#can you tell i like sky children of the light yet

[vermwerm]

WHAT IF THEY WERE ALL HAPPY [minus monty] WHAT IF THEY ALL HAD A HAPPY ENDING ??? [minus monty] HUH ?!?!? WHAT IF ??!?!?!?!

[martyrbat]

one last halloween — dcu halloween special (2008)

(ID in alt!)

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[bunny-jpeg]

the sun's lullaby & the moon's symphony

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, photography, snark & sass, enemies to lovers (i guess), parental issues, secret relationship, talks of marriage & children, cowgirl position, admissions of love, long fic

this bunny runs on comments, reblog & tags! do you part to feed the bunny! (this was a thrill to write, i've been writing a lot of rivals au, so feel free to suggest your own! i also still have my bakery series going on, so feel free to order up. love ya'll)

this all started when you were teens. stubborn and stupid. the two prodigies of racing of two different stories. the moon, who was raised from birth to be the god of racing. and the sun, who emerged from nothing and up towards the sky to claim her rightful spot as a champion of the track.

the sun and the moon. you and max verstappen

so when you shared your first kiss with him at sixteen over a stolen a bottle of wine from your parent's fridge. you knew that you'd be forever link to the other driver.

it was over dinner in monaco, the lighting of the place was low. and max was seated across from you. occasionally his foot would rub up against your ankle.

you looked at him over the glass of wine in your hand, "you're not going to make me say it."

he smiled as he swallowed his bite of food, "why, prefer to tell me in private?" belgium was a great weekend for him, opposed to you. max sailed into second while you dragged behind in eighth.

but even at dinner, you'd never give the red bull driver the benefit, you'd rather have your bones wrung out of you like liquid in a rag than admit that max was good at racing. that would be the final pump of his ego that he'd go sailing away.

you put your glass down and rested your chin on your interlocked fingers, "maxie." you fluttered your eyelashes at him, "maybe if you came in first, i'd actually have something to congratulate you on." you reached across the small table and touched the inside of his wrist, you looked at the part of exposed flesh then to his face once more. you pouted at him, "second is the first place of losers."

he gave you a sarcastic smile before he took his wrist away, "and what about you, i thought you were supposed to be the rabbit on the track. out racing all of us. i guess daddy's money can only buy so much talent."

"you're a fucking dick, verstappen."

he shrugged, "and yet, you can't get enough of me. a glutton for punishment you are." his eyebrows knitted together as he frowned for a moment, "i think you're just trying to find daddy's approval, except that fucker won't give it to you. just like you won't give me what i want." he reached for you and cupped the side of your face. it was moments like these you remembered how big his hands were, "break the cycle, rabbit. be a good girl."

you pulled away from him, you heard the shutter of a camera and you both looked over. you grimaced, perfect. another photo to the collection of you and max in compromising positions. without context you looked like a pair on a date. you could already read out the statement you'd have to make if this all got a little too big.

you kicked max under the table, "good job, dickhead." your voice was painfully low.

he kicked you back, but not as hard, "you started it."

this night would end the same. the photo would go semi-viral. you'd have to lay low on social media for a few days. wash, rinse, repeat when you two eventually fuck up again. and like every other dinner together, it ended up with you two in his bed. those broad hands all over your back as you rode him. you held his face and looked down at him as you bounced your hips.

photographic evidence of you two together were vast, spanning close to ten years at that point. you both met in your carting days, with promises to make it to formula one. the photos only got more intense once you both entered the league.

they ranged from the two of you at a party together, or sneaking out a club holding hands. there was one of you on his boat, handing him a drink and what looked like him kissing you on the cheek. there were tons of his arm around you and your face buried in his broad chest. over the years the "evidence" had been piling up to suggest that you two were a couple.

if that was true, then why did you want to strangle max verstappen?

you stalked towards his driver's room after the dutch grand prix and opened the door without knocking. you felt fury in your bones as he looked at you. you put your hands on his throat and got close up into his face.

"you fucking asshole, you really are the devil aren't you, max?" you snapped. you weren't choking him, but rather holding him as a sign of dominance.

he grabbed your wrists and said, "and you're going to kill me now? i didn't think choking was your style." then pulled your hands away from his throat, "people might get the wrong idea if you start leaving marks."

"you ran me off the track. you knew what you were doing when you cut me off like that. you think you're so slick there, verstappen. is it because you're old man was there? wanted to show off to the pathetic excuse of a driver! fuck you, max. i didn't need the dnf because you needed to be a show off to daddy dearest, you piece of shit!" you knew you were just ranting, you sounded like a rambling mess but you wanted to win this.

through your rambling, he leaned in and kissed you on the lips, he didn't move when you tried to hit him in the chest. when he pulled away he held you by the back of the head, "it's all part of the game. you told me you'd rather be flayed than have me go easy on you. i'm treating you like every other driver. don't get mad."

you took a heavy breath before you pulled him in and kissed him on the mouth once more. he smirked against the kiss and wrapped his arms around you tightly. he held you close to him as you passionately made out with him.

when you pulled away, he said, "feel better now?"

you gripped onto the front of his shirt and deeply exhaled, "i could kill you and get away with it." then looked at him. his blue eyes always seemed to stare right into your soul. because maybe you two were bound by your souls, meant to exist in each other's orbit until the day you die.

he loosely kept his arms around you waist and pressed his forehead up against you, "i know. and i'd happily die by your hand." when he was tender like this, you wanted to bite his head off. but instead you simply let him hold you.

"you're an ass, verstappen." you muttered as you clung to the front of his uniform, "i hate that you know me so well and can get under my skin so easily."

he chuckled and held you closer, "i'm pretty sure you can map out every scar on my body and where i got it."

"like that time i accidentally stabbed you in the rib with a corkscrew." you said.

he nodded, "yeah and that time i fell down your stairs at your old home and you, me and charles had to figure out if my foot was broken."

you looked up at him and pressed your chin against his chest to look up at his face, "you really should've gone to the doctor for that. like two of your toes were purple."

"i lived." he then held you face for a brief moment before there was a knock on the door and you two stepped back from one another. he patted you on the arm before he shuffled you to the couch to act more casual than what you were just doing.

at least no one took any photos of you moment of romantic intimacy. in all fairness, what photos the press had of the two of you. was nothing compared to the photos max personally had of the two of you. everything from you in his driver's suit with nothing underneath (and the zipper open), to videos of you giving him head. he even had a video you took of him eating you out.

max had mapped every inch of skin with his lips and tongue over the years. from the plane of your back to behind your ear, the back of your knee and in between your legs. he could probably trace your body from memory with his lips. there was a likely chance you could do the same about him.

it continued on into the last night in the netherlands. the room max was staying in was lovely. you assumed only the best for the country's golden boy. you had come over after dinner and max was more than happy to see you.

you were seated by the big window with your feet propped up against the window ledge. in your hand was a glass of wine and you felt content watching the city go by as night hung in the sky. max was in the shower, so you were keeping yourself company.

you heard the shower turn off and you put the glass of wine down on the window ledge before he came out. even now, seeing max's cock made you look away to preserve some modesty.

you hoped that your expression didn't give it away. as he walked out naked with him rubbing the towel in his hair. to see him so exposed made your heart jump.

"like what you see?" he asked. he went over to the bed and got onto it, "i'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

you shot him a look, "i can't believe you convinced me to do this. is this a way for you to inflate your ego even more? you won this race and now you want to stick your cock in the one you drove off the track! and you didn't even get punished for it!" you wanted to stop your foot like a child out of sheer anger.

he chuckled, "well, you're free to come and go. i'm not forcing you to do anything... i certainly didn't force you to wear that dress either." his gaze on you was hot and it made you more flustered.

"i wanted something i could replace if you tore it." never forget when you had to replace your driving suit because someone got a good hold of it and ripped it at the seams around your pussy and ass.

call max impatient, it wasn't like your team couldn't afford it. if they couldn't he could always make room for you at red bull. he had to look after you.

"then i suggest you take it off before i start getting my hands on you." he spread his legs a little wider on the bed. the towel was on the floor to be hung up later, "last chance, my treasure. i want to hear you say it... you want me."

you reached behind you to get the zipper down. you'd rather die, but his heated gaze was enticing. you instead replied, "i want to ride you max, i want you under me as i fuck the daylights out of you. it is not a want, it is a need."

max barked out a laughter, "always so poetic." then licked his lips when you stepped out of the dress you wore. letting it grow wrinkled on the floor. it was followed by the expensive matching pair of bra and panties.

"did i buy that for you?" he asked curiously. he prone to sending you gifts in the off-season. while the rest of the drivers got joke gifts between each other. max always handed you something with a price tag that would make most gawk at.

you looked down at the matching set. you shrugged, "i honestly couldn't tell you. the brand it italian so, maybe it was a gift from charles." you made a face as you thought about it. it was all a lie, it was obviously from max.

the idea of charles even knowing your bra size felt weird, but with max it felt normal.

something crossed max's face as he leaned a little forward, his arms crossed along his toned chest, "funny. you're quite the comedian.' he raised his eyebrows at you, "so tell me, does leclerc fuck better than i do? is there other men i should know about? i heard you went on a boat trip with zak brown, is he getting action too? whore."

you made a face, "you're a possessive fuck, verstappen." you swallowed, "and if it strokes your ego, no. i'm not fucking anyone else because if i tried to fuck someone else i think you'd make their death look like an accident." you stepped forward, "if i told you that i was getting action from anyone, could be a random man. you'd kill them!"

max puffed out his chest for a moment in defiance, "really? what about that lovely girl, that reporter during our first year in formula one. you saw one picture and got the wrong idea. you left you crying. so don't act like i am so mean man." he uncrossed his arms as you got closer.

"she was going to use you, max. i knew it. you were so eager to be loved by someone, she would've taken advantage of you."

max sighed and braced his arms behind him. the two of you were naked and you were bickering. he said, "then name someone who won't take advantage of me."

you got onto the bed, your hand on his chest. you could feel the quickened pace of his heart. you said softly, lips close to his, "me." before you pulled him flat onto the bed and started to make out with him.

he loved the sound of that. when the kiss was broken, he watched you straddle his waist. if max verstappen was going to pick any lover, it was going to be the woman who drove him crazy on and off the track. someone he pushed him to be the best.

but in glimmers of tenderness, a soft underbelly. max knew that you loved him. and he loved you. it was just the words got all mixed up from the brain to the tongue.

i love you often became i'm going to beat you.

you sank onto his cock and hissed a little bit from the stretch. you held onto his shoulders for leverage while he guided you with his hands on your hips. your stomach flipped as you got fully seated on him.

"beautiful."

"shut up, max."

"never. not for you."

it was mushy, emotional in a way that made you core throb. a vulnerability that made you run hot. you rolled your hips against him, his cock nudged against the softest parts of you and it made your back arched.

max eventually got himself up against the headboard to feel closer to you. his hands left your hips and started to palm at your breasts. he soon leaned in for kissed along the soft skin. even his tongue dragged across your nipples, which only made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"you always feel beautiful." he said, "no one else has been like you." he had changed so much since you met, ten years of this. the back and forth.

it made you chest clenched. you could only imagine what would happen if all this came out. but, in fairness you couldn't keep it behind the doors of hotel rooms forever. the minor controversies of the two of you in each other's grasp.

you hated to admit it. but you loved max verstappen. he was as much a part of you as you were of him. racing was in your blood, but the draw towards each other. a twin flame.

he'd almost run you off the track, you'd get into his face. he'd buy you dinner and you'd slink off to his room. away from prying eyes, the two of you would make love. or at the very least a primal kind of sex that left your head spinning.

it was a game, one to shield feelings. but as you moved your hips against him. it became more obvious that you were both under a delusion. you thought he didn't know that you loved him and he though you didn't know that he loved you.

but was obvious. as you moved and he touched you. you two knew each other too well. it was an obsession and you had long since pushed past the line of enemies.

enemies didn't look at each other like they wanted to devour one another. max verstappen didn't think of lewis hamilton or charles leclerc when he saw engagment rings in shop windows. you didn't think of george russell or oscar paistri when saw expensive wrist watches. you didn't have dreams in your early adult years of you dressed in wedding white and alex albon beaming at you, and max didn't jerk off to a vast collection of nude photos of lando norris. you two were in your own little orbit.

you panted heavily as you continued to move. the feeling were growing as you felt the throb in your chest. you ranked your fingers down his chest.

"max." you panted.

"yes."

you pulled him by his face up for another kiss as you continued to move against him. you moaned into the kiss, and he in turn whimpered against you. the feeling was prodding at just the right parts of his brain.

you were beautiful and it drove him wild.

"i'm glad no one else can have you." max said softly, tinged with tenderness, "they wouldn't know how to handle a woman like you."

you held his face for a moment and looked into his eyes, "oh yeah and you're an easy ride too." then pulled him in for another searing kiss.

he held onto your hips and guided you quickly against him. both of you working for a common goal (for one).

you braced your hands on his bare chest to give yourself support and continued your movements. a few more heavy thrusts of your hips before you leaned down and kissed him on the lips. your cunt tight around him as the wash of lust came over you. you came, then he came. and it both left you exhausted and breathless.

you yelped a little when max grabbed you by the middle and pulled you on the beside beside him. he peppered your face with kisses and you felt hot all over. your heart leapt at the feeling of him holding you. his softening cock up against you.

"you're beautiful."

"max." you said softly, the heat still in your cheeks.

he held you, your head against his chest. one of his hands was on the back of your head while the other was interlocking his fingers with yours. you were gravitated towards the sounds of his heartbeat.

you sighed, "i fear i have to admit something to you, verstappen."

he perked up a little, "oh?"

you sighed and raised your head. your hair was a mess and you looked tired from the long day on the track and the longer night together. you said, "this isn't me showing weakness. if you mistake what i am going to say as weakness, then you have another thing coming."

he looked at you with raised eyebrows and asked, "what is it?"

you rubbed his broad chest and said in quiet voice, "max. i'm in love with you. and i have been for some time." you swallowed, diverting your eyes from him, "i think we suck as rivals. i think we need to become lovers, for real. even if we don't tell the press and give them that satisfaction. to be able to call you mine is all i would want."

he took you by the chin and pressed a kiss against your lips. your heart jumped and when he pulled away, he said quietly in return as if it were a secret, "i'd want nothing more. i think we're about to save the whole grid anymore headaches."

-

driving felt like a lifetime ago, as did the rivalry you and max shared. the day after max retired, he posted two pictures online. the first one had basically been scrubbed from the internet, except on max's phone. it was you two in your first year of formula one. your legs draped over his lap while he took a selfie of you two kissing. the second was a similar pose, years later. when the charade was over and you two finally admitted your feelings to one another.

in the caption he made a cheeky comment about how the two of you probably weren't as careful as you thought. but, that was being young and dumb. when you retired two years later, with two championships under your belt. you posted a photo of the small wedding you had a year prior.

your caption read, "call me mrs. verstappen and we're going to have a problem." you had simply hyphened your last names. which was then passed onto your son that you had a year after your retirement.

"niko." max was as he tried to wrangle his son, he eventually hoisted the little boy up, "you have to put on a life jacket, remember?" he smiled at his son, "you have to listen to mama, nicholas." he reminded his son.

the little boy nodded rapidly as max carried him onto the boat. you had lunch packed in a bag while max carried the rest of the stuff needed as well. the three of you were going for a little boat ride for the afternoon.

max made sure that his son was secure in a life jacket while you put the bag you were carrying down. you took a seat and picked up your son. you felt max's eyes lingering on you.

"what?" you asked half-jokingly.

max smiled, "i love you." he seemed lighter now, he had all the trophies he could ever need.

"i love you too." you responded, a phrase you had said a thousand times at least. to think that there was a period of time that the idea of loving him would've made you pull your hair out. you then kissed youe son on the cheek, "but i love you more, nico."

the little boy laughed and max winked at you before he went to get the boat started. while you busied yourself getting sunscreen on your son, you held your smile.

the media circus around you two eventually died now. there was no draw to mystery of your relationship, it also didn't help that the two of you kept nicholas out of the public eye. it left you both retired with your son. you'd sometimes think about how you were all those years earlier, when max was still your 'rival'. but, in all fairness, even if you two did stand toe-to-toe with one another and pushed one another into racing greatness. he was a better husband and father than he ever was a rival.

the sun, the moon and their little star.

