#even though that was. a wretched move | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 6 months ago

Text

‘ HIT OR MISS ?! ’

𝜗℘ feat. toji, sukuna, choso, nanami, gojo. letting them hit ‘n rating their pull out games.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, weak pull out games, doggy, mıssionary, mating prēss, cowgirl, brēeding mentions, praise, dirty talk, impact play, size kinks, pússy whipped men, premature ejac, dumbificafion, size differences, spıt.

GOJO ☆

he doesn’t last a single second. gojo has the weakest pull out game—there’s no debate.

he’s got a glowering pout forming on his glossed quivering lips as he holds your hips in place. “fuuuck,” he chews the inside of his cheek, gazing at the way your cunt easily swallows him. gojo’s angered red tip thoroughly swivels around inside before stretching you out, wearing you thin. just minutes ago, he was talking your ear off on how he was gonna be the best you’ve ever had, how you were gonna moan his name until your voice gave out, and yet - he folded. with snowy brows curling toward each other to form a furrow, gojo moans at the incoming pangs of waves surging through his body. “babyyy, ‘s so fuckin’ good. don’t think ‘m gonna last.”

“i told you, ‘toru,” you huff out a single breath at him, feeling his brief pounds of weight stick against your skin like it was adhesive. you’re holding back moans by sinking the keen edges of your teeth into the skin of your lips. “ ‘s okay, touch me more though,” and his face flushes at your sudden arms slinging over his stiff shoulders. as he’s thrusting in and out, sloppy wet hits of sounds ring through one ear and out the other. your voice was so sweet to him, any word you spoke had him even more whipped than he already was. “don’t be shy.”

“ngh, god you’re so hot,” he whimpers into your neck, his haughty persona immediately fading. gojo shivers a bit, grinding his body up against yours until the bed underneath you starts to creak. shaky shivering breaths ghost down against your skin before his pace grows weak, humping into you with his mouth prying open. “fuck, fuck. ‘m gonna make a mess,” and a gasp wretches from his throat as he locks eyes with you. “c- can i make a mess on you? p- please.”

“go ‘head,” you coo, cupping both warm sides of his face. you’re met with crystalline blue eyes that forevermore got lost with yours.

he’s so feral, feeling himself stick against you each time he moves. both bodies were one as they collide together in bliss. his pace grows more and more frantic before he’s biting into your neck to conceal his candied sweet whimpers. “you’re such a baby,” you tease, running a few fingers down his faded undercut. oh, he always loved whenever you did that. gojo shudders, weighty cock expanding through your walls as your digits roamed. “make a mess, ‘toru. ‘s okay, promise.”

“i- i’m not a baby,” he tries to chastise, yet he’s the one pouting and whimpering into your ear the moment he finishes abruptly. gojo’s knees give out almost right away. it’s cute how he tries to keep up with his smug façade, but now, he’s a mess. all you had to do was run a few fingers down his undercut as he’s finishing inside of you and he was finish. gojo whines, growing hard as his bright blue eyes takes in your beauty — you’re so pretty being underneath him like this. the melting crown of his cock smacks up against your g-spot over and over until you’re seeing nothing but pure white. “ngh, fuck. squeeze me s- so tight. sloppy fuckin’ cunt,” he sucks his teeth, feeling himself not only shoot blanks but shoot ropes of hot cum deep into your womb.

he reached a potent state and you moan right along with him, gently seeping your teeth into the soft edges of his neck. white lashes stick shut against his eyes—glossy and murky. he can barely look at you because he’s embarrassed. gojo groans, realizing he came quicker than he intended. it’s warm, your pussy constricts around his length even still while he’s stuffing you full of his seed.

“toru, baby,” you hum, trying to get his attention, cupping his face once more. you then bring a quick kiss toward his lips. he moans at the taste of you, briefly closing his eyes as your hips steady itself. a raw whimper dies from the back of his throat as he allows you to take control, breathy lungs preparing to collapse as he’s just dumping such mass amounts of cum into your greedy cunt. “good boy, thaaat’s it,” you purr to him, feeling his head shift and lean into your touch. he was so weak for you—even if he never admitted it. gojo’s lip quivers whenever you praise him. he’s a wreck, sweat coats near the bridge of his nose as he whines, a sudden salty taste lingering on the back of his tongue. his cock remains still, swollen tip red and flushed by the crown. as he’s sat upright, hovering over you, his body twitches and your eyes glance down toward his exposed perky nipples.

“heh, w- what’s with that look, angel?” he sheepishly pants, flaccid cock plugging you full even still after he finished just seconds ago.

your stare—you looked hungry for more. gojo nervously laughs until he stares at his pecs too. his nipples were pink and swollen. “mhh,” you leisurely lean into him, latching your plump lips onto one of his pecs. he moans, still feeling sensitive from his recent release but your lips—he was even more sensitive. your tongue rolls around his nipple before you suck hard, closing your eyes and sliding your free hand down his chest.

“god, you’re kinda kinky today,” he tries to joke. but there was no joke—because gojo whines the second he feels himself grow hard again. and that’s right when he knew, he was about to cum yet again. “o- oh fuck.”

TOJI ☆

“bend over f’me,” he gruffs and your ass is met with a rude spank once he flips you over on your chest. the second your left ass cheek gets met with the front of toji’s bare open palm, you moan. “mhm, don’t get shy. let’s see that arch again,” and your face gets smushed right in between the crimson colored silk sheets. on command, your hips raise up and you lean into his roughly smooth touch. “atta girl, let’s see my favorite wet pussy.”

“t- tojiiii,” you drag out his name, sucking in an incoming breath. it was almost embarrassing how much he made you clench, how much he made you pulse. he rubs a palm against the stinging part of your ass before aligning his leaky tip. your cunt was soaked, profusely sweltering hot with your own slippery slick. he licks his lips at the sight, tip of his tongue swiping against his scar as he smacks his fat cock against your puffed folds. “don’t tease me, p- please.”

a dark throaty cackle leaves from his lips as he leans down, staring at your drooling cunt before spitting right down between your slit. “quiet, baby girl. i’ll fuckin’ tease ya if i want,” and you moan, feeling the fat pad of his thumb smear the lustrous trail of saliva near your hole and back down towards your clit. you whimper, feeling your thighs jitter in pleasure at just how nasty he really was. “my my, look at this pretty girl down here cryin’ for more of me,” he rasps, gathering another wad of saliva before spitting straight onto your sopping cunt. he snickers, rubbing the head of his mushroom tip around your opening before finally inserting himself inside. “don’t know who’s fuckin’ whinier. you or this crybaby of a pussy, heh.”

toji’s so big, so fucking big. without a doubt he’s a packer, stretching your cunt open in all the right ways and angles. within minutes, your jaw’s already dangling open - it’s stupid, you’re stupid.

with every milliseconds that passes—his cockhead continues to repeat itself, thrashing and french kissing up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. your jaw tightens as he’s mercilessly rutting into you, sharp hips giving you crazed whiplash. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, gasping once he grabs one of your wrists, restraining it around your back. your limbs grew knobbly as the heavy base of his cock smacks against your ass. you’re dizzy, insanely so—you whine, trying to fit the bawled fist of your hand into your mouth. but alas, it’s to no avail because you’re left drooling, feeling your eyes roll back and only hearing the squelching sounds of your needy gripping cunt. “fuck me, toji. right there, ‘s fuckin’ big.”

“yeah, yeah. perfect fit just for you, baby,” he groans, his palm swatting against the fat of your ass again. this time, it’s not so rough. the tender feeling of the hit makes you whine. arching your back out a bit more, he feels your pussy squeeze around him and his ravened brows curl up together. “shit, y’er already pretty but you’d look even prettier with my cum drippin’ out of you,” another grunt scratches at his throat. toji’s sharp hips were so unapologetically mean, each snap of his body makes you jerk forward and back into him. it’s so quick, just a few solid deep thrusts and he was so close to pumping you full. you don’t know why, but the thought of toji pouring such deep sultry amounts of cum into you makes your mouth water.

he’s got a horrible pull out game and he knows it too—but he could really care less. toji’s got the stamina equivalent to a horse, he’s drilling you in your own bed at full speed, watching as you fill the room up with your desperate sweet moans. as he’s ravaging your swollen walls, he reels you back into his sculpted pelvis once he sees and feels you trying to crawl away. “nuh uh,” and you gasp once he grabs you by the throat — gingerly, a few thick fingers wrap around your neck as he pulls you back. “c’monnn, big girls don’t chicken out. get the fuck back here, princess.”

“hngh, toji,” you whimper, suddenly feeling his hips slow down. his rhythm loses its haste for a moment before he groans. with his head tossing itself back, his clashing rutting hips slam right into you one last time. it takes you a moment to realize he’d just came inside—creamy gooey loads dribble into you almost immediately and you’ve never felt more full. he hisses, openly staring at your dehydrated cunt as it slurps him full. the noises, it’s so wet and saturated—you didn’t believe that was you at first. your eyes were drooping downward as you’re idly slumped forward with your ass still raised in the air. “fuck,” you whine, hearing him all of a sudden grow quiet. toji’s warm hot wads of cum fill you up so good that it starts to spill out all down the undersides of your thighs. it’s a mess—and he can’t take his eyes off you. his angry reddened tip continues to jolt itself in and out before only seconds later, he pulls out.

so much was stuffed into you that it’s spilling right back out. gooey ropes that plug inside ooze out of your hole and he snickers. toji huskily groans, using a plump circled thumb to rub the excess amounts of his seed against the outer part of your pussy. “damn,” he huffs, imagining what you’d taste like along with the mixture of his cum that’s trickling down your clit. you even had the nerve to wriggle your ass in front of him. toji hums, squeezing your ass before admiring at how good he’s stuffed you. toji releases his grip leaning down, giving the right cheek of your ass a kiss. “heh, so. you are on the pill right, baby?”

“w- what pill?”

“………”

CHOSO ☆

you tell him he can go inside and his face lights up almost right away.

choso wants to do his very best. he takes pleasing you very seriously. and of course, once the time comes—he practically begs for you to ride him. he just had to see your face while you’re on top, straddling him.

“tell me if it hurts, ‘kay?” he mutters, soft yet rough hands maneuvering circles against your back. choso’s touch was always gentle—he treated you like porcelain, like glass. docile dark irises meet yours as you’re hovering over his sheeny tip that’s glistening with pre-cum. rutting back and forth against his swollen peeling cockhead, you watch as choso bites his lip. “fuuuck,” he peers down, staring at the way your slobbering cunt was just eager to take him inside. “i- i wanna make sure you feel good, baby. don’t care if i don’t finish.”

your heart flutters at his words — oh, he was always so considerate. to choso, your pleasure was his pleasure.

as you gently brush up your hips against him, his cock slowly buries its way inside. immediately, he’s smothered with your warmth that’s welcoming him and it makes him whine. “i’ll tell you if it hurts. promise,” you whisper against the soft shell of his ear. a rippling wave of goosebumps ran down his body at your voice. the sloppy grip of your cunt makes him moan, grabbing onto your hip. wasting no time, you bite your lip—preparing to take him fully. he sinks all the way in until it’s a brief ‘pop’ sound that occurs the moment you’re sat right on his thickset base. “i’ll go nice ‘n slow, choso,” you murmur to him, holding his flushed cheeks. his hair was unkempt and messy, long darkened strands outgrown and running down his eyes. he’s so pretty, especially up close.

choso moans once your sweet lips press against the bridge of his nose—near his mark. he loves your kisses.

he could drown in them, just like he could drown in your wet cunt. it doesn’t even have to take him that long, because within a snap—choso’s already pussy drunk. just a few seconds inside and it was a wrap for him. “oh, oh my god,” he leans back, his abs flexing within each yanking pull of his muscles. he was ripped and you couldn’t help but skim a few teasing fingers down his pecs. so ripped, a few veins that prod into his skin feel against your touch and he whimpers. you were so soft and warm inside that he felt the brief gape of your pussy trying to swallow him whole and it felt so good. too good. “baby, ‘m sorry. ‘m sorry, fuck.”

throwing your arms over his broad tense shoulders, you giggle with a head tilt. “for what?” and already, there’s a nice sheet of sweat racing down the sides of his face. choso’s hair that’s usually in two ponytails was loosely down. he looked pretty, long hair flows down his back and dances in the wind at every unsteady movement. your hips were his weakness—you rode him so good every time that it left him almost speechless.

choso hiccups. “s- sorry for,” and he forgot why he was even apologizing—your cunt was just that good. its enticing grip had him whipped and strained inhales continue to rip out of his lungs by force. dark lengthy lashes glue shut as he holds onto your hips, feeling his mouth pry itself open. “i love you, i love you b- baby, don’t stop fuckin’ me please. w- what was i saying?”

“you’re so cute. i love you too,” you pepper kisses all over his face, quickening your hips just a bit more. he moans, feeling his face grow flushed. oh, he was embarrassed. even more embarrassed as he was earlier. as his fat swollen cock continues to run through your insides, choso tries to cover his face with his hands. once his palms feels against his face, they feel so hot. his own heat radiates from him and he whimpers. “aw, don’t hide from me, ‘cho. it’s okay,” you reassure him, pulling his hands away. with a bashful expression, he wraps his arms around your waist again. he’s so clingy, holding you tight and pulling you into his chest. your bouncing against his lap makes him dizzy. his whimpers against your earlobe grow louder until the time comes where he’s finally stuffing you full.

whenever choso came, it was a lot.

the curse whines into your neck as he’s pouring such gluey amounts into you. his ears continuously ring at the sounds of him spurting right into you, not missing at all. with ease, he’s plunging such amounts of sticky seed into you until he can’t anymore. it makes his head spin and his heart race, you were dangerous—at least, in this case, your cunt was.

he’s got quite the weak pull out game, and of course—whenever you said he can finish inside, he’d never ever miss. choso’s jaw tightens before his eyes grow insignificantly droopy that they hang low. such filthy thoughts foil at his brain as his blushing tip remains buried into your now filled up pussy. he wants to stay like this forever, the thought of pulling out makes him cutely scowl. “baby,” he inhales, still having a secure arm around your torso. choso held you close to him, still shaking as he’s still pouring thick satiny ropes into your womb. it’s an entire mess—so much that it spills down your thighs. he uses a thumb to smear it against your skin before having a pussy drunk grin. “i .. i wanna marry you, baby. please.”

