#i keep crying i feel so powerless

[ppulverse]

.

[actual-bag-of-salad]

not to 21 pilots post in 2024 but there's truly nothing like crying and listening to Truce

[very-uncorrect]

Being told by adults to stop lying about something when telling the truth as a kid is one of the worst feelings ever

[itmethebee]

Wow I hate existing sometimes

[nadvs]

home before dark (part seven)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

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Rafe feels like he’s come undone. The string that just barely keeps him composed has unravelled. There’s no use in trying to tie it back together. Not when you’re holding him like this.

You’re standing in your bathroom as he cries into your shoulder, your breaths intertwined. His knees are weakening and it’s getting harder to hold his weight as he leans on you.

Your arms are loosely encircled around his neck and you collect every bit of strength you have in you to hold him up. You can feel the moisture from his tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, hear the gasps of breath spilling from his mouth. You can’t help but cry with him.

When you slowly glide a hand up the back of Rafe’s head, stroking his hair, he cries harder, his body thrown off center even further after being touched so gently. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you in closer.

Rafe’s chest is burning, his hand still aching from nearly punching the life out of your ex-boyfriend. His legs are giving out and he realizes just how much he’s bearing down on you.

“Shit,” he grumbles, angry at himself for hurting you. “Sorry.” He straightens, pulling back just a bit, your cheeks touching.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice sounds just as fragile as the atmosphere between you. You’ve never wanted to take care of someone more than you do right now. “Let’s go to my room.”

You keep all the lights off as you pace upstairs. When you reach your room, Rafe sits on the edge of your bed, sniffling.

You watch his darkened figure angrily swipe at his tears. You settle beside him, your heart stinging, the side of your thigh pressed against his.

“I…” Rafe’s voice is hoarse. His heart is racing. He’s failing at choking down his sobs. “I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you say. You watch him helplessly, eager to do whatever you can to ease his pain, to make him more comfortable.

You wipe one of your own tears away and rest your hand on his shuddering back, feeling how damp the cotton of his shirt is, surely from sweat.

You can’t get how he looked leaning over Ty out of your mind, the way he struck him over and over. When his friends pushed him up against the wall, he looked so angry and lost.

“Are your pajamas in the other room?” you ask.

Rafe nods. You rush away towards the guest room.

He feels completely powerless to his own body. He’s lost every bit of composure he thought he had. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, sitting in your room, crying this hard in front of you.

He should’ve known being around you long enough would wear him down. His mother may be gone, but the weight of losing her never will be, and every time he looks into your eyes or feels your skin on his, he remembers that he’s carrying that weight everywhere he goes.

When he’s in this state, he takes whatever he can get his hands on to get wasted enough to forget. But he doesn’t have anything to numb his agony.

You return holding Rafe’s sweats and t-shirt and see him hunched over your bed, his head in his hands. You sit next to him again, his clothes bunched up against your chest. His breaths are short and uneven.

“I can help you get changed,” you say, words faltering between your tears. “And I can ramble or I can be quiet or whatever you need to fall asleep.”

Your chest aches even more at the desperation in your own voice. It reminds you of being ten years old, standing at Rafe’s bedroom door, offering to do anything just to carry a piece of his pain for him.

He rejected you then. He’s rejected you a thousand times since. But tonight, he lowers his hands from his face and turns his head just enough to catch your gaze.

“Okay,” he murmurs, throat thick with tears.

He remains sitting as you stand and lean over him to bunch the bottom of his shirt in your hands.

You pull the fabric up over his torso and he lifts his long arms for you. Your eyes are better adjusted to the dark now, allowing you to see the way his chest is rising and falling as he breathes through his cries.

In any other scenario, undressing him like this would feel suggestive, but the intimacy between you is innocent. You’re helping a friend in pain. At least, you hope he considers you a friend now.

The cotton of his pajama shirt is soft between your fingers as you draw it over his head. He finds the strength to pull his arms through the sleeves and then shuffles to unbutton his jeans. You help him take his jeans off and replace them with his sweatpants.

Rafe still doesn’t get why you think he deserves your unconditional kindness. But then he remembers what you said downstairs. You said he’s good. When was the last time someone called him good?

It’s been years since he thought something positive about himself. But maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever good you see in him really is there.

He pushes himself up to his feet to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall and you quickly change into your pajamas in the dark and get ready for bed.

When Rafe comes back into your room, his strides are slow and his shoulders are hunched as he settles into your bed.

“Do you need ice for your hand?” you whisper. “Or some water?”

“No,” he responds. He shifts, head resting on your pillow, and swallows hard, never having had a harder time saying what he wants before now. “Just… come to bed.”

It’s jarring. The same man who’s spent years averting his gaze the second you walked into a room, who found the quickest way to end every conversation you tried to start, doesn’t want to be apart from you for even a minute.

You sink into the mattress next to him, bodies turned towards each other. His breaths continue to hitch with his cries. It’s like he’s letting out all the tears that he’s repressed tonight.

You find his hand and stroke it gently, fingers running over his swollen knuckles.

One of the last times someone tried to help Rafe was when the paramedics arrived on the side of the freeway. They were asking him if anything hurts. If he could slowly get out of the car.

The rain was falling from the dark sky in hard, heavy drops and he had to shout for them to hear him. He kept telling them to check on his mom. They told him someone was already with her. He told them they should all be checking up on her and not him because he was fine but she wasn’t breathing.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. After a moment, he answers.

“It never gets easier,” Rafe says, his tone teetering on whimpering. His grief is still eating him alive. It never stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your tears hot against your cheeks. “Did you… ever get any help? Anyone to talk to?”

“No. At the beginning…” His mind flashes through how much the therapist he saw after it happened reminded him of his mother. Since he was ten, all he’s done is run from every reminder. “No. I couldn’t.”

You inch closer to him, holding his hand tighter, your legs tangling together.

“How about your family?” you ask.

Rafe can’t do this.

“Distract me,” he whispers. “Please distract me.”

You scramble to find something, anything to talk about. You think back to the start of the summer and the hopes you had before your ex started tormenting you both in and out of your relationship.

“I haven’t been off the island as much as I’d like to,” you begin. You press your hand against his chest to feel his heart, gauging if your words are helping. “I was thinking to go into the mainland some more this summer.“

You start to talk about how you’ve daydreamed about seeing what kinds of things the world has to offer across the water.

Rafe shuts his eyes, letting your sweet voice permeate the air, filling him with a quiet warmth like it always does.

You chase away the demons when you speak to him like this. You short-circuit the painful thoughts that rush through his head. You blur the terrifying images he sees. And it’s so much better than any drug he could ever take.

Slowly, you feel the pounding in his chest recede into softer, further apart thumps. His breaths are still sharp, but his sobs aren’t as hard. You comforted him like this when you were kids and it grants you a sense of pride that you can still soothe him.

Minute after minute, Rafe’s crying loses its intensity, and finally, he dozes off with your hand pressed against his sternum.

Your eyes gently flutter shut. The sound of his deep breathing alleviates you after what may have been one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You fall asleep feeling the pulse of a boy who lost his innocence too soon.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply. He drifts into consciousness feeling rested for the first time in ages.

You’re facing him, your hand cupped around his, his knuckles up to your lips as you sleep. He watches you in awe.

At some point in the night, he remembers shuffling awake and feeling your lips press against his sore hand, kissing him and calming him in your dazed state.

Rafe looks at the way your eyelashes curl over your closed eyelids. You were so patient with him, letting him cry as hard and as long as he needed to.

Can he actually do this? Can he have you in his life in a real capacity, instead of just inside this arrangement to keep you safe? Can he let you in while keeping something so painful from you?

You still don’t know the whole of it. He never wants you to. He’s not sure what to do, so he slowly shifts out of your soft bed.

It’s a few minutes past nine when you make your way downstairs. Rafe is sitting in the front room. You had hoped he’d stay in bed with you this time.

“What time are you meeting the lawyer today?” he asks once he sees you.

“Ten.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. He told you he wouldn’t leave your side and he’s not breaking his promise.

You nod, staring at him. It feels like there’s distance between you again. Does he regret last night?

“How are you?” you ask quietly, leaning against the wall.

Rafe’s eyes flit to you. When he sees the sorrow in your expression, he tells you the good instead of the bad.

“Had a good sleep,” he tells you. He looks away again. “Thanks for…”

“Of course,” you say once you realize he won’t finish his sentence. “Any time.”

Rafe rubs his knees, his hands running over the denim of his jeans, remembering how you took them off for him last night. It’s embarrassing to think about how he broke down in front of you.

“I need to go home,” he says, “to shower and get some clean clothes. I’ll come back.”

You watch him leave and you lock the door behind him. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable after everything last night. You try not to let it get to you. But it gets to you. Because it’s Rafe and his effect on you has always been to impossible to avoid.

You arrive at the lawyer’s office in your car with Rafe in the driver’s seat. You asked not to take his bike simply because driving out in the open like that was daunting. Your nerves are sitting heavy in your stomach. It still feels unbelievable that Ty has gone so far that you had to get the law involved.

Rafe asks you if you want him in the office with you. You do.

You settle across the desk of the kind-faced lawyer, your hands clasped tightly together. She tells you how sorry she is about your circumstances and that your court date has been set for a week from today.

She explains the process of getting a permanent protective order and goes through the evidence you have. Rafe looks over at you every so often, his chest pinching from how worried you look.

“Do you have any questions?” she says.

“The police told me that if he violates the order, I should report it,” you say. “Is there someone on the case I can call? Or should I go to the station? Or the courthouse?”

She shakes her head in disappointment, looking genuinely sympathetic of your situation.

“What happened?” she asks. “I can relay it to the police. You don’t have to worry about going to them. I’m here to make this easier for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “He ran up to me last night, yelling about how I went to the cops. I think he was going to…” You look at Rafe, your lips twisting. “I think he was going to hurt me but my friend stopped him.”

You wonder if friend is a generous title for what Rafe is to you. Or maybe not generous enough.

“He knew you went to the police last night?” she says. “I called them before our meeting. Your ex-boyfriend was informed of the temporary order this morning.”

Your body flushes. Ty didn’t know about the court order last night. But he knew you went to the police.

“He was probably following me yesterday and watched me go to the police station,” you realize, eyes darting to Rafe again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see him. Did you?”

“No,” he says. He was extra vigilant yesterday. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“The parking lot wasn’t that full,” you stammer. “I didn’t notice a car following us or anything. How did…”

It hits you. Maybe he hasn’t been tailing you like you thought. Maybe he’s had another way to know where you were without having to be there.

“What if he’s… tracking me somehow?” you ask the lawyer. “That’s illegal, right?”

“Yes,” she tells you. “He’d be criminally charged.”

You look down at your lap. Just like yesterday, fear makes you feel like you’re leaving your own body.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. It’s the only thing you have with you constantly. He could’ve put something in it. You stare at it in your shaking hand.

But why did you find footprints in front of your house a few nights ago when a tracking device would have told him that you were at a party down the street? What reason would he have to be creeping around your empty home?

Unless it isn’t in your phone. It has to be in something else you own. Your mind is racing. Your car was parked in front of your home that night. You walked to the party. Maybe Ty thought you skipped out on it. That you were home alone.

The footprints never made sense. Until now.

“Could it be somewhere in my car?” you ask her.

You struggle to keep your composure as the lawyer talks you through what would happen if they find something and link it to him. Depending on the judge, it could mean jail time.

You thank the lawyer when you leave, taking her advice to drive your car to the police station and have an officer search it.

It all happens so fast. You watch two cops inspect your car. You hear one of them mumble “I think I found something” to his coworker. Your stomach drops.

Rafe is standing next to you the entire time and when he sees the small, white box dropped into a plastic evidence bag, he has to step away for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger and disbelief.

There was nothing, nothing you could have done to deserve any of the shit this creep put you through. Learning that he was aware of your every move for who knows how long makes Rafe’s skin crawl. Beating the shit out of him last night wasn’t enough.

You’re silent when you leave the station. Rafe keeps looking over at you as he grips the steering wheel.

You’re gazing ahead, your stare distant, your body curled like you’re trying to make yourself smaller so nobody can see you.

He’s livid that the cops didn’t think to investigate further. You had to come to the conclusion yourself that your ex was tracking you.

“It’s their job to figure this kind of shit out, but you had to do it for them,” he mutters angrily. “And they seriously told him to stay away from you just this morning?”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. You’re in a fugue state. Your heart is racing. It’s hard to breathe. Your skin feels cold.

“Did you eat?” Rafe says.

You shake your head no.

“You need to eat.”

“So do you.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he says with a huff.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” you say absentmindedly. Your words are so simple, but they make his stomach go numb.

You approach a red light. Rafe taps his thumb against the wheel. He needs to make things better.

“We’ll pick some food up, alright?” he says.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you see you missed a call from your dad, it’s what pulls you back into reality.

“I have to call my dad back,” you mumble. You rub your forehead in frustration. You can understand why Rafe always wants to be distracted. It’s so much easier than dealing with a scary, painful reality.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to. But he knows he doesn’t. Finally, you accept that Rafe isn’t just looking out for you only because he feels like he needs to. He wants to.

“He’s not going to believe that we’re…” you trail off.

In this second, Rafe decides having you in his life is worth reliving any echos of the past. He’ll just bury the truth deep enough that he’ll forget it exists. He can do it.

“Friends again?” he says.

You meet his eyes and when your lips pull into a small smile, so do his. You don’t have to wonder if he’s still stuck in the idea that this will only be temporary anymore. It’s a ray of light in the darkness that’s become your life.

A car honks impatiently behind you and Rafe looks ahead to see that the light turned green. At the same moment he groans “shut up” to them, you mutter “relax”, and you both chuckle at your shared frustration.

Rafe pays for the takeout and when you arrive home, you sit at the kitchen island together to eat. You don’t have much of an appetite, but you take as many bites of your lunch as you can to gain the courage to call your dad.

“I think I can do it,” you say, picking up your phone. Rafe nods and watches you with softened eyes as you put the phone on speaker. After a few rings, your father answers.

“Hi,” you say. You take a deep breath. “First of all, I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry. But I ended things with Ty after you left and he’s been taking the break-up really badly. I… had to get a restraining order yesterday. I know it sounds crazy-“

“What? Are you alright?” your father asks.

“I am.” Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “I found a lawyer. And Rafe’s been helping me through all of it. I’m with him right now.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes,” you say. You’re not sure what your dad may say about who he knows to be your estranged childhood friend, so you rush to your next sentence. “Can you come home?”

“Of course. I just told your mom to start looking for flights,” he responds. “Are you… a restraining order? How - what has Ty been doing?”

You suddenly don’t feel as capable to speak as you did minutes ago. Retelling it yet again feels agonizing. You look at Rafe in desperation. He holds his hand out to you and you pass him your phone.

You watch as Rafe speaks to your father, addressing him as sir, reassuring him that you’re not alone or hurt. He walks back and forth through your kitchen as he speaks.

You watch his tall figure pace in front of you. He has the sense to give your dad a watered down version of the past few days. He mentions how Ty has tried to get into contact with you and the tracker the cops found, but he leaves out things like last night’s fight.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” your dad eventually says with a worried sigh. Rafe’s eyes find yours.

“It’s no problem,” he responds.

After your father says the earliest flight they could find would have them arrive home at eleven p.m. tomorrow, he tries to reassure you, telling you it’ll all be fine.

You hang up and go back to trying to eat. Rafe sits beside you.

Curiosity starts to prick at Rafe. If you’re really going to be friends again, he’ll see your parents around more often. Your dad sounded appreciative on the phone, but maybe he was just being polite. He’s not so sure they like him.

“Do your parents ever ask about me?” Rafe asks.

“They used to,” you say. “But I asked them to stop a long time ago.”

His eyes remain focused on you. He’s waiting for details.

“I just said we grew apart,” you add. “I didn’t want to tell them you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Rafe looks away in shame. The fact that you haven’t told them what really happened reminds him of what he heard the day you were in Sarah’s room. You never let anyone say anything bad about him. She always knew you liked him.

Rafe’s heart-rate quickens at the idea of you having those kinds of feelings for him. While his sister probably only said that because she’s under the impression you’re dating, the thought of you feeling the same thrill he does when you touch won’t leave his head.

It feels good to imagine you liking him like that. And he’s used to chasing whatever feels good, so he’ll allow himself to feed the delusion.

“I’ll be different,” Rafe says. “I won’t act like that anymore.”

You smile. Things don’t feel as cold as before. Not even close.

“Good,” you say. “I don’t know how we can be friends if you do.”

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks when he smirks, relieved but not surprised that you’re being so compassionate.

The sight of his smile makes your problems feel a hundred times lighter.

After the takeout containers are empty and in the trash, Rafe cocks his head as he looks at you, more nervous that he thought he’d be to propose this.

“You said you wanted to get off the island,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you say with a laugh.

“Now.”

You recognize Rafe’s family’s boat bobbing in the gentle water when you reach the docks after a quick drive to the marina. The afternoon sun is hidden by clouds, adding gusts to the warm summer air.

Rafe is quick getting the boat ready for departure. You sit on the bench behind the helm, watching him start the boat and navigate into the dark blue sea.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound being the rippling water and humming motor, you stand beside Rafe, seeing the coast in the far distance.

“We don’t have to dock anywhere if you’re cool with that,” you tell him. “Honestly, it feels really good to be out here.”

“You don’t want to go to the mainland?”

“No,” you tell him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. “This is better.“

You step out to the bow, leaning over the point of the boat. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you as you stand ahead of him. In this moment, finally, he’s not in the past. He’s living in the here and now.

You look back at him every so often, the smile on your face so beautifully genuine that it makes him swear he’ll do whatever it takes for you to smile like that as much as possible.

It’s nearing sunset when you get back to the docks. It feels so easy to be with Rafe. It’s like you’re kids again, no discomfort or sorrow or anger between you, just two souls that don’t need to second-guess if the other wants to be there.

“I’m exhausted,” you say as you both enter your house.

“From what?” Rafe teases, watching you reset the security system as he shuts the door. “I drove the whole time.”

“Does it have to be a competition of who’s more tired?”

“Yeah. It does,” he responds, stepping close to you as you punch in the numbers.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” you say with a happy shake of your head, turning to face him.

“What’s that mean?” Rafe asks, his tone low and amused.

“It means you always wanted to win at everything.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin to look up at him, taking in the way his windswept hair has fallen over his forehead. You want to brush it back.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” Rafe asks.

He lifts his arm to lean against the wall, tilted over you. Your eyes drag over the planes of his handsome face, wondering if it’s just you that feels like you’ve been angling towards flirting with each other all day.

“About you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, squinting in a self-assured way.

Just a few nights ago, it still felt odd having him in your home, standing right here, but now, it feels natural. Rafe slipped back into your life, nearly effortlessly. You’re sure it’s because you’ve always held a place for him in it in case he ever wanted to come back.

“You’re just as protective as you were then,” you say. “No. More protective, actually.”

You don’t think the Rafe you knew before the accident would have ever resorted to violence. But you don’t tell him that.

“You’re honest,” you say, a grin on your face. “And fun. And I think you have a ridiculously strong sense of responsibility. How am I doing?”

Rafe looks down, his tongue jutting beneath his cheek as he huffs a chuckle.

“Only for you,” he says solemnly.

“What?”

