#but. I barely found any. I thought there would be MORE??

[naughtyjjk]

just a massage (pt. 2)

characters: nanami x fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, massage, sexual tension, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, a bit of exhibitionism/voyeurism notes: if you haven't already, make sure to read part 1 here first!

it’s been a week and nanami hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. it’s terrible for him mentally, for his day-to-day living in general. every time he closes his eyes, you’re there in his mind. you with your naked body and perfect curves and smooth skin… the way you were so vocal and reactive to his touches…

he’s thought about you more than he’d ever admit, especially at night, after a long day of work, when he’s finally able to take off his clothes and lie down in bed and wrap a hand around his aching cock. yes, he’s jerked off to the thought of you—multiple times. he can’t seem to stop, addicted to the fantasy that he conjures. and it’s bad, it’s so bad of him, but he’s also never come so hard before and you make him irrationally horny.

today, nanami gets to the massage parlor and opens up his schedule. that’s when he sees your name there, a session booked for 1:30 pm. he blinks, wondering if it’s a dream. it’s not. he moves through the whole morning on autopilot, speaking politely to clients who are not you. they’re all irrelevant and he’s both looking forward to and dreading the time of your appointment.

he promised that he wouldn’t repeat what happened last time. it had been far to inappropriate, far too unprofessional, and he could easily get fired if anyone found out. but… his cock has other ideas. he doesn’t know if he would be able to hold back once he sees you again, in person, there to tempt him with your hot, sexy body. at the same time, a part of him wants to find out how far he can push you, test the limits to see how much you’re able to endure. it had been obvious that you were into it just as much as he was last time.

inhaling, nanami looks at the clock. it shouldn’t be long now before you get here. he has to tame his thoughts so that he doesn’t get himself all worked up over nothing.

but fuck, he wants you. he wants you so fucking bad.

.

“you booked a longer session this time,” nanami greets you as you walk into the room. he’s shirtless again, of course. at this point, you can probably guess that it’s a deliberate choice, as if he’s testing your resolve from the very start. like last time, the only piece of clothing he has on is a pair of shorts that barely does anything to hide what he’s packing down there.

you divert your eyes before you end up staring for too long. everything about the massage parlor looks exactly the same as it had when you visited last week, with its white walls and minimalistic decorations and the different bottles of oils all lined up on the counter which, as nanami has proved previously, can be used for more than their intended purposes. but there is something that changed, though, and you sense it as soon as you see nanami.

“well,” you reply eventually, “we left off with some unfinished business.”

there’s no beating around the bush anymore. neither of you bother to keep up pretenses this time because it’s inevitable where this will lead. and this is something you both clearly want. you know that you’re not the only one who had been looking forward to today, that nanami wants it just as much as you.

“right. but you know,” nanami drawls, “last time, while you were in the changeroom after our session, i think i heard some… noises. any idea what that could be?”

flushing, you feel your entire body heating up with embarrassment. you curse yourself for not being quieter at the time and you clear throat, glancing away. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“hm.” nanami looks at you unconvinced. he takes a step closer. “it couldn’t have been that you were doing anything naughty in there, right?”

“o-of course not,” you say, hating how guilty you sound.

thankfully, nanami doesn’t press you any further. “good. i mean, no one else heard you… but it would’ve been bad if someone did.” he grabs a few of the items from the counter and walks over to the bed. “now, where would you like me to massage this time?”

sitting back, you make a vague gesture. “just—continue where we left off. same as before.”

nanami raises an eyebrow. “come on, now. let’s be a bit more honest,” he says, pausing to lick his lips. “we both know what you’re really here for.”

“everywhere,” you blurt out, arousal hitting you without warning. “my whole body… the front this time, too. make me feel good.”

eyes darkening with desire, nanami nods, pleased with your answer. “much better. we’ll start with you lying down on the bed again.”

you position yourself the same as last time, on your stomach with your face down and legs spreading apart instinctively. you hear nanami chuckle at your eagerness.

soon, oil is poured over your back, warm hands spreading it all over. your muscles relax at once and you’re reminded of how skilled nanami is. along your spine, he applies pressure to his palms, drawing out soft sounds from you. nanami runs his hands parallel, gliding them down all the way to your legs, then back up again, and repeating the process until heat starts to coil inside you.

after a moment, nanami asks, with just a hint of amusement in his voice, “what are you thinking about?”

“nothing,” you mumble. a lie, obviously. there’s only one thing that could be occupying your mind while nanami is touching you like this, rubbing your body sensually, and that’s—

“hm.” nanami says. “want to know what i’m thinking about?”

“wh-what?”

“how much i want to fuck you.” nanami’s voice is low and he uses both hands to squeeze your ass over the towel. in response, you moan, arousal hitting you hard. “how horny you make me. i've been thinking about it since our last session…”

breath hitching, you feel a rush of heat spreading throughout your body like wildfire, a wetness starting to soak your pussy. it’s no secret that you’ve been imagining the same scenario for the past few days, every second that you’ve been apart.

“how long has it been since you’ve had sex, darling?”

“ah—i don’t know. weeks, maybe,” you say, exhaling. you’re losing himself to the sensation of nanami’s hands as he moves them again, this time drawing circles on your inner thighs. “months.”

skirting along the edge of the towel, nanami’s fingers slip under just for a second to brush against your ass. “and how are you feeling? pent up from all those months without relief?”

“y-yeah.” you swallow hard. you’ve been more on edge than you’d like to admit, more irritable in general the longer you go without getting laid. sometimes, you’ll be flooded with dirty thoughts at the most inappropriate times, often waking up to wet dreams and an ache in your pussy to be filled.

“mm, and do you miss it? having sex?” nanami’s hot breath is right by your ear, a low whisper when he asks, “getting fucked?”

shuddering, you can’t help but moan softly. “yes.”

“it’s not enough to satisfy the craving by yourself, is it? it’s been so long…” nanami murmurs. “you want someone there with you, someone to touch you, someone to make you feel good.”

“kento… oh…”

last time, this was the point in the massage when he had stopped. but nanami shows no signs of slowing down, and even when his hands lift from your body, he makes sure that you know he’s not done yet.

“don’t worry, i’ll take good care of you today,” nanami tells you, and you’re hit with another wave of arousal. “now, turn around for me.”

you do as you’re told, flipping over on the bed to lie on your back, facing up at the ceiling. your heart hammers away in your chest as nanami eyes you up and down. you expect him to start working down from your shoulders, but he seems to have other plans when his hands move directly to untie the towel around your waist.

“w-wait, i—”

pausing, nanami glances at you, a smirk on his face. “what’s wrong? are you embarrassed that you’re wet already?” he slides the towel lower just a little. “have you forgotten how you were begging for it last time?”

nanami doesn’t wait for you to reply before unwrapping the towel all the way. like this, you can’t hide your desire anymore. and you’re more than aware of how wet you’ve gotten, pussy dripping and soaking the bed. you see nanami’s gaze flicker down, pausing in his actions to admire your body. you feel so exposed like this, naked on the bed while presenting yourself to him, and the tension between you grows thicker by the second. it’s all so arousing.

taking the bottle of oil, nanami holds it over you and pours out the liquid directly so that it leaves a trail from your chest all the way to your stomach. you can’t help but flinch slightly, feeling it tickle as it drips. a few drops fall directly onto your pussy, causing it to throb, and your breath hitches as you bite back a moan. nanami licks his lips and then his hands are on you again.

first, he runs a single finger down the center of your body, between your breasts, over your stomach, stopping just before touching your pussy, above your clit. the process is slow. slow and sensual. spreading the rest of the oil evenly across your skin, nanami takes his time in feeling you all over, making the anticipation build and build inside you.

next, your breasts are the main area of focus as he draws large circles on both sides, dipping near your armpits, along the underside, and trailing back up the center. slowly, the circles get smaller with each round, closing in on your nipples. but as soon as he’s about to come into contact with those hardened nubs, nanami retreats and starts all over again. he does it three more times—large circles spiraling closer, closer, closer. tracing just around it. caressing the sides. and you always think that this time, this time, he’s going to finally reach your nipples.

he never does. you groan, frustrated. it’s the first time you’ve experienced something like this; the first time you’ve ever wanted your nipples to be touched so badly. the worst part is that it’s really getting to you, turned on from barely anything. your pussy begs for attention, leaking more of your arousal as you mentally curse nanami for being such a fucking tease.

at that moment, nanami leans in so that his mouth is hovering just above one of your breasts and your heart pounds at the possibility of what’s to come. but all he does is blow against it gently and chuckle. 

“your nipples are so hard…” his tongue pokes out, swirling it in the air just above your skin, exactly like how he would if he were to suck and lick at the sensitive nub. he holds your gaze but never makes contact with his tongue. still, you can feel the phantom sensations there, and you want so badly for him to take you in his mouth. “want me to touch you?”

god, yes. you let out a whine. all of this teasing is going straight to your pussy, so wet with desire. but nanami’s mouth retreats and he goes back to using his hands, circling your breasts with his fingers.

when you don’t think that you could take it anymore, you feel it—a single finger brushing across both your nipples, just grazing them, the lightest of touches. you’re so turned on at this point, the anticipation having built up inside you, that you gasp, squirming on the spot as you try to adjust to the sudden, unexpected jolt of pleasure.

“ah—”

“look at you. so sensitive, so riled up from barely anything,” nanami says, waiting for you to regain your composure.

it’s not your fault. nanami made sure that your body would be extra responsive by taking it slow, making you crave it, and one barely-there touch is hardly enough to satisfy you. but that’s all you get for a while as nanami repeats his actions with the sole mission of making the experience as agonizing as possible for you.

eventually, when you least expect it, the pattern changes. nanami flattens his hands over your nipples and rubs them, going from palms to fingertips, the oil adding a delicious glide to every movement. he grabs both your breasts and fondles them, massages them. cupping them with his palms and squeezing with his large hands.

“ohh…” you moan, arching into the touch. soon, nanami switches to grasping your nipples between his fingers, pinching the delicate nubs with the perfect amount of pressure, and it sends a rush of sensation throughout your body. you whimper. “fuck, k-kento…”

“does it turn you on when i play with your nipples?” nanami asks, hyperattentive, watching every reaction that your body makes. “such a naughty girl.”

fuck, it’s only your second session here but nanami has already figured out your body’s weaknesses, all of your most sensitive areas, the erogenous zones, and how to take you apart. you shouldn’t be falling for every one of nanami’s tricks. you shouldn’t be this easy. but you gave up control the moment you laid down on this bed, and nanami just seems to have that effect on you.

having gotten the reaction he wanted, nanami moves on. he had spent so long playing with your nipples that you almost forgot the feeling of those tantalizing hands on the rest of his body. but you’re quickly reminded when he travels down to your stomach, your lower abdomen, purposely avoiding your pussy and going straight to your legs.

it’s the assault on your inner thighs that eventually ruins you. because nanami is running his hands up your thighs, stopping right at your pelvis, and doing it over and over and over—repeatedly, for what seems like forever. occasionally, his fingertips will brush against the outside of your folds, but the touch is fleeting and never goes any further than that, only serving to taunt you.

you groan, wishing nanami would just get on with it. when you express this, you only get an amused chuckle in response.

“so impatient. and you’re all wet for me already…” nanami says, those words making you even more aroused. “that’s it, let your body crave it. i would love to eat you out and taste you on my tongue.”

you certainly wouldn’t complain if he did just that. but nanami only spreads your legs and runs a finger past your pussy, spreading your wetness there. he circles your clit once, and you moan. then he goes further down until he finds your entrance but doesn’t push inside. he continues to do that—playing with you, teasing you, turning you into a writhing mess on the bed.

oh, you want him so bad. you’ve never wanted a man this fucking bad before. your body is burning, the need and desire growing exponentially by the second.

“there are so many things i want to do to you.” nanami swallows, looking like he wants to devour you but is doing everything he can to hold himself back. “but i’ll keep it simple for today. you look like you won’t be able to last much longer, anyway.”

without warning, nanami slides his hand back up to your clit, pinching it between two fingers, slick with oil. your entire body jolts as you feel pressure being applied there, a choked out moan escaping your lips. nanami rolls the pads of his fingers around the sensitive nub and you throb at his touch, breathing significantly harder now.

it had already been overwhelming before, but now your whole body burns with pleasure, with desire—wild and untamed. heat sears through you, fast, hot, making you somewhat delirious. you lose control of yourself as you buck up and circle your hips, trying to feel more of it.

“remember, this is still a massage,” nanami says, voice low, and you’re not sure who he’s trying to fool. he pinches you again, the perfect amount of pressure, and you arch off the bed with a whimper. “all i’m doing is giving you a massage…”

his hand flattens and he rubs your clit up and down, then in circles, slow at first and gradually increasing in speed. there’s no pattern to his movements; nanami is completely unpredictable, leaving you guessing, never allowing you to adjust to the sensation at any given moment. all you can do is lie there and take it, at his mercy, chasing after whatever he’s willing to give you. but you can’t exactly complain, though, not when it feels this fucking good.

“k-kento—” you cry out as all your nerves ignite at once, tingles of pleasure spreading all throughout your body.

“is this how you touched yourself in the changeroom last time?” the pace quickens, nanami drawing tight circles around your clit. “did you imagine that i was the one touching you? getting you closer and closer?”

moaning, you try to reply but your head is swimming with pleasure and it’s infinitely more arousing now that nanami is really here, playing with your pussy. it’s not just a fantasy anymore.

and then—it hits you fast, hard, entirely by surprise. one minute nanami is changing up his rhythm and the next, you find yourself bucking into the air uncontrollably, moaning loud and needy, and fuck, you’re—oh god, you’re going to come, you’re going to come—

“not yet, baby,” nanami says, voice low and stern. a command. his hand immediately withdraws from your body, keeping you right on the edge but never tipping over, and instead moves to hold your hips in place as you convulse on the bed, helpless to ride it out as your orgasm ebbs away. your pussy throbs and throbs, aching, dripping with your wetness. you’re left painfully unsatisfied. fuck, it’s not fair.

chest heaving, you whimper, having been denied your release. your whole body is on fire, and you’re so fucking turned on. you need to come. you need to come so fucking bad.

“kento,” you plead, willing to do anything to get his hands back on you. if this gets drawn out any longer, you’re not sure if you’ll survive. “kento, please—i’m—i can’t—please—”

almost idly, nanami trails a hand around the outside of your pussy, keeping his touch gentle like he has all the time in the world. it’s only a single finger grazing against you, but your hips flinch, moaning at the feeling of it. “do you really want it to end that quickly? i would love to see how desperate you can get. it won’t take much more for you to come, will it?”

you’re trembling and your pussy throbs every time nanami makes contact with it. you’re still unbelievably close to the edge despite calming down a bit now, and you’re sure that all it’ll take is a bit more stimulation from nanami before you reach your climax.

“can you—oh,” you start, words dissolving into a moan as nanami touches you again, fingers prodding at your entrance this time. it takes deliberate effort for you to gather your thoughts and finish the sentence, but you’ve become shameless, too aroused and horny to maintain any sense of dignity. “c-can you fuck me instead? i wanna—hah—wanna come on your cock.”

“mm, tempting. really tempting. but i don’t think so,” nanami tells you. his fingers latch onto your clit again, circling around it faster than before, and it’s so fucking good, so distracting that you’re barely able to hang on to his words. “i won’t fuck you today. i want to get you really desperate for it, let the tension build up until it makes you lose control. and when i finally give you what you want—tomorrow, or the next day, or even a week from now—i’ll break you apart slowly and leave you writhing under me. think of how good it’ll feel to finally have my cock in you after all this time, hard and aching inside you, filling up that tight little pussy.”

whimpering, you’re not even able to formulate a reply. that has to be the hottest proposal you’ve ever heard, like nanami has somehow figured out all of your dirtiest fantasies and is making them a reality. your mind is clouded with an arousal so strong that you’re struggling to process everything. but nanami isn’t even done yet.

“eventually, if i fuck you… when i fuck you, i’m going to take you apart slowly and push you to your limits until you show me just how badly you need it. you’ll be shaking under me, begging to have my cock in you. god, darling, i’ve wanted to ruin you since our first session together.”

you moan brokenly, hips thrusting wildly on the bed in response to his words. holy shit. nanami knows exactly how to get you all worked up. what’s worse is that every word he says is a cruel reminder that his cock isn’t inside you, isn’t fucking you, isn’t even out of those tight, tight pants yet.

“hah—fuck, your cock—n-need your cock—”

“i’ll give you something just as good.” nanami is watching you intensely, taking in the way your body responds. he bends your legs, hands sliding almost innocently across your entrance. “i can massage your insides. how does that sound?”

it sounds incredibly fucking hot, that’s what. and suddenly, you’ve never desired anything so badly before. “y-yeah—ngh, please—”

“spread your legs for me, baby,” nanami tell you. doing as you’re told, you follow his guidance to expose your pussy even more, aroused and horny beyond belief. “good girl. you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

a finger runs along the outside of your pussy, slick with oil, and you choke out a moan, lifting your hips to try and feel more of it. thankfully, it goes in soon enough, not wasting any time, and nanami sinks a finger into you, the slick oil helping to ease his length inside. you let out a startled gasp as he goes deeper and deeper, past the first and second knuckle, all the way until his whole finger has been swallowed up.

once he’s all the way in, nanami groans at the tightness that envelopes him, the way you clam down as if refusing to let him go. but he starts pulling back out, inch by inch, and you’re helpless to it; all you can do is moan at how good it feels. he pumps it in and out a few times almost experimentally, taking in how quickly you’re falling apart on the bed before him.

“you can imagine that it’s my cock fucking you if that helps,” nanami whispers in your ear and the suggestion has you whimpering. “but of course, my cock is bigger than this. think you can take another?”

“Y-yes—ah—yes, yes, more—”

“look at me,” nanami says, waiting until you turn your head before adding a second digit, stretching you open. you gasp, panting as soon as he starts to thrust into you properly. “see how hard i am because of you? my cock feels like it’s going to burst out of these pants.”

and it’s true; your gaze falls on nanami’s bulge, so hot and obscene within the confines of his pants. the fabric shifts every time it twitches, pulsing like it’s trying to break out, wet and damp where the tip is. nanami’s free hand moves to touch himself, hips rolling into his palms, giving himself some relief for the very first time.

god, you swallow. you would do anything to have him pull out his cock already.

but nanami’s only goal seems to be to get you as worked up as possible, bringing you right to the edge with his dirty words. “mm, yeah. think about how fucking good it’ll feel to have my cock throbbing inside you. thrusting into your tight little pussy, nice and deep.”

his fingers curl, sending an unexpected jolt through your entire body. you cry out, back arching off the bed, head thrown back as an intense wave of pleasure overtakes you. “a-ah—! shit, kento—o-oh my god—”

grinning, nanami makes sure to aim for the same place again. “is this the spot? does it feel good here?”

“hah—fuck—y-yeah, good—hng, so fucking good—”

nanami hums, but the next few thrusts he makes purposely avoids your g-spot. each one is shallower than the last and you can’t help but squirm as you get increasingly frustrated, until he pulls out altogether.

“that’s a good look on you. it seriously turns me on to see how desperate you are now,” nanami says, licking his lips. his eyes are dark and full of desire as he takes in the sight of you, running his hands along your thighs and watching your pussy throb. “it’s almost a shame we have to end things here today.”

you take a few seconds to process what he’s saying, and once you do, all you can think is, no, no. not again. you didn’t get to come yet. you need more, need your release, need those fingers back in you. need to—

“th-that’s it?” you ask in disbelief when it becomes clear that nanami isn’t going to continue. the towel is wrapped around you once again. your pussy aches in protest at how abruptly things ended, still dripping and dripping and dripping with unresolved arousal.

fuck. you refuse to let nanami leave him like this again; you’re determined to get a better outcome, unlike last time when you had to get yourself off in the changeroom. you’ll break down and beg if you have to. you want to come on nanami’s cock, on nanami’s fingers, and you know that nanami wants it, too. but whenever it seems that he’s about to go further, he always stops, right when you’re most anticipating it.

it’s especially frustrating because he’s gotten you all worked up, so fucking horny that you can hardly even think straight, but it never goes far enough for you to be fully satisfied. you’re kept on the brink of release, never allowed to come. it’s so cruel. it only works to turn you on more, to an unbearable degree.

but nanami doesn’t even acknowledge it. he only looks at you innocently. “our time is up for today,” he says, then leans in close, voice lowering to a whisper. “did you really think that i would let you come so easily? you’ve been a very naughty girl.”

fuck, that shouldn’t sound as hot and sexy as it does. it definitely shouldn’t be making you even more turned on.

“i—” shit, you think. you glance down at nanami’s very obvious erection, the desire he clearly has, too. i want your cock—want you to fuck me. but it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on going any further today, so you only manage to stammer out, “i don’t think i can go out like this.”

because you’re in arguably a worse state than nanami. despite the towel doing the bare minimum of hiding your arousal, your legs are still trembling slightly and the wetness between your legs isn’t going away.

“ah.” nanami’s eyes flicker down as he licks his lips. “you’re right, we can’t have you leaving like that. why don’t you take care of yourself now?”

you stare at him. when nanami only meets your gaze expectantly, you ask, “you mean… right here?”

“yes. we pride ourselves on customer satisfaction, you know. i can’t let you go when you clearly still have… unfinished business.” nanami smirks, evidently smug for getting you to such a state. “and don’t mind me. there’s still some time before the next appointment, so i’ll just be cleaning up the room.”

and you can’t believe it. what nanami is essentially asking you to do is masturbate, get yourself off, while you’re being watched.

the idea of it is crazy. but it’s undeniably hot, too. so fucking hot.

a few steps away, nanami is busying himself with setting up the equipment, but it’s obvious that he never strays too far. he’s still paying attention, making sure to keep you in his peripheral vision, intent on not missing out on anything.

hesitantly, you unwrap the towel around your waist until you’re fully naked once more. you sigh and glance down at yourself. it’s almost embarrassing because it’s far too noticeable just how fucking horny you are, with the way your pussy is swollen and so, so wet, making a mess on the bed.

across the room, nanami’s movements have stopped. he’s openly staring at you now, taking in the sight of you greedily. there’s hunger in his gaze as he grips the counter next to him, transfixed on the way your pussy is fully exposed, practically begging for attention.

you make eye contact, and a charge of tension passes between you before nanami nods once. “go on. show me how you make yourself feel good.”

so, you get comfortable again on the bed, hyperaware that your every action is being watched. it makes you more excited than you’d ever admit as the shame and embarrassment and humiliation all mix together with intense arousal, clouding your mind. you run your hands over your own body, starting with your breasts, cupping them and teasing your hardened nipples. just like nanami did earlier. soft moans escape you, pleasure surging throughout as you turn your head to look at nanami with half-lidded eyes.

nanami remains silent, but his expression gives him away. there’s no mistake that this is turning him on too, and you swear that you see him twitching in his pants, the fabric shifting over his bulge. but still, he’s far too composed, and you want to break down his self-control, get him so worked up that he can’t resist coming over and fucking you anymore.

traveling down your chest, across the planes of his stomach, your hands come to a stop at your hips. you spread your legs, bending your knees so that your feet are planted flat on the bed, giving you easier access to your aching pussy.

you’ve waited long enough. the slow tease of nanami’s massage and the beyond erotic proposal of masturbating in front of him have all caught up to you and you can’t delay this any longer. trailing a hand down to your entrance, you push a finger inside and immediately moan at the feeling of being filled again.

“fuck… yes,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as you give yourself over to the sensation. you’ve only just touched himself, barely even started at all, but you’re already feeling it.

it’s hot and wet inside your pussy, the oil helping to loosen you up. you drag your finger, moving in and out of yourself, feeling how needy and pent-up you are as your hips roll slightly, growing impatient. you squeeze a second finger inside. moaning, you scissor them apart and pleasure floods through you.

and then you begin to thrust, going at a fairly slow pace. but still, it’s enough to have your thighs shaking, so fucking sensitive. you can feel yourself falling apart.

your fingers curl, angled just right, and your nerves come to life, firing jolts all the way up your spine. “o-oh—ngh, shit—kento—”

at the sound of nanami’s name slipping past your lips, mixed in with a moan, you hear the hitch of a breath to your side. opening your eyes again, you blink to clear your vision, and see that nanami has made his way over to the bed, standing right beside you. something about him being this close, watching over you with his cock hard and bulging in his pants, has your arousal spiking.

suddenly, you can’t stand the slow buildup anymore. your speed increases, thrusting into yourself faster before you even realize it, pushing as deep as you can go. the rush of pleasure is immediate, and your head falls back, breaths growing ragged. there’s a moan but this time it doesn’t come from you; nanami is the one who made the sound, low and strained. he looks like he’s at his limit just by being there as a bystander, watching you on display.

“fuck, that’s it,” nanami encourages you, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out and touch. replace your fingers with his own. “in and out, steady thrusts. just like that…”

receiving instructions from nanami only makes you more turned on. your hips lift off the bed involuntarily and you can’t help staring at the twitching erection in his pants. “ah, feels—feels so good—"

“i bet it does,” nanami says. “look at how much you’re getting off on this. you secretly like being watched, don’t you?”

“f-fuck,” you break off into a moan. the answer to his question is evident in the way you’re dripping from your pussy, walls clenching around your own fingers.

and nanami must notice it too because he tells you, “don’t forget about your clit, baby. i know you like it there.”

reaching down with your other hand, you circle around your sensitive clit, body jerking at the added stimulation. and this is going to be your undoing, you know, because you feel the familiar buildup of your orgasm reaching a peak inside you, the crescendo of something bigger. already, you feel like you could come at any moment.

on top of that, nanami is relentless. “good girl,” he murmurs. “faster now. get yourself real close for me.”

you obey because you have no choice, because nanami has always been the one in control here. it’s getting dangerous now as you finger yourself faster, drawing tight circles around your clit, whining at the pure pleasure that’s accumulating in your stomach, between your legs. and you’re squirming, unable to contain the sheer amount of arousal inside you.

“shit—hah—o-oh my god, fuck, fuck—” you moan brokenly. then you use all of your willpower to force yourself to stop, both hands pulling away. your hips buck up in the air desperately, but you don’t want to come yet. you look over at nanami, chest heaving, and plead, “i-i want you, kento…”

growling, nanami grips onto the side of the bed, fingers digging into it to physically restrain himself. you can see the way the muscles of his arms contract, so strong, so tense. holding himself back.

“trust me, i want to fuck you so damn bad,” nanami says, and his voice alone is enough to make you more aroused. “you have no idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you. if it weren’t for my next appointment, i would bend you over right here and have my way with you until you’re screaming.” he swallows, gaze dark and filled with desire. “but today, it’s enough for me to just watch your pleasure. so, be a good girl for me and use your fingers to fuck that pretty pussy of yours and get yourself off properly this time.”  

holy fuck. you’re throbbing hard just from those words alone, before you even touch yourself again. you can’t possibly resist; your hand moves automatically to do as you’re told, two fingers sinking into yourself again, pumping in and out with urgency. your other hand resumes its assault on your clit, gasping and moaning, overwhelmed.

there’s no buildup this time—you go fast and hard right away, too fucking turned on to make yourself wait any longer. beside you, nanami hums with approval, always watching.

“hah—hah—ah—yes, k-kento—kento—”

“god, you’re so fucking hot,” nanami says. “find your g-spot for me. come on, baby. i want to see you make yourself come.”

you cry out when you do exactly what nanami tells you, applying pressure to the most sensitive nerves inside you. your hips are thrusting wildly, out of control, and all of the stimulation combined is bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“oh fuck, o-oh fuck—” you choke out a moan, sounding wrecked. “i-i can’t—ngh, can’t take it anymore—i’m—hah—i’m gonna—”

nanami groans. “yeah, let it out. make yourself come.” his voice is strained, eyes transfixed on your body. “that’s it, such a good girl… make a mess of yourself and come for me.”

god. god. the dirty talk has your pussy throbbing, throbbing, clenching tight around your fingers, preparing for your release. you’re trembling, so close to being pushed past the limit. so fucking close. there’s no way you’ll last much longer now.

“hng—fuck—” once again, your eyes land on nanami’s cock in his pants, bulging out, stretching the fabric thin, and it’s the thought of his cock—touching it, sucking on it, fuck, having it inside you, stretching you open and filling you up—that eventually tips you over. you moan loud. “ah, c-coming—i’m coming—”

your release hits you less than a second later. you pump your fingers, curling to your g-spot, other hand rubbing your clit urgently, and that does it for you, back arching beautifully off the bed as your orgasm crashes through your body. your mouth falls open in a silent cry. it’s mind-numbing, absolutely filthy, pussy pulsing and pulsing. you ride out the pleasure in waves, panting, feeling like you might lose consciousness from how good it is.

in you half-delirious state, slowly coming down from your orgasm, you look up at nanami. you’re both impressed and extremely frustrated at his level of self-control. throughout the entire session, he never touched himself even once, despite the fact that you know he must be aching for it, so hard that it has to be painful. and he’s gotten no relief at all, his cock still locked away in the confines of his pants this whole time, occasionally twitching and throbbing without any stimulation.

maybe it’s because the timing just didn’t work out for the two of you. maybe nanami really does have to prepare for his next client. but if your positions were reversed and you happened to be the one watching nanami masturbate, such an erotic and filthy sight at your place of work, you has no doubt that you would’ve succumbed long ago.

you wonder, what would it take for nanami to finally give in? this is the second time that you’ve had to get off using your own hands at the massage parlor. and you just came, which felt good, incredible, but you’re still left somewhat unsatisfied because what you really wants is for nanami to fuck you already.

getting up from the bed, you brush a hand against the bulge between nanami’s legs. nothing more than a graze of your fingers. but that alone is enough to make him gasp, swallowing back the moan rising in his throat.

you asks, “can you really go back to work like this?”

nanami swats your hand away, cursing. he shuts his eyes to even out his breathing before settling his gaze on you again. “fuck, are you still that horny?”

grinning, you lick your lips. “if i say that i am, will you finally fuck me?”

nanami sucks in a breath, glancing over at the clock. “you really should go now. i wasn’t lying when i said that the next client will be here any minute.”

it’s not exactly the answer you were looking for, but you know when to accept your loss and drop the subject. for now, at least.

“i’ll go for today, but you’ve teased me twice already,” you say. then you lean forward, whispering into his ear, “next time i come, i won’t be leaving until i get what i want.”

.

part 3 will be the last part! also tumblr has been buggy recently and won’t let me tag some people... i’m sorry if your name is here but you didn’t get a notification :(

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu @d0nk3y-k0ng @shasaaa15 @wil10wthetree @maskedpacific @genshingeeksworld @itsnotmelo

(comment to be added!)

