#i am a cruel god. but i am having fun

[moonfurthetemmie]

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Part 18

1.2

Zuli still hadn’t gotten used to the wet squishing sound his footsteps made through the mold. He wasn’t sure he ever would’ve, even if he wasn’t going to die in a few minutes. The manor was far too quiet, and the moldy squishing and squelching felt like the loudest thing in the world. But that didn’t matter now.

Zuli hadn’t visited Jade much since the others had dragged him outside for the last time, but he found that he remembered the way to him rather well. 

Against the wall, on the lowest landing in the stairwell from the ground floor to the second floor, a huge mass of mushrooms had grown so big that these stairs were almost unusable. In the center of it, though it was almost impossible to see him, was the blonde-haired guardian.

Jade’s eyes were covered by the mushrooms completely now. He didn’t seem to be alive, but the whole cluster trembled with his movement when Zuli called his name.

“Z-Zuli?”

His voice sounded so hoarse, pained. Hopeful, uncertain, anxious. Zuli swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Hi. H…how are you feeling?”

Jade was quiet for a moment. It was impossible tell what he was feeling. “...Numb, now, mostly. The pins-and-needles kind, like when you’ve been sitting on your foot and cut off the circulation. All over. …It’s weird feeling it in my head. I don’t…like it.”

Zuli knelt next to him, and pulled a kitchen knife from the small basket he’d brought with him. Much to his relief, the mushrooms weren’t as bad as he’d thought. “I’m…I’m going to try to cut you out, okay? At least a little. I…don’t think I have enough time to get you all the way out.” He didn’t say why. He knew the Colony had full access to Jade’s mind, and what he heard, or saw. Mostly heard, now. He couldn’t risk the Colony trying to stop him and Mercury now.

The mushrooms on the upper part of Jade’s face shifted. Zuli could imagine the surprised look on his face.

“Th…the others aren’t nearby. But they might- they might start coming over, in a second.”

Zuli sighed. “I know. Just…hold still, okay? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Jade silently obeyed. The mushrooms were easier to cut through that Zuli had thought, for their size. Zuli did a little more ‘pruning,’ and soon Jade was able to sit up. He did so, his arms shaking from the effort. 

“Zuli, I-“

His voice cracked. He reached one hand out, and Zuli took it without hesitation. Jade’s grip felt so weak, especially through the thick glove of the suit. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Zuli set the knife aside. “We're all going to get out of here, okay?”

“…I don’t think we can get out anymore,” Jade said softly.

Zuli squeezed his hand. “We will. Soon. I promise.”

Jade was quiet for a moment. Then he started sniffling. Something wet rolled down his cheek.

Zuli reach forwards to try and comfort him, and then stopped. He stared at the rear for a second.

“…Are…are you crying? I thought…the mushrooms on your eyes..?”

“Huh?” Jade brought a hand up to his face. “…Huh. I…I think my eyes are the only things that aren’t hurting or numb right now.”

Zuli slowly picked the knife back up. “Can I…try to cut them off? You’ll have to be very still.”

Jade quickly let go of Zuli’s hands and propped himself up. “Please. I’ll be still, I promise.”

Very, very carefully, Zuli shifted into a kneeling position in front of Jade. Hopefully no one comes and startles him while he’s doing this, he thinks.

“Okay. I’ll be careful. If it hurts at all, tell me.”

He cupped Jade’s face in one hand, and began to carefully cut away the mushrooms.

Soon he realized that the mushrooms hadn’t grown out of his eyes; only over them. One bright green, slitted eye blinked and squinted at the sudden light.

“Zuli-!” 

Zuli bit his lip. “Hold on. Just a little bit more…”

Jade closed his eyes, but a smile crept onto his face. Zuli kept going, taking great care not to cut Jade’s skin. Some of the mushrooms were starting to turn the same color as his skin. …Or maybe he was getting paler and starting to match the color of the mushrooms’ stems.

Trunks? Stems? Zuli didn’t actually know what the right word was. Oh well.

There were still little stumps from the mushrooms along Jade’s brow, but Zuli couldn’t find it in him to care. Jade could see again. He couldn’t imagine how scared he had been, not being able to see or move around in such a dangerous situation. 

“There.” Zuli set the knife down again. “You can open your eyes now.”

Jade did. He met Zuli’s eyes and gave him a huge, happy grin, and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you! I thought they were in my eyes, too, but-”

He pulled back and gently held the sides of Zuli’s head. It felt strange through the suit. “I can see you again. I can see you!”

Zuli hadn’t seen him this happy since before all this happened. When it was just Obsidian to worry about. Zuli pulled him into another hug and held him tightly. 

They stayed there for a while. Zuli didn’t know how long.

His mind swirled with all sorts of thoughts.

He needed to set the final part of his plan in motion, and soon. If the others came and found the other thing in his basket, they’d fuck it all up.

He missed Jade so much, though. So much had happened, and Jade hadn’t always been the greatest, but they’d still been friends. Jade had still tried to protect Zuli from some things Obsidian did, even if he didn’t realize how bad the rest was.

