#look at the true cost of war

[ghostinthegallery]

Can't believe all that war denied Starscream the life in academia he was born for. All the petty backstabbing, ego tripping, stupid feuds? He would have thrived. It would have been his best life. The only things he ever should have had to fight over were grants, whose name comes first on the paper's byline, and which sucker has to teach the freshman intro course this semester

[here-comes-the-moose]

When I’m writing my Modern AU but then try to figure out and calculate how the life I gave the Batch is financially possible:

[bbygirl-aemond]

okay now that i've slept on this episode (and watched the behind the scenes) i want to talk more about this idea of rhaenyra as a cult leader who has completely drunk her own kool-aid. it's an a+ development for her character and i truly hope the writers continue to lean into it further.

hotd has built up this idea of dragons being a conduit for the divine from the very beginning of season one, when viserys and rhaenyra talk about how the targaryen's perceived proximity to the gods comes via their control of dragons. earlier in season two we also heard the smallfolk describe the dragons as invulnerable gods during the parading of meleys's head. this is a deliberate narrative that the targaryens have cultivated (as jace pointed out) to provide themselves with a divine mandate to justify their rule.

this idea of the dragons as a divine mandate is beginning to intersect with the conqueror's dream for rhaenyra in a fascinating way. rhaenyra has always placed more importance on the conqueror's dream than, say, daemon or jace, but this episode goes much further, and is full of rhaenyra talking about being given signs and instructions from the gods. i think addam claiming seasmoke was a transformation for her- she was smiling and had this look of near elation once he claimed her as queen.

i think she genuinely believes that the gods broke the rules of dragon claiming in order to give her a loyal dragon rider right when she needed one. we then see this same elated smile again when she successfully brings vermithor to heel.

each of these little moments is something she takes as confirmation that she's being aided by the gods. this is why she is so convinced that the dragon seeds who claim vermithor and silverwing will be loyal to her- she has convinced herself that all of this is the gods signaling to her and that they will bring her loyal dragon riders the way they brought her addam. the dragon tamers point out what rhaenyra is not willing to acknowledge; these are not true signs from the gods, but things that rhaenyra herself is reading into and arranging for herself. she is seeing what she wants to see. and this will be proven true when hugh and ulf betray rhaenyra, likely due to rhaenyra's own actions in locking the dragonseeds in to die. they were not loyal believers sent from the gods to serve her; they were just men, and she's given them the fantasy equivalent of nuclear missiles.

a large part of this belief in divine validation is definitely due to rhaenyra's own deep seated insecurity due to viserys neglecting her in her childhood and her small council not taking her seriously enough, but i also think this is a coping mechanism on rhaenyra's part. she has no choice but to lean into this war as fully as she can now, to describe herself as helpless in the wake of what the gods have set before her, because she needs her losses to mean something. she needs visenya's death and luke's death to mean something. she needs the loss of her relationship with alicent to mean something.

but in doing this, she is already beginning to push others away from her. she has lost the support of the dragon tamers, and she has also pushed away jace; when he confronted her about a valid concern about how this would make his own ascension even more fraught, she just parroted more of that divine mandate nonsense back to him, which he is clearly not buying. i'll be curious to see how much deeper she falls into this cultish spiral and how much more it costs her.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hii, are your requests open? if not you can just ignore this (and sorry to bother!!) but if they are could you do something w the batboys where they have a dream that the reader has died or something? please, and TYSM

Jason would awake immediately from the dream with tears streaking his cheeks and his throat sore from what he could only assume was screaming.

It happened again, that hyper realistic dream that made him felt as though he was seeing through his future self’s eyes, or into an alternate universe where he was bound to lose you despite doing everything in his power to protect you.

It felt real, uncomfortably real for Jason’s liking that it felt a sense of unease and anxiety to flood through him but before they could get worse, he heard your voice.

‘Jason, you were screaming are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?’

He felt as though he could properly breath now that he knew you were okay but his heart was telling him that hearing you wasn’t enough; He needed to feel you against him to ease his racing mind. With that Jason was quick to grab you by the waist, pull you into his chest and held onto you as though he was a kid clinging onto his favourite plush toy, his face buried into your neck as his arms held you as tightly as they could without causing you discomfort.

‘Jason?’

‘I lost you sweetheart.’ He told you without hesitation. ‘I couldn’t do anything, I was frozen with fear and that cost me you in the end.’ He adds, wanting nothing more then to get through image out of his head for good.

‘I’m right here jay birdie.’ You whispered softly, pressing sweet, gentle kisses into his neck and shoulders in hopes of easing the evident tenseness there. ‘You’re my best friend, my soul mate and my partner but most importantly you’re my protector and I have never felt safer than I ever have then with you.’ You reassure him as you let him silently sob into your nightshirt while rubbing your hand up and down his back. ‘I’m alive. you know it, I know it, we both know it to be true. So don’t believe the tricks that your mind pulls on you Jason because they’re always never true.’

Jason pulls his head from your shoulder. ‘What if I loose you one day?’ He asks, staring at you with teary eyes.

‘You won’t.’ You said with certainty.

‘How do you know?’

‘I know because I won’t let it happen, someone has to take care of your heart and kiss your wounds well into the early hours of morning, and I want that person to be me.’ You replied as you pressed a kiss to his forehead before resting your forehead there. ‘You’re stuck with me Jay Birdie because it’s going to take everything this cursed towns got to take me from you.’

Jason, finding reassurance in your words, let out a deep sigh as he fell back into bed, taking you with him as he draped the covers over the both of you once more, kissing the top of your head as he gave your waist a quick squeeze. ‘Gotham will have to go through me first sweetheart, and for you? I’d start a fucking war if it meant keeping you by my side and safe from all harm this town could bring. I don’t care if I got hurt but all it takes is one scratch on you and I’m burning this town down.’ He murmurs before finally falling back asleep, holding you protective against his chest, more then ready to prove his promise to be true in more than one way.

Damian

Would reach out for you for comfort but when he couldn’t feel you his eyes would shoot open and he was getting out of bed to search for you.

Only for you to be stood in the doorway with a glass of water in your hand, looking at him with worry.

‘Damian are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost-‘ you weren’t able to finish your sentence when Damian rushed to hold your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks slightly from the iron clad grip he had on them.

‘Is this real?’ He asks in a weak whisper. ‘Are you really here darling?’

He had a nightmare and your heart broke seeing him this affected by it and placed your water down safely before holding his hands over his, squeezing.

‘I’m right here my treasure.’ You replied. ‘I’m not going anywhere, not without you.’

Damian’s hands loosened their grip on your cheeks and fell to your shoulders as he presses his head against your chest to feel your heartbeat against his ear, proving to him that you were alive and well within his care.

‘I lost you my heart, I felt hollow without you, almost as though someone reached into my chest and took out everything good in me.’ Damian admits as he burrows his head into your chest. ‘You are the good in me.’ He adds, voice muffled but his message was loud and clear.

‘And you are everything good in me my love.’ You replied as you ran your hand through his hair in hopes of bringing him some comfort. ‘Do you want to talk about the rest of it?’

Damian’s grip on your tightened. ‘No. It pains me too much to talk about it right now, I fear that if I do it’ll come my reality.’

‘Do you wish to go back to bed?’ You asked, more than willing to do anything to calm his mind. ‘You can hold me for as long as you want and I won’t complain about needing to pee.’ You joked lightly and could envision the small smile that would appear upon Damian’s lips whenever you said something remotely silly.

‘Please.’ Damian said and without another word you allowed him to drag you back to bed with him and under the covers where he was quick to hold onto you as though you were his personal teddy bear for the rest of the night.

Tim clings onto you like a koala bear after having a nightmare that you died, he was too afraid that if he were to let go then it would become reality somehow.

The nightmare messed with him so badly that he couldn’t get the idea that if he were to stray from your side for too long, tragedy would only naturally befall you. He hates it but he hated the idea of loosing you forever even more and so he would cuddle closely to you, all the while finding it increasingly more and more difficult to return to sleep.

‘Tim?’ You said softly. ‘You need sleep, you know how much I worry about you collapsing one day and I’m not nearby to help.’

Tim laughs humourlessly as he held onto you a little tighter. ‘How can I go back to sleep when nothing good waits for me there hmm?’

You tried to move and look at him but Tim made that impossible. ‘What do you mean by that?’

Tim doesn’t answer.

‘Tim…did you have a nightmare.’ You asked.

‘The worse kind.’ He said weakly as he held you closer to him in hopes of merging you with him so that he didn’t have to watch you die in real life.

‘What would make it better?’ You inquired, wanting nothing more than to help him no matter what.

Tim shrugs. ‘Just…just keep talking to me…please.’ He pleads as his hands toyed with the bottom of your nightshirt anxiously. You smiled softly as you placed your hands over his own, caressing the backs of them as you heard his soft gaps at the sudden contact. ‘What would you like for me to talk about?’

‘Anything.’ Tim said. ‘Anything just, please talk.’

And talk you did for most of the night until you felt Tim fall asleep against your back as soft snores filled the room and you, having felt accomplished in your task, soon followed suit to keep him company in dream land also and make sure his dreams went undisturbed.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part VII - Final Part)

Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 13.2 K

Warnings: Angst as usual, Aegon testing my patience, smut, and fluff

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6 ... Epilogue

~~

She and Aemond had barely spoken since their fight, the strain between them growing with each passing day.

He was always quick to leave their chambers in the early morning, leaving her to break her fast by herself. 

She didn’t mind, she found she had trouble even meeting his eye without feeling as though her insides were crumbling into dust, reminding her of how easy it would be to lose him. 

It felt like dying a slow, agonizing death. 

The door to their chambers opened and she instinctively perked up at the thought of seeing her husband, despite the warring emotions within her, but she immediately froze, fear rising as Aegon strolled inside as if they were his own chambers. 

He smiled widely at the sight of her and was quick to take a seat beside her, entirely too close for her liking. 

“What are you doing?”

“Joining my sweet sister for breakfast.” Aegon smiled, the gesture anything but innocent as he helped himself to the spread of food in front of him. “Where is my brother?”

“He’ll be back soon.” She answered immediately, as if she could use Aemond’s presence to deter him from staying. But with the way he looked at her intently, it was obvious he didn’t believe her. 

He knew the rift between them kept Aemond out of his chambers for hours on end. 

With a lump in her throat that grew larger and heavier with each second that passed with Aegon beside her, she kept her eyes down, beginning to sparsely pick at her food. 

“You know I never thought much of you.” Aegon began, his gaze never wavering from her tense form that refused to relax in his presence. 

She flinched and jerked away as Aegon’s fingers brushed against her cheek, her breathing becoming heavy as she fought hard not to smack the most powerful man in the realm. 

He smirked at her as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling victorious at the sight of her discomfort. 

“It wasn’t until I saw you bouncing on my brother’s cock…saw this body bare, saw the kind of whore you are, that it felt as though I was truly seeing you for the first time.” He crooned, his fingers tracing down the length of her jaw and down her neck. 

As his fingers trailed downwards, getting close to the dip of her breasts, she finally snapped, her hand shooting out, gripping onto his wrist tightly, desperate to stop him before he could touch her further, in places only her husband had ever touched her. 

“Careful, sister. The punishment for putting your hands on your King could cost you your hand.” Aegon warned, delighting in the fury that crossed her features. “Save that fire for my bed.” 

“I will slit my throat before you could ever take me to your bed.” She told him with a fire in her voice that only made his eyes light with intrigue and delight, knowing he was getting under her skin exactly the way he wanted. 

The door to their chambers opened, Aemond stepping inside wearily, though when he saw Aegon, how close he was sitting to his wife, his wrist encased in her grip, her face drawn tightly with hatred, did cold dread settle over him, washing away any ounce of hesitation he felt to face her and their fight.

“What are you doing here?” He barked at his brother, his face hard with a deadly scowl.

“Just getting to know my future wife.” 

Aemond grit his teeth. It took all of his willpower to not beat his brother into oblivion. 

“Get out.” He ordered sternly, though Aegon only laughed and leaned back in his seat.

“No.”

Aegon’s sharp response had Aemond flinching in surprise, his surprise overtaking his anger for a moment at the presence of his weak brother’s backbone. It seemed that the crown on his head had finally made him unmovable in the face of his younger’s brother’s rage that used to make him cower.

“I am your King, you don’t command me, brother.” 

Aemond, without caring for the consequences or the threat of Aegon’s guards that stood outside the door, stormed forward, grabbing his brother by the shirt and hauling him to his feet, desperate to wrench him away from his wife who watched on with fear. 

“If you have any hope of winning this war, it is because of me and my dragon. You are a drunken idiot that has no idea what it truly takes to rule and if you wish to keep breathing and sitting on that throne you will keep your mouth shut and stay far away from my wife.” Aemond spat darkly, jerking his wastrel of a brother in his harsh grip. 

“I am already a Kinslayer and I will take whatever judgment the Gods give me for sinning again.” Aemond threatened him, his hatred clear. 

Aegon looked back at him with nothing but disdain, hating the fact that he needed Aemond, needed Vhagar, to fight his cause. His harsh glare moved to the woman who remained sitting, watching the brothers with wide, nervous eyes. 

“I will see you soon, Sister.” Aegon drawled out the word as if it were an insult, sneering at her one last time before he shoved his brother off him and made his way out of their chambers, leaving the couple in a tense silence. 

Aemond breathed heavily and turned toward his wife, his eye softening immediately at the sight of her. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She spoke quietly. 

Aemond watched her carefully, noting that she had yet to meet his eye. He sighed and sat next to her. The news from the council the previous night that he had yet to tell her weighed on him heavily. 

She had been asleep by the time he returned to their chambers last night and he loathed to wake her, especially for news that would only upset her. 

“We are to go to battle tomorrow.” He finally blurted out. 

His words finally had her gaze rising to meet him, a startled fearfulness growing in her eyes. 

“I am taking Vhagar to Rook’s Rest.” 

She remained quiet as she took in his words, the growing fear inside of her quickly incapacitating her. A thousand thoughts ran through her head, most of them all the ways she could lose him.  

The longer she stayed quiet, the more tense he became. 

“I’ve talked to my mother.” He continued quickly, looking at her hopefully. “She has agreed to let go of the annulment. I’ve asked her to station more guards at the door. A group will be with you any day I’m not here. They will protect you while I’m gone and if I… if anything happens in battle… they will take you home.” 

Her eyes watched him calculatingly, as if she were staring at a stranger and not the man she loved. Her mind was a mess of thoughts, none of which she could really make sense of. 

Her silence rang out in the room loudly, agonizing Aemond. He looked at her intently, pleadingly. 

“Say something, please.” He whispered weakly. 

She let out a long sigh, her face impassive, not revealing any emotion. Even the sight of her husband’s sadness wasn’t enough to sway her. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” He practically begged, her monotonous voice causing an ache to grow within him.

She grit her teeth, looking away from him. “Do you really believe it?”

“What?”

“That your mother is no longer a pawn in that ridiculous plan. That a few more measly guards will protect me from your family. That in the event of your death, I’ll be free to go home and not thrown in the black cells or shackled to Aegon’s bed.”

Aemond flinched at each of her words, looking pained at the reminder of the danger she was in, the danger his own family was placing on her head. 

“You are many things, Husband, but I have never known you to be naive.” 

“I am not naive-”

“You are if you believe I am safe here, especially in your absence.” She interrupted him sharply. “If you were to die in battle, that would be the end of me. No one would take me home, no one would let me live out the rest of my days as a mourning widow, they would have their boots on my neck the minute it was clear you would not be around to protect me.”

Only a stunted breath escaped him, as words were lost to him.

He looked at her pleadingly, but the guilt that lingered in his gaze did not go unnoticed by her and it only served to fuel her anger, knowing that he knew exactly the situation they were in, exactly the hard rock they were pushed up against by his own family.

“They won’t hurt you.” He began and held back a wince as she scoffed and shook her head. “They won’t. I have to believe it.”

“You have to?” She repeated, almost mockingly.

“Yes, because I cannot take another fucking breath if I don’t.” He replied loudly, his desperation, his slipping control clear as he looked at her, his eye wide and brimming with frustration. 

Her expression changed in an instant, the hard front she was portraying shattering the moment she saw how close her husband was to cracking. He had always tried to shield her from the worst parts of him, never wanting her to worry or fuss over him.

It wasn’t often he let her see him falter, but she could see now just how exhausted and broken he was over everything that had happened in the past month. 

She suddenly thought of all the times he had held her, picked her back up when her grief knocked her down, and she struggled to think of the times she was there for him, when he allowed her to be strong for him when he couldn’t.

He didn’t let himself show his weakness, hardly even to her, and it was slowly crushing him. 

“Do you truly have to go tomorrow?” She asked quietly, the fight gone from her voice. 

“I do.” 

There was a hesitation to him, as if he knew it wasn’t a good idea, but didn’t have another choice. He was burdened by the duty he was shackled to, beaten down by the sentiment that had been drilled in him since he was a child.

He felt this was all he could do, simply because his family told him so.

She hated they had such a hold on him, that they held such control over him.

“I will come back.” He told her, looking at her intently, as if he could will her to believe it. 

She just nodded, her throat growing tight with emotion at the thought of how tomorrow could go so wrong, at the thought of losing the one person she cherished with her entire being. The thought of losing him was already unfathomable, but the thought of losing him now, never being able to heal the rift between them was enough to break her. 

He stood, hesitating for a moment, knowing he had to meet with Ser Criston, but wary of leaving his wife, of furthering the divide between them. 

He looked to her longingly, as if he wanted to reach out to her, to kiss her, to lavish his affection on her as he used to, but just couldn’t find the courage to. 

He didn’t know if she even wanted him to, so he settled for a half-hearted nod and a mumble of goodbye before leaving her side once again, feeling as though the cracks in his heart were growing deeper and deeper with each passing day they were fractured.

She remained in his thoughts for the rest of the day, as she always did any moment he was not at her side.

He didn’t see her until that night at the feast Aegon was adamant on hosting. It was more of an excuse for Aegon to lavish in praises for his bravery for their planned battle on the morrow. 

Aemond could only roll his eyes at his brother’s brazen showmanship. 

They would run out of coin soon enough with all the celebrations he’d thrown in the short amount of time he sat on the throne. 

It seemed parties were the only thing Aegon could think to decree during his reign, despite the war that raged. It was a wonder a battle even got planned with his ambivalence for planning anything that didn’t include wine.

He looked to his wife sat by his side, her expression portraying she’d rather be anywhere else. She boredly looked among the dancing couples and reveling Lords who were drinking copiously, their laughter unable to stir a smile of her own. 

Aemond knew better than to ask if she wanted to dance. He knew she would refuse. 

He thought back to that night, the beginning of their divide and wanted to scream and cry all at once for the state of things, for this dreaded feeling of being so far from her in a way he had never experienced before. 