“I only feel a sense of responsibility for you,” he says. He gazes at you again. “Before you came asking for help, I really didn’t give a shit about anything.”

You almost have to steady yourself. Your playful smile drops, your lips parted even though you can’t think of anything to say.

You stand in the moment together, facing each other, eyes locked.

A few nights ago, he snapped at you, saying that you don’t know him. But you think you do. Because the way he’s staring right now, almost slack-jawed, looks like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time.

You’re frozen, but if he makes a move, even leans forward an inch, you know you’d close the distance.

He doesn’t, though. So, you step back.

“I need to shower,” you say with a short laugh. “I smell like the sea. Do you wanna have dinner after?”

Rafe nods, offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You replay the day in your head as you shower. Mostly, you replay the moments you caught Rafe looking at you. You knew you always had love for him in your heart, and over these past few days, you can’t deny that it’s grown stronger.

And you wonder, and hope, that maybe the friends thing isn’t an official title. Because you want more.

You change into fresh clothes in your bedroom and head out into the hallway. When you round the corner, Rafe is coming up the last few steps of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him to stand only a foot away for him. You place your hand on the bannister, mostly just to have something to do while your stomach flutters.

He stares down at you, the smell of your shampoo now committed to his memory. He’s been overthinking downstairs, aimlessly striding around, unsure if you feel the pull between you too, but so damn willing to take the risk.

Maybe you’ll shoot him down. But not knowing for sure actually hurts at this point.

“What?” you ask with a smile. “You okay?”

Rafe’s eyes search your face.

“I…” he begins. Rafe steps forward, mainly to see if you tense up and move away. But you don’t. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About what?”

“When we kissed the other night.”

The air goes thick, your throat suddenly dry. You remember how intoxicating it was kissing him. How it was just a tactic to chase away his friends. How hard it was accepting that it was all for show.

“I have to know,” he rasps. “Did you feel anything or was it just me?”

Your eyes fall to his lips. You’ve gotten used to things not feeling real by now, but not in a good way. This is like you’re living in a dream.

“It wasn’t just you,” you find the courage to say.

It’s all Rafe needs to hear. He leans forward. His lips brush against yours. Your breath catches.

You’re floating in the feeling of him on the cusp of kissing you. Finally, he closes what little distance remains, capturing your lips softly, gently, alleviating the years of pain you both held for so long in a way words never can.

His mouth is hot, his hands skimming over your hips as your lips weave together. Your heart pounds even faster when you feel his tongue dip into your mouth, running over yours.

You pull him in closer by his shoulders, impatient. Rafe can’t stop his groan when he feels your torso curve against his. He needs this. He needs you. A fire in him has been set alight and he’ll go as far as you’ll let him.

“Can we go to your room?” he mumbles, his nose nudging yours, the weight of his words not missed by either of you.

“Yes,” you whisper. You begin to step backwards, pulling him with you.

You settle on your bed, the hallway light spilling into the room, and lie on your back as he hovers on top of you.

Your kisses are growing deeper and hungrier. Rafe can’t believe this is happening. He feels nothing but fortunate right now, and he hasn’t felt like luck has ever been on his side.

He dips to kiss your neck and you run your hands through his soft hair, realizing your breaths have become short and eager. It feels so right to have him on top of you like this.

Rafe’s lips are soft as he trails kisses over your skin. Your arms hook around his body, drawing him in closer, allowing you to feel him growing under his jeans.

He stills for a moment in case it’s too much for you, but you roll your hips beneath him, and the fact that you want him as badly as he wants you makes sparks erupt through him.

One arm holds him up while the other moves over your side, fingers hooking below the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he huffs against your neck as he starts to drag his hand up under your shirt. You nod and your skin blooms in goosebumps when he reaches your chest, gently palming you.

He sharply inhales as he feels over your bra, starting to rock against you.

“Am I going too fast?” Rafe whispers. He couldn’t forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, even for a second.

“No,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

His lips find yours again as he caresses you. Your hand trails down his firm body and when you close your fingers around his length over his jeans, he kisses you harder.

“How’s this?” you ask when you pull back, starting to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” Rafe says shakily. “That’s good.”

He captures your lips in his again as you touch each other so tenderly, both your chests heaving.

You feel his hand drag down your stomach and rest on your inner thigh, gently squeezing. The anticipation, the thirst you feel for him is overpowering.

You arch your back, inviting him to touch you where you need him most. When his palm grazes between your legs, the feeling makes him twitch in your hand.

He brushes against you with languid, sweet movements, kissing your lips over and over again. Slowly, his fingers go to the band of your pants.

“Yes,” you whisper before he can even ask.

When Rafe feels you completely, no barrier in the way, it’s like he’s drunk. Moans spill from your mouth as he caresses you, his fingertips moving with gentle glides. Everything about you is perfect, down to the sounds of pleasure you make.

You shift to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper, feeling him buck up against you. You finally wrap your hand around him and he groans.

You kiss each other over and over, lips moving eagerly while your hands move slowly. When you start to stroke him faster, he follows your pace.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths now and you finally let go, writhing beneath him as you meet your peak. Rafe is shuddering seconds later, euphoric in the climax you’ve given him.

You’re blissed out, skin covered in sweat as you lie next to him. You feel so weak and tired and happy, resting your head on his shoulder.

You wake up in darkness. You search for him next to you, but he’s gone.

When you go downstairs, you find Rafe sitting in the kitchen. Your eyes meet and you smile, albeit a little nervously about what just happened upstairs, about how you took your friendship to a new level you can’t come back down from.

“Another observation I’ve made,” you start to joke, “you always leave me to wake up alone. How long was I asleep?”

He cracks a smile, but you can see it’s disingenuous.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Rafe responds. The faraway look in his eyes tells you otherwise. You come closer, standing across from where he’s sitting.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t.” Rafe shakes his head. It’ll reopen a wound in him and cut open a new one in you. He should never tell you.

But your words from earlier ring in his head. You called him honest. And he’s not. He’s a liar. And now he’s derailing.

“Do you…” you begin. “Should we not have done that? Do you regret it?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t…” Rafe looks away. “Don’t push. Please.”

Normally, you wouldn’t. You never have. But you feel painfully vulnerable. What you just shared was so meaningful. At least, to you it was. Why is he closed off again? Why do you deserve this?

“What’d I do?” you ask, your voice starting to tremble.

Rafe stands from his seat, raking his hand through his hair. He was sure he was strong enough to repress this. He’s always been an expert at escaping reality.

But being around you weakens him. He’s starting to panic, starting to feel his blood go hot.

Giving into his physical impulses upstairs made him lose any power he had left. He’s in love with you. He knows that for a fact. But how can you love someone while you also blame them for the worst thing that ever happened to you?

“I… I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” you ask. “What’s wrong?”

“I never… I can’t tell you.” Rafe’s breaths get shallower. “I can’t tell you.”

You step in front of him, your hands softly resting on his chest.

“You can tell me anything,” you say.

“We can’t do this,” Rafe mutters.

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your heart breaks all over again. “Don’t go back to treating me like this. Please.”

“We can’t do this,” he repeats.

He’s losing it. He can’t leave the house. He’s here to keep you safe. But he doubts he could even drive right now if he had the opportunity. And he has no substances running through his veins, dampening the pain.

He has nothing.

“Why?” you ask, dread filling you, tears starting to form. “Why? Whatever it is, we can talk about it and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Why?”

“Because it already happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Your tone is frantic now.

“It already happened!” he shouts.

Rafe’s stomach twists with self-hatred when he sees you falter, your eyes widening with shock. He startled you. He’s scaring you, just like your ex does.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. His hands find your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Let’s forget it, okay? Let’s have some dinner and forget it.”

But you’re already crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“What already happened?” you ask. You’re not sure if it’s just anxiety crawling up your body or a painful sense of intuition. But something tells you that whatever he has to say will shatter you.

“Rafe,” you say. “Please tell me.”

He drops his hands. You’re begging now. He’s infuriated that he couldn’t just keep it together. The loss, the heartbreak, the regret fills him all at once.

“We were…” He looks away. He can’t bear to see your face when he says it. “We were in the car because of you.”

(part eight)

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[werecreature-addicted]

powerful vampire gf getting absolutely WRECKED by her werewolf lover….(make up sex!)

{nobody gets our ideas better than u do 😭 i wanna be friends w u but im too shy}

don't be shy I don't bite. at least not over the internet :3

You tug fruitlessly on the leash attached to the collar around your boyfriend's neck trying to get him to stop fucking you so hard or to at least slow down, but the weak yank does nothing to slow him down.

"love you so so much honey I'm sorry, I hate fighting with you i just want to make you feel good," he groans, his voice horse and slightly choking the collar digging into his neck as you tugged on the leash, not that he cared. the choking felt kind of nice.

"baby- ahh hah" you try to call out to him but as soon as you open your mouth the pointed tip of his big cock thrusts up into your g-spot making you feel so good it was almost painful, your vision went spotty and your mouth fell open in a broken moan. He was so big, fucking you so hard it felt like you were going to break. You were a vampire, you were practically titanium, and you'd never felt this powerless this man-handled before. certainly not with human lovers, but even other vampires had never fucked you the way this werewolf could.

"yeah did that feel good? does that mean you forgive me?" he whines? as if you were ever really mad at him it was hardly a fight, just a disagreement really, but he insisted on making it up to you and now here you were, on your back with your knees by your ears with a werewolf stuffing his fat cock inside of you, fucking you like he was trying to split you in half.

He pulls out of you and before you can even whine he's flipped you onto your hands and knees before pushing into you again. he snaps his hips forward making you cry out, this new position was so deep you swear you could feel him in your rib cage.

He reaches down and cups your face pulling your head up from the bed while he fucks you. "drink," he growls and presses his wrist to your mouth, you comply, sinking your sharp teeth into his vein. he groans at the pain and you groan at the taste of his warm blood spilling out into our mouth. a lot of it escapes, with the rough thrusts your mouth slips off his arm but he's more than happy to help readjust until you're drinking from him again keeping you full of him from both ends.

[mohammedziara]

Help Us Survive This Winter: A Father’s Plea ❤️‍🩹

My name is Mohammed, and I never imagined that one day I would have to write these words, asking for help to simply keep my family alive. I used to work as a painter and decorator, taking pride in providing for my family and raising my two boys, Arafa and Mohammed, with love and security. But everything changed overnight.

Our home, the place where we built memories, was destroyed in a bombing. The car I depended on to make a living was reduced to ashes. We were left with nothing. Now, my family—my wife, my parents, my brother Ahmed, and my boys—are crammed into a school near the Port of Gaza, a shelter that is no longer a place of learning, but a refuge for the displaced.

The constant sound of gunfire and bombs haunt us day and night. Each explosion shakes the ground beneath us and tears at our spirits. My children, Arafa and Mohammed, once so full of life, now cower in fear. They have nightmares and cry in their sleep. The trauma they are enduring has stolen their childhood. My heart breaks every time I see the fear in their eyes, knowing that I can’t make it go away.

We are living in survival mode. There is no money for food. No fuel to stay warm as winter creeps closer. No medicine to treat the constant sicknesses that come with our living conditions. And no warm clothing to protect my children from the freezing nights that are just around the corner. I watch them shiver, hungry and cold, and I feel utterly powerless as a father.

We’ve lost everything, and I have no means to provide for my family. We’ve reached a point where we cannot survive without help. I never thought I’d be in this position—having to rely on the generosity of strangers to keep my family alive. But I am here, pleading with you, because the alternative is unthinkable.

Please, if you can spare anything at all, it could mean the difference between life and death for us. Your donation, no matter how small, can help us buy food so my children won’t go to bed hungry. It can help us find fuel to keep warm in the brutal winter months ahead. It can provide medicine for my boys and warm clothing to protect them from the cold.

I know the world is full of need right now, but I hope you can find it in your heart to help my family. We are just one of many who have lost everything, but to us, your kindness could change our world. It could give my children a chance to feel safe again, to heal from the trauma they are carrying, and to survive the months ahead.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for anything you can do to help. Your generosity will not only provide us with the necessities we need to survive but also restore a bit of hope in a time when it feels like all hope has been lost.

With all my heart, thank you.

[l1tw1ck]

The Fall of Spider-Man

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc!villain reader

🕷️ Word Count: 1,897 🕷️

AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Lingerie, Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Crying, Corruption, Creampie, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Mention, Stockholm Syndrome (Kinda?)

Miguel’s eyes shoot open. He immediately analyzes his surroundings. He’s tied up and on the floor. He can't see anything but he can tell he’s wearing lingerie. He feels sick. His first instinct is to try and get out of his restraints but no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens. He’s powerless. How? Why? When? Where the hell is he? He looks around the dark room, stopping to look at a door. There's light coming from behind it and he can hear movements. Footsteps. Getting closer and closer.

“You’re awake! Good morning, Miguel.” You smile, turning the lights on before walking towards him. “How are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asks.

You give him your name. “The person who's going to defeat Spider-Man once and for all.” You grin. “Although my methods are a bit unconventional.” You chuckle.

Miguel keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what you have to say next. Your confidence scares him. It's not like he's never met a confident villain before, it's honestly less likely to meet an insecure one, but your confidence is scary. You know something he doesn't. He knows you're dangerous. He always chooses to fight but everything inside him is screaming to run away. It's not like he has the choice now though.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be my beautiful husband and the father of our children.” You kiss his forehead. His heart drops. “But first, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” You kneel down and caress his cheek. He grimaces in disgust. “Let me give you the play by play.” You push his lacy red panties aside. “First, I’m gonna play with this pretty pussy of yours and give it a lot of love.” You rub his clit. “Then, once I’m done, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you. I’ll make sure to go real slow, make you feel every inch of my cock.” You bring your fingers down to his entrance and push two of them in.

“Yo- you're sick.” He spits on you.

You wipe your cheek. “I didn't give you permission to speak, or spit.” You slap his cunt, earning a moan from him. “Watch yourself, Miguel.”

He looks at you angrily but doesn't say anything, too ashamed of the sound he just made and too afraid of the consequences to do so. You push your fingers in and out of his cunt, giving Miguel unwelcomed pleasure. “You like that?” You smirk, moving faster. He bites his lip to silence his moans. “I know you do. Even if you try to deny it, your body doesn't lie.”

He hates this so much.

“And then, I’ll pick up the pace. I’ll fuck you rough and hard. So rough that you won't be able to think. So hard that you’ll cry.” You push your fingers all the way in and thumb his clit, moving your fingers inside of him absentmindedly. He tries to fight against the pleasure but it's no use. He’s going to come.

“I’d love to see you cry.” You grin. He’s not going to cry. He might do a plethora of shameful things tonight but one thing he isn't going to do is cry. He refuses to. “I know you think it's impossible but it's not. And I can't wait to see you break.” You punctuate your last word with a hit to his g-spot. Miguel gasps, hips raising in the air as he squirts. Miguel looks down at himself in shame, cheeks burning hotter than a flame. He’s never done that before. He hates that you're the reason it happened. “Oh Miguel…” You let out a sharp breath.

You move in between his legs and dig into his wet cunt, slurping up his slick before tonguing his sensitive hole. Miguel squirms around in protest. Why does this feel so good? He wants to curse you out but he's worried about what you’ll do if he acts out. He feels terrible and so fucking good at the same time. He wants to kill you but he also doesn't want you to stop. He rolls his eyes back and squirts again, feeling extremely exhausted.

You pull away and stand up, stripping down to nothing. Miguel looks at your cock in horror. That's not going to fit! He desperately tries to get away but he can't do much in the position he's in.

“You’re really boosting my ego, Miguel.” You chuckle, kneeling back down and grabbing his waist. You pull him close to you so his thighs are on yours and your shaft is right against his cunt. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You look at him like the 5 star meal he is. You move him so that his pussy is sliding up and down your length, bringing the both of you pleasure.

He bares his fangs, showing you how angry he is without speaking. “Aw, you don't like this?” You frown, faking sympathy. “Or is it that you want something else?” You grin. “You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want me to finally fuck you?”

Miguel shakes his head rapidly. You move him backwards, just enough for you to be able to make an easier entrance. You point your tip against his clit, smearing pre cum over it and sliding down in between his folds. You tease him with your entrance, you're gently thrusting into him but only the tip is entering him. He can't stand the feeling. You eventually stop and slowly push your cock inside of him. You weren't exaggerating when you said he’d feel every inch of you. You’re practically tearing him apart with the way you’re stretching him out. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying his pussy. “I think I’m in heaven.”

If you’re in heaven, then Miguel’s in hell. You slowly slide in and out of him, reveling in his wet warmth. “That's right baby, sit back and take it like the pretty little slut you are.” You place your hand over the bulge of your cock on his stomach, enjoying the way it feels as you move and how sexy he looks with his tummy bulging. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? Doing so well…”

He doesn't want to be good for you. He doesn't want you to enjoy this. If he wasn't afraid of the consequences he’d curse you out. You rub his clit gently, causing his breathing to turn shallow. “I wanna feel you come..” You mutter. “Come for me, baby.”

He grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from giving you what you want but it's too difficult. He can't hold back. It all feels too good, his pussy feels way too good, he can't do anything to prevent this. He shuts his eyes and comes, walls fluttering around your length. “You’re such a good boy, Miguel. You may be prickly but at least you know how to follow orders.” You caress his cheek. He turns away from your touch. “Even after all that…you're still trying to keep up this facade?” You pull away and turn him onto his stomach. “You won't be able to pretend any longer, Miguel.” You raise his ass in the air and plunge your length fully into him. He gasps. Miguel doesn't even get a minute to adjust to the new position thanks to you suddenly pounding into him. He rolls his eyes back, letting out uncontrollable moans as you fuck the shame out of him. He can barely think over the explicit sounds of your hips snapping against his ass and the loud wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his sensitive pussy. You're going too fast for him to even try and act like he doesn't like it. He’s always had a thing for being treated roughly and you're fulfilling his need for it. You pull on his hair, causing him to let out an almost scream-like moan as he squirts.

“Fu- fuck-” He feels tears welling up in his eyes as you continue fucking him through his orgasm.

“‘M gonna give you the child you always wanted, Miguel.” You fuck him even rougher than before, chasing your orgasm. Tears flow rapidly from Miguel’s eyes, as if there was a blockage that contained all his tears and prevented him from crying all these years. He sobs, crying loudly as you overwhelm him with pleasure. It feels good but it's too much, he can't handle it. He loves it but he needs it to stop. “Ah, I love hearing you cry..” You slow down your thrusts and dump your load inside of him. Miguel uses this break to finally catch his breath and calm down.

“Aw, was it too much for you, baby?” You coo, rubbing your hand down his back.

Miguel nods. “Ple- please..” He whimpers.

You pull out and turn him around. You pick him up and sink him down on your cock. You place your hands on his waist and kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” You caress his face gently. He sniffles, not sure how to feel about that. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and sensually. Miguel reciprocates the kiss, following your tongue movements and subconsciously grinding down on your cock. He feels a little less stimulated than before. He feels like he's about to have an orgasm that’ll never come and somehow it feels good. He doesn't know how he feels about you now but you make him feel good, and thanks to the current state of mind he's in now, that's all that matters.

