed. “As if I felt guilty for what I’ve done. If anything, I’m rejoicing.”

Wriothesley smirked, but it faded quickly.

“I told him the same, but then he says if that were true, you’re probably just masking it to play the villain’s part.”

“Do you believe every word he says?”

“No,” Wriothesley did not hesitate to answer. “I know a criminal when I see one. And I also know when a criminal can get away with their mess.”

“The jury thinks otherwise– the oratrice cannot be wrong.” You snickered. “I’m as guilty as they come, hands filled with arsenic and all.”

"You can still get out of this. Sure, you'll get a stern talking-to— a lecture on the virtue of honor and respect. But in the end, he'd give you a second chance. He's still hoping that a mutual agreement will arise in the end."

You expressed your disinterest with a droopy-eyed “Blah, blah, blah…”

Wriothesley frowned.

“You’ll make him depressed.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“And you think I care? Fontaine can flood next month. Just as long as I die tomorrow it’s none of my business.”

…

“Well, it’s your call,” Wriothesley said. “If you’re willing to throw your life away like that, then you probably wouldn’t survive a week underwater.”

He wrapped a hand around one of the bars.

“You know, (Y/n),” the Duke looked at you dead in the eye. “Marriage with the Iudex isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

You laughed.

“What makes you say that?” You smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you his second spouse?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You could’ve just lived a bit more silently.”

You glared. 

“Are you saying I should live like a caged bird? That I should accept that our system here is rigged?”

“I’m saying you should’ve been more grateful with what you have.”

You scoffed.

“Wow.”

An awkward silence followed after. It wasn’t as if a quip was hard to form– but the historical context behind whom you were speaking to made weighing empathy over spite a challenge. You knew of his past, his name or lack thereof, and quiet allegiance to Neuvillette. Sigewinne had made sure you knew of it to glorify the adoptive “father” of the Melusines. Wriothesley owes him his survival.

But "Wriothesley" of all people should've known that those who know morbid truths cannot be silenced forever. 

And Neuvillette owes you a peaceful death. 

… The Duke sighed, noticing that his admiration for the Iudex did not align with his current morals.

“We’ll forever agree to disagree on this, won’t we?” He asked.

“Hopefully not forever, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

Wriothesley chuckled at your morbid joke. But before he could walk away with a less-than-heavy heart, you shifted from your corner.

“Hey, Wriothesley?”

He turned to look at you– your hand specifically.

It’s a letter.

“Mind handing these to the authorities?”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened.

“Is that–”

“It’s a written confession,” you chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I got a pen and paper. I know that damn bastard forbids anyone to lend me anything that’ll help me write a final will. Gotta say, at least his etiquette lessons had some use. At least my last words are in pretty cursive.”

He didn’t say another word. 

…

The Duke left the room, empty-handed.

…

No one wants to see the Iudex more heartbroken than he already is now.

The interrogation room was small, but not to the point that there was a minimal budget for its construction. You sat on one end behind the glass divider after one of the guards took your letter. There were only plain walls and two lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the center of the room is a table with two chairs on either side, no pen or paper. 

Nothing but an empty table. 

But the quiet comfort was gone when the man of the hour closed the door behind him. As the ticking of the clock becomes more softer, the two individuals would be forced to sit for the duration of this “interrogation.”

It was none other than your husband, the Iudex, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and the bane of your existence.

Monsieur Neuvillette.

His back was straight; his eyes, “stern” and focused. He clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined. His gaze searched for something— regret, remorse, anything that could make the upcoming nightmare disappear. 

Neuvillette's voice was “calm” and “collected.” 

But you didn’t buy it. Not with his messy hair, his forlorn look, his frown. You rarely saw him cry. You had a gut feeling he hides it by standing amidst heavy rain, but this time the redness of his eyes and puffiness of his cheeks says it all.

It’s a heavy downpour outside. 

He can’t be bothered to hide his tears from the public eye anymore.

"In your own words, please explain why you had attempted to poison me."

Your eyes lit up. He immediately wished he could take those words back. 

So, he’s still in denial. Neuvillette seriously didn’t think you wrote the letter. He probably didn’t think it was your handwriting. It was almost insulting.

“Oh, Monsieur! You are as generous as they say, finally letting your spouse speak for themselves!” You grinned sarcastically. “And they say chivalry is dead! DEAD!!!”

