#like for all we know this is way everything in both realms are at an 11

[what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil]

Chapter 15: Zero Context Spoilers

I fucking knew it, I fucking knew it, I fucking KNEW IT!!! These greedy ass bitches, these vain power hungry narcissistic bastards, these holier than thou ass c—!!!

I'm calm, I'm comprosed, I'm good

Let's continue

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ideal scenario is that i like thinking about this like, essential short story adventure where winston and tuk hook up w/a couple [that bachelorette party] members, and as a foursome/quartet because they have these parallel stories of two pairs of friends who are like "sure i'd have sex with you if things aligned for that" and now are living that short story about expanding a dynamic & becoming closer friends for the end of it (of course billions only wrote winston as standing next to tuk next episode, instead of rian as he's often written to be standing with incl in a previous finale, to shove him out of the path of getting material and let taylor have confusing nonresolution w/rian based on this proximity and coincidence instead. but who can't say that that, And winston next not even trying to sit with tmc in the last finale appearance which at this point is probably for the best and instead again hanging out with tuk and then ben, isn't about having been closer for whatever all happened there in obtaining casual sex together)

and they can have perpendicular stories of also just having some nice chats and enjoying other interactions together such that maybe it's just fun for this one night of crossing paths, maybe anyone stays in touch at all, who even knows, if winston or tuk are dating anyone it's probably only going to come up again in how they were last dumped for being too much effort for how unepic they are, so godspeed to offscreen unmentioned dating. but just friendly acquaintanceship, or again this one-time spontaneously crossed paths night's acquaintanceship, is also a lot of fun. and why not imagine that winston "he's not allowed to not feel self-loathing or, by doing basic things like talking or initiating Or oppositng anything, Not operating as though he's too low in a social hierarchy here to be allowed thusly" type of material where his spontaneity, vivacity to bon vivantocity, self-assurance that is apparently arrogance/aggression to every who thinks he ought to be self-effacing instead, etc, is actually just a social success in other less wretched non-work situations, and his personality is taken as a contribution to the proceedings even before anyone takes up his proffered contribution of himself as a potential sexual partner. and lending confidence to tuk as like one person who won't, at any given time, go into hostile mode with him or even like take up the position of issuing this criticism, which is an inherently elevated (over tuk) one when it's a unilateral thing. such that tuk's personality can be a potential contribution as well. and winston and tuk's Friendship Developing Moments can be happening then, too, b/c Maybe they've hung out outside work on their own aleady, but also maybe they've never really been interacting with a larger group outside work, such that that group is less likely to include some people, or entirely people, who will suddenly go sicko mode on either or both of them. and then meanwhile, who knows anything abt this bachelorette party, could be already a cohesive friend group who all see each other all the time, or people who see each other more infrequently meeting up on this trip, or a mix; could be fun and chill or something so scheduled/demanding it's kind of like a work trip, or fluctuate....and of course zero info abt the individuals such that imagining anything abt them is entire OC territory, and i'm bad at that, or at coming up with stories, so not exactly a lot of details here from me but godspeed if two of them unlock another tier of friendship here b/c like parallel to winston and tuk, they're like hmm okay so we're mutually down re: potentially having a foursome here, and spending some time away from the larger group

(or of course the scenario that tuk and winston can also have that moment but just as putting "and/or: a threesome?" as an option, and that tips the scales for someone who might've otherwise felt more indecisive like "hmmmm casual convenient hookup, or spending more time out & about like this / whatever other activity...." but then is like oho Well, if it's a threesome, i'll seize that opportunity, sure....such that then maybe afterwards [winston and tuk hanging out together] happens sooner, if the third member feels more third wheel about things lol, since now they'd be the only two who already know each other. like ooh who knows, round n+1 in the aftermath just one on one (and/or i mean, maybe another thing the third party's still around for, re: further casual sex opportunities that don't just fall into your lap every day), and/or talk, watch tron together, go back out on the town even. where the conclusion of this truly is the essence of "it Is easy to imagine that winston and tuk are real Genuine Friends for the implicit further offscreen time spent together outside work / interactions between them here. and fun" and with that flair of "and give that a juxtaposed parallel in it being the same for a couple bachelorette attendees, why not, good for them"

[hedgehog-moss]

I was talking with a friend the other day about how I was fascinated with American school life when I was a teen because it seemed so different from how things are in my country (I knew about US high schools thanks to Hollywood, an accurate and trustworthy source) and we talked about which aspects of US schools felt foreign or strange to us and one thing I brought up was, how American teens only seemed to have like 15min for lunch (I had 1h30 here in France), as evidenced by the cafeteria scenes (no one seemed to eat a proper four-course meal? I definitely never saw a separate cheese course), and I was like, I envied a lot of stuff about US schools but not this

... and I went looking in my old diaries to see if I ever wrote about this, and you know what? I was wrong. I did envy their school lunches which, like almost everything about US schools, felt intriguing and different and cool. The reason middle school-me thought American school lunches were superior to French ones is because, since American teens in TV shows only seemed to get like 4 chicken nuggets and a milk carton for lunch, their lunch tray was very light and they could hold it with one hand under it, the other hand in their pocket or holding their bag strap on their shoulder all casual-like. Sometimes there was no tray, even!

I envied these American teenagers for their lunchtime nonchalance. I would have liked to handle lunch in this cool-cat way but my French lunch tray being loaded with 4 different heavy and breakable plates, I had to hold it carefully with both hands. In my view this was unfair as the hindrance of governmental nutrition guidelines made French students look like uptight nerds, unable to strut around the cafeteria with one hand in our pocket like we didn’t care. Same for the absence of lockers in our schools, we had to carry all our books on our back all day like studious turtles whilst the beautiful 25 year old American teens on my television casually leant against their lockers chatting with friends then strolled around school with just a couple of books tucked under their arm like they were in Dead Poets Society. Thank god there was an ocean between us, imagine a French kid entering a US school cafeteria carrying 3 binders and 5 textbooks in their big rucksack and holding their tray with two hands like a complete loser

Note that these comparisons are quite worthless since I don't know what US school life / food is like in the real world (I imagine it varies a lot!)—I just find it funny to re-read old diaries and discover what was important to kid-me. Discussing these little cultural differences gleaned from US TV series, adult!me is like "yeah I remember being intrigued & envious about a lot of things! Not their school lunches though, they didn't look balanced and nutritious"—meanwhile middle school-me, focused on what mattered, was like, imagine what we could be... imagine being able to hold your lunch tray with 1 hand instead of 2 thus accessing a realm of coolness unfathomable to us in our backward country

[controld3vil]

here we stand

pairing: jacerys velaryon x mormont!reader

synopsis: news had broken out that the throne has been usurped. jacerys rides his way to winterfell, the end to the north where he meets cregan stark. and in evidently, you, lady mormont of bear island.

notes: first of all, HE LOOKS SO GOOD w/ long hair !! also this mentions the first scene in s2 ep 1, i just tweeked a few things where now jacerys receives the terrible news days after getting acquitted in at winterfell. and bc i wished for more jace & cregan interaction >:( no beta reading btw !!

Duty is sacrifice.

All know of it. It bypasses any blood or foe. To honor one's duty is to sacrifice one's possessions. And oaths can last long over through generations. It is bypassing children and their children. It is the utmost fidelity any honorable man should know. If for the Seven Kingdoms and everyone at stake at what's beyond the Wall. A barrier that towers over seven hundred feet from what lies more gruesome than death.

Your cousin, Cregan Stark took up the responsibility as Lord of Winterfell, sometime after the passing of his father, Rickon Stark. He's a noble lad, he took upon the role at the age of six and ten. He was young but quickly learned how to command and serve the people. Much like his House's words, he understood what was coming. Though unexpected news of an envoy from Dragonstone had landed him in monetary consideration. Of what's to come with his men and the upcoming raging war.

"This is only late summer snow, my prince. In winter it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten." The metal chamber that brings them to the top of the Wall stops and both men walk out into the cold winter bridge. It's desolate and high in altitude.

Jacaerys could only imagine what it would feel like in wintertime, where there is nothing else but ice. "It pleases me that over a century ago our ancestors were treated in this very place. The Conqueror and the King in the North." His brown hair, inches longer, flutters past the cold air. Even with his blood, the descendant of the ferocious fire-breathing creatures, his heart still churns with a chill.

"You at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon." The Lord of Winterfell smiles, eyeing the prince's reaction to the weather. No Southerner would know the true cold past summer.

The crowned prince returns his grin, looking out into the view beyond the Wall. From seven hundred feet above, everything, even the trees and people looked small. A wall that has been built this tall must offer security for what's beyond more terrifying than wildings and foes.

"While your men stand to protect against wildings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp my mother's throne. It is the duty of the Seven Kingdoms, and you, as Lord of Winterfell, to uphold your oaths sworn to the heir to the Iron Throne," Jacaerys gaze moves across where his eyes can take him off the Wall. It stretches out ridiculously long with men at every post. He has passed by a few to know whether or not, it was their obligation to join the Night's Watch, it was now their vow to protect this sacred place. However, he needed to remind Lord Stark of his reason for visiting. If the realm remained unbalanced, even Winterfell would not prosper.

"Starks do not forget our oaths, my prince," Cregan restates, with a look of sympathy and seriousness. "But you must know that my gaze will forever fall between the north and south. Here, in the winter, my duty to the Wall is more dire than what I ought in King's Landing. I need my men."

The prince of Dragonstone's look flickers, questionably. Until a holler from one of the watchmen signals Cregan of a visitor. He nods before glancing back at Jacaerys to dismiss him. A soft courtesy of his name before stepping down the post to greet the newcomer.

The cranks of the elevator come to a final stop. Before a pair of boots shuffle out of the old compartment to be met with the face of your cousin. Cregan's eyes meet yours in surprise and you subconsciously feel your shoulders untensed.

"Cousin,"

"Lady Mormont," He says with utmost respect as he can decipher the faint footsteps from behind Dragonstone's envoy. "What reason may you come to visit the Wall?"

"I received word that a messenger from Dragonstone came," Your bear fur coat holds you snug to protect you from the harsh winds. And your embroidered gloves, made from leather and deer fur have kept your fingers from freezing off during the trip to the edge of Winterfell. Your hands clasp together in an assertion. "Though I can already see he has arrived." Your soft stare transfigures onto Jacaerys and the sudden attention makes him slightly step aback.

Your lord gives you a playful look before turning back. "My prince, this is Lady Mormont of Bear Island. She is a close friend of mine and cousin." As embarrassed as the prince was, he could feel heat run up his spine as Jacaerys struggled to say anything welcoming.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Mormont,"

"The pleasure is mine," You blink innocently before addressing yet again your reason for presence. “Come, discuss matters over the fire,” 

Eventually, a week has gone by with Jacaerys Velayron’s stay. His extended stay has left questions and concerns for the townsfolk. However, Cregan reassures them, replying to them in short curt responses. In all, he explains the prince should rest before riding back to Dragonstone as it was a few days' journey from the North. This brought no rejection from either party and allowed the two boys to catch up and take into consideration the risks. 

You were always welcome at Winterfell. When you were little, your father, Lord Mormont, visited the black castle occasionally to meet with Lord Stark. The maids and servants knew you well as well as the Starks. They treated you like their own blood despite you being a distinct relative from a faraway island. Rare at times would they come to visit your home. Your homeland was not as welcoming as Winterfell some may say. Your House resided over lone shores, topped with horrific rock structures and charcoal reefs. A ruthless and barbaric landmark for the House of the Bear. 

“I appreciate your hospitality, Lord Stark,” Jacaerys starts, holding his ale cup to drink as all of the other guests gather to feast for the night. The three of you alongside Cregan’s son, Rickon, were seated at the high table, enjoying the luxurious scene before you all.

Large condiments of meats, pastries, and wine for the people, nobles of the Northmen. Feasts were something that brought together everyone during harsh times. In times of violence or sorrow, it is the shared appreciation you all must endure to move forward. That is true of what the people of the North had that no other House had. The Velaryron prince gives you an appreciative smile. “And to you, Lady Mormont, I thank you for your sincere support of my mother’s claim.”

“Here we stand,” You raise your goblet, reciting your very House words. True to what it meant, your family stood prepared for what days would come to an end. You understood one day you have a place in something greater when the moment was right and here it was now, lying right in front of you. Mormonts are known to be willing to fight even when the odds are against them. So were you when you declared fealty to Cregan Stark, your dear cousin. Your loyalty towards him would only mean you would go to the ends of the Earth to fulfill your promise. “And here we fight for the queen.” 

Despite not having Rhaenyra, her son knew she would be fond of you. Your attitude and strong integrity were something few held at King’s Landing. He acknowledged that people may not agree with his mother’s claim. However, there will always be those who still believe and support her. You are one of those people. Despite being hundreds of miles away from King’s Landing, Cregan and you showed fealty and loyalty to the oaths sworn nearly a decade ago. Some day, he wishes his mother would meet you. 

“Of course,” Cregan begins, settling his cup down, before patting for his son to come towards him. “With the men we have, it is guaranteed they’d be ready to march the earliest as of the morrow” Rickon starts off his wooden seat and shuffles to his father’s lap. A clumsy stumble and the Lord of Winterfell picks up the child with ease with a soft smile. “From there, the men will march to King’s Landing.”

“Then I should leave by the morrow,” Rhaenyra’s son places his arms on the table.

Your heart skips a half second, knowing that the time you spent together would be short-lived eventually. The prince was sent as a messenger, nothing more. His stay was long overdue, though no word from Dragonstone has the eyes of the ravens yet. It sinks to you momentarily when you place the last piece of meat into your mouth and down the last drops of your ale. 

“Yes, your visit has been short-lived,” Your cousin sighs, too aware of how the brief meeting would be over. Jacaerys was a good friend, being the same age as him, Cregan felt well acquainted with him. He had only wished that they had met under different circumstances and times. Perhaps when war wages on, they would meet again on the battlefield or after they have won against the Greens. Speculation of what was next was unknown. “But you have our support, my prince. Do not fret, we will prepare for what the Hightowers plan.” 

Jacaerys nods, understandably. He turns to you who sweetly bobs your head in agreement. How delicate your features looked in the dim ambers of the Winter halls. He’s enamored by your presence with how often he gravitates towards your direction.

He had always assumed Northern women would be different from Southerners. They were different. Northerners were divine in their way. You excluded such poise and delicacy, Jacaerys sometimes couldn’t help but become curious of you. Your hobbies, what you liked to do, what was your favorite food, and your most desired ambitions. Southerners in King’s Landing were graceful and fragile like the summer breeze. However, you were like a chilly snow cast. The cold, it’s welcoming and he constantly feels chills running down his spine whenever your eyes meet. 

“Now what do you think of the North?” Your lord light-heartedly brings up to lighten the mood. You and Cregan enjoyed the short mornings with the prince. The limited time you shared allowed for intimate discussions and a way to become acquainted with one another. The people, how things functioned, and how you adapted to the cold. It’s far much different than what he’s accustomed to in Dragonstone, where his home echoed through miles.  Compared to the North, Winterfell was exceptionally enormous but had a sense of home and warmth. 

“It’s different from Dragonstone,” The brown-haired envoy laughs, showing quite fond forever his home. “My home resides by the sea, surrounded by the high tides and rough shores. The castle is covered in obsidian stone and is known to be indestructible. My family has lived there for centuries now.” 

“How fascinating,” Your cousin breathes, showing his teeth. “I’ve heard stories about Dragonstone. Some say you can find dragon eggs deep in the mountains.”

“That is true, our dragons reside in caves. They lay their eggs in crystallized magma. Our dragon masters look after the eggs and know when the time is right to harvest them.” 

“What happens when a dragon egg doesn't hatch?” You lean your head forward, hands clasped together again. Learning about his family and their customs kept your interest for a long time. Not many Southern Houses come to visit from King’s Landing. They rather stay where it is warm and avoid the uncomfortable weather and travel to the North. Your eagerness was appreciated when Jacearys considered your question. 

“We wouldn’t know for sure when they would or would not hatch. We simply wait it out.” He quirks a gentle smile when your gaze is sort of magnetic. It’s like you were in a trance every time he spoke of anything he was interested in. 

“How long have you waited for one to hatch?” Cregan picks up his cup again to refill while his son pivots to run to the other side of the table, only to be greeted by you. With big smiles, you gladly carried the child to your side. 

“A few years,” Jacearys remembers the day well. He remembers his brother Joffrey, struggling and whining to his mother about his egg. He was as young as four, however in the first three years of his life, his dragon had not hatched. It’s a mystery when the dragon decides to break out of its shell. He was fortunate with Vermax after months of being born, his companion was right beside him from the start. Lucerys had a similar reaction. Rhaenyra often told stories of many instances of good and bad hatchlings alongside their rider. Some may not have been awakened by its rider, for they might have been dead already. The unknown enigma of those ferocious beasts pales in the prince’s head.

“It must’ve been unpleasant,” You joked, hugging Rickon tightly, having his cheek meet with yours. The young boy giggles loudly, taking hold of both of your cheeks in excitement. 

The atmosphere felt sublime and almost too perfect. Here in the warmth and formality of the Stark Household, everyone was lively and heeded no sorrows. How the prince wished upon the same for Dragonstone. If only the realm was brought together and the Hightowers had not usurped his mother’s throne despite her rightful claim. Would his family be united and happy finally?

He wasn’t sure as Jacaerys had never known familial love on his mother’s side. Both of his uncles vexed him, Luke and Joffrey. Helaena was kind, however, never showing malice towards him and his brothers. But the Hand of the King, and Queen Regent. Quiet in their schemes and distaste for bastards. 

Affection is what fills the prince’s chest with glee. As he scans the dining room of men, women, and children, they all feast and brawl over pointless endeavors. The scent of mead and hot fresh meat fills the room with chaotic laughter and nonsensical bubbling. In another time and place, Jacaerys would have been thrilled to visit Winterfell during this time of year. 

And his gaze slowly follows the wisp of your faint figure by the fireplace. With the heir of House Stark, you blow raspberry kisses against Rickon’s hot cheeks. As the boy squeals in delight, grabbing at the ends of your hair like ropes on the ship, bouncing them back and forth. You were good to Rickon, Jacaerys knows you care for the boy like it were your son. He thinks Cregan is grateful to have someone's endearment and protection toward his son. For the lack of a maternal figure had been long gone. You would be a great mother one day, he deciphers. You constantly fiddle Rickon’s hair which reminds him of his mother when he was little. 

It was such a faint memory that stuck in his mind whenever he saw you with the children. Rhaenyra would question him if she were here. Mothers had a knack for spotting things such as things. The prince knew of his interest in you. However, would you do the same if he made them clear as day?

You never said anything to him. It makes him question if you were truly interested or not. You’ve shown fondness over meals and spoke of jokes whenever he came out to the stables, where his poor dragon, Vermax, gruntled in the snow. 

“I’m sorry the farmers could not do much to help your dragon!” You shouted out one day in the early sunrise. He takes a few steps from his companion to find you in white fur coats and boots. You looked beautiful, the color suits you. As elegant and dainty as the pigment of his mother’s hair. Your locks were braided halfway with the rest, flowing down from your ears to your shoulders. “We don’t often have dragons visit us in the North!”

The prince laughs with small puffs of his breath becoming visible. “The stable boys did a fine job in accompanying Vermax.” At the call of his dragon’s name, it slowly hovers over his dragon rider. It purrs warmly in the frost as your eyes glower in fascination.

“He’s beautiful,” Your voice is nearly breathless at the size difference Vermax has over the buildings and people. It is a creature that comes far beyond your imagination and fairy tales. It's olive green scale prickle in delight as your eyes began to wonder back and forth. Dragons were rare in the North and it must’ve been a relentless recurrence for the people in King’s Landing. 

The prince hums before kicking a chunk of frozen dirt. He makes an effort to be bold for once. “Would you like to pet him?” 

You looked shook and it made him struggle to keep a composed posture. You stumble to make any words come out of your mouth. “I- May I?” 

“Of course,” The dragon rider comes forward and grabs your hand, dragging himself closer to the beast. The sudden contact and closure make your heart beat faster than anticipated. As you find yourself glancing up at its reptilian eyes. In horror, you hold your ground, wanting nothing more than to back away. “It’s alright, he won’t hurt you.” 

Jacery’s reassurance doesn't comfort you as you resist his grip on your wrist. Vermax merely stands, grumbling in curiosity as to your stricken presence. It’s trying to inquire about your anxiety when it was the reason for it in the first place.

Taking a short take of air, you stand in place. You did your best to calm your breathing, feeling a hand on your lower back to support you. Your dainty eyes meet the prince. And within contact, it felt as though you felt everything would be alright. His touch soothed your racing heart as you excelled forward, step by step closer to the beast. For you, it must’ve felt like the clock had slowed down when you were merely inches away from Vermax. Its enormous size was breathtaking and you could make your lungs free of oxygen again. 

Yet your state of mind returns when the queen’s heir comes into view. The air felt a tension between fear and anxiety. It was both exhilarating and terrifying for someone who has never seen a dragon up close before. You took the last big step when you lifted your fingers above its nose. 

Vermax shivered and at the last minute, you wanted to back out. Until Jacaerys hand envelopes over your hand to pet his companion. With such care and attentiveness, you should have realized the prince’s advances towards you by now.

The Godswood was a welcoming pastime you’ve grown to respect. With the decline in visits, you’ve come to value the historic tree for what it stood for and the ancestral value it had over your people. Cregan did not mind whenever you went away to pay your respects. He knew how important it was to you to respect the old gods and the new. War was coming. If you were going to support Rhaenyra, you only wish for your men to come out victorious. 

You were no war-picking woman. But death was something you’ve come to accept recently. The passing of Rickon Stark brought a hole in your heart. You mourned in your ways, and so did Cregan when you had heard he had taken the mantle as Lord of Winterfell. He still is a young man, barely over six and ten. The best you could do was offer your presence and time. To him, being present with the people and acting lively was enough for him to regain his mind. Everyone looked up to Rickon for what he stood for and the House. There is no doubt Cregan would do the same in the coming time to King’s Landing. 

“It’s saddening, isn’t it?” You breathe into the crisp air, only to feel your throat grow dry. But the person behind you knows you were referring to them. “How war affects us all.” 

The prince of Dragonstone steps out from the shadows. His steps were slow and gruff, still worn out from the feast and the massive amount of ale that was offered to him. But you were the only thing that had piqued his interest. You were quiet, not expecting an answer from him. Until he stepped and stopped right beside you, shoulders nearly touching but inches apart. Your bear coat was held loosely on you as he recalled you too struggled to leave the dining table. You all drank too much tonight. 

“The Godswood know of it all. They see everything,” The bear bronze sigil shines past his peripherals when he cannot meet your gaze. You were not drunk enough to do something reckless but not too sober to do anything either. 

In return, all you could ever see was Jacaerys furrowed expression. He’s contemplating something. But you choose to stare and take in his features with such interest and curiosity. His soft and tranquil pout resembles much of a wolf you’ve seen. As though his curly strands, which you would imagine, are dim to the touch. The prince holds assertiveness in his duty, falling into the role of heir as for his queen. Perhaps he’s everything that his mother stood for. You admired it. 

“Know you and your men's contributions would be known,” He whispers, it’s clear you could feel his breath close to your neck. The dark clouds could not even hide the indisputable truth. The crescent moon gleams somewhere in the far distance you can’t seem to find. But you know what’s true. Because moments ago, you could discern his distance inches away. Now it seems that he wants to close the gap by the second. “And that…”

“That we did our duties, nothing more.” You pant, unable to keep your eyes from moving from his gaze and lips. Strands of his dark brown hair trickle against your cheeks as you take one last glimpse at your prince. If any of this was acceptable. You wouldn’t exceed further to know he’d reject your proclaimed assumptions. 

But nothing happens. It was as though the chill in the air had changed. When another figure reappears out of the shadows and into the light. Jacaerys distances himself from you. While you did your best to compose yourself for being caught red-handed by a servant boy.

“My Lady,” The innocent boy chants, as he holds up a scroll. “A message from Dragonstone.” Jacearys’s eyes shot up as you were given the letter. The moment you give the signal of approval, the servant boy leaves into the abyss and back into the cabin. 

You unlatched the curly paper and patiently read its contents. The prince carefully awaits, every so longing to catch any misdemeanor you would have upon what letter had. He hopes and wishes it is good news more than anything. But you held a stone-cold expression and when you looked up at him, he could only discern sorrow with the words that come out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, my prince.”

[its-avalon-08]

what are we running from? (op81)

(monza has my heart, but what is mclaren doing? papaya rules and all that shit for more tension? our boys deserve better! enjoy this one because i shed a few tears writing it <3 )

✦ pairing - oscar piastri x female!reader

✦ genre - friends to lovers, neglect, a LOT angst, alot of tears, super long im sorry

Oscar Piastri and Y/N had always been inseparable, their bond forged in the fires of shared experiences and unwavering support. From the outside, their relationship seemed almost too good to be true—two best friends who had known each other for years, with a connection so deep that it felt like they were more than just friends, even if neither of them had ever dared to say it out loud.

It had started back in their school days, when they first met in a classroom filled with the nervous energy of new beginnings. Oscar, with his quiet determination and sharp wit, had caught Y/N’s attention almost immediately. She, on the other hand, had this vibrant, magnetic personality that drew people in, and before long, they had become fast friends.

As time went on, their friendship only grew stronger. They spent countless hours together, whether it was studying for exams, watching movies, or just hanging out at each other’s houses. They knew each other’s quirks, habits, and fears better than anyone else. Oscar could tell when Y/N was upset just by the way she fidgeted with her hair, and Y/N knew exactly when Oscar needed a distraction by the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

They were a team, an unbreakable pair that everyone else could only admire. Friends would often joke about how they were like an old married couple—finishing each other’s sentences, knowing each other’s favorite foods, and sharing a kind of unspoken communication that others found both endearing and perplexing.

But it wasn’t just their closeness that made their relationship special; it was the way they supported each other through everything. When Oscar started his journey in racing, Y/N was there every step of the way, cheering him on from the sidelines, offering words of encouragement when things got tough, and celebrating with him after every victory. She was his rock, his constant, and in a world that was often unpredictable, Y/N was the one thing Oscar could always count on.

And Oscar was just as devoted to Y/N. He was the one she called in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, the one who listened patiently to her dreams and fears, the one who knew exactly how to make her laugh when she was feeling down. He was the calm to her storm, the steady presence that grounded her when everything else felt chaotic.

Their physical closeness was another thing that set them apart. Oscar and Y/N were never shy about showing affection—whether it was cuddling on the couch during movie nights, holding hands when they were out together, or the way Y/N would rest her head on Oscar’s shoulder when she was tired. It was the kind of closeness that blurred the lines between friendship and something more, but they had always kept it in the realm of friendship, never daring to cross that invisible boundary.

Yet, underneath it all, there was something unspoken between them, something that both of them felt but neither of them acknowledged. It was in the way Oscar’s heart would skip a beat whenever Y/N smiled at him, or the way Y/N’s breath would catch whenever Oscar hugged her just a little too tightly. It was the feeling that there was something more between them, something that could change everything if they ever dared to explore it.

But that unspoken connection, as strong as it was, also carried a weight—a fear of losing what they had if they ever tried to turn it into something more. And so, they kept it hidden, buried beneath layers of friendship, where it was safe from the risks that came with love.

They were best friends—inseparable, devoted, and utterly reliant on each other. But beneath the surface, there was a tension, a yearning that neither of them wanted to admit. And it was only a matter of time before that tension would come to a head, forcing them to confront the feelings they had both tried so hard to ignore.

<3 <3

Oscar had always known he was in trouble when it came to Y/N. From the moment they met, they had clicked in a way that felt effortless, natural—like they were meant to be in each other's lives. She was his best friend, his confidante, his comfort. But somewhere along the way, Oscar had started feeling something more. He fell for her, hard, and though every fiber of his being screamed to tell her, he never did. He couldn’t risk losing her.

But things had changed. Y/N had started seeing someone new, and for the first time, Oscar felt the ground shift beneath him. Their usual routine of late-night calls, movie marathons, and endless cuddles had been replaced by her excited chatter about her new boyfriend, her plans for dates, and the moments that didn’t include him.

flashback

The shift in Y/N’s behavior started subtly, but it grew more apparent with each passing day. Oscar noticed it first at the small gatherings they used to enjoy together—nights spent with their closest friends, where they would usually stick close, laughing at inside jokes and exchanging amused glances from across the room. But now, things were different.