[scarlethexelove]

All Hail The Queens

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕!𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒ℕ𝕒𝕥 𝕩 ℍ𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚𝟞𝟞𝟞

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕!𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒ℕ𝕒𝕥 (𝕐𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘), 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 (ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨), 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥, 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕘𝕖, 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕓𝕒𝕣𝕚, 𝕊𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟, ℂ𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝔸 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕖𝕩𝕙𝕚𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 (ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕞𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘), 𝔼𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕡, ℂ𝕦𝕞 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕡, 𝕄𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕪!𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒, 𝔻𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕪!ℕ𝕒𝕥, ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕖 (𝕀 𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕤), 𝔸 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕞, 𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖.

𝔸/ℕ: ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕. 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕕𝕞𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕒𝕡 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪. 𝕀'𝕞 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕠 𝕞𝕪 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The only sound that can be heard is your bare feet padding down the hall. The floor is unusually warm but that should be what you would expect while being in the underworld. You wander down the halls looking from room to room to find your Queens. 

You had made a deal with the Queens Wanda and Natasha. If you were unable to fulfill your end of the contract you would be brought down to the underworld. Obviously you did fail at holding up your end. You thought it would be easy but what you didn’t know was that the Queens had other plans. They made it impossible for you to come out successful on the other side. When they saw you they just knew they had to have you in any way possible. Normally fair Queens bent their own rules in order to keep you but you didn’t need to know that part. 

It was difficult at first to accept the women and your new life. But as time passed you began to crave any affection from the women. They would always be glad to give you anything that you wanted, well except for letting you go. The contract you signed bound you to them for eternity, you couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. You tried at first. But now your life seems amazing. You got everything. You have a life that you could never even dream of. 

You finally spot someone in the halls. A lower level demon that serves Wanda and Natasha. “Hi um have you seen Wanda and Natasha?” You ask the girl.. woman. You aren’t quite sure what she is. She looks down, not daring to make eye contact with you. “The Queens are in the meeting room.” She mumbles before rushing away from you. No demon dares to call them anything other than the Queens. It is found to be the utmost disrespect. But now that you know where they are you make haste.

A large black door with intricate carving stands before you. The door is slightly cracked and you can hear the voices of Wanda and Natasha talking in there. Something about an important meeting with higher level demons. You're slightly leaning against the door but you accidentally put too much of your weight on it, which has it swinging open and you falling flat on your face. You let out a groan hearing as two sets of heels click towards you. The heels come into your view and you look up at the women who are now staring down at you. Natasha gives you a pointed look while Wanda’s is a bit more soft. 

Nat crouches down in front of you. “What do you think you’re doing little one?” Her tone is questioning but not too harsh. “I um, I was looking for you both. M’sorry for intruding.” They both share a glance as Wanda crouches down and reaches both of her hands out for you to take. You do so and she helps you stand up. “What would you like sweet girl? We have a very busy meeting starting soon.” You look down out of embarrassment. “Mmm wanted you.” You mumble. Wanda hooks her finger under your chin and makes you look up at her. “What do you want from us?” You let out a whine. “None of that.” Nat tells you sternly. 

“Sweet girl, tell me what you want.” You let out a sigh at Wanda’s words. “I wanted attention.” You mumble. “What was that?” Nat questions you. You know she heard you but she is always going to make you speak up. “I wanted attention and to spend time with you both.” Nat smirks at your words. “Now was that so hard.” You let a grumble of yes, but the women let it slide.

“You can sit in on our meeting under one condition.” Wanda tells you. “Yes, yes, yes I’ll do anything.” Wanda’s lips curl into a smirk. “You’re going to strap warm me sweet girl.” You swallow hard. “I-In front of ev-everyone?” You stutter. “Yes everyone. You want our attention, you have it.” You nod in understanding. Natasha holds out her hand towards you. “Take off your shorts and panties.” You shudder but do as you’re told. Slipping both of them down your legs, wetness already pulling at your core. You place your panties in Nat’s hand knowing exactly what she wanted. Your shorts are discarded somewhere within the room. 

When you turn around Wanda is sitting comfortably in her large chair. Her dress pants already slid down far enough to reveal the scarlet strap attached to her hips. You clench around nothing as you stare at the thich strap. “If you don't want your cute little butt seen by everyone you’re going to want to sit down detka.” Nat pushes you towards Wanda making you stumble slightly but you catch yourself. When you’re close enough Wanda grabs your hips and turns you to face the table. You don’t have time to react as Wanda pulls you down onto her strap. Your walls stretch to accommodate her size. A whimper leaving your lips when you’re fully sheathed onto her cock. “You’re going to watch what Mommy and Daddy do.” Wanda whispers in your ear. You nod not really hearing her as your mind is only on the thought of how full you feel. 

It doesn’t take long before the room starts to fill up. You feel every movement of Wanda’s hips as she shifts in her seat. You bit your lip desperate to keep your noises at bay. You're thankful that they can’t see you from the waist down. You squirm in her lap the longer you sit, Wanda’s nails dig into your hips. “Keep still, little one.” She whispers in your ear again. You let out a whimper but do your best to stop. 

You can’t focus on the meeting as it progresses, your mind turning into a foggy haze. You want more comfort and to hide away from the eyes that keep looking towards you. Or are they looking at Wanda you really don’t know. You lean back a bit and with the shift it has a small moan slipping out. None of the demons dare to stop because they know what the Queens would do to them if they did. 

“Mo-Mommy?” You whimper softly. “Yes sweet girl?” Wanda questions. “Wanna turn around.” Wanda smirks. “Go ahead and do it sweetheart. Mommy isn’t going to stop you.” You let out a soft whine. “But Mommy they will see.” Wanda kisses the side of your head. Your fuzzy mind relishing in the affection. “If you want it you have to do it yourself, Mommy isn’t going to stop her meeting just to tell everyone to look away.” You let out a sigh.

It takes you a few minutes before you get the courage to finally stand up. You notice a prominent wet spot of your juices covering Wanda’s lap. She doesn’t seem to mind as she opens her arms for you. You can feel their eyes burning into your back as you shift to sit back down on her lap, this time facing her. You so easily slide back down onto her strap and bury your head in her neck. Her arms wrap around you as you feel the rumbling of her chest as she begins to speak. 

You nearly fall asleep as the time passes, you don’t even know that everyone is left until you feel Wanda nudging you. “Time to get up sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy have some more work to do.” You let out a whine and hold onto her tighter. “Y/n I said you need to get up.” You shake your head before mumbling out a no. Nat gives Wanda a pointed look. “You wanted our attention that badly? Fine. You can Have it.”

Before you even have time to react before your body is tied up and suspended above the large meeting table, all your clothes are gone. Your legs are bound to your hands that are now stretched behind your back. Soft ropes caress your body, wrapping you up tightly. The ropes that cover your chest, squeeze your breast just right accentuating them more. Nat’s eyes hyper focused on how beautiful you look tied up and hanging. You’re at the mercy of both women. 

“Natty do you think our dumb little baby deserves to cum or do you think we should edge her?” Wanda asks. You feel a finger gliding across the soft skin of your thighs, running up to your ass before Wanda slaps her hand down causing you to cry out. You don’t even know when she made her way onto the table but you don’t dare to question it. She smoothes her hand over your now burning ass. “Hmm.” Nat hums contemplating what you actually deserve. “Though defiant, I want to see her cum until she’s a brainless whore.” Nat smiles as you shudder. 

Wanda leans down and whispers in your ear. “Did you hear that dumb baby? Mommy and Daddy are going to make you cum so much that you won’t even be able to think.” You let out a whimper. Though you wanted attention this wasn’t exactly what you were thinking, but you aren’t mad about it either. 

Nat gracefully steps up on the table and stands in front of you. Her fingers squeeze your chin making you look up at her; your neck in an uncomfortable position. “Such a pretty little slut for us.” You whine as her piercing green eyes stare down at you. She caresses your cheek and you nuzzle her hand. She smiles at you. “I can’t wait to ruin you.” The thought sends a wave of arousal through you. 

Without a warning Wanda has thrust the whole length of her strap back inside your waiting hole. You moan loudly at the feeling of being full again. Wanda wastes no time as she pulls back plunging her strap back into your soaked hole. “Mm fuck!” She moans. “I forgot how good it feels to have your pussy wrapped around my cock.” The joys of being the Queens of the underworld with immense power. Wanda and Natasha know how to enchant their straps to feel everything like it was a piece of their own body. 

Your moans grow louder as Wanda mercilessly pounds into you. Your mouth is hanging open. Natasha is still staring down at you. She smirks with an idea. Your pretty mouth is hanging wide open for her. You watch her as she slowly lets spit drip down from her lips as it falls into your awaiting tongue. “Swallow.” She commands and you do so. “Good girl.” She finally lets go of face and circles around to watch as Wanda fucks you. 

Wanda grips onto the rope pulling you back onto her strap. Your body is being used to get her off. Her grunts and moans fill your ears. Your walls clenching around her the closer you grow to your orgasm and Wanda knows it. “Aww does my dumb little baby want to cum.” You moan and nod your head. “Say it. Tell Mommy how much a whore you are and how you want to cum all over her cock.” Nat’s voice cuts through. It takes you time as Wanda’s relentless thrust continues to fill you. Her hips stutter as she gets close to the edge. “Mmm.. Mmm pl-please Mommy wanna cum. Wan-Want Mommy to fill me. I-I’m Mo-Mommy’s dumb whore. Please! Please! Please!” It takes everything in you to get these words out. They spew out of you as you're so desperate, you don’t know how much longer you can hold it.

“Fuck good girl. Cum all over my cock and Mommy’s going to fill you up.” Wanda grunts. She stills releasing her load into you, painting your walls white with her cum. The feeling sends you over the edge. Your walls clamp down on her length as you cum hard. Your whole body trembles from the force of your orgasm. Wanda rolls her hips into yours prolonging both of your orgasms. When she finally pulls out you can feel as the mix of your cums trickle out of your abused hole. Wanda and Nat admire it, Wanda reaches out using her finger to push it all back in. You squirm in your restraints. Both women breathe out a fuck as they watch. 

You feel a finger tracing your open thighs as Nat moves between your legs. “It’s daddy’s turn now.” She thrust forward and starts a brutal pace. “Ahhh f-fuck!” You moan out. Her grip on your hips is rough as her fingers dig into the flesh sure to leave some marks behind. Nat’s grunts mix with your moans. Your already sensitive and full cunt makes it easy for her to slide in and out. “Fuck you feel so good around Daddy.” You whine as you nod.

Nat continues her fast and rough pace. Tears roll down your cheek at the overwhelming pleasure. Through blurred vision you see Wanda come into view. She cups your cheek in her hand. “Such a good girl for us.” You nuzzle her hand. You can see how her strap glistens with your juices. You wonder why she might still have it on, but that thought is interrupted when Nat gives a particularly hard thrust right into that sweet spot deep inside of you. Your eyes roll back into your head as your body shakes. You’re not able to hold back when Nat hits that spot again. “Daddy!” You cry out as you cum hard on her cock. 

“Fucking whore cumming all over Daddy’s cock. I’ve barely even fucked you yet.” Nat grunts as her pace doesn’t stop. She is getting close you can tell. You whine as you become sensitive from your last orgasm. “Da-Daddy.” You whine but she doesn’t stop. “Daddy’s going to use you detka, let me fill you up just like Mommy did.” You whimper but nod. The pleasure now laced with pain. 

It doesn’t take much longer just a few more thrust for Nat to follow and fill your already leaking cunt with her cum. Your walls are sucking her in for more despite the pain. She presses her finger against your clit which sends you over the edge again. “A-Ahh!” You cry out. Wanda wipes the tears that cascade down your cheeks as a powerful orgasm shoots through you. Your cum spraying out of you covering Nat in your juices. Wanda’s hand on your face and her sweet whispers help ground you as your mind feels like it’s floating. “Shhh Mommy’s got you sweet girl.” 

When Nat finally stops your body goes limp. She pulls out slowly trying not to hurt you but you hiss in pain. “Shh detka you did so good for Mommy and Daddy.” In a flash you’re in Nat’s arms and she is kissing your head. She carries you down the hall into the bedroom you share with them. You're nuzzled into her chest as you feel exhausted. You don’t miss how Wanda stops a servant and tells them they need to clean the meeting room table which has you blushing in embarrassment. Which only causes Nat to chuckle at your cuteness. 

The women get you all cleaned up in a bath that they join you with. Once they are done they help you get dressed and into bed. Nearly the whole time Nat is carrying you around due to your super shaky legs. The important things they needed to get done long forgotten about as they crawl into bed on either side of you. They are the Queens after all and can cancel whatever they please. So they take the rest of the day taking care of you. 

This is the best life you could have ever hoped for. One that will last an eternity with two very beautiful women bound until the end of time.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Nat x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, corruption, virgin!reader, oral, fingering, praise, inexperienced reader, slight manipulative Nat,

𝐀/𝐍: I don’t know about that one 😭

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

Natasha watched you closely, like she always did when she was visiting your father, and each time you got prettier in her eyes. You were 19, 20 at best, and Natasha was a grown woman in her late thrusts lusting after you but she couldn’t help it. Not when you wore those short shorts which barely covered anything. Or when you were reading a book by the pool as Natasha helped your father. How she had wished to just take you there and then not caring about your father being around.

She almost choked when she saw your phone number suddenly pop up on her screen one chilly evening.  She had given you her number in case you ever needed her quickly. I smirk tugged on her lips when she heard you say, you needed her help because your father wasn’t at home. The chance she had been waiting on for months now. She speeds the way down to your fathers house, barely keeping her thoughts on the road.

She parked her car in the driveway and you already stood at the door, your lip caught under your lips as if you were nervous. “Caught something on fire?” She joked, approaching you with fast steps. “this is gonna sound really stupid but I- I took off my necklace and put it on the side of my skin and it somehow ended up down the drain” She had to laugh which made you even more embarrassed about you. “Don’t blush… I’ll get it out in a second”

“So where’s your daddy, mhm?” She asked, knowing you couldn't guess her attention, as she opened the screw nut around the trap with a pair of pliers. “Away for work for the weekend” Natasha hummed, moving on to the next nut “So she left you all alone here” It took a few seconds to answer after all you were looking at her flexing biceps which were revealed by the white wife beater she was wearing. “Mhm�� you only hummed, too lost in admiring the older woman. 

She bumped the sink trap out in the bucket and could immediately spot the golden chain you had lost before. She fished it out with skilled hands. “There you go princess” She handed you the necklace, knowing fully well the nickname made your stomach feel funny. Silence took place as she reinstalled the trap under the skin until you broke it again “I really don't know how to thank you” You muttered your lips still in a pale pink color. She stilled while washing her hands clean from the dirty skin water. This was her chance 

“Well I do have an… idea” She wiped the hands on her washed out jeans. “How about a kiss?” She asked, closing the gap between the two of you. “I know how you look at me… are you shy, baby?” You had to nod, your hands shaking as you put them on her chest. “Can I kiss you?” If she was already leaning in your lips only inches away “Yes” Your lips meet, she kissed you with a passion which had you holding your breath the entire time. Her hands found your hair slightly pulling on it to get you to open your mouth. Her tongue forced itself inside your mouth making you let go of a moan you didn’t know you were holding. She bit down on your lip pugging on it. 

She was so much more experienced than you and you couldn’t help but melt under her touch. “Mhm your mouth tastes so good” She hummed licking over your neck to get more taste of you. “I bet you are a virgin right baby?” She knew she couldn’t leave any obvious marks on your neck, your father would get suspicious. “Y- Yes” You hiccup, feeling her teeth over your neck. 

She had you undressed on the bed spread as Natasha inspected your awfully wet pussy. You were embarrassed by it, trying to cover herself up. “N- Natasha” you whine trying to close your legs but she held them open. “No, no, no baby you keep them open… don’t be so embarrassed you're so pretty” She leaned down to kiss your pubic bone before she dove into your pussy, managing to salvor the most beautiful sound from your throat possible.  

“I’m gonna eat you out so good baby” She mumbled into your cunt, but you were so confused by how she made you feel. Never before had you felt that way but you didn’t want her to stop. Her tongue felt so good, so wrong. “Do you like me fucking your virgin cunt baby” She mocked her fingers held your folds open. You nodded desperately, trying to close your legs yet again, she caught them again. “Keep them open stupid slut” She spat, her words didn’t hurt they only made you wetter. 

“Feels weird” You mumbled your head in the pillows not sure if you were about to moan or cry from the overwhelming sensation. Natasha ignored you; she was too focused on feasting on you. The fact that she was your first only made it hotter for her, she took your clit in your mouth making you see stars as the first sob broke from your raw throat. She snuck one of her fingers inside and you were already full. “Fuck baby, we need to stretch that pussy out before you can take me” You looked at her confused of the pleasur lost in moans, whimpers and cries. “Natasha that feels so funny” She hushed you curling her finger “Your gonna cum baby, be a good girl cum on my fingers, just let go” She mumbled against your skin as. As you let go you felt the liquid shooting out of you making you want to bury yourself, had you just? “Damn baby your a squirter” She smiled proudly “That’s a good thing baby, that's so hot” she reassured her “Really?” “Mhm, you did so good baby” She kissed your neck, let me clean you up and then we can cuddle okay baby?”

:)

@jolyssereed

[writingwisterias]

Mine

DI!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Dom Leon, Sub Reader, Praise Kink, Restraints, Daddy kink, Spitting, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Choking, Age-Gap, Slight Dd/lg dynamics, Mirror Sex, Poessive Leon, Mentions of pregnancy, mentions of body changes during pregnancy

Summary: After returning from a hard mission successfully, Leon has been ignoring you opting to close in on himself...getting fed up with the lack of attention and worried he will slip back into his old ways you try to get it back at him, only to end up with him giving you the punishment he thinks you deserve.

Can anyone tell if I have a breeding kink yet? My requests are open if anyone wants any more fics like this!

He was pissed. You could tell as his back was tense, his muscles tight as he led you throughout the events room, and your heels slipping against the hardwood floor as you barely managed to keep up with his pace. You didn't even notice that one of his coworkers had gotten close to you on the dance floor until he began touching you, however, you also didn't stop him. You were just enjoying the buzz of the large amounts of champagne you had drank so the night was even bearable. Neither of you wanted to come to this work event, to Leon it felt strange celebrating the so-called success of the mission even though there were so many lives lost and to you - you just didn't want to put up with the sour attitude he seemed to have gained since returning. You knew his job was hard and he faced many things so you never would have to thanks to what he does but it was hard to see him retreating into himself, snapping at you instead of cuddling and doting on you like he normally would. You could see that he was losing himself to the drinks that found their way into his hands every night; closing himself off which then eventually led to sloppy sex and drunken arguments. You were beginning to worry he would fall back into his old ways if you could drag him out of it.

Maybe that's why instead of pushing the coworker away you drew him in closer with the hypnotizing sway of your hips, the man's hands slipping over the satin of your red dress as he brought you closer to his body. The alcohol brought a smile to your features as you leant back into him, finally basking in the affection and lust you had desired the past few weeks. You could feel Leon's piercing gaze from the bar, your eyes landing on his features as he sipped from the whiskey glass. His gaze was heated, his jaw tight you would think his teeth would crumble away from the pressure he was putting on them. Part of you wanted to cringe away and run back to him like a little lost puppy like you always did. But after how he's been treating you (and the liquid encouragement you have been sipping on for the past hour) you decided to spin around in the man's arms; looping your own around his neck. Leon made you jump when he appeared, his grip hard on your arm as he ripped you away from the man and led you to the exit.

Leon thanked the valet man as he took the keys, making sure you were buckled in safely before slamming the door shut. The sound made you jump; before you began smoothing out the skirt of your dress to hide your reaction. Rock music flickered on throughout the car as the engine turned on, the city lights blurring together as he drove off. Your eyes remained on the passing skyline, refusing to acknowledge how his hand remained on the gearstick, not your thigh like normal. The silence left you stewing in your own thoughts, questions of how you were going to rectify the situation swirling around your drunken brain. His focus remained on the road, his hands now clenched around the steering wheel, your hand crept into his space; jolting at the feeling of your fingers splayed out along the hard muscle of his thigh. They began dancing teasingly around the bulge of his jeans. But instead of adjusting himself, relaxing back into the seat he simply lifted your hand and placed it back in your own lap. Sighing lightly you rested your head against the window getting lost in the swirling lights as they passed.

He finally glanced your way as you shuffled into the elevator, his gaze was intense as he watched you. Your heel-clad feet shuffled against the floor as you swayed slightly - evidence that you weren't quite sobered up yet. Leon's brain was loud with the constant thoughts battling, wondering whether he should continue to ignore you or finally give in and remind you of who you belonged to. His eyes landed on the necklace that dangled above your cleavage. The encrusted diamonds twinkled in the low light of the elevator with each breath you took. He stared at the L, the only symbol of your belonging to him. He supposed he could have put an equally beautiful and expensive ring on your finger - the easiest way for someone to know you were his. But there was no fun in that, he couldn't watch his seed spill out from between your thighs as he finished claiming you. Praying during his observation that this was the load that took, that would soon cause your sweet body to swell with evidence of himself. He felt his cock twitch at the prison it was enclosed in, his hands finding their way into his jacket pocket as he continued to stare at your pretty thighs.

He never thought he wanted children or a wife but after having met you in some dingy bar he rolled into after a hard mission all of that changed. You were sweet and easy - a stark contrast to everything else in his life but once you finally fell in his sheets the grin on his face when he saw finally how you presented yourself so perfectly for him. Your smooth skin against his scarred fingertips felt heavenly, your pretty whines and moans were just the sweetest tunes to him as he would pump his cock deep inside of you. He fell into the role you needed with ease, the age gap was never an issue for him. With you, he got a chance to live, a chance to have all the things that the younger cop inside of him dreamed of. That's why his blood filled with rage when he watched you dancing with his much younger coworker, the man having no idea who you belonged to, not even paying attention the the L that dangled between your breasts.

His body loomed behind you as you unlocked the door to your apartment, you could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath fanning against the back of your neck. Once you had made it inside you turned to face him, to finally demand attention after all these weeks. Even preparing a few tears but his face made you shut off the act almost instantly, his eyes darkening as he glanced at the soft fabric that lay perfectly over your frame. "Bedroom" He finally spoke, his voice low and rough. You slipped the heels off, ignoring their clatter against the floor as you dropped them. Your bare feet slapped against the floor as you made your retreat.

You perched against the edge of the bed, your hand instantly finding comfort in the necklace as you fiddled with it. "So you do know who you belong to then" He spoke as he walked through the door, his back straight and chin held high. You nodded, shame and guilt replacing the alcohol in your system faster than you would have expected. "Come on now darling, you can use your words" He spoke again, his form now slotting himself in between your thighs. His fingers pinched the tip of your chin lightly as he raised your eyes to meet his, smiling at the sorrow that was already displayed in them. "I do" You spoke meekly. Leon finally pressed his lips against your own and you groaned at the taste of him. Your small hands spread out against his thighs; gripping at the fabric. You whimpered as he pulled away, wincing slightly as he pushed your cheeks together and forced your mouth open ready for you to take the spit he drippled into your mouth. "So greedy for Daddy's attention you'll take anything" He whispered, his hands stroking your hair lovingly as he gazed down at you. "Strip" He commanded as he stepped away, the warmth being relaxed with lust and desire as he began watching you intensely.

Your dress pooled at your ankles as you stepped away from the fabric, your underwear still encasing your pretty pussy in a tiny pink bow. Leon swallowed, ignoring his twitching cock practically growling at the sight of your soft skin. He smirked as your dumb eyes followed his finger to the bed, obeying his command without question. He eagerly watched as your breasts bounced as you got comfy, settling yourself against the softness of the sheets below you. He worked on undoing the silky tie that hung around his neck, his shoes clicking against the floor as he approached you. Leon's hands were gentle as he tied the fabric over your eyes, smiling at the way you squirmed slightly as his fingers brushed against the nape of your neck as he pulled away.

Part of him felt bad for leaving you like this, but he was sucked into the world of his own pain he didn't realize how much he had neglected you. He was defiantly going to repay you for all these weeks you had spent with an aching cunt but first, he needed to remind you who's in charge. You could hear him manoeuvring around the room, opening drawers and rummaging for things. Each item landed on the bed with a soft thud. Your fingers smoothed over the silky tie, itching to untie it. "Don't you dare" his voice whispered in your ear. You hadn't even realised he was so close. You fought back a smile as you felt his hands wrap around your wrists bringing them above your head. You felt him tighten the leather cuffs around your wrists holding them in place with a bar in between, the cold leather cooling your heated skin. The bar spread your hands apart at a comfortable distance, the metal clattering against the headboard as you tested the tightness of them. You gasps as Leon gently nipped at your peaked nipples, taking the bud in his mouth and sucking on it. The pads of his fingers ran along your smooth skin, drawing delicate patterns in their wake. He watched as your back arched once he reached your clothed pussy, smirking at the dampness of the gusset.

"My poor baby, all needy for her Daddy" Leon teased as he ran his fingers along the fabric. You whimpered as he retracted the digits to pull the panties down your legs, nipping at the skin along the way. Leon lifted your legs, inserting himself in between them, the small hairs that littered along his thighs tickled your own as he rested them on top. A low buzzing sound filled the room making you jump when the toy he had bought out finally made contact. Leon chuckled lowly as you squirmed away once the bullet made contact with your puffy clit. Normally Leon would warm you up, using the toy along your body, the cold metal leaving goosebumps as it moved across your skin; but not this time. Your breaths began to shorten as your body desperately attempted to adjust to the sudden stream of pleasure that coursed through you. Your lower half became numb with white pleasure as he began to circle the toy around the sensitive nub making sure not to stray too far away from it. He watched carefully at the way your body squirmed, your mouth parting to let out your oh-so-sweet whimpers; paying attention to every small detail ready to pull the pleasure at just the right time.

You tugged against the restraints, your fingers curling into fists desperate to clutch onto something. Leon smirked when he pulled the pleasure away, his cock jumping at the high-pitched whine that left your plump lips. "Daddy-please I'm so sorry" you began to cry, hiding your head into your arm as best you could with them still being suspended above you. Leon's heart broke at the sight of your frustrated tears, wanting nothing more than to treat you to the pleasure you craved and he had neglected to give you. "Sorry for what?" he spoke again, pressing the toy against your clit again. He grinned as you squirmed desperately on the bed. "For dancing with the man" You cried against your arm, the bar clatering again as you fought against them, trying to finally grasp at Leon. "I bought you this necklace so you wouldn't forget baby, but you still did" he teased, his fingers playing with the initial hanging against your chest. You could feel your release creeping in again, your toes curling as your hips bucked up to the pleasure. "I didn't- I still know" You whimpered.

Leon smiled at you, his tip flushed red as it sat proudly against his toned stomach. His pre-cum dribbled steadily down his shaft like he was a teenager again. "I wish you could see what you do to me baby" he spoke, stroking strands of your hair away from your face. He pulled the toy away, smirking at the sound that you released in a fit of frustration. "Please" You begged, tears brimming in your eyes. "I really want to"

Instead, you felt his hand grip at your hips, helping you roll over as he pressed your chest into the mattress arching your back perfectly so he could see your dripping entrance. Leon's body leaned over your own, his weeping tip slotting in between your cheeks; rubbing himself against you as he slowly removed the tie from your eyes. He chuckles at you groan of frustration that even though he has returned your sight you still can't see him yet. Your hands were still spread out in front of you as he began to gather your slick against himself. Eventually, you felt him prodding at your entrance, groaning at the stretch as he slowly entered. Your gummy walls stretched to accommodate his girth. His movements were painfully slow as he began to thrust, his hands loosely grasping at your hips. Your whimpers made him smile as you desperately tried to buck back into him chasing an orgasm you only prayed he finally gave you. "Please...I learnt my lesson I swear" you cried, burying your flushed face into the plush duvet below you. Leon paused, his cock half in your walls; he grinned at the ring of your arousal at the base and the way you tried to impale yourself further on his cock only stopped by his grip tightening.

"I'm going to pump you so full of my seed that it's going to take and show everyone who you belong to" Leon whispered in your ear as he leant back over you. You watched as his fingers began to undo the cuffs, your mind becoming fuzzy from his words, his scent and the fact you were soon going to be able to touch him. Your small brain remembers to wait for his command at least as you watch the leather fall from your wrists. "Good girl, being so obedient for me...just the way I like" he whispered as he finally rose from your back. His praise caused your pussy to clench around the tip of his cock, eliciting a groan from his lips. His hands brought yours around his neck, lifting you against him as he began to thrust upwards. Your fingers instantly wove themselves in the blond strands, hiding your face against his pulse point, enjoying the way his muscles moved against your back. Your mind blocked out the sound of the toy as he began to speed up his pace, moaning loudly when the bullet made contact with your sensitive skin. Leon knew it wouldn't take long for your orgasm to ripple through you, opting for his other hand to tweak and grope one of your perked breasts.

"Look baby" he spoke, bringing your attention to the mirror you hadn't realized he had lined you both up with. Your eyes instantly were glued onto the sight of his cock fucking into you. "I want you to see what I will do to you, watch yourself take my load deep inside this perfect pussy like the good girl you claim to be" he spoke lowly, small grunts leaving his lips as his eyes were also glued onto the sight in front of you both. You met his eyes in the mirror, his darkened stare meeting your own with such lust that you finally felt the release flood through you.

But he didn't stop, his hips never stopping their pace instead increasing as he felt your gummy walls continue to clench around him. His hand left your breast instead finding its way around your neck, a new perfect necklace for you instead of the initial. His brain became fuzzy as he thought of his animalistic desire to breed you. To watch as you swelled with his cum. His balls tightened at the thought of your frame changing, at how beautiful you would blossom to be after what he had done to you. His grip tightened around your neck, and the lack of oxygen caused your brain to become fuzzy as you gazed up at him. Craving to taste his lips.

He met them in a sloppy kiss, his grip loosening slightly as he finally grunted inside you, spilling his warm seed deep inside of you. You both watched as it dribbled out from where you were conjoined. Your chests scyronising as you both caught your breaths. "I'm so sorry Daddy" you whimpered out, the fussiness of your brain finally reducing as you continued to stare at each other in the mirror. "I won't dance with anyone again" Leon smiled, kissing the crown of your head. "Don't worry love, everyone will know who you belong to now" He spoke as his hand fell over your stomach rubbing the soft skin there.

[ladymercysletters]

NSFW Alphabet - Aegon Targaryen

Word count: 3,198

A/N: NSFW 18 + Only!