You pull away from the kiss and pepper kisses down his throat and to his chest. You undo the clip in the middle of his bra, causing the two cups to separate and reveal his breasts. You latch onto his nipple, sucking it gently while your hand goes to pull and twist on the other one. Miguel whimpers in pleasure. His nipples are so sensitive, he’ll definitely come from this. “mmh..” Miguel grinds down harder as he orgasms, his pussy clenching and unclenching around your length. You pull away from his nipple, your saliva dripping down the brown bud.

He still despises you but he knows he'll be stuck with you from now on. He’ll eventually learn to love you.

Miguel turns on the radio as he starts cooking breakfast. The reporter talks about all the crime going on in the city and he doesn't seem to care, even though he’s back to normal and completely autonomous, he has no intention of going out to fight. He wants to stay home with you. The Spider Society’s been trying to contact him but he's ignored all their calls. He only leaves the house for dates and groceries, why would he go anywhere without you? He loves you so much, he wants to stay by your side as much as he can. Nobody seems to understand it but he doesn't care to explain it to them. Peter B. and Jessica have been trying to convince Miguel to come back and many spider people have tried to kill you but to no avail. He doesn't want to come back, especially not when they're trying to kill his beloved. He’s perfectly content with where he is now and he can't wait to have his first child with you.

[bluelikebruises]

wanna be yours || rhaenyra & daemon targaryen x f!reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader/Daemon Targaryen 18+ MDNI! summary: scared of thunderstorms you seek shelter in the confines of your sister's chambers. but things quickly escalate and you find yourself forgetting all about the storm w/c: 8.2k tw: SMUT, 18+, plot? what plot?, INCEST, threesome, slight breeding kink, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, nipple play, some choking, creampie, rough & gentle daemon, slight ooc daemon, lost the plot about half way through tbh, not proof read

a/n: havent written in a while my bad yall the claws of depression got me and then i got a job (booooo). promised a rhaenicent oneshot but yall got this instead im so sorry ((your honor i’m working on it i swear!)) second time ever writing smut so please be kind, any comments or suggestion for improvement feel free to let me know <3

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

A storm rages outside the walls of Dragonstone, the ocean and sky bashing against the windows of your chambers. They howl and thrash relentlessly, the rolling sound of thunder striking your heart with fear. As a child it reminded you of dragon roars soothing your unease but now it gave no such comfort.

Most nights when you had resided in the Keep the maesters would inform you of an approaching storm and you would sneak into your fathers chambers and read. You’d read passages of your favorite books and poems aloud to him. Whether he was asleep or awake never bothered you, you simply appreciated his presence. 

Another cry of crackling thunder falls upon your ears causing your heart to hammers in your chest. You silently wish you were not alone feeling as though you were a child, small, powerless, and frightened of the world. If you were in King’s Landing you could simply walk to your fathers chambers and let the storm rage on. But as your luck would have it you were miles away. 

For the past few months you had been residing in Dragonstone as a ward to your sister and her husband. You had loved every minute of your stay up until tonight, in hopes of alleviating your fears you shut your eyes trying to forget about the storm outside. 

Your thoughts are scrambled for a moment before you begin to recall your stay in Dragonstone. You’ve made an array of memories from tutoring Jacaerys in High Valyrian to games played with Joffrey and Viserys to your name day celebration. While you try to recall the many more you had, your thoughts are interrupted by the piercing sound of striking lightning. 

It hurts your ears sending a shiver down your spine, Rhaenyra crosses your mind but you know she is lying with her husband—who would waste no time in making a jest out of your fear. You want to banish the possibility of seeking shelter in Rhaenyra, after all you were far too old to sneak into her chambers. But as another flash of lightning bellows through the sky you could no longer stay still. Fear and anxiety guide your movements as you stand and grab the cloak at the end of your bed.

━━☆━━

The castle isn’t as frightening as the Red Keep under the cover of night, yet you still move quickly through its large cold corridors. With shaking hands you make a valiant effort to knock gently on the giant doors of your sister's chambers, pausing to hear for any movement but none comes. 

With no response you knock again this time with a bit of urgency. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for a response as thunder echoes through the stone causing you to yelp. Without thought you push the door open uninvitedly stepping inside. You do your best to shut the door quietly unsure what to do next. The thunder had passed and yet the patting rain could still be heard. You had not thought this far ahead, what were you supposed to do? Sneak into her bed? 

The room is dark, lit by the beams of moonlight that pour in, it’ll take some moments before your eyes adapt to the shadows of the night. Before you could think to move the sound of rustling and a sword unsheathing alert you of a presence. You need not see who it is to know it is your uncle Daemon. 

You curse yourself turning to face him. He holds his sword pointing it towards your chest and it should frighten you but the storm outside threatens you more than he does.

“There is no honor in killing a man while he sleeps”, he says, stepping into the light of the moon ready to strike your unrecognizable form. 

“I do not intend on killing you Uncle”

At your words his sword drops, “Sweet Dragon, why are you sneaking into our chambers?”

You’ve come to grow accustomed to your moniker slipping from his mouth in a mocking manner, but tonight his voice holds no ill intent. 

Lightning cuts through the sky in a loud shout before you can respond. Your skin crawls and you’re trying to keep your voice from wavering, “It’s quite loud”

“Are you frightened?” he asks, stepping towards you. His eyes bore into yours and under the moonlight it’s as if they are glowing. 

Your heart stammers and you shake your head in embarrassment, clearly lying. A small grin spreads against his lips and you know he sees right through you. The thought and his gaze becomes too much for you to bear as your eyes fall onto the floor. 

“There is no one around to pretend for”, he places his hand under your chin as he tilts your head up, to once again meet his gaze. His gentle demeanor disarms you, most times he’s brutish, arrogant, and entirely uninterested in you. 

“I am merely skittish . . .” you clasp your hands behind your back trying to appear more collected than you felt. 

He looks you over, his eyes sparkle in the moonlight only this time you’re unable to avert your gaze. His fingers hold you still and a sinking feeling of being prey washes over you.

“Rhaenyra?” he asks 

The voice of your sister emerges from the darkness surprising you, “Yes, my love,” 

“It seems our intruder is our favorite little princess”, his fingers trace your jaw, concentrating his eyes on your lips. 

Fear is an afterthought as an indescribable feeling crawls up your body. Your stomach flips under his touch and you fear to know why. 

Rhaenyra says your name, “Come here” 

Without a second thought you walk towards her voice, your eyes now adjusting to the moonlight making out shadows in the darkness. 

Rhaenyra sits upon her bed, furs laid spread over her lap she smiles fondly as you approach. 

Once you’re before her she instructs you to sit, “Has the storm unnerved you?” she asks, placing her hands on yours. They’re soft and her touch is almost enough to make you forget why you had entered her chambers to begin with.

“It is quite loud” 

“Yes you have said that already” Daemon says. His approach has gone unnoticed by you as he stands opposite of Rhaenyra. The side of the bed you assumed he slept on. 

“I read to father during storms,” you admit sheepishly

“Oh you poor sweet girl” she coos, “Would you like to read to us?”, you nod almost enthusiastically, “Come then” she pulls you forward unfastening your cloak. 

The warmth of her hands on your exposed shoulder sends you into a panic. Your septa had made it clear how your virtue was to be maintained until you married. No living eyes were to be set on your chaste skin but your future husband’s and yet you sat next to your sister who threatened to stain your skin. You tremble under her touch unsure how you could deny her. 

Grabbing her hands you halt her movements, “I’m only reading, I’ll be returning to my chambers once the storm passes”

“Of course” she agrees, “But while you are here my husband and I can keep you warm, as can the furs” 

Her smile kills your resolve and like a puppet in her control you cave in, Rhaenyra had always had that effect on you. You thought so highly of her and loved her dearly of course you were always eager to please. Any want or command uttered by her and you’d comply instantly. 

Removing your hands from hers, the cloak falls from your shoulders and she tosses it aside. You shiver as the cold air comes in contact with your bare skin. The nightgown you wore was less than modest, showing more skin then was appropriate for a lady let alone a princess. The feeling of being gawked at consumes you—their eyes burn into your skin.

“Come here princess” Daemon’s voice makes your knees weak. In the moonlight you see a smile on Rhaenyra’s lips, you take it as encouragement and crawl onto the bed. You settle between both their bodies but Daemon tugs at you pulling you towards him, the movement causes your nightgown to slide up your thighs exposing more of your skin. 

If your septa could see you now… you cringe at the thought mortified. Your heart patters rapidly, Gods if it kept beating you were sure Daemon and Rhaenyra were going to hear it. 

If Daemon notices your exposed skin he doesn’t show it, he rather seems preoccupied with adjusting you before him. His legs spread as he sat you between them, his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. 

He grabs at your sides pulling you closer to him, and if your heart didn't explode before it exploded when you felt Rhaenyra lips kiss your shoulder then rest her head where she had kissed. 

Your mind and heart betray you as you become a victim to their siren song. You’re a vision of adultery and sin, it’s wrong–unbecoming of a princess and yet you do nothing to stop them. 

With his left arm Daemon keeps you tucked under him and he wraps his right around Rhaenyra who nestles into your shoulder. You had not thought this was where you would find yourself at the beginning of the night. 

The storm is a long way from your thoughts as you try to figure out how your body fits into theirs, if it could. You’re against both of them unsure of how to move. 

You feel Daemon reach for something, “Read this” his breath touches your ear as he places a book on your lap. Being caught between them you had almost forgotten how you ended up practically on Daemon’s lap. 

Picking up the book you read the title, The Mythos of the Land Beyond Essos: Yiti. The book provides a much welcomed distraction, you had heard of Yiti before but only in passing from Lord Coryls. 

“Is it real?” you ask absentmindedly to no one in particular

“Of course it is, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra says, slithering her arm over your lap fully intrapping you in their hold 

Opening the book you were met with half of a map littered with cities and towns you had never heard of. As you turn the page the book's wear and tear is visible, it was clearly loved. For a moment you wonder if it was Rhaenyra or Daemon who loved it. Your thoughts like many times throughout the night are interrupted by thunder and relentless down pouring of rain.

You jump frightened hearing a chuckle come from Daemonand who places a kiss on your hair Any other night the gesture would have been ill fitting and strange but tonight it brings you comfort.

“Read” he gently commands and like an obedient dog you do

You read through four pages undisturbed, your voice only occasionally interrupted by the storm outside that is until you feel Daemon’s fingers on the exposed skin of your upper thigh. Gentle thoughtless traces of his fingers over your flesh. 

His touch makes you acutely aware of their bodies pressed against yours, body heat and furs warmed you like no other. With every hound of the wind and pounding of the rain you shook, which was made worse by their hands and lips trying to sooth you. 

Daemon’s left hand draws circles on your left thigh. Rhaenyra kisses your shoulder and any exposed skin she could reach. It was intoxicating her lips and his fingers. How were you supposed to read when there were two hungry dragons trying to feast upon you. 

The words you’re reading pass thoughtlessly through your mouth, once the information found a home in your mind now simply glossed over. 

Daemon’s lips fall on the nape of your neck sending a shiver down your spine and a soft whimper from your lips. 

In a small effort to keep them at bay you ask questions, it works for the first two questions but after the third Daemon grabs the book from your grasp and throws it. 

With the book out of their way they both grew relentless. Daemon kisses and nips at your neck without disregard. Rhaenyra readjusts herself to be able to access your collar bones, her lips beginning to trail up your neck and jaw. The furs had been tossed somewhere on the bed. 

“Nyra” you plead, nervous of what was to come next. Pressing your thighs together as a warm feeling emitted from your womanhood. 

“Shhh” she coos, kissing your cheek dangerously close to your lips. 

Daemon’s hand pulls your nightgown exposing more of your thighs to the night air. 

You should leave, you know you should but the thought of enduring the storm alone keeps you in place, “Perhaps…Perhaps I should r-read from another b-book” you try to stop Daemon’s hand pulling your nightgown from his grasp

Your efforts are futile as Rhaenyra interrupts you by planting her lips on yours. The action leaves you entranced by her, you melt into her lips moving yours against hers. She tastes like tea, warm and sweet. 

Under Rhaenyra’s spell you’re unaware of Daemon sliding your nightgown further and further upward. His hands stopped only to touch your inner thighs nearing your clothed cunt. You squirmed thinking of the septa’s words, the only man who can lay a finger on you is your husband.

“I can’t…I can't,” you say, breaking away from Rhaenyra and moving away from Daemon’s hold. You move away from them putting some distance between your sister and her husband. 

“Why not?” Rhaenyra asks

They’re feigning ignorance and you don’t know why, “I’m not wed” 

They both laugh and share a knowing expression. 

“Silly girl,” Daemon says, pulling you back to them, his hands dragging you back between his legs, “You are not to wed” his breath is hot against your ear as you try not to think of the heat that expels from his hands

Confusion is clear across your face, “But the Queen said—”

At the mention of Queen Alicent his grip of your flesh tightens, “To the Seven Hells with Alicent,” his hold on your flesh is half as painful as it is pleasurable. 

“You are ours”, Rhaenyra cuts in, “You shall not be sullied by hands that are not our own”, she plants a kiss on your shoulder.  

You’re unable to make sense of their words, you could not be theirs, you would only ever be your husband’s. And yet you could not find the words to say it aloud—to let them know you could not be sullied by them despite how desperately you wanted. 

Your attention is fully on Rhaenyra that the sneaking fingers along your jaw have gone unnoticed. Daemon’s fingers trace your lips before gently pushing themselves into your mouth. They’re cold as he presses them against your tongue and you can taste ash. The taste is almost telling, you think. 

“Suck” Daemon commands

You hesitate for a moment frightened at the possibilities of what would happen next and what they entailed. But all your thoughts fizzle away when Rhaenyra’s mouth bites down on your shoulder and without a second thought you do, making sure they’re thoroughly coated in your saliva. He spreads his fingers exploring your mouth before shoving them down your throat. The unexpected action leaves you coughing gagging, which earns an amused laugh from Daemon as he retreats his fingers.

“Good girl” he kisses your ear and you bite your tongue in order to stifle a whimper. His words ignite a fire that spreads throughout your body, it’s alluring leaving a blazing trail of want in its wake. The need to be praised has your head spinning, never had praise elicited such a reaction from you before. You want to continue being good and dutiful for Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra sits in front of you both simply watching as her husband's fingers trailed under your nightgown. He pulls your small clothes to the side, the anticipation killing you as his fingers neared. It’s reprehensible you know, but you do not have the willpower to stop him.  

Your breathing stops as two of his fingers come into contact with your sensitive pearl. He groans as he feels the heat of your cunt, drawing circles with his fingers. You bite your cheek trying to stop yourself from moaning, leaning your head against his chest. His fingers begin to accelerate as he wraps your hair around his free hand pulling you to look forward.

“Look at Rhaenyra, sweet dragon, she wants to see you” 

Your eyes catch hers, they’re lit with fervent desire, a look you had never seen before. While you wish you could stare at Rhaenyra forever, Daemon's fingers have returned to their slow pace leaving you unfulfilled and on the cusp of pleasure.

Turning to face him you plead, “Please”, you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. Embarrassed by your plead you hide your face in the crook of his neck

“Please what princess” he presses against your pearl roughly 

Through a moan you speak, “Need more” 

You don’t see the delighted smile that spreads over Daemon’s face as he gathers fistfulls of your hair forcing you out of your hiding spot. His eyes fall onto your sister and you’re trying desperately not to let out a string of unbecoming moans. 

With another tug Daemon crashes his lips onto yours, the angel which he pulls you almost hurts but his mouth and fingers provide a wonderful distraction. The kiss is rough, tongues and teeth clashing. All the while his fingers never cease their attack and you’re quickly becoming undone. 

An unfamiliar pressure builds and you find yourself near a breaking point you had never experienced. The building pleasure has your heart beating out of your chest, it’s dizzying. But just when you think you can’t take it anymore Daemon’s fingers stop and he releases your lips. You moan out in disappointment.

“Perhaps you should ask the future Queen for assistance” he pulls your hair like a rag doll. Moving you as he pleases, facing you again towards Rhaenyra. 

“Nyra please”

Gripping your hair even tighter exposing your neck he whispers, “Where are your manners?”

“Please, your highness” you beg eyes glossed over full of want

Rhaenyra smirks, leaning into you momentarily allowing your lips to meet again which you welcome eagerly. 

The kiss is gentle at first, your lips moving in sync. Her tongue laps at your bottom lip and you shutter feeling Daemon ghosting his fingers above your aching pearl. When one of his long fingers threatens to enter your leaking hole you moan into Rheanyra's mouth. She takes the opportunity to kiss you with more vigor. Her lips are so soft and you’re entranced by her, thoughts racing, why had you never kissed her before?

When she finally breaks away she leaves you breathless and you get no time to recover as she pulls the top of your nightgown down exposing your breast. Heat spreads over your cheeks, never having been so bare in front of anyone before. 

The thoughts quickly leave your mind as Rhaenyra’s tongue drags against your hardening nipple. She uses the pad of her thumb to draw circles against your nipple, the sensation adds fuel to the fire in your core. She expertly nips and sucks only stopping to change breasts. 

“N…Nyra please … enough” you try to weakly fight her off. Receiving far more stimulation from your nipples then you thought could ever be possible. Instead she removes her mouth and replaces them with her hands, pinching and pulling without regard. There’s an electrifying pain that shoots down your spine, you had never thought your breast to be so sensitive. 

Rhaenyra does not argue, continuing to toy with your breast as she moves towards her husband. She practically purrs as she nears him a smile lingering on her lips, your eyes close shut as she continues her attack. Above your shoulder she kisses Daemon as if she were not inflecting the most deliciously painful pleasure. The drool that leaked out of you was as shameful as it was degrading. 

When they finally pull away Daemon pushes a finger into your neglected hole, earning a yelp from your lips. The sudden intrusion is foreign and stings, biting your bottom lip you try to keep your cries of discomfort from spilling out.

They work in tandem drawing pleasure out of you with their expert touches. The way you squirm beneath them is pathetic and a distant image to the woman the realm knew you to be. 

“So fucking tight” Daemon says adding a second finger causing your head to spin. He moves his fingers expertly in and out of your cunt. Loving the feeling of your velvety walls, he speaks to Rhaenyra but you can’t hear them. Deaf under the spell of your uncle’s long fingers, your eyes are shut concentrating on the flowering pleasure that was beginning to take hold. 

Rhaenyra’s hands stop their movements and you’re half heartedly aware of the way the bed shifts far too caught up in your pleasure. You’re unraveling completely melted into Daemon, unable to keep your moans quiet they fall from your lips like a waterfall. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as Daemon stretches you open fucking his fingers into you, you’re left a blubbering mess. 

His fingers mercilessly hit every spot in your spongy cunt, you take every bit of bliss he gives you. Sweat gathers on your pinched brows, your skin feels hot against the cool night air. 

After an especially hard thrust he angles his fingers just right and your walls tighten around him. You feel as though you’re going to die, your breaths come in short quick intervals, you're on the edge of pleasure nearly going under. 

And as if he read your thoughts Daemon halts his movements, removing his fingers from your warmth, “So pretty when you moan” 

Your eyes open in disappointment, missing the feeling of being played with. But Daemon gives you no time to react as he orders you to open your mouth. 

“Taste your filth”

Obediently you do, his fingers are heavy on your tongue wrapping your mouth around them tasting yourself—you’re bitter and sharp unlike anything you had ever tasted. 