The thought of her not by his side was too terrifying to even imagine. The thought of her willingly separating from him broke his heart and he didn’t know how to react in any way but anger.

She had barely spoken to him since that night and it wasn’t as though he was any more forthcoming in swallowing his pride and apologizing for his anger that had struck her that fateful day.

Next to him, his mother sat, sending him a weak smile. Despite her assurance that she wouldn’t be forcing an annulment, he couldn’t deny that he had trouble believing her, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how agonizing it was to not believe it. So he did what he could to force himself to. 

But he knew he would worry every time he was not at his wife’s side that Aegon would swoop in and use his power to take her from him.

His brother was certainly not above despicable behavior. 

His wife was barely able to look at his family. A curt smile was all she was able to give as they arrived that evening. The only real emotion she had shown was towards Helaena, but even then it was only a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

Aemond was sure it did not go unnoticed how tense the table of royals looked. He could only imagine the gossip that was spreading about them. 

He felt as though he could breathe easier once his mother retired for the night, his view of her irrevocably changed since that meeting. 

He tapped his fingers against the table erratically, stealing another look at his wife. A servant placed a new cup of wine before her and Aemond waved his hand, refusing another cup for himself, it was only making his already churning stomach worse. 

“Are you enjoying the music?” He asked, internally wincing to himself for how awkward he sounded as he tried to engage his wife in conversation. 

“Not particularly.” She answered monotonously. 

Aemond’s lips parted, but no words were found. It felt like talking to a stranger than to the woman he had loved for years.

“Could you two cheer up?” Aegon chastised as he approached the table to fill up his cup. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.” 

Aegon’s attention on her seemed to be the last straw of her already waning patience. With a sigh, she pushed her chair out and stood.

“I’m tired, I’m going to retire for the night.” She explained and left without another word.

Aemond watched her go with a frown. The lack of affection wasn’t something he was used to, not from her at least and it was enough to leave him with a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“She’s become quite frigid.” Aegon noted, not bothering to look at his brother and catch the glare he would surely be sending his way. “Have you stopped fucking her? Is that why she’s become such a surly bitch?” 

Aemond grit his teeth, his hands twitching with the urge to knock his brother’s teeth out. It seemed the drunken idiot had already forgotten about his earlier threat on his life. 

“Well, if she’s not drinking it.” Aegon laughed, grabbing the goblet that sat before his wife’s empty seat, handing it over to some foot soldier from the Lannister army who eagerly swallowed it down in one gulp, the cheering crowd around him growing raucous. 

Aemond could barely contain his annoyance, his desire to leave overwhelming. His fingers tapped at the table incessantly, itching to follow his wife, to be as far from Aegon’s arrogance as he could. 

“Must you look so sullen, brother?” Aegon chastised him.

Meeting the glassy eyes of his drunken brother, Aemond was forced to use all the willpower he possessed to not throw a punch, removing the smug smile from his face. 

“Stop crying over your wife. There are plenty of other women here-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Aemond snapped at him darkly. 

Aegon scoffed, a multitude of insults on the tip of his tongue, but the sound of hacking coughs caught both of their attention. They looked to the Lannister soldier, his eyes wide, his face turning red as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come. He clutched at his neck, his body-shaking coughs bringing him to his knees.

The chattering of the crowd ceased, leaving terrified gasps and screams as men quickly surrounded the dying man, surveying for a threat.

Aemond stood from his seat, taking large steps forward, pushing others out of the way. He took in the scene before him with a growing dread. His gaze moved from the man twitching out a last painful breath, blood and bile spilling from his lips, to the empty cup on the ground. 

The cup that was meant for his wife. 

Something broke inside him at the realization. 

He rushed out of the room, elbowing his way past the crowd. He sprinted through the halls, a shrill ringing in his ears, his mind conjuring the horrible sights that he would find. 

What if he wasn’t fast enough this time?

He had already lost his child, he couldn’t lose her. 

The thoughts raced through his mind torturously as he ran, his fear growing with each step. His pulse thundered in his ears, his throat tight as he pictured the gruesome scene waiting for him.

He came to an abrupt stop, almost losing his footing, his chest heaving as he narrowed his gaze on the lone guard at their chamber doors. The man startled slightly at the sudden appearance of the disheveled prince and he bowed, greeting him dutifully. 

“Has anyone been inside?” 

“No, my Prince. Not since your wife.”

He stepped forward purposefully, the adrenaline in his veins and the fear that lingered, causing his hands to tremble. 

“Where’s the rest of you?”

“My Prince?” The guard questioned in confusion.

“Where are the other guards? There’s supposed to be more of you here keeping watch.” He seethed impatiently, the man before him blanching in intimidation.

“I-I’m sorry my Prince. It is only me. I have not heard of any others to be stationed with me.”

Aemond stared the man down angrily, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite make sense of. He pushed past the guard and rushed into his chambers, his shoulders sagging immediately, expelling a heavy exhale of relief as he spotted her. 

His wife lay in their bed, fast asleep and unharmed. 

He stepped towards her on weak legs, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to just look at her, to ease his wounded mind. He knew he wasn’t reaching, that what had happened just minutes ago, that man choking on his own blood, was no accident. 

Someone had tried to take her from him, again. 

He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, reveling in the sweet scent of the floral oil she had put in her hair that night. 

“I’ll make it right, I promise.” He whispered into the quiet room, needing to speak the promise aloud, even if she wasn’t awake to hear it. He needed to reassure himself that he could protect her, for he felt as though he had been failing. 

With one last lingering look at her, he stood and stepped out of the room, giving a quick warning to the guard to be on alert as he stomped down the hall. 

He made it to his mother’s chambers, barely acknowledging Ser Criston who stood vigil and stormed inside. 

His mother startled at his abrupt entrance and her face twisted, gearing up to scold him, but she soon noticed the fear in his eye, the lingering fury that made her stiffen.

“What’s happened?” She asked tersely, placing a hand over her racing heart, her stomach churning for what she was about to hear. 

“A man was murdered tonight.” He spoke monotonously. 

“What? Who?” Alicent asked breathlessly. 

“He drank from my wife’s cup. He drank the wine that was meant for her and barely a minute later he was dead.” 

Alicent’s throat went tight, her blood running cold within her veins. She straightened her posture, attempting to remain composed. 

“Rhaenyra and Daemon’s bloodlust knows no bounds.” 

“Where were the guards?” Aemond asked abruptly, glossing over his mother’s comment.

“What guards?” 

“In front of our chambers.” He clarified, his voice hard as stone. “I asked you to assign more, to ensure my wife would be protected. You said you would, but there was only one.”

Alicent’s heart raced wildly within her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her chest visible as she tried hard to settle her breathing. 

“I will have a talk with them. They should have been there.” She answered, the wavering of her voice clear, forcing her to swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had grown and threatened to stop her from breathing.

Aemond watched his mother thoughtfully, the sinking feeling he had already been plagued with growing tenfold the longer he watched her, slowly becoming aware of her charade. 

His eyes moved to watch the flames dance in the fireplace, breathing out a long sigh as the thoughts in his head swirled like a hurricane. He wanted to refuse it, to not believe his mother would ever have anything to do with something so sinister, but her entire being portrayed guilt. He knew his family's ambitions made for crass and even sometimes despicable actions, he knew the way of war, he just never expected to fall victim to it at the hands of the ones who should have loved him dearly. 

“I was excited to be a father.” He started quietly, the tension in his body the only sign of the storm silently raging within him. “I knew I would have done anything for my child. They could’ve asked me for the stars and I would have flown on Vhagar in the night and taken every one of them from the sky.” 

The mention of the babe he had lost had Alicent’s chest tightening, her eyes beginning to sting with tears that threatened to give away the turmoil plaguing her. 

“I don’t even have a babe to hold and I know I would have done whatever I could to make them happy.” His voice became stunted, anger tinging the heartbreaking words that kept his emotions on a short tether, the reminder of what he lost, what had been ripped so brutally from him and his beloved. 

His lone eye raised from the fire and landed on his mother who seemed to squirm under his intense gaze. 

“You… you weren’t even trying to keep me from my happiness, you’re trying to rip it right out of my hands.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach sinking with dread. 

“I don’t know what-”

“You know exactly what I’m speaking of.” He interrupted her angrily, his hands clenched into fists as it took all of his restraint to not lunge at her, having to constantly remind himself that the woman in front of him was his mother.

“Think about what you are accusing me of, it’s absolutely ridiculous.” Alicent screeched, her emotions fraying as she desperately tried to pull her son back to her. 

“You never wanted me to marry her. You wanted to deny me her, you wanted to tear her from me even when you knew she was the only one that truly made me happy.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, her fear quickly shifting into indignation. That Island girl has sunk her claws so deep in her son, she scarcely recognized him anymore. 

“The only one?” She questioned, almost sarcastically. “After everything I’ve done and you still don’t see that it was all for you, for our family.” 

Aemond let out a bitter sounding laugh, a sound that would have sent chills down the spine of a lesser man. 

“Tell me, Mother, when exactly were you thinking about my happiness? When you tried to force an annulment from the woman I love or when you tried to murder her?” 

Alicent’s voice caught in her throat. Each word was like a slap to the face. The guilt churned in her stomach so violently she thought she was going to be sick. 

“I know grandsire’s ambitions would have retribution, but I never thought you would bend to them at the expense of your children.”

Alicent sunk back in her chair, the fight swept from her as she realized Aemond was not going to budge an inch. She picked at the skin by her nails anxiously, her teeth biting her bottom lip incessantly as her heart raced. 

“We needed to help Aegon’s cause.”

The whispered words were all the confession he needed to hear. 

Aemond fumed silently, his jaw clenching so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t crack any of his teeth. His first thought was that he couldn’t believe his own mother would do this to him, to break him into disrepair by taking his wife from him, but as he remembered the forced annulment, he soon realized he didn’t really know his mother at all. 

“We know what Rhaenyra would do to us once she sat on the throne. I had to protect you, I did what I could so our family would survive.”

Aemond scoffed bitterly. He too once thought his life would be forfeit once his half-sister rose to power, but the longer he thought of it over the years, the more he spoke of those fears with his wife, the more he realized how unfounded they had been. 

“You really think my father-by-law would allow that to happen? Ixtal is King’s Landing’s greatest importer, you think Rhaenyra would risk the entirety of the realm, her position as ruler, just to do away with siblings she could not spare a second thought for?” 

“You don’t know that!” Alicent yelled, becoming desperate as she felt as though her son was slipping through her fingers.

Aemond sighed and stood from his chair, heading towards the door, but Alicent’s sobs stopped him as she begged him not to go.

“Aemond, you have to understand.” She cried. “I had to do what I could to keep you safe. You will see that one day, you will see that I only did what I thought was right for our family.”

To hear her speak of the life of his wife, his greatest love, as nothing more than collateral made him feel sick, his disdain growing even further. 

“I hope you will see one day that your ambition is what ruined this family.” 

With those final words, he left, leaving his mother to sob in solitude. He numbly walked back to his chambers, the look in his mother’s eyes haunting his mind. 

It wasn’t until he was behind the closed door of his chamber, standing in the dark room that he allowed himself to release a shuddering breath, his throat tightening as it all caught up to him. 

His mother’s betrayal was like a dagger to the stomach, letting the wound bleed until there was nothing left of him. 

His gaze fell on his sleeping wife and the dam broke. Tears fell from his eyes as he realized how close he had been to losing her and by the hands of his own family. It was enough to undo him completely. 

He knelt at her bedside, unable to stop the tears that fell. His lip trembled, shaking breaths escaping him as he clutched to her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispered weakly. 

She stirred and blinked her weary eyes open, frowning immediately as she noticed the tears her husband was shedding.

“Aemond? What happened?” She asked tiredly, propping herself up on her elbow as she intertwined their fingers. 

“I didn’t protect you.” He whispered, his voice tight with tearful emotion.

“What are you talking about?”

“The second this war started, I should’ve done something. I knew you weren’t safe here, I knew you weren’t safe with them and I didn’t do anything. I’m so sorry, issa prūmia, please forgive me.” 

“Aemond…” She was stunned, watching as her husband, the stoic man she knew, broke into pieces before her. 

She laid her hand over his that held her other tightly, caressing gentle touches over his hardened knuckles. 

“Darling, there’s nothing to forgive.” She assured him, but the look on his face remained tortured. 

He sniffled and wiped his tears forcefully, tearing his hand from hers and he got to his feet, making his way across their chambers to her wardrobe. 

“I’m getting you out of here.” He spoke, his voice now full of determination.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you here. You’re going back to Ixtal.”

Her heart jumped in her chest, it was everything she had wanted since this war started, but she couldn’t ignore the lingering dread that settled within her like lead, realizing what it would mean for them. The thought of separating from him was unbearable. 

“I’m not leaving without you.” She spoke forcefully, standing from the bed, her eyes hardened as she stared back at her husband. 

She knew it was a big ask to leave his family and his home for her, but circumstances were different now. She had already lost so much, she wasn’t going to lose him too, she certainly wasn’t going to let his family take advantage of her absence and shackle him to another woman. 

Aemond swallowed thickly and stepped towards her, his hands cradling her face gently as he revered her with nothing but adoration, his decision made in a split second.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but by your side.” 

Her face softened, emotions swelling, tightening her throat. 

“What happened?” She asked quietly. His change of heart was unexpected and the state of him she had woken to was more than concerning. It wasn’t often he let himself feel his emotions, except anger of course, and it was upsetting to say the least.

Aemond seemed to shudder at her question, his eyes holding a faraway look that seemed tortured. 

“Not yet.” He said, his voice barely audible. He would tell her everything once they were safe, once they were far from King’s Landing and his scheming family. “Pack your things, we need to be quick and leave before the light.” 

She nodded and rushed to her wardrobe, hauling out as many dresses as she could carry and tossed them on the bed. A sudden realization came to her, igniting her worries once more.

“Wait, Aemond.” She spoke up frantically. “Helaena and the children. We can’t leave without them, they’re not safe here.”

Aemond’s entire being softened. Helaena and her children were the only ones, outside of her, that he cared about above anyone else and her care for them, her willingness to accept them as her own warmed his heart, only confirming to him that he was making the right decision.

His mother’s betrayal stung, it festered in him like a disease that threatened to spread and ruin him, but he pushed it down. He would feel the heartbreak when they were safe in Ixtal.

It didn’t take long for them to pack their meager belongings. They didn’t need to take much, there wasn’t much of anything with sentimental value he would miss. He just needed his wife at his side. 

They traveled through the hidden halls, quickly coming to the entrance of Helaena’s room. Aemond pushed the entrance open slowly, wincing at the noise, hoping he wasn’t about to scare his sweet sister.

He was soon shocked, flinching back as he met the awaiting eyes of his sister, her children cradled to her sides, bags at their feet.

“Is it time?” 

“What- Helaena…”

“We are leaving, are we not?” 

“Well… yes, but-”

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t waste any more time.” She smiled warmly, placing her hand on her brother’s cheek briefly before moving towards her friend, wrapping her up in a tight hug, her gratitude overflowing from her. “I knew you would be our saving grace.”

The whispered words of the Princess left her shocked. She had to shake herself of her surprise and hauled Jaehaerys into her arms. With Helaena carrying Jaehaera, their bags secured with Aemond leading them, they were on their way. His hand fluttered towards the sword at his hip every so often, senses sharp and at the ready for anything and anyone that dared to stop them.

It didn’t take long to get to the Dragon Pit.

“I’ll meet you outside with Vhagar.” Aemond assured her and with one last squeeze of her hand, he was gone. 

Her heart was in her throat, her palms sweating with nerves as she helped strap the children’s bags to Dreamfyre’s saddle. Once Helaena was seated on her dragon, she helped Jaehaera up and strapped her in. 

“It’s alright, my Darlings.” Helaena cooed to her children who were quiet and sullen with fright. “We’re going to a beautiful place where we’ll be safe.” 

“Is father coming too?” Jaehaera asked quietly and Helaena shook her head, almost seemingly delighted to share the news of the absence of their father. But the child just nodded and whispered ‘good’. 

She repressed a shudder. She didn’t want to think of the neglect Aegon had forced on his children. She swept Jaehaerys up into her arms once again, her heart aching as he nuzzled into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“You like to swim, don’t you, Jae?”

He nodded against her and she smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“I know where to find the most beautiful beaches. You’ll get to swim in the bluest water you’ve ever seen where the fish swim between your toes and jump out of the water to greet you.”

“Will you show me?” 

She smiled and nodded. “I’ll take you there myself.” 

With the assurance, he loosened his grip on her, more at ease. A distant roar caught their attention, the familiar sound of Vhagar. With one last look to Helaena, silently assuring her that she would keep her son safe, she slipped out of the Dragon Pit, hurrying her way up the hill where Vhagar rested. 

Her hope spiked, her fear receding slightly as she spotted Aemond atop his dragon. Their escape was imminent. No one would stop them now, not when they had Vhagar to face. 

She helped Jaehaerys climb up into the waiting arms of his uncle who strapped him in carefully. She climbed, her movements familiar use, not something she’d ever thought she would say in relation to dragon riding, but Aemond had been insistent over the years of his two favorite girls bonding. 

She used to roll her eyes at him, but now she couldn’t have been more thankful. 

As she settled herself, her heart sped, uncertainty suddenly overtaking her adrenaline, the gravity of their actions soon crashing into her overwhelmingly. She placed her hand over Aemond's, stopping him before he could grasp the reins. 

“Aemond,” She spoke, her voice tight as her mind raced. “You have to be sure, entirely sure, that this is what you want.” 

He sighed, as if disappointed by her hesitation, believing he would ever second guess the decision to run away with her, to keep her safe. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He assured her, tilting her chin with his finger so she was looking at him head on. “I promised you, didn’t I? We’re going to Ixtal where we’ll grow old and raise our children.” 

His words, which were once said in the comfort of their sheets, their love nothing more than a secret from the rest of the realm, soothed every ounce of insecurity that had crept through her veins. 

She breathed out in relief and leaned forward, kissing him swiftly. 

Dreamfyre’s roar broke them apart and they watched as Helaena took flight with her daughter. 

“Are you ready, Jae?” 

The child nodded eagerly to his uncle and leaned back into his aunt’s arms, holding tightly to her as the mighty dragon below them rumbled and stretched her wings, taking to the skies with ease. 

The moonlight was their only guide in the dead of night. It wasn’t until they settled high in the sky, covered by the clouds, easy on their course, did she finally let herself relax. She leaned back into the strong chest behind her, her husband’s hand leaving the reins to wrap around her, securing herself to his front, his forehead rested against hers, a look of nothing but pure contentment on his face, a far cry from the scowl that had been securely etched onto his features for months. 