It began with Jake, the guy Y/N had started seeing. At first, Oscar didn’t think much of it—he’d seen Y/N date before, and it had never really affected their friendship. But something about Jake seemed to pull her further away from him in a way that felt like a slow, painful drift.

The first time it really hit him was at a party one of their mutual friends was hosting. Oscar had arrived a bit late, expecting to find Y/N waiting for him with a drink in hand, eager to catch him up on everything he’d missed. But instead, he found her on the other side of the room, wrapped up in Jake’s arms, laughing at something he’d said.

Oscar tried to brush it off, forcing a smile as he approached. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted her, hoping for the usual warmth in her eyes.

She glanced over at him, but the smile she gave him was distant, almost distracted. “Oh, hey, Oscar,” she replied, her tone casual, as if he were just another guest at the party.

It stung, more than he cared to admit. “What’s going on? Missed anything exciting?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Y/N shrugged, her attention already shifting back to Jake. “Not really. Just hanging out.”

Oscar’s heart sank. This wasn’t like her. She was usually the first to pull him into the fun, to drag him into ridiculous games or tease him about not dancing enough. But now, it felt like he was intruding, like he didn’t belong.

The night went on, and the gap between them only seemed to widen. At one point, Oscar found himself standing near the bar, watching as Y/N and Jake danced together, completely absorbed in each other. It was as if the rest of the room had faded away, including him.

When they finally took a break, Oscar made his way over, hoping to at least steal a few minutes with her. “So, how’s it going with Jake?” he asked, trying to sound supportive despite the knot in his stomach.

Y/N looked at him with a small, polite smile, but there was no spark of excitement in her eyes, none of the usual fire that had always drawn him in. “It’s good. He’s great, really.”

“Yeah, he seems nice,” Oscar said, forcing the words out. “We should hang out more—like old times.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to Jake before she answered. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.”

That was it. Just a vague, noncommittal response that left Oscar feeling more isolated than ever.

The next few days were more of the same. Y/N started canceling plans, saying she was too busy or that she had already made plans with Jake. When they did hang out, she was distracted, constantly checking her phone, as if waiting for a message from Jake to pull her away again.

Oscar tried to hide his frustration, but it grew harder with each passing day. He noticed how Y/N seemed to change around Jake—she was more subdued, less like herself. The playful, confident girl he knew was replaced by someone who seemed almost… unsure. She laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, agreed with things she would usually argue against, and even started dressing differently, like she was trying to fit into some version of herself that wasn’t real.

The breaking point came when they all went out to another party, this time with a larger group. Oscar watched from a distance as Y/N and Jake mingled with people he didn’t recognize, her hand firmly in Jake’s as she introduced herself with an unfamiliar edge in her voice.

It wasn’t until someone asked how long she and Oscar had known each other that the real blow came.

“Oh, we’ve known each other for a while,” she said casually, almost dismissively, as if they weren’t best friends who had shared everything.

Oscar’s heart clenched painfully. He stood just a few feet away, and it felt like he’d been slapped in the face. A while? That was all she had to say about him? The countless nights they had spent talking until sunrise, the secrets they had shared, the times they had been there for each other through thick and thin—all reduced to “a while.”

For the rest of their time together, Oscar felt like a ghost, present but unseen, and the realization that Y/N barely noticed was what hurt the most. He couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it was far from it. He couldn’t stand it any longer. “I’m heading out,” he muttered to no one in particular, but Y/N didn’t even notice as he slipped out the door.

Later that night, Y/N texted him, asking if he got home okay. There was no apology, no acknowledgment of how she had brushed him aside. Just a casual check-in that felt more like an afterthought.

Oscar stared at the message, feeling a deep sadness settle in his chest. He had always known that Y/N was special to him, that she held a place in his heart no one else could ever fill. But now, he was starting to realize that she didn’t see him the same way—not anymore.

Maybe she never did, he thought bitterly, tossing his phone aside and sinking into bed, the weight of her neglect pressing down on him like a lead blanket. Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself this whole time.

end of flashback

And Oscar… he was hurting.

One evening, Y/N burst into Oscar's apartment with her usual energy. “Osc, you won’t believe it! We’re going on another date tonight—he’s taking me to this really cute café downtown!” Her voice was full of excitement, but Oscar barely heard her.

He was curled up on the couch, a familiar spot that once felt warm with her presence now felt cold and empty.

“That’s great,” he mumbled, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm.

She frowned, finally noticing the difference. “What’s wrong? You’ve been weird lately.”

Oscar wanted to say it. He wanted to shout that he was tired of being pushed aside, tired of being the second choice. But instead, he just shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Y/N wasn’t convinced. She moved closer, sitting beside him. “Oscar, talk to me. Please.”

Oscar looked at her, really looked at her, and felt his heart shatter a little more. He was losing her, and the worst part was that she didn’t even realize it. “I miss you,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “I’m right here, O.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied, his tone sharper now. “You’ve been so wrapped up in your new relationship that I’ve barely seen you. You’re always with him, talking about him. And I… I’m just here, waiting for you to remember me.”

She frowned, her face softening as she reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled away. “Oscar, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t,” he interrupted, his frustration boiling over. “You didn’t realize because you’re happy, and I’m just… I’m just the friend who’ll always be there, right? The one you can ignore until you need him.”

Her eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face. “That’s not true, Oscar. You know you mean everything to me.”

“Do I?” he challenged, standing up and pacing the room. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, Y/N. It feels like I’m losing you, and it’s killing me.”

The air between them grew thick with tension, the kind that had never existed before. Y/N stood up too, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to reach out to him again. “Oscar, please don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’ve already left me?” he snapped, his voice breaking. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his emotions in check but failing miserably. “You don’t get it, Y/N. You have no idea how much this hurts.”

“Then tell me!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it!”

Oscar froze, the words caught in his throat. This was it. This was the moment he could tell her everything, but he couldn’t find the courage. Instead, he just shook his head, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Oscar, please don’t say that,” she whispered, stepping closer to him, but he stepped back, creating a distance between them that felt like miles.

“I love you,” he blurted out, his voice trembling. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve tried to bury it, to just be your friend, but I can’t anymore. I can’t stand watching you with someone else. It’s killing me, Y/N.”

Her breath hitched, her eyes wide with shock. “Oscar… I… I didn’t know.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” he said bitterly, wiping away a tear that had escaped. “You didn’t know because I never told you. But now… now it’s too late. You’re with him, and I’m just… I’m nothing.”

Oscar’s voice trembled with a mix of anger and hurt as he stared at Y/N, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had tried to hold it in for so long, but the weight of her neglect was too much to bear, and now, it was all spilling out.

“You know, Y/N, I get that you’re excited about Jake. I really do. But do you even realize what you’ve been doing? Or should I say, what you haven’t been doing?” His voice was laced with bitterness, the words cutting through the air like a blade.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Oscar, what are you talking about? I’ve just been—”

“No, don’t,” he cut her off sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare try to brush this off like it’s nothing. You’ve been so wrapped up in your new relationship that you’ve completely forgotten about me. About us. Do you even remember the last time we had an actual conversation that wasn’t interrupted by you checking your phone? Or the last time we made plans that you didn’t cancel for Jake?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She was struggling to process the raw emotion pouring out of him.

Oscar continued, his voice rising as the frustration he had been holding back for weeks finally broke free. “I’ve been your best friend for how long now? I’ve always been there for you, always. But ever since you started dating him, it’s like I don’t even exist anymore. You barely text me back, you cancel on me all the time, and when we do hang out, it’s like you’re not even here.”

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on hers, pleading for her to understand. “Do you have any idea how that feels? To go from being someone’s everything to feeling like you’re just… nothing? Like you’re just a placeholder until something better comes along?”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but Oscar was too caught up in his own pain to notice. “I get that things change when you start dating someone, but you didn’t just change—you fucking disappeared. And I’m left here, trying to figure out where the hell my best friend went. The person I could always count on, who knew me better than anyone… she’s gone.”

His voice cracked, the anger giving way to the deep hurt he had been carrying. “And you know what’s worse? I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. But I was too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to mess things up. I didn’t want to lose you. But now… it feels like I’ve lost you anyway.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen Oscar like this, so raw and vulnerable, and it terrified her.

“I tried to be happy for you,” Oscar continued, his voice quieter now, filled with a deep sadness. “I tried to convince myself that I could just be your friend and that would be enough. But it’s not enough, Y/N. Not when you treat me like I’m nothing.”

He looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “I thought I meant more to you than this. I thought we meant more. But maybe I was wrong.”

Y/N’s heart shattered at the sight of him, at the pain in his eyes. She reached out to him, desperate to hold him, to comfort him, but he pulled away again, shaking his head.

“I can’t be around you right now,” Oscar said, his voice broken. “I need time… I need to figure out how to stop loving you.”

“Oscar, please don’t go,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “We can talk about this—”

But Oscar had already turned away, grabbing his keys and heading for the door. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I can’t.”

With that, he left, leaving Y/N standing in the middle of the room, her heart aching with the weight of what had just happened. She sank to the floor, sobs wracking her body as she realized that the one person she needed most was the one she had pushed away.

And Oscar, driving aimlessly through the city, felt more alone than he ever had in his entire life, knowing that he had finally spoken his truth, but at what cost?

time skip

Y/N was left alone in the apartment, her mind reeling from everything Oscar had said. As the door slammed shut behind him, she crumpled to the floor, her chest tightening with an overwhelming sense of loss. The tears came in uncontrollable waves, each sob tearing through her as she gasped for breath.

How did I not see this? she thought, her mind racing. How could I be so blind?

She buried her face in her hands, the memories flooding back—every moment they had shared, every laugh, every hug, every time Oscar had been there for her, and she had taken it all for granted. They played like a cruel montage in her mind, the pieces finally falling into place.

I’ve always loved him, she realized, the truth hitting her like a punch to the gut. But I was too scared… too scared of losing him, of ruining everything.

She thought back to every time they had cuddled on the couch, his arms wrapped around her, making her feel safe and warm. She had always known there was something more between them, something unspoken, but she had pushed it down, terrified of what it would mean if she acknowledged it. Because if I lost Oscar… I’d lose everything.

Her phone was in her hand before she even realized it, her fingers trembling as she dialed his number. Each ring felt like an eternity, the silence on the other end growing heavier with every passing second.

Voicemail.

“Hey, this is Oscar. I'm probably driving really fast or I'm not in the mood. Anyway I’ll get back to you.”

The beep echoed in her ears, and she quickly hung up, her heart pounding as panic set in. She dialed again, desperately hoping he would pick up this time, that she could tell him everything she was feeling before it was too late. But once again, it went to voicemail.

“Oscar, please,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaking as she redialed, only to be met with the same message. Each time the voicemail beeped, she hung up, feeling the hope drain out of her.

Finally, after the fifth failed attempt, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. The voicemail beeped, and she began to speak, her voice thick with tears.

“Oscar, it’s me. Please, please, just listen to this… I—I’m so sorry,” she started, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it, sorry I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I’ve been so selfish, so blind, and I didn’t even notice what I was doing to you.”

She paused, trying to steady her breathing, but the tears kept coming. “I… I’m terrified, Oscar. I’ve always been terrified of losing you, of messing this up, of losing the best thing in my life. And that’s why I never… I never let myself feel what I was feeling. I thought if I pretended it wasn’t there, we could stay the same forever.”

Her voice cracked as she continued, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “But I do love you, Oscar. I love you so much it hurts. And the thought of losing you… of you walking out of my life… I can’t bear it. I was so scared that if I admitted how I felt, everything would change, and I’d lose you forever. But now I realize… I was losing you anyway.”

She choked on a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth as she tried to hold herself together. “Please, Oscar, don’t shut me out. I know I messed up, I know I hurt you, but I need you to know that you mean everything to me. You always have. And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, that I didn’t see it until now.”

Y/N wiped at her tears, her voice trembling as she spoke the final words. “Please, Oscar, don’t walk away. I love you… I love you so much, and I’m begging you to give me a chance to make this right. Please… please don’t leave me.”

The message ended, the silence that followed felt deafening. Y/N let the phone slip from her hand, her body shaking with sobs as she curled up on the floor, consumed by the fear that it might be too late, that she might have lost him for good.

Please, Oscar, come back to me.

time skip

Oscar sat on a bench near the parking lot, his car parked a few meters away. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. His heart felt heavy, his mind spinning with everything that had just happened. He didn’t know where to go, or what to do, so he just sat there, staring blankly into the distance, replaying their fight over and over again in his mind.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking through his thoughts. He pulled it out, seeing Y/N’s name flash on the screen with a voicemail notification. His thumb hovered over the play button for a moment, hesitant. Part of him didn’t want to hear what she had to say, afraid it would only hurt him more. But another part, the part that had loved her for so long, needed to know.

With a deep breath, he pressed play.

As Y/N’s voice filled the air, raw with emotion and thick with tears, Oscar’s heart clenched. Each word she spoke was like a dagger, cutting deeper into the hurt he was already feeling, but there was something else too—something that made his breath catch in his throat.

“I… I’m terrified, Oscar. I’ve always been terrified of losing you, of messing this up, of losing the best thing in my life. And that’s why I never… I never let myself feel what I was feeling. I thought if I pretended it wasn’t there, we could stay the same forever.”

He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him. He could hear the desperation in her voice, the regret, the love she had been too scared to admit. It mirrored everything he had felt for so long, everything he had been too afraid to say.

Tears stung at the corners of his eyes as the message continued, her confession unfolding in a way he had never imagined but had always longed for. The voicemail ended with her pleading, the words echoing in his mind, “Please, Oscar, don’t walk away. I love you… I love you so much, and I’m begging you to give me a chance to make this right. Please… please don’t leave me.”

He sat there, stunned, the silence that followed almost unbearable. He played the message again, needing to hear it one more time to believe it was real. As Y/N’s voice replayed, full of vulnerability and love, something shifted inside him. The anger he had felt earlier began to melt away, replaced by a deep, aching love that had never gone away.

Just as the message ended for the second time, Oscar became aware of a presence behind him. He turned around slowly and saw Y/N standing a few feet away, her face pale and tear-streaked, her eyes wide with uncertainty. She must have found him while he was listening to the voicemail, and now she stood there, silent, waiting.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The weight of the situation hung between them, both of them trying to process what had just happened. Finally, Oscar broke the silence, his voice soft and tentative.

“You… you really mean that?” he asked, his gaze locking onto hers, searching for any sign that this was all some kind of cruel joke.

Y/N nodded, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Every word, Oscar. I mean it. I’ve been so scared of ruining what we had that I didn’t realize I was ruining it by pushing you away. But I do love you. I’ve loved you for so long, and I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to realize it.”

Oscar stood up, taking a hesitant step toward her. “I didn’t want to lose you either,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought if I kept my feelings to myself, we could just keep going the way we were. But it was killing me, Y/N. Watching you with Jake… it felt like I was losing you, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Y/N took a shaky breath, stepping closer until they were just inches apart. “You were never going to lose me, Oscar. You’re my best friend, and you always will be. But… I want more than that. I need more than that. I love you, and I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.”

Oscar’s eyes softened, the pain of the past weeks slowly fading as he looked at her, really looked at her, and saw everything he had ever wanted. “Of course I’ll have you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve wanted that for so long, Y/N. I love you too, more than anything. I just… I didn’t think you felt the same.”

She smiled through her tears, reaching out to take his hand. “I do, Oscar. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it, to admit it. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Oscar pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if he was afraid she might slip away if he let go. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered into her hair, his voice filled with relief and love.

“You won’t,” Y/N whispered back, burying her face in his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Oscar. I’m right here, and I’m not letting you go.”

They stood there in the quiet night, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of unspoken words finally lifted. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they had each other, and that was all that mattered. In that moment, they both knew they had found something worth fighting for, something that had always been there, waiting for them to finally see it.

[darksvster]

okay i was asked to post this on tumblr since i posted a mini essay about it on twitter so here it is, i added some more examples and elaborated on my points that i couldn't over twitter.

so, when i first watched episode 207 i thought it was weird how religious rhaenyra was, until ryan condal mentioned the cult imagery. now i think instead of the show making her paranoid and neurotic in the final arc, they're going to make her more of a cult leader figure.

i think rather than leaning into her paranoia and the idea of a "hysterical paranoid mother" after she loses her sons, they're going to have her drink her own kool-aid more and more. it's interesting that this is what emma and ryan discuss in this scene with the dragonseeds in the inside the episode.

i think it's interesting that instead of the show positioning her like "a leader amongst the smallfolk," this episode positions her in a darker light, like someone who is manipulating the people there for her own goals. and when vermithor turns on the bastards, she doesn't let them run, the guards keep them barricaded in.

she is literally enraptured by the fire in these scenes. now that she knows it's possible for others to claim the dragons, she has been vindicated and wants more. this is not a merciful queen who is reaching out a hand to the smallfolk, she's throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. after all, these are just smallfolk. bastards with no honor. ryan literally describes the scene as a ritual sacrifice.

and who do you conduct sacrifice for? the gods. but in this case, the gods the seven or the old gods, they aren't even just dragons, but the fact that rhaenyra sees herself in the dragons. she says as much in the literal pilot of the episode when viserys asks her what she sees when she looks at the dragons. she understands the power they wield.

she knows that their power lies in the dragons. but she doesn't reflect viserys' belief that they are a power that man never shouldn't have trifled with. she leans into the chaos and fire and blood of the dragons, we see that in the sowing, clearly.

rhaenyra inherited the worst of both viserys and daemon and that will lead to her madness. she's got viserys' strong belief in prophecy (one now exacerbated by her desperation).

we see that faith in the prophecy falter but never truly fade. rhaenyra has always taken is seriously, to the point that everything she's done this season is in response to the prophecy. her pacifism isn't just due to avoiding bloodshed. she makes it clear to jace that before plunging the realm into war she had to know there was no other option because of the burden of the prophecy.

even though daemon has never believed in prophecy or superstition. she's also got daemon's desire and lust for power and strength (something she confessed wanting specifically because daemon is a man when she was speaking to mysaria).

it's a great deconstruction of the chosen one archetype to have her drink this koolaid and believe herself the chosen one only to have that belief corrupt her. emma d'arcy speaks on this in their interview with gq when discussing rhaenyra's growing fanaticism.

I think something that has been happening for Rhaenyra throughout the series is a growing religious fanaticism. After her father’s death, there is this desire to be connected to him in some way. And losing him happens at the same moment as having her throne usurped. And so that thing that would have been such a direct connection to him is also stolen. So in lieu of that, there’s that searching [through] the histories. I think imagining that at some point her name will feature next to her father’s is in some way comforting, and I find it very moving to see a person who in grief has committed themselves to the history books. As the series goes on, I think we see her more and more invested in her faith. She returns to the old gods. I think all of these actions are in search of her right; the thing that she thought she had received from her father, she is looking for evidence again and again. And part of it, I’m sure, is a choice. I think sometimes in times of loss, we can choose the anchors that we are going to cling to, and her faith becomes one. But I think there’s a narcissism in it. I think her connection with her religion is about wanting to reinforce a divine right. And I think, looking at [episode] seven when this miracle takes place, and this man claims Seasmoke, I think she feels that it’s a gift from the gods. I think it’s what allows her to ride roughshod over Jace’s very legitimate concerns about his own status. I think it’s what allows her to stage a massacre, essentially. She feels that she is riding on the wings of her faith. But her faith, and her belief that she is the ruler that is supposed to sit on that throne, are completely enmeshed.

They continue:

What is going through Rhaenyra’s mind as she watches the Targaryen bastards be devoured and torched alive? I think she feels like a god. I think she feels super proud. I mean, I think it’s uncomfortable. I think there’s something, actually, also that ties into the religiosity — even being back in proximity to dragons, to that fire, is to somehow be living her birthright. To be soaking up the divine, somehow. And do you think that she feels as though the decision to essentially stage a massacre, as you say, is vindicated when the two new bastard dragonriders are found? Totally. Without a shadow of a doubt. I mean, it’s horrendous, but I think she is now this sort of emboldened fanatic, [and] I think she’s experiencing events within a far bigger timeline. She’s imagining the history books. And you know, what’s happening right in front of her is awful. But in 300-400 years, what will be documented is possibly a very short war; a huge civil war that was averted, that this was the first ruling queen, that this ruling Targaryen queen expanded the Targaryen’s ability to have dragons within their armoury.

emma's read on this supports what we see on screen when it comes to rhaenyra's newly found zealousness. the religious aspect could lead her to do things that might have been seen as atrocities by her. it could lead to mysaria abandoning her, her riders turning on her, and we would see more of that targ madness.

gods are mentioned several times in 207. first by addam, who says that the gods are calling him to greater things. rhaenyra has never been the extremely religious sort but, in this scene, she looks like she's had a moment of clarity.

importantly, rhaenyra doesn't know who addam's father is, or hugh's or ulf's. this is simply the first time in history that a non-targaryen (at least in her eyes) has claimed dragons. it's something that she believed impossible. it can feel like destiny to the desperate and she's been extremely desperate after losing daemon, rhaenys, and continuous loss after loss with no hope of recourse.

mysaria says that rhaenyra is lucky addam chose to bend the knee to her rather than himself. and her reply is that it is ordained. this religious vocabulary being used is intentional!

her complaint against the lowborn is that there is an ancient fealty from highborn houses. she essentially implies that bastards do not have honor. mysaria corrects her by pointing out that her legitimate half-brothers aegon and aemond aren't exactly delights, but that doesn't make rhaenyra see the light. instead she recognizes that there's fealty to be had from lowborn people too. the order of things have changed, as mysaria says, so she realizes that she can lift up people who have been historically stepped on and give power to the powerless, calling them her army of bastards.

but when jace calls this out, predicting that someone (perhaps hugh?) could lay claim to her throne if she legitimizes these bastards if not by name then by offering them the power of gods. obviously, jace's concern is real, his entire legitimacy lies on both viserys' past support and also the fact that he has a dragon of his own. if any bastard can claim one, what does that make him? but rhaenyra's response isn't logical. she believes that the throne is part of her and her son's destiny. their right.

for years, on some level, rhaenyra has believed that even though people have insulted her sons, they are full-blooded targaryens. she says herself that if she was a man she could father a dozen bastards, and as heir, she gives birth to three without hesitation. these aren't strongs or velaryons to her, her sons are targaryens.

but even when jace essentially begs his mother not to give commoners dragons, bringing up her past sins and pointing out his own struggle knowing that he's harwin strong's son, her response is somewhat cold. she says now that the gods have laid this in front of her and she has no choice.

the dragonkeepers call what she's doing blasphemy and note that it isn't the gods who brought the dragonseeds to her, but she herself has done that.

Dragonkeeper Elder: This is an abomination. You sent an Andal before a dragon. The judgment was delivered. Now you would send more. Rhaenyra: Ser Steffon Darklyn was the blood of the dragon. Dragonkeeper Elder: It was a blasphemy. He was no dragonlord. Neither are these. Rhaenyra: And yet the gods have set them before us. Dragonkeeper Elder: You have set them before yourself! The dragons are sacred; they are the last magic of Old Valyria in this sad world. They are not pieces on a board for the games of men. Our order will take no part in this.

to the dragonkeepers, she's using these bastards and dragons like chess pieces in her war. but to rhaenyra, who has seen addam claim seasmoke, it seems like this is a divine right — a sign from the gods. and that's proven again when hugh claims vermithor.

addam claiming seasmoke changed everything for her. she talks about claiming a dragon as a transformation, and, in many ways, this claiming has transformed her as well. she tells the dragonseeds that their purpose now is the end the hardships of war.

she paints a lovely image promising them peace at the end, but it is a wholly false image. with vermithor and silverwing now in her arsenal, there will be more suffering, more bloodshed. there are no promises of peace now that the war has been given to the dragons, not until everyone is dead. and if that happens, well, the gods willed it, not her.

in this moment, when she says "may the gods bless you" i have to wonder, is she talking about the seven? or the valyrian gods? or the dragons? i don't think she's fully in deep, but i can see the set up for a much darker storyline for rhaenyra rather than the book plot. every time her beliefs are proven or something impossible happens, that could reinforce her zealousness.

i have always said that rhaenyra is a combination of viserys and daemon, and i think that still. i think that she has both of their madnesses within her. as she loses more, the only thing she'll have to hold onto is that prophecy and the divine right she believes in now.

even this scene from the finale promo has over-the-top messiah, chosen apostles, last supper vibes. her saying "i have entrusted you with a power only few have known" as if she wasn't desperate for them and had no say in who the dragons chose. i love it!

honestly i'm totally here for it, i think it's an exciting direction to take. i don't think rhaenyra was always like this, she might have had the proclivity for it growing up under viserys' wing, but it's the war that's pushed her to this point. desperate people will turn to things like faith in order to guide them when the real world disappoints. i think it's a far more nuanced look at a sort of "madness".

and i'm here for the conflict that will happen with daemon as a result. i think daemon will be in direct opposition to this. he's NOT the type to follow cult leaders. this will be their conflict on top of the existing power struggles. this, to me, is far more interesting of a struggle as opposed to nettles causing romantic tension. this show has a tendency to lean away from harmful stereotypes about women. pitting woman against woman is one of them, as is the hysterical woman.

daemon dying for her could be a form of devotion, or perhaps even a command from a delusional rhaenyra who believes he will survive it. daemon could end up drinking the kool-aid too after the devastations of the war or simply realize that this is the last thing he can offer to someone who is too far gone to be saved.

THIS IS THE FIRE I WANT FOR RHAENYRA. this is the mad queen setup that we could have had! targ exceptionalism and completely going off the deep end as a way of coping with an unwinnable conflict. without viserys, without rhaenys, no one is there to temper the fire within her.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally getting help (prt 4)

Masterpost

The bats worked through the night, coordinating and researching everything that needed to be done. Distortion showed up on the camera which they assumed was Vlad trying to get in but he didn’t manage it. After he finished trying from multiple angels including somehow from directly above (well Zatana did say invisibility, intangibility, and flight were the minimal powers they should expect from creatures of the infinite realms.) He turned human again and spent a long time banging on their front door.

He tried to call the cops but commissioner Gordon called Bruce directly to get the full story then told Vlad it could be dealt with in the morning. Zatana was also coordinating people heading to Amity, a full on raid of the GIW, and the Fentons.

Batman and Superman were collecting all the information that the raid team was sending out and workshopping public statements they could sent out to the public and the government about the unacceptable things they had found and the steps the JL was taking to fix it. The government was not going to be happy they knew, with the JL ‘over-stepping’ into their business and actually getting the word out about the atrocities a branch of their government and their pet scientists had been planning. The JL needed to get out ahead of it before the narrative could be twisted against them.

It was first thing in the morning when they did a live broadcast from the watchtower with Batman, Superman, and Zatana telling the world about the parallel world existing harmlessly along side their own, and the way the government tried to exploit it. The atrocities committed under the name of the Anti-Ecto acts with the ignorance of the public as a cover.

It was at the same time that Constantine, Dick, and Cas were raiding the Fenton’s home. Of course they were armed, but so were the bats, and they were used to fighting people who were armed. It wasn’t a particularly hard fight.

A redhead was sitting wide eyed at the kitchen table. “Can’t we just have one normal day!” She suddenly snapped but she was glaring at her parents, standing up and slamming her hands on the table.  “First you send Danny away with Vlad even though you KNOW they hate each other and it’s a school day and now this! What did you do to bring the heroes down on us!?”

“I don’t know Jazzybear!” Jack half whined as he was forced into power supressing cuffs to neutralize his minor super strength and sat down in the living room.

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, don’t worry sweetie,” Maddie added, both of them were dressed in jump suits which did not help their supervillain vibes.

“it’s not a mistake mate, you’ve been messing with shit you really shouldn’t. And that portal in your basement is a fucking beacon welcoming a war. You’ve gone unchecked for too god damn long, we’re taking over things now.” Constantine told them before stalking down into the basement with Tim on his heels, Batman would be joining them as soon as they were done their press conference.