SUKUNA ☆

with sukuna—there’s no such thing as a pull out game. he’s a demon, and more importantly, he’s a demon in bed too.

“i’m gonna get ya pregnant,” he groans, and each time he spills yet another hot load into you, he repeats that same sentence again. “you’d be such a pretty queen,” sukuna snarls, sharp fingertips softly raking down your exposed spine. you’re laid on your chest, having your face being shoved between two fat positioned pillows. muffled moans escape out of your throat as he’s fucking you silly. a big hand of his claws into your hair, tugging firmly at a few roots that grip into your scalp. you whimper, the slanting arch in your back deepening its height before he spanks you. “ugh, such a sloppy girl today. pretty cunt just loves sluttin’ itself out on me.”

sukuna’s voice was deep—you felt yourself pulse between your legs whenever he spoke in that rough low tone.

his thick cock was so big, so so big. and that’s just one—you didn’t wanna think what it’d be like to take two. even with prep, it took you a while to adjust to his delicious size. as he’s haphazardly pounding you into the sage-colored sheets, you whimper out sweet cries that fall on deaf ears as he’s practically splitting you open each and every single time.

“kuna, sukuna, fuck,” you babble out, your eyes widening to the size of saucers once his lengthy dick thrashes up against that spot. he’s a lot bigger than you, his frame ultimately towers over you and you even get wet from his shadowing silhouette. your mouth opens and more spews of whines leave you as he accelerates his hips ever further. the bed screams, each creak sounds like it’s gonna be its last and you were almost positive it was preparing to break. “more, more please.”

“tch. you should see yourself,” the curse grunts, a sly smile contorting against the corners of his mouth. with the way your pussy tightens around him, he pivots his hips, watching as you gasp in awe at his deep angle. “mm, right here, huh. such a sensitive girl. ‘m gonna give you another fill. you’d like that, huh,” he grouses, feeling the sting in his thighs grow. despite his muscles tensing and tightening, he pushes the feelings away, focusing on you and your sweet pussy. as he’s preparing to come to his very orgasmic end, sukuna finds himself biting his lower lip with his fangs piercing into the skin. the image of getting you pregnant—having you bare his offspring, it makes him feral. “dumb girl, i’m talkin’ to you,” sukuna snaps gruffly at your lack of response and you moan once his thrusts deepen. as he speaks, he teasingly knocks against the back of your head. “anyone in there or are ya already too stupid.”

“b- breed me, ‘kuna,” you whimper, already feeling yourself turning into a puddled mess. sukuna could never keep his hands off of you, he’s grabbing you everywhere - all hands were occupied, getting a good gripping feel of your presentable curves. “please please,” you plead, hearing the squelching sounds of your own cunt do begging of its own. there’s a white creamy ring that coats around his base already—the more you jerk against him, the more rough he becomes. by now, your pretty pink tongue’s rolled and lolled out. you’re panting like a dog in heat, gasping once he’s fucking you deeply into his royal king sized mattress. “fuuuck, want it. want more, don’t miss, ‘kuna.”

he lowly chuckles, finding your begging endearing. “hey girl. watch that fuckin’ mouth,” and the demon pops a finger past the opening of your lips. you moan, swirling your tongue around his middle finger as he’s still pounding into you with at chaotic speed. such thrusts, you’re already a mess but with the way his cock was molding your walls, you’d be even messier. sukuna grows hard, feeling you happily suck against his finger — he grunts as he’s bringing you closer toward your teetering edge. it feels hot inside, your walls were always clingy and didn’t ever dare to let go. the moistened grip of your walls was permanent and he was never one to complain. “take it then, c’mon,” he growls, snatching his finger out of your mouth to hold onto both of your jittery hips. “fuck, take it all. saved so much for you again, princess.”

he’s so big that you feel him shaping a faint tummy bulge all due to the hefty size of his thick cock. you’re such a mess—drooling all on the pillow that’s being bit on by your teeth.

“s- sukuna.” you whine, eyes of yours starting to flicker their way back once he finishes inside you again.

a pool of hot cum oozes its way inside of you until it’s pouring down both of your thighs like a waterfall. catching your breaths, you swallow your pity, savoring your own pathetic honeyed taste of saliva as he’s giving you yet another fill—it’s sticky, your thighs had already gave out and he groans. it’s so much, dumps of cum shoot into you raw and he huffs, bare buff chest glistening with slick sweat.

“look at this mess,” he snickers, bringing a palm toward his forehead to wipe his sweat away. he grunts, pulling out slowly to see his obscene creation he gave to you yet again.

you’re shaking—your ass was still propped up in the air with your knees buried into the thinly woven sheets. sukuna raises a brow as he hears your breathing come to a sudden slow. he finds your worn out state cute and he swats a hand against your ass. but this time, it’s not a spank. it’s a soft tender rub.

you moan as he’s caressing your stung cheek before he smears a thumb down your puffy full cunt, gathering a nice amount of his own filth. “how cute. ‘s still pouring out of you. looks like someone needs to be cleaned again,” and your eyes feel hooded and heavy. with a quick motion, you’re suddenly flipped over onto your back and the demon sprawls your legs apart with a single hand. you’re panting, curling your toes up in anticipation before he licks a sticky path of fresh cum that’s drooling out of your sobbing cunt. rolling out his forked tongue for you to see, he hums with a sly grin.

“spread these pathetic legs a bit more. ‘m not done with my meal just yet, little girl.”

NANAMI ☆

“oh my love,” he whispers into your ear, his low husky voice making your heart flutter - not just your heart but the pretty pulsating heat that lies between your legs flutters also.

with nanami—he’d have the best pull out game. nanami can practically smell your arousal, he doesn’t even have to do much but he can tell. with one hand, he lies you flat on your back, a thin stem of a flower he was about to give you tucks right between his teeth. “are you sure this ‘s what you want? let me hear that beautiful voice again. talk to me nice, pretty.”

always the romantic, there was lit candles everywhere and he’s got you right where he wants. nanami sprawls your legs forward the second you utter out a whiney, “y- yes,” and your eyes glance toward his blond happy trail that’s running down his perfectly sculpted body. you were already soaking wet — he barely had to do anything, just his voice alone was enough to have your panties in a twist. he places the flower aside for a moment before leaning up close. nanami then gently shoves both of your knees up toward your chest. mating press, you gulp once you see the sweet yet feral look in his eyes.

he was hungry - hungry for you. as he’s aligning himself, you hold onto him for dear life and he’s whispering all sorts of filthy coos into your ear.

in public, he was the ideal gentleman, a professional who had charm for days. yet in private with you, he didn’t mind to be just a little bit dirty.

“i’ve been thinkin’ about you all day at work today, honey,” he grunts, swollen tip thrashing between your weeping folds. you were sopping wet underneath your thighs, a thumb of his rubs against your entrance and you whimper - feeling pounds of his weight sink you further into the fat mattress. “you remember those cute voice notes i told you to send me?”

you felt your cunt go into a panic of flutters the more he spoke, he’s entering inside and you huff out, gasping—the stretch was so raw.

jogging back your memory to quite a few hours ago, you did remember. nanami told you to send him a few voice memos of yourself because he couldn’t call you while he was at work. he missed your voice, and hearing your cute sentences was just enough for him. “yeah,” you breathe, feeling the fullness of your lungs arise. once he starts to fuck you into the mattress, the abrupt snap of his hips makes you whine out. he’s so deep, calloused balmy hands of his feel all over your body, stealing a few grabs at the curvature of your ass with no shame. he’s missed touching you, he’s missed smelling you, he’s missed being inside. with both warm entangled bodies grinding into and onto each other in salacious harmony, you bite your lip. warm fawn eyes meet yours and he hums, stroking your quivering bottom lip with a soft thumb. “y- you sent me your boner afterwards.”

“i did,” he coos, softly licking a stripe near your neck.

so sweet, he could savor and taste you forever. remembering the thought makes his dick twitch and you feel the pulse almost instantly. nanami’s fucking you rigorously into chalky white sheets, raspy pants bellow out from his gruff vocal cords as he grabs onto the crying wooden headboard. you stare at his arm and his veins prod in his biceps—he’s so ripped, you felt yourself throb at just the sight of his muscles alone. focusing back toward the crying bed, it’s screeching due to nanami’s precise hits, he’s hitting you good and he’s hitting you deep. nanami’s pace was never too fast or too quick, it was just right and it had your head spinning everytime. his crazed tempo always gave you a run for your money. leaning into your neck once more, he created a trail of chaste kisses near the outline of your collarbone.

“fuck, oh— excuse my filthy tongue, sweetheart,” he jibes, guiding his damp lips toward your chest now. so pretty, with the way you were just laid back for him with your knees shoved up to your chest, it had him thinking raunchy thoughts. “but thank you, it helped me get through the day,” and you gasp again once he buries his face between the valley of your chest. humming, he kisses both of your breasts. “i missed my girls.”

blurbs of whimpers rip out of your throat as he continues to fuck you stupid—stupid until you’re utterly dumb, completely dim witted and dumbfounded all because of his cock.

nanami’s girth had you almost drooling, he wisps a few fingers to play against your soddened cunt that’s hidden between your shaky legs before feeling your sloppy grip around him tighten. your walls wrung him dry—hugging him and squeezing around him like a vice. “ken, kentooo,” you whine, deafening beats of your own heart growing so loud that you can hear them blare straight out through both ears. “ngh, cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

“i know, i know,” he purrs, gripping your chin with a single hand. his hips move with such suave speed that you could barely keep up. his weight that’s pressing into you makes you throb again for the nth time. nanami huffs, blond thin strands of hair gluing to his forehead before he moans himself. “c’mon, give it to me,” and he notices how you look away, feeling yourself about to succumb to your inevitable climax. “hey, hey lovie look at me,” and slowly, you meet his loving gaze again. nanami’s hips slow down and he’s just as close as you were—although he didn’t care about his finish as much as yours. you lean into his soft touch, feeling an open palm of his rub against your belly in circles. “there we go. just let go. make a mess on kento ‘n let me clean it, yeah?”

once you came—he came too, although he pulls out quickly, spraying viscid velvety ropes all on your tummy.

nanami’s matching the pace of your pants, chiseled chest sticking against your own before he groans. the shock your body felt was almost insane, you clench down on your jaw before squeezing your eyes shut briefly, still feeling the staticky waves of rapture surge through every vein.

“such a good girl,” he whispers, his voice mirroring just how shaky yours was. nanami leans into you, planting a single kiss on your forehead. a sheepish smile curls against his lips as he notices the damp spot you created underneath the two of you. with a soft expression, nanami spreads your legs again, grinding his body against yours whilst pulling you into a deep kiss. every few seconds, he pulls away, brushing a thumb against your lips before whispering. “but, oh—you made a little mess today, sweetheart. i’m so proud of you.”

5K notes · View notes

tender-rosiey · 9 days ago

Text

sake and sass — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: was imagining drunk sukuna so now he is here and we have made him drink enough for three elephants so yes he is drunk drunk and you kinda take advantage of that to boss him around cuz why not

sukuna rarely drinks. not because he dislikes it, but because it takes an absurd amount of alcohol to even faze him. tonight, though? tonight, he’s hit that threshold.

the room reeks of sake, and sukuna’s massive frame is sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled tyrant—robe disheveled, crimson eyes slightly hazy.

the usually indomitable king of curses looks dangerously close to tipping over.

“you’re drunk,” you state bluntly, arms crossed as you observe the man you call your husband.

he scoffs, waving a sake bottle with an air of arrogance that doesn’t quite land. “nonsense. I don’t get drunk.”

“you don’t?” you reply, deadpan. “so why are you swaying like a tree in a storm?”

he sits up straighter—or tries to, at least.

one of his four hands gestures vaguely in your direction, the movement wobbly but pointed. “watch your tongue, woman. you’ve grown far too bold for your own good.”

you sigh, stepping closer despite his poorly disguised glare. “sukuna, you’re making a fool of yourself. just lie down before you hurt yourself.”

“hurt myself?”

he lets out a bark of laughter, though it’s slurred at the edges. “the great sukuna doesn’t—” he pauses, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “wait, did you just call me a fool?”

“I did,” you reply matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle in his hand. “and you’re proving me right by the second.”

he jerks the bottle away, a scowl pulling at his lips. “touch it, and I’ll crush your fingers.”

“like you could even aim right now,” you retort, snatching the bottle before he can react.

his eyes narrow dangerously, but instead of retaliating, he slumps back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“and you’re impossible,” you counter, setting the bottle far out of his reach.

his gaze follows you as you move, sharp despite the alcohol dulling his senses.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he growls. “always strutting around. that smug little grin of yours—I’d rip it off if it didn’t…” he trails off.

“if it didn’t what?” you prompt, leaning closer with an amused grin.

his brows knit together, and he glares at you like it’s your fault the words are spilling out.

“none of your damn business,” he snaps, voice low and heated. “always grinning, always back-talking. you’re insufferable. insolent. infuriating.”

“and yet here you are, married to me,” you quip, unable to resist teasing him.

“because no one else could survive you,” he bites back.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. “is that your way of saying you like me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of pink which you honestly can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or just the alcohol.

you laugh softly, crouching beside him with a damp cloth. “you’re a real romantic, sukuna.”

“shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t pull away when you press the cloth to his face, wiping away the traces of spilled sake.

you’re careful not to press too hard as you wipe his face, trying to clean up the mess he’s made of himself without provoking his drunken temper.

but it seems sukuna has no plans of cooperating tonight.

as soon as you pull the cloth away, one of his hands shoots out to grab your wrist. his crimson eyes, though hazy, are filled with devilishness.

“enough with the fussing,” he growls, tugging you closer. “you’ve done your part. now, take that robe off.”

you blink at him, utterly unimpressed. “oh, absolutely not.”