She knew his decision to leave could not have been easy and she was terrified to hear what had happened, what the final straw was to get him to agree to leave the place he called home, to leave his mother behind.

She leaned into him, as if needing his comfort from the mere thought of what transpired to make him turn his back on the woman that raised him.

Aemond held her tightly, breathing in the scent of her, his eye falling closed in fulfillment at the feel of her skin under his fingertips. Even the brush of her hair against his face in the wind was the greatest thing he could have ever felt. 

She was all he needed. 

A weight was lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe easier the farther they flew from King’s Landing. His family’s schemes, his mother’s betrayal, Aegon’s threats, they all seemed to melt away as the distance grew between them. 

The sun was just beginning to rise as they spotted the shores of Ixtal. 

Warmth bloomed within her at the sight of her home, knowing she was only minutes from reuniting with her family. 

She felt jittery, anxious excitement taking over every inch of her as they landed on the shores. A slew of guards were already waiting for them on the shores, the dragons having been spotted in the distance and causing mayhem in fear of a potential attack. 

Among the pointed spears and swords, she spotted her father’s face. She breathed shakily, eagerly undoing the straps around her waist, charging down from Vhagar’s back despite Aemond’s protests. 

She didn’t care for safety, she didn’t care for decorum. She charged towards the group of guards who soon lowered their weapons at their leader’s cries for a cease. Her father pushed the guards out of his way, coming to the front of the blockade, the sight of her causing tears to brim in his eyes. 

Barely a second later, she was in his arms, the force of her embrace almost knocking him off his feet. 

“You’re here.” He breathed out, holding tightly to his beloved daughter with a force that could only be portrayed by that of a father with a heavy heart. “How are you here? I haven’t heard from you in weeks, we thought-”

His words stopped as he noticed Aemond’s presence over her shoulder. His brows furrowed at the sight of the young child in his arms, his confusion only furthered as Princess Helaena stepped forward, another child in her arms. 

“You brought an entourage?”

Her face turned serious, worrying him immediately.

“Father, we… we’re seeking refuge from King’s Landing. It’s no longer safe for us there.”

He looked at his daughter incredulously, sensing there would be a long story to come. He nodded stiffly, having trouble tearing his eyes away from his daughter, his little girl he had been fraught with worry over the past moons.

A yell of her name sounded, catching their attention. Her face smoothed out, her worry disappearing as a bright smile grew. 

“Mother!” She called out, racing past her father and the litany of guards still standing at attention to seek out her mother who had raced out of the palace at the sight of the dragons, her arms open and ready for her daughter. 

Aemond watched, an ease settling over him as he saw her smile again, that bright, wondrous sight that could only assure him he had done the right thing. 

The Lord of Ixtal stepped forward, sending a polite smile to Helaena and eyeing the children with a soft gaze.

“Come, you must be exhausted from your journey.” He motioned them forward, allowing Helaena to lead, hand in hand with her twins, the two men settling in a matching pace side by side. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

Aemond looked at the man beside him questioningly. 

“I knew you would keep my daughter safe. I never had any doubt.”

The young prince seemed to deflate under the praise. The guilt that had been festering within him unfurled, overtaking him so powerfully, he stopped walking.

“I didn’t- there was… it was too close-”

“Aemond,” His father-by-law placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. “You’re here. You brought her home, safe and sound.”

“But I couldn't-”

“You are one man. You cannot fight the entire world of enemies alone, especially not when they are your own family.”

Aemond’s eye widened, looking perplexed by his words. The Lord just smiled sadly and shook his head.

“I had my suspicions from the start. I knew they didn’t want you to marry her, I knew their ambitions would become too great.”

Aemond just nodded stiffly, the words getting caught in his throat, not yet able to voice just what his family, his own mother, had done. 

“You’re a good man, Aemond. I hope you’ll be happy here.” 

“I will be.” He spoke, his voice laced with conviction, as if there were no doubts in his mind about his life now that he was standing on the sandy beaches of Ixtal, his future no longer out of his own control.

They stepped into the palace, his eyes finding her immediately. Her mother left her daughter’s side, coming towards him, a tearful smile gracing her features. 

Before he could say a word, she wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you.” She whispered to him, the words and the affectionate gesture plucking at his weakest points. The affection of a mother, a caring and kind soul, reminding him of what he had just lost, what he had purposefully stepped away from.

But it had never been like this. Alicent had never held him this tight, he had never felt love from his mother in a single touch, not like he was now from a woman he had met only a handful of times before. 

“You three look like you have hiked through the seven hells and back. Why don’t you rest for a while longer, we can talk later.” Her mother suggested. 

Helaena was guided to her new chambers for her and the children, her smile wide, no trace of derision from her escape. She seemed all too happy to be back to the place she had fallen in love with in that first visit years ago.

Aemond let his wife lead him to her old childhood chambers. 

He stepped in, taking in a deep breath, letting the events of the night roll off his back. He looked at the dried flowers and childhood drawings that lined the walls, some hers, some her siblings that had been gifted to her years ago that she couldn’t bear to part with. 

Her sentimental heart never failed to warm his own. 

As he set their bags down, his gaze fell to the view of the horizon from the balcony, picturing the chaos that would be ensuing across the sea in King’s Landing as their absence was discovered. 

He thought of his mother and the state she would be in once she realized both he and Helaena were gone, her grandchildren safe from their clutches. 

He let out a shaking breath and barely a second later, arms were winding around his waist. He hummed a grateful sounding noise, placing a hand over her clasped ones at his front.

“What are you thinking about?”

“They’ll send search parties.” He mused, his mind beginning to conjure the many ways his brother and grandsire could ruin the peace they tried to find for themselves.

“My father will handle it.” She assured him. “Besides, no one would dare try to force Vhagar away from here.” 

He smiled, his eyes falling to his mighty dragon that was basking in the sun, her wings fluttering in the waves that crashed onto the shore, her rumbles of contentment echoing up to their room. He looked over his shoulder at his wife, the warm feeling in chest growing at the sight of her, the ease she now carried around her.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes softened, a small smile growing. “I think I should be saying that to you.”

He had a million things he wanted to say but no idea how to say them. So he settled for kissing her softly, hoping it conveyed every ounce of love and adoration he held for her, the thanks he wanted to bestow upon her for saving his life, for saving his sister and her children. 

He pulled away regretfully, letting his forehead rest against hers as he thought over how close he had come to losing her just hours ago, causing tears to brim in his eye.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, emotion welling his throat yet again. 

Her brows furrowed, not used to seeing him break as he was now, as he did just hours ago. 

“I haven’t been a good husband.” 

“Aemond-”

“I haven’t.” He spoke again, interrupting her attempt to soothe him. “I didn’t listen, I thought I could fight against everything alone. I pushed you away and I hurt you.” 

She watched him carefully, noting the guilt that seemed to seep out of every inch of him. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it all, I swear.” He whispered frantically, as if he was desperate for her to believe him, as if she had any doubt. 

“What happened?” She questioned again, looking at him worriedly, but he shook his head, pushing the thought of this mother, of that man choking on his own blood, from his mind. 

“Not yet.” He whispered again, not yet ready to reveal to her the threat on her life, not wanting to break the peace they’d finally found after months of such heart-breaking tension. 

She was in his arms, they were safe, his sister and her children were safe. That was all that mattered. 

He kissed her again, this time firmer, more sure of himself. After tumultuous weeks of grieving and then spite between them, they hadn’t been close like this in ages. It had been too long since he had made love to his sweet wife. 

She melted into him, the feel of his hands on her, his lips against hers so desperately, was enough to heal the wounds in her heart the war had caused. 

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered as he planted kisses down the slope of her neck. “You are so wonderful, so kind. You have the most perfect, golden heart.” 

He lavished praise as his hands untied the laces of her gown, his lips finding their place over her racing heart, the heart that had given him so much love, enough to heal a boy doomed from the start. 

They moved slowly, treasuring each gentle caress and loving kiss as they stripped themselves bare. The waking nightmares they had been faced with in King’s Landing melted into nothing but old memories in the wake of their embrace. 

For so long, after the attack and losing their child, she had felt so disconnected to her own body. Now, as Aemond kissed every inch of her, as his hands roamed the familiar curves of her body, she felt she was finally herself again. 

She had spent too long watching her husband succumb to who his family wanted him to be. It made her determined to remind him why she loved him, how much she cherished him. 

Her hand slithered down the strong planes of his chest, his breath hitching as it traveled lower and lower until she gently grasped his stiff length in her hand that twitched with desire under her touch. 

Breaths left him in desperate pants as she stroked him, her touch familiar yet so missed. He repressed a shiver as she quickened her pace, her eyes watching him intently, the sight of his pleasure a welcome reprieve to how tightly wound she’d seen him for months. 

He moaned and quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her motions. He would not spill too early, before he even had the chance to bring her pleasure. 

She squealed in surprise, her laugh ringing out in the room as he picked her up and eagerly carried her to the bed. Her delighted giggles continued as she fell back on the soft mattress below her, biting her lip and practically writhing at the heated look from the man above her. 

She reached up, taking his eye patch off and tossing it to the side, needing to see all of him.

Aemond wasted no time, he couldn’t go another second without her. He spread her legs and kneeled before her, his mouth devouring her with a fervor of a man starved, moaning at the delectable taste of her.

She cried out, her hand falling to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling with each deliberately devastating stroke of his tongue. 

Her body was powerless against him, a litany of praise falling past her lips without her knowledge, mindlessly calling out to him, divulging every ounce of her love for him, both cursing and acclaiming his tongue and his ability to render her completely mindless. 

He growled against her, the sound of his name spoken so breathlessly, so desperately, quickly becoming his undoing. He quickened his pace, his need to push her over the edge growing as his own desires did.

She almost screamed, her back arching as he added his fingers, curling them in just the way he knew would drive her crazy. 

Her hands twisted into the sheets below her, her legs beginning to quiver from their place over his shoulders as he worked her to the cusp of ecstasy. 

“Aemond!” She cried out as his wicked tongue and fingers brought her to a blinding peak. 

She panted heavily, her limbs still trembling from the force of her release, barely able to comprehend the heated kiss Aemond pressed to her lips, the taste of her on his tongue making her moan. 

The soft sound turned into another high pitched cry as he entered her slowly, a shuddering breath falling past his own lips as they joined for the first time in months. He stilled, needing a moment before he lost his composure completely. 

He gazed at her below him, his lone eye shining, the love he felt for her in that moment suddenly overwhelming. He ducked his head into the crook of her neck, squeezing his eye shut as her hand caressed through his hair, her soft lips brushing against his temple. 

“It’s alright.” She whispered. “I’m here. I won’t ever be parted from your side.” 

Her words, as if she knew exactly what had happened just hours ago, the attempt on her life on the orders of his own family, were the salve to the torment running through his head since he learned of the threat against her. 

He raised his head, kissing her firmly, his tongue tangling with hers, desperate for her touch, her taste, every inch of her. 

“No one will ever take you from me.” He spoke softly, though the air of determination surrounding his words did not go unnoticed, whether to reassure her or himself he wasn’t sure. 

His hips began to move rhythmically, thrusting in and out of her gently, as if it were their first time again. 

She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Her hands gripped onto his back, feeling his muscle ripple under his skin as he moved. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tightly as he made love to her as if he were afraid to break her, afraid to cause her any more harm than what she had endured since the war started. 

“Aemond,” She breathed out, leaning upwards, her nose brushing against his as she brushed her lips against his. “I’m ok. You can go faster, I can take it.” 

His face twisted, memories of the night of the attack, of her screams and cries of agony, of how close she had been last night to succumbing to the war. The thoughts were torturous. 

“I can’t-” He choked out, his jaw clenching, his brows furrowed as if he were in pain himself. “I can’t hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you would never.” She assured him, her hands cradling his face as she looked at him intently, pure trust and love echoing through her eyes. 

He exhaled loudly, allowing his pace to quicken slightly, the moan she let out like music to his ears, soothing every ounce of his worry. 

“I trust you.” She whispered and his resolve shattered completely in an instant. 

He whimpered and began to thrust into her harder, his movements becoming more assured, his hunger for her reaching its peak, his hips now crashing against hers purposefully, moans falling freely from his lips as she cried out at every hard thrust, his cock hitting that place inside her that made her writhe against him.

Her noises were beautiful, they sent shivers down his spine, made his head spin in that delightful way only she could give him. He never liked to feel as though he wasn’t in control, but with her he welcomed the feeling. 

She was the only one he felt safe around to let himself feel it. 

He gripped onto her thigh, hiking it higher on his hip, allowing him to reach deeper inside her, her name like a desperate prayer on his lips as he felt himself nearing his end. It had been too long and he was no match for her perfect body. 

He brought his hand down, his thumb brushing against her clit, desperate to bring her with him. It didn’t take long until she trembled against him, her nails digging into his back, her head thrown back against the sheets as she cried out loudly. 

The feeling of her tightening around him and the sight of her lost in pleasure beneath him undid him effortlessly. He gasped, his movements becoming more frantic in his end, frantic groans following with each of his movements. It hit him like a wave, crashing over him all at once. He cried out, a sound more desperate than she had ever heard from him, his body stiffening before falling lax as he came hard. 

His eye fell shut as the haze of pleasure overtook him. He breathed harshly, letting the aftershocks of bliss roll through his shaking limbs. Her hands brushing his hair out of his face brought him back into the present.  

His eye fluttered open, meeting the eyes of the woman below him, her easy, pleasure filled smile bringing one of his own.

He leaned down, kissing her softly. Silently vowing to himself that he would never let anything threaten her life again, not as long as he lived, that he would never bring her pain ever again. 

He held her tightly, breathing out a long, drawn out breath, expelling every bit of the bitter anger and betrayal that clung to him. 

As he lay beside her, his softening length still buried inside her, the blissful touch of her hand running through his hair, he listened to the waves outside the open balcony doors, the calls of seabirds reminding him of where he was, where he would spend the rest of his days with her by his side.

It brought him more peace than he ever could have imagined. 

~~

With Aemond’s absence, and subsequently Vhagar’s absence from the frontlines, the Greens quickly succumbed to the Blacks. 

She held tightly to Aemond’s hand as her father read outloud the letter sent from Rhaenyra who now sat the throne. He gave no reaction as he heard of Otto’s execution, of Aegon’s demise in the black cells. He barely twitched as he heard his mother was to be sequestered in the Red Keep, forced to live out the rest of her life in solitude. 

The only emotion he showed was the breath he let out when he heard Daeron was to remain in Oldtown, with strict orders never to return to King’s Landing. He was thankful his younger brother never played a role in the war, that his life was spared from a gruesome fate. 

Helaena looked forlorn, her eyes cast down to her hands that fidgeted in her lap. She left for a reason, she had escaped with her children, an act she would never regret, but it didn’t lessen the unease in her heart.

She always knew this was how it would end. 

The knowledge that Aegon would never touch her again was a shining ray of light in the storm of dark clouds that was the news of the demise of her family. 

They were dismissed quickly, her mother throwing her a wary look as Aemond practically sprinted from the room as if it were deprived of air he desperately needed. 

She walked at a slow pace, knowing he’d need a few minutes to himself to take in the news. Making her way through the gardens, she knew exactly where he’d be, where he often found himself in moments of deep thoughts and contemplation. 

She knew he didn’t regret leaving, but some days the decision was harder to swallow than others. 

Within a few minutes, she found him sitting on the bench in front of the billowing willow tree, the place they had first spoken, the place he had complimented her drawings, the place where she had made him laugh as if they were old friends rather than new acquaintances. 

He didn’t look up as she approached. 

The only indication he gave to her presence was the long breath he let out as she took a seat next to him. 

“I’m fine.” He spoke impatiently, as if to assure her so he could be left to his torturous solitude.

“You know I don’t believe that.” She admonished softly, making no move to leave. 

His foot tapped erratically against the stone below him, his teeth biting his bottom lip, his shoulders hunched, the very picture of discontent. Frowning, she placed her hand on his arm, sliding down the length of his tense muscles until she found his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling.”

“I can’t quite make sense of it myself.” He admitted quietly.

“I know you’re not happy Rhaenyra is on the throne-”

“I don’t care about that.” He spoke abruptly, his tone becoming sharp. “Our lives would have been much easier if that damned chair didn’t exist.”

She knew since coming to Ixtal, after the month of peace they’d had without his family breathing down his neck, forcing his every move, he could breathe easier. But it was still his family, his own brother and grandsire who had perished in the war. 

“Aemond,” She began softly. “Talk to me, please.”

“I know what my brother was. I won’t pretend to mourn him.” 

“You do not have to.” 

His eyes held a vacant look, as he retreated into the mess of thoughts in his head. He knew what his grandsire had done, the game he had played long before he had even been born. He knew the retribution Otto faced was well deserved. 

It didn’t cause him much grief. 

It was the thought of his mother that left his insides twisting in a way he hadn’t anticipated. 

“It doesn’t seem like enough.” He whispered, his words almost lost to the wind. 

“What doesn’t?”

“She tried to take you from me yet she lives.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. She had never had a close bond with Aemond’s mother but after she had been told what had happened that fateful night they left, what caused her husband’s tears, her view of Alicent had been forever changed. 

Aemond held tightly to her hand, as if saying the words aloud were too much to handle. 

He let out a shaking breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, he could feel a headache coming on, one that was all too familiar when it came to the derision his family caused him. 

“It does not seem a fitting punishment yet I’m… relieved. I don’t think I truly want her dead.”

Aemond didn’t know what to make of what he felt for his mother. He was angered she still drew breath yet relieved she hadn’t been killed brutally by Rhaenyra, yet he still couldn’t stomach the thought of her, not after what she’d done. 

“Of course you don’t. No matter what she’s done, she’s still your mother.” 

He thinks to himself that he doesn’t deserve her, this wonderful woman in front of him, the only one to truly see him. 

When he lies with his wife, when he sees her beautiful smile, when he feels her touch on his skin, he thinks he’d be content if his mother never saw the light of day again, yet deep down, the guilt festers. 

He was the reason their side lost. His departure was the sole reason Aegon and Otto are dead, the reason his mother is confined for the rest of her days. 

He can’t find himself regretting his actions, knowing the outcomes, yet he can’t help but feel as though he had failed his family. 

The sense of duty they had instilled in him was screaming, raging at him for what he had done. But he wasn’t that man they raised him to be. 

He was the man who fell in love with his best friend. He was the man who finally felt love as a child from a girl who tried endlessly to get him to see the beauty in himself and the world around him. 

The part of him that felt guilty for his mother was soon crushed out by the love he held for his wife. When he looked at her, he realized no one had ever truly cared for him but her. No one had ever had his best interest at heart except her. 

He squeezed her hand in his, finally letting his gaze reach hers, the concern in her eyes melting a part of him that desperately needed to be melted. 

