#loving someone else meaning destroying yourself

[gay-dorito-dust]

We NEEED Batfam with a s/o who is the kindest person to ever walk in Gotham City. I’m talking they have no bad bone in their bodies and ALWAYS see’s the good in other people.

Dick found you to be refreshing.

He found your pension for helping others, even the scummiest of individuals, into a better future. However he has seen how people could take advantage of a person unlike themselves out of greed, envy for their willpower to keep believing when they’ve all but given up, and anger that they still smile even when the situation is against them.

He couldn’t help but found your want to see Gotham be better admirable and how you’d wish to see the city better itself for the people that live inside it but Gotham was a city with no cure, nor wanted to be healed no matter how hard others have tried. This doesn’t mean Dick was apprehensive towards your dream, if anything he shared that vision with you as it was a dream he’d love to see com true one day.

‘You’re far too kind for a city like this sweetheart.’ Dick said once after he saw you give some kids from Crime Alley a generous amount of food and the money from your wallet/purse, smiling softly as you watched them run away with full stomachs and money in their tightly protected pockets.

You shrugged, looking at him with a soft glint in your eyes. ‘That might be true but that doesn’t mean I’m going to run away when the going gets tough or loose my way.’ You replied as you returned to his side, intertwining your fingers with his and squeezing. Dick smiles as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing it before letting it drop between the two of you, feeling a lot lighter under your gaze as he found himself wanting to stay in this moment forever before Gotham soured even the most innocent of interactions you two shared.

‘Then I’ll gladly stand by your side and help you see this dream through, if you’re not giving up then I’m not giving up either, I promise you that.’ Dick vowed as he pulled you closer to him, kissing your temple, letting himself linger there as he embraced your warmth against Gotham’s bitter cold air that tried to separate you, for it knew that you two were a formidable force to be reckoned with. You sighed, leaning towards his touch and relishing how comforting it was.

‘I’d rather have no one else by my side than my dickie bird.’ You said softly as Dick pulled away to smile at you. ‘I just don’t want to see more kids suffer more than they’ve already have, whether it’d be by the hands of their parents or corrupt authority figures.’ You tell him as you looked back down the alleyway the kids ran down, smile wavering a little as you could only imagine the cruelty they suffered and at such a young age too. ‘They’ve already endured enough and they’re all the more braver for not letting it destroy their spirit.’ You add as you could only hope that those kids remember this small act of kindness and hold it to their chest well into their adulthood.

Dick looked at your fondly and found himself all the more amazed by you and your unending desire to see the better in people, fully believing that they can change whenever they felt ready to, even the most lost individuals can find their way back with the help of a guiding hand. People like you are what Gotham desperately needed to lead the city into a better and brighter future, you were able to find it within yourself to be kind and loving towards those that would spit at your shoes, letting them see that you weren’t so easily swayed to step away from someone in pain.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Dick reassured you by squeezing your hand, ‘it’s hard to forget an act as selfless and sincere as yours honey.’

‘Thank you Dick.’ You uttered softly as you cuddled yourself into his side, resting your head against his chest to listen to his calming heartbeat.

‘Just speaking the truth and from the heart.’ Dick responded as he kisses the top of your head, wanting nothing more than to make you happy just like you have been making him happy throughout your relationship. ‘This town will heal, it’ll be long, but it’ll heal in its own time.’ He adds as you both walked home to be greeted by your sweet baby Hayley.

Gotham will heal…just give it time and patience.

Damian found your kindness to be glaring.

It was a beacon for the weak to prey upon and your hope for Gotham was one that came from that, hope. Gotham was the city where hope and ideals for a better future came to rot and die and Damian couldn’t help but scoff a little because a person like you would never survive in this town, for the people of Gotham could smell your naivety from a mile away and hunt you down until you became like them.

Which was why Damian often found himself by your side and pointing his sword at the throats of those stupid enough to be enamoured by your bright, hopeful presence, even going so far as to cut them just to prove a point. ‘Back off cretin.’ He’d all but growl at them and watch as they scurry off like rats.

You’d look at him with the expression of an upset puppy as he sheathed his sword. ‘Damian.’ You groaned.

‘They’d only come back for more if you conceded to their whims my love.’ Damian replied calmly as he cupped your face between his hands, resting his head against yours to look deeply into your eyes. ‘And I do not intended for my beloved to be used by the miscreants that littler the street like discarded toys, bent out of use and lost all purpose but to kill the will of those that still believe.’ He could see the hurt and the disbelief in your eyes before the look of resilience took over your face as you smiled sweetly at him, taking his breath away.

‘Then I’ll keep believing for the people who can’t, won’t or have long since given up all hope that Gotham can be better than what they’re forced to believe as truth.’ You said and Damian couldn’t help but find your tenacity and determination to keep strong when all seems bleak and depressing admirable. However he couldn’t help but want to usher you away from the utter madness that he had seen with his bare eyes, keep you from ever seeing this town for what it truly was; chaos incarnate.

The town was constantly tearing itself apart and putting itself together again but by only using the worst parts of itself over and over again until it could do nothing but collapse in on itself, dragging everyone else down with it in the process, implicating a sense of darkness and despair that could leave even the most strong willed of people to wonder whether it was worth it and Damian didn’t wish for you to loose that light, nor hope for a better Gotham.

‘You are truly an enigma my treasure.’ Damian sighed as you kissed his cheeks, nose then lips quickly, making him smile softly as he closed his eyes to embrace your affection. ‘Stubborn yet sweet, kind yet headstrong, hopeful yet knowledgeable. That is the kind of person you are and I do not wish to see you falter to this city’s darkness, for a cage is not a place for a bird that is meant to be free from all restraints to it’s ability to fly.’ Damian murmurs as he kisses your forehead.

‘And I’m glad to have someone like you dami.’ You said happily as you admired his emerald eyes. ‘But I just wish for the betterment of the people here, doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?’ You then asked as your hopeful eyes twinkled like the stars above, bright and vibrant, so unlike the eyes of everyone that resided in Gotham which were dull, lost and angry.

‘Not everyone my love.’ Damian counters, ‘rehabilitation can only take them so far before they realise that they can abuse the help given to them with the hope they’d do better once out, while that might be the case for some but there are those who see an opportunity to take from the giving.’ You sighed, still smiling at him as you recognised that he was equally as stubborn in his own views, just as much as you were stubborn in yours.

‘That is true but I just can’t afford to give up, not when this city is crying out for help but only receiving bloodshed and corruption.’ You reached out and rubbed his arms soothingly. You were too kind to a town that reeked of blood and violence Damian deducted from your first meeting, having found it rather childish and naive, but now he saw this as something that should be valued and appreciated while it could and Damian internally vowed to keep this light within you alive and burning for as long as he could.

For you were his hope just as much as Gotham’s.

Jason finds you to be the purest and sweetest soul amongst the piss and shit that made up the rest of Gotham.

The light in the dark for many, but unfortunately that means that you’d also attract the attention of people whom Jason saw as people who’d take advantage of a soul like you.

So much so that he would rest his hand on your wait and pull you away when some suspicious looking man walked up to you, hands cupped together with a pathetic look upon his face as he pleaded with you, never once looking at him because the punk knew he couldn’t fool him with his character so he went for you instead like a coward.

‘I’m pretty sure I’ve got some money I can spare-‘ you said sweetly as you tried to reach for your wallet/purse.

‘No.’ Jason said as he stops you and glares at the man who looked back at him with a face that only confirmed what he had already assumed upon seeing him; he was taking advantage of you for his own benefit and was pissed that Jason was guarding you from his schemes. ‘He can scrap the shit off of the pavement and feed himself with it.’ Jason adds as he proceeded to pull you away from the man who only spat near his shoe and slunk away into the alleyway, waiting for someone else he could take advantage of.

‘Jason!’ You exclaimed, wanting to truly help the man in hopes he’d change his ways for a more productive one.

‘You can’t think you can heal everyone chipmunk, then they’ll think they are entitled to everything you have and will want to take every piece of you until there’s nothing left for them to benefit from, where they’ll leave your body to rot until they can find a new soul to dig their claws into.’ Jason replied firmly but the moment he saw your saddened look he sighed and tipped your chin up with his finger. ‘Hey,’ he began softy, ‘a soul like you is unique, precious as a jewel, and you shine too brightly that you’ve become a beacon for the worst this shit town has to offer but I’m not going to let them.’ He finished as he kissed your forehead.

‘I just can’t expect you to protect me all the time.’ You retorted as you held his face between your hands, caressing his cheeks in a soothing manner and smiling as he melted into your touch. ‘I can’t help who I am, I just want the best for everyone and I can’t help but hope that Gotham heals itself for the betterment of its people.’ Jason couldn’t help but look at you lovingly as he brought you in closer to him so that you were pressed against each other, the closeness was enough to calm his thoughts.

You were too good to be true in Jason’s eyes and would far better in a city far, far away from Gotham in hopes that the poisonous town doesn’t seep into you, but you were not only kind but far too stubborn to do such a thing; especially when there was people to help and Jason couldn’t help but find beauty in your will to do right by the people, even the ones that he didn’t think were worth the tireless effort of saving but that was the kind of person you were and he loved you all the more for being true to yourself.

‘I’m not asking you to change. I could never ask you to stop being who you are because it’s people like you that Gotham needs most, not violence or hateful comments, just someone who genuinely wants to help for the sake of bettering a community who don’t have the resources to help themselves and be a guiding hand for the hopeless.’ Jason kisses you on the lips. ‘That’s the person I fell for, an absolute angel.’ He finishes as he cradled you even further against his chest as he felt you cling onto him.

You were far too sweet for a sour town like Gotham but Jason was going to be with you no matter what, an angel like you needs someone like him who can protect you from the corrupt and the evil that lurks beneath the surface, or shows their face proudly in a town where hope comes to die. Jason will protect his light, his angel, his cheeky little chipmunk who often steals his hoodies when they missed him for you were worth more than he’d ever let this putrid city know. He’ll protect what is his and wage war on those who seek to hurt his hope for Gotham.

[justgivemeabookplease]

[fourswords]

in my free time i'm typing out a little post-adventure of link story from loz 1 zelda's perspective on link bringing this OTHER princess zelda who was apparently asleep for centuries (and thank you SO much for the WARNING that he was going to be DOING this, IMPA [<-entirely sarcastic]) back to the castle and the acclimatization of everyone to the whole situation and it's genuinely so fun. loz 1 zelda's standing there like alright how do i gently break it to my relative from the distant peaceful past that she has to learn how to fight in this time period or she's going to get ripped to shreds by monsters. and then she says exactly that and when aol zelda predictably looks mildly freaked out about the subject and is just standing there internally screaming like yep! okay! sure! death and destruction is rampant in this world and it kind of makes me wish i'd never woken up at all! when do fighting lessons start! loz 1 zelda is just standing there like. hm. was that not gentle enough. i feel like that wasn't gentle enough.

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[crookedteethed]

18+ various kinks, slight smut, hints of dub con/non-con kink

⋆ ★ Thinking about the Rafe's and their specific kinks <3

Season One Rafe would so be into doing lines of coke off your body--bonus points if you are about to do it behind the big rock at the beach or on his balcony during one of his Kook parties because he's also a bit of an exhibitionist. 

It felt decadent to Rafe to pull out your perfectly plush tits (or your ass) and sprinkle a bit of that angel dust down the valley of your breast. He wouldn't snort it immediately; he'd wait until he had his thick length inside your sopping wet cunt--and then he'd snort the line, engulfed in your deliciousness. 

Fuck did Rafe love your body, but fuck did he love coke--so why not mix the two?

Rafe had adorned the thrill he got when he got that first hit of blow mixed with the thrill he got when he'd first plunged into your cunt; it often made him want to fuck you harder until your nose bleed.

If he couldn't fuck you hard enough until your nose bleed, he would settle for bruising your skin with big love bits and hickies--it had something to do with his male ego.

In a way that was larger then just decadence, Season One Rafe loved the thrill he gotten for knowing he has and will be the only man that's been inside you.

Like all the times he would purposely brush your gums with coke on his fingers, and then put you in a jaw gripping kiss, just to lick your mouth clean, all while sitting across from Kelce and Topper.

He loved the power it gave him knowing he was the only person that could use you like this.

Season Two Rafe always found himself palming or adjusting his cock at your innocence.

I mean, fuck, how could he not get hard when you're kneeling on your knees in front of him, wide eyes and mouth full of his cock, asking him, "Like this?" Because you've never sucked dick before. 

And though Rafe did love the more skilled girls--he loved how he never had to tell them what to do--Rafe also had loved your naiveness and your naiveness with a cock. 

Did you sometimes use your teeth when blowing him? Maybe. 

But it's not like Rafe could scorn you about it; he knew that you simply didn't know any better, and that's why Rafe was the one to be your first everything so he could teach you better.

Apart from Rafe and his attraction to your innocence, he also had a kink for destroying that innocence. 

Fuck he thought he was going to bust his load when he finally coerced you into doing coke for the first time. 

Rafe had been low himself, so he wanted to make someone who could be low with him. (It's true what they say about misery-liking company.) 

Like the time in Season Two when Rafe had taken your virginity, yeah, you cried and kept whimpering to him, "it hurt." or "stop" but all of that was just ammunition to him; he loved to consume something so pure and innocent and ruin it for nobody else to have it--like what had happened to him.

Season Three Rafe would have a breeding kink. I mean, it goes hand in hand with his "man of the house" mentality. 

There is no doubt about it: Rafe is a thrill seeker--it's why he does coke or purposely picks fights. 

Fucking you without a condom was such a thrill to Rafe--it was like playing Russian roulette, but the chances of him getting shot were the chances of him getting you knocked up (which he didn't mind). 

But what had turned him on was after shooting his cum inside of you, it was so hot for Rafe to force his cum to stay inside you. 

He'll either plug your discarded panties into your cunt, or force you to finger yourself so you can push the cum deep inside of you. And if you were being too bratty, he'll just fuck the cum deep inside of you. 

None of Rafe's cum would go to waste. None of it. 

Even when you give him blowjobs, he'll scoop the cum that either landed on your face or tits and smear the cum around your pussy. 

God, Season Three Rafe could not wait for the day you swelled and leaked with milk, all because of him.

But all this goes to say, he wouldn't mind it, if you were to call him Daddy (in and out of the bedroom).

Honorable Mention:

I also feel like each Rafe would without a doubt be into choking.

[pucksandpower]

Break In, Breakdown

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: when a break in destroys your peace of mind, Charles is determined to do all he can to help you regain it

Warnings: armed forcible entry

You wake with a start, your heart pounding. The sound of shattering glass echoes through the spacious apartment.

You sit up slowly, straining to hear any other noises over the hammering of your pulse. Charles is away for the night, called suddenly to Maranello earlier to test new upgrades.

You’re alone.

Sliding out from beneath the covers, you tiptoe to the bedroom door and ease it open. The living room is cast in shadow, shards of moonlight slicing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Broken glass glitters across the hardwood. A cool breeze drifts in through the now empty pane.

You freeze, listening. The only sound is the thudding of your heart. Whoever broke in must still be here. You consider your options. The front door is on the other side of the living room — you would never make it. The balcony? No, you’re too high up.

That leaves only one choice. The bathroom.

As soundlessly as you can, you close the bedroom door and lock it, then dash on trembling legs into the en-suite bathroom. You lock this door too, then scramble for your phone. Your hands are slick with cold sweat as you dial Charles’ number.

“Hello?” His voice, groggy with sleep, comes over the line. In the background, you hear the muffled sounds of his hotel room.

“Charles!” You whisper urgently. “Someone broke into the apartment!”

“What?” All traces of sleepiness vanish from his tone. Fabric rustles as he sits up quickly. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m locked in the bathroom. I heard glass breaking and got scared. I didn’t know what else to do!” Your voice cracks as you struggle to keep it low. Tears blur your vision.

“Shh shh, it’s okay. You did the right thing.” Charles soothes. “Did you see anyone?”

You hug your knees to your chest. “No, the living room was empty when I looked. But they have to still be here!”

A tense silence. Then rapid French. You imagine Charles running a hand through his tousled hair, brow creased in thought.

“The police are on their way,” he says finally. “They’ll be there soon. Just stay hidden and keep talking to me, alright?”

You nod before remembering he can’t see you. “Okay.”

For a few moments, the only sounds are your shaky breathing and the muffled noises of Charles moving around his hotel room. You flinch as a loud bang echoes through the apartment, followed by heavy footsteps. Whoever broke in is still here, and on the move.