[novaursa]

The Silver and The Gold

- Summary: This was the first time you and Aegon acknowledged the bond between you, and the first time you are truly one.

- Pairing: twin!reader/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. If you want to read this series in chronological order, you can find the list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is currently considered part one. But it can be a part just for itself.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 191

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the Red Keep. You and your twin, Aegon, have managed to slip away from your septa’s watchful eye once again, finding solace in one of the many hidden alcoves of the castle. These moments away from the prying eyes of the court are your favorites, the only times when you can be truly yourselves—just Y/N and Aegon, two halves of a whole, inseparable from the moment you entered this world together.

Your laughter echoes softly through the stone corridor as you both rush through a narrow passageway, your hand firmly clasped in his. Aegon’s pale blonde hair glows in the dim light, and when he glances back at you, there’s a mischievous sparkle in his violet eyes. You’ve both been caught sneaking away before, but the thrill of breaking the rules only adds to the excitement.

“Y/N,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into a small chamber tucked away behind a tapestry. “They’ll never find us here.”

Your heart races, not from fear of getting caught, but from the proximity to him, the closeness you’ve always shared yet lately feels different, more charged. The chamber is small, barely furnished, but it feels like a world of your own. The tapestry falls back into place, cloaking you both in semi-darkness, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window.

“We’ll be in such trouble if they find us,” you say, though there’s no true worry in your voice. The thrill of being alone with him like this, away from everyone’s expectations, makes it all worth it.

Aegon shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips. “When are we not in trouble?”

The truth of his words makes you both laugh again, and for a moment, it’s just like when you were children, chasing each other through the gardens, getting scolded for dirtying your clothes. But as your laughter fades, a tension fills the small space, thickening the air between you.

You’ve always been close to Aegon, closer than anyone else in your life. He’s been your constant companion, your protector, and your best friend. But lately, there’s been something more—a longing in his gaze, a flutter in your stomach when he brushes your hand, a sense that you both are standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“Aegon…” you begin, unsure of how to voice the feelings that have been swirling inside you.

He steps closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I… there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You look up at him, your breath catching as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He’s nervous, you realize, the ever-confident Aegon, unsure of himself for once. The realization emboldens you, and you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you place it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I think I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He covers your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. “Do you?” he asks, his tone soft, almost reverent. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The gentleness of the gesture sends a shiver down your spine, and you lean into his touch, your eyes drifting closed.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world stops. The kiss is tentative at first, exploring, as if you’re both afraid of crossing an invisible line. But the moment your lips part and you taste him—sweet and warm and utterly intoxicating—everything changes. The kiss deepens, fueled by the years of unspoken feelings, of wanting and needing but never daring to take.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your own hands find their way to his shoulders, then into his hair, threading through the silken strands as you press yourself against him. The kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted.

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself lying back on the small bed in the corner of the chamber, Aegon above you. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breathing is ragged, your heart pounding as his hands explore the curves of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I need you… I’ve always needed you.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you arch into him, your body responding to his touch in a way that feels both entirely new and utterly familiar. You’ve always belonged to him, just as he has always belonged to you. It’s as if this moment was inevitable, written in the stars long before you were born.

“I’m yours, Aegon,” you whisper, the confession slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “I’ve always been yours.”

His gaze darkens, and you see the shift in him, the realization that you’re his just as much as he is yours. The passion between you ignites, and the world outside the small chamber fades away. There’s only Aegon—his touch, his breath, the way he makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.

Your clothes are discarded in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, and when he finally joins with you, it’s like the world is remade. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping, but the way he looks at you, the way he whispers your name, makes it all worth it. He moves within you, and the rhythm you find together is as natural as breathing, as if you were made for this, for each other.

Time loses meaning as you both give in to the storm of emotions that has been building for so long. And when it’s over, when you’re both spent and breathless, you lie tangled together on the bed, the air between you charged with something new, something that can never be undone.

“I love you,” Aegon whispers, his voice hoarse but filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, almost reverent.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words feeling right, like they’ve always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

You’re about to kiss him again when the door to the chamber creaks open. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock as you turn toward the sound. A servant stands in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before her.

For a moment, no one moves. The servant seems to realize what she’s walked in on, her hand flying to her mouth as she stammers an apology. She backs out of the room quickly, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she flees, leaving you and Aegon alone once more.

Your heart races, panic and embarrassment flooding you. But when you look at Aegon, you see that he’s not afraid. He’s smiling, a slow, confident grin that makes your heart flutter.

“Let them talk,” he says, his voice steady. “I don’t care what they say, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”

His words calm the storm inside you, and you smile back at him, knowing he’s right. Whatever happens next, you’ll face it together, just as you always have.

The grand hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun as King Viserys Targaryen lounges on his throne, a sense of contentment softening the lines of his aging face. His golden crown rests heavily on his brow, but the weight of it seems lighter today as he speaks with Otto Hightower, his trusted Hand. Queen Alicent, ever dutiful, stands nearby, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

The rhythmic sound of booted feet echoes through the hall, growing louder as the doors swing open to admit a pair of Dragonkeepers. They stride forward, their faces marked with the quiet reverence that always accompanies news from the Dragonpit.

“Your Grace,” one of them begins, bowing low. “We bring news of the dragons, Sunfyre and Starfyre.”

Viserys leans forward, his interest piqued. His voice carries the weight of authority but also a grandfatherly warmth. “Speak then, what of the golden and the silver?”

The Dragonkeeper straightens, his voice steady but tinged with awe. “Sunfyre has successfully mounted Starfyre. They have mated, Your Grace.”

A collective breath seems to fill the hall, a hum of interest and excitement threading through the air. Viserys’s eyes light up with pleasure, his mind already considering the implications. “This is indeed prosperous news for our House. If their union brings forth viable eggs, it will be a blessing of great fortune.”

Beside him, Alicent nods in agreement, though her attention wavers as a servant, face pale and anxious, approaches her with hurried steps. The servant leans close, whispering into the Queen’s ear. Alicent’s expression shifts, her eyes widening before narrowing into a tight, painful grimace.

Viserys notices, his brows knitting together in concern. “Alicent, what troubles you? Speak plainly.”

The Queen hesitates, her gaze flitting to Otto before settling on Viserys. Her voice is low, strained. “It is… the twins, Your Grace. They… they were found together, in an intimate situation. They had eluded their septa.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence. Viserys’s face hardens, but there is something else in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or resignation.

“Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He closes his eyes briefly, then sighs deeply. “The blood of the dragon runs hot, it seems.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably, but it is Alicent who speaks next, her voice taut with disapproval. “They are young, but such behavior is… unbecoming, Your Grace. They must be reminded of their duty, of what is expected of them.”

Viserys opens his eyes, looking at Alicent with a mixture of weariness and something almost like amusement. “They are twins, born together, bound by blood and by fire. Is it so surprising that they would find comfort in each other, as their dragons do?”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, but she does not respond, sensing the futility of arguing with the king on this matter.

Viserys continues, his gaze distant as he muses aloud. “Sunfyre and Starfyre—brother and sister, golden and silver, a union as beautiful as it is powerful. They were born in the same moment, just as Aegon and Y/N were. Their bond is not one of simple affection; it is something deeper, something… ancient. The dragons choose their riders, and perhaps, in some way, they guide them too.”

The comparison is not lost on anyone in the room. Sunfyre and Starfyre, two magnificent creatures, both radiant with their own unique beauty, have chosen to mate, their union a symbol of strength and unity for House Targaryen. And like their dragons, Aegon and Y/N share a bond that goes beyond mere sibling affection, a bond forged in fire, blood, and the shared legacy of their house.

Alicent’s discomfort is palpable, but Viserys waves a hand, dismissing her concerns with a sigh. “They are of age soon enough, and they will wed as is our custom. This will strengthen the bloodline, as it has always done. There is no shame in what has happened, only the inevitability of it.”

The room falls silent once more, the tension easing slightly as Viserys’s words settle over them. The Dragonkeepers, still standing at attention, exchange glances before the king waves them away.

“Go,” Viserys says, “and let us hope that Sunfyre and Starfyre’s union blesses us with eggs, and that the fire of our blood burns ever brighter.”

As the Dragonkeepers leave, Alicent glances at Otto, her discomfort still visible. Otto, ever the strategist, simply inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the situation but offering no further comment.

Viserys, his mind already drifting to other matters, leans back in his throne. “Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs again, almost to himself. “They are as their dragons, destined to be together. Let them be. They will learn their duties soon enough.”

The conversation moves on, but the parallel between the dragons and their riders lingers, unspoken but understood. You and Aegon, like Sunfyre and Starfyre, are bound by something elemental, something that neither courtly expectations nor the disapproval of others can sever. The fire of your shared blood burns bright, and as Viserys himself has said, it is inevitable.

And as you stand by Aegon’s side, you cannot help but feel the truth of it in your very bones.

The dawn breaks over the Red Keep, casting its golden light through the high windows of the royal chambers. The warmth of the sun does little to thaw the icy tension that fills the room as Queen Alicent stands before you and Aegon, her expression a mixture of stern disapproval and maternal concern.

You and Aegon sit side by side on a cushioned bench, close enough that your thighs touch, your fingers occasionally brushing as though neither of you can bear to be apart for even a moment. Aegon’s hand rests casually on your knee, a gesture of comfort and possession that seems to rile Alicent further. She stands before you both, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gathers herself to speak.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you have done?" Alicent’s voice is sharp, each word carefully enunciated as though she needs to be sure you both understand.

Aegon lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug, his expression almost bored. "What we’ve done, mother, is what was expected of us. Or will be, soon enough." His voice is tinged with the arrogance of someone who knows his place and feels no need to apologize for it.

Alicent’s eyes narrow at his nonchalance, her voice rising slightly as she responds, "Expected of you? To dishonor yourselves in such a way, before your wedding even takes place? This is not just a matter of propriety, Aegon. You were found in an… improper situation, one that brings shame upon you both."

Aegon scoffs, leaning back against the bench, his arm slipping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. "Shame? There is no shame between us. We are to be wed, and what we do now is no different than what we will do once it’s official. The dragons have already shown us the way—why should we deny what is natural?"

His words are blunt, almost crude in their simplicity, and they make Alicent flinch. She shakes her head, clearly frustrated by her son’s cavalier attitude. "You are too flippant, Aegon. You speak as though this is a game, but there are consequences to your actions, even if you do not see them now."

Aegon tightens his hold on you, his gaze unwavering as he meets his mother’s eyes. "There are no consequences that matter, not when the King himself sees no issue. Father understands what we are, what we will be. Why can’t you?"

Alicent’s cheeks flush with anger, and she turns to you, as though seeking an ally in her reprimand. "And you, Y/N? How is it that you two continue to escape your septa’s watchful eyes? This is not the first time, and yet you act as though your actions have no meaning. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you look up at your mother, your expression calm. "We did what we had to, mother. The septa cannot keep us apart, and I would not let her even if she tried. Aegon and I…" You pause, searching for the right words. "We are meant to be together, as our dragons are. We are stronger together, and we find peace in each other’s company. Why should we be made to feel guilty for that?"

Alicent’s frustration gives way to something like despair as she realizes that neither of you feel any remorse for your actions. She looks between you and Aegon, her voice softer but no less stern. "You must understand that your behavior reflects on the entire House. You carry the weight of our name, and with that comes the responsibility to act with honor. Your bond is strong, yes, but it must be guided by duty as much as by affection."

Aegon’s grip on you tightens, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple in a gesture that is both tender and defiant. "We know our duty, mother. But our bond is our own. No one, not even you, can dictate how we choose to honor it."

The intimacy between you and Aegon, your heads leaning toward one another, your bodies close, is a silent but powerful statement. It speaks of a love that is as much a part of you as the blood in your veins, a love that refuses to be shamed or hidden away.

Alicent looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection before her. She takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she tries one last time to reach you. "I only want what is best for you both. But you must be careful. The court is full of eyes, and tongues wag far too easily. You must be above reproach, especially as the future of this House."

Aegon’s expression softens slightly, though his resolve does not waver. "We understand, mother. But know this—we will not deny what we are. Not for the court, not for anyone. We are dragons, and dragons are not meant to be tamed."

Alicent studies you both for a long moment, and then, with a weary sigh, she nods. "Very well. But know that I will not be so lenient if this happens again. The next time, I will not hesitate to involve your father directly, and you will not like the consequences of that."

With those final words, Alicent turns and leaves the room, her posture rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. The door closes behind her with a quiet click, and the tension in the room seems to dissipate the moment she is gone.

You and Aegon remain seated, your bodies still close, but now, the air between you feels lighter, freer. Aegon looks at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" he says, his tone playful.

You smile back, leaning into him as you feel his warmth against your side. "No, it wasn’t. But I wish she could understand. We’re not like everyone else."

Aegon nods, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "She’ll never understand, not fully. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we do, and nothing will change that."

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Nothing will change that," you echo softly, knowing the truth of those words deep within your soul.

The heavy oak doors to your chambers close behind you with a quiet thud, sealing the world outside as you and Aegon stumble into the room. The thrill of the night’s stolen moments pulses in your veins, a heady mixture of wine and newfound desire that has you both breathless with anticipation. Your heart races as Aegon pulls you to him, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The taste of wine lingers on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he presses against you, his hands already working at the laces of your gown. You reach for his tunic in turn, your fingers trembling with impatience as you tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

“We have too many clothes,” Aegon murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough with need. There’s a teasing edge to his words, but the fire in his eyes is anything but playful.

“Then we should get rid of them,” you reply breathlessly, your hands finally finding purchase on his tunic and pulling it over his head. His skin is warm under your touch, his muscles taut with the tension of restraint quickly unraveling.

Aegon chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In your haste, the two of you stumble over each other, half-laughing, half-moan as you attempt to discard your clothing. Your gown pools at your feet as Aegon steps out of his trousers, the two of you moving in a frantic dance across the chamber, neither of you willing to break the contact of your bodies for even a moment.

Aegon’s hands find your waist, lifting you with an ease born of familiarity as he backs you toward a nearby table. Your back meets the cool wood, and you gasp as he pushes your legs apart, his fingers digging into your thighs as he leans over you, his breath hot against your neck.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire as his lips brush your ear, trailing kisses down the column of your throat.

You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you breathe, your words lost in a gasp as he enters you, a moan of pleasure escaping your lips at the feeling of him filling you.

Aegon’s hands grip your hips as he moves, his movements frantic, driven by the urgency of a fire that neither of you can quench. The table creaks under your combined weight, but the noise only spurs him on, his lips finding yours again in a searing kiss.

“I need more of you,” he groans against your mouth, his voice hoarse as he pulls you off the table, your legs wrapping around his waist as he attempts to carry you to the bed.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, but in your haste, his foot catches on the edge of a rug, sending you both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The fall jolts a laugh from you, the sound bubbling up between moans as you feel the press of him inside you, undeterred by the sudden change in position.

“Aegon,” you gasp, your voice a mix of laughter and desire as you move together, the hard floor beneath you forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He chuckles, a breathless sound that vibrates against your skin. “I think the bed is overrated anyway,” he says, his hands roaming over your body as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor.

You can only moan in response, your body arching into his as the two of you continue your desperate union, every movement fueled by the need to be closer, to feel more of each other.

Eventually, the bed does beckon, and somehow, in the midst of your fevered passion, you find yourselves on it, the soft sheets a welcome change from the hard floor. Aegon’s pace slows slightly as he pulls you against him, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that is no less passionate but now tempered with a kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re mine,” you reply, your voice soft but no less fierce, your hands caressing his face as you look into his eyes, the connection between you deepening with every word, every touch.

The night stretches on, the two of you losing yourselves in each other again and again, until finally, you collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied, the fire between you finally quenched, at least for the moment.

As you lay there, your bodies tangled together under the covers, Aegon presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand stroking your hair as you drift toward sleep.

“Nothing will ever keep us apart,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise in the quiet of the night.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you snuggle closer to him, knowing that no matter what the world throws at you, nothing could ever break the bond you share. And as you drift into sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder that you are exactly where you belong.

The first light of dawn barely touches the sky, casting a pale glow over the Red Keep. The room is dim and warm, filled with the remnants of last night's indulgence—half-empty goblets of wine, discarded garments strewn across the floor, and the heady scent of passion lingering in the air.

You lay tangled in the silk sheets with Aegon, your bare bodies pressed together under the covers. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, and your head rests comfortably on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. The night had been a blur of laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of love that leaves you both breathless and content.