“I don’t regret a single moment with you.” He tells her, the look in his eye now soft, no longer shrouded in agony and confusion. 

She smiles softly, still worried for him, worried for what the news would cause him. 

“Aemond-”

“I just want to think about our future.” He interrupted, knowing exactly what fears lay on her tongue, fearing much of the same for himself. 

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He would feel the moments of guilt, of relief, of whatever other emotion his family would cause him, as they came. 

He didn’t fear what he would feel because he knew the woman he loved would be there to soothe him in every one of those dark moments. His family, though they may try, couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“I want to raise our children here, where they won’t know any pressures of the court or successions, of war or conflict.” 

“Are you sure you don’t-”

“Protecting you was and will always be my number one priority.” He assured her before she could even voice her question about his regret. 

Her smile was much more genuine, his words soothing the anxiety she felt at his reaction. He felt himself smile at the sight before him, eased merely by her presence.

He leaned in, kissing her softly, letting his forehead rest against hers.

“You were always my purpose.” 

His whispered words were assurances they both clung to in the face of uncertainty. 

Tension would always exist as long as their enemy sat on the throne, but they were content, miles away, across the sea where their love flourished, where they would start their family.

No one would take that away from them.

~~

A year had passed peacefully. No further word from King’s Landing came. Helaena and her children thrived in the beauty that was Ixtal. The eccentric Princess made many friends with the ladies in court, finally feeling as though she could be herself without judgment, without fearing retribution or gossip. She no longer felt the pressure to be the perfect image of a Targaryen Princess. 

Aemond had quickly found his place alongside her younger brother in leading the city watch. He melded into his new life with an ease she hadn’t expected. 

Her own father accepted Aemond into their council, his voice soon becoming a valuable and respected asset to the island and its governance with most of the realm. 

Their new life was everything they wanted. 

Until the day their past caught up to them. 

“My Lady?” She looked up to notice her guard approaching, a nervous expression painting his features. “A dragon has been spotted approaching our shores. Shall I request your husband?”

Her face was drawn tightly and she shook her head brusquely. She knew exactly who would be accosting them.

“No, I will handle it.” 

She walked determinedly to the throne room, her guard following behind her worriedly.

“Where is my father?”

“In a council meeting.”

“And my husband is with him?”

“Yes, my Lady.” 

“Good.” She breathed out. She didn’t need either of them catching wind of their guest’s arrival and causing a stir. “You are dismissed.” She spoke to her guard whose eyes widened at the command, his mouth opening to refuse, but she gave him a pointed look.

“I can handle this, Ser Jerrod.” 

The guard sighed defeatedly and gave her a look of resignation.

“I am telling your husband of your orders when he comes to punish me.” 

Aemond had developed quite the reputation of being protective of his wife, the guards were terrified to obey her orders when they knew they would face the ire of her dragon husband. 

“I will take the blame, I promise you.” She assured him with a smirk. 

As her guard left, leaving her alone in the throne room, she let out a long breath, her heart racing as she prepared herself for what she would soon face. 

Only minutes later, the great doors opened and Queen Rhaenyra entered, her face hardened, bitter anger in her eyes. 

Her steps faltered, her powerful pace slowing as she met the eyes of the person she had least expected. 

Rhaenyra spoke her name slowly, her entire demeanor changed, abruptly thrown off from her course of murderous rage that darkened her thoughts, that prompted her abrupt arrival. 

She breathed deeply, straightening her posture as she steeled her expression, putting on the mask of anger back into place.

“I’m sure you know why I am here.”

“I do.” She answered Rhaenyra cooly, her posture relaxed, an exact contrast from the woman before her who looked as though she was unraveling. 

The dark circles under her eyes did not go unnoticed. 

“I need to see Aemond.”

“That’s not going to happen, Rhaenyra, you know that.”

“He needs to pay for what he did.” The woman spoke through gritted teeth, angry tears filling her eyes. 

She stared at the woman, the Queen, before her for a few long seconds, taking in her state of weariness with a heavy sigh, which only seemed to upset Rhaenyra further, her face turning red, her jaw clenching as she took a mighty step towards her.

“He killed my son!”

“And you killed mine!” She yelled back, matching her with the ferocity only a devastated mother could have. 

The reminder of what Rhaenyra agreed to, what she allowed Daemon to do, made her face crumble, her eyes falling to the floor, refusing to meet the gaze of the woman in front of her, the woman she had made lose everything. 

She never wished the loss of a child on any woman, yet here she was, standing face to face with the woman with whom she had directly caused the greatest sorrow. 

“Gods, Rhaenyra, do you think yourself innocent, do you think you are absolved of punishment from your place in this war?”

“I know I am not.” She choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I did not start this. Your husband must pay for what he has done.”

“My husband does not hold this blame alone. This war would’ve happened no matter who laid the first blow, you know that.”

“They usurped my crown!”

“Yet you sit on the throne and the only reason you do is because Aemond chose to step down from the fight.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, the fury in her eyes taking over her grief. 

“You did not come here to wager about succession.”

“No, I came to kill my brother.” Rhaenyra stated simply, her glare deepening when the woman in front of her scoffed.

“Aemond is under Ixtal’s protection. He has no governance under the crown.”

“Your father is an honorable man, he will do what is right-”

Her sarcastic laugh stopped Rhaenyra mid sentence, the older woman scowling at the young woman before her with blooming hatred.

“My father does not know all the details about what happened that night in King’s Landing, why I was attacked, how I lost my baby. If he knew it was you and Daemon that orchestrated it, that you were the reason he lost his grandchild, no force in this realm could save you.” She threatened, delighting in the way Rhaenyra shrunk under her pointed words. 

“Your position is tentative, Rhaenyra. Most of the realm despises you, especially after this senseless war. The smallfolk in King’s Landing are starving, the Lords of great houses are fed up with your trade arrangements, raising taxes, abandoning treaties.” She started, her voice low with animosity that steadily grew with each passing second she stood before her.

Rhaenyra looked surprised by what she knew, the details that hounded her night after night, the reason she was berated practically daily in court by smallfolk and Lords alike. 

“Most leaders in this realm hate you, you have little support anymore. If my father were to break tradition and take a stand against your position, how many houses do you think would remain loyal to you?”

Rhaenyra remained silent, her face twisted with disdain, mostly because she knew she had no argument. 

“If you threaten my husband, if you plan some heinous attack on his life, if you darken Ixtal with your presence again, I will tell my father the role you played in my attack and nothing will stop him from marching to the gates of King’s Landing, with the support of the entire realm behind him.” She warned darkly. “Don’t forget, we’re the reason you still have food on your plates. You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“Who do you think you are to threaten me? I am your Queen.” Rhaenyra raged, losing what little control she had left. 

“You think you can threaten me?” She countered. “That’s what you came here for, wasn’t it? To exert what little power you have left to boost your ego, to enact revenge for a bitter fight you caused.”

Rhaenyra flinched, her face twisted with derision at her words.

“Don’t pretend you have no role in this, Rhaenyra, you are smarter than that.” She added before the queen could speak another senseless word. “You pretended some measly words against your sons were more dire than a child who lost an eye. You added fire to an already growing inferno and you think they would, what? Live in peace?”

Rhaenyra gazed past her, refusing to look her in the eye. 

“I am truly sorry about what happened to Lucerys.”

“Don’t say his name.” Rhaenyra seethed.

“A son for a son, that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” 

Rhaenyra flinched, swallowing harshly against the lump in her throat, the guilt she still felt for her role in such a violent act drowning her, especially now as she faced the woman she hurt directly. 

“You got what you wanted, so consider us even.” She choked out through her own growing emotions, the memory of that night still haunting her. “Now leave.”

She watched, feeling victorious as Rhaenyra bowed her head, unable to look at her, as she turned on her heel and began to walk to the door in defeat.

“You may sit on that throne but it is my house that holds the power.” She called out before she could leave the room. “Remember that next time you get the urge to visit again.”

The door closed behind the Queen and she let out a long breath, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, having spoken to the reason for her attack for the first time, having expelled her anger towards the woman who had caused her greatest loss. 

She let her shoulders relax, suddenly realizing how tense her entire body had become. She turned on her heel and stopped abruptly as she noticed Aemond in the doorway across the room.

His face was passive, she couldn’t read a single emotion on his face. Even after all their time together, she still had trouble reading him in moments when he was guarded. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” He answered vaguely. A moment passed before he let a small smile grow and she breathed out, laughing slightly as she approached him. “I quite like seeing that side of you.”

“You are not mad?”

“Mad?” He asked in disbelief and laughed. “No, I think you handled that with much more grace than I ever could.” 

He held his hand out to her as she came before him, taking her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

“In fact, seeing you defend me as valiantly as you did was quite… stirring.” 

She rolled her eyes and pushed at his chest.

“Aemond.” She admonished. “This is serious.”

“It is and you handled yourself as if you’ve been ruling for years.”

She sighed in annoyance, the praise not having the effect she expected. She felt as though he was avoiding the seriousness of what happened, or how wrong things could have turned out. 

“Your sister arrived to kill you and all you can do is compliment me?” 

Aemond’s smile faltered, his demeanor changing in an instant, the cool air around him gone.

“I have to live with what I did… to Lucerys.” He admitted quietly. “She must live with what she did. It’s like you said, we are even.” 

She intertwined their fingers, her hand squeezing his in a silent show of comfort. She knew he still felt immense guilt about what had happened that night, for what she endured as a result of it. 

He still had nights when he couldn’t face it. 

“Do you think she will retaliate?” She asked quietly and Aemond shook his head, clearing his throat and the air of intensity surrounding him as his easy smile returned. 

“Not unless she wants another verbal lashing from you.”

She scoffed and looked at her husband plainly. He pulled her towards him, a serious look in his eye even as his smirk remained. 

“If she ever dares to return, she will have to face Vhagar.” He told her. “I would never let her hurt you or anyone on this Island.”

She breathed out in relief. She didn’t want it to ever come to that, but to hear it so plainly, the lengths Aemond would go to protect her, to protect her family and their home, was a strange comfort. 

He kissed her forehead and looked at her with a gaze full of nothing but love, the words she had said to Rhaenyra in his defense running around his head. He would not soon forget it, the way she stood up for him. 

Her name was called from across the hall, breaking the moment between them. 

They turned to see her younger sister approaching, their smiles widening as they saw the bundle she carried in her arms.

“Sorry to interrupt, but she was getting fussy. I think she’s missing you two.” 

Aemond met her halfway, his arms already outstretched to take his daughter from his good sister. He whispered his thanks, his gaze locked onto the babe in his arms, his precious girl. 

At only 3 moons old, she was the greatest light in his life, aside from her mother of course. She had him wrapped around her little finger the second she took her first breath.

“Thank you for looking after her.” She told her sister and stood by Aemond’s side, latching onto his arm as they both gazed down at their child. 

“Is everything ok? I heard there was a dragon spotted.” Her sister inquired.

She looked over at Aemond, but he seemed too engrossed in their daughter to have even heard the question. 

“Everything’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about, she won’t be coming back.” She assured her sister who nodded and quickly made her exit, sensing the couple wanted to be alone with their little family.

Together, they walked out of the palace and through the gardens, coming to the familiar bench by the willow tree. 

Aemond sat, sparsely taking his eyes off his daughter. Next to him, his wife laughed, continually amused at how effortlessly their daughter mesmerized him. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder and reached out, gently tracing her finger over her daughter’s chubby cheeks that grinned at her touch, making a noise of contentment as she wriggled in her father’s arms. 

Aemond placed a kiss to her forehead and she raised her head, meeting his gaze. 

Their smiles grew at the same time, the same thought running through their minds. They had made it.

Whispered promises made in the beginning of their love had finally come true. 

They had their family and nothing could take it from them. 

~~

Thank you all for reading and coming with me and this wild ride! All of your comments have meant the absolute world to me and I'm just so happy I got to share this with you all xx

There will be an epilogue so this will not be the end of Aemond and his Sun xx

~~

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So sorry if I forgot to tag you!

[yoomiwrites]

We won

Note: Reader x Ekko, just because I wanted to comfort my favorite Arcane baby. Part 2

The night was still, save for the faint hum of the city recovering from the war. The fight had been won, but the cost of victory lingered in every broken building and every empty street. You climbed onto the rooftop, heart heavy but guided by a familiar pull—Ekko. He was there, as you’d known he would be, sitting on the ledge with his knees drawn up and his gaze lost in the city lights.

He looked smaller than usual, like the weight of the world was pressing him down. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if he wanted company, but then you reminded yourself: you’d stood by him through everything—through childhood dreams, whispered plans, and years of unyielding struggle. This was no time to step away.

Wordlessly, you walked over and sank down beside him. The warmth of his presence was the same as always, grounding yet fragile. You didn’t speak immediately, letting the silence breathe between you.

Finally, you reached out, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. He stiffened at first, his pride perhaps urging him to resist. But then he melted into you, his head dipping until it rested against your shoulder.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the city’s distant murmur. “It’s okay to feel everything, Ekko. Even though we won, it doesn’t mean we didn’t lose.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. But then you felt it—a single, shaky breath, followed by another. His fingers tightened against his knees, and you knew he was holding back tears.

“I thought it’d feel different,” he finally said, his voice rough and broken. “Winning. I thought it’d… fix things.”

Your heart ached for him. For all his brilliance, for all the things he’d built and rebuilt, Ekko was still just a boy carrying far too much. You wanted to take that burden from him, to remind him he wasn’t alone.

You thought of all the years you’d watched him grow. How he’d once rambled on about Powder, his voice bright with a crush he didn’t even realize he had. How later, he’d spoken with equal passion about his inventions, his plans, and the hope he clung to so tightly. And then there was you—always there, always listening, always fighting to keep up.

And almost dying in the process.

Your body still bore the marks of the war, a deep gash across your side and bruises that would take weeks to fade. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not when you had survived, and not when Ekko was here, alive and safe, even if his heart wasn’t yours.

“None of this is fair,” you whispered, tightening your hold on him. “It’s not fair to lose so much. But we’re still here, Ekko. You’re still here.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. They were red-rimmed, wet with unshed tears, but he didn’t look away.

“You’re always saying stuff like that,” he said with a weak laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Like it’s that simple.”

“It’s not simple,” you admitted. “But it’s true.”

He didn’t reply, but his hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. You stayed like that, sitting together on the ledge, watching the city slowly come back to life.

Inside, you knew your feelings for him would remain unspoken. Ekko’s heart belonged to the ghosts of his past, and you would never try to take that from him. But for now, it was enough just to be here, by his side, holding onto the fragile hope that tomorrow might be kinder.

[itgetzweird08]

can i have this dance? k. bakugo x gn!reader

one two three

“Mmm I like the black jacket more”

Katsuki hums softly at your answer as he holds the suit jacket up to his chest. He scoffs, tossing it haphazardly on the bed before flopping down on top of it. He held his phone above his face at arm's length, staring at your face through the screen as you ate your cereal. “This is fucking stupid” he complains softly and you giggle as he moans and groans, chewing your breakfast.

“It’s not stupid Kats, it’s a dance! And technically, it's your first high school dance. If you ask me it’s long overdue.”

That part was true. It was the first formal UA has hosted in the past three years. Usually, there was a dance twice a year: one during the Christmas festival and the other during the spring semester. It was exclusive to students and staff as everyone dressed to the nines and had a good time celebrating the holiday season and the loveliness of spring. Katsuki grew up hearing about it, and sort of looked forward to them. But due to the League and AFO, class 3-A never got to experience one. Until now.

Japan was slowly returning to normal after the events of the war a year prior, and to celebrate the students after all of their hard work and sacrifices, Nezu had finally cleared the spring formal to take place just a few months before graduation. When the class got the news, they were thrilled and even Katsuki had to admit that he was the tiniest bit excited. That was until Mina mentioned that they were all gonna have to find dates- then his balloon popped. He only wanted one person to be his date at any event, and that was you. Unfortunately, you were halfway across the world. This is why as you sat at your breakfast nook munching on Frosted Flakes, Bakugo laid on his comforter in his pajamas in preparation for bed. You called each other almost every day and when one of the first things he told you was the news about the dance, you begged to see his suit options. That’s what led you here, keeping him up two hours past his bedtime as he gave you a little fashion show. But he didn’t mind. He would explode the planet to make you smile, and he valued your opinion. He just wished you were there to give it in person.

“Yeah I guess,” he huffed and sat up, putting his suit back in his closet, turning off his ceiling light, and getting beneath his comforter. “I just don’t see the fucking point in going.” You raised an eyebrow at him and frowned. You knew he was excited, you could tell because of how fast he told you the news when you called. But now he seemed disappointed. “Why not?” You pried softly, trying to get to the root of the problem as he pouted. His room was dark, so you couldn’t see his entire face, but you could hear in the way he spoke that his bottom lip was slightly jutted out in disappointment. “Raccoon eyes was talking about everyone getting dates and shit…and you aren’t here.”

Your heart broke a little and your eyes stung a bit. He wasn’t upset that he had to go to the dance..he was upset that you wouldn’t be there to accompany him. “Oh baby…I’m so sorry” you whispered. All he did was shrug and grumble to himself, which is what he did when he didn’t want to outright tell you he was sad. “You know I would love to be your date Katsuki…I wouldn’t want to be anything more. But I can’t..we both know that.”

While Japan was making leaps and bounds in its recovery, its reputation in the eyes of other countries was still extremely damaged. After the death of Star and Stripe, all travel to Japan was halted indefinitely in your country. Not to mention, due to the aftermath of America’s number one’s death, as a hero student, you had to fight against the villains that tried to take advantage of the gap she left behind. Between the travel ban and your responsibilities, not to mention general travel costs, there was no possible chance you would be able to accompany Katsuki.

“Yeah, I know…just wish I could dance with you, that’s all. Wanna see you all dressed up and shit.”

All you could do was smile sadly at the camera and muster as much hope as you could for the both of you. “Maybe one day…especially since we’re both graduating soon.”

It was silent for a moment, both of you sitting in your own disappointment. You glanced at the clock, seeing the time and knowing that it was way past the time Katsuki usually slept, so he must be exhausted. But before you let him go, you just had to ask.

"Kats...can you even dance?"

His face filled the screen, eyebrows pulled together in offense. "HUH? What the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help but smile at him, and the heaviness of the prior conversation lifted off both of your shoulders. "I'm just asking!" " Of course I can dance! The fuck do you take me for??" "Okay prove it!"

Before he could respond, Katsuki yawned and you took that as your cue. You gave him a warm smile, depsite the fact that he was still glaring at you. " You can show me your moves tommorrow-" " m'not showing you shit-' "Tomorrow! I want to see what you got! Now go to bed, I'll text you later. Love you!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. But seeing how goofy and happy you were made him smile slightly. " Love you too. Talk later."