When Daemon decides you’ve had enough he pulls his fingers out and kisses you. 

You’ve forgotten about Rhaenyra until you feel a wet sensation on your pearl. With a moan your eyes shift downwards where she rests on her stomach between your legs. She’s excitedly lapping you up, her tongue sending you into a frenzy as she focuses on your puffy cunt.

Moments ago you had thought the height of pleasure was your uncle’s fingers yet it was actually your sister's mouth. 

“Ngh…Nyera” 

Your cries only invigorate her, she presses her tongue into your hole and the sudden motion has you bucking your hips. She laughs into your cunt, amused, sending vibrations straight into your pearl. 

She’s an expert at what she does, her tongue running up and down your slit. Sucking on your pearl with such vigor before fucking her tongue into you. This was not the first time your sister had done such a lewd act and the thought of Rhaenyra having done this before with another woman has jealousy crawling up your back. 

Distracted by Rhaenyra you don’t feel Daemon’s hand lowering, not until his cold fingers are pressing into your pearl. Two of his fingers begin moving sporadically electrifying every fiber of your body. You’re writhing in pleasure, burning with passion consumed by Rhaenyra and Daemon, unsure of how much more you could take. Coming undone as they pull you apart just to put you back together with nothing but their hands and lips.

You’re squirming, “Uncle, Ny…Nyra I’m—I”

Like before Daemon’s movements stop followed by Rhaenyra, you look between them dazed with need and confused. You pout in frustration, tired of being dragged to the edge of pleasure only to have it ripped away from you. 

In response Daemon turns you  to face him, “Fret not sweet dragon, we’ll give you what you want”. His lips fall on yours forcibly, kissing you as if you were the only thing able to quench his hunger. 

He moves off the bed and Rhaenyra grabs your hips, pulling you towards her gently pushing you to fall onto the bed backfirst. With your legs hanging off the bed she crawls on top of you slowly, taking her time to ravish your body with bites and kisses. Her teeth sink into the softness of your flesh and though it hurts you can’t help but moan. Goosebumps rise over your body as she sucks the skin under your breast. When she’s had enough she lifts her head to meet your collar bones, she wastes no time sucking on your skin. Making sure to leave her mark on your skin. 

The feeling is different yet so enticing, full of tenderness and lust. You’re moaning under her and you realize just how empty your cunt feels as it drips for Rhaenyra. 

You need more, desperate for it your hands move not entirely sure of what you are doing only knowing you needed more of her. You pull Rhaenyra’s nightgown trying to get it off. But only managing to pull the top of it revealing her breasts. You make quick work of taking them in your hands, they’re soft and firm, plump from having been filled with milk many times. 

Her mouth releases your skin as she moans

“My two pretty nieces playing with each other, I could die a happy man right now” Daemon stands behind your bodies. His hands touch your thighs repositioning your body how he’d like. Your clay in his hands—pliable—letting him mold you however he likes rendering him full control of your being.

He slides what you can only assume is his cock between your folds moaning as he does so. Warning drums sound off in your ears, you should put a stop to the night's debauchery and end it before you’re ruined forever. But your inhibitions are lowered and you couldn’t exactly care to think what a septa or the realm would think. Not when you were pinned between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Rhaenyra adjusts herself above you, her knees resting on either side of your hips, giving Daemon room to do as he pleases.

“How do you feel princess?” Her voice is laced with teasing affection. You are unsure how to respond if you could at all, focused entirely on the sensation of Daemon’s cock pressing against your cunt. 

He gives you no warning as he pushes the tip of cock into your weeping cunt, it’s tight and uncomfortable. The intrusion is painful; it feels like you’re being pulled apart, like your body was being set aflame. 

“Fuck” the word falls from Daemon’s lips like a prayer

The fur under you is balled in your fists trying to ease the pain, tears form in your eyes 

“Dae–”

He shushes you, “The pain will lull soon” 

“Be good for uncle, won’t you sweet girl?” Rhaenyra asks kissing along your neck

You’re nodding 

When he fully sheaths himself a painful sob escapes your lips. Your eyes are shut trying to weather the storm. You’re half frightening he’ll start fucking you, the pain would surely kill you. But he does not move, allowing you a moment to become accustomed to his length. 

“Gods, you’ve been keeping such an amazing cunt from us” he says after a moment, slowly he begins to move. Pulling himself out before gently pushing himself back in. 

The first few thrusts send shockwaves through your body. In an effort to distract you from the discomfort Rhaenyra plays with your breast. Nipping one with her mouth while she rolled the other between her thumb and forefinger. You shudder at the stark differences in sensations, like ice and fire you’re teetering the line between pleasure and pain. Tears fall from your eyes as you clenched tightly around Daemon’s cock, Rhaenyra kisses them away. 

The longer Daemon continues his intrusion the faster the pain soothes into a warm pleasure. When a moan escapes your mouth he responds with a sharp thrust. Bliss rests heavy on your brow, the lewd squelching from every thrust only adds fuel to your heightened state.

Rhaenyra moans above you, her face contorted in ecstasy, she’s the vision of desire, a nymph of lust and pleasure. You piece together that Daemon’s fingers are exploring the warmth cavern of her cunt. As you watch her, her eyes find yours and she leans down to kiss you. It’s sloppy and full of half-sound moans. Her breaths begin to quicken and for a brief moment your uncle slows his thrusts to focus on Rhaenyra. Though you miss the feeling you discovered your love for watching your sister lose herself to your uncle.

Her moans only grow louder, she’s calling out her husband's name. Pushing herself into his fingers and suffocating you with her breasts. 

She shakes, eyes rolled to the back of her head with her mouth half opened. Her body is spasming above yours, moans fall from her mouth like prayers as she peaks all over Daemon’s fingers.

She falls on top of you, her head resting on your chest as she tries to catch her breath. Without thinking you caress her hair, it's soft and smooth and it almost startles you when she looks up to you. 

For a moment while you hold her gaze the entire world falls away, nothing else matters but her. You could spend the rest of your life just gazing at her—worshiping at her altar. A gentle smile appears on her lips as she climbs off your body, she moves towards Daemon kissing him passionately. You almost averted your gaze, the act felt so intimate it did not feel right to watch.

Daemon rests comfortably inside you as they kiss, the entire time you have not been able to pull your eyes away from them. And when it is over, as if nothing had occurred Daemon resumes his relentless pace. His cock is pressed deliciously inside you forcing you to see stars. He repeats his actions over and over again. 

“Perfect fucking tits,” he leans down to catch your bouncing breast. Wrapping his lips around your nipple as he thrust harder, lapping at it like a crazed man. His mouth is hot against your skin, his tongue rough as he suckles—as if expecting milk. The thought sends a shiver down to your cunt, causing your walls to flutter against Daemon’s cock. 

“I should put a child in you just to watch your breast swell” 

You know he shouldn’t, it’s wrong you’d be ruined–-more so than you already were—no man would ever marry if you had a bastard. But you can’t suppress the moan from leaving your lips, squeezing around Daemon like a glove. His hips falter for a moment as you choke his cock, “Fuck, does the idea appeal to you?” 

“We could keep her here, have her birth our heirs, keep her stuffed with cock”, Rhaenyra chimes and her words are enough to push you over the edge vibrating with pleasure. Your back arches off the bed as your body is consumed with ecstasy. You’re first ever release racking through you without mercy. 

Daemon moans, your contracting cunt making it near impossible for him to move. 

Your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath, try to regain the composure you had lost hours ago. 

But you’re given no time to do so as Daemon pulls himself from your cunt and flips you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips as he pulls them up, your head is pressed against the bed. A blush creeps on your cheeks, the position is lewd, one you had overheard Aegon say was reserved for whores. 

Your thoughts dissolve as Daemon runs the tip of his cock along your sensitive wet folds. His movements leave you shuddering, wanting him to just get on with it. 

“Uncle please,” you whine pushing your hips back onto him

“So eager” his hands roam the expanse of your ass before sheathing himself once more inside you. 

The angle offers you a new pleasure, spread wide before Daemon like a feast at the ready for him to devour. Your walls flutter with sensitivity and yet it does not deter Daemon from pulling ropes of pleasure out of you. It exudes from your cunt tenfold and wrenches through your body unyielding. Like everything about the night it’s overwhelming bordering the edge of pain, but you’re too drunk off Daemon and Rhaenyra to put an end to it. Not when Daemon is molding your insides, as if to make sure no other suitor could ever compare. Not that you would ever want another suitor, you could spend the rest of your life beneath Daemon. 

Cold fingers slither themselves up your spine, snaking themselves around the side of your neck. Daemon’s touch is rough, callus hands pressed against the soft of your throat. Fingers stretch over the expanse of your throat, squeezing ever so lightly and you swear you see stars. An involuntary moan escapes your lips as you arch your back into him and it's all the encouragement Daemon needs to apply more pressure. 

Every thrust from Daemon has the air in your lungs exuding at a rapid pace. Your head starts to throb, all your senses are melting into one another. Daemon’s touch is paralyzing; you're frozen, stuck in a twisted masochistic purgatory and loving every moment of it. 

The grip on your neck tightens, cutting the little airflow you were getting. Above you Daemon leans down the heat of his chest against your back. He whispers something in your ear but you can’t hear anything above the beating of your heart. You’re not sure how much longer you could take, eyes half lidded and bordering tears—you’re barely holding onto consciousness. 

Just when the arms of unconsciousness threaten to pull you under, his grip releases and his thrusts come to a stop. Like a stone dropped onto the bottom of a river your head falls straight onto the bed. You try to regain your breath, through painful breaths the sound of Rhaenyra’s laughter reaches your ears. Through your lashes you look upon her, she sits before you smiling, eyes glowing under moonlight. 

“What a spoiled princess, receiving such fervent treatment from my husband” 

In response Daemon gently kisses your back. Slowing and ever so carefully moving his hips as he does so, you moan and Rhaenyra laughs again. 

“Come now, before I’m seething with jealousy” she moves. Her legs spread before you, nightgown exposing her flesh as she adjusted. You have an idea about what means to happen next but your inexperience has you doubting your thoughts. 

Your head lifts in realization that she’s settling herself, her clothed cunt only a touch away. You’re captivated by the allure of her covered womanhood. 

“Go on princess, serve your queen” Daemon voice rings out as he reaches to tangle his hand in your hair forcing you towards Rhaenyra’s cunt. 

She looks down at you, a seductive smile playfully lingering on her lips. She lifts her dress agonizingly slow, pulling the thin layer of her nightgown exposing the smoothness of her skin. When she's finally revealed to you in all her glistening glory you waste no time, diving right into her core. You’re half surprised she wasn’t wearing any small clothes but you don’t think twice about it, devouring her with novice eagerness. 

As you run your tongue through her folds you clench around Daemon getting your first real taste of Rhaenyra. She tastes poignant and sweet like a nectar you had never known but were growing addicted too. You kiss her swollen womanhood inhaling her sweet scent, pressing your tongue against it before swirling around it. Though you know your inexperience shows you eat her up like she was your last meal in the living world. 

Her moans are music to your ears, you look up to watch as her chest heaves. Invigorated by her pleasure you flick your tongue fucking it against her dripping hole, through a half open moan her eyes fall on yours. Her brows are pinched together in ecstasy as her thighs close around your head keeping you in place not that you could think of moving away. 

The world falls away as you bring your sister to the heights of pleasure, drunk by the feeling of her warm cunt wrapped around your face. It’s lewd and disgusting and yet you can’t get enough of it. 

In a sudden motion your attention is pulled away from Rhaenyra, you’re unable to turn your head but you feel Daemon’s cock retracting before he thrust it back to the hilt. You moan into Rhaenyra, sending shooting vibrations through her. She chokes out a moan as her hand comes down to grip your hair. 

She roughly tugs as you continue the intrusion of her cunt, pushing you further into her. Your nose bumps her puffy pearl as you move uncoordinated—distracted and falling victim to Daemon’s relentless attacks. The squelching sounds of your weeping cunt sends your mind into a frenzy, it’s filthy and obscene. 

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra purrs, “Had I know you were so good at eating cunt I would have had you on your knees long ago” 

Her words of praise have your pussy fluttering around Daemon who grunts in response. Your mind has gone completely blank, you've lost yourself knowing nothing but the hot liquid pleasure that Daemon and Rhaenyra were tearing out of you. They’re molding you into shapes only they knew—only they could touch. 

Daemon nestles himself so deeply you’re sure if you reach down you’d feel him in your stomach. You try to keep up your pace on Rhaenyra but with Daemon’s insistent thrusts you’re having trouble, sloppily licking and inserting your tongue into her. 

“Gods you were both made for my cock”, he grunts out but you can’t think of a single response. You’re pushed into Rhaenyra with every thrust, slurping her overflowing bliss. 

At her husband’s words Rhaenyra releases you from her grasp letting her legs fall away and you take the opportunity to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. Moaning against her skin coming undone on your uncle’s cock. 

“Is that true, do you think we were made for Daemon’s cock?” Rhaenyra’s hand drops from your hair and gently caresses your face. You can hardly process their words, unable to speak, lost in pleasure and too concentrated on the feeling of Daemon pulling out then stuffing you with each thrust. 

“Did the princess forget how to speak?” Daemon teases his hand coming down to slap the meat of your ass

“She’s cock drunk” Rhaenyra laughs, grabbing your hair and pushing you back into her heat, crying out as she does so. Your tongue laps over her absentmindedly but it’s enough to have her legs trembling. 

Roughly she tugs your hair, her moans becoming more frequent and you know she’s just as close to coming undone as you are.

Minutes stretch into hours as you’re used by your sister and her husband as nothing more than an object to achieve their own pleasure. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything but writhe in their grasps.  

With a final lap of your tongue over her womanhood Rhaenyra comes undone against your tongue. Like before her thighs press against your head keeping you locked in place. The sounds that escape her are so indecent you would have never thought sounds like that could come out of the realms delight. Greedily you swallow everything she gives you. 

The spell Rhaenyra cast over you is broken when Daemon spanks your ass again, but now you’re able to turn your head to face him. Head laying on Rhaenyra’s thigh looking back to see Daemon smirking, continuing his assault on your sensitive walls, hips slapping against yours. 

“Uncle…Uncle” you breathe out feeling the thundering shockwaves of pleasure crashing over you. Your words do nothing to divert Daemon, who continues to fuck himself into you. 

In a matter of short moments you’re overwhelmed by pleasure—pushed over the edge by a final slap on the ass by Daemon. You muffle your cry into the bed, shaking in elation. Your body feels like it was struck by lightning, overly sensitive by the pleasure that was just ripped out of you. 

Behind you Daemon unsheathes himself from the warmth of your cavern. Without his hands holding your hips up, you drop onto the soft bed. Mind left a puddle of mush as sleep begins to weigh your eyelids. Your consciousness begins to slip into the realm of dreams, not bothering to check on the wellbeing of your sister or uncle. 

The bed dips at both ends and you feel gentle hands adjust you against the bed, laying you onto your back. 

“Come here sweet dragon I’d like you on top when I release my seed”, Daemon says crawling above you. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice and he smiles down at you. 

Rhaenyra laughs from beside you, “You’re insatiable. Can’t you see she is tired” 

He turns to her, “She is free to object,” then returns to you, “Do you object princess?” 

You know you should, not sure if your body could handle any more of what Daemon wanted to give you. He would surely tear you apart, leaving his marks on your body and spent for days to come—the thought sends a thrill of anticipation down your spine. 

His eyes bear into yours and there’s a hint of softness in them you had never seen before. Of the entirety of your stay in Dragonstone he had never once spared you a glace much less held a conversation with you. Yet now he wanted nothing more than to consume you and after the events of the night your mind has gone feeble. And the look in his eyes is all persuasion you needed, through hooded eyes you shake your head. 

“There’s your answer wife” Daemon shoots her a boastful smile, in return she laughs. His attention is drawn back to you with a kiss, it’s short and sweet but you’re far too tired to appreciate it for what it’s worth. 

“Come now,” he pulls you up with him maneuvering you on top of him as he lays with his back against the bed. Without needing to be told what to do you spread your legs straddling his lap. Daemon ushers your hips over his standing manhood, gently pushing the tip of his cock into your drenched entrance. 

Your sensitive walls make it near impossible for you to fully take him. He groans below slowly pushing you further and further onto his cock. Your body shutters as you take all of Daemon, every single one of your nerve endings on fire. 

After a moment his hands fall onto your hips guiding you to rise then fall onto him. The sensation leaves you trembling, unable to hold your head up, it falls on his chest. 

Your eyes are screwed shut feeling an aching pain coiling in your stomach as tears threaten to spill out, “I…I can’t” you almost sob

He shushes you running his hand over your hair in a consoling manner, “You can”

Tears begin to stain your face as your abused walls clutch against Daemon. He thrust into you slowly, grabbing your face so you’d meet his gaze. You’re fully seated on him as a tear falls from your right eye, he brushes a tear from your face bringing your face to his. 

“Such a good girl taking me so well,” he praises, burying his head in the crock of your neck. He leaves a trail of kisses up your jaw, “Could spend the rest of my life buried inside you”

His words shouldn’t thrill you as much as they do, yet you find desire pooling at your feet lulling the coiling pain. Pleasure comes slow and then all at once bliss blossoms through your body, the sensitivity of your previous releases leaving you with a heightened sensitivity. 

Without Daemon’s guidance you lift your hips and sink yourself back down. You moan when Daemon meets your lifted hips, moving your hands onto his chest straightening your back to sit yourself comfortably. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before, you’re completely full of cock—stuffed to the brim. The feeling is addicting as if your sole purpose in life was to be seated on Daemon’s cock. 

He fucks into you quickening his pace, your cries become louder and more frequent completely entranced in a haze of blistering hot euphoria. You’re pressing your hips against his trying to reach your peak again, chasing that intoxicating feeling. Perhaps Rhaenyra’s idea was not so bad afterall, you give them all the heirs they wanted.

“You’ve been such a good girl for us” he says rutting up to you, his grip tightening around your hips. Indenting into the plush of your skin sure to leave bruises. Your mind becomes a flurry filled blur as you begin to bounce on your uncle’s cock. Hands pressed to his chest trying to find some sort of grounding leverage. You find it, if only momentarily before Daemon’s tip brushes against a spongy part of your cunt. 

A loud cry emits from your lips, unable to hold yourself together any longer. Your walls clench around Daemon who digs his fingers further onto your skin. A groan bubbles in his chest; it's almost animalistic as it travels up his throat. Your eyes fall onto his, there's a dangerous edge of hungering lust that has your head spinning. 

A dangerous smile dances on his lips as his hands travel up your chest towards your bouncing breasts. He cups them, holding them for a moment before squeezing. You shiver at the feeling of his warm fingers on your cold nipples. 

Nearly falling apart at the sensation combined with his insistent thrusts. At the speed he’s hammering you with, you know he’s about to reach his peak. Your eyes close shut when his forefinger and thumb clamp around your right nipple rolling it between them. 

You feel your head explode with pleasure, it shutters through you with such intensity your vision goes white. There’s a brief moment where you think Daemon has fucked you blind. But when you see the ‘o’ shape of his mouth you’re almost thankful he did not, loving the image of him left at your mercy. 