How long until the Colony realized that Zuli and Mercury were infected? 

…Did it even know? Mercury said he’d take off the hazmat suit once he’d placed the bombs. But unless he’d run into the others, and told them Zuli was infected…

Huh. Maybe it didn’t know after all. 

Maybe…maybe Zuli needed to encourage it to come in.

“Jade, I have to tell you something.” Zuli pulled away, and reached to the zipper behind him.

Jade’s eyes widened. “Wait, what are you-“

Zuli unzipped the suit. A rush of damp, suffocating air filled it, and he nearly gagged. It smelled awful in here. The suit didn’t smell very great, but outside of it was even worse.

“Zuli!” Jade grabbed his arms, not that there was anything he could do now. He looked terrified. But Zuli just shook his head, pulling the suit off of his upper half.

“Mercury’s infected. I was in his office with him when we realized, so I probably am too. The suit was just delaying the inevitable.” 

Jade’s lip trembled. All the joy and delight had vanished, as if it was never there to begin with. Now all that was left was hopelessness and despair.

“...Oh, god, it’s coming,” Jade said suddenly, his head jerking to the side. His eyes seemed to see something beyond the wall next to him. “It’s coming.”

Zuli pulled a small plastic box from the basket before wrapping his arms around Jade again. His eyes stung.

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. 

But it was the only way…

“I’m-” he choked. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you asked for the last time I saw you. It probably would’ve been easier than this.”

Jade hugged him tight. “I’m…I’m sorry too,” he said softly. “I haven’t been a great friend, have I?”

Zuli laughed shakily. “That’s okay. I’m…I’m glad you were here. You still made it better, a little.” 

“It’s not going to kill us, you know,” Jade said, though it sounded more like a warning. “It’s just trying to merge with the manor.”

Zuli took a shaky breath, and held out the remote in his hand. Jade hadn’t seen it. “I-”

The building shook. The fungal growths around them and along the walls shuddered, spores falling from the ceiling, the mushrooms around them.

“I know,” Zuli finished. He clenched his teeth. “I’m going to do it.”

He pushed the button.

Another, larger tremor spread through the manor, and Jade tensed.

Zuli heard a deep, distant moan. It sounded…unearthly. He shuddered.

“You…You’re going to burn the place down,” Jade said in a hushed voice. “...It’s spreading so fast…The others are already trying, but they aren’t going to be able to put it out.”

Zuli chucked the remote to the side, and held Jade tight. He was starting to shake.

“Mercury couldn’t- he couldn’t find a cure fast enough. It- It’s the only thing I could think of. To keep it from spreading.” His vision blurred. “Fuck, why am I afraid now?”

Jade pulled back slightly and pressed his forehead to Zuli’s. He looked so calm. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.” He offered Zuli a small smile. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to hurt, but you can hold on to me. Or, if you’d rather, and you think you can make yourself do it, you can use the knife.”

Zuli looked over at the knife. The idea made his stomach churn. “I…I don’t think I can.”

Jade closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “Then hold on to me. As tight as you want. I don’t think I’ll feel much of it.”

Zuli did. The fire hadn’t reached them yet, but he was so scared, now that it was actually happening.

It was so easy to think and talk about duty and sacrifice. It was much harder to actually commit to it. Even if he’d managed to push the button, every nerve and neuron in his body told him he should run. Run away, escape, get to safety. But he couldn’t. Even if he wanted to. 

“...Can we try again next time?” Jade asked. “Being friends?”

Zuli smiled. “That…that would be nice. Maybe we can make silly snowmen again.”

“Or bake cookies!”

“You burned every batch of cookies you made when you stayed with us.”

“Not the last one! I was getting better!”

A strange sound was approaching. 

“...Huh. I can hear Obsidian now.” Jade looked up. “He’s been silent for ages. …He says ‘thank you’.”

Zuli huffed. “Tell him I hope the fire follows him to the afterlife.”

“...He thinks that’s funny. And fitting.” Jade took a breath. “...It’s funny, you know. After something much worse happened, I finally realized how awful everything was here. For me. For you. He didn’t actually bring you out of the basement like he said he did, did he? He left you down there.”

Zuli nodded. “The whole time.”

Jade buried his face in the crook of Zuli’s neck. “...I kind of wish I’d gone back down there. He told me not to, and I know all it would’ve done is gotten me in trouble, but a part of me still thinks I could’ve done something.”

Zuli ran his fingers through Jade’s hair. It was dirty, oily, and the fungus had started growing in it. Zuli didn’t care.

It was getting hard to breathe.

“It’s too late for regrets,” Zuli muttered. It was getting hot, too. “For any of us.”

“I hope the others don’t come to their senses before they die,” Jade said. “I think it’d be better to die angry about foiled plans, then overwhelmed with guilt about what they did.”

“Yeah…I hope so too.”

The flames appeared around the corner, at the bottom of the stairs. 

“...I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I think we mean it in different ways,” Jade said with a sad laugh. “But I don’t really care. I’m…I’m glad you’re here.”