But the peace of the morning is abruptly shattered as the door to your chamber bursts open. Before either of you can react, the heavy curtains are yanked aside, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan, burying your face in Aegon’s chest to escape the sudden brightness, while he lets out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“For the love of—” Aegon begins, but his complaint is cut short as the covers are ripped away, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air and the stern gaze of your septa.

“Good morning, my prince, my princess,” she says briskly, her tone making it clear that there’s nothing good about this morning at all. The septa, a stern woman named Septa Maris, has the kind of face that rarely cracks a smile, and this morning is no exception. Her greying hair is pulled back tightly, and her eyes are sharp as they take in the scene before her.

Aegon squints up at her, clearly annoyed. “Septa Maris, what in the seven hells are you doing here at this hour?”

Septa Maris doesn’t so much as flinch at his language. “I am here under the Queen’s orders, Your Grace. Her Majesty has instructed me to ensure that you both maintain a presentable state until your wedding. And further to that matter—” she pauses, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Aegon, “—you will no longer be sharing a bed until you are properly wed.”

You feel Aegon tense beside you, his annoyance quickly shifting to anger. “That’s absurd,” he snaps. “We’re to be wed soon enough. What difference does it make if we share a bed now or later?”

Septa Maris raises an eyebrow, her tone unyielding. “The difference, Your Grace, is in the propriety of it. You may do as you wish after your vows are spoken, but until then, you will adhere to the customs of our house. Now, both of you, up.”

Aegon groans again, dropping his head back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his exasperation, and you reach over to brush a lock of his silver hair from his forehead. “Come now, Aegon, you know she won’t leave until we do as she says.”

He turns his head to look at you, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perhaps we should just ignore her and see if she gives up.”

Septa Maris, unimpressed by the suggestion, clears her throat loudly. “You will rise, both of you, and make yourselves presentable. I will not leave until it is done.”

Aegon lets out another exaggerated sigh but begins to sit up, clearly not thrilled about being dragged out of bed so early. You follow suit, wrapping a sheet around yourself as you move to the edge of the bed.

“There,” Aegon says with a smirk as he tosses his legs over the side of the bed, “we’re up. Are you satisfied now, Septa Maris?”

Septa Maris’s gaze sharpens as she catches sight of the wine-stained goblets on the nightstand and the scattered clothes. “Hardly. You both look like you’ve been dragged through the Dornish desert. You will wash, dress, and present yourselves properly before the Queen hears of this.”

Aegon rolls his eyes but stands, stretching his arms above his head, entirely unconcerned with his state of undress. You can’t help but admire the way the early light plays across his skin, the easy confidence in the way he moves.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles as he reaches for a discarded tunic. “But don’t think for a moment that we’ll abide by this ridiculous rule of yours. You might keep us apart during the day, but the nights belong to us.”

Septa Maris’s expression is as stern as ever, but there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes as she turns her attention to you. “And you, my lady, you should know better than to indulge your brother in such folly. You are a princess, and princesses must uphold the highest standards of conduct.”

You offer her a small, apologetic smile as you gather your own clothes, though you’re not feeling particularly sorry. “Of course, Septa. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Aegon snorts at your diplomatic response, pulling his tunic over his head. “Oh, we’ll remember it, all right. And then we’ll forget it again as soon as she’s out of earshot.”

Septa Maris steps forward, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough of this insolence. Lady Y/N, come with me now. You will bathe and dress properly before the morning meal.”

You and Aegon exchange a look as she says this, a silent communication passing between you. His eyes are filled with defiance and a promise—one that says no septa, no matter how stern, could ever keep you apart.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Aegon says, his voice light and teasing as he steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “We’ll find a way, as we always do.”

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping away, following Septa Maris toward the door. “I know,” you say softly, a smile playing at your lips. “No septa or gods could ever keep us apart.”

As you walk away, you feel Aegon’s gaze on you, warm and reassuring. The two of you might be separated for now, but it’s only a matter of time before you find each other again, as you always do. And the thought of that next secret rendezvous, hidden away from prying eyes, fills you with a thrill that no amount of propriety could ever diminish.

And as you leave the room, you’re already thinking of the many ways you can outmaneuver your septa, the promise of another night together fueling your every step.

[tojirights]

feat gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento & choso kamo

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, minors do not interact.

breeding, teasing, unprotected sex, daddy kink

buy me a coffee?

gojo satoru

teases you about it constantly. he can always tell when you're ovulating by the way you talk about babies, how you squeak every time you see a toddler in a cute little outfit, especially little boys in dino sweaters. you know gojo isn't looking to have kids soon, if ever, but he's always able to pull out the charm just enough to tease you while your baby fever sky rockets.

"oh my godd 'toru." you whine, pulling on his shirt to get his attention. the cutest little baby sits in a swing as you walk past the park, giggling as his mama pushes him. gojo just chuckles, shaking his head. "what's up baby?" he snickers, watching your eyes light up. "y'wanna go home and make one?" his eyebrows wiggle and you sigh with annoyance but you can't help the way your body reacts to his tone.

gojo wraps you in his arms and hums. "one day, princess. you'll be such a good mama." he kisses your forehead as you sink into his chest. "and you're gonna look so sexy pregnant..." he groans to himself at the thought. you roll your eyes as gojo pulls you close. "let's go practice, hm?"

toji fushiguro

loves to see you swoon over his kids, and is greatful you like 'em so much to give him a break. but he makes the mistake of falling for your little puppy-dog eyes and pouty bottom lip every night when you crawl into bed with him. he groans when you slide onto his chest, an innocent yet tempting look in your eyes.

"i wanna be a mama, toji." you say, seductive undertones of your voice making toji's cock throb. "you already are, hon." he answers with a chuckle when you playfully slap his chest. "you know what i mean!" you whisper yell, careful not to be too loud and wake the kids up. "wanna have a baby. gumi is getting soo big and i love him! but..."

toji smirks, his hands trailing down your hips and settling on your ass. "y'wanna have a baby?" he hums, lips finding your neck. "wanna be so full of me? have my kid in that belly of yours?" he bites back a moan when you grind on his quickly stiffening cock. you gasp when he suddenly flips you onto your back and looms overtop of you. "y-yes daddy please." your breathy little moan sets toji over the edge.

"anything for you, pretty girl..."

nanami kento

smart man, knows you're dying to have kids and isn't one to make you wait for almost anything in life. he's been away for a few days on a mission but you've been blowing up his phone about how much you miss him, and sending screenshots of ideas for decorating the nursery when the time comes.

he comes home from the mission with flowers and chocolate, greets you with a kiss at the door, and as soon as his hands are free, he scoops you up into his arms. "i'm ovulating..." you whisper into his ear, kissing down his jawline. nanami huffs a laugh. "you think i didn't know that, my darling?" he palms your asscheeks as he carries you to the bedroom. "you've been basically begging for a creampie since i got ready to leave." he drops you onto the mattress and follows quickly, already working on getting his pants undone.

you bite your lip, adrenaline starting to surge through you as nanami ignores the drawer where you keep the condoms. "you deserve that baby you've been so patiently waiting for, what a wonderful mother you'll be." he sighs as his raw cock pushes into your pleading pussy.

choso kamo

doesn't quite know how to react when you start making hints that you want children. he's caught off guard when you start showing him pictures of little baby shoes with cute pink bows all over them, but he can't deny that his body has a very physical and primal desire to fufill your wants. he's a family man, after all.

he wastes no time helping in tracking your cycle, wanting to take every possible chance in making your dreams a reality. he wants to see you pregnant again and again, bringing his first born as many siblings as you can both muster.

[lov4gor3]

A Dragon is Born

TW- childbirth, talks of death,and the stranger himself💀

RHAENYRA POV

“ ARGGH YOU CUNT “, she hears herself scream hoarsely, a sound that was came from deep within, so far yet so close. Her body burned with pain and agony, terror visible in her face as she breathes through her nose and exhales through her mouth. She swallows, terror now replaced with determination “ I will not end up like my mother “ she swallows the lump in her throat so thick as if she is choking on a rock.

Rhaenyra was incredibly nervous and terrified of giving birth, of dying like her late mother, those memories still ached into her memory forever ingrained into her mind. she wishes her mother was here to soother her, to guide her through the pain. But she is gone, of ashes and dust and she will never meet any of her grandchildren and that pains the princess deeply.

she continues to push and breathe, every breath like flames in her lungs, just like she was told and the pain…. oh the pain …… agonizing. The child bed is our battle field, her mother had one said. How Wise Queen Aemma was….. and how brutal she died.

Rhaenyra so deep in her thoughts didn’t feel the pressure between her legs,gone… empty, she opens her purple eyes, shrill screams of another…. a babe…. her babe… her firstborn.

There is still pain lingering in her body, but without a babe clawing there way out, the pain almost immediately subsided and she was grateful for it. She cries when she sees her babe, oh how beautiful her darling girl was, her babe being wrapped in a cloth and placed in her arms.

oh this feeling… this is what her mother always tried to tell her and there was nothing like it….. oh a mothers love for it is beautifully haunting. She looks down at her little one, her girl, her heir. There is a small tuft of white hair on her head and her skin is dark but a bit lighter than laenor but certainly darker than hers. This makes rhaenrya want to cry and scream with relief and accomplishment, a heir of house Velaryon and House Targaryen.

So enchanted by her babe she barely registered the midwives calling the guards to call for her husband and father. her cries have quieted down the long she feels her mothers warmth causes Rhaenyra to coo at her.

You will understand how much I love you when you have your own children, her late mother once said to her. In her younger years she scoffed at her mother claiming them to be foolish terms for she thought she would never have children, but now she understands the words of her late mother. It only took one look at her daughter to realize what she would do whatever it cost to make sure her babe was safe, unharmed, happy.

“ You little one have caused me a great deal of pain, but how can I scold you for when I’m so in love with you my darling girl. My little dragon i see it, you were born for this world to conquer it like our ancestors, to lead men into armies, to make them kneel and obey. my sweet girl you will show this world that women can be anything they put there mind to. “

Rhaenyra brings the babe to her chest cherishing this moment, peaceful and quiet, looking at the babe she carried in her belly for nine moons, so beautiful…

When she looked up she realized the sky was clear and the sun shone directly on her babe, creating an ethereal look... something inhuman... something dark....

"The Dragon has been born and they shall foresee a great prophecy in which the Prince that was promised shall fight in the war of death and darkness. For they shall bring the light-bringer and the Prince that was promised together to foresee and defeat death. For they are the most important piece in the game." whispered the stranger, looking down at the babe in the arms of her ethereal mother.

to be continued......

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Chains of Bones: DARK!GODAEMOND X READER PART TWO (YES ITS HERE)

Tags: DARK AEMOND, GREEK MYTHOLOGY INSPIRED AU

🔷Summary: You are a servant working for the goddess Rhaenyra and the God Daemon. You are tasked with protecting the flowers and one day, you find yourself captured by rhaenyra's greatest enemy: Aemond.

🔷Author's note: Dark af.

WARNINGS: Misogny, (no kidding) emotional manpulation, dubcon, body betrayl, vaginal sex (f recv) oral sex (f recev) rough sex, mentions of loss of virginty, emotional gaslighting and gore, blood, and a lot of...BONES. (Blood licking for this chapter)

This is a dead dove

Do not eat it.

(a+ warning)

wordcount:8265 (such a chonky)

Daemon's pov

It truly is set to be a special day. He could tell by the gathering dark clouds, the thunder that lightened the dark fields outside of the palace and the way how the moon was hidden behind the clouds. Darkness had certainly been fed, in more ways than one. He can’t help but think of Aemond whenever he looks at the night sky. How close they once were, and how far they’ve fallen apart. And for what? A crown, a wife, daughters? Who started this fight and who is truly in the wrong? Daemon? Aemond? Or is this all part of some greater scheme? Fate, destiny, however you like to call it? Daemon pours himself a drink.

‘’Did you let her go?’’ A voice booms out behind him. He is startled by the appearance of his wife, the goddess of light. Rhaenyra stands before him, wearing a red, scarlet gown with long sleeves and golden details, matching her golden ever shining crown. Her hands are uneasily folded in front of her, and he can tell she is upset. He doesn’t understand it yet. But somehow his instincts tell him that it’s all Aemond’s doing. Somehow.

His wife is pale of pure terror and yet still red of fury. ‘’I can’t believe this, Daemon! How could you be so stupid?!’’ She shouts, revealing her perfect teeth. Daemon is shocked by the words she uses. ‘’Do you know who she was?’’ Aside from a hungry orphan they took in one day to attend the gardens…No. He has no clue. He doesn't care. As long as she keeps Aemond happy he could not care about her happiness at all.

He knows Aemond. He treats his lovers well and already sounded smitten beyond words. That orphan will be shocked once he showers her with gold and love, when she is getting a happier life than forever here cutting flowers and watering them. ‘’Aemond’s soulmate? His Queen? He will treat the girl well in the Underworld. He plans to marry her, make her his wife and the mother of his children. This is a good thing, Rhaenyra.’’ He grabs her gloved hands, feeling where her scar hides beneath silk and lace. ‘’Aemond promised he’d invite us to the wedding. We can be reunited, as a family. The way my brother, your father, wanted it.’’

The thought of breaking bread with Aemond Targaryen makes her blood boil. He was not meant for any of his gifts. He was not meant to be the God of death. Nothing of this was meant to happen. ‘’Do not drag my father into this. There is a reason why Aemond missed out on his godhood by choice. My father never meant for him to be a god of anything, let alone death itself! And the girl you gave to him? Did it ever occur to you that Aemond had another, darker motive to kidnap her?’’ 

He sighs but he should have expected such a rude answer. Rhaenyra is a sweet woman who doesn't understand that men sometimes are over taken by their desires. Aemond as the embodiment of death most of all. ‘’Men have desires-”

She snorts. She had hoped he would believe her and trust her word.  ‘’I used to think you were clever. Your love for your nephew has blinded you. He is the one missing an eye, but you are the blind one here. You can’t see how he’s using you, sucking you dry and ruining our lives. What do you think will happen now that Aemond founds his soulmate?’’ 

Daemon rolls his eyes. Why should he care? The girl will be wedded and bedded and married off and sooner rather than later carry Aemonds children inside her belly. Why should he be concerned with any of that? ‘’I assume he’s planning a wedding.’’

She plays with her rings, firing a question at Daemon that breaks his shield and finally shows him how dreadful this situation truly is. Rhaenyra knows Aemond did not take the girl because he was overcome with lust or love. He took her as part of a strategy. She never has been close to her half brother but she knows he won't ever behave as a smitten boy. That part of him died long ago. And it wont come back. ‘’Do you think he’ll let her die?’’ Daemon freezes. He didn't think about that. He was so happy for Aemond and for a way to weaken his powers…That he didn't think of one very crucial detail. This girl needs to be kept alive. She needs to become immortal for Aemond's desires. And that means….

She watches Daemon slow and painful battle inside his own head. She can see the disappointment in his eyes. He is disappointed in himself. And so is she. 

‘’Do you think he’ll make another mistake like that?’’ she asks as a follow up question. They both know the answer. No. No he wouldn't. Aemond would never make the same mistake twice. Daemon knows that better than anyone.

‘’Aemond will be looking into making her immortal, Daemon!’’ Rhaenyra shouts. Daemon doesn't respond at first but smashes a vase in frustration. ‘’You endangered everyone we love and hold dear! Rhaena, Baela, Jace, Joffrey, even Aegon and Viserys! He will be out with knives lurking on us all until we make the tiniest slip up so his whore can become a Goddess!” She tries to storm out of the room but he stops her by appearing right in front of her, putting his arms around her body. The light in her hands shimmers as the room darkens.

All that can be heard is the promise leaving Daemon’s lips. ‘’I will make this right.’’ He has to save his children and his wife. He will protect his family. Even if it means hurting or even killing Aemond.

Rhaenyra steps out of his reach, denying him his comfort. Her eyes are tear stained and in the corner of her eyes are silver shines. ‘’How could you? Aemond outwitted us. He won this battle. I hope for the sake of everyone that he won’t win the war.’’ 

Daemon feels panic take hold of him, the way a puppet is pulled on a string. He cannot let Aemond win. He shouts the words one more time, willing himself to believe it. ‘’I will make this right.’’