The spasming of your high around him pushes Daemon into his own release. Your nails dig into his skin as he spills himself inside of you, his head thrown back in a moan as your cunt milks his cock. 

After a moment his thrusts become shallow as his elation wears off. He smiles triumphantly, hands sliding down to your hips. His glee should fill you with shame—regretful of the sinful actions that took place upon your sister’s marriage bed but instead you feel satisfied.

Breathlessly you collapse on his chest feeling his seed leak out of you. With your head against his chest you think you should run out of the room, flee to the walls of your chambers and hide from the grotesque act you committed. But exhaustion wears on your bones rendering you unable to move. Your legs tremble, tender from the amount of pressure they endured. 

Daemon says something but you don’t catch a single utterance. 

“Mhm” you hum too tired to ask him to repeat himself. He chuckles, readjusting you both on the bed, you moan as he moves—his cock still buried inside you. 

Your eyes close inhaling Daemon, the smell of leather and musk invades your nostrils. You hate that you find it comforting, hate that you want to stay wrapped in the arms of your sister’s husband. A man that was not yours and yet allowed to defile your womanhood. 

As if Daemon could sense your storming thoughts he traces his fingers on the small of your back. His touch brings you a strange solace, tomorrow you would feel conflicted about your blossoming emotions towards your sister and her husband. Tonight you’d sleep sheltered from the storm, tomorrow you’d face the reality of your situation. 

“Are you drifting off to sleep?” Daemon's voice is almost sweet but before you could answer the chamber door opens. The sound of footsteps entering alert you to a new presence but you can’t move limbs weighing you down instead you hide in the crook of Daemon’s neck. Mortified to have been caught in the bed chambers of the future Queen and her King Consort. 

“And where did you run off too?” Daemon nonchalantly asks his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin

“Refreshments my love,” the sound of your sister’s voice comes as a surprise, you hadn’t noticed the absence of her presence. But you’re happy she’s returned, missing the warmth of her body on yours. You lift your head to see her standing at the foot of the bed, a plate full of fruits and a flagon of wine in hand. 

“Who’s insatiable now?”

[screampied]

saying “goodnight,” to gojo is one of the worst things you could ever tell him.

some may ask why . . it’s a simple word, a sweet farewell of good dreams if you will. but in this case, perhaps not. just a simple word, a simple word that always knew how to bring the strongest to complete tears.

“goodnight, ‘toru.” you’d murmur, swiftly running your hands through his white tangled strands. he was struggling to keep his eyes open. the calmness of your voice soothed him. cerulean irises stared right back into you before he lets off a soft sigh. his face was so relaxed, he stares into your eyes with his own becoming a bit droopy.

“goodnight,” he’d utter before his eyes briefly closes. “i love you.”

is what you thought he’d say in a moment like this. but even sometimes, reality can be faux. life’s pretty funny, isn’t it.

gojo didn’t like the word ‘goodbye’ simply because it brought back too many hard memories.

he wasn’t one to really explain why, he was more resvered sometimes than anything. he was often too embarrassed to get things off his chest. especially things like this, you did always wonder why though. how sometimes you’d kiss him on the cheek, reaching for the light before uttering off those fatal words of, “goodnight, satoru.”

despite everything though, he always gives you a soft kiss on the lips, murmuring, “sleep well, angel,” instead of goodnight. he’d hold you in his arms, stroking you gently until you fell fast asleep into his arms, where you always belonged.

why was goodnight such an avoidance to gojo’s vocabulary. it was simple, really. a bad experience, a very bad experience actually.

“i don’t like seeing you cry like that,” he’d grumble in a merely defeated voice. he sounded so different, so tired, so … weak. gojo’s voice, it was once so full of life and oh so effervescent. and now, it sounded like he was clinging onto his last and final conclusive breaths—in which he was. “hey, hey. look at me.”

you’d sniffle, glancing at gojo. your eyes were merely blind with your own pathetic tears, everything you saw through your own lens of eyesight was straight blurry. that dumb dorky smile remained plastered on his face despite the circumstances.

the circumstances, gojo satoru had been finally defeated. the strongest, considered as once the strongest, was now lying in your arms, squeezing your wrist as if it’d be the last time he’d touch you. and it would be.

“don’t cry for me. you’re gonna make me cry, silly,” he whispers in a jesting tone, brushing a thumb against the outer part of your hand. you always loved his touch, there was nothing like it. gojo actually for once seemed scared, he was always so good at concealing his emotions—but with you, that was an entire different story.

you could hear the tremble in his voice, his time was rapidly running out, and he just wanted to reassure you, even though perhaps you should have been reassuring him.

“s-satoru,” you’d reply in a shaky voice, you felt an abrupt sharp sting prod through your heart.

you didn’t expect to come to contact with the feeling of heartbreak so soon, but it hit you like a truck. you hated feeling powerless, you couldn’t do anything but just sit here and . . hold his hand.

one … last … time.

“you’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and he lifts up your hand, struggling at first. you’re kneeled down beside him as he lies on the floor. a pool of his own defeat starting to fill from underneath him before he kisses the palm of your hand. “i… i want you to promise me something though. can you do that, angel?”

“y-yes,” you immediately reply, your grip on his hand only growing tighter. suddenly, the air felt so thick and warm—everything felt so out of place. your ears, both of them rang and rang. there was a sting in your heart and it refused to go away. you were experiencing heartbreak at its finest, in slow slow waves.

gojo inhales, and you watch as his pretty lashes flutter at least twice before he says in the most broken, defeated voice you’ve ever heard.

“promise me,” he starts, and you watched as a tear ran down the corner of his eye. even he knew what his fate was coming to, everything was catching up to him and you were sharing the exact dreading emotion. gojo’s eyes flicker up towards you before he sniffles. “promise me, promise me that you’ll be here when i wake up?”

silence—pure silence was your reply, you didn’t know what to say.

but that pure silence only lasted for about three seconds before you nodded, feeling your own tears start to trickle out the crevices of your eyes. “i promise, i’ll be here, i’m always here, ‘toru,” and with a sob nearly escaping your lips, you whimper out a, “i love you.”

“i love you,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and by now he’s really clinging onto his final breaths.

all gojo could focus on was your face, the tears that swelled up through your eyes. he hated seeing you cry, he truly loathed it. with your fingers interlocked with his, gojo says in a soft broken tone, “goodnight, baby.”

“… goodnight, ‘toru.”

but instead of waking up next to gojo like promised, you woke up alone with his side of the bed empty. then reality hit you, he was already gone.

[milla-frenchy]

Her

3k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: after Joel confides one of his fantasies to you one day, you make it come true

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Established relationship, feelings, teasing, strap on/dildo, use of gags and ties, sub!joel, soft!joel, masturbation (f), oral (f/m), praise kink, piv, creampie

a/n: same couple: 5 days collection, but can be read alone

The next fic in this collection will probably be about how they met, fell in love and became that couple 

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕😘

Joel grabbed your hand when you passed by him, then hugged you. His hand roamed the curve of your back while the other was brushing your neck, holding you softly against him. You loved when he held you close, you loved feeling his chest against yours, the warmth of his skin, his softness. He breathed in your hair then your neck, before kissing you there, just below your ear. His mustache and beard brushing your skin already made you moan. You were so deeply in love with him that his mere proximity always overwhelmed you. You felt yourself melt in his embrace and you ran your fingers along his brown curls then the back of his neck, keeping him close against you. 

Then he slid his hands to your hips and gently pushed you on the dining room table, as he whispered in your ear: “Lie down on the table, sweetheart. Wanna feel you on my tongue.” The atmosphere changed, as sweetness gave way to desire, already drawing a whimper from you.

But you forced yourself to move away from him and pressed on his shoulder to make him sit down on a chair.

“You and your filthy mouth…”, you said, looking from his eyes to his lips. Your pussy was aching more since you felt his hardness against you. You did your best, trying to ignore the muffled moans of your core, which was crying for his tongue on you.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about me and my filthy mouth, baby?”

You didn't answer, you needed to keep a cool head and not let your desire make you forget what you had in mind. And you wanted to play with him. Tease him. You walked around the chair and kissed his neck, sliding your hand from his torso to his crotch.

“Already hard, Mr Miller?”

“Well…I’ve been seeing that damn ass spinning in front of my face for 5 minutes… Course I’m hard, sweetheart.” He manspread to allow you to seize his hard cock more easily, but you pulled back, kneeling behind him. You grabbed his hands and crossed his wrists against the back of the chair. Then you took two skinny scarfs out of your pocket and used one to tie his hands together. He let you do it. You both knew your boundaries and body language perfectly, so you were sure he was ok with it. 

“Mmmm… What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna be a good boy, baby, and let me use you.”

“A good boy? Really?”

“Yeah”, you smirked. “A good, silent boy.”

You used the other scarf to cover his mouth, tying it at the back of his head. You brushed his shoulder as you came back in front of him.

“And I’m gonna play with you.”

His gaze became piercing, and you smiled when you saw his cock twitch in his jeans. 

You pulled up a chair and sat across from him, legs crossed. Sliding your calf against your bent knee. Your short skirt was hiked up to your thighs, and Joel's eyebrows were furrowed, creating several lines on his forehead.

“It makes me so horny to see you like this. Powerless. Tied and gagged. You have no idea.”

You heard him growl and you liked it, as it awakened something deep within you. So far, Joel was always in charge. Even when you rode him, when you used him, you felt power in his touch and in his eyes. And you loved it. But something else was growing in you this evening, and you were already enjoying this novelty. 

You uncrossed your legs and spread them wide, allowing Joel to see your panties. He leaned forward slightly, instinctively. Restrained by the bonds, he shook his head slowly. And god you liked it too.

“Wanna see how wet I am, Joel?” you asked, grabbing the hem of your skirt and lifting your ass slightly off the chair, before pulling it up to your waist. Your fingers brushed your thighs from your knees to the hem of your panties. You pulled them aside and asked “do you see me dripping?”

He swallowed and nodded. His eyes were fixed on you, and you read him like an open book. Part of him wanted more than anything to take back control. The other part was willing to let you manage and see how far you would go.

You also saw his love and desire for you, and it encouraged you to continue and not let certain insecurities or shyness make you doubt yourself.

“Perfect,” you added, before running a finger along your soaked pussy. “I bet you’d like to taste your pussy? Don't you?"

He tried to speak but his words were muffled by the scarf. You knew that if you released him then he would rush to you and press your chest against the table before thrusting into you roughly. But you had to wait for that, too. He would fulfill your desire a little later.

“I’m gonna have to do it myself, since you can’t”, you continued, before sucking your wet finger. Another growl came from the depth of his chest, a little more painful this time. You knew how much he loved to lap at your cunt. Often pulling multiple orgasms out of you, breathing a “one more, sweetheart. Give me one more, I know you can do that for me”, between your thighs until your limbs felt like a rag doll and you had to beg him to stop. 

“Mmmm… I understand why you like her so much, baby. Too bad you can’t taste her. Or fuck her. She'd love that. But she's gonna have to wait, just like you.”

You brushed your folds again, spreading the garment wide with your other hand. Adding more wetness to your index finger, before rubbing your clit.

“I guess I’m gonna have to make myself come, baby…”

His eyes turned black and you focused on your sensations. Touching yourself in front of him was turning you on and your pussy was dripping through your folds.

“It’s so good, baby…I’m gonna come soon. Or maybe I could play a little with a dildo? Let you watch me fuck myself on it. While your cock is just begging me to take its place.”

He mumbled something that sounded like "sweetheart" but you didn’t stop. A few more caresses were enough to make you cum, your thighs wide apart in front of him, making you close your eyes for a few seconds under the effect of your pleasure.

“Didn’t even have time to play with a sex toy…”

You pulled your panties back into place and stood up, running your finger under his nose, tormenting him with a scent that he inhaled immediately.

“You’d love to lick my finger, wouldn’t you? Feel my taste on your tongue? But not this time.”

You ran your hand through his curls, before adding, “you’re so obedient, baby…I’m proud of you.” Joel rolled his eyes and you added “I know, I know, you don’t really have a choice. Let's free that cock, baby. It must be so cramped.”

You knelt down and grabbed his worn jeans, sliding them down his thighs as he helped you by lifting his ass. The tent under his boxers made you smile. A wet stain was visible on the fabric. You slid them down and his cock stood up proudly. His tip was red and oozing.

“Oh poor baby”, you breathed. You took off the garment. His head was lowered towards his crotch, and he looked up from his cock to your eyes. Imploring.

Your thumb brushed against his slit, spreading the precum over it. The tip of your tongue licked it and his cock twitched.

“Show me that you want me to suck your cock,” you asked. Teasing him. But there wasn’t any darkness in his eyes anymore. He nodded quickly, craning his pelvis forward.

You took him into your mouth, moving up and down his shaft. Rounding your lips, and slowly progressing to accustom your mouth then your throat to his thickness. Joel’s restrained moans were sweet music to your ears. When you pulled back and licked the length of his shaft, then his balls one by one, his moans became grunts. You stopped and looked at him.

“You love it? You love how I suck your cock, baby? How I can take all of it into my mouth and throat?”

He moaned, letting you know he wanted more.

“I know, baby. But I need you to do something for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes, be good” you said, before kissing his cheek. He gave you a pleading look. “Be good, I said.”

When you came back and his gaze fell on you, if a scarf hadn't covered his mouth you would have seen his jaw drop. You were naked except for a strap on.

Communication has always been one of the pillars of your relationship. The discussion of your respective fantasies, “yes”, “no”, “maybe”, had been set up from the start.

“No judgment?” he once said. “Never, baby. We’re in a safe zone. No judgment, I swear”, you replied before kissing him gently. “OK. So… I think one day I would like to give up control. Ehm… Sexually. I don't know if I can really be submissive. But I’ve always had some fantasies, and you’re the one with whom I’d want to achieve them. If you agree.” “I am so grateful that you trust me, that we trust each other completely. Tell me more.” “Me too, sweetheart. I… I’d love to see you wear a strap on.” Your eyes sparkled when you heard him. “How would you want me to use it?” He took a deep breath and added, “I wish you were completely in charge. That you imposed things on me. And… made me suck a dildo.” The wave of desire that washed over your body in that moment was intense. “Fuck, Joel…Yeah… yeah! We’ll do it, I promise.”

You knew he was thinking about that conversation, as you had been thinking about it for several days, imagining how you wanted to make his fantasy come true and to make it perfect. And then you chose the day. Today.

His eyes traveled up and down your body, before remaining fixed on the strap on. He finally looked up at you. You pointed your chin at him, making sure he was still up for it. He nodded slowly, without an ounce of hesitation.

As you approached him, wearing only the harness and the dildo attached to it, you watched him devour you with his gaze. You stopped in front of him, the sextoy a few inches from his face. He looked up at you again, and a multitude of emotions were visible there. Desire, impatience, some shyness. Love. And you almost heard butterflies whispering “Joel, Joel, Joel” in your stomach.

“I’m gonna remove your gag now baby. Wanna see your lips.”

You untied the scarf, and Joel’s deep breathing filled the room as he was looking at the strap on. The model you chose was a medium size. You didn't want to impose a sextoy of a size equivalent to his cock. For now.

“You know what I’d love, baby? I’d love to see you on your knees for me, while you suck that cock. Will you do that?”

His eyes rose up at you and he nodded.

“Words, baby. You know the rules, right?”

He smirked, probably thinking how much he loved to see you act like him, and said, “yes”.

“So, you're gonna be a good boy for me, Joel? You’re gonna suck it, on your knees for me?”

“Fuck”, he breathed, looking at you. “Yeah, I’m gonna suck that cock.”

Hearing him created a new wave of desire in your core. Your Joel, this sexually perfect man, had so much confidence in you and your relationship that he was going to fulfill his fantasy with you. You untied him and he rubbed his wrists, then knelt. His hard cock was throbbing. You moved closer to him, the dildo in your hand, and presented it within reach of his mouth.

“Spit on it, baby. Make it wet.”

He let his saliva flow and watched it slide. “That’s good. Lick the tip, then place your lips around it.”

You placed your hand on his head as he did what you asked. Touching him tenderly, without rushing him. You could feel a lot of emotions, swirling inside his head, and you wanted him to feel good. Safe.

He licked it gently, taking his time to get used to this sensation that was new for him. Then he took the dildo into his mouth.

“Yeah, just like that. Suck it, baby.”

He looked up at you, and his feral gaze was back. Seeing him on his knees, sucking it while looking at you, was one of the hottest things you've ever seen. You cherished that he trusted himself, and you, to make his fantasy come true. Gifting you with it.

“Show me how good you are at sucking a cock, Joel. I’m so turned on right now, seeing you like that, baby.”

He licked the shaft, then took it in his mouth again, while you held the base in your hand. The other one, still on his head, brushing his curls.

“You like that, baby?”

He mumbled a ��yes’, without stopping.

“Good boy. You’re doing well.”

His movements were more confident and he moaned.

“That’s it, moan for me, baby.” You were soaked, and couldn’t stop thinking about the moment when you would feel his length inside you. Filling you completely. 

Your fingers tightened on his curls.

He kept sucking, applying himself, until he realized how much you were squirming.

“Oh baby… come here. Lemme take care of you”, he said, grabbing your hips. Quickly, he untied the strap on and let it slip on the floor. Then he pulled you towards him, licking your folds. Buried his tongue between them impatiently, to finally feel you.

“Joel…” you whined.

“You’re so wet, baby. It really turned you on, mmm?”

“Yes…. but I need… I need-”

“I know baby, I know. You need to feel me. I’m gonna fuck you.” He got up and leaned you against the table, standing in front of you. Ready to fill you, his thick cock already in his hand, but the way you squeezed his shoulders made him stop. He frowned, cupped your cheek in his hand and asked “what is it, baby?”

“I need to feel your body on me”, you murmured. You were overwhelmed with the emotion of realizing his fantasy. The fact that you were the one he chose to do it. Now, feeling him in you, his body pressed against you, was all you needed. Your cheeks in his hands, he kissed you with his soft and warm lips, removed his shirt, then said “come with me, sweetheart”, his large hand gripping yours, and he led you to the bedroom. 

Lying on the bed, he positioned himself between your legs and looked into your eyes. Nestling his cock at your entrance, he thrust in slowly. You whimpered when his shaft spread your folds, your legs around his waist. He didn’t stop until his balls were pressed against your skin. 

“I need to feel you.. I need it so much.”

“I'm here, baby…I'm here.”

“Can you…stop moving, please?’

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You started moving your pelvis back and forth, fucking yourself on his cock slowly.

“Fuck, baby…”

“Joel, I…I just love you so much.”

“Sweetheart…I love you so much too. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“God, I love your cock so much too” you whined, and he chuckled then kissed your forehead. You kept leading the pace around his shaft at a perfect angle, allowing you to brush your clit against his lower stomach.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Use me. Just use me as you need it. Shit, it's so hot to feel you fuck yourself on my cock like that.”

He covered you with kisses, from your lips to your cheeks to your forehead. His arms under your shoulders, you felt protected and loved. The complete trust you had in each other, the vulnerability he allowed himself to show you had made you emotional. You had reached a new stage in your relationship, and your feelings for him were stronger than ever. You focused on your building orgasm, and of course he felt it.

“Come for me, baby”, he murmured in your ear.