Zuli wasn’t sure what Jade meant. But he said, “I am too. I’d be too scared to face this alone.”

The fire took no time in rushing up the stairs.

Soon enough, it had engulfed them.

[bxriles]

Lmao okay wait. I got asked that question about Feyre/Bryce/Aelin and I went down a lil rabbit hole and somehow ended up on a subreddit of people arguing over who would win in a fight if it were Feyre vs. Aelin.

And I am CACKLING right now because it seems like the bulk of people on that thread think Aelin would win, and the people who think Feyre would win are SO. UPSET. Like they are BIG MAD that anyone would think Aelin would win hahahahahaha

I'm cackling. I can't breathe I'm laughing so hard omfg. People really do 100% project themselves onto Feyre. They really think they ARE Feyre!!!!! I'm crying. Send help I can't breathe 😂😂

[essektheylyss]

I am obsessed with how narratively convenient Lark's divinatory abilities are. She's the only one of the protagonists who is both pragmatic and has a working sense of self-preservation, so having some internal impulse that is actually the guiding hand of the cosmos pushing her into doing the REALLY stupid shit is both necessary and really useful.

Like, I am the type of writer who kind of scoffs at the idea that characters are beyond the writer's control and will completely screw over your outline, because on one hand, a sensible outline will follow the characters' personalities and tendencies anyway. Obviously in an ensemble cast you will need to do some wrangling, but in theory your characters are responding to varying degrees of stimuli in order to maneuver them into the places you need them to be for things to all come together in the end.

But more importantly, "curse from god" is the funniest and easiest way to push any character to do things beyond the realm of reason when necessary, and frankly, what the fuck is the point of playing god if you don't embrace that?

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Do you not realize it? Do you... truly not see what this means?"

The next Destiny Bond update is in progress! ❄️✨ –> Check out the latest part here 🔷 –> New to the series? Follow from the start! 💜

[spaghett-onaplate]

tonight's game is: am i a terrible person and not feeling any emotion or am i just deeply suppressing my feelings

[emdotcom]

I changed my mind. Hater behavior is undeserved, when it comes to works, & idgaf about holding creators accountable when their games are mid, anymore.

[yeslordmyking]

Thinking someone is a good person, and then learning their sins, and having to unlearn all the good things about them because they're meaningless without unless that person is in Christ...

That's like they're laying dead in your arms, and then they revive and do something good, but you can't allow yourself to feel good about it because you know they're just going to die again

[vujava]

what a fucking weekend!!

[crunchycrystals]

absolutely insane to me that cornelia street and death by a thousand cuts are on the same album as me hee heeeeee hoo hoo hooooooo

[aromanticasterisms]

got most of the way through emilie's story quest before maintenance started and ough. it was made for me

[homoerotic]

god forbid i have a little fun and have my star sign in bio. whatever.

[musical-chick-13]

You know, when I was 21-22, my writing was...okay. It was serviceable enough for what I needed it to do, but it wasn't great by any stretch of the imagination. But I remember thinking it was just THE best thing ever, and I gotta say I was a lot happier with that outlook.

[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

DON'T TOUCH WHAT IS MINE. ( HOTD x Reader )

author note: I wanted to do HOTD x Greek Myths cause it's fun. If I get enough like or requests I'l do a HOTD x Greek Myths book on wattpad. pairing: Jealous! Aemond Targaryen x Noble Wife! Reader prompt: Aemond contemplates murder. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were supposed to marry Aegon, a way to secure allies in the North for when Aegon took the Iron Throne. But, when his Mother planned on marrying him to Helaena. Aemond swiftly made his move, knowing that the loss of an ally would upset his Mother. It was supposed to be only for duty. You were supposed to be his duty to his Mother and family. But, of course the Gods were cruel and he fell for you. Hard and fast. He practically fell flat on his face for you, like someone had punched him in the groin with a club named ‘love’. 

You were just so perfect. You were a proper Lady in the Court, weaving your way through politics with a cunning grace. You smiled and happily listened to Helaena as she rambled on about whatever popped in her mind, never judging her. You played with Helaena and Aegon’s children, always so patient with the toddler’s. You were cordial, yet stern, with Aegon⎯keeping him in line for the sake of his family when you could. You understood the want for revenge after the loss of his eye. You were just so perfect and kind. He hated how much he fell in love with you.

Watching you chat with some Lord from the Reach, Aemond grits his teeth, shifting around in place. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about you speaking to that Lord, but he would not tell you nor drag you away. He knew that you had some ambition or plan behind speaking to the Lord, one he did not know yet but knew that you would tell him soon enough. You were smart like that. 

Looking you over for any sign for him to interfere, he inspects your appearance with a subtle look of love. Your gown was more simple in feature, but a similar green to his Mother’s. Your hair is decorated with pearl and gold dragon hair clips. Your fingers decorated in rings, the sapphire one shining a particular bright. A smug smirk spreads on his lips at the sight of the ring.