“I heard something,” you whisper to Charles. “I think they’re looking for me.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Charles’ voice remains steady, but you hear the undercurrent of fear. “Help is coming. Just stay quiet and-”

He cuts off as the bathroom doorknob rattles violently. You slap a hand over your mouth to hold in a scream.

“Y/N? What was that?” Charles demands.

“They’re trying to get in!” You whimper. “The doorknob ...”

Another bang shakes the door. You scramble into the empty bathtub, trying to make yourself smaller. If they get in here, you have nowhere to go.

“Y/N, listen to me.” Charles speaks urgently. “I need you to stay calm. Breathe. The police will be there any minute.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears leaking down your cheeks. “Okay,” you whisper.

The intruder hammers on the door again. Wood splinters — it won’t hold much longer. You think of Charles’ smile, his bright green eyes. You wish more than anything he was here with you now, holding you in his strong arms. But he’s hours away, and can do nothing but listen helplessly as danger looms.

“Charles?” You say softly.

“Yes? I’m right here.” His voice cracks.

“I love you.” You put as much feeling into the words as you can. Just in case they’re your last. “So much.”

“Oh god, Y/N ...” Charles trails off. You hear a muffled sob. “I love you too. More than you can imagine. You mean everything to me.”

The bathroom door splinters open. A masked figure looms in the doorway, gun glinting dully in their hand. Your scream lodges in your throat.

Charles is saying your name, voice panicked. You can’t find the air to respond. This is it. You close your eyes as the intruder raises their gun.

A deafening bang. Your scream. Then … nothing.

When you force your eyes open, the intruder is being detained on the floor. In their place stand two police officers, weapons drawn.

“Madame, are you hurt?” One officer approaches slowly, holstering his gun.

You shake your head mutely. On the phone, Charles is frantically calling your name.

“I’m okay,” you gasp out. “The police are here.”

Charles’ ragged exhale echoes your own shaking breath. You cling to the phone like a lifeline. He murmurs reassuring words as the officers help you from the tub and wrap a blanket around your shoulders.

When you finally end the call, your hands shake so badly you nearly drop the phone. You wish desperately to feel his arms around you.

But the police insist no one can enter until the scene is processed. You wait alone on the sofa, raw fear seeping from your bones and leaving you limp and exhausted. As dawn lightens the shattered window frames, Charles’ car screeches into the street. He’s still in a rumpled t-shirt and pajama pants, hair wild from raking his fingers through it. The moment his gaze lands on you, he’s across the room, gathering you against his chest. You cling to him, finally letting the terrified tears fall.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” he murmurs against your hair.

You breathe him in, the familiar smell of his skin and cologne. Here, wrapped in his embrace, you can almost believe the words are true.

***

Morning light filters through the blinds of Charles’ childhood bedroom, casting stripes across the quilt tucked around you.

It’s strange, being surrounded by remnants of his boyhood. Posters of racing legends. Miniature models of the Ferrari Enzo and Michael Schumacher’s F2002. A framed picture of a beaming preteen Charles standing in front of a gleaming kart. You trail your eyes over the silver trophies lining the shelves. Hard to believe that bright-eyed boy would become your own champion one day.

It seems easier to focus on the distant past than to think about the present.

You’ve barely slept, your body tense as a livewire beneath the covers. Every small noise makes you flinch.

Charles’ arms tighten around you. His chest rises and falls steadily with sleep against your back. Being here, wrapped securely in his embrace, is the only thing that kept hysteria at bay through the long night.

You shift carefully in his arms, turning to study his face. His features are relaxed, lips parted slightly. Dark stubble shadows his jaw. He looks younger like this, the crease between his brows smoothed away. You reach out to brush an unruly lock of hair off his forehead.

At your touch, his brows pinch. Slowly his eyes drift open, blinking against the sunlight. He offers a drowsy smile.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi.” You try to return the smile, but it wavers. Being awake again means facing the suffocating weight of remembered fear.

Charles’ own smile fades. Propping himself up on one elbow, he reaches to cradle your face in his palm. “How are you feeling?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat closes up. You just shake your head, feeling the sting of tears.

“Oh, mon amour.” Charles pulls you against his chest. You cling to him, fighting back sobs.

He begins to slowly stroke your hair. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

You do, great heaving sobs muffled in his t-shirt. He holds you silently, lips moving against your hair in a continuous litany of comfort.

When the storm of weeping passes, you keep your head tucked beneath his chin. His steady heartbeat thumps against your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you whisper finally.

His arms tighten around you. “I know. But I promise, you’re safe here. No one can hurt you.”

You nod against his chest. But the truth haunts you — nowhere feels safe anymore. Not when someone invaded the place you called home. Violated your very sense of security.

Sensing your spiraling thoughts, Charles pulls back. He tilts your chin up until your tearful gaze meets his.

“Listen to me. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you feel safe again. We’ll find a new apartment, one with top of the line security. I’ll hire personal protection to be with you whenever I can’t. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

You search his eyes, finding only earnestness and love shining back. “You’d really do all that for me?”

He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Of course. I’d move heaven and earth for you. Your safety and peace of mind are the most important things in the world to me.”

Fresh tears well in your eyes, but this time touched by gratitude. You lean in to brush a soft kiss over his lips. “Thank you. Just … thank you.”

He smiles tenderly, kissing the tip of your nose. “Always.”

The bedroom door creaks open slowly. Charles’ mother peers in.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She bustles into the room bearing a heavily laden breakfast tray. “I’ve brought up some breakfast. You both must be famished.”

She settles the tray over your laps before perching on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, she pats your blanket-covered knee.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Her eyes, so like your husband’s, are full of maternal concern.

You muster a shaky smile. “As well as I can be. Thank you again for letting us stay here.”

“Of course, of course!” She waves a hand. “You’re family. Mi casa es su casa, as they say.”

Charles reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he smiles gratefully at his mother. “We really appreciate it, Maman. This means the world to us right now.”

Pascale pats his cheek fondly. “I’m always here if you need me. Both of you.” She stands. “Now, eat up while it’s still warm!”

After the door clicks shut behind Pascale, Charles passes you a mug of hot tea. The chamomile soothes your frayed nerves. Under Charles’ attentive care, you manage to eat a few bites of crepe. But your appetite remains muted, stomach churning with anxiety.

Sensing your lingering unease, Charles sets the tray aside. He shifts down on the bed, resting his head on the pillow beside yours. You roll onto your side facing him.

His hand comes up to trail soothingly along your arm. “Talk to me. What can I do?”

You chew your lower lip. “Just hold me? I’m still feeling really shaky.”

“Of course.” He opens his arms and you nestle against his chest. His steady heartbeat thumps beneath your ear.

You cling to him like a life raft, fighting against the rising tide of panic. “I can’t stop imagining it all happening again. What if they find us again?”

Charles frames your face in both hands. His gaze bores fiercely into yours. “Listen to me. I will never let anyone hurt you. Not here, not anywhere. I promise you that.”

His passionate sincerity helps loosen the iron bands constricting your lungs. You can breathe a little easier.

“Okay.” You whisper. “I trust you.”

He presses a fervent kiss to your forehead. “I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild that sense of safety for you. For now, just try to rest. You’re exhausted.”

He’s right. Bone-deep fatigue drags at you. But every time you close your eyes, visions of leering masked faces loom in the darkness. You shrink closer to Charles with a whimper.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” His arms tighten around you. “Focus on me, the sound of my voice. Picture us somewhere you feel totally at peace.”

You press your ear over his heart again, letting its steady rhythm center you. “Tell me about it? The peaceful place.”

“Hmm ...” He strokes your hair thoughtfully. “How about a tropical island? Powder-fine sand, so white it’s nearly blinding. The water so perfectly blue and clear, like colored glass. Gentle waves lapping the shore.”

You can picture it perfectly with the aid of his lyrical descriptions. The sun warming your skin, Charles’ hand clasped in yours as you stroll the beach. A light breeze tossing his hair as his laughter mingles with the cries of seabirds.

“There’s a little cabana right on the water, with an open balcony and gauzy curtains fluttering in the wind ...”

Lulled by Charles’ calming voice, you feel your body slowly relax, sinking into the mattress. He continues spinning vivid visions until you finally drift off. Safe in the circle of his arms, nightmares can’t reach you.

When you wake, sunlight slants through the blinds at a different angle.

Afternoon.

You’re curled on your side, Charles a solid weight against your back. His chin rests atop your head, arms wound protectively around you even in sleep.

You snuggle back into his embrace. For the first time since the break in, you feel a spark of hope. With Charles by your side, you know you’ll get through this. He’ll keep you safe.

***

Keys jangle outside the door of your new apartment. You look up from your book with a smile as Charles steps inside, hiding something behind his back.

“What are you up to?” You ask, marking your page. Ever since you moved, Charles has been full of little surprises to help you feel at home.

He grins, eyes glinting. “I have someone who wants to meet you.” From behind his back he produces a tiny black Doberman puppy with soulful dark eyes. It squirms eagerly in his hands.

You gasp, immediately reaching for the pup. Its pink tongue darts out to lick your fingertips. “You didn’t!”

Charles laughs. “I wanted to get you a guard dog, one specially trained to protect you. She’ll go everywhere with us once she’s fully grown.”

Cradling the puppy to your chest, you nuzzle into her silky fur. Her tail thumps happily against your arm. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest little guard dog ever,” you coo. Looking into her deep brown eyes, one name springs to mind.

“I think I’ll call her Princess Fluffykins.” You grin up at Charles.

He rubs a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Princess Fluffykins it is.”

The newly christened Princess Fluffykins snuggles into you with a contented whine. Over the next few weeks she rarely leaves your side. At night she curls up at the foot of the bed, a tiny furry protector. During the day she trots after you from room to room, always alert for any signs of danger.

But none of her vigilance stops her from demanding regular belly rubs or stealing socks to play with. Princess Fluffykins she may be, but she’s still a puppy at heart.

As the weeks pass, she sprouts into a leggy adolescent, all huge paws and awkward angles. But her devotion never wavers. She accompanies you everywhere, even to Charles’ races.

The first time you arrive at a circuit with Princess Fluffykins straining at her leash, you get some strange looks. People eye the muscular dog warily, giving you a wide berth. Princess Fluffykins has matured into an intimidating specimen, despite the sparkly pink collar now circling her thick neck.

Charles just grins, ruffling her perked ears. “I know she looks scary, but I promise she’s a softie,” he assures the dubious Ferrari mechanics. Right on cue, Princess Fluffykins flops to her back, tail wagging furiously until someone gives in and rubs her belly. Charles winks at you. “See?”

When Charles disappears into briefings or practice sessions, Princess Fluffykins patrols tirelessly by your side. She positions herself between you and anyone who approaches, watchful eyes tracking each stranger. But the moment she detects true danger, her demeanor shifts in an instant.

One particularly eventful race weekend, a drunken fan gets belligerent shoving past you for an autograph. Princess Fluffykins is on him in a flash, knocking him back with a deep bellow. He recoils instantly, throwing his hands up and stammering apologies. You cling to Princess Fluffykins’ collar as she nudges you protectively behind her muscular bulk.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her bristling fur until she relaxes. Over Princess Fluffykins’ broad head, you give the chastened fan a polite smile. Message received.

As you make your way to the garage, passerby give you and your four-legged bodyguard a wide berth. But Princess Fluffykins ignores the murmurs, attention fixed devotedly on you. Her responsibilities may be serious, but everything about her remains hilariously contradictory — the bejeweled collar, fluffy fur, even her tendency to doze off using Charles’ race boots as a pillow. You wouldn’t have her any other way.

Over time, Princess Fluffykins becomes as much a fixture at races as Charles himself. On mornings when you’re feeling anxious, you clip on Princess Fluffykins’ leash and walk the familiar route to the paddock, drawing comfort from each heavy footstep echoing your own. The bulk of her pressing against your legs makes you feel sheltered … protected.

When Charles is busy with sponsor events and interviews, Princess Fluffykins is your constant companion. She positions her large frame strategically to keep you shielded from jostling fans in the crowded paddock. Her intimidating presence and rumbling growl are enough to make even boisterous enthusiasts reconsider approaching too closely at the wild after parties.

At night in hotel rooms, Princess Fluffykins curls up on the foot of the bed, ever alert. The sound of her steady breathing soothes you to sleep. And in new cities where sounds and shadows put you on edge, her solid weight pinning your feet beneath the blankets makes you feel anchored.

On bad nights when phantom terrors jerk you awake, Princess Fluffykins’ huge head rises at your distress, the light glinting off her collar. She pads up the bed to nuzzle your cheek until the panic fades.

Over time, Princess Fluffykins’ watchful presence steadies something deep inside you. Late at night, her snores harmonize with Charles’ to drive away the ghosts. Her grinning face waiting eagerly by the door when you return from a quick trip to the shops makes your apartment feel like home again. When you scratch beneath her chin, for a moment you forget about the threat, remembering only softness.

On the anniversary of the break in, emotions run close to the surface. You’re quiet on the drive to the paddock, hands knotted tightly in Princess Fluffykins’ fur. But when the time comes to part ways with Charles for the day, you find courage in Princess Fluffykins’ wiggly butt and lolling tongue. You give Charles an extra fierce hug, breathing him in.

“Love you,” you murmur into his shoulder.

Charles cradles your face in his hands, eyes serious. “I love you too. We’ve made it through so much this past year. You amaze me more every day.”

You lean into him a moment longer before braving a tremulous smile. “Go show them what you’ve got.”

With Princess Fluffykins a steady presence at your side, the day passes in a blur of heat and roaring engines. When at last Charles appears, wreathed in sweat and victory, you leap into his arms with a joyful shout. Laughing, he swings you around before setting you down to ruffle Princess Fluffykins’ ears.

“I think this calls for celebrating, what do you say?” His eyes are bright with triumph and love.

You lean down to adjust Princess Fluffykins’ glittering collar before twining your fingers through your husband’s. “I say absolutely.”

Though the path forward held both beauty and pain, with loyal souls like them by your side, you never had to walk it alone.

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮   Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past. 

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy. 

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered. 

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do. 

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight). 

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your… 

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did. 

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for. 

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking. 

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space. 

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut. 

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship. 

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate. 

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain. 

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.” 

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.” 

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips. 

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly. 

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet. 

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.” 

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth. 

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine. 

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…” 

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed. 

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment. 

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.  

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response. 

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory. 

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line. 

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.” 

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[ervotica]

the ones we love (will destroy us)

pairing; aegon ii targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

tags; twincest (lol i'm sorry yk what the targaryens are like), aegon is so sad and babygirl and an idiot, hurt/comfort

note; heavily reworked repost of an old fic that i adored writing but needed a lot of editing! (i still lowkey hate it tho)

“Why is Aegon staring at you?” Aemond asks, a cruel smirk cracking his perpetually stoic facade; the's mocking in the way his gaze falls between you and Aegon, not entirely genuine as he takes amusement in his older brother’s miserable pining. Aegon watches your discussion with Aemond, sour faced from across the dining table. You’ve taken it upon yourself to sit as far away from him as you can manage; and where you’re usually attached at the hip - though he knows you’re arguing - he can’t deny the ache in his chest from your lack of acknowledgement. You're cold, unflinching as you stare right through him as though he's irrelevant, as though he's worth nothing to you.

“Because he’s a twat,” you answer bluntly. Aemond barks out a short laugh, coarse and harsh, that penetrates the quiet chatter of the room. Heads start to turn towards your avid conversing with your younger brother.

“What are you two bickering about now?”

“If he thinks it’s funny to to speak ill of me to everyone in the seven fucking kingdoms, I don't want anything to do with him.” Your lips purse as you cross your arms; Alicent eyes you, watching the tick of your jaw and flare of your nostrils - you’re upset, even if you’re excellent at masking it. 

Aemond watches on amusedly as your twin grows increasingly agitated the more you pointedly avoid his glances. Your mother frowns.

“Y/n, don’t you feel you’re perhaps being a little hard on Aegon?” 

“No.”

“He's your twin brother!” she sighs, ever frustrated by your stubbornness and your twin’s lack of consideration for anybody’s feelings, even yours at times.

“He’s still a twat.”

Aegon huffs and rolls his eyes. 

You continue to only speak about him indirectly. When you turn to Jace, he grins.

“Jace,” you start, clasping your hands where they lay on the dining table in front of you, “If someone said that you were ‘an ugly whore with no friends’ - as he so eloquently put it - would you be upset?”

“He said that?” Jace's jaw falls slack. “Wait, no. He honestly said that about you?”

The table clatters, cutlery bouncing, and Aegon stands abruptly, face screwed up in that way it does when he’s about to cry.

“It wasn’t like that!”

