#not be a persistent part of his character

[neon-sunsets]

okay. let’s talk about jayce’s monologue, since people are calling him ableist.

for context, not that it matters: I have a significant mobility disability and a progressive chronic illness which, even when managed, can kill me. I’m not in exactly the same boat as viktor since my disease isn’t terminal, but I’ve had very similar experiences to him. this shapes my perception of him and of this storyline.

this is the monologue:

You’ve always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There’s beauty in imperfections. They made you what you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.

first, it should be noted that “what you thought were weaknesses” is not the same thing as “things that are good.” jayce is not saying that viktor’s disease is or was a good thing. what he is saying is that he admired (loved) everything that viktor was, which included the things viktor thought made him a burden or a problem. remember also that jayce almost doomed the world because he couldn’t let viktor die; he would never imply that viktor dying was a good thing.

the next question, then, is whether viktor sees himself as a burden or not. I think it’s implied that he does — it’s certainly not unrealistic to think that viktor might have come to view himself, or at least his disease, as a burden and a flaw. disabled people often view ourselves that way either because of internalized ableism or because society constantly tells us that we’re burdens and that our bodies are abnormal and wrong. viktor displays behaviors that indicate internalized ableism, including hiding the fact that he’s coughing up blood from jayce the first few times it happens and generally refusing to be in the public eye in a way that is self-effacing and not just him being private. yes, he says in act 1 of season 1 that he believes in himself, but he does also call himself a cripple in a dismissive way in that same scene; also, he doesn’t have the disease at that point. arguably the entire scene where he runs despite clearly being in pain is an example of his internalized ableism, but that’s another post.

more evidence for viktor’s perception of himself being negative is that he clearly has a sense that he doesn’t deserve to be loved (specifically by jayce, but maybe also in general). we see this when he asks jayce why he’s still persisting in saving him. we see this with his generally self-effacing behavior. we see this with the fact that in all of season 1, the only person he allows to touch him is jayce, and that the only person he actively touches in the entire show is jayce. viktor is reserved and not good with his emotions, which is a huge part of his arc this season. all of these behaviors point to him having a negative self-perception.

I think it’s important to really consider how jayce perceives viktor and how viktor perceives himself. I don’t think this season handled everything perfectly, but I think they handled this very well. viktor has been written with a fullness and complexity that most disabled characters don’t ever get. him being morally grey doesn’t mean he’s “problematic” or “bad representation.” obviously I’m only one disabled person, but I really love jayce and viktor and I think their story is beautifully written.

[dingodad]

“and being able to accept these non-literal relationships is a key part of homestuck.” <- going off of this post, who would you say is Vriska, in the same way Equius is to Dirk? I honestly think that she and Dave have some very interesting foiling regarding what it means to be a hero and also, the role certain pressures have had on their lives - i think Bro as a role model / trainer / manipulator folds into one person what Mindfang / Spidermom / Doc Scratch are to Vriska. Or maybe Dave isnt Vriska - maybe instead Vriska is Dave? Or perhaps there is somebody Entirely Different who is Vriska. Please feel free to tear this apart and counter it if u think i got it wrong. 

there are clear parallels to be drawn between Dave and Vriska and their creepy brotheruncles, but ultimately Doc Scratch is EVERYONE'S creepy uncle so I don't think there's any value necessarily in asserting that all of his voyeurbotting victims are the same. and once you start saying "this troll = this human and therefore all trolls = a human" that's when the doppelganger stuff becomes too literal and starts to break down. but there are also reasons why Vriska in particular isn't the "troll version" of a human.

i mean the idea of "human trolls" and "troll humans" is kind of a misdirection from the start - it's far more apt to think of these characters in terms of "act 5 versions of acts 1-4 characters" - e.g. sollux as to dave - or then "act 6 versions of act 5 characters" - dirk to equius, but also in more subtle ways, via Hussie's book commentary; "In the same way that Nepeta is a proto-calliope" (Book 4, p. 151) or "Jane as a distillation of a rough idea that began [with Feferi's introduction]" (p. 332).

the reason there is no "act 6 version" of vriska the same way there's an act-6-equius is because the act 6 version of vriska IS vriska. where side-characters like nepeta and feferi die and are subsumed into the void, an "ideological incestuous slurry" into which things melt and are then recycled into new characters, vriska by her very nature persists until the story has no choice but to put her back on the field. in the sense that the recombination of dead trolls into hybrid sprites is a visual metaphor for homestuck recycling pieces of its own dead characters, this is perhaps the main reason tavrisprite was so "irreconcilable", even where other combinations like erisol and gcatavros were apparently stable; vriska simply refuses to be recycled!

[thethoriumreactor]

Forgot to post this whoops

Part 2 of my TMAxHazbin au (tentatively named the Hazbin Archives for now) character info posts (part 1)

Genuinely proud of my design for Spiral!Angel

Additional character notes:

— Angel is a former mobster, then a part-time porn actor, now somewhat of a wandering Avatar who regularly visits Charlie’s rehabilitation centre. He likes to trick people, show them illusions of things that never were and never will be, that they desire deeply and want to escape desperately — he knows how to seduce men, how to confuse them, lead them into his waiting hands as they are lost irreversibly to everything they do not know or understand. He makes an effort to reduce the suffering he causes for Charlie’s sake — but messing around with people is so fun, don’t you see? At some point, somehow, the grumpy bartender who hangs around the rehab centre became his anchor.

— Charlie works at a cheap hotel, and runs a small rehab centre on the side. She looks for addicts, alcoholics and mentally ill people to bring them to her centre to help them — but why are they always so scared of her? She’s only trying to be nice, she’s not trying to harm them — just because she’s an Avatar doesn’t mean she wants to cause fear in others. Though it seems hopeless at times, she persists in her efforts to become a kind, philanthropist Avatar. Everyone has a good side to them — if only she can bring it out… Genuinely wants to be friends with everyone she comes across despite Vaggie and Lucifer’s best efforts — and the rejections she receives for being an apostle of Fear by nature.

— Vaggie helps Charlie with her rehabilitation efforts after leaving the Exorcists. Killing — massacring — enticing people to violence was always so easy — it was always her job, her role, her duty as a servant of her God — but she wants to be better now, she wants to try something better, to do something good — and Charlie is so, so good, and she cannot help her desire to follow another who isn’t her God. She wishes people would stop making a mess of the rehab centre — especially the annoying Spiral guy, who keeps creating doors and mazes and places-that-don’t-exist all over the centre. Would stab Alastor into oblivion if she didn’t value Charlie’s opinion so highly.

— Niffty is… probably the rehab centre’s maid. She craves the hunt, the pursuit of prey — the capture of a victim, their struggle and he end of their fight — the way they twitch like a bug when they’re caught, and whine like dogs when stabbed, and choke like frogs when they die— (Niffty is a bit… weird. Only Alastor really knows where she even came from. Most don’t bother even thinking about it.)

[butwhatifidothis]

🔥 Dimitri

Hmmm... I guess my hottest take for him is that I often wonder what it'd be like if Dimitri had like... an unendearing flaw? Like a consistently Not Perfect aspect about his character that visibly and noticeably makes other characters upset/annoyed with him that aren't a result of a staggering amount of untreated and exacerbated mental trauma.

Don't get me wrong, the arc he goes through makes it to where he doesn't necessarily need a flaw to still make mistakes (since the making of mistakes and the overcoming of them are often what makes a character arc impactful) and he's a fine enough character as is. It's just that, hm... I'll use Claude for an example of what I mean right? Outside of his arc of learning the truth and opening up to others, he's a guy that (using one flaw) tends to cross boundaries with people and has that be a trait of his that crops up in multiple areas. And it's something that does noticeably make others uncomfortable when he does this (Marianne's supports being the best example of this), so it's undeniable that this is meant to be a flaw in his character. It's also not a flaw that is meant to endear you to him the same way, for a classic example, being clumsy would be.

It lets me know that it's not just because Claude has to go through his character arc that he exhibits flaws in his character, which... kiiiinda isn't really the case with Dimitri? He only makes the mistakes he makes because the narrative decided to shit in his cereal - if they didn't have a driving narrative force causing them to go through growth through the making of mistakes (think those boring-ass No Powers Modern Day College AUs), Claude would still be nosy-to-a-fault and would still have to work on that outside of a grander narrative, because he as a character independent from a grander narrative has this flaw.

Dimitri on the other hand is never violent, dismissive of others, withdrawn, etc., until an outside force meant to forward the narrative pushes him to exhibit these flaws - which again! This is by no means a bad thing! Dimitri is still a pretty good character, in large part because of this role in the narrative he has! I just sometimes wonder what it'd look like if a character got annoyed/upset about a flaw of his - or if he otherwise just showed off a flaw of his - in a more... casual setting? Like it didn't have to do about death or vengeance or trauma, but just "Hey man I didn't like that you did that mind knocking it off?"

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Remember: The burning sensation is part of the process.

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

[rayveneyed]

sukuna ryomen is somewhat of an infamous bachelor.

it’s not surprising to see him with a new beau every few months, if not weeks — almost trope-like in their frequency, his image bouncing between playboy and manwhore. he doesn’t take it personally, and he makes sure to let people know: he’s young and sexy and he has two oscars, for fuck’s sake, so he thinks the world can cut him some slack when he wants to mess around. and mess around he does.

between obvious paparazzi shots of panties tucked badly into his back pocket, and instagram posts with fellow actors and models pressed tightly against his chest, most are divided between thinking it’s either damn good pr, or a simple man living a life most would wish for. regardless, nobody is surprised when sukuna arrives alone at the mugler show for paris fashion week, and leaves with someone on his arm.

the only thing that came as a bolt from the blue was that it was you hanging from him.

the photos are undeniable, a story in parts; sukuna finding his seat in the front row, you on one side and kendall jenner on his other. his eyes drifting from the models to your face, as if taking a clandestine peek. you, meeting his underhanded gaze with a smile as sweet as spun sugar — and, gasp, sukuna returning it. the display is so out of character for him it feels almost voyeuristic to see it plastered all over twitter.

you, with your vintage, girl-next-door-esque image, big hair and big eyes and demure, calf-length hems, a voice that evokes the memory of helen forrest or ella fitzgerald. him, with his smudged eyeliner and tattoos and all-black attire, persistently typecasted as the panty-dropping bad-boy or devil-smiled brute. it shouldn’t work. for all intents and purposes, he should be spotted with a new supermodel the next week, leaving you in the dust of his philandering. most expect it, wait for the other boot to drop — expect an album of heartbreak from you, but—

a month passes. and another, and another. and suddenly sukuna ryomen, notorious rake, is photographed backstage at your shows. suddenly there’s an anklet hanging from your ankle, his initials in garnet. it’s early morning paparazzi pictures of you both in sweatpants and hoodies — yours, suspiciously oversized — one of his hands engulfing yours, the other holding a bag of takeout from a local breakfast spot, a lit cigarette in his mouth. hickies on your neck and a shit-eating grin on sukuna’s face. candid snaps taken at intimately sized parties, with his chin hooked over your shoulder and his large hands cupping your stomach. tiktoks of you both on the red carpet in the background of somebody else’s interview, sukuna leaning in close to brush an eyelash from your cheek.

neither of you confirm anything, but then — you don’t need to, do you?

[ariestrxsh]

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, public teasing, public punishment, blowjob, degradation, humiliation, use of blindfold, use of restraints, spitting, light slapping, light choking, fingering, pussy slapping, dacryphilia, use of sex toys in public, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mean!roughdom!chris, mean!roughdom!matt, brattysub!reader

🖤 summary: 🖤 after capitalizing off of a chance to tease chris and matt, making them both cum on stream and nearly humiliate them in front of their fans, they retaliate against you and give you a taste of your own medicine.

🖤 this fic name/song was inspired/requested by this ask and the concept was inspired/requested by this ask 💖 this is only the first part, and there will be multiple parts to this story. just a heads up, it gets rougher.

peaches & eggplants part one 💖

You knew Chris and Matt were going to punish you for what you were about to do, but you just couldn't wait until they were done streaming. They were both perched at the edge of their seats in front of the monitor while Matt played fortnite and Chris watched, arguing amongst each other while a naughty idea crossed your mind.

The viewers weren't supposed to know you were in the room with them, so you hung back out of view of the camera. The nice thing about this was Matt and Chris couldn't stop you without drawing attention to you, and you knew they wouldn't do that, and with Nick still out of the country, you could practically get away with anything temporarily.

You stayed out of sight from the audience while you got on your hands and knees and stealthily crawled across the floor until you were under the desk between Matt's legs. He and Chris were both in grey sweatpants, and they knew how mad it drove you whenever they'd wear them.

You peered up at the two brothers above you, both sets of eyes fixed on the screen, blissfully unaware of what you had up your sleeve. Your red-painted fingernails gently brushed over the bulge in Matt's sweats, alerting him to your presence, and he looked down at you under the desk with a shocked expression on his face.

He quickly pulled his gaze back to Fortnite and tried to act like everything was normal, but he gently swatted away at your hand, a lazy attempt to get you to cut it out. You persisted, tugging at the waistband until Matt's member sprung out from behind the cotton fabric.

This sudden movement tipped off Chris to your mischevious plan to get one - or both - of them off while on stream with thousands of people. Chris stared down at you in disbelief as you wrapped your hand around Matt's already half-hard cock and started playing with it while you innocently looked into his eyes, nibbling on your lower lip.

He clenched his jaw, giving you a flash of contempt, and you batted your eyelashes at him as if to silently say, "Oh, what? You're mad at little old me?"

Chris couldn't take his eyes off of the way you skillfully stroked Matt's length, and the audience started to notice the shift in the energy.

"What do you guys think they're looking at?" One fan asked. "What's under the desk?" Someone else typed into the chat.

Matt thanked a few people who gifted while trying to remain composed, but you made that incredibly difficult when you wrapped your lips around him and started gently sucking on the tip, making him fully erect.

Chris stared down in awe at the way you teased his brother, secretly wishing he could feel your mouth. Matt started playing badly due to the distraction in the room, but other than that, he did a decent job at acting nonchalant.

That was until you made his entire rod disappear behind your lips, the head lightly tickling the back of your throat. He threw his head back and let out a sigh but tried to play it off as a reaction to his character dying in the game.

Matt peeked down every few seconds to steal a glance at the way you looked nearly swallowing him whole. He secretly loved having you do such an intimate thing while trying to keep it a secret from thousands of people.

You furiously pumped your hand back and forth while you bobbed up on and down on Matt's length, and he placed his hand over his mouth to suppress the sounds he so desperately wanted to make and to conceal the way he was gnawing through his bottom lip.

Before he could get too close, you took your attention away from Matt and made your way between Chris' legs. He intently watched you with his eager, blue eyes and even lifted his hips for you to help get his sweats off. He relished in the sensation of your soft, pink lips engulfing his member, your tongue swirling around on his mushroom-shaped tip, and your hand massaging his shaft.

Since he was just watching Matt play Fortnite, he was able to let his hands wander. He combed his fingers through your hair and placed his palm on the back of your head, encouraging you to take him deeper. You looked up at him with your big, hungry eyes while you quietly gagged on his cock.

You took him out of your mouth, kneeling down beneath the two of them while you stroked them both at the same time. The two brothers did their best to hold it together and keep their eyes on the screen, but you just looked so good teasing them that they couldn't properly focus.

A few more suspecting people spoke up in the chat. "What does Chris keep looking at?"

"Why is Chris smiling down at his lap?"

"Wonder why Matt is playing so badly. They should play DTI."

You continued pumping your hands back and forth, seeing which of them you could make cum first, like it was a game. Both of their swollen tips stared back at you, leaking a pretty, pearlescent substance. Simultaneously, both of their cocks began twitching against your palms, and they each erupted, blowing their loads into your hands while they each let out a satisfied sigh.

Thankfully, Matt's character died once more at the same time they both finished, so given the context, most of the audience misconstrued their sounds as disappointment. But a few chats came through, speculating.

"Why did that sound so...?"

"That's how I'm trying to make them sound."

As their thick, white fluids coated both of your hands, Matt and Chris said their goodbyes to the chat. "We have a persistent problem we need to go take care of," Chris stated, glancing down at you before ending the stream.

You knew you were in for it, and you didn't know in which way they would punish you, but a mixture of excitement and nervousness flooded your system once the camera was off.

"You like being a naughty little whore, huh? Making me and my brother cum on stream together?" Matt inquired, giving you a serious look. "Yeah, you like making a fool out of us? Couldn't wait til we were done, you desperate little slut?" Chris smirked down at you.

"You know, Chris. I think we should give her a taste of her own medicine," Matt declared, looking over at his brother. "I think that's the best idea you've ever had, Matt. Needy little whore should know how it feels to try to hold it together while having an audience," Chris replied, reaching under the desk and dragging you out from under it.

"Go be a good girl for once, go wash off your hands, and put on your prettiest dress for us, hmm?" Matt requested. You nodded and did as he said while Matt and Chris changed out of their cum soaked sweats and into nice outfits as well.