“Yes, my lord husband, Prince Aemond is everything that I could ask for.” You nod, “I am content, actually I am more than content Lord Wormwood.”

“I am happy to hear that, your grace. But, I am just suggesting that…should you ever find yourself in need of some company whilst visiting the Reach⎯” Lord Wormwood suggests, making his blood boiling. 

“No, now I must return to my husband’s side.” You cut him off, eyes shifting away.

“Just a moment longer⎯” Lord Wormwood tries again, attempting to keep the conversation going.

Watching you straighten up your back and fiddle with your wedding ring, he instantly catches the subtle signal from you. You needed him. Holding his head up a little higher,  Aemond saunters over to you, attempting to hide his slightly faster walking pace than usual. Reaching your side in an instant, he gently places his hand on your hip, tucking you into his side.

“Aemond.” You whispers, a subtle glimmer of appreciation in your eyes. 

“I do believe that my wife and I have other more important matters than you, Lord Wormwood.” Aemond cuts in, his voice cutthroat. 

“I, uh, I well..” Lord Wormwood stutters out, shocked by the sight of Aemond lurking over you like some kind of protective dragon.

“Goodbye, Lord Wormwood.” You nod, dragging him away.

Feeling the tension within the room grow with each second, you softly intertwined your hands with Aemond, to prevent him from reaching for his blade. Tightening your grip on him, you start to drag Aemond away, knowing that he’d make some comment or at worst do something to Lord Wormwood. The last thing you needed and wanted was for a fight to erupt because some stupid old man couldn’t take a hint that you were married. 

“Come, come, Aemond. I am sure Helaena will be happy for us to join her.” You lie, tugging at him a little harder.

“Yes, let us go, my wife.” He nods, his voice sharp.

“Come, Aemond.” You grit your teeth, “Let us go, now.”

“Yes.” Aemond glares down the squirming Lord, like he hoped that he would burst into flames.

Cringing at the tension in the air, you tug him a little harder, struggling as he was practically glued to his spot. Sighing as he refuses to move, you press a kiss onto his cheek, using it as a way to soften him just enough to drag him away. Smirking as he instantly melts like a dragon burning a piece of wood, you drag him forcefully, weaving your way through the sea of Courtiers. 

“You kissed me.” He mumbles, a faint hum of pink on his cheeks.

“I did.” 

“You kissed me, in public.” He repeats, “You have never done that before.”

“Yes, well, I cannot exactly carry you over my shoulder to stop you from killing that man. So a kiss is what it was.” You counters back, a hint of wit in your voice.

Looking over his face in an attempt to see his reaction, he doesn’t really display any emotions, just this flatness which was typical of him. You liked to think he was born with a stone face and that Alicent had mistaken him for a statue instead of a babe. Cocking a brow up at the lack of anything from him, you softly squeeze his hand, attempting to get his attention or something from him. 

“I do not like him.” He grumbles, the disdain clear in his voice.

“Oh, really? I had no clue that you disliked him.” You jest, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“Do not jest. Tis’ not a jesting manner.” He sulks, “He propositioned you to visit his bedchambers.”

“I know, tis’ why I had you infer. I do not intend to share a bed with any other man than you. So do not even think of entertaining any doubt’s, Aemond.” You argue, quickly dismissing any doubt he may have.

He goes quiet for the longest time. It almost looked like he was actually accepting your words without any possible argument or disagreement. Relaxing for a moment, you watch as he licks his bottom lip, his eye narrowing for a moment.

“Let me kill him.” He mumbles, almost like he was begging you to allow it.

“Not in public.” You argue, not taking him seriously.

“That can be arranged.” He smiles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. 

Shaking your head with a gentle scoff, you look over his face for a moment, seeing that he was being serious. The look on your face shifting into one of annoyance. Whilst other men would have lashed out and caused a scene, Aemond was cunning and waited. Like a snake hiding in the tall grass. Smacking his arm softly, he lets out a soft snort, a cheeky little grin spreading on his face. 

“No.”

“Fine.” He mumbles, rushing away from you. “I will not be the one to do it.”

“Aemond Targaryen, don’t you dare.” You scold, chasing after him.

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[messedupcookiejar]

Apollo, please you did not have to go that hard.

How the fuck did I sort of predict the bad ending/what fucking epilog was that?/ so well? I have how MHA ended, I hate how almost no trauma from the students was talked about properly or the villains. I hate that we don't know if Dabi had been given the merciful and gentle touch of death. I hate how the most relatable group turned out to be the one pushed to the side and tossed away so quickly. I hate how we don't get anything about Kurogiri, not even Aizawa or Hizashi at his grave. I hate how there seem to be no legal consequences for any warcrimes or missdeeds done. Starting at child soldiers and ending with the whole Endeavor thing. Or the most is a little slap on the fingers!

I cannot accept that this last chapter was written by the same author that had written the iconic Dabi's Dance. The chapter that outdid the fucking presidential election of the fucking United States of Amerika!

It doesn't feel the Manga ended. I mean, the chapter before this one had something, but it still felt so robotic. I don't feel anything other than disappointment and dread.