“How else could you possibly have meant it?” You’re incredulous, covering your misery with spiteful words. You want to make him hurt, make him feel your pain, but run to him for comfort all at once.

“Not-”

“Gods, just be quiet,” you mutter. Your face is hot as you turn away and you feel your eyes prickling with the threat of an onslaught of tears. Aegon cringes, drawn tight and tense as though you share one body, as though he can feel the pain he’s putting you through. Your upset has always caused him real physical distress, from when you were tiny children and still to this day. Your voice lowers to a whisper. “You’re so mean.”

“Y/n-“

You’ve never seen him quite this distressed; his cheeks flush pink and ruddy and his eyes start to water and gloss over, not dissimilar to your own expression - though you’re much better at concealing your emotions. His nostrils flare the way they only do when he cries: the way they did when he sobbed in your arms for hours after your mother rejected his pleas for affection once again, the way he cried when you were ten years old and your father interrupted him every time he tried to speak. Your bottom lip trembles. 

“Please,” he croaks. Your brows knit and crease your forehead as your chest tightens; you bite the inside of your cheek with such force that you draw blood. 

You stand and the solid wooden dining chair thumps against the floor. Aegon mirrors your movements, rushing towards the exit in your wake.

Once you’ve left the presence of your family, the tears come hard and fast and unrelenting. They’re hot against your cheeks, damp as your hands shake to scrub them away, leaving only a tender sting and blooming heat in your touch’s wake.

“Please talk to me.” The door creaks shut and then Aegon’s voice cuts through the sounds of your sniffles; you spin on your heel and he surges towards you in a bout of energy, clasping one of your hands in both of his larger ones. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about you, it was mean. And you should be angry with me. I miss you and I love you and I'll never, ever speak a cruel word against you again.”

“Did you mean it?” you ask; he lurches to latch himself to your body, anxious as though you’ll push him away at any given moment. His arms are tight and unmoving around your waist.

“No.” He shakes his head vehemently, “I don't know why I said it. I just wanted the others to respect me but shouldn’t have said such awful things. The only person I need is you.”

“What?”

“I don’t care about any of that now. None of it matters to me if you’re not by my side.” 

His body shudders when your arms close and tighten around his body and a sob looses from his throat. Your voice is thick as you murmur in his ear. 

“You hurt my feelings.” 

His head falls to the dip of your shoulder and he clings to you with a strength that you’re not unfamiliar with; it cracks your heart all the same.

“Please forgive me, sweetling. Please.” The velvet of your dress darkens in splotches where his tears fall. “I love you.”

You know he really is remorseful; the guilt eats at him until he can’t feel anything else, not until you’ve reconciled. He's always been the same, ever since you were six and he hit you in the face; you didn’t speak to him for four days and he cried with such vigour that he made himself sick.

“I love you,” you can’t help but whisper back. “But if you ever do something like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

He laughs wetly, an odd sound that gets caught in his chest as he presses further into your embrace. 

“Can I have a kiss?”

You hook a finger under his chin and tilt his damp face towards your own. His lips fill with air and push out into a pout. 

His muscles go soft and relax the second your lips mesh with his; your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He angles his head and deepens the kiss, licks into your mouth and murmurs something imperceptible. When you pull yourself away, he chases you, desperate to be close. 

“Love you,” he mumbles, plying you with damp, open mouthed kisses across your cheeks and neck. They leave glistening half moons in his wake. “I‘m so sorry.”

“I know,” you say, tucking your head in the hollow of his throat. “I forgive you, alright?”

A laboured breath forces its way out of his lungs when your arm wraps around his neck for a hug.

“I didn't like you sitting next to Aemond,” he sighs. You shush him, rubbing thumbs over his eyebrows and down his cheeks in unbridled affection. “I want you to sit next to me.”

“I always sit next to you,” you murmur. “I was upset, remember?”

“I know,” he whines. “but you’re mine.”

“Don’t be a baby,” you giggle. “I spend all of my time with you.”

He squeezes you tight then and buries his face in your hair. You grunt with the force of his weight.

“I missed you.”

[navybrat817]

Love Isn't Enough

Pairing: Dark!Jax Teller x Female Reader

Summary: You love Jax, but not enough to stay.

Word Count: Almost 1.5k

Warnings: Angst, implied dubcon/noncon, attempted breakup, bittersweet ending, Jax Teller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. @writercole requested Jax Teller and a visit Under the Boardwalk (dark) with prompt #38 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You zipped up your bag after you put the last of your clothes inside. You expected a weight in your chest as you looked around the bedroom, but you weren’t upset at all. The place looked lived in, but it wasn’t a home. Charming was no longer your home. You could practically see the smirk on Jax’s face as he said “I told you so” since he suggested for you to leave and settle down somewhere else a long time ago. You didn’t listen then, but you were taking his advice now.

It was time to move on.

“I’m all about that fairy tale, baby.”

While you felt nothing when you packed your bag, your heart ached with each step you took. Jax Teller loved you and you didn’t want to leave him behind, especially when you still loved him, too. Just because the love was there didn’t mean you had support or respect. Not the way the club did. They would have a part of Jax that you would never quite reach and they couldn’t expect you to just fall in line or keep your mouth shut when your man did something dangerous or worse.

“You wanna be an old lady? Act like it. Do what you're told!”

There was something wet on your cheeks when you went to grab your keys. You sniffled as you wiped them with the back of your hand. When did you start crying? How many tears had you shed over the man who promised not to break your heart? It was tiring putting yourself back together and no amount of amazing sex or empty words could fully seal the cracks.

If your relationship taught you anything it was that love wasn’t always enough.

You didn’t regret it though. Life was too short for regrets. You got to experience love and many couldn’t say the same. You weren’t sure if you’d ever meet someone who sparked as much passion within you as Jax had, but you hoped he could defeat his demons without you tethered to him. Both of you could forge your paths and maybe they’d one day merge again.

“I love you, baby.”

“I’m sorry, Jax,” you whispered into the darkness of the living room.

“What are you sorry for?”

The keys fell from your hand as you spun toward the couch, your heart close to beating free from your chest. The flame from Jax’s lighter illuminated his face from where he sat and for a moment he looked like a demon, tortured and beautiful. He flipped on the lamp beside him and took a long drag from his cigarette, his stormy eyes drifting to the suitcase before they went back to you. His normally slicked back hair appeared disheveled as he blew out of a puff of smoke, like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it.

He still took your breath away whenever you laid your eyes on him.

As much as you wanted to go to him and pull on those strands as you rode him, you wouldn’t. Sex wasn’t going to steer you from your decision. Besides, he used it as a weapon and you didn’t have the strength to clean up your wounds when you walked away.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” you answered.

He tilted his head and took another drag. “You’re sorry that you didn’t hear me come home?”

You swallowed as his gaze went back to your bag. “No, I’m sorry because I’m heading out,” you said, your stomach sinking as the words hung in the air.

Jax continued to smoke and you didn’t dare move as he took his time, the familiar scent of the smoke doing nothing to ease your nerves. You almost wished he yelled or destroyed something instead of stewing in silence. It put you on edge.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He finally asked, his voice so quiet you almost missed the question.

“I don’t know yet,” you said, tears springing to your eyes as he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got to his feet. “I just can't stay here.”

“So, you’re not just heading out. You’re going away. You’re leaving me,” he stated, clenching his fists as you moved back. He didn’t sound surprised. Just hurt and angry. Hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“You told me to leave a long time ago. I should’ve left then, but I loved you and I thought that was enough for us,” you explained, a tear sliding down your cheek. You couldn’t back down though. “I still love you and I probably always will, but you’re married to the club. That’s your true love and I’m tired of fighting a losing battle.”

The stricken look he gave you almost made you apologize, but it was too late to turn back. “I’m the President and the club is family, but they aren’t you.”

“Jax-”

“Come here. Now,” he ordered, but there was a familiar gentleness in his gaze that he only showed with those he cared for. It was almost enough to make you cave. “Just sit and talk to me. We can figure this out.”

You slowly shook your head. “There isn't anything to figure out.”

“So, that’s it then? You're leaving?” He asked, raking a hand through his hair. “How many times do I have to prove to you that I love you? But no, it’s never good enough for you, is it? Love isn’t enough?” He scoffed when you shook your head again. “That’s bullshit. I need you and you need me, so don’t just-”

“That’s just it, Jax! I don’t need you!” You snapped. Both of your eyes went wide and you weren’t sure which one of you was more stunned by the statement. “When I did need you, you weren’t there. The club always has and always will come first. My eyes are finally open to that.”

“Baby…” he breathed out, his shoulders falling when you held up a hand.

“I love you. I do,” you promised. God, you loved him so much it fucking hurt. The pain had to end at some point. “But I don’t need you or this life. Not anymore. I’m done.”

You needed to say the words, so why did they feel hollow?

Jax snapped himself out of whatever shock he was in before he stomped toward you. With a gasp, you backed yourself against the wall. He never raised a hand toward you, but you had seen that fire in his eyes before. Anyone in his path ended up destroyed by that fury. Would he leave you on the ground in a pile of ash?

“You aren’t leaving me. We aren’t done,” He grabbed your chin, his grip tender when he could’ve crushed you. He pointed toward the bedroom, but kept his eyes on you so you knew how serious he was. “So unpack that bag and get it in our fucking bed.”

You searched his gaze, trying to find a trace of the man you loved instead of the stranger in front of you. “You can’t make me stay.”

He crushed his lips against yours, drawing a whimper from you. This wasn’t the kind of passion he typically showed you. This was a form of control. Like the club, he wanted you to bend to his will. Make you submit. Could you do that?

Was it safer or cowardly to give in?

It didn’t hurt so much when you opened your mouth to him and let him take over. The dull ache between your thighs would fade quicker than the cut to your heart. A betrayal of a moan escaped as his tongue dueled with yours. It didn’t take him long at all to win that battle. Jax would always win.

Was it worth fighting even if you lost? Yes. At least that way you could say even if you didn't win that you tried.

You couldn’t take a breath even when his mouth left yours. His lips left a blazing trail toward your ear, but it left you cold instead of warm. “Yes, I fucking can,” he snarled, your legs shaking as he pulled you away from the wall. “Tell me the club means more to me when I’m inside you. See if you can leave me when I’m fucking you into our mattress and showing you how much I love you.”

“Jax, please,” you begged, trying to pull free from his hold as he dragged you to the bedroom. He wouldn’t force you to sleep with him, would he?

“Beg all you want, baby. I won’t stop ‘til you know your place is here with me.”

Was this why Jax told you to leave a long time ago? To save you from the man he had become? It didn’t matter. It was too late to escape.

And maybe, in his own twisted way, he’d prove that love would be enough this time around.

I hope I did this justice! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lordprettyflackotara]

Did it First || Part Two || Jeff the Killer

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: descriptions of gore; yandere!reader, yandere!jeff, rough sex, honestly just yandere as fuck

Jeff the killer had destroyed the sweet innocent you.

If the sex wasn’t enough, seeing you with an axe in your hand did it. You stood over Stella, a blonde Jeff had been fucking for months while also fooling around with you. Jeff was frozen in shock, his eyes widened as he stared at her bloody corpse. You had attacked her from behind, her back mangled and flesh hanging on by thin shreds of her skin. You didn’t stop there Jeff would find out, his eyes trailing up to her face. You had stepped on her, pinning her to the ground as you swung the axe at her throat. Jeff could see the manic swings you had took, her head cut off, sitting beside her corpse.

Jeff had seen and had done a lot in his day. But this? This was a lot for even him to handle. Just yesterday he had been entangled with her in the sheets, her eyes now permanently open in shock. They were lifeless, fear washing over the pale killer as he looked up at you. Splattered blood was staining nearly your entire body, your cheeks painted with the droplets. Blood soaked your shirt and pants, an unhinged grin spread across your lips.

“What’s wrong Jeff? You killed for me so I killed for you. After all, you did it first.”

Jeff was not as infatuated with you as he thought he was. What you nor Jeff realized, was what everyone else around him already knew. He had the attention span of a walnut. Jeff had a pattern of doing this, hyper-fixating on girls and then growing bored. It was nothing personal. Jeff did what he did and he would continue to do what he wanted to do. Every girl he had done this to before had two options. They could either cope and move on. Or, if they were more of a spicy bunch, Jeff would have to kill them off. It was sickeningly satisfying to the killer, making someone fall in love with them so hard that they couldn’t move on with their lives. Jeff knew his entanglements with average girls could get messy. Slenderman made it very clear any potential threat to exposure would need to be terminated.

Besides obligation from him, Jeff enjoyed slaughtering his past lovers. Something about seeing the insides of a person really gave him something to remember them by. Faces and names became blurred, Jeff unable to even remember his last fling before you. But what he could remember crystal clear was the fact that none of them. not one, had returned the favor. Jeff enjoyed killing off people in his flings lives. Relatives, lovers, friends, it all blended together after a while. The mortal attachments that made humans so fragile was adorable to him. He loved nothing more than to cut that cord. His brain always justified it beyond it being a means to control his fling. Most people didn’t realize they’d be better off without those restraints holding them back. Jeff thought that if anything him killing Jim was tame. He was a shitty hookup, not a work of art or someone memorable in the grand scheme of things.

Killing wasn’t anything super meaningful anyways. So after a couple of months, Jeff grew hopelessly bored. He knew everything about you. There was no mystery, no fantasy. You were exactly who you presented yourself to be. It’s not like Jeff could reciprocate, his life a forced secret that he had to keep. And you could bet your sweet ass he wasn’t going to tell you how he became the monster he was. So Jeff did what he always did, he disappeared and moved on. As he stared at Stella’s corpse he supposed deciding to move on within the same town was perhaps not the best idea he’s ever had. Stella was the stereotypical blonde you saw on social media in bikini pics. Jeff didn’t necessarily have a type, but she was the bobble headed moron Jeff needed after a fresh break up. His appearance didn’t freak her out either, an added plus. He ignored that it was because of her wanting to spite her parents. She wanted him to get her pregnant, the idea of having a freaks baby to piss off her parents somehow the best plan in her mind.

Jeff didn’t mind playing into it anyways, burying himself in her cunt every night. It didn’t matter anyways, her parents had been dead in their bedroom for days. He would’ve loved to keep the affair going, but truthfully he was too lazy to bother moving the bodies. He knew the smell would catch her attention and things would get unnecessarily bloody. He didn’t need to kill her anyways, he knew she would be shipped off to the closest mental institution. But didn’t she need it anyway? Wanting a killer to impregnate her just to piss a couple of people off? Yeah, Jeff could definitely justify breaking things off. He decided to check on her one last time, wanting to really savor the feeling of her cunt. She may have been a helpless airhead but Jeff was never one to turn down sex. That’s when he saw you, proudly standing in her bedroom doorway. He must’ve missed the murder by a few minutes, the blood still fresh and oozing out of the corpse.

What Jeff hadn’t anticipated was the opposite what he wanted. All of his time as a killer he either ditched or killed girls, no in between. He picked seemingly average and normal women, careful to avoid ones that seemed unstable. His mistake was choosing you. Your obsessive tendencies and underlying codependency issues slipping under the cracks of his inspection. You were the devil in disguise, unaware that he would provoke it out into exposure.

You didn’t accept Jeff’s choice. If anything you had convinced yourself that he had been tricked in some way or was testing you. Ultimately you decided either way, the blonde bitch had to go. So you began stalking him as he once stalked you. You hid in the shadows, watching him climb into her window time and time again. It seemed so bluntly obvious to you this was a test, the killer not even attempting to conceal himself in his bright white hoodie. So you waited for the perfect moment. Coming right and out and killing her during their affair didn’t seem right. You didn’t want either of them to have a chance of preventing what had to be done. Jeff would confidently stroll into her house around the same time every night. He was so predictable. You felt like even though you lacked the traditional information one usually has about their partner, you knew Jeff. You knew what he liked and disliked. You knew his habits like picking at his nails or running his fingers through his hair. You knew him better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Wow this um, wow,” Jeff said, trying not to stumble over his words. The pale killer had never been so caught off guard before. You dropped the axe, allowing it to fall to the floor as you approached him. “I understand why you did it, testing me. Finding a real ride or die bitch must be hard when you’re a real man,” You purred. You strolled behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You could feel him tense up, freezing as you placed a kiss to his neck. “You need a real woman and guess what baby? I’m that bitch. Blondie here could’ve never done this for you,” You say, glancing over at the bloody corpse. Jeff swallowed, becoming increasingly nervous and aroused. Jeff liked to have control in any and all situations, but something about the lack of control in this one was making him incredibly flustered. It was humbling, having you snatch the reigns from him. “Now it can just be us. Just me and you,” You cooed. Your blood stained hands coated his hoodie, covering it with an all too familiar color. “Thats right,” Jeff confirmed, swallowing. You pressed a few soft kisses to his neck, before standing on your tippy toes to reach his ear.