He cringed at your pointed enthusiasm.

You recount the day you attempted to murder him, describing how you had slipped the poison into his favorite cup. How you didn’t really care to hope it wouldn’t be noticed since what mattered more to you was his death over your own freedom. The more detailed you became, the more it suffocated him.

“But, as you can see, you’re alive and I am behind this glass window,” you tapped the divider. “Away from you, at last.”

He bit his lip.

“(Y/n)—”

“I hate you.”

He breathed in shakily.

“I know.”

“And yet you still fell for it.” Your voice suddenly softened. 

“Why?” You continued. “Why did you believe my act for the past month? I know you had your suspicions, so why? You knew I was just playing along to get your guard down– to act like some loving housewife so I can find the opportunity to smother you with a pillow– so… why?”

“Maybe…”

Neuvillette took a deep breath.

“Maybe it’s because dying by your hands would be a dignified way to go.”

Your eyes widened. The air turned to glue. Breathing became a challenge.

He looked up, meeting your gaze. Monsieur Neuvillette was serious. No shifting position can make you feel comfortable. 

Because Neuvillette in his most sincere form of speech is the most brutal.

“I just wished to be loved by y-you,” his voice cracked. “Even for a moment, even for a lie, I would die to know I was loved by you.”

His face crumpled, tears flowing freely. He reached a hand out against the glass window, his palm marking the divider. Neuvillette was breathing erratically, desperate to hold you. The pain in his chest was getting heavier, much like the rain outside. You almost couldn’t hear him from all the background noise, and you wished that was what happened. 

This was the man who took your clients' happiness. The man who took Uncle Callas away with his rationale. The reason for your unhappiness.

And yet, you couldn't think of any other person who would love you as much as he does. 

“Y-You know me for who I-I am,” he gasped out. “I am but a weak and beaten down man w-who couldn’t express himself like a human being. Y-You were there, you comforted me with not a smile, an umbrella, or thoughtless words of encouragement— you accepted me for who I was with a warm embrace.” 

You hated it. 

You hate how your heart ached for the man that made your life a living hell.

“I was the leader of the Revolution and I needed intel against you, nothing more.” You spat. This time, you were the least convincing one. “It was an act of kindness I shouldn’t have done.”

“Yet it has helped me more than you had accounted for.”

“And never before have I ever regretted playing savior.”

“I was merely attempting to reform your life,” Neuvillette breathlessly spoke. “I wished to set you on the right path. You were a gifted individual with great connections. Your peers had high expectations of you. For you to throw that away for nonsense activism— no— terrorism is heartbreaking. And I—”

Neuvillette gulped.

“I didn’t want to face you on the other side of the courtroom.”

You laughed.

“Some things are just fated to happen,” you said. “An old astrologist told me that. She told me I was bound to get myself in deep legal trouble. Growing up, I figured it might as well be a cause worth doing if it’ll lead me to that path eventually. Why else did I become a defense attorney in such a hellishly political land?”

He trembled, tears falling at a faster rate.

You almost wanted to reach out and wipe those tears away.

Almost.

“Must you treat your life as though it is disposable?” Neuvillette asked, choking slightly. “Why are you…”

You digressed. “You’re not going to retract those charges are you?”

“I did.”

You frowned.

“But Lady Furina would not allow it,” he shook, frustrated. “She found out about your past, your hatred for her so-called incompetences and published lese-majestes.”

“Good for her, good for her.”

Neuvillette’s hand slowly slid down.

“I can’t… I cannot watch this…”

You felt a surge of confidence, for Neuvillette was indeed devoid of hope. You've never seen him with his head hung low. What went through Neuvillette's mind remained uncertain. Perhaps, just a small piece of him knew you could never be his. Perhaps he knew that you were destined for a doomed fate.

But it doesn't matter. 

All that mattered was that you were free.

That was a month ago.

The rain had been going on nonstop for thirty days, and the Hydro Archon had every right to worry. 

“I can’t sleep…” Neuvillette thought he spoke out loud, but it was just a whisper. He’s growing weak, his sleep deprivation catching up to him.

“Then come lay your head down,” she yawned slightly, fanning her breath. “Such heavy thoughts need a place to rest.”

“An irresistible offer,” Neuvillette mused humorlessly. “But I must decline.”