Requests are open. and if it isn't already clear, Aegon is a happy sad boy and I wanna bit his butt cheeks.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a lot of aftercare, especially when you’ve been domming him. He gets extra cuddly when you’ve stretched out his orgasms and worn him out. Sometimes you do that just to empty his head of all the worries of the day. He loves to snuggle up to your side, or on top of you, with your arms wrapped around him to protect him as he comes down. When he’s good and ready you’ll sit him up gently and give him sips of water. He’d prefer wine but you insist on hydration. His happy little face as you stroke his hair from his eyes and kiss his temple lets you know he’s coming back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Obviously Aegon thinks the actual sun shines out of his cock. In terms of giving you pleasure it is his favourite part of himself, but he also thinks he has a lovely arse. He knows this because you have commented on it on more than one occasion. Just how round and perky it is; jiggling across the room when he goes to get a towel to clean you with, and you can’t help but stare. He loves your breasts in turn - He could watch them bounce as he fucked you forever. Aegon loved all your curves but he loved your breasts the most, holding them; pinching them; licking and suckling on them or just resting his head between them as you stroke his hair- and he can hear your heart beating, just for him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Aegon was always taught to reproduce; that is what sex was for and as the oldest male heir it was his duty to carry on the family name. So, he had made it his mission is like to cum anywhere except inside a woman- and he found great pleasure in doing so. That was until he saw you with the babe of one of the ladies of court. He had seen her through her pregnancy and saw the way you would gently place your hand on her stomach to feel the baby kick. That night he thought of how you would look with a child – all swollen with his baby, a visible sign you were his. From then on, he’d be obsessed with getting you pregnant. You’d try all sorts of different positions, each one he would close his eyes and think of how his seed could take this time, opening his eyes only to look down and see where you connected. When you do fall pregnant, he becomes even more obsessed with you; during council meetings or even just as he sees you walk in the gardens he can’t look away from you – leaving whatever he is doing as soon as possible to be with his ethereal wife and their child.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Aegon doesn’t mind you knowing, but he’d die if anyone found out he enjoyed wearing your underclothes. Not everything, just some of your smaller clothes – well he likes the way they cling to his arse cheeks, and maybe your stockings, they’re softer than his and they come just up to his thighs. He’s only worn your stays once, just to try them and complete the look – but he prefers his chest bare so you can play with his nipples and run your nails down his chest.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Aegon is of course very experienced when it comes to sex. Maybe not so experienced when it comes to sex with feelings. So when he falls in love with you, he didn’t expect it to make him feel like a green boy once again. Even a soft touch to his arm as you walked together sent a thrill through him; he would watch your lips at dinner as you bit through a peach, the little dribble of juice escaping your lips making him twitch as to catch it.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

His favourite position varies. He loves to have you over any surface he can; breakfast table; balcony overlooking the training grounds; he even once took you for a ride on Sunfyre and made love to you out in the open fields half way between Tumbleton and Goldengrove. He may have also got you ready for him on dragon-back on the way there.  His other favourite, should he be pushed to choose, is pressed up against a wall – or door he’s not fussy. He loves the to take you like that he has to be so close to you, you have to support yourself on him and he can watch you fall apart on him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Aegon loves to make you laugh. Knowing he is the one to put a smile on your face – even in the most intimate of moments. Whether it be you bursting into fits of giggles when he loses his footing on the bed and nearly slips off, or when his fingertips lightly trail up your rib cage, prompting a light stuttering giggle to leave your lips. Aegon may love those the best, your soft voice is like a balm to any worries he has.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Much like Aemond his pale hair is so fair it hardly warrants taming. He’s slightly courser than Aemond and maybe a bit wilder, but you seem to like how his hair rubs against you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Aegon usually treats sex as a fun activity, not necessarily an intimate one. He’s much more about you taking your pleasure from each other than anything else. There are times when he looks to you for intimacy, that sometimes end up in sex. More often than not it will come in the form of Aegon crawling into bed with you in the evening, soaking in your warmth and wrapping your body around him. You know when he’s troubled because he makes himself smaller for you. (writers note: I’ve made myself sad now but I promise I’ll write an intimate sex with Aegon fic soon.)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Aegon loves to masturbate. Don’t get me wrong – he would choose you over his fist any day; but he can’t deny that getting himself off has never been difficult. One of his favourite things, now you are married, is to wait for you in your chambers in the evenings when you have been kept late by your own duties. He’ll strip himself naked and arrange himself on the bed for you, eagerly awaiting your return. When you get back you send the servants away, at the late hour, and make your way to your rooms by yourself. Only to be greeted by your husband, naked as his name day and lit only be the light of the candles. He keeps his doe eyes lazily on you as he languidly strokes his cock. You can see as you enter the room and loosen the cloak from around your neck that he’s been at it a while; the pink tip already shining with pre-cum and he’s definitely been hard for a while judging by the firm look of his balls and the strain in his thighs.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Speaking of which, he loves when you’re in charge. Domming him and forcing him to be your good boy sends him into the clouds. Has a slight mommy kink but prefers to call you mistress or My Queen. He loves to get himself ready for you in the evening. Waiting in your chambers for you to come back and do whatever you desire to him. Though he doesn’t enjoy being slapped in the face (see N!) he would happily admit to sometimes acting out and being a bit of a brat, just so you’d put him over your knee and spank him. It's yet another reason he knows you love him bum; the way you squeeze and stroke over the soft firm skin of his has him purring in your lap. Then the sharp slap, or crack of a wooden spoon, over his backside  makes his hips jolt into your lap and his stiff cock rub deliciously over your thigh.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

His favourite place to have you is outside. Where anyone could but no one does see you. He takes you on dragon-back as far away as you can go with ease. Landing in a golden field where the grain is high and Sunfyre can blend in easy at a distance – laying you down in a field of wheat when he’s feeling romantic and taking you under the beating sun, only shaded by the wing of his dragon.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I’ve said before he loves to watch your mouth. He’s in love with your soft pillowy lips; the way they stretch into a smile and form perfect vowels as you speak. He watches you eat and lick the juice of a fruit from your fingers and hands and he can’t resist you. He approaches you from behind, hand over your cinched waist, and subtly but strongly leads you off for a while.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He hates having his face slapped. His mother used too and still often does when she’s angered – slap him, as does his grandsire, and his father before. It’s a sharp sting that usually comes with the confirmation of what he’d always know, he’s worthless. Stupid. He hates the thought of you hating him enough to slap him as well, and he’d never want to make you cry either. The thought of wither of those things brings a lump to his throat.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Aegon loves oral – giving and receiving. He loves when you ride his face or hold him against you as he works at your core, licking and sucking at your folds like they produce the nectar of life. He’d never deny, in fact he’d shout it from the highest point I the Keep if it wouldn’t ruin your honour, that he’d never cum so hard as the first time you sucked on his cock. You’d heard other women of court say their husbands enjoyed it so you thought you’d try. One morning, whilst your new husband was laying peacefully by your side, you sunk down under the covers of your marriage bed and licked him from root to tip. Only when you enveloped his tip into your warm mouth and sunk down as far as you could go did Aegon rouse from sleep. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as his lifted the sheet to see your head bobbing on him slowly. A sight he never wants to forget, especially when he shot his seed down your throat as you stared up at him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace is usually quite fast. He’s impatient and wants the rush of ecstasy for both of you now. There’s only been a few times that he likes the pace slow. When you’re teasing him, or when he just needs to be close to you – feel you beneath him and have your arms around him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Aegon loves a quickie. Loves how you can both get your pleasure from each other quickly and carry on as if nothing ever happened. But he knows. He can almost imagine the way his seed slips out of you and drips slowly down your thighs. Sometimes he can see it in the way you squirm, or walk slightly off centre.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Aegon loves to take risks. If you’re down for it, so is he. Whether it be a different place to fuck you in, or something new you’re bringing into the bedroom. He’s almost always down to experiment.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

On average Aegon can go a solid two rounds a night. If you’re both completely pissed out of your box its probably more like to be one – if you make it to the end without both passing out in a sweaty mess. There was one day where Aegon had you a grand total of 6 times. Still a shining record in his eyes. First thing in the morning, the light was illuminating your body perfectly and he couldn’t help himself. Then again at the breakfast table, or rather over the breakfast table. The third time you had hidden yourself under the table when Aemond and Criston had come in to talk to him, about what neither of you could quite remember; but he did remember how he had to shove several grapes in his mouth not to moan when he shot his seed down your throat - or how, as soon as they left, he pulled you up to your feet immediately and sucked another orgasm from between your thighs. The fourth was later that afternoon when he found you in the garden, then again right before dinner with his family – up against the door. The final time that evening was his favourite. You snuck away briefly just after dinner; gripping your arm as he dragged you along the corridor, and into his mothers bedroom.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Any and all. He’s always down to experiment with whatever new thing his men whip out for a laugh. He’ll laugh along with them ,gloating at how or why anyone would ever need a leather cock; or swinging round a whip one of them brought back from the silk streets; neighing ridiculously when its cracked. Though behind closed doors he’s only too eager to show you. At first he’d brooch it lightly, not seriously asking anything of you but testing the waters. When you ask him, over a cup of wine, if there is something he would like to try he can only say yes. And there’s so much he wants to try.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease you, or more taunt you. He knows that if he riles you up enough you’ll take what you want from him, and he’s a lazy little sod so he loves when you take it from him. When he does tease you though, he giggles at your stroppy demands to stop and just make you cum. His delirious joy at seeing you fall apart for him, watch the pleasure and torment wash over your face and knowing it is his doing, oh boy!

What he doesn’t expect is how much he enjoys you teasing him. He’s a prince of the realm, a slightly spoilt prince of the realm; who has never really had the word no said to him by anyone. So when you’re riding him like a champion one evening, both of you hurtling towards your ends, he almost screams when you stop dead in your tracks, staring at him, nails raking lightly up and down his bare chest as he takes deep breaths. He’s begging instantly, even if he doesn’t realise it. “Why have you stopped? Please, I was so close” he’s whimpering and gripping your thick rump. A sly, wide grin spreads across your face as you clench around him. A gasp leaving his lips as you do. “ Naughty girl.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Naturally he’s not very loud – to everyone’s surprise. He mainly whimpers and begs when you ride him, and even when he’s on top of you – small growls that if you weren’t in the moment may remind you of an angry kitten. That’s not to say he’s never loud. When you’re romping about outside he can ramp it up when there’s a chance someone else will hear you both… cheeky little shit.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You got Aegon to eat fruit by introducing it into the bedroom. Now you catch him happily sitting on his balcony, swinging his legs as he looks over his kingdom, plucking cherries from a bowl and chewing gladly on them. You smile lovingly as you watch your husband, turning back into the room. What you don’t see is him launching those cherry pits over the balcony and onto the training field, straight down onto Aemond and Criston Cole.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is on the thicker side, but not bulbous. The stretch is just enough to shock you a little every time you’re together. He’s got a decent length – around 6 inches and he takes on such a lovely cherry red flush when he’s desperate. You love teasing him just to see it flush and throb for you, and the pretty sounds that fall from Aegon’s mouth to accompany this don’t hurt either.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s Aegon – the boys like a little wind-up kids toy. And it only gets worse when your small pregnant belly starts to show. He loves how it starts off as a little round bump, just barely showing through your layers and folds of dress fabric. Then you start getting bigger; even though you cannot see your bump from behind he can see the way you start to waddle -and it lights something inside of him. He comes up behind you and winds his arms around your body, gently cradling your bump, with his chin resting on your shoulder. At first you thought he was just becoming soft; he’d caress your bump and press his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. But then he’d also press his groin against you, lightly, so as not to raise suspicion. He’d whisper the filthiest things to you – what he wants to do to you, or how wonderful your bottom looks h=now that your dress pulls just that bit tighter. You feel like you spend more of your pregnancy in bed than you did your honeymoon.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Falls asleep so quickly. Its adorable the way he’ll try and keep his eyes open for you as you lay in bed together. You can see as his consciousness fades; his mouth slipping open as soft snores leave his lips. As he’s drifting further and further off he’ll reach out for you, grabbing like a babe to snuggle up against you. He’s distraught if, in the morning, you are not there with him.

[targaryenimagines]

Shattered Wings

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 21,652

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

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her gaze softens, even though the tears remain ever present, and she takes a tentative step forward, reaching out for you again; bridging the gap that she has made earlier. “We’re still a family,” she insists, unwavering. “We still have Drogon and Rhaegal. We still have each other.”

You shake your head. “It’s not the same,” you whisper. The truth in those four words sends another lance of pain straight through your heart. “It will never be the same.”

“Please,” Daenerys begs, realizing that she was losing you, setting in; a desperate panic begins to take form across her beautiful face. “Please don’t push me away.”

How can you not? When her mere presence is a living reflection of the conflict warring inside of you; part of you, buried deep, wanting to reach out, to be held, while the other part wanted to make her hurt like she has hurt you, to get some form of justice for Viserion. So, you do, you push her away with a force that has her stumbling back, tears blurring your vision as you turn and flee from the room.

Your feet carry you down the cold, winding corridors of Dragonstone; shadows looming around you like specters. You don’t have a destination in mind, just the overwhelming need to get away, to be alone with your grief.

It isn’t until you reach a familiar door that you realize where you’ve been heading all along — a room deep within the heart of Dragonstone; where the remnants of the egg shells, the very shells from which your sons had hatched, are kept in separate, ornate cases. The sight of them is enough to send you fully over the edge, your knees buckling as you collapse onto the stone floor, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of your loss crashes down upon you.

Viserion.

Your sweet, gentle Viserion. You’ll never feel his warm breath against your skin again, never hear his soft purrs as he nuzzled into you, seeking comfort and affection. The bond you had shared, that indescribable connection, is gone, severed by the cruel hand of fate, by the cold touch of the Night King.

You reach out, fingers trembling, and brush against the case that holds the remnants of Viserion’s egg; the smooth, hardened shell that once contained the precious life that was now lost to you forever. The tears flow freely down your cheeks, dampening the stone beneath you, as you weep for your son, for the life that was so violently taken, for the gentle flame that had been put out too soon.

Tugging the box closer, your breath catches at the familiar sight of the cracked shell that Viserion had emerged from so long ago.

The shell was pale, a shimmering blend of cream and gold, almost ethereal in its beauty. It sits nestled in the box, as if cradled by the very Gods themselves, the cracks across its surface, that once promised the appearance of new life, are now jagged reminders of all you’ve lost. You reach out once more, fingers trembling even more as they brush against the surface, the coolness of the shell seeping into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you carefully lift the shell, memories flood your mind, each one yet another blow to your already broken heart. You remember the day Viserion had hatched, the first time you had seen him when Daenerys had emerged from the pyre, a miracle of life amidst the barrenness of the Red Waste. He had been so small, his scales soft and glistening, his eyes wide with wonder as he observed the world from near Daenerys’ feet, until his aureate gaze locked onto you. It was in that moment, you knew he was yours, your Prūmia, your beloved son.

You had watched him grow, from a curious hatchling to a majestic dragon, his pale scales shimmering like molten gold beneath the sunlight. He had always been the gentlest of the three, his temper calm, his touch tender. Where Dragon was fierce, and Rhaegal wild, Viserion was your peace, your warmth on the coldest nights, the soft presence that guided you when all seemed lost.

The shell feels heavier now — as if the weight of your grief had embedded itself into it — making it impossible to hold. A sob escapes your lips, raw and broken, the sound filling the room, echoing off the stone walls until it is all you can hear.

You close your eyes, cradling the shell to your chest, the way you once cradled Viserion when he was small enough to fit in your arms. Your mind is a storm, torn between the memories of his soft purrs, the way he could never get enough gentle scratches underneath his chin, and the knowledge that his lifeless body was now lost within the frozen landscape beyond the Wall.

“Prūmia,” you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The words feel hollow, wholly inadequate in the face of the overwhelming loss that has consumed you. They’re empty, meaningless, a feeble attempt to make sense of the senseless, to find solace in a world ripped apart. You press your forehead against the shell as if, by some miracle, you could draw him to you; as if your love could bridge the gap between life and death and bring him back.

But there is no answer, no soft purr, no warmth to chase away the cold that has settled into your bones. There is only the silence, the crushing weight of the reality that he’s gone, and you are alone within the room that used to represent life and love, but now could only ever be likened to one thing in your eyes.

A tomb.

In the darkness of your grief, you can almost convince yourself that you feel his presence, the ghost of his touch against your skin, the whisper of his breath as he used to curl around you in sleep, but when you open your eyes, there is nothing, only the shell in your hands, a reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.

Viserion was gone and, with him, a part of you died too.

The world is a blur of icy winds and burning cold, a barren wasteland where the air itself is laden with dread; a storm rages, tearing through the desolate landscape, howling its fury as it sweeps across ice and snow. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of fear and despair, as you search the endless white horizon for a glimpse of gold — his gold.

“Prūmia.” It’s a whisper on your lips, the name that had never been uttered without fondness was now intertwined with a darkness you couldn’t escape from; it’s a plea, a prayer, but the storm swallows your voice leaving you with nothing except the howling wind and biting cold.

Viserion was out there, somewhere within this forsaken land, a simple fact that you knew as surely as your heart felt the panic clawing at your insides. He’s out there, battling the storm, the ice, the cold — battling death itself.

And you are helpless to reach him.

You run, as you always do, feet pounding against the ice — slipping, sliding — as you race against the storm. Maybe this time will be different? Maybe you’ll be faster? Maybe you’ll be better? Each step feels like a lifetime, each heartbeat a desperate cry for time, for fate, for anything to have mercy on you. Your hands reach out, fingers trembling, aching to touch him, to feel his warmth once more; as if the very act would make him appear, would bring him back.

The world shifts around you, the ice cracks, and you’re falling — falling into the abyss of nothingness, into the frozen depths where hope dies.

You see him then, above you, flying through the storm, searching for you too. His wings beat with desperate strength, pale scales shimmering through the haze of snow and darkness. For a moment, just a fleeting blip of time, you feel relief washing over you like a balm. He’s there. He’s alive. He’ll catch you. He’ll—

Everything around you shifts once more, ripping you away from your one semblance of peace, tilting everything into chaos. Your body slams into solid ground once more, but you barely notice it, not being able to tear your eyes from the sky above you.

Darkness swarms around him, creeping up his massive form like tendrils of death, and you can only watch in horror, suspended in time while everything beyond seems to move too quickly, as the night closes in on him. His roar shatters the air, a sound of agony, of finality; you scream his name, the sound tearing from your throat like a roar of your own.

Viserion’s aureate gaze finally finds yours and, for a split second, everything stops — the storm, the wind, the world itself. In that moment, you see the fire within him, the life, the soul that is yours as much as it is his. You reach out with all that you are: your heart, your soul, your everything, trying to keep him with you.

But ice, as you have found, is relentless; it strikes with lethal precision, piercing through the fire, freezing it from the inside out. Viserion’s roar turns into a strangled cry, his wings faltering, body writhing in the throes of death. The golden light in his eyes dims, flickers, and then — like a candle snuffed out by the cold — it vanishes.

You scream, heart shattering into a million pieces, as he falls from the sky; his massive form crashing into the icy ground with a sound that rips the world apart.

Running to him isn't even an action you registered doing, it was just innate within, instinctual to the most basic degree. You had always come running when any of your children had gotten hurt — tending to their aches and pains, the majority of which being healed by a simple kiss to the affected area — but, as you fall to your knees beside him, you know that this won’t be something you can fix with love, with tender affection.

Your hands reach out to his lifeless body — being unable to not at least try; even though you’re aware it would never work — and shudder at the coldness you find. The ice spreads, creeping over his golden scales, turning them to blue, to white, to nothing. You try to fight it, try to warm him with your touch, try to bring him back from the depths of the chill coursing over him.

But there was no bringing him back from where he’s already been lost.

His golden eyes are closed, his chest still, his fire extinguished, and you are left with nothing but the cold, the darkness, and the empty, hollow ache that gnaws within you.

Another scream rips through the air, but this one is a completely different entity. It’s not a scream of fear, or of pain; it’s one of rage, of a fury so deep you felt like you’d never find the bottom of it, of a mother’s desperate anguish at the loss of her child.  It echoes through the void, reverberating through the emptiness, through the nothingness, tearing at the fabric of the world itself.

The world doesn’t care. It keeps spinning, keeps turning, oblivious to your loss, your grief, your pain.

And, in that moment, as the ice claims Viserion’s body completely, as the cold creeps into your bones, you know one thing with absolute certainty.

This is all your fault.

You failed him.

You were supposed to protect him, to keep him safe, to be the mother he deserved, but you didn’t.

You let him go. You let him fly into the storm, into the darkness, into death.

Now he’s gone.

The darkness closes in around you, the storm howling its triumph, and you are left with nothing except for the icy void that has taken Viserion from you — that now represents your life without him.

You fall into it, letting it claim you, letting it consume you, because without him, there is nothing left.

Awakening with a start, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you, a suffocating shroud of grief and despair, is something you’ve become all too familiar with. The room around you is dark, cold, unfamiliar — the walls pressing in around you like the ice that claimed Viserion.

With your body still trembling, you sit up, skin damp with sweat, and you try to shake off the nightmare even though you know it’s no use. The images are burned into your mind, seared into your soul: Viserion’s lifeless eyes, his body turning to ice, his fire snuffed out by the cold — they haunt you, refusing to let go.

You bring your hands up to your face, trying to steady your breathing, trying to calm the storm raging within you, but the void is still there at the end of it all; still gnawing hungrily at every scrap of weakness it can find, leaving behind a hollow ache that nothing could fill. The cold still lingers over you — icy tendrils creeping over your skin, freezing you from the inside out — and you rub your arms to chase it away but, like with all of your actions, it does nothing. Yet another cruel reminder of what you’ve lost.

Prūmia.

The name is a whisper within your heart, a desperate plea to the Gods to bring him back, to undone what has been done, but you know it’s futile. The Gods are cruel, indifferent to your pain, to the loss that still doesn’t feel real.

Viserion is gone and nothing can bring him back.

Not being able to handle being in bed any longer, you swing your legs over the side of it, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor, sending a jolt down your spine. The room still hasn’t become familiar to you, even after the two days you had been using it, a level of coldness remaining that you couldn’t shake, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort of the chambers you shared with Daenerys, but you couldn’t stay there. Not after—

You can’t even think about it. The pain is too much, the grief too raw, a wound that refuses to heal.

Rising from the bed, not even surprised anymore by the trembling of your legs — your body weak from the weight of what your grief has done — you make your way over to the small window that overlooks the sea. Moonlight reflects off the waves, casting an eerie glow over the water, but you don’t see it, not truly, not as you once would; all you see are the barest hints of darkness, like a veil of sorrow draped over the night. The water, once a canvas for the moon’s gentle touch, now seems a restless sea of shadows, each ripple a whisper of your pain. Argent light, fractured and cold, dances on the waves like the fleeting echoes of a forgotten lullaby. While the serenity of the night has become a vast, indifferent expanse, a mirror reflecting the hollow cavern of your grief, where each shimmering wave is a silent testament to the void left by Viserion’s absence.

The sharp pain of your nails digging into your forearm is a welcome distraction, one that helps pull you from the void, even if it was only for a minute, and you drag them down, leaving red welts in their wake. It’s a fleeting sense of pain, but it’s barely a whisper compared to everything else.

Your thoughts spiral, a whirlwind of guilt, of anger, of pain. You should have done more. You should have protected him. You should have been the mother he deserved.

You failed him just as you have failed yourself.

Tears come then, hot and bitter, sliding down your cheeks in silent streams. You don’t bother to wipe them away; they are just another small comfort that you’ve been able to find for yourself, a release, a way for you to let some of the pain escape.

It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, but it was something.

Cold stone greets your back when you can’t find the strength to stand straight anymore, your body beginning to shake with the force of your silent sobs, as another wave of grief washes over you, drowning you in its icy depths. There’s no solace, no comfort, no reprieve, at least not you’ve been able to find; only the void, the darkness, and the unbearable weight that seems to only get heavier as time went on.

You can’t fight it, you’re not sure if you even want to, not when it’s all you have left of him: this grief, this sorrow, this endlessly aching pain.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, leaning against the wall with the last vestiges of your strength, body still trembling. Time had lost its meaning long ago — hours blending into one endless stretch of darkness and despair — but the tears eventually came to a gradual halt, leaving you drained. The void is still there, feasting away, but it has dulled somewhat; leaving behind a numbness that is almost worse than the agony.

While the agony hurt, fierce and relentless, it was a constant, burning reminder of what you had lost; it was sharp, immediate, and painfully real, a torrent of raw emotion that you could still grasp and confront. Now, the pain has given way to a familiar numbness that seeps into every corner of your being, a heavy, suffocating silence that drowns out even the sharpest cries of grief. This numbness was insidious — it doesn't allow you to feel the sting of loss, but instead wraps you in a cold, unfeeling shroud. Stripping you of the ability to mourn, to scream, to find any kind of release; an absence of feeling that gnaws at you, leaving you stranded in a void where even the pain is too distant to touch. It’s a feeling that makes every moment feel like a slow drift through an endless abyss where nothing can penetrate or soothe the emptiness, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of being lost and alone.

Pushing away from the wall, as if trying to distance yourself from the feelings, or lack thereof, plaguing you, you make your way back to bed on unsteady legs. The sheets are cold, unwelcoming, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Crawling beneath them, curling into a ball, your body innately searching for the warmth that could only ever be provided by one person, you will sleep to take you. It’s a pitiful attempt, you’re aware of this, but you can’t bring yourself to stop trying — not if it meant that you might finally be fast enough.

You turn on your side, conceding to the lost battle to find sleep for the time being, and stare at the wall, watching the shadows dance across the stone. You know you should go to her, to Daenerys, but you can’t. Not with everything that’s happened, not with the anger still rising to the surface every time your mind drifted to her.

So, you stay here, in this cold prison you had created for yourself, because it’s easier that way. Blaming Daenerys was easy, being angry at her was simple, but it wasn’t the only reason you had locked yourself away; it wasn't the only reason why you’re haunted by the ghost of your precious boy.

You should have stopped her. You should have convinced her to stay at Dragonstone. You should have kept firm, not bending to her will, or, at the very least, convincing her that all three of your sons needn’t have gone.

You should have done something.

Instead you had done nothing and Viserion was dead because of it.

It’s a truth that you can’t bear to face during the light of day — not when it was so much easier to blame her, when you can get lost in the angry spite that erupts within you.

Staying in this room, locking yourself away — letting them consume you — is the only thing that feels right. It’s the only thing that feels like it would ever be enough to atone for what you’ve lost.

For what you’ve done.

Days pass in a blur, each one blending into the next, indistinguishable from the last, causing you to lose track of time, lose track of everything that isn’t beyond the four walls you’ve trapped yourself within. The world outside your small chamber might as well not exist — there’s nothing there for you, nothing that can pull you from the depths of your despair.

You eat little, sleep even less, and spend most of your time staring out the small window; watching the waves crash against the rocks below, their ceaseless rhythm a dull backdrop to the storm raging inside of you. You don’t leave the room, don’t venture out into the halls of Dragonstone, don’t seek out anyone — especially not her.

She’s worried about you. Even after the fight, even after your continued silence, you can still feel her presence outside your door, hear the soft footsteps as she lingers just beyond the threshold, hesitating uncertainty. Characteristics that were so unlike her it nearly made you weep for an entirely different reason. You know she wants to come in, to comfort and hold you, but you can’t bear it. Can’t stomach the thought of being near her, of feeling the icy numbness transform into raging anger, as you try to come to terms with the part she played in Viserion’s death.

It was her need to save everyone that caused this, your mind hisses. If she had just heeded your words, if she had just listened to you for once, this wouldn’t have happened.

The spiteful anger, the ferocity that scorched through your veins, even if it has been held back by chains, as you don’t wish to unleash something you don’t know if you’ll be able to control, isn’t one you’ll ever get used to, but it’s one that offers you some form of solace from the numbness and unending cycle of grief and pain. Pacing your room in controlled anger, fists clenched at your sides, was much more bearable than sobbing in a ball underneath the covers of the bed.

But you hadn’t pressed her on it either. You didn’t let her know what you were feeling. If you had shown her what you were feeling, if you had shared that with her, maybe she would have listened. The other part of your mind whispers, the part that had been progressively getting beaten back to the recesses of it as the anger began to take over. Neither of you knew this would happen. How could you? Go to her. Be with her. Grieve with her.

You don’t. You push the pleading words away, ignoring the ache of your heart, as you push the rest of the world away with them; letting the silence wrap around you like a shroud.

Not that it gives you any reprieve. The silence was also your enemy — as it’s in the quiet moments, when the world is still, that the memories come; unbidden, unwelcome, dragging you back into a nightmare.

You see his eyes — golden, warm, full of life — turning cold, lifeless, as the ice claims him. You hear his roar — strong, fierce, filled with fire — turn into a strangled cry of pain as death takes him. You feel his warmth, his presence, his soul — so intricately intertwined with your own — fade into nothingness.

Digging your nails into your arms, into your legs, anywhere you can reach, as you tried to feel anything besides the gaping hole inside you, but the pain is fleeting — it’s not enough to keep the darkness at bay for long; not when the pain is done by your own hands and not its own.

The room felt smaller tonight; the walls closer, the air more frigid, the festering emotions welling with you more pressing. From the small window — your only connection to the outside world — you can see that the moon has begun its ascent, casting pale silver light onto the world below. An almost eerie silence descending upon the small chambers you have made into your sanctuary, despite the crashing of waves on the rocks below, the faint whistling of the wind, you’ve grown used to the silence, to the empty numbness that it typically brought, but something feels different.

It’s not until a bolt of anger shoots through you, sudden and sharp, like the crack of a whip against your skin, that you understand that the most fiery of the emotions that had been growing within you — the one you had tried to control more than the others, even if it was always present — had been silently working its way through the tight bonds you had held it in; choosing this moment, this silent night, to finally break free; one that promised only more destruction.

You try to calm yourself, to take a deep breath and wrangle the anger back into its cage, back where it belongs, but it only flares hotter in response, stronger in its defiance to not be leashed any longer. Like a wildfire catching the wind. Clenching your fists, nails biting into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract you enough to allow your anger to be reined back in, but not even the subtle sting could ground you.

The fire within you has been smoldering for too long and now that it’s finally had a chance to ignite you couldn’t stop it.

Why did she go beyond the Wall? Why did she risk him, risk everything? The questions that have plagued you for days spin around in your mind with no relief, no answers. You know the reasoning that Daenerys had given you, but it never felt good enough — never the exact words that you needed to hear on why she had risked it all on something that would obviously end in some manner of death.

You’ve isolated yourself, hoping the distance would dull the sharp edge of your grief, of your bitterness, and fierceness of your anger, that staying away from Daenerys so she wouldn’t ignite the anger that’s been lit all by itself.

Pacing the room, each step heavy with the weight of your emotions, hoping that the repetitive movement that you’ve grown used to would soothe you in some way, but the restless motion seems to agitate you further. The chamber feels too small, too cold, too far removed from the life you once had. From her.

Because, no matter how angry you are with her, no matter how much a part of you hated her for the part she played in Viserion’s death, you still needed her like the air you breathed.