“Oh and Jeff?”

“Huh?”

“If you ever fuck another bitch again i’ll kill you.”

Jeff should’ve been terrified. He had created a mini me. A monster. Yet he felt all of his blood rush to his cock, your curious gaze not failing to notice. “Oh baby does this turn you on? Seeing what i’d do for you?” You asked mockingly. You smirked as Jeff braced himself, his cock aching against his jeans. Your hand slithered down to his front zipper, pulling it down aggressively. It didn’t take long for your hand to find his cock, pulling at the length as it hardened in your palm. Your other hand slid to his throat, cuffing it and squeezing. “Not so big and powerful now are we?” You hummed. Jeff bit his bottom lip, the urge to snap at you rising but the feeling you were providing him was far more euphoric. “You’re a crazy fucking bitch,” He panted, watching you slowly jerk him off. You smiled as you nibbled at his ear lobe. “I’m sorry what was that? You wanted me to stop?” You teased. Jeff’s patience had thinned, quickly turning around and grabbing you. He tossed you onto the bed, pinning you onto the mattress. “I said you’re a crazy fucking bitch,” He hissed.

You giggled with glee as he began to tear at your pants, shoving them down to your ankles. He roughly palmed your panties, growling. “Wet already whore? Seriously? Murder get you off?” Jeff huffed. You grinned as he tore your panties harshly, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the ground: With two fingers he rubbed up and down your folds, examining your slick. “You’re fuckin soaked, don’t think you need any prep,” Jeff grunted. He grabbed his shaft, rubbing it up and down your folds. “Besides princess you better get used to taking this dick, since you’ll be taking it for the rest of your life,” He spat, shoving himself inside of you harshly. You had taken Jeff dozens of times before. But this. Something about the way he was fucking you now obliterated all of those previous experiences. He showed no mercy as he bottomed out inside of you, taking a brief moment to relish in the feeling of your walls clinging to him. “You’re insane, you know that?” He asked. You giggled at his comment, watching him pin your wrist above your head. “I’m insane? You’re one to talk,” You countered.

This earned you a sharp slap across the face, causing you to whine as Jeff moved his hips. “Dont talk back to me slut,” He barked. He didn’t give you time to process his response, his hips aggressively snapping into yours. All thoughts about the gruesome scene behind the two of you had faded, the only thing you were able to focus on being one another. Jeff’s thrust were harsh and unforgiving. You wanted him forever? Wanted to be his girl? Then you better buckle up and bow down to who you belonged to. You whined as the knot inside of your stomach tightened further, his cock abusing your g spot. “You take me so nice. Shit, maybe you really were made for me,” Jeff grunted. You smeared Stella’s blood on his face with your hands, cupping them against his cheeks. The crimson paint stained his pure white skin, the blood of his ex lover unfazing him as he rammed into you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trapping him as if he came closer to his high. “Go on Jeff, cum in me. I’m all yours,” You pleaded. Your begging made him lick his lips, his permanent grin curling upwards into a real one. “You sick bitch. I’ll give you what you deserve,” He snarled. He watched you slither a hand to your clit, both of you close to your highs. As euphoria washed over you it occurred to you this is all you ever really wanted. Him to be yours. With his cum flooding your cunt and filling you to the brim, you realized you got what you wanted.

[deluluonmyback]

impulsivity in bpd can be cutting and dyeing your hair, but it’s also frying and destroying your hair to a point where it’s completely ruined and you’re self conscious of it everyday.

impulsivity in bpd can be having an attitude and saying some petty things to people, but it’s also ruining every good friendship and relationship you’ve ever had and you can’t stop yourself from sabotaging everything, so you end up alone in a deep pit.

impulsivity in bpd can be having some drinks, doing dr*gs, or having a lot of meaningless sex. but it’s also relying on drinking and dr*gs so much that you’re completely off your face all time and it ruins your image and every aspect of your life. and it’s also no one wanting a relationship with you because you “sleep around” or “probably have an std”.

impulsivity in bpd can be browsing an fps facebook. but it’s also stalking their every move online and their every step in the real world constantly because you need them so bad. you can’t live without knowing if they’re okay, knowing what they’re doing, knowing if they’re leaving you for someone else, etc.

the list goes on. us borderlines post a lot of shit about bpd, and in my personal case, laughing it off and sharing it to others makes me feel a bit better and i know that it makes others feel less alone knowing that other people are doing the same horrendous shit. but stop romanticising being obsessive, quirky, impulsive, and having an attitude. it’s fucking painful. the emotional aspect is PHYSICALLY painful. watching the world crumble around us because most of us can’t fucking stop ourselves is painful. the withdrawals from substances, s/h, etc because we are so prone to addiction is PAINFUL. i’m all for supporting our fellow borderlines and cluster b peoples, but STOP self diagnosing to be “trendy”. i’m not on about self diagnosing, etc if you’re certain and it means you’re getting the support that you absolutely need. everyone is deserving of help, whether healthcare wants to agree or not, EVERYONE deserves the help they need. but stop trying to make bpd sound fun. being euphoric is fun, the rest of it IS NOT. ITS FUCKING PAINFUL. thank u bye 💕

(ps. i hate making rant posts about this, but seeing people act like bpd is a “fun choice” in life pisses me the fuck off, every day is just pure fucking suffering. the people romanticising and hyping this shit up are the same people who will talk shit about any cluster b who is showing symptoms or having one hell of an episode. but this NEEDS to be out there x)

(edit: the amount of support i’ve had on this is unreal 😭❤️ i tried to word this the best i can but when i have a lot to say it often comes out making no fucking sense at all or something comes off the wrong way. i saw someone reply about the yanderes shit. I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN. i don’t know why the fuck people fetishise it, it makes me feel disgusting to have an fp even if i’m keeping as far away from them as possible. and also the “euphoric is fun”, i still do a lot of embarrassing and over the top shit when i’m euphoric that i regret. but in the moment, the happiness i feel i just embrace now because it’s not been often that i ever get to feel like that. thank you so much for the likes and reblogs, i really hope this post has helped y’all. I LOVE YOU ALL ❤️)

[dumbseee]

stalker. pt.3.

masterlist.

charles leclerc x reader. / carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: lalisa manoban.

note: should i make this a serie? idk i’m having too much fun writing this and you guys like it too (thanks for all the comments <333) BUT idk if it should be a serie (maybe 5 or 10 parts?) or if i should stop here.

you were sitting next to lily and kika when you saw the crash on the big screen. you felt your chest tighten when you saw carlos’s car spin and finish the race in the barriers followed by a violent sound. you didn’t know at the time that it was charles’s fault. you just hoped that carlos was fine, you finally let out a sigh of relief when you saw your boyfriend get out of the car, safely, he waved at the crowd to confirm that he was okay despite the accident. but when the big screen replayed carlos’s crash you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you saw who caused it.

"am i dreaming or does it look like charles did it on purpose?" kika asked, slowly, scared of your reaction. you nodded, eyes still glued to the screen. when you finally looked down you saw charles’s girlfriend looking straight at you, you sighed once again and stood up. "i have to go see if he’s okay." you smiled at your friends and left the area. of course, someone was following you and you knew exactly who it was. you finally turned around to face her, your sudden move startled her.

"what do you want?" you asked, coldly. "are you going to see charles?" she asked, smiling at you in a weird way. you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "charles is still in his car, racing, are you stupid? and even if he was in the garage, you’d have to pay me a million dollars to go see him." she laughed and took a step towards you. "you still want him, admit it. fucking with carlos is just a way to get to him and steal him away from me." she said, you frowned and took a step back. that girl was insane. "steal him from you? girl are you for real? he was dating me in the first place, you stole him from me." you responded, pointing at yourself. "but you can have him, now that i have carlos i realise that i wasn’t really satisfied with charles, and i mean it in every ways possible, if you know what i mean." you winked at her before leaving.

seriously charles cheated on you with that weirdo? that guy sure had weird taste in women. but he wasn’t your main worry now, you needed to see carlos, you were still worried sick even if he seemed to be fine.

"oh, y/n you’re here!" you recognised his cousin, he looked distressed, you gave him a quick hug before he took you to see carlos. "he’s fine but he’s been calling out for you, he’s very mad and don’t want to see anyone else but you." you nodded and knocked on the door, you heard a "no quiero ver a nadie" which made you enter anyway. once inside, you saw how he basically destroyed his driver’s room, his back was facing you but you could tell how angry he was. "i said, i don’t want to-…" seeing your face calmed him down instantly. "it’s you." he immediately took you in his arms and hugged you tightly. you smiled against him and ran your hand in his hair. "you did great." you said. "yes, but thanks to this dickhead i’m out!" he took a step away from you, and started pacing in the room.

"he can’t blame me for falling in love with you! i was interested in you even before you guys met! i was planning on asking you out but then charles told me that you’d never be interested in me because you were already interested in him and you hated guys like me. i hate him so fucking much ! hijo de puta, que le pasa? ¿se supone que debo ser su compañero de equipo y él me empujó así-" he kept rambling in spanish, which you didn’t understand. you stopped listening when he said that he was interested in you from the beginning. "you liked me from all this time?" you asked, a small smile on your lips. he stopped his movements and understood that he talked too much. he closed his eyes and rubbed his neck, nervously. "y-yeah, i mean, who wouldn’t? you’re kind, funny, passionate about the things you love, you’re a good listener too, you’re loyal and literally perfect. but you seemed happy with charles so i decided to do my best to forget about you, but i failed. the feelings i had for you stayed with me forever." you couldn’t stop yourself from jumping in his arms to kiss him.

he saved you from your darkest days, and now you learned that he liked you from the beginning. carlos sainz was truly your soulmate.

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, lilymhe and 866 029 others.

y/n: enjoying some free time with my favourite person on earth <3

_

carlossainz55: ♥️

lilymhe: excuse me? i thought I was your favourite person :(

y/n: ofc you are too! ily

alex_albon: here i am third wheeling AGAIN

fan1: they’re so cute together seriously

fan2: never thought about this combination but they sure look good together

fan3: pls take care of her carlos :(

fan4: haha charles got betrayed by his own teammate, the rest of the season is going to be funny

fan5: she’s so pretty no wonder the whole paddock wants her even the gfs

fan6: she’s such a homie hopper, who’s going to be next? i bet on lewis or lando

youbestie: @.fan6 keep my girl’s name out your dirty stupid mouth before i find your address and come kick your balls

view all 17 670 comments.

y/n just posed a story!

tagged: @.carlossainz55

caption: alexa play thank u, next by ariana grande.

taglist: @thecubanator2 @sainzluvrr @millyswife @dhhdhsiavdhaj @agustdxjiminx @haydee5010 @gaslysainz @sadfalls

[damn-stark]

Chapter 14 Autumn sadness

Chapter 14 of Moonlight

A/N- Aemond stop being horny for your wife challenge (Impossible)

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, Aegon!, mentions of sexual harassment, angst, fluff, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x04

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Here again?” You query while you shade your eyes from the luminous sun starting to peek over the roof of the Dragonpit. “Another rendezvous?” You smile.

Aemond looks away from Aerion in his arms and shakes his head. “No, it’s something else.”

You squint your eyes and probe for more. “Like?”

Before Aemond can answer a Kingsguard shouting catches your attention. “Stand back!”

You look over and notice some Smallfolk trying to approach the stairs in an attempt to reach you. “Princess!”

“Princess!”

“Over here!”

Unlike before this time the calls aren’t born from admiration and excitement, you can hear the desperation in their voice as they try and steal your attention. You can see the plea for help in their eyes, the helplessness, and the hunger.

“Bring us some food, please!”

Your help wasn’t widespread, you would feed and give money to those few people you came across. You were never allowed to do more than that, but your charity is well known now that they’re looking for any kind of help. Anything that can feed their growling stomachs, and needing children.

“<I told you,” Aemond remarks in High Valyrian. “Feed one stray dog and others won’t fail to follow to beg too.>”

You glance at him with a disturbed look before you take a look at all the people you can’t help when they need you the most. You have money, but what good is that when there’s hardly any food for them to buy? All you can do is offer them an apologetic look before you ignore them and drive your attention to this early morning adventure Aemond has yet to explain.

“So are you going to tell me why we’re here?” You pressure him to fill your curiosity.

Yet he just smirks at you, making you roll your eyes and focus on the building holding sacred power just under its surface.

Which is pretty unbelievable! These powerful dragons your family can ride, that you can use to burn down towns and people to ash are kept in chains under a stone building that they can easily destroy, or that can also easily be their death.

It’s crazy to think about, but it’s true isn't it? If your mother decided to come in secret with all the dragons at her side they could attack the Dragonpit, and the rubble could be the dragon's death. Your dragon's death…

Thinking of Astraea dying is worse than thinking of someone you love dying. You’ve known your dragon since you were a babe, literally, she hatched when you were only a few months old, and you haven't been apart a moment since then. She's your soulmate. Losing her would be like losing yourself.

But your mother wouldn’t be so desperate as to attack the Dragonpit and kill the power of your house, they’re sacred, powerful, and majestic. Better than any army of men…

“I wish we had more family to ride dragons,” you express what springs to mind.

“What do you mean?” Aemond quickly follows up on your comment.

“Just that,” you counter with growing excitement as this idea keeps unfurling. “If we had more family we could trust, they could ride the other dragons that reside at Dragonstone. All who had riders in the past.”

Aemond gives you all his attention as his interest is completely stolen by what you’re trying to get at.

“There’s Vermithor,” you list the dragons that live in Dragonstone, on your fingers. “Silverwing, and…my father's dragon, Seasmoke.”

Thoughts turn behind Aemond’s eye before it all seems to come to a halt as he comes up with a conclusion. “We don’t need the other dragons, we have Vhagar.”

You scoff and get closer to him to argue for a sole worry, his safety. “Yes, but Vhagar and Sunfyre alone won’t win against my mother's dragons. They have 5 to your two, or three if you count me,” you add.

“There’s Tessarion,” he brings up the forgotten son, making you quickly brush him off.

“Still not enough, he’s young—Do you want to know what Daemon wanted to do when he found out Aegon was crowned?” You share with a bit of desperation, which is why you don’t let him answer. “He wanted to attack King’s Landing with all the dragons. Tell me if Vhagar would’ve survived that?”

Aemond looks ahead and answers with silence because he knows you’re right. He doesn’t want to admit that though, so instead he deflects with a question that he’s been wondering about since the war started. “Would you have attacked me with them?”

There’s nothing to think about, you know this answer as clear as day. “No,” you admit confidently. “I wasn’t mad at you then. I told you…I missed you.”

Aemond’s guard falls, and his eye falls on Aerion before he looks back at you with his eye reflecting the sun's beams peeking over the roof.

“You know,” you finally have a chance to admit something you haven’t talked about, and something he hasn’t asked out of fear of what you’d say? Who knows.

“If I knew what Daemon wanted to do I…don’t think I would have let him go through with it. Even if I thought I hated you at the time.” You swallow thickly and a breath escapes past his lips, making him collect himself to finally dig into this matter that has been running in his head.

“Where were you?” He asks.

You sigh and briefly steal a glance at the approaching entrance. “We were in the North,” you say quietly. “When we arrived at Dragonstone Daemon was not there anymore. I didn’t even know about his plan until the next day after I returned from Driftmark. And when I did find out,” you pause and sigh deeply before you meet his curious eye as he waits for more.

“Before Jacaerys could finish telling me what actually happened I was struck with fear…my world went dark when I thought you were killed,” you admit and feel yourself grow flustered as he keeps his eye on you. “And then when Jacaerys finished telling me the news I was horrified. You believe me right? I would never have let Daemon kill Jaehaerys.”

Panicked tears well in your eyes and he quickly assures you.

“I know.”

You nod in comprehension and breathe out that slight panic that just rattled you. “Anyway,” you continue with what you started with. “I couldn’t fathom you being killed, so it’s lucky that you were gone,” you feign a laugh. “I mean I’m not glad where you were, but it saved you so.”

Aemond comes to a stop, and you climb to the top before you stop and face him with a quizzical brow.

“I was not at the brothel because I sought lust,” he says again to get it through your mind and heart, but this time he adds something else that makes your heart skip a beat. “I did not think you would return home, I needed to talk to someone.”

A smile slowly spreads on your lips and you climb down to be in front of him before you assure him of one thing. “We would have found our way to each other eventually. I believe that. We’re one heart, one soul, one flesh. We literally drank each other's blood.”