[verstarppen]

pairing; lando norris x fem! star wars actress! reader [ no faceclaim ]

a/n; if i see ONE more "but at what cost" comment i will explode you with my mind

[ series masterlist ]

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, kellypiquet and 100,004 others

yn.jpg life recently

view all 90,541 comments

kingmag9 I scrolled so fast I legit thought this is a lando.jpg post

darthjadusdefender are the rumours true, then?

princepercival please respect their privacy and leave the conversation out of her comment section

shae_vizla_2 So no KOTOR movie set pics? :(

vettelover no lando either...

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, martingarrix and 875,995 others

landonorris it’s race weekend time 🖤🧡

view all 547,004 comments

angelricciardo oscar: 🧍‍♂️

sugarussell pr team working overtime

cherryhamilton Oscar is an unpaid employee actually

astongoatin day 4785 since our last y/n photo on this account

inchidentlover Where's Waldo modern reboot

dannyavocado so close! your wife is actually missing ♡ please find her

codelh44 everyone else moved on, i stayed with the fact that they took out the -l/n -norris off their twitter names

liked by mclaren, davidcorenswet, oscarpiastri and 925,221 others

yndeathtrooper the only spa weekend that matters

view all 256,540 comments

sunnysainz now why is the only photo of lando with his back to the camera...

tyrescreamer divorce babe DIVORCE

holidaykimi OSCAR LOOKS SO GOOD

alfajuliet i threw my phone across the room i can't take it anymore

generalkenobi3 so no kotor? at all??

papayasalad did you yell "OBJECTION" at least once during the carlos slander i need to know

carlossainz55 ... yndeathtrooper obviously

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, yndeathtrooper and 2,014,808 others

landonorris as dom toretto said

view all 60,141 comments

yukinator22 oh we're COOKED y'all

albogeant your guys' shoulders must be aching from reaching that far, clearly she's taking the photo

simplyclerc THAT'S WHAT IM SAYINGGGG SHE EVEN LIKED THE POST mcmango ok but why wouldn't she be in the picture like????

super_max A GOOD CAPTAIN FALLS WITH THE SHIP

shadownorris oh okay im just gonna go play my mitski daily mix for the fourth time in a roll that's fine

liked by alex_albon, davidcorenswet, kellypiquet and 148,007 others

yn.jpg goodbye belgium you'll always be famous

view all 60,141 comments

kellypiquet Girls Night 😊

yn.jpg YEAHHHHH

bottaswiththefur aaa the outfit matching the luggage is so cute

lionkingseb lando search party

rock4rrari max???

g3org3zilla i read this in the tone of the seagulls from nemo

pic credits: pinterest and instagram

taglist: @justdreamersdream @cha-hot @dl-yum @minkyungseokie @allywthsr @eugene-emt-roe @soleilgrec @raevyng @baw-sixteen @palomaxaxaxa @cassiopeiia24 @callsignwidow @sheridamn @kissesandmartinis @gods-menace @iifloweringnightsii @fanboyluvr @idkiwantchocolatee @flyclaren @cixrosie @lanando4 @lichterfee @yagirlhayes @blueberry64857959

@thatoneembarrasingmoment @celestialams @inloveallthetime @danielricswife @youdontknowmeshh @arian-directioner @cherry-piee @queen-of-elves @skepvids @woozarts @spaghetittied @1655clean @spidersophie @evie-119 @jggykhug09090 @nataliambc @ems-alexandra @mehrmonga @sanctify-mp3 @eulris @wtfisakilometer2 @aexitizen-ln4 @gulabjamoon @ilymoonie @localwhoore @lavenderhazeeworld @redbullphantasmagoria @onecojg @cixrosie @hiireadstuff @ririyulife @rockstargfism @awritingtree (why are there so many of you people how did you find me)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Penguin Random House, AI, and writers’ rights

NEXT WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

My friend Teresa Nielsen Hayden is a wellspring of wise sayings, like "you're not responsible for what you do in other people's dreams," and my all time favorite, from the Napster era: "Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side."

The record labels hated Napster, and so did many musicians, and when those musicians sided with their labels in the legal and public relations campaigns against file-sharing, they lent both legal and public legitimacy to the labels' cause, which ultimately prevailed.

But the labels weren't on musicians' side. The demise of Napster and with it, the idea of a blanket-license system for internet music distribution (similar to the systems for radio, live performance, and canned music at venues and shops) firmly established that new services must obtain permission from the labels in order to operate.

That era is very good for the labels. The three-label cartel – Universal, Warner and Sony – was in a position to dictate terms like Spotify, who handed over billions of dollars worth of stock, and let the Big Three co-design the royalty scheme that Spotify would operate under.

If you know anything about Spotify payments, it's probably this: they are extremely unfavorable to artists. This is true – but that doesn't mean it's unfavorable to the Big Three labels. The Big Three get guaranteed monthly payments (much of which is booked as "unattributable royalties" that the labels can disperse or keep as they see fit), along with free inclusion on key playlists and other valuable services. What's more, the ultra-low payouts to artists increase the value of the labels' stock in Spotify, since the less Spotify has to pay for music, the better it looks to investors.

The Big Three – who own 70% of all music ever recorded, thanks to an orgy of mergers – make up the shortfall from these low per-stream rates with guaranteed payments and promo.

But the indy labels and musicians that account for the remaining 30% are out in the cold. They are locked into the same fractional-penny-per-stream royalty scheme as the Big Three, but they don't get gigantic monthly cash guarantees, and they have to pay the playlist placement the Big Three get for free.

Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

In a very important, material sense, creative workers – writers, filmmakers, photographers, illustrators, painters and musicians – are not on the same side as the labels, agencies, studios and publishers that bring our work to market. Those companies are not charities; they are driven to maximize profits and an important way to do that is to reduce costs, including and especially the cost of paying us for our work.

It's easy to miss this fact because the workers at these giant entertainment companies are our class allies. The same impulse to constrain payments to writers is in play when entertainment companies think about how much they pay editors, assistants, publicists, and the mail-room staff. These are the people that creative workers deal with on a day to day basis, and they are on our side, by and large, and it's easy to conflate these people with their employers.

This class war need not be the central fact of creative workers' relationship with our publishers, labels, studios, etc. When there are lots of these entertainment companies, they compete with one another for our work (and for the labor of the workers who bring that work to market), which increases our share of the profit our work produces.

But we live in an era of extreme market concentration in every sector, including entertainment, where we deal with five publishers, four studios, three labels, two ad-tech companies and a single company that controls all the ebooks and audiobooks. That concentration makes it much harder for artists to bargain effectively with entertainments companies, and that means that it's possible -likely, even – for entertainment companies to gain market advantages that aren't shared with creative workers. In other words, when your field is dominated by a cartel, you may be on on their side, but they're almost certainly not on your side.

This week, Penguin Random House, the largest publisher in the history of the human race, made headlines when it changed the copyright notice in its books to ban AI training:

https://www.thebookseller.com/news/penguin-random-house-underscores-copyright-protection-in-ai-rebuff

The copyright page now includes this phrase:

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

Many writers are celebrating this move as a victory for creative workers' rights over AI companies, who have raised hundreds of billions of dollars in part by promising our bosses that they can fire us and replace us with algorithms.

But these writers are assuming that just because they're on Penguin Random House's side, PRH is on their side. They're assuming that if PRH fights against AI companies training bots on their work for free, that this means PRH won't allow bots to be trained on their work at all.

This is a pretty naive take. What's far more likely is that PRH will use whatever legal rights it has to insist that AI companies pay it for the right to train chatbots on the books we write. It is vanishingly unlikely that PRH will share that license money with the writers whose books are then shoveled into the bot's training-hopper. It's also extremely likely that PRH will try to use the output of chatbots to erode our wages, or fire us altogether and replace our work with AI slop.

This is speculation on my part, but it's informed speculation. Note that PRH did not announce that it would allow authors to assert the contractual right to block their work from being used to train a chatbot, or that it was offering authors a share of any training license fees, or a share of the income from anything produced by bots that are trained on our work.

Indeed, as publishing boiled itself down from the thirty-some mid-sized publishers that flourished when I was a baby writer into the Big Five that dominate the field today, their contracts have gotten notably, materially worse for writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/19/reasonable-agreement/

This is completely unsurprising. In any auction, the more serious bidders there are, the higher the final price will be. When there were thirty potential bidders for our work, we got a better deal on average than we do now, when there are at most five bidders.

Though this is self-evident, Penguin Random House insists that it's not true. Back when PRH was trying to buy Simon & Schuster (thereby reducing the Big Five publishers to the Big Four), they insisted that they would continue to bid against themselves, with editors at Simon & Schuster (a division of PRH) bidding against editors at Penguin (a division of PRH) and Random House (a division of PRH).

This is obvious nonsense, as Stephen King said when he testified against the merger (which was subsequently blocked by the court): "You might as well say you’re going to have a husband and wife bidding against each other for the same house. It would be sort of very gentlemanly and sort of, 'After you' and 'After you'":

https://apnews.com/article/stephen-king-government-and-politics-b3ab31d8d8369e7feed7ce454153a03c

Penguin Random House didn't become the largest publisher in history by publishing better books or doing better marketing. They attained their scale by buying out their rivals. The company is actually a kind of colony organism made up of dozens of once-independent publishers. Every one of those acquisitions reduced the bargaining power of writers, even writers who don't write for PRH, because the disappearance of a credible bidder for our work into the PRH corporate portfolio reduces the potential bidders for our work no matter who we're selling it to.

I predict that PRH will not allow its writers to add a clause to their contracts forbidding PRH from using their work to train an AI. That prediction is based on my direct experience with two of the other Big Five publishers, where I know for a fact that they point-blank refused to do this, and told the writer that any insistence on including this contract would lead to the offer being rescinded.

The Big Five have remarkably similar contracting terms. Or rather, unremarkably similar contracts, since concentrated industries tend to converge in their operational behavior. The Big Five are similar enough that it's generally understood that a writer who sues one of the Big Five publishers will likely find themselves blackballed at the rest.

My own agent gave me this advice when one of the Big Five stole more than $10,000 from me – canceled a project that I was part of because another person involved with it pulled out, and then took five figures out of the killfee specified in my contract, just because they could. My agent told me that even though I would certainly win that lawsuit, it would come at the cost of my career, since it would put me in bad odor with all of the Big Five.

The writers who are cheering on Penguin Random House's new copyright notice are operating under the mistaken belief that this will make it less likely that our bosses will buy an AI in hopes of replacing us with it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

That's not true. Giving Penguin Random House the right to demand license fees for AI training will do nothing to reduce the likelihood that Penguin Random House will choose to buy an AI in hopes of eroding our wages or firing us.

But something else will! The US Copyright Office has issued a series of rulings, upheld by the courts, asserting that nothing made by an AI can be copyrighted. By statute and international treaty, copyright is a right reserved for works of human creativity (that's why the "monkey selfie" can't be copyrighted):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

All other things being equal, entertainment companies would prefer to pay creative workers as little as possible (or nothing at all) for our work. But as strong as their preference for reducing payments to artists is, they are far more committed to being able to control who can copy, sell and distribute the works they release.

In other words, when confronted with a choice of "We don't have to pay artists anymore" and "Anyone can sell or give away our products and we won't get a dime from it," entertainment companies will pay artists all day long.

Remember that dope everyone laughed at because he scammed his way into winning an art contest with some AI slop then got angry because people were copying "his" picture? That guy's insistence that his slop should be entitled to copyright is far more dangerous than the original scam of pretending that he painted the slop in the first place:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/artist-appeals-copyright-denial-for-prize-winning-ai-generated-work/

If PRH was intervening in these Copyright Office AI copyrightability cases to say AI works can't be copyrighted, that would be an instance where we were on their side and they were on our side. The day they submit an amicus brief or rulemaking comment supporting no-copyright-for-AI, I'll sing their praises to the heavens.

But this change to PRH's copyright notice won't improve writers' bank-balances. Giving writers the ability to control AI training isn't going to stop PRH and other giant entertainment companies from training AIs with our work. They'll just say, "If you don't sign away the right to train an AI with your work, we won't publish you."

The biggest predictor of how much money an artist sees from the exploitation of their work isn't how many exclusive rights we have, it's how much bargaining power we have. When you bargain against five publishers, four studios or three labels, any new rights you get from Congress or the courts is simply transferred to them the next time you negotiate a contract.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism:

Giving a creative worker more copyright is like giving your bullied schoolkid more lunch money. No matter how much you give them, the bullies will take it all. Give your kid enough lunch money and the bullies will be able to bribe the principle to look the other way. Keep giving that kid lunch money and the bullies will be able to launch a global appeal demanding more lunch money for hungry kids!

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

As creative workers' fortunes have declined through the neoliberal era of mergers and consolidation, we've allowed ourselves to be distracted with campaigns to get us more copyright, rather than more bargaining power.

There are copyright policies that get us more bargaining power. Banning AI works from getting copyright gives us more bargaining power. After all, just because AI can't do our job, it doesn't follow that AI salesmen can't convince our bosses to fire us and replace us with incompetent AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Then there's "copyright termination." Under the 1976 Copyright Act, creative workers can take back the copyright to their works after 35 years, even if they sign a contract giving up the copyright for its full term:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

Creative workers from George Clinton to Stephen King to Stan Lee have converted this right to money – unlike, say, longer terms of copyright, which are simply transferred to entertainment companies through non-negotiable contractual clauses. Rather than joining our publishers in fighting for longer terms of copyright, we could be demanding shorter terms for copyright termination, say, the right to take back a popular book or song or movie or illustration after 14 years (as was the case in the original US copyright system), and resell it for more money as a risk-free, proven success.

Until then, remember, just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side. They don't want to prevent AI slop from reducing your wages, they just want to make sure it's their AI slop puts you on the breadline.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/19/gander-sauce/#just-because-youre-on-their-side-it-doesnt-mean-theyre-on-your-side

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[prettyboykatsuki]

cw power imbalance + fem!reader + dubcon!

young master gojo satoru and you, the silent, brooding maid girl who's been subject of his harassment for years. you're the daughter of a fallen family - a spoil of war from a broken sorcerer clan with no family left. you do your job well - always stoic, always bitter, and painfully serious. dutiful to the point of absurdity.

you entertain gojo immensely. he can't keep his hands off of of you. the harassment has been present forever, but it escalated to sexual only recently and becomes his favorite thing to do. he says things you hate all the time. he blames you for the fact he's so uninterested in marriage these days since no one could ever be so fun. and it makes you want to claw his eyes out. stark, sharp, piercing blue eyes that keep you pinned under their gaze.

this is your destiny of course. you're stuck. you can't run. where would you even go? if your master calls, you must answer. if gojo spills tea on his pants, it's only natural you clean him off with your mouth as he asks you. if he's bored, it's your duty to pick your skirt up and let him soak the lace with his spit and fingers.

this is your life now. he is your life now. that only gets more true as he becomes the master of the house with age.

and it has been for a long time.

you shouldn't look so sad. so serious. though gojo likes that about you - always remember he utterly adores you. the kind of adoration spoiled golden boys are capable of for their favorite toys.

the kinds of toys that aren't easily broke and cost more than the average man can afford.

[brokenmenswhore]

Would you plssss write something about dom Jace but also dom reader?? Even if she’s one of slocents daughters and comes to dragon stone as she believes Rhanerya to be the true queen so she’s being held prisoner atm while they decide her fate. Her and Jace have always had a thing for eachother but he’s so angry about being left in the dark and he takes it out on her (respectfully). Like they have that hot intense sex ??? Maybe they’re arguing before so it’s a bit of enemies to lovers?? I just need some rougher sex with Jace!! He was looking too good this season and the way he was quite sassy and strong willed was so fucking hot

this is so hot?????? girl i don’t get nearly enough jace requests

loyal | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: dacryphilia, smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex

────── ☾ ──────

It started when you were children. Your brothers, Aegon and Aemond, often teased Jacaerys and Lucerys for their dark hair. In return, Lucerys tormented Aemond about the eye he had cost him. There was always tension, and always an unspoken competition of which line was the legitimate succession to the Iron Throne.

Your sister, Heleana, stayed out of the fighting. You oftentimes tried to stick by her side, both desperate to avoid the fighting, as did Jacaerys. Despite the hostility between your family members, you and Jacaerys always tried to get along.

As he grew up, he began to come into his own, but was still very much second to his mother. He became more and more handsome as he aged. You were nearly the same age, so you had the privilege of watching him grow, and he had the same for you.

Your mother vied for your brother, Aegon, to succeed your father, Viserys I. Rhaenyra, Jace’s mother and the daughter of Viserys, maintained her claim. When Viserys passed, your mother placed Aegon on the throne, and Rhaenyra took residence in Dragonstone with her children.

Your mother preached the importance of the family sticking together in support of Aegon, but in truth, you knew she was delusional. Viserys never faltered on his decision to have Rhaenyra succeed him, and Aegon was unfit to rule. Your mother had a subconscious belief that if she assisted in upholding the patriarchy, it would in turn reward her. You knew that so long as she was a woman, it wouldn’t.

Rhaenyra, however, was Viserys’s first born and the rightful heir to the throne. She was level-headed and peaceful, like her father, and you knew in your heart that she was the true queen.

So you left King’s Landing.

There was nothing for you there. You seldom got along with your family, and even Heleana was preoccupied with Aegon and their children. The only member of your family you truly cared for was Jacaerys. You wanted to be on the right side of history, and that meant standing behind Rhaenyra in this baseless war.

Jacaerys, however, remained perpetually angry with you. He expected you to make your allegiance to Rhaenyra known the moment Aegon was put on the throne. He assumed you stood with Aegon when you didn’t, and thought you were therefore against him and his mother, and he was hurt and angered by that belief.

In the earliest hours of the morning, you mounted your dragon, departing your childhood home before your mother could awaken and attempt to stop you.

You arrived in Dragonstone shortly after, and were met with members of the King’s Guard, led by Daemon, as you arrived.

“Bold move, arriving on dragonback unannounced,” Daemon spoke as you jumped off the saddle, “I could have killed you and your dragon before anyone else caught sight of you.”

“Ah, but you didn’t, Uncle,” you responded, pushing your wind-swept hair out of your face.

“What are you doing here?” he cut to the point.

“I am not here as a threat,” you started, “I am here in support of your wife and her cause.”

“And I am to simply believe you?”

“I would expect nothing but suspicion from the likes of you,” you said, an amused smile on your face, “but I do not lie, Uncle. I want no part of the claims my mother or my brother make. Why else would I have come here so suddenly?”

Daemon sighed and inspected your face for a moment, deciding whether or not he trusted you. He always suspected the worst, and thought it better to be safe than sorry. He tilted his head toward the men of the guard, shouting, “keep her in the dungeons for now. Your Queen can decide her fate.”