His wife doesn't respond, she touches the silver with gold entrusted crown on her blonde locks. ‘’Good luck. We have another problem. The real reason why Aemond likely kidnapped her. It has nothing to do with love. But with his plan to get his hands on the crown.’’

She sits down on her throne. ‘’He lied to you, Daemon. He doesn’t love this poor girl. He is only interested in making the girl immortal so the sacrifice can be bigger. He doesn't plan on marrying her. He plans on murdering her.”

—---

You sit in the throne room helpless and completely alone. You still can't believe all that has happened. The King of the underworld has taken you home with him, claiming that he and you have this connection as he calls it. He then captured you and made love to you when holding you prisoner in the gardens. 

Something terrifying happened in the gardens. Despite your fears and better judgment, you ended up enjoying yourself when he took you. You enjoyed his cold fingers that somehow set your skin on fire and enjoyed his mouth sucking on your skin and the way he kept taking and taking…

And that is terrifying. Because maybe that's proof of what Aemond also believes. That you somehow are meant for one another. That you are his soulmate, that your bond conquerors somehow all. That is terrifying. 

You sit on the floor, trying one last time to break the necklace Aemond put around your throat. You give it a final good yank, almost choking yourself in the process. But it's no use. The stubborn bones only become stronger and you become weaker. So that won't be your way out. Time to see what will.

You aren't sure where Aemond ran off too. You don't want to know. You eye the big iron with blue sapphires decorated throne that stands all the way back in the room. You notice banners hanging with gems and black lace, and eternal fire keeps the room well lit with torches. 

The throne looks uncomfortable and unpleasant. You wouldn't want to sit it for sure. Opposite of the throne, all the way back to the beginning of the room are two huge closed doors with dragon heads as handles. You understand that is your only way out.

You run over the lush dark red carpet that is spread before the throne, careful to not hurt yourself by tripping over your own feet or the carpet. The carpet seems to only grow and grow and the room to extend beyond its original size. You are convinced Aemond is playing a game with you at some point.

Until the carpet finally stops growing, and you stumble head first into the doors. You curse, rubbing your head as you stare at the doors. There is magic at work here. Dark magic. You try to recall all that Rhaenyra taught you about dark magic.

But aside from “Never ever use it” Rhaenyra didn't teach you anything about it. It's not her fault. She didn't know you would need it now. Neither did you. 

You push the dragon head handle all the way down and the door opens with an annoying hard screech, close to the cry of a creature. Startled, you look around before entering the hallway, worried that the noise lured Aemond out of his hiding.

But in the hallway awaits no one but tall walls with glass windows, where dark shadows hide behind. You see nothing but the lush carpet that is rolled out over the ancient stones and only hear the flames dancing in the chandeliers and the wind howling outside. 

And yet you know.

You are not alone here.

Someone is watching you.

Aemond, that is likely.

You resist the urge to scream at the halls, cursing his name and yell at him for kidnapping you. You bravely continue your exploration. Mostly because you don't want to sit around until Aemond decides to give you attention again. You don't want to give him that satisfaction. You gave him enough already. Too much.

So you go on.

Step by step and breath by breath as you explore the big castle. It is older than the castle that Daemon and Rhaenyra have. You don't know how you know that. But something inside you tells you that you are entering grounds that are older than you could even imagine. You feel like a trespasser which is ridiculous. Aemond kidnapped you. He took you here. You didn't want to come along.

Finally you end up on a fork in the road where four different halls lead to bigger hallways with more doors and more secrets no doubt. You need to make a choice. Truth be told you are afraid. You don't want to get stuck in a cursed room or worse find a lost soul. You want to find the way out. 

You eventually decide to go left. You could always walk back if you changed your mind. You walk and when you turn around..

The castle hallway has vanished and you are surrounded by darkness. Suddenly, the throne room seems much more pleasing and inviting. You step forward, chasing the light with small steps.

When you reach it, your eyes are blinded and the world fades for a brief moment. You open your eyes and see that you are in a room. It has tall walls but no windows. There are various childrens toys laying around. Toys that seem old and stitched up. Bears with missing eyes and bunnies with missing ears. There are also cradles and bassinets. The whole room appears to be a nursery.

Why would Aemond need a nursery?

You feel your throat cut off as your stomach grumbles. Your heart begins to beat louder as the worst fears come to mind. You need to calm yourself down and tell yourself that you are simply hungry. In truth, you are worried. Terrified. He thinks you are his soulmate, he is definitely interested in having children with you. You won’t let that happen, however.

But first you need to get away from Aemond. You turn around…

“Would you like a pie, Milady?” A voice whispers near your ear. You scream, turning around to face whoever asked that question. 

You are met with a skeleton of a woman. She has long brown hair that is tucked away in a veil. Her bones are clearly visible and have damage here and there. You can tell she is an old soul. The woman smiles, patting the chairs next to two bears. “I make the best pies. The secret is fresh ingredients.”  That’s not a secret at all, you want to snap at her. You don’t. 

You don't trust her.

She begins to cackle. “You are as wary as your husband. I simply wanted to offer you a welcome gift. A pledge of loyalty.” You don’t like it when she calls Aemond your ‘’husband’’. You didn’t marry him nor consent to come here. He is not your husband and you are not his wife, no matter what that bone-wearing creature thinks.

You scoff. “I don't intend to stay here.” You will make that very clear. You will find a way out and you won't become Aemonds wife or the mother of his children. You don’t want pie, you don’t want food, or anything. No. You are filled with rage and all you want is to leave this place or hit Aemond on his nose. Option one seems impossible, but option two results in certain death so you which option you’d prefer.

She seems to soften at those words. She pities you, clearly. And who wouldnt? A girl, dragged into the underworld for Aemond’s dark desires and plots. She knows him better than you do. He pretends around you, he plays and preforms. He’s her captor. He is honest with this woman.  She seems to know a truth that you do not know just yet but will learn soon enough: That Aemond always gets what he wants. “You should get something in your belly. You can't think on an empty belly.” You consider her words and sit down. “Smart lass. I make dozens of pies for your husband.” Maybe she can slip in something to make him sleep. So you can escape. 

“He is not my husband.” You hiss between your teeth. She chuckles amused.

And that's when you look at the small oven in the corner of the room. You notice more bears standing there as if guarding the oven. “What is this place?” You ask.

“This is my eternal punishment. The King mistook me for another woman and locked me here. To suffer for all eternity.” You don't understand how he is making her suffer. The room seems wellkept and there is clearly food. 

She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. “You should eat the pie. I made it for you.” She says. You look at the pie she presents you. You don’t have any skills aside from gardening and watering plants. But there is another skill, a hidden talent from a life before all this. You are very good at reading people, especially when they are lying to you. And this woman, whatever reason she has for you to eat that cake, it is not good.  You stand up, shaking your head trying to be polite. 

“I am not hungry. Sorry for disturbing you.” it feels as if you broke something. As if glass shatters. A barrier breaks. And the woman smashes the plate to the ground.  You watch as worms come crawling out of the pie, the one bigger than the other. She rips off her veil, revealing a big stitch around her neck. Her head is close to falling from her shoulders. 

You back away, terrified, as her head dangles. “Don't look so afraid. King Aemond stitched my head back himself.” She chuckles. “He likes it when I lose my head over and over and over and over-” You don’t let her finish, running away. She shrieks before grabbing your arm, dragging her nails into your skin as her eyes rot in her head, worms crawling over her skin and the smell of rot fills your nose. 

A shiver runs over your back as more darkness briefly kills the light in the nursery room. A magic trick. A trick that reminds you of how Aemond first introduced himself to you. There were romantic roses, to avoid scaring you. You see it now. Because he can also choose to appear in a cloud of thunder and darkness, hell and doom.

He doesn't speak a word to you and instantly addresses the woman. “What are you doing with the Queen? Didn't I warn you to stay in the cellar, where you belong?” He lifts his head. You don’t speak, aware you didn’t had his permission to enter this room and he won’t like it when he finds out you were almost murdered or tried to escape.

The woman sighs, stomping her feet in frustration but understands the fight is a lost one now. She won’t harm you. But it was never about you to begin with. It was about him. She wanted to kill you, to hurt Aemond. And you realize that many others will do the same after this woman.  “I wanted to offer her pie. She is an orphan, Aemond. You didn't tell me she is an orphan. You know what I think of orphans.” You feel uneasy. How does she even know that? 

She turns to you when you back away, eying a frying pan near the table. She has one chance. “I ran an orphanage in my old life. Aemond hated how many souls I saved so he killed me and took me with him. But I saved dozens of little children from suffering, the way I did.” she proclaims. You feel conflicted.

Aemond nods, smiling very unconvincingly  before lifting her into the air and smashing her against the table before she can even reach her weapon. Plates and bears fall to the ground as you gawk. Aemond twists his fingers and blood comes pouring out of her eyes, as well her mouth as he creates holes by cutting open vines in her face. Blood comes pouring out. “You. Hurt. Her.” he hisses, his pupil tells you all you need to know. He's obsessed, driven by revenge and out of control.  Consumed by something bigger than you, bigger than him, even. It's something ancient, something that is always just lurking around, waiting for its turn…

Darkness.

Pure utter darkness.

“You think you touch what belongs to me? Kill what is mine by right? I didn't spend years looking for her to have her stolen from me. Not by you, not by Daemon nor by Rhaenyra!” he screams at her, spit ending up on the poor woman's face. You need to stop him. 

But you are frozen all the same. No one, no one ever cared if you were hurt. No one defended you like that. You shake your head, trying to focus on saving the woman for now. No matter how nice his defence feels he's wrong for hurting her. “Your Grace-” You tell him, tugging his cloak. You even called him his grace, expecting to sooth his ego.

He doesn't hear you and if he does he does not care. “She is trembling like a leaf.” He cuts off the air of the woman by choking her. “You don't get to scare her. You will suffer for your sins.” He hisses. “I will decorate the throne hall with your blood. How dare you upset her?! Your bones will decorate her head!”

You run out of options. “Aemond!” You scream as the remaining skin of the servant flesh begins to burn away, revealing deep holes with rotten bones below. You grab his arm, putting a stop to it.

You are pushed back by a force, ending up on the floor. Aemond stops immediately what he is doing, regret and worry written across his face as he kneels down besides you. He grabs your hands, rubbing the skin with his fingers as he looks into your eyes. “Petal, my dear. Speak to me.” He pleads. You sit back up, without his help.

“Never do that again.” He bites out, the moment he knows you are fine. “You could have been hurt.” He adds. He turns to the woman. He notices the worms on the floor. His cold expression becomes even colder. The woman trembles as Aemond crushes a worm under the heel of his boots. “To the fire with you. I will decide your fate later. But prepare for torture like you never had before.” Aemond vows before making the woman vanish.

You catch your breath. You can't believe he did that. Without any intentions he did that. He could've killed you. Easily. You need to be careful. This man might be your soulmate according to him but that doesn't make you a goddess. It makes you mortal and vulnerable. It makes you weak.

You decide to ask the truth. “You were hurting that woman.” He tilts his head as if confused before he breaks into a soulless grin. He gestures around the room, before bending and picking up a teddy bear with two missing eyes.

“You don't know who she is, do you?” You don't care who she is, she is to be treated with respect. Rhaenyra taught you that. Souls who come by her are treated gently before they are prepared to move on. And here they are treated unlike any being deserves. You don't think knowing her name is going to change that fact.

She tried to kill you, yes. But who wouldn’t in this situation? Clearly the woman is desperate or mad. Or both.  “Does it matter? No one deserves to be treated that way.” But once you have said it out loud, somewhere begins to creep this feeling that something isn't adding up to the woman's words.

“My kind, sweet, innocent Petal.” He murmurs, his good eye shimmering with adoration and love. He meant it as a compliment, you are certain of that but by the way the words leave his lips and how he looks at you, you feel mocked and ridiculed. 

He chuckles as you reveal your teeth snarling in anger. “Come now. I don't wish for us to fight. So I'll be honest about something. I can't drag souls with me to the Underworld. Everyone you see has come here by the design of the system. It has been this way since the last King.” So she earned It. That is his cryptic answer. 

“Except you.” He adds, when you open your mouth to protest. “Daemon had to give me permission before I could take you.” He makes his voice soft and gentle as if trying to smooth your nerves. As if he's romanticizing your kidnapping already. “Not that it would have mattered. If he didn't give you to me, I would have taken you another way.” He chuckles and you want to hit him when he caresses your face, booping your nose.

He sighs, putting the bear back on the chair, turning his fleeting attention back to the room.

“The woman you defended, deserves her punishment. She ran an orphanage.” so she told you.

You make a scoffing noise. Of course, that would upset him. She stole souls from him. What a bastard. “What a great criminal genius.” The sarcasm is dripping from your words. “Imagine her punishment if she taught them how to read as well.” You say, with a eye roll.

Aemond does not respond, and he doesn't smack you against the table either. His hand keeps rubbing the belly of the teddy bear he held moments ago, lost in thought. “She killed them, Petal.” You freeze. You wanted to ask who. You aren't sure why. You know who they are. You know who killed them. She did. She killed orphans. Innocent defenseless children who had no one to look out for them. You could easily be one of them. 

Aemond continues, his voice cold. “There were so many children's skulls, that I myself lost count. She would force them to do labor for her and if they died she chopped them into pieces, and put them into her pies. She gave the pies to starving people.  Except the eyes. She kept the eyes and put them into her teddy bears.” 

You feel as if smacked in your face.

You feel sick and horrified. You stare at the teddybears who all miss eyes. Those poor children. You don't have words for it. You are sick to your stomach. “She was worshipping you, wasn't she? That is why she kept their eyes.” You say, rubbing your stomach as it makes an unsettling noise. You remember some people who worship Rhaenyra leaving candles for her or shiny stones.

For Aemond, they likely leave eyes.

How horrible and twisted.

Aemond nods confirming your accusation. You expect him to laugh about it or make a joke. His voice sounds as if a nail hitting a casket. Repeatedly. He is furious. “....Yes. And that only makes my fury bigger. She deserves all the punishments I give her. Unlike what you were maybe taught, I don't enjoy senseless murder. I care a great deal about justice. Which is exactly why that woman should be locked up in the basement.”

You can hear some dark chuckle coming from his throat which sounds very sudden. Aemond's smile becomes a little broader and a little darker. You feel shivers run down your spine as he begins to approach you smirking. “But we haven't had time to discuss the most important question of all: What are you doing here, Petal?”

You know you got yourself almost killed. So does he. You can feel the fury radiating from him and the disappointment. He is upset you even tried to run. “I, what happened to the children?” You ask, trying to spin the conversation. “Did you save-” Your voice is cut off the moment Aemond calmly raises his hand silencing you.

He leans in closer, grabbing you tightly. You battle but don't last long. He is stronger. “Do not change the subject. You will answer me.” He whispers in your ear. When you don't answer, He grabs your arms, pinning you over the table and begins to kiss your neck. He moans against your throat.

“I am your Queen!” You cry out helplessly as he begins to kiss you again. You try to find it hateful and disgusting what he's doing with you. He needs to understand that while you enjoy his touch, you don't enjoy being treated as an object. You hope that reminding him of your title and position makes him see how terrible he is treating you.

But this time, his seemingly gentle and slightly terrifying side that seems to care so much about your wellbeing, is nowhere to be found. The monster is all that remains. 

“My queen, my wife!” he bites out between the painful kisses. “You know what happens when Kings are displeased with their Queens? They'll get punished. And that just happens to be something I'm quite good at.” He whispers. You begin to silently cry regretting you even set a foot outside today. You pray to Rhaenyra wishing for her to come save you.

You cry, tugging the necklace desperate to break it. Aemond scoffs as you nearly choke yourself. “You should know that the necklace cannot be broken or destroyed. You made it part of your own body and soul  when you touched my crown. Your own life is fueling the chain. You should also know that the bones chain you to me. You can't leave my side ever. Or you'll die.” He reveals. “And stop praying to her. She can't come down here. Not without my approval.” He grins, smirking as you continue to cry. 

He kisses your salty cheeks, feeling the way you tremble and you can tell by the way his pupils grow that it only arouses him more. “No one is coming to save you. No one can save you. You are where you belong.” He lets out another much deeper moan as he begins to lick your neck, stealing hungry glances at your breasts.