He scoffs softly and you grin, making bliss glimmer in his eye and pull a soft smile to his own lips before he reaches over to cup your cheek and gently stroke your flesh.

You swoon at the touch and can’t help but reach over to grab his hand and hold his warmth.

There’s so much both of you can say on the aspect, you can reminisce about the past when getting married was a prospect that excited you both, and that you wanted more than anything. You could admit that fear is something you don’t feel when he’s close, but it is something he does feel because of the love he harbors for you. Yet neither of you says anything.

Your love is shared through the windows of your soul, right there on top of the steps, under the soft morning sky, with your son as a witness. Actually, he’s the one who interrupts the moment when he notices you just a hair's breadth away by reaching for your cheek with his little hand to try and grab you the same way Aemond was grabbing you.

When Aemond and you notice, you both share a laugh.

“<Beautiful, huh?>” Aemond directs at Aerion with a proud smile, making you giggle before you fall by Aemond’s side and hook your arm around his.

“Now,” you move this moment along by making him continue forward, and by moving on with this conversation. “Will you tell me why we’re here with our son?”

The corner of his lips tug up and he looks at you with a mischievous look that intrigues you.

“Spill,” you encourage him.

“Shrykos, the dragon egg chosen for Jaehaerys hatched the other day,” Aemond reveals, making your lips part with surprise—“I wanted to bring Aerion in hopes they will bond.”

You blink in surprise, but that quickly transforms into nothing but worry that knits your eyebrows and pushes you to share your concern. “But won’t Aegon be mad that you’re trying to bond Aerion to Shrykos?”

Aemond scoffs. “Why should he?” He retorts as walks you inside the dimmed arena. “Shrykos is free to claim now. It doesn’t belong to him.”

Is that what he said about Vhagar too?

“Hm, I suppose you’re right, but Aerion is still a babe,” you express more building-up worry. “He can’t defend himself if it doesn’t work.”

“I will have my blade ready,” Aemond makes sure to quickly assure you, but nothing he says actually gets rid of that feeling weighing down on you. Especially not when you reach the hall where the hatchlings and eggs are kept. It starts to feel like you’re lacking fresh air to breathe.

If anything happens to Aerion you’ll go mad.

“Aemond,” you try to express your worry, but he turns to assure you again.

“It will be fine, the keepers are here, and I have my hand on my pommel. I won’t let anything happen to our son.”

You hold his gaze to take more of that reassurance you need before you approach the stone table where Aemond sits Aerion, and where they have Shrykos’ carrier.

“<Since the one trying to bond is a babe, there won’t be commands, we will have to trust they communicate from within, the way you also communicate with your dragons.>” One of the keepers explains, making you clench your fists before you press your hands on the table to be ready to snatch Aerion if it all goes wrong.

“<Ready?>” The second keeper asks and looks between Aemond and you, making you and Aemond share a short speechless look before he answers with a nod.

The keeper then unties the crate's latch and lets a small swamp-green hatchling slowly crawl out of the darkness of her crate.

At first, it seems too timid to fully leave its crate, it stands there and tilts its little green head while her orange eyes focus on Aerion directly ahead of him.

Aemond and you share a curious look that's also mixed with worry that steals more of your breaths, and triggers your heart to race; causing the blood in your veins to pump rapidly, whilst also making your hands tremble.

Aemond notices your fear taking over, he senses it too because he feels concerned too, so he reaches over and wraps his hand around yours, letting a deep breath escape through your nose, and making your racing heart find some ease.

Yet not enough, it still thumps as you watch the hatchling completely leave her crate with her eyes locked on Aerion. All the while your babe glances over at you with no idea what’s going on; he doesn’t seem to be scared, he just steals a glimpse at Aemond and you before he returns his attention to the dragon and tries to reach for it.

Shrykos seems curious by Aerion’s movements so she crawls forward without that initial timidness that held her back before. She comes to a stop in front of Aerion and tilts her head to the side to look at him.

Aemond lets your hand go and uses both hands to hold his blade's handle and pull half of it out of his sheath. You lift your hands off the table and leave them out to be ready.

Aerion coos and leans forward to try and get a hold of the dragon, seeming to attract Shrykos to Aerion’s legs. That's when the babe finally brushes his little fingers over the dragon's head and smiles.

Shrykos blinks and her pupils seem to dilate before she coos back and suddenly climbs on Aerion to wrap itself around his shoulders and nuzzle her head against his cheek, making Aerion squeal.

You gasp and turn to look at Aemond at the same time he turns to look at you. Nothing is shared at first, but when you grasp that Aerion bonded with Shrykos you both share a proud smile.

“<It's done,” one of the keepers confirms what you concluded. “They are now bonded.>”

All the tension escapes you and you can’t help but grin and hug Aemond’s arm before he reaches over and takes Aerion in his arms with a proud grin on his long face.

“Good job, my boy,” you coo at Aerion as you stroke his cheek, but the boy is too focused on his dragon to pay any attention to you.

“Now no one will look down on you, my boy,” Aemond whispers to Aerion before he presses a kiss on the side of his head.

Your gaze drifts to look at Aemond as you take in what he said, as you detect the hurt in his voice brought by his childhood trauma when he was dragonless and picked on for that reason alone.

“We would never have let that happen if this hadn’t worked,” you tell Aerion whilst you also reassure Aemond. “And if they tried I would have protected you like I protected your father.”

Aemond hums and leans over to press a kiss on the top of your head.

“What time is the council meeting?” You ask him as you grab his arm.

“Not until noon,” he says. “Why?”

You offer him a mischievous smile and even if you know that he takes his responsibilities seriously and that the war outside this city's gates brings a tension within the Red Keep that takes a grip around everyone's throats, what’s wrong with a little escape? What’s wrong with getting carried away in the joy and pride that is brought by Aerion bonding with a dragon?

You aren’t making him abandon his responsibilities, you’re just asking for a little escape. And surprisingly he accepts your proposal and lets you take Astraea out so you both can mount your dragons and take them to the skies with Shrykos mounted on Aemond’s shoulder since her wings are still delicate to fly long distances, and she wants to be close to Aerion, who is strapped to Aemond’s chest.

It’s true, perhaps being on dragonback out of enjoyment is insensitive, tragedy has struck the kingdoms and you are royalty. Perhaps it’s also reckless considering the blockade that doesn’t stand too far away, and maybe it’s also a bit irresponsible. There are other moments and places to take time for yourselves where there aren’t millions of desperate souls watching, but neither Aemond nor you care. What other people might think doesn’t cross your mind.

All that exists is each other upon the skies; feeling the cold sea water splash over your face as Astraea grazes the tip of her wing in the water as she flies within Vhagar’s shadow. After a moment she straightens out and flaps her wings to fly forward. When she's past Vhagar, Astraea tilts up before she spins upward to reach Vhagar’s level and cut her off.

You chuckle and it's soon carried away by the rushing breeze, but your beaming smile is something that can’t be blown away, just like the bliss that completely fills your heart. It’s actually a contagious thing, your bliss. It’s a wonder that heightens Aemond’s own happiness the moment you beam at him over your shoulder.

Now he isn’t as expressive as you, that’s something that’s always been true. You have always been the one that shines the most and it’s something that never bugged him, not then and not now. He does get bothered when other people stare too long in awe at you, but that’s only because they might try taking you away from him, that’s it. He’d never try and diminish your light, and he’s glad it hasn’t snuffed out after what he did.

He fears that this war will diminish you, but even then that wouldn’t matter, he’d still look at you with the same admiration. He’d just have to work to revive that divine light; even if his presence alone is a spark of life itself. As long as you have him close, as long as he’s alive, that luminous light that he sees but you don’t, will never die.

Doesn’t he know that he’s like the moon and stars that you cherish with your heart? He’s cool like the moon in the night sky. And like the moon and the stars, it’s impossible not to admire and love him when he’s not looking or even when his attention is focused on you, like now. He looks at you with that cool blue eye that glimmers under the sun's kiss, and you just get lost on his face not tense with trying to look intimidating; he's smiling softly without stress, his long hair is flowing back, and he’s nothing but playful in this stolen moment as you fly next to each other in understanding that whoever lands on the empty patch of land first is the winner.

However, the winner is an easy guess. It’s you and Astraea. He may have cheated by taking a shortcut, but Astraea is faster since she isn’t as old or gigantic.

Your dragon actually ends up swooping around Vhagar and Aemond, and neither of you loses eye contact, causing a tense need for each other to burn hot and only escalate when you’re on the ground with your back pressed against his chest, his lips brushing over your ear, his breaths unfurling over the goosebumps on your skin, and his hand over yours as he shows you how to practice a certain action.

“Okay, I got it. Let me do it,” you whisper and slide your feet back to your usual fighting stance; something which makes him push your feet back to the way he’s been teaching you.

“Why do you keep standing like that?” He queries.

You glance down at your stance and realize that it’s the way Cregan stands with his sword.

“When you watch different fights you pick up on different things,” you throw out as an excuse which is actually kind of true. There’s been so many others you have taken notes on so you have grasped different techniques.

“I can still kick your ass,” you tease and he huffs softly, so you show off by swiftly managing to push him back with your elbow. You then swiftly spin around and flip the sword in your hand to point the tip to his throat. In the exact same way, you saw him do it once.

“Your own move on you, my love,” you taunt with a wink.

Aemond’s eye falls on the sword before he meets your gaze and can’t help but smirk.

“You caught me off guard,” he points out, making you snort and nod.

“That’s the trick to winning isn’t it?” You tease him and start to lower the sword, leaving him the opportunity to lunge forward and capture your wrist to twist you around and yank you against him with your back pressed against his chest again.

“No fair,” you complain in a whisper as he slides his hand down to cup your hand and press it gently so you can let his sword go and be left unarmed.

“That was not right,” you add and let out a punctured breath as he drags his other hand around your torso, letting his fingers brush over the flesh your gown leaves exposed.

“I really like this gown,” he whispers against the shell of your ear and feels his way all over your body covered by the sea-green gown you wear, making you shiver and draw in the same deep breath he stole.

“You’re distracting me,” you don’t actually mean a word you say, you want him to keep touching you with those firm yet gentle touches that light your skin on fire.

“A warrior doesn’t get distracted,” he rebuttals.

You laugh breathlessly and tilt your head to the side to let his lips touch your cheek because you’re starting to ache for his mouth to be on yours, but don’t want to move away from his touch.

“This is not fair,” you keep saying and he lowers his head to press his nose against your neck and take in a deep breath of your sweet scent.

“I hate when you do that,” you murmur without actual meaning and bring one hand down to wrap it around the hand he has around you and slide it down to your hips, causing him to grip onto you with a mischievous grin.

“Aemond,” you coo out and turn your head, making your lips touch and driving you to insanity. You can’t hold back anymore, you turn around to meet his hungry eyes before you glance at his inviting lips and indulge your desire for a heated moment. You don't linger too long, you pull back rather quickly, leaving a string of saliva that connects you both until he leans in and presses a gentle peck on your lips.

“You remember what I have to do today,” he brings up.

You sigh and nod stiffly. “Yes,” you say back and pull back to meet his gaze. “I was hoping I could leave Astraea out to just protect the city while you and Vhagar are gone. I will feel better knowing she’s out on the ready.”

Aemond holds your gaze and you plead speechlessly and hope desperately.

“In truth, I would feel better if she was out too,” he says, letting you let out a relieved sigh. “I will tell Aegon, but leave her out regardless.”

Now you can send your mother her warning without risking you or anyone else.

No one will keep track of Astraea's whereabouts, and if they ask where she is you will say she’s hunting for her meal. She likes to eat fish after all.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a sweet smile.

He hums and presses a kiss on your cheek before you part away, and both speechlessly decide that you should head back to the Red Keep now.

Nevertheless, when you go to Aerion you find him asleep with his arm around Shrykos neck as she too is lost in deep slumber.

“Oh my,” you muse and touch your heart as it completely melts inside you at such a precious sight. “Look, Aemond.”

Said man sheaths his sword that was left on the ground and then walks to you. When he’s behind you also watching what you’re watching, you look back at him with a wobbly smile and happy tears in your eyes, catching him smile in awe and pride because now he doesn’t have to worry about his son getting bullied the same way he was because he didn’t have a dragon.

——

*LATER*

It’s never hard being quiet when you’re sneaking through the secret tunnels. You always make sure to take your shoes off so the heels don’t reveal your presence, while any jewelry that dangles and makes noise is tucked away. That’s easy to control, but natural occurrences like coughing or sneezing are always an aspect that terrifies you.

You'd be caught right away and there would be no excuse that could save you from any consequences.

It’s not to say you feel any urge to cough or sneeze, but it crosses your mind as you approach the window and listen to the council meeting.

“Fuck you,” is the first thing you hear Aegon spat. Graceful. “I told you we should’ve sent our dragons. And now look what’s happened. Daemon, of all people, has taken Harrenhal.”

Does he mean that in a good or bad way? Because if it’s bad then maybe he needs to really reveulate his uncle's capabilities. Not to toot Daemon's horn, but he did win the battle at the Stepstones, he knows more about war than Aegon does. It should not be surprising that Daemon took Harrenhal. He should be surprised that he has no army to defend his stance there.

“I give you a job, and now you just sit there,” Aegon’s voice rises with his frustration. “It's your fucking castle!”

“Well, that castle is more crippled than I am, Your Grace,” you hear Lord Larys defend himself, making Aegon scoff— “It’s like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It’s also penniless,” he adds to try and reassure Aegon. “As I happily control all of its gold. So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon’s resolve, the false Queen remains trapped on her Island and Ser Criston continues felling castles in the Crownlands.”

“Wh—” Aegon stammers whilst you hear his feet stomp about the room. “I need to be informed of these things if I’m to make informed rulings. I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies.”

“Harrenhal must wait,” Aemond interjects, causing a breath to escape past your lips. “Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest.”

So he’s finally telling them.

“Rook’s Rest—a pathetic prize,” Aegon stammers. “I gave no such command—”

“The castle is small,” Aemond cuts Aegon off as you hear a chair creak before you recognize your husband's footsteps strike the floor. “Weakly defended and Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council. After Cole smashes it, we’ll have Dragonstone effectively cut off by land. This war will not be won with dragons alone but with dragons flying behind armies of men.”

And that is why Aemond and Ser Criston have been secretly planning because Aemond is obviously the most strategic. Sure, his plans don’t favor your family, but you can still be proud that you married someone smart right?

“No! Have him turn about,” Aegon wastes his breath. “I want Harrenhal back.”

Aemond’s footsteps once again hit the ground and you imagine he’s returning to his seat while he responds. “Cole is already preparing his attack.”

Which is why after Aemond leaves you have to send word to your mother.

“Uh, how-how do you know this?” Aegon demands to know in a more perplexed way than upset.

“He sent word to me,” Aemond reveals half the truth as you hear him sit back down.

“To you?” Aegon asks, and you can’t help but detect a bit of hurt. “The two of you have been…plotting…without my authority?”

A second of silence passes before you hear Aemond fill the hall in Valyrian. “<You had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as holding court, choosing your sobriquet, and naming imbecilic lickspittles to our Kingsguard.>”

You can’t help but smirk at Aemond’s counter, knowing damn well that Aegon is only understanding part of that.

“Mm,” Aemond hums before he goes on as if trying to make Aegon look a fool. “<Do you have a wiser strategy, my King?>”

Oh, that rolls off his tongue so smoothly that it makes you tingle.

<If so, you should voice it to your council. We all wait your answer,>” Aemond finishes saying, making that smirk on your own face deepen, while a pride grows within you and grows exponentially as Aegon takes a moment to answer.

“<I can have to…” he responds in High Valyrian hesitantly. “Make a…war?>”

You cover your mouth to stifle your laugh.

Please! His own daughter probably knows more Valyrian than he does!

What a joke.

“Mm,” Aemond hums back, causing people around the table to clear their throats in response to Aegon’s failed attempt.

“Harrenhal is a useful morass,” Aemond continues in the common tongue. “It will keep Daemon well-occupied while we strengthen our host and weaken Rhaenyra’s support on the mainland. We will deal with it in the Riverlands in time. But right now. Rook’s Rest is an easy target and a worthy effort. Don't you agree, my King?”

You lean your ear towards the window and wait for him to agree. What else can he say? He had no other plan up his sleeve that could actually rebuttal Aemond’s plan, so all he can do is agree to that plan, and Aemond’s plan to go with Vhagar too.