They both put on white tank top, jeans, and flannels, and when they emerged from their bedrooms, Matt was holding a pair of handcuffs, and Chris had a bandana in his hand. You were in a simple black dress and red heels that matched your manicured nails, and they both looked you up and down while they came up behind you.

"It's better if you don't fight back, princess," Matt whispered into your ear while he closed the handcuffs down around your wrists. "Yeah, we're just gonna take you somewhere real nice. That's all," Chris whispered into your other ear while he blindfolded you with the bandana.

Your mind explored the possibilities while the two brothers each grabbed one of your arms, yanking you around and leaving red marks on your flesh while they forced you out to the car and practically threw you into the back seat.

Matt got into the driver's seat, and you heard the familiar sound of the key turning in the ignition and the engine turning over while you felt Chris get into the back seat with you. The car started moving, and you had no idea where the three of you were going, but the unknown intrigued you, and you felt a warm, wet sensation forming between your legs.

This was made worse when Chris grabbed ahold of your face with his rough, veiny hands, forced open your jaw, and stuck his long fingers into your mouth. "You've been a bad little girl," Chris taunted you while you sucked on his fingers. He relished in how soft and wet your pretty little mouth felt.

Once he removed his digits from your throat, he delivered a few swift smacks across your face. "Can't wait to punish you, darling," Chris growled, his warm breath on your earlobe. Chris dug in between your legs and started poking and prodding around your pink folds.

"Oh, naughty girl. You're so wet," Chris gasped, slipping his fingers into your heat and curling them until he hit your gspot. You whimpered against Chris' chest while he pentetrated you hard and fast, telling you what a naughty girl you were for liking it so much.

Before he could draw an orgasm out of you, he withdrew his fingers, and you could hear him licking them clean, accompanied by a primal groaning sound while he savored your taste. He then shoved his digits back into your mouth, filling your tastebuds with your own flavor and his saliva.

"Like the way you taste, pretty girl?" Chris cooed. "Mhmmm," you whined while he finger-fucked your throat, making you gag some more before removing them.

"You make such pretty sounds when I use you," Chris whispered, wrapping his bony fingers around your throat and choking you while he shook you around, and when you opened your mouth to take a breath, he spit in it. He smiled at the way you swallowed it for him.

You couldn't get enough of the way Chris handled you, treating you like a little doll that was made solely for his pleasure. Tears started to roll down your cheeks while Chris cut off your air flow. "Aw, little baby's gonna cry? I'll give you something to cry about," Chris taunted you.

You felt the car stop, and you heard Matt say from the front seat, "I'll be right back. Make sure she doesn't misbehave any more than she already has."

Chris reached underneath your dress, taking off your panties and he shoved them into your mouth while he admired your sweet, wet pussy. He started exploring the delicate folds with his fingers, teasing your slit, and rubbing your sensitive clit.

"If you're gonna be a little slut, I'm gonna treat you just like one," Chris told you, and without warning, his hand came down hard as he slapped your pretty little cunt, making it even more swollen. You jumped and squealed as more tears ran down your cheeks, pleasure and pain creating a wonderful concoction in your system.

You weren't sure how public of a place Matt had parked in, but it excited you to think about your pussy on display for anyone who walked by the car to see while you were in such a compromised position. More tears streamed down your face, and Chris taunted you some more. "Gonna cry for me?" He asked teasingly, slapping your pussy some more.

Finally, Matt came back to the car. "Oh, good. You already got her panties off of her?" Matt smiled down at you, fiddling with the package he'd just bought while he admired your swollen, puffy lips between your legs from the way Chris played rough with you. Your mind swirled with excitement about what they were going to do to you.

"Put these on her," Matt demanded, handing Chris something. Suddenly, you felt Chris slipping something onto your bottom half that seemed to be a pair of underwear, but not the ones you came here with that were crammed into your mouth.

"You have to download an app to control them," Matt told Chris, looking at the directions on the package. What were they talking about? Before much longer, you felt a buzzing sensation against your clit, and you started to squirm and whine. Vibrating panties?

"It's working," Chris said, reaching between your legs to feel the vibration. "Alright, princess. Let's go," Matt called back to you from the front seat as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Chris continued to manhandle you while he teased you with the vibrating underwear, playing with the settings to see how you'd react to them. He took your supple breasts out of your dress and lightly pinched your nipples between his teeth, causing them to stiffen.

Your moans were distorted by the fact that the underwear were still stuffed in your mouth, and Chris graciously removed them for you once you felt the car slow. When it came to a full stop, Chris was unlocking the cuffs and untying the bandana you had wrapped around your head, and when you saw the two boys in front of you, they were smirking and chuckling at you.

Matt threw your purse at you and said, "Fix your hair and your makeup. You look like a cheap slut." You cleaned up your running mascara, touched up your eyeliner that had been rubbed away, and reapplied your smeared red lipstick. You had just finished smoothing out your stray hairs when you peered up from the little mirror in your hand and realized you were in the parking lot of a fancy Italian restaurant.

"Fuck," you whispered, realizing what this meant. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Matt asked you in a fake sympathetic tone as it dawned on you. "Yeah, what's the matter, baby? You don't want us to make you cum with those little vibrating panties while we eat dinner in this crowded restaurant?" Chris chuckled at you. You looked at both of the boys wide-eyed and gulped. "What? You can dish it, but you can't take it?" Matt asked.

The three of you got out of the car. As you started walking toward the entrance, Chris turned the vibrating underwear back onto the first setting, and he watched you nearly stumble. They laughed at you, and Chris mimicked the way you almost tripped, making them laugh harder.

"Okay, princess. Now just tell them we need a table for three," Matt told you as you guys started to make your way through the door. They let you lead the way and approach the hostess stand, but right as you opened your mouth to speak, Chris turned the panties up a setting. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyebrows furrowed, but you managed to get out the words, "Table for three, please." The hostess gave you a weird look but led you guys to a booth towards the back.

There were a few tables around where you guys sat, and you surveyed the people sitting at them, wondering if they had any idea they were getting dinner and a show. Chris and Matt sat next to each other across from you, and the hostess told you guys your server would be with you in just a moment.

Once you got into the booth, you crossed your legs to muffle the sound of the vibrating, but having your thighs squeezed together made the sensation feel more intense. Both Chris and Matt peered up at you from their menus, smirking. "Look at how pathetic she looks. She can barely keep it together," Chris said as you slouched down in your seat and bit your lip to keep a whimper from escaping.

There was a secret part of you that loved being teased in such a public place, but you still would have been mortified if anyone had found out what the three of you were up to. You sat up straight in your seat when the server came back to grab drink orders. Chris ordered a Pepsi, of course, Matt, a water, and you requested a peach bellini.

You figured if you were going to be humiliated and get your rocks off in a restaurant full of people, you might as well get drunk while doing it.

When the waiter asked to see your ID, you reached into your purse with a trembling hand, retrieved it, and slid it over towards him on the table. "Thank you, Miss," he said, studying the photo and your facial features to make sure they matched up. He slid it back over to you and walked away to go fetch your drinks.

Before you could pick it up at put it back in your purse, Chris reached over and snatched it away from you, looking at your driver's license photo that you hated of yourself. "I don't know, Matt. She had to show this horrible picture of herself to our waiter. That might be humiliation enough," Chris meanly joked. Matt chuckled along and rolled his eyes.

You stood up and went to grab it from Chris, but he pulled it back. "Hey. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Or the hand that's controlling your vibrating panties right now," Chris said in a low, serious voice. Then he took your ID and flung it at you. It landed in your lap, and you scooped it up and tossed it back into your bag.

Matt and Chris stared at you lustfully and hungrily as you tried to hold it together while Chris played around with the different levels, alternating between the first three. Every time you looked like you were holding it together too well, he'd turn it up a notch, and any time your legs started to shake, and your eyes rolled back into your head while you gripped the fabric of the booth beneath you, he'd turn it down.

The server returned to take your food order, and the boys agreed upon bruschetta as an appetizer. Chris ordered himself chicken alfredo, and Matt ordered chicken parmigiano. When the server got to you, you cleared your throat, sat up taller, and tried to ignore the way you were being broken down slowly by the powerful sensation between your legs that was being controlled by the two gorgeous men across from you.

"I'll have the eggplant parmigiano, please," you managed to say, looking almost completely normal besides your flushed face and the bead of sweat that formed on your brow. The server took your menus and told you he'd return shortly with your drinks.

"Let me see it," Matt said to Chris, reaching for his phone. Chris handed it off to him, and Matt looked at you intently with a devilish grin as he kicked it up to level four. You slouched over onto the table and buried your head in your hands, completely unable to hide the pleasure written into your expression.

You peered back up at Matt with the neediest look in your eye, and your lips slightly parted while you started to tremble again. Matt shut off the vibration completely and watched the disappointed look come across your face as he ruined your orgasm. "You think I'd let you cum right away? After that shit you pulled earlier. Nah, you've been a naughty girl," Matt murmured, turning it back on to level one.

The waiter brought over your drinks, and you weakly smiled at him as he walked away. Matt turned the vibrator up a setting as an older lady made eye contact with you, and you sputtered on your alcoholic drink as you took a big sip. She shot you a dirty look as you rolled your eyes back into the back of your head and bit down on your lip.

You knew you weren't being sneaky, but you couldn't help the way you were being manipulated by two boys, a pair of vibrating underwear, and a remote control app.

The server made his way back again, bringing the bruschetta out on his way to greet another table that had just been sat in the section. You took another sip of your bellini, preparing for the night to be long and embarrassing.

Chris and Matt both indulged in the appetizer, obnoxiously licking the balsamic glaze from their fingers and making animalistic sounds while they made eye contact with you. They knew what they were doing, and it was working. Your mind wandered, imagining how they'd lick their digits clean after fingering you, much like Chris had earlier on during the ride to the restaurant.

"Naughty girl, keep your mind out of the gutter," Chris replied, sucking on his finger, smirking, and narrowing his eyes as if he was inside your head, and in a way, he was. You picked up your bellini glass with a shaky hand and took another big drink.

The waiter came back around to check out refills, and when he asked if you'd like another one, motioning towards your nearly empty glass, Matt turned the setting up another notch, and without thinking, you grabbed onto the waiter's arm, practically whimpering, "Yes please."

He gave you a confused look and gently tugged his arm away from you. "Sorry. She gets a little touchy when she's tipsy," Chris apologized for you, and the waiter brushed it off and walked away.

Matt and Chris both made fun of how you were unable to hold up any kind of facade, and they decided to cut you some slack for a bit, so you could enjoy your food when it came out. The waiter delivered your meals and another round of drinks for you all while you tried to catch your breath and dabbed the sweat from your face.

You were about half-way through your plate and halfway done with your second fruity, bubbly beverage before Chris took his phone back from his brother and started turning on the panties again. You looked at them both and all you could think about was how badly you wanted them to use all your holes when you guys got home, and a few needy whines passed through your pretty lips.

The waiter came back around to ask if you guys were enjoying your food, and all you could do in response was tell him, "It's sooo good," in a sultry voice while you peered up at him with desire in your eyes and bit down on your knuckles to suppress another moan. He gave you an inquisitive look and then looked toward the boys sitting across from you, asking if you guys wanted to order anything else after your meals.

"We'd love to all share the classic vanilla ice cream, please," Chris told the waiter, and then he smirked up at you, knowing how torturous it was going to be for you to hold it together through dessert, too. The server nodded and walked off to go update the bill.

You tried to finish your food and your drink while you tried to seem as put together as possible. Chris played with the settings again, bringing you as close to orgasm as he could before yanking it away from you and repeating this while you pathetically writhed in the booth across from him.

A few people who were sitting around you guys started to catch on. Some of them gave you disgusted looks and tried to ignore what you and the boys were doing. Some couldn't keep their eyes off you, hungrily looking you up and down as they silently prayed they'd get to watch you come undone in the restaurant.

The server returned with the ice cream and three spoons, and he bussed the dishes out of your way. Chris turned up the vibrating panties to the highest setting. "Have some ice cream, princess," Chris whispered, handing you a spoon.

Hell, you were already indulging in a form of public sex, indulging in good food and alcohol, and so you might as well complete the hedonist trifecta and indulge in sugar as well.

With a trembling hand, you grabbed the handle and got a small scoop of ice cream, and stuck it into your mouth. "Mmmm," you moaned, which was partially a response to the taste and partially a response to the frequencies buzzing against your sensitive cunt.

"I sure do love ice cream," Chris declared, getting a spoonful of it and making sure to suggestively lick his utensil clean while he looked in your eyes. "I love eating it and licking it up," Chris moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head, taunting you.

Matt followed, seductively lapping up the dessert. He looked directly at you while he dragged his tongue across the spoon in a long, slow lick.

As you imagined how their tongues would feel manipulating your pussy, your orgasm tore through you with incredible force. It took everything in you to conceal the reaction your body was having, and it was impossible to be completely subtle.

Your legs shook involuntarily as you held them crossed together tightly, and you grabbed onto the booth seat to anchor yourself while your climax crashed over you like a wave, eager to sweep you away in its current. You furrowed your brows, closed your eyes, and a few loud moans escaped your lips while your orgasm took its course.

When you opened your eyes, almost everyone around you was staring at you, including the waiter who had dropped off the check while you were in the midst of enjoying yourself.

"Let's go before someone calls the cops and reports us for public indecency," Chris smirked at you guys, tossing a few hundred dollar bills on the table, giving the server an extra big tip for having to put up with your guys' shenanigans, and the three of you fled the restaurant.

High on adrenaline, you guys piled into the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

"I hope you guys didn't like that restaurant too much, because I don't think we could ever go back. They'll probably put a picture up of our faces in the front like they do with dine and dashers," Matt chuckled from the driver's seat.

"More like dine and smash," Chris joked, and the three of you burst into hysterical laughter.

After the snickering died down, Chris let out a huge sigh and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling out his big, hard dick. Your jaw dropped, and your mouth widened as you watched it practically jump out of his pants.

He wrapped his arm around you and pushed your head down, lowering your mouth onto his cock and whispered in a demanding tone, "We're not done with you yet, whore. Don't just think that 'cause we're laughing, you're done receiving your punishment."

part two here 💖

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[mariocki]

Mike Pratt pops up as photographer (and possible villain...) Jeff Peterson in The Saint: The Persistent Patriots (5.15, ITC, 1967)

[kykyonthemoon]

How to babysit a wounded little Hunter

Injured after a mission, you now indulge yourself in his special tender loving care.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader fanfic,

including Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, early stage of established relationship

A little heads up: The writer will not take responsibility for any side effect (such as toothache) that might come after reading the fic.

ಇ. Word count: 4k

ಇ. Requested by Wytchie Pie and x

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic ♡

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

You dimly sensed footsteps in the bedroom, and then one side of the bed sank. The acquainted scent and warmth embraced you. A cool hand rested on your forehead. In an instant, the heat in your body subsided.

So as soon as that hand was gone, you seized it.

"Don't go…"

You mumbled in a daze. There was a quiet laugh close to your ear, and then that palm brushed against your forehead again.

"If you don't let go, how can I take your temperature then, pipsqueak?"

You recognized that voice. It was Caleb's. So you acted even more aggressively. You yanked his hand tighter, so much so that his entire body appeared to collapse into the bed, just a little above yours.

"Huh? Aren't you a little too strong for someone who is sick?" Caleb laughed again. The sort of laughter that made you feel considerably better.

"I'm not sick." You were persistent, still. "Just feeling a little sleepy."

Caleb's hand tried to pull away from you. But perhaps he kept it that way on purpose, since given your current state, he would have no problem withdrawing if he truly wanted you to let go.

Caleb's hand patted you a little tenderly. He managed to grab the thermometer with his free hand. He took your temperature, then exclaimed: 

"Almost forty Celsius!"

You exhaled heavily, almost a moan. Every part of you felt irritated and heated. Despite this, you dismissed it, saying:

"I'm not... sick..."

Caleb used the chance to release his wrist from you. You opened your eyes slightly and gave him a disappointed expression.

"You have such a high fever, yet still saying you're not sick?" Caleb mumbled, but you caught every word. He handed you medicine, but you did not take it.

"Too bitter." You said.

"Quit whining. "Just take it and go to sleep."

"If I take it… you'll have to stay here with me, okay?"

Caleb sighed. "Only until you sleep, pipsqueak."

You smiled faintly and fast to accept the pills from Caleb's hand. You clutched his hand securely as you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Wanderers, the escapes, and the secrets in which you were a part of. Then, when you woke up again, you noticed Caleb seated beside the bed.

“You're awake now, pipsqueak?” He smiled at you. He was rather relieved. He put a hand on your forehead again. “Yup. No more fever."

Caleb's presence seemed to chase the nightmares away. You removed his hand from your forehead and held it tightly.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

"Let's see…" Caleb brushed his chin. "When you arrived home last night, you went to bed right away. You got a high temperature around early morning. From the time you took the medicine and fell asleep until now, I've finished a whole movie, cooked a delicious pot of porridge, and measured your temperature three times."