“you dare to deny me?” he snaps, his voice dipping into something far too commanding for a man who can barely sit upright.

“I dare,” you reply, pulling your wrist free. “now sit still, or I’ll tie you down.”

he glares at you, two of his hands fumbling to tug at the collar of your robe. “you wretched, stubborn woman,” he snarls, his movements clumsy.

“always thinking you’re above the rest—thinking you can deny me. I could level cities, but you think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think; I know,” you reply flatly, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab at your robe. “now, go to bed.”

“bed?” he scoffs, attempting to rise to his full height, only to stumble back onto the cushions.

“I don’t need a bed. I need my wife, right here, shutting that sharp little mouth for once.”

“you need water and sleep,” you deadpan, retrieving a fresh cup of water from the tray nearby. you thrust it into his hand, ignoring the glare he shoots your way. “drink.”

he sniffs the cup like a suspicious child, frowning. “this isn’t sake.”

“brilliant observation,” you reply dryly. “drink it anyway.”

his crimson gaze narrows on you, clearly debating whether defiance is worth the effort.

with a low growl, he downs the water in one gulp before tossing the cup aside dramatically. “there. satisfied?” he mutters.

“not even remotely,” you reply, grabbing his arm and pulling. “up. you’re going to bed.”

to your surprise, he lets you tug him halfway to his feet before deciding he’s had enough of listening.

one of his lower arms snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath is warm against your neck, and his grin is downright wicked.

“you’re always like this,” he mutters, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “impossible. insolent. arrogant. bossing everyone around.”

“someone has to, considering how you’re acting right now,” you reply, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“and smug,” he growls, his voice dipping into something darker.

“always grinning at me like you’ve bested me somehow. do you think you’re clever, woman? that you’re better than me?”

“right now? yes,” you reply, yanking the hem of his robe to cover more of his chest.

he catches your wrist again, his grip firm but not painful.

“you’re not better than me,” he hisses, though his voice is softer now, almost petulant. “you’re just...impossible. and clever. and—damn it—too damned beautiful for your own good.”

you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by the unexpected admission.

“don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his glare returning in full force. “your face is annoying enough without adding that stupid look to it. it’s maddening.”

“noted,” you say with a small smile, gently prying his hand off your wrist. “now lie down before you embarrass yourself further.”

he doesn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours.

“you’re unbearable,” he declares, voice rising in irritation. “always acting like you’re untouchable. damned arrogance and a damned grin.”

“mmhm,” you reply nonchalantly, guiding him to lie down. “and yet you keep me around.”

“because I have no choice,” he retorts right away, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“you’re mine. mine to deal with. mine to hate. mine to…” he grits his teeth, his gaze averting. “mine to keep, damn it.”

you blink.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he adds quickly, his voice sharper now.

“I’m not saying I enjoy your insufferable company. but I’d rip apart anyone who thought they could take you from me.”

“sweet dreams to you, too,” you reply, tucking the covers around him as he finally starts to drift off.

“insolent woman,” he mutters one last time before his breathing evens out, the alcohol finally pulling him under.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @dindjarins1ut @candy-s72 @lulumi1u

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make you drink pure ginger

check out my buy me a coffee!

#jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen x you #ryomen x y/n #jjk sukuna x reader #sukuna fanfic #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

2K notes · View notes

swiftdove · 3 months ago

Text

collateral damage

pairing: rio vidal x agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: after being stranded by your ex-lovers, you've found a new life, hoping to finally move on. unfortunately, fate just doesn't seem to be on your side.

content: angst, allusions to smut, sapphic yearning

a/n: i'm obsessed to say the least

You should've known.

From the moment Agatha stepped foot into your pitiful excuse of a store, you should've slammed the door shut. For years, you'd been reeling from the wounds inflicted by your so-called lover. If you could even call her that. Never, did she once, refer to you as anything other than her 'pet'.

You supposed the name was fitting. You were practically a dog, groveling at the ground she walked on. Hoping, begging, praying, dying that she wouldn't leave.

Then, without a trace, she vanished from your life, set on her next twisted mission. You had simply been a means to an end, a brief footnote in her life.

It didn't help that the only other person you cared about, Rio, had followed in Agatha's absence. They'd left you alone, desperately trying to piece together the shattered remains of what you once had.

Sometimes, you wondered. You wondered if they ever felt guilty about what they did, and if they ever thought of you from time to time. Then, you scolded yourself for even daring to believe that the Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal would have the time of day to care about you. You had drowned in that pit of self-deprecation for years, slowly re-learning how to live without them.

And just as you thought you were finally free, the wretched witch came back, pulling you back under her spell. If it were anyone else, you would have said 'no'. But it wasn't just 'anyone else'. It was Agatha. You weren't sure where this sick, borderline-obsessive love for her came from. You had left it to depreciate in the back of your mind, where you would have preferred for it to have stayed.

Unfortunately, Agatha had had other plans.

It was stupid. You hated yourself for it. You hated that tiny spark that you felt when she said your name, that familiar warmth in your chest when she came close. You would've given anything to stop the feeling.

If only Agatha knew. Throughout her long, melodramatic speech about the rewards of The Road, all you could do was stare at her in disbelief. The promise of being with her, even if it were for a short while, was enough to have convinced you. If you had known, back then, that Rio would have been joining you, you would have eagerly accepted the offer without hesitating.

But then again, time had cast a golden glow over your past relationships. You hadn't remembered how unwanted you had felt in their presence, how much they hadn't cared about you.

Sat around the warmth heat of the fireplace, your gaze lay wistfully on the two women. Situated across from them, you felt more distant to them than you had when you were alone.

"I have a scar," Rio suddenly spoke, glancing over at the coven.

"No, you don't," Agatha shot back, almost instantly.

Your ears perked, waiting for Rio's next words.

"Yes, I do," Rio replied, glancing over at Agatha, her solemn gaze worth a thousand unspoken words. It was their dynamic, their silent conversations, that left you feeling like a second-choice. The feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, which you desperately tried to keep from coming back up.

"A long time ago, I loved someone." Rio shot another pointed look at Agatha. "And I had to do something that I did not wanna do, even though it was my job. And it hurt them. She is my scar."

If you had the choice to go deaf right there and then, you would have chosen it immediately. Although, you knew it wouldn't stop the sharp pain you felt in your heart. Seeing them together was enough.

"I have to go stretch my legs," Agatha said, walking away.

Just like she used to walk away from every problem in her life. Like she did with you.

You couldn't bear it. One more second in their presence, and you were sure you would have thrown up.

"Same," you replied quietly, walking in the opposition direction to your past lover.

It was only until the warmth of the fire was long gone, that you felt the tears sliding down your cheeks.

Breaking down into sobs, you brought your knees to your chest, burying your head inside. You shouldn't have come. You should have said no.

It seemed as though fate was constantly punishing you, tugging at your heartstrings until they threatened to break. You hated that a part of you wanted to hurt them. Just enough, so that you too would have left a scar. But you knew you couldn't do it. You wouldn't. Not after they shared, so intimately, their past with you, letting you devour every fiber of their being.

You knew why they were the way that they were. That's why it hurt so much to watch them, again and again, fall victim to their pasts. That's why you could never leave, knowing how much pain they had endured, knowing that their wounds ran too deep to ever heal.

Sympathy was a knife, stabbed straight into your back when they left you to dry.

"You good?"

You'd been so deep in your emotions, you hadn't noticed the dark shadow looming over you. Swiveling around, you were met with a pair of manic brown eyes.

"Rio," you exhaled, quickly wiping away your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Rio shook her head softly, pushing her tongue against her right cheek. Her fingers trailed up your leg, sending shivers down your spine.

"Come on, now," she lulled. "You never were much of a good liar."

"Maybe I've changed," you replied sharply, pulling away from her touch.

Rio's grip tightened, her fingernails digging into your thigh. "Maybe you have," she replied dismissively. "Is that why you never called?"

You scoffed, turning away from her piercing stare. "No. We're not doing this - this wasn't my fault. You and Agatha left without saying a word to me. Call me crazy for assuming you were done with me."

"Now there's the Y/N I know," Rio bit back. "Always jumping to conclusions."

You rolled your eyes at her. "What does it matter anyways? You seem perfectly fine without me. I didn't seem to have left a scar."

"Is that what this is about?" Rio questioned, a taunting grin tugging at her lips.

You refused to dignify her question with an answer.

"Aww, was our little baby feeling left out?"

A mocking, cruel voice rang out in the air, one that you knew all too well.

"Fuck off, Agatha," you snapped. You were hardly in the mood to deal with her heartless jests tonight.

"Someone's forgotten their manners," Agatha remarked, her voice laced with venom.

Rio chuckled, her grip still deathly tight on your thighs. You could feel the blood seeping out of your skin, onto her fingers.

"I wish I could have forgotten you instead," you retorted, unsure where this newfound attitude was coming from.

"Now, now. Don't get too cocky," Rio warned, although the grin on her face said something entirely different.

You bit back a scoff. "What's this, anyways? Last time I checked, you both hated each other."

The Green Witch shrugged. "We both share a common interest."

Refusing to take anymore of this, you made a move away from them, eager to escape Rio's death grip. Unfortunately, the two witches were unwilling to let you get away so easily.

"Don't," Agatha cautioned, her voice alone enough to stop you in your tracks.

"What do you want?" you snapped, finally turning towards her.

Your eyes narrowed as Agatha's smile turned into something sinister.

"You," she replied definitively.

You laughed sarcastically, barely believing what was happening right now. "Are you fucking kidding me? You left me. You can't - I - don't you think we're too far gone now? I mean, you left me wondering where the hell you -"

"We didn't want to leave," Rio interjected.

"Then why did you?"

"We cared too much about you to stay," Rio explained, gently interlocking your fingers with hers. "It would've only have hurt you."

"Well, you hurt me either way," you replied bitterly, flinching at the coldness of the witch's fingers.

Rio sighed. "I know. I know we did."

Exasperated, Agatha tilted your head up with her fingers, forcing you to look her in the eyes. "Pet, we're sorry."

"Well, sorry doesn't cut it anymore. Not in my books," you snapped, wrenching yourself out of their grasps. "And don't call me that. I'm not your pet."

Without looking back, you walked back towards the fireplace. Unbeknownst to you, the two witches you left behind were hardly satisfied with your answer.

"She's forgotten who she belongs to," Rio murmured, staring into the back of your head.

Agatha tightened her jaw, shaking her head. Her eyes met Rio's, a knowing smirk playing on their lips.

"It looks like we'll have to teach her a lesson then, hm?"

#agathario #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agathario x reader #rio vidal #agatha all along #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #dark!agatha harkness #dark!agatha harkness x reader #dark!rio vidal #dark!rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x you #rio vidal x you

2K notes · View notes

hyukascampfire · 23 days ago

Text

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.

And, there, he stands in front of you.

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”

“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.

“I used to come here all the time,” he says.

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note MY SHAYLAAAAA. MY SHAYLAAAAAAA!

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , @304files , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @ashistrashhhhhh , @no1likemybbgcharlie , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

692 notes · View notes

midnightorchids · 6 months ago

Text

It’s nearing dawn when Jason comes home from patrol. His body feels exhausted and his eyes feel heavy, but despite his fatigue, he misses you and wants to be in your arms.

He enters your shared apartment through the front door, careful not to make any sudden and loud noise. He catches the tv on in the living room and he knows you fell asleep watching your show. A soft smile paints his lips as he makes his way over to the couch.

The soft glow from the tv reflects on your skin and he admires you in your sleeping state. Your hair is a mess, but to Jason, you look absolutely gorgeous.

He mumbles a small “so pretty,” and gently moves your bangs out of your face before placing a loving peck on your forehead.

You stir in your sleep and he wants to move you to the bedroom, but ultimately decides to leave you alone for a little longer, not wanting to corrupt your skin with the filth of the wretched city. He wants to shower first and free himself of the grime.

Once he’s all clean, he takes your sleeping figure into his arms and you subconsciously hold on to him tighter. You nuzzle your nose into his neck and place a gentle kiss against it.

“You smell good Jay,” you mutter against his skin and he shivers at the sensation.

“Just showered sweetheart,” he says in return and you kiss his neck again in response, too tired to speak.

He tucks you into your side of the bed and then makes his way to his own. He pulls your body close to his and caresses your hair. He gently tugs at the strands and brushes his fingers through your scalp.

Jason lives for soft and domestic moments like these. It was a privilege he wasn’t sure he deserved, but he adored it nonetheless.

Jason smiles to himself and places another kiss against your forehead. He whispers goodnight even though he knows you’re not listening and then, he lets his slumber take over.

#I wrote this half asleep #but i really wanted to post something this week #gn!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #red hood headcanon #batfam

2K notes · View notes

aegonstradwife · 6 months ago

Text

closer | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; aegon's wife comforting him after his battle with rhaenys.

warnings: mention of various injuries, established relationship, smut. (handjob, fingering.)

a. note: link to the original request.

They've been keeping him from you.

'He needs his rest, m'lady.'

That's all you ever hear.

Well, damn rest to the seven hells. Aegon needs you; without your love and support, how is he ever supposed to get better?

All evening you've stood watch just around the corner from Aegon's bedchamber on the second floor of the keep, under the guise of overseeing the hanging of a new tapestry along the hallway toward the grand staircase.

Once you hear the last maester leaving Aegon's room and shuffling along for the night, you hurriedly dismiss the servants hanging the tapestry and begin to creep down the corridor.

Finding the door unlocked, you sweep silently inside.

The room is dark, the only illumination the light of the moon slipping in through the windows. Aegon is lying down, breathing steady beneath the sheets as you sneak over and settle yourself gingerly on the bed beside him, making sure not to rustle any of the bedclothes.

His eyes open instinctively, staring amazed up at you, clearly not expecting visitors this time of night.

Aegon whispers your name like a prayer. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see my husband. Am I not allowed to see how his recovery's going?"

If you're being honest, Aegon looks awful, the mottled skin of his cheek purple and red in the low lighting. There are more burns, further down and across his shoulder. You ache to hold him, but don't want to hurt him.