Cas stayed to watch the parents and Dick approached Jazz gently. “Hey can I talk to you in private please? It’s about your brother,” He said gently and she stiffened immediately. Looking at him in a way that made him feel like she could see straight into his soul and froze him to the spot. After a moment though she just sighed and nodded, beckoning to him to follow her upstairs, to a room that was probably Danny’s not her own. She sat on his bed and grabbed a bear that had been sitting on the edge, waving for him to sit at the desk.

“So, what do you know?” She asked with a sigh.

“Well, last night Vlad took Danny to a Wayne Gala, one of Bruce’s daughter Cas is really good with body language and clocked that something was wrong so she and one of the other kids got him away from Vlad and out of the party. I guess he really needed some adult support because he broke down and told them a lot, about the Phantom thing, the ghosts and… something you’re not going to like. But first I want you to know he’s safe, Bruce Wayne is a licensed foster parent and he’s taking good care of Danny, you can come live with them too if you want.

“We’re going to deal with the ghosts and the GIW and everything else now, I can’t promise by the end of this you won’t need somewhere else to go. I have a feeling if Batman and the Martian family have anything to say about this your parents will end up in prison for their unethical experiments.”

“As long as Danny is okay,” Jazz said firmly. “I was only staying to take care of him anyway, just get me emancipated and a scholarship for Gotham U so I can study while still being close to him I’ll be fine. I’m almost 18 as it is.”

Dick nodded, she was a smart and driven girl, she knew what she wanted, he could respect that. “Now, the thing you won’t like…” he trailed off and took a deep breath. “Danny is pregnant.”

“What!?“ Jazz blanched, gaping at him for a long minute. “That can’t be right! I mean I knew he was trans but he’s usually only interested in girls, how would he even-“ She cut off her eyes widening. “It was Vlad wasn’t it?” She gritted out with an expression the promised excruciating violence.

“Yes,” Dick said shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“Right.” Jazz said and got up, coldly calm. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She grabbed a baseball bat from next to Danny’s bed that seemed to be glowing slightly then marched to the other side of the room, opened a cabinet and pulled out two odd looking guns. Before Dick could say much of anything she had vaulted out of the window and taking off down the street.

“Oh dear,” Dick muttered faintly before heading back downstairs. “Hey Cas can we turn on the news, some sort of local station?” He asked. Cas nodded and searched around for the remote, turning it on to find the channel was already on local news.

Vlad was already on there, talking about how it was awful Bruce Wayne had Kidnapped a local child Danial Fenton, and he could not be allowed to get away with this just because he was rich! But that didn’t last long, they watched for a few minutes before a blur of red hair and blue rushed past the camera.

“YOU TOUCHED MY BROTHER YOU CREEP!” Jazz said as she came out swinging and she must have quite the arm because her first swing sent him nearly flying off the stage. He scrambled to get up as she lunged at him again.

“Now Jasmine you’ve clearly been misinformed, I didn’t do anything-“ His muffled voice was cut off as she swung the bat again and he yelped as she hit him in the stomach.

“YOU GOT HIM PREGNANT! YOU DID THIS! YOU SHOULD BEHIND BARS NOT BEHIND A PODIUM YOU FROOTLOOP!” She shrieked as she swung again and this time he managed to dodge. The cameras following them as Jazz chased him down the street, the sound of his supplications and her shrieking fading out as they became more and more distant.

It took a frantic moment for the camera angle to switch to something else, maybe a drone, which was able to follow them down the street.

“You Don’t UNDERSTAND! I didn’t want to hurt him! I just wanted a perfect son! If he had just agreed to be my son none of this would have happened! When I knew it failed I told him to let them die!” Vlad yelled at her, though that did NOT seem to comfort Jazz at all. She had devolved into shrieking book titles like curses as she chased him with the bat and shot at him with the guns though her aim didn’t seem very good.

Well they had him admitting to it on camera now. As he watched a new actor joined the fray, a girl in a red jumpsuit holding a blaster.

“You did what to Danny!?” She demanded as she pointed the blaster at Vlad.

“Oh cheespuffs!” Vlad breathed, his eyes widening as Jazz trailed off letting who must be Red Huntress take over the chase as Vlad shouted about how he had made her! He had given her her weapons she couldn’t use them against him! Which did not seem to be stopping her.

The camera fuzzed out for just a second and then Valery was chasing a ghost with red eyes and a white outfit. Cas was laughing silently at the show and both of the Fenton parents seemed to be in shock. A few minutes later Jazz walked back in through the front door looking tired.

“Turn that off please,” she sighed as she put the bat down.

“Of course,” Cas agreed and picked up the remote again, turning off the tv. 

“Vlad didn’t actually do that, did he Jazzy?” Jack asked softly, he sounded so hurt, as if he had any fucking right!

Jazz looked at him blankly. “How many times have we tried to warn you about him? How many times has Danny told you he didn’t feel safe with Vlad? But as usual you couldn’t see past your own desires. I’m going to go see if the trenchcoat guy needs any help getting into your files,” She sighed before vanishing downstairs. 

Dick glanced at Cas, and then followed them, she would have no trouble watching the Fentons and staying quiet whereas Dick felt like he was about to explode. Batman joined them before long and between the three of them they shut the bulkheads on the portal and locked them, secured dangerous chemicals and devices, and downloaded everything they could. There were plenty of prototypes and blueprints, and stuff that could generously be called research.

It was obvious these people were geniuses but it was even more obvious that at some point they had become careless and obsessive. Half of the writing on the blueprints wasn’t legible, dangerous chemicals were not in proper containment, and the weapons were not locked up. Looking at all of this it wasn’t surprising that two of the people they had been involving in their research suffered exposure, it was a surprise more hadn’t. It was easy to tell when Bruce came down he was horrified, it was in the way he froze when he saw the lab, as if his brain was struggling to process just how irresponsible the Fenton parents had been.

“You must be Jazz, it’s nice to meet you. Danny speaks highly of you,” He finally rebooted to say when she waved at him. 

“I love my little brother, I always did the best I could to keep him safe from… all this,” Jazz said gesturing at the lab with a sigh. “I wish it had done any good.”

“You did plenty of good,” Dick put in. “Trust me, to a kid having someone care about them can make all the difference. 

“All those nights I patched him up after he came back from fighting ghosts. He healed fast but still. I can’t believe… he’s already been through so much and we knew Vlad was up to something! Ellie said she was our cousin but she looked just like him, I should have kept a closer eye on-” She cut off and shook her head. “He’s a good kid, of course if he couldn’t give the babies up, even if it would be better for them if he did. I hope he knows I’d support him either way, I hope he didn’t not tell me because he thought I’d be upset at Him.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Dick assured her gently. “Being a big sibling is hard, I know. But trust me you’re doing a great job, better than I did with my brothers,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You can ask him yourself later though. We have a lot to get done today to make sure he’s safe.”

She nodded stubbornly and doubled down on her work, directing them occasionally to where she knew they’d find more weapons or logs. She knew her way around the lab to a disturbing extent. 

Bruce and Dick both got a notification from Agent A saying that after a substantial sleep in Danny had woken up and was having breakfast. He seemed worried about the family but he was taking it alright, especially since he knew they were busy people. It did motivate Dick to clear things up as soon as they could so that they could get back to Danny though. The last thing he needed was More stress!

They had plenty of evidence of the Fenton parents breaking the law to call the police and have them taken away which gave them all the time they needed to strip the house. They got everything they could and decided to leave Constantine at the house to watch the portal until they could figure out how to shut it down completely without causing any damage. It seemed unstable so they didn’t want to risk it just now, especially without Danny’s input because according to Jazz Danny had made genuine connections in the Infinite Realms. 

They wrapped up this stage of the investigation before dinner after being up for about 36 hours. Of course they weren’t Done, there was still plenty to do investigating the government, how they’d gotten away with this and if they had any other nasty tricks up their sleeve. They’d have to manage any backlash from this unilateral move, and they’d have to figure out what to tell the public about Danny since Bruce would be fostering him. But all that could be done after having a family dinner with their new brother and a nap. 

part 5

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[girlsworldillusion]

Perzys se ānogar

Pairing: Aemond x Sister!Reader

Rated: +18

Warnings: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: DUB-CON/NON-CON, INCEST.

Contains forced sex, targcest and yandere behavior. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

-- English IS NOT my first language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Summary: When you refuse to fly with him to Harrenhal and support his plans for revenge, Aemond loses his mind. Angry and afraid of losing the only person he has left, he makes a decision that will change everything.

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @zaldritzosrose

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

"Sister."

His voice breaks through the quiet crackle of the night, setting off an irregular beat in your heart, but you give him no sign of recognition. Instead, you continue to dart your eyes with interest over the orange glow of the many lights coming from the houses and commercial points scattered throughout the streets and alleys of Kings Landing. There is a certain grace and comfort in the knowledge that these people, countless of them, have no idea of the cracks spreading through the walls of the Red Keep right now.

"We share the same blood, you and I. I know you wish no harm to anyone, but at a time like this, the good of the Realm depends on us." He begins, not at all put off by your apparent lack of attention, his soft, cat-like footsteps barely audible against the stone floor as he walks towards you, stopping only when there is a short distance between your bodies. "Our mother is not a dragonrider, she cannot understand that you and I have a true calling to hear."

From the corner of your vision you see him reach out to touch your arm, and the alarmed gasp that abruptly leaves your lips along with the flinch of your body in response is noticeable, obvious enough to stop him in his tracks. You both stare at his hand, raised in the air just inches from your wrist - your wrist that, though hidden by the material of your robe, still throbs with the memory of the pain from where he grabbed it and pulled violently this afternoon, the marks of his fingers now carved into your soft skin.

Aemond clenches his jaw, his one eye shining with something very raw as he quickly understands the reason for your reaction, but you don't deign to make any further effort to understand what that look really means. Your hurt eyes linger on him just long enough to make sure he won't try to touch you again, after which you slowly turn your head to face the solitude of the night once more, your slightly shaky breathing rising and falling in your chest as you try to calm yourself.

He falls silent after that, and you suppress the urge to look at him despite yourself, your fingers nervously gripping the cold edge of the small wall of your private balcony. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your brother’s presence disturbing your previous calm with every second that stretches, until all you feel is apprehension and anxiety.

“Come with me to Harrenhal,” he says after a long silence where it’s clear you won’t say anything, his demand wrapped in nothing but a raspy crackle of his voice, a tone almost trembling at the edges. “We will lay waste Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You take a deep breath, the chilly night wind gently rustling the strands of your hair.

“And if I refuse?” Despite your inner turmoil and fear, your voice is surprisingly flat when you speak, cool even. He doesn’t answer right away, but even as you stare straight ahead you can see the way his body stiffens beside you. “Will you burn me as you did to Aegon?”

There’s a pause around you, a dull echo of silence that’s too long and tense to ignore, where not even the background noises of the city below can be heard anymore — as if even the night has gone silent before the gravity of your accusation.

“That is a lie.” Aemond breathes beside you in a dangerously low tone, as if he’s gritting his teeth, and you finally turn to him, lifting your chin to glare at him in defiance. His handsome face is painted with disappointment and spite, clear to you from any angle, even though he’s trying very hard to keep it hidden with his sharp, tense features. The thin, watery film glistening in his eye, however, is entirely unexpected, unsettling enough to almost distract you.

"Really?" You say instead, swallowing the wave of discomfort at seeing such raw emotion on your brother's face. He doesn't respond, his single purple eye still shining with unshed tears, his expression pained and wounded, as if you'd plunged the blade of the sharpest dagger into his chest. You squirm under the weight of his gaze, uncomfortable, but trying to remain resolute - knowing your accusation is true, as much as it hurts both of you. Despite everything, you love your brother with all your might, knowing that you're the cause of that expression on his face hurts you to the point that you feel slightly nauseous.

"Is it really possible that I'm losing you too, sister?" He whispers intensely, breaking the silence as he approaches you, pinning you against the wall and his own much taler body. His expression slides into something that is less of a sad expression and more of a grimace. Hurt, angry, like an animal that has been kicked too much and now chooses violence as defense. You know immediately that something just isn’t right, just from his aura. He looks tired, overwhelmed, and irritated, a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Aemond has always protected you, always looked out for you like a true older brother would. He was once your safety and security figure, someone loyal and caring that you knew you could trust no matter what.

But now?

Before you can think about it any further, you’re thrown off balance. His hand cups your jaw carefully, ignoring your scared, suspicious gaze, slowly sliding his knuckles down your face to your neck, rubbing deceptively gentle circles with his thumb over a pulse point on your skin — though his gaze burns into yours with a sharp stab of anger and raw hurt. You sigh reflexively, feeling a series of goosebumps on your arms and neck in response to that look, some kind of instinct ingrained in you telling you to retreat, to run away.

Your brother is a nearly empty shell of the man you knew, and even though you want more than anything to still be able to trust him — to believe that his true self is still buried somewhere deep inside this shadow of revenge and blind desire for power before you, keeping your faith is harder than any challenge you may have faced in the past.

“Hmm?” He presses for an answer, jaw tight and gaze dangerous, “Tell me. Would you do this to me, sister? Would you dare leave me like them?” His thumb stops stroking your skin in that gentle way so that his fingers finally wrap around the circumference of your throat with measured slowness, and you feel your breath quicken.

Run, run, run.

He’s not thinking — he definitely isn’t, because if he were, he would have realized that what he’s doing is scaring you — his sweet, sheltered little sister. He would have realized that the way he gradually tightens his fingers on your delicate neck wrings a shiver of fear from your body, tilting his head closer to watch with sick interest the way your plush lips part with a ragged sigh. He would have noticed how your eyes are now also filled with tears, a silent, alarmed question swimming in them. If he had been thinking, he would have been able to stop himself from taking the first step towards an act he was doomed to regret later.

He’s not thinking.

Aemond would never treat you this way – you’re certain of it, certain that he cared enough about you not to humiliate you so completely.

“I-I...brother, what-” His other hand travels to your waist, fingers tracing the opening of the robe you wear over your nightgown and you silence your fearful voice immediately. He stops at the hem of the soft material, caressing the delicate cloth beneath. With every movement of his fingers, he keeps his heavy gaze on you, dark, sharp features slanting over you, merciless and without compassion, his eye still bright with those tears he proudly refuses to shed. You tremble in shock, your hands finally thawing at your sides as you reach up to grab his wrist, struggling futilely to pull him away from your neck.

"Aemond...please, you're scaring me." Your voice shakes slightly at the pressure in your throat, at the grip he refrains from releasing, but you expect the growing desperation on your face to catch up with him at some point. It would have to, right? He's still your brother, after all. He's hurt, he doesn't know what he's doing, he wouldn't actually hurt you.

All of these statements run through your mind, keeping you stubbornly reluctant to face the painful truth ahead. (The stinging in your wrist is proof enough that yes, he would.)

"I won't lose you," he says so deeply, calmly and unfazed, as if he hasn't even heard you, as that hand on your throat presses your face up, to bring your forehead against his. "I won't lose you. Not you."

“A-Aemond,” you reply, your fingers still scratching his in a vain attempt to push him away, becoming genuinely frightened by his actions, by his complete dissociation from you - as if he were only talking to himself now. “W-what are you doing?”

He towers over you, his tall, lithe body unmoving even as you move your hands to push against his abdomen. You can’t utter another word with the combination of your heart pounding against your ribcage, the fear gripping your throat still gripped between his fingers, igniting a growing horror deep within your gut.

Could someone be watching this? Down below, right now, some unsuspecting person wandering through the gardens or peering through the windows of the same houses you were watching with interest just a few minutes ago. Could someone be watching the way the Prince Regent smothered the Princess on the balcony of her chamber? The way he held her against his body and breathed into her personal space as if they were intimate lovers?

Your hands slide against his solid frame; feeling the hard, elegant muscles of his torso beneath his dark clothes as you stubbornly push him away, and the beginnings of tears appears to trickle from the corners of your eyes as you close them. You are afraid. Though he’s not exactly cutting off your oxygen completely, his unwavering grip on your neck makes you almost dizzy, and as he watches you gasp softly and struggle, he seems to be waging an internal battle, his fingertips loosening their grip after a few seconds of silent contemplation. He doesn’t pull away, though. Aemond still holds you tightly in place, listening to your ragged breathing and the sobs that begin to wrack your body. He exhales long and slow against your face, his forehead still intimately pressed against yours.

“Y/n…” he begins, waiting until your sobs subside and your watery eyes open to meet his, just as fierce and unforgiving as before. “You’re all I have left. You know that, don’t you?”

Despite the grip of fear squeezing your heart, you nod once, sniffling softly. You know that. There aren’t many people left by your brother’s side now — not that you blame them.

“Then you know I need to keep you with me.” He says darkly, his fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown before he begins to push the material up towards your hips.

“Aemond!” You cry out when you feel his fingertips touch the warmth of your thigh, struggling to rock your body away. “S-stop, brother!”

“I can’t,” he tells you, his lips soft and warm on your cheek, and though he doesn’t stop his advance up your thigh, there’s an unexpected sense of vulnerability and hesitation in his voice now, as if something inside him is trying to fight his resolve: “It’s the only way to make you stay.”

He hesitates and relaxes his grip on you for only a second after that, but it’s long enough for you to push past him and slip between his body and the wall, running into your bedchamber on shaky, trembling legs.

He’s on you before you can take more than a few steps beyond the door, his hand gripping your wrist — your wrist already bruised by him. You gasp at the immediate pain of his possessive touch, flailing your legs in your own desperation and fear as he holds you captive. He suddenly releases your injured wrist and you realize belatedly that it’s only because he’s guided you unknowingly to where he wants you. In your panic to pull away, you cry out as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, falling back onto the softness of your mattress, your other hand quickly cradling your aching wrist against your chest. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, eyes wet and wide, your cheeks streaked with tears and redness, your hair disheveled around your face, your wrist throbbing with the newly awakened pain.

Aemond blinks slowly, his features grim as he watches your frail state. He hovers over the edge of your bed in his black clothes and his tall, sinuous, dark body like a god of death. The disparity in height between the two of you is even more evident in this position. The flames from the fire on the opposite wall create eerie patterns on his ivory skin. The orange glow darkening to a somber hue in spots, making his presence all the more frightening.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, though his expression remains sharp and his posture tense. A serpent about to strike. “I won’t hurt you.”

And unfortunately, you are the rat he has chosen to devour tonight.

“Liar! You already did!” Your shrill voice sounds louder than intended, a byproduct of the fear coursing through your veins. He takes a low breath and instantly drops his gaze to your wrist, still carefully cradled against your chest. You swallow hard, your voice dropping to a sad shudder. “W-why are you doing this to me, brother?”

His gaze rises to your face again, following the trembling of your lips, the moisture in your heavy eyelashes.

"Because you're mine." He answers, easy and natural, as if he didn't even need to think about it. But you notice that his voice is deep and cracked, emotional, his eye shining with tears again, even though his posture is threatening. "You're inside me, sister. All the time."

And, as unreal as the situation seems to be, it's impossible not to see how between the cracks of his obsessive and terrifying words he seems...fragile.

And maybe that's what makes him so scary to you. His volatility and emotional imbalance - he's a mess of feelings and you don't know how to deal with it. He's an unbalanced man, about to fall over the edge of the abyss without knowing how to save himself.

Against all logic and common sense, you find yourself feeling...pity. Aemond is your brother and you love him with all your heart. It hurts and pains you to see him this way - alone and desperate.

“I won’t let them take you away from me,” he continues, pulling you out of your mind, kneeling on the bed to get closer to you. “I don’t give a shit about the others. But I can’t lose you.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Aemond, with you. I’ll always be here.” You try to rationalize in a choked voice, trembling fingers gripping the edges of your robe, hiding from your brother’s greedy, sick gaze. “You don’t have to act like this.”

Aemond doesn’t care about your words. Instead, faster than you can realize, he’s on top of you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he presses you further into the mattress. You startle at the action, but you do nothing to push him away. Your brother’s unpredictability keeps you rigid beneath his body, afraid of what he might do from now on.

“I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, not you, not you...” he mutters softly, over and over, the insanity taking deep, entwined roots in his mind. And you feel sorry for him. His body is a solid, undeniably intimidating presence above you, dwarfing and coercing yours with his tall frame, moon-colored hair brushing the side of your face as he digs into your neck until you mewl in discomfort. His broad hands are splayed at the sides of your head; long, pale fingers that have committed atrocities beyond anything you ever imagined he was capable of. He is unstable. A danger. And yet, he is so fragile.

His scent; ash, dragonfire, and something contradictorily sweet — like freshly baked vanilla cake, you realize — fills your nostrils, and you sigh a broken sound, cupping his face between your palms. Your fingers are shaking as you hold him, applying gentle pressure until he lifts his head and looks into your watery eyes.

"B-brother..." You lick your dry lips, ignoring the way he looks at your mouth when you do so, "please, just talk to me. I want to help. Please. Tell me what to do?"

His gaze sweeps over yours for a few seconds and then down your body with disconcerting intensity, your shoulders hunching in response — as if you're trying to make yourself smaller, as if you're trying to keep yourself safe — making you regret wearing a nightgown that's too thin to offer any remotely reliable protection from that gaze.

He doesn't say anything when he looks back into your eyes. Instead, he brushes his thumb under your right eye to touch the wetness of tears there, and it takes you a second longer to realize that he's not wiping them from your skin but spreading them across it, as if he wants to see more of that on you.

You don’t have much time to think about how disturbing this is, because soon he’s sighing deeply before slowly lowering himself, and the first thing you feel is the tip of his nose as it brushes against yours. He does it once, twice, three times; a series of teasing nudges that make you hold your breath in nervous anticipation. This close, you smell the soft leather of his eye patch, see how the heavy lashes on his one good eye curl until they almost rest on the top of his smooth cheek when he half-closes them.

The signs of what’s to come are all there, but it’s still a surprise to feel his lips slightly chapped against yours. You’re so shocked by it that you don’t react when you feel a hand coming up to tilt your face better so he can kiss you and taste you more deeply.

Spit soon coats the dry lines of his lips, making them slide over yours softly and fluidly, his fingers cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to lick your bottom lip in a silent plea. His saliva tastes like cinnamon and heat, you think distantly - almost dissociated from the situation, unable to understand how you ended up here; knowing the taste of your brother's mouth.

You frown at the feeling of wet muscle crossing your lips, tracing the roof of your mouth and your gums with hungry curiosity, your fingers inert and as dissociated as you, coming to life to hold his shoulders. You manage to push him enough to part your lips, your breath quick and wet as you try to assimilate what is happening: "A-Aemond, please...stop."

"You said you want to help, didn't you?" He growls impatiently at the corner of your mouth, sliding his fingers down your jaw and neck to tangle them around the back of your neck in a possessive grip. And when he presses the side of his cheek to yours and you feel something wet on your skin, for a moment you really can't tell if it's your tears or his. "This is how you help me, sister. I just need you to stay with me. Just let me have you. Maybe...maybe if you can feel me inside you too, then maybe you'll understand. Maybe it'll all make sense once more. I just need you to stay with me."

Even though the string of words that spill from his lips are delusional at best, there's no mistaking or ambiguity about what he's saying. Though you're still a maiden, you're no fool at all. You understand immediately what your brother wants.

Your bones ache, your eyes burn with more tears, and your throat itches with the immediate urge to scream a denial, to turn away from him, to run and hide under your bed — like you used to do when you were just a little girl and were so scared of something, hoping Aemond would come to you and soothe your fears with his whispered words in gentle Valyrian and his loving, innocent touches. But you know that this time it won't be like that. Because this time the reason for your fear is himself.

Yet it’s the sheer desperation in his voice that stops you from fighting; the helplessness mixed with agony, the urgent, jealous need — as if he’s on the brink of madness and only this can save him. It’s a sick, delusional thought and you know it. Irrational in every way. But as Aemond slides his hands over your body as if he’ll die if he doesn’t, breathing raggedly in your ear, burying his face in your hair to cover the tears you’re now certain are his, you know you won’t push him away — even if your mind begs you to.

His pain seeps into your ears, slides through your arteries and veins until it reaches your heart, a stranglehold you can’t shake. Your fear is so ingrained with your pity that you can’t tell the difference.

Maybe he just wants to feel loved. He hasn’t felt that in a long time, you know that…maybe he just needs help readjusting. Maybe you’re the good to his evil. The calm to his chaos. The balance to his disharmony. Whatever it is, if it’s you he needs to regain his sanity, you’ll give it to him. He’s your brother. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

If having you is what would make him at least half the brother you loved and wanted around you, then so be it. You’d embrace his sick need — because you love him.

So when he leans down to your mouth again, you hear yourself whimper, a surrendered sound as his thumb presses and pulls your lower lip, forcing your mouth open as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t fight this time, or try to dissociate. Instead, your own tongue shyly mimics his movements, your hands coming up to caress the roots of his hair, eliciting a guttural moan from his throat. He’s rougher this time, licking your mouth greedily, using his sharp canines to bite into the soft plush of your lip until you hiss — but you don’t push him away.

(Are you proud of me, brother? Can you feel how much I love you? Can you understand how far I’m willing to go for you?)

His body is a weight that’s both comforting and overwhelming as he presses down on you, evoking a searing heat across your cheeks and neck, so intense it borders on fever pitch as the movement makes you feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock resting against your belly. You stiffen for a second, too horrified by it, but almost immediately force yourself to relax when he leaves your panting lips to kiss your jaw and chin — his hips undulating on yours as he leaves trails of pure heat on your skin. You can do this, you can do this. For Aemond.

“That’s it. A good girl, hm. Always my pretty little girl.” Outside, thunder rumbles as his tongue lathers your throat with saliva, seconds before he bites down. You squeal a high-pitched sound, hands tugging at his hair in response to the pain, and he groans hoarsely into your skin, licking the bite to soothe the sting. "Sorry, angel, I couldn't resist." The sadistic amusement in his tone confirms the lack of sincere regret in his actions.

But despite his apparent playful and mocking persona, Aemond seethes with impatience and uncontrollability. He is like a hurricane, an earthquake - untamable as the force of nature. His merciless hands offer no respite as they grip your body; no preamble. He is not interested in taking this slowly, and that becomes painfully evident to you in the space of a few seconds.

His hand, warm and eager, slides down the column of your throat, palming the fragile fabric of your nightgown to cup your breast. He palms the soft mound for only a moment before squeezing it tightly, almost trembling with anticipation. You groan under your breath, brows furrowing at the rough touch — but when your brother looks at you with that widened gaze, breathing deeply, all he offers you is a breathless, “So beautiful, baby.”

Even after everything that’s happened between the two of you up until this point, it’s this that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach flutter with an unexpected feeling of butterflies flying.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts and needs that he barely seems to notice when you turn your head away, embarrassed and blushing, refusing to look at him, wanting to ignore the utterly foreign sensation of having his hands on your body like this. Because while the way his fingertips press against your stomach to lift your nightgown to expose your legs and skimpy underwear is disturbing and humiliating, there’s also a kind of confusing heat swirling in your loins with each small touch on your skin; something that doesn’t necessarily feel good, but isn’t entirely horrible either – though the very idea of your body, on some level, beginning to welcome this is repulsive to you.

You want to please him, you want to be the anchor that will restore and stabilize your brother’s sanity, and you will absolutely do that for him if it’s within your power. But you have no doubt how unnatural this all is – how damning the notion of giving this part of you to none other than your brother – the one you’ve never seen with such eyes until this very moment. Knowing that he’s seen you this way for gods only know how long, is a difficult thought to even consider.

Oblivious to your internal war, Aemond rolls the side of your underwear in his hand and pulls it down the length of your legs, parting them so he can kneel on them. His hands, broad and calloused from years of riding in Vhagar's saddle and extensive sword training, send shivers down your spine as they knead and caress the length of your legs, and you bite your lip at the new sensation.

Even with your face turned away and your eyes closed, you know the exact moment he looks at you. His gaze fixed on the delicate, untouched center between your legs is so intense that you practically feel it on your skin. The reflex to try to close your legs is overwhelming, but you suppress it with clenched teeth. You wouldn't deny him anything, it was already decided, no matter how humiliating and wrong it was.