“Daemon-“ you began to protest, but you were being dragged away within moments. You called back, “you cannot honestly hold me prisoner as punishment for my lineage?”

Daemon called back, “yes I can, niece. I do not trust you yet.”

────── ☾ ──────

The Black Council gathered at the usual time, everyone taking their typical seats, Jacaerys remaining standing opposite his mother across the table.

They began to discuss matters of politics and war, when Daemon chimed in, “We also must discuss the matter of my niece.”

Jacaerys furrowed his brows in confusion.

“She did come here of her own volition, to her credit,” Rhaenyra said, “but you are right, we cannot be sure we can trust her.”

This discussion had clearly started previously, and without Jacaerys present.

Daemon adjusted in his chair, getting comfortable. “I had the guards take her to the dungeons for the time being, but Y/N can be very stubborn, and will not accept staying in there long. We must act quickly if this is disingenuous. It may be an infiltration from the Greens.”

“Yes, well, now that she is already here, we-“

“What do you mean Y/N is here?” Jacaerys nearly spit out, pressing his palms to the table in front of him, leaning toward Daemon, who was nonchalantly sat in his usual council seat.

“She arrived yesterday morn,” Daemon spoke casually, not confused by Jacaerys’s frustration, but simply not caring about it, “your mother was out.”

Rhaenyra began to respond, “I must speak to her before taking any action, to determine if her loyalties truly lie with-“

“She has been here for nearly two whole days and I was not informed?” Jacaerys cut her off.

Daemon lifted his head, “why would you need to be informed, Jacaerys?”

Jacaerys let out a huff of frustration. “I am as much a part of this council as you.” He was also frustrated because it was you, and he wished he knew the moment you arrived, but he could not let Daemon know that.

“I am the King Consort, you forget yourself. I have no obligations to brief you on matters that I do not see fit.”

Jacaerys slammed hit hands on the table. “I am the heir to the Iron Throne, Daemon. I expect to be treated as if all matters that pertain to my mother, pertain to me as well, because they do.”

“Jacaerys-“ Rhaenyra tried to catch his attention, but instead he diverted his frustrations to her.

“And where were you? She has been kept prisoner for nearly two days due to your absence.”

“Mind your tongue,” Daemon warned.

Rhaenyra’s eyes remained focused on Jacaerys. “I had other matters to attend to.”

“And yet again you leave me in the dark, as you both did regarding Y/N.”

“It is never my intent to insult you, Jace,” Rhaenyra said.

Jacaerys pushed himself off of the table, pacing back and forth for a moment. “Let me speak to her.”

“Who, Y/N?” Daemon asked, laughing at the thought.

“Let me handle it,” Jacaerys pleaded, ignoring Daemon as he looked to his mother for approval. His voice and posture were confident, but his eyes were desperate. All he wanted was to be involved.

“Fine,” Rhaenyra waved a hand, “you may handle it, but only because she is most likely to be truthful with you out of all of us.”

Jacaerys stood up straight, taking a deep breath and resetting his confidence. He gave his mother a nod, turning around and retreating toward the dungeons, a guard in tow.

When he arrived in front of your cell, you turned around to face him, almost shocked by the sight of him. He had grown exponentially since you last saw him, and his dark hair was now long and curly, framing his face perfectly.

“Unlock it,” Jacaerys commanded the guard, who unlocked and cracked open the door to your cell.

Jacaerys stepped into the cell, hands over the hilt of his sword as he faced you. “Now leave us.”

The guard coughed, “My Prince, I-“

“I said leave us,” he said again, his voice heavier and more demanding the second time around.

The guard stepped away, nervously dropping the key to the cell door on the ground before he quickly retreated up the steps, leaving you alone with Jacaerys.

Jacaerys was clearly frustrated, and it had been a long time since you’d seen one another. You were unsure of what to say.

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys said, his nostrils flaring as he focused on standing tall.

“As I told my brother, I am here to support you and your family,” you stated.

“Why am I to believe you?” Jacaerys questioned, “why come now? You did not think it important to decide where your loyalties lie when your mother forced a drunken usurper on the throne?”

You did not expect such hostility from him. You imagined what your meeting would be like, and this was not it. “I admit, I did not have the will to leave until recently.”

“And why is that?” he pressed. Was he mad at you? Was he hurt?

“I did not think myself strong enough, but I am growing rather tired of being weak.”

Jacaerys nodded a few times to himself, stepping closer to you. He went to open his mouth three times to speak, but could find no words to say each time.

You decided to break the silence, asking the question you thought stupid to ask, but you couldn’t help it. “You did not wish to see me until now?”

Jacaerys met your gaze for a moment before responding. “I was not aware you were here until mere minutes ago.”

You shifted your stance as you looked at him in confusion. “But I have been here for nearly two days.”

“My mother enjoys keeping me in the dark,” he explained, “I believe she assumes she is prioritizing my safety. Instead, she is simply underutilizing my talents.”

You sighed. “Do you perhaps trust me enough to let me take leave from this cell?”

“No.”

“But-“

Jace was frustrated by how long it took you to decide to back the Blacks, and was also no longer able to hold back his pent up frustration from his mother always leaving him in the dark and refusing to let him be proactive.

“You took forever, did you know that? This entire time, it’s been the same two sides. You are a big girl now, you’ve been more than capable of choosing a side,” he was nearly shouting now, “and instead you chose to stay with the Dowager Queen and her usurper son!”

“What did you expect of me?” you retorted, voice raised as well, “I left behind my life when I left King’s Landing! All to support what I believe is right! And yet you stand here to what, accuse me of being untruthful? Is that what you think of me, that I am simply here to act as an inconspicuous threat?”

Jacaerys stepped closer to you, his torso nearly hitting yours. He was seething in anger. “If you were truly on my side, you should have come here the second that crown touched Aegon’s head.”

“Who are you truly mad at Jace, hm? Are you truly upset with me, or are you upset your mommy won’t let you play Prince?” you snapped back, fed up with his attitude.

“How fucking dare you speak to me like that,” he spat, “if you truly accepted my mother as your queen, you would know to mind your tongue around the Crown Prince.”

“I will, when the Crown Prince is not being such a prick.”

Jacaerys inhaled a sharp breath, his face turning red from all the pent up anger and frustration he was eager to release. He was speechless, unable to think of a clever enough comeback.

“You’ve found your voice in my absence, haven’t you, Jace?” you asked, your faces mere inches from one another. Your voice was low, almost sultry, and your tone, combined with the close proximity of your bodies, was doing something to Jace.

He felt his cock twitch in his breeches, gazing down at you.

“You wanna prove to me your loyalty, is that it?” Jacaerys asked.

“Whatever it will take for you to believe me,” you responded.

“Bend the knee.”

“Alright” you agreed, “let me out of this cell, and once you take me to your mother I-“

“To me, Y/N. Bend the knee to me.”

You looked deep into his eyes. You could see he was frustrated, both generally and sexually. You two had always liked one another, and not seeing each other for much too long only enhanced the feelings, especially now that you were both grown up.

You never broke eye contact as you slowly sank down onto your knees, both hitting the floor gently as you gazed up at him, your head only a few inches from his most sensitive area.

The sight of you on your knees in front of him was awakening something carnal within him, and the feeling was mixing with his pent up rage, making for a dangerous combination.

“You know what to do,” he spoke.

You continued looking up at him through hooded eyes as you tugged at his breeches, but they wouldn’t move until he removed his sword from around his waist, which he did quickly and swiftly. Without any obstructions, you were able to pull down all the clothing that sat on his waist, freeing his cock.

“And if someone decides to check on the Crown Prince?” you asked, watching Jacaerys shudder as your hand gently wrapped around the base of his length.

Jacaerys braced himself by placing a hand on the wall next to him. “I dare them to try and stop me,” he said, gripping your hair in his hand, making a fist and positioning your head in front of his tip, “open.”

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, and Jacaerys lightly growled as he pushed your face into him, your mouth enveloping his cock as the tip immediately hit the back of your throat, causing your gag reflex to act up for a brief moment.

Your hand remained on the base of his shaft, lightly stroking up and down as he continued to force your head as far as he could down his length, before allowing you to take over. He kept his fingers tangled in your hair, ready to keep you on him if you tried to leave, but he wanted to feel what you could do without his constant guidance.

You set a steady pace with your mouth, running your tongue over and around his tip every once in a while. You looked up at him, and the sight caused his cock to twitch in your mouth as he threw his head back in pleasure.

His lips parted as he involuntarily gasped and whined when you picked up the pace. You continued to look up at him, knowing it added to his arousal when he caught your gaze, his cock bumping your throat as you nearly choked around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he began to move your head again, shifting his hips slightly to fuck into your mouth. You tried to maintain your pace, but Jacaerys wasn’t having it. “Stay still,” he demanded.

You put your hands on your thighs, allowing him to take over as he began to fuck your mouth. He was snapping his hips the hardest he could in a standing position.

You began to let out small chokes and moans as he hit the back of your throat at a steady, yet fast rate. You tried to focus on breathing through your nose as you constricted your throat and held your jaw open for Jacaerys to use for his pleasure.

“You look so good on your knees for me,” he spoke through gritted teeth, pushing and pulling your head via your hair a final few times until you felt an unfamiliar, salty liquid hit the back of your throat.

You instinctively swallowed his seed. He held your jaw open as he pulled out of you, checking to ensure you swallowed everything, but you didn’t understand what he was doing.

He ruthlessly shoved two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and forcing your mouth even more open. When he couldn’t see or feel any more of his seed in your mouth, he sighed, “good girl.”

“Proven myself enough?” you quipped, giggling slight after your statement to demonstrate that you meant it as lighthearted.

“Your mouth may be loyal to me,” Jacaerys said, “but that’s not the only part of you. Get up.”

You pushed yourself up until you were at his level again, and he immediately grabbed your shoulders, swinging you around and backing you up until the back of your legs hit the cell bench. You fell into a sit, and Jacaerys stood intimidatingly over you.

“Pull your dress up,” he instructed.

You began to bunch up the fabric of the dress Daemon had provided you, pulling it upward until it was at your waistline, and lifting your hips so you were no longer sitting on fabric. You jolted slightly when the flesh of your ass hit the cold bench, and Jacaerys watched in amusement.

Jacaerys tilted his head to the side as he ran a finger along the seam of your small clothes, hooking a finger under the band, pulling, and then snapping the band back onto your waist. “Off.”

You pulled them down your legs, dropping them to the floor below you. Jacaerys stared at your core for a moment before dropping to his knees in front of you, lifting both of your legs and adjusting them onto his shoulders.

Your breathing quickened, your chest rising and falling rapidly and he looked up at you, leaning closer and closer toward you. He stuck his tongue out, running it slowly between your folds, watching you sigh in pleasure at the feeling.

“Have you ever been tasted?” he asked, brimming with a confidence you’d never seen.

“No,” you admitted.

“Good girl,” he praised, “you really are loyal to me.”

He pressed his face to your core, his tongue swirling and circling around your clit as he sucked you, his hands holding onto your thighs for assistance with anchoring them to his shoulders.

Every so often he licked a strip from your hole to your clit, collecting all your wetness in an eager attempt to taste you.

You couldn’t help but watch him. It was so erotic, seeing the boy you’ve wanted like this for so long in between your legs, and looking the most handsome you’d ever seen him.

Your hand found the back of his head, holding him against you as his tongue teased your hole, slowly pushing in and curling upward against your spongy walls as you whimpered.

You completely involuntarily started to twirl strands of his hair around your pointer finger, playing with the unfamiliar length almost on instinct.

Jacaerys pulled away from you. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered, “couldn’t help it. I like it like this.”

“Yeah?” he responded.

“Mhm,” you vocalized, tugging lightly at the strands on the back of his head as he dove back into your cunt, his tongue inside of you at the same time he sucked your clit, the brand new feeling nearly overwhelming.

“Fuck, Jacaerys,” you moaned.

“Tell me you belong to me,” he commanded, watching your face as he continued to pleasure you with his mouth.

“I- I’m yours, Jace,” you breathed out, shaky, “a-always been y-yours.”

Your words made his cock begin to harden again, despite having already came.

Jacaerys moaned into your cunt, causing your walls to squeeze as your high approached.

“If you’re mine, then come for me.”

His words drove you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you hard as your back arched and your thighs tried to clamp around his head, but he held them open as he tasted every last drop from you.

Jace ran a thumb over his bottom lip to collect any extra wetness, sucking the digit clean as he stood over you again.

“Could have had you even earlier,” he said, holding his palm out in front of your face, “if they told me you were here. Spit.”

“Into your hand?” you asked, confused by the action.

“I need something to help lubricate,” he explained, “unless you think you’re wet enough.”

His tone was intentionally taunting you, and it drove you crazy. You liked him being domineering over you.

Embarrassed, you forced the words out, “I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“No?” he responded, ruthlessly shoving a finger into your hole, causing you to gasp as he almost immediately pulled it out and sucked it dry, “guess you’re right.”

He lined his cock up with your entrance, holding one leg flush against his waist. “Can’t believe I could have had you yesterday.”

He pushed his entire length into you with one violent thrust, a strangled moan leaving your throat at the sudden intrusion. The force nearly had you crying, your hole not quite ready for his size, even with your immense wetness.

“Poor baby, is that too much? You gonna cry?” he taunted, pulling almost all the way out before pushing into you hard again, causing your body to jolt upward.

A tear ran down your cheek, and Jacaerys leaned down and licked it off of your face.

Seeing you cry reminded him of the frustration he entered the room with, and he would be damned if he didn’t use the outlet right in front of him to release some of it.

He gripped your waist roughly, beginning to piston in and out of you, forcing you to adjust to his size as you went, if that was even possible.

A hand found its way around your throat, squeezing enough to only slightly obstruct your air flow as he fucked you hard. He thought about how mad at you he was, how mad at his family he was, how mad at this war he was, how good you looked underneath him- he was starting to lose control.

You whined his name as your walls began to squeeze him again, overstimulated from having just came only a few minutes ago. Jacaerys slowed down his pace exponentially, determined to make your next climax drag out.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he praised.

You simply moaned in response, his hips rutting into you at a violent pace, his pubic bone hitting your clit with every single thrust.

His hand left your throat and instead snaked around your waist, holding you at a higher angle that felt even better than before.

“Jace, fuck,” you moaned.

You heard armored footsteps clang down the staircase, and within moments, a member of the guard came into view. Jacaerys turned to him, with no urgency, and no shame. He continued to fuck you as he spoke, “not now.”

The man was caught off guard by the sight, and you tried to turn away from him and hide, but Jacaerys grabbed your jaw and forced you to keep your head straight.

When the man only took a step back and didn’t fully leave, Jacaerys repeated himself. “Not. Fucking. Now.”

The man snapped out of his thoughts the second time, bowing toward Jace and retreating back up the staircase.

Jacaerys picked up the pace once the man was out of view, fucking you as fast as he possibly could.

“Always have to fucking repeat myself,” he said, his anger growing as he dipped his head near the crook of your neck.

He spoke with each thrust, “They Never. Fucking. Listen.”

Tears were freely falling down your face now, the intensity almost too much for you. Jacaerys lifted his head to look at you, saw you crying, and lost it.

He pulled out of you, swiftly pulling you off the bench, spinning you around, and roughly pushing you back down so that your elbows rested on the bench, your ass up and level with his hips.

He inserted himself back into you and reset his pace, snapping his hips against you as hard as he could, watching the flesh of your ass shake with each hit.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, harshly pulling until your back arched. He watched your face contort in pleasure, now that there was no hiding. Jacaerys had you completely at his mercy.

“So fucking pretty, crying with my cock in you.”

His words caused your walls to squeeze his cock, only a few sharp thrusts away from coming.

Your second high hit you even harder than the first, your legs shaking uncontrollably as your juices lubricated Jace even more.

You would have fallen, your legs giving out, if Jacaerys didn’t have such an intense grip in your hips. Feeling the weakness in your legs. he wrapped an arm around your waist and one around your chest, pulling you upward so that your back was flush against his chest.

He broke his dominance to ask you, “fuck, Y/N, where can I come?”

You sniffled and whined, “I’m yours, Jace, you can come inside of me. Please.”

“You want me to fill you up?” he tsked, holding you tightly against him as he thrust upward, “then beg for it.”

“I- I can’t-“

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” he spat, his thrusts now long but hard, your whole body convulsing and giving out in his arms.

“Please, Jace, please come in me, I’m yours, I want you in me, please-“

The begging was enough to send him over the edge, and he bit down on your shoulder to quiet his groans as he came inside of you, spilling his seed deep within your walls, further marking you as his.

He held you against his body for several minutes, relishing in the feeling of you so close to him, before slowly helping you sit down on the bench.

He sat next to you, catching his breath along with you. When he was sufficiently recovered, he put his clothes back on, stood up, and held a hand out toward you.

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“You want out of this cell or not?”

[callsignhood]

Calling König by different cute names:

Tags: Gender neutral, tooth rotting fluff, that’s it.

❤️Schatzi (Honey)

“Where did you learn that?” He blinks his eyes in pure joy and surprise. He loves the way you’re speaking German with him. “You’re my beloved too, my Häschen, my Spätzchen.” He happily teases you back with a grin. He’ll call you by something lovely and purposefully cute, because you are the one that he needs to protect with all cost.

🧸Teddy bear

He laughs with delight. He then drowns you in the embrace of his arms and made sure to avoid squeezing you too tightly, since he is aware of his size and strength. “Of course, I’ll be it.” He playfully spins himself with you a few round, looking at you with those pretty blue eyes full of affection. You can tell he has a big smile under the sniper hood.

💅Baby girl / War princess

König flinches at the name, and he looks you up and down a few times, wondering if he heard it wrong. You repeat it again. He unbelievably coughs out a laugh. “Ernsthaft?” (Seriously?) He’s not very amused, but he’s far from upset. He frowns a little under his sniper hood, and drops his head on your shoulder, giving you a few nuzzles. “Bitte (Please), call me Schatzi or something, I prefer those.”

If you keep calling him Baby girl, expect some defensive head shakes and arm nudges. Nobody has ever called him by those, and it’s… a bit weird for him. But he’d probably accept his fate and comes to you with a grumpy eye roll. “Yes yes. I’m here.”

🎶A name in your native language or something he is not familiar with

“What’s that? Tell me.” He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hand and giving it a light squeeze. He couldn’t understand the meaning behind it, but he’s sure it’s something either cute or cheesy, since he knows you like to tease him. If you don’t tell him, he’ll ask his teammates and find his answer. He is also willing to learn a few pet-names in your own language. Please expect and tolerate some cute mispronunciation from him.