If I may be delusional now, but Hori should come out after like a week of it being published and be like "Ha, jokes on you. That was a publicity stunt. It is all some kind of Madara dream thing." Or he will just make a "My hero academia 2" and call it like "Your hero academia" or "My villain academia" something corny like that

Anyway, that was just my primordial yapper being unleashed.

I just feel like I have to say this about my finished book "Sepent of the lost"

The bad ending "XVI The Tower" as well as the good ones were written while I was on vacation. And they staying as drafts for 6 days because I didn't have a grammar software on my phone. And in a way I am disappointed ever since I saw the newest MHA chapter. Like damn...it's either that Apollo slapped me with a bat in the face and made me predict Tomura's self destruction ending or Hiro had the same idea as me....while I was blasted and drinking liquor almost 24/7. And I do not want to know what this means in the whole, I am afraid it just shows how badly of a writer Hori is when it comes to Shigaraki. That his ending is just like mine, a fanfiction author with questionable taste.

Anyway, this is just my little rant.

@palesweetscherryblossom

The book I did with your Au is done, and I kind of want to hear your opinion about this.

[borathae]

Babybun

"Jungkook wakes you and Yoongi in the middle of the night, asking for help after an intense wet dream, which left him so, so needy for your touches. You and Yoongi instantly jump in to help him. He is your beloved babybun after all." 

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader x Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, polyamory!AU, Smut

Warnings: cutest sub!Jungkook, soft Daddy Dom!Yoongi, soft Mommy Dom!Reader, threesome, cozy sex under the blanket, they’re both teases, he is so neeeedyyyy, like so fucking needy, he is in the coziest subspace, kisses, neck kisses, thigh kisses, tummy kisses, hihi kisses <3, talks about wet dreams, implied male masturbation, implied multiple orgasms (Koo having), nursing handjob aka he sucks on her breasts while Yoongi jerks him off, in spooning position hngngn, he is so happy and cozy being their subby babyboy, subby boy tears, bodyworship, praise, nipple sucking, cuddles and snuggles for aftercare, they love him so much!

Wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: you guys asked for more soft and smutty throuple content and i am here delivering heheh istfg i love writing for them :( they are so perfect for each other and they are so cozy to write for, gosh i love them :( have fun besties hehe ily 💛

Yoongi is holding you in his sleep, sharing his blanket and pillow with you. His bed is huge, easily able to house four people comfortably, and yet you and he still somehow always end up snuggled together. You were the one seeking affection tonight, cuddling up to him in your sleep. You woke him up with it accidentally, but darling Yoongi merely took you into his arms, kissed your forehead and fell asleep again with a fond smile on his lips.

Now you are both slumbering deeply. You with your head on Yoongi’s shoulder, drooling on it and him with one hand cradling the back of your head and his cheek nuzzled against the crown of your head. How comfortable you both are. How deeply you sleep.

How cruel it feels when someone drags you from it. In loud whispers and desperate shakes of your bodies.

Yoongi wakes first, lifting his head slightly. He wanted to curse at whoever disturbed his peace, but changes his mind upon seeing a very distressed Jungkook by his bedside.

“Bun? What’s wrong?” he asks in a raspy voice, clearing it.

“Hyung”, Jungkook gets out weakly. 

“What’s wrong, bub?”

Yoongi sits up slightly, waking you with the movement. You sit up as well, whining sleepily.

“Boongie, huggies.”

“Kook’s here.”

“What?”

You squint your eyes into the darkness. You can’t see anything except two red dots by Yoongi’s side of the bed blinking at you.

You roll over multiple times until you reach your bedside lamp, turning it on. 

Yoongi was right. Jungkook is here. Wearing no shirt and with the bun he puts his hair in for sleep tilted to the right side. His bangs already spilled out of the hairstyle.

“What’s wrong, Kookie?” you ask him, shimmying back to where Yoongi is. You rest your cheek against his arm because you were still very sleepy.

“I had a dream.”

“Oh no, a bad dream?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “a dirty dream. I, I can’t make it go down.”

You and Yoongi look down at the same time. Jungkook isn’t wearing any pants either. His thighs and stomach are messy from previous orgasms, but his cock looked as if it was never pleasured before. It is still hard and flushed to the point it almost looks blue. 

“Damn, Kook.”

“I’m sorry. I know I’m so annoying, but I dreamt about you two and I just”  he sniffles, “please can you help me?” 

You and Yoongi exchange a look. You are thinking the same thing. Neither of you could fall back asleep with the knowledge that your baby needed help. 

You shimmy back to make space. Yoongi opens the blanket.

“Come here, bun.”

“Really?” Jungkook gasps, faltering in standing up.

“Yes baby, come here”, you encourage him.

“Oh god.”

Jungkook climbs over Yoongi and lays himself down in the warm, cozy nest you created. He is on his back, looking up at you and Yoongi with sparkling eyes. You and he scoot closer, sharing the warm blanket with your pretty boy. You cradle his face, while Yoongi caresses his torso.