It’s a realization that strikes through you like lightning, a sudden, almost violent, force that ignites every nerve, feeling it burn through your chest, a molten heat that rises to your throat. Now unleashed fully, it overwhelms the grief, filling the hollow space inside you with something sharp, something dangerous.

Your hands tremble, breath quickening, as the anger flows through, unbound from its chains, feeling the heat radiating throughout your body, and, before you know it, you’re moving — feet carrying you swiftly toward the door. 

You don’t think as the anger propels you down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, each step harder than the last, until you reach the chambers you once shared with Daenerys. The place that had been yours together, now nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve lost.

Without pause, knowing if you faltered you’d self-destruct in a different way, you push open the door to the chambers, the heavy wood creaking under your forceful shove. The room inside is dim, lit only by the flickering flames of the hearth. She’s there, seated by the fire, her silver-gold hair catching the light as she stares into the flames, lost in thought.

For a moment, she doesn’t notice you, and you stand there, seething, your heart pounding with the force of your anger and pain, and, for a brief moment you believe that just looking at her would be enough to soothe the flames within you, but the moment she looked up, her violet eyes meeting yours, something snapped inside of you.

You don’t give her time to speak, to offer apologies or explanations; even as she stands up to greet you properly. You don’t want to hear them. You can’t bear to.

In an instant, you close the distance between you, your body colliding with hers in a forceful, desperate motion. She gasps, her breath catching as you press her against the wall, your hands finding purchase on her waist, fingers digging in harder than you mean to. You’re trembling, the anger boiling just beneath the surface, and all you can think is that you want to forget. You need to forget, even if it’s just for a moment.

Need to forget the warmth of Viserion’s gaze, the sound of his loving croon as he nuzzled you, the way his scales sparkled so ethereally underneath the sun… The way you had felt the bond snap within your heart — leaving you adrift, untethered from what you had always believed would be there.

Daenerys looks at you, her expression startled, her lips parted as if to speak once more, but you don’t let her, can’t let her; silencing whatever words she might have uttered with the heat of your body pressed against hers, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

Her hands come to rest on your shoulders, hesitant, unsure, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. The rage, the grief, it’s all too much, and you need something, anything, to drown it out. You don’t care that it’s rough, that it’s unrelenting — knowing that Daenerys would be able to push you off if she didn’t wish for your attention; that, even in your darkness, you’d stop the moment Daenerys wished for you to do so — you just need to feel something other than the crushing, unbearable void that grown larger as the days went by.

You lean in, your forehead pressing against hers, nose gently grazing her own, breaths coming in ragged bursts. She can feel the tremors in your body, the raw emotion barely contained, and her hands, though gentle, feel like fire on your skin, fueling the storm inside you.

“Please,” Daenerys murmurs, voice trembling with the weight of her own pain. “Talk to me. Let me help.”

You can’t — talking won’t help.

Words won’t bring him back, and, as of right now, the only thing that feels real is the heat between you, the desperate need to lose yourself in something other than the pain. Your fingers tighten on her waist, your breath harsh against her neck as you wait for her to take charge; to be your Khaleesi.

She doesn’t disappoint.

Without warning, she crashes her lips against yours; an action that causes your heart to flutter in your chest — not out of love, but out of the need to forget, to make the pain go away, and finally receiving that release. It’s a desperate kiss, full of anger and need, your hands rising to fist in her hair as you pull her closer, demanding more.

Needing more.

Daenerys gasps into the kiss, her hands gripping your shoulders, body pliant, yet unyielding, against yours — a duality that only she could possess. She doesn’t push you away, doesn’t fight you, simply letting you take what you need, her lips moving against yours in a way that only feeds the fire burning inside you; tongue grazing against your own as she sought to taste you after so long apart. Her own desperation became apparent.

Even as your bodies pressed together, as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, of the warmth seeping into your skin from every inch of you she caresses, the pain still lingers, just beneath the surface. The anger, the grief, was still there, simmering, waiting to pull you back under, and you refuse to let that happen.

Your fingers, that were still woven through the silky strands of her hair, tug her head back, forcing Daenerys lips away from you own; a snarl of displeasure rumbling from your dragon’s throat at the added distance, but the look in your gaze must have halted her from reclaiming your lips in a feverish embrace. “Claim me.”

Make me forget…

The force in which Daenerys collides with you again, fingers digging more incessantly into your waist, causes you to stumble back, only her arms keeping you steady against her solid form, as she descends upon you with a fervor that nearly takes your breath away. Her lips traveling down the length of your neck, tongue and teeth clashing in a heated battle to ensure you wouldn’t forget her presence, even after she had pulled away, down towards your breasts.

Daenerys kissed as much skin as your dress would allow, small noises of displeasure rumbling from the back of her throat when the fabric of it impeded her progress on tasting you further, the frustration mounting in a manner that Daenerys was typically able to temper, but it had been too long since she held you in her arms, since she had you squirming beneath her as waves of ecstasy cause you to clench around her length.

It’s an image that causes a hint of darkness — lust mixed with her natural possessiveness — to flicker through her violet gaze, giving you all the warning you needed, when, with a soft grunt, Daenerys simply gripped the thin material of your bodice and ripped it apart; exposing your heaving chest for her hungry eyes.

“That’s better,” Daenerys purred, mostly to herself, as she lowered her head to take a nipple into her mouth; biting the hardened tip before she soothed it with the warmth of her tongue. Your dragon, ever the thoughtful lover, giving your neglected breast much needed attention with her hand; slender fingers rolling a hardened peak in the exact way that caused your back to arch, a moan catching in the back of your throat. The halted noise causes Daenerys to bite down on the underside of your breast — teeth sinking into the tender flesh, ensuring you’d have her mark for days. “None of that, ñuha perzys, I want to hear you sing, I want to hear all of your pretty noises.”

The sound that’s released from you when Daenerys finally pushes you down onto the large bed, her undershirt hanging open, revealing full breasts that caught the eye, but didn’t hold your attention like the growing hardness within her breeches, is practically wanton in nature — a noise that belonged in a pleasure house that the ancient stronghold of the Targaryen legacy.

With your dragon hovering above you — lithe arms bracketing your head — the darkness recedes, the flaming entity that is your anger transforming into burning lust. Your hand trails down her chest, briefly tweaking a hardened nippled before continuing, descending until you got to the laces of her breeches, making quick work at unfastening them in order for you to slip your hand inside.

Hardened warmth greets your palm as you grip Daenerys’ throbbing member — an action that causes her to hiss sharply through her teeth, hips flexing as she tries to hold off from intuitively thrusting forward — ensuring you had her by the base of it.

“You would do anything to bury yourself in me, wouldn’t you?” Even if your core clenched at the thought of being stretched by Daenerys’ thickness, you wanted her to work for it. This night was about your pleasure, about lust and desire being stronger than anger and grief. “To have me mewling beneath you as fill me again and again.” Each word is coupled by a stroke of your hand, feeling the way Daenerys began to tremble under your touch, clearly fighting herself to hold back, to let you run the show for the moment; a response that is rewarded by a quick swipe of your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum down the rest of her shaft to give you an easier time. “Answer me, Daenerys, or I’ll stop and you’ll have to deal with this on your own.”

The spark of fire that ignites within the violet depths sends a powerful jolt to the apex of your thighs, more wetness appearing because of it, as you know you’ll be paying for this in the best possible way later, but Daenerys, not wanting to even take the chance of you leaving, finally relents. “What will you have me do, vāedar hontes?”

Instead of answering her vocally, your hand unlatches from her cock, giving you a clear view of the wetness clinging to your fingers as you bring them to your mouth sucking off Daenerys’ essence; loving the salty, yet slightly sweet, flavor. It’s a sight that causes Daenerys’ eyes to darken further, but you don’t give her time to say anything, your fingers popping out from your mouth as you shift to grip the back of her neck, pushing her downward to where you needed her most.

“Put that talented mouth to use, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys bites your hip bone in retaliation, the sharp sting being soothed with her tongue after a beat, as her mouth trails lower; veering away from your aching center to lavish attention to the trembling thighs. Peppering kisses on the heated flesh, leaving more marks that’d remind you she had been there, as she cleaned the wetness from them, humming lowly at the taste.

A wet kiss pressing against sensitive skin, right next to where you need her the most, a shiver wracks your body, goosebumps rising all over. Gentle puffs of air greets your overheated flesh as Daenerys peers up at you between your legs, ensuring that you’re watching her as she takes her first lick through your slit; from top to bottom and back again.

Daenerys’ hands, sturdy with slight callouses from gripping onto Drogon, glide over your thighs to keep you held open for her; in the next moment it seems as if her entire mouth covers your center, tongue lashing across the little bundle of nerves that makes your entire body quake, before barely dipping into your entrance. You knew that Daenerys probably wished to tease you, to prolong your pleasure as she typically does, but it had been too long since she last had you — since she had felt you cum in her mouth, since she had been buried inside of you, since she had felt you falling apart in her arms — and, selfishly for once, she refuses to wait, her aching length getting little relief from the thick blanket beneath her.

Moans escape your lips brokenly when Daenerys begins to scoop her tongue inside of you, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts of Daenerys’ talented tongue, the sound of Daenerys’ clear enjoyment at the act — soft hums, the clear sight of her swallowing your juices, and a hooded expression on her beautiful face — only adds to the intensity of the entire act, heat pooling with more fervor as two fingers begin to stimulate your clit.

Needing Daenerys closer, you thread your fingers through silky locks, tugging her further into you as you continuously roll your hips. “Fuck,” you cry out, a sharp keen ripping itself from your throat. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

A familiar pressure was building in your core — the trembling of your thighs keying Daenerys into what was about to occur, her efforts doubling as she latches onto the small bundle and sucks.

Overwhelming pleasure courses through you, mouth falling open in a silent scream, as your climax finally crashes through, tilting the world on its axis as you buck into Daenerys’ mouth. The earlier intensity from her tongue turning gentler as she helps you down from you high, softly cleaning you up, groaning headily at your taste, before she pulls away completely; resting her cheek on your thigh as she looks up at you.

She looked completely debauched — slick shining wetly on her face, hair in complete disarray from your hands, face slightly red from her efforts — but she didn’t seem to care in the slightest; not as crawls up you body, taking a nipple briefly into her mouth, sucking harshly, before she settles firmly on top of you.

“I believe it’s my turn now,” she husks, barely giving you a moment to react before she’s fully sheathed within you — your wet heat stretching to accommodate her thickness — a moan leaving you just as a soft groan escapes Daenerys. “Perfect.”

Daenerys, knowing you didn’t want soft or gentle tonight, not with the way you had come to her, sets a brutal pace from the beginning; where it was almost imperceptible to notice when her cock wasn’t within you, thrusting so hard she hit the sweet spot within you over and over again. Your back was officially off the bed as you cling tightly to Daenerys’ back, nails sinking into fair skin, as you had torn her undershirt off ages ago, as broken moans keep falling from your lips, barely able to take a proper breath as your dragon refuses to falter.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, intercepted by a mixture of low grunts and high-pitched moans, as the air thickened around you; mingling both of your scents into a heady concoction that caused you to instinctively tighten around Daenerys’ rigid length. An action that causes Daenerys to press her face against your neck with a low groan, teeth digging into your shoulder, as if she was keeping you in place, as she continued to rut against you; your walls continuously milking her, trying to keep her inside for as long as you could, before she plunged back in, and the process continued.

Needing to do something your mouth, as you could feel the urge to talk, as you typically did when your Khaleesi was lost in her passion like this, but knowing that you weren’t here for that — you didn’t come here for normal, you came here for Daenerys to fuck you until you forgot everything — so you force Daenerys away from your shoulder and claim her lips in a sloppy kiss; tongues battling as teeth clash. It was raw, dirty, and completely what you needed as mewls continued to escape, Daenerys unrelenting as your pleasure grew higher and higher — until the familiar peak was in sight.

Daenerys grips the rumpled blanket next to your head as her pace begins to speed up, feeling the way your walls were beginning to flutter, more wetness coating her cock, as a familiar heat begins to build within her own body, but she wouldn’t release until you did. “Come for me, ñuha perzys,” Daenerys whispers hotly against your ear, biting at the lobe as she jerks harshly against the sensitive spot within you. “Let me feel you tighten around me.”

It was as if your body has been waiting for Daenerys’ permission, waiting to feel your dragon’s warm breath against your skin as she whispered sinful words to you, as a cry rips itself from deep within your chest as your body spasms, walls tightening to such a degree that Daenerys couldn’t even thrust anymore — not unless she wished to potentially hurt you — but her own orgasm soon follows, lithe form hunching over you as strong jets paint your insides white with her seed, hips slightly jogging in order to get it as deep as she possibly could. The feeling — of her warmth steadily filling you — only prolonged your own release, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your vision went completely white. Leaving you floating in a void between pleasure and the real world.

When you come back to, chest heaving in exertion, skin gleaming with sweat, you notice that Daenerys had shifted positions; having leant back so you were now straddling her lap, her slowly softening cock still within you, as Daenerys soothingly ran her hands up and down your spine. An action she always did in order to help you settle back into your body, a lovingly gentle action that causes a chaotic array of emotions to run through you, as Daenerys hums an older Valyrian hymn against your ear.

But it was too soft, too much, as the familiar dark emotions that had been lurking beneath the lust and flames of desire, began to make a reappearance. So, you scratch down Daenerys’ back, causing her humming to stutter to a halt, and begin to roll your hips, feeling the way her length began to immediately harden within you, claiming her lips with your own — tongue immediately requesting access so you could get lost in the taste, in the feeling, of her.

You needed to forget and, as Daenerys began to respond with her own thrusts into your core, you knew that this was the only way you’d be able to do so.

A cocoon of darkness, is what you become aware of first, finally pulling yourself from the light slumber that your earlier passion had sent you into, embers from the dying hearth sending small slivers of orange to dance across the stone walls; while the air is thick with the lingering heat of your bodies, sheets still tangled around your legs, dampened by sweat. Lying next to Daenerys, chest heaving, skin still humming from the intensity of what had just occurred, you take note of the aftermath your coupling had wrought across the bed; rumpled linen, pillows cast to the stone floor, sheets strewn in a manner that only came from the most intense of passion. It’s a chaos that aptly matches the turmoil in your heart.

Daenerys shifts beside you, breath slowing, skin warm against where she presses against your own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, her very presence, so familiar to you; yet she had never felt farther away.

Once this would have been enough.

Once the quiet moments after lovemaking would have brought peace; a refuge from the outside world that no one but the two of you could ever enter. 

Now, with everything that has happened, the peace is unattainable, shattered by the memories that haunt you.

The anger that had driven you to her, the overwhelming grief that had spiraled into fury, has been temporarily sated. It’s something you can still feel — a dark cloud on the edge of your consciousness that has decided, for the moment, to remain elusive until it decides to rain hell upon your world once more — however you’re semi-secure in the knowledge that it had been soothed for now. You have tried everything to escape it — drown it in drink, bury it under layers of numbness, letting it loose to the winds in an agonized cry — but nothing has worked.

Not until now.

Not until this moment — a moment enshrouded with the raw, physical connection alongside the woman you love with your entire being.

The woman you blame for your pain.

It leaves you feeling sick with the knowledge that everything you had tried to grasp, to gain control over, had already been out of reach, lulling you into a false sense of security, allowing you to take without thought; the guilt of using Daenerys to temper the roaring typhoon of emotions within your body is yet another emotion you don’t wish to deal with. That you don’t know how to deal with.

Closing your eyes, willing the tears that sting the corner of them to stay at bay, wishing, with every fiber of your being, that you didn’t feel this way. You didn’t want to be angry with her. You didn’t want to blame her. You didn’t want to have all of these dark emotions swirling within you. The way you felt for Daenerys had never been eclipsed by any other emotion except love — by the Gods how you love her — but that very love is now tainted with the bitterness of loss, of a stinging sense of betrayal, and the fiery anger you can’t seem to shake. It festers inside you, feasting on all of the soft parts leaving nothing except a hard exterior behind, turning every moment of closeness into a reminder of what you’ve lost.

You turn your head to look at her, heart aching at the sight; silver-gold hair spills across her pillow in a wild halo, lips swollen from your kisses, violet eyes half-lidded in the aftermath of your intimacy. She looks peaceful, ethereally beautiful, and for a moment, as you observe the love of your life, you almost forget: the pain, the anguish, the grief, the anger. For just a moment you allow yourself to believe that things were as they used to be; before the Wall, before Viserion, before everything changed.

Daenerys moves once more, her hand now resting on your chest, and you feel the warmth of her touch seeping into your skin. It’s comforting — in a supremely twisted way given the raging emotions within you and the state your relationship is currently in — to feel her there, to know that she’s real, that she’s here with you. Your eyes slip shut once more, letting the sensation wash over you, part of you hoping this contact will help soothe the burgeoning anger, trying to hold onto this fleeting moment of peace.

“I missed spending moments like this with you,” she whispers, her voice soft, barely more than a breath. “When it’s just us and the rest of the world fades away; nothing else matters in the end.”

The words are innocent, a simple reflection on the time you’ve spent together, on the love that has bound you together, but they’re an unintentional dagger to the heart. How can she speak of moments like this like nothing has changed? How can she talk about the world not mattering when your own has been torn apart? When Viserion is gone and the emptiness he’s left behind is all you can feel?

A surge of anger, that you’ve been desperately trying to suppress, rushes to the surface, sharp and searing. The brief moment of peace you had found within her arms shatters — leaving you raw and exposed. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend that everything is alright; that her touch is enough to keep the darkness at bay. Feeling all the negative emotions at once — the loss, the bitterness, the helplessness — drives you out of the bed, tearing yourself from the loose embrace.

Daenerys sits up, alarm flashing in her eyes as she watches you scramble to your feet; movements frantic, desperation tinged within each motion, as you rush to try and escape. “What’s wrong?” She asks, concern so apparent within her tone, but you didn’t think you could respond to her if you wanted to; not having the wherewithal to explain the storm that rages inside you.

You need to get away, to put distance between yourself and the source of your pain, but before you can reach the door, Daenerys is standing before you, blocking the way. Sometimes you forgot how quick she could be if she had good enough reason to be; having already pulled on the tunic she had previously discarded.

“Don’t run from this,” Daenerys pleads, taking a hesitant step closer. “Don’t run from me.”

It’s an understandable request given the situation, and the years you have spent together, but it’s not one you can acquiesce to. You can’t face her right now; not with everything that’s boiling up within you. “I can’t do this,” you manage to choke out, hands shaking due to the force of your broiling emotions. “I can’t pretend that everything is alright.”

Her expression crumples at your words, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, Daenerys reaches for you, her fingers brushing your arm, trying to ground you, to keep you from slipping away. “We’ll get through this,” she insists, voice a mixture of desperation and determination. “Whatever we have to face, we will do it together. Just like we always have.”

The heartfelt plea is one that’d normally soften your countenance, opening your heart back up to the warmth of her love, but you don’t think you could bear it now. Not as your thoughts twist and turn the light your shared love has brought to you into unending darkness; reminding you that she was the one that brought Viserion beyond the Wall, the one that left you behind, the one who’s actions have caused a death that could have been avoided.

“The fire that burns within a Targaryen is a double-edged sword,” you muse, a sardonic twist to your lips, as the realization suddenly settles within you; something you had been too blind, too besotted with love, to notice until now. “It can forge a kingdom from the ashes or it can reduce a kingdom to cinders. Those who follow them must always be prepared to walk through the flames and emerge either as conquerors or as nothing more than ash.”

Your words hang heavily in the air — striking Daenerys with a lethal precision, making her flinch as if you’ve physically struck her — but you can’t stop the torrent of emotions that have been unleashed.

“It’s a neat adage, don’t you think? Something I read long ago, in Meereen perhaps, but I have never given it much thought since. Never let it settle long enough to become tangible within my mind,” you continue, the bitterness welling within you impossible to mask. “You’re the Mother of Dragons, Dany! The Unburnt! You’ve always walked  through flames and those who follow you — those who love you — have no choice but to do the same, but not everyone emerges unscathed. Not everyone survives.”

Realization dawns within her violet gaze, Daenerys finally understanding where your words were heading. “Don’t,” she murmurs, voice breaking as she reaches for you once more, but you step back, shaking your head; even if your heart tugs at the sight of her despair.

“Viserion didn’t survive,” you press on, the statement a dagger to your own heart as much as hers. “You took him beyond the Wall and now he’s dead.”

Violet eyes shimmer with unshed emotion — her desperation causing her to try and bridge the distance between you both once more, but you hold up a hand, keeping her at arm's length. “I never wanted this,” she breathes. “I never wanted to lose him. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you snap. “You did, Daenerys, and now I have to live with the consequences.”

She shakes her head, tears falling freely, but her eyes never waver from yours. “Please,” she begs, raw with emotion — completely open at this moment, allowing you to see every single portion of her pain. “Please don’t leave me. We can’t let this tear us apart; not when we’ve already lost so much. I-I can’t lose you too.”

Her words, the sincere emotion behind them, cut deep, cause you to hesitate; the love you feel for her, that you will always feel, warring with the overwhelming grief that has consumed you, but the pain is too great, the loss too unbearable, and you know staying here will only add salt to an already stinging wound.

“I need time.” It seems like a reasonable request. You know, deep within yourself, beyond the anger and pain, that you need Daenerys, but, at the current moment, you can’t be in her presence and heal to the level you need to. However, you allow her next attempt to touch you, knowing that she needs physical contact, not having the heart to deny her again, and soon her hand makes contact with your arm, gripping in a firm, yet still gentle, manner. “I need to think. I need—” You breathe harshly through your nose. “I need space.”

The grip on your arm tightens slightly, her eyes searching yours, looking for something — for anything — that might give her hope. Something that you can’t give her right now. Not when everything was still so fresh. Not when you didn’t even know if the person you used to be — the woman that Daenerys had fallen in love with — was still underneath all of the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you say, meaning the words despite everything else. “I can’t stay.”

It’s in that very moment that you see her heart break — the realization that you’re truly leaving, finally registering — and it tears at something inside of you, but you push that feeling deep down. Right now, all you can think about, all you can handle doing, is getting away; finding some peace, some clarity.

“Please,” Daenerys whimpers, a sound you never expected to hear her make, let alone be the reason behind it. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

That, more than anything, causes your breath to catch in your throat, a new kind of pain searing through your chest. You hated this — the parts of you not held down by the darkness were screaming at you to stop this, to hold your Khaleesi and never let go — but there’s nothing else you could do. Not in the state you were in because, if you stayed, if you bent, then you’d keep bending until you were broken completely.

You try to ignore the growing sense of distress emanating from your dragon, moving ever closer to the door of the room, subtly switching to the position she had once held, you shared within Dragonstone — a room you knew you wouldn’t enter for a long while after this — to ensure a quick escape.

Daenerys steps forward. “Ñuha perzys.” Hands outstretched to take your own once more — panic-stricken desperation etched across her face, while violet pools shimmer with more tears — but you twist away from her. Knowing, deep within yourself, that if you let her touch you, if you let her in now, you’d crumble, and that’s not something you’ll allow yourself to do. Not now. Not with this. Not when your son was dead and you’re still breathing, and you still needed to come to terms with that. “Please.”

But, even now, even with all the pain, the grief, the anger, swirling within your body, the familiar urge to look at your Khaleesi, to find solace within her gaze, within her presence, trickles through you like a mountain stream; eroding the miasma of emotions for just enough time that you felt compelled to listen. Maybe because you knew it could be the last time you do so?

The sight that greets you is one that’ll haunt your dreams — just like the emptiness within your heart will forever carry Viserion’s loss — and you wish, for just a moment, that the love you shared with Daenerys wasn’t so strong, so overwhelmingly life-changing, so you could look at her, look at the woman that took away your son, your Prūmia, and feel absolutely nothing at the sight of her devastation, of her anguish.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think, watching as Daenerys tries to center herself, hands curling around the ends of the loose tunic she had thrown on in her haste to catch you. She has always made you feel too much. Awakening things within you that you never believed possible. You just never imagined that she’d be the cause of this much darkness when she’s always been your light.

“I never thought this would happen. Never even believed it to be a possibility.” A bitter smile curls your lips, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, matching the ones falling across Daenerys’. “It’s my own fault, of course. For not foreseeing this to some degree. I was foolish enough to fall in love with a dragon never expecting to be burnt. Now I’m left behind with the scars of what once was and the ashes of what could have been.”

You don’t give her time to respond — knowing that nothing will change the outcome of this, because no matter what she said, no matter what reasons she gave you, or how much she pleaded, how much she begged, Viserion would still be gone when her words turned into mere echoes within Dragonstone — fleeing from the room that had once been your sanctuary in times that have always been rife with uncertainty.

Ignoring the wail of your name as the doors slam shut with a finality that’d echo within your memories for far longer than you think you can bear.

It’s the second time you have done that, you realize. The second time you had left her behind.

It hadn’t gotten any easier nor do you think it ever would, and you hated yourself just a bit more for falling back into her arms, for seeking her out, and causing more pain because of it. There was more than enough of that already.

Viserion was gone, your son was dead, but there was some form of peace in that, in knowing that he was laid to rest. Even if his memory would still haunt you until the day you drew your last breath. While Daenerys was a living ghost, a tangible phantom, who’d bring her own whirlwind of grief and agony.

You don’t know which is worse; living with the memory of your dead son or with the living ghost of the love of your life that caused his death — both haunting you, one in every shattered dream and the other in every hollow embrace.

Daenerys may still be alive, but you’ve lost her just the same, and you don’t know if you’ll ever find her again.

The days following your disagreement with Daenerys passed in unending monotony, self-inflicted numbness casting the world into varying shades of gray.

But could you truly trivialize the harsh words you had hurled at Daenerys as a mere disagreement? It’s something that you have wondered every time your mind inevitably went back to that moment — observing how everything came into fruition; how a brief moment of peace had been torn apart due to the unending despair that has plagued your every waking moment since you heard the news — wherein your normally loving words had twisted into something that seemed like it was coming from someone else.

They were a poison, seeping into the fragile bond you both had fought so hard to build, had spent years strengthening into an enduring relationship built upon a foundation of love and trust stronger than even Valyrian Steel. The memory of her eyes, usually burning with resolve, haunted you — clouded with hurt and grief, not just for Viserion, for the bond that had severed the moment he fell from the sky, but the knowledge that she had possibly lost you too. You had seen the pain you caused etched on her face, and that image refused to leave your mind.

Even thinking of it now, the despair so clearly burning within her normally vibrant violet gaze, causes you to flinch at the reminder that you had been the one to cause such a state; something that you had always vowed to never do. You had seen the way Daenerys clung to people that had earned her loyalty, earned her love, her devotion. She had already lost so much: her parents, her siblings, her husband and unborn son, warriors that had sworn to fight under her banner, and numerous others that promised to be there for her but had proved to be nothing but snakes in the end; just waiting for a time to strike while reaping the benefits of being in the presence of the last dragon.

You had loved Viserion as fiercely as any mother loves her child and his death had shattered you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. The bond you shared with him had been unlike anything else in this world — an extension of your soul, a piece of your very being. Now, with him gone, it felt as if that part of you had been violently torn away, leaving behind a bleeding, festering wound that no amount of time could ever hope to heal; a wound that had birthed the vicious words that you had hurled at Daenerys — they were daggers, sharp and unforgiving — with the sole purpose of hurting her in the way that she had hurt you.

Spite and cruelty had never been part of your repertoire — kindness and compassion had always been at the very crux of your being — but it has suddenly become the only thing you could stand to grasp. As if, in the absence of love, bitterness was the only armor strong enough to protect the shattered remnants of your heart. The warmth that once defined you has been buried beneath layers of resentment, each act of malice a desperate attempt to shield yourself from further pain, even as it pulls you further away from the person you once were; from the woman that you have loved since she had awakened the feeling within you.

Grief is a poignant beast, you’ve come to realize, dragging its heavy claws across the heart, carving deeper and deeper burrows that widen into an endless chasm; devouring the light, leaving behind a void so vast that no bridge of time or love can seem to span it. A chasm that yawns wider with each passing day, echoing with the sounds of what once was, relentless and unyielding in its pursuit of every lingering joy. Until all that remains is the hollow ache of absence and the weight of memories too heavy to bear.

Dragonstone had become almost unbearable to traverse during the day: filled with Dothraki and Unsullied, with advisors and allies, with friends, all knowing what had occurred between you and Daenerys. Their gazes ranging from pity to curiosity to a protective rage — an emotion that gave you an inkling about how Daenerys has been faring in the days since your disagreement — and you couldn’t stand to be analyzed in such a way, couldn’t stand to be the source of courtly intrigue, nor could you stand the constant need for people to try and help; even if it’s from the best possible place. 

You found that the nights didn’t bring you much solace either. In the stillness, the weight of your grief pressed down even harder, a suffocating blanket of despair that wrapped around you, refusing to let go. The walls of Dragonstone, cold and unyielding, seemed to close in, amplifying the emptiness inside you. Sleep eluded you, and when it did come, it still brought the nightmares that have consumed you since you heard the news — visions of Viserion taunting you; his comforting roar turning into a screech of agony, golden eyes that blazed like the sun being extinguished, his fire, his warmth, disappearing forever. Each time, you woke with a start, the sound of his loving croons resounding in your ear, following each beat of your shattered heart.

So, not knowing what else to do, not being able to withstand the prison you had constructed any longer, you sought refuge on the rugged cliffs of Dragonstone; away from the bustling interior of the castle, but not too far to make you feel completely disconnected from the world around you. It’s a haven you find yourself standing upon now, the cold wind whipping around you as you stare out at the churning sea below.

Here, amidst the raw beauty of the cliffs, you let your thoughts wander; the vast expanse of the ocean stretching before you gives the perfect view to let go, to let your eyes watch the soothing way in which the waves continue to move, a stark contrast to the confined spaces of Dragonstone. It feels like a place where you can breathe, if only slightly, away from the prying eyes and well-meaning, but intrusive, concerns of the court.

Your thoughts shift, as they often do, to Daenerys wondering what she could be doing in the wake of everything that has happened. Your mind’s eye brings a vivid picture of her in the chambers that you had stormed out of days prior, a place that you used to find solace, now filled with a heavy silence. How does she cope with Viserion’s death? With the burden of your anger still lingering in the air? Does she, too, seek refuge in the quiet spaces of Dragonstone? Or is she out there, being the indomitable conqueror that’d make her ancestors proud, dealing with the fallout of her decisions; attempting to carry on despite the wounds that she now bears?