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

Caleb laughed. He squeezed your hand once. "You've just been asleep for a few hours. But it is past noon now. Are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure?" Caleb asked again. "I made a super delicious pork rib porridge for you though."

You opened your eyes wide and looked at him. Pork rib porridge was a dish he would often cook when you were sick and no longer in a mood to eat anything. That dish always helped you feel better, even just hearing about it was enough to make you crave food again.

"Pork rib porridge…"

You could only whisper that much when Caleb pressed the tip of your nose and said:

“I knew right away that you couldn't resist food.”

A minute later, the room was filled with the aroma of a still-hot bowl of porridge. Caleb put it on a little tray over the bed. You lay back against the cushion, staring at the meal in front of you as if it were a rare delicacy, despite the fact that the ingredients were absolutely basic.

You looked over at Caleb. He was observing you. "What's wrong? Still no appetite?"

“It's too hot…” You pouted. “Besides,… both my arms and body are aching…”

It took a quite difficult mission in extreme weather, and a high fever to receive special care at your bedside. How could you not enjoy it?

Caleb read you right away. He said: “What? The Hunter in Linkon wants me to feed her? Weren't you delirious this morning, saying you had to go fight off Wanderers?”

“When did I say that? But it's okay if you don't help me. I don't want to eat anymore.”

“Are you still a three-year-old then?”

Even though he grumbled, Caleb still smiled very gently. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool down, then held it out to you.

You opened your mouth really wide, making him chuckle. When he saw that you were eating well, Caleb felt relieved. He teased:

"I thought you're a grown-up now and wouldn't need me to take care of you anymore."

You replied, still with a mouthful of pork rib porridge: "When you lose your cooking skills, I won't really need you anymore then."

Caleb laughed aloud. He patted your head and said: "I didn’t expect my vacation to turn into a part-time job for babysitting. If I catch a fever from you, you must take care of me in return.”

You rose up in a sudden and pressed your still-hot face into the crook of Caleb's neck, nearly dropping the porridge spoon.

“Then I’ll cook pork rib porridge for you. Just heads-up though, even if it tastes yucky, you must eat it all!”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

The door to the hospital room opened. Rafayel's curly purple hair appeared. And immediately, your phone lit up with a text message from Thomas:

[The little devil is coming for you. Sorry, I did my best.]

You exhaled. Clearly, he had not done his best. That was why Rafayel was here, staring at you with such a deep gaze from the entrance.

"Er… "Hello, Rafayel..." You waved your arm, attempting to greet him with a warm smile.

"Rafayel?" He frowned. "Do you still remember that we know each other?"

"Huh? Why did you...?" You left your sentence incomplete as Rafayel surged inside. He placed his hands on his hips, his expression filled with slanderous words as he accused you.

"Who are you? Do I know you? It's been eight hundred years. Jellyfishes are walkin' naked. Sea turtles climb trees. Sharks are eatin' grass for free! And finally, you remembered me?"

You frowned. Why was there something that rang so familiar with this scenario? Yet it was still off.

“Rafayel, I—”

“When are you going to tell me you're hurt?”

Rafayel pointed a finger directly to your shoulder, where the white bandage was visible through the hospital gown. That was the real reason he was precisely distressed.

“Even Thomas knew you were injured. Yet you didn't say a word to me?! You left me waiting alone for three hours at the exhibition. I can't believe you stood me up!”

You lifted your hand, intending to remind Rafayel to keep his voice down because you were both in the hospital. But he gave you no opportunity to speak.

"Do you realize how scared I was? When Thomas told me you couldn't come, I thought about all the things that could happen to you!”

"Rafayel…" You finally found a chance to interrupt him.  “Let's calm down first. I didn't mean to hide it from you, it's just... I haven't told you yet..."

Rafayel crossed his arms. He was still irritated.

“I can't believe it! You deliberately manipulated me with your innocence so that I would let you get away this time!”

You felt dizzy in the head, and your ears were ringing with Rafayel's nagging words and accusations. The injured one was you. Why did you feel as if you had just committed a great sin?

"ARGHHH!" You shouted and clutched your bandaged shoulder. "It hurts!"

Rafayel quickly forgot the rage in his heart. He moved right away to the bed and gently raised your arm. His eyes were full of concern and anxiety.

“Are you hurt? I'll call the doctor here right away!”

You grasped Rafayel's hand, urging him to stay with you.

“See? I'm still very strong. Just a little hurt."

"How much is a little?" Rafayel frowned. You could feel his hot glare on your shoulder, soaking into the bandage and searing your wound.

"… This much." You clasped your thumb and index finger to form a circle, then held it up for Rafayel to see. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest.

"I don't believe you anymore." He continued to speak with a condescending tone. "I have to check it out with my own eyes."

"Huh? What do you mean?…” You suddenly blushed. Rafayel looked at you with serious eyes, yet very sincere. He replied:

“Your wound. I want to see it."

The mere notion of Rafayel wanting to look behind your garments made your cheeks flame. You withdrew your hand and refused:

“I told you I'm fine… Don't make such a scene…”

“If I don't see it, how can I be sure you're not lying to me? This isn't the first time you've hidden your injuries..."

That was all Rafayel said. You gazed at him for a second. Aside from being concerned about you, he was also saddened since you had repeatedly hidden your wounds from him. A great deal when you did not want to bother him, he always found out and became much more frustrated.

"Alright then…"

Eventually, you had to give in. You turned your back to Rafayel and carefully slipped the shirt collar down your shoulder, displaying the neatly wrapped bandages around your torso.

You could see your reflection in the front window. Your face turned crimson. And Rafayel stood next to the bed, attentively investigating you, his fingers softly caressing the gauze, causing you to bow slightly in pain as well as anxiousness.

“Yet you said it was just a little wound.” Rafayel muttered. It was his hand that drew your collar back up. And the next thing you knew, you were upgraded to the best room at the hospital.

You weren't used to how wealthy people spent their money. You looked at Rafayel, who had constantly been by your side during your hospital stay. He requested you to remain in the most advanced hospital room, with the greatest level of care. More than that, he refused to leave your side even when you asked to be alone.

"You don't have to do this, Rafayel." You spoke as he was peeling the fruit for you.

"Open your mouth." He handed you a slice of mango. Even if your lips stated it wasn't required, you nevertheless welcomed all of his attention.

"I'm serious…" As soon as you finished swallowing the mango, he gave you another slice. "Really, um... This mango is truly delicious..."

"Do you crave anything else?" Rafayel purposely ignored every time you told him he didn't need to stay there all day and night to care for you. Your wound had improved significantly.

“I think I can be discharged from hospital and get back to work now…” You said. “I don't want to bother you anymore…”

"What's that?" Rafayel pretended not to hear you. “I think I heard the sound of abalone porridge just being delivered to the hospital. Let me go grab it.”

You sighed. Another expensive meal he had prepared for you. But you knew how much you would miss these things when you left the hospital at last and could no longer benefit from his tender loving care.

“Maybe I'll stay here one more day... You're spoiling me too much...” You muttered beneath your breath, but Rafayel overheard everything. He pinched your cheek and responded:

“You're staying because of the delicious food, not because of my devoted service? This is so heartbreaking! Then, after you've recovered, I'll make you repay everything. You have to work overtime as my bodyguard too!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You crept along the hospital's vacant rear door. You were just hospitalized in the afternoon due to an injury suffered while on job. Even though the doctor advised you to stay for additional examination, you believed the damage was minor. On top of that, the mission was not yet over. You needed to get back to headquarters.

Unfortunately, your escape did not go well. You ran into a familiar shoulder before you could complete the corridor.

"X-Xavier?" You became pale, but not because of the pain. It was only that you were astonished and a little ashamed when caught red-handed.

His look was incredibly complicated, ranging from apprehensive to serious and somewhat furious.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

You didn't dare to reveal the truth, so you invented an excuse: "Ah... well... The hospital room is quite boring, so I decided to go for a stroll."

"From the back door?"

"Er… I heard the nurse say this is a quicker shortcut to the garden..."

Xavier gazed at you for some time. You clutched your hand tight, terrified that he would not believe that ridiculous excuse. Yet, Xavier nodded at you: "Then let's go together."

Before you could respond, Xavier grabbed your hand and led you outside. It was night time, the wind blew, sending you a slight chill. Xavier took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. That incredibly gentle gesture made you feel more guilty than ever for lying to him.

“Lead the way.” He told you shortly. For some reason, you had the impression that he was in extreme anger over you.

During the stroll, you didn't dare to speak, and Xavier did the same. He strolled close to you, as if keeping watch rather than walking together. You wandered about for a long time, but there was no trace of the hospital's garden anywhere. Xavier continued to follow your every step in such silence. Him being like that evoked even more guilt in your heart.

At last, you couldn't take it any longer and had to confess: "Xavier... Actually... The truth is, I don't know where the garden is..."

At that point, he spoke up and asked: "So why did you leave your hospital room?"

You didn't dare look into his eyes, so you just stammered an explanation: "Ah... My injury is nothing to be concerned about... That's why I... planned to return to headquarters..."

You noticed Xavier's hands clenching into fists. Fearing he'd be upset, you added: "The doctor also said my injury wasn't too serious— Ah!"

Xavier abruptly pulled your wrist, causing the wound on your arm to hurt. He read through your face which was miserable but still faking a smile. His voice turned sharp:

“If I hadn't caught you, would you really have sneaked away from the hospital?”

Your body convulsed in pain, but you were more concerned about Xavier's rage. You said, "I'm sorry... I was wrong... I'll return to the hospital room right now..."

"Good." Xavier responded curtly. Then he quickly leaned down and held you up in the attitude of a princess being carried.

"W-What are you doing, Xavier?"

"Let's take you back to the hospital room." His expression remained frigid, making you both terrified and embarrassed to be carried by him in such a manner.

Xavier did not return to the same path you had taken. Instead, he took you into the front entrance, where many people, including patients and hospital staff, could see you.

"Xavier? You... put me down! "They are looking at us!"

"I want them to see, so they know you intend to escape the hospital and will monitor you more closely."

Your cheeks became scarlet with humiliation. You swore you saw a kid pointing at you and chuckling, "Mom! I want to be carried like that princess, too!"

And you swore you saw Xavier smirking at that.

After an embarrassing journey, you finally arrived at your room. Xavier set you down on the bed. He chose to remain silent with you as punishment for your unsuccessful escape. You saw him sitting in the corner of the room, peeling a red apple for you.

“Xavier?”

You called out, but he didn't look at you and just replied curtly:

“Rest.”

“Are you angry with me?…”

Xavier's silence revealed the answer. You groaned and pulled the warm cover up high, as if to conceal yourself away from Xavier's rage, but he remained as quiet as a cloudless sky.

When he finished with the apple, he brought it over and gave you a slice. "Eat."

You did not enjoy this cold and distant demeanor of Xavier. If he was upset with you, he should have expressed it directly. You knew it was your fault, and he was so concerned about you that he got mad when you lied to him like that.

"Xavier, I'm sorry…" Your hands seized Xavier's wrist, which was clutching the apple slice. Your eyes widened as much as possible, even giving the impression that you were going to cry.

In the end, the ploy worked. His gaze had softened completely. He placed the plate of apples on the bed and used his other hand to elevate your chin a little. He said: "If you know your fault, then obediently eat all of these and rest."

His hand softly separated your lips, and his other hand inserted a slice of apple for you to eat. You were back in the sunshine, coaxing him to sit on the bed next to you.

"I'll give you three days to recover." Xavier spoke, his voice still agitated, but you could feel his boundless care and love.

"Then I shall bother you to watch over me for a few more days!"

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You had just returned to your private cabin at the icy mountain base when you heard a tap at the door. You answered the door, wondering who was seeking for you at this hour, and there was Doctor Zayne, holding a first-aid kit while standing outside.

“Zayne?” Your eyes caught the blood on his face and neck. Snow adhered to his dark hair. You took a step back and allowed him inside. "Why are you here?"

Your team had accepted the mission of rescuing people caught in an avalanche created by a group of Wanderers on the mountain. You had learnt that a team of physicians from Akso Hospital was also on their way. But you did not expect to see Zayne here.

Zayne set the first aid pack on the table and then turned to you. He went on to say: "I'm here to do my duty as a doctor."

You widened your eyes and inquired him again, "Your duty as a doctor?"

Zayne pointed to your abdomen, which was soaked from your own blood oozing through the gauze you had recklessly covered earlier.

"Oh dear…" You cried out. You were so engaged in battles that you didn't have time to look at your wound. Your head began spinning as a result of excessive blood loss.

Zayne's powerful arms directed and assisted you to the table. He put you to the wooden table and took a chair to sit in front of you.

"Doctor Zayne, what are you going to do?"

You noted this when you found his hand on the hem of your shirt. He seemed to want to lift it up.

"Treating you."

You knew that. But you were still extremely nervous when thinking that he was about to lift up your shirt. So your hand was still securely grasping his, preventing him from moving any further.

“I've already bandaged it. A nurse also helped me stitch up the wound earlier..."

During the turmoil, you recalled being stabbed in the abdomen. A nurse assisted you in stitching it up, but because there were so many others with more serious injuries, you let her tend to them while you put bandages over yourself and returned to the battlefield. Perhaps your clumsiness caused the wound to bleed a great deal more.

Zayne used his other hand to remove yours before pulling your shirt up. The gauze surrounding your abdomen was drenched in blood. He slowly withdrew it as you writhed in pain and embarrassment.

"Try to sit still for a bit, will you?"

Zayne's soothing voice burst out, calming you down a lot. You sat on the table, your hands lifting your body up while you looked down at the doctor who was treating your wound. The fact that you had to display your skin beneath his gaze made you uneasy and desire to cover your face. But Zayne was quite professional. He remained silent and entirely concentrated on his work. He cleansed the wound and applied a new layer of gauze. His warm breath occasionally wafted against your skin, causing you to tremble slightly. Even when his frigid fingers touched you, it seemed like you were being scorched.

"It's done."

Zayne said after fixing the new layer of gauze. You were a little discontent when his fingers left you. You were ready to pull your top back down when Zayne lightly rubbed his fingers against your abdomen.

“Ouch!” Even though the place he touched was not wounded, you were still startled and embarrassed.

“Just checking it again.” Zayne elaborated. He had you sitting on the table, your bandaged abdomen at his eye level. You could feel his stare through the gauze, pausing a bit too long in areas that were not covered by anything.

“Doctor Zayne… Are you done now?”

You attempted to keep your speech cool, but your crimson cheeks could have given you away. Zayne appeared to flash a little smile. You felt the icy sensation of his fingertip on your skin again as he slid it beneath the hem of your shirt, then pulled it back down.

"I am now." He answered while returning the supplies to the first aid kit. "Don't be so reckless next time. You have to care for yourself first before you can save others.”

"Hold on." You stopped him. You altered your position and stared into his eyes. "You always say so, but can you actually do what you say?"

Zayne tilted his head to look at you. You took advantage of the moment and raised his chin to have a better look. He had a minor cut on his forehead, and the blood on his body was most likely someone else's.

"You rushed here to take care of me, while you, yourself, are in this condition."

You spoke. His hand found your wrist.

"I barely got a few scrapes. Not as concerning as someone who rushed into the battlefield with a bleeding stomach."

"Whether the wound is big or small, it can be critical." You stated precisely what Dr. Zayne told you whenever he saw you injured, even if it was only a little cut.

Realizing that he had just tasted his own medicine, Zayne let out a small laugh. Then he tugged your hand, causing you to almost lean towards him. He gazed into your eyes for quite a while.

"So, my doctor, will you treat me?"

You blushed again. Zayne relinquished his hand, allowing you to properly wipe the blood off his face. You had to confess that you were a little awkward, owing to your unexpected closeness to Zayne in such a private and calm setting. He probably could hear your heart racing. He supported your hand which was holding a sterilized cotton pad and said:

"If you want to become a skilled doctor, in situations like this you must be even calmer."

"I'm not as professional as Dr. Zayne." You answered with a little caustic tone. "You were able to treat my wound so calmly just now."

Zayne gazed at you for an instant. His face remained calm, but his eyes were not.

"I'm a skilled doctor. Yet, it doesn’t imply that I wouldn't feel anything while treating the girl I like in such a... condition."

[brazilian-vampyra]

♱ NEEDING SOME LOVE? ｡ﾟ ♡

(english)

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ synopsis: you are a succubus and offers affection after jjk men pass or are in stressful situations.

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ characters: ryomen sukuna, gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro, choso kamo, nanami kento.

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ warnings: strong language, rough sex, unprotected sex, praising kink, hair pulling, degradation kink, oral (both receiving), fem!dom, male!dom, creampie, nipple play, teasing, love bites, needy behavior.

⭑ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄 was tired. He was hella tired.