Your body obeyed him, clenching on his shaft multiple times and creaming his cock as both your moans were filling the bedroom. Overwhelmed by your pleasure, you barely realized that he was holding back from cumming at the same time as you. That he wanted more.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb, as you gradually regained your senses. Your gaze finally landed on his eyes fixed on you. He was smiling. His gaze was so soft that you felt yourself falling even more in love, if it was possible.

“I love how you’re looking at me right now, sweetheart”, he said softly as the corner of his lip turned into a tender smile.

You smiled shyly, and replied “it’s your turn, baby. Use me, take what you need.”

He kissed your lips and started to thrust in.

“I’m gonna fuck you slowly. Wanna feel your folds spreading for me. You’re so good for me, baby. Always so good for my cock. Always so fucking tight.”

He kept caressing your cheeks, thrusting in slowly before pulling back, keeping the same pace over and over, knowing that you needed him gently.

“Thank you for what you did for me. It was perfect. You’re perfect”, he whispered, offering you one of those moments of unity that you loved so much. Those moments when you were one, physically and mentally. As if you were the only two people in the world.

You caressed his cheek too, and asked softly “you liked it? Is it what you wished for?”

“I loved it. I couldn't have dreamed it to be better.”

His hips continued to roll and you didn’t take your eyes off him.

“I’m yours, sweetheart. You know that, right? From the beginning, from the first day perhaps, I was yours.”

“Jesus Joel.. I know, baby, I know. Oh… it's so good to feel you in me like that.”

“And that sweet little cunt… is mine. She’s mine. Oh fuck, babe… I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.”

You held him close to you, and whispered in his ear “she’s yours. And I’m yours. And we want to feel you dripping off us all night.”

“Fuck…sweetheart you can’t tell me things like that… Oh shit… Shit!” he said one last time, before freezing deep in your cunt, as deep as he could, and painted your walls for a moment that seemed to last forever.

You held him against you until his breathing slowed. Keeping him a little more inside you for a few minutes, feeling his cock soften. When he finally laid down next to you, you rested your head on his shoulder and your hand on his broad torso, where you were always feeling so safe. He put his arm around you and brushed your skin with his thumb.

“So... have I been a good boy?” he asked playfully. Of course he knew he had been.

“You were perfect, Joel” you replied, pinching him gently.

“Ouch,” he whined then laughed, and you giggled. God, you loved him so much. 

Same couple: 5 days collection

Thank you for reading 🙏

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[awearywritersworld]

the man who embraced wickedness and the woman he used to know

sukuna x reader summary: sukuna is reunited with the only person who ever showed him kindness w/c: 1.25k tags/warnings: heian era!sukuna. angst to fluff. fem!reader. me trying my best to channel an 1800s romance novelist a/n: part 2 to the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth. i am once again asking that people check out the artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired these two fics. they also made some artwork inspired by part one, which makes me scream and cry and yell bc it's so wonderful. masterlist

it isn't until nearly two decades after your last encounter that sukuna finally musters the courage to return to the riverside. as he listens to the rush of the water, he hates the way it makes him feel— like the scared, powerless boy he once was.

he won't get too close. instead he stands at the edge of the forest, as if he can hide from his past among the trees.

he decides he must be dreaming when he spots a woman approaching the river, because even though he can see little more than her silhouette, he has no doubt that it's you.

he'd know you anywhere, in this life and the next.

he has no idea how long he stands watching you before he finally gathers the nerve to take a step in your direction.

you look over your shoulder and meet his eye once he's only a few yards away.

the expression that crosses your features is not unlike the one you wore when you first saw him— an earnest sort of wonder.

"it's you," you state as if you've been waiting on him to appear.

"you... remember me?"

"how could i forget?"

you approach him without fear or apprehension, and having you so close after all this time makes his heart race uncomfortably in his chest.

"are you well?" he questions, his eyes trailing down your body before flicking back up to yours. "you look it."

a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, your gaze falling to the ground bashfully. you rock on the heels of your feet before answering.

"i am well enough... and what of you?"

he's not sure that he's being entirely truthful when he replies, "i can say the same, i suppose."

"it pleases me to hear that you have not been suffering all this time. i must admit, i find that my thoughts still wander to you with remarkable frequency."

you laugh lightly at your own confession, fearing he may regard you as strange for it. on the other hand, he's thinking about how the sound of your laughter is the most beautiful thing he's heard since... well, since he last heard it.

"it is not rare for you to occupy the space of my own mind," he returns honestly.

you grab one of his hands, turning his palm up and running your thumb over the faint scar you find there. he hates the way it makes your face fall.

"i am sorry about that night, for what my father did to you. it was my fault for falling asleep—"

"don't," he stops you. "the fault lies only with me. i shouldn't have let him steal you away. i shouldn't have been so utterly weak—"

it's your turn to interrupt him and you press the pads of your fingers to his mouth to keep him from saying anything more.

"that is the farthest thing from the truth. you didn't deserve that. you deserved not one bit of the cruelty the village mercilessly showed you. you were only a boy, sukuna."

when your fingers fall from his lips, he doesn't try to speak. he doesn't trust that his voice won't betray him.

he can't remember the last time he heard his name spoken so familiarly, so warmly. it makes his throat feel tight.

the silence gives you an opportunity to take in the ways in which he's changed over the years.

his kimono and haori are pristine, a far cry from the rags he used to wear.

his frame is more than double the size of your own, and you know he's no longer living on scraps.

he stands tall, his posture straight and self assured, not that of someone who is feeble and frightened.

but you're not referring to any of those things when you point out, "you're different now."

and of course you're right, he just doesn't know how to tell you that the boy you used to spend your days with is gone. that the blood on his hands is no longer his own. that the person standing before you is nothing more than the monster the villagers always claimed him to be.

so he just nods in agreement and your eyes sparkle as you regard him with curiosity.

"i loved you, you know," you tell him sincerely.

your confession is painful to hear, because it reminds him of everything he lost that night.

"i could love you now, too." you reach up and caress his cheek, trying desperately to read the expression he's wearing. "if you'll let me."

for a moment, you think he might agree to your offer, but your hope is short lived.

"this... this was a mistake."

he turns to leave, intending to retreat to the shadows of the forest, but a small hand wraps around his wrist.

"no." your tone is forceful.

if only you knew what happens to most people who dare speak that word in his presence.

he doesn't say anything, so you add, "the only mistake you've made is waiting so long to come back to me."

he's surprised upon seeing the frustrated tears that well up in your eyes.

"we are but strangers to one another." his reminder stings and it shows plainly on your face. "and that is for the best, i assure you. you don't want to know me— to know the things i've done."

"i care not what you've done!" your voice is so loud, it sends a flock of birds fleeing from a nearby tree. "i care not what horrors loneliness may have driven you toward, because when we belonged to one another you were good. you were kind. you were—"

"stop." each of your words is like a knife in his chest, and his voice cracks from the ache of it.

"i will not! if your only intention was to reject me, why come here at all?"

"i don't know—"

"precisely! you want me, just as i want you. my devotion is yours, sukuna! there is no reason for you to reject that which i willingly give—"

"enough!" he barks at you, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders. you don't shy away from him, even in spite of the way his fingers dig into your flesh and his nose flares angrily.

"you believe that because you showed me a sliver of kindness when we were children that i should throw myself at your feet? your devotion means nothing to me! it does little more than inspire my disgust!"

the words taste like poison on his tongue, but he needs you to believe them.

he needs to believe them himself.

he pushes you away, and while it's not harshly enough to send your body flying to the grass, it does make you stumble backwards.

ire burns in your eyes and he thinks he's succeeded in his endeavor, but once he turns to leave, you're grabbing his wrist again and launching yourself against him.

your hands find his face and you pull his lips to yours despairingly. your bodies move together as if you've spent a lifetime in one another's arms.

then, he's pulling away from you. he's calling you a pathetic fool. he's looking at you with animosity.

but just as quickly, his lips find yours again and he grabs at the fabric of your kimono in an attempt to bring your body closer to his own.

you swear his hands tremble as they find a home on the curve of your hips.

once your lips part, he holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity.

resignation seems to dance across his features, but there's something else there too. desire? hope? longing?

you really can't say for certain.

"i am yours, and you are mine."

you're not sure if it's a question or a statement, so you offer him a slight nod of your head. "today and always."

[sonik-kun]

Reminder that canon Jiang Cheng is:

- Self-sacrificing. There have been numerous examples in the book where JC is willing to lay down his life for his family and sect without a second thought. Charging at Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu in the turtle cave. Stepping in front of his mother to protect her from the core melter hand. Distracting the Wen before they discovered WWX. Offering himself as a hostage in return for JL in the Guanyin Temple incident, etc.

- Fiercely protective of his family. The above bullet point elaborates on this part well. But I would also like to add that he is extremely protective of JL. He follows him on nighthunts and is the first person JL calls for whenever he is in trouble. The moment JL sends out a flare, JC is instantly in there, dropping everything for him.

- He allows JL to be a child. Despite the historic context and the stiff upper lip attitudes of that time period, JC allows JL to be a child still. He is spoilt rotten and never knew the same horrors those of his previous generation had to endure. JC does all he can to keep him safe from that to prevent similar incidents from happening again. He also allows JL to healthily express his emotions and never once scolds him for crying. The moment he sees him upset, he's in there soothing him, ready to throw hands with whoever hurt him.

- He doesn't use corporal punishment methods on JL despite it being the norm of that society. JL explains this to WWX who was shocked to discover that JC doesn't punish JL, despite his threats. JL is horrified by the notion and is very comfortable and secure around his uncle. Secure enough to give him sass even, something JC would never dreamed of doing to his elders.

- He is an excellent and attentive leader. He built his sect from the ground up and recruited people on his own all whilst he was still a teenager, still recovering from trauma and torture. He brought his sect back from the brink of annihilation and built it back up as a major sect on very minimal experience with little next to no guidance.

- He's politically savvy. From a young age, he was always socially aware of everything, valuing the safety of his sect and family above everything else. He correctly predicted WWX's downfall and tried so much to warn him and save him from it. Powerless in that moment, he chose his sect over WWX in fear of them being annihilated a second time should he side with him. WWX understood and respected this, so defected of his own accord.

- He still believed in WWX and held onto hope for him, even when things were looking bleak. Despite WWX siding with the Wen, the sect that almost annilihated his own, JC allowed WWX to go with them and remained friends up until WWX inadvertently got JZX and JYL killed. He still allowed WWX to see his sister and even name his nephew. They visited each other in secret regularly despite the risks of being caught, and JC tried to defend him even in the face of the three most strongest sects. He wasn't successful, but he tried.

- He is more reasonable and level-headed than the rumours lead you to believe. We see this when the prostitute comes to testify about JGY. He calmly considers her word and everything she has to say. Not once was he rude or snappy with her. He also remembers his etiquette and addresses elders with manners and respect. He may at times be quick to anger, but he is also quick to calm himself down and conduct himself properly as we see in his first scene where he lets "MXY" go, despite being a practicing demonic cultivator.

- He let's WWX go in the end. The moment he learns the truth about everything and that WWX wasn't entirely guilty for everything everyone accused him of, JC drops all feelings of aminosoty towards him. He doesn't blame him, nor does he actively pursue him anymore and demand he answers for his "crimes." JC got all the answers he wanted from him and instead of holding on to grudges and resentment, he let WWX go to be happy with LWJ, despite clearly wanting him to come back to Lotus Pier. He understands and respects that WWX is ready to move on and start a new life with LWJ. It hurts him, but he respects that decision.

There are many more positive traits I could discuss here, but I'll be here all day if I did.

JC is a nuanced character with a lot of flaws, but he also has a lot of positives that make his character realistic and relatable but also very likeable. He is a traumatised man with a troubled past, but he never allowed it to truly bring him down. He persevered, built up his sect, and raised a nephew with a pure heart. I think it's safe to say that despite his problems and despite everything he has gone through, JC is a survivor with a strong heart. He has a lot of admirable traits that you mustn't ignore or deny if you truly wish to enjoy and appreciate his character.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey! How are you?

May I request how the batboys would react to reader losing their job unfairly? I just lost my job for no reason after only working there for 2 weeks. I could really use some comfort rn 😭😭

Sweetheart, I know your pain in loosing a job unfairly, I’ve been there before and funnily enough they’re suffering to this day with ppl wanting to leave and or leaving. Karma is truly a bitch. I’m sending all the virtual hugs I can.

Jason

Livid isn’t even close in describing how he felt upon hearing the news but it was the closest word for how he was feeling right now. The fact that you had been let go and unfairly too after a short period of time was enough to make his blood boil.

No explanation just ‘yeah we’re letting you go for no real reason cuz we’re tight fisted cunts who can’t be bothered with bettering ourselves for our staff, and would much rather let them go without prior warning because we’re just that shitty of an employment.’

In Jason’s opinion you were the only one who actually knew how to do to do your job and will remind you of this constantly because it was the truth. You worked your ass off at that place and this was the thanks you get? Fuck that!

Jason was more then ready to let the piece of shit who made the call to drop you have a piece of his mind but you had to calm him down and tell him it wasn’t worth the anger and frustration. However to Jason it was more than worth the anger and frustration, his sweetheart lost their job because of some fucking corporate lapdog!

‘They fucked up babe, big time. They lost one of their best and I hope they fucking go bankrupt and loose everything they’re worth because of it.’ Jason would tell you as he presses kisses against your head as you played with his fingers before intertwining them with yours.

‘I hope so too.’ You muttered against his chest and Jason could only tighten his hold on you as he continued to shower you in praise, kisses and utter adoration in hopes of ridding the god awful taste that place left in your mouth and your self esteem. Jason’s as about to let you drown because of them, he’d gladly keep you afloat however he can because you deserve it and so much more than they ever gave you in two weeks.

Dick

‘They’ve lost out on the best thing going sweetheart, they’ll come to regret it sooner or later but you’ll be in a better position when they do.’ He’d whisper reassuringly as he held you close to his chest, his heart breaking when hearing your sobs.

He hated how affected you were by their decision and he hated how powerless he was to stop you from getting hurt by stupid employments like this one. They obviously didn’t see what he saw in you and that was their loss and his gain. You were dedicated, loyal, hardworking but apparently that wasn’t enough for them and so without much thought they dropped you.

So Dick, with the help of Hayley, would try his best to provide you with happier times to drown out the pain that came with reminiscing the shittier times.

They would try their hardest to make you cry tears of joy rather then sadness from their goofiness alone as both Dick and Hayley would rather see you happy then sulk over the decisions of some stupid employment. They -the employment- fucked up with you and Dick wasn’t about to let it be your problem to deal with alone because it wasn’t your problem to deal with in the first place. It was theirs.

So you spent the rest of your days with Dick trying his best in making you happy and smile more then you’ve ever have, that place was poison for you and he’ll try and be your antidote.

Tim would absolutely do everything in his power to ruin your old workplaces reputation out of sheer pettiness, whether it be digging up some dark/ shady stuff that they’ve tried sweeping under the rug or spreading their tendencies to mistreat their staff on a daily basis, Tim would single-handedly destroy their reputation by leaving it in complete shambles.

He was smart enough to do so and could do so if you were to ever say the word, he was more then ready with documents filled with evidence to back up his claims, all he needed was you to give him the go ahead.

Tim could be petty but his petty was unlike anyone else’s and could cause mass damage to corporate assholes, especially those who thought it was completely justifiable to release someone after two weeks of working there.

Give him 5 minutes and the workplace will have collapsed from the information he had released to the general public. That’ll teach them a lesson for certain for messing with you.

However you didn’t want him to get into any trouble because of you and would much rather cuddle with him in bed as you watched a movie on his laptop in your pj’s as you both shared some ice cream. That’s all you needed and Tim was more than willing to comply as he told you how stupid of a decision it was of them to let you go, they were only shooting themselves in the foot and digging their grave simultaneously.

[hisfavegirl]

The Twisted Truth - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : story from aemond's side, when he could only stay silent without doing anything because he had destroyed you.

Aemond stood there, his gaze fixed on the door that had just closed with a final, resounding thud. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but his heart was anything but calm. His jaw tensed, the muscles in his face twitching as his eye remained locked on the space where you had once stood.

The warmth of your presence had left with you, and now the cold, empty stillness of the room pressed down on him. The glow of the fire flickered weakly against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows that danced like ghosts. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

He should have called you back. He knew it. He could feel the weight of the words that had sat heavy on his tongue — words he’d never allowed himself to say. Stay. You’re the one I want. It’s always been you. But he’d said nothing. He had stood there, silent as the void, and watched you walk away.

His fingers uncurled slowly, and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots with frustration. His breath came out as a sharp, quiet hiss. He hated this — hated himself for it. For all the control he prided himself on, for all the restraint he wielded like a weapon, he had never felt more powerless than in that moment.

His eye flickered toward the chair he’d been sitting in, the firelight catching the sapphire in his missing eye. The glow reflected back at him, cold and distant, like the man he saw every time he looked in the mirror. His gaze fell to the floor, the ghost of your footsteps still echoing in his mind.

You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.

Your words echoed louder than any battle cry, sharper than the edge of his sword. He could still see the way your eyes had burned with fury — not fear, never fear — and for a moment, he hated how much he admired that fire in you. You were the only one who had ever looked at him like that. No fear, no pity. Only anger and pain, as raw and real as the scar on his face.

He moved toward the chair, gripping the back of it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward, his head bowing as his breaths came out in slow, controlled exhales. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to push it all down, to bury it the way he always had. Control. Discipline. Restraint. The words his mother had instilled in him from the time he was a boy.

But this time, it wasn’t so easy.

His fingers twitched, and he slammed his fist against the chair’s back with a crack loud enough to echo through the room. His breath came harder now, his chest heaving with every inhale. Why didn’t I stop her? The question burned through him, over and over. The answer was simple. Too simple.

Because you’re a coward.

He swallowed hard, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, his lips pressed into a grim line. His mind was a battlefield, warring between pride and longing. He had spent his whole life being second, being overlooked, fighting for recognition. And here you were — you, the one person who had always been there. You, who had loved him despite the monster the world saw.

And he had let you walk away. Again.

Minutes passed in silence, his breathing slowly evening out as the flames crackled behind him. But the cold remained. No fire could chase it away, not now.

Get up. Go after her. The thought clawed at him, loud, demanding. His feet shifted slightly, his body halfway prepared to move. But then his gaze dropped to the floor, and his hands relaxed at his sides. No. Stay. She will come back.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

This time, you might not.

Aemond strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his steps purposeful but slow, as if weighed down by thoughts too heavy to carry. His face was a mask of calm, but behind that facade, a storm brewed. Each echoing step reminded him of what had just transpired with you — the look in your eyes, the defiance in your voice, and the ache that settled deep in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated how much he wanted you.

But he could never show you that. Not fully. He couldn’t bear to appear weak in front of you, not when he was supposed to be your protector, your husband, your equal. To love you so openly, so vulnerably, felt like surrender. And Aemond Targaryen did not surrender.

His feet led him to Helaena’s chambers. The guards stationed outside gave him a small nod before opening the door for him. He stepped inside, the warmth of the room washing over him like a blanket of familiarity. The soft hum of Helaena’s voice filled the air, humming a tune known only to her.

She sat by the window, her head tilted as she watched the world beyond. The light from the window haloed her silver hair, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hands toyed with the strands of thread from her embroidery, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm. Her gaze was distant, lost in a world far beyond the confines of the Keep.