“Oh Neuvillette, when will you relax from this role you carry?” The archon spoke rhetorically.

Neuvillette chuckled sadly.

The heavy downpour wouldn’t stop. 

Perhaps…

Perhaps when the day comes and he is stripped of dignity.

Maybe then, he’ll have his rest.

Neuvillette had already forgotten why he was crying that fateful day. But in those memories, he recalls he was callow and unformed. Was it due to an unfavorable trial? The problem evades him. His recollection remains only in how the people reacted around him. Many asked if he was okay and he'd reply with a simple "I'm fine". And he was, until he could no longer convince himself with that lie. He was certain he was about to dip his toes in another cycle of nihilism.

And then you came.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?”

The rain was pouring out in the cemetery. You were there; your presence questionable. He knew that you arrived intending to probe whether or not he was a sovereign dragon, but he gave you the nod of acknowledgment.

“Greetings, Mx. (Y/n),” he answered, “I trust you’ve been well? Is there a person whom you’re visiting?”

He asked in sheer politeness despite knowing your motivations.

“...”

You frowned.

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been carrying that loneliness, Monsieur?” You asked, voice louder. “How long?”

His lip quivered.

“Centuries, perhaps,” the Iudex thought he could pass it off as a light joke to catch you off-guard, but it came off as too sincere. “I do not keep track.”

You cautiously and awkwardly approached Neuvillette, and without a word, wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Just like what Uncle Callas had done for you before.

Your existence here was anathema and your words were seditious. His initial reaction was to resist because he knew you were just like Vautrin. He knew you were secretly seeking vengeance because the oratrice unfavorably judged numerous friends and family.

But he needed it. He needed this badly.

It was then that the Iudex decided that he needed you. That he will keep you.

Neuvillette cannot handle another Vautrin— he can't handle another Carole. So, he'll do it right this time. He'll keep you safe, from your illegal associations and even from yourself. 

And it was a selfish yet necessary need.

A lump formed in his throat as a tear fell, trickling down his cheek slowly. He allowed himself to melt in your hug, trembling. 

“You’re going to need all the hugs you can get if you’re planning to stay as Iudex for centuries more,” you whispered. “You’re resilient, but in this world, that solitary resilience won’t be enough, won’t it?”

Unable to maintain his stoic facade any longer, Neuvillette gripped you tighter in that embrace, his vulnerability finally resurfacing physically rather than Fontaine's rains. Surprised by his sudden tirade of sobs, you embraced him with all the warmth you could muster. At that moment, you had an epiphany. Despite the enmity of their positions, they were the same. Both of you were victims of a nation that demanded more in your assigned roles than you could bear.

“If you'd let me, I'll be the person you’d come to if you ever need a hug.” You weren’t sure if you said it as a devious plan or an act of empathy. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

You've made yourself important to him now. 

Neuvillette cannot lose you too.

As he clung to the solace you inadvertently provided, you can't help but wish you never extended that small comfort months later. Every inch given could be exploited, and when you offered him a shred of empathy, he had seized it and turned it into a mile-long advantage. The vulnerability shared in that hug was the dangerous crack in the sword you've worked so hard to maintain.

And so, when the time came you faced Champion Duelist Clorinde with it, the gaps broke the sword completely and with its death came soon the end of your life.

She was right. There is no dignity in dying with a broken hilt.

But there was peace.

And as much as you hated Neuvillette, you wish he’d have it too.

"I've made it this far, and all I've ever done was in accordance with what fate and others wanted of me. In my demise, let me do something for myself." “After all, I’ve learned from watching Uncle Callas when he fought Champion Duelist Clorinde— an encounter I’ll surely experience in the next few days— that there is beauty in the end. In his last moments, my much younger self saw what expression he wore.” “He was content. The most content I had ever seen in someone's face.” “It was then that I had an epiphany. One that I hope my “husband” Neuvillette will remember, and I care not if it will bring him comfort or pain.” “What I learned was simple:” “Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.”

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added on the other three fics!): @ayadikreino @kireeen, @pebblemacaroon, @thelostpanta, @vennnnn-diagram, @sagekun, @vadelma-yatta, @detectivei @sugarplumcutiepie @sunhareskies @dxprived4-starboys @unloadingdata @harmonysanreads (amen.) @atomicsoulhumanspy @sangoqueenkoko @pix-stuff @dilucragnidvr