Jungkook exhales shakily, shivering from the attention. 

“Do you wanna tell us what you dreamed about?” you ask him in a soft voice.

Jungkook nods his head, gazing into your eyes submissively.

“I dreamed of you, Mommy.”

“Of me? What was I doing, babyboy?” 

“You were kissing my neck.”

“Like this?” 

Jungkook arches his back, rolling his head to the side as best as possible to allow your soft lips space. He is shivering and writhing, mewling sweetly. Your lips are so soft. Jungkook swears he is truly in a dream right now.

“Like this, baby?” you ask him as your lips ghost over his most loved spots.

“Yes, Mommy. Ah.” 

Yoongi places a kiss to Jungkook’s shoulder, then watches you worship him with fond eyes. Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed, his brows furrowed and his pink lips parted. How pretty his baby looks when he gets loved so well. Yoongi can’t control his feelings and reaches out to trace Jungkook’s features with the back of his head.

“You’re so handsome, bun. Was I in the dream as well?”

“Yes, Daddy”, Jungkook mewls.

“What was I doing, mhm?”

“Licking my nipples.”

Yoongi purrs and slips under the blanket to make Jungkook’s dream a reality. He uses his fingers to play with the one he currently doesn’t have in his mouth, changing sides every now and then. Jungkook feels insanely out of breath because of it. Getting neck kisses is already lethal, but getting his nipples licked at the same is truly his end.

You and Yoongi work perfectly around each other, touching and kissing your sweet babyboy because he deserves it. Every now and then, it just so happens that your fingers brush against each other and you hold hands for but a second. It is so nice to know that you are sharing this moment of worship. The mewls Jungkook lets out are no surprise. The way he constantly gasps and fights for air is expected. Poor boy must have been so worked up from his dream. You and Yoongi can only imagine how desperately he touched himself, how he tried and tried and tried to make the ache go away only to realise that no matter how much he tried, he would still stay horny. Knowing Jungkook, he must have taken a long time to decide on whether he should disturb you or not. But in the end, his yearning was bigger. 

How cute of him to leave his wing naked and messy just because he missed your affection too much.

“Stop, please.”

You and Yoongi lift your heads simultaneously. Yoongi reappears from the blanket with messy hair and glossy lips. 

“What’s the matter, bun?”

“It’s too much, I can’t do this.”

“Too much, mhm. What should we do with you, mhm? Were you that sensitive in your dream too?” 

Jungkook nods his head, whimpering shyly.

“Course you were. What did we do about it?”

“You licked my tummy and my thighs.”

“Good boy, keep telling us.”

You and Yoongi disappear under the blanket, licking Jungkook where he needed it. You and he purr and moan in bliss, lapping up the mess Jungkook made. He tastes sweet. His skin is silky soft and smooth, feeling wonderful under your tongues. How perfect of him to make such a mess. How delicious he is.

And Jungkook is a mess in another sense. He gasps and gasps and gasps, arching his entire lower back off the sheets repeatedly. It definitely didn’t feel that good in his dream. Your tongues are both so warm and soft and wet. Jungkook swears he might actually go up in flames. 

You and Yoongi reach his hipbones. One lick by each is enough. One lick and Jungkook thrusts his hips into nothing, spilling the thickest and sweetest excitement and moaning so loudly it is as if someone sunk into him.

You and Yoongi exchange a look. This is new. Jungkook always reacts heavily to your touches, but never with such ecstasy. This is it. His sweet spot. You and Yoongi intertwine hands, communicating without words. You both stay at the spot, licking and kissing his hipbones while Jungkook moans as if he was being fucked senseless. 

Soon you can watch in delight how his hand closes around his cock to pump it. He isn’t even aware that he is doing it, but all this thrusting and writhing made his cock rub against the sheets. Paired with the attention to his hip bones, and Jungkook is utterly gone. He needs to touch his cock, throwing his head back as he does.

“Mommy….Daddy…..ah, thank you….”

Another look gets exchanged between you and Yoongi. You are thinking the same thing. Yoongi places his hand around Jungkook’s and stops his movements with little effort.

“Please”, Jungkook begs, but all the begging won’t give him what he needs. Yoongi keeps his hand tight around his hand, keeping it still this way. And all Jungkook gets is warm pressure around his base. It isn’t enough to give him what he craves and so he is destined to repeatedly whisper his begs for more. Which obviously aren’t fulfilled yet.

You and Yoongi kiss your way down to Jungkook’s thighs. He parts them instantly, throbbing in Yoongi’s constricting touch. 

“Please.”

“Mhhm”, you answer him in purrs, kissing what he so willingly presents.

His thighs are so huge and muscular. So warm and soft. And so full of cum. You lick them clean thoroughly and happily, moaning in bliss. Jungkook starts off quietly with little gasps and sighs, but by the end of it, he is whining. Loudly. And desperately. His thighs are wet from your tongues, his cock is huge and bruised from not being touched and his head is so dizzy that he feels as if he was on a endless carousel. 

“Please stop it, please”, he squeaks out.