He leans forward, his moon-colored locks tickling you and his breath is hot against your skin as he presses wet kisses against your neck, trailing down to your jaw before stopping at your ear, leaving behind bruises that you know would be hard to hide tomorrow.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Aemond admits, his voice hoarse and slurred. “I love you so much it hurts. You’re mine. Mine.” You know he does, what he says is true. Aemond loves you. But it’s really ironic, isn’t it? He loves you with all the sincerity there is and yet, here you are. Lying in your bed, a place that once offered you safety and comfort, about to share an intimacy that you neither truly desire nor consent to.

Leaning on your thigh, you feel the hardness of his penis and your hands grip the sheets at your sides, keeping your eyes tightly closed, your eyelashes damp and trembling at the sensation of his fingers sliding like a cunning snake between your legs to trace the outside of your most intimate part. The discreet squishing sound of his fingers diving inside your folds sounds embarrassingly loud in the silence of your room and only makes you shrink even more, so focused as you were on keeping still and quiet.

"Fucking hell." Hearing him curse in your ear, with his jaw tense and his voice deep, awakens that chill in your stomach - the same butterflies taking flight again.

You want to disappear and pretend none of this ever happened.

(You want to open your eyes and look at him.)

His nose nudges your cheek as his thumb gathers some of your natural moisture to make its way to the hidden nub at the apex of your folds, rubbing short, wet circles against it before giving you any time to prepare. Your reaction is immediate and you jerk your hips a few inches off the bed, eyes flying open at the unfamiliar but utterly overwhelming sensation. You stare into the flames of the fireplace with wide, watery eyes, his continued stimulation of that spot making it hard not to visibly tremble beneath him. Against your cheek, you feel your brother’s lips stretch into a satisfied, cruel smile and a ragged sigh escapes you along with another humiliated tear.

But despite his obvious satisfaction at getting a reaction out of you, you can feel Aemond’s frustration growing by the second. “Is it good for you?" He murmurs, eager and expectant, as if he needs an answer to keep himself under control. “Do you need anything else, baby?” He purrs before you can respond — not that you thought you could. He bites your neck when you don’t say anything; punishing you.

“Aemond, p-please…” You gasp, unsure of what to say as he bites your earlobe hard. The circles on that sensitive mound of nerves begin to shift into a rhythmic up and down, rubbing the same spot until you feel your thighs trembling with…with…something. You can barely string two words together, but you know something is happening.

Your hands are clenched so tightly in the sheets that your knuckles ache, your heart threatening to race into your throat with how hard it’s beating, and by the gods, there’s a tingling sensation building in your lower belly that increases exponentially with each brush of the pad of his thumb against that sensitive nub, until you feel like something might literally explode inside you. It’s almost painful how intense it all is, but in a way that you can’t help but want more.

Wrong. This is wrong. This should be for Aemond, just for him, just to help him. It’s not about you, you shouldn’t feel things. You shouldn’t, no way. Because it only makes you feel worse…dirtier.

You almost thank him when he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and overwhelmed and very very confused by your own body. Your teary eyes lift to see him kneeling between your legs, the same thumb that was on your folds now entering his mouth as he sucks hungrily on it — his gaze fixed and hooded on your scandalized face.

“You’re delicious, sister. The best sweet treat I’ve ever tasted.” He croons after sliding his thumb from his lips with a wet ‘pop’ and you hide your face with your palms, sobbing a mortified sound. Aemond chuckles at your reaction, but doesn’t scold you.

Instead, it’s the distinct sound of rustling fabric that makes you peek through your fingers, watching your brother pull the top part of his clothes. Strands of candlelight make him radiate like an otherworldly creature beneath the flickering flame, creating some artistic shadows on the lean, defined muscles along his arms and stomach, broad shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You watch him through the gap in your fingers, blushing deeper with every patch of skin your eyes skim. Aemond blinks slowly, his jaw tense and sharp, his pupil so dilated that the darkness almost eclipses the thin violet ring of his iris. And your heart, once racing, seems to simply give up and stop when he lowers his fingers to the waistband of his riding breeches.

Once again, refusal dances on your tongue and you almost scream for him to stop. This isn’t right. Your brother definitely shouldn’t be about to get naked in front of you like it’s a normal thing, and you almost say so…but you’ve both gone too far. Too far to turn back now. What’s the point in trying? And you’d hardly bet on the innocent idea that he’d listen to you anyway. Aemond would take what he wanted, as he always had.

He unzips his pants without looking away and pushes them down, stopping at a mound of fabric between his thighs. It seems to be all the patience he has for the act, barely able to take his clothes off completely. Your fingers tremble in front of your face as you watch with wide eyes between them. His hard length stands proudly between his legs, thick and long. Intimidating, really. Pale like the rest of his body, except for a few veins in soft shades of blue distributed along the base and the pinkish tone of the head shiny with pre-cum. You have no basis for comparison, of course, since you've never seen a penis in your life. But you don't need to be an expert to know that what he has there, without a shadow of a doubt, would not be easy to fit inside you. In anyone, you suppose.

Aemond shows very little sympathy for your alarmed expression, falling over you to rest on his elbows beside your face, long silver hair flowing around you both — smelling of smoke and vanilla cake.

He stares at you for what feels like a century, breathing raggedly, lips parted. You stay in that position for so long that you jump slightly when you feel his fingers grip yours, pulling your hands away from your face to lift them above your head, pinning your wrists in his hand. He makes sure you don’t move your hands from where he’s placed them, sliding his fingertips over your injured wrist with a gentleness that moves you, down the inside of your arm, to the side of your torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He doesn’t take his eye off yours as he lifts those same fingers to his own face, gripping the side strap of his eye patch for a few seconds before pulling it over his head and tossing it on the bed. You’ve seen the sapphire in your brother’s eye a few times before. It would have been impossible not to have seen it, not with how close you were. You were the only person he felt comfortable and safe enough with to get rid of the piece of leather covering his mutilated eye. But, even though it wasn't the first time, the sight never ceases to amaze you.

The blue of the stone contrasts sharply with the paleness of his porcelain skin and his silver hair, evidenced by the long, jagged dark scar that starts halfway down his cheek to above his eyebrow. If you look closely, you can see yourself in the brilliant reflection of the sapphire - your face scared, embarrassed and amazed - all at the same time. The immortalized imperfection in this part of his face only serves to highlight the blatant perfection of the rest.

Physically, you have always compared Aemond to an angel; an ethereal and unattainable creature, a being of light and purity. But your childish daydream couldn't be further from reality. As much as appearances say it, Aemond is anything but an angel. His heart is as dark and gloomy as a night sky during a storm. The only times you’ve seen any semblance of light in his personality is when you’re around — and even that hasn’t been happening lately.

Gods, you hope that your unreserved surrender to him tonight can pull him out of the absolute void he’s hiding in. You truly hope it’s not all for nothing. There’s nothing left you can offer, after all. Aemond has already taken everything.

When his hips lower to bring your bodies together, your legs instinctively part to receive him, the solid, warm weight of his wet cock pressed into your belly is enough to send a full-body shiver through you. There’s nowhere to look but into your brother’s eyes — both that one functioning eye and the hollow that houses that precious stone. You’re floating with the overwhelming myriad of feelings, lips parted with shallow breaths, eyes watering, cheeks flushed, and your heart hammering so hard in your chest that for a moment you think you might actually die from it. It’s not healthy to feel like this, right?

“This has always been mine.” You lick your lips, blinking slowly at Aemond — it’s really an effort to try to understand and follow what he’s saying right now. “You’ve always been mine.”

He says this as he snakes an arm between your bodies to hold his throbbing member between his fingers. He’s deliberate with this, each movement slow and calculated to make sure you see what he’s doing. And indeed, your eyes — as hazy and confused as they are — follow the path of his hand after a few seconds, watching in shock and embarrassment as he pumps himself, a few slow up-and-down movements to get some relief, gritting his teeth as he growls another curse close to your ear.

You glance up at his face, flushed and impatient — his eye, hooded with lust, glances back up at yours — before looking down, forcibly guiding your attention back to the long fingers that are barely long enough to close completely around his own shaft. There’s a hard-to-swallow lump in your throat that only gets worse every time his movements make a wet slurp that sounds too loud for your sanity. Your body is arching and your fists clench tightly in the sheets above your head as he guides his leaking tip into the crevice between your folds, parting them and sliding with a slow drag that ends in that same sensitive spot as before.

You writhe beneath him, “N-no…” suddenly hesitant at how insanely real everything is becoming, at how intensely your body is feeling. “Just wait a second, brother—”

“Shh…it’s okay, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, sister.”

“Aemond, please, I don’t like this!” You nearly scream, your eyes wide and watery, overwhelmed and scared — forgetting for a moment that your goal was to give him what he wants. No matter how you feel about it.

For a moment, Aemond looks genuinely distressed by your obvious desperation. You see the tension of his jaw and the bitter glint in his amethyst gaze. But as quickly as it appears, disappears.

"You will. I'll make sure of it, sister. I promise." He says with a brush of his nose against yours, the oppressive aura surrounding him growing heavier, swallowing any sympathetic feelings that had arisen in the face of your agony.

"You have my word that I will try to do this as gently as I can." With his other hand, he cups your cheek and, despite you not believing his words for a second, you find yourself leaning your head into his palm. The glint of sick affection in his gaze makes your chest ache, and you sniff in defeat. He hums a satisfied sound when he sees your surrender and leans forward. You don't deny his kiss, accepting the slow, languid, sensual rhythm he imposes with his lips. Deep in your chest, you break and cry, but on the outside you just accept it, returning the kiss to the best of your newly awakened abilities.

“There we go, there’s my good girl,” he coos, licking your trembling bottom lip. Despite your terribly tumultuous mind, your body is as connected to him as ever, a shiver running down your spine as he kisses your jaw, trailing warm, wet lips down your neck. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you try to obey his request and keep your eyes open.

"I've waited so fucking long for this. When Helaena was handed over to Aegon, I really thought we'd both be next. You just need to be patient, I told myself." Every part of your body tingles with sparks, hips grinding against yours, grunting in a husky, bitter tone as the head of his cock rubs against your entrance. "Tsk, but they're fools. All of them. The Council, our father, our mother, Aegon, the damn realm...none of them realized what was in front of them this whole fucking time." He frowns a little, leans to the side and puts two fingers inside his mouth for a few seconds before lowering them - you sigh and shudder when a fat glob of saliva is rubbed right in the center of your legs, in that entrance you know is too small for him, adding to the mess his wet cock had already made. "You and I, we were meant to be from the beginning. An unstoppable force. Fire and blood. We would be unbeatable together, sister."

"I-I didn't, ah!..." You try, only to be interrupted when a sharp bite on your ear makes you squeal and flinch.

"But it's okay, don't worry. I'll fix that horrible mistake, my little one. I'm the Prince Regent. I'm the one who gives the orders now. No one will ever try to separate us again." Between the agonizing anticipation of having your brother's penis threatening to enter your untouched intimacy at any moment, his rough touches and his disturbing words, you barely feel coherent, lost and adrift like a castaway washed up on an island. Before you can interrupt his seriously questionable reasoning, he holds your gaze with his with a sympathetic and pitying glint in his dominant iris, as if he were your saving grace. "I got you, pretty girl."

His words are far from comforting, but you don’t have time to dwell on that.

“You’ve been mine since the second we were born. Mine to protect and cherish. Mine to tame and take.”

Still propping himself up on one elbow, he uses his other hand to grip your thigh, pushing one of your legs up and to the side, spreading you wide for him until your joints scream with the sting. The head of his cock slides between two folds one last time, nudging your entrance with clear intent.

You hold your breath.

“Eyes on me, sister.” You blink back the tears in your eyes, your face darkening to another shade of crimson at the intensity with which he looks at you, his warm, sweet scent surrounding you from every corner. “And keep those little hands where I left them.” He finishes with a sadistic smile that startles you when he see how your fingers are trembling and fidgeting above your head.

“That’s it. Stay with me. There we go.”

He finishes by saying your name against your lips before taking it all.

...

The first thrust rips a broken cry from your throat.

...

There’s no real surprise in that, though. You’ve seen how big he is, and despite your complete inexperience in the matter and all that saliva and other fluids between your legs, you just know you’re not prepared enough to take him – not that Aemond cares.

You cry out in humiliation as he tilts his head back, shuddering and letting out a breathy laugh that sounds decidedly arrogant.

“Oh fuck, so tight. I should have taken more time preparing you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, sister. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. I promise I won’t enter your body until you’re slick and spread wide for me. Fuck, I promise.” His free hand grips your hip tightly, bruising your flesh, and you sob, knowing his apology isn’t sincere — scared of the hint that there would be a next time.

You don’t know if you could handle a second time. You don’t know if you’ll survive the first.

He was going to rip you apart, and that possibility became more and more real with every inch he forced inside you. You gasp in denial, mumbling a nonstop series of pleas for him to slow down, hoping he’d find some compassion within himself — something to back up all that love he proudly boasts about you. But Aemond is truly an unstoppable force, and once he’s gotten what he so desperately wants, there’s no going back. Not even for your sweet little sister. All you can do is press your nails tighter into your palms and bite your lips until you taste blood as the round head of his length continues to push and push, slowly but mercilessly, inside you. And even through it all, you keep your watery eyes on him - like the obedient little girl he wants you to be. All for him.

You watch him as he still has his head tilted back for a second too long before he looks at you again, his gaze once again frighteningly fierce.

“You have such a tight pussy, dear sister. I can’t even –” he grits his teeth, sweat gathering at the silver roots of his hair and at his temples “- I can barely fucking move!”

It’s really hard to tell if he’s complimenting you or insulting you with that growling, sullen tone, but you cry out anyway, barely able to handle the way his cock hurts you with one powerful thrust forward. There’s a very short window of time where you get some relief as you feel him slowly pulling back, your walls returning to their original shape. Unfortunately, your relief is short-lived. He snaps his hips forward again, rearranging your insides to make room for his girth. Your breathing is shallow and uneven as more tears trickle down your cheeks and onto your chest. And honestly, as much as you’re trying to be obedient, it’s actually almost impossible to watch your brother with all the blurriness of your tears making it difficult.

“Look how well you’re taking me, little one, all swollen and tight around my cock. It feels good, doesn’t it? To have your brother like this and know that only I will have you like this? To know that only I will make you cry like this? Yes, fuck…” He rests his forehead against yours and cups your cheek. “I’m the only one, sister. You’re the only one. You’re mine and I’m yours. We belong to each other from the day we’re born until the day we die.”

Heat envelops your cheeks and heart and you sigh at his devoted words. Aemond really does love you. He loves you in a fiery, obsessive way, an irrational feeling that will ruin everything around him - including the two of you.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size when he finally reaches the end, barely waiting half a second before pulling out and pushing back in hard thrusts; as if seeking more of that intense, visceral sensation. It hurts so much and you flinch every time his hips slam into yours. But your walls keep clenching and pulsing around him, eliciting grunts and moans from the man above you.

You can barely bear to look at him during your own violation, no matter how much you force yourself to. That fulfilled, needy look making the embarrassment and humiliation coil tighter in your gut. When you finally turn your head away in shame, unable to keep up appearances any longer, he goes straight for your throat like a wild animal. Sucking and biting the flesh to make you scream, thrusting at a different angle that makes you immediately writhe on the bed. Your walls tightening around his cock in something that, surprisingly, horribly, isn't pain.

“See, you feel good too, right?”

You can't bring yourself to respond. Eyes half-lidded and lips parted as your body twitches with each of his thrusts, something funny coiling in your belly, warming your insides and leaving the dull pain of his thrusts behind, like a background noise that almost loses its importance after a while.

“You feel so good, baby.” He pants against your lips, kissing every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, slamming his lips loudly against the exposed patches of your shoulder and collarbone, thrusting his hips into yours with feverish abandon. A wet sequence of ‘tap, tap, tap’ sounds in the silence of your sleeping chamber, until you’re worried the guards might hear you outside. You want to tell him to slow down, you want to tell him to stop. But his movements and intentions are those of a barbarian – he seeks only to claim, to conquer, to claim you for his own.

“You’re perfect, I love you so much. I love you. I love you, sister.” He chants, thrusting relentlessly – obsessively – into your walls, sweat making his strands stick to his face, a salty drop running down the bridge of his nose and onto your cheek. He releases his grip on your thigh to roughly pull your nightgown over your breasts, immediately cupping and squeezing the soft flesh until you squeak at the sensation, rolling a small nipple between his index and middle finger.

To propagate and keep the blood of Old Valyria pure, unions between direct relatives were common among the Targaryens. Aegon and Halaena were the closest example you had of this. It's normal. And yet, it feels anything but normal. From the possessive way your brother's fingers sink into the soft curve of your waist to keep you contained while he corrupts you, the continuous and violent slap of his hip against the inside of your thighs, to the way his other hand holds a fistful of your hair in a tight tug, exposing the column of your throat to the air that smells of sex while his lips growl acidic words close to your ear. Everything feels wrong, dirty. As if all the purity that existed around the world suddenly ceased to exist, leaving behind only sin and cruel intentions.

Unforgivable.

Still, you grumble in frustration about how your body responds so well while your mind simply doesn't.

You hold Aemond tightly, finally lowering your hands from where he’d placed them, feeling his broad, toned back easily cover your smaller form like a protective shadow under your fingertips. The conflicting emotions are only tinged with more unexpected lust, as if he’s summoning the feeling from deep within you by force, as you involuntarily arch your back against him, feeling the searing heat of his chest pressing hotly against your breasts. A kind of heat only a Targaryen could share.

Your soft walls clench against him in response to the sensation, and Aemond curses again, pulling you closer, fucking you deeper. The burn in your lower half almost seems entirely muted now, that trickle of treacherous pleasure snaking through your core with unstoppable force as his cock brushes against a bundle of nerves inside you that —

And you moan.

Long, loud, undeniably aroused.

The sound is unmistakable, even over the loud slapping of skin against skin and Aemond’s ragged breathing.

You moaned for him. The first truly explicit, unfiltered sound you had made since this all began.

Aemond blinks and stops moving, staring at you with wide eye, mouth half open, cheeks flushed and skin sweaty — as if he’s noticing you for the first time. In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, his pupil were already dilated. But in that moment, it darken and explode completely, right before your eyes. He growls and grabs your chin with a tight grip, pulling your mouth to his to kiss you as if your lips were water to someone walking under the desert sun. His teeth hurt your lips, but you don’t complain, kissing him back with the same devastating intensity.

He thrusts into your pussy again as if he hadn’t stopped, hard and relentless, thrusting his tongue into your mouth at the same pace. You moan again, this time into his mouth. Thighs aching from how hard he’s pounding into you. Legs spread wide as he fucks you into the mattress with years of pent-up desire.

Everything is a blur, wrong yet right, burning with need and blood ties as his body rumbles and heats against yours. His hungry lips leaving yours to kiss every bit of flesh they find. You can’t stop yourself from trembling around his length, clenching tighter and tighter as he groans and murmurs his adoration for you.

“A-Aemond, brother…” you gasp, unsure, afraid of what you want from him, how much you want this — whatever it is.

Your arms, trembling and weak, wrap with all your remaining strength around his shoulders, your nails digging in to anchor you to something – anything – as he loses control above you. Pleasure and pain intertwine until you don’t know which is which. You can’t think straight, barely able to breathe between strangled moans and the fresh wave of tears that spill from your lashes as your pussy clenches around him tighter with each thrust. The sensation burns so deliciously that you cling to it, afraid of it but needing it.

“You’re mine,” Aemond demands suddenly, pulling away from your ruined neck to meet your starry eyes. “Tell me you’re mine.” He has that delirious look in his face, you think uncertainly, violet eye slightly wide and too focused on you and only you, the stone of his sapphire shining in the dim light of the room. Overwhelming, possessive. "Say it." He presses, less controlled, more ruthless.

"I-I'm yours." You respond quickly, your voice nothing but a fragile, brittle whisper, panting with each hard thrust into your delicate body, earning a hiss and a throb from Aemond's cock. "I'm yours, brother. All yours." He groans fiercely, barely allowing you to finish speaking before pulling you into a deep kiss, all tongue and saliva, as the brute force of his hips begins to increase in rhythm.

The wooden canopy of the bed slams loudly against the wall with each hard thrust, the entire bed creaking and weeping in a continuous back and forth, your cheeks burning with flames because now you're certain the White Cloaks outside your door can hear what you're doing.

A strangled cry rips from your throat as he uses his thumb to sloppily rub your clit while he digs the short nails of his other hand into the sides of your cheeks to force you to look at him, your own nails digging into the back of his neck as you hold him tight.

“Say it again; tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. Fuck, say it, say it now—” He whispers into the fat of your cheek, watching you with a manic, clouded gaze, leaving a trail of saliva from your jaw to your mouth as he bites down, his hips thrusting into yours in desperation. You can only whimper when he pulls away, his thumb slowing his ministrations when you take too long to speak.

“I love you, oh…I-I love you so much, Aemond—” You’d said those words to him a million times before, but they’d never carried this emotional charge, this much sentimentality and anticipation — words of desire and heat that were so unfamiliar and intense to you that they barely made sense. But, gods, you could feel the truth of them in your veins. “I need you. Please, brother — don’t leave me!” Your mewls and pleas answered to him, and him alone.

“Never. I’ll never let you go. We belong together, you and I…always.” Aemond’s breathless but ravenous words began to fade into the nothingness of pleasure. There was no more pain, no more guilt or disgust. That was for sure. All hurt dissolved into the overwhelming, magnificent feeling of being here, trapped in your brother’s arms. Your soft cries were a higher register than the wet slap of your joining, you discovered, giving yourself over entirely to the feeling. It encourages him to push harder and chase those beautiful sounds that reward him. You can feel him against your tight walls, nudging deep, carving a place for himself — a place that didn’t belong to him, that wasn’t his to take.

But maybe it was. Maybe it was always his to take. You were his to take.

“Y-yes, Aem…I need it. I need you, brother.” You respond softly, your eyes matching his, hooded and delirious, gently cupping his face in your hands. He turns his head slightly, just brushing his lips along the bruise around your wrist without taking his eye off you, silently apologizing for hurting you like that.

Of all the things he should apologize for —

You wish you could tell him that was the least of the evils he had inflicted on you. Instead, tears stream down your cheeks and you nod at him once, accepting his request with a shaky smile and a hoarse moan.

The candles scattered about your bedchamber burn brightly, wax dripping down the length and hardening on the brass holsters and mantelpiece. Your numerous books lie open on the floor, quills and assorted inks scattered in calculated disarray. Thread and needles rest delicately on your sofa, scraps of embroidery you had recently begun. Your dressing table is strewn with finely ornamented ribbons, pins, and jewels. Your riding clothes hang neatly behind the privacy of the screen.

All supporting an appearance of virtue belonging to a Targaryen Princess, a lady who had only recently flaunted an innocent purity in her body and mind. But now, right there, precariously hidden by the delicate veil that covers the canopy of your bed, fluttering gently in the warm breeze of the room, it is anything but a virtuous and innocent scene.

His tongue traces the outline of your lips up and down, and soon you find yourself gasping for air as you focuses on the heat that seems to radiate from the center of your belly to between your legs. That same tension from before is quickly rebuilding and you shake your hips, yearning for more of him, but unsure of what exactly is happening - Aemond, as always, seems to know what you need before you do, and soon he is back to sliding his thumb in a steady rhythm around your clit.

Your legs tremble as you approach something grand and overwhelming, hips rotating against your will. All the willpower in the world couldn’t stop you from chasing this heady feeling right now.

“I’m…” you mumble, confused, breathless, desperate, scared, “I feel…brother…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he pants, eye shining with something you can’t define, “Trust me.”

It’s like you’re being torn apart — being burned and torn apart from the inside out and you’re enjoying it. Gods, what’s happening?

“Oh, sweet girl…” his thrusts slow slightly as he applies more pressure to your clit, “Just let go — I’m here, I got you…that’s it, just like that, let go—”

A very raw, primal moan escapes your throat as his thumb is suddenly sliding with agonizing friction along that spot between your legs, his thrusts angled at a different angle that hits a sensitive, tender place that, until this unholy night, you never imagined had. Your brows furrow in sweet agony and you tighten your grip around his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer until your sweaty foreheads are pressed together, the tension in your stomach rising impossibly until your back arches off the bed.

The hand on your face drops and he circles your throat, gentle, just pressing, keeping your body pinned beneath him as you begin to writhe and cry out loud. It’s a moment of absolutely glorious release, like the feeling of flying for the first time on the back of a dragon - you feel your entire body explode in waves of shock and ecstasy, adrenaline coursing through your veins as if you’ve never been so completely and truly free before. You barely see Aemond, even though he’s literally nose to nose with you. All you see are bursts of light in front of your blind eyes, your hips bucking against his and your insides clenching desperately around his cock for what seems like hours until finally, finally, exhausted and sobbing, your weight falls back onto the bed.

“Ao issi sīr gevie, mandia. Sīr gevie.” Vaguely, like someone shouting from far, far away, you hear your brother sing praises for you. You are beautiful, sister. So beautiful. A tired mewl is all you offer in response, head still light and floating like cotton. He’s losing his rhythm, snapping his hips into you, pulling his hand from between your legs to prop himself up on both elbows and claim another quick, breathless kiss from your sensitive lips. You barely have time to respond before he pulls away again.

"Rūsīr ao ondoso issa paktot īlon jāhor pryjagon tolvie azantyr bona dares naejot sīmonagon īlva. Hēnkirī īlon jāhor se vys." He's moaning more, babbling obsessively about destroying every army that stands against you and conquering the world with you by his side. The determination and heat in his voice leaves you breathless, and you watch through bleary eyes his flushed, delirious expression. The way his parted lips are slightly swollen and red from the intense kisses you've exchanged, his brows furrowed, sweat gathering and running down his hairline onto his temples and cheeks, moonlight hair sticking to the sides of his face and swinging over his shoulders with every stroke of his body, the intense blue of the stone in his empty eye - and the dark violet in the other.

He’s beautiful and terrifying too, like a fallen angel.

With a strangled grunt that raises the small hairs on your arms and a few more uncoordinated thrusts, Aemond pushes his face into the crook of your neck, your pussy still quivering sporadically around him, shuddering as he curses and spills himself inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, this is...this is perfect...” He’s mumbling into your skin, thrusting his hips into yours with a lazy, deep drag, as if to ensure he spills himself as deep inside you as possible.

And though you know it’s impossible, you almost think you can feel it — the heat of his cum spurting in thick streams inside you, so deep that nothing could possibly get it out. The thought makes you both satisfied and sick.

Your eyes are staring up at the canopy of your bed, staring unseeingly, lips parted with panting breaths and a racing heart. All you can do is make a soft moan as he slowly pulls away from you, though he's hissing something about not wanting to leave the heat of your tight pussy just yet. He’s pulling you with him as soon as he’s out, as if he’s physically incapable of keeping himself apart from you for more than a few seconds, rolling you onto his side and pulling you face-to-face next to him.

You blink slowly as you stare up at him, letting him do the same to you. And surprisingly, where before your mind screamed and throbbed with conflicting thoughts and guilt, now everything is… silent. There’s no energy left to continue this now, you realize. All fight has been drained from you and all you want now is to rest. To close your eyes and pretend none of this happened - no screaming, no sharp words and no pain.

Just sleep.

Aemond seems to understand the surrender in your eyes. Silver hair falls over your cheeks as he leans in and kisses your sweaty forehead, murmuring a 'my beautiful girl'. A soft, tender kiss, the kind of innocent and pure kiss a brother would give his little sister.  

A sad tear falls as you close your eyes, hiding your face in his neck, so close to him that you can feel his heart beating - as fast as yours.

His arms tighten around you, holding you as close as is physically possible. “You were so good to me…” He gently kisses the top of your head, the exhaustion still evident as he pants slightly between words, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Get some rest, little one. And don’t worry. I’m here now and I’ll take care of what’s mine.”

The words bring you no peace. But you don't think he needs to know that.

****

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond purrs, “keep shivering for me, sister.” He pushes your legs further apart, grabbing your bare ass and pulling your cheeks to rub your drooling entrance against his insatiable mouth. That slick, sinful tongue makes its way around your folds, probing and teasing your clit before dipping between them, gently massaging your aching, abused walls — by him, of course. You shiver, just as he wants, feeling the soft muscle slide deeper and deeper into your core, licking what just hours ago had been the secret parts of a virginal lady.