The thought of her enduring similar pain tugs at something within you. Despite the anger and pain that still chokes you every time you take a breath, despite the grief that’s still burrowed deep within your heart, a part of you — the part that is still trying to hold all your shattered pieces together; the part that remembers the kindness and love that had encompassed who you are — understands that she is as broken by the loss as you are. It’s a realization, one that had taken days to finally come to terms with, that makes your own pain more poignant; knowing that the woman you’re at odds with is also mourning. Possibly even feeling abandoned and misunderstood — yet another promise that you had broken in the dark abyss of your grief.

You think about the last words you had exchanged, the vitriol behind them on your side and the pleading desperation on her own, and it stings to remember how your pain had twisted your words into something that only deepened the ever growing rift between you both.

If only you’d been able to see through your anger, you think, jaw clenched in an effort to stop the scream that wished to tear itself from your throat; announcing to the world the depths of the opposing emotions within you. If you had then you might have been able to approach her with the understanding that, despite everything that has transpired, she was grieving just as profoundly.

Standing on the cliff, cool air washing over you, the sound of waves crashing against jagged rock resounding within your ear, you try to clear the fog of anger and regret that has hung over you. Reconciliation had always been something you knew would be inevitable — despite the pain, the anger, and overwhelming sorrow — understanding that a life without Daenerys wasn’t a life worth living. You also know that, if you truly wish to reconcile with your soulmate, you need to move beyond the blame and confront your own feelings. Reconciliation wasn’t about who was right or wrong, but about finding common ground in your shared loss.

But how could you?

How could you bridge the gap when your emotions were so tangled? When the anger and grief that you directed at her felt justified in your own suffering but wrong when you considered her side? The hurt had been real, but it wasn’t all that defined her actions; she had lost Viserion too, and her heart was likely just as broken as yours, though perhaps in different ways.

The waves continue their relentless assault on the rocks below, and you find a kind of solace in their persistence; they remind you that even in the midst of turmoil, there is a rhythm to life that continues, a reminder that healing is a process that takes time and effort. It may not be possible to find perfect words or to erase the pain that has accumulated, nor do you think that pain will ever truly go away, not when its origin is the way it is, but you have to try.

Determined, you turn away from the edge and make your way back to the castle. Perhaps the path to healing is not in grand gestures or perfect apologies, but in the simple act of showing up, of being willing to face the difficult truths and seek understanding.

To honor the love that, despite everything, still exists between you.

You brace yourself for the confrontation that looms ahead; the entire thing feeling inevitable. The days of avoidance, of festering wounds and unspoken grief, have stretched on for far too long. Hearing Daenerys out, allowing her the chance to air out her pain, the anger and sorrow that has been gnawing at her heart since Viserion’s death was the least you could do after everything you’ve already done. Even if all the things you hurled towards Daenerys, at the time, felt justified, you know that they’re anything but; now they’re simply an added weight that you must now shed if you are to continue forward.

If you are to heal.

But healing doesn’t come easy and it certainly won’t come without more pain. You’re aware of this, knowing that when you face Daenerys it will not be simple apologies and easy forgiveness; she will be rightfully angry and hurt. You had abandoned her in the aftermath of Viserion’s death, retreating into your own grief, leaving her to carry the burden alone; with the added weight that she might not have only lost her son but you as well. Daenerys was strong, the strongest person you’ve ever met, but you know her, know that beneath her strength lies a heart that feels too deeply, a soul that has been wounded again and again. Your actions had only wounded her further, something you had promised yourself you’d never do so long ago, with your absence, with your vitriolic words and then your silence, and, potentially above all, your inability to stand beside her when she needed you most. 

With each step back towards the castle, the enormity of what you’ve done presses down upon you — it’s not only about Viserion, not anymore, it’s about the distance you’ve allowed to grow between you and Daenerys; the love that’s been overshadowed by loss and anger.

Blaming her had been easier — allowing him to go North, not protecting him as fiercely as you would have — but you now know it had all been a smokescreen for your own feelings of failing as Viserion’s mother; for not being there to save him like he had always saved you.

And now you’ve been absent in saving the only other person who matters most to you — Daenerys.

The ancient castle looms ahead, its dark silhouette stark against the fading light of day, the closer you get causes your chest to tighten. You don’t know how to fix this, don’t know how to find the words that will make her understand how much you regret what’s happened, how much you hate the distance that you’ve created, but you have to try. You don’t know what you’d be if you didn’t.

Viserion may have been your heart — your Prūmia — but Daenerys was your soul.

Moving through the corridors of Dragonstone, each step louder in the silence of your surroundings, as the air around seemed colder in comparison to the warmth of the sun; the fire that had once warmed the halls seems dim now, almost as if it was reflecting that coldness that had descended between you and Daenerys. Not knowing where exactly your dragon was, but allowing your instincts to guide you, you find yourself heading towards the chambers that Daenerys often retreats to when she needs solace.

When you reach the doors to the chambers you had once shared, the flickering torch light casts your shadow on the stone walls; a subtle reminder of the darkness you’ve both been carrying.

It’s a long time before she responds — leaving you to linger in the silence you’d rather forget — but then the door finally opens, Daenerys standing before you, a vision of fragile strength: silver-gold hair falling in loose waves around her face, undone from the typical Dothraki braids, a pallid hue to her skin that brings out the darkened circles beneath her brilliant violet gaze.

A gaze that was harder than you could ever remember, but all that you could imagine yourself deserving after everything that’s happened. Sharper, as if the amethyst hue had been honed by the same grief and guilt that had cut into you, the room behind her, lit by only the hearth, causes a glow to wrap around her — ethereal as your dragon has always been.

“Why are you here?” It’s a pointed question, one that lingers due to the coldness within her tone; protective walls firmly in place. “Is there something you need?”

You open your mouth to speak, the words die as soon as they’re born on your tongue, her questions hanging in the air between you, but the answer you wished to give seemed so much more complicated than you could ever put into words.

Why are you here? To apologize? To seek forgiveness? To mend what’s been broken? Perhaps you wished to do all of it, but none of it feels like enough. 

“I came to—” You search for the right word, but you can only manage a feeble one, voice quieter than you intended. “—talk.”

Daenerys narrows her eyes slightly, the hurt and anger she’s been carrying apparent, but she steps aside; allowing you to enter, but the distance between yourself and your dragon felt more than physical. It feels as though the Narrow Sea stretches before you — filled with all the things left unsaid, all of the pain neither of you had fully acknowledged, simply letting it drown in the murky waters — but if the Dothraki could find the courage to cross it then so would you if it meant your Khaleesi would be waiting for you on the other side.

Taking in the room, a familiar sight but somehow different all the same — just like everything between you and Daenerys; similar but different, right but wrong, close but distant — as the fire crackles in the hearth, doing little to warm the coldness that had settled within the chambers. You watch as Daenerys moves to stand beside the hearth, refusing to sit, seemingly believing this wouldn’t be a conversation long enough wherein she’d have to get comfortable, her posture defensive; her violet eyes filled with a wariness that should never be within her gaze.

“You said you wished to talk,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “So talk.”

You swallow hard, the words still struggling to come out: Where do you even begin? How do you properly explain the storm of emotions that had made their home within your body since you had been told the news of Viserion’s death.

“I’m sorry,” you finally reply, the simplest of all words, but heavy with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. “I’m sorry I left you to deal with everything alone. I’m sorry that I had let my anger control me that night. I’m sorry for blaming you when—” You falter for a moment, remembering the way you had sharply blamed Daenerys, putting the horrific accusation into words, even though you had never said it since. “—when it wasn’t your fault.”

Daenerys’ expression slightly softened, her head tilting as her eyes searched yours as she decided whether or not to believe you.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” It’s a bitter question, one borne from your constant rejection of her love, and it’s something you deserve to shoulder. “You left me. Twice. You blamed me. You abandoned me when I needed you most. And now, after all this time, you show up and say you’re sorry?”

Her words sting like a blade to the heart — making you realize exactly what your own, much harsher, words had done to her; as Daenerys wasn’t aiming to hurt you, not truly, but when you had been lost in your grief, in the darkness it brought, you had been doing so. “I know,” you concede, not even trying to defend your actions. All you wished to do was explain and see where it led you and Daenerys from here. “I hurt you, I made things worse, and I don’t have an excuse except to simply say that I was lost. When Viserion died it felt like a part of me died with him. I didn’t know how to handle it.” You look away from your Khaleesi then, shame lying heavily upon your shoulders. “I didn’t know how to stay.”

Violet eyes blaze into life from her anger — the flicker of emotion she’s been holding back finally breaking through — as she tenses. “And you think I didn’t feel the same? He was my son too, I loved him just as much, maybe in a different way but no less profound, but I didn’t get to fall apart, did I? I didn’t get to disappear. I had to keep fighting, keep leading, keep moving forward, and where were you?” Her voice cracks with emotion and, for a brief moment, the anger in her gaze is replaced by something far more vulnerable; pain, raw and unfiltered. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of the truth. You hadn’t known where you were. Not truly. Your body may have been in Dragonstone physically, but you hadn’t truly been here for such a long time. “I don’t know why I couldn’t stay, I should have, but I was so angry.” Fists clenching at your sides, you shake your head, as if to clear the fog from your mind. “Angry at the world, at everything that had happened, and I took it out on you because you were the only person I could blame when I didn’t wish to face the truth. It was easier to blame you than facing the fact that I couldn’t protect him. That I wasn’t there for him in the way that he deserved.”

The silence that follows your admission feels like a chasm, similar to one the darkness had created within you, vast and unbridgeable, as you watch the way Daenerys tenses even further, lips thinning, as she struggles to hold back her emotions further.

“I needed you,” she whispers, finally breaking the silence. “And you weren’t there.”

Those words, devastating in their simplicity, shatter something inside you, causing you to take a step toward your dragon, but she doesn’t move. Daenerys’ arms remain crossed, her posture still defensive, but the violet pools you adore were shimmering with unused tears. And it breaks you even more to see her like this — your strong, unconquerable dragon — like this.

To know that you had been the one to cause it.

There’s nothing you could truly say to make up for what you’ve done — what you’ve put her, and yourself, through — but you’d never stop trying. “I know,” you say, regret filling you. “I failed you, Daenerys. I let my own pain blind me to yours, I let the grief and bitterness consume me, and I left you to bear the weight of it all alone.” Your lips thin into a line, nails slightly digging into your palms. “And I hate myself for that. I hate that I wasn’t strong enough for you, for us, like you have always been towards me.”

The tears that had been gathering in her gaze finally spill over, cascading down her cheeks like falling stars, glimmering underneath the light, and she turns away from you; as if she was trying to hide the vulnerability in her expression, her hands gripping the back of the chair that was situated before the hearth, knuckles white from the effort.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” Daenerys’ typically strong voice trembles under the weight of her emotions, her confession hanging in the air; as if on a delicate thread made entirely of fear and vulnerability. The room seems to shrink around her, the silence amplifying the rawness of her words. Her fierce exterior, always so carefully maintained, now cracks, revealing the depths of her isolation. “I didn’t want to carry the pain alone, but I didn’t have a choice when you left me.”

You take another tentative step toward her, heart aching at the sight of her crumbling before you; the woman you have seen standing tall before armies, who had survived betrayal, loss and death, in a manner you couldn’t truly comprehend, now stood before you broken because of your absence, by the weight of the grief you shared.

“I didn’t know how to be there,” you admit. “I didn’t know how to stay when hurt so much, when I could barely contain the anger within me, but I know now that leaving you was the worst thing I could have done.”

Daenerys turns to face you once more, and this time you don’t find any anger within her violet gaze — only pain that mirrors your own. “Why now?” The fragility of the question showcasing how afraid Daenerys was of your answer. “Why come back now?”

The words that flow from your lips leave as easily as a dragon flies through the air — an innate response that you didn’t need to ponder, to question, or feel as if it wasn’t enough. “Because I can’t do this without you. It took me a lot longer than I’d ever like to admit, to realize that I was using my isolation as a shield and you as the martyr I needed to disappear.” You shake your head, agitated at what you’ve done even if you know that it might have been for the best at first, but you shouldn’t have continued to stay away, continuing to let the darkness fester within you. “As much as I tried to shut out the pain, trying to convince myself that it’s easier to stay away, because then I’d be away from the woman my darkness had blamed, it wasn’t. It was yet another lie my mind had created, a feeling of false security, to ensure I wouldn’t get hurt again, trying to protect what I had left. But it didn’t help, it only made things worse, unbearable, because I need you, Daenerys. I always have and always will.”

Her expression softens at your confession, your heartfelt admission to how you almost lost yourself to your own mind, the rest of the sharpness in her gaze fading away, becoming open. Taking a step forward, you watch, with bated breath, as Daenerys’ arms uncross and she tentatively reaches for you, testing if it was safe to touch again — clearly remembering the times you had rejected her affection. When the warmth of her hand finally rests upon your chest, over your heart, the contact is like a lifeline you’ve needed for so long, pulling you from the murky waters that have been trying to pull you under, grounding you in the reality of her presence.

“I missed you,” she confesses in return, voice thick with emotion. “Every day, I missed you. Even when I was angry, even when I was hurt by your actions, even when I thought I hated you.”

The words hit you like a wave, almost causing you to detach from the buoy her touch had given you, but you refuse to let yourself sink again, to be consumed by the darkness when finally in the face of your sun. You reach up to take her hand in yours, holding it tightly to ensure she didn’t slip away, as you reply. “I missed you too. Even when I was at my worst, even when my thoughts didn’t feel like my own, some part of me, the truest part of me, missed you too. I’m just glad I didn’t ruin everything.”

Daenerys shakes her head, tears still steadily slipping down her cheeks, but she no longer looks devastated. “We’ve both made mistakes,” she admits. “We’ve both been hurt, but the one thing that could never change is the love I feel for you, not even when it felt like everything was falling apart, my love has always remained true.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer, blurring your vision for a moment, as you pull her into your arms, holding her as tightly as you can; trying to make up for all the time you had lost while apart. Daenerys, in return, clings to you just as tightly, body trembling against yours as the weight that seemed to have pressed upon day-by-day began to finally lift.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper against the soft skin of her neck, your face pressed as close as you can manage; delighting in the familiar scent of your Khaleesi. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” Daenerys soothes, arms tightening as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry too.”

For a long time, you just hold each other, the silence that had descended between you — not the familiar entity that had kept you company for so long — filled with an unspoken understanding that you both had been through hell, but you’ve managed to come out on the other side.

The scars are still there, the wounds still fresh, but the love that has been between you is there, shining through the pain. A North Star in the darkness that promised salvation, leading you home within your Khaleesi’s embrace.

Eventually Daenerys pulls back, only slightly as she didn’t wish to put too much distance between you, but just enough to be able to look at you fully. Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying, are filled with a warmth that you haven’t seen in such a long time; amethyst pools shining like the precious gems as Daenerys seemed to glow from within.

“We’ll get through this,” Daenerys vows, determined to not falter again. “We have to get through this, ñuha perzys. We belong together.”

All you can do is nod in response, throat too tight with emotion to allow any form of speech, instead you lean forward to press a kiss to your Dany’s cheek, nuzzling against the warmth you find there, heart swelling with a mixture of relief and love.

Knowing, with everything within you, that as long as you had her by your side, your Khaleesi’s warmth keeping the cold at bay, you’d be able to face whatever comes next.

Together.

[fleming-o]

Beneath the surface p2 - Alexia Putellas x Teen reader

Tw: parent neglect

4k words

request

master list

———

The adrenaline of the match thrummed in your veins, but not enough to distract you from the storm swirling in your mind. You knew something was off as soon as you stepped onto the pitch. Your hands had trembled a bit more than usual during warm-up, and even Alexia’s comforting smile before the match couldn’t fully shake the feeling that something was wrong.

But you pushed through, focusing on the ball, the movements of your teammates, and the strategy that had become second nature to you. The rhythmic sound of the crowd, their chants and cheers, usually helped to ground you, but today it only seemed to fade into the background. It was like trying to keep a lid on a boiling pot—no matter how much you focused on the game, that unsettling feeling kept creeping back in.

Halftime came too soon. The game was tied, and your muscles buzzed with the familiar tension that came from giving your all on the pitch. You made your way to the tunnel, wiping sweat from your brow, but then you saw her.

Your heart slammed into your chest as you froze, your cleats digging into the grass. A face you hadn’t seen in months—your mother’s. Her piercing gaze found yours, and in an instant, the walls you’d built around yourself over the years started to crumble. She hadn’t come to any of your matches in forever, so what was she doing here now?

The air around you felt thick, heavy with an old pain that you thought you’d buried. You stared at her, your body going cold despite the heat of the afternoon sun. You could already guess what this was about. It was never about you—never about your achievements or your success. It was always about what she could take from you.

A gentle hand on your back jolted you from the suffocating memory.

“Hey,” Alexia’s voice was like a lifeline, pulling you out of the past and back into the present. She stood close, eyes narrowing slightly as she followed your gaze toward the stands. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, barely managing to speak. “She’s here.”

Alexia didn’t need to ask who. She knew the stories, the weight your mom held over you, the scars she had left both inside and out. You’d never had to explain too much—Alexia had always just… understood.

Her hand moved from your back to your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Do you want me to handle it?”

You shook your head quickly, though the knot in your chest told you otherwise. “No. I don’t… I don’t want to make a scene.”

Alexia’s eyes darkened, but she didn’t press further. She guided you toward the tunnel, her protective presence never leaving your side, and for a moment, you felt a small sense of relief. Maybe this could wait. Maybe your mom would leave.

But as you reached the locker room, that gnawing feeling of dread stayed with you, clawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Alexia shot you a glance, her eyes soft with concern. She leaned in slightly as the rest of the team prepared to head back out onto the pitch. “You sure you’re okay to keep playing?”

“Yeah,” you lied, though the knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every word. “I’m fine. I just need to get through the second half.”

Alexia’s gaze lingered on you, as if she could see right through the façade you were trying so hard to maintain. But she nodded. “Alright. Just… I’m right here if you need me, okay?”

You gave a small nod, but the truth was, you weren’t sure you could handle it. Not with her still out there, lurking like a ghost in the stands.

As the second half started, your legs felt heavier, the usual fluidity in your movements replaced with an awkward stiffness. Every pass, every run, every decision felt more forced than it should’ve been. And whenever the ball was out of play, your eyes betrayed you, flicking up to the stands. She was still there, her gaze following your every move, and with each passing minute, it felt like she was slowly suffocating you.

Even when the final whistle blew, sealing a hard-fought 2-1 victory for Barcelona, the relief didn’t come. You should’ve felt the rush of victory, the thrill of celebration, but all you felt was dread. Dread, because now there was nothing left between you and her.

You lingered on the pitch as your teammates gathered in celebration. The roar of the crowd washed over you, but the sound felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. The fear, the shame, it all bubbled up inside you again, and you suddenly felt like that scared kid who was never good enough.

Alexia noticed you hadn’t moved and made her way over, her steps quick and deliberate. “Hey,” she said softly, standing beside you as she glanced around, clearly searching for what had you so shaken. “She’s still here, isn’t she?”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

Alexia’s face hardened, and just as you feared, she spotted her. Your mother hadn’t left. She was standing closer now, at the edge of the stands, her arms crossed as she watched you with the same cold, calculating look you had grown up with.

“I’ll take care of it,” Alexia muttered, her voice low and filled with quiet anger. She started to move, but you grabbed her wrist.

“No, don’t. Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’ll just make it worse.”

But Alexia’s expression was fierce, her protective instincts roaring to life. “I’m not letting her near you.”

Before you could stop her, your mother’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

“There you are.”

Your stomach dropped. She was walking toward you, weaving through the crowd as if she belonged here. Her eyes landed on you, filled with the same mix of disdain and expectation that they always had. You could feel Alexia stiffen beside you, her muscles coiling with tension.

“I came all this way to see you,” your mother said, her voice laced with irritation. “And this is how you treat me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You could barely breathe. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the stadium. You wanted to disappear, to run away, but your legs felt like they were glued to the ground.

Alexia stepped forward, her voice calm but deadly serious. “You need to leave.”

Your mom’s eyes flicked toward Alexia, narrowing as she appraised her. “And who are you to tell me that? This is between me and my daughter.”

Alexia didn’t budge. “She doesn’t owe you anything,” she said firmly, her voice steady as steel. “You don’t get to show up here and demand things from her.”

Your mom’s lips curled into a sneer, the venom in her gaze now directed fully at Alexia. “I’m her mother. I have every right to be here. You think you can just step in and control her life?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was anger. You’d spent your whole life trying to earn her approval, trying to be enough for her, but standing here now, with Alexia by your side, you realized something. You didn’t owe her anything.

“She’s right,” you said, your voice trembling but stronger than before. “You don’t get to do this anymore.”

For the first time, your mother looked truly shocked. You had never stood up to her like this before. Her eyes flicked between you and Alexia, and you could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out how to regain control.

But Alexia wasn’t going to give her the chance.

“If you don’t leave now,” Alexia said, her voice low and dangerous, “I’ll make sure security escorts you out.”

There was a tense pause, and for a moment, you thought your mother might push back. But then, with a huff, she turned on her heel and walked away, her posture stiff with indignation.

You watched her disappear into the crowd, your chest heaving with a mix of relief and lingering fear. The weight of her presence, the years of manipulation and guilt, all of it felt like it had been lifted, if only for a moment.

Alexia turned to you, her eyes softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, but the tears that stung your eyes told a different story. You blinked them back quickly, not wanting to cry here, not in front of everyone. “I think so.”

Before either of you could say more, Mapi and a few of your other teammates approached, clearly having seen at least part of the exchange.

“Everything alright?” Mapi asked, her voice laced with concern.

Alexia glanced at you, and when you didn’t immediately respond, she spoke for you. “Her mom was here. She was trying to pull the same manipulative crap as always.”

Mapi’s expression darkened, and the others exchanged knowing looks. They all knew about your complicated relationship with your mom—how it had shaped you, scarred you.

“I’m sorry,” Mapi said quietly, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gentle show of support. The rest of the team gathered around, offering soft words of comfort and reassurance.

“We’ve got your back,” Alexia whispered, pulling you into a side hug. “Always.”

For the first time in a long while, you believed her.

You took a shaky breath, letting the warmth of Alexia’s embrace seep into you, grounding you. The support from your teammates wrapped around you like a safety blanket, and slowly, the tears that had been threatening to spill began to fall.

“I thought I’d never get away from her,” you confessed, your voice muffled against Alexia’s shoulder. “I thought I’d just keep feeling this way forever.”

Alexia tightened her grip on you. “You don’t have to feel like that anymore. You’re not alone in this.”

Mapi nodded, her expression serious. “We’re a team, and we’re here for each other. You’re family, and family doesn’t let you fight these battles alone.”

Your heart swelled at her words. Family. That was a word you hadn’t felt you deserved for so long, but with them, it felt real. You looked around at their faces—each one filled with understanding and support.

The tension in your shoulders began to ease, and you felt a flicker of hope—a belief that maybe you could reclaim your life from the shadows of your past.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I really appreciate all of this.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mapi replied, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We all go through our struggles. It’s how we come together that counts.”

Alexia stepped back slightly, her eyes searching yours. “Want to talk about it, or do you want to let it go for now? We can focus on the next game, or I can listen if you want to share.”

You felt a swell of gratitude for her understanding nature. “Maybe…just a bit. I want to talk about it, but not here. Can we go somewhere private?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her expression softening. “Let’s head to the locker room.”

As you made your way back, the locker room felt different. It was no longer just a space for changing and preparing; it was a sanctuary, a place where you could shed the burdens of the past. You settled onto a bench in the corner while your teammates chatted and celebrated around you, the laughter and shouts a comforting backdrop to your emotions.

Alexia settled beside you, her presence steady and calming. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you looked down at your hands. “I just…I thought I could handle it if I ignored her, you know? But seeing her here, it brought everything back. The way she always made me feel like I was never good enough, like I had to prove myself just to earn a scrap of her approval.”

“She’s wrong,” Alexia said firmly, her voice imbued with conviction. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and you’ve done it all on your own terms. You don’t owe her anything.”

You nodded, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s just hard to shake off. Even now, after standing up to her, I still feel that guilt creeping in. Like I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Let that guilt go,” Alexia encouraged softly, her hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to prioritize yourself, your happiness, and your well-being. It’s okay to put yourself first, especially when it comes to toxic relationships.”

Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the noise of the world around you faded away. In that quiet bubble, you felt a connection that ran deeper than words. It was an understanding forged through shared struggles, through pain and healing. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, sincerity radiating from her. “You’re strong, and you’ve fought so hard. Don’t let her take that away from you. You’re part of this team now, and we’re all here to lift you up.”

With each word, you felt a warmth growing inside you, pushing back against the cold memories that had lingered for so long. “Thank you, Alexia. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” she smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Time passed, and you shared more of your thoughts with Alexia, feeling the tension slowly unravel. Your teammates popped in and out, offering their own words of encouragement and support, reinforcing the bond you all shared. The laughter and camaraderie filled the space, enveloping you in a sense of belonging you hadn’t felt in so long.

As the celebrations continued, the atmosphere was filled with laughter and the camaraderie that defined your team. You exchanged playful banter with your teammates, feeling lighter with every joke shared. The warmth of their acceptance surrounded you, creating a safe space where you could finally breathe freely.

You and Alexia shared a moment, sitting side by side on the bench, watching the festivities unfold. Her knee bumped against yours, and she turned to you, her expression soft and genuine. “I’m really proud of you,” she said quietly, her eyes shining. “You handled that so well. It’s not easy to confront your past, especially in front of everyone.”

You smiled at her, feeling a warmth spread in your chest. “Thank you for being here. I don’t think I would’ve made it through without you.”

She shrugged playfully, but you could see the sincerity in her eyes. “We’re a team. That means we lift each other up. You’re part of this family now.”

Mapi approached, her arms wide open. “Come here, superstar!” she called, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey, hey! You’re going to squash me!” you exclaimed, feigning a struggle.

“Not until you’re ready to take on the world!” she replied with a grin. The playful energy in the room was contagious, and you found yourself laughing, genuinely enjoying the moment.

As the evening wore on, the jokes and stories continued to flow. You felt more at ease with every shared laugh, every teasing comment from your teammates. You caught snippets of their stories, of their own struggles, and realized that everyone had faced their own battles.

And with each step, you knew that this was just the beginning.

———

[whatt-the]

Gift for @uno-san

College Stanford x milf reader

Content warnings: age gap obviously, stanford is a warning because I am tired of people pretending he isn't odd as hell, fem reader

Author's note: this takes place in an AU where Stanley never ruined ford's project and he got into his dream college. He is taken under the wing of an esteemed scientist, shenanigans (cheating on ur husband in a loveless marriage) ensue.

devious devious art about this coming soon! Both targeted and about the ambiguous "reader".

This is also only part 1 and there will definetly be more to come

Imagine how Stanford felt when first being invited to his mentor's house, after a particularly lengthy discussion on whatever topic the lecture his mentor gave happened to be about. I can imagine all sorts of emotions running through his mind... anxiety, excitement, a bit of shock- he knew he was smart, but he never thought his theories were reasonable enough to challenge his mentor's views: you see, he really idolized that man. Continuing their discussions would be an honor, and the mere mention of publishing multiple papers with him had stanford's mind racing, he could barely contain his joy!

Now, understand that he had plans for the unexpected visit: he'd prove his worth, his technical prowess, anything to get more of that sweet, sweet approval. We both know he didn't have much of that in his youth, neither did he get much of it now... it seems he is always the single oddest character in any given room, even amongst other well educated, motivated students. "Teacher's pet", "tryhard", he couldn't believe it at first- such childish insults at such an esteemed institution? He thought those got left behind in high school. How innocent he is. Regardless:

His plans were to prove himself.

Well, like I said, were.

Right now? His mind couldn't be further from his studies.

He'd made it to the house alongside the professor, the discussion now spanning multiple topics- he was having fun. Rare, considering any of his other interactions with quite literally anyone else.

(Truly the outcomes are deplorable. His social skills are lacking to an astronomical degree, to the point where it is borderline comical how little he knows about human interaction. It is a cliché, the nerd who doesn't know how to socialize, but it wouldn't be so popular of a trope if it didn't often get reflected in reality. Not like he knew it was very popular to begin with: even the claim that he learned to interact with others through books would be false, since he strayed from any sort of romantic narrative. It was out of a feeling of inadequacy, really.)

Then, the door was opened.

And that's when he met you for the first time.

"You! You're Stanford right? I've heard good things from my husband here-"

"Come on, don't flatter the kid yet." Your husband spoke with a chuckle

"Hey! He deserves to hear how good he's doing! Come here." You walked forward and hugged him, it was your way of greeting people. It was warmer and more welcoming- both things the world lacked severely.

(Stanford found himself paralyzed where he stood for a few moments. He'd already found your personality endearing -your appearence even moreso-, and now you're pressed up against him? He simply must be dreaming. You felt so soft against him-- heavens, how long had it been since he'd received a hug? Far too long, clearly, but he doesn't remember them ever feeling this good)

The societal pressure to reply to this action in some way caught up to him fast, however. He was quick to place a hand on your waist, his range of motion being limited from your arms wrapping around his own. He may experience the social pressure, but he really has no clue what's appropriate and what isn't, huh? Cute.

(Had he a modicum of self control, he'd most definetly have had a much more timely and well adjusted response to your touch, but amidst the smell of your perfume, your soft arms around him, your hair tickling against his face, the feeling of your hands on his back... nothing carried the same weight as your presence did, who could blame him for doing what his mind instructed him to do and touch you back somehow? He'll come to find that he will blame himself very much for this interaction. No one more judgemental on his behaviors than the one responsible for them)

Once you pulled back from him, you were quick to usher them inside and offer them snacks, reasoning that they'd deserved something nice after studying and debating so much on so many topics. Your husband eagerly agreed and impatiently waited for your food through busying himself by unearthing blueprints and all sorts of different research papers so there would be grounds for his and ford's endless theorizing.

And thus, as you left, Stanford was left with his own thoughts. He made note of the fact that those very same thoughts were entirely consumed by you: how you dressed, how you looked, how soft your hair was, how lovely your voice sounded; all things that brought him much joy to think about, but equal parts of shame. He didn't necessarily want to have any such invasive thoughts about his professor's wife, yet there he is, with his thoughts growing more wretched by the minute. It's almost like his brain was against him: guiding thoughts that had him blushing at the very visage into his mind's eye. He wanted your hands on his back again- he wanted you to drag your nails across it-- he wanted to feel your lips on his, he wanted to feel your breath grow shaky against him--

"Here it is!! Sorry for the wait"

Papers getting dropped on the table and a thankful sigh were the next things he heard. His professor turned to him, instructing him to sit at the table, since "if you don't come quick, there won't be any left for you!"

Your food was great, simply regarded as the usual to your husband, but seen as the world's 8th wonder by Stanford. When asked if he was enjoying the food, he quickly assured you that he was absolutely enjoying it, making sure to remark that it is "the best thing he's had since he entered college", which was not at all a lie, considering he was surviving off of microwaved cup noodles and the occasional granola bar- but even he knew that was too pathetic for him to mention at all.