You and Yoongi appear instantly, both messy and heated up from the blanket. Your lips are both glossy, your eyes darkened in hunger.

“Had enough, mhm?” Yoongi asks, slipping his hand from Jungkook’s cock. 

Jungkook nods his head vigorously.

“Touch me please.” He looks at Yoongi submissively. “Please Daddy, please.”

Yoongi smiles fondly, “and what should Mommy do in the meantime?”

Jungkook glances at your clothed chest.

“Uhm…oh god, I don’t wanna say. It’s so dirty.”

“Say it, bun. We can only help you if you’re honest with us.”

“In, in my dream I sucked Mommy’s nipples while Daddy was touching me.”

You and Yoongi smile.

“Good job, babyboy.”

You take off your shirt and throw it to the side. Jungkook gasps out a starstruck “wow”, gazing at you.

Yoongi purrs and reaches over Jungkook to massage your breasts gently.

“You’re so beautiful, my princess love”, he rasps, earning himself a fond smile. 

He ends his affection with a soft kiss to your lips then you settle into the next position. You lie down on your side, welcoming Jungkook who instantly begins sucking on your breasts as he melts into your hug. He sounds so overwhelmingly happily that his noises are close to sobs. But he is happy. Really happy. And comfortable. And cozy. And so entirely vulnerable. He is currently entirely dependent on you and Yoongi. There is no autonomous thought in his brain, no desire to decide for himself. He is utterly and entirely existing for you and Yoongi. 

So when Yoongi spoons him and begins kissing his shoulder, Jungkook almost cries. When seconds later, Yoongi begins touching his cock in the position, Jungkook actually cries. 

He shakes and shivers, seeking your embrace while his hips roll into Yoongi’s fist.

“I know baby, I know. That feels good doesn’t it?” you talk to him, gazing at Yoongi’s face so cozily snuggled into Jungkook’s shoulder. You can see that he has his eyes closed and you can watch the muscles in his arms flex as he moves his hand around Jungkook’s cock. 

You reach out to run your fingers through Yoongi’s soft hair. He falters for a second only to catch himself and look at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. You smile at him, telling him silently that you think he was beautiful right now. Yoongi returns the smile and snuggles back into Jungkook’s shoulder to kiss it repeatedly. His hand speeds up around Jungkook’s cock, forcing loud mewls out of the sweet man.

“Does it feel good, babyboy? Is Daddy touching you how you like it?”

Jungkook nods his head, drooling all over your nipple. He can’t talk because you fucked him non-verbal.

“Of course he does. Such a sweet boy, being in our arms like this. Keep doing so well baby, you are doing so well.”

“So well”, Yoongi agrees, “love how perfect your pretty cock feels.”

Jungkook kicks the sheets slightly, grasping you for help. His drool is all over your breasts by now, he can’t seem to decide whether he wants to lick or suck. He is so completely gone, leaking all over Yoongi’s hand as well.

“Aw I know baby, you’re such a sweet boy”, you coo at him as you feel his submissive noises against your skin.

“Mommy’s right. You’re such a sweet boy for us. You’ve got the prettiest cock, bunbun. So leaky and sensitive”, Yoongi purrs, playing with Jungkook’s tip.

Jungkook exhales and it sounds so exhausted and ruined. He inhales and scratches your back, croaking out a helpless “Mommy…Daddy…” before taking your nipples back into his mouth. He is sucking them, having given up on licking them entirely. The sucking motion is way too comforting for Jungkook not to get lost in it. It is also the only thing helping him through the unbearable pleasure Yoongi makes him feel. Yoongi is so good in what he does. His hand is so big and his fingers so long that it closes around so much of Jungkook’s cock. The pressure is perfect, the speed as well. Yoongi knows exactly what Jungkook needs and it overwhelms him so much that all which helps is the comfort of your breasts. 

Jungkook shakes, wiggling his legs and grinding his butt into Yoongi’s crotch. He managed to get his Daddy hard. Jungkook shakes even more at the aspect, grinding back against him harder.

“Don’t be scared, bunbun. We’ve got you”, Yoongi assures him, massaging his tip in throbbing motions. He knows that his boy likes when he does that. Jungkook always moans especially sweetly when he does it. He is also not numb to his needy grinds, finding it just a little difficult to stay collected. Jungkook’s butt feels really fucking good against his cock and his big thighs are so cute as they keep rubbing against his own thighs.

Jungkook whimpers.

“We’ve got you, baby”, you assure him.

It’s too much. All of it. Jungkook loves the comfort of your breasts so much that his head is turning. For the longest time, he wasn’t aware of how much he loved it until one cozy autumn eve where he found himself snuggled into them. You were reading a book and he was doing nothing, being bored. So he laid on your chest while you played with his hair. You were so soft and comfortable that something inside him changed. He suddenly needed your breasts in his mouth. And so he begged you and you allowed him. Back then,  it was innocent at first, just a moment of comforting intimacy between you and him. It was sweet and cozy and nice, until desire hit. You ended up underneath him while he topped you teary eyed and snotty in the middle of the shared sitting room, thanking you over and over again for “being his pretty Mommy” and for “making him feel so good.” 