"B-brother, I need...please, that's enough...I need to rest for a while-" you're crying as you beg, your hands stretched out at your sides, too weak to stay tangled in his hair, your body sweaty and exhausted, shaking with the orgasms he'd wrung from you until your throat was raw from screaming.

You shiver, despite indisputable evidence to the contrary, a new tingling is clouding your brain, driving you crazy with every stroke of his tongue, your body clenching and clenching in a new delirious spiral of pleasure.

Aemond growls and continues abusing your clit with his thumb as if you hadn't said anything at all, the bed shaking with the force with which he's grinding his hips against the mattress in search of his own release. It's dirty, wet, the room smells of sex, sweat and tears, the sheet you're lying on is stained with the blood of your purity, and you can't even think about allowing any of the maids to come in to clean it when daybreak comes.

Aemond, unlike you, seems completely at peace - content to fuck you like this, with no signs of wanting to stop any time soon. Thrusting his cock into the mattress at the same pace as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, flicking your clit with his thumb in short circles until you scream and cum, your juices spilling over the Prince Regent's tongue once more. You sob and grip his silver hair as he mercilessly continues to lick and suck without stopping, somehow hungrier than before.

"Aemond!! Please, I can't! It's too much!!" Your cry is loud as you feel yourself overcome by pain and pleasure, shaking your head from side to side, trying to push your brother from between your legs. He pulls away from your wet heat briefly, only to murmur a quick, breathless “yes, you can do it, be a good girl and give me one more” before flattening his tongue to continue licking your folds again.

You have no choice but what he allows you.

****

“Will you fly with me to Harrenhal?”

He asks a few hours later, as the first light of dusk filters through the cracks in the windows and you’re both still tangled together.

Aemond bites the side of your neck, leaving another mark behind, his lower body rising to meet yours, quickening at a pace that makes your thighs tremble. His hands, wide and possessive, slide to your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“Y-yes, brother.” You respond, breathless and sweaty, using your hands flat on his broad chest to support yourself as you riding to the rhythm your brother has set for you, being pulled deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of desire, unable to steady yourself. “I will follow you wherever you go.”

Nothing has changed, you think seconds before you come - (how many times has it been again? Eight, nine? By now you’ve lost count.)

Aemond would lead and you would follow.

He’d tainted and stained you, stolen a part of you that shouldn’t have been given to him. But he’d taken it anyway, like a conqueror would. Molding both your mind and your body to suit his demands, to answer his jealous, possessive call. And you would follow him. Until the day you died you would follow him. Because your heart belonged entirely to your brother, even if it wasn’t in the way he want.

He has you, your dragon, your body, your soul, and your blind loyalty. Your hands would be intimately clasped, dripping with blood and sin.

Inevitably.

As it should be.

[awearywritersworld]

the three times gojo thinks he might be in love and the time he knows for sure

gojo satoru x reader summary: title says it all w/c: 1k tags/warnings: ft baby megumi. fluff, then some more fluff. gumi refers to reader as mom. one curse word. brief reference to canon typical violence. a/n: i am ridiculously soft for this man. he needs a hug masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

the first time it happens, it's the dead of winter and you're both still teenagers. it's the year before the star plasma vessel mission, when everything in gojo's life feels like it's falling into place. he has friends, real friends, for the first time in his life.

you drag him, kicking and screaming (it's all for show, he'd go anywhere with you), out to a snow covered field. you innocently beg him to turn off limitless, and of course he acquiesces, only to be pelted in the face with a snowball.

he throws himself into the snow upon impact, arms flailing dramatically. "i'm dead! you've killed me!"

you join him on the ground, arms out stretched and nudging the fabric of his coat. "hm, then i guess i'll have to drink all the hot chocolate by myself-"

"i have returned to the living realm!!" he shouts, shooting up into a sitting position. "had to fight god for it, told 'im i couldn't bear to leave my (y/n)-chan!"

"oh, you are so full of shit," you accuse with an amused smile.

you gaze at one another as the snow falls around you silently, both somehow feeling warm despite the frigidness of the air. his glasses have slipped down his nose, giving you a glimpse at his eyes. you're thinking about how the flakes blend in with his lashes before melting away entirely. he's thinking that he might be in love with you.

~~~

some time passes before the second instance, which takes place in the spring. gojo makes his way around campus, looking for wherever you and megumi ran off to. the small boy has been attached to your hip ever since gojo brought him home two years ago.

when he finds you, you're both splayed out in the grass and pointing up at the clouds.

"that one looks like a dog!" megumi exclaims excitedly.

"and that one looks like it might be his ball, don't you think?" you question. he agrees wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic nod.

after awhile, megumi sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "can we go inside now, mom?"

there's a split second he doesn't realize what he's said, but when it dawns on him, he looks down right scared. "'m sorry!"

your features soften and your heart soars before you're gathering him up in your arms.

"oh, my sweet boy," you coo.

rocking him back and forth, you hold him for a few passing moments. he hides his face in your chest, his hands gripping onto your shirt as if it's his life line.

you pull away just enough to see his face. you'd do anything to stop the tears swimming in his eyes, just like any mother would. "you can call me whatever you like 'gumi."

"p-promise?"

"yup!" you assure, bopping his nose with your pointer finger. it earns a small giggle.

gojo watches as you rise from the ground, megumi's head now resting on your shoulder and his arms around your neck. you're humming as you walk back toward the buildings.

gojo's legs are like lead and his heart feels as if it's shifted up into his throat. for the first time, he thinks about getting married, about having a family. your face is at the forefront of every image that forces itself into his mind.

~~~

the third time happens in the dead of night. megumi is asleep and the two of you decide to watch a movie, but you're yawning before he even presses play.

you sit so close to him that you can feel the warmth radiate from his body and although you fight to keep your eyes open, you can't help but be lulled to sleep.

he tenses for a moment when your head lands squarely on his shoulder. it seems as if you're both frozen, but then you let out a soft snore as your body shifts and your hand moves to his stomach. he finally relaxes.

your hair had fallen across your face and he pushes it back behind your ear so that he can see you. he tries to ignore the urge to brush his fingers across your cheekbone, or over your bottom lip. he fails.

gojo remains still for hours, and it feels strange to the usually hyperactive man, but he's terrified of disturbing you. terrified that you'll pull away from him and he'll never get to feel like this again.

he lets that stupid movie play through twice, but he spends most of the time stealing glances at you. he does eventually turn the tv off and the only sounds that remain are the trill of summer crickets outside his window and your soft, slow breaths.