Helaena turned her head at the sound of his footsteps, her lilac eyes blinking slowly, as if waking from a dream. A small smile tugged at her lips, soft and genuine. “Brother,” she greeted, her voice as gentle as the flutter of moth wings.

Aemond’s tense shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t return the smile, but his gaze softened. He approached her slowly, standing just behind her chair, watching her in silence for a moment.

“You should close the window,” he muttered, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room. “The cold air will make you ill.”

Helaena turned her gaze back to the window, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. “The cold doesn’t bother me,” she replied dreamily, her eyes fixed on something far beyond the horizon. “It reminds me that I’m still here.”

Aemond frowned, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and gently pushed the window shut, blocking out the cool night breeze. He lingered by the window for a moment, staring at the glass as if searching for something beyond it. Your face lingered in his mind.

He turned back toward Helaena, who was now gazing up at him with curious eyes. She tilted her head, studying him like one might study a strange creature they’d never seen before. “You look troubled,” she said simply. Her tone wasn’t one of pity or concern — it was a statement, plain and certain, like she already knew the answer.

“I’m not,” he replied curtly, but his gaze shifted away from hers.

Helaena’s smile widened, not with joy, but with understanding. She knew him too well. “Liar,” she said softly, looking back down at her embroidery. Her fingers moved steadily, threading the needle in and out of the fabric with delicate precision. “You only come here when you’re troubled, Aemond.”

He clenched his jaw and approached her again, this time sitting in the chair across from her. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he stared at the ground. The warmth of the fire nearby cast long shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the only sound being the soft crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Helaena’s needlework.

“You and she look the same,” he muttered suddenly, his voice low but steady. His eye didn’t meet hers — it stayed fixed on the floor, as if the words were too fragile to be spoken directly. “Sometimes, I forget.”

Helaena’s hands stilled, her gaze flickering back to him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just watched him.

His fingers flexed as he leaned further forward, his head hanging low. “But you are not her,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eye flickered up to meet hers, and in that moment, there was no wall between them, no mask of pride or strength. He was just a man — a brother — looking for solace.

“No,” Helaena agreed, her voice quiet but firm. “I am not.”

Silence stretched between them again, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who understood each other without the need for words. She returned to her embroidery, and he sat back in his chair, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling.

“She hates me,” he muttered after a while, his tone bitter and filled with something closer to regret than anger.

Helaena didn’t answer at first. Her hands paused for only a moment before she continued sewing. “She doesn’t hate you,” she said finally, her eyes never leaving her work. “She hates that you hide from her.”

Aemond closed his eye, exhaling slowly through his nose. Of course, Helaena would see through him. She always did.

“Do you hate me too?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like a boy afraid of the answer.

Helaena glanced up at him, her lilac eyes soft, patient, and kind. “No,” she said simply, with the certainty of someone who had never hated anything in her life. Her gaze softened further, a smile tugging at her lips. “But I pity you.”

He flinched, his hands curling into fists, but he didn’t argue with her. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

She tilted her head toward him, a curious smile on her face, as if she could see something he couldn’t. Her fingers paused their sewing once more. “You should tell her, you know,” she said, her gaze locked onto his face. “She’ll forgive you.”

His eye snapped to hers, hard and sharp like a blade unsheathed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Helaena asked, tilting her head like she was watching an insect crawl along her windowpane. “Love is simple, Aemond. You make it difficult.”

He said nothing, just clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold in his chest.

Helaena sighed softly, as though she had seen too much of the world already. She returned to her embroidery, the soft snip snip of her needle filling the air. “You can’t love me the way you love her, brother,” she said quietly, not looking at him. Her voice was distant, like she was speaking to herself more than to him. “No matter how much you try.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t answer.

Because it was true.

He didn’t love Helaena. He never had. He loved you. But it was easier to sit here, in the quiet glow of Helaena’s room, with her gentle smiles and soft words. She didn’t ask him for things he couldn’t give. She didn’t challenge him or look at him like he was a man made of stone.

With you, it was different. You saw him for who he was — sharp edges, broken pieces, and all. And you loved him anyway. But he didn’t know how to love you in return without feeling like he was giving you too much of himself. He didn’t know how to be soft with you, how to be vulnerable without feeling like he was crumbling from the inside out.

So he came here. To Helaena. Because her softness was safe.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Aemond sat there for a long time, watching Helaena sew. His gaze grew distant, his mind elsewhere. But no matter how far his thoughts wandered, they always circled back to one thing.

You.

He could see your face so clearly in his mind — your eyes filled with fire, your voice sharp with defiance, your hands warm against his. His heart ached with the weight of it. The weight of wanting you.

He knew where he should be.

But still, he stayed.

Aemond’s laughter echoed softly in Helaena’s chambers, a sound so rare that even she tilted her head in surprise, gazing at him with a curious smile. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to laugh so freely, so unguardedly. His usually tense shoulders had relaxed, his lips tugged upward in a way that softened the sharp edges of his face.

But something shifted.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a strange feeling of being watched creeping over him. His gaze instinctively flickered to the doorway.

And there you were.

Standing in the open doorway, your face half-lit by the glow of the fire. Your eyes, usually so full of resolve and fire, were red-rimmed with unshed tears. You looked at him as if something inside you had broken. Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, his eye widening as realization washed over him like a cold wave.

No. Not like this.

Before he could rise, before he could say your name, you spun on your heels and ran.

“Wait—” he rasped, his voice hoarse and desperate, but the words caught in his throat. His body tensed, muscles tight as if ready to chase after you, but his feet stayed rooted in place.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

His gaze lingered on the now-empty doorway, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, the echoes of it louder than the crackling fire. Why didn’t I move? The voice in his head was cruel, sharp, and unrelenting. Why didn’t I run after her?

His hands curled into fists on his knees, his nails digging into his palms until he felt the sting of pain. Coward, he thought bitterly. You’re a coward, Aemond.

“You should go after her,” Helaena’s gentle voice broke the silence, her tone as soft as ever but firm with quiet understanding. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained focused on her embroidery, her fingers threading the needle with the same delicate precision she always had. “Before she decides you’re not worth chasing anymore.”

His jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as he forced himself to look away from the door. It’s not that simple, Helaena. It never had been.

But deep down, he knew she was right.

He had watched you walk away from him too many times before. But this time felt different. This time, he’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the betrayal, the quiet resignation of someone who was slowly letting go.

And it terrified him.

“Brother,” Helaena said softly, her gaze finally lifting from her embroidery. Her lilac eyes met his with quiet clarity, a knowing look that sent a sharp pang through his chest. “If you let her go now, she won’t come back.”

Her words struck him harder than any blade ever could. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a harsh scrrrrk. His eye was wild now, like a cornered beast. He glanced back at the door, his breathing unsteady.

He wanted to chase you. He needed to chase you.

But the fear was there too — the fear that, this time, you wouldn’t stop running.

Aemond walked slowly through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, the cold stone beneath his feet biting through his boots. The torches lining the walls flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to follow him with every step. His breath was shallow, his mind a storm of confusion and doubt.

I can’t lose her. I won’t lose her, he repeated to himself like a mantra. His jaw was clenched tight, his single eye flickering with something between desperation and resolve. But no matter how many times he repeated those words, the path forward remained unclear.

He found himself in front of Helaena’s chambers before he even realized it. His gaze lingered on the door, his heart pounding harder than it should. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for — clarity, comfort, or perhaps just a moment of peace from the chaos in his heart.

He pushed the door open without knocking. The soft creak of the hinges echoed in the quiet room. Moonlight spilled through the tall window, bathing everything in a silver glow. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the familiar scent easing his nerves just a little.

Helaena sat on the edge of her bed, her head bowed as she hummed softly to herself. Her fingers gently traced patterns on the fabric of her dress, lost in her own little world. But when she felt his presence, she lifted her head, her soft eyes meeting his.

“Aemond,” she said gently, tilting her head in that familiar, dreamlike way. “What troubles you, brother?”

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on her, but something was wrong. His eye lingered on her face for too long. The curve of her lips, the softness of her features, the familiar silver hair that framed her face. His breath caught in his throat.

She looks like you.

His heart twisted in his chest. For a moment, everything blurred. His tired mind, strained from sleepless nights and unspoken emotions, began to play tricks on him. He blinked, and for a brief, aching second, it wasn’t Helaena he saw. It was you.

His breath grew shallow. The confusion took root in his mind like a poison. His exhaustion whispered lies to him, clouding his vision. His heart ached, his chest tight with longing. He took a step forward, eyes searching her face as if she were a mirage.

“You’re here,” he murmured, his voice low and broken. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. The warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through him. His hand lingered, cupping her face as his thumb gently traced her cheekbone.

Helaena blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Aemond, what—”

“Don’t speak,” he said softly, his gaze full of something raw and desperate. His breathing was uneven, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they tangled in her hair. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His eyes squeezed shut, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions — love, regret, anger, and longing all crashing together at once.

His lips found hers.

It was soft at first, hesitant, like a man who feared he might break the very thing he loved. But then his grip on her tightened, and the kiss deepened, more frantic, more desperate. His mind screamed at him, She’s here. She’s finally here.

Helaena froze beneath him. Her eyes widened in shock, her hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. But Aemond didn’t stop. He was lost in the illusion his mind had created — a world where you were his, where you loved him without doubt, without hesitation.

“Stay with me,” he whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse with emotion. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, seeking warmth, seeking solace. “Please… don’t leave me again.”

But reality snapped back into place like a blade driven into his heart.

“Aemond,” Helaena gasped, her voice sharp this time, her hands pushing harder against his chest. “Stop. It’s me. It’s Helaena.”

Her words struck him like thunder.

He froze.

His breath hitched, his lips hovering an inch from hers. His eye snapped open, and for the first time, he truly saw her. Not you. Her.

His heart stopped. His body went rigid, his hands still on her back, still holding her close. But it was not you in his arms. It was not you who he had kissed. His mind reeled, horror settling in his chest like a weight too heavy to bear.

He stumbled back as if burned, his eye wild with disbelief. His gaze darted from her face to his hands as though he were trying to rid himself of the feeling of her touch.

“Helaena…” he breathed, his voice hollow, broken. His back hit the wall, and he gripped his hair with both hands, tugging hard as if the pain might wake him from this nightmare.

Helaena stared at him, eyes filled with shock and sadness. Her fingers brushed her lips, her brows drawing together in a frown. “Aemond…” she said softly, her voice laced with confusion and pity.

“No,” he hissed, shaking his head violently. “No. I… I thought—” He cut himself off, his breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps. His heart was thundering in his chest, a wild, untamed drumbeat of guilt and confusion.

His eye darted toward the door. His throat tightened. He could see it so clearly in his mind — the image of you standing there. Watching. Seeing everything.

What have I done?

He shoved himself off the wall, his face twisted in pain, his gaze filled with regret. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He took one step toward the door, then another. He had to find you. He had to explain. He had to fix this.

But as he reached the door, he froze.

What if you had seen it all?

His breath caught in his throat, panic swelling in his chest like a rising tide. If you had seen him with Helaena, seen him kiss her — no, you wouldn’t understand. You would think it was love. You would think he had chosen her. You would think you had lost him.

He staggered back, his eye wide with horror.

“No,” he whispered to himself. I can’t lose her.

But it was too late. He could feel it in his bones. The vision of your tear-streaked face haunted him, the pain in your eyes, the way your lips would tremble as you held back sobs. He knew it as clearly as if it had already happened.

He turned toward Helaena, his face a mask of anguish. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice sharp, almost pleading. His gaze burned with desperation, his eye wild and frantic. “Please, Helaena.”

Helaena didn’t answer right away. She simply stared at him, her hands still lightly pressed to her lips, her eyes distant and filled with sadness.

“I won’t,” she said quietly, her gaze soft but unyielding. “But you should tell her the truth, Aemond.”

Her words cut deeper than any sword. He turned away, his chest tight with pain, shame curling around him like a noose.

“I can’t,” he muttered, his voice hollow. He glanced at the window, where the moon hung heavy in the sky. His face was cast in silver and shadow, his features sharp with grief. “If I tell her, she’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“Maybe,” Helaena replied softly, her gaze never leaving him. “But if you don’t… she’ll never look at you at all.”

Her words struck him like a blade to the heart.

He left without another word, his footsteps quick and uneven, like a man fleeing from a battle he knew he had already lost. He didn’t know where he was going — all he knew was that he had to find you.

But when he reached your chambers, the door was closed. He stood there for a long time, his hand hovering over the handle. His heart pounded harder than it had in battle.

Knock, he told himself. Open the door. Apologize. Tell her the truth.

But he didn’t move. His hand dropped to his side, his gaze darkening. Not tonight, he thought. Not like this.

He turned away, his face a mask of cold indifference, but inside, he was crumbling. For the first time in his life, he knew fear — the fear of losing you.

And as he walked away, the only sound was the faint echo of his footsteps in the dark.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, each step harder and faster than the last. The whispers of the servants clung to him like a curse. “She left Prince Aegon’s chambers this morning,” they had said, their voices low but sharp enough to pierce his mind.

His jaw tightened, his breathing heavy with barely restrained anger. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat fueling the fire of jealousy and betrayal burning within him. He didn’t slow down until he reached your chamber doors. Without knocking, he pushed them open with a sharp creak.

You sat in front of your mirror, calmly brushing your hair as if nothing in the world could disturb you. The golden glow of the midday sun highlighted the softness of your features, but there was nothing soft about the cold, sharp presence that had just entered your room.

Aemond stood there for a moment, his one eye locked on you. His chest rose and fell, his breaths shallow and uneven. His face was carved from stone, his lips pressed into a hard line, his gaze sharp with accusation.

“You think this is how you repay me?” His voice was low but laced with venom. Each word was as sharp as a dagger. He took a step forward, his long strides bringing him closer to you. “You think this is fair? After everything I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve endured for you—this is how you choose to answer me?”

You paused your brushing, your eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror. Calm. Unshaken. But your grip on the brush tightened. “I don’t owe you anything, Aemond,” you said softly but firmly. Your voice was steady, unlike his. “Not after what I saw in Helaena’s chambers.”

His face twisted with frustration. He took another step toward you, his fists clenched at his sides. “What you think you saw is not what it was,” he snapped, his voice louder now, his patience hanging by a thread. “You see one moment, and you think you know everything? You think I would betray you with her?”

You turned, finally facing him directly. Your eyes burned with something deeper than anger — hurt. Raw, unfiltered pain. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond,” you said, your voice cracking but still strong. “I saw you with her. I saw you holding her. Smiling with her. You have never looked at me like that.”

His breathing grew heavier, his lips twitching as if he wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours like a predator watching its prey. “I never touched her the way I touch you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Never.”

You raised your chin, eyes unwavering. “And yet, you touch her at all.”

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words, unshed tears, and untold truths. He stared at you like a man lost in a storm, searching for a way out but unable to find it. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t.

“You shouldn’t have gone to Aegon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his gaze filled with something more than rage — desperation. “You shouldn’t have done this to me.”

You stepped closer, your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “I only gave you back what you gave me, Aemond.”

His face twisted with something between pain and fury. His breathing grew louder, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it might shatter. He took one more step toward you, his body mere inches from yours.

“You belong to me,” he hissed, his eye blazing with intensity. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.”

“Then prove it,” you shot back, your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. “But you can’t, can you? Because you don’t even know how.”

His face fell for a moment, his lips parting as if he might finally say something honest. But, like always, he said nothing. His hands remained at his sides. His body stayed rigid. His words stayed locked behind his clenched teeth.

And then, slowly, he stepped back.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eye flickering with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps were slow, almost hesitant, as if he was waiting for you to call him back. But you didn’t.

He paused at the doorway, his back to you, his head tilted down slightly as if in thought. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“You saw what you wanted to see,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. Then he walked away, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your chamber, the sound of his footsteps echoing long after he was gone.

Aemond sat on the edge of Helaena’s bed, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ground. His silver hair hung loose around his face, casting shadows that made his sharp features look even harsher. Across from him, Helaena sat quietly, her hands resting on her stomach, her eyes distant as if she were somewhere far away.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow, and her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. She wasn’t afraid of the child growing inside her — no, she had faced that before. Her fear was something deeper, something far more personal.

“She’ll think it’s yours,” Helaena whispered, her voice so soft it almost disappeared into the stillness of the room. Her violet eyes, identical to yours, flickered with worry as she glanced at Aemond. “You know she will.”

Aemond lifted his head, his gaze hardening. His jaw clenched as if he were biting back words that threatened to spill. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his fingers clasped tightly together.

“Let them think what they want,” he muttered, his voice low, rough, and filled with quiet fury. “The truth is not theirs to hold.”

“But it is hers,” Helaena replied, her gaze unwavering, her eyes filled with a sadness only she could understand. “She’ll believe it, Aemond. She saw you here with me that night. She saw the way you looked at me.”

Silence hung between them like a noose, suffocating and tense.

Aemond’s eye darted to her, his face hard with frustration. “She saw only what her mind wanted her to see,” he hissed, his voice sharp like the edge of a blade. He pushed himself to his feet, his movements rigid, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “If she had stayed— if she had listened—” His voice cracked, and he stopped himself, breathing deeply to regain control.

“But she didn’t,” Helaena said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her fingers rubbed slow, nervous circles over her stomach. “You let her walk away, brother. You always let her walk away.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, and Aemond felt the pain sharper than he’d ever admit. He knew it was true. He had watched you leave that night. He had watched you cry. He had seen the pain in your eyes and done nothing. He told himself it was for the best, that you needed to calm down, that you’d return.

But you hadn’t.

And now, the whispers in the halls had grown louder. The maids spoke of you leaving Aemond’s chambers in tears and seeking solace in Aegon’s company. Every word of gossip reached his ears like a hammer to his skull, and every mention of your name alongside Aegon’s made his blood boil.

He hated it. He hated him.

His eye turned back to Helaena, and for the first time, he saw his sister not as a reflection of you, but as herself. She looked so small, so fragile, yet braver than anyone gave her credit for.

“This child is Aegon’s,” Helaena said, her eyes filled with certainty. “But she won’t believe that.” Her eyes met his once more, her gaze piercing. “She’ll believe it’s yours.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping with the weight of it all. His hand reached up to press against his face, his fingers rubbing at his temple. He felt the coldness of the sapphire where his eye once was.

“Then I will tell her,” he said finally, his voice steady but cold. “I will tell her everything.”

Helaena tilted her head, watching him closely. “Will she believe you, brother?” she asked softly, her gaze filled with something close to pity. “Or has she already decided to believe someone else?”

Aemond’s breath hitched, and he stood there, frozen. Her words echoed in his mind, louder than the whispers in the hall, louder than his own thoughts. Has she already decided to believe someone else?

The image of you with Aegon flashed in his mind. He could see it so clearly — you brushing past him in the hall without so much as a glance, your hand resting on Aegon’s arm as you laughed at something he said. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It felt real because he knew what jealousy tasted like, and it tasted like ash on his tongue.

His eye burned with something dangerous. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “She is mine.”

Helaena didn’t respond, only lowering her gaze as if she’d already seen the ending to this story. She cradled her stomach gently, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Then you better make her believe that, brother,” she whispered. “Before it’s too late.”