Some time ago, Kento decided to give up his life as an office worker and put into practice everything he had learned at Jujutsu High. Enduring Gojo Satoru shouting in his ear like he did in high school was the worst of the problems, the big "x" of the issue now was dealing with the curses that arrived in the city.

Sukuna's return seemed to have brought a streak of bad luck to everyone else, and it stressed him, God, how it stressed him.

He had fought against a curse called "Mahito". He was all patched up, had blue hair, was tough and very ironic, the kind that brags about their deplorable exploits. His stupid actions meant that Nanami had to spend more time at work, as he was going to finish his shift at 6 p.m., but Mahito was persistent and stupid, forcing him to work overtime.

He left office life so he could stop working like a convict, and now he was forced to work overtime because of this stupid curse?

It's incredibly disrespectful.

He arrived at the apartment tired, just thinking about taking a relaxing shower and sleeping. Maybe this vacation to Malaysia should be brought forward.

He unlocked the main door and when he entered, he turned on the orange lamp next to it, casting dim light across the room. He was already loosening his tie and muttering some swear words when he came across a peculiar figure on the sofa. You were lying on your side, resting your face in your hand, looking at him with a mischievous smile and slightly shaking your tail.

The tail, as well as the horns and wings were part of your real form, but you made them disappear to be more comfortable sometimes.

━━ What are you doing in my house? — the blonde questioned, without paying much attention to you.

━━ You know how it is, no big deal... — you slid onto the couch. ━━ Just checking if my favorite blonde is okay...

━━ I am very well.

You giggled indiscreetly.

━━ You seem stressed to me...

━━ I can ease my stress on my own, I don't need another curse bothering me today.

You got up from the couch, walking over to him with a hand on your chest, pretending to be offended.

━━ Aww, too bad. I'm not a curse, you know this... — you said, making your most fantasy features disappear, looking like a normal human. ━━ Are you going to treat me like that night was nothing?

He grunted, taking off his tie to make himself more comfortable.

━━ It was a dream. A fucking dream.

━━ It wasn't a dream... — you teased. ━━ But I agree with you on the fucking part. Wow, we fucked so much!

You kept remembering about it, with a mischievous smile on your lips.

━━ What did you come for, you devil? Feed? If so, I'm tired, I don't have any energy to give you.

Well, that's the truth. Succubus feeds on a person's vital energy through sex.

━━ Do I look evil, Kento? I'm here to take care of you. You let me feed myself, I think it's fair that I take care of you.

You took a hand to the blonde's defined jaw and slid your fingers over his skin, watching as he shivered.

━━ You'll see... I can wash your hair... — you took one of his hands and brought it to your face, so he could feel your warm cheek. ━━ Kiss your pretty lips and we can explore each other's bodies, so you will sleep very happy afterwards. Don't you think you need some love?

His mischievous smile was a beautiful invitation. And the blonde gave in to the temptation and desire you emanated. You calmly convinced him, and now you were in the bathroom, in the shower, moaning and feeling the warm water slide over your skin. Nanami's strong body hugged yours from behind, while his hands were covered in liquid soap with passion fruit and chamomile essences.

His huge hands slid over your wet skin and went to your breasts, playing with your nipples between his index and middle fingers; giving you an awesome stimulation.

You could feel his hips grinding against your ass and his cock slides through your tight insides, giving you as much pleasure as you were giving him. The blonde's deep moans were close to your ear, making you bite your lower lip. Your hands were on the blue tiled wall, providing you with some support as he delighted in your body.

━━ I told you... you would be happier- ugh, fuck...

━━ I think you're right, I can't resist that fucking pussy... — he kissed your shoulder. ━━ Goddamn, if these curses keep stressing me out I'm going to need you every week...

━━ I'll always be here for you, darling... — you smiled, biting your bottom lip and brought a hand up to his wet blonde hair, while his lips were on your shoulder, tasting your wet skin. ━━ Every time you need... to give you the sweetest dreams ever.

[...]

⭑ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ⭑

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑 can be irritated and stressed, like ordinary people. With Sukuna's return, there were other curses with Kenjaku causing problems, such as a stranger called Jogo. They didn't seem like a big problem, nothing he couldn't handle, but it was certainly something that would irritate him and require more strength and patience.

He had to balance this with his teaching duties and training the host of the king of curses, Yuji Itadori.

Sometimes Satoru fantasizes about what his life would be like without the responsibility of being a special grade sorcerer. Maybe he could be like most who don't have to worry about literally being humanity's last hope if the curses ever want to claim dominance again.

He had lost his best friend a few years ago, and it still hurt him. He had to take care of Yuji, Megumi and Nobara, as well as put up with hearing shit from other elitist sorcerers.

All of this made Satoru frustrated.

This caused erotic dreams to happen with a certain frequency, and the figure that satisfied him was you, a succubus. You're wrong if you think that your relationship with the most powerful sorcerer was just sex, nothing like that, you also talked a few times, flirted and even saw each other in real life.

At that point, you could already consider each other very close.

Now he had arrived home and removed the bandage that covered his vibrant blue eyes.

━━ I know you are here, sweetie.

He hadn't turned on any lights yet, but then you emerged from the shadows when he turned on the yellow lights in the living room. The lights were in a weaker tone, precisely so that he could be more relaxed and rest, providing a cozy atmosphere.

You were wearing a button-down shirt he had. A long-sleeved white shirt that had a few buttons lazily closed. Your thighs were bare, your smooth skin perfectly visible and your seductive scent carried far and wide. Your horns were not visible, nor were your wings or tail.

He went feral just by seeing this.

━━ I can see in those pretty eyes how tired you are... — you walked closer to him, hugging his neck affectionately. ━━ Wanna tell me what happened?

A muffled laugh echoed between you, a laugh coming from him before he slid his tongue across his lower lip gently.

━━ It's amazing how you always come up with the right words, and that lovely voice... — he wrapped his arms around your waist. ━━ It doesn't even feel like you're here with the purpose of sucking me dry.

You laughed at the audacity of the perfect white-haired sorcerer's words.

━━ Do you think I'm a mercenary who only cares about your life energy, Satoru? What we have is special... — you looked at him with your best puppy eyes.

He smiled happily upon hearing this.

━━ Don't you think you're needing some love, handsome?

You looked at him with your pink eyes, like a shining gemstone. Glowing with lust.

Gojo's response was his lips immediately being pressed against yours. His warm tongue slid against yours, allowing you to taste the mint gum he had been chewing all day. His hands held and squeezed your waist, making you moan against his lips, and he bit your lower lip lightly.

When you realized, you were on his bed. Your clothes were making a trail that led from the living room to the bedroom, and your bodies were sweaty on the sheets. You were on your side, with your head on the pillow, feeling one of Satoru's hands squeezing your breasts while the other held your thigh, slightly raised so that he could thrust his hips with precision against you.

The blue-eyed man bit your neck a little between kisses, probably leaving your skin marked, but he liked it. He liked to have the feeling that you were his.

━━ This pussy calms me down in a way... — he moaned, never stopping moving his hips against you, making the sound of your bodies echo throughout the room. ━━ It's like it was made for me...

━━ Take it easy, love... — you gripped the sheets tightly, feeling his body against yours as your vision was clouded with pleasure. ━━ Or you'll get addicted...

━━ Fucking hell, I already am... — hearing him go crazy was priceless. ━━ I need that damn pussy sliding on my cock every night...

[...]

⭑ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 ⭑

𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 that even though it was half a curse, the human feelings of this man who was almost two hundred years old were the strongest. He — who had exhausted eyes — was lost among difficult and confused thoughts.

His current mental state lived up to his appearance. He was as worn out as his eyelids and his dark circles. The physical and mental exhaustion of the blood handler was increasingly evident, he no longer knew what to do. He had constant and massive existential crises, which made his head scream.

Being by Kenjaku's side felt right, but something in him told him that wasn't the only option he had. Halloween was coming, the coup in Shibuya was going to happen and Choso only thought about running out of there and never coming back, evaporating like water in a hot pot of rice. But on the other hand, he must avenge the death of his brothers.

Why did life have to be so difficult?

He entered the room, throwing himself on the bed and burying his face in a pillow as he sighed heavily and tried to clear his thoughts. That was when a shiver ran down his spine and he looked at an armchair next to him.

There you were, with your horns and wings and your tail, slowly swaying back and forth like a cat.

━━ Hi, baby.

You smiled and waved calmly at him.

━━ W-Who are you? What are you doing here?

━━ Oh, don't you know who I am? — You were surprised. ━━ Well, let me put on a friendlier appearance to talk to you then.

In the blink of an eye your mystical features disappeared.

━━ Better, right?

You fixed your hair softly.

━━ I'm a succubus, by the look on your face I can assume you've never met one, right?

He nodded shyly.

━━ Well, Choso... I noticed you're so stressed. So tired, so depressed... — you walked over to the bed, running your hands through his silky hair. ━━ That brought me here.

━━ Can I assume you want to kill me...?

You laughed at the man's naivety.

━━ Kill you? No, no. Why would I kill such an adorable guy like you? — he was so adorable and cute. ━━ All I need is a little bit of your life energy, and don't worry, you'll recover in time.

━━ And how do I give it to you?

━━ You'll have to cum for me.

His pale cheeks turned red like ripe strawberries.

━━ W-What!?

━━ Feeding me during sex is the best option, and the best thing is that it doesn't hurt you either... — your hot pink eyes glowed at him, in a tone of eloquent desire. ━━ Don't you think you need some love, baby?

Yes, Choso had to assume that this was the best option for him at the moment. He might have to give you some of his life energy, but at the same time he would be rewarded for it. He was a bit inexperienced, and he didn't hide it — maybe he couldn't even try to hide it.

While you were kissing, he ended up asking to taste your pussy. That was the most promiscuous and shy request a man had ever made to you, two extremes at once. He accepted, and now he was eating you out with a desire that not even an extremely experienced man had ever eaten. His eyes were closed, his hands were squeezing your thighs and his face was buried between your legs.

The desire left him intoxicated, too focused on making you feel good.

Your legs were draped over his shoulders and you held onto his beautiful dark hair, squeezing it every now and then just out of sheer will, as you let him dictate at his own pace. Kamo's tongue slid inside you and his lips worked together to make you moan more and more.

At that point he couldn't take it anymore. The noticeable erection inside his pants was making that piece of clothing tighter and tighter, and if you kept moaning like that while he tasted you, he would probably end up cumming in his boxers. It had been a long time since he had tasted pussy this sweet, and now he felt like he was being bewitched or something.

━━ Hmm... you're so sweet, hm... — he kept eating.

━━ Such a good boy, you're doing well... — looked down, seeing his lips on your soaked sex. ━━ Don't be shy, rub your face on it...

Without even blinking, he held your thighs tighter and rubbed his face against your pussy, making you moan loudly and grip his hair tighter. That was unexpected, as you didn't expect to be dealing with a man who would obey so much.

Choso Kamo is indeed a good boy.

[...]

⭑ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒����𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 was far from being a bed of roses. Unlike what is shown in movies or comics, it is a sad, strange life with a growing sense of death because at any moment there could be a sniper waiting for you. Or another hitman who was hired to kill you as personal revenge for some of your work.

It was no different for Toji, who had to kill people almost every day.

The smell of iron coming from the blood was no longer something he found strange, as it was like smelling the good smell of a disinfectant or a perfume that was pleasant. Most of his clothes were black, just so he wouldn't worry about blood stains, his house didn't have light-colored carpets, precisely so that he wouldn't have to do such intense cleaning if blood leaked through a trash bag.

He lived in an extremely simple apartment, in a suburban neighborhood where the rent was very cheap.

Perhaps if his gambling addiction hadn't consumed him, he might have been in a better situation, as he was paid very well for his services. It was no surprise, after all Toji is a professional at what he does.

Today he was hired to kill an extremely important man, and he was protected by some very experienced and strong sorcerers, that was a lot of work and Toji got hurt a little. Now he had taken a cold shower and put on black sweatpants, lying down on the double bed in that small room, lit by the orange light from the streetlight that invaded through the window.

You teleported to his bed, laying down next to him.

Upon smelling her sweet scent entering his nostrils, Fushiguro wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

━━ I was already thinking about summoning you, my little devil...

His deep voice shook your bones, reverberating on it.

━━ Missing me, my love? — you teased.

━━ Always, honey.

━━ Had a bad day?

━━ Bad as fuck, but now I have you here.

━━ I think you're needing some love, don't you agree? — you turned to him, smiling mischievously and running a hand over the scar he had on his lip.

━━ I need all the love in the world right now.

And so you started kissing. It was an intense kiss, with a lot of desire and lust as your tongues touched and he grunted against your mouth. His kiss always seemed to take the air out of you, leaving you shocked at how good he felt.

Toji Fushiguro is ridiculously good in bed.

Right now, he was reminding you why he's the best you've ever had. This man was fucking you in a deliciously sinful mating press, holding your thighs as his green eyes were locked on yours and he was thrusting his hips against you like there's no tomorrow.

Fucking looking into the eyes was something so intimate and serious that you had never done with anyone; Toji could consider himself a big important milestone in your centuries-old succubus life.

━━ So fuckin' good f'me... — he was going crazy, just like you.

It felt strangely good, feeling him thrusting while you were stuffed. This man had already come and was still hard and needy for more, so much so that some of his hot cum was dripping down your poor little hole.

━━ You're such a whore, aren't you? This pussy is dripping and you still want more...

You smiled mischievously, biting your bottom lip and looking at him.

━━ What can I do? You're irresistible...

[...]

⭑ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 was not satisfied with his concubines.

Yes, you did not read it wrong. No, that wasn't a doubt, it was an affirmation.

You, like a good succubus, had been watching him from the shadows for a while, because after all, his life seemed to be extremely interesting. Realized from the beginning that he had four concubines, all of them beautiful, with the most different bodies, different shapes. Always dressed in flashy lingerie and wearing jewelry.

But somehow, he no longer looked at them with that hunger and desire he had at first. You wonder why?

The truth is that there was no answer to this notorious question. He had probably just lost interest in them or sex in general for a while because of the problems that were plaguing him. After all, he is the king.

With this in mind, you decided to pay a visit to the lonely king.

You entered his throne room, wearing beautiful red lingerie, adorned with some rubies, which framed your curves very well. Your soft skin was completely exposed and you made a point of letting your perfume emanate far away, as well as your pheromones.

━━ Sukuna... long time no see.

You teased him, laughing softly. You never had to bow to him, he "forgave" your audacity.

━━ Little brat... can I know why are you bothering me?

━━ I came to offer you help.

━━ Help?

━━ I noticed you don't care about your concubines anymore... from afar I feel your dissatisfaction.

He laughed mischievously, in his classic way.

━━ And what did you come here for? Apply to replace one of them?

━━ Sukuna, speaking like that, it seems like you don't know me — you made a subtle gesture with your hand. ━━ I just came here to propose a deal.

━━ What type of deal?

━━ You give me some of your vital energy and I give you pleasure...

He would have said "yes" right away the way he was, but playing hard to get was part of his personality.

━━ What makes you think I would accept this deal?

You smiled mischievously and began to crawl towards him, slowly climbing the steps that led to his throne at the top. Like a cat, it crawls slowly until it reaches the ball of yarn.

━━ Oh, my king... — you knew how to play dirty. ━━ I was watching you the whole time, I can see how frustrated you are.

You rested your head on his thigh, covered by the white kimono.

━━ You're needing some love, my dear...

And he agreed to this deal the right way. You knew you would have to put up with all the brutality of the king of curses, and you were willing to do that, especially because he didn't go beyond the limits, but he really was remarkable.

The white kimono he was wearing was already open, exposing his beautiful body with the marks that were his striking feature. You were kneeling right in front of him, while he held your hair and moaned, with his eyes closed and tilting his head back. Your mouth slid over his huge cock, feeling how his precum slid over your tongue every time you played with his sensitive, pink tip.

Sukuna's moans were as profane as his dark, morbid nature.

But they were truly a pleasure to listen to, and they were so good that it was making your thin panties weat with your desire, which ran down your slits as you used your mouth on him.

━━ F-Fuck... what a good fucking slut you are... — he pulled your hair.

You gagged on his cock a few times. Which was completely acceptable since he was indeed huge.

You were still going to have a lot of fun in that room, you couldn't even imagine that you could fuck in as many positions as he was going to fuck you on that throne.

[...]

⭑ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 was on the verge of going crazy.

Summer was a difficult season, as curses were everywhere and spread like plagues. In fact, the heat was so intense that it could kill the curses on its own, but he, as a sorcerer, had the obligation to act against them.

All that stress was already becoming unbearable, Suguru was already one step away from freaking out and killing everything and everyone in sight — whether it was a curse or not. He no longer cared about anything, and only thought about how complicated his life was and that maybe he wished he could have been born without this gift, so that he could do what "normal people" do.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for the man with long dark hair, you already had an eye on everything. I analyzed him from afar at various times, and thought about when would be the right time to approach him. You heard that he had been having these outbursts since Jujutsu High, now he was an adult and was still trying to control himself for not causing a giant disgrace.