Maybe this will teach him to be more strategic so he doesn’t get made a fool again, which is a bit pitiful, you do admit. If he were anyone else you would feel bad that his brother keeps upstaging him and planning behind his back, but he’s Aegon. You don’t feel pity or remorse, especially not after the way he treated Aemond not long ago in that brothel. Just like your husband, you relish in his torment.

If only you could witness more, yet Aemond is left satisfied and you depart from the shadows to return to your chambers before the meeting is done and Aemond accidentally discovers you.

And leaving at the time you did ends up being a lucky choice because the moment you sit down with your book, and pretend that's what you were doing, Aemond walks in.

“My love,” he greets and marches over to grab his sword right away before he finds his way to you on the ground keeping Aerion company.

“How was it?” You pretend to be clueless.

“As you would expect,” Aemond shares and crouches down to give Aerion some attention as the boy spends time on his tummy. “Aegon is fruitless when it comes to war, he’s bloodthirsty, thinking boldness is the better option. He’ll have all our dragons killed if we act out his plans.”

You close the book and tilt your head up to look at him. “Which is why it’s a good thing you sit at his table. How did he take the news?”

Aemond scoffs and a sly smirk plays on his lips. “What do you think?”

You sigh and guess. “Whiny and offended.”

Aemond nods before he snickers. “He tried speaking Valyrian, but he butchered it. He couldn’t even form a sentence.”

You laugh softly, but not as much as you would want knowing the actual context. Then again not like it matters because your amusement is quickly killed because you know you can’t escape the inevitable.

“Will you stay for dinner at least?” You try to make him linger behind.

Aemond lifts his eye off Aerion and catches the gloss in your eye that accompanies your speechless pleas, so he looks back at his son and gives you his answer. “I have indulged in my pleasures today. Rhaenyra might have already heard about our approach and may attack soon, I cannot risk leaving Cole defenseless.”

Your eyes flicker down and you sigh deeply with worry, pulling Aemond to his feet, and attaining his gaze that attracts you to look up and meet his gaze before you listen to your impulse and follow him up.

“I will return,” he reassures the worry creasing a frown on your features. “Sooner than you think.”

You close the empty space left between you and gently place your hands on his chest before you slowly trail them up his shoulders and bring them to a stop on his jaw, noting his armorless body left vulnerable to any deadly attack.

“I wish you would armor,” you express your concern.

Aemond’s gaze hardens and he grabs your elbow to remark. “Do you doubt me? Why is it that you never seem to trust my capabilities? I am met with doubt every time.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and your eyes harden as you’re confused by this outburst, but just as you want to argue, your anger fades when you realize that he doesn’t really understand where your doubt is coming from. So you sigh softly and look at him with a softening gaze that fills with admiration, and brings a teasing smile to your face.

“No matter how many times I tell you, you still don’t understand,” you quip and bring your hand down to smack his shoulder. “You may be smart with war plans, but there is something you do not seem to understand.” You scoff and your smile widens as your eyes perk up with bliss. “I do not doubt your skill Aemond, not on dragonback and not with a sword, I worry. It’s concern that I share because I love you.”

Aemond holds your gaze for a moment before he looks down as he loses that hardened demeanor brought by self-defense, and instead grows flustered.

“I do not wish to have your corpse returned to me,” you continue softly and try to find his eyes. “Vhagar may be the biggest dragon, she may have more battle experience than any other dragon, but she nor you are invincible. It takes one arrow, Aemond, raging fire, or a lucky bite from the other dragon's jaw and I am left a widow. Do you understand that?” You push your love into his heart, making him express nothing but love and awe in return as he finally lets you find his gaze.

“I just would feel more comforted if I knew something protected your face and your body. That’s all.” You say and slide your hand up to cup his cheek.

This time Aemond moves his hand up to meet yours so you can keep it pressed against his cheek and he can take in all the comfort you offer, while also making sure to stroke your knuckles with his thumb.

“I will be careful,” he assures you. “I won’t fall today. Nor tomorrow for that matter.”

You scoff in amusement and pull his face closer to you. “I need you to come back,” you express what torments your heart. “To me. I…can’t do this without you.”

Aemond’s breath catches and after a second he drags his hand up your arm while also raising the other one to grab your face with both and reassure you sweetly. “I will be well protected with Vhagar, I will return. I will be okay and I do not need armor to assure me of that. I will come back.”

Your breath trembles and you nod softly before you lean in and share your love with a deep kiss you linger in to keep him with you a bit longer, while also hoping that a deep kiss will convince him to stay. Yet he begins to part away.

But before your lips can be greeted with a cold abandonment he takes you in for a second kiss that’s shorter, but surpasses the passion that already fueled your first kiss.

Unfortunately, there’s no third indulgence, you do stay close and press your forehead against his to linger in each other's presence for a moment longer. Not letting anything penetrate this moment in time where all that exists is each other, your intertwined hearts, and your interconnected souls.

“I love you,” you break the silence after a while and caress his cheeks.

Aemond presses a kiss on the heel of your hand and whispers back. “I love you too. Come see me off?”

You scoff at the ridiculousness of his question. “Of course.”

After getting the last things he needs, and after bidding goodbye to Aerion, you walk with him all the way to the last gate, but no further because he doesn’t want you returning to the Red Keep alone.

“Astraea is allowed to roam the skies as freely as she wants while Vhagar and I are gone,” Aemond lets you know and unknowingly connects the missing link you had to help your mother. “If you mount her, don't approach the blockade or do anything reckless.”

“Reckless?” You feign innocence and touch your chest. “Me? Never.”

His lips tug to a smile before he goes serious and presses that. “I am being serious.”

You offer him an assuring nod and whisper. “I know. I will stay out of trouble.”

He hums and before he can leave, you reach for your neck to take off your necklace that holds the sigil of both of your houses, Velaryon and Targaryen. “I do want this back, it’s my favorite,” you say and grab his hand to give him your pendant. “For luck.”

“Your favor?” He teases with a smug smile.

You hum timidly and watch him snatch your hand before all he has is your haunting touches, and slowly brings it up to his thin pink lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles, causing your heart to skip a beat and a giggle to escape past your lips.

“Everything will be fine,” he adds in his soft voice that works like a trance. It keeps you under its spell now, but you know later it will wear off and your concern will drown you again.

“<Be careful,>” you tell him one more time, but this time you pass him a confident look also oozing with pride.

Aemond steals one more touch from your warm cheeks before leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours to steal one last sweet moment before he steps back and stands tall to show off the intimidating persona he’s built over the years, but never scares you. You see his confidence and his determination, but he does not intimidate you.

“<Goodbye, my love.>” He bids.

You offer him a last smile and whisper back so only he can hear. “Goodbye.”

You wave at him and linger where he left you behind to watch him get further and further away until not even his long shiny silver-white hair is visible. Now when you're sure that he won’t walk back for something he forgot you turn to head back inside, but the moment you do face the Redkeep, you catch Aegon looking out one of the windows of a high tower.

His eyes are unmistakably on you, letting you know he saw your last goodbye with his brother.

Was it with envy? Annoyance? Anger?

You don’t know, you can’t see the expression that paints his features from where you stand. Besides, when your eyes meet he turns away and abandons the window, letting you head inside.

At first, you walk at a normal pace, but when you’re inside you hurry back to your room to write that warning to your mother in High Valyrian so there’s less of a risk of someone unwanted reading your note. Which is unlikely because Astraea will carry your letter, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

“<Ser Criston Cole is preparing his attack on Rook’s Rest. Vhagar and Aemond will be there too in hopes of catching one of your dragons by surprise, which means he will be leaving the city defenseless for today and tomorrow. I will write more soon.>

You don’t sign your name, nor do you address it to anyone out of caution. You keep the letter short even if you wish to write more. And before anyone can interrupt you, you rush off using the tunnels so no one can stop you, or see you and report your comings and goings to anyone who shouldn’t know.

Once you make it out to the cove behind the castle, your dragon is already waiting for you.

“<Good girl,>” you praise her and caress her snout. “<Now go to Dragonstone and deliver this message. Be careful.>”

Astraea brings her head down to let you attach the note to one of her long horns.

“<Now go,>”, you tell her and press your forehead against her before you step away and watch her fly off to Dragonstone, wishing that there wasn’t a raging war happening so you could go too without worry or fear.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“The powerful are powerless to someone aren’t they?” Helaena comments and leaves you pondering about the actual significance behind such a simple comment.

“Yes,” you muse and prop your elbows on the stone railing to rest your chin on your hands and admire the crimson blood that stands out like shining rubies on Astraea’s purple feet as her large claws puncture her prey while she drags their lifeless silver body with her.

You like to think that your family got your message, you went to see Astraea a few hours after she returned yesterday and neither the letter nor the ribbon was attached to her horn anymore. Do they have to send anything in return? No, but maybe they could send back a different colored ribbon or something small like a shell in your satchels hanging on her saddle. You looked and looked but it was all empty, so you were left hoping the letter did not fall in the water when she flew there.

You’ll have to let them know to send you some discreet message in return next time to let you know that they got your letter.

“Even the King's answer to someone…” you add to your forming thought. “They may be powerful, but that power can easily be taken by anyone really. They just need the right motivation.”

Helaena hums and her eyes then slide to watch you watching your dragon.

“How are you feeling Helaena?” You ask and turn your attention to her. “I haven’t asked today.”

“About?” She probes.

You push yourself up and carefully bring up what worries you about her. “Your boy. This war. You being Queen.”

Her chest raises high and when it goes back down she looks out at the horizon. “Well…being Queen comes with more attention, I can feel them all looking at me, waiting for me to do something. But I don’t want to. I don’t want them looking at me.”

“Hold your head up high,” you try to advise her sweetly. “Paint on a facade and they won’t really see you. Just worry about caring for your daughter, that’s all that matters.”

Helaena blinks and her eyes fall. You study her face closely to watch for any change in emotions, but she’s harder to read than her brothers, so you wait for her to give you her response.

“Alright.”

You offer her a kind smile and look back at the horizon past the window, coming out surprised when she continues to share what troubles her soul.

“And Jaehaerys,” she pauses and your eyes return to her. “My sadness isn’t as grand anymore. I miss him, but he’s not suffering anymore.”

You swallow back and can’t help but frown with pity and sorrow that you don’t hide so she knows it’s okay to be sad, that if she wants you can be sad with her.

Yet she puts on a brave face so all you can offer her is a faint smile.

“Daeron sent me a letter,” she shares with glee. “And he sent me a butterfly with it. It was dead of course, but I added it to my collection because I did not have it yet.”

“That’s nice of him. I would like to see it after we see the maester that is.”

She nods. “Of course.”

Silence follows but she doesn’t let it last. “Are you scared?” She asks back which is a general question, but you answer with what plagues you the most.

“Yes…I have a lot to lose,” you murmur and step back, making her wait for you to start walking forward to be able to follow at your side.

“But I know I must put my trust in them,” you add and fiddle with a starfish that decorates the golden chain around your waist. “They are strong in their way. I just…don’t want to lose anyone anymore. I don’t want to…end up alone.” Your voice breaks without warning.

“But,” Helaena’s parting lips echo down the lonely hall. “You won’t end alone.”

The corner of your lips form a quick smile and you can’t help but show it off to her. “I will have you that’s true—”

“No,” she cuts you off, and her eyebrows furrow as she seems to grow impatient. “But you won’t end up alone.”

Your smile disappears, and your anguish leaves with it, letting conflict push your eyebrows together, and part your lips as a small gasp leaves your mouth.

Helaena watches you and she can’t seem to get a hint of what you’re feeling, but her impatience to be heard gets lost.

“No?” You ask for reassurance even if a part of you warns you not to believe her simply out of self-protection, while the other part of you completely trusts what she just said.

“You,” she pauses and comes to a slow stop, making you stop, and bringing Ser Jason and her guards to a stop behind you. “You believe me?” She asks softly as she doesn’t see that same pitiful smile everyone offers her when she shares something ominous she needs them to understand.

“I believe you,” you throw all your trust in her and offer her a sweet smile.

Helaena’s gaze lingers on you as her thoughts swirl behind her eyes. “Okay,” she breathes out. “Thank you.”

You hum softly and continue down your path back to your chambers. “Why shouldn’t I? We are part of a special family, my favorite ancestor is Daenys the Dreamer, she’s the one who saved our house thanks to what she dreamt. And even still we follow the rule of men when it’s women who have saved us from doom.” You grumble and roll your eyes.

“Well, men—”

“No,” you cut her off and scold her. “Don't well men me. Women are just as capable as men. In ruling and combat if given the chance. And we are not afraid of blood…well some of us at least, because we bleed all the time. Do you see what I’m trying to get at?”

She shrugs lazily. “I suppose.”

You loll your head to the other side and click your tongue in disappointment.

“Anyway,” you drag out and clasp your hands together. “Sunfyre and Astraea were nuzzled against each other yesterday when I went to take her out. Isn’t that so cute?” You change the subject to a more lighthearted matter that doesn’t really catch her attention, but she still shares a comment nonetheless.

“I’m sure Astraea is happy to be out.”

You smile and nod. “Delighted. She has been spoiled beyond belief with her freedom, which makes it hard for both her and me when it comes to putting her in chains here.”

“I’m sure she knows it’s not because of ill intent,” she tries to comfort you.

You huff. “Yes, she knows that. She just…prefers her freedom.”

Before you know it you reach your chambers and Maester Orwyle is already inside preparing what he needs for your examination.

“Your Grace,” he greets Helaena first before he greets you. “Princess.”

You offer him a faint smile and a warm greeting. “Hello Maester, I hope you haven’t been waiting long. We were taking a stroll after breaking fast.”

He shakes his head and responds. “No, I got here a moment ago myself. Now will you tell me what you have been feeling so I can conclude to the right results.”

You sigh and watch Helaena take a seat on one of your couches before you let your eyes wander ahead as you tap into your memories. “Well, it has been a month since I last bled. I…started feeling more exhausted than usual a couple of weeks after the war started. I have been craving foods more than usual, and…well I have had more frequent headaches as well as stomach aches.”

The maester hums and he studies you before his gaze goes to Vanessa. “How has she eaten?”

Oh because he couldn’t ask you?!

“Not well, but it also varies, some days she tends to eat like normal, while on other days she hardly touches her food,” she happily obliges with sharing…well a lot of what you would have not shared.

“Ok, Princess, if I may ask you to change into a lighter gown so I can do your examination.” He orders while you pass Vanessa an annoyed glare she doesn’t fret to brush off as she pushes you behind a divider to help you undress.

“You did not have to share all of it. I eat,” you whisper sharply, and she turns you around harshly to untie the corset, while you pull the halter strap over your head.

“Define what eating is to you,” she rebuttals and you try to sass her.

“Eating is when you—”

“Prince Aemond would have my head if I did not reveal the truth to the maester. He already pressed me to feed you more,” she cuts you off and shares what you didn’t know.

“He shouldn’t have,” you mutter as you purse your lips together.

Vanessa sighs. “He's just worried…in his own way, that's all. And why shouldn’t he be? You haven’t told him.”

A perplexed look flickers on your face before all that paints your face is anguish. “I just…need to be sure first. I mean I need to hear it from a maester.”

“I understand,” her voice eases off the frustration. “Ok, it’s done.”

You let the gown fall to your feet before you step away from it and slip on a lighter gown to rejoin the maester out in your room.

“It does seem that you have lost weight,” The maester points out now that he takes a second look at you in a less busy gown. “But that may be grief as well. I’m certain it has not been easy.”

You scoff and gently shake your head as you make yourself to your bed, and he follows suit with gadgets that he uses inside you…

“Okay just try and hold still. We have done this before so you remember the procedure, right?”

You gulp and offer him a breathless response that gives him the okay to proceed and examine you carefully so as to not miss something, or diagnose you with the opposite of what you may have.

Like he said you have gone through this before, but it still is quite uncomfortable. You get lost on the ceiling above you and wait for him to stop before you move so he can press your belly with his fingers, and also feel your breasts to check if they are tender.

Once his quiet examination is done he steps back from your bed and stands formally before he finally addresses your anticipation. “Congratulations Princess, you are indeed with child.”

It’s meant to be a happy moment, but you’re tormented by anguish as the truth is finally proven and you can no longer hope that it's all some silly mind game played by all your troubled emotions.

Now…the possibility of your passionate night with Cregan resulting in a joyous bundle is more real. Then again you hide behind the hope that one night did not lead to a child. You convince yourself that Aemond is the father because it is true, your fear is just wicked and playing with you.

“Twins?” You ask and he blinks with surprise before he nods hesitantly as if surprised that you know what isn’t meant to be obvious yet.

“Yes…there are two babes. Two different placentas.”