You clear your throat. "I just needed to see you, my love. It's been so long...." You reach out, avoiding the burn on his cheek as you pet a lock of hair back from his forehead. "Don't you miss me?"

He watches you carefully. Of course he misses you, more than he cares to admit. And he is touched by the gesture, even if he's unwilling to show it right now.

"I miss you," he admits quietly. "More than anything. But I assure you, I'm fine. No need to waste your time fussing over me."

He tries to sit up, biting back a pained groan.

"Don't," you urge, pressing him back against the sheets with a hand at his unmarred shoulder.

It's been a long time since you've slept together - the maesters have been keeping Aegon in this room to rest and heal. Even during the day, you've been forbidden to see him; everyone claims it's better for him to be alone and 'clear his mind.'

But what about you? It's been torture not having him beside you at night, not holding his hand at meals or at court.

And what about him? Has anyone even asked Aegon what he wants? What he needs while he's like this?

"What can I do for you, Aegon? What do you need?"

"You," he says with no hesitation, "to lay here with me." He pats the space on the opposite side of the bed. That's what he needs - the woman he cares for most.

"Just.... be careful of my leg. It's broken, if they hadn't told you...."

You hurry around to his unburnt side, climbing carefully back on the bed so as not to disturb his broken leg. "I know.... does it hurt badly still?" You ask quietly, tucking yourself against his side.

He wraps his good arm gently around you and rests his chin at the crook of your neck. Your touch soothes him, and he's missed it more than he can say.

“Only when I try to move it. The burns still hurt like all seven hells, though….”

You nod - closer now, you can see the burns all over the side of his body, trailing down beneath the covers. The maesters had told you his injuries were extensive, but you didn't realize just how badly until now.

"Oh, Aegon -" you cut yourself off on a choked sob. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me to go to that wretched battle?"

His heart aches just hearing the sound of you crying. He pulls you as close as he can with one arm.

"Shh...." He shushes you, running fingers through your hair. "I had to go. I couldn't let what they'd done go unpunished. The people need their king to fight for them."

You sniffle. Not wanting to get snot and tears all over him in addition to his other tragedies, you calm yourself with a hand at the remaining smooth skin of his stomach. "I just can't believe they've kept you here, away from me. It's been so difficult, Aegon...."

"I know, my love, I know...."

He pulls you against his chest and lets you rest your head there against his beating heart, seemingly the only thing that had not been damaged in the battle.

“It's been difficult for me too…. I thought of you every day....”

It comforts you, to know Aegon has been thinking of you, even as sick as he is.

You lick your lips, fingers circling gently over his stomach. "You have? Have you been able to.... pleasure yourself at all?"

A shiver runs through him, and he lets out a shaky exhale. “Only once. I tried a few times, though....” His voice is a whisper as he speaks, his body reacting even to the simplest of your touches.

You kiss his shoulder in sympathy. "You must be so pent up. I mean.... I know I am," you say suggestively.

"Yes," he breathes. He is desperate. The touch of your lips to his shoulder is enough to send heat shooting straight down. "You don't even know.... but...." He swallows thickly. "I don't know how I would...."

He turns his face from you in shame.

"Shh, Aegon, it's okay." You turn his face back toward you, cradling him gently just below the heated scrape of burn. "I wouldn't expect that right now.... You need to heal more before that. But there are always other ways to make sure you get your release ..."

His eyes, one darkened by the brindled skin surrounding it, fix on you. They are both, however, hungry and wanting. "Other ways?" He whispers.

You nod, smiling sweetly at your husband. "Yes, many other ways. I can think of two off the top of my head that won't be too taxing for you.... shall we try them?"

Aegon mirrors your nod. “Try them, yes. I’m desperate. I’ll do anything, as long as you’re the one doing it….”

With another kiss to his shoulder, you let the very tips of your fingers trail just beside the jagged line of burns along Aegon's body, making sure not to hurt him. You want to tease, to make this as good for him as possible.

You've been apart for a month at least; if Aegon is anywhere near as tense as you are, he will appreciate this.

But just as your fingers are about to traipse under the sheets, Aegon stops you with a grunt. "Darling.... one thing first."

You gaze curiously up at him.

"Are you still.... Do these bother you?" He gestures to the slowly healing burns along his face and side. "Do you still find me as handsome as you once did or am I...."

He can't seem to find the words to finish.

You shush him yet again, pressing a loving kiss to his lips. "You will always be the most beautiful man in the world to me, Aegon. No matter what."

“You…. you still find me…. pleasing to look at, like this?”

You lean up on your elbow, fingers now taking their time trailing over his stomach, up to his uninjured shoulder, over his unburnt cheek, and back down. "Oh, Aegon.... I've missed you so. Is that the real reason you've refused to see me? You're afraid I'll find you ugly?"

He closes his eyes as your fingers wander over him, his breath hitching in his throat at the pleasure of your touch, but the question makes him pause.

“Yes,” he admits without any attempt to lie. “I don’t want you to look at me and feel nothing but disgust…. I’m not….” He swallows and opens his eyes, gaze blazing into you, “I was afraid you would think me hideous.”

Gods, the fact that you can't throw your leg over him and just fuck yourself down onto him to show him just how handsome you still find him is driving you mad....

"Why don't you let me show you, hm? Just how attractive I still find you?" You kiss him again, his neck this time, dry, fluttering kisses along his pulse point, which has quickened.

Exhaling with a shudder as your lips trail across the sensitive skin of his neck, he whispers, “Yes.... please.” His eyes are pulled to the tenting in the sheets below.

"You still get hard for me so easily," you reply with a pleased smile, gaze also drawn down toward his midriff. "Give me just a moment."

On the bedside, you had spied some oil the maesters had been using to treat Aegon's wounds. With the vial in hand, you retreat back into Aegon's side, slowly pushing the sheets down to reveal his hardened manhood.

You hiss, sitting up momentarily to see where the burns wrap around his hip, coming dangerously close to his erection. "Will it be okay for me to touch you?"

His breath catches, eying the path of the sheets as you remove them.

“It'll be fine. Please, touch me. I want your hands on me, need them on me, please….” He pleads, his eyes darkened with want, watching you as you continue to examine the extent of his burns.

“Only be gentle...." he sighs softly.

"Of course." You nod fervently, bending to press a kiss to his belly.

Curling against his side, you reach with the vile to drip just a few spots of oil onto his hard cock. You watch them rain slowly down, licking your lips at the sight.

"Gods, I missed seeing your cock. Is that weird...?"

Aegon's length twitches as the oil hits it. He watches you closely, moaning at the mere sight of you here with him after so long.

"Not weird," he reassures you. "I-I've missed you so much, your touch, your.... your everything. It's all I've thought about for weeks, and the only thing that's made this bearable."

Reassured by his sweet words, you press your lips to his side. With just one finger, you stretch and start to run that finger slowly over Aegon's slick cock, spreading the oil, making sure it doesn't drip too close to his burns. "Aegon.... oh, gods ..."

You're trembling, wanting him so bad, but unable to properly have him.

A shiver runs through his body at the touch of your finger, and he gasps for air as the sensation washes over him.

“Oh, gods…. yes, please....” he mutters. “Don’t stop, please.”

He desperately wants to reach out and touch you, to give you as much pleasure as he can, but with his broken leg and burned body, he's helpless to do anything but let you work.

"I-I'm sorry I can't.... for you."

"it's alright," you mutter, mouthing at his side, so hungry for him.

That one finger continues to stroke and tease your beloved's cock, which is twitching up into your touch. "Is this okay? Does it feel good?" You query, staring up at him.

"Yesyesyes," your husband mutters breathlessly, hips canting up into your touch. "It feels so good.... so good.... don't stop, please."

That tensing in his stomach tells you he won't last for much longer.

You know you shouldn't tease your poor injured husband too much, but you also know by now when he's about to climax. And you really want to draw this out for him.

"Don't cum," you plead, taking your finger away. "Not yet, my king."

Aegon groans miserably; he was so close. He tries to hold himself back from the edge but it’s damn near impossible when your hand had brought him almost to the brink.

"Please," he pleads with you, "I-I'm so close, please don't stop, please, I need...."

"I know," you mutter, straining up to kiss him properly. It's a searing kiss, your lips biting into his as your slippery finger slowly circles the base of his cock, avoiding his burns. "It's going to be so good when I finally let you finish, Aegon...."

He practically melts against you, desperately returning your kiss. Your ministrations have slowly come to make him forget all about the pain, for the first time in a long while. Everything, right now, is just you.

"Please," he manages to mutter between kisses. "Please, I need to finish, I need you so badly.... please.... please let me finish."

You shush him yet again, letting him catch his breath for a moment. "I know it's been so long, Aegon. So long since we've seen each other, let alone touched each other. I know it's hard for you to hold back. But can you try? For me?" A thought crosses your mind, and you look worriedly at his strained face. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

Aegon loves you, and the resolute look that overtakes his face tells you he'll try for you. "It's alright, it doesn't hurt."

You kiss him again, sweetly, knowing how hard he's trying for you. "Thank you, my love."

Being careful not to jostle his leg, you push the sheets down further and let your finger swirl delicately over the top of his thigh. "Is this okay? I know your legs have always been sensitive...."

He stifles a gasp; it's all so much, almost overwhelming his restraint.

"S-Sensitive, yes, but.... it's alright. It feels good."

Aegon's good arm tightens around your shoulder and you bite your lip around a moan. Part of you doesn't want Aegon to know how wet you are - he'll see it as his duty to do something about it. And right now that's just not possible.

"Aegon? Do you mind if I light a candle? I want to be able to see better when you spill for me."

He’d known it would be difficult for you too, like this. And, unbeknownst to you, he feels a small sense of satisfaction that your voice sounds just as strained as his. Even though there's nothing he can do about it.

When you ask about the candle, he nods. “Y-yes, go ahead....” he says between breaths, a flush of heat across his unmarred skin.

With another quick kiss, you dart off the bed, fumbling with the matches on the night stand. The series of half-melted candles finally lit, you turn back to the bed, but are stopped by Aegon's uninjured arm, his hand planted firmly on your stomach.

"Aegon...?"

"Pull your gown up," he croaks.

You shake your head, trying to press past his grasp, but Aegon is still surprisingly strong. "Please," he gasps, tugging at the loose material around your thighs.

Acquiescing to his request, you tug the folds of your dress up and rest a knee at the side of the bed, letting Aegon reach under with curious fingers.

Your undergarments are soaked when he presses his hand against them, and you whimper, grabbing for him to steady yourself.

"There it is," he moans, a satisfied smile plain on his face. "So you do still desire me...."

"Of course I do, Aegon.... how could I not? Every day without you is like a knife to the heart. My ladies' maids urge me to bring a serving boy in to help satisfy me, but they don't know.... they don't know you're the only one who has ever been able to."

His fingers continue their journey between your thighs, running along your sensitive center. The feel of you only serves to make him harder.

"And you don't know," he gasps, "how much the thought of you being.... with someone else nearly kills me.... you are mine."

"I'm yours, Aegon. I wouldn't ever have asked anyone to share our bed with me. Ever." Desperate now to be rid of your clothes, you rip yourself out of them, tearing the seams of your gown in your hurry.

Nonplussed, you bring Aegon's warm fingers back to your dripping cunt, letting him touch to his heart's content.

Aegon cups his hand underneath of you, fingers slipping wetly through your swollen, sensitive folds.

"Every night," you tell him, voice trembling. "Every night I'm like this for you. I've missed you so...."

Aegon looks tortured, the tips of his fingers seeking that tight, leaking hole. Slowly, two digits begin to work their way inside of you. "So tight, my love. So tight without me stretching you out every night, aren't you?"

You sob, fingers clenched painfully hard in the covers as you struggle to stay upright. One foot is still on the cool stone floor, your other leg stretched out beside him on the bed so he can continue to finger you. "Yes, Aegon! it's actually quite.... a struggle now, to take your fingers."

"I'll be gentle then...." He keeps those digits working slowly inside of you, just stroking at your insides to get you used to him.

"Thank you, Aegon...." Having not forgotten about him, you steady yourself better with one leg on the bed and lean over to take Aegon's oily cock in hand properly now, stroking him lovingly.

At your touch, Aegon inhales sharply. His free hand comes to grip the pillows behind his head as your hand moves over him. “Ah, darling, I’m trying to.... stay, mmh, focused on you.... but you’re making it so difficult....”

With your clean hand, you stroke his hair, messy against the pillows. "You don't have to focus on me, Aegon. This was supposed to be for you. My poor boy...." You sigh, gaze roving over his injuries.

"But I want to please you, too...." He protests, although the words are almost lost in the moan he lets out after, body jerking with pleasure.

He gazes up at you as you comb your hand through his hair, fingers stuttering inside of you. "I-I'm still your sweet boy?" He gasps.

"The sweetest boy," you can't help but respond, twisting your hand around his fat, leaking head. "If you just.... keep your hand there, Aegon, I can...."

With his wrist against the bed, his fingers still pointed up into you, you start to roll your hips, effectively fucking yourself on his fingers. "I can't wait to do this to your cock. W-When you're a bit more healed, I'll come in here and bounce on you until we both cum, okay?"

Aegon’s eyes are nearly black with desire as he digs his toes into the sheets and starts to cum. His orgasm blindsides him and he cries out, letting you work your hips over his hand as his cock begins to spurt all over your fingers and his own stomach.

"That's it, my king.... let it all out. Let me milk all of it out of you.... you've been pent up for so long, haven't you?"

"Ye-es," Aegon chokes, and as the last rope of his cum hits your wrist, you fall into your own climax as well.

Cunt spasming around his fingers, you brace yourself over him clutching whatever unmarred parts of him you can reach. "Aegon! Oh, Aegon.... Gods, you're doing such a good job.... "

Aegon’s fingers move slowly, coaxing you through it as his chest heaves. His heart is still pounding with the pleasure of his orgasm, taking in the gorgeous sight of you climaxing above him.