Now he was on the balcony of his bedroom, it was a moonlit, starry and hot night.

His hair was tied up at the top and loose at the bottom, so he felt a little fresher. He was only wearing gray boxers and had picked up a cigarette, when he was about to light it, he noticed that he had lost the lighter.

━━ I always leave it here on the balcony table...

He muttered to himself.

━━ Looking for this?

He heard an unfamiliar female voice behind him and immediately looked to see what it was about. It was you, you were there looking at him like a predator looks at its prey, with your hot pink eyes.

━━ Don't get closer, or I-...

━━ What? Are you gonna eat me? — you teased, while holding his lighter. ━━ I mean, depending on how it goes, I accept it...

━━ Who are you?

You took the cigarette from his hand, politely asking "excuse me", and brought it to your lips, lighting it with the lighter and inhaling the smoke before bringing it to his lips. Suguru should assume that was a very sensual thing to watch, more so than he would like to admit.

You introduced yourself, saying your name to him and offering a gentle smile.

━━ Are you a curse? — he was smoking his cigarette calmly. ━━ I can feel your cursed energy.

━━ Succubus and incubus are not curses, but we have cursed energy.

━━ Then why are you here? I don't think I have anything that interests you, except my skills.

━━ I think your skills are formidable, but I don't want them, don't worry — you leaned over the balcony and took the cigarette from his lips, smoking it before giving it back. ━━ I want something else, and it can help you.

━━ I'm listening.

━━ I want to have sex with you.

Suguru almost choked on his own smoke at that moment. A creature appeared on his bedroom balcony in the middle of a summer night and suddenly said it wanted to have sex with him? That's weird.

━━ Sorry, I'm usually pretty straight to the point, haha.

━━ Can you explain? — he was recovering from his surprised cough.

━━ I feed on vital energy, and I need yours. Don't worry, I won't take everything, and you will recover pretty quickly because of your cursed energy level.

━━ What do I get from that?

━━ I have been watching you during this time, I know you are stressed and exhausted from having to deal with curses. So... I can make you feel good, really good, trust me...

━━ I won't sell myself for lust, not even if... holy shit.

While he was talking, you took off the thin t-shirt you were wearing and left your breasts exposed, leaving now only your denim mini skirt.

━━ C'mon, Suguru... don't you think you deserve some love? — you told him, in your seductive way.

The answer after that was clearly yes, and he buried the cigarette in the ashtray before kissing your lips eagerly and holding you in his arms, dragging you to the bed. Even though you had just met, it wasn't difficult for you to find the harmony between your bodies because somehow, you had the perfect fit.

You told the sorcerer that he just needed to let you ride him so he could be calm and sleep happily. He didn't think twice before accepting the proposal, and now you were there, in his lap.

Geto was lying down, with his eyes closed and moaning slyly while keeping his hands on your hips. You kept your weight on your knees, resting on the mattress as you moved your hips up and down, feeling your pussy milking his cock. His fingerprints would stay on your hot skin for a long time, you never wanted to forget this.

He looked beautiful with his hair messy like that, begging for more and being sensitive.

━━ W-What kind of black magic is this? W-What are you doing to me? — he moaned frantically. ━━ Oh my fucking God... that's so perfect...

You giggled mischievously as you continued moaning and said in your most promiscuous tone:

━━ I put a spell on you... — you brought a hand to his face, sliding it across his lower lip. ━━ Because you're mine...

[...]

۰ ࣪📂 ٬٬ 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: maybe it's a random topic but i was fantasizing about it one day and decided to write :) everything was written by me, don't take it as yours or get inspired without giving credit.

[calypsocolada]

MISO SOUP AND SWEET POTATOES | g. tomioka

(click here for part two!)

synopsis: you're tasked with convinicing Giyu to join the Hashira Training author's note: hello. this was a days worth of writing. from 11 am to 3 am. i even wrote parts in my notepad at work. i really like how this turned out. i finished the hashira training arc last night and think that final episode might've been the best episode of anime i have actually ever seen. this is a whole ass story cw: slightly suggestive, major spoilers for rengoku and the hashira training arc, character death, gore, ANGST, fluff, happy ending, not proofread, fem reader, use of y/n a lil, lover!giyu, hardheaded!reader wc: 6.3k

click here for my masterlist

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“Would you mind talking to Giyu for me? So that Giyu, who tends to put himself into a negative frame of mind can start looking ahead again. Will you be persistent in your efforts to speak with him?” 

You stared at the letter. You reread it again and again and again. Your body still aches from the previous fight in the swordsmith village and you sort of hoped this was a hallucination. That you were still unconscious. But as your crow beside you squawked and you jumped you knew it was real. The paper crinkled beneath your hands. Kagaya’s handwriting is flawless and script. You followed the trail of his pen again. 

Would you mind speaking to Giyu for me?

You wondered if maybe this letter was accidentally sent to you. Even as your eyes wandered back up to the top of the paper that clearly said ‘Dear Y/n’. Even if it didn’t say your name there were no accidents with Kagaya. 

But… but there had to be. Out of everyone, all the Hashira that were certainly closer to Giyu. But you, the newest Hashira, had been chosen to speak with him? In what world did that make any sense? You barely knew the guy. Granted he had been the reason you joined the corp originally but he’d dodged your very presence the best he could ever since. 

Your village had been attacked about four years ago. Same old story for a lot of people victimized by demons. There was never a happy ending with those monsters involved. Always blood. Always loss. It was no different for you. Half of your family was slaughtered before you could even rouse yourself from sleep. But when you did all you saw was the inkblots of blood on your white walls, the color shining from being hit by the moonlight. You remembered sitting up and feeling numb as you heard someone screaming. The scream that never left you. Something you’d never be able to ingest for as long as you lived. 

When you got to your feet your mother had busted into your room. She looked pale, blood gushing from beneath her white nightgown. She scooped you up and kissed your head as she stuffed you into the closet. She shushed your cry’s and told you not to come out until the sun shone beneath the crack in the door. She gave you one last kiss. You didn’t know then it was the last. You reached for her but she pushed your hands back, silently shook her head then pressed the door closed. 

You’d always been a good kid. You stayed put exactly as you’d been told. Even as you heard more screams. Even as it went quiet. 

Only until that sun shone beneath your door did you move. You busted out of that closet. Your mother’s name is the first thing on your lips but she wasn’t the first person you saw. The scene in your house was horrific to say the least. The sights of the people you loved in multiple torn pieces is something that comes back to you in flashes when you fight demons. 

It spurs you on to do exactly what they did to your family back to them. To tear them to shreds. 

In the middle of it all was a boy. He was sitting so still that you didn’t even notice him amongst the slaughter. Your living room was still dark, dark enough that it kept this monster safe as it rose to its full height. No longer a boy but a creature from your deepest darkest nightmares. It had your family’s blood on its mouth as it smiled a wickedly devilish smile. 

“Hmm. Missed one.” It spoke in a gravelly tone as it swallowed whatever it was chewing on. You could guess what. You stepped back into your mother’s blood… or maybe your father’s? The blood, thick beneath your foot slid out from underneath you and you crashed into their bodies, something sharp sticking into your side as you gasped in sudden pain. Your mother’s hand still gripped a knife that had now lodged itself in your thigh. The demon only laughed. “Clumsy one aren’t you. Mother wasted her time hiding something so useless.” He growled, approaching with a predatory gleam in his dark eyes. 

When he pounced towards you something momentary took hold over you. You, a measly twelve years old, ripped that knife from your own leg and thrusted it into the demon's eye. The creature roared like nothing you’d heard before as it stumbled back away from you. You just blinked as you watched it, numbness contending with your fear. The creature yanked the knife out and tossed it angrily to the side. It growled, fuming as it charged back at you. You raised your hands to defend yourself, screwing your eyes shut. You heard the whoosh of something cutting through the air itself and when you opened your eyes the creature had halted its assault. It locked eyes with you moments before its head toppled right off its shoulder. You stared in abject horror as the creature's body started to burn a blood red color and you saw a figure behind it. You were as still as a statue as the figure behind  it took shape. 

The shape of a boy, he couldn’t have been much older than you. Eyes an indigo blue, dark and almost unfeeling as they met yours. You watched as he gave a quick swipe of his sword to rid it of the demons burning blood as he sheathed it back at his side. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice young like yours. You weren’t hurt. Somehow. And you couldn’t open your mouth to answer him, not with your body still on top of your parents. You just stared at him, even as your eyesight got cloudy and stinging tears slid down your cheeks. 

The boy walked towards you and remained still, unable to move as he bent down in front of you. He reached and clumsily brushed the tears from your face. It was as if he knew you wouldn’t part your lips to speak because wordlessly he, with immaculate ease, picked you up off the corpses and carried you out of the house. You moved for the first time in minutes as your head tilted to look back towards your family. 

“Eyes on me.” He said and sure enough your eyes snapped to him. To take in his face. Eyes endlessly dark blue as they stared forwards. He had to have been your age, maybe a year older. He had the shape of a young face, with full cheeks and raven black hair to the nape of his neck. You couldn’t look away, it had nothing to do with his looks but everything to do with his command. 

You were a good kid. When someone told you to do something you did it. Years later you would come to thank Giyu for that, for commanding you to look at him instead of glancing back at what remained of your family.

Everything after that was just sort of a blur. You stayed some place warm, a faint fire flickering and that boy with the sword stayed with you until some men in black uniforms found you. You remember not being able to walk, the shock and grief of the night not letting you. You’d held onto your saviors shirt, your fist balled. He let you, in fact he even came along with you and the men in black and when they asked you to let go you blinked at them. You hadn’t even noticed you were still holding on. You let go in an instant. Your hand is sore from how tightly you’d been clenching. The men in black’s hands were on your shoulders guiding you away and when you looked back your voice came to you. 

“What’s your name?” You asked, everything paused for you so you could hear his answer. 

“Giyu.” He answered. You put a name to his face. You parted your lips to thank him but nothing came out again. You couldn’t say thanks. Not when you were the only breathing because you cowardly hid in the closet. You felt you didn’t deserve to be thankful. You met his eyes again and something, somehow, told you he understood. He gave you the softest nod of his head and when he turned to leave you felt your heart drop. Like something had bonded you to this boy. But you turned and let yourself be whisked away. 

A year later you worked for the very same people as Giyu had. You were given a sword and trained thoroughly by a man with red and orange hair. You weren’t ever good with names but the fire in him fueled the fire in you. Which is why you eagerly learned that breathing style and trudged up that mountain to crush the selection test. 

A few years after that you ran into Giyu. You were sent on a mission to help the Water Hashira. You’d never met any other Hashira besides Rengoku so you were sort of apprehensive. You never liked meeting new people. All those years spent with Rengoku and his fiery personality you wished at least some of it had rubbed off on you but… you were still demure and quiet, quick to anger and prone to disappearing. You liked your alone time. You had all but begged Rengoku to let you go with him in his mission, apparently some demon had infested a train, that sounded far more exhilarating than helping some water Hashira you didn’t know. Rengoku did what he always did when you were disappointed. He gave you a sort of unwanted hug, though secretly you wanted and needed it, and ruffled your hair. 

“We’ll see each other in two weeks. Next mission is yours and mine.” He said and then he was gone and you were boarding a train going the opposite way. 

When you arrived, stepping off the train your eyes met the same indigo blue eyes from so many years ago. When you were both kids. Now both adults. You stopped where you stood, unable to walk any closer as everything fled back. Stuff you had managed to keep down deep for so many years. Memories you wanted to erase. All that time wasted and drudged back up in mere seconds. Giyu may have had those same eyes but he was grown now. His hair longer and tied back, his face had lost that boyish roundness. He looked tall and lean. Well at least taller than you. For a moment he looked just as surprised as you but he smoothed over that emotion into something practiced. 

“It’s you.” He said, his voice deep and soft. You swallowed, your hand resting on your sword. 

“You’re the water Hashira?” You asked and he nodded his head as the train behind you dinged and slowly pulled out of the stop, the wind brushing your hair over your shoulders. 

“You’re Rengoku’s tsuguko?” At that you nodded your head back at him. His eyes trailed to your sword, to your haori, and old one Rengoku had lent you. His eyes lingered on that fiery pattern.  

“I never learned your name.” He said and then his eyes flicked to yours. You swallowed dryly, you weren’t sure why he made you so nervous, why your heart was beating so fast. You wondered if he was a part of a life you wanted to die off. The scared girl in the closet was far from who you were now. Rengoku never got to meet that scared girl. No one had. Except Giyu. You told him your name and he repeated it, as if feeling how it felt on his own lips. Your heart skipped a traitorous beat at the way he spoke your name. It felt different coming from him. You grabbed ahold of yourself.

“Shall we?”

But your mission with Giyu was cut off with the sudden death of Rengoku. You and Giyu hadn’t made it back to the village before both of your crows had delivered the news. You still remembered everything about that moment. Giyu walking beside you, your haori catching a gust of wind, cold wind, as if winter was coming. You could replay your footsteps on the dirt road. The distant flapping of wings growing closer and closer and then stopping as they landed. Your initial glance over at the water Hashira before the delivering of the news. The ripple before the crack in your soul. Giyu had been present for the worst two days of your life. Something about losing someone again that felt like family irrevocably broke something in you all over again. This pain you felt before today you wondered for years if it would last. Rengoku had healed some of it. And begrudgingly and foolishly you let him in. But now you have your answer. This pain would last forever. You couldn’t even cry, you just stared blankly ahead, just as you had in your dark house wrecked with the stench of blood. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder, you didn’t want to look at him.

“Go, I’ll finish the mission.” He said, his voice different, there was a coldness before but now only warmth. You still didn’t look at him as you turned to leave.

“Be careful.” You choked out before taking off in a run back towards the train station. 

You’d seen Giyu a few times after that but only in passing, never long enough to start up a proper conversation though both of you hated talking. You never let anyone else in after that. You took up the position of Fire Hashira and the only thing fiery about you was your utter hatred for demons. The other Hashira were sort of weary of you and that kept them at a distance. You only talked when absolutely needed and was the first to leave after Hashira meetings. You liked that distance. You’d do anything to keep it. There was only so much heartbreak and loss you could take. You were at your limit. You didn’t have room for anyone in your scabbard dying heart. 

That’s why receiving that letter from Kagaya had caught you so off guard. He of all people knew who you were and still he asked you for a favor. Probably a dying wish. He had shown you kindness and since it was the only thing he’d ever asked you for, reluctantly, you found yourself at the front of Giyu’s home. It was cold out as your knuckles rapped against the wooden door. You waited, stepped back and looked off to the side, expecting to see Kagaya’s crow lingering around somewhere to report back to him. A minute had passed as you gave one more series of knocks. Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t home. You sighed and turned to leave just as the wooden door clicked and was pulled open. When you turned back those striking blue eyes met yours. There was skepticism on his face as you swallowed. That feeling that met you every time you saw Giyu never seemed to fade. That persistent speeding of your heart. That faltering of words. All highly inconvenient.

“Y/n?” Giyu spoke first, pulling the door open just a tad more. He was in casual clothing, he looked as though he may have just woken up.

“Giyu. I never knew you lived in this part of town.” You lied. You knew. 

“It’s quiet.”

“I can see.” The lack of noise was slightly unsettling, only the rustling of leaves in the wind could be heard. You swallowed. “May I come in?” Your voice was slightly strained and didn’t at all sound like you wanted to do that but to your detriment Giyu moved to the side. Giyu’s home was a reflection of himself. It was clean, almost sterile, with dark walnut furnishings and dark curtains. He really must’ve been sleeping because he reaches over and flicks on a few lanterns, casting an orange glow to his living room. 

“I wasn’t expecting company,” He says over his shoulder and you almost agree.

“Unwanted?” You ask and when he shakes his head ‘no’ you relax sort of. 

“I’ll make us some food. Did you travel long?” He asks as he leads you towards the kitchen. You take a seat at the kitchen island and watch him get to work. 

“Yeah. Long train ride.” You answer as Giyu nods his head. You know he’s probably dying to know why you’re here but you're sure if you told him things would turn sour. You watched Giyu gather ingredients and supplies, he was very orderly about things, kept things nice and clean as he prepared dinner for you both. You had a lot of experience cooking growing up with Rengoku, that man could eat and eat. Just at the thought you felt a pang and forced your face not to show it.

“Do you need help?” 

“That’s alright, you rest.” Giyu intones, setting a cup in front of you as he fills it with hot black tea. You thank him, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. You stare down into the tea for a moment and realize you had no idea how to go about this little favor Kagaya had asked of you. You barely spoke with anyone, you were well out of practice. How genuine would this ask even be coming from you? 

“How’re you?” You asked, not letting yourself be embarrassed by your lack of social skills. Giyu flicks on the stove.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked over his shoulder and stupidly, because he wasn’t even looking at you, you nodded your head before clearing your throat and speaking.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” You hoped that didn’t come out as sharp as it sounded.