Your husband and Stanford made quick work of the snacks and promptly got back to... spewing big pompous words and numbers at eachother... at least it seems they were having fun, considering they'd laugh toguether on occasion. That must be a good sign? You weren't entirely sure what was happening with those 2, and you took to not interrupting them in lest you break their chain of thought.

The afternoon went by in the blink of an eye to them. Discussions on various theories followed by reading research papers followed by sketching on blueprints followed by more reading research papers. It was their passion, it seems. However, ford was greatly saddened that it was already so late- he knew full well that if he stayed any longer he'd end up spending the night on your couch, so both him and his professor agreed that it was very much time for him to go back to campus snd consequently to the dorms.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen before he got to say goodbye to you. Even if he was embarrassed to look you in the eye after a full day of... various thoughts about you, he couldn't seem to get enough of your presence. Making his way towards the front door, you were the only one who accompanied him, since your husband was quite busy organizing the mess him and his pupil had created throughout the day.

As you stood at the doorway, you saw yourself growing quite sorrowful that he'd be leaving already, he was quite interesting to you. However, nothing could have prepared neither you nor him for what he did next. He turned around to face you once more, seemingly debating something in his mind for an instant. But, just as quickly as his uncertainty was noticed, it vanished, being replaced by a conviction and fervor he didn't expect from himself -his self control seemed to disappear when he was with you- .Thus, he gently took a hold of your hand and brought it up to his height, kissing the back of it lightly. You could feel your heart skip a beat; you hadn't experienced any such romantic gestures in... god knows how long. As he pulled back, you spoke.

"I-it was... lovely meeting you Stanford." You squeezed his hand as you took a step forward. As soon as he returned your sentiment, he was gone. Though, in the look you both shared during those brief moments, you both knew this wasn't going to be the last time he'd be in this house.

You'd both make sure of it.

Stanford's professor after ford practically begged to go back to his house again: "did you really like her cooking that much?"

Stanford, sweating profusely: "yeah.. her.. . Cooking......"

[seeingivy]

i hate it here

phd student eren x f!reader

**part of my canary mate fic

previous part linked here

--

eren’s doorbell rings an hour early. 

haunting, considering the fact that gabi could barely bring herself to be on time in the first place. he noted that it was a particularly plucky habit of hers – one that took him infinitely long to get used to – but one that he found a very creative solution for. 

he thought it was a little bit dramatic at first, asking her to come pick him up from his apartment at six in the morning. it felt a little less dramatic when she still showed up at seven fifteen, just in time to drive the two of them to the hospital. 

when he swings open the door, it makes complete sense. it’s not gabi at all, which he probably should have been able to guess.

hell would have to freeze over before she made it anywhere on time.

“falco.” eren states. 

“good morning, eren! i brought you a coffee.” 

falco should have no reason to know where he lives, and maybe more keenly, no reason to be at the place that he lives. he notes that despite the absence, gabi’s beaten down honda civic is still half parked in the driveway – and if her tints weren’t so dark – he figured he’d be able to see her half asleep in the front seat too. 

the odd thing about falco was that he always seemed to be unwaveringly nervous whenever eren interacted with him. though he imagined that falco must feel like that most of the time, since he seems to be so overly attached to his tethers that it must have felt debilitating to feel alone.

eren figured it was why he was more antsy than usual. falco was far too attached to the comfort that you and gabi seemed to always provide him.  

“i didn’t realize you knew where i lived.” eren states. 

“gabi told me. she drove me here, she’s just in the car.” 

eren narrows his eyes. 

“let me rephrase. i didn’t realize you would invite yourself to where i live. at six in the morning.”

falco gives him an awkward laugh, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck, as eren sighs and gestures for him to walk inside. falco seems relieved in the slightest – his mannerisms irritatingly all too familiar – as he tries to wave at gabi from the car. 

“is she coming?” eren asks. 

“uh…yeah. she’ll… just..just give her a second.”  

eren pauses. 

“she’s just going to sit out there. alone?” 

“yes. she’s…having a weird day. and she’s on the phone.” 

eren shrugs. when is she not having a weird day? 

falco follows behind him, almost dragging his feet across the hardwood floors, before settling into one of the spare chairs at his kitchen table. 

“i wanted to talk to you about something.” falco states. 

“well, i gathered you weren’t coming here for breakfast.” eren jests. 

falco gives him an awkward smile, rubbing the palms of his hands against the length of his thighs, before he – what eren assumes – musters the courage to talk again. 

“i apologize for coming without any notice. i actually hadn’t planned on coming at all, but gabi kind of masterminded this whole plan so i could talk to you. you know how she is.” 

eren fights the urge to smile. 

“all too well. what is it?” 

“i wanted to talk to you again. about my brother.” 

eren sighs. he hated shooting people down like this.

“i already said what i did before. i would love to help you but…” 

“i brought his updated scans. and i cross checked all the materials that y/n gave me, he…he does qualify to participate.” 

eren notes that you had to be in on this plan to corner him. that it probably gave him zero points with you that he hadn't agreed on the first ask.

“i know that he does. my concern is a conflict of interest. i don’t want you to get your hopes up that your brother is going to walk again or not be as tired if he participates in my study, or something.” 

falco pinches his lips in a line. 

“he can walk. and he…he doesn’t get tired, he just doesn’t remember who i am.” 

eren pauses. 

“what?” 

“he got into a car accident almost a month ago. he was fine but they did some surgery since he hit his head. i don’t know if it happened before or after but he doesn’t remember anything from before. he can make new memories, he just…can’t remember the old ones. there’s nothing that they can really do for him.” 

falco places a manilla folder on the table, filled with sets of translucent scans, that eren’s keen to look at – for curiosity sake. 

there was no way that he could accept falco’s brother as a participant. not when falco was so deeply involved, which meant that gabi was too. by proxy, he was sure that some protective instinct would kick into your hard drive as well if you were as involved as he thought – which meant that any mistake that he made would be credited to him and him alone. 

and he would get caught in the crossfire from three directions. 

“it’s the one region that you have missing. and he’s one of the younger ones in the participant pool so it could give you more data regarding age and effects of the treatment.” 

eren squints his eyes. 

“how many times did gabi make you rehearse that one? 

“twice. i also wrote it down on my hand in case i forgot.” falco responds, lifting his hand to reveal the black ink on his palm. 

eren smiles, flipping in between the scans to the detailed report at the end. 

“i’m sure she’s waiting in the car to give me a lecture.” eren states. 

“as backup. she has one more card up her sleeve.” falco states. 

“i’m sure this is a great use of her time. spending her paid work hours to find ways to coerce me.” eren states. 

falco smiles. 

“she’s just very passionate about the subject. she really wants to see a patient in the younger age pool.” 

eren laughs. 

“i’m sure that she is.” eren states. 

eren places the scans back down on the table, utterly intrigued and somewhat hopeful, but able to cross the mark. 

he couldn’t give false hope to someone that he knew or irreparably break an interest in research that eren personally had no affinity for. 

“falco, i would love to but…” 

“can i ask you a question?”

eren leans back, crossing his arms across his chest, before giving him a nod. 

“do you really believe in your hypothesis?” falco asks. 

“what?” 

“do you really think that stimulating the neurons enough can get them to kind of kickstart and start functioning again?” 

“in theory. there’s promising research behind it. i certainly didn’t come up with it out of nowhere.” eren responds. 

falco nods. 

“i know it seems like i’m talking this very lightly. just suggesting my brother participate because i know that he qualifies for the experiment and he just got injured but…but trust me.” 

falco pauses. 

“erwin has a lot of faith in you. gabi knows how much work you’ve put into this, how you…you love to work with patients and people. even y/n vouched for you. the only reason i want him to participate is because it’s your study. and i trust you too.” 

eren restrains himself for asking more about the gleaming recommendations that everyone seemed to give him. though, he was curious about some more than others. 

“i appreciate that. and that you think the study will work, it’s...” eren starts

“i’m just asking you to give him a chance. i would never think to blame you when you’re the one doing us a favor by letting him participate. and even if it doesn’t work, i would only be grateful to you. i know you can’t might not understand what it’s like to have someone not remember you but…” 

all eren can think about is sweet golden eyes going cold. that the main thing that made eye contact or looking into the eyes of someone he loved warm was that they were softening to him in recognition.

unbeknownst to falco, of course, eren knew the feeling all too well. it’s the only reason that, on impulse, he was inclined to say yes. the despeate look in falco's eyes.

eren imagined that he looked the same when he feels so helpless too. 

“okay. i’ll bring him in for all the screening questionnaires and preliminarily accept him for now. if i see any glaring red flags that bar him from participation, i will remove him for his own safety.” 

falco’s eyes light up. 

“really?” 

“you made a striking case. gabi’s played her cards well.” 

“oh thank god. and she didn’t even have to use her last one. i’m going to go get her.” 

eren sits puzzled as falco basically jumps out of his chair, screaming out the window of the kitchen into the quiet calm of the neighborhood. his hollering is reciprocated with three honks.

and it makes complete sense to him what gabi had intended to do when she wounds up at the door. with falco’s brother on the doorstep. 

eren takes the quiet second that falco’s ushering him in to berate her. 

“you were going to guilt trip me by watching his brother not remember him in front of my face?” eren whispers. 

“you’re a softie. i knew i wouldn’t have to do all that.” gabi responds. 

“then why did you bring him?” eren asks. 

gabi gives him a peachy, almost innocent smile. 

“insurance! which speaking of…i have another proposition to discuss with you.” gabi responds. 

--

right on the dot at eight am, there’s three consecutive knocks on your cubicle. 

you look up from your laptop to find eren, accompanied with a set of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and his red-rimmed eyes staring at you. 

the glasses were an abnormal sight; from the amount of time you’ve spent glaring at him, you’ve noted that he almost always gives preference to his contacts. the frames never become less unsettling, but it’s only because they’re almost always accompanied with the red eyes. 

like a vampire. 

your split second pause at his appearance causes him to knock again, but this time he opts to push his head closer to you as he looks over at your laptop screen in efforts to see what’s causing the delay. you can feel the slight edge of panic – of the canary mate website tab open all the way on the right – as you slam your computer shut and glare at him. 

“can i help you, eren?” you ask. 

“i highly doubt that you would have any special skills that i would need to request.” eren states. 

you pinch your lips into a line. so sharp, even in the morning. 

“then why am i being graced with your presence so early in the morning?” you ask. 

eren rolls his eyes, scrunching his nose up in the slightest, as he pulls out his phone. 

eren doesn’t have the same problem that you do – as he took his due diligence of keeping his online pen pal a secret very seriously – which in his case, included muted notifications every time he set foot into the research lab. 

connie was nosy, jean was irritating, and you were always around. his efforts were merely precautionary measures to protect himself and his sweet secret exactly as it was – a secret. 

“it seems that my horrendous car luck has passed on to gabi.” he states, as slides onto the screenshot in his images. 

you snort. 

“you’re like a virus.” you state. 

eren glares. 

“if only it had passed on to you instead of her.” he responds. 

you roll your eyes, before swiveling over to face him properly. 

“can you get to the point? you have a really roundabout way of talking. it feels like you can never get to your point, eren.” 

it was a low blow. the exact criticism that eren had received from erwin earlier this morning at the lab meeting. 

“something that must have rubbed off on me from you, i’m sure. next thing i know, i’m going to start leaving spelling errors in my grant applications.” eren seethes. 

you seethe. eren always knew how to dish it back. you were convinced that he only listened during lab meeting to hear the criticism you received – just so he could throw it back in your face later. 

and find a way he did. 

“can you just get to the point, eren?” you ask. 

eren hands his phone over to you, the screenshot of four pinned locations on the map. 

“i have been made aware that you have a preference for carpooling in the morning with either falco or sasha.” 

“that’s correct.” 

“between our research team, only two of us possess vehicles now. we marked out all the locations and it seems that it is more time and cost effective if falco arranges his ride with gabi and i arrange my ride with you. i live two streets down from your apartment.” 

you give him a sly smile. 

“i thought you highly doubted that there were any special skills that i could provide to you.” 

“driving is hardly a special skill.” eren retorts. 

“it is when you don’t have a car. and need to rely on someone else to give you one.” you goad. 

eren sighs. you swivel back towards your computer, slowly opening up the computer and quickly shutting the tab all the way on the right and pulling up the maps. 

“i suppose i have to oblige. and while it is time and cost effective, there is a third, and more superior motive, for falco and gabi.” you respond. 

eren raises his eyebrows. 

“there is?” 

you scoff. 

“are you blind? they like each other. riding together means they get more alone time.” 

eren rolls his eyes, as leans properly into your cubicle this time, hunching over the back of your chair to be level with your line of sight. you note that his cheek is inches away from brushing yours – that the smell of his cologne is very strong – as he offers the address to his apartment. 

“that’s hardly a superior motive. cost and time are more important than something as frivolous as that.” 

“it’s not frivolous to them. though, i understand it can be hard to relate to when you don’t understand the feeling.” 

eren scoffs. 

“and you do?” 

no you don’t. at least not right now. at least not in a way that people understood anyways. 

“i might.” 

“no you don’t. connie talks, far too often. if you had a partner, we’d all be aware of it. and knowing you, he’d be just as irritating as the blonde that sasha brings around.” 

you quickly type in the address that eren provided, as you note the route from your street to his. 

“niccolo isn’t irritating.” 

sometimes he was. 

“is he not the reason you spilled coffee all over yourself two weeks ago?” eren asks. 

“no. he wasn’t.” you state. 

according to sasha and niccolo, he was. 

“irritating is the wrong word for it. he’s an…acquired taste. i don’t wish ill towards him at all, it’s just that his demeanor can be a little much as time. as is sasha’s.” eren starts. 

you seethe. did he really think you wouldn’t report back to them with every word that he said? 

“they’re just –” 

“i doubt the sincerity of their enthusiasm all the time. can someone really be so lively at all times? though in my case, that most definitely reflects more on me as a person than it does on them.” 

you pause. you pause because you’d had that same exact thoughts – not once or twice, but almost on a daily basis. it’s just that it was coming out of eren’s mouth now.  

you pause because eren does, almost frozen at your side, inching towards brushing his cheek against yours, as he shoots up, standing straight behind you. eren clears his throat, entirely dismissing the comment that he just shared, as he sticks his hands in his pockets. 

“i can walk to your house so you can avoid the drive. i usually pick up coffee from play in the mornings so i can either compensate you for the gas through a latte or just cash.” 

you can’t help but snort. 

“are you offering to buy me coffee?” 

you squint your eyes at him. 

“were you dropped as a kid? you can’t just accept the offer as it is?” eren asks. 

there it was. he was back to normal. 

“i’ll take the latte. but i’ll drive you there. it’s supposed to rain. wouldn’t want you to look unprofessional.” 

eren glares. 

“that’s more time required together than necessary.” 

you roll your eyes. did he need to be so persistent in his hatred of you? 

“that’s more of a hazard for me than it is for you. because of your car virus. and your godawful personality, of course.” 

eren gives you a pinched smile. 

“i appreciate it, y/n. i’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

there’s barely even a hint of earnestness in his voice. 

the message pops up almost the second he leaves. 

[busstopbilly]: I hate it here. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: so you’ll go to secret gardens in my mind? 

[busstopbilly]: That was a statement. Not a quote from The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: did your sister like the album :D 

[busstopbilly]: She prefers the standard edition. I like the Anthology. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: because you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy? 

[busstopbilly]: You could say that. 

[busstopbilly]: Except, I hate finance. 

[busstopbilly]: Not too keen on poetry. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: hilarious

[lizontopoftheworld]: but really. what is it? 

[busstopbilly]: My sister is visiting. It seems that I poured her micellar water (whatever that is) into my contacts case instead of the solution last night. It seems whatever it is, it has gone to my brain and caused me to overshare – particularly too much – with one of my peers. That and the fact that two of my peers showed up to my house at six in the morning with a proposition that I’ve hesitantly agreed upon, though I’m not sure if I did the right thing. 

[busstopbilly]: It’s definitely not water, by the way. It burned. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: OH EW 

[lizontopoftheworld]: GROSS

[lizontopoftheworld]: micellar water is like makeup remover. so it definitely had chemicals and stuff in it…

[lizontopoftheworld]: are you blind :O 

[busstopbilly]: Quite the contrary. I just wore my glasses instead, though my eyes are slightly pink still. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: glasses :O 

[busstopbilly]: ? 

[lizontopoftheworld]: I am slowly collecting an image of you in my mind based off of things that you have told me. green eyes and glasses (sometimes). that’s all i’m going on. 

[busstopbilly]: So close. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: and we all overshare. who gaf they probably won’t even remember. and i’m sure you made the right decision. 

[busstopbilly]: Oh trust me. She’ll remember what I said. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: wallflower…? 

[lizontopoftheworld]: :D 

[busstopbilly]: Shut up. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: remember when u had a crush on wallflower and stalked her entire life before she came to ur program 

[lizontopoftheworld]: lol 

[lizontopoftheworld]: heheheheheheheh

[lizontopoftheworld]: BRO RESPOND I SWEAR TO GOD 

[busstopbilly]: I don’t have a crush on her anymore. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: yes yes i recall im just saying its FUNNY 

[busstopbilly]: I don’t see the humor. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i’m an acquired taste. 

[busstopbilly]: I’m well aware. 

[busstopbilly]: Just my type actually. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: lame. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i basically set that one up 

[busstopbilly]: And you still liked it. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: true 

[busstopbilly]: :)  

--

focus group is the best day of the week. 

the focus group is simple; you, eren, falco, and gabi interview all the participants every week and monitor their baseline levels and compare them as you continue through the treatment.  

it starts out that way, but mostly ventures into all four of you staying late to converse with the patients. it’s outside of the parameters, but something that almost everyone – the group of you included – turn your nose away from because it gives the patients something other to do than just sitting around alone when you leave. 

“do you have a boyfriend, gabi?” 

nanaba loved to get up close and personal. 

it was something that you noted the first day you met her, when she lingered around after the focus group to ask you why you seemed to look at eren with such disdain. a rather polite way of asking why the two of you were glaring daggers at each other, but more keenly, something she was clearly nosy about but ready to soothe away with the age old wisdom she seemed and wanted to impart in every sentence. 

“the real question is do you want a boyfriend? i’m sure that we could find one for you tomorrow.” 

shadis loved to get up close and personal too. a nicer way to describe meddling, but you knew that he was always well-meaning at heart. 

and at least he was more in touch with your suspicions about falco and gabi then eren was. 

“are you going to go get me one from the store?” gabi asks, earning her a smile from eren, who was glued to the wall and finishing checking off all the signatures from the paperwork. 

“why would i need to go to the store? i have a perfectly normal one for you right here.” shadis responds, pointing to falco who goes immediately pink in the face. 

“oh, now you’re just embarrassing him.” marco states. 

marco bodt was the youngest of the group and the final edition to this pool after falco’s brother. 

he was barely twenty-one and with irreparable damage to the right side of his body that impaired most of his motor functions. a similar mechanism to colt, marco was crushed under the metal of his car on the way to the grocery store – he may have survived but he was never the same after. 

and seemingly because of it, filled with an over-exerting amount of kindness. but you have a hunch that he was just always like that. the pacifist. 

you walk over to the end of the table to where colt is sitting, rather stifly against the back of his chair, with his hands folded directly on the table. the first three focus group he had been to were admittedly overwhelming, but it felt like he was having a hard time adjusting to the dynamics there. 

especially after he failed almost all the diagnostic tests that were done after the treatment. he was always more receptive at the start, but a quiet shell by the time you were all done. 

falco didn’t take it very well. 

“hi colt.” 

he gives you a halfhearted smile, his eyes still trained on falco and gabi arguing a few feet away from the two of you, the fight being mediated by eren and his plastic clipboard. 

“hi y/n.” he responds. 

“how was the session today?” 

colt sighs. 

“standard.” 

“you know, if you would prefer to do this one on one, i can always arrange for you and me to discuss what’s been going on at another time.” 

colt shakes his head. 

“that would worry falco. if i wanted to hide something from him.” 

despite not being able to remember him, it seemed to be the only thing that colt cared about. and one of the only reasons that you were convinced that he was still in there – that you could get him back if you tried hard enough.  

“well, we’re not worrying about falco. my main concern is you and what makes you comfortable, so if you prefer to answer questions about everything that’s been going on without him present, i can work something out.” 

you pause. 

“without him knowing.”  you add. 

colt gives you a halfhearted shrug, but you can tell that the idea is simmering behind his almost hazel eyes. 

“i can tell he gets upset when i don’t get the questions right. i try harder than i should to remember but i’m unsure if that messes up things on your ends if i…i feel this pressure when i’m doing all your tests.” 

you look across the room, locking eyes with eren who seems to already be watching, as you gesture for him to join you. and he obliges, quick and quiet as falco and gabi are still being harassed by the lot of them, and crouches down. 

“i want to remember my brother. probably even more than him because every interaction i have makes me feel like everyone has something over me, but i just…i just can’t.” 

eren gives you a questioning look. 

“everything okay?” eren asks. 

“i was just discussing with colt here that maybe we could ask his screening questions in private. sans falco and gabi maybe.” you murmur. 

“i see. anything that makes you comfortable, colt.” eren offers. 

eren’s swift with it, leaning against the chair between the two of you, and with a surprisingly soft smile. 

“i want you to do this to the best of your ability. eren and i just want to do this in a way that makes you feel comfortable.” you offer. 

eren seems to give you a nudging look, green eyes beaming into yours, as he catches the hint. 

“every time it doesn’t work, it gives me a better idea of where to try next. i’ll get the right spot eventually and while it feels like the work is exhaustive right now, it’s narrowing down what’s going to work for you. please know that everything that you do, even the mistakes, tell me and y/n a lot about where we can move forward with this.” 

colt sighs, almost like he’s taking a thoughtful second to consider it over.

“i just hate disappointing him. he wouldn’t know…if i wanted to do it with just the two of you?” colt asks. 

“not a word.” you affirm. 

“don’t tell gabi either. they’re basically attached at the hip – i doubt she would be able to keep it in with the big crush she has on him.” colt jokes. 

you smile, reaching to elbow eren in the side. he rolls his eyes, giving you a steely glare, as you turn back to colt. 

“eren doesn’t see it. i have now proven him wrong by the majority.” 

“about falco and gabi? oh, it’s obvious. he’s like bright pink every time they talk to each other.” colt jokes. 

you turn to eren and smile. 

“eren’s just painfully oblivious.” you state. 

eren gives you a snide smile before glaring at you in full. you swear that he’s fighting the urge to smile when you laugh at him. 

“something the two of you have in common.” colt responds. 

you give colt a confused look, which finally breaks eren’s silence and makes him laugh, as he gestures for the two of you to join him back at the main group. eren can tell that gabi and falco are being teased enough, the two of them bright pink in the cheeks like colt mentioned, as he leans against gabi. 

“alright. we’re all done for the day.” eren states. 

“as if. we just started talking about this in seriousness. don’t be ridiculous, eren.” nanaba states. 

“don’t be a hard ass. you can stay for thirty more minutes.” shadis adds. 

eren gives them a smile. 

“while i would love to, i do fear the resident doctor will, for a better lack of terms, be a hard ass and make us leave.” 

they all groan. 

“not forester.” nanaba groans. 

floch forester was the resident physician on wednesdays. the only downside to focus group was making his acquaintance every week, checking through the charts under his jurisdiction and checking out with him at the end. 

it was hard to pick one thing about him that was irritating. he was exceedingly arrogant when he explained things to you and eren – always giving the impression that he believed the two of you were incompetent idiots who knew nothing about the topic at all. or just an irritating and agitating prick otherwise. 

“i heard him call y/n sweetheart last week.” colt mentions. 

there’s a resounding group of gasps as they all turn their heads to you, marco and nanaba’s eyes nearly boggling out of their heads as they basically gesture for you to confirm. 

“he was explaining the behavioral scales to me that we use in the grading. i told him there was no need and he responded by saying it’s not a problem sweetheart.” you offer. 

you shoot colt a glare, which he only responds to with a smile, as they all break out into their rather melodramatic responses. 

“we should have him fired, the prick why is he talking down to her like she didn’t have a job similar to this before?” shadis asked. 

“that’s inappropriate. you wouldn’t see him calling eren sweetheart. this is ridiculous.” nanaba adds. 

“if it makes you uncomfortable, i’m sure you could report it to someone, y/n.” marco offers. 

you laugh, waving your hands at them. 

“that would be unnecessary. i didn’t think much of it and i really don’t see him that often anyways.” 

eren turns to you and glares. 

“you see him every week. if he’s going to make weird comments, you don’t have to put up with it.” 

“i’d rather avoid the hassle.” you state. 

eren rolls his eyes, firmly crossing his arms over his chest. 

“it’s not a hassle. it’s borderline harassment. and with a guy like that, you have to nip things in the bud.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“it’s not that deep. every time i interact with him, someone is there with me. i’m a big girl and i can ignore it.” 

eren sighs. 

“you might be a big girl but you have to know you’re not the only girl he does that to. and if he’s not doing it to anyone else now, he definitely will later. you could just check him and put him in his place now. or better yet let me do it.” 

you shake your head. if there was one thing floch hated, it was eren telling him what to do. it would be better taste to nip that argument in the bud before it happened. 

“it’s fine, eren. if it escalates into something weird, i’ll tell you myself.” 

eren gives you a questioning look, almost like he doesn’t believe you, before eren turns back to the group of them. 

“i have a sneaking suspicion you won’t.” 

you give him a glare, before shaking him off and turning back to the group of them. eren seems to take the hint and follows your suit. 

“as always, y/n is a boring topic of conversation. i would love to go back to what we were discussing earlier. i was unaware of these predilections gabi and falco shared.” 

eren smiles, turning to where gabi is now giving him an irritated look while falco looks at you with pleading eyes. you shake your heads as shadis and nanaba return to talking about the beauties of love and relationships. eren waits for the conversation to get rowdy enough to the point where they’re arguing, which gives the two of you the time to slip away and turn in the documents to the front desk. 

“i can bring your stuff down if you want to bring the car around. i can also go get the car for you if you’re scared to walk in the dark.” eren offers. 

the kindness is strange. but you can tell it’s only transactional so he would have an excuse to fight with floch. 

“it’s barely sunset.” you state. 

eren shrugs. 

“there could be perverts in the parking lot.” 

the two of you note an unmistakable head of red hair walking down the hallway and internally groan. 

“i’d argue that they’re actually inside.” you murmur. 

you note that eren smiles as floch walks up to the two of you, his fists deep in his white coat as he gives you an almost synthetic smile. 

“jaeger. y/n. always a pleasure to see you. how are my patients?” floch asks. 

“requesting a new doctor. desperately.” eren states. 

you note that floch’s eye twitches, but still offers a fake peachy smile. 

“you have an interesting sense of humor, eren.” 

“i wasn’t joking.” eren deadpans. 

you can’t help but smile, as floch turns over to you. 

“and how are you, sweetheart?” 

“i’m fine.” 

eren signs, almost exasperatedly at your side, before talking. eren had an issue with keeping his thoughts to himself. but this was the first time that it worked in your favor. 

“it seems that we’ll be requesting a new doctor to work with too.” eren states. 

“and why is that?” 

“you’re borderline harassing my co-worker.” 

“harassing?” 

“she has a name. it’s y/n. it would be best practice for you to use it.” eren states. 

floch rolls his eyes, as he signs off on the paperwork at the top of the deck, that eren snatches from him just as fast. 

“she’s never corrected me.” floch states. 

“because i doubt you let her get a word in. she introduced herself to you as y/n. you should refer to her as such.” 

floch puts his hands up, almost jokingly like he’s guilty, and you can’t help but sneer at him. 

“sue me. i’m sorry, y/n. i will refrain. unless things ever change between us, of course.” 

you turn to eren, giving him a disgusted look, as he gestures for you to leave. you take the hint as such, hopping down the stairs and leaving the two of them to it as you rush towards the car. and two flights down, you feel the familiar buzz in your pocket. 

[busstopbilly]: I still hate it here. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: boo 

[lizontopoftheworld]: same lowk. everyday i become a bigger misandrist 

[busstopbilly]: Tell me about it. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: random tangent

[lizontopoftheworld]: how is your mom 

[busstopbilly]: The other day she was having a difficult time. Called me by my dad’s name.

[lizontopoftheworld]: ….

[lizontopoftheworld]: ouch

[busstopbilly]: Yeah. It is what it is. There’s some good days where she tries to tell me storeis she’s never told me before. It’s weird to think that they won’t be there at some point. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: yeah i’ve been thinking about that a lot. if it’s better if it goes all at once or if you…have to watch them go away

[lizontopoftheworld]: what do you think? 

[busstopbilly]: Biased, but watch them go away. It’s hard to have a good day sometimes and a bad day the next. My sister actually came to stay with me since she was having a rough time kind of dealing with the up and down. Emotionally. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: :( 

[lizontopoftheworld]: it’s hard when you’re a teenager

[lizontopoftheworld]: is your moms condition genetic? 

[busstopbilly]: Yeah. 

[busstopbilly]: It’s scary to think about sometimes. 

[busstopbilly]: I don’t want to forget you. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: lucky for us, every interaction we’ve ever had has been perfectly preserved. i’d read them all to you until you remembered. 

[busstopbilly]: You stole that from the Notebook. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: the thought still counts >:( 

[busstopbilly]: I can make an exception. Everything counts with you. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i really hope you don’t forget me either. 

[busstopbilly]: Well, I imagine that it would be insanely hard to do that. You’re basically scored on my heart, you know? 

[lizonotopoftheworld]: you stole that from me before you 

[busstopbilly]: The thought still counts. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: yeah yeah i'll make an exception or whatever

[lizontopoftheworld]: i will note that your impeccable memory of all the cheesy movies i have made you watch is a great sign :) 

[busstopbilly]: Very hopeful but I’ll have to agree on this one.

you look up from your phone when you hear the crunching of gravel, accompanied by eren walking up to the car and greeting you with a wave. you shove your phone in the pocket and abandon the conversation. 

“any pervert encounters?” 

“just you.” you state. 

“I could say the same.” eren responds, as he walks around to the side door and crawls into your front seat.

--

an: this is setup. I also haven't written in forever so its bad. sorry.

taglist: @invisible-mori @multiplefandomthings @chericos @wheredidmycrowngo @chaoticpxnda @aizzon @stuffeddeer @butterfly-skinnylegend @najaemism @hellokitty-doll @constanciandrea @iblamesusy @jaegersdiary @f4irygard3n @misadear @fell-4-u @coyloves @sobbangchan @you-always-made-me-blush @th0tformikasa @yell0wdreams @itzmeme @elliesbabygirl @miniaturemartian @differentrunawayperson

[helen-with-an-a]

any hcs of amor and her guitar/instruments??