💍Meine Frau (my wife)

König immediately chokes on air, stares at you with wide opened eyes from your baffling words. He then puts one hand on his eyes, sighing out a weak and desperate Nein (No) under his sniper hood. “My love, it’s not right, I should be dein Ehemann (your husband), not your wife.” He corrects you with an embarrassed tone, as his cheeks and ears grew hotter under that piece of cloth. He’s grateful that you couldn’t see him blushing as you finally corrected yourself with mein Ehemann.

He will secretly consider when should he make this name come true to its meaning.

[lalunanymph]

i. PROLOGUE

as an arranged marriage to a woman he doesn’t want looms over him, gojo satoru resolves to seize control of his destiny by marrying the very first woman he sees—a disgraced aristocrat from an enemy family who happens to be mute. as political ties unravel, will this ruse succeed or ultimately cost him his life? 

warnings: mentions of injuries, war, captives, mentions of alcohol, o/ral s/ex, mentions of death, misogyny, forced marriage, p/rostitution, MDNI

masterlist 🧵 playlist

Gojo Satoru was a Lord not in need of a wife.

Arrogant and hubristic, he led life as a fool—simple, filled with pleasure and lacking no responsibility.

As such, brothels, handmaids and ruining aristocratic ladies were all his favorite pastimes. 

In this very moment, his vices were no different. 

The scion to the Gojo clan, a man with white hair and cerulean blue eyes the exact hue of the sea from which his family’s sustenance derives from, flickered them onto the woman poised between his thighs. 

She was a whore or some other, hired for pleasure and a respite from the thoughts whirling in his mind. He barely paid her lewd suckling and theatric moans any mind, sensing that it was done with the intent to gleam a bigger tip by the end of the night.

Rather, he sank back into the paltry futon, gaze towards the ceiling while she tongued his balls.

A question bubbled in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the edge of his tongue where he exhales it with little fanfare. 

“Do you believe in true love?”

The woman paused, and he almost laughed at the glimmer of uncertainty coruscating in her gaze. “I beg your pardon, my Lord?”

He recognized that barely-there look on her face, that one sliver of determination mingling with the throes of forced lust she made herself believe she carried for him, if not to ease her suffering for one night.

“I asked if you believed in true love?”

A beat of silence that was louder than the schlicking of her mouth bobbing up and down his length. He discovers a second too late that she wasn’t as pretty as the lighting made her out to be and waves her away. Recognizing that she was being dismissed, the whore stands and tightens her obi, bowing low to him.

“Shall I anticipate you for next week as well, Master Gojo?”

Reverent and demure. He senses it was not due to his status but the clanking of coins in his pouch which caught her attention like the darting of silverfish in a foggy lake. He removes a golden piece and tosses it to her, narrowly missing her eye as she scrambles to catch it clumsily with both hands.

“Same time,” he drawls and stands up, making himself decent once more. The whore bows low and he pulls back the den’s curtain, making his way to the front. He does not have to wander far to encounter the stench of disapproval that mingles with the heady curls of opium smoke in the air.

Right at the door, wearing a frown that gleamed as brightly as his ebony robes, was his right-hand man.

Geto Suguru eyes him with open disdain and Satoru grins, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You found me, Sugu.” Not appreciating his tone or the abbreviation of his name, Suguru snorted and motioned towards the front door.

“This is the last time I am saving you behind from your councilmen, Satoru,” he starts on his churlish tirade, one that the young lord had heard many, many times. “The gathering is in full swing. What will people say when their great Lord is missing?”

Satoru’s snort pierced through a drizzle that clung to the tips of his brilliant white locks. “Now you sound exactly like General Nanami, Sugu.” At the mention of the stoic, aloof, and often unsmiling samurai who had retired from his life of serving the Gojo clan to live safely in the hills, Suguru physically bristled.

“At least Nanami was paid to handle your foolish ass.” Geto sighs, pinching his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “Come on. Let us go or else we will be late.”

Satoru strides to his great white steed, hauling himself over the stallion’s back. 

“Now, Sugu. You are being quite the downer tonight.”

Suguru sighs. “I cannot help it. Tonight is when the great Lord Kozume will sign over his district to be under the Gojo rule, is it not?” 

Despite his reckless approach to life, Satoru remains aware of his fief’s happenings, and this is an unprecedented event which marks a new chapter into his rule.

Kicking Mumu into a trot, Satoru sighs.

“Yes. And uncle will be there, too. No doubt trying to force my hand into taking a wife tonight.” 

At the mention of the great, stoic Michizane Gojo with his blustering white beard and piercing blue eyes trying to force his nephew to marry, Suguru chuckles.

“If there’s one thing your uncle is, it is consistent.”

“And annoying,” Satoru quips, already wishing he had not stopped that whore from making him cum. Maybe he would feel more relaxed by now. 

His mind drifts, and he recalls everything that has happened to make today one for the history annals.

A messenger stumbles in, covered head to toe in blood. 

He’s unannounced, and Gojo has his katana out, ready for the first sign of danger and betrayal from any man. 

But, the grisly older warrior does not flourish his sword; he sinks to his knees, holding his bleeding abdomen and a crumpled piece of paper in his trembling hand. 

“My Lord,” he gasps and flourishes the scroll for his liege to take it. 

Gojo immediately stands, any trace of his defensiveness melting off like frost when he unravels the scroll with shaky hands. His eyes widened. The enemy camps from beyond his threshold suddenly become like toys in his hands; easy to grasp and smash. 

“They have surrendered,” he breathes out. The messenger curls his forehead to the floor, nearly sobbing. 

“Long live your rule, Gojo-sama,” he tolls, loudly enough for his generals to come rushing into his war camp. Suguru is the first to grab the scroll from Satoru’s hand, and he too, is rendered silent from the sudden shift in their fates.

“Unbelievable,” the dark-haired general swears. 

His second peers over the Lord’s great shoulders and gasps. 

“Nagamachi has fallen,” Satoru announces through trembling lips. He turns to his men, his most loyal followers and who never once doubted his ability to expand the Gojo empire.

“We can all go home.”

Puddles of liquor and puke scatter on the tatami floors, and Satoru wrinkles his nose in disgust when he approaches the dais.

The men of his army could celebrate as well as they held a fight; brazenly crying out his name in exuberance and clinking their sake glasses together. 

To Satoru! They cried. May his reign be ever long and prosperous! 

Gojo takes his position on the dais, and reclines, accepting a cup of sake from one of his generals. 

The man wears a smile so big, Gojo wonders how it doesn’t split his face.

“Your uncle is not yet here,” Suguru informs, taking a seat next to him and picking up a cup of the sweet, fermented alcohol to sip on. The fumes burn his nose and he frowns, not liking the taste. 

Suguru has always been the more uptight between the two of them; where Satoru indulges, his friend restrains. Satoru reacts, Suguru observes. 

Tonight, Suguru is his eyes and ears, peeling his attention around the room. Though merry men were no threat, the danger has not yet subsided. 

These Nagamachi warriors could turn on them anytime; the frail peace treaty ending in blood. 

Satoru leans back, and pretends to look interested in this turn of events. However, the second he hears the drums announcing his uncle’s arrival, he straightens.

Michizane Gojo is a man with a love for theatrics. His torture methods insane, his court a fester of troublemakers and violent men. Though he disagrees with his uncle’s rule, he cannot overturn it—Michizane holds an army of men three times his own and could destroy his part of the fief with a flick of his finger.

Tall, and with an imposing air that would make the harshest samurai tremble, Michizane strides into the drawing room.  And he is not alone. 

Head down, hand in cuffs and trudging behind him, the leader of the Nagamachi warriors wears a blackened eye and bruised cheeks. The gathering is free of women and children, so the men could indulge in cruelty till the morning sun rose. However, a slighter figure behind the man catches his eye, and Gojo feels a curdling disgust rising inside of his chest.

Gojo understands that in this world of wars and conquering, one has to respect whoever is at the top. But, if it were not for the fact that this man was his uncle, Satoru would have ordered his men to drag him out, respect for the elderly be damned.

Because there is nothing respectable about what he sees right in front of him now. 

A young lady with her wrists bound follows behind the man, and unlike the other captive, her head is high, features turned obstinately to the light so every man could witness her disdain. She’s the sole woman here in this room, and the sight of her rouses every man—bloodhounds seeking to tear an injured bird apart.

Satoru stands and feels Geto stiffening beside him.

“Monster,” his friend whispers under his breath. Gojo has to agree.

The woman is shoved to her knees while the men remain standing. Her yukata, once a sign of her wealth and prosperity, is torn and with mud at the hem. If he looks closer, he can see her clenching her trembling hands, turning them to fists in front of her.

“Nephew,” Michizane stretches out his arms and Gojo reluctantly steps forward, receiving his uncle with a tight hug. “You are alive and have conquered the mountains. How proud I am of you.”

Gojo grits his teeth, finding the smell of opium and sake wafting off his uncle repulsive. 

Masking on a smile, he nods. “Thank you, uncle. Your support means everything to me under these circumstances.”

Standing at close to six feet, the old, wizened man was no different from his whorehound of a brother—Satoru’s father. Women of all ages were not exempted from his list of atrocious taste, lending to his fearsome reputation. 

Michizane bellows a laugh and gestures to the captives. “Why, I had a great time speaking to Lord Kozume. Or, shall I call him Kozume from now on.” Laughing at his own joke, the rest of the room chuckles, taking a leaf from his exuberance. Following suit, Gojo exhales a small laugh. 

“It seems you have done so, uncle.”

The great lord slaps a hand to his fat belly, chuckling to himself. “Well, what shall it be tonight? An execution? A wedding? A fight?” 

Always prepared for the worst, Gojo tries to steer the situation back into safer waters. There will be no more bloodshed for the foreseeable future; he was done smelling like the rusted tang for days on end. 

“Perhaps, a discussion,” he entreats. His uncle snorts, but indulges in his nephew’s whims, signalling for his men to cut through the ropes binding Lord Kozume and the woman. She curls into a ball the second her hands are free, forehead pressed to the floor, begging for mercy.

Kozume is far more prouder than her, and sits rigid, shaking his head when a cup is offered to him.

“No. I wish to be level-headed.” His voice is deep and low; commanding yet kind. The voice of a leader. 

Gojo blinks and remembers Suguru is beside him. He gestures to the girl and his general needs no more cues. Going to her side, Geto snaps his fingers for a cup of water and receives it from a servant; pushes it into her quivering hands. She straightens, and it disturbs him how red-rimmed her eyes are, and yet, she sheds no tears. 

Kozume does not wait for his cue. He continues. “The Nagamachi lands are yours. The fiefs are now part of the great Gojo house and I humbly ask you to spare the lives of my daughter and mine.” 

Satoru slides his gaze to the girl again. 

The old man winces, as if he’s in pain, and reaches for his daughter, grabbing her by the shoulders. This close, Gojo can see the fear in her eyes, how the corners of her lips tremble. 

By no means was he a naive man to the horrors of war, but he never had to witness an innocent’s expression up close. Satoru almost feels like the walls are closing in on him, and he tries to look away. But, something about her draws his attention back and back again—like a red splash of paint on a white cloth he cannot possibly ignore.

“Fine,” Michizane seats himself on the dais, looking down on the father and daughter. “Let us resume our discussion now with the eyes of every Gojo ancestor looking down upon us.”

At his words, the girl glances up, gazing upon the tapestries depicting the heroes of his boyhood, splashing across the ceiling as they continue on their bloody conquest to raise the emperor’s mark across the southern lands. She sees the blood, the mangled bodies, and drops her gaze; too close to the truth for comfort.

“My nephew, Satoru, as you know, is the head of the Gojo clan after his father’s death two years ago. He is in need of a wife and I have picked one out for him. The great Lady Ayako from a noble family under our flag.” Michizane glances at the girl. “Though you promised me your daughter is fair of face and from great blood, that blood now comes at a cost and I will not be at peace if she is under our roof. Hence, I have decided to wed her off to Lieutenant Luaya, who is one of the most fiercely loyal men I know.”

Gojo has to stop himself from physically recoiling. Luaya is a brute and a devil. He catches sight of the mentioned man puffing his chest out, looking pleased to be bestowed a blessing by the great Lord Michizane. She will never survive a night with him, Satoru thinks. In fact, none of his wives had ever survived for long.

His uncle was sending her right to her early grave. 

As if sensing the change in the room, the young woman raises her head, and sees Luaya who’s smiling at her; the glint of his canine teeth bouncing off the light from the sconces overhead reminds him of a wolf scenting fresh meat.

Satoru does not know what overcomes him—he is barely a kind or empathetic man. But, the punishment for Lord Kozume’s rebellion is far too much. 

He would have to watch by the sidelines as his daughter gets murdered in cold blood and that is no fair compensation for a man who readily surrendered to their forces. This inhumane treatment of their subjects had to come to a stop—Gojo would no longer stand for such cruelty his father and uncle perpetuated.

“Luaya will do no such thing.” Every eye in the room is on him as Satoru stands, crossing his arms right in front of him. The cup of sake hovering close to his uncle’s lips stops in mid-motion.

Whatever trick Michizane expects his nephew to pull, it was not this. 

“I shall wed her—Lord Kozume’s daughter.”

Those piercing blue eyes land right on your shocked face, unwavering and resolute. 

“We will be wed tonight.”

a/n: 👀 i hope u guys loved this new revamp of entangled !! it came to me as inspo from my recent trip to kyoto and i had to continue the bewitched universe for my sanity's sake lol

also if u didn't know, this series was previously discontinued due to low interaction and feedback, so if u want to see how gojo and y/n's story play out, please do consider dropping some feedback or a reblog to help keep the inspo going <3

©️lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own. do not take elements from my story without prior permission.

[lunerabo]

chef’s kiss

cw: sub!Uraume, dom!AFAB!Reader, cunnilingus, fingering, name calling, pegging, anal, hair pulling, degrading praise, free use kink, Uraume’s genitalia isn’t described (but everybody got a bootyhole so 👀), sukume involved but it’s not serious, set in the Heian period, implied cannibalism

It is no small thing to gain the recognition of the lord Sukuna himself.

It would not have cost him much had he overlooked your predictive skills, but it pays to have a guess at the future. Your talent has failed him not once since being accepted into the fold, and you can see in him that since meeting you and listening to your advice, he’s decided that perhaps the rapidly changing social tide is something he should start paying more attention to.

To say it has granted you an important seat is an understatement—and it is from this very seat that you take notice of another lovely gem in your lord’s sparse collection of trusted characters.

Uraume, his own chef, whose work you would not be ashamed to admit you had stolen to taste for yourself once or thrice. Sukuna certainly seems to like keeping talented people around.

It was one blessed evening that they spoke to you at last, voice as smooth as butter and musical as birdsong, only to be wasted on the unsavory threat of including you in their next dish if your thievery continued. You know they would have, too. You know what’s being served on those platters.

But they would have followed through only if you hadn’t been patient—if you hadn’t played your cards just right—and, perhaps, if you hadn’t been so damn good at figuring out how to read them.

They failed to notice how you notice everything. How you notice how eager they are to follow orders from only one specific master, and that if that master handed the leash to someone else, they now belonged to them. They failed to recognize just how much influence you had over that master, and perhaps you did, too, for you had expected to take your lashings and be sent away when having experimentally asked him if he might lend you his chef for a time. You’d not missed how he had taken them to his own personal quarters some nights, so it wouldn’t be lost on him what exactly you were asking for. But, amazingly, he’d said yes, so long as they are returned able to do their job.

So, them having actually visited you in your own private room has you a bit stunned.

You’ve predicted downfalls and uprisings, then wars to conclude them, all of which you estimate will happen in your own lifetime. But you couldn’t have predicted this.

Your lord’s comely chef, yukata hung seductively loose about their pale neck and shoulders. Loaned to you, as a gift, in exchange for your services.

Uraume’s expression is unreadable, but there’s an almost pleased look tugging at the corners of their lips. A scent lingers in the air around them, some expensive perfume you would never have found made just anywhere. They’ve taken extensive measures to prepare.

“You bathed before coming. You used imported soaps, of—“ you give the air another quick whiff—“Dutch make. You also have not yet eaten this morning.”

“All of this is true,” they answer. “Yet you have not been present to see it.”

“I use the present to tell the past just as much as I use it to tell the future.”

Slender fingers glide across the front of their yukata, as if to take it off, but opting instead to tease you with the idea.

“It is much more impressive to tell the future, however. Such as, for example, what you will make of me now that I’m here.”

They’re closer now, and you’re not sure when that happened, but you’re not complaining.

“That depends entirely on what you are now.”

Their clothing seems to melt away as they undress, yet the kiss they press to the corner of your mouth is arctic.

“Whatever it is you wish me to be.”

They tug at your own clothes, bring the both of you to a kneel on your futon, where they slip their icy hands under the fabric and peel it down over your shoulders.

They sink to their knees gracefully, parting yours. Their icy lips drag across your skin, and they seem to take their time admiring you. They don’t rush; they’ve been instructed to make sure you enjoy it. And despite it being merely an order, the manner in which they perform it is anything but mechanical.

Their mouth is on you in an instant, and you had prepared to keep up the smug, composed, superior act to keep this scene rolling smoothly, but a lapse in judgement has you forgetting that Uraume is a pro. They are no stranger to having their mouth used, and the skill they’ve gained from that is evident.

The way they lap at you feels eager, but their expression doesn’t seem to line up with it. It’s a task, you remind yourself—this same focused, pensive expression is one you’ve seen when they’re cooking, when they’re writing, even in everyday conversation. Their hungry mouth betrays them, and their blank expression cannot hide how they enjoy your taste.

They’ve been eyeing you too; though this you’ve felt more than seen. Uraume may deny it but your penchant for mischief despite your status has earned you an unlikely pair of admiring eyes, and a brief glance between their legs tells you everything they’ve been thinking as they’ve watched.

“You’re excited to be here, aren’t you?” You ask, still and relaxed as they pick you apart.

“Any order of lord Sukuna’s is one I will execute with enthusiasm.”

An amused frown plays at your lips.

“Did you just lie to me?”

Uraume blinks, a bit caught off guard. They didn’t, not really. None of what they said was technically untrue. Yet the friendly and jovial tone you take with them as you say that feels like a sign of danger, like there’s no correct answer.

“If you’re going to spell mistruths to a soothsayer, I would suggest at least speaking of things they cannot see in front of them.”

Most of your predictions are bullshit. Educated guesses. You’re just good at noticing things, understanding cause and effect when the answers aren’t in front of you. But you don’t even need to employ this skill to be able to plainly see that Uraume fancies you, far beyond what their master orders.

They shed you of your clothing, and their body betrays them under your touch. Your hands are as sure as death, and they have the poor thing dripping all over your fingers as you work at them. Soft bangs and fine eyelashes tickle your bare shoulder as they rest their head there, perhaps too embarrassed to show anything past a neutral expression around someone new.

“A beautiful whore you are,” you remark. “Does Sukuna loan you out to others as well, or am I special?”