he has no idea what time it is when he falls asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams about that day in the snow.

~~~

leaves fall at your feet as the two of you make your way down the sidewalk. every now and then, your fingers brush against his and it makes his heart skip a beat. he wonders (hopes?) if anyone has mistaken you for a couple.

you come across a familiar mansion, one that the two of you exorcised together as teenagers. it feels like a lifetime ago. you stop at the gate, a bronze glint on the ground catching your eye.

crouching down, you brush away shades of orange and red to reveal a memorial for all the people who had died on the once cursed property.

"for the lives that were taken here, and for the lost soul who took them... may they rest now in the afterlife."

gojo scrunches his nose, about to make some comment about how pitiful it was to commemorate a cursed spirit, but the words die in his throat when you look up at him with watery eyes.

"this is so beautiful," you remark, turning back to the engraved words.

he shoves his hands in his pockets, peering down to read over the words once more. maybe he'd missed something?

"this community was so fearful, remember? people lost friends and family here." he nods even though you aren't looking at him, watching how your fingertips move across the words as if you're considering them further. "the spirit scared them and it stole from them, but they still regard it with sympathy and kindness.. it takes strength to do that, you know?"

he feels his chest tighten as he registers your words. for a fleeting instance, he feels like an asshole for ever finding it pitiful, but that was the thing. you have such an easy way about you, a sort of gentleness he had yet to find in anyone else. the time he spends in your company seems like the only respite he ever gets from the horrors of the world.

he hasn't answered you yet, so you look back to him expectantly. "don't you think it's beautiful, 'toru?"

god, he could fall to his knees right then and there. he could roll over and die on the chilly concrete and he'd consider it a privilege to have died by your side.

i love you. i love you. i love you. those are the only three words his brain can muster.

"yeah," he finally chokes out. "it really is."

[cuppajj]

Beast Ancients AU FAQ

I’ve seen a lot of asks in my inbox that are identical to each other, so I decided to put em all in one post and then some. This’ll be updated the more I develop the AU and the more info we get.

As a disclaimer, I am very new to CRK (as of December 2023) and I haven’t gotten to all the game or story modes yet (notably odyssey), so things are definitely bound to change + be elaborated on more! Anyway without further ado:

General

What are the Beast Ancients’ themes?

Vanilla is Penance, Lily is Sovereignty, Dragonberry is Pride, Cacao is Solitude, and Cheese is Conquest. I tried to keep them within the realm of their original meanings

Essentially my philosophy is: Penance is the acknowledgment (truth) that sins such as deceit exist in the world and must be cleansed. Sovereignty is an extreme form of freedom where one can have all the agency they wish, but can be just as silent about their presence/power as well. Pride is a byproduct of passion or sloth, boiling down to the adamancy of the subject. Solitude is a choice made with both resolution and apathy in various degrees, and lastly Conquest promises an abundant future at the cost of untold destruction.

If the ancients are bad, are the beasts good?

No, the old Beasts are still a threat. With a total of ten beasts to worry about, the situation on Earthbread is very dire. However, there is still hope left, and hope can go a long way.

Is there a new set of ancient heroes with soul jams?

No, and there likely won’t be. The Neo Beasts and first Beasts still have their respective soul jam halves, and both want each other’s.

Where’s Gingerbrave and his party?

Likely the Crème Republic, which becomes a refuge for many cookies after the rise of the neo beasts. They’re at the front of the resistance movement, working with Clotted Cream Cookie to plan how the beasts will be taken down.

What do the Neo Beasts think of their past selves?

Generally they see themselves as improved or improving. The only one who doesn’t feel that way is Frigid Cacao, who doesn’t reflect on himself that often.

Did they all corrupt at the same time?

Still working on that part. The timeline for beast ancients is a WIP, but for now, it’s likely that while they didn’t corrupt at once, they corrupted pretty close to one another. Cheese was likely first, followed by Lily. Vanilla was among the last to fall and evidently had it the worst.

Do the Neo Beasts still have kingdoms? How is life like there?

Answered here

What are the cookies of darkness doing?

As of writing (5/31/24) we don’t have a lot of info on the cookies of darkness in beast yeast, but at the very least I can say Dark Enchantress cookie may or may not know about Midnight Lily’s plan to destroy her.

How would legendaries react?

I admittedly don’t know everything about the legendaries to say yet, but they’re all alarmed to some degree. I can flesh them out the more I learn about them

Individual Neo Beast questions under cut!

Saint Vanilla Cookie

How do his powers work?

Answered here

Does he know he’s killing cookies?

Nope, he doesn’t see it as that and it would pain him to. He sees purification as a form of transition or ascension in itself, to put it simply; he might even envy those he turns to stardust, knowing his own tainted soul will be so much harder to liberate.

Why is he constantly crying?

He’s just like that. He’s just that big of an empath.

Has his relationship with Lily changed?

Saint Vanilla still cares very much about Lily, and may even be more open about his feelings towards her; but he admits the only reason why she’s still alive is because she convinced him to leave her for last. Lily very well knows that Vanilla, in his mind, wants to purify her more than anyone else. Vanilla often pities her choice to stew in her tainted soul, but he respects her decision… at least the alternative is that they’ll someday be the only two cookies on Earthbread.

What happened to Black Raisin?

As the very first to witness his rise, she inadvertently became his very first martyr.

Where’s Custard Cookie III?

With his relatives in the Crème Republic, alongside the rest of Gingerbrave’s party. The kid has a hard time wrapping his head around what happened to Pure Vanilla, and it may be a blessing that he’s been largely focused on worrying about the well being of his uncle, Clotted Cream Cookie. As the head of the resistance, he’s been working tirelessly… is this what a king goes through too?

Shadow Milk’s opinion on Saint?

To put it simply, he starts out thinking that a confused Vanilla will be easy to manipulate, but he soon finds out that Saint Vanilla is way smarter and more aware than made out to be. He knows Shadow Milk is with him, and he wants to purge him from his soul; but that is a process that may be harder than anything else. So in the meantime, Shadow Milk can watch as he continues on his path of Penance towards ascension, fighting back the resistance he creates before it can truly harm him. Essentially, Saint Vanilla isn’t trapped with Shadow Milk, Shadow Milk is trapped with Saint Vanilla.

Dragonberry Cookie

Is the skull on her head real?

Yes! It comes from a nondescript monster.

If Pitaya is imprisoned, where is Snapdragon?

With Tarte Tatin and/or Royal Margarine. Dragon City likely got taken over by Dragonberry’s kingdom, but they noped out of there as it happened. The two of them might’ve been the first few to recognize Hollyberry’s spiral into corruption and where it was headed

How is her family doing?

Alright for the most part, but they can feel Dragonberry’s influence in every aspect of their life now. While Royal and Jungleberry are technically still the king and queen, it’s only a figurehead role as Dragonberry is the true ruler. She still cares about her family very much, but she’s controlling and good at keeping them under her thumb. Dragonberry’s granddaughter Princess Cookie is the only one who objects this new way of life, and runs away from the palace.

How would the other dragons react?

The other dragons aren’t canon to CRK so they’re not canon to the au by extension, but just for this question, they’d be different levels of alarmed or concerned save for maybe Longan. I could see Ananas wanting a word with Dragonberry in particular esp since they’re both prideful cookies

Frigid Cacao Cookie

Does he ever go outside?

Very rarely, but it’s usually to observe the licorice sea or meet with the few denizens he has left.

Where is Dark Choco?

Still working on this part (waiting for Apathy pt 2 to come out so I have a better idea), but he’s likely alone by himself. He heard wind of his father’s corruption though and took it less well than he thought he would. Perhaps he’ll run into someone who feels the same?

Is his permafrost truly permanent or can the frozen citizens be thawed?

Technically yes, the permafrost can be thawed, but it’s a meticulous process since Cacao’s ice isn’t normal ice. It’s a cure that Crunchy Chip is looking for to save Caramel Arrow.

How does the licorice sea work for him and how did he come to tame it?

I can’t say how yet outside of the fact that it was a definitely cool and heroic thing for Dark Cacao to do, on the scale of taming the Black and White dragons. The sea, arguably a sentient monster in itself, and all of the creatures within it came to follow Cacao and Cacao only. Now it almost acts like an extension of himself: the beast can make the sea do whatever he wants, like acting as his shield, arms, or barrier, and the licorice horrors will vehemently defend him. There are tons of monsters roaming his frozen kingdom now.

Mystic Flour’s opinion on Cacao?

Working on it, but to some degree she knows Cacao is much stronger than he looks. She might see his apparent apathy for his frozen kingdom with fondness though.

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Is the Golden City still running or did she leave it to die?

It may still be running but in a scaled-down beta form. Cheese learned to accept the fact that what she’d built was entirely fake, but she didn’t move on from regaining what was lost. Her virtual Golden City serves as a blueprint for the kingdom she wants on Earthbread, and then some; with nothing in the barren desert to grow her kingdom, her brightened eyes turn elsewhere towards civilizations that could be brought into the fold. Such is the beginning of the Beast of Conquest’s terror.

She does sometimes visit her golden city, only sometimes. It doesn’t look the same; it’s not a paradise for her to escape to, but it is a promise of what she will have someday. This time, it will be no mirage, and there will be no one to threaten its destruction ever again.

Midnight Lily Cookie

What is her opinion on dark enchantress cookie?

DE is the source of insecurity for Lily, who regards herself as the weakest among all the beasts. Because she’s half of a complete whole, who was already half of another whole, she is passionate about reuniting her souls. While she is focused on expanding the influence of the faerie kingdom, her true goal is to track down Dark Enchantress Cookie and destroy her; but she knows she will need more help than just herself, and has considered asking for help from other vengeful allies.

Does she still guard the silver tree?

Yes, she still fiercely honors Elder Faerie’s wishes.

Have her relationships with the other neo beasts changed?

Ish, most notably her and Celestial Cheese are a little more on speaking terms; but they’re connecting through their potential partnership as Lily hopes she can help her take down Dark Enchantress. In return, she might help her expand her kingdom and take down Burning Spice.

If more FAQs come up, I will make a part two. Thank you for your interest!

[undeadentropy]

Major spoilers for dungeon meshi ahead, but I really wanna talk about it.

I really love how the demon is handled. It's not just simply evil. Like every other character in the series, it's motives make perfect sense in context. What happened is one of my favorite ideas to play with in fiction. We all know about cosmic horror, and the madness that comes from perceiving their reality. And the demon, being an infinite being from another dimension, certainly is that. And it does spread chaos in its wake. Infinite mana destroys those who wield it in the end. They become foie gras.

But the truth is that it went both ways. The demon was corrupted by a finite world, where once you eat, once your desires are fulfilled, that's it. Things end. The demon is driven mad by consuming desire, by coming to understand this eldritch place it found itself in. It wished for a paradise where desires are forever fulfilled and it could feast forever. It's infinite mind couldn't accept the limitations of mortal existence. It was never equipped to understand hunger, nor could it ever be filled.

Just like a lone traveler who feasts with the fey, it couldn't go back to the way things were before. It needed more, and the only way to do that was to consume everything, forever.

It might hate Laios for what he did, but he saved it from an eternity of unsated gluttony. Bringing everyone to its realm was doomed to fail. For an infinite being, even all life won't be enough to satisfy. That how infinity works. And that's not getting into the fact that this was the only way to defeat the demon without stripping magic away from the world forever. The demon might just figure out just what a favor Laios did for it, though it might be centuries later. Recovery from addiction is never easy.

Anyway, I just think the way they handled it was neat. Alien is purely subjective. The demon was no more prepared for the mortal world than the mortal world was for it.

[divinesolas]

For the night

summary: on the hunt for houses to declare for aegon the greens stumble upon house vance and its new lady of the house, gwayne seems particularly taken with her.

gwayne hightower x vance!reader

w.c: 3k

c.w: cole is an asshole, assault on reader (not gwayne), fluff, p in v, oral (fem), fingering (fem), not proofread

a.n: not my usual content but gwayne hightower you have charmed me

he was so sick of being out on the road. the mud, the dirt, the grass, the blood, everything he was sick of it all. and of course he was stuck traveling around with criston cole and the stick that seemed to be so far wedged up his ass it should be coming right out of his mouth.

it was another day of watching men bend the knees in his armor that made his skin feeling sticky with sweat and dirt and blood on his face, his hair a mess he is going to kill someone if he has to live another day like this. yet today something in particular catches his eye, the women who typically stood off to the side while the men bend the knee never normally interest him, but a particular women catch his attention instantly. staring off to the side without a care in the world as the early fall breeze hit your face.

a woman like her is far too beautiful to be standing out in this rutty old field next to these old crinkly men she deserved to be living in paintings or in a statue carved from the purest stone. He could not take his eyes off you, you must have been able to feel his eyes on you as you crane your head and lock eyes with him. your expression does not change but you do drop your head and cup your hands together in front of you when his gaze does not stray. a smile tugs at his lips he cannot fight for the first time in days.

once it is all said and done he gets stuck in a conversation with some random knight that he is less than happy to be talking to he finally manages to worm his way out of the conversation and looks around the field for you. his face twitches slighty when he sees you talking with criston cole and hastily rushes over.

Your conversation becomes clearer and clearer the closer he gets. “as i have told you before ser cole i am unmarried.” “i find that hard to believe you are the daughter of lord vance.” you merely shrug at him, “i do not know what you wish me to say, prior to your arrival i had been the youngest of six, i had four other sister ahead of me who married.my father saw no reason to marry me off. he had a son who married a nice lady and now they have all slit their throats in the castle halls, i never expected to be in charge or be married.” He had seen the incident first hand, when criston burst open the doors of the castle he did not expect to step in a pool of blood and fresh corpses laying on the ground of the majority of house vance excluding you and your father who was just beheaded for not bending the knee.

when you notice gwanye walk over your eyes trail to him for a moment which causes cole to look at gwayne before you turn away from him. “now is certainly not the time to be flirting with ladies cole” cole sighs and he turns to gwayne with his arms crossed, “as everyone else in her line is dead and she has no other living relatives she is the new lady of the house. i thought women of your, respectable age, would atleast have a suitor or two” gwayne rolls his eyes, he cannot believe cole and his disrespectfulness, if his suspensions were correct he had no clue what his sister saw in him. does he not realize he is speaking to one of the more gorgeous women in the realm?

“and i thought you white cloaks were swore to purity. it seems we are both wrong.” he watches a switch flip in coles eyes and before he can say anything cole has you by the neck and you attempt to take some gasps of air. “cole! release her!” many eyes had turned in their direction as you beat your hand on his forearm but no one dared move. gwanye finds himself pulling out his sword but doesn’t point it at cole just yet but his hand is itching to strike him down.

“you have no clue what you speak of.” cristons spits at you with venom but continue attempting to takes gasps of air. “criston that is enough!” your face contorts in confusion as you continue to try and pull yourself from his grip. “i meant was some of your men were seen in a brothel a town over last night.” Criston keeps you in his hands for awhile longer before he lets you go and takes a step back. you grasp at your neck as you take many deep breaths, gwayne puts his sword back and grabs his water skin and hands it to you. He watches as you eagerly drink the sack dry before turning to criston, “do you have no decency? strangling an innocent woman?”

cole says nothing but gwayne can tell he’s embarassed about the display and all the eyes on him. criston steps towards you and you step back into gwaynes chest to which he happily keeps you against him as cole speaks hushedly. “you will tell me the names of these men.” you look around at the white cloaks and point to a group of four of them standing around and chatting pretending like you cant feel gwaynes fingers rubbing circles around your hips. “how would i know you are telling the truth?” “my brother was a frequent customer of that particular brothel, i had gone to go pick him up and i walked in to see them, sharing a particular women in the center of the room with their cocks about but still wearing their armor.”

as much as he hates to admit it cole finds himself believing you, “we will discuss this after i am done speaking with them. then we must head out.” gwayne would rather die than go back on the road now especially with you in his hands. “cole, can we not take one night to rest? look at the men and tell me they are not exhausted? think of the morale cole.” he does not care about the teams morale but criston doesn’t need to know that, yet when he looks around it is rather obvious the team is suffering. mens feet dragging about the ground and faces devoid of life. criston turns to gwayne who simply raises his eyebrows at him, criston turns to you, “your lands shall host our men for tonight. but just tonight we leave first daylight.” gwayne grins at cristons pointed addition and feels you nod your head. “we have a couple beds though not many-” “we have tents to sleep outside.” “i will be more than happy to take a bed if he will not my lady.”

criston walks off leaving the two of you standing together when you remove yourself from him and turn to face him. “i am not a whore ser hightower.” he flinches slightly in surprise and manages to shake himself out of shock with a laugh. “i never thought you were my lady.” “your eyes and hands certainly say different ser.” He had been a little forward had he? so he bow his head to you.

“apologies my lady, let me try this again. I am gwayne hightower, pleasure to meet you.” he grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the back of your hand. you hum and pull your hand away from him much to his annoyance. “likewise i suppose though i wish it was under better circumstances.” he watches as your eyes drift to the large pile of bodies that had built up, hes sure your family lies within the pile, “i would like to give you my condolences.” you snort and shake your head. “im sure you would.” he wishes he could get a read on you but you keep your walls kept up tight.

he wants to rip them down and expose you to him fully. hes never been so taken with a woman and especially with such quickness, maybe it was a fleeting lust but he was so fascinated by you he cant help but want to keep talking with you, watch your every move. yet you do not give him the chance as you begin to step away from him, “one of my men will show you and your men to your room. Good day ser hightower.”

you turn your back to him and begin to walk away. he almost wants to follow after you, to chase you down and continue to talk to you but the way you turn your head back at him to give him one final look is enough to have him knowing itll be worth the chase a smirk is unable to leave his face as he steps away and turns is back to go find cole who happens to be screaming at the men you pointed at. He’ll look for you later he’s sure of it and he’s more than sure he’ll find you.

the sun had been long set and the night cold when he sees you again. its not hard to find your room, which had been moved to the main chambers only hours after your fathers death. he finally feels refreshed after a long bath and finally out of his armor or camp clothes, being given some soft nigh clothes by the maids. he should just want to lay in bed and sleep, maybe even travel with some of the other men to the brothel nearby but he doesn’t much to the surprise of his men. He instead finds himself walking through the empty halls of the castle until he stands in front of the doors of what appears to be your chambers

He knocks before he even can think about his actions and the door cracks open after a few moments of silence. Your head pops out and your eyes narrow at him, “do you need something?” “merely wish for some company, someone to chat with.” your brow raises and he can tell you do not believe a word he says. “just to chat?” a small laugh escapes him and he smiles, “well if you are offering more who i am to deny?” you roll your eyes and the door cranes open some more but you don’t let him in, standing in the doorway you lean against the wall. “my maidenhead remains in tact ser.” he throbs, you were a minx put on this plane for testing his strength. “don’t make the offer more tempting my lady, i am a merely a gentleman.”

he takes the opportunity to get a full look at you, changed out of your day clothes and dawned in a silk nightgown in a light green, the straps are thin leaving your shoulders and collarbones bare as well as your sleeves but what it lacks up top it is long enough to hit almost your feet. Your arms crossed under your chest where almost salivates at the sight. He can see your nipples poking through the almost sheer fabric of your dress. You are so much better than any sight at any brothel and more beautiful than any eligible lady in all the seven kingdoms.

“you done looking at me yet?” his eyes shoot back up to you while he grins, “never my lady.” he watches you face flash and you stand up straight. “as fun as this back and forth is ser hightower unless you are looking to marry me i must ask you to leave.” you bow your head and go to clothes your door but his foot in the way stops you. “ser,” “what if i was interested in marrying you?” you push the door open and stare at him blankly. “do not jest ser hightower.” “gwayne please and no i do not jest.” he has never been interested in marrying much, his sister had married the fucking king and had plenty children his father cared not for if he was married or not. Gwayne enjoyed the life he lived, traveling from brothel to brothel without a care in the world but you had been the first eligible lady hes ever met that even remotely interested him.

it would not be so bad to marry, this war has shown him that everything peaceful lasted forever and maybe it would be good to settle down somewhere, with someone. he watches you watch him thoughtfully, your eyes unreadable as you watch him for any signs of deceit and lies. When he makes no moves you take a couple steps back, the doorway to your room now wide open for him to step into. “If you step past the doorway you will have to marry me ser gwayne, are you really willing to give everything up for one lay?”

you stare at him with a challenge in your eyes. you think he’ll walk away and you’ll never see him again, he’ll be nothing more than a fleeting memory of a handsome man that wanted your attention for a day and you’ll settle for whatever carefully chosen lord the greens pick for you to keep you in line and you’ll live the rest of your life plainly.

The door shuts with a quiet thud and you turn around to take a sip out of your wine glass as silence fills the room you stand in.

a hand suddenly plays with one of the thin straps of your dress and pushes it down your shoulder, the right side of your dress falls down exposing the right side of your chest as his lips dance around your shoulder and neck. you lean your head back against his chest as his hands knead at your sides. He begins sucking at the part where your neck and shoulder meet while your left strap falls exposing your chest fully but his stands stop it from fully hitting the floor.

He suddenly spins your around as you take another sip from your wine, and he shoves his lips against yours, drinking the wine from your lips and some dribbles out of your mouth. when he removes his lips they trail down and lick up all the wine that had slipped out, his hands leave your waist and your dress hits the floor softly leaving you bare in front of him.

his head spins as he stares at you you sit on the table with your legs parted. “live up to your standards?” he shakes his head as he drops to his knees, “your beauty surpasses that of the maiden herself.” He rubs his hands on your thighs as you let out a shaky breath staring at his ginger hair. he presses light kisses on your inner thighs growing closer to where your dripping for him.

he licks softly at your folds first before his tongue pushes past them and greedily lapping at your core. his hands grab at your hips to pull you closer to him as you rut your hips again his face. When he groans against your core shedding shivers up your spine your throw your head back is your hand tugs at his hair softly.

you bite your lips to silence yourself in the hopes no one hears you but when he pulls away and bites your thigh you can’t but let out a whine. “let me hear you.” you shake your head as he pushes two fingers inside of you, “what if someone hears?” “let them hear us i dont care.”

Your grip on his hair grows tighter as you feel his lips wrap around your clit and his fingers begin to push in and out of you at a steady pace. you hunch over as you grow closer and closer, he revels in the way you’ve stopped holding yourself back and lets your sounds flood his ears. he can tell you’re close with the way your grip on his hair tightens even more and the way your thighs clench so snuggly around his head.

“gwayne.” he pulls away just enough to speak to you, “its okay let go.” he licks up every drop you spend out while his fingers help guide you through your peak. he stands back up and smiles at you with his bruised glossy lips. “do you want me to do the same?” he licks his lips and shakes his head, “not today beautiful as tempting as that is.” he presses his lips against yours as his hands work as his trousers to free himself. your hands join his and make quick works to free himself from his clothes leaving him bare. he picks you up and you giggle as he smiles against your lips and drops you onto the bed.

you grip his shoulders tightly as he begins to thrust into you. mumbling words of encouragement in your ear you hiss as he enters you more and more until he’s fully inside of you. he tries his best to restrain himself knowing you need time to adjust, he feels the way your walls clench around him and the way your eyes shut tightly he cant help but groan at the sensation of it all. fuck whores and fuck brothels he thought, nothing would truly get better than this. and when he starts to thrust and the way you sing to him is better than any wine.

he helps your legs wrap around him as his thrust grow more and more aggressive, as he watches your tits bounce he cant help but lean down and wrap his mouth around your nipple as he cries out. one of his had been on your thigh moves to rub your clit and only when you release around him does he allow himself to spend his seed inside you.

when you fall asleep on his chest as he traces shape in your skin a playful smile falls on his lips as he thinks about how furious cole will be, the man had been planning to marry you off to some old man who would agree to anything they said and now cole is going to be stuck dealing with him. yet he doesn’t care because as long as he can have you it doesn’t matter.

[fushipurro]

The Nature of Depravity

Masterlist

☆ Synopsis: You were an angel, a saint, one of the most profound icons worshipped by mortal kind. There wasn’t a soul in paradise or the fire below that didn’t know your name. It seemed that everywhere you went, you left behind a trail of all things good.

You were one of the best heaven had to offer ─ up until the day you fell from grace and into the hands of a sinner.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, AU - fantasy, religious imagery, mentions of blood/violence, implied murder, biting, creampie, scratching, p in v, foreplay, angst, everyone's bad at feelings, true form sukuna, tonguefucking, loss of virginity

☆ Word Count: 10.7k

It wasn’t like one day you woke up and decided to rebel against the heavenly utopia.Rather, it happened like any other day while you were making your rounds to several war-torn villages recently burnt to ash. You sought to aid in the recovery of those lucky to survive, but unbeknownst to you at the time, a group of demons were awaiting your arrival.

With one precise throw, they managed to impale one of your wings with iron weaponry, effectively knocking you from the sky. From there, everything that followed seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, and the next thing you knew, you found yourself here ─ bound in chains, brought before the King of Demons.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Otherwise known as the Fallen, or the Disgraced One, Sukuna was once a proud angel of similar status to your own. It’s unknown how his departure from Heaven came to be. Some claim that he was the bastard child of an unholy couple, while others claim he was never an angel to begin with ─ merely a forked-tongue creature living under the guise of your virtuous ways. At the end of the day, he shed his wings and took over the hellfire realm with unyielding strength.

You stand before him, trapped to an iron pole that burns you to the touch. The metal rod from earlier still marring your wing ─ no doubt broken as it lays flat at your side, oozing with golden, angelic blood.

“What do we have here?” The voice of king stretches across the room, inciting the demons that brought you here to bow in his presence. Something you already have no choice but to do. The intense pain and your lack of energy from the earlier fight affects you greatly now, killing any hope of refusal.

“My lord, we’ve capture this angel we now offer to you.”

“That much is obvious,” Sukuna responds coldly, rolling his eyes. He presses a bored fist to temple. “So what? You’ve come here seeking something from me, haven’t you? Go on, spit it out.”

The demon at your side sputters with nerves before another takes over, “This is no ordinary angel we’ve brought you,” he says, stating your name to the demon king, “We desire your protection, and means for our survival. Our families are poor and struggling to keep those foul humans out of our land.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the sound of a cruel laughter meant to mock the demons uttering such filth.

“My lord?”

“Quiet,” he commands with no such amusement from moments ago. “If you’re too weak to fight then you deserve to lay down and die. Your kind is meant to be chewed up by the strong.”

“But Sir–“

A flick of his finger, and blood sprays out in all directions, some of its droplets even landing across your face. In the next second, that demon’s head rolls into view. The others behind you gasp in fear, a few even daring to step back only to meet the same demise.

“You’d do well to remember that everything you have belongs to me. Your homes, your land, your lives.” He laughs again. “All of it belongs to your one true king. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind on letting the rest of you live.”

The demons leave in a hurry, and all that remains is both you and the devil.

Sukuna approaches you slowly, like a predator cornering their prey, uncaring that he has to cross a puddle of black demon blood to reach you. With two fingers, he lifts you by your chin, allowing you to drink in the sight of someone who used to be just like you.

Black ink binds to his skin, visible across the expanse of his body from what you can make out. With four arms, and a set of eyes growing from the side of his face, he’s the textbook definition of a demon by human standards. But as an angel, well… you’ve seen more unique creations in the first sphere of your celestial hierarchy. Different doesn’t always have to mean repulsive.

“Such a pathetic sight,” he murmurs, moving your head as though you’re a fruit being examined for its quality. “A broken, pitiful excuse of an angel in my domain.” A grin appears on his face, ripe with his malevolent nature. “How the so-called mighty continue to fall.”

You should bite back. You should be saying something, anything to defend heaven from the one who for whatever reason forsake it, leaving it all behind to become the enemy of virtue. Yet, you’re unable to come up with anything like all your peers would.

Sukuna appears to be studying your expression carefully, finding himself perplexed by your lack of animosity.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks with a hint of curiosity, though his face remains neutral.

“Should I be?” you respond, and without much thought or consideration for the position you’re in. He could do whatever he wants with you, and it would as easy as it is for him to take a life.

He laughs again, letting it echo throughout the throne room.

“Most creatures tremble in fear before me. You even got to see what happens to those who annoy me.” He pauses, revealing sharpened fangs as his grows wide. “And yet, you ask me if you should be afraid. Well, I think the answer is quite obvious, don’t you agree?”

“If it is my fate to die by your hands, then so be it.” As you tell him those words, you feel your strength slipping. The weight of your head sinking deeper into his touch. Even your sight is starting to cloud with black spots.

“Fate? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.” He leans down, mere inches from your face. “You’re just like the rest of your kin, always preaching the gospel of a false king. Your paradise is nothing but a garden of lies.”

You can’t help but wonder from Sukuna’s words what happened to birth such hatred for your shared homeland.

“Being scared would do me no good. In my current state, I pose no threat to you,” you point out. “What reason do I have to fight you?”

He scoffs, “There’s a war going on, and you and I are on opposite sides.”

“That’s never mattered to me.”

He clicks his tongue, swapping the fingers under your jaw with his whole hand. His nails dig into your cheeks, but you can hardly feel it. You can hardly feel anything but coldness.

“I understand if it’s my time; do as you will with me.”

“You speak as if your life holds no value.” He seems to be evaluating you again, tracing his lower set of eyes across your broken wing with scrutiny in his gaze. The other two remain locked with yours. “I wonder if your dear paradise would even allow your return… you may as well be one of the fallen now.”

His words barely register before everything goes black and you succumb to the darkness swelling around your form. You’ve held the hands of many humans on their way into paradise, and many speak of death’s embrace being so warm and inviting.

But all you feel is cold.

So, so cold.

“Sleep well, angel. I’ll be seeing you again soon enough.”

Slowly but surely, everything starts falling back into place. Reality returning to your lifeless form as you awaken from your slumber.

With a tired groan, you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. Nothing about where you are screams paradise, and in fact, it’s more of the opposite. Currently, you lay atop a large bed, surrounded by red silk sheets and pillows. The room itself is especially decorated with lavish details and portraits bordered with gold, its imagery ranging from acts of debauchery to icons painted with blood. Something about those specific paintings raises an unsettling feeling in the back of your mind.

“You’re awake,” a voice calls from the doorway. The richness of his voice makes it obvious without turning your head that you’re not actually dead, but still within Sukuna’s castle of sin. “How are you feeling?” he asks, though his demeanor remains calm, devoid of any underlying concern or true empathy.

You try and sit up, but quickly fall back from the pain, almost forgetting the trauma you had been through. You only realize now the number of bandages wrapping your body, the majority contorting your wing into a makeshift sling.

“You saved me?” you ask with disbelief in your tone. You thought for sure your time was up, yet your heart still beats, quicker now in Sukuna’s presence. “Why?”

“Yes, I saved you. And as for why…” He crosses his arm, maintaining his cold stare. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.” A subtle smirk appears.

“Whatever the case may be, thank you, for not letting me die.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for charity,” he says bluntly. “In due time, you’ll be fulfilling your usage to me. That is the only reason you’re still alive.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words. “What use would you have of me?”

That devilish grin makes a reappearance on his face as he strides closer to the bed, towering over you. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, you need only to focus on your recovery.”

So much for getting any answers or having any chance of leaving.

“Charity or not ─ I still thank you,” you say back to him, smiling all the while despite the fact you’re now akin to a bird confined in a gilded cage. Better than an iron cell, but not the same as the freedom that calls to you. At the end of the day, however, and for whatever reason he has, he still chose to help you.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he chuckles, eyes darkening. “It’s far too early for that.”

Sukuna’s amusement fades as the doors to your room open, revealing a white-haired servant holding a tray of sorts.

“My lord,” they greet, bowing to the King of Demons.

“Good, you’re here, Uraume. See to her recovery now that’s awake. I have work that needs to be done,” he announces, stepping out of the way for the one called Uraume to approach. Sukuna eyes fixate on you again as their servant helps you sit up. “I’ll warn you now, angel. You’re in my domain.” His tone is stern, full of unspoken promise. “If you so much as try to escape, I’ll clip both of your wings and leave you to rot this time around.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony in his words. “Don’t worry, I think we both know I’m in no condition to leave. Nor do I plan on trying either.”

Despite the humor of it, one look at your wing is enough to question what life will be like for you from now on. There’s a question that when you recover, will you ever be able to fly again? You can’t help but feel off about the dull coloring of your wings now.

All angels radiate a celestial glow across the span of their perfectly white wings ─ like light scattered through a prism in every hair and fiber. That glow is seemingly gone from yours, and you think you spot some gray forming at the base. To be absent of that symbol of your connection, one can only assume it to be a sign of what’s to come.

“See that you don’t,” he remarks, turning away to let Uraume work.

Uraume makes careful work of changing out your bandages. They work quick and with deft fingers, trying their best not to aggravate your wing further. All the while, you face away towards the head of the bed, hiding your now exposed chest with your arms. You feel them pause, tracing a finger down your back. In your mind, you assume it to be one of the many marks left behind from the demons that captured you, and thus, you don’t focus too much on it.

You fail to notice Sukuna’s gaze transfixed on you from the doorway. Although silent, a darkness looms over his features. He exits the room moments later, shutting the door with more force than necessary, making your body jolt.

It’s a while before Uraume finishes, and they leave you with some fresh fruit to dine on. While you’re supposed to be resting, you find it difficult, especially after learning you’ve already been asleep for several days. That knowledge is precisely why you ditch the sheets to walk out onto the veranda connected to your room.

The moon is high in the sky, basking the courtyard garden with its sheer, red-toned light. Down here in the realm of fire, it’s as though the moon forever mirrors the flames conjured up from demons. That, or it reflects the many pools of blood from a millennium of suffering.

“Don’t you look like a broken bird,” Sukuna comments from behind you. For someone of his stature, it’s a wonder you didn’t hear him approaching.

“In a way, I am,” you muse, moving your eyes forward again. “One that flew too far from her nest.”

“Fallen from the nest and into the hands of a monster, how your precious fate seems to curse you.”

“Monster?” You snap your head in his direction with an incredulous look. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself with that comment.”

“You would deny what I am?” His voice is tinged with arrogance as he comes up beside you, not bothering to spare a glance. “I am the King of Demons, the most despised of life’s creation. How am I not a monster?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you respond, tilting your head. “Whatever the case may be, you chose to let me live, and even saw to the treatment of my injuries. You could’ve kept me in chains, plucking my feathers one by one, but you didn’t. You even have me in a room made for royalty.”

He scoffs, but you don’t let it stop you from continuing.

“Your title aside, I don’t assume anyone to be a monster ─ only a victim of circumstance. Is someone truly born evil, or is evil nurtured?”

Sukuna appears mildly surprised by your speech, giving you his attention. You spot the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “A victim of circumstance, you say?” he repeats with an added air of mockery. “You raise an interesting point, but that doesn’t make you any less of a fool. Tell me, do you believe that because you’re an angel, you’re exempt from the original sin?”