You hold back a soft moan as Aemond kisses your lips, spreading your legs. You hear his laughs and his dark chuckles. You shove his arms away, angry and upset.  “Why deny yourself pleasure, my darling? Don't you know I can hear every dirty thought echoing in your mind? How you want me to rip your dress open and for me to have my way with you?” You do and you do not. You have two people living inside of you, it seems. Your sensible experienced personality, who knows what Aemond does is wrong. And something primal, ancient and out of this world strange who just wants to let him do what he wants. 

Aemond smiles as your inner battle continues. He tries to convince you once more. “It felt good, didn't it, Petal? You enjoyed feeling full. You enjoyed getting fucked and being stuffed. You enjoyed it all and you have the audacity to lie to me that you don't feel our bond.” It's true what he says. There is something between you two, something big and it's real. It's terrifying you. It makes you want to run far far away from.

He sees you tense up. He tries to lower your walls again. “I felt it too. The way how tight you wrapped around me. It was as if inserting a key in a very special, stubborn lock. There was no need for me to twist or to be rough. The chest just…opened.” he shudders at the delightful memory recalling how he fucked you sore and bloody in the garden.

You want to protest and argue. Fight and resist. But you can't. “You rise so quickly, my little Petal. Delicate and fast. That's good. I have needs and desires and I am sure to have needs for you.” You shiver as he runs a finger over the chain you wear, stimulating your spine. You wonder if he's going to touch you now. You are longing for it, you discover. Aching. Wanting. No.

Needing.

Aemond smirks, coming closer to your body. He leans in as if to kiss you, his lips inches from your own. He lifts your skirts, feeling you between your legs. “Such a shame, though, that I am punishing you.” He says before removing his fingers taunting you with a soft little pet almost a brushstroke. “I want you to understand that you are my Queen. But you are to be my wife too. The wife's duty in marriage is to provide for her husband's needs and his desires. It's to have his children one day.” 

That little confession is enough to break the magical spell and to make you understand how terribly messed up your situation truly is. “What?” you whisper, horrified at his confession. “I didn't sign up for that!” You take a shaky breath. Aemond seems to be confused as he stares at you, his grip loosening. He stares at you but he isn't there. He stops kissing you. He caresses your face, muttering words but doesn't speak them. 

“Petal…?” He mutters. You are terrified and confused. His silence and empty eyes betray that somehow you weren't talking to Aemond at all moments ago. You were talking to whatever possessed him. He can't seem to control it. You are aware of that. You are stuck with arguably the most powerful God of all, and he can’t seem to control his own darkness and powers. You are in great danger.

“Please let me go.” you whisper. “I can't make you happy. I can't make anyone happy. You'll be miserable around me.” You don’t even lie. You make for terrible company.

He only grabs you tighter, upset that you are even resisting him to begin with. “You are a stubborn little thing. In time, you see this is something good! You can't be stolen from me, my love. You'll be at my side, where you belong. You'll be my Queen and my love. The mother of-” You freeze at that last word. You never had a mother. You don't know how to be a mother. You don't want to be one. You can't be one.

You pick up the pan closeby your hand and smack Aemond across his face. The King is injured but heals instantly scowling in a way that reveals you didn't do much damage. You made things only much worse. “You mean your whore! You don't allow me any freedom! If I am a Queen, why am I treated as a prisoner? Why do you say you want to punish me and hurt me? Why do you-” You tear up, sobbing as he begins to kiss you, bearing your neck naked so he can kiss you properly and bite you painfully to punish you.

“Because I don't trust you yet.” He says.

You scoff. You know he is right. But it all sounds like he’s making excuses. “I've given you my all. My virginity, my pride.” He laughs, darkly as he throws his head back into his neck. He scoffs at your tears.

“You didn't give me anything. I took it from you. You were aroused and wanting but you also were afraid and insecure. So I had to take the first steps.” He pushes the crown on his head  a bit further as you avoid his eye. He lifts your chin gently and wipes away your tears.

His glare becomes a playful sly glance as he begins to touch. “The first time is known to hurt. You did well. You obeyed and even joined in on the fun. I want to bet that once you see how I am, you and I will spend so many happy years together.” His mood swings confuse you. He also seems to really really believe that his personal happiness depends on you.

“What makes you say that?” You wonder why Aemond Thinks you are his one true love. You want to know what the liar told him and squeeze their eyeballs out.

He smiles, already forgotten how he pinned you down and bit you. “You're like me. A kindred spirit. We seek the limits. We break them and change them. That's how we are. We are unlimited and endless.” He makes you sound so powerful. So fearful. So …immortal.

You stare into his eye, caressing his face gently. You sit back up on the table. You lean in and as day and night circling each other your lips find his own. You burn yourself hissing as you stop the kiss. He brings his little finger to your burned lips, healing you with a single simple touch. He kisses you again and again as you slowly become infused with toxic wants and desires that you shouldn't have for him just yet.

Aemond was so keen on playing with your feelings earlier, denying you your pleasure. You will pay him back for that. You wait until Aemond has the increased and much darker pupils again, understanding all too well you mess with something you shouldn’t mess with. His grip is tighter and small burns appear soon on your wrists as he undresses you and himself, sloppily and full of groans. He spreads you, before slamming himself inside of you, grunting in your neck. You feel your own skin burn under his, and worry this could kill you. “This is where you belong. On your back, taking my seed and cock. You think you can escape but from the moment I laid eyes on you, you were meant to be mine.” 

He begins to trust his hips, keeping eye contact with you as he thoroughly seems to feel every inch of you, trusting himself inside of you, painful and slow. He takes his time discovering you, watching your reactions closely as he begins to experiment on your body.

He goes for your breasts first, greedily sucking on your tits. Your arousal grows and your body likes it, but the pain that follows isn’t pleasant at all. When Aemond’s mouth leaves your tits, you notice small burns on your breasts. You are shocked.

“You hurt…” You mutter, trying to push him off you.

Aemond rolls his eye, quickly kissing you to get you quiet and pushes you back on the table, taking you deeper and rougher. “You'll be healed. I promise. I know you want this too, Petal. Your arousal has not gone unnoticed. And you do deserve a punishment for disobeying me.” He whispers when taking you. You try to be strong and stoic and cold. He is hurting and pleasuring you at the same time. Does he even realize that your skin can’t handle whatever is going on with his lips?

You wait until Aemond is distracted, slipping away for a moment, turning your back to his front. It doesn’t take long before you are back on the same table, his hands on your butt while you hear the loudest smack you ever heard and feel a stinging burning pain. You scowl. “What in the world?! Did you just hit me?!” You will kill that man.

He grins, shrugging. He doesn’t even seem to care. He takes the cheeks he spanked so painfully and begins to rub and feel your flesh. “I spanked you. That's a bit different. My intention isn't to cause you pain. It's to make you embrace your destiny.’ A lie, clearly. You can tell. You study his face, the way his eye is glued to your belly tells you he doesn’t want to talk about it. His pupil has become fully black, even the usual white part. Just one endless, black and terrifying eye staring at you. He grabs you by your hips, entering you from behind, grunting in your ear as he takes you. You pleasure builds as you try to find enjoyment in this. It isn’t difficult. He seems to know your body somehow better than you know it yourself. You just wish the burns wouldn’t hurt so much. “If only I could just stay inside of you forever. But I know you are hurting. The burns and bruises..” Aemond groans as you playfully twist his own nipple, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He grins, grabbing you by your hair and pulls you playfully closer, taking you again. ‘’That tickled.’’ You don’t doubt it for a moment. You aren’t weak and can pack quite the punch. Aemond just happens to be an immortal God. Pain works differently for him. He heals faster too. You saw it with the pan. There’s not even a scar. A human being would’ve been knocked out. 

You like it so far. But you want more. You think of the best way to play him, to get what you want. You push his hands off you. Within seconds they are on the table, almost glued to the top. He bites your earlobe, feeling your parts as you feel pleasure burn through your skin, your veins and your very soul. ‘’Do not resist it. You won’t get far anyway. I know this place better than you do. You’ll only end up in troublesome situations.’’ He chuckles, the bastard. You are tempted to kick him for his little condensing note at the end but instead you fake a submissive little sigh and allow him to fuck you again. He stops, studying your face. ‘’You think you can outsmart me, don’t you, Petal? You think I don’t notice? I do, my little human Queen. You get to do all the messed up dark dirty things with me when we are in bed. I don’t mind an uncouth partner. I quite like being kept on my toes.’’ You mutter in your head that he yaps too much. Too much yapping, more fucking. Aemond as if reading your mind gives a rough, almost shattering trust to your core, causing you to cry out loudly for release. He holds you down, smirking. ‘’Just don’t be offended, if I pay you back for it. Yes?’’ He waits for you to answer but slams inside of you, bringing you to the edge and forcing you to fall. You are hit with many emotions of pain and bliss as you come as he takes you, crying out for mercy. He grabs you tight, and you hear him grunt your name as he finishes inside of you, bending your head down and giving you one last rough fucking. You pant, turning around and facing him, blood dripping down your face. Aemond tilts his head, studying your naked, bruised and slightly burned body. He brings his fingers to your forehead, scooping up blood that comes out of your forehead. You watch speechless as he licks it, tasting it.  ‘’Mhm. Don’t get frightened. It’ll heal.’’ He says. You move, setting your feet down on the floor. The floor changes colour under your feet, and when you lift your head you are in a lavish bedroom.

The walls are gold with scarlet. Golden chandeliers shimmer on the ceiling, dangling peacefully. Diamonds and gemstones decorate the walls, together with paintings of animals. You are now sitting on a huge bed, suited for more than two people. You sink in the pillows, wearing a new appropriate red silk gown, definitely the most expensive thing your fingers have ever touched. You look around the room, closer. You notice a vanity with a hairbrush and a matching stool, a room where you can see one or two dresses hanging in, and when you look at the flowers on the golden gilded nightstand, you see there are no real flowers there. Just dark purple amethyst shaped into flowers. You are absolutely blown away. There were days you starved, days you stole and robbed to eat pathetic little crumbs. And now? You could buy a carriage with this. Or a horse. Or both.

Aemond stands before the bed, giving you a wink, clearly happy you like your new bedroom. You don’t want to like it. You feel as if you don’t deserve it. “Sleep well, love. I will be back. Try to not miss me so much.” You glare. He waves, chuckling before almost skipping out of the room, completely in his own world. You stare at the ceiling, and notice paintings of dragons and flowers. You close your eyes instead, trying to block out the wealth. 

You lift your head, staring at the vanity. When you see your reflection looking back, you see that from your head, two small pale, claw-like things have come crawling outside of your neck, outside of your skin. Your bone necklace, the necklace Aemond told you was unbreakable, has grown into your skin. You don’t know what that means, as Aemond didn’t explain it to you. But it can’t be good.

-

Flames dance in the chandeliers as four people sit around one marble table. Queen Rhaenyra plays with her rings, unintentionally causing the room to be hidden in darkness from time to time. Her consort and husband, King Daemon sits next to her, his eyes always wandering to the door, afraid that Aemond shows up at this council.

His daughter, Baela catches his glance. ‘’You can stop looking. Aemond has better things to do than spy on us. He thinks he can’t be stopped anyway.’’ Daemon stops, embarrassed his own daughter had to point this out. Baela sighs, not even bothering to apologize. It’s been years, but she still remembers what Aemond did. And what he took from her.

Rhaenyra speaks. ‘’Does anyone have any idea to stop Aemond?’’

Jace, god of Charm and Rhaenyra’s heir, speaks up.

‘’We can kill her.’’ He suggests. A stupid plan. It would not make a difference. It would only make Aemond angry and vengeful. It won’t strip him of his powers. And that is what needs to happen.

The Goddess of Momento laughs, scoffing at his naive little plots and plans. She always is reminded of Jace’s godhood being mere…well, social. Not very mental. Hers, on the other hand… ‘’Yes, because that went so well the last time.’’ Her twin sister, Baela rings out dryly. Baela plays with an orange that switches between the stages of rot and freshness, as her clear time magic is being put to use. ‘’I haven’t forgotten what happened to Lucerys because of Aemond. He’s the reason I am without a husband, and Rhaenyra with one son.’’

The Queen of Realms and light, bows her head in gratitude, thanking Rhaena for the defense. Jacaerys scoffs, insulted that his rule is undermined. He finds it stupid that the two dragon girls are even invited here, at this council. The last time they were involved, they caused Aemond to kill Lucerys. It is their fault. Aemond threw the blade, but they armed him. They are guilty, same as him.

Rhaenyra hisses as the crown briefly slips from her head, falling on the table. She quickly puts it back on her head, casting a magic spell to see if she can track the girl’s thoughts. But nothing appears. Silence. Deadly silence.  ‘’It’s going faster than I thought. I can’t track her anymore.’’ She announces. 

The three others glance at each other, uneasily. Is she already killed?  ‘’What did he do?’’ Rhaena wonders out loud, not questioning anyone. Dark magic has always fascinated her.

Queen Rhaenyra throws her hands on the table, frustration getting the better of her as the chandelier dangles dangerously, the light in them flickering. ‘’Likely something! I don’t know. I don’t know dark magic. My father intended for my son to follow the path of death, my boy, my sweet boy who was the good itself. Not this, dark individual corrupted by power!’’ Daemon tries to comfort her, but she only pushes him away. Daemon still is blamed for her son’s death. No matter how much he tries to redeem himself. She will never forgive him.

Rhaena brings the attention back to her. ‘’I’ve seen some things. The girl isn’t happy that Aemond kidnapped her. If we can get to her, we can destroy him. Using his own love against him.’’ A wild plan. A foolish plan. A genius plan.

‘’You think this girl will betray Aemond?’’ Jace asks, scoffing. He finds it a dumb plan. 

But Rhaena is very sure of her case. She spent time watching Aemond, yes. She knows him well. But she spent more time watching this girl. Aemond wasn’t the only one who knew of her existence. Rhaena knows her better than he ever could. ‘’I think this girl is more keen on surviving than anything. We don’t have to keep her alive, of course.’’ Her eyes briefly go to Rhaenyra, who nods. She folds her hands on her lap.

The Queen nods. ‘’It’s for the best that after Aemond is defeated and the crown is back where it belongs, that we murder the girl. She has seen too much. It would be a mercy to grant her a quick death after enduring Aemond’s torture.’’

‘’Agreed.’’ Jace mutters. ‘’I can get into the Underworld. I don’t need much, just one conversation and I’m sure with Rhaena’s help I can convince her to turn on Aemond.’’ 

Daemon, who hadn’t been listening at all to what anyone was saying, looked up at long last. ‘’How do you plan on getting into the Underworld, exactly? You think Aemond is going to roll out the carpet for you and make you his best man?’’

Jace smirks, enjoying the way everyone listens to what he has to say. ‘’I am quite charming, when I want to be. But my in isn’t at Aemond’s mercy. It’s at his girl’s. Once she’ll know how to summon me, she’ll do so, and tada, out of the upper world, into the hellfire.’’

Daemon remains unconvinced. Jace will get himself killed. ‘’How will Aemond not kill you when he sees you around his girl?’’ Aemond is known to be protective and violent around men who mess with his girls in the past.

His laugh is starting to annoy Daemon, so Jace quickly stops it. ‘’I don’t know this girl, but I assume she wouldn’t like it if Aemond showed his true, murdery side to her. I think he’ll behave and lie to get her approval.’’

Rhaenyra shakes her head. They need someone Aemond would trust blindly, and give his life for. Someone who can make him open the portal, someone who would now come back into his life, with his wedding and his newfound love. Someone who can awaken that cold dead heart of his. Someone like…Rhaenyra slams with her hands on the table, smirking. ‘’It is too risky. We must appeal to her. We must turn to the Goddess of Justice. The Queen of Right and Wrong.’’

Baela shakes her head, disliking where this is going. ‘’You can’t mean…?’’

Rhaenyra nods. ‘’But I do.’’ Her eyes are burning with determination. ‘’We must ask Alicent Hightower for help.’’ The Goddess of Justice, the Goddess of right......

and Aemond's own blood.

His mother.

A/N

Such a chonker chapter holy cheeseballs.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

I love you

God Aemond loves you too (he boops your nose haha)

[yandereunsolved]

Could you please make a headcanon about the Links reactions to the readers' cooking, please? ( part 1 ) ( @sweetlicorice )

yandere Links present: Cal, Four, Hyrule, Legend, Ravio, Sage, Sky, Time, Twilight, Warriors, Wild, Wind

cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of food drugging, self-deprecation

Cal: Cal is astonished for a moment as he takes his first bite. The melody of flavors mixed in his mouth. It's safe to say that he is always giving you possessive glances whenever you make food. He swallows it down so vigorously that you fear he's about to choke. It doesn't matter if you have the cooking abilities of a royal chef or a Bokoblin. He just loves it because you made it.