“I told you,” Helaena blurts over the couch before she returns her attention to the books you have spread all over the couches since Aemond has his map on the small table.

“But,” he adds and your heart drops. “I would like to keep a closer eye on you. It seems one babe is smaller than the other.”

You drag yourself to the edge of the bed and press him for more. “Wh-what does that mean? Will they be okay?”

Maester Orwyle lets out a deep breath before he makes your heart hurt with his honesty. “I cannot say for certain, that’s why it’s important for you to eat princess. If you are not healthy and strong the babes will not be. This time you will have to eat for three which will take that much more energy.”

“I understand,” you whisper your comprehension.

“Like I said I will come and check on you more often. I want to make sure that the babes are growing as they should.”

You nod and he bows his head before he offers you one more congratulations and then turns to talk to Vanessa about teas and different foods that you should and shouldn’t eat. And before he left he did not forget to tell you to share your news with Aemond, as if he didn’t already plan to do it himself because apparently you are incapable of controlling your own life.

Regardless, now you know. Now there’s no use hoping you’re simply overthinking and that Helaena’s head is too lost in the clouds, she was right, and you are with child. You are going to have twins with Aemond.

Okay…maybe that prospect does excite you more than you thought. You might have your own Daenys soon, and maybe another girl or more boys!

Whatever they may turn out to be your worry turns to overwhelming bliss you can hardly contain. If only Aemond was here to tell him, but he’s too far and you would be too reckless to fly to him just to share the news.

You have half the mind to go, but that would be oh-so stupid. You’ll have to wait and maybe think of baby names?

Or embroider a nice cover? You are terrible at sewing, but you have the urge to.

Maybe you’ll sing to them and Aerion! You would sing to Aerion when he was in your belly all the time and he would kick like crazy when he got older because of it.

So yes! That’s what you’ll do! They may be too small now to hear, but you need to do something that will release your excitement. Besides you can take advantage and learn more of the songs and ballads that are in the book Aemond gave you.

They’re all so beautiful and full of rich stories. And as sad as some are, knowing that these songs were sung by people in Valyria does delight you as well as make you feel honored that you now get to know them, sing them, and cherish them. It makes it easy to get lost in the songs and have the day pass. Before you know it, noon has already crept in.

The sun is still high so the entire day didn’t pass under you. The only reason you do break your attention from your book is because a persistent knock raps on the door.

Is it Aemond?!

You beam at the possibility.

“Come!” You welcome the visitor as you throw the book on the couch and stand up to spin and face the door.

Nevertheless, who comes in isn’t your tall long-haired husband, it’s his brother, Aegon.

“Your Grace,” you mumble in confusion and look him up and down as you note that he looks smaller than usual in such historic armor that Aegon the Conqueror once wore.

“Niece,” he greets and flashes you a smile before he closes the door behind his guards.

“Aemond is not here,” you state the obvious even if the hairs on the back of your neck rise as they warn you that he’s not looking for your husband.

His heavy footsteps thud as he begins to make his way toward you with a mischievous glint in his eyes that deepens that smirk on his face.

“Yes, I know of my brother's comings and goings.” He says, causing fear to strike your heart. “But I am not here for him.”

You glance at his Kingsguard for help, but you should have known better, they look away, and at that very moment they let you know that you’re alone and defenseless against whatever antics creep into Aegon’s mind.

“Then why are you here? In armor.”

He shrugs. “I am going to battle. Obviously,” he chuckles and his smirk turns to a grin.

You see that he’s past the couches so you continue to back away until you’re behind a couch. “That seems rather reckless. You are King—”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he spats and his grin falls back to a smirk that keeps that mischievous outward.

“Why are you here Aegon?” You ask again and he keeps making his way toward you, not caring that you’re obviously trying to keep your distance.

He huffs. “I’m here for your favor,” he finally reveals and you swallow thickly and run into a chair.

“I already gave it to Aemond,” you try to keep Aegon away. “And you have a wife. Ask for her favor.”

He lets out a sigh. “It's not the Queen's favor I desire,” he quickly brushes you off and hops over the living area to hurry over and trap you against the chair so you cannot keep running away.

“It’s yours,” he whispers and leans his face closer to you, letting his strong wine breath whaff all over you which causes you to try and slide away, but he throws his hand out to grab the chair and block your exit.

“Aemond—”

“Is not here,” he cuts you off again and uses his other hand to start reaching out for your arm, but you grab your golden waist belt to avoid his incoming touch.

“Aegon,” you hiss. “Leave.”

“After a kiss goodbye hm?”

You shake your head and rebuttals by throwing his hand around your arm, but he doesn't pull you anywhere, he just grabs your arm and makes you feel utterly powerless. You hold so much battle knowledge, you know how to make someone unhand you, you can sweep someone off their feet, and so much more, but at this very moment with his hand on your arm and his wine breath unfurling over your cheek, you can’t move a muscle.

“Aegon,” you try to call him off you again, but his hold loosens and the tip of his fingers travel to your hips.

“Stop,” you mutter with a quivering lip. “Please,” your voice trembles.

He spares you a glance before he tilts his face to the side to force you to kiss his cheek first.

You don’t want to, you want to push him away, to scream, but he won’t move and you can’t find the strength; it hides like a coward under Aegon’s presence. Thus you’re left with no choice, you pucker your lips and lean your face forward to press a light kiss on his cheek so it can make him leave faster, feeling disgust swirling what little you have in your stomach.

When you pull back you expect him to back away and leave you alone, but his hand presses against your hip and you feel the warmth of his hand start to travel up.

“Aegon stop it,” you sneer shakily.

Said man’s hungry eyes start to lower to steal a glance at your chest exposed by the v-neck your bodice was designed with.

“Aegon,” you call out desperately, making him find your gaze and smile.

“Wish me good luck,” he says in return.

You swallow back nervously and part your lips, but before you can utter a word the doors get thrown open, pulling your eyes to the welcoming visitor, and seeing Ser Jason with his sword halfway out of his sheath, and his face hardened.

“Ser,” you call out with relief.

Aegon looks over his shoulder and his smile dies.

“Your Grace,” Ser Jason greets coldly without letting his sword go but making Aegon’s kingsguard grab their own swords to prepare for an attack.

“Just in need of my niece's favor,” Aegon is quick to throw out an excuse. “Ser.”

Aegon proceeds to snap his head back around to steal one more glimpse at you before he slides his hand off your body, letting you finally breathe when he backs away and gives you his back.

Even then, though, as he's leaving he makes sure to take his sweet time more so to taunt you that he has power over you now.

“Ser,” Aegon directs at Ser Jason with a taunting smirk that he makes sure is the last thing you see before he disappears down the corridor, knocking out any sort of confidence you could show off to Ser Jason as he remains there past your doors.

“Th-thank you,” you clear your throat and fight the urge to cry as you’re left defeated and feeling powerless. “Ser. For coming to my aid.”

Ser Jason finally lets his sword fall back in his sheath and his blue eyes soften to pity as he watches you fight back your tears.

He wants to ask if you’re okay, but he also knows that would be a stupid question considering he can see you shaking, and hears you heaving.

“Princess,” he whispers and you pull your eyes up to give him your attention through a teary gaze.

“I’m—I’m okay, Ser” you stammer and nod even if you feel violated.

Ser Jason whispers his comprehension, but rather than walking out and standing guard outside your doors, he steps further inside and comes to a stop shortly after to watch you with a certain conflict battling in his deep blue eyes, a conflict that you pick up on before you turn away and clutch onto the chair to try and calm yourself down after something you feared the most happened.

You tried so hard, but you were utterly useless. You couldn’t move a muscle, or find the right thing to say back. You were nothing at that moment but something else he can now order around.

You feel so stupid, so weak, and—

“Princess,” Ser Jason calls out and now you hear that he’s closer than before.

“Ser,” you breathe out and turn around, seeing at that moment that your eyes fall on him, that his eyes express his pity while also trying to offer you the comfort you need the most.

“You…you are not alone,” he says and you can’t help it, you break down and all you want is your mother or Cregan…

He was always there when you felt the most anguished without a fault.

But he can’t be here, nor can you go to your mother. And even Aemond is gone to feed his hunger for battle, leaving only your sworn protector.

“Okay,” you whisper with relief and he slowly starts moving toward you with his hand slowly rising off his side in an attempt to offer you a comforting touch.

Albeit before he can even get near, your eyes find Lord Larys limping toward your open doors, causing you to drop your head to hide your tears.

Not like it was a fruitful act, the Lord takes note of your anguish.

“Lord Larys,” you address his presence, making Ser Jason almost throw himself back as he backs away from you so the Lord doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“Princess,” the lord greets in return. “Forgive my intrusion. I was coming to pay you a visit and I came across an open door.”

You shake your head to dismiss his apology. “Do not worry about it, Lord. You are welcome.”

You glance up at him and catch an exchange of looks between Lord Larys and Ser Jason before your sworn protector walks out of the room in a hurry, leaving Lord Larys and you alone in the confinements of your chambers.

“Please take a seat,” you point to your table. “I would offer a seat in front of the fire, but I’m ashamed to say Aemond and I have a mess.”

Lord Larys shakes his head. “It’s quite alright,” he reassures you and limps toward the table to take a seat on a wooden chair.

You turn to walk towards the flagon of water and wine so he won’t see the tears that leave your eyes red.

“Water? Wine?” You offer as you wipe your cheeks and draw in a deep breath.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

You nod in comprehension and serve yourself some water before you turn and face the Lord in hopes he will reveal what brought him here.

“I hope you have found yourself well, a gaze stuck between two sides must be heavy on the heart,” he says.

You bring your gaze down to watch the water within the golden goblet. “I find myself quite well,” you lie with a smile you direct at the Lord. “It was difficult at first, but now…my conflict has been resolved, and the only weight I carry is the worry for my husband and son's safety.”

He hums and you notice him dig his hand in his pocket as he interjects. “As you should be, with Prince Daemon on a path of revenge, who knows what else he might do.”

Your gaze narrows to a glare for a brief second before you take a small sip and take a seat across from him.

“I have been meaning to thank you for telling me about Prince Aemond’s whereabouts when I was gone,” you address the matter and set your cup down, but keep your fingers around the neck of the goblet. “Telling the truth really helped us reconcile.”

The Lord brings a fisted hand up to hang over his cane while he offers you a faint smile. “I’m gladdened. It’s important that the realm sees the picture of unity among the royal family. Now more than ever.”

You scoff. “They need food. Not a glimpse at our marriage, they could care less about us whilst they’re starving,” you rebuttal bitterly and take a glance out the balcony.

“That’s easier said than done with the blockade cutting off any transport of food,” he adds, making you return your gaze to him.

“If only there could be something done about it,” you mumble bitterly and leave out the fact that the crown could spare food, or send a dragon to break that blockade.

“Maybe you can,” he suggests, piquing your interest. “You have Prince Aemond’s ear, and he has a seat upon the council. You could ask him to give an idea to the council.”

You tap the neck of the goblet as you think about what he just said. Which is honestly not a bad idea, but would they even agree to offer any help?

Doubtful.

You could bring it up nonetheless. Maybe.

“That is a great idea, I might do exactly that,” you don’t hesitate to give Lord Larys his props.

Lord Larys bows his head to offer you his thanks before he moves his fisted hand and pushes it over the table. “I did come to give you this…back.”

You slowly sit up straighter and press your hands on the table as you watch him put down a small brown wooden box on the table.

“It seems you lost it recently,” he pauses and pushes the box toward you with the tip of his finger, causing curiosity to tug the corner of your lips to a faint smile.

“…in the North.” He finishes and your hand freezes just as you’re reaching for the box.

At first, you were completely in the dark about what he was reeling up to, but now that he pulls the truth out of the murky waters, you start to realize what the box might hold, and the insinuation he might have as bait.

And alas, when you grab the box and bring it toward you to open it, you see exactly what you suspected; the sapphire ring you had lost in Castle Black. The ring Aemond had gifted you when you first returned from the North. The ring you dropped as you were kissing Cregan.

“It was brought to me from Winterfell,” Lord Larys adds with a certain change in his tone of voice. “It seems someone found it in the bed chambers of the Warden of the North.”

So the ring was given back to Cregan. That’s…nice.

“Any idea why the Lord would have such a meaningful ring in his chambers?” Lord Larys presses, and you start to hear it, the insinuation he does not directly say.

“I had lost it,” you try not to express your horror and close the box to hold Lord Larys' gaze without fear. “He obviously found it. Are you suggesting Lord Stark stole from me?”

Lord Larys scoffs in amusement and shakes his head. “No, I could not see Lord Stark doing something so below him. Albeit it seems his honor does dwindle when it comes to a much more valuable Gem of the Sea.”

The nonchalance you wore falls, but you don’t break. You are not stupid either, you know who Lord Larys is referencing when he brings “Gem of the Sea.”, but you do not let him bait you, nor do you find yourself powerless like when Aegon was here moments ago. What is Lord Larys?

He’s no King. No Warden, no knight, he only holds the title of Lord because his family has not tried to fight him for the title and lands, and the other part of his family is dead. He’s not fearsome, he’s a man with a club foot.

You will not cower behind a shadow that cannot even overshadow yours.

“Lord Larys,” you feign a laugh and open the box to pull the ring out. “Answer me this…do you take me for a fool?”

Lord Larys sputters and ends up saying nothing after he did not expect you to rebuttal as fearless as you did.

“I know what you are insinuating,” you continue and slide the sapphire ring back on your ring finger. “And it really is a nasty thing,” you roll out and snap your eyes up to look at the disbelief he’s trying to wipe off.

“But just so we are on the same page, tell me what exactly you are referring to,” you lull out and bat your eyelashes while a large winged shadow suddenly flies past the windows before a chitter breaks in the sky, and a growl soon follows.

He nor you need to look out to know it’s your dragon, it’s why he swallows back nervously and parts his lips, but you interrupt him because you know a bunch of shit was going to come out of his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” you mutter with your voice losing that sweet honey and growing intimidating. “Did you know that rats are easy to kill here? Be that with traps, poison, or corner them where they nest and burn them.”

A loud roar rattles the room and a smirk begins to grow on your face, making Lord Larys clutch onto his cane and lean back against the chair.

“Come at me with that shit again, or threats and some bait to try and control me,” you spat. “And I will not need someone to get their hands dirty for me, my Lord. I enjoy chasing and catching my own prey.” You giggle. “It’s exhilarating. And I bet seeing how fast you run will be quite amusing.”

You stand up from your chair and point to the door. “There’s the door my Lord. It was,” you pause and drag out a deep breath before you finish. “Refreshing speaking with you. Come again.”

Lord Larys gets up from his chair and bows his head before he mutters his goodbye. “Princess.”

You raise your nose in the air as you watch him leave between your lashes.

“Oh,” you add as he’s making his way out. “And if I hear that wicked rumor spread about, I know who to look for, so don’t worry trying to hide, my Astraea is a great tracker.”

Lord Larys doesn’t add anything in return, he walks out in defeat. It’s only once the doors close behind him, and you’re enveloped in silence that you let out a deep and exhausted breath.

Having Jacaerys and a stranger find out is completely different, your brother wouldn’t out you to anyone, or spread your secret like a plague, but a stranger would so you had to show your teeth. You had to be threatening, which is new! It’s such a new feeling, but…it’s such a rush seeing people squirm in fear under you!

You can’t say you dislike having that power or any power at all for that matter. You can’t say you dislike showing it either, you want to relish in it. You want to bear it proudly.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“And…” you trail off and lower the wooden bow your hands embrace to watch the sharp metal arrow puncture the bullseye. “That’s how you do it.”

You spin on your heels and stretch your arms out like a dragon spreads its wings.

“Eagle eye,” Ser Jason mocks, and you chuckle and jump up to go and collect another arrow from your satchel.

“I mean that—” Ser Jason begins to stumble over his words as he realizes he was perhaps too bold, so you cut him off.

“Hush, it’s okay. And! Actually, my friend Lady Arra Norrey, Lord Stark’s wife, used to call me that because well…at first I was not a good shot.” You muse with a growing smile. “Do you mean it mockingly, Ser?” You shoot him a pointed look that makes him squirm and ends up making you grin. “I’m messing with you Ser.”

He scoffs and lets the tension fall from his shoulders.

“Now watch this,” you keep his attention on you as you turn on your heels and position your arrow before you break into a jog and bring your aim up.

Yet just before you can shoot your arrow, in the flash of a second, you swiftly spin on your heels and hastily aim at the third dragon head on an ugly green banner, before you let the arrow fly.

The arrow whizzes through the air rapidly, and the sharp arrowhead rips through the third dragon right in the beady eye.