Ooooo I have a lot of them - here we go

So Amor was ‘properly’ taught the piano (i.e., she had lessons by some stuffy, old white guy who insisted on classical pieces only) - her parents made the decision that their children would play a sport and an instrument until aged 16 minimum (they didn’t care which sport or which instrument but they had to do both until 16 - if they didn’t want to continue after they turned 16 that was fine)

Amor chose the piano because of she thought Wolfgang (Mozart) was a cool name

She picked up the guitar when a girl she had a crush on at 13 (although she didn’t know it was a crush at that point loll) said people who played the guitar were cool but Amor has never had proper lessons for it

She didn’t particularly like music at first until she realised it helped quieten her brain from football and school stresses (after that point Amor was playing piano for 30 mins a day basically every day)

After that realisation she became really good scarily fast and worked her way up through the grades within a few years

Amor genuinely forgets she can play piano until there’s a piano in front of her - it’s the same for the guitar

Alexia discovered Amor’s piano playing abilities on holiday when the villa they were staying in had a piano and Amor busted out some Beethoven like it was nothing (Ale demanded a private concert that turned into sex very quickly)

Alexia found out about Amor’s guitar the first time Ale when to Amor’s families house and she walked into Amor’s room to find a guitar and a pile of music in the corner (it was Amor’s dad that spilled the beans on Amor actually playing it)

For their first anniversary, Ale bought Amor a guitar (it’s the same make and model as the one at her parents house)

When they moved in together, Ale bought a grand piano for Amor

One of Ale’s favourite things is listening to Amor play the piano - they sit on the stool together and Amor plays whilst Ale leans her head on Amor’s shoulder

Amor has composed Ale her own piece for the piano - she’s currently in the process of writing one for the guitar

Amor usually plays the guitar on their off days but the piano is played basically every day to help them both relax after a long day of football and media (and being an adult)

Ingrid finds out about the instruments fairly early on in their friendship (back in Wolfsburg) but is sworn to secrecy cos Amor knows if she blabs to anyone, the whole team will know by the end of the day

Alexia wishes Amor was more open with her musical talents (so Alexia can brag about them and show her Mi Amor off)

The rest of the team find out when there’s a piano in the hotel lobby on an away game and Mario starts playing and Amor joins in (after a lot of not-so-subtle nudges from Alexia)

Mario and Amor piano duets >>>>>>

Amor tried to teach Ale the piano and guitar - it turned into a very steamy make out session on the couch and piano stool sex

After having sex on the couch, Amor slipped on Ale’s t-shirt and started playing some piano - it was the most beautiful heartfelt piece ever (Ale cried when Amor started to gently hum what would eventually become some lyrics)

Aitana and Amor guitar duets >>>>>>>

Amor has defo learnt how to play the Barça anthem on the piano - the main melody is the only thing Ale knows how to play too

Amor never really writes her compositions down - she just kind of remembers them and embellishes them over time until it’s perfect and can played from memory

Amor has perfect pitch (but isn’t annoying about it - she barely mentions it and it just becomes her little party trick)

Her favourite thing to do when she’s coming up with piano pieces is remember the pitches of Ale’s moans the last time they had sex and incorporate them into it - no one has any idea but Amor does and it makes her heart flutter when she plays it and she blushes a little bit (Ale just thinks she’s embarrassed to show off her skills)

Amor will probably follow the same idea about music and a sport that her parents had for her own kids (if she can afford it and maybe only until the age of 13 rather than 16) because they both helped her so much and she wants that for her kids as well

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 3

Moniker: Keegan Risk Level: Low. Keegan has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Spanking ass, thighs and pussy Safeword: The word RED is to be used by any party if at any point the session must stop. If any party is unable to vocalise they are to signal physically by touching their thumb to each of their fingers in sequence to signify RED. At no point should any party be both unable to vocalise and unable to signal physically. In the event that this happens, RED will be considered in action and the session will be stopped. Keegan likes handling brats, if you’re nice for him he won’t have much reason to discipline you - Price

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick you would be able to find a willing partner and not have to use someone who’s being paid for it!”

You had intended to be the sweetest person on the planet when you walked in given Price’s note, but Keegan was the most infuriating man you had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

He had immediately started making comments about the incompetence of the UK military, had wound you right up about how you weren’t a front line soldier, how you were a radio bitch. You fell right into the trap of it obviously.

“Hm. Name calling and yelling? Weren’t those two things I told you I wouldn’t put up with when you walked in here?”

Shit. God damn it. He had indeed went through his rules when you had come in, had said as long as you followed them then there would be no need for discipline.

“Can’t see someone who works in comms to have forgotten so quickly, so I think you want me to spank your ass don’t you?”

“Oh fuck you!” you hissed back.

“Not yet brat, can’t be handing out treats to bad little kittens or they’ll only get worse.”

You glowered at him from your side of the table. The room today was set up like a moody office, no bed in sight, just a big mahogany table with him sat on one side and you on the other. He stood and stalked around behind you, putting a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Now, let’s go ahead and adjust that nasty attitude of yours. Up.”

You should have just stood, you really should have. But he was so fucking smug that you stayed sat right where you were.

“Make me.”

You heard a little chuckle of delight before he hauled your ass out of the chair by your arm and threw you forward so that your chest crashed into the table so fast that you didn’t have enough time to brace and avoid your head bouncing off of it too.

“Wanker!” you hissed through your teeth, your nose in pain but thankfully not broken.

The first smack was over two layers of fabric, your jeans and your panties, but even so it fucking stung and you yelped.

“Such a feisty thing aren’t you?” he cooed as he pushed down against your back with one hand to pin you, got a leg wedged up between yours to have you spread wide enough to not have a good position to fight back against him and used his other hand to start ripping your jeans and panties down.

You tried to twist your body and lash out at him and he smacked your now bare ass so hard that you saw stars. He used the opportunity to wrestle your hands behind your back and pin them there with one of his.

“You’re only hurting yourself kitten, put your claws away and be good and maybe after your punishment I can pet you and make you purr.”

You hated him so much. Even more so when he got your jeans and panties pushed down to your just above your knees and left them there, the position humiliating in a way that had your face flaming with heat.

“Ready? Remember you brought this upon yourself.”

The few spanks to your ass had stung, but it was bearable. Your body found them exciting even if your brain was screaming how much it hated him, but you thought that it was sort of like you were getting your own back if you were actually enjoying his stupid punishment.

“Sure, go ahead with your punishment” you said, sounding more a brat than you had ever been in your life.

You hadn’t expected it and he certainly hadn’t given you any warning that he wasn’t aiming for your ass with this one. The flat of his hand came down hard and fast on your cunt and your screamed bloody murder. He hadn’t come down right on your clit, but it was throbbing from the abuse none the less.

The next few swots were much the same and you realised just seconds before he wound back for the next one what he had been doing. He knew all of this was making your clit start to swell, that your body was getting mixed signals so was getting wet to cover all eventualities and sending all the blood between your legs. And when your clit was a nice, shiny, swollen target for him that’s when he changed angle and brought his next slap right down on it.

You fucking howled and he gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

“Now kitten, take your punishment like a good girl instead of like a little bitch would you? The more you bitch the more I’m going to have to give you to settle you down, but then maybe that’s why you’re being this way huh? That pretty pussy so eager for my hand?”

God you throbbed. It was like a red hot pulse between your legs and you were rapidly deflating of all of your confidence to go against him. Something about how fucking condescending he was began to have the opposite effect than usual - instead of it making you want to fight him and argue, it was sort of making you want to submit and please him enough that he was nice to you instead.

“C’mon kitty kitty, tell me what’s going on in that pretty head.”

“I’ll take it” you mumbled.

“What’s that? Speak up kitty.”

“I’ll take the punishment like a good girl.”

Fuck this was so humiliating.

“I’ll take the punishment like a good girl what?”

He truly was the worst. You considered telling him to get fully fucked, but he saw that you needed a little coaxing and rubbed his hand on your sore cunt. It was both the promise of something delicious and the warning of something painful.

“I’ll take the punishment like a good girl, sir” you said, squeezing your eyes shut and wanting to sink into the void with the embarrassment of knowing that not only were you being punished for being a mouthy brat, but that Price was watching it all on cameras.

“Better. These ones you’ll count.”

He landed a smack on your ass and despite it burning, it was a relief from the ones levelled against your cunt.

“One, sir.”

“Manners kitten. Say thank you.”

“…thank you sir.”

“Thank you for what?”

“Thank you for punishing me sir.”

“Hm, not sure it is a punishment” he said, smug as anything when he swiped two fingers through your slit and then made you suck you arousal off of them. “But it will be.”

He really started giving it to you. Smack after smack, aimed to sting the most and continually changing so you never knew what to expect so couldn’t brace. Your body was jerking violently with every hard crack to your ass and thighs and by the time you reached 20 you were sobbing the numbers at him incoherently, crying out your thank yous.

“Shh kitty, you did so well. Do you think you need more?”

“N-no sir, please I’ll be good. I’m a good kitten. Your good kitten. U-unless you think I need more, I don’t mean to be a brat and say I don’t if I do” you whimpered.

It was so strange how he had you floating, had you fully pliant and desperate to please him and earn praise. Hadn’t you hated his guts not half an hour ago?

“Well Price, you think one more then I can pet her?” Keegan asked to the room.

There were two beeps in answer and you could sob from the relief. One beep was a warning, two must be an affirmative. Just one more. Your pussy was sopping wet and everything was on fire, but just one more.

He hauled your onto your back and without any preamble wound his hand back behind his head and brought it down brutally hard on your cunt. Maybe you screamed, you weren’t entirely sure, the next thing you knew you were in Keegan’s lap and he was petting your pussy.

“There she is. You never thanked me for the last one kitten, but I’m feeling indulgent so going to let you purr for me anyway.”

You did. Some approximation of a purr rattled out of you as he kept petting his pussy. Later he smothered you with cream that he said would help with the bruising, but you were pretty sure it was going to hurt anytime you sat down for the foreseeable future.

-

Well then. Price had certainly learned something about you today. He really had to start being vigilant instead of furiously wanking off during these sessions.

[potatoplace]

We Can Do This

Feysand x Reader

kinktober day 2 | one night stand, threesome, pregnancy

kinktober '24 masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You meet Feyre and Rhys at your friend Emerie's wedding, and enjoy a long, pleasurable night with the married couple. A month later, though, a certain stick turns pink.

Warnings: Talk of an emotionally abusive ex (very brief), smut, smut, smut, 3k words of smut, pregnancy

Words: ~5.1k

Author's Note: ahhhh I love this one so much. I'm terrified of being pregnant and having a child to raise but if Feysand were the coparents? I miiight reconsider. Also. I am still so obsessed with these two, I don't think it will ever end. And also I wrote waaaay more smut than I planned. Like. I know it's kinktober. But this was supposed to be like a 3k word fic and instead it's 3k of smut and 2k of after smut consequences. Still. I love it!! I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The wedding was lovely, and the brides were so, so happy. Emerie, your closest friend at work, had gotten married to lovely, kind blonde named Mor.

Their ceremony was beautiful, complete with heartfelt vows that had you shedding a few tears, and seeing the two have their first married kiss made you long to have the same joy.

Until your brain kicked in, and you remembered that you were in no way ready to be in a relationship.

Your last boyfriend had been an absolute ass, attempting to control everything from what you wore and ate to who you spent your time with.

Emerie had been so helpful in getting you out of that relationship, managing to talk sense into your love-addled brain. You had booked it, and moved into your own apartment- the first time you had ever lived alone.

That was nearly a year ago at this point, but you were still working through your insecurities and inability to trust.

So, no relationships for you for the foreseeable future.

The dancing had already started, but you weren't in the mood to dance, especially not alone. Instead, you made your way to the bar, leaning against it with one arm while you waited for the bartender, watching your friend dance with her new bride.

"What would you like?"

You turned back to face the bartender, answering "a glass of rosé, please," and flashed a bright smile at him.

He busied himself with pouring your drink, and you barely noticed when someone else leaned against the bar, to your right.

You tilted your head to look at them, and your heart nearly stopped. The woman in front of you was so breathtaking, so absolutely flawless in her midnight blue dress. Her brilliant blue eyes met yours and she smiled at you warmly, your breath catching at the sight. Her face was a work of art, more divine than any sculptor could ever hope to capture.

The bartender handed you your wine, and asked the woman for her order- a whiskey on ice.

"Hello, my name is Feyre," the woman introduced herself, and if you thought she hadn't been able to be any more attractive, you were wrong once she spoke. Her voice was husky and low, and something in the way she spoke promised nothing but pleasure and long nights, sending heat straight between your thighs.

"My name is Y/N," you replied, doing your best to keep your voice even and not betray just how effected you were by five words.

She repeated your name, testing it on her tongue. "Absolutely beautiful," Feyre said quietly. She thanked the bartender when he passed her her drink, and she took a small sip. Your eyes catalogued the way her throat moved when she swallowed, how her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "How do you know the brides?"

"Oh, I'm a work friend of Emerie's. She keeps me sane, if I'm being honest," you laughed, and Feyre joined you, such a beautiful noise that you found yourself wanting to hear it again. "And yourself?"

"Mor is my husband's cousin, but I think of her as one of my sisters at this point," Feyre replied, and her words made your heart sink slightly.

Married.

"That's lovely, that you get along with your in-laws," you said, trying to conceal your downed hopes at a wonderful evening with the woman in front of you.

"Mm, I definitely feel lucky to get along with her."

Just as she finished speaking, a man slid up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck lightly. He grabbed the drink from her hand and took a deep sip, replacing it in her grasp.

"Oh, Y/N, this is my husband, Rhys," Feyre said, and the man turned to look at you.

It figures that the two most beautiful people you would probably ever meet were married to each other.

His eyes were such a deep blue color that they nearly looked violet, and his hair shined blue-black in just the right lighting. His face itself was gorgeous, those high cheekbones making him look positively regal.

"It's nice to meet you," you said, feeling more shy now with the both of them in front of you.

"I can say the same, darling," Rhys purred at you.

Their voices alone could probably coax you to climax with how heavenly, or perhaps sinful, they both sounded.

His hands had drifted further up Feyre's body, resting just underneath the bust of her dress, his thumbs stroking against the fabric there.

You couldn't help that your eyes were drawn there.

Or that's what you told yourself, as both Feyre and Rhys smirked at you when they caught your eyes, obviously having seen where they'd drifted.

Your cheeks heated, but you refused to look away from them.

That made Feyre smile coyly at you, and she placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you here with anyone tonight, darling?”

You shook your head. “No, I hadn’t found anyone… suitable enough.” You tried to keep your voice confident, possibly even bold, with the renewed hope for the night blooming between your thighs.

“What a shame,” Rhys drawled, eyes raking over your form. “You just might have to come home with us, it would be even more of a shame for you to go home alone.”

Your cheeks flushed further at his words, and you stepped a bit closer to the devastatingly beautiful pair.

“Maybe I should.”

Feyre turned her head to look at the dance floor, where most of the wedding party was enjoying the night. “I don’t think Mor or Emerie would mind if we slipped out of the party a bit early, do you, darling?” She asked, turning her eyes back to yours, keeping you captive in her gaze.

“Not one bit,” you said breathlessly, and that was all the pair needed to disentangle themselves and each take one of your arms in theirs, guiding you to the exit at a casual pace.

The three of you grabbed your coats, Rhys slipping yours over your arms before repeating the action with his wife. They led you to a sleek black car, and Feyre led you to the backseat before joining you, Rhys taking the wheel.

The car ride could have taken an hour for all you cared, because the moment you were buckled and moving, Feyre was on you, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, filled with her fiery desire, and her hands were already exploring your body over the fabric of your dress.

She squeezed your breasts, testing the fullness of them before pinching at your nipples, the sensitive buds hardening in response, all the while her mouth was making a mess of your neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys in their wake. One of her hands trailed down your abdomen, down your thigh to the hem of your dress and slipped under it, dragging up your inner thigh and straight to your core. Her fingers ran over your slit, a breathy moan leaving you as they did. Feyre’s seductive laugh in your ear had you widening your legs for her, giving her better access as your hands clutched at her shoulders, slipping between silky fabric and soft skin.

“No panties? Naughty little girl,” Feyre whispered, just as two fingers dipped between your folds, and Feyre let out a groan when she felt how soaked you were, just for them.

Those same to fingers drifted up, making small, quick circles on your clit, building your pleasure up, up, up-

The door just to your right opened, a gush of cold air entering the car, and Rhys chuckled lowly behind you.

“Couldn’t wait, sweet wife of mine?”

Feyre grinned up at him, her hand already lifting to her mouth, and she sucked your arousal off her fingers, the actions sending another pulse to your core. You whimpered at the sight of her, still slightly leaning over you, her hair disheveled from your wandering hands. “Of course I couldn’t, husband, not with such a sweet treat waiting for me between these thighs.”

Strong arms wrapped around you, and you heard the click of your seatbelt just before your were pulled out of the car, and right into Rhys’s capable hold. Feyre followed just behind, shutting the door behind her and handing a pair of keys to the valet.

Because you weren’t just at a house, you were at a high rise apartment- one with actual security, and a front desk, and a valet for christ’s sake!

You were distracted from that a moment later, Rhys’s lips ghosting across your ear as he whispered, “I am going to absolutely devour you.”

Melting- you had to be melting at this point, the heat between your thighs having built to an inferno, every inch of your skin crying out for these two strangers’ touch.

Once the three of you were in the elevator, Feyre stood in front of you, caging you entirely between the two of them. “Feeling good, darling?” She asked, running her thumb over your cheek. You nodded- you were feeling more than good. In fact, this was the best you had felt in over a year.

Feyre smiled, so dazzling your breath hitched, and she leaned in for a gentle kiss.

The elevator dinged, and the three of you left the elevator, Feyre opening the one lone door at the end of the short hallway while Rhys carried you in, making his way into another hallway and finally arriving in a grand bedroom.

He gently set you down on the bed, your feet just barely dangling off of the edge. Rhys got on his knees before you, and brought your right foot to rest on his thigh as he undid the tie of your shoe. Feyre entered the room a moment later, her coat and shoes already off. She padded across the plush carpet and crawled onto the bed, coming to rest behind you.

Feyre pulled your jacket down, uncovering the skin of your arms to the warm air of their bedroom as Rhys moved on to your left shoe, discarding them to his right once they were both removed.

“Let’s get you out of the dress, darling,” Feyre suggested, already pushing your hair aside and reaching for the zipper, slowly dragging it down your spine. You shuddered slightly under her touch, her fingers lingering along the base of your spine.

“Stand up for us, doll,” Rhys said, holding your hands and helping you up. Feyre moved the straps of your dress off your shoulders, and it slid off your body to pool on the floor, revealing that you were bare underneath.

Rhys clicked his tongue. “Naughty naughty girl, wearing no underwear to a wedding,” he playfully scolded you, bopping your nose with his index finger.

You bit your lip, nervous at your nakedness and how, well- how clothed they still were. “They ruined the silhouette of the dress…”

Feyre laughed behind you. “I know, darling, I'm not wearing any either.”

Rhys gasped in fake surprise. “Two naughty girls in front of me, hmm? How ever will I punish you…” He trailed off, eyes running over your naked form and his wife, hovering behind you with her hands on your hips.

“I know a way,” Feyre suggested, her lips hovering over your neck. “You could… ‘make’ us play with each other.”

You nodded your head without thinking- anything from either of them and your night would be perfect.

Rhys hummed, thinking it over. “That could work, sweet wife. Y/N, would you like to do the honors and undress Feyre?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please,” you groaned, already turning to face Feyre, who was grinning at you, already pulling her hair to the side. You wrapped your arms around her, fumbling for the zipper for a second before slowly dragging it down, and tugged it off of her shoulders. Her dress fell to her feet, your eyes greedily taking in her perfect body.

Your hands came up to cup her chest, thumbs rolling over her nipples and eliciting a small gasp from her lips. “Beautiful,” you murmured, before leaning in and sucking one nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue over it. One of Feyre’s hands grabbed your hair, keeping your head in place as the other pulled your lower half closer towards her, your bare stomachs resting together as your mouth moved to the other nipple, repeating its movements.

At the sound of leather creaking, you released Feyre’s nipple and turned, eyes met with the sight of Rhys palming himself through his pants, seated in a high backed leather chair in the corner of the room, with a perfect view of the bed. “Don’t mind me, girls, keep playing.”

Feyre decided to follow his order first, spinning you so that you were facing away from the bed, and she gently pushed you down onto it, gesturing for you to scoot up further until you were all the way on.

She spread your legs and crawled between them, resting on her knees and elbows and she dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit. One of your hands shot down, grabbing a fistful of her hair before you could think. Feyre’s tongue played along your clit, lapping at it a few times before going further down to taste your arousal from the source.

Her tongue fucked into you and you squirmed against where Feyre’s hands were holding down your hips, crying out in pleasure. “Please,” you begged, not even sure of what you needed besides more.

Feyre pulled away slightly, her lips hovering over your pussy. “What’s that, darling?” She asked teasingly, smirking when all you did was cant your hips up to her face. “Did you need more?”

“Mhm,” you whined pitifully, half heartedly attempting to push her head back onto you.

“If you insist,” Feyre said, pulling away from you entirely, and you cried out at the loss of contact.

“What are you-?”

Your question was cut off when Feyre positioned herself above your face, sinking down slowly to let your mind catch up.

What you didn’t expect was a tongue to lick up your cunt, and lips to latch around your clit in the next moment. “Fuck,” you moaned out loudly, your head rising up and hitting Feyre, hovering above you.

“Come on, love, open up,” Feyre coaxed, lowering herself slightly, and this time your brain took the hint, your tongue sticking out to lick at her center, the sweet taste of her costing your tongue.

You moaned into her when Rhys’s tongue returned to your clit, working you up to your peak quickly as you own tongue danced over Feyre, moving between her clit and soaked hole as Feyre’s rocking hips allowed. You toppled over the edge when Feyre’s soft hands pinched both of your nipples, and Rhys’s teeth grazed ever so slightly over your clit, the slight pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure tipping you over the edge.

Feyre’s fingers slipped into your cunt when Rhys’s mouth abandoned your clit, pushing in and out of you, stretching you out.

A moment later you heard the crinkle of a wrapper- a condom, thank god you didn’t have to ask- and Rhys’s warm body was between your legs, keeping you spread apart. Feyre’s fingers left your hole, but were quickly replaced by the thick head of Rhys’s cock, pushing in just the tip before pulling out, sing you.

You whined into Feyre’s cunt, and her hips stuttered above you, sinking down further for a moment before lifting back up.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N?” Rhys asked, hands tapping on your inner thighs. You nodded your head as much as you could, unwilling to take your mouth of off Feyre. “Use your words, babygirl,” he said, tapping your thighs again.

You pulled off of Feyre with a groan and moaned, “Yes,” before latching your mouth back onto Feyre’s clit.

Rhys chuckled when Feyre cried out again, her hands on your breasts propping her up as she came. He pushed in to the hilt, and your loud moan was muffled by Feyre’s skin, her hips still shaking over you.

She went to move off of you, but your arms came up to grip her thighs, keeping her seated on your face- it would be her throne for the rest of time, if you had your way. “Y/N!” Feyre screamed as you kept her over the edge as long as you could, tongue working furiously as Rhys began pumping in and out slowly. Each heavenly drag of his cock made you moan into Feyre’s cunt, and you knew you were in for a long night.

Feyre finally pried herself away from your face, falling back against the bed for a few seconds as Rhys continued fucking you, his pace still slow and steady, a thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” Rhys praised, and your face scrunched in delight as you beamed up at him, a squeaky moan leaving your lips when he hit just the right spot.

“Oh, that was delightful,” Feyre groaned, moving so she was laying to your right, hand stroking over your stomach. “Make her do it again, Rhysie,” she demanded, looking to her husband.

“Yes, dear,” Rhys said with a smirk, angling his cock in the same way again, hitting the sensitive area once more, the same noise pulled from your lips. Feyre grinned in delight, her hand moving up to your chest slowly.

“We are going to have so much fun,” she whispered in your ear. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”

You nodded your head vigorously, needing to please them in that moment.

“That’s good, sweet little thing. Very, very good,” Rhys said, the last three words punctuated by deep thrusts that made you see stars, your second orgasm of the night claiming you.

“Do you think we could get… five out of you?” Feyre asked softly as you came down, Rhys still buried inside of you. You nodded your head, even though you weren’t sure they would be able to. But you would be damned if you didn’t let them try. “Let’s get started on the third, then, babygirl,” Feyre said, a soft kiss placed on your lips as her hand played with your nipples.

Oh, yes. You were definitely in for a long night.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Sunlight was just beginning to light the room when you awoke, tangled between two warm bodies. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes, for a moment not remembering at all where you had ended up last night, before it all came rushing back.

Feyre. Rhys. The best sex of my life.

You looked to both sides of you carefully, and after seeing that the two of them were still fast asleep, you carefully slinked out of their bed, slipping on your shoes and dress from the night before, and pulling on your coat as you made your way to the door of their bedroom. Thankfully, your keys and phone were still in the zippered pocket you had put them in the night before, so you wouldn’t have a problem getting home.

Before you left the room, you took one last look at the couple that would occupy your dreams for the next few months. You sighed quietly, and opened the door gently, shutting it softly behind you. After a moment of trying, you found the front door.

The elevator was thankfully empty the entire ride down, and the lobby was free of everyone but the front desk person and security guard. You smiled awkwardly at both of them as you left the building, feeling so, incredibly out of place.

You caught the train home, collapsing into your bed after shrugging off your dress and removing your shoes.

Last night had been perfect. It was fun, casual, and had boosted your confidence incredibly high.

As you snuggled into your pillows, you couldn’t help but miss the warmth you had woken up in, but you knew it was better this way. They were married and you weren’t ready to commit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The next month was hard.

You had been handed a massive project at work before Emerie had come back from her honeymoon, and you had been struggling with it ever since, even with some input from the other woman.

You had reacted poorly to a few choices that your boss had made regarding the project, both of them ruining a weeks worth of work each.

Then, your ex, George, had found where you lived, and had started harassing you there and at work again, like he had right after you’d left him.

Overall, you’d had so many reasons to not question how vulnerable and exhausted you were feeling.

It was only when you had hurled your guts up in your work’s bathroom for the third day in the row that your realized.

You hadn’t had your period in over two months. And your heart dropped into your stomach.

You were crouched over a toilet during your lunch break, peeing on a stick to figure out if you were just being paranoid.

But you knew. You knew.

And when that stick turned pink, a positive plus sign so dark and obvious you couldn’t deny it, you cried in the pharmacy bathroom stall.

You made your way back to your office once you had dried your tears, so many fears playing in your mind.

You were single, unmarried, hell, the child was a product of a threesome with a married couple. You hadn’t felt ready for a relationship, let alone a child.

But… with your hand resting on your stomach, you felt… joy. Hope. A baby was growing inside of you, against all odds. The three of you had made sure to use a condom every time Rhys fucked you, and how often did condoms really fail?

What are we going to do, little nugget? You thought to yourself, your hand rubbing a soothing circle over your still flat abdomen.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Two weeks later, and you had made a final decision. You were keeping the baby.

You had also decided that you needed to see Rhys and Feyre again, to at least tell them what was happening.

But you were nervous. So, so nervous as you stood outside of their apartment building. It looked even more intimidating than the night you had first come here.

You made your way to the front doors, expecting them to open when you pushed on the door.

It didn’t budge.

“Ma’am, please state your name and who you are trying to visit,” the security guard next to the door said.

“Oh, I’m uhm. My name is Y/N, I’m here to see Rhys and Feyre, please.”

The guard flipped through a tablet, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you aren’t on the list of approved visitors. You’re welcome to call them and be put on the list, but until them I’m afraid you have to leave.”

Your face flushed, embarrassed with the fact that you couldn’t call the couple.

“Uhm… Would there be any way that I could just wait in the lobby for them, or you could call them for me? I really, really need to speak with them, but I don’t have their phone numbers,” you pleaded, hoping that the man would take pity on you.

He sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, ma’am. You’ll just have to find another way to contact them.”

It was your turn to sigh, tears involuntarily spilling from your eyes. “Thank you, I- I’m sorry,” you said, sniffling to keep the worst of the tears at bay until you were able to turn away from him.

You wiped at your eyes as you started walking, tears pouring from your eyes as your heightened hormones kicked your panic into overdrive-

And then you smacked directly into a broad chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your eyes on the ground so you wouldn’t have to see the person’s expression.

“Hey, it’s o- Y/N?” A velvety voice asked.

Rhys.

You looked up, blinking the tears from your eyes as you took in the male. He was just as beautiful as you remembered, and you knew you made a mistake in coming here.

You were an absolute wreck, and here he was, a Greek god come to life.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” He asked gently, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I- I-” you stuttered, the words catching in your throat, more tears spilling over and sobs tore from your lungs. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest for a comforting hug.

“Let’s get you inside, hmm, darling? We can talk and get you some coffee, alright?”

You nodded in agreement, still feeling unable to speak.

He released you from his hold but kept one of his arms wrapped around yours, and guided you into the building.

This time when you entered the elevator, you noticed that Rhys used a special key on the button pad, causing the lowest button to light up, which he pushed.

The ride was quick, and he ushered you out of the door and through their front door.

“Rhysie, are you home?” Feyre’s voice asked from far away, likely a few rooms down.

“Yes, love, and I think you should come out here, I found a special someone on my way home,” Rhys called out, his hands automatically taking your jacket and hanging it alongside his. A hand on your low back guided you into a sitting room, and Feyre came out of the hallway that you believed led to their bedroom.

“Oh, Y/N!” Feyre exclaimed, obviously not having expected you to be the visitor. “This is a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here love?” As she got closer, she could see how red and puffy your face was from crying, and the tears still running down your face, at a slower pace now. “Is everything alright?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t speak, still too choked up from your tears.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” Feyre said, taking you by the arm and leading you to a couch, sinking down onto it with you. “Rhys, would you go get her something warm to drink?”

“Of course. Would you like coffee, love?”

“Oh, uh, no, I’ll have tea, please- non-caffeinated if you can,” you replied, heat coloring your cheeks.

Rhys’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out, and he nodded. “I’ll be right back, girls.”

He left in the direction that you assumed their kitchen was in, and Feyre’s hand came to rub small circles on your upper back.

“Do you want to talk about it, love?”

“No, but… I need to,” you sniffled, rubbing your sleeves against your eyes.

“Okay… Would you like me to guess?” Feyre asked, pinching your side lightly and you giggled softly.

“No, no, I don’t… It’s not something that you should find out in that way.”