“You are so beautiful, my queen,” he mutters, looking at you with desire in his eyes and a hint of pleading. “.... can I ask for something?”

Panting with exertion, you turn your face toward him, still grinding your orgasming cunt down against Aegon's thick fingers. "Anything, my king."

His body is exhausted, but there is one thing he wants more than anything in that moment. He needs to feel you against him, skin to skin.

“I….” he starts breathlessly. “I want you to lay down. Right here, right beside me. I…. I need to feel you against me.”

Pulling yourself free from his fingers, you whine at the loss, but do as he's requested. Laying down beside him, tugging the sheets over both of you, sweaty and covered in the essence of each other.

"Did that hurt at all, my love?" You mutter, kissing along his shoulder. "Was it okay?"

Aegon’s eyes flutter as he feels your lips against him again. Feeling your body pressed against his and just knowing you're there brings him more comfort than he can say.

He reaches out with his uninjured arm, pulling you harder into him as he buries his face in your hair, against your neck.

“No, it didn’t hurt, my love. It was perfect, it was more than okay.”

Out in the hall, hurrying footsteps make themselves known just outside the door. The knob rattles, but you had locked it behind you when you entered.

"My lord," comes the head maester's voice. "I heard you cry out. Are you alright? Are you in pain?"

Aegon just manages to hold back an annoyed laugh. Of course they had heard the two of you, it's a miracle the whole damn keep didn't. His entire body sags in irritation, and he tightens his grip on you, pulling you flush against him. He damn well isn’t letting go of you just yet.

“I’m fine, Archmaester. Just a…. a bit of a twinge in my leg. Nothing to be concerned about.”

You giggle, muffling the sound against Aegon's skin. "Should I let him in?"

“Absolutely not,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine, and you’re not leaving this bed, and you’re not letting anyone else in this room for a long time.”

#aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #tom glynn carney #aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #smut #tom glynn carney x reader #my writing #house of the dragon smut #aegonstradwife #request fill

2K notes · View notes

kakushino · 1 year ago

Text

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground.

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines.

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position.

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching.

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.”

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd.

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom.

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him.

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do.

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber.

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration.

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?”

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed.

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?”

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size.

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

3K notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 18 days ago

Text

Haven Of Harmony - Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary : Your marriage with Daemon became more harmonious after the birth of your twin sons, Daemon also decided to bring his family to move to Dragonstone and settle there. Your happiness increases when you share the happy news.

You sat on a carved stone bench overlooking the vast expanse of Dragonstone, the cool breeze carrying with it the sound of roaring dragons and the laughter of your children. Your silver hair shimmered in the sunlight as you watched your five children soar through the skies on their dragons, their figures cutting against the blue heavens.

Your eldest, Maegon, led the group with his fierce determination, his bond with his dragon, Verathor, evident in every dive and turn. Vaelya followed close behind, her graceful dragon, Nyserion, matching her fiery spirit with elegant precision. Aerion, as daring as ever, performed daring maneuvers on his dragon, Aurion, his laughter echoing through the sky.

Below them flew Aelor and Vaegon, the youngest of the brood, though no less skilled. Their dragons, Elyrax and Thalaxion, moved in perfect harmony as they joined their older siblings in an impromptu mock battle against Daemon, who flew on Caraxes.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw your husband struggling to keep up with the coordinated attacks of his children. Caraxes let out an annoyed roar when Vaelya and Nyserion swooped low and nipped at his tail, causing Daemon to grumble in irritation.

“Is this how you treat your father, you little wretches?!” Daemon bellowed, though his voice carried no real anger.

Maegon grinned triumphantly from atop Verathor, pointing his blade toward Daemon in mock challenge. “You taught us too well, Father!”

Aerion joined in the teasing, circling Caraxes with a wide grin. “Looks like you’re getting old, Father! Maybe it’s time you retired to the ground!”

Daemon’s face twisted into a comically exaggerated scowl, making you laugh even harder. “Insolent brats,” he muttered, though his smirk betrayed his pride.

Just then, Vaelya swooped low beside Caraxes, her long silver braid whipping in the wind. “Leave Father alone!” she called to her brothers, her voice indignant. “He’s still the best dragonrider!”

Her brothers groaned in playful annoyance, teasing her for being their father’s favorite. “Of course, she’d say that,” Aerion quipped, rolling his eyes dramatically.

As you watched the exchange, your heart swelled with pride. Your children were not only strong and fearless but deeply bonded to one another. Despite their teasing, their love and respect for Daemon — and for each other — were undeniable.

When the battle ended and the dragons began their descent, your children landed one by one, their faces flushed with excitement. Daemon was the last to dismount, shaking his head as he approached you. “They’re insufferable,” he muttered, though his smirk revealed his amusement.

You chuckled, reaching out to smooth his windswept hair. “They’re just like you,” you said, smiling fondly.

Daemon grunted, pulling you closer as your children ran toward you, their laughter filling the air. Vaelya threw her arms around Daemon, while Maegon and Aerion excitedly recounted their victory. Aelor and Vaegon tugged at your sleeves, eager to tell you about their dragons’ latest feats.

Surrounded by your family, you felt a deep sense of contentment. These were the moments you cherished most — the laughter, the love, and the unbreakable bond that tied you all together.

You gazed at your family seated around the long, grand table in the hall of Dragonstone, the warm glow of the torches casting flickering light upon their faces. Daemon sat at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the firelight as he leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Maegon had said.

Maegon, ever the confident eldest, was recounting his latest dragonriding exploits, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described how Verathor had outmaneuvered Caraxes in the skies. Vaelya, seated beside him, rolled her eyes playfully, a smirk on her lips as she cut into her roasted lamb.

“You only won because Father let you,” she quipped, her silver braid swinging as she turned to Daemon for confirmation.

Daemon chuckled, raising his goblet. “I’d never let any of you win. If Maegon bested me, it’s because I trained him too well,” he said, winking at his eldest son.

Aerion, sitting next to Vaelya, grinned mischievously. “Maybe next time we’ll team up, Vaelya. Even Caraxes wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of us.”

Vaelya narrowed her eyes at him. “You’d just slow me down, Aerion.”

Across the table, Aelor and Vaegon were engrossed in their own conversation, their young faces alight with excitement as they talked about their dragons. Elyrax and Thalaxion were already developing distinct personalities, and their bond with the youngest twins was clear.

You watched them all with a soft smile, your hands resting on your belly. The babe within you kicked gently, as if sensing the joy in the room. Daemon caught your eye and raised his goblet toward you, his expression softening.

“To the Lady of Dragonstone,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection. “The one who holds us all together.”

The children joined in the toast, their voices overlapping as they cheered. You smiled, feeling a deep warmth in your chest as you looked around the table at the family you and Daemon had built together.

This was your sanctuary, your joy. The laughter, the teasing, the love—it was all you had ever hoped for. And as you listened to the lively chatter and felt the gentle movements of the babe you carried, you knew the future would hold even more of these cherished moments.

As the lively chatter at the table quieted, you cleared your throat softly, drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes turned toward you, and you suddenly felt the weight of your unspoken news. Daemon, seated beside you, tilted his head in curiosity, his sharp gaze locking onto yours.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and intrigue.

The children, scattered along the grand table, paused their conversations. Vaelya arched an eyebrow, Maegon leaned forward slightly, and Aerion exchanged a curious glance with the twins, Aelor and Vaegon.

You hesitated, your hands instinctively moving to rest on your stomach, hidden beneath the soft fabric of your gown. The secret you had kept for months felt heavier now that you were about to speak it aloud. But the love and trust of your family gave you strength.

“I have something important to share with all of you,” you began, your voice steady but soft. You glanced briefly at Daemon, who was now watching you intently, his expression unreadable. “It’s news I’ve kept to myself for a little while, but I think it’s time you all know.”

The children exchanged glances, their curiosity growing.

“What is it, Mother?” Vaelya asked, her tone eager yet calm.

Taking a deep breath, you finally said the words. “I’m expecting another child.”

For a moment, silence filled the hall as your words settled over them. Daemon blinked, his eyes widening in shock. “Another… child?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper, as if trying to confirm what he had just heard.

“Yes,” you said with a small, nervous smile. “We’re going to have another baby.”

The children erupted into cheers and exclamations.

“A new sibling!” Aerion grinned. “That’s incredible!”

“We’ll have to prepare the nursery again!” Maegon added, his initial shock giving way to excitement. Even the twins, usually more reserved, looked genuinely thrilled, their identical smiles lighting up the room.

Vaelya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. “If it’s another brother, I’ll have to teach him some manners. I’m already outnumbered as it is.”

Daemon, however, remained quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. Then, without a word, he rose from his seat and crossed the distance between you. Gently, he cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours before a wide grin spread across his lips. “You kept this from me?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-incredulous.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you admitted sheepishly.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’ve certainly done that, my love.”

As the children continued to celebrate, Daemon pulled you into a warm embrace, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. The warmth and joy that filled the hall were palpable, and for the first time in months, you felt completely at ease. This was your family, your strength, and your greatest happiness.

You stood by the window of your chamber, gazing out at the vast, dark sea stretching endlessly before you. The soft whisper of the waves blended with the cool night breeze, brushing gently against your face. The moonlight bathed the room in a silvery glow, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind you until a familiar warmth enveloped you. Daemon’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His hand rested lightly on your growing belly, his touch both tender and protective.

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “You shouldn’t be standing so long,” he murmured, his voice low and full of quiet affection.

You leaned back against his chest, finding solace in his steady presence. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice soft. “The sea… it calms me.”

He chuckled lightly, the vibration of his laugh rumbling in his chest. “And here I thought you might be admiring something else,” he teased, his tone playful but his embrace tightening ever so slightly.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Perhaps I was,” you replied, tilting your head to glance up at him. His silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his sharp features softened as he looked down at you with a rare, unguarded expression.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing your temple as his hand gently caressed the curve of your belly. “Our child grows strong,” he whispered, pride evident in his voice. “And you—you’re remarkable, carrying them.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in. The weight of his words, the warmth of his touch, and the rhythmic sound of the waves all melded into a perfect harmony. For a fleeting moment, it was just the two of you and the life you were bringing into the world, wrapped in the quiet serenity of the night.

You walked slowly through the garden, your hand resting gently on your growing belly. The warm sunlight bathed the blooming flowers around you, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine and roses.

Above, the thunderous roars of dragons echoed through the sky, mingling with the bright laughter of your five children. You stopped for a moment, tilting your head back to take in the breathtaking sight.

Their dragons darted through the clouds, weaving intricate patterns as they chased one another. Maegon led the playful pursuit, his determined shouts urging the others to keep up. Vaelya, ever the fierce competitor, followed closely, her dragon’s wings cutting through the air with precision. Aerion, with his clever tactics, swooped around to intercept them, his laughter carrying down to you.

Your youngest twins, on their slightly smaller dragons, joined the game with enthusiastic squeals, their dragons roaring proudly despite their size.

A soft smile spread across your face as you watched them, your heart swelling with pride and joy. They were so free, so full of life, their bond with their dragons and each other unbreakable.

Your hand moved gently over your belly, feeling the faint but certain movements of the new life within you. “They’ll be waiting for you,” you murmured softly. “And I’m sure you’ll join them up there one day.”

Lost in the moment, you barely noticed Daemon approaching until you felt his arm slide around your waist. He followed your gaze to the sky, his lips curving into a smirk.

“They’re a pack of wildlings,” he teased, though his voice was full of affection.

“And you love it,” you replied, leaning into him.

He chuckled, placing a protective hand over yours on your belly. “Maybe one day, there’ll be even more dragons up there.”

You smiled at the thought, your gaze still fixed on your children as their laughter and the roars of dragons filled the sky. It was a moment of pure peace, a reminder of everything you had built together.

You walked alongside Daemon toward the lair where Caraxes rested. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the stone path as the faint roar of dragons filled the air.

When Caraxes saw you approach, the great red dragon lifted his elongated neck and moved forward with surprising gentleness. His sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto you, and instead of focusing on Daemon, he lowered his head and began to sniff curiously at your belly.

You couldn’t help but smile as Caraxes let out a low, rumbling growl of recognition, as if he understood the new life growing within you.

Daemon crossed his arms and let out an exaggerated huff. “Traitor,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at his dragon.

You laughed softly, reaching out to pat Caraxes’ snout. “It seems he knows before anyone else, my love,” you teased, your hand brushing over your belly. “Perhaps he’s just more in tune with me than you are.”

Caraxes nudged you gently, a surprising act of care for such a fearsome creature, and you giggled at his affectionate gesture.

Daemon rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who rides him, feeds him, and yet here he is, fawning over you.”

You turned to him with a playful smile. “Perhaps he’s simply acknowledging the mother of your children—and his future rider’s parent.”

Daemon smirked and stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Or perhaps he’s just testing my patience,” he quipped, though his voice was filled with warmth.

Caraxes let out a low, satisfied rumble as though he had won some unspoken contest. Daemon shook his head but pulled you closer, his protective gaze shifting between you and his loyal dragon.

You turned your head toward a dark cave not far from where Caraxes rested. A strange feeling prickled at the back of your neck, and you tilted your head slightly, as though straining to catch a faint sound.

Daemon frowned, his brows furrowing as he noticed your sudden distraction. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes scanning the mouth of the cave. “I… I thought I heard something,” you murmured, your hand unconsciously moving to your belly. “Like someone calling my name.”

Daemon’s gaze followed yours to the cave, his expression turning skeptical. “There’s no one there,” he said firmly, stepping protectively closer to you. “Are you certain it wasn’t just the wind?”

You shook your head slowly, unsure. “It didn’t sound like the wind. It was…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It was faint, but… familiar.”

Caraxes let out a low growl, his head snapping toward the cave, as though he, too, sensed something.

Daemon’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword instinctively. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No, Daemon,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm. “If it’s nothing, there’s no need for you to risk yourself.”