The sound of Aegon's laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and mocking like the clash of steel. Both Aemond and Helena turned toward the doorway, their gazes meeting the sight of Aegon leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed, a twisted grin tugging at his lips.

"Quite the scene, isn't it?" Aegon drawled, slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with mischief and malice. He clapped his hands together lazily, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. "The dutiful husband comforting his dear sister, all while his sweet wife runs to me for solace."

Aemond's entire body stiffened, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but he didn't move. Not yet. His eye stayed locked on Aegon, cold and calculating, the storm brewing behind it barely contained.

"Do you want to know what she said to me, brother?" Aegon asked, his grin widening as he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor with an infuriating rhythm. "She begged me. Begged me, Aemond." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Her voice was so soft, so desperate. 'Make me forget him,' she said. Over and over, like a prayer."

The air in the room grew colder, heavier.

"Shut your mouth, Aegon," Aemond hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. His eye never left Aegon's face, watching every twitch, every smug smile that only fueled his rage.

But Aegon didn't stop. He lived for this-he always had. Pushing people, testing them, until they broke. And now, he was pushing Aemond.

"She didn't want to think of you anymore," Aegon continued, his smile sharp as a blade. He raised his hand, dragging it lazily through his silver hair as if recalling a fond memory. "You should have seen her, brother. The way she clung to me, the way she moaned when I touched her-"

Aemond moved faster than anyone could have seen. His fist collided with Aegon's jaw, the impact echoing like thunder. Aegon stumbled back, his laughter turning into a grunt of pain as he crashed against the stone wall. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes wide with shock before they filled with rage.

"You dare hit me, brother?" Aegon spat, his grin gone, replaced by a snarl. He shoved himself off the wall, advancing like a drunk lion ready for a fight. "Over her? A woman who would rather be in my bed than yours?"

Aemond didn't respond with words. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him against the wall with all his strength, his forearm pressing hard against Aegon's throat. Aegon choked, his eyes narrowing, but he laughed again — that same taunting laugh that made Aemond's blood boil.

"Say it again," Aemond growled, his face inches from Aegon's, his voice colder than the dead of winter. His breath came in sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury. "Say it again, and I will carve the words from your tongue."

Aegon sneered, his eyes wild with reckless defiance. "You should be thanking me, little brother," he rasped, his breath shallow under the pressure on his throat. "I'm the one who gave her what you couldn't."

Aemond's grip tightened, his nails digging into Aegon's skin. His heart pounded like a war drum, his mind screaming with rage, jealousy, and something else he refused to name. His fingers twitched with the desire to crush, to hurt, to silence the man who had always taken everything too far.

"Enough!"

Helena's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Her tone, usually soft and distant, was now sharp and commanding. She had risen from the bed, her hands clenched into small fists at her sides. Her wide, violet eyes stared at both of them, filled with something neither brother had seen before - disgust.

"Look at you," she said, her voice trembling but strong. "Fighting each other like beasts over her. Over a woman you both claim to love." Her eyes flickered to Aemond, disappointment clear in her gaze. "What do you think she would see if she walked in now? Would she see the man she loves, or a monster?"

Her words hit Aemond harder than Aegon ever could. His grip loosened, and he stepped back, his breathing ragged, his mind reeling. He glanced down at his hands, his fingers still curled like claws, and for a moment, he didn't recognize them.

Aegon coughed, rubbing his throat as he leaned heavily against the wall. He glanced at Helena, then back at Aemond, his eyes still sharp but his grin gone. "Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head as he wiped more blood from his mouth. "You'll lose her, Aemond. Just like you're losing everything else."

Aemond didn't react. He didn't move. His eye remained fixed on his hands, his breathing shallow, his mind clouded with doubt. The silence grew heavy, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the halls of the Red Keep.

Helena approached Aemond, her gaze gentle but firm. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "If you truly love her, Aemond," she whispered, her voice soft again, "then stop letting your pride destroy everything you have with her."

Her words lingered in the air like the last breath of a dying man.

Aegon scoffed, his grin slowly returning as he glanced between his siblings. "It's too late, sister," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and heading toward the door. "He already lost her."

His words echoed even after he was gone.

Aemond remained still, his gaze on the ground, his heart heavier than his armor. He felt the weight of every mistake, every missed chance, every time he chose silence over action. He could hear your voice in his head, the way it had cracked when you asked him, "Why am I never enough for you?"

His chest ached with something deeper than pain.

"I haven't lost her," he muttered, his voice hoarse but certain. His eye lifted to meet Helena's gaze, filled with a determination sharper than Valyrian steel. "Not yet."

Aemond stood still, his one eye locked onto you as you burst into his chamber, tears streaming down your face. His heart clenched at the sight, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just listened. Every word that spilled from your lips was like a dagger cutting deeper and deeper into him.

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” you hissed, your voice raw with pain. “You think I don’t see it — how you look at her, how you always choose her.” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your face angrily, as if frustrated with yourself for crying in front of him. “But I see it, Aemond. I see everything, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Each word was a blow, but Aemond didn’t flinch. He didn’t dare. He felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands, his jaw so tight it ached. He wanted to tell you that it wasn’t true. He wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs, to deny it, to beg for your forgiveness. But something stopped him — maybe it was pride, or maybe it was the weight of his own guilt.

“Say something!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain. “Say something, Aemond! Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that I matter to you!”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. His heart was at war with his mind. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that you were the only one who mattered to him. But the words refused to come out. His lips moved, but no sound followed.

You stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, searching his face for something — anything — that would tell you he still loved you. But all you saw was silence.

“Pathetic,” you whispered, voice low but filled with venom. Your eyes, once so soft and full of love, were now hardened by hurt. “Pathetic.”

That was when he moved, his body finally catching up to his heart. His hand twitched, ready to reach for you, to pull you close and never let you go. But before he could close the distance, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Wait,” he choked out, his voice hoarse and weak, but you didn’t stop.

He watched you disappear beyond the door, his world crumbling as your absence hit him harder than any physical blow. His breath quickened, chest heaving as anger swirled inside him like a storm.

“Seven Hells!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. His rage exploded. He swept his arm across the table, sending goblets, scrolls, and plates crashing to the floor. His breath came in sharp, shallow pants as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

His vision blurred with red. His heart ached more than his clenched fists as he slammed one of them against the stone wall, the sharp crack of bone meeting stone reverberating through the room. Pain shot through his hand, but he didn’t care. He hit it again. And again. And again.

“You’re a fool,” he hissed to himself through gritted teeth, his forehead pressing against the cold wall. “A damned fool.”

His breath was shaky now, his heart still pounding like a war drum in his chest. His eyes darted to the door where you had disappeared. He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening with resolve.

This is not how it ends.

His breath steadied, though his hands still shook from the adrenaline. His heart still ached with the ghost of your words, but he wasn’t about to let it end this way. Not this time.

“Not again,” he muttered, his voice like steel. Not again.

Aemond’s grip on the reins was so tight his knuckles turned white, the leather creaking under the strain. His jaw was set in a hard line, his chest heaving with every breath as if the air itself burned him from the inside out. Each word from you and your mother echoed in his mind like a war drum.

“The marriage will be annulled.”

His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest, trampled underfoot by those very words. His face betrayed nothing, but the storm within him was uncontrollable. It churned and boiled with rage, pain, and desperation. How dare they? How dare they think they could take you away from him?

The horse’s hooves pounded against the stone path with a steady, thunderous rhythm as he made his way to the Dragonpit. His silver hair flew wildly behind him, his cloak billowing like the wings of a dragon about to take flight. The cold wind bit at his skin, but he welcomed the sting — it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.

His one eye remained fixed ahead, sharp as Valyrian steel, unblinking, unwavering. No one takes her from me. No one.

The guards stationed at the entrance to the Dragonpit stiffened at his arrival but said nothing. They could see the fury in his stride, the storm in his gaze. No one dared to stop him. No one ever did.

He strode through the cavernous hall, his footsteps echoing like distant thunder. The air smelled of ash and dragonfire. Shadows danced along the walls from the flickering flames of braziers, making him appear larger, more fearsome, like the very shadow of death itself.

His eyes sought one dragon and one dragon only. Vhagar. The old beast lay curled in the farthest corner, her massive body rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes opened, glowing with ancient intelligence. She sensed his turmoil, his fury, his need for destruction.

“Come, Vhagar,” he muttered darkly, his voice hoarse but commanding. The great dragon shifted, her scales scraping against stone as she uncurled her massive form. Her eyes remained locked on him, unblinking, understanding. She had seen this before — the rage of a Targaryen in his purest, rawest form.

He climbed onto her back without hesitation, his fingers curling tightly around the leather straps. The air was thick with the heat of dragonfire, and he breathed it in like it was salvation.

“Fly,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion. “Take me away from them. Take me away from her.”

With a mighty roar, Vhagar unfurled her wings, her ancient bones creaking but still powerful. The gust of wind from her wings sent dust and loose stone scattering across the pit. Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest as they rose higher and higher, the Red Keep shrinking beneath them. The cold air stung his face, but he didn’t care. The higher they went, the lighter he felt, like the weight of the world could only be shed in the skies.

His eye scanned the world below, and the city of King’s Landing sprawled out like a living, breathing thing. Its people were ants, scurrying in their small, insignificant lives. It would be so easy to burn it all. So easy.

But it wasn’t them he wanted to burn. It was the helplessness. The rage. The pain.

His hands gripped the straps tighter, his breathing sharp and unsteady. His heart was a storm, a wild, untamed thing, and every beat echoed one thought: She’s mine.

They think they can take her from me?

His vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Targaryens don’t cry. Targaryens don’t beg. But his heart didn’t care for the pride of kings. It only knew that you were being taken from him.

“Dracarys,” he muttered under his breath.

Vhagar roared, the ancient sound shaking the very clouds. Fire erupted from her jaws, a golden inferno that lit up the sky. Below, the people of King’s Landing glanced up in fear, pointing at the streak of fire that illuminated the night like a second sun.

Aemond watched it burn, his eye reflecting the flames. His heart was still heavy, his mind still clouded, but at least now — just for a moment — he could feel something other than the ache of losing you.

But the fire would burn out. It always did. And once it was gone, all that remained was the cold, empty silence.

Aemond's footsteps echoed heavily through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. Each step was faster, harder, fueled by the growing rage that burned hotter with every passing moment.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aegon.

His brother's name repeated in his mind like a curse. How dare he? How dare he humiliate Helena like this? Begging their mother to dissolve his marriage as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient arrangement. As if Helena, their sweet, kind Helena, was unworthy.

The image of her tear-streaked face flashed in his mind. She had sat there on his bed, trembling, her voice cracking as she tried to explain what had happened. Her confusion, her pain — it all became fuel for the wildfire of rage in his chest.

His boots hit the floor harder now, his stride more determined. The servants he passed shrank against the walls, their eyes cast down to avoid his gaze. No one dared to speak. No one dared to stop him. Everyone knew what that look on Prince Aemond's face meant.

He reached Aegon's door. The two guards stationed there glanced at each other, unsure if they should intervene. Aemond didn't give them the chance to consider it. With one swift kick, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand, his tunic disheveled as if he'd just woken from a long, lazy nap. He blinked in surprise at the sudden intrusion, wine sloshing over his fingers. His shock was quickly replaced with his usual smirk.

"Well, well," Aegon drawled, wiping the spilled wine on his sleeve. "To what do I owe the pleasure, brother?"

Aemond said nothing at first. His single eye burned like dragonfire, sharp and unyielding.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Aegon's smirk faltered.

"You went to Mother," Aemond said, his voice low but seething with restrained fury. "You begged her to annul your marriage to Helaena."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance as he sat up, setting the goblet aside. "I don't see how that's your concern, brother." He shrugged, his grin returning with a hint of mockery. "If I don't want to be chained to a woman who speaks in riddles and stares at bugs all day, that's my choice, isn't it?"

Aemond moved so fast Aegon barely had time to react. In an instant, Aemond had grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up from the bed with the strength of a man possessed. Aegon's grin vanished, replaced with panic.

"Listen to me, you drunken fool," Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, his face inches from Aegon's. His voice was deathly quiet, but it carried more weight than a thousand roars.

"You can humiliate yourself all you like. Drink, stumble, wallow in filth. I care not."

He slammed Aegon against the nearest wall with a thud, making the wooden frame of the bed creak behind them. "But you will not disgrace Helena. You will not break her."

"Since when do you care so much about Helaena?" Aegon sneered, squirming in Aemond's grip. "Is it guilt, brother? Or is it something more?" He chuckled darkly. "Do you wish it was you in my place? Is that it? You always did have a soft spot for her, didn't you? Perhaps you'd rather she warm your bed-"

Aemond's fist connected with Aegon's face before he could finish the sentence. The crack of bone echoed through the chamber, and Aegon stumbled, blood already trickling from his nose.

"You forget yourself, brother," Aemond growled, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding in his ears. "Speak her name with respect or I will carve it into your tongue."

Aegon wiped the blood from his face, laughing bitterly. His eyes were filled with something darker now, but he didn't move to fight back. Instead, he leaned against the wall, staring at Aemond with a knowing look.

"You act like you're doing this for her," Aegon said, his voice rasping as he spat blood onto the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "But it's not her you're thinking about, is it?" His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a grin. "It's her. Your little wife. That's why you're really angry, isn't it? Because you can't stand to see me touching her."

Aemond's breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides. He said nothing. But his silence was answer enough.

Aegon's grin widened, his eyes lighting up with wicked delight. "Hit too close to home, did I, brother?" He tilted his head, eyes full of mock sympathy. "Don't worry. I'm sure she'll come crying to me again. She always does, doesn't she? She likes it when someone actually touches her."

Aemond's world went red. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him to the ground. His fists came down like hammers, blow after blow, each strike fueled by rage and jealousy. Aegon's grunts and gasps echoed through the room, but Aemond didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until the fury in his chest burned out.

It took the guards bursting in and pulling him back for him to stop. Two of them grabbed his arms, holding him in place, their strained voices calling his name. "Prince Aemond! Stop! Stop, my prince!"

Aegon lay on the ground, coughing and groaning, blood dripping from his nose, his lip split wide open. Despite the bruises swelling on his face, he still had the audacity to laugh.

"Careful, little brother," Aegon croaked, grinning through bloody teeth. "If you break me too much, there won't be anyone left for her to run to."

Aemond wrenched himself free from the guards' grip, his chest heaving as he glared down at his brother. He wiped his bloodied knuckles on his tunic and leaned in close, his voice deathly quiet.

"She'll never run to you again," Aemond promised, his voice laced with venom. "If you so much as look at her, I will carve your eyes from your skull and feed them to Vhagar."

News of your pregnancy hit Aemond like a blow he couldn’t dodge. His fury burned hot, an uncontrollable fire raging within him. On the training grounds, he swung his sword with unrelenting force, each strike harder and faster than the last. Ser Criston barely managed to block each blow, his face growing tense from the effort it took to hold his ground.

“Aemond! That’s enough!” Ser Criston shouted, raising his sword to parry another wild swing. “Control yourself!”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. His eye was sharp with rage, his gaze distant and filled with something more dangerous than mere anger — betrayal. Their swords clashed, a sharp metallic clang echoing across the courtyard. Sparks flew from the impact. Ser Criston staggered back, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself.

“You think I don’t know?!” Aemond roared, his voice rough, strained, like the growl of a dragon ready to breathe fire. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His violet eye gleamed with raw fury. “They all know. They whisper behind my back. They mock me. She mocks me.”

“Aemond!” Ser Criston stepped forward, his sword lowered in caution. “No one is mocking you. You’re a prince, a warrior, a Targaryen.”

“Shut up!” Aemond snarled, swinging his sword so violently that it nearly disarmed Criston. The Kingsguard narrowly dodged, his face shifting from concern to controlled anger.

“That’s enough!” Ser Criston’s voice boomed with authority, louder than before. “You want to fight them all? Fine. But don’t be a fool and strike down the ones still on your side!”

Aemond froze. His chest heaved as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. His eye locked on Criston with an intensity that could break stone. But then, slowly, his gaze shifted to the ground. His grip loosened, and with a sharp clang, his sword fell from his hand, hitting the stone floor with a loud, echoing crash.

The entire training yard went silent. The guards and servants nearby glanced at one another, unsure of what had just happened.

Aemond turned away, his face as blank and cold as a winter sea. But inside, a storm raged. Guilt. Anger. Shame.

He let you go.

He saw you cry in Aegon’s arms, and he did nothing.

He let you fall into Aegon’s embrace.

And now, you were carrying Aegon’s child.

Aemond pressed his hands against his face, fingers digging into his skin, as if trying to claw the image out of his mind. But it wouldn’t leave. The whispers from the servants echoed in his ears like a chorus of mockery. He could still see Aegon’s smug grin, could still hear his brother’s taunting laughter.

“I should have stopped it,” he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse, barely audible. “I should have stopped you.”

His hands lowered slowly, and his eye glowed with new resolve. His jaw tightened, his face hard as steel. His heart may have been torn apart by guilt, but there was one truth that remained clear to him.

He would not lose you.

No matter whose child you carried.

No matter what Aegon claimed.

No matter what anyone said.

You belonged to him.

And he would take you back.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[heizouz]

kazuha thoughts kazuha thoughts

sub kazuha x gn!reader - dumbification, use of the pet name 'puppy', falling into submission, cock can be referred to as a strap

this was supposed to be something else but then i just kept going and could stop uhhhhh sub kazuha word vomit ig bc... that's my pretty boy mfmfff i love kazuha

kazuha who's usually super soft, gentle touches, pretty smiles.

kazuha that likes his independence, so quiet and so unsuspecting.

and kazuha who can't keep his pretty little whimpers to himself at the feeling of your cock plunging into his hole.

kazuha who can't force out a word other than ‘please’ under his breath and through desperate gasps.

kazuha who hardly swears, but quiet pleading constant whimpers of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ fall from parted lips as his head is pinned to the sheets and your cock fills him so good. tying his arms behind his back with pretty red rope, having him left powerless under your control, especially when you grab the rope and use it to drag him along your cock like he's your pretty doll. slowing down when kazuha gets louder and louder, knowing it's a sign that he's completely dropping into submission and carding your fingers through his soft hair.

whispering ‘kazuha, baby?’ as he lets out shaky breaths and tiny whimpers, hips slowly pistoning back to chase the feeling of your cock again. tugging at his hair a little, pulling his head from the sheets and tilting your own to turn and look at your pretty boy, a smile tugging at your lips at his pretty dazed eyes.

kazuha who pleads with his pretty puppy dog eyes, hands tugging at the red rope in desperation and letting out stupid moans from his pouty lips. slowly edging yourself back in and starting with a quicker pace, hand staying curled in his hair but your other going to his hip to grab and pull him along your cock.

kazuha who's usually so smart and quick thinking, incredibly tough and impressive.

and kazuha that now can't do anything but whimper and cry as you press his back into an arch to hit deeper, as you keep a tight but loving hold of his hair to keep him in place, as you whisper quietly about how good he feels and how pretty he is.

kazuha who's eyes roll back and shoves his face into the sheets to muffle his moans in embarrassment when you moan that he's just a ‘pretty dumb boy’, that he's all fucked out on your cock, that he's squeezing around you over your words. that he's just a stupid little puppy that's so desperate to be fucked.