Rhys came back at that moment, three mugs clutched in his hands. “Alright, here’s a lemon ginger tea for you, Y/N, and a coffee for you Fey.” He sat in the chair to your left, and sat his mug down on the coffee table. “Now, why are we so lucky to see you again today, love?”

You took a sip of the tea, thankful for the warmth, and the flavor helped the the nausea that had started building in your stomach. “I’m, uh…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. But really, there was no good way to say this. “I’m pregnant.”

Both of them blinked at you, confused.

“I… I haven’t had… sex… with anyone besides the two of you in almost a year and- and I know that we used condoms and it doesn’t make sense and you probably want absolutely nothing to do with me- I’ll just go,” you rambled, setting your cup down and tried to stand up, only for both of them to clamp a hand down on you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Feyre asked, her tone… happy?

You didn’t understand.

“What makes you think we want nothing to do with you, love?” Rhys asked, one of his hands turning your head to look at him, and you could swear you saw silver lining his eyes.

“Because… I was a one night stand, and I… You two are married, and perfect, and I’m just…”

“Just what, hmm? You’re perfect too, you know,” Feyre said, and arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into her side.

“That’s not-” you sighed. “I just mean that this is nothing that you could have planned for, or wanted. That’s all.”

“Actually, Y/N…” Rhys began. “Feyre and I have been trying to have a child for the last two years, with no success. We want a child, and have wanted a child for so long. Maybe our meeting you was some divine intervention, leading us to something we never knew we wanted, along with all that we’ve ever wanted.”

Tears filled your eyes as he spoke, his kind words washing over you.

“If I can be honest with you, Y/N, Rhys and I… We haven’t been able to keep you out of our thoughts in the past six weeks, we were so close to just asking Emerie for your phone number.”

The tears spilled over, and Rhys got up from his chair and scooped you up, taking your place and setting you on his lap. Feyre grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed at your eyes, Rhys’s hand smoothing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Feyre cooed at you, kissing your cheeks. “Unless you don’t want the child…?”

You shook your head vigorously, strands of your hair smacking Rhys in the face. “No, I… I want to keep my little nugget, it’s just. I’m so happy,” you cried, your sobs returning in full force.

“Oh, love,” Rhys chuckled. “Everything is going to be okay. We can do this. There are three of us after all, and that means two people to help take care of you while you’re carrying our sweet little nugget, as you called it.”

They both placed a hand on your lower abdomen, and you all let it sink in.

You were having a baby.

And with the two of them by your side, you almost felt prepared.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[mingi-s-dimples]

In Tune with You - Hongsang

KINKTOBER DAY 2 - REQ. BY @hongjoongtime117

~"Rockstar Hongjoong and drummer Yeosang x fan fem reader; Please, whatever you do, make Hongjoong a biter lol"

pairing: rockstar!hongjoong x fan fem!reader x drummer!yeosang

genre: 18+, filth, NDA au, fan x singer au

summary: That NDA you've always heard about around at the shows finally finds it's way to you and.. you have the best night of your life with your two most favourite artists.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: NDA au (Non Disclosure Agreement), hongjoong is a biter, big dick!hongsang (obvi), double penetration (same hole upsi), swallowing, lots of cum, cum play, praise (good girl), pet names (love, sweetie), slightly sucking both at the same time, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: This was hot.. Lis knows but I'd be jumping around in my room while writing LMAO I'm so sorry it took that long... my love I hope you'll like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The crowd roared, lights flashing in time with the heavy beats of the drum as the electric guitar wailed through the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the rhythm of the music. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the deafening sound of the band, but you didn’t care. This was where you were meant to be—lost in the sea of fans, watching your favorite band tear up the stage.

And at the center of it all was Hongjoong, his fingers flying across the strings of his guitar, his voice gritty and powerful as he belted out the lyrics. He was the epitome of a rockstar, all confidence and swagger, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he played like his life depended on it. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and judging by the screams of the fans around you, neither could they.

But your attention wasn’t solely on Hongjoong. Behind him, in the shadows of the stage, was Yeosang, the drummer. His quiet intensity was a perfect contrast to Hongjoong’s wild energy. With every beat of the drums, Yeosang commanded the stage in his own way, his muscles flexing as he played with an almost hypnotic focus. He didn’t need to be front and center to hold your attention; there was something magnetic about the way he seemed to pour himself into the music.

You had followed this band for years, attending every concert you could, always finding yourself drawn to these two. Hongjoong’s raw talent and Yeosang’s quiet allure had captivated you from the start. You had spent countless hours imagining what it would be like to meet them, to talk to them, to somehow get closer to the rockstars who had unknowingly taken up residence in your mind.

But that was just a fan’s fantasy. The reality was that they were untouchable, larger-than-life figures who existed on a stage, far removed from people like you. You had heard stories, though—rumors of fans getting to meet their idols, of secret parties, of NDAs being handed out to ensure that what happened in private stayed private. But those were just stories, right? A girl could dream, but she knew better than to expect anything more.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

---

The concert ended in a blur of lights and sound, and you found yourself standing outside the venue, still buzzing with the energy of the performance. The streets were packed with fans, all of you high on the adrenaline of the show. ayou were about to head home, already replaying the concert in your mind, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned to see a man dressed in all black, an earpiece in his ear and a no-nonsense expression on his face. He looked official, like he was part of the band’s security team or something. My heart skipped a beat as he handed me a small piece of paper.

“You’ve been selected for a private meet and greet with Hongjoong and Yeosang,” he said in a low voice, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Your eyes widened, and you stared at the paper in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression not changing. “If you’re interested, be at this address in one hour. But there’s one condition—you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. No phones, no pictures, no talking about what happens. Do you understand?”

You could barely breathe as you looked at the address scrawled on the paper. That's the NDA everyone has been talking about. This was insane. There was no way this was real, right? And yet, here you were, holding the proof in your hands.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. This was it. This was your chance. “I understand,” you managed to say, voice shaky with excitement.

“Good,” he said with a curt nod. “We’ll see you there.”

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside a nondescript apartment building, heart pounding with anticipation. You had never expected anything like this to happen, and now that it was, You weren't sure what to do with yourself. Hands were shaking as you buzzed the intercom, and when the door clicked open, You felt like you was stepping into a dream.

The apartment was sleek and modern, but it had a casual, lived-in feel that made it clear this was where Hongjoong and Yeosang actually spent their time. The low hum of music played in the background, and as you stepped inside, You were greeted by none other than Hongjoong himself.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, his voice as smooth and confident as ever. He looked different without the stage lights and the crowd—a little more relaxed, but no less magnetic. “Glad you could make it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you admitted, voice a little breathless.

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Believe it. Come on, we’ve got drinks and stuff set up in the back. Yeosang’s waiting.”

You followed him through the apartment, heart racing with every step. When the two of you entered the living room, you saw Yeosang lounging on the couch, a drink in his hand. He looked up as you walked in, his expression calm and unreadable, but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You sat down on the couch across from them, trying to wrap your head around what was happening. It felt surreal to be sitting here, in their apartment, after watching them perform just a few hours ago. You could barely think straight, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Hongjoong handed you a drink, and you took it gratefully, hoping it would calm your nerves. As you sipped it, you couldn’t help but not think about how the two were watching you—Hongjoong with that playful, teasing smile, and Yeosang with a quiet, almost predatory focus.

“We’ve seen you at a few of our shows,” Hongjoong said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re always in the crowd, aren’t you?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Yeah, I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

Yeosang smirked, setting his drink down on the table. “We noticed.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. There was something electric in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was more than just the thrill of meeting them—it was the way they were both looking at you, the way the conversation felt charged with something unspoken.

Hongjoong leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So, here’s the deal. You’re here because we like you, and we think you might be up for something… fun. But before we go any further, you need to know that this is completely private. What happens here stays here. That’s why we’ve got the NDA.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. Fun? Your mind raced with possibilities, but you didn’t have time to dwell on them before Yeosang spoke up, his voice low and deliberate.

“If you’re not into it, you can walk out right now. No hard feelings.”

You looked between the two of them, pulse racing. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of being here with them—it was all too much to resist. With a deep breath, you nodded.

“I’m in.”

"Great! Sign this, please." the older one said.

Right after you signed it, Hongjoong excitedly took it from your hands and threw it on the coffee table, then approached you slowly. You found yourself here now, standing between them, heart racing in your chest as the air seemed to thicken with unsaid words and unspoken feelings.

Hongjoong was the first to close the distance, his hand warm as it gently cupped your face. His touch was careful, as though he was afraid of moving too quickly, yet his dark eyes revealed an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb grazed your cheek softly as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck in a delicate kiss. It wasn’t rushed, just slow and full of unspoken desire, leaving warmth in its wake.

“You’ve been on my mind since the moment I saw you,” Hongjoong whispered against your skin, his voice low and hushed, as if speaking louder would break the spell surrounding you three.

Yeosang’s hand, strong yet gentle, found your waist, pulling you closer to him from behind. His lips followed a similar path, ghosting over your shoulder, leaving soft kisses against your skin. The tenderness in his touch contrasted the fire burning beneath. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath as he kissed the curve of your shoulder, pausing only to murmur in a voice so smooth it sent a thrill through you.

“I felt something the second our eyes met,” Yeosang’s voice was soft, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin as his fingers traced lazy circles along your side. “Like I’ve been waiting to find you…”

The heat of their bodies surrounded you, comforting yet charged with an undeniable attraction. Hongjoong’s lips moved slowly, planting kisses along the line of your jaw, his hand resting gently at the base of your neck as if grounding you. Yeosang’s touch was no less intimate, his fingers sliding upward to cradle your arm, steadying you as his kisses trailed upward from your shoulder toward your collarbone.

Despite the intensity in the air, there was no rush. Each kiss felt like a promise, every touch a gentle reminder of the attraction that had sparked so quickly, yet felt so inevitable. Your heart pounded in your chest, but the rhythm matched the quiet passion surrounding you. Their words, soft and sincere, left no room for doubt.

“We’re here now,” Hongjoong whispered, his lips brushing yours in the softest of touches, “and I’m not letting go.”

Yeosang’s arms wrapped around you a little tighter, his lips pausing for just a moment against your skin. “Neither am I.”

In that moment, with their touches, their words, and the connection you could feel so deeply, you knew this was something different, something real—no matter how fast it had come to be.

Yeosang was not as shy as you thought. His hands were now finding their way to your breasts, at which you got startled for a moment. He stopped.

"Hm? Why did you stop?" you softly said, confused.

"You flinched.. all okay with me all over you, sweetie?" he said, his breath warm and hitched in the nape of your neck.

"Y-yes! I just didn't expect it" you giggled.

"This is not even all he can do" Hongjoong said, to which you gulped at his words.

What did he mean by... "that's not even all that he can do"? Your mind was now running towards the dirtiest thoughts, imagining Yeosang in all kinds of situations, which made you softly close your legs to get friction between them, your core already dripping in your panties.

Hongjoong started kissing you. At first, he was going slowly and sensually, tasting every corner of your mouth. Then, his tongue started exploring your mouth, interlocking with yours and sloppy kisses could be heard from the two of you. He bit your lower lip once, then without warning his right hand travelled to your lower back and held you close. He broke the kiss for a moment and nodded to Yeosang, signaling something behind your back. The younger one did as told and unzipped your skirt, being now left only in your panties.

"You look so... beautiful, y/n." the younger one whispered against your neck.

Yeosang's hands rode up and down on your waist until his right hand found it's way to the front, going down to your panties and pulling them to the side. He leaned in and started kissing your shoulder, as he spread out your wet folds with two of his fingers. You whined softly but you became louder as soon as he slowly pushed inside both fingers, pumping them in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

Hongjoong was also all over you. He was kissing your neck and chin, going to the collarbones and to your breasts. He left soft biting marks on your collarbone and breasts, to which he then started fondling with your now rosey and hard nipples.

You decided to do something about the situation. You loved it, of course... but you wanted to maybe.. rush things, a little. Yoou thought for a moment and arched your back, your plump ass pressing against Yeosang's impossibly thight pants.

"N-nah.. you little-" amd he turned you around, visibility annoyed at your move.

He lifted you up, without caring about Joong being left alone for a moment until he followed up. He dropped you on the bed.

"I see what you tryna do.." he took of his shirt.

"You wanna.." his belt followed up.

"Rush things, huh?" he got rid of whatever clothes he had on, being left with his cock out. Tho, as it sprung out of his briefs, you gulped.

"So...y/n. I assure you that you'll have a good... if not great, time with us." Hongjoong said, smiling, carresing your head.

"Yes, please!" you softly said.

"Good girl. Get up, on your knees, close to the edge." Yeosang whispered and pointed the edge he was talking about. You crawled there and kneeled patiently on it, waiting. Both men came in front of you, standing. Hongjoong was still fully dressed but soon got rid of everything, smirking at your eyes glistening with lust as soon as you saw both men bare in front of you. Their cocks twitched, with pre cum dripping off.

"What are you waiting for?" the younger one said and got closer to you.

Your hands instinctively rode up to their cocks, your left hand on Hongjoong and right one on Yeosang. You started pumping both, stroking their lengths simultaneously. Hongjoong was.. a little bit louder than Yeosang. The younger one was shy...but strict. That was the definition. Your hands stroke them up and down, from the base all the way up to the tip, the red, throbbing tips, which you squeezed every time you reached them. Every single squeeze made them squirm in your hand, searching friction, by softly thrusting. You started rapidly stroking them and decided to do something without warning for one of them. You moved closer to Hongjoong and kissed his tip, receiving a soft whine from him. Then you moved your lips on Yeosang's cock and sucked his tip softly. He flinched at your touch, his hand moving to your cheek, patting it softly.

"What if.. you suck us.. on turns?" Hongjoong muffled while his right hand guided his cock to your mouth.

You did as proposed and sat firmly on your knees. The men, right in front of you, looking contently. You took Hongjoong's cock in your mouth, while your right hand started rapidly pumping Yeosang's dick. You looked up, watching their reactions as you sucked Hongjoong off. Yeosang was pleased at the view, patiently waiting for his turn.

You switched between their cocks by slowly taking them both in your mouth, not completely, but only to have both their tips at the same time in your mouth. You pressed your tongue on their tips, sucking them simultaneously. Hongjoong was surprised at the view, seeing you trying to take both so good.

"Oh wow... what a good girl.. Never thought about this before.." he said, patting your head.

You opened your mouth and let their cocks fall out of your mouth right in your hands and then you took Yeosang's in your mouth, sucking him off, too. You did this a couple of times and switched between them until Hongjoong couldn't take it anymore.

"Wouldn't you wanna get me off, sweetie? C'mon, I know you can do it." he said and guided his cock again to your month. You started sucking him off but to your surprise and.. horror, he tangled his hand in your hair and made you look up. "Let's see how much you can take" he softly said and started thrusting your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your hand still on Yeosang's cock, you were not even focused on him. With the other hand you were holding onto Hongjoong's thigh. He thrusted deep down in your throat and stopped for a moment, making you gag. Your nose was touching his pelvis, that's how deep and lengthy he was. He thrusted you for a few more times and he got way, way sloppier.

"Just like this, babe. I'm so close.." he whined.

He took his cock out of your mouth and pumped it a few times before coming in your mouth, some drops of silky white liquid dripping on your chin. "Swallow." he signaled but... you had other plans. You nodded, swallowed half of his load and.. moved onto Yeosang, spitting some of Hongjoong's cum on his cock, lubing it up.

"Shit.. that was hot, " he whispered, almost not hearing his words. While you were now sucking Yeosang's dick, which was girthier than Hongjoong's, your left hand was stroking the older to make him hard again. It worked pretty fast, feeling pre cum dripping on your hand once again. Yeosang was already over the edge from your hand moments ago so it didn't take long until he came, right down your throat, making you gag on it. You swallowed everything, coughing softly when he pulled out. He leaned in and gave you a soft forhead kiss, "Such a good girl..." he said in a whiny voice.

"Now..." Yeosang said, more confident. He took you in his hands, lifted you up and kneeled on the bed, making you sit on his thighs. You could feel his cock pressing against your lower back. Hongjoong came in front of you and lined himself to you. Two of Hongjoong's fingers went right for your cunt, spreading your wet folds. He fingered you a couple of times, made sure you're completely wet and lubed up then nodded behind you... to Yeosang.

"Once again.. let's see how much you can take, my love" the man behind you said. He slowly guided himself to your hole and brought you closer to him, as you were sitting on his cock. He thrusted a few times.. hands holding onto the man that was kneeling in front of you. They had.. completely other plans.

"Baby so.. we thought about something." Hongjoong said, tapping Yeosang to stop fucking you for a moment.

"H-hm?" you mumbled, already pretty fucked out.

"What if.. we both fuck you?" he said.

"Y-yes... I think it would w-work" you whispered, already thinking about the moment.

Tho... they were thinking about a different type of.. double fucking. Yeosang thrusted again only once until he was halfway in, and then.. Hongjoong made his way in your cunt.. in the same hole. You moaned in pleasure and pain from being stretched out so fucking bad... but feeling their cocks rubbing against your thight walls was thrilling. Your hands rode up and down on Hongjoong's back, holding onto him for dear life. You left scratch marks on his back from your nails, getting soft whines out of him woth every trace of your finger.

"I'm s-so close!" Yeosang softly shouted, the power in his voice taking you aback.

"Me too...m-me too," the older one whispered, patting and carresing your lower back soflty, his hands slowly going down to your ass, squeezing it.

Yeosang whined a couple of times before finishing in you, right away being followed by Hongjoong which felt your cunt being filled up. He let out a string of muttered curses, still fucking you through his orgasm, Yeosang doing the same. You were overstimulated... maybe overfucked but you were so close, too...

"Let's help her, too..." the younger one whispered and you didn't even realised what he was talking about until both men started fucking you roughly, Yeosang's hand rubbing your clit rapidly, circling it with two of his fingers. It wasn't long until you came, white liquid already seeping from your cunt, dripping on both cocks that were filling you up.

Hongjoong slowed down and eventually pulled out... but Yeosang continued fucking you, overstimulating you becoming his goal. He pushed you on the bed, face pressed down on the mattress and started pounding you with every thrust. His pelvis slapping against your ass, you could only see Hongjoong lazily stroking off his length, seeing how it was hardening again. As Yeosang was fucking you, you felt how the knot in your belly was forming once again but when he hit your perfect spot... you realiaed it was an orgasm followed by squirting... all over the bed. Tears formed in your eyes and you almost dropped on the bed before Yeosang caught you, lifting you up and placing you on the side of the bed. He tied your hair up and stood next to Hongjoong, in front of you.

"Everything okay..? You look kinda tired." Hongjoong said, a little bit of concern could be distinguished from his words.

"Yeah.. were we.. too rough? Was I.. too rough?" Yeosang softlt muttered.

"I'm o-okay.. a little bit dizzy but nothing serious. What can I e-even say.. I fucking loved it.." you whispered.

"Oh, yeah? What about a 2nd round?" Hongjoong confidently said, his cock once again rock hard in his hand, his smirk tuening you the fuck on.

"Bet." you cockily said.

"Kneel on the bed, sweetie." Yeosang finally muffled, after being silent for a couple of moments.

You just realised that this night was gonna be a loooong one... but you enjoyed every minute of it.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[juletheghoul]

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

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[wandaslovey]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭

➺ natasha romanoff x inexperienced!fem!bi!reader

*not my gif*

wc ~ 1.5k

a/n: just wanted to warn/emphasize.. reader is bisexual and this is kind of written where natasha is like her “bi awakening.”

a/n: okay so i wrote this months ago to dip my toes back into writing again… it’s definitely not my best work, but i wanted to get a natasha fic out there on my blog since i only have wanda fics on my master list rn.

cw: really none except that reader is an extreme overthinker

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

“natasha, be for real right now. you know i don’t like going out.”

“c’mon. you’re young and beautiful and full of light and energy. you should be going out there, breaking boys hearts and making new friends.”

god she was insufferable. she was calling me beautiful? does she not see herself?? and breaking guys hearts, what’s that about?

“‘tasha you should know better than anyone that i’ve been steering clear of men lately. i just don’t want to be in a relationship right now.”

really the idea of it was wholly overwhelming. the thought of having to open myself up to rejection, make myself so vulnerable in front of a man (especially).. god knows there is a increasingly small percentage of men worthy of my vulnerability.

“oh god (Y/N), you don’t need to be in a relationship to have some fun. just let loose a little, that’s all,” she encourages with that devious little twinkle in her eye. an amused smile was playing on her lips and i knew she found my “uptightness” entertaining at times.

“are you saying i should go around having sex with random men?” i raise my eyebrows in accusation, though i knew i was taking her implication a step too far.

she rolls her eyes, a smile touching her lips.

“you know what i mean… i think a little kissing will loosen you up in a good way.”

i give her a look, one that clearly shows the fact that i think she’s being absurd before i turn back around and go back to scrolling on my phone.

“what was that look?” she asks, turning her body towards me in the swively chair that sat in front of my desk. she was hugging one knee up to her chest, the other dangling from the seat.

“nothing,” i mumble dismissively, shaking my head as i truly didn’t want to broach this subject with her at present.

“no no no, that wasn’t nothing. that was something. . . what, do you have something against kissing?”

her tone implies an edge that she didn’t really believe i had anything against kissing.. which would make her partially incorrect. i didn’t have anything against kissing, i was just extremely inexperienced and that made it all the more daunting.

“can we not talk about this? you seem all too invested in my ‘suggestive conduct.’”

suddenly she’s out of the chair and padding across the hardwood floor to where i was sitting criss cross applesauce in the middle of my made bed.

“this i have to know..” she sits next to me, seemingly effortlessly turning my body towards her so i’m facing her and she plucks the phone out of my hands, setting it beside her.

“you always dodge me when i start talking about things like this.” her facial expression was sinfully amused and i could sense that she was not going to let this go this time. i find myself swallowing a lump in my throat as for the umpteenth time, i’m taken aback by her beauty.

her orange red hair slightly wavy from her shower earlier and parted down the middle. her face was bare of any makeup which i felt only made her green eyes jump out more against her skin.

“nat, c’mon..” i plea with her to drop it, hoping she would lose interest in the subject.

she smiles at me, tilting her head as she takes in my slightly abashed expression.

“you’ve never been kissed before, have you?”

“no, no i have. it’s just been awhile,” i shrug, still trying to dismiss the subject by being nonchalant about it.

“how long?” she presses.

“like 5 years almost,”

“five years??” her mouth gapes slightly through her smile, her eyes bright and eager as if she was thoroughly entertained by this information.

“and that was your first kiss?” she adds after i hadn’t said anything.

“well no, it was my second kiss technically.”

“okay so, let me get this straight, you’ve only ever kissed 2 guys in your life and the last time was 5 years ago?” she tries to clarify to which i just nod my head and then shrug.

“why?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised at learning my lack of experience.

i sigh, peeling my eyes from my lap to look at her as i reply. “i just didn’t have good experiences either time and it turned me off from really wanting to try it again. that’s all.”

“they weren’t good at kissing?”

“well.. i mean they were both fine, i guess. i don’t have much to compare it to. i just didn’t really want to kiss either of them. i just did it because i was afraid to hurt their feelings. then afterwards i ended up regretting it because it wasn’t that good enough for it to justify doing it casually.”

she nods her head once at my words, taking in my explanation.

“and now? you’re afraid your next experiences will be the same?”

“um well.. yeah i think so. i’m also just embarrassed by my lack of experience. i’ve just gotten it in my head that i’m a terrible kisser.” i cast my eyes down again, feeling a little

embarrassed at having admitted this to her.

she smirks, the sound causing me to shrink further into myself even though i could tell she was trying to muffle her reaction.

“now why would you think something like that?”

her voice had a bit of a suggestive edge to it, causing my body to be on even more alert.

“i don’t know… i just do,” my eyes were still downcast, my fingers fidgeting with the hair tie around my wrist. it was quiet between us for several beats and i feel my face start to heat up in the silence.

just as i was about to say something, anything to break the silence, i feel her fingers under my chin, lifting my face up to look at her.

“you think you might want some practice?”

she asks me out of the blue. her eyes were intent on mine, a sinful, unabashed smile on her face. immediately, my heart rate picked up and i had to remind myself to breath normally as to not have an outward reaction to her question.

“wh..huh?” i ask confused, my mind already beginning to feel foggy at the thought of kissing the natasha romanoff.

“well now i’m curious to know if you are a bad kisser or not.” she was shameless. confidence in her suggestion practically radiating from her form. her eyes slowly travel down my face to my lips before she flicks them back up to my eyes.

“will you let me kiss you? i won’t bite,” she slowly leans in closer to me, her eyes naturally drifting to my lips again.

“i..i can’t.” i breath out, my lips parting as i breathe through my mouth. my eyes were scanning all over her face, frantic as i try to find an excuse to weasel out of this.

i want to kiss her.. i really do. but if i really was a bad kisser and she found out, i would be utterly mortified.

“nat…” i try, leaning back just slightly to put a couple more inches distance between us.

she follows my movement, leaning her body forward as i lean back, closing the gap i created as soon as it was there. i’m assaulted by her smell. it was like cinnamon, vanilla and sandalwood and completely intoxicating.

“don’t think about it too much. i can practically hear the overthinking in that head of yours,” she smiles.

“wh-what if i’m bad at it?” i try to reason with her, to save both her and myself from this experience. she shakes her head, that amused smile still playing on her lips.

“shh.. sweet girl. just relax your lips and follow my lead, okay?” one of her hands reaches up and tucks some hair behind my ear. her fingertips linger on my jaw as she leans in closer. i am utterly captivated, unable to even think properly as i find myself in the most surreal situation.

i close my eyes when her face was merely centimeters away. i can feel the warmth of her face and the tension, almost palpable now that we were so close. i tilt my head up ever so slightly, anticipating her lips against mine.

as i wait, it feels like the seconds drag on. i can hear my heart beating in my ears, smell vanilla and cinnamon and taste natasha’s breath on my tongue.

i was about to peek my eyes open when i finally feel her lips press against mine. it starts out as a close mouthed kiss, but after a mere couple of seconds, her lips part and i easily follow her lead through the kiss. she pulls away all too quickly, and i find myself immediately missing the loss of her lips.

“was that so scary detka?” she murmurs, her voice sounding even lower than normal.

i couldn’t be too sure how i looked to her, but my vision seemed hazy and i was almost positive i had a drunk expression on my face.

i shake my head from side to side.

“no.”

she hums and then brings a hand to my face, ever so gently brushing the back of her knuckles against my cheek. “ty tak milo nevinen. eto dragotsenno.” she leans in again, kissing me more firmly this time. i respond eagerly, meshing my lips around hers.

my insecurities and worries melted away the longer we kissed, the space between our where my body ended and hers began becoming lost.

[daryltwdixon]

Kinktober #2 Oral Fixation

as per usual, MDNI

summary: you're on guard duty with Daryl, and he's chewing his fucking fingernails again. fluffy!!! no smut for my 11% who prefer it that way :) short n sweet

The amount of times you’d look over and see Daryl Dixon chewing the skin of his nails was going to drive you insane.

The one night while you both were on watch in the guard tower you’d had enough. Partially because it was a bad habit of his you always caught him doing, but also partially because you wished…. You wished you could replace it with something else. Your tongue, lips, hell, you’d let him chew your finger if he asked nice enough. But Daryl felt like an enigma, impossible to read but so damn mesmerizing. You were almost certain he never noticed you, as usually you were with Maggie and Glenn since you’d joined their group. Glenn had become sort of your big brother in all of this when he found you starving and hurt on a run, hiding in an old pharmacy from the walkers outside. Maggie of course was l naturally the big sister counterpart. The one time you confessed to Maggie your curiosity about Daryl she couldn’t help but laugh and say “good luck with that one,” 

He was always so hard to read, so aloof, but you noticed his small smiles more and more lately as life settled into the prison and when you’d sneak glances at him, his eyes would also be on you. 

So that night, on watch up on the tallest guard tower you caught him with his thumb up to his mouth again, chewing the side of it like it owed him money. He eyes were intensely on the tree line as he mindlessly had his skin between his teeth.

“You’re gunna chew your fingers clean off one of these days,” you teased, your head leaning back on the outside wall of the tower. The railing was at your eye-line as you slouched against the cement wall. You looked over to him with a playful smile and he barely looked at you, not bothering to drop his hand. He just grunted and continued to look out at the tree line below you. 

“You know,” you gathered your courage before going on, making sure to keep your eyes strictly out on the fences, “there are better things to put in your mouth than just your hand,” 

That sure got his attention. He looked over to you, pausing his incessant chewing, his eyebrow raised.

“You offerin’ any suggestions?” His blue eyes narrowed at you behind his dark curtains of bangs. 

You shrugged, still refusing to look over or else he might’ve seen the pink tinge to your cheeks even in the moonlight, “Maybe,” you said, “if you’re any good,” you bite your lip nervously, finally glanced over at him, doing a double take as you noticed his eyes looked at you with a different kind of intensity you’ve never seen on him. 

His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly, but just long enough that you caught it. You wondered how far you could push him until that rough exterior broke down. He lowered his hand from his face, his gaze turning predatory. 

“Good at what, exactly?” He seemed to want to push you back. Challenging you to break first. Or maybe he really was clueless. But you don’t let up, just shrugging and watching him with a smile, grateful he was playing along, “I have a couple ideas,” 

Your bravery only came from the fact he wasn’t brushing you off. He didn’t grunt at you in reply, he didn’t break eye contact. The air was starting to become charged, the watch tower feeling smaller and smaller around you. 

“You talk a lotta shit, you know that?” He grumbled, “all bark no bite,” 

He may have meant it as a dig but his words held no weight, like he was trying hard to not fall into the trap you were laying out for him. You chuckled and looked off then, breaking the eye contact that you held for so long. But as your eyes met the tree line, a hand blocked your vision, grabbing your face roughly. You gasped as it turned you toward him, his other hand resting on the other side of your face closest to the wall. Before you have a chance to gather your thoughts, his lips crashed against yours, sparks electrocuting where he melded into you. For all his rough exterior—the calloused hands, dirt smudged face— his lips were incredibly soft. 

They moved along yours with a hunger, his tongue darting out to part your lips, which you happily obliged. Your tongues glided along each other, moving between teasing and needy. When his thumb rubbed your temple you felt your head spin and you brought your hands to his front, fisting his shirt to bring him into you even more. You couldn’t get him close enough. You felt enveloped in his musk—the smell of cigarettes and sweat making you dizzy. Everything else in the world around you seemed to still, the crickets and buzzing of insects quieted and the world paused its turning as you embraced each other. 

He pulled back then, both of you breathless. He held your face inches from his, his eyelashes tickling your face as he spoke. 

“How’s that for any good?” he said, so softly that his lips brushed over yours and you could feel his breath against you.

You breathed a small laugh into him and he dove for your lips again.