He hesitated, glancing back at you, then toward the cave. “You’ve been restless of late,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”

You nodded reluctantly, though you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through you. Daemon led you away from the cave, his arm wrapped protectively around you, but your gaze lingered on the dark entrance, wondering what—or who—you might have heard.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The quiet, soft whisper calling your name seemed to grow louder, more insistent, despite the absence of any visible source. You turned back towards the cave, your heart pounding in your chest. It was as if the very air around you had thickened, filled with a sense of foreboding that you couldn’t ignore. The wind had shifted, but it wasn’t the change in temperature or breeze that unsettled you. It was the call.

Daemon, still standing by your side, noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor. His sharp eyes followed your gaze towards the cave, then back at you, reading the unease in your posture. He knew you too well, and he could sense that something wasn’t right. But when he glanced back at the entrance to the cave, he saw nothing that could explain the anxiety that seemed to settle in your bones. “What is it?” he asked again, his voice tinged with concern but still a hint of uncertainty. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the mounting anxiety down, but it was no use. “Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “do you hear it? The calling… it’s still there.”

Daemon furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything. It’s just the wind.”

But as you spoke, Caraxes, the great dragon, shifted his position. His massive body, usually so relaxed and calm, became tense, his eyes narrowing, his nostrils flaring. The dragon, a creature so in tune with his surroundings, seemed to sense something you couldn’t. The silence that hung in the air grew thicker, almost oppressive, and Caraxes let out a low, guttural growl, his massive head turning toward the cave, his wings flexing in readiness.

You instinctively took a step closer to Daemon, your breath shallow. “Caraxes… he’s acting strange,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the concern in your tone. The dragon had never acted like this before, his movements sharp and watchful, his attention fixed on the cave, as though waiting for something to emerge.

Daemon turned back to the dragon, his expression hardening. He was no stranger to the instincts of his dragon, but this felt different, more urgent. He glanced at you, eyes searching your face, trying to read the fear that had crept into your expression. “We should go back to the castle,” Daemon said firmly, his hand reaching out to guide you. There was no hesitation in his voice, no argument. He had seen enough to know that something was wrong. He didn’t need to be convinced.

“I don’t like this, Daemon,” you muttered, still unable to shake the unease in your chest. You could feel your heart racing, the thumping echoing in your ears, the voice still faintly calling your name, but growing more distant with every passing second. It felt like something was waiting, something watching from the depths of the cave.

Daemon’s grip on your arm tightened, pulling you back towards the path leading away from the cave. He wasn’t taking any chances. “We’ll deal with it later, if necessary. Let’s go back now, before anything happens,” he said, his tone firm, almost protective.

You didn’t argue. The last thing you wanted was to be close to that cave any longer. You felt the presence of something lurking, something ancient, that you couldn’t fully understand, and it was pulling at your very soul. Daemon’s protective instincts had already kicked in, and you couldn’t deny that you felt safer with him by your side.

As you turned to leave, you glanced one last time at Caraxes, still poised and alert, his eyes watching the cave as if he too were waiting for something, or someone. The dragon’s unease mirrored your own, and it made your pulse quicken. What was it that lingered in the shadows of that cave?

But Daemon urged you forward, guiding you back towards the castle. The call faded with each step, the heavy presence lifting from the air, though the feeling of something unresolved still weighed on you. You weren’t sure what had just happened, or if it would come to anything, but you knew that something was out there. You could feel it deep in your bones.

As you returned to the safety of the castle, you could only hope that the strange pull from the cave was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But in the back of your mind, something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you heard the whisper.

You sat with your daughter, Vaelya, in her room, gently brushing and braiding her silver hair. The soft glow of the afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm hue over the room. She sat quietly, her hands resting on her lap, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as she handed you a small piece of fabric.

“I finished this today,” she said proudly, showing off her neat stitching. The design was simple, but her careful work and attention to detail were evident.

You smiled warmly, running your fingers over the stitches. “This is beautiful, Vaelya. You’ve done such a wonderful job.”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she beamed with pride. “I want to learn how to make clothes,” she said, turning to look at you with a determined expression. “So I can sew something for the new baby when they arrive.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “That’s very thoughtful of you, sweet girl. I’m sure your new sibling will cherish anything you make for them. And I’ll help you, if you’d like."

Vaelya nodded enthusiastically, her small hands gripping the fabric tightly. “I want it to be perfect. Something they can wear when they’re little and keep forever.”

You couldn’t help but smile, pride and love filling your chest as you looked at your daughter. She was growing up to be such a kind and caring soul, and moments like this reminded you of just how special she was. “It will be perfect, Vaelya, because it will be made with love.”

Vaelya looked up at you with her big, earnest eyes, her fingers toying with the edge of her fabric. “I hope the baby is a girl,” she said softly, almost shyly. “Sometimes, I feel lonely when my brothers go off to train with Father. They’re always together, and… it’s just me.”

You paused for a moment, your heart aching for your little girl. Setting down the comb, you leaned forward and cupped her face gently in your hands. “Oh, sweet one,” you said tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know it’s hard sometimes, but your brothers love you so much. And they’re never too far away.”

Vaelya nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I know. But it would be nice to have someone to stay with me—someone like me.”

You smiled warmly and pulled her into a comforting embrace, stroking her hair as you whispered, “Perhaps the gods will hear your wish, my love. If they will it, then you may just get the sister you dream of. But even if the baby is another brother, he’ll still be a part of our family and love you just as much.”

She rested her head against your shoulder, her small arms wrapping around you. “I’ll love them either way,” she murmured, her voice muffled. “But I hope the gods are listening.”

You chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll have to wait and see. But no matter what, you’ll never be alone, Vaelya. You have a family that loves you more than anything, and that will never change.”

You leaned back slightly, looking into Vaelya’s eyes with a playful smile. “You know, my sweet girl, there’s something special about being the only daughter in this family.”

She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her silver eyes. “What’s that, Mother?”

You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and said with a grin, “It means you’re the one who gets spoiled the most. Your father can never say no to you, can he? And your brothers? They’d move mountains just to see you smile.”

Vaelya giggled, her mood lifting. “That’s true! Father always lets me ride with him on Caraxes, even when my brothers have to wait.”

“Exactly,” you said, laughing along with her. “And when you want something, who’s the first to come running? It’s always your brothers, trying to outdo each other to make you happy. Don’t tell them, but I think you’ve got all of them wrapped around your little finger.”

She beamed, a spark of pride in her expression. “Maybe being the only girl isn’t so bad after all.”

You kissed her cheek and added, “It’s not bad at all. You’re their princess, Vaelya, and they’ll always treat you as such. No matter what, you’re cherished and loved beyond measure.”

Vaelya hugged you tightly, her arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you, Mother. I feel much better now.”

You stroked her hair and whispered, “Good. Never forget how special you are, my darling. You’re the heart of this family, and nothing will ever change that.”

You jolted awake, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, casting long shadows on the walls. You instinctively turned to your side, finding Daemon still deep in slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked so peaceful, oblivious to the torment that plagued your mind.

You ran a trembling hand over your face, trying to steady your breathing. The voice—no, the thing—had followed you even into your dreams. This time, it wasn’t just the echo of your name whispered in a way that sent chills down your spine. No, this time, it was accompanied by the piercing gaze of two glowing yellow eyes, their stare burning into you as if they saw through every layer of your being.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly, seeking the comfort of the life growing within you. The faint fluttering movements of your unborn child eased you slightly but did little to dispel the unease that had taken root.

You exhaled slowly, trying not to wake Daemon as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The cold stone floor against your bare feet sent a jolt through your body, grounding you momentarily. You paced quietly, your mind racing. Was this a warning? A sign? Or simply your imagination conjuring something from the depths of your fear?

Your gaze flicked to the window, the same one you had stared through earlier that day. The ocean beyond looked endless, and for a moment, you thought you saw something moving just beneath the surface of the moonlit waves. You shook your head, dismissing it as a trick of your exhausted mind.

A soft sound from the bed startled you, and you turned to see Daemon stirring. His hand reached out, searching for you in his sleep. His brow furrowed when he found the space beside him empty.

“Love?” he mumbled groggily, his voice thick with sleep. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes before his gaze found you standing near the window. “What are you doing? Come back to bed.”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him what you had seen—what you had felt. But the weight of it was too much to carry alone. Slowly, you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him.

“The voice,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It was in my dreams tonight. But this time, it wasn’t just a voice. There were eyes—yellow eyes—staring at me. Watching me.”

Daemon sat up fully now, his concern evident in the way he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Yellow eyes?” he repeated, his tone sharpening. “What else?”

You shook your head, clutching his hand for strength. “That’s all. But it felt so… real, Daemon. I can still feel them, as if they’re watching me even now.”

Daemon’s grip tightened protectively. “Whatever it is, I won’t let it come near you or our children,” he said firmly, his voice laced with determination. “I’ll find out what’s behind this, I swear it.”

You nodded, leaning into his embrace. Yet, even as his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world, the memory of those yellow eyes lingered, a haunting reminder that something—or someone—was waiting in the shadows.

You woke up to the warmth of sunlight streaming into your chamber, bathing the room in golden hues. Your hand instinctively reached out to the space beside you, only to find it empty. Daemon’s absence was unusual. You turned your gaze to the window, noting that the sun was already high in the sky—a clear sign you had slept in later than usual.

Quickly, you rose from the bed, your movements a little slower due to the weight of your pregnancy. After a moment of washing and dressing with the help of your maidservants, you made your way toward the Great Hall, curious as to where your husband might be.

As you approached, the lively chatter of your children reached your ears, bringing a small smile to your face. Entering the hall, you saw all five of them gathered together, their silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as they talked animatedly. Each of them was full of life, their bond as siblings evident in their laughter and shared smiles.

“Good morning, my darlings,” you greeted, your voice warm. They all turned toward you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Vaelya was the first to rush over, wrapping her small arms around you as she glanced at your growing belly.

“Good morning, Mother,” she said sweetly. “We were just talking about dragons.”

“Of course you were,” you replied with a chuckle, brushing her hair back affectionately. The boys approached next, all of them brimming with energy as they greeted you.

Despite the joy of seeing your children, your eyes scanned the hall for Daemon. “And where is your father this morning?” you asked.

The children exchanged glances before Maegon, the eldest of your triplets, answered, “He left early. He said he had something to handle with Caraxes.”

“Something important,” Vaelya added, frowning slightly. “But he wouldn’t tell us what.”

You nodded, trying to hide your concern. It wasn’t unusual for Daemon to disappear for a time, especially when it came to matters involving Caraxes, but his absence felt different today. Something about it unsettled you.

“Did he say when he’d return?” you pressed gently.

Aerion shrugged. “No, but he told us to take care of you.”

Your heart warmed at their father’s thoughtfulness. “Well, I suppose we’ll see him when he returns,” you said, smoothing over your worry with a smile. “Now, tell me more about these dragons you’ve been discussing.”

For the moment, you decided to focus on your children, listening as they excitedly shared their thoughts on dragon lore and their dreams of flying. But in the back of your mind, the question lingered: where had Daemon gone, and why hadn’t he told you?

You watching your older triplets—Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion—engaged in their Valyrian lessons. Their voices rose and fell rhythmically, perfectly mimicking the fluid cadence of the ancient tongue. They had taken to the language naturally, their silver-haired heads bent over their scrolls as they recited lines of poetry and prose with pride and precision. You couldn’t help but smile, a deep sense of pride swelling within you.

Not far away, your two youngest children sat on a soft rug, their giggles and cheerful chatter filling the room. They weren’t yet old enough for formal lessons like their elder siblings, but their curiosity had already begun to bloom. The maester patiently read to them from a large tome, recounting tales of your family’s storied history, while they listened with wide, fascinated eyes. Occasionally, their little hands darted out to point at the illustrations, followed by an excited string of questions.

You leaned against the wall, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly. The faint movements within reminded you of the life you were nurturing, the next addition to your family. Your children, your legacy, were everything to you. Watching them thrive—both in their studies and their play—filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Turning, you found one of your trusted handmaidens waiting. “My lady, everything is ready for your midday meal,” she said with a bow.

You nodded, glancing back at your children one last time before you stepped into the room. “Come now, my little dragons,” you said warmly, your voice drawing their attention. “It’s time to eat.”

Your older children exchanged a quick look before closing their scrolls, standing to join you with polite smiles. The younger two bounded toward you, their excitement spilling into laughter as they took your hands. The maester rose as well, bowing respectfully before excusing himself.

As you walked with your children, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you had built something truly special—a family bound not only by blood but by love, trust, and the indomitable strength of your shared lineage.

You sat at the head of the table, your five children surrounding you, their laughter and lively chatter filling the room. Maegon, as usual, was up to his tricks, teasing Aerion by slipping a piece of fruit onto his plate when he wasn’t looking. Aerion caught on quickly, retaliating with a playful shove that almost knocked over a goblet.

“Careful, boys,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head. Vaelya rolled her eyes dramatically at her brothers, muttering something about how they were always so loud during meals, which only made the twins laugh harder. The younger two watched with wide, amused eyes, their small hands clutching at their cups as they giggled at their older siblings’ antics.

Despite the warmth and joy around you, your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Daemon had been gone since early morning, and his absence weighed heavily on you. He was rarely away from meals, especially when the whole family was gathered. A seed of worry had taken root in your chest, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the feeling lingered.

“Mother, are you all right?” Vaelya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her sharp, observant gaze was fixed on you, her silver brows slightly furrowed in concern.

You smiled softly and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m fine, my love. Just a little distracted.”

Maegon leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Father’s probably off somewhere brooding over his sword. Or maybe Caraxes is keeping him company.”

Aerion snorted, but it was Vaelya who scolded her brother. “You shouldn’t say such things. Father will be here soon.”

Her words, though confident, didn’t entirely reassure you. You forced yourself to smile again, hoping it was enough to ease their concerns. “I’m sure he’ll join us shortly,” you said, though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.

As the meal continued, you did your best to focus on your children, laughing at their jokes and encouraging their conversations. But every so often, your gaze would flicker back to the door, your heart silently willing Daemon to walk through it and ease the growing unease within you.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet echoed through the serene garden, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze offering a soothing accompaniment. Yet, despite the tranquil surroundings, your thoughts were anything but calm. Daemon’s prolonged absence gnawed at your mind, an unwelcome companion to the unease that had lingered since the strange dream.