“Not at all,” you answer quickly, and full of conviction. There’s not a drop of fear or hesitation as you openly speak your mind to Sukuna. “All of us ─ angels, demons, humans… we’re all doing what we can with the lives we were given. Angels rise and fall; some sinners beg for forgiveness while others let it define their nature. What’s important to me is how you treat others.”

“By that logic, what of the demons that maimed you? What of me, who has already killed in your presence?” Sukuna refutes. “Most would agree those to be the act of monsters.”

“Does being a demon mean you automatically deserve to be punished for the title you brandish? Does one act define your whole being? The demons who brought me before you sought help and protection ─ for that, I cannot blame them for their actions upon me. What difference is there between heaven and hell if I’m blinded by namesakes instead of looking at all the good and evil that can come from anyone, even of my own kind?”

Sukuna appears almost at a loss of words from your rambling. In truth, he wasn’t expecting such philosophy from someone so high in the celestial hierarchy, but he can see now why the humans would think to praise you as a saint.

“You make it sound so simple… so noble.” He’s looking at you now a deeper gleam in his eyes, intrigued enough to forgive your bold speech to him of all people. Most beings would never get away talking to him like you have after all. “So you would say there’s no difference between you and me after everything you’ve witnessed? How many in heaven would even agree with you?”

“I believe morality is a wild card that’s been muddied one too many times. There’s good and evil in everyone, even the almighty creators that chose to allow lesser beings to suffer in order to achieve growth. I can’t say I know many who would agree with me, but I understand their feelings and I’ll continue to trust in the potential for good.”

“You speak with a passion despite your predicament,” he huffs amusingly. “Still, I must admit, you have a unique way of thinking for an angel that’s uncommonly seen.”

You acknowledge his words with a hum, drifting your eyes to your wings lying flat at your side. “Most likely why heaven doesn’t seem too keen on my return,” you murmur, referencing the missing glow. “In return for saving me, I’ll see if I can be of use to you.” You’ll need a new purpose if you are to fall from grace.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound almost sinister. “An angel, offering her services to a demon. How… poetic.”

Silence takes over as you both admire the red glow of the garden. All that can be heard is running water from the fountain pond, and the occasional splashing of its scaled inhabitants.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may,” Sukuna responds with one of his lower eyes pointed your way. “Whether or not I’ll answer is a different matter.”

You choose your next words carefully. This back-and-forth debate has been an unexpected treat after the pain you’ve endured to get here.

“You were an angel once too, yes? What happened that led your fall?”

His jaw clenches from the sudden inquiry. “There was a time I too preached the seven virtues; as for how I came to become the monstrosity I am today is a long, dark story.”

After telling you this, Sukuna starts to walk away.

“I see… I hope one day I’ll have the chance to hear it.”

He scoffs, giving you a sidelong stare over his shoulders. “I’ll consider your words, but it’s best now you return to your quarters and rest. Don’t go flying off anywhere.” His twisted laugh echoes from down the halls, and despite the cruelty of it, you can’t help but smile.

Days pass, and while you’d like to say you’ve gotten into a routine, even an angel like yourself isn’t immune to going stir crazy. To be grounded like this for as long as you have now is unnatural, and as your feathers seem to darken each day ─ so do your thoughts on the situation.

Currently, you’re seated out on the veranda again, admiring the servants working from afar to keep the courtyard clean and the shrubbery trimmed to the king’s liking. There’s a feeling that bubbles from within at the sight of those taking to their wings to reach the heights of certain trees, or cleaning along the palace rooftops. A feeling you aren’t sure just what to call as of now.

“Bored, are you?” That familiar tone reappearing. His arrival is the only bearable part of your stay as he forces you out of your own mind.

“I have the gift of life; I could never be bored,” you state, not taking your eyes off the demons that cling to the skies. “I am however… longing, I’d say.”

Sukuna’s eyes find you, moving from your face down to your wing. You’ve gotten to where you can feel his burning stare at times, even when he’s not around. While it may come off as intrusive, you find it a comfort.

“You miss it, don’t you? Being up in the skies, untethered from the earth.” he asks with understanding, but also that same recurring hint of his typical mockery.

“The wind between each feather, the sights you can only see from above…” You can’t help but sigh at what now feels like a distant memory. You’re certain your wing will recover, but whether you can maintain flight is a mystery in itself until the time is right. “Will you tell me now what purpose you have in keeping me around?”

Purpose is something you need right now to stave off the thoughts.

“Impatient, are we?” He holds your gaze silently for a moment before continuing. “I have my reasons, but I’m not ready to divulge them. For now, let me make it clear that you’re too valuable of a prize for me not to keep around.”

“A prize, huh?” You ponder the thought, leaning your body against one of the columns for support. “Am I even worthy if my connection to paradise has been severed?” you mumble on instinct, not intending for him to hear such thoughts you never knew you had.

He does though, and it leads to him furrowing his brows, and averting his stare to elsewhere in his domain.

“Who cares about heaven?” he starts, keeping his voice low and full of what you believe to be spite. You wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled his eyes as well. “Even if they abandoned you, your existence still holds value to me. Fallen or not, you’re a walkingcontradiction that’s piqued my interest. As far as I’m concerned, heaven was holding you back from your true potential.”

Moments like these are why you’ll argue with him for as long as necessary to prove he’s more than what he makes himself out to be.

“Is that so?” You smile. His eyes flicker back to you at the sound of your giggling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sukuna finds himself grinning as well. “Am I?” he questions while reaching to your feathers, running his fingers along them with a delicate touch. “And what would that be in your eyes?”

“The best way I can explain it is that you’re simply you ─ Sukuna.” You lean back one hand, gesturing with the other. “You try and present yourself as some monstrous demon that burns everything you touch, but here you are treating me with such care. I don’t doubt your strength, but I believe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“You’re a perceptive one, I’ll give you that, angel.” A beat of silence, and the flash of what could be read as vulnerability in his typically guarded demeanor. “But remember, I’m still a demon. My nature is not a kind one, so don’t go forgetting that detail.”

You chuckle, “I won’t, but I stand by my point. It’s my nature to see the good in everything that shares the same life as me.”

“Sounds tiring,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. He removes his hand from your wing, tucking it back into his robe.

“Tiring? Oh contraire.” You smirk, feeling a spark of confidence ─ and maybe some defiance. “Do you only see the bad in everything? Always assuming the worst of others and thus feel the need to extinguish their life before they have a chance to bear their fangs? That to me seems tiring if you must always need your guard up.”

His face darkens considerably, and you realize too late that you’ve struck a nerve.

“You know nothing of what I’ve been through or why I do the things I do, so don’t pretend that you do,” he spits. The underlying wrath in his tone has your feathers puffing up. “Power is all that keeps me alive and keeps me going in this god-forsaken world. When you’ve been betrayed and hunted like I have, you learn quickly that you can only truly rely on yourself and not to trust others, especially not an angel.”

Guilt pangs in your chest alongside hurt from his choice words. You don’t regret what you said, but you maybe regret the timing of it, or not having considered his feelings before letting it all out. Life isn’t as fair to everyone as it might’ve been for you, but his anger has shown you the likelihood that his lifestyle was something nurtured ─ not the nature of sin one might argue.

He couldn’t have been born evil. It had to have been the acts of others that left him no choice but to become the embodiment of said evil.

And you can’t blame him for it, nor can you turn back time to right all of the wrongs. Fate must have brought you here for a reason, and in time you hope Sukuna realizes he doesn’t have to suffer alone. Even if he never pleads for forgiveness, you’ll show him that life is more than the negatives.

“I apologize if I upset you.” You stand up from your seat, tipping your head. A sudden act of submission even he can’t argue with. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning to my quarters now to rest.”

His glare seems to soften, if only a slight change. “…Fine. Go rest,” he quietly sighs, shifting back towards his garden view.

You take your leave, unknowingly leaving behind one of your fallen feathers in your previous spot. Sukuna notices this, lifting it to the moon’s light, watching it filter through the hairs. He kisses his teeth before stalking back to his own quarters across the yard.

You don’t see Sukuna much after that, almost like he’s trying to avoid you. Is he really that upset with you? It begs the question whether he still wants you around, or if his anger outweighs your worth enough to kill you and be done with it.

It’s another night where you find yourself out in the garden, enjoying the semblance of freedom it offers. You no longer have a bandage around your wing ─ which now is half covered in shade coloring ─ and Uraume has instructed you to begin stretching it to work back into a routine of physical therapy.

It can’t hurt to see if you can at least lift yourself off the ground, right?

So, you stand at the center of what appears to be Sukuna’s training grounds, as it offers plenty of space to move. With the moonlight against your back, you stretch out your wings in full, covering a good portion of the area around your body. You feel nervous yet eager to fly, enough to push past the dull pain you feel when you finally begin to lift yourself up off the ground.

Already you’re sweating ─ so out of shape from rest ─ but you don’t want to give up. It’s too soon and knowing now you can be off the ground makes you hopeful that this is the day you can take to the skies again. Only you don’t realize how much strain you’re putting on yourself, and how your unharmed wing must compensate more fiercely.

“Come on…” you strain, flapping harder than before when a sudden jolt of pain pierces through your wing, sending you crashing back into the dirt with a yelp. It only gets worse as your weight ended up landing on your recovering wing.

“You idiot!” Sukuna appears, shouting with alarm as he comes up to your side. His usual calm demeanor having been replaced with both anger and concern. “You’re not fully healed yet, what were you thinking?” he snarls, forcing you to sit up off your crooked wing.

You start to tear up from the pain, feeling a wave of emotions crashing into you all at once. Feelings you never knew existed outside humanity. You let it all out by sobbing into the dirt, and out of sheer frustration, you begin clawing at it too, angrily flapping your wings like a child throwing a tantrum.

Sukuna is surprised by your sudden outburst. The sound of your tears and the flapping of your wings is like a desperate cry for the freedom you once felt. He grabs at your shoulders, commanding you with his voice, “Cut it out, you’re only making it worse.”

“It’s already worse!” you shout back at him, surprising him yet again with this new side of you. “Let’s face it, Sukuna ─ my wing is ruined, I’m falling into ruin, there’s nothing left of me!” Your cracked voice tears through the garden, its serenity now clouded in the anger and hopelessness you feel.

This is the first moment of your life you’ve ever felt suffering like the mortals you’ve guided, and for the reason to be something as selfish as self-loathing… it shows how far you’ve fallen from grace.

“Stop being dramatic,” he growls. “If you don’t give yourself time to heal, then how can say for certain you’ll never fly again?”

You throw yourself into Sukuna’s front, unsure how else to cope with the weight of your emotions. An angel seeking comfort in a demon. You may be free falling into sin, but you have to agree with the poetry of it like Sukuna suggested.

He wasn’t expecting you to suddenly cling to him, but besides the mild annoyance he feels, he doesn’t make any moves to push you away. His awkward embrace is warmer than you would’ve thought, but this is the ruler of flames we’re talking about.

You don’t feel as cold as you have when he arms shield you from the world, and the depths of your mind.

When your tears settle and your breathing mellows, Sukuna lifts you from the ground with ease. He carries you back to your room, placing you gently down onto the edge of your bed. His hand moves with practiced care to your wing, feeling for any discomfort. You wince of course, and he lets a frustrated sigh after a minute of testing.

“I’ll send Uraume in to deal with this,” he tells you, and you notice his tone lacks the usual authority or contempt. He shifts his gaze from your wing to your face, reading for any signs of life in your distant eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, and it’s the truth. As an angel, you were designed to only feel emotions such as humility, kindness, patience… but now you don’t know what to label yourself with, or how to get through it. “What’s wrong with me?” you ask, not daring to look up from your knees.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” One of his hands comes up under your jaw, lifting your chin to meet his crimson gaze. All four eyes staring into yours with the visage of understanding. “You’ve lost your light is all.”

Your light, your home, your paradise.

“I’ve lost everything.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” His thumb traces your skin.

“Is that even worth it anymore? I’m no prize in this state, merely a broken bird like you had claimed.”

He furrows his brows, annoyed that you’re using his words against him as you wave the proverbial white flag with your voice.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snaps ─ harsh, but a necessary evil. “If you had no value, I would’ve killed you long ago. You have the mindset I’ve only seen in one other of your kind, and your knowledge and resilience are quite admirable in my eyes.” He lets go of your chin, stepping away from the bed. As he moves to leave, he stops, and without turning to look at you he says, “In time, you’ll realize how worthy you are.”

You weren’t sure if it could get any worse, but as the days continue to pass, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the abyss that is your psyche.

Uraume has been hovering around more often than not, urging you to stay in bed and rest, but you hate it. You hate this feeling of being powerless, of being empty, of not being able to live as you once had. From the moment you could fly, you were wandering the human realm, helping everyone you came across from the largest of creatures to the smallest of insects.

It’s your nature to help others no matter the cost. What’s not is putting yourself first. But now, everything’s changing ─ faster than you could have ever imagined.

You think this is what humans would refer to as fear, and what an unpleasant feeling it is.

Sukuna comes by every day, sometimes more than once to check in on you, and each time he finds you in the same, curled up position with your face buried in the silk.

He’s had enough of this slothful behavior.

“You need to eat, angel,” he says firmly, tapping his finger loudly on the bed post.

“’m not hungry,” you respond, though your voice is muffled and weak.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and the force he puts into tapping his finger threatens to crack the wood. “You can’t just ignore your needs forever,” he retorts, “You need to eat, now.”

“Why do you care so much?” You don’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do, but luckily Sukuna is a patient man, most of the time.

“I didn’t save you just to watch you die in such a pathetic, mortal way.”

“Haven’t I always appeared pathetic since the day we met?” Bound in chains, bloodied with no celestial shine. Weak, broken, a pitiful excuse of heaven’s most revered angel. Complete, and utterly pathetic.

He kisses his teeth. “You’ve had your moments, but if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself, then you would see all that you are. All that you can be now.”

You’re silent for a few moments as you ponder his words. His unrestraint in speaking his mind may not always be a virtue, but it’s a comfort you’ve come to welcome all the same.

You turn your head his way and ask, “Was it like this for you when you fell from grace?”

“I wasn’t moping like you are, if that’s what you mean.” He then sighs and takes a seat along the edge of the bed, cautious in avoiding your sprawled out wing ─ which has become increasingly black as the days pass by. “But yes, I too had to overcome human emotion to get where I am now. It won’t last forever, I assure you.”

“You were right before,” you murmur, staring past Sukuna into your view of the garden. “I don’t know all the struggles you’ve had to face, or anyone for that matter. It doesn’t matter if I’ve visited one village or a thousand burnt to ash. Until now, I’ve never truly felt pain like this in my heart.”

Both set of eyes look down at you, but not in the sense that you’re beneath him. His gaze is understanding, regretful even for how he spoke to you before. You’ve stirred up Sukuna’s emotions without realizing, forcing him to come to terms with how he feels.

“What you’ve seen in the past has always been the aftermath of war. Until you’ve faced suffering yourself, you never would understand the pain behind it.” There’s a bitterness lacing his words as he remembers that period of his life prior to becoming king.

The moment that changed the course of his life forever.

“For whatever you’ve been through, I’m so sorry.” Tears rush down the side of your eyes, collecting into the sheets. “I always believed heaven had everyone’s backs, even those who hadn’t redeemed themselves, but I was wrong, so wrong. I’m just as guilty as every other celestial being for turning a blind eye and letting you suffer.”

Sukuna’s demeanor softens up at your apology, and he reaches a sharpened nail out to catch one of your tears. “Your apology is unnecessary… but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

The two of you sit in silence as you let the tears flow freely. The only sound aside from your own being the windchime Uraume had put up along the garden doors one evening. It’s the normal glass bulb shape, but the papery sheet that catches the wind is black, with red-spider lilies painted across. The flower’s coloring continuously reminds you of another with that same hue painted four times over.

Your stomach eventually disrupts the scene, cueing what you both were already aware of.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry; are you going lie again?” he teases, now poking his finger into your back.

“I guess I could try and eat something,” you playfully reply, moving to sit up. You feel discomfort immediately in your head, your vision darkening in turn from how long it’s been since you’ve last had a proper meal.

“Rest,” he orders after noticing your grimace. “I’ll have food brought to you immediately.”

Before he gets too far, you call out to him, “Sukuna?” He turns, giving you his attention. “Thank you,” you tell him, the moonlight hitting your face just as you smile. Its red glow is accentuated by your glossy cheeks, almost like a blush.

“You’re welcome,” he replies gruffly, but with the hint of his own smile hidden buried under his scarf.

From there, the days only get easier. Resting has felt less of a routine, and with Uraume’s help, physical therapy has been going well. There’s plenty of new growth in the form of pinfeathers across your wingspan, and the oldest of such white at the very tips still. It appears your broken wing will forever remain deformed ─ no thanks to the stunt you pulled ─ but you find yourself embracing the change.

The same can be said for many things now in your new life, such as how you’ve come to enjoy the night over day. The moon’s light is a comforting touch, as is the serenity felt in the late hours. You let that light guide your fingers across your wings, preening the darkened feathers to look your best.

Another change you’ve noticed are the appearance of marks stemming from the center of your back. According to Uraume, they were present at the time of your arrival, but since then have grown to wrap around your body in a filigree type pattern. You’re reminded of Sukuna’s own markings as you examine your body, and you’ve begun to question if this is how heaven marks their fallen.

Reaching the feathers closest to that part of your body is a challenge, and one you’re struggling to overcome. Angels typically preen each other’s wings in a show of chastity, and companionship. You’re certain Uraume would help if you ask, but the idea stirs a sense of intimacy now for whatever reason.

“Having trouble there?” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the night from behind you as always, making you jolt in surprise.

“Oh– uhh, yeah, just a bit.”

“It’s not an easy task reaching those feathers on your own, is it?” he muses with a snickering laugh. His footsteps are silent as he comes ever closer to the edge of the veranda.

“It isn’t, but I’m positive there’s feathers there ready to be unfurled.” You have a focused look on your face as you try once more to bend your arms in outrageous ways to try and reach.

“Let me help,” he says, brushing your hands away.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your response before his fingers deftly land on the center of your back. His touch sparks a shiver down your spine, arching yourself upright. Your wings have never felt this sensitive before and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep them steady for him to work.

There’s a sudden influx of emotions you don’t recognize bubbling up, and a heat that pools in the base of your body. At times, it feels like Sukuna is purposely working slow to make your feathers all nice and pretty. His knuckles brush you in a way that hitches your breath.

He hums closely by your ear, “Your wings are quite sensitive here, aren’t they?”

Has his voice always sounded so melodic? So intoxicating? From the way he laughs at your reaction, you can tell he’s enjoying himself. Like he knows what’s going on in your mind.

He does.

You shoot up from your position with sudden urgency. “T-thanks for the help Sukuna, if you’ll excuse, I’ll see you later and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!” you stammer out with the hurry of a freefalling eagle, retreating back into your quarters before he has any chance to respond.

Sukuna can’t say he wasn’t caught off guard by this, but at the sight of your reddened face and eyes desperate to avoid his ─ he’ll forgive you.

On the other side of your folding screen door, you fall to your knees in a near pant to catch your breath whatever that was about. Temptation has never looked so good than in the form of Ryomen Sukuna, for all that he is. And while you came so close to the edge of a decadent abyss, you realized something.

You’ve grown fond of Sukuna, and in ways that can only be described with one word.

Sin.

From the window view of his study, Sukuna catches you out of the corner of his eyes stepping out from your room and into the courtyard. He doesn’t think much of it having gotten used to you being at the core of his picturesque view night after night. The moment he realizes you’re heading towards his training yard, however, is the same moment he ditches the scroll he was reading to follow..

He’s aware Uraume has given you the all-clear to attempt flight, but that was but a few hours before now. Truthfully, he should’ve known better. Of course you’re going to start right away.

Leaving his study, he makes haste to catch up, hoping to avoid what happened last time. He stands at the edge of the arena stealthily, watching as you stretch your now fully black wings to their limits. The first few flutters betray the confidence you showed in your steps to this place. He can tell you’re fighting a battle in your mind, but to Sukuna ─ those thoughts are useless.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, closing the distance after watching you deflate to your knees into the dirt.

“What if I get hurt again?” you confirm his inner thoughts with that meek voice. Foolish angel.

“What if you do?” he retorts, blunt as ever. “Are you just going to stay grounded forever because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve come this far; it would be a shame to give up now.”

“I don’t want to be on the ground ─ hell, I’ve been waiting for this day for so long and now that it’s here…” Your voice trails off, falling back to the low, despairing tone. “I’m afraid it won’t be the same.”

“It won’t be the same,” he says with an added huff. If anyone is in the position to give tough love, it’s Sukuna. “You will always carry that scar”-he gestures with a pointed claw at your wing-“a reminder of your fall, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fly. You won’t know until you get back up in the air.”

“But if I can’t, then what use could I possibly be?”

Sukuna crosses his upper pair of arms, leaving his lower pair to hang off his waist, one finger tapping away at the fabric at his hip. You’re in despair, and your main concern is whether you’re useful or not?

If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about making you his next meal. The weak are meant to be chewed up, but why can’t you see the potential you have already? (It’s standing right in front of you after all with a scowl on their face.)

“If wings were the defining point of who you are, then would you claim me to be useless?”

The day Sukuna fell from grace was the same day he tore his own wings from his back, tossing aside the last reminder of that accursed realm to embrace his demonic half in full.

“Of course not!” you refute with the same fire he saw when you argued how he isn’t not a monster. You’re not a lost cause yet if you can still manage that passion.

“Then get up and show me what you’re made of,” he commands. “You’re an angel ─ albeit a fallen one. Not the same broken bird you were before.”

Your eyes flash with realization, and with newfound determination, you’re back on your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I just need to return to my roots.”

“Return to your roots? What exactly do you mean?”

“You said it yourself,” you casually say in passing, walking over to where the courtyard backs up against the edge of a cliff overlooking Sukuna’s domain. “I may be damaged, but I’m still a bird, aren’t I?”

Sukuna’s eyes widen.

“And where exactly are you going with this, dove?”

You can’t possibly be doing what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, but he also wants you to see this through. Impressive, angel. A manic grin appears.

“Sometimes all a bird needs is for their parent to push them from the nest. Dive right in, even if you’re too afraid to try.”

You spread your arms out with your wings, backing off the edge and into freefall.

Sukuna’s at the cliff’s edge in a fraction of a second, his heart beating uncharacteristically loud in his chest as he watches you fall. It’s a harrowing sight, even for him, but the relief he feels when you manage to catch the wind between your feathers is unlike the emotions he felt before your arrival. Since that day, it’s like he’s had to fall from grace all over again with you, only that much harder this time around.

His smile doesn’t falter either, morphing from smug arrogance to a proud shine. The way you’ve taken to the skies is like you never left. If Sukuna’s domain is fire, then yours is the air that fans the flames in a mesmerizing dance. With a heavy thrust, you push yourself up ─ higher than his palace and the mountain’s peak before diving back down, returning to Sukuna’s side.

“I did it,” you mumble victoriously, a crazed grin of your own that Sukuna loves to see. “I did it!” you repeat, this time turning that smile towards Sukuna, with eyes brighter than any glow a halo could muster.

“See what happens you don’t give up?”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you tell him breathlessly.

He finds himself liking this moment better than when you soaked his robes with tears.

“For what?” he asks, placing a hand on the crown of your head.

“For the care, the healing, the late-night conversations… for everything. For saving me.” Your arms tighten almost possessively around him. “You’ve shown me a kindness like no one before, and I am forever in your debt.”

Sukuna brushes his hand from your hair down to your jawline, tilting your head upwards. Something about the way your eyes shine from his doing makes his cold heart feel that much warmer.

“What kind of saint or angel are you to find kindness in a beast like me?” he mutters, lowering his head closer to yours.

“Like you said ─ a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.” His face now a mere breath away from yours. “And like I’ve told you ─ I see you only for what you are, demon or not. To me, you’ve always been just Sukuna.”

The moment your lips meet is when the cord connecting you to paradise officially snaps, thrusting you into an unholy matrimony. You feel a burning sensation come along the markings that brandish you, but it doesn’t hurt. Right now, all that runs through your blood is one thing, and one thing only.

Desire.

As your body rises in heat, so does the intensity of your kissing. You’re doing whatever feels right, and most of all good. Sukuna feels this, just as you feel his lips smiling against your own. His tongue dips into your mouth and for the first time in your life, your body lets off a moaning sound.

It drives Sukuna near feral hearing it, and with his lower pair of arms he tugs you close to body, enough to feel his own desire straining for relief. His mind is quickly becoming a mess of both need and longing.

He pulls you down with him to the ground, settling you over his hips with your legs at either side. Those same hands now driven with lust roam your body in tangent with yours that have found their way to his chest, feverishly working to unveil his body. He grows tired of the struggle, and in a split second he severs your robes clean off, and his to follow. Only now do your lips part, leaving a string of drool to keep you connected.

The moon offers the perfect glow needed to highlight your features. He leans back onto his elbows, admiring the rise and fall of your heated chest, the red hue clinging to your feathers, the half-lidded stare revering his own sculpted figure… there’s only one word that comes to mind when he sees your soul laid out before him.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly and in full confidence. His upper set of hands trace your sides before coming into contact with your chest. He brushes the padding of his thumbs over each nipple. His other two hands holding you by the hips, pulling you down deeper onto his core. “Oh, so beautiful, my sweet angel.”

You gasp at the feeling of something twitching below you ─ or rather, somethings. The sound makes Sukuna groan again with pleasure, the slit along his stomach opening to reveal a second mouth before your very eyes. To others, this would be enough to incite fear. But for you, it only ignites a fire between your thighs.

“Come here,” he demands, rhetorically it seems as he pulls you right over the freshly parted maw. A thick tongue flicks upward along your sex, frazzling your mind with symphony of whines. He groans again ─ much deeper this time ─ feeling his four eyes roll back into his head. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the most divine tasting meal I’ve had to date.”

Sukuna finds himself struggling to keep you still as his tongue enters your body. It’s at this moment the veil of your chastity is no more, your purity claimed by the King of Demons.

Your body continues to squirm as his tongue shifts around your velvety walls, your wings continuously twitching and fluttering when it taps your sweet spot.

“So sensitive,” he laughs with that familiar mocking sound, but his eyes show only a carnal need with how pleasantly you respond to his touch.

“Feels s’good,” you mewl, a breathy sigh staggering out. You try to balance yourself with your hands, digging into his shoulders with talon-like grip.

“Yeah?” He continues to toy with your breasts, pulling one into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh ─ eager to mark ─ has you gasping once more. “I know it does, you needy girl.”

“I need you,” you confess with a depraved stare that’s only heightened by the glow of the bloodied moon. It’s so close to mirroring his own, like your soul has already been claimed by the devil himself. After your purity, that’s the next step in this journey of love.

He chuckles, slithering his tongue back into his mouth. “Let’s see if you can handle me then without breaking.”

You’re confused at first what he means until suddenly you’re lifted into the air, watching as he pulls both cocks from his hakama. You knew they were big, but you had thought it was due to how they stacked over the other. How wrong you were to not expect the nine-foot-tall demon to be as equally blessed below.

“What do you think?” he teases, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Why don’t you let me show you what I’m made of? I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Good girl. That you are,” he praises, helping you align yourself with one of his cocks. “I look forward to seeing you worship me with your body.”

It doesn’t take much for you to sink down onto him in full, your cunt a dripping mess thanks to his saliva and your freshly discovered arousal ─ like an untapped spring now bursting forth. There’s little pain that follows from the stretch, your body instead erupting with pleasure. It’s as though you were made for him. That your purpose in life was always to please him in every way possible. Everything you experienced so far was to bring you to this very moment in time.

“Embrace your instinct,” Sukuna says as he guides your starting motions. “Let it fuel your potential.”

You work with his motions, eyes fluttering shut at the incredible sensation. “I’m so full,” you sigh, and he chuckles.

“You’re doing so well; I knew you had it in you,” he purrs. “Soon enough you’ll be taking both in one hole. Would you like that?” You clench hard around him at that, and he can tell you’re getting ever closer.

“W-w-what is this feeling?” You move your hand downwards with unknown purpose to where his body meets yours, fingers gliding along his upper shaft, down every vein, and even rubbing it against your own clit for more of that wonderous sensation that’s building.

Using his own dick to pleasure yourself? My, how far you’ve fallen into his sinful embrace. The primal need he has for you is exceeding what he thought possible. How perfect you are for him ─ a match made in hell.

“It’s euphoria, my dear. Heaven,” he mutters gruffly, hissing with pleasure. “Let it break you and I promise you’ll feel better than ever before.”

“I need you, ‘Kuna.” Your voice comes out as a pleading whine that hitches his breath. The words a desperate plea for something you’re still learning to embrace.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he growls, his eyes searing into yours. A set of hands glide upwards, one over your breast, the other at the base of your skull. “Say it,” he commands this time, pointed nails digging into your flesh, pushing even deeper into your body.

“I want you ─ no, I need you, Sukuna,” you declare with such staggering force to match your desire.

“Then you’ll have me. All of me,” he responds in turn, flashing his canines greedily. “So take me, angel. Take me for whatever you need.”

That’s all you need to feel your inhibitions slip away. You lean forward until his back is against the ground, kissing him from his lips down to his neck, feeling an urge like no other to sink your teeth into his flesh ─ to mar him as yours.

“More,” you mumble, moving your hips faster, intent on reaching that cascading high. “More, more, I need all of you, ‘Kuna.”

“You’ll have it all. Everything,” he promises in the form of a whisper, so close to your ear. “As much as you need, as much as you desire. I’ll give you everything the world has to offer if you stay by my side.”

You dig your nails into his body as your own begins to unravel before him. Waves of pleasure crashing down with all its might as you preach his name for all to hear. Tears slip from your eyes as you curl in around him, and he soaks each one up with his tongue as you ride out the high.

“Fuck, you’re so… divine,” you purr a sinful tune. “Nothing ─ not even in paradise ─ has ever made feel this way.”

Forget being an angel. In the state you are now, Sukuna believes you could put a succubus to shame. You feel and look so incredible on top of your new throne. Divine as you put it.

“You feel like heaven yourself,” he claims through ragged breaths. “Everything about you is addicting; you’re a drug I can’t get enough of. Mark my words, I’m going to indulge myself in your soul for all eternity.”

“Take me then. Claim me, ruin me, I don’t care so long as you make me yours.”

Fuck, if you knew the power you have over him.

“You’re already mine,” he hisses, and before you can blink, your positions are swapped. His figure towering over yours. “But incase that wasn’t already obvious, I’ll prove it to you here.”

Sukuna leans his head down, kissing you on the lips. The calm before the storm that’s to come.

“I’m going to claim you and make you completely and utterly mine.” He pulls his hips backwards, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. “…and I’m not going to stop until you’re completely wrecked, completely mine.”

Sukuna thrusts forward, slamming his hips into you. There’s no second to spare, no second to adjust before he does it again and again, forcing you to cry out to the heavens how good he’s making you feel. It serves them right for abandoning you, leaving him to pick up the pieces. It’s the only thing he’ll thank that pathetic realm for, because you truly are one of the most divine creations to have existed alongside himself.

It isn’t enough for you yet it seems, no matter how rough he’s being. Your legs try and wrap around him, but you’re only hindering yourself. So, with two arms, he lifts your legs to your chest, placing his knees at your side. This new position allows him to reach even deeper, fulfilling what he knows you need.

He lowers his forehead to press against yours, sharing the air you command like a goddess those beautiful, encapsulating wings of yours. If you can’t wrap your legs around him, you at least try it with your wings. Like a moth’s cocoon, making this moment in time all your own. So selfish; it’s exactly what he’s wanted to see.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” he asks, his hips refusing to slow. If anything, they’re only getting faster ─ more erratic in nature.

“You are!” you cry out.

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“Say it,” he growls, and you know exactly what he means.

“I’m yours, Sukuna! Only yours!”

“That’s right,” he chuckles darkly, drawing out his words. “You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to claim and take forever.” His voice is strong, carrying his decree like the word of the gods. “Do you see now the prize that you are to me?”

You nod your head feverishly, scraping your nails along his back. Your wings flutter with frenzy at the incoming high you both are flying so close to reach.

“So. Damn. Divine,” he groans between thrusts, almost threatening to truly break you if he isn’t careful. “You’re going to take every last drop of me, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, please, I want it all,” you plead and whimper, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. “I want all of you.”

He bites down on your neck before stilling inside you, a rush of warmth hitting you both inside and out. You open your mouth in a silent scream at the force your climax hits you with. Desire overwhelming you from the depths of your being. Near the end, Sukuna slowly rocks his hips into you, fucking his seed back into you before leaning back to admire the view of your stomach painted in white.

As he does, you notice the blood trickling from his mouth is black in color. No longer the same angelic gold it once was.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you confess, making him smile with that all too familiar arrogance you’ve come to love, just like him. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life until now. I’ve found purpose again with you.”

“I told you that in time your worth would be realized.” He pulls out from your body, casually pushing his seed back inside with hand. His stomach mouth opens, splaying out his second tongue to clean himself off the front of your body. “You have the makings of a queen ─ one who could stand by my side through the end of time.”

When he’s finished cleaning you off, he helps you up onto your knees. You then take to embracing him in your arms, and even your wings just to hold him close to your heart. “I never realized how constricting the heavenly principles were until you set me free. Thank you for showing me how life should be lived.”

Sukuna tightens his four arms around you, feeling that same possessive desire in his chest that goes beyond carnal need. There’s pride in his eyes to know what he’s taken from those bastards above. Nothing compares to you.

“You don’t need to thank me; you were made to be free. True paradise is removing all restraints to live as you please under no guiding order. Strength is power, and you’ve found it at last.”

“This right here is better than any paradise I’ve seen.” Sukuna feels your smile growing against his chest.

“Damn right it is,” he laughs, grinning like the devil he is.

And who would’ve imagined that heaven’s most revered angel, the guiding saint of humanity, would have fallen from grace, and into the hands of the sinner you love more than life itself now.

Fate is a fickle thing, and you know that now.

In the days that followed that night to remember, new changes began sprouting up. Symbols of your life renewed, risen from ash.

For starters, your wings have taken on an iridescent glow ─ like a black devil boa. No one, not even Sukuna has ever heard of such a thing happening to a fallen angel, but it’s become just another feature that makes his proudness of you show.

You’re one of a kind, and entirely his.

Your old room and clothes are no more. Now, you wear only the best money can buy, tailored perfectly to your form. Sukuna’s hoard contains many riches on top of gold, including a stockpile of gems he’s taken to adorning you with. All are reminiscent of his ruby red eyes ─ perfectly fitting with you. He’s a king in every way, always eager to indulge in the pleasures life has to offer.

You trot through the halls of his palace, making way to his throne. You’re eager to be reunited after a morning spent dancing in the skies, your heart tugging you to his side. He’s hosting an audience by the looks of it, but that doesn’t stop all four of his eyes from landing on you as you enter.