Which means he's always first in line. He's ever so anxiously bouncing his leg. It's barely noticeable—just a miniscule amount of movement from his rigid body. You are still able to tell. He gets extremely upset if anyone but him gets the first plate. Time allows Cal to always get the first plate, just for the sake of keeping him calm. Time nearly has to tear Wild and Sage off of Cal as they fight for their position in the food line like a bunch of rambunctious children.

Four: Four always makes utensils and various kitchen accessories for you. He gets elated when he sees you using them. He has a smirk on his face; the hours meticulously spent shaping the metal into the correct shape were worth it. That also means he gets to be the first to taste test things.

Both Wild, who helps you cook, and Wind, who sticks near your cooking, are always noticeably upset. Wind will always try to steal the spoon out of Four's hand so he can try it first. However, this has only led to you feeding Four the first bite of whatever it is you have made. Every single Link is outrageously jealous of this. Four just looks up at you with innocent doe eyes and states, 'Mhm'.

He always gives honest feedback about how good the food is. If he is a little harsh, then he'll always make sure to craft you something to make up for it. He doesn't mind his bluntness around the other Links, but he wants to be softer towards you.

Hyrule: Hyrule thinks about drugging your food a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. He enjoys every one of your dishes. He just wants alone time with you. If he put some sleeping potion in your ingredients, then he could have you all to himself. He could even kidnap you if he wanted. 

Besides those thoughts, he's one of the Links who prefers helping you pick and gather ingredients instead of just watching you cook. Wild is naturally skeptical of Hyrule just wanting to 'help' you gather ingredients. It has led to many arguments between the two of them. 

That doesn't stop him from picking berries and mushrooms with you. That doesn't stop him from lighting up when he sees you using the shared variety of fruits you both have gathered. That doesn't stop him from wanting to wipe the small amount of left-over food from your face. He wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you when you cook for them so badly.

Legend: Legend's reaction to your food always gets him in trouble with the others, especially Time. He always has some snarky remarks. He always rolls his eyes and eats it begrudgingly. He couldn't get all soft on you yet! He hates the hurt look in your eyes. It looks like he just kicked a puppy in the stomach. Yet he has to do it. He has to stand out. He can't just be another one of the lover boys trailing at your heels. You have to earn his soft side first. You have to choose him. So until then, he'll continue to act aloof towards your cooking. 

It doesn't change the fact that he's the one who always steals the leftovers before Wind or Sage is able.

Ravio: Ravio pops in and out to try your cooking. He's always bringing you odd ins and outs that may help you cook. Most of them are enchanted, and occasionally a cursed object slips in there. Ravio always ends up getting attacked by the entire group when that happens. It isn't on purpose! He just sees an item that is slightly kitchen-related, and he gets so excited because he wants to give it to you that he forgets to check if it is cursed or not. 

Ravio is the outsider Link, as always. He has a menagerie of skills that outclass multiple Links. Which makes him a greater foe amongst the infighting of Links.

He always gets super giddy when he gets to try something of yours. He always softly inquires if he can take some home. He just wants to feel your food fill him. It'd almost be as good as if he were the one filling you.

Sage: Sage is in the middle of Legend's and Wind's reactions. He does his best to stay calm, but he still ends up clinging near you when you cook. Even if he has to set up camp, he still stays near you. He'll sit on a log and fiddle with something passively, acting as if he isn't staring at you with an all-consuming obsession sparkling in his eyes. If someone asks him to help with something, he doesn't say a word or move. He grunts and just continues to absent-mindedly do whatever he is doing. He may not outright compliment your cooking, but he'll smile towards you a bit and give you a satisfied nod.

Sky: Sky always compliments your cooking. He's always respectful and uses his manners. He may throw a light-hearted sarcastic remark or two in there for good fun. It never has anything to do with your cooking abilities. They are just subtle digs at the others. 

He is confident that he will win your heart in time. He's just happy to be warmed up by your food.

There is a sense of possessiveness toward what you cook. He guards his plate the way Twilight guards you at night. He doesn't want one of the others trying to knock his food on the ground or eat. That's a common occurrence. When you aren't looking, the others may try to steal another Link's dinner just so they can have more and the other Link can have less.

Time: Time makes sure that none of the others are overwhelming you when you are making their meals. He uses Twilight to drag the other Links off if they are making you uncomfortable. His trademark disappointed stare always works very well. 

He always has a very dad-esque reaction to whatever you made. He smiles and either ruffles your hair or pats you on the back. His heart palpitates in that moment. He feels as if he is going to lose you if he lets you out of his sight for a single moment. He desperately wishes for two eyes so he can see you in your full beauty. You'll never have to worry about missing any ingredients for your dish or dishes that you are making.

Daddy Time has got it. He'll go into the deepest depths of the most accursed Hyrules to get the ingredients himself. Fierce, or Malon, is always willing to help them. They may be more obsessed with you than he is, considering they don't get to interact with you as much.

Twilight: Twilight feels his hylian ears twitch whenever he hears you cooking. His body becomes alert to it. His pointed nose was taking in the delicious aroma. His mouth waters to the point where he is almost drooling. He is able to continue doing his assigned task, but he is also thinking about chowing down on the food that you made. 

When eating it, he continuously looks at you. You'd be such a good mate. You can cook and help take care of the ranch. He can cook sometimes and also take care of the ranch. You can pet him and scratch right behind his ears, where he likes it. He doesn't even realize that he looks a bit unsettling as he unblinkingly stares through your soul while casually munching on what you cooked. 

Warriors: Warriors always stays away from you when cooking. So many of the other Links are trying to bother you. He doesn't want to be a pest to you. He doesn't even think he should get too close to you. Your food is like a gift from the heavens. It feels so homely and safe. It reminds him of something he has been deprived of. He doesn't love being in love; he hates it. He doesn't want to eat your food, yet he always cleans his plate and praises you.

H-He's from a non-canon game? He hears from you once, under your breath, while preparing some unfamiliar dish from your place of origin.

He begins to grow anxious internally. Is that a bad thing? Is he a bad protector? If you reassure him enough, then he'll get a little closer and watch you cook. He still prefers to stand guard, though. Only the goddesses know that the other Links are so whipped that they can't see any danger until the danger comes toward you.

Wild: Wild always makes sure to master the recipe you are making on the first try. He begins to panic and self-depreciate. You have to keep him from spiraling quickly. He is incredibly territorial about your cooking time with him. He's ready to pounce on whomever gets too close to the both of you. Even a simple update on camp being set up will have him harshly handling the ingredients, an angered blush spreading across his features. Pray to the golden three for Wind. Wild would definitely have killed the little pest by now if it wasn't for you. Wild just gets so clingy and insecure. He wants all of your attention. That little pretend pirate can go drown in the Great Sea for all he cares, actually, he'd prefer it.

Wind: Wind gets very excitable and also distracted when you are cooking. Whatever he was previously doing has now left his mind. He curiously looks around at the cooking prep you are doing. Wild is right next to you, glaring masterswords at Wind.

He always ignores Wild and just asks you a bunch of questions. He wants to know everything about the dish you are making. Is it from your homeland? Is it a delicacy or a simple meal? Is it hard to make? Can he touch it? Can he touch you? Can you be his? Can he take you away from The Chain and make you his pirate spouse? His thoughts often get away from him. His ADHD brain can't handle the stimulus overload.

[naffeclipse]

A Little Pod

Beluga!Reader x Orca!Eclipse (ft. baby sirens Sun and Moon)

Commission Info

Here's Orca!Eclipse being a dad and a flirty mate thanks to a commission from the lovely @crazedauthor! She allowed me to choose the Y/N for this comm and I was delighted to do Belgua!Reader. We've not seen one with Eclipse and baby sirens Sun and Moon, and I had to remedy that!

———

You flick your tail slowly along the waters boarding a coastal ice sheet. The sky is deliciously clear and the sun is warm and bright, glinting across the snowy ice with a dazzling slant. Floating on your back, you drift with the weight of two siren young cuddled in your arms. Your tail is round, smooth, and white with small fins which slightly curl at the tips—so unlike the strong and striking patterns of your adoptive children.

Softly, you gaze down at the little ones. Nestled in the crook of your right arm, almost too big to properly contain, is Sun. His big eyes blink, gazing up at you with wonderful curiosity. You smile back. He shares a blue eye on the white side of his crescent marked face with his brother, but the other is yellow, burning like sunshine early in the morning. He nuzzles softly against your shoulder. His beautiful array of head fins drip in gold and flare out to white-gold tips like the gleam of light refracting off of an icy surface.

His tail is a squirming, restless thing that wiggles against your side, splashing the sea over your middle. Unlike you, he possesses sharp, strong flukes even so young. His dorsal fin is small for now but arches tall compared to his tiny body, tipped in brilliant yellow and gold, the beautiful colors following similarity along the end of his fins. His markings are unique among orca sirens: white and creamy yellow. He squeaks endlessly.

“Yes, I know, little one,” you answer, voice soft and attentive. “You have so much to say and I don’t understand any of it yet. But one day I will, and you can tell me everything all over again.”

His wide maw splits into a grin, revealing his nubby baby teeth. A high-pitch chirp of delight unleashes from Sun and you giggle with him. Bowing your head, you press your lips to his sleek, sheeny forehead.

A quiet whine arises from the crook of your other arm. You lift your head with a soft gasp. 

“Oh, oh, oh, my darling! I won’t forget about you, no, never,” you trill, answering your other adoptive child. 

Moon grumpily gnashes his teeth. The poor thing is tired, displeased with the swim in the middle of the day while his tummy lies empty. He shares his brother’s markings save for a black and white color pattern  which carves a half moon onto his face. His right eye cast in the blackness is a deep, pulsing red. His wide gaze stares up at you while he slowly blinks. His brow furrows with irritability. Mewling, he hides his face against your collarbone. 

Gently shushing him, you promise him a meal when their adoptive father returns. You lift a hand to gently stroke down the sleek appendage which dangles off the back of Moon’s head. His face is not crowned in brilliant gold fins nor deep burning reds, but small, silver fins. A soft, sleepy cerulean begins at his crown and melts into a deep blue. At the very end, a small fin in the shape of a star dangles. His fins and flukes carry the same colors, and together, your twins remind you of the rising morning sun over a midnight deep ocean. 

Your children, though not by your blood, are beautiful. Your heart bobs within your chest at the loss of their parents—by no uncertain terms, a tragedy. Eclipse found them, all alone. Regardless, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that they are safe and well fed, the thick blubber of their baby fat keeps them warm. You hold them safely.

It’s strange to think you were so frightened when Eclipse first brought you the twins. Of course, you didn’t understand then how much they needed you both.

Moon settles under your fingertips, his eyes growing heavy, drooping while you pet him softly. A great yawn splits his mouth, exposing his pearly white and round teeth. He is a grouchy thing when he doesn’t have his food or naps. 

“There, darling. It’ll be alright. Your father will be here shortly and then your belly will be filled and you can sleep all you like.”

Sun continues chirping and occasionally whistles not unlike you. Orca sirens, from what little you have gathered from Eclipse, don’t carry the same brillant pitches and whistles that you do. You admit you are glad you can entice your mate with lullabies he has never heard before, and in turn, he serenades you with deep, moving vocals that heat your heart into ice melt and stir your middle into a bubbling mess.

A soft splash echoes beside you. Your heart leaps in your throat when large hands fit around your waist, squeezing softly. Mindful of the little ones you hold, a soft flick of a tongue touches the shell of your ear, and your face floods with a heat that would combat an Arctic blizzard in the middle of a polar night.

“Happy day, my love.” He purrs the words against the nap of your neck. A sleek, large tail cradles your own, easily dwarfing you as he pulls you onto his chest, and together, your family floats like an iceberg. “How are the little ones?”

You struggle to find your voice, swallowing down the bubbles filling you up at his touch.

“Hungry.” You turn your cheek to find something drifting lifelessly along the surface just behind your mate. Teeth marks cut into the red and transparent flesh. A soft, mushy food that is easy for the little ones to chew and swallow despite being so young. You feared they would die without a mother’s milk but they thrive despite the odds. 

Sun immediately squeaks and squeals, calling for Eclipse’s attention with a heart endearing excitement that tugs on your core. Moon’s eyes fly open. He stares up at his father, owlishly gazing with a fixation that speaks to how glad he is to see Eclipse once more.

“Let me feed them.” He rumbles pleasantly against your back. “You’ve been doing wonderful caring for them so much. I will feed you too.”

Your cheeks bleed a pinkness.

“No, no! There’s no need,” you spout, embarrassed at such a thought and yet, you soften at such an offer. “They need to eat first.”

“They will, my lovely lullaby,” he growls softly as one hand releases your hip. “I will take care of you, no matter how sweetly you resist.”

You squirm slightly, as if to escape, but he holds you firmly against him. A soft splash echoes as Eclipse snatches the dead squid in his claws. Lifting it to his mouth, you feel a slight trail of a squishy tentacle against your shoulder before Eclipse snaps his teeth. 

He gingerly lifts a chunk of squid from his mouth, dangling it above Sun’s restless cries for food. You chuckle as he scrambles against you, his tail slapping the deep blue surface while he squeaks for a bite. Gingerly, Eclipse sets the meat into Sun’s grabby hands and frantically, the siren young begins gnawing on the soft flesh. His baby teeth make quick work of the meal. 

Moon whines a sad, pitiful sound. His large eyes threaten to dissolve into tears at his brother receiving the first taste. You coo gently.

“Your father is getting yours ready. It’s alright,” you softly sing until Moon’s bottom lip stops trembling. 

Eclipse delivers a fresh piece of squid gently to his adoptive child. Moon takes it in his chubby fists and begins chomping at it with vigor, his sadness quickly dissolving like snow upon the sea.

“Hungry little minnows, aren’t they?” Eclipse chortles. Gingerly, he swims you all along, a floating island of black, white, and red. He gently strokes Sun’s and Moon’s backs while they eat. “Chew slowly, little ones. The food is not leaping out of your mouths, I made certain of that.”

Of course he did. You fill with the memory of when he first saw you. Eclipse began your courtship with a prized offering of a squid and an insistence that you were already his mate. He frightened you. His teeth are shark-like and his size dominates your own, but he proved himself worthy of your songs when he held you close under the northern lights.

Quietly, you catch his jaws moving once more. Good. He needs energy to keep hunting food for the little ones, their appetite ceaseless and their needs great. You enjoy holding them. It’s difficult to part from their sides even when Eclipse insists you need a break to stretch your tail and move without the twins in your arms.

A black bone claw strokes your cheek. You grow still at the tender tracing, as if Eclipse intends to memorize the shape of your face with his touch alone.

“There has never been a more beautiful caregiver,” he whispers into your ear. 

You inhale softly.

“Eclipse,” you murmur, half in protest, half in a melting mess. 

“Truly, you never cease to amaze me,” he continues mercilessly. You feel your pale tail begin to shift into red, your entire body a blushing, betraying shade. Your mate rasps softly against your cheek, “When I first beheld you, I thought you were a living sculpture of snow, and my heart was captured. Then, you sang and enthralled me, mind and body. Now, you sweetly tend to our children. I knew it the moment I first touched you.”

He nuzzles softly into the crook of your neck. You mewl a tiny sound, resisting the urge to wiggle under the electrifying touch for fear of disturbing Sun and Moon in their meal.

“You are perfect,” he pulses.

“You are going to upset Sun and Moon,” you caution but it sounds weak and breathy even to your own ears. “Are you trying to court me once more? I’m already your mate.”

He chortles a dangerously low sound. His teeth graze the shell of your ear and you shudder. 

“Can’t I still seduce you, my lovely lullaby?” He rests his chin on your shoulder, gazing down at the two orca siren young that have become yours. “We have two children, but why not more? We can make our own pod.”

You balk, and the tips of your ears burn. Yet the thought deliciously stirs within you.

“One baby at a time, Eclipse,” you whisper, then smile, “Two, in this instance.”

“Very well.” He sounds far from sated with such a proposition, but to your relief, his attention shifts. He lifts a small piece of squid. A perfect bite for your mouth. “Eat. I won’t have you growing weak with hunger while you protect our children.”