“I’m… well. Thank you for asking.” Giyu answered, his monotone answer at war with the words he spoke. He sounded anything but well. You remembered the last Hashira meeting. You remembered Giyu’s back turned as he said, “I’m not like the rest of you.” Unlike Sanemi you didn’t feel angry at that. In fact you knew how that felt. To feel unwelcomed and wanting it to stay that way. 

“If you’re well then I’m well.” You said and when Giyu turned, his eyes meeting yours, you felt a flash of how you saw him that first time. You blinked it away as he turned back.

“I didn’t think… you of all the Hashira’s would be the first to visit.” Giyu said, turning back to the stove. You stared at the back of his head. 

“Me neither.” You said with a soft sigh. “But here I am.”

“Here you are.” He says, his voice soft again. It did funny things to you. Funny things that only he could elicit. It was frustrating.

“Giyu…” You trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject. “Did something happen? To make you not want to help out with the Hashira training?” Giyu was quiet for a long moment. You watched him stir some stuff into the pan and for a moment you thought he hadn’t heard you. 

“Can we not… talk about that?” He asks almost kindly. But that’s all you needed to talk about. If you didn’t stay on topic you’d be doing Kagaya a disservice, though could you count that as a hardy first try?

“Of course.” You answered, fiddling with your hands. You’d left your sword back at the inn you were staying at and wished you’d had it just so you could fiddle with something else. “Though, I apologize but, I almost wish I could sit it out too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Training a bunch of snot nosed kids sounds like hell to me.” You spoke truthfully and watched Giyu;s shoulders rise and fall quickly, almost like he was maybe laughing, but he still wasn't facing you so you wouldn’t know.

“Not a fan?”

“I had my fill with the three from the swordsmith village.” Tanjiro, his little demon sister, Nezuko and Sanemi’s little brother Genya. All a handful. But very capable in a fight. 

“How’re your wounds? I… never got to ask.” Giyu says as he reaches for some seasoning, finally turning to the side to face you.

“Scarring up.” You said and Giyu nodded his head, his eyes drifting to the scar on your cheek.

“Two upper ranks. If anyone could handle them I knew it’d be you.” He says with a sort of gleam in his eye. 

“Can’t take the credit. That red head kid killed one of ‘em while MItsuri and I held off its body. Muichiro took one by himself.” You recounted, the fight honestly felt like it would never end.

“You and Kanroji worked together?”

“Surprising, right?”

“Not at all.” Giyu answers. “You two are very alike.”

“In what way?” You almost laughed at that statement. 

“Strong, fierce, never quit.”

“I think we all have that in common.” You say and Giyu gets this look in his eyes as he turns back away. You feel as though you lost some ground. You chew the inside of your lip. Clearly Giyu doesn’t feel as though he had that in common with you. Something ignited in you. A need to say something on your mind. “Giyu… I-- I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me?”

“I’ve… wrestled with it for a long time. How to… go about it. Kyojuro used to tell me to practice with all the people we met. To thank them for stupid things, like holding the door open or bringing me food. Just so the words didn’t feel so foreign. But I never really felt thankful for you saving me. I lived because my whole family died. Because I hid.” You take in a shaky breath. You’d never talked about this stuff out loud, not even with Rengoku. You felt embarrassed suddenly, shaking your head, you forced out a choked laugh. “Nevermind. I don’t know what I’m saying.” You felt his eyes on you but you forced yourself to keep looking down at your warm tea. As long as you stayed like this maybe he’d move the conversation along to something else. You cursed yourself for ruining the mood, if there even was one to begin with.

“You don’t have to stop. I… I would like to know more about you. I… always have.” Your eyes shot to his like a gun hitting its mark. Those dark eyes, you could swim in them. Get lost in them. Those eyes… could make you feel something. That made you shoot to your feet, your tea spilling over. Giyu didn’t startle, he just turned to grab a rag but when he turned back you were halfway to the front door. He dropped the towel on the table. “W-wait, Y/N,” He called to you but when he rounded into the living room the front door slammed closed. 

You fumbled outside, steps clumsy as you started to run and run. You didn’t want to think about it. You had to get away, as far as those legs of yours could take you. You could run to the next town over, retrieve your sword in the morning and never speak to the water hashira again. Never again. Favor be damned. What you felt was dangerous. That kind of thing left you the hollow husk you were today. You preferred this safe loneliness. You couldn’t ever be hurt again. You stopped for a moment, the cold air tough to run in as you huffed and puffed out condensation clouds.

“You’re fast.” You hadn’t even heard his approach. You didn’t turn, just swallowed.

“I- realized I have something to do in the morning. Can’t stay out late.”

“Come back, Y/n. Please.” His voice was doing that soft thing you body liked so much. You clenched your jaw, if you could stab your heart you would.

“Can’t.”

“Why? And… tell me the truth.” You heard him walk a bit closer. Please, you thought, just go back home.

“Maybe you’re right. What you said at the last meeting, that you’re not like us other Hashira. Maybe I just realized it.” You wanted to hurt him, it was a common defense you used quite often. 

“And?”

“And I’m wasting my time speaking with someone who’d rather sit on the sidelines.” You spat over your shoulder. That’ll do it, you thought, that’ll get him to leave. It was quiet, heartbreakingly quiet and you were too much of a coward to see the hurt you caused so you started to walk away towards your inn.

“I… don’t care if you hate me.” You stopped walking instantly and turned, Giyu looked stricken, as if you slapped him. You regretted turning around. “You can hate me all you want. Yell at me, hit me, whatever you want to do. But I need you to know… you might regret me saving you but I have never regretted saving you…”

“Giyu,”

“Please… let me.” He straightened slightly. “I… am amazed by you.” His words hit you like the sharpest sting. Like a knife in the gut that slowly twists. “You’re incredible, nothing ever could rival you. You… lost so many yet you fight with purpose. I could never be like you.” You tense your jaw, eyes sharp. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” You take a step towards him. “I am hateful. I don’t have a purpose to fight anymore I just do it because it needs to be done. You don’t know me at all.”

“Maybe I don’t. But… I want to.”

“Why?”

“I’m not succinct.” Giyu sighs, as if tired. “I just do.” Want to know you. You stared at him and that traitorous heart of yours, that naive heart did another flip. You shook your head. 

“You don’t. No one does.”

“Rengoku did.” Your eyes lit like fire, some heat filling your soul. You wanted to yell at him for saying his name. For bringing him into this. But you’d done it first. 

“He’s dead. They all are. My whole family. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want you to know me. I want you to go back home and let me be.” 

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Maybe for the same reason your eyes find mine every time we're in the same room.” Giyu took a step closer, you watched him move as though he was going to strike you down. LIke he was going for a killing blow.

“I… I don’t do that.” The lie was so obvious to your ears it almost made you cringe outwardly. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you because… I look for you in every room. I… I lied to you the second time we saw each other so many years ago I… I knew you were Rengoku’s tsuguko because he’d written to me. He… sensed something and told me he was sending you to me for that mission. I was so… so damn nervous to see you again after so many years. So curious about how you were faring and I couldn’t even get more than fifteen words out. And when Rengoku passed I would write Kagaya, ask him how you were because I was too much of a coward to ask you myself.” That’s why Kagaya wrote to you. Your heart still beat, skipped a beat then beat again. Everything was falling into place. Why Rengoku had sent you away when you had always gone on his missions with him. The scheming man was playing matchmaker. And even Kagaya was playing the same damn game. 

“Don’t say anything else, Giyu. Please.”

“I won’t speak the rest of the night if you come back. You can even leave at first light. Just please… let me feed you and give you a place to sleep.”

“My inn isn’t too far.”

“Please.” The emotion in his voice was staggering. It was a plea. It had sounded like something he needed even more than breathing. You stared at him. If you went with him now that would be the very first crack in your walls. You never gave an inch away since Rengoku died and if you started now everything would crumble.

“No. I’m going back to my inn.”

“I’ll join the hashira training.” He said and your lips parted in silent surprise. “That’s why you came tonight wasn’t it? You’d never do it alone so Kagaya must’ve written to you? Am I right?” Your face must’ve given away the answer because Giyu continued and you realized right here and now this is the most you two have ever talked. An hour together had more dialogue than almost eight years. And this was why you kept your distance all these years. Because if anyone knew you it was Giyu, he’d seen you at your lowest yet here he was… begging you to stay for just a few hours. “Come back and I’ll join. You can consider your favor a success.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’d do it for you.”

“Be serious.” You growled and Giyu took another step forward. You hadn’t noticed him getting so close but suddenly he was close enough to touch. You stepped back. 

“Come back. Please.”

“You’re annoyingly persistent.”

“I just want you safe. That’s all.”

“You already saved me once. That’s enough.” You condemned with a shake of your head. Giyu looked doubtful for a moment, unsure of how to convince you to come back. But if you made good on Kaguya's favor this could be the end of it. “I’ll come back.” His eyes shot up to yours. “But I’m gone first light.” He nodded his head at that. 

Giyu finished up dinner as you set the table. It was quiet between you two after everything. Giyu had all but confessed the real depth of his feelings but you had an idea and it wasn’t something you’d let yourself dwell on. That idea was something close to hope. Something close to the degree of happiness. That’s not something you wanted. Not something you’d let yourself have. If there was one thing you were truly good at, it was self destruction. 

You took your seat as Giyu placed down the food. Miso soup with sweet potatoes. You stared at it, stricken. Rengoku’s favorite meal. 

“Y/n? Are you alright?” 

“Seriously? That was at least your sixth bowl.” You huffed as Rengoku smirked as he pulled the bowl to his lips, slurping down the rest of its contents. He placed it down and reached for the ladle again. You watched him in amused surprise as he dulled out a seventh bowl. “You’re overgorging yourself.”

“It’s too good. Who taught you to cook, kid?” 

“You did.” You sighed with an eyeroll as Rengoku laughed heartily.

“Ah! That’s right I did.”

You blinked a few times and suddenly your face felt wet. You pressed a hand to your cheek. You hadn’t cried since losing your parents. You thought you were incapable, that you had exhausted your tear ducts at night. You hadn’t cried when you lost Rengoku and you always felt inhuman because of it. You looked across the table and met Giyu’s wide eyed stare, he looked startled at your tears.

“What’s wrong?” He asked and you couldn’t stop the tears now. They fell so fluidly, so overwhelmingly. You tried to apologize but your words just came out in stuttered croaks in your throat. Giyu stood so fast he knocked his chair over as he crossed to the other side of the table. He dropped to his knees beside you and pulled you to him. Rengoku hugged you a lot. You’d say it was unwanted but it was something you needed. Giyu’s arms around you felt different. He hugged you close to his chest, his hand tangled in your hair as you fell prey to your emotions. But startlingly so… it felt nice. Bottling things up for so long had very nearly ended you and you might’ve been able to really shut off your humanity if it hadn't been for that damned letter. If it hadn't been for Rengoku’s unending kindness. If it hadn't been for Giyu’s persistence. You could’ve nearly ended up as black hearted as the demon that flipped your life upside down. That was the most startling revelation of them all.

Giyu hugged you tight as you fell to pieces. He didn’t let go, never even loosened his arms a little bit around you. He just held you and let you cry and cry. It should’ve been embarrassing but as he pulled your hair back out of your face and wiped your wet cheeks there wasn’t an ounce of that annoying sympathy in his eyes. Just utter understanding. And this was the most inopportune time, seeing as your eyes were probably bloodshot, nose probably running like crazy, but without thinking you sucked in a ragged breath and then pressed your mouth to his.

Giyu made a sound low in his throat, you felt his arms around you tighten, drawing you in, deepening the kiss. This wasn’t something you knew of. Your parent’s pecked each other’s lips and cheeks but this… no this was something for behind closed doors. For just you two. That fire that pooled in your stomach upon seeing Giyu had heightened at least tenfold when he pulled you into his lap. Your bodies pressed against one anothers, no room, not even a milimeter’s length of space. He kissed you softly, but you kissed him back hard. That chasm of loneliness in you had reached its peak and you wanted it gone. He gently ran his hand through your hair and you balled your fist in his shirt. He gently lowered you back and kissed you against the hardwood flooring of his kitchen. 

You shoved your chair away from you both and hooked your legs around his hips. He made another sound and you found that you liked it so you tightened your hold and slid your hand in his hair. That awarded you another sound, like a whimper. When he pulled back for air you yanked him by the hair back to your lips. Fuck air. You didn’t need that. You’d rather breathe him in. He whimpered again, his hips mindlessly moving, sending a wave of heat through you and this time it was your turn to groan. He hooked an arm around your back and with strength and swiftness, he hoisted you up off the floor without even breaking the kiss. You gasped in surprise and he walked you through the hallway. Kissing you against the wall and the door and the dresser before he finally made it to his bed. 

You two fell into the softness of his covers, his body trapping you beneath him. He trailed his lips away from yours and whimpered at the loss of contact. But he kissed both your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose and to your jaw. He paid extra attention to your neck before kissing your collar bones. He kissed his way back down your body. Kissing your scars that had once been an eyesore to you. Ever so gently tracing some absentmindedly with his other hand. Whatever growing between you two was something to be earned. Sure you loved Giyu but you needed more time with him. You spent eight years barely speaking. You could tell Giyu felt that too because when his lips met yours again and pulled back you both blinked tiredly at one another. 

Astonishingly you watched the softest of smiles spread across Giyu’s face. You wanted to catalog this moment forever. To remember it till the day you died. Giyu pressed one last kiss to your forehead and then dropped beside you on the bed. He pulled you to him, your back pressed to his front. Your legs tangled as his hand reached across you and intertwined with yours. You blushed but settled against him. The dregs of sleep calling for you. You two didn’t need to speak another word.  

You watched the first light roll in through Giyu’s curtains. It shone like blades across his room. Giyu softly snored beside you, arms still around your body. You’d never kissed a single soul before but you knew what a kiss meant. You knew whenever your dad kissed your mom or the other way around that it was an unspoken way to say I love you. But it was a different kind of love your parents shared. You loved your family. You loved Rengoku. 

But you loved Giyu. 

You loved him as you clamped your fist in his shirt the night he saved you. You loved him when you stepped off that train. You loved him at every hashira meeting and every stolen glance. You loved him as you read Kagaya’s letter and loved him when he opened the door. As he chased you down in the street and begged you to come back to his home. So many problems never go away, some pain felt as though it would last forever and you never thought you could break through. You never thought you could just grow around it, because nothing was more persistent than a plant in the presence of the sun. You never told Rengoku you loved him, never told him how much he meant to you and that his kindness never fell to deaf ears. You had spent eight years loving Giyu and not letting yourself know it.

And all it took was some miso soup and sweet potatoes.

[twstedpurple]

TWST characters getting jealous when you spend more time with Stitch than with them (Part 1)

✧ Inspired by the new Stitch's Tropical Turbulence event.

✧ You can read Part 2 here.

Ace Trappola

Initially, Ace enjoyed having Stitch join the two of you, having fun as you all laughed, played, and hung out together with the other students at the island. But as he watched you grow increasingly attached to Stitch, and the way the blue furball kept clinging to you in return, a sense of irritation began to gnaw at him.

Ace tried to brush it off at first. As one of your first and closest friends at school, he’d been around you long enough to know your kindness extended to everyone and that you had a soft spot for small creatures like Stitch. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing day. He'd always been confident in his ability to captivate you, to make you smile and laugh with his silly jokes and antics. But hearing your constant giggles caused by Stitch, seeing you completely captivated by the alien's boundless energy and goofy charm, caused jealousy to stir within him.

Despite his efforts to act nonchalant, he couldn't help but secretly glare, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you and Stitch engrossed in your own little world. He would constantly find himself making excuses to be near you two, subtly inserting himself into your interactions. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he was jealous of the attention Stitch was receiving from you, jealous of the laughter that now echoed around you—a laughter that didn't include him. He was jealous of the little alien beside you who could effortlessly steal your attention and openly show his affection to you without getting embarrassed or teased by others.

Floyd Leech

Floyd didn't like it one bit. Sure, playing with the alien Stitch was fun and all, but seeing you constantly fawning over the little guy, ignoring Floyd in the process, sent a flicker of discontent across his face. Floyd got easily jealous when others stole your attention away from him. You were his precious shrimpy, after all.

Like Ace, he would try to wedge himself between you and Stitch to draw your attention. One moment he’d join in the fun with forced enthusiasm, only to get bored and withdraw the next due to his unpredictable mood swings. When his attempts to capture your attention failed and you remained engrossed with Stitch, Floyd’s mood darkened further.

He felt a suffocating sense of possessiveness, yearning for your undivided attention and affection. He wanted you all to himself. As he watched Stitch snuggle into your side, resting his head on your lap while you gently stroked his fur with a tender smile, his scowl deepened, his heart burning with jealousy. Unable to bear it any longer, he stormed over, yanking Stitch away. Then, grabbing you by the waist, he settled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a possessive embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, whining that you should play with him too. He snuggled even closer, ignoring the growling blue alien glaring daggers at him.