You stopped by the edge of the fountain, its crystal-clear water reflecting the late afternoon sun. Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of life stirring within you. The memory of those piercing yellow eyes from your dream resurfaced, sending a shiver down your spine.

Was it just a dream? Or something more?

You tried to push the thought aside, telling yourself it was nothing more than your imagination playing tricks on you. Yet, the way Caraxes had reacted near the caves, the whispers you’d heard… it all felt too coincidental.

The garden, usually a place of peace and joy, now felt slightly different—like the air itself was heavier, the shadows longer. You glanced around, your sharp instincts picking up on the faintest rustling in the bushes nearby.

“Daemon,” you murmured under your breath, your voice filled with a mixture of longing and worry.

But no one answered.

You continued to walk, your hands tracing the blooms of the roses you passed, their soft petals grounding you for the moment. Yet, your mind remained restless, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, something just beyond your understanding.

For now, all you could do was wait—and hope that Daemon returned soon to ease the storm inside your heart.

The dim light of the late afternoon barely penetrated the entrance of the cave as you stood there, frozen in a mix of awe and apprehension. The cool, damp air from the cave brushed against your skin, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of earth and something more—something ancient, something powerful.

Your heartbeat quickened, a steady drum in your chest, as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You took a tentative step forward, then another, the sound of your soft footfalls echoing faintly against the stone walls.

And then, you saw them.

Two glowing yellow eyes pierced the shadows, the very same eyes that had haunted your dreams. They watched you, unblinking, radiating an intelligence and intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

A low, rumbling growl filled the cavern, deep and resonant, reverberating through your bones. It wasn’t a sound of anger, but one of acknowledgement—a call, an answer, a connection.

As you stepped closer, the massive form of the dragon began to take shape in the dim light. Its scales were a deep shade of black, glistening faintly like polished obsidian, with streaks of gold running along its massive body. Its wings were folded close to its sides, but even so, you could sense the sheer power they held.

This was the creature that had been calling you. The voice you’d heard in your dreams, the presence you’d felt lingering in your thoughts—it was this dragon.

You took another step forward, your hand instinctively resting on your belly as if to shield the life growing within you. The dragon’s eyes shifted briefly to your hand, and you could feel a strange, almost protective energy emanating from it.

It lowered its massive head, bringing its snout closer to you, and let out a soft huff of warm air. The gesture felt like a test, as if it were gauging your courage, your resolve.

You reached out with trembling fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. As your hand made contact with the dragon’s scaled snout, a surge of warmth and energy coursed through you. It wasn’t just the touch of a dragon—it was a bond forming, a connection being forged.

This dragon had been waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you whispered softly, “You’ve been calling me, haven’t you?”

The dragon let out a low rumble in response, its eyes closing briefly as if in agreement. This was no ordinary creature—it was a dragon of destiny, one that had chosen you, not just as its rider, but as its equal.

For the first time in days, the unease that had plagued you lifted. In its place was a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone.

You stepped out of the dark cave, the sunlight momentarily blinding you as the dragon followed closely behind. The ground beneath you vibrated faintly with each heavy step the massive creature took. Its obsidian scales glinted in the light, making it appear both menacing and magnificent.

As you lifted your gaze, your eyes met Daemon’s. He stood a short distance away, his sword still sheathed, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run to find you. His expression was a mixture of shock, concern, and something else—awe.

His sharp eyes left yours and shifted to the beast that loomed behind you, its golden eyes meeting his for a moment before it let out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the air. Caraxes, perched on a ridge not far away, responded with a hiss, his long neck stretching out as if to assert his dominance.

“Gods,” Daemon finally breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He took a step toward you, his eyes darting between you and the dragon. “You’ve bonded with it.”

You nodded, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your swollen belly. “It has been calling me, Daemon,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “In my dreams, in my thoughts. It was waiting for me.”

Daemon’s gaze flicked to the dragon again, his jaw tightening. “You entered the cave alone?” His voice held a hint of reproach, but it was overshadowed by the amazement in his tone.

“I had to,” you replied firmly. “This bond… it was meant to be.”

The dragon behind you lowered its massive head, releasing a deep, resonating growl as if to agree. Daemon’s lips parted slightly, and he shook his head in disbelief. He took another step closer, now standing directly in front of you.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek briefly before sliding down to rest on your belly. His other hand gestured toward the dragon. “What do you plan to name this beast?”

You turned, looking back at the dragon whose glowing golden eyes still watched you intently. A name formed in your mind, as if it had been waiting there all along.

“Aryx,” you said softly, the name feeling like a perfect match for the creature’s power and grace.

Daemon tilted his head, considering the name before nodding approvingly. “Aryx,” he echoed. “Fitting for one as formidable as this.”

You smiled faintly and looked back at him. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Daemon smirked faintly, his usual arrogance returning to his expression. “Worry me? You’ll be the death of me one day, woman.” His tone was teasing, but the way his hand lingered on you spoke volumes of his relief.

With one last glance at Aryx, Daemon turned back to you. “Come. You’ll have to explain all of this to the children. And I suppose you’ll want them to meet your new companion.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of his arm wrap protectively around your shoulders as he led you back toward the keep. Behind you, Aryx released a mighty roar, the sound echoing across the cliffs, declaring its presence to the world.

As you walked alongside Daemon toward the training grounds, you could already hear the excited chatter of your children and the occasional roars of their dragons. The sight before you warmed your heart: Maegon, Vaelya, Aerion, and the twins were bustling around, preparing their saddles and checking their dragons. The bond they shared with their mighty companions was unbreakable, and it showed in every gesture and movement.

Daemon glanced at you with a knowing smirk. “They’ve grown so much,” he said, pride lacing his tone. “Soon they’ll rival even the best riders in the Seven Kingdoms.”

You nodded, your gaze never leaving your children. “They are remarkable,” you said softly. “But that is no surprise—they take after their father."

Daemon chuckled, his arm brushing against yours. “And their mother, who seems determined to keep surprising me.”

As the children mounted their dragons, Daemon turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Come, let us join them. You shouldn’t just watch from the ground.”

You shook your head with a smile, placing a hand on his arm. “Not yet. Go with them, Daemon. I’ll follow soon enough.”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, but he didn’t press further. “As you wish,” he said with a shrug, leaning in to kiss your temple before walking toward Caraxes.

You watched as your family took to the skies, their dragons soaring into the clouds with powerful wingbeats. Their laughter and cheers echoed down to you, filling the air with a sense of joy and freedom.

Once they were high above, you turned back toward the path leading to Aryx’s cave. The dragon waited for you, his golden eyes watching your every move. With steady determination, you approached and climbed onto his back, feeling the surge of power beneath you as he rose to his full height.

“Let’s give them a surprise,” you murmured to Aryx, and with a mighty roar, he took off.

The wind rushed past you, and the exhilaration of flying filled your chest. As you ascended higher, you spotted your family in the distance. Your children were the first to notice, their astonished faces turning toward you. Vaelya’s delighted laugh rang out, and Maegon pointed, shouting something to Aerion.

Daemon turned, his eyes widening in disbelief as Aryx flew closer. His smirk grew into a full grin as he shook his head, clearly impressed.

You and Aryx joined the formation, gliding gracefully alongside your family. The children circled you, cheering and calling out to Aryx, who responded with a roar of his own. Daemon guided Caraxes closer, his voice carrying over the wind.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, my love!” he shouted, his grin unrelenting.

You laughed, your heart swelling with pride and happiness. For a moment, as you soared through the skies with your family, all was perfect, and the world felt entirely yours.

As the wind rushed past your face, you couldn’t help but feel a familiar exhilaration coursing through your veins. This wasn’t your first time in the skies; you had flown before, though on Caraxes, with Daemon close behind to guide you. Those moments had been thrilling but restrained, as you were a guest on his dragon, not its rider.

But this—this was different. Sitting atop Aryx, feeling the immense power beneath you, was a completely new sensation. His every movement responded to your unspoken commands, the bond between you forming as if it had always been there.

You recalled Daemon’s words from years ago, the first time you’d mounted Caraxes. “You have the blood of the dragon in your veins,” he’d said, his voice steady with confidence. “It’s time you learned what that means.”

At the time, you’d been nervous but determined. Riding Caraxes had been a test, one that you had passed. Even then, you had felt the connection, the sense of belonging that came with being a Targaryen, a child of fire and blood. But riding another’s dragon, no matter how trusted, was nothing like this.

Aryx was yours. His golden eyes mirrored the fire that burned within you, and his roars seemed to echo the strength you had always carried. It was as if he had been waiting for you all along, waiting for the right moment to be claimed.

Now, as you soared alongside your family, you understood what it truly meant to be a dragonrider. Your mother’s legacy, the Targaryen blood that coursed through your veins, had made this moment possible.

Your children’s cheers and laughter brought you back to the present. Vaelya waved enthusiastically, her silver hair whipping in the wind. “Mother, you look magnificent!” she called out, her voice brimming with excitement.

Daemon, ever the watchful husband, guided Caraxes closer. His eyes gleamed with pride as he glanced at Aryx, then back at you. “I should have known you wouldn’t settle for anything less than your own dragon,” he teased, his voice warm.

You smirked, feeling more confident than ever. “I am a Targaryen, after all,” you replied, your tone playful but resolute.

The skies were alive with the sound of dragons and laughter, and for the first time in a long while, you felt utterly complete. This was your family, your legacy, and your destiny. The dragon within you had awakened, and there was no turning back.

As your feet touched the ground, the adrenaline of the flight still coursing through you, your children came running toward you with wide smiles and eyes alight with excitement.

“Mother, you were incredible!” Maegon exclaimed, his face flushed with admiration. Vaelya nodded vigorously, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight. “You looked so powerful, flying alongside us!”

Aerion smirked, crossing his arms. “I think Aryx suits you better than Caraxes ever did,” he teased, earning a chuckle from his siblings.

You smiled warmly at them, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It seems I’ve made the right choice,” you said, glancing back at Aryx, who settled on the ground behind you with a proud huff.

Daemon approached you then, his expression softer than usual, though his eyes still carried that glint of mischief. He placed a hand gently on your stomach, his touch warm and familiar. “The blood of the dragon runs strong in you,” he murmured, his voice laced with pride.

You chuckled softly, resting your hand over his. “And in them too,” you replied, glancing at your children, who were now animatedly talking about your flight.

Daemon leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “You continue to surprise me, my love. First, you claim a dragon, and now you carry another part of our legacy.”

You met his gaze, your smile softening. “This is only the beginning, Daemon,” you whispered, a sense of quiet determination in your tone.

The moment was filled with the warmth of family, the strength of your bond, and the unyielding pride of being part of the Targaryen legacy. Together, as the dragons roared softly in the background, you felt unstoppable.

Time seemed to move swiftly, and now you were in the final months of your pregnancy. Your growing belly made every movement more deliberate, yet you couldn’t help but feel restless under the watchful eyes of Daemon, Maegon, and Aerion.

They had practically barricaded you in your chambers, determined to ensure you rested properly. “Mother, you need to think of the babies,” Maegon would say, his tone a perfect echo of Daemon’s sternness. Aerion, equally protective, would add, “You promised to stay in bed. Don’t make us get Father involved.”

Even Vaelya, your usually gentle daughter, seemed to side with her brothers, albeit with a softer touch. “It’s only a few more weeks, Mother,” she’d plead, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she helped adjust your pillows. “You’ll see your dragon again soon.”

The restriction stung most when you thought of Aryx. The bond you had formed with your dragon was unlike anything else, and the thought of not visiting him made your heart ache. Yet every time you mentioned it, Daemon would shoot you a look that left no room for argument.

“I’ll not risk you or our children,” he declared one evening as he sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your swollen belly. “Aryx will wait, but these little dragons need you here.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m surrounded by dragons,” you teased lightly, though the frustration lingered in your voice.

Daemon smirked, leaning closer. “Indeed, and they all take after me,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Despite their protectiveness, you couldn’t deny the love and care surrounding you. Even if it meant enduring the confinement for a while longer, you knew it was born of their devotion to you and the new life growing inside you.

Despite the strict orders from Daemon and your sons, you rarely followed them to the letter. You valued your moments of freedom, however small, and the garden became your secret escape.

Whenever Daemon and the children flew together with their dragons, you took the opportunity to slip away from your chambers. With the help of your most trusted handmaidens and guards, you ensured no word of your little excursions ever reached your overprotective family.

Clad in a simple cloak to conceal yourself, you carefully made your way to the garden. The fresh air and the vibrant colors of the flowers felt like a reprieve from the monotony of your confinement. You would sit beneath the shade of a tree, your hand gently resting on your swollen belly as you gazed up at the sky.

Above, the sight of your children soaring through the air on their dragons filled you with pride and joy. You could hear their laughter echoing through the clouds as they raced one another or practiced aerial maneuvers. Aryx’s occasional roar would mix with the sounds of the other dragons, a reminder of the bond you had with him, even if you couldn’t be by his side.

You often whispered to the babies in your belly, “One day, you’ll fly too. Your siblings will teach you everything.”

When their flights ended and they descended back to the ground, you made sure to return to your chambers before anyone noticed your absence. The guards and servants who had kept your secret offered you subtle smiles, understanding the importance of these small moments of peace.

But you knew it was only a matter of time before Daemon or one of your children caught on to your little rebellion. And when that day came, you were sure there would be a lecture—likely from all of them. Until then, you relished these fleeting moments of freedom under the open sky.

As you sat beneath your favorite tree, the soothing breeze ruffling your hair, a familiar voice broke the peaceful silence.

“Mother!” Maegon’s voice echoed through the garden, firm and laced with disapproval. “Why are you not in bed?”

You flinched slightly and turned to see your eldest son striding toward you, his silver hair shining under the sunlight. Aerion followed close behind, his arms crossed, wearing an expression that mirrored his brother’s irritation. Vaelya trailed behind them, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly torn between supporting her brothers and sympathizing with you.