You don’t resist as he softly presses the tender squid to your mouth. Parting your lips and taking it with your teeth, you begin chewing, savoring the succulent flesh. Your children swipe their tongues over their maws and look up, furling their messy fingers for more. Tiny squeals echo.

“I should feed you by hand more often,” he rumbles around a bite before he tears that apart, too, and splits it evenly between Sun and Moon. The little ones snatch the offerings with glee. A few slick smears of their meal paint their face but you’ll wait until they’ve filled their little bellies before cleaning them off. “You’re so precious when you let me take care of you.”

You almost choke on the squid in your mouth. It’s a wonderful thing Sun and Moon don’t understand the wicked words falling from their father’s lips, and yet, you can’t help but warm underneath his praises. Swallowing, you find your voice.

“Perhaps I should feed you next time,” you offer softly. “I can hunt too, and you need time with Sun and Moon. You can teach them best how to be orca sirens. I cannot.”

It’s not so sad that you didn’t give them your soft, white tail or small, round fins. They are perfect, Eclipse is entirely right in this regard as he proclaimed it so when you first agreed to raise them as your own. But your habits are so different. Perhaps, you might teach them the songs of beluga sirens. That would be enough.

“I would gladly accept such an offer.” His deep rasp slips into you and swirls around your heart. He presses sweetly against your cheek. “I will gladly have your undivided attention.”

Sun and Moon whine. Sun wiggles against you, scrabbling for his father while you laugh. Moon yawns, showing off the pinkness within his gaping mouth before he slips deep into the cradle of your arms, nestling greedily onto your chest. He lays his head softly over your heart.

“Oh, I’m afraid you have dangerous rivals in that regard,” you singsong.

Eclipse grunts, mockingly annoyed but his eyes glow softly with tenderness as he allows you to slip off of him. He takes Sun into his hands. Gently, he fits the tiny orca siren against his chest. Eclipse opens his other arm and draws you close, holding his entire family within his embrace as Moon gives a sleepy sigh.

“I’ll find some time for us tonight once we find a place on the ice safe enough for them to rest.” His grin flashes dangerously. Your heart races with the burning heat of his twin star eyes as he says, “Then I am entirely yours.”

[kedsandtubesocks]

cw: children, light gendered language, angst (I’m sorry)

“Mama, look.” A little tug at your coat sleeve has you turning to the direction of your daughter.

“Papa!” She announces bright and warm, her little finger firmly pointing at something.

Following her line of sight where she’s directed you, a bundle of hydrangeas sit among the flower shop’s blooms.

“That isn’t your papa, silly goose.” You playfully poke her nose, a very Gojo trait you’ve unfortunately picked up. Stubbornly she waves your arm away.

“I know that.” Your little girl huffs rolling her eyes with all the personality of a five year old who feels like she’s wise beyond her age, so much like her father.

“But white and blue, those are papa’s colors!” Her voice sings happily, and her words pierce through you.

The soft petals, blooming with the edges of a baby blue and soft cream white, are in fact a perfected blend of him. You’re grateful they’re still blooming even now.

“Good eye, little lady. I’m sure papa will love these.” You beam at your daughter. Her eyes, those gemstone blue eyes, just like her fathers, glimmer excited like a warm summer sky.

She carries the way too large bundle in her small arms, stubbornly refusing to let you take them from her, another stubborn Gojo trait. Once the flowers are secured, of course you stop by Satoru’s favorite ice cream spot. Even in the cold you know this is what he wants.

“Papa! We’re home!” Your daughter announces grand and loud bursting into the apartment. She’s completely forgotten about the flowers, instead happily scurrying off to find Satoru.

The closer you approach you catch her voice rattling off, rambling about the pretty bird she saw today, about the cute new coat she wore today because it’s his birthday.

“And we got you ice cream too, your favorite! I promise I won’t let mama eat it all.” She giggles.

“Don’t forget the flowers.” You remind her of stepping into the room. Compared to the rest of your home, Satoru’s old office room today is unusually warm, twinkling with a light from the window.

“Oh yeah! The flowers!” Your little girl says bright, clutching onto the framed photo of Satoru, the one she without hesitation grabs off the altar here so often.

The Gojo clan would scream in horror at how little disregard she had for any ceremony and tradition. But Satoru, your Satoru, you know is snickering, proud and jubilant, that she doesn’t care…just wants to be as close to him as possible. You both do.

Maybe next year you’ll finally take her to the gravesite…

You place the hydrangeas among the other flowers that have been sent to you in honor of today.

A thick emotion swells in your throat. Tears prickle in your eyes. Suddenly, your daughter effortlessly crawls onto your lap as she eats some of the mochi snacks she had left for Satoru earlier this week.

“Mama, do you miss papa?” She asks curious, no hint of malice. You draw her into your arms closer.

Everyday - you want to tell her you miss him everyday. So much sometimes you think you’re missing a piece of your heart and it hurts to breathe.

“I do, but then I see you and remember papa wouldn't want me to be sad. Especially for you.” You tell her.

“And besides, you might not fully understand yet, but papa is always with us. Just like in the flowers you noticed.” You nudge towards the blossoms.

“Yeah!” Your daughter eagerly turns to you while she still tries clumsily holding onto his photo. “Like sometimes I think I see him! Like when you cook or when I play with ‘Gumi!”

You nod fighting back the tear and instead smile down at her. You can cry later. Right now it’s a birthday party.

“There’s no crying at my birthday, baby!” You can almost hear him saying in that annoying sing song voice of his.

Happy Birthday Satoru, we love you…your heart whispers.

You swear the faintest warmth comes around you, as if arms have wrapped you in their embrace.

[rabbitsrams]

snowy mornings - jschlatt x reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, teensy bit suggestive at the end :)

wordcount: 1.1k

a/n: its not even close to winter but i wrote most of this in one sitting so enjoy hehe

(moodboard by me, pictures not mine)

The sun barely peeks past the clouds. Small sprinkles of snow are still falling from the gray sky as Schlatt leaves the house. 

He's all bundled up. He's wearing at least four layers underneath his coat, something his mother always insisted he do. A hat that you got him as a gift is snug on his head and thermal gloves he's had since he was sixteen keep his hands warm. 

He looks through one of the windows of the house as he walks to the sidewalk, knowing you are still sleeping. He wishes he could be back in bed with you. Wishes he could have you in his arms. Wishes he was wrapped in blankets with you by his side as the heater warms the room.

But he's got a shovel in his hand, carrying the thing over his shoulder while he goes to the corner of the block, freezing his ass off even through all the layers.

His poor neighbors, elderly and helpless. They always thanked him whenever he shoveled for them, asking their children to come over and bring him some baked goods once the afternoon came. He didn't do it for some reward or anything, he knew some fucker would try to fall on their unshoveled property and “sue them for all they're worth,” as he told you one time. He just wanted to help them out and make sure their pathways were cleared.

He forgot to bring headphones out, so instead of blasting King Krule and Radiohead, he listened to the scraping of the metal against the concrete. The scraping that echoed throughout the entire block, likely waking light sleepers from their slumber. You were one of those light sleepers, and yet you stayed asleep. 

It was taxing going around the corner and back to his house to clear pathways for walkers alike. His neighbors would do it as well but in due time. They weren't early risers like he was. But only in the winter.

Memories of his father waking him and his brother up at ungodly hours to shovel after overnight blizzards crashed their way into New York. Those mornings were silent as well; it was like the grating scraping was music to his father's ears.

He managed to complete all the shoveling in less than an hour, his personal record. 

Quickly walking back up the driveway as the sun completely rose, he placed the shovel against the garage and went back inside, shivering and stomping the snow out of his boots. 

He yawned as he took his hat off. He placed it on the flat part of the handrail, looking at how the snow immediately started to melt into the fur. The gloves were next, he was shocked his fingers weren't completely numb. Then the jacket, also hastily hung next to yours, untouched since yesterday. The boots were left right by the door to be moved later as he walked up the stairs and to the bedroom where he discarded the extra layers.

He didn't see you stir as he entered the room. Even in your tired state, you could tell he was out of bed. You opened your eyes and saw him undressing, remaining in an old t-shirt from his father's college days and flannel pajama bottoms you often coveted.

You stretch, yawning softly. That gets his attention. He walks toward the bed and wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. You're shocked awake by how cold his nose is.

“You're so warm...” he says, your neck muffling his words.

“Baby, you're freezing,” you hum as you pull him into bed with you. “Did you go out and shovel?”

“I always do.”

“Aww...” you kiss him on the cheek as you wrap the blanket around him. “You're so good.” 

He hums a response, cuddling close to you. He holds you tight against him, wrapping his limbs around you in an awkward manner.

“You are too fucking tall.” You joke. 

“And you are too fucking beautiful,” He kisses your neck many times. “And warm.”

“Go back to sleep, honey. You need to rest.”

“'S long as I can hold you in my arms like this, I'll sleep forever.”

You giggle, your laughter turning into a soft yawn. “Even when you're tired as shit you're still corny...” Your eyes close as you begin to stroke his hair.

He wakes before you once more five hours later. Your hand is still resting on the side of his head while the hand where your wedding ring rests is closer to his face. 

He shifts slightly so he can have a better view of you. Your mouth is slightly agape as you breathe, your nose too stuffed for you to breathe through it properly. He can see the gap between your two front teeth, something that makes your smile all the more beautiful.

You eventually wake to the sight of your husband watching you. He’s smiling softly, tiredness still present in his eyes. “Hey, you all warmed up?”

“I am… you’re so pretty…” He lays his head on your chest. You smile, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go get something,” You say as you try to get out of bed. He tries to grab you and bring you back to bed. “Just give me ten minutes, fifteen at most.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You come back ten minutes later with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He’s sitting up at this point, a hand running through his messy hair. He smiles when he smells the steaming beverage and reaches his arms out as you place it on the bedside table. You get back into bed and snuggle close to him as he blows on the drink.

“You remembered the marshmallows…” Schlatt says, a yawn obstructing his words. 

“Of course I did.” You say. He laughs softly and wraps an arm around you. He tries to take a sip of the hot chocolate but hisses in pain as it burns his tongue.

“Aw, fuck.”

“Burns?”

“Yeah,” Schlatt waves a hand in front of his open mouth to try and ease the pain.

“Want me to kiss it better?” You joke. He nods, leaning close to you. You grin as you cup his face in your hands, the hair on his muttonchops tickling your palms. You press your lips to his softly, letting out a soft noise of surprise when he slides his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. He tastes like hot chocolate and home.

When you pull away, his face is tinted red. “All better?” You ask, feeling your face heat up.

“Um…” Schlatt pretends to think for a moment. “I don’t think so.” He tugs at the hem of your, his, sleep shirt.

“Oh… well I definitely need to do something about that.” You raise your arms above your head and allow him to take the garment off before leaning in once again.

[adrift-in-thyme]

@uncleskyrule happy belated birthday!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this! I hope it's worth the wait!

------------------------------------------------------------------

Four knows what sleep deprivation looks like. 

He’s seen it spelled out on his grandfather’s face when long days turn his usual joviality to melancholy exhaustion and draws the shadows of half moons beneath his eyes.

He’s seen it painted across Dot’s beautiful features after an arduous night when the memories resurface, memories of a leering crimson eye, of claims to possession hanging heavy over her, of cages and darkness and smothering magic. 

He’s seen it shadowed across his own face too, when the battles within and without grow to be too much, darkening his features, drawing them thin, sucking the youthful fat from his cheeks, the light from his eyes.

And he’s seen it…on the faces of his brothers.

On Time’s when the moon is full. On Twilight’s when a quiet twilight falls and skeletal trees whisper in tongues known only to some. On Wild’s when the amnesia recedes, Warriors’ when phantom lips press across his cheek, Wind’s after he awakens screaming his sister’s name. On Hyrule’s when he gives too much, Legend’s when the adventures he never speaks of tell their tale in his petrified cries at night…

And now on, Sky’s.

Some may find it strange for a man who can drift off practically anywhere to suffer from fatigue. Add to that uncanny ability, Sky’s penchant for seeming one of the most mature of their little group, the most…put together.

But Four is well acquainted with the deceptions someone can tell through demeanor alone. He himself has been dubbed mature, put together, responsible. And while, yes, those labels are true (Four would certainly be cross if people decided to start dubbing him childish or, Hylia forbid, a disaster as they call some more unruly children in his Hyrule), the lie rests in the assumptions they bring about.

Beliefs of invincibility and impervious spirit. Beliefs that there is no need to be gentle or kind, no need to offer respite or lighten the load.

It is the same fate their leader suffers so often, the same Warriors and Twilight sometimes crumble beneath. Suffering silently, yet always strong. So strong.

And Sky…

Sky hides it better than anyone.

Four is uncertain whether or not he is the only one who notices his distress. Perhaps, he is. 

It doesn’t matter though. In fact, if he is the only one who has taken note of it then it is all the more important that he do something before Sky’s inevitable collapse.

But life never makes things simple. And in the end, he’s too late.

It has happened too many times now — a portal that separates the heroes into mismatched groups. Four thinks that perhaps, after his near defeat at the combined hands of the champion and the rancher the Shadow is attempting to be more careful. 

More conniving. More vicious.

Attack first and you won’t be defeated. Such is the attitude of wild animals and beasts. More than likely, the Shadow shares it too.

This would explain why in addition to splitting the heroes up, this portal also dumps them right onto a battlefield.

Or at least, it does for Sky, Legend, and himself. Four can’t be sure what the others are facing. But he can only pray it isn’t a sand-drenched dungeon packed with redeads and stalfos.

The unearthly screeches of the emaciated corpses fill his ears as he fights, teeth gritted, heart pounding. It’s all the three heroes can do to stay out of reach of their paralyzing cries.

Back up to escape one beast and you nearly collide with the mad swing of a stalfos’ claymore. 

Four winces as the very tip of a blade slices across his left arm and leaves an angry gash in its wake.

That’s going to need a bit of potion to remedy.

Beside him, Legend growls what sounds like a curse as he plunges his hand into his pouch and retrieves a fire rod. He brings it in a sweeping horizontal arc. In a blaze of blistering heat, a group of the monsters fall.

“Well done,” Four says with a breathless smirk. He plunges his sword into the gaping chest cavity of one of the stalfos still struggling for survival on the darkened floorboards. With a raspy exhale, it dissolves into ash. “I think you just turned the battle in our favor.”

“I’d better have,” Legend huffs. “The sooner we get rid of these things, the sooner we can get out of here.” He screws up his face in a grimace. More monsters crumple beneath his skilled hands. “It smells like death.”

It does, indeed, Four thinks as, finally, the last of the monsters fall. The stench of it hangs heavy, permeating the thick darkness that surrounds them, wafting from the thin threads of light carrying from faltering torches. 

But now that the battle is over they can focus on escape. Hopefully, to a place where it proves easier to breathe.

He sheathes his sword, glances around. The gash on his arm throbs and the various bruises and smaller cuts he earned join in its stomach-churning beat. Still, it could have gone far worse. 

“We all okay?” Legend asks, bangs falling into his face as he replaces his fire rod. 

“Yes,” Four says. “How about you…Sky?”

His voice pitches an octave higher as he catches sight of the Skyloftian, turning the question almost into an exclamation. 

The knight lies crumpled where he had stood mere moments before. The Master Sword lies fallen beside him, his cape flows over him like a blanket of snow. His breath comes in shuddering gasps that grate upon Four’s ears as he races to his side. 

“Sky!” 

He shakes him, slightly, and hazy blue orbs flutter open. Sky groans. 

“What happened?” Legend drops down beside him, panic in his voice and a half-empty potion bottle in his hand. “Did a monster get him?”

Four shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” A quick inspection provides no sign of blood or other injury. But Sky’s face is ashen and he shudders as though in the throes of fever. “Sky, are you hurt?”

“N-not hurt.” Sky curls his fingers into a fist, as though attempting to gather strength. “J-just…just…” He swallows, tries to drag himself up, and nearly collapses again. It’s only Four and Legend’s quick movement that keeps him upright. “‘M fine.”

“Like hell you are!” Legend’s eyes are blazing with emotion now. “Sky, what happened?”

Sky shudders again. He glances down at the trembling hands he has folded into one, white-knuckled fist. There is a certain helplessness in the look.

“I dunno,” he croaks. “Was fighting and the room start-started swirling.” He curls in on himself further, and Four wonders if the next shaky exhale brings tears with it. His voice is very small. “I just-just fell.”