Riddle Rosehearts

From a distance, Riddle watched as Stitch playfully perched on your shoulder, nuzzling your cheek with his big, round nose, drawing a soft giggle from you. This playful interaction sparked an unfamiliar pang of jealousy within him. Though he tried to maintain a composed exterior, his eyes betrayed him, narrowing, and a faint frown would crease his face as he watched the cheerful duo.

Every now and then, Riddle would find an excuse to interject, gently scolding you for spoiling the little creature too much. His tone was stern, but deep down, he knew his disapproval was driven more by envy than genuine concern. He couldn't bear to watch you so happy together, knowing that he longed for that same closeness, though confessing such feelings wasn't easy for him.

Under the pretense of keeping an eye on them, Riddle would stay close, claiming it was to prevent any potential trouble Stitch might cause. His true motive, however, was far more personal. He wanted to be near you too, to share in the moments of joy you experienced with Stitch. He would stand nearby, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering as he watched you and Stitch bond. As he watched, he would often tap his finger on his arm or his foot on the sandy beach in silent frustration, his jealousy growing. Yet,  he kept his emotions tightly in check, not wanting to make his feelings obvious to you or anyone else.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[nicksolemnlyswears]

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

(HAELENA’S TURN)

STAY WITH US

pairing: helaena targaryen x targaryen! reader, aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader

word count: ~3k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, light cursing, angsty helaena, one single mention of sex. dont @ me if you find a haelena instead of a helaena. targaryen names are much too complicated for my brain

a/n: thank you guys for all the love on aegon's oneshot. i was bouncing on the walls when i saw how much love it received and that some people agree with me in terms of alicent being a shit mom. that being said you dont really have to read the first part to read this. it works as a stand alone although it is a continuation.

although the inspiration to write these oneshots was the death of a child i love how soft and comforting they've come out. it's about sympathizing and giving these characters the love they deserve.

helaena deserves so much love even more than aegon. she's an innocent in all of this trapped in the midst of war. hell even rhaenyra agrees and scolded daemon for his misdoings.

im thinking of writing one last part where it is all three of them together: reader, aegon and helaena. i'm leaning towards smut but i never know what my brain will come up with. if you’d rather have some more domestic fluffy stuff let me know and that can be arranged!

enjoy!

Your fingers close around your skirts as you fly up the stairs to Helaena's bed chambers. One of her maids leads the way. The young girl sought you out as you readied for bed, rambling about how Queen Helaena was in distress. Without further question, you slipped on your robe and followed her.

The Queen has not been well since the night her child was brutally taken from her. She continues to live day by day in constant suffering as her mind has a difficult time coming to terms with that night's events.

As it happens, saying Helaena is 'not well' is an understatement.

She might've been 'not well' after the fact, but the funeral proceedings broke the last thread of sense she was holding onto. If anyone is to blame, it is the Dowager Queen who forced her to attend and Otto Hightower who was the 'mastermind' behind it all.

It was torture to hear the people of Kings Landing shouting for her, screaming vile words about Rhaenyra, and offering condolences about a subject they barely knew a thing about.

Most had never seen the young Prince; his cold body and the gold thread around his neck were their first glimpses of him. They gasped and awed at her child as if he were a spectacle while she had no choice but to sit and watch with composure.

It is only natural she would fall apart under the pressure of such ill-conceived plans. Her overthinking mind couldn't handle it any longer when the carriage got stuck. Her thoughts coming up with the most of wicked scenarios. She had to run.

Then, there is Jaehaera, who continues to ask for her twin brother. The poor girl has never spent a day apart from him since they were conceived. It is difficult for Helaena to hear Jaehaera constantly ask where he is and when he will return. It's a never ending reminder of her loss.

Besides, how is she to explain death to a child when Helaena herself has not accepted it.

The newly assigned guard sworn to protect the Queen opens the door for you as soon as you round the corner. His anticipation worries you to no end, and you fear what lies past those doors.

Maids surround Helaena, attempting to comfort her. She screams at them to let her be, but they persist. The maids mean well. Helaena is clearly distressed, yet they don't seem to realize it's because of their overbearing presence.

The young Queen swats them away. Her fingers thread through her messy hair as she seeks an escape, and sobs rake through her slender body until she collapses on her knees. Her lips move in unreadable murmurs in between each yell.

Helaena barely appears like herself. Dark purple circles line her under eyes, and her hair is unbrushed and knotted. Her signature plump cheeks have hollowed out, indicating that she has lost weight.

"Please," Helaena cries to no one in particular, recoiling from their touch.

You barrel through the maids and kneel on the floor at an arms length from Helaena. "'Laena?" you softly call to get her to look at you, knowing that if you even attempt to touch her, she will shy away.

At the recognition of your voice, Helaena's face whips up. She falls into your arms, hiding from the other females in the room. The tears that stain her face wet your robe as you hold her close. She tucks her face into your neck, hiccuping from emotion.

"Leave us," you command with a stern gaze that borders on anger.

The maids move to leave the room, but only after notifying you that the Queen has barely eaten or bathed in days. Once the door closes shut, you coax Helaena from your arms.

"What is wrong, 'Laena?" You ask softly, cradling her face to brush away her tears. The sight of her red and blotchy face breaks your heart. She must've been like this for a long time.

"It is my fault," she hiccups as new tears follow the path of the others. Helaena hangs her head in despair. She should've fought harder to keep her son alive. There must've been something else she could've done.

"Look at me," you say sternly, forcing her to look at you. It is when her eyes meet yours that you continue, "This is not your fault."

"I was the one to point my finger," she argues while her fists clench and unclench around the fabric of her dress when a new wave of emotion takes over.

Helaena is an overly emotional person. She feels things deep in her chest. She wishes she could control it, but the more she holds it in, the nastier it gets when it gets out of her control. Her body freezes and pleads for her to run and hide.

"Helaena, this was going to happen whether you pointed your finger or not. If you hadn't done what you did, you and Jaehaera would be dead as well."

It's blunt and a bit cruel, but Helaena must understand that she had no other choice. The only way this could've been stopped was if she had been assigned a sworn protector, but the council underestimated their enemy and Ser Criston Cole was too busy getting his cock wet to do anything about it.

"I told them to spare him and kill me instead," Helaena confesses with a weep.

She lets herself go on your shoulder as you wrap your arms around her shaking shoulders. You kiss the top of her head to console her guilty conscience. Helaena did not deserve to be a victim of Daemon's terrible idea. She might just be the most innocent of Targaryens.

"I know, Helaena, you were so brave. You're a wonderful mother. This is not your fault, and nobody blames you. You did what you had to do. Jaehaera is alive and well because of you."

It's hard for Helaena to stop thinking in such a way once she starts. The thoughts cause her to imagine things that aren't really there and doubt her reality. She feels like the staff's glances are not of worry but of resentment for letting those men kill her boy. Aegon's absence makes it all the worse.

"Aegon will not look at me, much less speak to me," she whimpers, wrapping her arms around your waist.

A tear slides down your cheek. You will never compare your sadness to theirs, but seeing them hurt in such a way pains you. Their marriage was arranged, yes, but Aegon and Helaena hold deep affection for each other. They simply have a difficult time showing it.

In this instance, there is no one who understands them better than each other. It is tragic but this should bring them closer together not tear them apart.

"Aegon is grieving. He can barely stand to look at himself because he feels like he failed his family, 'Laena. I promise you he will come around."

Helaena nods with her head on your shoulder. She is not convinced, but your words soothe her for the time being. Tears continuously slide down her face, and there is nothing you can do about it. You much prefer she cries it all out than hold it in.

"Come," you tell her, holding her hand and guiding her to the bath the maids had prepared before they left. "Let's get you ready for bed.”

You keep her close to you, reassuring Helaena you're there to stay as long as she needs. You help her untie the strings of her dress, and as you hang it over the back of a chair, she slips out of her smallclothes.

She accepts your hand to step into the bath. The water has now cooled, but she doesn't complain. It is the least of her worries. Helaena sits in the tub with her arms around her knees and silently cries.

Your goal tonight is to get her to rest. You can tell she hasn't slept in a long time, which will make her feel better.

Settling on the wooden stool next to the bath, you lather soap into the sponge and ask for her arm. Helaena complies, and you gently swipe the sponge across her skin. The maids were thorough as the smell of a calming oils invades your senses. They sincerely wanted to help their Queen.

Scrubbing down her arm, you note her nailbeds, which are red and raw. You're gentle with the soap when you reach her hand to prevent it from burning. Once you rinse it out, you bring her hand up to your lips, kissing her fingertips much like your mother would do when you got hurt.

Her crying calms when she catches onto your gesture, watching you in awe.

It is easy to note how she's thinned out as you continue to bathe her. Her skin presses against her ribs, showcasing each indent, and the bony prominences of her shoulders are much more palpable. It worries you to no end. Everyone has different coping mechanisms, but this is by far the unhealthiest one.

In the morrow, you will make it your goal to get her to eat. For a start, you will ask the kitchens to bake her favorite dessert. There has never been a moment where Helaena has refused a berry tart.

"Tilt your head back for me, love," you whisper, grabbing the pitcher of clean water from the table. Brushing Helaena's hair back, you pour the water, being careful not to get it in her eyes.

As she tilts her head back, she keeps her watchful eyes on you. She is in one of the most intimate positions, yet her lilac eyes reveal the most vulnerable parts of herself. You offer Helaena a comforting smile. Moving on from this tragic accident will be difficult, but we have to start somewhere.

When you lather her hair with soap and massage her scalp, she closes her eyes with a shudder. In turn, her shoulders relax, and goosebumps appear across her skin. A quiet moan slipping past her bitten lips.

Moving on to her face, Helaena watches you closely as you grab a rag to wash her face. You're so careful and tender with her. She has not made mention of it, but your touch feels pleasant against her skin.

You dab her neck next, looking over the wound that was cast upon her. You wish for it not to scar. Helaena needs no more reminders of that night.

After finishing the bath, you help her stand and dry off. Then, you follow her to the bed, where her nightgown lies discarded. With your assistance, she quickly slips it on. Helaena is quiet as she dresses; no more tears well up in her eyes.

"Let's brush your hair," you whisper soothingly.

Delicately, you glide the brush through her silver strands. You tackle the knots methodically to prevent pulling on her hair. A couple of drops of rose oil help greatly with the task as the bristles move smoothly across the long length of her hair.

Helaena sighs softly, and, through the mirror, you can see her eyes are closed. The poor thing must be exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" You ask her, tying the plait you weaved and wrapping your arms around her shoulders. You prop your head upon hers, cuddling her into you.

"Better, I suppose," she nods gratefully, grasping your hand hanging loosely across her chest. "I am tired," she admits.

"Let's get you to bed then."

Before you can slip away, Helaena protests and holds your wrist. "No, please." You're taken aback by the desperation in her voice. Why is she refusing to rest when her body begs for it?

"Helaena, when was the last time you slept?"

Helaena appears guilty. She swallows the knot on her throat, preparing to answer. "Not since that night. The nightmares do not allow me respite."

You sit beside her on the bench, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. "Do you wish to speak about them? It might help."

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "It's always the same. They return when the nights darkest and take Jaehaera."

Helaena is terrified. Many of her dreams have become reality, and this is one she would not be able to bear witness to. The things they do in her dreams are unforgivable. She cannot lose her daughter to those monsters.

Silence takes upon the room. Helaena cannot survive in a sleep deprived state, there must be something you can do. "What if we bring her here? She can sleep with you. That way, you will know she's safe."

Helaena ponders your suggestion, her eyes drifting away. "Will you stay?" Although a question the way Helaena's voice cracks, it's more of a plead.

"Is that what you wish, my Queen?" You ask, caressing her cheek so she returns to you from that faraway place in her mind.

She's quick to nod and squeeze your hand in gratitude. "Please," she whispers, leaning into your touch.

"Anything for you."

Helaena accompanies you to Jaehaera's new chambers. The King saw it fit Jaehaera did not reside in the room where her twin brother was murdered. A wise choice.

If your memory serves you well, Jace used to inhabit the space once upon a time.

Helaena almost runs to her daughter's cot, ensuring she's alive and well. You sympathize with her, it's natural to worry about your child if another was stolen from your life.

"Mama," Jaehaera yawns when Helaena picks her up.

"You're sleeping with mummy tonight, yeah?" Helaena whispers, cradling the back of her head and kissing the crown of her head.

Jaehaera, too tired to reason or even question it, nods and nestles into the crook of Haelena's neck. The sight is eerily similar to that fateful night.

The guard posted to protect Jaehaera escorts you to the Queen's chambers, standing on the opposite side of Helaena's white cloak guard.

Once inside, you slip off your robe and join her and Jaehaera on the bed. The girl is safely nestled between you both, pale lashes fluttering shut.

Helaena reaches for your hand to ensure you do not leave, and you lace your fingers with hers. "Sleep, 'Laena. I'll keep you safe," you promise her.

All it takes for Helaena to sleep is a lullaby your mother used to sing to you. It was of great tales of the people of Old Valyria. It was your favorite growing up, and now it is Helaena's.

By the song's end, Helaena's breaths even out and she succumbs to slumber. Although her face reflects her tiredness, the resemblance between Helaena and Jaehaera is stark.

When your eyes begin to close, eager to follow Helaena and Jaehaera to the land of dreams, the door creaks open. Startled, you sit up on the bed to search for an intruder, ready to scream if need be.

Aegon stands by the door, his chest heaving and his face pale. His hair is in disarray, and his eyes are wild with worry. "Where is Jaehaera?" he asks.

"She's right here," you respond, lowering the sheets and moving your body to reveal her resting upon Helaena's chest.

Aegon sighs in relief, and after a moment of hesitation, he timidly steps closer to the bed, observing the scene in front of him. He has taken to visiting his daughter's chambers throughout the night. He doesn't trust the guards, even if he is the one who assigned them. Aegon needs to see with his own eyes that his remaining child is alive and not endangered.

He had been frightened when the guard who was supposed to be posted by her door was gone, and worse, so was his daughter. Before he could scream, a maid walked in and, upon questioning, told him Jaehaera was in the Queen's chambers with her mother and the Princess.

You lay back against the headboard and observe him. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over you to brush a strand of hair away from his wife's face. Then, his hand lowers as his fingertip traces the slope of his daughter's nose.

"You should talk to her."

Helaena's words are clear as day in your mind. After witnessing Aegon in the same position, you reckon it would be good if they spoke to one another.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Aegon responds with a shake of his head.

"Yes, you do," you insist, resting your hand upon his, which lays on the bed. He glances questioningly at you, silently asking you to explain.

Your voice is light and soft. The last thing you want is to wake Helaena, although your instincts tell you it is doubtful. "Nobody understands what you're going through better than Helaena. She lost a child as well and feels just as hopeless as you do. Talk to her and tell her the words you would've liked to hear."

"It is that easy?" He asks in disbelief with a scoff. He looks at you for guidance. You've helped him more than anyone in the council or his own mother.

"Yes," you chuckle, and he joins you, if only for a moment. "Would you like me to go so you can stay?" You wouldn't want to intrude in a moment that can unite a family yet again.

Aegon shakes his head and urges you to stay abed. "It is alright. I will soon talk with 'Laena."

For a brief moment, Aegon presses his forehead against yours to show his appreciation. He stands with a press of his lips to your forehead and one more glance at his family. "Thank you for everything. I hope one day I can repay you for all your kindness."

"There's no need."

He does not speak but shares a glance that says a thousand words. Aegon closes the door behind him and turns to the guards standing by it.

Their backs visibly straighten when he addresses them. "Under no circumstance are you to leave your post. Your goal is to protect the Queen and the Princesses."

After all, his heart and soul are in that room.

STAY WITH US

came out a little longer than aegon but there was much to do with lovely helaena. queen helaena is a big reason as to why i hate alicent so much. alicent has let her down time and time again. how can she fucking ask helaena not to say anything about her and cole? fuck, alicent, she's not even thinking about that.

did you enjoy this one shot? please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and alicent and cole slander) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[say-al0e]

Want You

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aegon had no desire to ruin you, so he buried himself in his favorite wine and favorite whores to keep his blossoming feelings at bay. Only, his efforts seemed to work too well and he has to convince you that you’re all he needs. Warnings: No Dance AU, inaccurate use of some characters (Tyrell was an infant during this time but here he's in his early 30s), two smut scenes (Aegon is a dick in the first, much better in the second), infidelity (Aegon), Targcest (Aemond x Helaena), nice guy Criston Cole, unprotected PinV, oral (f!receiving), miscommunication. Anything else, let me know and I'll tag. Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader (Manderly!Reader - no features mentioned) Word Count: 22.8k (....I'm so sorry) HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

The Red Keep was rarely, if ever, silent.

There were moments - fleeting, few and far between - where a hush befell the Keep with only the quiet noise of servants and guards dutifully moving about to shatter the illusion of solitude. But, no matter the hour, it was rare to find a silence so unbroken that it teetered on the edge of maddening.