“Fantastic!” Ser Jason praises you as he claps for your wickedly good shot.

You bow again as you laugh with glee.

“Lucky shot, but my ego will grow nonetheless,” you tease as you walk over to grab another arrow.

Albeit just as you take the arrow and turn to walk to your spot a guard walks over and clears his throat to let you know he means to talk to you. “Princess, Vhagar is approaching the city.”

A smile breaks on your face and you let the arrow and bow go to pick up your skirts and run through barriers of space thinking of no one else but Aemond, the cure to your solitude, and the warmth that left you in the cold.

Ser Jason is quick to follow after you in a hurry to make sure nothing happens to you whilst you run from courtyard to courtyard and swerve busybodies. When you reach the last gate that leads to the city you come to a stop and he doesn’t fail to come to a stop a few paces behind, making sure he never lets you out of his sight as you wait for your husband to appear down the cobble street, and slightly worrying of what he will do if your beloved husband doesn’t return alive.

It’s an outrageous thought, but he plans ahead just in case. Plus he can’t help but plan ahead. It’s how his mind works.

Nevertheless, his relentless planning is for naught because from one moment to another your fidgeting hands relax, the corner of your lips slowly rise, and your searching eyes lock on him, your husband, your Aemond.

From afar he seems unharmed, but that’s something you still need to make sure of before you truly thank the gods for his return.

Yet checking for his well-being is not what pushes you away from your spot, when his eye finds you just outside the gate your breath catches as you’re riddled with relief over the fact that he’s walking to you on his own two feet and not lifeless on a carriage.

All while Aemond himself comes to a stop, not because he’s overcome with relief that you’re alive, he never feared for your death whilst you stayed in the Red Keep. He freezes and is riddled with disbelief because no matter what, he did not expect you to be waiting for him past the gates of the Red Keep. He expected to find you in your chambers even if he knows how much your excitement can drive you.

And he's not thinking that catching you outside the Red Keep gates bothers him, his heart skips a beat as he realizes that you’re not some fever dream, you’re there, beaming at him before you break into a sprint to rip through barriers of space just to join together in a clashing embrace.

“Aemond,” you chuckle and cry with joy.

Said man is still caught by surprise for a second so he remains stiff before he melts in your warmth and returns your embrace with a much tighter hold that assures you that it's really him.

“I was worried,” you share softly against his neck.

Aemond caresses the back of your head and nuzzles his nose against your neck, letting himself display his affection for you around bypassers because he wants people to know that he is loved and that he loves someone dearly.

“I’m alright. I told you, didn't I?” He whispers and you can't help but hold him tighter as his voice travels in your ears.

“I will always worry,” you mumble before you pull back and grab his arms to look him up and down to check for any injuries. When you find nothing but soot and his messy hair your heart jolts nervously, but you also feel relief wash over another part of you as you reassure yourself that he came back to you in one piece.

“Nothing hurts?” You still ask him and slide your hands down to grab ahold of his. “Vhagar?”

His eye falls on the ground and he hides a timid smile. “No, I’m fine. I did not get hurt. And Vhagar is fine too.” He says quietly.

You study him one more time before you raise your hands to grab his face. You don’t say anything, nor does he. Aemond just slowly brings his eye up and looks at you with admiration while you watch him completely enamored. At that moment, without the need of opening your mouths, expressing how much you love each other, and how much this time apart was like a strain on the heart. It ached you both.

You also keep expressing how glad you are that he’s back, but it’s that twinkle that joy brings to your eyes that makes his jaw clench, and a deep breath to furl through his nose as he remembers the news he bears, news that will break your heart.

“Uh, I did not have time to warn you, but you must have seen,” you interject and fall on his side to hook your arm around his and head back to the safety of the Red Keep. “Aegon and Sunfyre went to Rook’s Rest.”

Aemond nods and rolls his eye in annoyance. “Yes, we unfortunately crossed paths.”

Your hand stiffens around his arm as you remember Aegon’s visit before he left. “Where is his Grace?” You mutter.

Aemond answers with silence for a moment before he gives you his response. “Aegon got hurt during battle.”

The corner of your lips threaten to pull into a happy smile, but you manage to feign worry. “What? How?”

Aemond stops and slips his arm away, but makes sure not to let go. He grabs a hold of one hand, while he uses his other hand to grab your shoulder.

“<Aegon,” he says in a High Valyrian accent before he continues in the same language. “Was fighting another dragon.>”

You hold his gaze and try to find his concern or pity, but rather than finding any flicker of worry, you catch a darkness dancing in his blue eye.

“<And the dragon burned him,” Aemond continues to add stiffly. “It was…a foolish act on his part to go to battle and challenge the dragon, but that act was repaid with dragon fire and broken bones.>”

You can’t pretend to be worried, you don’t care if he’s hurt or close to death. If you could you would clap and celebrate, but you hold it all back behind a shocked expression that raises your eyebrows and parts your lips.

“<What…” you hesitate as the other part of you that had begun to worry slowly starts to take over you. “…Dragon was it?>”

Aemond doesn’t answer right away, he keeps holding your gaze, and the corner of his lips twitch up, while that darkness brings a malicious gleam to his eye that you don’t miss.

It’s not difficult to read into these small expressions, for you at least. For anyone else who doesn’t really know Aemond beyond the facade he puts up wouldn’t realize the truth he masks behind that lie, but you do. You see it clear as day. Is it because he let you read him? Or because you know his soul?

Both, but regardless, you know it was no other dragon that brought Aegon down. Not after Aegon humiliated Aemond at that brothel, not after knowing the tension between the brothers, the pranks Aemond never forgave. It was Aemond and Vhagar. You don’t need him to put it in simple words for you to know.

Nor do you care that it was him. You’re actually proud it was him, and he sees that pride, just like he also reads your speechless praise between your lips twitching up and that gleam in your eye.

What a cruel pair you make huh?

“It was Meleys,” Aemond finishes sharing in the common tongue, bringing that relief and that pride to an end as the worry that only captured a part of you now takes over you completely.

“Meleys?” You mumble and clutch onto his hand while your eyelashes bat frantically as you try to find the reason why she would be there. You warned them. You sent it early so they’d know!

“Yes,” Aemond mutters and brings down the hand he had on your shoulder to grab your hand. “Listen to me...”

He says it. He shares the cruel truth and it all comes crashing down.

You don’t want to accept it at first, you can’t accept what came out of him, but he wouldn’t lie about it. What reason was there to lie about your grandmother dying along with her dragon Meleys?

Yet you want it to be a lie. You want it to be a cruel jest.

“Please,” you beg in a quivering voice. “Do not lie.”

Aemond doesn’t respond, he swallows back nervously and that only helps to reaffirm the truth; your grandmother Rhaenys is dead. She’s gone and so is Meleys.

Your grandmother…is gone. Someone else is dead, and you don’t need to ask who it was, you see that victory in his eye. It was Aemond again.

But right now that’s not what occupies your mind, right now all you know is grief once again. Agonizing, and heart-tearing grief.

It doesn’t let you breathe, it doesn’t let you think of nothing else but the pain. There’s so much pain.

You can’t breathe, it all weighs down on you. You want to be numb to it to not feel a thing, but you feel it all in all its glory.

“No,” you croak and feel streaks of tears rush down your face. “No,” you cry under your breath. “Please no.”

Aemond tries to pull you into an embrace, but you push yourself away and try to catch your breath, you try to take it all in to try and calm yourself down. However, your blood is rushing in your ears, making everything inside you hectic, making the noises around you louder than they are, and making the world move faster than it is which disorientates you.

You don’t know where you are, that knowledge is lost. All you know is the pain and the deep need to see your grandmother again. You want to see her one more time. You want to hold her longer. You don’t want her to be gone forever.

“Please,” you beg under your breath. “Help me.”

She told you that if you needed help to let her know, to tell her. You’re telling her now, you want her help now. You need it like you need to breathe.

But it won’t come, she won’t come to your aide. She won’t embrace you, or tell you that it will all be fine, she’s gone, and you can’t breathe because of it...

Everything around you begins to spin, and you start to feel lightheaded. You want to keep yourself stable, but you can’t find a wall. You actually stumble and the world that was once spinning around you stops, but only because a darkness begins to consume you.

You try to call for help, but your lips part and nothing comes out. You do however hear another voice, but it doesn’t belong to you, as you get swallowed by the darkness you recognize Ser Jason’s panicked voice. “Princess!”

Yet it’s not him who catches you, you know that much. The last thing you see is clear, it’s Aemond’s worried face above yours...

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- You reacting to Aegon is how Daemon thought Rhaenyra would react to Blood and Cheese

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @callsignwidow @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips

[holybibly]

I will be sharing my thoughts with you during a week filled with hard hours. 

We always talk about how jealous and possessive Hongjoong is, but darlings, I am going to share with you three of the most toxic and jealous bombshells, in my opinion. 

San is an absolute gentleman, a whole bloody "forest,"  not your ordinary green flag. But behind this perfect facade, there is a monster that he hides very well. San is clingy and possessive to the point of impossibility; you call Wooyoung clingy. Hold my champagne; San is a million times worse than him. At first, it's easy; you'd never notice how smoothly and exquisitely he begins to brainwash you. 

"Let's stay at home, Chagi, just the two of us."

"I can take care of you, I don't think you need to go to work."

"I love the time we spend together, I never want to let you go."

"I'm so in love with you."

Step by step, he draws you into a trap and completely monopolizes your attention. It's just you and him. The sex has always been so amazing. In the beginning, San would be so careful and gentle, so attentive. The more your relationship develops, the more violent he becomes. He treats you possessively and roughly, literally fucking you into oblivion. 

"You belong only to me."

"I own that fucking pussy."

"No one will ever be able to fuck you like me."

But worst of all, you believe him. You believe every word he says. You quit your job. You wait for him at home, obedient and beautiful, in his soft sweatshirts, smelling of his perfume, covered with the marks of his passionate kisses and bites. And yes, San does bite to the point of blood and bruises. 

Everyone around him thinks he's such a nice guy, but look closely. There's a darkness in those feline eyes, and if you look long enough, you'll see it. But be careful. You might just get his full attention.

Seonghwa is handsome. He is too handsome for his own good, and he uses it all the time. A real prince who will win your heart is polite, attentive, a real dream boy. 

It's hard for you to believe that someone like him could love a simple and ordinary girl like you; you don't think of yourself as ugly. Just ordinary, there are millions like you, but Seonghwa. Seonghwa is one-of-a-kind.

When you start dating, he keeps saying how lucky he is to have you. How happy he is that he has found someone so special. And he means it. Just not the way you think he means it.

For him, you're an endless source of self-gratification. He'll do anything to get you to praise him, to talk about how beautiful he is, how talented he is, how damned perfect he is. Once Seonghwa realises you're head over heels in love with him, you'll never run away again and your sweet boyfriend will become a real demon.

You have your attention on someone else, he'll fuck you in front of the mirror as punishment, constantly taunting, mocking and humiliating, so you can have a look at his gorgeous face in the reflection while he's doing this.

"You are so worthless, you should be fucking grateful to have such a gorgeous guy like me in your life. Or do you have the idea that anyone else could have a pickup a bitch like you?"

"You pathetic whore, look who's fucking you.

"Aren't I enough for you? Look into my eyes while I pulling you down on my dick."

He will destroy everything you've ever dreamed of, and everything you love, until there is nothing left in your head but him. Glorify him, glorify him incessantly, talk about how wonderful he is, and Seonghwa will give you heaven. "Because you're so beautiful" should accompany every "I love you". Every "thank you" should be followed by: "Because I have you, how could I want more?"

You're just going to stop being aware of the whole world outside of Seonghwa. That's why, my dear, you should be careful when you give a compliment to someone. You might just find yourself one-to-one with a demonic hunger of a gentle prince charming.

Mingi's in love with you. Or rather, he's in love with the idea that he's in love with you. Can't you see that? He's a puppy in love, but on closer inspection, he's more like a hungry wolf on the hunt for his sweet little prey.

The universe's softest boy. Endless hugs, cute nicknames, long kisses and a never-ending stream of words of love. He'll shower you with presents, flowers so many they'll make your flat look like a greenhouse.

"I love to love you, baby."

"Can you feel this, babe? Can you feel how much I am in love with you?" He whispers in your ear. Your whole body trembles at the powerful, rigid thrust of his thighs.

His rhythm is brutal, the bed is pounding against the wall, with such tangible force that the paint on it starts to crack.

He holds you to the bed with one hand, the other tucks his fingers into the soft curve of your thigh, his rings scratching the skin to the point of blood, his nails digging into the flesh, leaving deep blue marks.

"I'm going to love you until I die."

"l will never let you go, babe."

"No one will ever be able to love you as much as I do."

We've all heard that story about wolves wearing sheepskins. So think twice before you fall in love with that shiny puppy look - maybe it's just a clever disguise for a terrifying wolf who's on the prowl.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

I heard a raw line from Guilllermo Del Toro the other day about monsters being the perfect way to express human failure:

“…monsters, I believe, are patron saints of our blissful imperfection, and they allow and embody the possibility of failing.”

And i was wondering your take on this quote in relation to things like vampire and werewolf and other semi-monster subtexts. “Monstrous” humans that are ironically allowed to act more human more often than… humans. I just find the attempt to make an outlet for imperfection while still at large criticizing it fascinating.

I mean, yeah, there's a long history of interpreting monsters through queer, anti-colonial, feminist and other Outsider lenses for exactly those reasons. The monster is the Other who is vilified by the in-group, which represents all that the in-group hates. The monster must, by its nature, fail to live up to the standards and expectations of the in-group, which is why it must be destroyed. But that also means the monster is free from the standards and expectations of the in-group, including oppressive and bigoted ones.

So, as an example, if you're queer, and rhetorically treated as inhuman and monstrous and diseased anyway, or eugenically classified as a deviant mutation or sub-derivation of "real" people, there is real appeal and a real sense of resistance in claiming monsterhood, in embracing it and glorying in it.

In part, that's what the rallying cry "we're here, we're queer, get used to it!" meant and still means. It is a reclaiming of monsterhood as a source of strength and community and pride, rather than shame. Slurs are used to Other queer people, to set them apart from "real" people and mark them out as a monstrous deviation from the virtuous norm - slurs are used to call us monsters. And thus a lot of queer people find a lot of power and freedom in reclaiming them, in turning their Othering into a flag to rally around.

And I think that's still a big part of the appeal of the monster, honestly, that freedom from being what someone else thinks you ought to be.

If you're a monster, you don't have to have the perfect body, you don't have to suppress your lust or your love. You don't have to shave your body hair or dress correctly for your assigned gender, or have a white picket fence house with a spouse and 2.3 children. You don't have to sit primly at the dinner table, you don't have to repress your emotions, you don't have to hate the foreigner or despise the gays or fear the trans agenda. You don't have to have a small, straight nose or perfect cheekbones, you don't have to wait to fuck until you're married, or pretend you want to fuck at all. You don't have to want to get rich or be a CEO, you don't have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps or be on your grindset, or cheer when the cops clear out a homeless camp.

To be a monster is to be free from the inhumanity that is forced on us by white supremacy, by fatphobia, by heteronormativity, by imperialism, and by the interests of capital. To be a monster is to be human in all the ways that are inconvenient to oppression.

... but I went off on a tangent there a little bit - vampires and werewolves, right. I have no theoretical or academic basis for any of this, so this is entirely a personal hot take, but I think vampires are perhaps a bit more about "passing" as a fantasy. Not necessarily in a gender sense, but the ability to keep your true nature undetected by the "normal" folk, while the secret things that make you different also make you dangerous and powerful. Surviving by stealing sustenance from a world that hates you, on terms that are entirely yours to dictate. "I will survive even if it kills you," that kind of vibe.

Werewolves, on the other hand, feel more like a defiant, angry embrace of the monstrous. Transforming into something vast and powerful and furious, growing out of your skin, out of your form, out of your boundaries; howling your nature to the moon and mauling any motherfucker who has a problem with it. Giving in to all the beastly unnatural urges, and diving into the horrible monstrous wants and desires that boil inside you (which, remember, include things like Not Wanting To Fuck or Wanting To Hold A Girl's Hand In A Lesbian Sort Of Way). Less the "I outfoxed your social game and drank you dry" slick vampire power fantasy and more the "call me a slur one more time and I'm going to wear your entrails like a fucking scarf" power fantasy.

Again, that's just personal hot takes, everyone's understanding of the monstrous in relation to themselves is different. I've seen a number of genderfluid and nb people use monstrousness as a way to defy occupying a shape that can be gendered for example.