“Perfect timing, angel.” He smiles wickedly, displaying his vampiric fangs in full. “Come and take a seat, the show has only just begun now that you’re here.”

At his words, you come bounding up the bone-riddled steps, arriving before him. Sukuna’s hand reaches out, guiding you to rest atop one of his thighs. That hand remains on the small of your back, with another resting on your own inner thigh ─ his thumb rubbing shapes into the plush.

“You remember these demons, I’m sure?” You turn your head and look down, finding the very demons who had brought you here in the first place. They don’t dare meet your eyes as their gaze bores into the marbled floors. “You see, they’ve come demanding a meeting with me. They seem to be hoping I’ll reward them now with something other than their lives for bringing you to me.”

“Is that so?” you muse, ultimately ignoring their presence as your lips meet Sukuna’s with passion, your hands resting on either side of his jaw. “What do you think of that, my king?”

He chuckles, “I think they were foolish to try and demand me to do anything for them.” Sukuna snaps his fingers once, filling the room with an intense warmth. Fire has never looked more beautiful than when it reflects into yours from the depths of his eyes. The weight of his soul, resting between the palms of your hands.

“Wouldn’t you agree, my queen?”

You do, because all that matters now is one thing, your purpose, pleasure, and every depraved feeling in between ─ Sukuna himself.

☆ Notes: got inspired by a sukuna c.ai bot by @ vittovitto with a similiar premise

I like to imagine that as angels who live by the 7 virtues, that when they fall, they go through like an awkward werewolf kinda phase like I’ve detailed where they start to feel each of the 7 sins. Kinda liked a fucked up puberty with all the hormonal changes idk, I thought it was cool when I thought of it.

Overall though, I had a REALLY fun time writing this. I’ve always loved the idea of fallen angel Sukuna but writing about biblical stuff throws me off a bit. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while I force myself to get back into my other five ongoing series!!!

song inspo: heaven's a lie - lacuna coil | parade's lust - granblue fantasy (i'm horny for belial, what can i say)

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Ten

A/N: Hello! I apologize that this is late, I meant to post last night but then I facetimed by bestie for 4 hours and got drunk. ANYWAYS, I present to you the final chapter of The Prince. Thank you so much for all your love and support on this story! I hope you enjoy this finale <3

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.6k Synopsis: Finally, we see the end of Jace and the reader's story.

Warnings: smut

Previous Chapter

Rhaenyra is understandably furious when Jace comes to see her the next morning. He had not wanted to leave you for long, so all he told her was a quick summary of the events in your room. She had wanted to rage, had wanted to know exactly everything that happened, wanted to see the proof for herself, but when he asked to postpone the meeting, she read the look in his eyes. It was fear. It was fading, but it was still there. Fear for you, fear for himself, fear that everything he had wanted was slipping through his fingers.

So she had let him leave, let him go to you, as long as he promised to find her first thing in the morning. Her rage had not abated in the night.

“If I could kill him again, I would,” she says, looking at the, thankfully, light bruising along his neck. Jace pulls back from her, not wanting the attention the bruises now gave him.

“Did you send word to the Iron Islands?” he asks.

“I sent a raven last night to his brother, the Lord Blacktyde."

“What does this mean for our standing?” he asks. Last night, besides his thoughts of dread that he almost lost you, he was also plagued by what the realm would think. Their position was still so new, to have an attack on his life so soon—

“The only thing the realm will know is that Lord Blacktyde attacked Y/N and the two of you fought him off,” Rhaenyra says.

“The two of us," Jace says softly. He brings his eyes to his mother's. She watches him delicately, like he might break with just a touch. "I'm fine, Mother," he says. She nods.

"I know."

"It looks worse than it is," he says. He wishes he could pull the collar of his doublet up, just to block them from her sight, and yours. Your eyes had been on the bruises all night long. "What of Y/N and I?” he asks. Rhaenyra smiles, her earlier rage ebbing away.

“Y/N saved your life, do you think I would deny her anything?”

“I was not sure,” he says, his smile spreading.

“I think it’s clear the two of you would do anything to stay together. I won’t get in the way. Before last evening, I had a few doubts, but after what Y/N did for you, and speaking with Baela, I trust this is the right decision."

"Baela?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "What did she say?"

“She seems excited about finding a new prospect,” she says. "Or a few."

"She does."

"You both have found happiness, and that is all I've ever wanted."

“Thank you,” Jace says, taking his mother’s hand with a smile. He feels more at ease, knowing that the events of last night only solidified your love.

The cool air of the gardens heals some of the pain inside of you. Of course, your hand still throbs after the maester had to redo your stitches. You are sore all over and have an angry bruise on your cheekbone, but amongst the flowers and the breeze, you feel light. The nightmare you lived in for years is over.

It doesn't feel real. Even after you went to your chambers this morning, looking down at the wet area the maids had scrubbed clean of Barun's blood, you still felt like you were dreaming. That you'd wake up and he would be waiting for you still.

You had woken up a few times in the night, startled from the dreams playing in your head. Jace had been there. His voice was still strained, but he said soothing words and held you close. He was the reason you could believe that it was over, that it would get easier.

He sent word for you to meet him in the gardens, but as you lap around the outer edge again, you still don’t see him. When you stop, its by the door you skipped out of months ago, to hide from your date.

Smiling, you realize where Jace is. You walk to the alcove with the fountain, the place where Jace first confessed his feelings for you. He is pacing beside the fountain when you walk up.

"Are you hiding from me?" you ask, jostling him from his thoughts.

"Never from you," he says, wrapping an arm around your waist. He left early in the morning, and he hadn't seen you until now. His eyes flit to the bruise along your cheek. It seems to only be getting darker as the day progresses.

"Jace," you say gently. His thumb brushes over the mark.

"He didn't suffer enough."

"It doesn't matter," you say with a shake of your head. "He's gone, and he does not deserve our remembrance." Against your better judgement, you look to the bruises along Jace's neck. Yours is darker, but his take up too much space on his beautiful neck.

"Y/N," he says, seeing the sadness in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jace. He never should have even come close to you."

"You never have to apologize for what happened."

"He hurt you."

"He hurt you, too," he says, a hand to your chin so your eyes meet his brown ones. "If this is the mark I must bear, so that he is out of your life, I'll wear them with pride."

"I don't deserve you," you say, a hand to his chest, your eyes starting to water.

"Of course you do," he says. You lean in to kiss his jawline once, twice. Jace is smiling softly when your lips meet his. The hand on your back tightens, holding you flush to him. When you pull back, Jace has a strange look on his face.

"What is it?" you ask.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?"

"Of course."

"You almost kissed me," he says, a shy smile growing on his face.

"That was a recurring pattern in our history, yes," you say. "But seems like we're past that." He smiles as he leans in again, his hand fisting in your hair, kissing your lips. He deepens it, backing you up until your legs rest against the fountain.

"Jace," you say, breaking away as he continues to kiss your face. You laugh when you say his name again. He breaks away, the smile still on his face.

"Sorry, just being back here reminds me of the last time, how much I wanted to kiss you back then," he says. "Sometimes, I can't believe this is real, that you love me back." You are smiling softly as you take his hand and kiss it gently.

"I know what you mean," you say. "It doesn't seem real. It's easier when I wake up next to you. Then I have the proof I'm not dreaming. I don't want to return to my chambers tonight."

"You don't have to," he says, squeezing your hand.

"It's not just the room," you say, "It's not being with you."

"I know, which is why I'm moving you into my chambers permanently."

"Jace, the message that would send--"

"What's wrong with a woman sharing the same room as her husband?" he asks. Confusion passes over your face for a moment, but quickly changes to amazement.

"What?" you choke out, the building emotions keeping you from saying much else. You need him to say it clearly, though.

"My mother has assured me that her blessing still stands. We can marry."

"Truly?" you ask.

"Yes," he says, pulling you close. "Doesn't this make you happy?" He studies your face.

"Oh, it absolutely terrifies me," you say with a laugh. "But it also makes me incredibly happy." He beams at you.

"You have nothing to be afraid of. Not when I'm at your side."

"I love you," you say, a hand to his face.

"I love you."

When he kisses you again, your arms wrap around his neck, and neither of you break away for a long while.

The wedding has been pushed until the bride and groom no longer have bruises marring their skin. The decision was also made that your wedding would be a private event. Although there would soon be a time when you would have to face the realm as princess, you want to stay in your bubble with Jace for as long as possible.

It's a lovely bubble to be in, too. To wake up next to him every morning, to learn more about him, to get to bask in his love and not hide away; you don't take it for granted for a second.

However, as the wedding approaches, the bubble gets closer to popping. You will only have five days of officially being his wife before you have to be presented as his princess.

Jace tries to keep your mind off of it, tries to keep you in the bubble. Still though, your anxious thoughts cloud your happiness.

Laying in bed now, you stare at the ceiling, imagining everything that can go wrong.

"What if they don't like me?" you ask aloud. Jace pushes out of the folds of your dress, wiping at his mouth.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” he asks on a pant.

“Because I’m not what they expected, because our betrothal came out of nowhere.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“To the realm, it will appear so.”

“Y/N,” Jace say with a sigh, his hand tracing a soft pattern on your ankle. “They are going to love you because you will make a great queen. You are kind, smart, and not afraid to fight for the future of the realm.” He kisses your thigh and smiles. “Not to mention, you are so gods-damn beautiful, just a glance at you will have them bending the knee.”

“You exaggerate,” you say.

"I do not."

"You do," you say, "But I love you, still."

“I love you,” he says. “Now please, stop worrying and let me focus on what I was doing.”

“Yes, My Prince,” you say with a smile. You lay back as Jace’s lips meet your center, and this time, you let his mouth distract you from your worries.

Jace has never been happier. Watching you dance with his brother, he can't help the smile on his face. He hasn't been able to all day. From the moment he awoke, to when he finally saw you in your wedding dress, to the celebration now: his smile never fades.

The moment the song ends, he moves towards you, taking you from Joffrey's arms.

"Oh, hello," you say with a grin, falling into step with him.

"Hello," he says with a matching one.

"Joff and I barely finished our dance," you say.

"I didn't want to be apart from you any longer."

"Well I can understand that," you say. He kisses your lips easily.

"I'm so glad I can do that in front of everyone now."

"Me too."

"How does it feel?" he asks.

"Still so strange. Like I'm in the wrong shoes," you say. He shakes his head at you.

"There's something I've wanted to tell you," he says, "And I'm sorry it's on our wedding night, but I need you to know." You look at him nervously. "You've always been worthy. You didn't have to kill Barun and save me, you just had to be you."

You are silent for a moment, tears watering in your eyes. Your fingers are in his curls, playing carefully with them.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you."

"Brigitta," Jace says, his voice sensuously soft. "You are not needed for the night. I can help the princess undress." You look at him through the mirror in your bedroom, a sudden chill racing over your shoulders.

"Very well, Your Highnesses."

Jace doesn't even wait until she's left to come up behind you. His hand snakes around your waist, pressing his body into yours. He makes a sound low in his throat.

"I don't know if I will ever get used to that," you say, leaning your head back on his shoulder. He kisses your neck softly.

"Used to what?" he asks against your skin. His hands trail over your body, like it's the first time they've ever touched you.

"Being called princess," you say breathlessly. Jace's mouth closes on your neck, sucking gently.

"Why?" he asks. His hands move up to cup your breasts. He seems set on distracting you from speaking. He kneads them softly, eliciting a soft moan from you.

"Because I am not--"

"If you say anything about not being worthy," he says, breathless as he continues to feel your body, biting at your earlobe. "I will stop touching you."

"You can't comfort your new bride?" you ask, squirming against his body, the growing pressure there.

"I will do a lot to her," he whispers gruffly in your ear, "But pity her I will not." You grab at his hands, holding him still.

"Jace."

"Fucking look at you, Y/N," he says, meeting your gaze in the mirror. "You were meant to wear these clothes, this crown, this ring." He emphasizes his statement by squeezing your left hand.

"I was meant to wear this dress?" you ask. Jace grins.

"Not for much longer." His hand is gentle as it brushes your hair over your shoulder. Carefully, he pulls at the laces along your back. He moves agonizingly slow. Each time his fingers touch your bare skin, you shudder, until you are covered in goosebumps. Jace laughs against your skin.

"I love you," he says simply, then he lets your dress drop. "Princess."

"Jace," you start, but he cuts you off by turning you around, facing him.

"You better get used to it," he says. "There's no backing out now."

"I don't intend to."

"Good," he says, closing the gap between the two of you. He moves slowly, like he did your first night together. A hand in your hair, he explores your mouth easily. Your hands are on his chest, fiddling with the clasp of his cape. When it falls, it clatters to the ground. Jace pulls back from you with a soft laugh.

"Thank you, Princess."

"Stop that," you say, pulling him in for a quick kiss.

"Not until you're used to it," he says firmly. You loosen the ties at his side and he quickly tosses his doublet aside.

"This one, too," you say, a finger to the loose shirt he wears underneath.

"Yes, Princess," he says with a smirk. "I like when you tell me what to do." His shirt lands in a pile with your dress. His hand cups your cheek as he smiles at you, at your annoyance.

"I'm used to it now," you say, wrapping your arms around him. "You can stop now."

"It is so enjoyable though, Pri--" Your lips meet his, cutting him off. You want none of his slowness tonight. He can taste your need as your tongue slips into his mouth. He hums, bracing a hand on the back of your head to keep you close. The bed seems leagues away as he guides you towards it.

"Y/N," he says in breathless awe, watching your body as you sit on the bed. "You're my wife, my princess." A look passes over his face you know all too well.

"I know," you say, sitting up on your knees, so you are level with him once more. "Now, get up here and fuck your wife." He wraps warm hands around your waist. He speaks against your lips.

"My Princess." He crashes down on top of you, kissing you fiercely. You groan into his mouth, partially because of what he's doing, and partially because of what he called you.

He breaks for breath first, his mouth pink and smiling as he looks down at you. His arms bracket your face. You lean to the side and softly kiss his left hand.

"What is it?" you ask when he keeps looking at you.

"I can't decide between taking my time with you, or taking you roughly." He laughs at the whimper you make. "Slow it is."

"Jace," you say, gasping as his lips meet yours. He bites at your lower lip, eliciting another sound from you. His mouth moves down the length of your neck, leaving slow kisses in his wake.

He says your name, calls you princess, and tells you how beautiful you are, the entire way down your body. He stops at your hip, smirking at the face you pull.

"Y/N," he says lowly, smiling when your body jerks as he slide a fingers a finger through the wet warmth between your legs.

"Yes, My Prince?" you ask. He laughs.

"See, it's not so strange," he says. He adds another finger, both of them deliciously close to your clit, but never fully touching it.

"You were born into the name," you say breathlessly.

"So what?" His fingers slide inside of you. You moan, reaching for him. He holds your hand with his other.. You grip his hand as he pumps slowly. He kisses your inner thigh, slowly, slowly, moving his mouth to your center.

"Jace," you whine.

"Yes?"

"I--" His thumb finally grazes over your clit and you cry out.

"Tell me what you need, Princess." You roll your eyes, but it only makes him work his fingers harder. "Tell me."

"I need your mouth or your cock," you pant. Jace doesn't respond. The moment the words are out of your mouth, his is on your center. His touch is everything you want, and your body thrusts into him. You have devolved to a string of moans, swears, and gasps.

"You taste so good, Princess," he says against your skin. You can't even be annoyed, because when he's between your legs, whispering sweet nothings, it doesn't sound so strange.

"Jace," you cry out, when finally, the building pressure breaks in waves of pleasure. He rides you through it as always, a smile on his face when his fingers slide out of you. He moves up to your lips, kissing them sloppily.

"I'm never going to get tired of hearing my name on your lips," he says.

"I should just go back to calling you My Prince," you say. Your hand moves down to his trousers, working him through the fabric. His eyes flutter at your touch, and his intake of breath is near intoxicating.

"It means something entirely different now," he says, kicking his trousers off. When you touch him, the sound he makes has you smiling.

"You are My Prince," you say, kissing his lips slowly. Jace moans into your mouth.

"I need to be inside of you now," he says. You smile, nodding your head as you kiss him. You release your hand from his cock and he groans.

"So needy," you say, shifting on the bed, pushing him back until his back is against the headboard.

"Can you blame me, Princess?" he asks. You are shaking your head as you straddle his lap. Jace's hands are still greedy, grabbing at you anywhere they can touch. When you align his cock with your folds, his eyes are blown wide, filled with lust and love.

"I love you," you say.

"I love y--" He breathes in sharply as you slip him inside of you. He moans your name, and pulls your chest to his.

"Princess," he says breathlessly as you rock against him. Your arms are around his neck, giving him a view of your annoyed look.

"Stop with that," you say. He grips your hips, moving your body on his.

"I can't."

"I call you Jace, why can't you do the same?" You gasp when he shifts his angle slightly.

"Because you're finally my princess," he says, his breathing growing heavier.

"It's irksome," you say. His lips smile against your neck.

"I'm sorry, princess."

"Jace," you groan, grinding into him until he does, too.

"Let me do it, just tonight," he pants, "I want you to hear how beautiful it sounds." You don't respond, you just grab his face and kiss him. He holds your hips and drives your body against his. You are both quickly approaching your release, and Jace continues to moan 'Princess' into your ear. Per his request, you don't fight him on it. The more he says it, the less it seems ill-suited.

When he finally loses control and finishes inside of you, though, it is your name on his lips.

For a few moments, you are both silent, the room filled with only your breaths. You climb off of him, lying down at his side.

"So?" he asks.

"I could get used to it, I think. But only from your lips."

"That's a start," he says, leaning down to kiss you.

You stand along the balcony surrounding the ballroom, looking down at the throngs of people. The sight is beautiful. Ladies' ballgowns sparkle in the candlelight. Raucous laughter fills the room as wine is passed around.

The fact that all of this is for you feels incredibly wrong.

Just six days ago you were a title-less woman from the Vale, awaiting for you a life of nursemaiding, or marriage to a brute. It feels strange that now, you have what you have always dreamed about. What every young girl has dreamed about once in their life. You were married to a handsome prince. You were a princess. The rest of your life would be nothing but luxuries, and the juxtaposition is still jarring.

And somewhere, still inside of you, you felt as though you don't deserve it. That the life that had been laid out for you was the one you deserved. Your husband said otherwise, but in quiet moments like this, you feel out of place, like you don’t belong.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in red?”

You startle at Jace’s voice. He walks to your side, laughing softly. He is dressed in his finest, as well. The doublet he wears clings to his chest in ways that have you thinking about leaving the party altogether.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. He leans up against the banister rail, surveying the crowd with you for a quiet moment.

“What are you doing up here, Y/N?” he asks.

“Just making a plan of attack,” you say with a smirk, resting your hand on the railing. The wedding ring on your finger sparkles in the light.

“They’re going to absolutely love you.”

“Untrue. Do you know how many of these men I left in the garden or lied to about a cousin needing my help?” you ask. Jace laughs, shaking his head.

“I think they’ll get over it. Besides, you’ll be queen one day. Whatever bad feelings they may have about you, they’ll put them aside to earn your favor,” he says. Your jaw tightens, reality washing over you that this is to be your life now.

“Y/N,” Jace says, standing upright and taking your hands. He turns over the right palm, looking at the scar there. He frowns and rubs it softly with his own thumb. “You are one of the strongest people I know. You can handle anything this court wields at you.”

“I’m not so sure,” you say quietly.

“I am,” he says. “I’m your husband now, Y/N, you should trust me.”

“I do,” you say, stepping closer to him slightly, meeting his eyes.

“Then trust when I say you’ve got this. And,” he says, squeezing your hand softly, “If we do hate it, we can always return to Dragonstone.”

“I don’t want to run,” you say, glancing out at the crowd. “Just hide.” Jace laughs.

“They’re going to love you, just as much as I do,” he says. He puts a hand to your cheek, making you look into his brown eyes. “In that dress, how could they not?” he asks. You are smiling when he leans in to kiss you.

His hand trails down your back, squeezing your backside playfully. You laugh into his kiss, opening it up with your tongue. Jace backs the two of you out of the light, up against a pillar in the shadow. His mouth claims yours, his hands greedy on your body.

“And just think,” he says, breaking away breathlessly, “If the party gets unbearable, we can always sneak off to do this.”

“Why go to the party at all?” you ask, pulling him back to your mouth with a hand in his curls. He laughs, but you know he won’t let the two of you stay like this for long.

“Come on,” he says when he pulls away. “I want to show off my princess.”

He leads you downstairs, just outside the banquet hall. For another few minutes, you keep him occupied with your lips on his, but then he breaks off.

"I'll announce you in a few minutes," he says, squeezing your hand.

"Dragonstone is always an option?" you ask. He smiles.

"Yes, but you won't need it."

"I love you," you say.

"I love you," he says. You cling to his words, gaining courage from them. He slips into the low murmurs of the crowd, leaving you alone. You hope he will be quick, because you aren't sure how long your courage will hold.

"Your Highness." The voice startles you, and when you turn to see Baela, your heart beat doesn't slow. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you."

"No, no, that's quite alright."

"What are you doing out here?" she asks with a smile. You haven't seen her since the wedding, and before then it was only in passing, or in large groups.

"Jace is going to formally present me," you say. Baela looks at you strangely.

"You're not used to it yet, are you? The title?"

"Not at all," you say with a laugh. Baela does, too, and it makes you relax a little.

"It'll take some time," she says sagely. You nod.

For a moment, it looks like she might leave, but you will hate yourself if you don't say what you must.

"Baela, Your Highness," you say, "We haven't talked very much since everything changed."

"Y/N," she says, smiling as she steps closer. "I want to talk to you, too."

"You do?"

"I know we haven't gotten to know each other, even before . . . everything happened," she says. You look down at your feet. "But I want you to know I'm happy for you. You make Jace so happy. I couldn't ask for anything better."

"Thank you," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "And I just have to say I'm sorry, for taking this from you." She gives you an easy smile.

"Do not worry for me," she says. "This change has given me a freedom I didn't know I could ever have. You have given me that."

"I'm glad for it. And glad for you," you say. "Jace is lucky to call you a friend."

"Thank you, Your Highness. Good luck, tonight. It will go quickly, I think."

"I hope so," you say. She gives you a smile as she enters the ballroom, too.

You stand still for a few minutes, a weight lifted off your shoulders you thought might never be. Knowing that Baela holds no anger for you, makes you believe that the rest might come easily, too.

When a guard waves you towards the door, you are ready. Your husband is on the other side, your family is on the other side. When the doors open and you hear Jace's voice, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Please allow me to introduce my bride, Princess Y/N Velaryon.”

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS S2 BTS VIDEO! :)❤ 🐍😊

David: Good Omens 2 will be once more unto the breach...

Michael: The kind of world that Neil and Terry Pratchett created here. It's... it seems to be expanding out into the world in all kinds of unexpected and and truly joyful ways.

Douglas Mackinnon (the directior): If Season one was a comedy about the End of the World, Season Two is a comedy about the beginning of everything else.

Miranda Richardson (demon Shax): The Bromance is continuing.

Doon Mackichan (Archangel Michael): What a cast, is all I can say, incredible, incredible cast.

Liz Carr (angel Saraqael): But of course a script of Good Omens is a whole different thing because anything can happen.

Shelley Con (Prince of Hell Beelzebub): There's always a smirk somewhere around the corner in a Good Omens script.

Quelin Sepulveda (angel Muriel): I had no idea what to expect, where this character was gonna go...

Liz: I feel quite honored that when they were thinking of the realms of sarcasm they thought of me.

Gloria Obianyo (angel Uriel): Seven-year-old me is like, 'Oh my God! This is the stuff of dreams!'

Maggie Service (human Maggie): A whole Fantastical Universe of joy that we just get to playing and you'll get to watch.

Tim Downie (Mr Brown): I am immeasurably, immeasurably excited.

Jon Hamm (Archangel Gabriel / Jim): You know I was very pleased when when I was brought back to be a part of that story.

Neil Gaiman: Ppeople are excited and I'm working so hard to tell them absolutely nothing. I'm very lucky because Michael Sheen and David Tennant love Crowley and Aziraphale. I think the first moment that I saw David and Michael acting together... all of a sudden there was Crowley and there was Aziraphale, it was like seeing two friends who I hadn't seen for years.

David: There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary and there's something about the way things filter through his imagination and of course in this world it also sprinkled with the imagination of Terry Pratchett and those two together created this cocktail that is it's unlike anything you've seen anywhere else and yet it feels utterly familiar.

Michael: And they both have a sense of the absurdity of what it is to be a human.

Rob Wilkins: When you've got David and Michael in front of the camera David and Michael evaporate and you have Crowley in Aziraphale and that relationship it needed it needed interrogating more and of course we all know that Terry and Neil had conversations about what the sequel would be and Neil has taken that and he's blown it up in a way that the viewers are just going to love so what would Terry think? Terry would pat Neil on the back and he would push Good Omens forward, he would break a bottle of champagne over its bows and be absolutely delighted and I know that, I'm the one person on Earth who's been entrusted to know that for certain and I promise you Terry would be absolutely delighted.

David: We've got some cast members coming back, returning but playing different parts which is a lovely little addition to things isn't it, so Miranda Richardson is back not playing the same role as Season One, she's now Shax, my replacement - Crowley's replacement on Earth.

Neil: Shelley Conn came in as Beelzebub and it feels in a weird way kind of like a Doctor Who Regeneration. We have a new demon called Furfur played by Rheece Shearsmith who was our Shakespeare in Season One.

David: Nina and Maggie were two of the Sisters in Season One, The nunnery of Doom, and now they are two characters imaginatively called Nina and Maggie.

Maggie: In season one really it was just me and the nuns, it was the nun gang, so to actually get to meet Aziraphale and Crowley... I hadn't been prepared for how delightful Aziraphale is.

Neil: Season Two begins about threem four years after the events of Season One.

Michael: Aziraphale and Crowley now are, you know, out on their own, they're.. they're a team to themselves.

Neil: Everything changes when Aziraphale gets an unexpected visitor.

Michael: A familiar face comes along with a mystery that needs solving and as Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to solve that mystery they realize that there are much more terrifying things ahead than they've had to deal with in the past. That involves having to go back through history as well to get clues as to what might be going on.

David: When we go back into these stories set within Aziraphale and Crowley's personal history there are moments within those stories where where their relationships sort of pivots or develops in some way. Himself and Aziraphale I think rely on each other even more in season two than they did in Season One because they are by necessity and by circumstance they're a they're a double act that nobody else can join.

Michael: It's extraordinary to see how important these characters and this story have become to a lot of people and how much people enjoy expressing themselves through art, through fan fiction.

David: I went to a Comic-Con and the amount of Crowleys and Aziraphales that I saw everywhere, the cosplaying just took off, and always in twos, which was joyous because of course the characters in my mind only exist in relation to each other. They are the Ying and the Yang.

Michael: It's such a... I think it's such a compliment and I think Neil feels the same way as well.

Maggie: Always clever Neil Gaiman, isn't he?

Nina: Yeah yeah, you'd have to sort of admit that at some point, yeah-

Maggie: He's quite good at his job.

[dolldefiler]

[I posted this on Reddit initially. I figured Tumblr would enjoy it as well.]

“Dr Raj will see you now.”

The smooth, pleasant voice of the receptionist put a stop to Lucy’s descent into that realm of dark thoughts. She looked up to see her warm, polite smile. Her fake smile. Doubtless, this innocent-looking secretary knew exactly what Dr Raj was making her feel. And yet she did nothing to stop it.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, slowly getting up, shuffling towards the office, her breath losing its evenness with each small step. By the time she’d made her way to the door, her breath was ragged in anticipation of what lay beyond. Turning her head back, she saw the receptionist’s face plastered with the same polite, unfeeling smile back at her. She entered the office.

The office was small. Very small. A desk, a chair, and a sofa large enough to fit two people, barely. There were no windows here, the only light being a single unshaded bulb casting a flickering warmth into the room. Neither walls nor the desk were particularly decorated, dull and neutral. The room was hot, almost like a sauna, and in the background, a low buzzing sound could be heard. This was closer to a closet than a room. Moreso a torture chamber than a therapist’s office.

And sat upon that chair was the man she’d been dreading to meet. Dr Raj. He was ageless and plain-faced, not a person that would be easily noticed. He seemed unconcerned by the heat and claustrophobic room, beckoning her to sit down on the sofa.

She sunk into the sofa, her heart thumping.

“Hello, Lucy, how have you been?” Dr Raj smiled broadly, as if last week had been a dream. A nightmare. He always did this. He’d start with a flawless sense of professionalism and charisma that’d ease you in, and tempt you into lowering your guard. And then when the moment came, he’d turn on you. Tear at those insecurities you’d exposed to him. She endured the small talk, drawing out each answer, knowing how futile it all was. The moment came.

“Now, shall we get started?” Dr Raj asked, his smile never faltering. Sensing her hesitation, he squinted. “What’s wrong, Lucy?”

Lucy panicked. All thoughts of pushing back, resisting, fleeing her. “W-well, it’s just that… Do we have to do it like this? Telling you every detail of… everything.” Even she could tell how much her voice trembled. She couldn’t help it. Fear and anxiety gnawed at her.

Dr Raj peered at her over the rim of his glasses. Perhaps it was her imagination but a streak of annoyance flashed across his face. And then his face relaxed into one a little more comforting. Relaxing. Kind. Gentle. “Lucy, we’ve spoken about this, haven’t we? You need to get this out of your system. You need to be brave again, for me.”

Lucy nodded, knowing if she spoke, they’d both know how terrified she was. Dr Raj smiled his pleasant smile at her. “Now I believe you were going to tell me what happened after your evening at the nightclub.”

Lucy’s gut sank as she recalled that dreadful night. The heat of the room felt heavy on her as her breath faltered slightly. Dr Raj sat patiently, his smile unceasing. “Right… I left the club at around midnight. My house is about fifteen minutes away, so I thought it would be fine. There’s this dark alleyway near the club which cuts off about five minutes, so I thought I’d be fine taking that but-... But…”

The humiliation rushed back to her. The memory of it all. The masked man appearing from the shadows pinning her down and clamping a sweaty hand over her mouth. The nasty words that had been whispered furiously into her ears, the-.

She sensed the therapist get out of his chair and sit next to her. There wasn’t nearly enough room for the both of them, so their legs were pressed against each other’s. She felt a hand touch her shoulder, patting her worries away. She hated it.

“There, there, Lucy. What happened next?” Dr Raj’s voice cut off her thoughts. His voice was smooth and even, contrasting the low, constant buzz of the heater or generator or whatever it was. Lucy collected herself, pausing for a minute to regain her voice.

“But then a man appeared. I thought he’d just walk past me. He didn’t. I didn’t realise what was happening until there was a hand on my throat and another on my mouth. I couldn’t even scream.” Lucy could feel his hand patting away at her shoulder, almost rhythmically.

Her fists were balled up, her body tense. That night was the worst she’d felt in her entire life. The way some man had stolen her dignity from her. Ripped it away from her, as if she truly deserved no happiness to begin with. She’d never wish it upon her worst enemy… So then why was she so aware of Dr Raj right now? Every pat gave her a jolt of some unfamiliar, tingling energy… And she didn’t know what to do with that.

“He must have noticed how pretty you are. What were you wearing?”

He’d called her pretty… She felt so dirty, so alone, so utterly stained, yet here a man was calling her pretty! Some small part of her knew that he was a pig underneath that insincere smile. A monster that thrived off her suffering. But she chose to ignore it. Because it felt better this way. “I was wearing a crop top and a miniskirt,” she mumbled.

“You were wearing such provocative clothes. I know this might upset you, but did you consider you dressed like that to attract a man’s attention?”

Lucy could hear her heart beat louder and faster. Was this her fault? If she’d worn something less revealing, would she have been left unscathed? She didn’t want to be raped. Nobody did. Right?

“But perhaps it wasn’t the way you dressed. Could you show me how short they were?”

Lucy looked at him, confused. How was she to show him how short they were? And then she felt it. She looked down and saw his hand press against her thighs. She froze, unable to breathe for a moment. She could feel her eyes water up, as she looked down at his warm hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her thighs, his thumb almost caressing her. In the background she could hear him coaxing her, telling her to breathe.

When she finally managed to draw in a jagged breath, he looked at her, his warm smile ignoring the tears in her eyes, the heat of the room, and the constant, fucking buzzing. The room was far too small. There was hardly any room for a single person in this closet, let alone two. And yet she didn’t take his hand off her. She didn’t even resist it.

“Was it shorter than this?” Dr Raj asked. Lucy nodded her head, her eyes closed to hold back the tears. Why was it always her? Could they sense how weak she was? How frail and vulnerable she was? How easy to manipulate she was? She felt his hand draw further up her thigh, the tips of his fingers getting precariously closer to her groin. To her hot, wet pussy.

“About here?”

Lucy nodded. The patting stopped. She felt his arm wrap itself around her waist, his wandering hand making its way to her midriff, just underneath her chest. She shuddered. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stop this. Her body was putty in his hands, soft and relaxed on the comfortable sofa. She hated this so much. She hated Dr Raj, her rapist, and especially herself, she could almost throw up. So why was her needy cunt so fucking wet?

He knew exactly what he was doing when he asked her the same question about her crop top, his hand eventually grazing her boobs. There she was, sat in some stranger’s office with his hands all over her. She’d let this happen again. She truly was pathetic. Perhaps, this was always meant to be.

Dr Raj’s voice came in whispers, soft and teasing. “And then what happened? Did he touch you? Drive his penis into your vagina?”

Lucy couldn’t suppress the tears any longer. She nodded. “He called me an attention-seeking whore. A dumb rapeslut that was going to get what she deserved. I felt a hand under my top, fondling my chest… My tits… And then something pressed against my pussy.”

Before she knew it, she was inching her way into his hands, her desperate cunt craving for the touch of a man that wasn’t disgusted with her. It was hard to care about her dignity anymore. Hadn’t it been raped away that night anyway?

“Oh? Did he touch you like this?” His hand rose from her midriff, and with practised ease, slipped under her top, sliding directly onto her tits. “You’ve not worn a bra. Perhaps you really are an attention-seeking cockslut.”

Lucy’s body wracked with silent, heavy sobs, as she looked down at his groping, lecherous hand under her top, violating her as she’d been violated that night. His hand was hot on her skin. Her head spun, light-hearted from his touch. She looked up at him. His kind smile had never left his face. This was the face of the devil himself. She nodded her head.

“He… Didn’t last long. I can’t remember it. Not really. Just a few thrusts… and it was over.”

But it was enough to make her question her own humanity. She felt his hand slide up her thigh and slip under her jeans. She couldn’t hold back her moan as his fingers met her aching cunt. A hole, she now knew, was made for dick. She heard his voice again.

“But that’s all that mattered, isn’t it? That he came in the end. It doesn’t matter how short it was. All that mattered is that he was satisfied and drained.”

She sobbed and nodded. Again. She couldn’t deny this man. Even if she hated him.

“Look at my lap, Lucy.”

His throbbing tent was hard to miss.

“Take it out.”

She didn’t struggle or argue or resist. This is the best she could hope for. At least he was telling her what he wanted her to do. Her trembling hand reached his zipper, slowly pulling it down before fishing his thick, brown cock out. Like his hands, it felt so warm, so alive in her hand. She hated it. She wanted to yank it off and eat it. She wanted this to end.

“Jerk it, you little rapetoy. We both know you need this.”

She wanted this to end. But she stroked his dick anyway. Some twisted satisfaction rose within her as he groped and molested her body. As she let her hand slide up and down his erect cock.

“Faster, you whore. You should always strive to help a man cum. Grip my cock and fucking jerk me off like the nasty slut I know you really are.” She could no longer cry. Perhaps she’d run out of tears. Perhaps she didn’t care. Perhaps she couldn’t care anymore. They sat there for a few minutes, silently fingering and stroking each other. Acting as lovers, when in reality there was only a monster and its prey.

She could hardly feel his fingers, the blood rushing from her head. She could only focus on his twitching cock. The warmth between her fingers. Her painfully hot body. And then with a slight groan, thick, warm cum spilled out from his cock, coating her fingers. She sat there, his dick in his hands still. Her eyes were probably vacant. Lucy was no longer there, not really. Only the empty shell of a human being remained. Only a piece of meat made for rape and abuse remained.

She felt him push her hand to her mouth, telling her to clean it up. She complied. He tasted salty. Disgusting. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered.

“You can pay at the reception. I’ll see you next week.”

Dr Raj had seen her.

And he’d destroyed her without losing that sickly smile.