Ever since that day, Jungkook has been obsessed with having your breasts in his mouth. It turns him submissive and droopy, completely shuts off his brain and makes him so sensitive that he can’t take whatever is done to him. 

Tonight is no exception. Paired with the warm nest he is in, being cuddled by two of his favourite people, being constantly praised and being touched by Yoongi. There is no way in hell, Jungkook could have lasted a long time. 

Yoongi is able to do three more strokes and then Jungkook breaks with such intensity, Yoongi actually startles. 

Jungkook goes cross-eyed despite having them closed. He scratches you harder and sucks on your nipple with such vigour, you can literally feel how he bruises it.

But you bite back for his sake, scratching his scalp as he shoots all over your stomach. 

“Good boy. Such a good boy”, you praise him.

“Cum for us, bun. We’re so proud of you” Yoongi talks him through it and together you help him experience the most intense body and soul orgasm. The kind which actually changes the trajectory of one’s life and which makes one wonder how on earth one was able to survive before it.

Jungkook shakes and shakes and shakes, finally finding the kind of release he needed. He cries snot and tears, finding it difficult to breathe. He feels so small, so fragile and easily abusable. And it’s not scary because he is safe in your arms. He is being loved and cared for. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to stop sucking your nipple after his high died down. He is still twitching and trembling, sobbing and sniffling as he sucks on your breasts needily. It hurts on your end. He managed to make them so sore that it gets uncomfortable.

“Stop it now, baby”, you tell him and hiss in pain, “it’s getting really sore.”

Yoongi lifts his head instantly, studying the honest discomfort on your features.

He buries his hand in Jungkook’s ruined hair and tugs. Like magic, Jungkook lets off your nipple, allowing Yoongi to drag him away and into a kiss. He wants to suck and lick? Yoongi is going to give him something else to suckle on. He purrs happily, caressing Jungkook’s cheeks as the latter sucks and licks his lips and tongue needily. It is almost instinct. As if the only option bringing him peace is sucking.

And while Yoongi lets Jungkook find comfort in the sloppy kiss, you check on your nipples. Hard and swollen and seriously bruised. You can’t even touch them without feeling the need to flinch back. Wearing clothes is going to be difficult for the next few days.

“Shit. So sore.”

Yoongi looks up, still kissing Jungkook. He reaches out with his messied hand, caressing you under your sore breasts. You give him a grateful smile, melting under his touch. He is always so gentle with you.

Yoongi closes his eyes and concentrates back on his Jungkook. He hugs him and tilts his head back to kiss him deeper. So much deeper. To the point where Jungkook asks himself how he was ever able to exist without the two of you by his side. 

Once the kiss breaks, their lips are both puffy and glossy. Jungkook’s lower lip trembles a little, but Yoongi wipes it away gently.

“No more tears, my little prince. We’re so proud of you.”

“Hyung”, Jungkook presses out in a broken voice. 

“I know, bub. Don’t worry, we’re here.”

Jungkook sniffles, looking at you next. He studies your chest.

“Mommy”, he croaks, tearing up in guilt.

“I’m alright. Just a little sore”, you assure him and pinch his cheek, “you cute little munch you.”

Jungkook giggles, hiding away in the pillow. You and Yoongi cuddle closer, touching his drained body gently. He melts in relaxation, letting out sighs of comfort.

“Mommy? Daddy?” he whispers.

“Yes, bun?” “Yes, babyboy?”

“Please don’t send me away.”

“Gosh baby, don’t worry. You can stay. Come here.” You lie down and let him hide in your chest. “Careful of my nipples though.”

“I’m so sorry, Mommy. What can I do to make it better?”

“Just be comfortable, okay?” 

“Yes, Mommy.” He snuggles into you. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad at you. Just relax now, baby. You did nothing wrong.”

“Okay, Mommy”, he sighs, feeling so warm in his chest.

Yoongi snuggles into Jungkook’s back, playing with his pubes mindlessly.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“For what, bun?”

“I made a mess in your sheets.”

“That’s okay, bun. We’ll make a bigger mess of ‘em tomorrow morning.”

“Boongie, what are you planning?”

“Just something good. Once my body isn’t one second away from sleep.”

“Yeah, true”, you agree with a yawn. “Can’t wait to get sleeping again. Tonight’s such a good night to sleep.”

“Mmh definitely”, Yoongi agrees, placing his hand on your waist so he was holding both you and Jungkook. 

Jungkook melts between you and Yoongi, finally feeling sleepy as well.

“I love you, Mommy and Daddy”, he whispers quietly.

“We love you too, babybun.”

“Mhm, we love you.”

“Thank you for helping me”, he barely gets the words out because his body finally reached his ruin.

“Anytime, babybun.”

Jungkook falls asleep moments later, completely and entirely ruined but so, so happy. He knew that coming to you and Yoongi for help would be the right idea. You will always take care of him. Even when he is stupid and small and snotty in submission.