“I needed some fresh air,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you adjusted your position under the tree. “I promise I’m being careful.”

“That’s not the point, Mother,” Aerion said, his tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to be resting. Father specifically said—”

“Oh, your father,” you interrupted with a soft laugh. “He’ll scold me enough when he finds out. Do you really have to add to it?”

Vaelya stepped forward, her expression softening as she knelt beside you. “Mother, we’re just worried. You’re in your last months, and we don’t want anything to happen to you or the babies.”

Her gentle words tugged at your heart, and you reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, my darling. But I promise I’m not doing anything reckless.”

Maegon knelt in front of you, his hands resting on his knees. “At least let us bring you back to your chambers,” he insisted, his voice softer now but still firm.

“And what of your flight practice?” you asked, tilting your head playfully.

Aerion shook his head. “We’ll return to it after we make sure you’re safely back where you belong.”

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with them. “Fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But you’ll have to help me up. Your little siblings are making it quite difficult for me to move around these days.”

All three of them immediately moved to assist you, their concern evident in their careful movements. As Maegon and Aerion supported you on either side, Vaelya stayed close, keeping an eye on you as if to ensure you didn’t try to escape their watchful care again.

As you walked back toward the castle, you chuckled softly to yourself. “You’re all so much like your father,” you murmured, earning a collective groan from your children.

“Someone has to be,” Maegon replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

As you walked back to your chambers with Maegon, Aerion, and Vaelya, you felt the sharp pangs of contraction intensify. Your hand instinctively went to your swollen belly, your breathing becoming shallow as you tried to hide the pain from your children.

“Mother, are you alright?” Vaelya asked, her brows furrowing in concern as she stayed close to you.

“I’m fine, sweet girl,” you replied, offering her a reassuring smile despite the discomfort. “Just help me get to my chambers.”

Once inside, you eased yourself onto the bed, your breaths coming heavier. “Maegon, Aerion,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Go find your father and bring him here. Tell him it’s urgent.”

Both boys nodded, though worry was evident in their expressions. “We’ll bring him right away,” Maegon assured you before he and Aerion quickly left the room.

Vaelya stayed by your side, her small hands reaching out to hold yours. “Is it time, Mother?” she asked softly, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“It seems so,” you said, stroking her silver hair to calm her. “But don’t worry, my darling. Everything will be alright.”

She nodded, though her grip on your hand tightened as another contraction hit you. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Shall I fetch the maester?” Vaelya offered, her tone eager to help.

“Not yet,” you said, squeezing her hand gently. “Stay with me for a moment. Your brothers and father will be back soon.”

The two of you sat together, the room filled with a quiet tension as you braced yourself for what was to come. Despite the pain, you found comfort in Vaelya’s presence, her strength reminding you of how much she was growing into her own.

You exhaled shakily, gripping Vaelya’s hand as another wave of contractions rippled through you. “Vaelya,” you said softly but firmly, “go now and fetch the maester—”

Before she could respond, the door swung open. Daemon strode in, his expression a mix of worry and urgency, followed closely by Maegon, Aerion, and your younger sons, each looking equally anxious. Behind them came the maester and a group of midwives, already prepared for what lay ahead.

Daemon’s violet eyes locked onto you immediately as he crossed the room in quick strides. “I told you to rest,” he said, though his tone was less scolding and more laced with concern. He knelt beside the bed, gently taking your free hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice wavered. “It’s time, Daemon.”

Vaelya stepped aside as the maester and midwives moved to your side, their practiced hands beginning preparations. Your sons stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to stay or leave, until Daemon turned to them with a commanding but gentle tone.

“Take your sister to the other chamber,” he said, glancing back at Vaelya, who hesitated for a moment. “Stay together and wait for news. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

Vaelya nodded, her lip trembling slightly as she cast one last glance at you. “Be strong, Mother,” she whispered before Maegon gently guided her out, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Once the door closed behind them, Daemon turned back to you, his hands moving to steady you as another contraction surged through your body. “You’ll be alright,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here. We’re doing this together.”

You gripped his hand tightly, drawing strength from his presence as the maester gave quiet instructions to the midwives. The room filled with focused energy, and despite the pain, you felt a surge of determination. Soon, your family would grow once more.

You screamed as another wave of pain tore through you, your grip on Daemon’s hand tightening until your knuckles turned white. The maester and midwives moved swiftly around you, preparing for the imminent birth, but your focus was entirely on the searing discomfort and the man at your side.

Daemon leaned in closer, his voice low and soothing as he murmured, “You’re strong, my love. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. Breathe with me—”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to rival the edge of Dark Sister. “Easy for you to say,” you snapped through gritted teeth, your tone biting despite the exhaustion. “You’re not the one pushing out your insufferable offspring.”

Daemon smirked faintly, though there was a flicker of guilt in his violet eyes. “Fair enough,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. “But you’ve always been stronger than me. You’ll survive this, as you always do, and I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Another contraction tore through you, cutting off any retort you might have had. Instead, you groaned loudly, your head falling back against the pillows. Daemon tightened his hold on your hand, his face now entirely serious. “You’re almost there,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “Focus. You can do this.”

Despite your irritation, his presence grounded you. As much as you wanted to yell at him for being infuriatingly calm, his unwavering support gave you a sliver of comfort amidst the chaos.

With a guttural scream, you pushed with every ounce of strength you had, your cries echoing through the chamber. Tears streamed down your face as the pain overwhelmed you, but you didn’t stop. The maester’s voice was a distant murmur, urging you to keep going, but all you could focus on was the burning pressure and the sound of your own labored breathing.

From outside, a deep, resonant roar cut through the night—a sound that sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the castle. Your dragon’s call was filled with raw emotion, almost as if it mirrored your pain, your struggle. It was a bond deeper than words, one that transcended distance.

Daemon’s hand was in yours, his grip firm yet reassuring. His voice, usually so confident and commanding, was filled with worry as he whispered, “Almost there, my love. Just a little more. You’ve got this.”

The roar of your dragon grew louder, shaking the very walls, as if demanding your triumph. It was a primal connection—beast and rider, enduring the agony together. The sound gave you strength, a reminder of the power that ran through your veins.

You cried out, gripping the sheets with trembling hands as the maester urged you to push once more. The pain was overwhelming, your body strained beyond its limits, but you knew you were close. Tears streamed down your face as you screamed again, the sound of your agony echoing through the room.

Outside, the roar of your dragon reverberated through the castle walls, a deep, mournful sound that seemed to resonate with your very soul. It was as if the creature could feel every ounce of your pain, sharing in your struggle even from a distance.

“One more push, my lady,” the maester’s voice broke through the haze. “You can do this.”

With every ounce of strength left in you, you pushed, your cries blending with the primal roar of your dragon. And then, suddenly, the tension broke, and the room filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

Tears of relief and joy blurred your vision as you collapsed back onto the bed, trembling and breathless. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightened, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced with a small smile, carefully wrapping your daughter in a soft cloth before placing her in your arms.

You gazed down at the tiny, wriggling bundle, her silver hair already glinting faintly in the dim candlelight. Her cries quieted as she felt your warmth, her little fists opening and closing as if reaching for you.

Daemon leaned closer, his hand brushing gently against the baby’s head. “A daughter,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Outside, your dragon’s roar softened, almost as if it, too, was calming down now that the ordeal was over. You smiled weakly, kissing your daughter’s forehead as you whispered, “Welcome to the world, little one.”

You cradled your newborn daughter gently in your arms, her tiny fingers curling around your thumb. Her soft cries had subsided, and now she rested peacefully against your chest. A smile spread across your face as you admired her delicate features. She was perfect in every way.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head to see Vaelya standing there, her silver hair glinting in the candlelight and her violet eyes wide with joy. Her small hands were clasped together, trembling slightly as if she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“She’s here,” Vaelya whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “My sister…”

You beckoned her closer, and she hesitated only a moment before rushing to your side. She gazed down at the baby in awe, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s so small,” she murmured, brushing a finger gently across her sister’s tiny hand. “She’s beautiful.”

Before you could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Moments later, the door burst open, and your four sons came rushing in, their laughter and voices filling the room.

“Where is she?” Maegon demanded, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the bundle in your arms. Aerion followed closely behind, shushing his younger brothers even though his own excitement was barely contained.

Vaelya stepped aside reluctantly to give them room, though her protective stance didn’t go unnoticed. Each of the boys took turns peering at their new sister, their expressions a mixture of fascination and pride.

“She’s tiny,” Aerion observed with a grin, his tone teasing. “Like a hatchling."

“She’s a princess,” Maegon corrected him, his voice firm. “And she’ll grow into a dragon, just like us.”

“She already has,” Vaelya interjected, her voice soft but unwavering. “She’s my sister.”

You watched the scene with tears in your eyes, your heart swelling as your children gathered around you. They bickered playfully over who would protect her the most, but their love for their new sibling was already evident.

As the noise subsided, Daemon stepped back into the room, his gaze falling on the six of you. He didn’t say a word but crossed the room to stand by your side, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“She’s ours,” you whispered, looking up at him with a smile. “All of them are.”

“And they’re perfect,” Daemon replied, his voice low with pride as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

Vaelya turned to Daemon with wide, pleading eyes, her excitement almost tangible. “May I name her, Father? Please?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with hope.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, glancing at you with a small smirk. “Do you think you’re ready for such a responsibility, little dragon?” he teased, though his tone was warm.

Vaelya straightened her shoulders, her expression determined. “I am. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Very well, then. Let’s hear it.”

Vaelya hesitated only for a moment before stepping closer to you, her gaze fixed on her baby sister. “Her name is Nyelarys,” she announced proudly, her voice steady. “It means ‘radiant one’ in High Valyrian. She will shine brighter than the stars, and her fire will be as strong as any dragon.”

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the name. Daemon tilted his head, a rare softness in his expression as he repeated the name quietly to himself. “Nyelarys,” he said, testing the sound. Then, he nodded in approval. “A fitting name. You’ve done well, Vaelya.”

Your sons, standing nearby, each murmured their agreement, though they couldn’t resist throwing in a few playful comments about who would teach Nyelarys to ride a dragon or wield a sword.

You smiled at Vaelya, your heart swelling with pride. “It’s perfect,” you said softly, stroking her hair. “Just like you.”

Vaelya’s cheeks flushed with happiness, and she looked down at her sister with a radiant smile. “Welcome to the family, Nyelarys,” she whispered.

You smiled warmly at Vaelya as she gazed at her baby sister, her silver hair shining in the soft light of the chamber. “Would you like to hold her?” you asked gently.

Vaelya’s eyes widened, and she looked at you, almost hesitant. “May I?” she asked softly, her voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, adjusting Nyelarys in your arms before carefully passing her to Vaelya. “Of course. Just be gentle.”

Vaelya sat on the edge of the bed, her movements careful and precise. She cradled Nyelarys in her arms, her hands supporting the baby’s head the way you had shown her. For a moment, she simply stared at her little sister, her expression a mixture of awe and adoration.

“She’s so tiny,” Vaelya whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. “And beautiful.”

You watched the tender moment, your heart swelling with pride. “She’s lucky to have a sister like you, Vaelya,” you said softly.

Vaelya looked up at you, her eyes shining. “I’ll protect her. Always. Just like you and Father protect us.”

Your throat tightened at her words, and you leaned forward to kiss her temple. “I know you will,” you murmured.

Nyelarys let out a soft coo, and Vaelya laughed quietly, brushing a finger against the baby’s cheek. “I’ll teach her everything I know,” she said, her voice filled with determination.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and you both turned toward the door just as Daemon and your sons returned. Each of them held a cloth-covered bundle, their faces alight with excitement.

“We’ve chosen the perfect egg,” Maegon announced proudly, his voice echoing in the room. Aerion added with a grin, “Father made us climb the hardest path to find it.”

Daemon smirked, holding up the egg he’d chosen. “Only the best for our little princess,” he said, his tone teasing as he walked over to you and Vaelya.

Vaelya glanced down at her sister, then back at the egg. “It will hatch,” she said with confidence. “It has to. She’s one of us.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Daemon as the boys gathered around, their excitement filling the room. It was a moment that reminded you of the strength and love within your family, one that would endure for generations.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

#hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon au #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader

525 notes · View notes

pepprs · 2 years ago

Text

i wish i’d kept pushing the point (<- vagueposting). im so tired i’m hitting a wall. but why is the answer to feeling bottomlessly lonely just to love myself and be loved by myself? isn’t that only more loneliness?

#purrs #i know being by myself is not aloneness. but like seriously are you actually serious that there is no one coming to save me? that I have to #walk around with this giant gaping wound forever and no one will be able yo close it? i need total nurturance and comfort badly and to have #any less than total is.. well i don’t want to say it’s as bad as having none at all because obviously it’s not true. but it’s still bad. it #makes it harder to ask for more when you already have some and have reached the limit of what you can ask for. i just feel bottomlessly #lonely. i know things will get better. but what i really need is a long hug and a good cry in someone’s arms. not isolating myself in a #cabin for a week (though i know i desperately need that too). like we’re human beings and we can do that for each other so why don’t we? why #can’t we fix each other? why can’t we be nurturing like that and fill the voids for people who have them. and i know it’s rich coming from m #me bc iam skittish like a horse around emotions and also that it’s pitifully expected from me bc i am reading too much into normal experien #nces most people have. but how am i supposed to just accept that i didn’t get the love i needed (even if im romanticizing m*therlove lmao) a #and then move on as if that’s fine? how can i just snap my fingers and be an autonomous adult when ive spent years accruing psychological #damage with the most limited kind of cushioning? when every second brings with it a potential jab to my River of Pain nerve? idk.#i was deeply violently depressed abt this stuff earlier this week but tonight im just quietly sad. i want the stability and certainty of #(unconditional) love. i want my whole future safe and warm and now or at least the ability to trust it will exist which is also called hope.#i don’t want to be alone and wretched anymore.

16 notes · View notes

boneblushed · 1 year ago

Text

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #marauders era #James potter fanfiction

5K notes · View notes