“And you didn’t have the strength to get back up,” Four says, solemnly. An idea is already forming in his head, a confirmation of what he has witnessed these past few hellish weeks. 

I should’ve acted sooner.

But there had been fights both in and out of the group, and injuries and secrets unveiled. There had been discussions long overdue, restorations to be made in the face of pain and sorrow. And he, he had been in the midst of it all. 

Between explaining the Four Sword and its powers and making up with Wild, he just hadn’t found the time…

“You haven’t been sleeping, Sky…have you?”

Now, Sky raises his head, glazed eyes focusing unsteadily on Four. Slowly, he shakes his head.

Legend blows out a sigh. He sits down beside Four and brings a dusty hand over his sweaty brow. 

“Sleep deprivation? Yeah, that’ll do it. How long haven’t you been sleeping?” 

Sky swallows. A beat passes, then another. The oppressive feel of death begins to crowd in on Four again. He struggles to breathe beneath it.

Then, “Since Twilight,” Sky whispers, and Four’s heart plummets to the depths of his stomach.

Legend’s hand falls to his lap with more viciousness than defeat. His face screws up in an expression that toes the line between sorrowful and intensely irritated. “I knew something was up! I knew it! I should’ve — ”

“Couldn’t have done anything,” Sky croaks, leaning further into Four’s touch. A small smile quirks his lips. “Was me that should-should’ve d-done something in the…in the first place.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Sky looks back down at his hands.

Another theory is beginning to form in Four’s mind now, joining with the previous one, enlarging it, and embellishing it until things start to make sense. A theory born out of something Sky has said before, a snippet he had overheard and tossed aside in favor of giving his full attention to fighting the Yiga that had taken Wild captive.

“I’m sorry, champion,” the Skyloftian had said as he had helped Warriors tend to the boy’s wounds. “I was late…again. I’m sorry.”

“You blame yourself.” Four measures the words carefully, speaking each one with intricate precision. Lest he step in the wrong place and cause them all to plummet. “You blame yourself for what happened to Twilight.”

Sky lifts his bloodshot eyes. A tear wells in one of them then spills over to slither gracefully down his cheek. 

“Why would you blame yourself?” Legend asks, even as comprehension burns in his violet irises. “It’s not your fault the rancher got hit. You weren’t even near him when it happened!”

“I was near enough.” Sky’s voice is quieter than ever now, more like a whisper than anything else. “I know the skyward strike. I could’ve hit that…that thing if I’d been…b-been faster.” His breath hitches. But to Four it sounds defeated more than panicked. “I was late and he paid for it. I’m a-always…”

He curls in on himself, weighed down by exhaustion, shuddering with pain and sorrow. Legend looks at Four and Four looks at Legend. Then, slowly, together they reach out and draw Sky into their arms.

It’s strange. Four hadn’t taken Legend for someone willing to show physical affection freely. But he embraces the Skyloftian as though it is no price to pay. As though he has done so before.

Long nights. A shuddering sob. Soft feet dressed in boots with wings adorning their sides. Whispers in the dark that exhaustion muddles before Four can make them out. Amethyst eyes staring from over a hazy cloud of silken white. Sliding shut as a larger form huddles deeper into an embrace.

Sky shivers again and Legend holds him tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Four murmurs, pouring every ounce of confidence he possesses into those words and praying that it is enough. “It’s not your fault, Sky. You did everything you could do for him. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Sky doesn’t reply. 

They hold him, whispering assurances, as his tears wet their tunics and his fatigued body quakes beneath the burden he forces it to carry. They hold him until, at last, in the murky darkness, surrounded by carcasses of monsters and piles of resting sand, he drifts off.

In the arms of his brothers.

[p-1-stachi0]

genshin hcs!

WARNING!!!: I HAVENT WRITTEN THE ACTUAL THING YET BUT I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT THIS WILL HUNDRED PERCENT BE OOC I JUST KNOW IT SO BARE WITH ME

notes: im just dumping some random hcs to feed my children (anons) while im stalling on cooking the ACTUAL main course. i apologize to my anons but here is a snack while you wait. and ofc to anyone else ;) I’m SO sorry that Furina’s is so shortttt. I just don’t know that much about her next time I’ll do my research I prommy. and WHAT THE HADES WHY IS AMBER’S SO LONG I GOT CARRIED AWAY OMFGS-

taglist status: OPEN! just send an ask or add a comment if you want to be tagged (im opening this even though i know for a fact i have like, one person to tag and that is livia vanrouge [did i spell your name right i think not] you are a pookie and ily)

characters: thoma, furina, kazuha, freminet and amber x gn!reader (seperate)

amber!:

Amber is the type of person to take you out whenever she can

and by take you out, I don’t mean for dinner or something, no.

I mean taking you to Dadaupa Gorge and clearing Hilichurl camps with you.

taking you to Starsnatch Cliff at night to go stargazing and wish on shooting stars.

she will find a pretty spot while she’s doing her outrider duties and take you there.

she’ll go to Good Hunter and get some food to-go and eat it with you at your little hangout area.

she’ll secretly keep an eye out for any monsters while you enjoy the meal she got you.

she’s probably got your usual order memorized.

you like Teyvat Fried Egg? easy, simple, she’s got you covered. your favorite’s a nice, roasted Sweet Madame? she noted that wayyy long ago.

she’ll go on walks with you through the Whispering Woods.

she’ll go to the Anemo Statue at Windrise with you.

can’t sleep? she’ll take you to the top of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters to look at the night sky.

sick? she’ll get you medicine. sick with an uncommon illness? she’ll go all the way to Liyue and get medicine from Bubu Pharmacy.

speaking of Liyue, she’d take you to Chenyu Vale or Liyue Harbor for a special occasion. like, your birthday or your anniversary. she knows almost every place in Teyvat like the back of her hand.(excluding maybe Snezhnaya, Khaenri’ah, and Inazuma but anyways-)

she’d spar you so you could work on your fighting.

she’d let you cuddle Baron Bunny (deactivated. do not hug Baron Bunny when it is not deactivated)

her favorite cuddling position would probably be having you face each other with her arm wrapped around you.

furina!:

Furina would be a TALKER. and I mean TALKER in your relationship.

not in a bad way like a yapper (paimon frfr-) but she just talks more than you.

she would give you a lot of random gifts like a bouquet at 10 pm or smth lmao

she might be very cuddly. her favorite position is spooning, either her big spoon or you big spoon, she doesn’t mind.

despite her outside personality, if you guys argue, she’d approach the situation calmly and talk it out before misunderstandings could arise.

she’d call you “my muse/my love” and to joke or for fun “my dearest puzzle piece”

if your ever feeling down, count on her to lighten up the mood!

she’d tell you a joke

light up a candle

watch a movie with you

take you for a walk

pick flowers with you

etc etc.

freminet! (cuz there’s not enough of him @freminet-writings @ryu--19):

this man

this smol man

is shy (made it so dramatic for such an obvious fact)

he’d take you underwater

but if you can’t swim

he’d take you to Fontaine’s coastline near the waters

one of my Freminet hcs is that he can hundred percent ice-skate

if there’s an empty ice rink he’d take you

teach you basics maybe

since he’s so calm, it would make him an amazing person to have deep conversations or to just talk about your struggles.

because he’s that shy, he probably won’t even tell anyone about a single thing you said.

he’d give you small trinkets from time-to-time

he’d let you cuddle Pers

quiet moments are important to him and he holds them dearly.

so he might take you to a flower field and just sit there with you.

make you a flower crown, or put some in your hair.

Lyney would tease the living frick out of you both

when him and Lynette find out about Freminet seeing you they’d be like “you talked to someone???” “AND IT WAS A GIRL???”

and then he’s just there like “yes.”

”WHAT THE FUCK-“

Arlecchino would be proud of him. but would incinerate you if you hurt him.

so, to conclude, I simp for him. you simp for him. and if you think you don’t, you’re lying to yourself. that’s not healthy.

thoma!:

get yourself someone like him

best boy frfr

I need him to teach me how to use a spear cuz WHAT THE FUCK

HAVE YOU SEEN HIS MECHANICS???

THAT’S AGGRESSIVE

COMPLETELY OPPOSITE TO HIS DEMEANOR

will make you tea

will cuddle the living crap out of you whenever he can.

can NOT restrain himself from touching you after his shift at the Kamisato Estate is over.

will cook for you

for a date, he might take you to one of Inazuma’s coastlines (yes, another coastline.)

a bonus you get while dating him is TAROUMARU

FLUFFY DOGGY

do NOT take him to the Narukami Shrine.

why? Yae Miko. I refuse to elaborate. you should know.

YANSHANG TEA HOUSE

like Kazuha, he can probably braid hair

oooh free coupon for Naganohare (is that how you spell it?) Fireworks ! ! ! (reference to his About Yoimiya voiceline ehe I mayy or may not ship them teehee 🤭)

once the STUPID VISION HUNT DECREE IS OVER (I’m talking to you, Ei), he might take you to his amAzing homeland Mondstadt. (where we tOtally learnt about where our sibling is and dEfinitely didn’t just help out with un-brainwashing a dragon. [did we dirty it’s brain…?])

andd no, he doesn’t have a good alcohol tolerance. he says it in a voiceline so KIDS DON’T DRINK!

basically, he’s a W bf.

kazuha!:

*deep breath* I simp for him for a reason period.

he is the most CARING and THOUGHTFUL man EVER.

my favorite on this list fr

don’t get him wrong, he might reason against you joining him on board because he doesn’t want you to get hurt or anything.

being on a fucking ship at sea for so long is dangerous alright.

but if you are able to defend yourself, then woopti-doo

he will look calm on the outside,

but his heart is jumping for joy.

would sing if you can’t fall asleep

sooo prettyyyy ugh

would ask Beidou for advice in the start.

would buy you gifts

cuddle you in the mornings

play with your hair

PLEASE play with his hair too, he loves it.

probably knows how to braid hair

so if you have long hair, he’d braid it for you

hundred percent knows how to play guitar

would play for you

takes you out on dates when you guys r on land.

can cook

will cook

and will feed you

overall, amazing bf

give credits! dividers by @cafekitsune

taggys wahoo:

@liviavanrouge, @ryu--19

[aventurineswife]

I have an idea that has been in my head for a while. Kakavasha met the child reader because of his father and the reader's father and they became friends from kindergarten and their friendship continued into high school but Kakavasha/Aventurine had a kind of feeling with the reader since they were children, this feeling has increased until he confesses to the reader on a snowy winter night.(I know I wrote a lot)

On a snowy day

Summary: Kakavasha and you have been childhood friends, your bond deepening over the years. On a snowy winter night, Kakavasha finally confesses his love, revealing feelings he's held since you two were kids.

Tags: Kakavasha x Reader, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Confession, Winter Setting, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn.

A/N: ☹️MY BABY KAKAVASHA!!!

It was a quiet winter night, and the snow blanketed everything in a soft white, muffling the world into silence. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your breath visible in the cold air. A gentle snow had started to fall, adding a fresh layer to the already glistening streets. Kakavasha stood beside you, gazing up at the sky with a distant expression, his usual playful demeanor softened.

You had known him for as long as you could remember, through scraped knees in kindergarten, whispered secrets, and dreams shared late at night during sleepovers. Kakavasha had always been there, like a constant you could rely on—a friend, yes, but something more had started to linger between you, subtle yet unmissable. Tonight, under the glow of streetlamps and surrounded by the peaceful silence of falling snow, that feeling seemed almost tangible.

Kakavasha's eyes caught the light as he looked at you, his gaze unusually intense. He didn’t hide behind his characteristic charm or casual smile; instead, he looked at you with a rare vulnerability, something he had always kept hidden. He took a breath, hesitating, as if he were searching for the right words.

"I... I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while," he began, his voice quieter than usual, softened by an emotion you hadn’t seen in him before. "It feels like it’s been there forever, growing with every year we spent together, every moment we shared." He looked down, almost as if embarrassed, then met your gaze again, his expression more serious than you’d ever seen it.

"When we were kids, I didn’t quite understand it, but I felt something. This feeling—this... connection. And over time, it only got stronger. I tried to ignore it, push it down, telling myself it was just because you were my best friend, but..." He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air.

"I don’t want to keep it hidden anymore. I don’t want to pretend it’s something it isn’t." He paused, his voice a soft whisper as he continued. "I’m in love with you. I have been for as long as I can remember."

The words hung between you, delicate and vulnerable, yet filled with an undeniable weight. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of how you might feel. In that moment, the world seemed to stop, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet snowfall.

A smile crept onto your face, small but genuine. The feelings you had kept hidden all this time, the little moments of longing and unspoken thoughts, all seemed to align, leading to this one perfect moment. You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, and gently squeezed his hand, answering him without words.

Kakavasha’s face softened as he understood, a rare and genuine smile breaking through. Together, under the softly falling snow, you stood with him, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours, sharing a silent promise of all that was yet to come.

THIS IS SO SHORTTT!!! 😭 BUT I COULDN'T COME UP WITH ANYTHING ELSE I'M SORRY!!!

[kinokkotsu]

Tender — Nanami Kento x Reader

々synopsis: After years of balancing love life and work life, Nanami has finally came up with a day where he asks for your hand in marriage.

Please let — Promise Of The World (from Howl’s Moving Castle) play in the background for better experience xoxo.

A normal life is what Nanami has always desired to have.

He always dreams to become a person who is a provider for his partner and his children— a responsible and respectful one.

Now that he has been in a relationship with you for over three years, he couldn’t bare to wait any longer. He wants to become a member of your family. He has always visualised cooking meals with you in the kitchen, the room filled with nothing but only laughs of joy. He has visualized staying in a foreign country where the peace radiates— somewhere near the countryside maybe, with a cat and a dog, he only needs to see the curve of your lips.

He has been working hard for the past few years in order to provide you financially, so that you must not worry over bills and expenses.

Now that everything has been settled, it is time for the ring.

The sun is setting and the birds chirp while they fly back to their homes. Nanami awaits in the living room, anxious. He has a small box in his hands. You won’t be back from work till 5.30 and it is currently 5.17.

Thoughts run wild in Nanami’s brain while he sits.

Was he being too desperate? Is three years such a short period time to get married? Will you even actually like the idea of getting married to him?

He wonders.

Time passes so fast that the door swings open as you come in swiftly with a tired smile on your face. “Dear..I’m hom- oh my, you almost scared me,” Unexpectedly, you laugh when you see Nanami sitting on the sofa with his face all pale and sweaty.

“welcome home,” he greets as you hum and lock the door securely. “We need to talk,” Nanami utters.

You glance at him with a slight surprise, “talk? about what?”

At this point you are as anxious as he is too. With his face being too serious, the atmosphere somehow makes you uncomfortable. “What is it? Is something wrong?” You ask, putting your hand your on your thighs when you settle down next to him.

Now the sky is getting darker, radiating the area with dark orangey glow. The city lights illuminate the night sky as the sun peaks down from the horizon.

Nanami sighs— a deep one. He gets up as he kneels down in front of you, “kento,” you call him out In surprise.

“It has been three years since we’ve been in a sincere relationship..with our friendship lasting for over a decade I believe it has finally reached the day where I shall ask for your hand in marriage,” he says, using big words which claims a weak grin from you.

Kento looks up at you and gives you a soft smile, “will you marry me?” he asks.

You look away. The tears burn your eyes while you sniff them away. Nodding profusely, you brush the tears away. Your throat is as dry as a sandpaper at the moment, you couldn’t speak.

He smiles, ear to ear.

He gently pulls your hand closer to his body before giving a peck on it, pushing the ring onto your fingers afterwards. The ring size is just perfect. He knows of course. He has every single detail of you memorized, unintentionally.

“I’ll protect, forever..only until death do us apart.” He vows before embracing your whole hand and putting your palm onto his head. Your fingers run through the blonde strands before you give him a tender kiss on the forehead.

You sob, unable to say a word just yet. He looks up at you, smiling as you do. “..My wife— my woman,” he says. Your stomach twists with joy. Never has you ever been loved so conditionally by a man, there is this man from your teenage years, appealing as the future father of your children.

You hug his head while he lays on your stomach, “..love you so much, Kento.”

“I love you too,” he matters before he returns the hug as he wraps his arms around your waist.

You can tell I have been watching ghibli movies so look forward to seeing more cheesy stuff like this too. Reblogs, likes and follows are highly appreciated.