“You are.”

“How lucky am I, then! I must be important.”

Their breath trembles as you play with them, their thighs tensing every so often under your gentle touch.

“You are important. Think of how—ahn!—Lord Sukuna would have f-fared without your help.”

“I’m sorry,” you begin, voice dangerously friendly and sweet, “surely you aren’t implying our mighty and beloved master would have fared poorly if someone hadn’t aided him, are you?”

The switch in their tactics is easily spotted. Rather than keep composure, they collapse, bare chest to yours, arms slung loosely and affectionately around your shoulders. Uraume’s fawning, in the hopes that they might appeal to your sympathetic side, desperately trying to convince you that that is not what they meant. They’re just a little bit disoriented from your touches, they swear! It’s certainly not that they don’t think highly of their lord.

Unfortunately for them, sympathy isn’t a word in your vocabulary.

“Tsk tsk, and I was considering being sweet to you. How would he punish you for such a comment, I wonder?”

You pull hard at a fistful of their hair, practically peeling them off of you as their head tips back and their spine arches.

“You have thirty seconds to prepare.”

They scramble, tight lipped and wide eyed, as you turn away.

What you grab is, you recall absentmindedly, expensive. Well carved and polished ivory, soft yet strong leather pinned to the base of the unmistakably phallic shape it boasts.

It’s fantastic handiwork, you muse for perhaps the thousandth time, as you fasten it about your waist and thighs. But perhaps a bit of a novelty; things like this tend to be bought more for one to tell others about how much they paid for something so frivolous and strange, not to use them.

Uraume sighs, and the sight you turn to see has your pulse racing.

They work at themselves with nimble and well oiled fingers, their rear pointed sharply upward while their head rests on the futon, and they gaze directly at you through the gap between their leg and arm. But, you think, they aren’t working hard enough.

You pull their hand away, reaching around and taking the small vial of oil from them. You’re at their side, tucking your knees under them, before pouring copious amounts of the stuff down over their hole. Your fingers glide upward, gathering it on their tips, massaging over the pert, puckered opening as if to relax them.

But the pace you immediately set with those fingers is brutal, inhumanly rapid, as you show them just how you want them loosened for you. A long series of brief, shocked, rhythmic noises force themselves from Uraume’s lips as their breath hastens to something shallow and ragged. Something that could almost be laughter if it didn’t sound so much like crying.

You give them a break, or so they believe. They nearly thank you, preparing to take a moment to gather themselves, but you begin again before they get a chance. Your hand is so forceful, so powerful, and your fingers so deep. Have you always been so talented? So mean? Something in them hopes you’ll be mean the next time around, too.

“Oh, don’t hang your head, pet. You like it, don’t you? Quit acting so glum,” you giggle, grabbing them by the jaw and forcing their head back up.

“Mm, this is a position you’re well acquainted with, isn’t it? You take to it so naturally. You’re being such a pretty slut for me...”

You stop again, this time for good. They nearly sob, unsure if in relief or in wanting more. They glance up at you, and instantly know that they’re in for it. A deceptively kind, gentle smile crosses your face, eyes half lidded, a soft glint to them that almost gives away your true intentions. The kind of perfectly crafted mask to be expected from a professional bullshitter, but they know better than to speak their mind lest they dig themselves deeper in the hole.

They shudder almost violently just feeling the dip of your weight on the futon behind them. You’re not half as gentle as your expression suggests, but they’re quite loose, not to mention trained to take bigger; perhaps it’s not such a huge deal. Judging by how they collapse rather than begging you to wait or stop, it isn’t an issue at all.

“Now, how would he have taken what you said?”

You’ve never seen the polite, composed, clean-cut chef so fucking messy. Their hair, normally neatly framing their face, splayed out across the sheets and tangled in your fist. Their hands, always so sure and steady as a practiced chef’s should be, grab aimlessly at whatever they can, gripping and releasing again and again.

It’s hard, you remind yourself, that’s why they seem to struggle with it. Flesh gives under pressure; ivory doesn’t. You can never hope to fuck Uraume the way Sukuna does. After all, he has two of what you lack entirely. But this—this feeling is new to them, that much they make very clear.

So, as is the obvious response, you familiarize them with it hard and thoroughly.

They ball up their fists, bringing them in close to their chest as you force their face down, hunching over for a better, deeper angle at which to fuck into them.

They cry and wail, but it’s too muffled in the linens to tell if they’re actually saying anything.

“Go on, pet. Cum all over the fucking place. Nice and hard for me, yes? Give the launderers some work for when they come to collect these sheets.”

Uraume convulses at your command. How you wish you could feel them, sucking you in and tightening around you as you drill them. They tremble and twitch, and their gaping hole makes a sucking sound as you withdraw from it.

They’re a sweet little thing before you, reduced to something small and pathetic under your touch. Their hole clenches around nothing. It still feels good, poor thing.

You click your tongue.

“Awww, I didn’t think it’d wear you out so much. Poor fool. I’m surprised, considering you take much bigger and much rougher on an almost weekly basis. Am I really so good at it?”

They collapse, crying out upon realizing how sensitive they are as the bedding brushes between their legs. You click your tongue in mock sympathy.

“Oh, come here, sweet thing,” you coo, looping your arms around theirs and pulling them into your lap. Your fingers card through their thoroughly mussed hair, parting the knots, straightening it out. They breathe against you as you do, back pressed to your breast.

“Would you like me here more often?”

You grin wickedly at the offer.

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood- Sworn To Her

Summary - Set out to command loyalty. She captures the attention of Davos Blackwood, whose admiration turns into a desperate yearning for her command. He is left begging her to dictate their fate, blurring the lines between duty and passion in a world on the brink of chaos.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2671

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

As I descended from Silverwing's saddle, her silvered wings casting long shadows over the gathered men, I wasted no time. 

Steeling my shoulders and crossing my arms, I surveyed the assembly with a steady, unyielding gaze. 

"What would you do for your queen?" I asked, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of command. My voice was as resolute as the steel at my hip, and the men before me, some of the Riverlands' most notable lords, could only stare back, captivated and uncertain.

I had not anticipated taking on the task of rallying allies myself. 

This was not my mother's plan, nor mine. But circumstances had grown desperate, and when the tides of war demand action, sometimes it is best to seize the reins oneself. 

With Jace far off in the Vale, seeking support from its reluctant lords, I had been left to stand here alone, face to face with the lords of the Riverlands. 

We had both become sick of the sluggish, uncertain steps our allies were taking in this conflict. 

If loyalty to our mother had to be secured with words of fire and a glimpse of dragon wings, then so be it.

Despite Baela's cautions about appearing before these men alone, here I stood. I let my gaze fall slowly across each face, daring them to look away, to doubt the resolve that burned in my eyes.

The scent of wet earth and moss filled the air, the Riverlands heavy with the coolness of dusk. 

I felt the prickling bite of evening mist, seeping through my clothes and clinging to my skin, as though the land itself resisted my presence.

"I expect an answer," I said, my voice sharpened with an edge of impatience. 

Behind me, Silverwing shifted, her massive frame rippling, the low rumble from her throat a reminder of her presence and the deadly promise she held. Her groan cut through the silence like a blade, the sound echoing over the valley and making several men visibly shiver.

I wondered if my mother would approve of what I'd done here, of this choice to face these men alone. 

She'd taught me to lead with strength, but she'd also warned me that loyalty was not always won through power. 

Yet here I was, wielding Silverwing's shadow and my own authority like a blade, desperate to secure the allies we needed.

After a tense pause, a young man with curly brown hair stepped forward, his shoulders squared in reluctant acceptance. 

He was near my own age, yet I could see the weight of his house's loyalty bearing down on him. Oscar Tully, son of House Tully, the Rivermen's pride, looked up at me with a solemn expression.

"We swear fealty to the true queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen," he proclaimed, his voice clear and unwavering as he knelt, head bowed in respect. 

A ripple of movement followed his action as, one by one, each man lowered himself in allegiance, their fealty pledged not to mere words but to the queen herself.

My gaze swept over them, searching for any hint of insincerity, any flicker of hesitation. 

My eyes settled on a knight of House Blackwood, his lips curling into a smirk even as he knelt, meeting my gaze with a glint of something—admiration or challenge, perhaps—that caught me off guard.

The men here had sworn themselves to the queen—and they knew, as I did, that the true cost of their oaths would soon be paid in fire and blood.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the Riverlands and cast a warm amber glow across the hall, a feast was prepared in my honour. 

It was modest by the standards of a royal banquet, but the lords of the Riverlands had done their best, arranging tables heaped with venison, fresh-baked bread, and flagons of wine. 

Musicians played soft, lilting tunes, and candles flickered warmly in the sconces along the stone walls. 

I accepted each polite nod, each murmured "Princess," but my mind was elsewhere, fixed on the allies we would need and the battles to come.

Yet, amidst the formalities, a pair of dark eyes followed my every movement. Davos Blackwood. 

I'd noticed his gaze in the crowd before, but here in the soft candlelight, his attention was both bold and unapologetic. 

He was older than me by a few years, yet young enough to wear his loyalty openly. 

I caught him watching me as I moved between tables, his look tinged with something both admiring and dangerous—a lingering intensity that quickened my pulse.

As the feast wore on, the hall grew rowdy and loud, the laughter of men drunk on wine and the thrill of new alliance filling the air. 

I slipped quietly away, leaving the raucous sounds behind, and wandered through the corridors, searching for a moment of solitude. 

But I soon found I was not alone.

Davos stepped out of the shadows as if he had been waiting, his expression holding that same dark smirk I had noticed earlier. 

He met my gaze, his face half-illuminated by the light of a single torch flickering nearby. 

We stood in a small, dim room, the air thick with the tension that had simmered between us since that moment in the hall. 

He was quiet, his eyes fixed on mine, a slight tilt to his head that spoke of restrained intensity.

"You commanded them well, Princess," he said, his tone both respectful and tinged with that same smouldering intensity I'd felt earlier. "I don't believe I've ever seen men twice your age look so humbled—captivated, even." 

His eyes held mine, his admiration palpable. "It's no small feat to command a room of lords as you did."

I arched a brow, letting a slight smile play on my lips. "The men of the Riverlands needed a reminder of who they serve."

"They did," he agreed, his voice just above a whisper. "And it's clear to me now that you are every bit your mother's daughter."

A quiet heat simmered between us as his words sank in, and something unspoken passed in the space between us, making my heart quicken. 

"And will you serve as loyally as the others, Ser Davos?" I asked, testing the boundaries of this strange new familiarity.

He took a step closer, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his face. 

"I cannot speak for the others, Princess," he began, his voice low and steady, "but know that I would gladly lay down my life for the queen." His eyes searched my face, lingering with a heat that made my breath catch. 

"And for her daughter."

My heart quickened at his words, but I kept my composure, arching an eyebrow. "Oh?" I replied, my tone light, even teasing. "And what, Ser Davos, would you do for the princess?"

The corner of his mouth lifted as he stepped closer, his gaze never wavering from mine. 

"Absolutely anything she desires," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words filled with an intensity that left no room for misunderstanding.

The space between us was small, the warmth of his presence close enough to feel, and yet I held my ground, unwilling to break the tension. The air felt electric, charged with an unspoken promise. 

I leaned in, my voice a soft murmur. "Anything, you say?"

His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something sharper, fiercer. 

"Anything," he confirmed, his gaze holding mine as if daring me to command him.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the crackling torch on the wall, and the distance between us felt like a thread, thin and taut. 

Here, in this quiet room away from the feasting and noise, with Davos looking at me as though he would march into fire if I asked it, I felt the heady power of my position, and something more—a stirring that felt as dangerous as it did exhilarating.

"I am pleased to hear that," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, but he caught every word. 

Davos inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine, a mark of respect mingled with an undeniable longing that set a spark between us.

"For there is much I would like," I continued, letting the words linger, each one wrapped in the promise of something unspoken. 

The insinuation was clear, and I watched a small grin lift the corners of his mouth, as though my words had unlocked a wish he dared not voice. He looked at me like he could scarcely believe his fortune, his gaze dark with wonder and disbelief. 

A princess, standing close enough for him to touch, and more than willing.

His eyes dropped for a brief moment, almost as if he needed to remind himself to breathe, and then his voice, roughened and warm, found its way back. 

"With a dragon as mighty as yours, I'm certain there is little you would be denied," he murmured, his hand lifting as though moved by some magnetic force. 

His fingers brushed against my cheek, a soft, tentative touch, almost as if he expected me to draw back, to laugh at his audacity, to reassert my place above him. But I didn't. 

I leaned into his touch, allowing his hand to linger, my skin tingling beneath his fingertips.

The briefest flash of surprise flared in his eyes, tempered quickly by something darker, something more consuming. 

My pulse quickened, the heat between us simmering into something almost unbearable. 

I was a princess—he knew that. And yet here we were, standing inches apart, the gap between duty and desire swiftly fading into nothing. 

For the first time, his loyalty was not to some distant queen or some abstract ideal; his loyalty, his yearning, was here, directed entirely at me.

Slowly, I leaned in, letting my words drift just past his ear, so close that I felt his breath catch. 

"I do not wish to take my pleasures by force," I murmured, my voice a soft invitation, a promise that was as powerful as any order. 

A shiver ran through him, and his fingers tightened just slightly against my cheek as if anchoring himself in this impossible moment.

The air was thick with the unspoken, and I felt him hesitate, battling the disbelief that a princess would want someone like him, a knight whose station fell far below hers. 

Yet his longing was palpable, a heady tension that electrified the space between us. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost reverent. "What would you have me do, Princess?" he asked, his tone weighted with more than just desire. 

It was devotion, his words woven with a quiet, reckless yearning as if he would tear the stars from the sky if I asked it.

I looked into his eyes, letting the silence stretch, each heartbeat a steady thrum that only deepened the pull between us. 

"Anything," I replied, a whisper that held within it the hint of a command and a promise all at once.

His gaze fell to my lips, and his breath shuddered like he was grounding himself in the impossible reality that he was here, with me, alone and permitted to wish for more. 

He let his hand trail down, tracing the line of my jaw with a featherlight touch, his fingers lingering near my neck where he could feel my pulse racing under his fingertips. 

His eyes were dark, wide, caught in some quiet awe, his body tense with restraint.

"Say it," he whispered, his voice rough. "Say what you would want of me, and I am yours."

"Command me," he begged, his voice softened by that same restrained yearning that had chased me all night.

For a moment, the gravity of our situation fell away, leaving only two people drawn together by a desire as dangerous as it was irresistible. I leaned in, my mouth a breath away from his. 

"For now," I whispered, letting the moment dangle like a thread between us, "I only want this."

His lips brushed against mine, tentative at first as if he could scarcely believe that I'd allowed him this close. 

But then, the restraint fell away, the delicate thread snapping, and we were pressed together in a kiss that held every bit of tension, every unspoken promise.

My hands slid to his clothes, and his eyes flashed with surprise before yielding, allowing me to undress him piece by piece. His gaze clung to me, astonished, as though he still couldn't believe I was here with him. 

I stripped off my riding leathers as fast as my hands could manage, hungry to feel the pleasure I'd been craving for far too long.

The war had stolen much from me, stripping me down to my bones, and tonight, I wanted only one thing: to lose myself, to drown in a rapture that would make me forget it all, even if just for a night.

"Bed me," I whispered when we were bare before each other, skin flushed, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

He froze, his gaze tracing my form as if I were a vision, something ethereal, almost too good to be true. His lips parted in silent awe, eyes raking over every line and curve as though I were an angel who had slipped into his grasp.

"Your wish," he breathed, finally snapping back to himself, "is my command." 

He guided me down to the stone floor, its chill biting into my skin, a startling contrast that only heightened my senses.

His lips found my neck, pressing fevered, insistent kisses that sent shivers racing across my skin. A contented sigh slipped from me as I surrendered to the sensation.

He gently parted my legs, settling between them, and I welcomed the feel of him, my thighs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. 

He moved with urgency, as though he sought release from something unspoken, a fever only I could soothe. 

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, the feeling consuming, erasing all else.

"Oh gods," he murmured, his voice reverent, as he looked down at me, his face filled with wonder. "You...you are a vision." His words, filled with awe, only stoked the flames in me. 

I met his gaze, my body pliant beneath his, feeling like I could stay lost in this moment forever, his desire feeding mine, each of us chasing the other's heat, until the rest of the world faded away.

My heart thudded in time with his, our bodies aligned and perfectly matched, an effortless rhythm that made me feel whole as if this one night could wash away a thousand memories of darkness and despair.

I held his gaze, feeling myself surrender completely, caught in his spell, in the heat and warmth of his presence as he chased pleasure from me with a patience that made my body tremble. 

I was unravelling, each touch, each movement, pulling me apart in the most exquisite way, and I realized I wanted to let him, to let this moment consume every hidden part of me.

His breaths quickened, and he pressed his forehead against mine, grounding us both in that intimate space, and I could feel his heart pounding, as though echoing my own. 

I held him there, one hand tangling in his hair, the other tracing the contours of his back, feeling the strength of him as we both surrendered.

Finally, in a crescendo of pleasure that took my breath away, I felt myself shatter beneath him, lost in the haze of pure, undiluted bliss. 

He followed close behind, his body tense before he released in a shudder that shook us both, his face a picture of utter, unguarded ecstasy.

Slowly, he leaned back, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place here on the cold stone floor, surrounded by shadows and memories. 

He traced his fingers along my jaw, as though I were something precious, rare, his eyes softened by the afterglow.

And there, entangled together in the flickering dark, we let the silence embrace us, lost in the warmth and comfort of knowing, for this moment, we were exactly where we both wanted to be.

A/n - This was fun to write, teeny tiny bit inspired by Jude and Cardan from 'The Folk of the Air' series (if you squint basc)

[save-mohamed-family]

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@ibtisams @soon-palestine @sar-soor @90-ghost @fairuzfan @ibtisams @fallahifag @northgazaupdates

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, my wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, living with our little cat that we embrace among us.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

My main goal with this donation is to protect my children, my wife, and our scaredy cat and evacuate them to a safe place away from the ongoing wars. The funds will be used to cross the Egyptian border and bring basic needs and treatments to create a more stable conditions for my family. Approximately $18,000 will be allocated for travel expenses, and around $6,000 for securing suitable housing for a couple of months.

As for the medical treatment costs, the exact figure will be determined after undergoing examinations in hospitals in the Arab Republic of Egypt & it gonna be in average $8,000. The remaining amount ($8,000) will be used to establish a small project to sustain our daily living, enabling me to provide for my children and wife.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

"I urgently appeal to you for moral and financial assistance to cover the necessary costs to escape to a safe environment, where we can build a secure future for our children and ensure the safety of our family. We thank you for your concern and support, and we hope that you can help us in these difficult circumstances."

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family