However, as Aegon sat in your chambers for the first time in weeks, slouched in a chair adjacent to the couch you lounged on, you found the silence drawing on long enough to surpass discomfort and edge into pain.

Aegon - sobriquet still undecided, though he’d dismissed ‘The Magnanimous’ the moment you frowned as he spoke it, the moment Aemond snickered - sat with a cup of wine in one hand as he used the other to flip the pages of a book. It was one you’d left on the table, brought to you by Aemond and next on your list to read, and you hoped Aegon couldn’t see the way you winced every time wine sloshed a bit too close to the text for comfort.

As silence persisted, there was little doubt that the reason for his presence was his mother’s insistence.

Alicent, as well intentioned as you imagined her to be - and, where you and Helaena were concerned, she seemed to be truly well intentioned - chided him relentlessly these days. Since he became king, there was no end to her and Otto’s lectures. They urged him to play his part as faithfully as you played your own, to act as your husband and try to keep from embarrassing you. Time and again, you heard Alicent’s furious whispers, instructing her eldest son to think of the shame he continued to bring upon you, but you knew as well as she did that the time for his acquiescence had passed.

Everyone knew the kind of husband Aegon was, the kind of man he’d grown to be.

Though there was little chance he might, it he would have thought to ask you for your opinion -  as he once did in the earliest days of your marriage - you wondered if you would’ve been able to stop yourself from sharing the sobriquet you chose but did not dare speak aloud; Aegon the Shameless.

Despite becoming Queen Consort, looks of awe and excitement had shifted into looks of pity that burned into your skin each time you found yourself in court. There were few who did not know where your husband spent his nights - in the throne room, deep in his cups and surrounded by idiot guards and naive squires; or, perhaps, lost in the streets of silk, deep inside one of his favorite whores. The only boundary he seemed to respect was that now his trysts were kept from the Keep, his whores bedded elsewhere.

Though eleven moons had passed since you were married, he’d shared your bed only a handful of times. Once, on your wedding night, to consummate the marriage; a drunken attempt or two at creating the heir the realm demanded; and once, not long ago, when he stumbled into your chambers by mistake and couldn’t be roused to move until morning.

Yet, as much as you hated to admit it and as unbelievably foolish as it made you feel, you’d somehow grown to love him.

In the very beginning, you had hope that your marriage might be a happy one.

Aegon was not perfect, you knew that. But for all his faults, he was kind to you in the light of day. The cruelty you caught glimpses of, the derision and bursts of anger, was never leveled at you. In fact, it often seemed that you were the only person he deemed worthy of sparing his unpredictable moods. He softened whenever you entered a room and made an attempt at levity. Though there were whispers of his sharp tongue and quick temper, you saw little of it.

The words he leveled at you were often kind - compliments, jests - and, if not kind, at least cordial. He gifted you beautiful gowns, glittering jewelry, perfumed soaps and oils, and allowed your youngest sister and a cousin to serve as your companions, all the while remaining very far from them himself.

When you chose to eat your meals outside of your own chambers, he kept you near and included you in the conversation at hand, no matter how little attention you paid. When decisions were made, he seemed to take your counsel more seriously than anyone else’s - save, perhaps, Aemond’s. When you took your daily walk around the gardens, he joined as often as he could, though he typically fell behind you and your companions and departed halfway through to return to the small council.

During the early days of your marriage, you spent a great deal of time seeking him out. Whatever moments he could spare for you were cherished and you treated them as gifts worth more than anything gold could buy. As far as you were concerned, Aegon was trying his best. You knew that his reign was young, that he was young, and took no offense to his frequent absences.

Though much and more of your time was spent with others - your companions, Helaena, Alicent, even Aemond - Aegon was present. Time alone with him, however, was scarce. And, despite Alicent’s repeated assurances that his absence was merely a matter of his duty to the Realm, you began to believe the truth was much simpler.

Aegon simply did not wish to be alone with you.

Of all the things Aegon had done to, according to Alicent, bring shame upon you, none hurt quite so much as the realization that you were nothing more than an accessory to his reign.

Much like his crown, you were only there to solidify his status as king.

Despite the fondness you sometimes felt from him, you realized very quickly that Aegon did not want to be married. He had been forced to wed and you were the least offensive choice. You were nothing more than a pawn chosen by his grandsire for the strength of your house, and meant to be nothing more than an acceptable queen to stand beside the king.

Still, the realization was one you struggled to make sense of.

Affection was, at least in the beginning, a somewhat regular occurrence. Though you did not lie together, he never turned down a kiss or a soft caress of your hand. If anything, he sought those fleeting gestures out. He also seemed to favor the soft press of your hand to his thigh beneath the table - a calming gesture, offered whenever his grandsire or another council member undermined his authority - or a gentle squeeze of his hand more than anything.  And, for a while, even initiated the gestures himself.

There were moments when Aegon seemed to make an honest attempt at being a husband.

Though he did not spend much time with you alone, he sometimes sat with you in the evenings as you and your ladies sipped tea. He sought your company when settled amongst a crowd, standing close and smiling every time you caught his eye. He remembered the little details you shared with him and asked about things you’d only mentioned in passing as a thousand other conversations carried on around you.

The first time you wore the green of his house, he complimented your gown and granted you a brilliant smile with each green gown that followed. When you passed him in the halls, one of you rushing to someplace else, he would always catch your eye and allow his hand to graze yours.

Thus, for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe the hollow reassurances.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you truly meant something to Aegon. The bitter sting of rejection, of humiliation, that accompanied his lack of desire to see you alone - his near refusal to bed you, unless he’d drowned in his cups and found himself on the receiving end of a lecture from his mother - was rationalized away.

It was easy, for a time, for you to believe that you simply meant more to him. Whores were meant to be bedded, a way for men to rid themselves of frustration - something a king had in spades. You told yourself that Aegon’s distance was a kindness, a form of respect. Your affection meant more to him than your ability to warm his bed. And for longer than you cared to admit, you allowed yourself to believe it; to love him, despite it.

Only, the lie grew harder to believe with each moon that passed.

Gradually, the little affection Aegon seemed to hold for you began to fade and the distance between you grew. While his visits to the streets of silk were few and far between in the early days of your marriage, the longer you were wed, the louder the whispers that he’d resumed his trips grew.

With every whisper came a lecture from Alicent, from Otto, from Aemond. And with every lecture, the more eager Aegon seemed to disappear into the deepest corner of his favored brothel.

One by one, every ounce of Aegon’s affection and attention seemed to disappear. The lingering glances he’d once spared in the halls, the brilliant smiles he leveled you with when you opted to join the family for dinner, the soft caresses of your hand when he passed you in the halls; they were no more and your heart ached with each disappearance.

Soon came the day of realization; if you did not offer affection, you received none.

After the passage of seven moons, it became obvious that Aegon merely tolerated. While he may once have even  liked you, with the passage of each moon, you came to realize and accept that he did not love you.

While you found yourself grateful he was not unkind to you, that he did not seem to loathe being married to you, the realization that he did not love you was one that shattered the glittering illusion you’d been clinging to so desperately. You’d hoped that he would settle, that with time he would grow to love you as you were growing to love him, but there was no use.

Every day that passed, he seemed to drift farther from you and only proved there was no sense in waiting for him to love you back. There was no point in inserting yourself into places you weren’t wanted or making gestures that went unnoticed. So, you stopped trying.

And, if Aegon noticed that you’d stopped putting in the effort he’d grown accustomed to, he did not mention it.

In the beginning of your marriage, you rarely went more than a few hours without seeking Aegon out. Even if he could only spare a moment, even if you were only at the periphery of his attention, you accepted it happily. Now, it had been two days since you last saw him.

A simple change in your routine kept you from seeing Aegon much at all these days.

Whereas you would normally walk the gardens at midday, your companions in tow and occasionally accompanied by Helaena or Alicent, you chose to spend that time perfecting your needlework instead. The walk was pushed to either early morning or afternoon - when Aegon was busy with the small council. And, as for dinner, more often than not, you ate along in your chambers. Your sister and cousin joined you occasionally, even sometimes Helaena, but your goal was to avoid Aegon and that you did.

Still, you played your part dutifully when called upon.

As requested, you stood beside him to welcome the first of the lords arriving in King’s Landing for Daeron’s six-and-tenth nameday tourney. There were a handful of lords from the Reach accompanying the Hightower host and Aegon pulled you close, standing tall with pride as they all complimented what a beautiful couple you made.

Though your heart was no longer in it, you put on your happiest face - thanking the lords whose names you would doubtlessly spend the rest of the tournament whispering to your husband before he could ask - and resisted the urge to step away from him before you were granted leave.

Embarrassment and shame now burned in the pit of your stomach, heated your skin and left an acrid taste in the back of your throat, each time you stood at his side. The glances shared between the ladies of the court, the whispers you knew would inevitably follow - blaming you for not yet giving him an heir, for not being enough to keep him from straying - needed at your already frayed nerves.

Believing that he ever loved you was foolish and you were reminded of your delusion with every pitying glance you were spared.

Now, despite the silence that stretched unbroken for nearly an hour, instead of pitying glances, you felt the weight of Aegon’s gaze upon your skin intermittently. Violet eyes observed your stillness, watching with an uncharacteristic intensity you’d never seen directed at you before, and you wondered if that was worse. However, before you could wish for an interruption - someone to step in and save you - Aegon finally placed his cup onto the table.

“What troubles you, dear wife?” Though his words were beginning to slur, there was still a coherence to his speech that sometimes surprised you. “I’ve been here a while and you’ve yet to turn a page.”

“I believe I chose the wrong volume,” you sighed. The lie fell from your lips easily - unwilling to confess that it was the weight of his attention that distracted you, his very presence that left you unable to concentrate on the words you wanted desperately to read - as you lifted your head to meet his intense gaze. His attention remained on your face, eyes searching for something, as you placed a ribbon between the pages and placed the book onto the table, far from his glass. “This one is… dull.”

“They’re all histories written by maesters,” he reminded you with a laugh that rang a touch hollow, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Dull is expected, is it not?”

Though Aegon could be kind to you - when he so desired - and once took an interest in what interested you, you were often reminded that you had little in common. Aemond was the studious brother, well-versed in the histories and philosophy, while Aegon found it all dreadful. Where Aemond could spend days locked away in the library and never grow bored, Aegon had only read what was required of him as a boy - sometimes - and only occasionally listened when you read aloud to him in the early days of your marriage.

“Perhaps,” you allowed, after a moment of thought. “Some of the stories about the Conqueror have been interesting,” you defended, “but Aemond assured me this was a favorite of his.” With a shrug, you leaned back into the cushion of the couch and admitted, “We must have different tastes.”

Aegon laughed, a derisive sound that made you frown as his eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t place so quickly you almost considered it a trick of the light. He reached for his glass once more and swallowed a scoff. “Of course you do,” he exclaimed, with a touch of venom you were unused to, “you are married to me and he can barely stand to be in the same room these days.”

With a sigh, you reached for your own glass. “That’s not true,” you reminded him, though not as gently as you supposed you should have. “Aemond’s part of the small council and plans with you, not over you. He’s loyal to you.”

“All one could ask of a guard dog,” he declared, lifting his cup, though there was little bite to the insult - as if it were spoken reflexively, rather than intentionally.

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize Aemond,” you chided, almost wincing as you heard an echo of Alicent in your words. “He means well. He’s trying to help. All of your family is.”

The moment the words left your lips, you regretted them. Though you had grown uncomfortable in his presence, you did not wish for him to leave - not really. But you could see the flicker of warmth that lingered in Aegon’s gaze, the slight fondness he still regarded you with, cool completely as you uttered your admonishment. However, before you could apologize, blame the comment on your exhaustion, Aegon stood.

“As I’m often reminded,” he scoffed, though he attempted to cover it with a smile. “I’ll leave you to your dull volume, then. Goodnight, my queen,” he bade, smile tight and not reaching his eyes.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Aegon bristled at the formal title - one you’d taken to calling him earnestly, no longer in jest as it had been the first few moons of your marriage - but paused only for a moment before striding out of the room. Behind him, the doors to your chambers fell shut with a heavy noise and you were, once again, alone with your thoughts.

For a few long moments, you sat with only the crackling of the hearth to fill the quiet. Somehow, the silence felt more overwhelming without Aegon’s presence, more oppressive, and you hated that you missed him.

Though you now felt a pinprick of bitter shame in his presence, you still felt guilty any time you pushed him away. Aegon was the one who began to pull away from, to place a wall between you and dismiss your attempts at affection, but you loved him. Despite realizing the few precious moments he spent with you alone were forced upon him, you cherished them, just the same - regardless of how ill they now made you feel.

To be the center of his attention, if only for a moment, still filled you with an awful, overwhelming, lovesick feeling. It once was the highlight of your day, the bright spot in an otherwise dull pattern of needlework and gossip. Now, however, the once bright light only served to further illuminate your own foolishness.

The giddy feeling was now replaced entirely by a roiling in the pit of your stomach, a bitter nausea that heated your skin and made your head spin, and you couldn’t help yourself as you stood to pull on a heavy cloak.

Despite being queen, you often felt an afterthought. There were only a handful of guards lingering near your chambers - none directly in front of your door - as most were keeping an eye on Aegon, Helaena, Helaena and Aemond’s children, or Alicent. It was easy to slip past them undetected and trace a familiar path through the halls.

At night, the Keep was almost peaceful.

Though a few lords lingered about, and others were on their way, there always seemed to be less pressure at night. Most were too deep in their cups or too weary from a long day to pay you any mind. The guards who kept watch at night were often less steadfast than their day-shift counterparts and most ladies who sent you pitying looks - or openly lusted after your husband - were locked away in their rooms.

Wandering about the Keep under the cover of darkness had become something of a routine for you and, with practiced ease, you made your way through the labyrinthine halls to the riverwalk.

Standing in the cool night air, the breeze surrounding you and filling your lungs with the familiar salt scent of the sea, soothed a touch of the homesickness you sometimes felt. King’s Landing was not White Harbor, not even close, but standing atop the riverwalk, you were able to pretend and felt your heart begin to calm. It was the hour of ghosts, a quiet time where the full moon shed bright white light over the bay and illuminated the water below just enough for you to watch it crash onto the shore.

There was no way of knowing how long you stood there. The only real measure of the passage of time was how cold your hands had grown. However, you realized that it had been long enough for your absence to be noticed as the clink of armor approached.

“Your Grace,” Criston began, voice carrying on the cool breeze as he stopped a few steps from where you stood, “the hour grows late and the night grows cold. You should return to your chambers.”

The question was no longer where you’d gone. Criston himself was the first to find you on the riverwalk one night, shortly after Aegon summoned you to his chambers in a drunken attempt to produce an heir that left you wondering why he would willingly bed everyone but you. The question was now how long you would remain.

Despite being from the North and used to far colder nights - longing for them, even - as winter began to creep into King’s Landing, Criston seemed to allow you less and less time in the cool night air.

“Why?”

If the question was unexpected, or confusing, Criston did not let on. Instead, he stepped closer - moonlight glinting off the silver of his armor with every step - and sighed as he watched your fingers trace the smooth edge of the stone barrier. “You are the queen,” he reminded you, simply, as if it were answer enough.

“I am the queen,” you agreed, voice quiet amidst the crashing of waves. A rueful smile twisted your lips as you shook your head. “Though, it is easy to forget.”

With a quiet sigh, Criston turned to face the water and watched the waves crash silently for a long moment. There was an affinity you shared with Criston, an understanding as he knew Aegon better than most - and regarded you with an affection similar to the one Alicent held for you. He seemed to share your disenchantment with life in King’s Landing, life in the Red Keep, and did not turn to face you as he asked, “Trouble sleeping again?”

“Mm. I do not wish to rely on the maester’s dreamwine to find sleep. The cool air helps. I apologize if I’ve caused worry.” A small part of you doubted anyone else knew you were missing - certainly not Aegon, for he was likely half-conscious in the throne room or already hidden inside the walls of a brothel by now - but you felt obliged to apologize, anyway.

Criston nodded, remained silent for a beat, and then pressed for another answer - the one he truly wanted. “What troubles you, Your Grace?”

Despite yourself, you found it easy to admit your upset to Criston. If anyone understood, you supposed it was him.

“I was excited to marry Aegon,” you admitted, a mirthless laugh escaping as you lifted your gaze to the moon. “I knew little of him but when we met, I found him charming. He made me laugh and he’s handsome. When he chooses to be, he can be good. Upon meeting, I forgot why I was afraid to marry, and my mother gave me reason to believe it would be… joyous, I suppose, too marry someone like him, to live in a place like this. I imagined a life that, looking back, could have never been mine.”

“Life rarely happens the way we imagine it will,” Criston reminded you, though it was gentler than you were used to. “We live the lives the gods see fit to allow us.” Those words, though spilling from his lips, were Alicent Hightower’s and you struggled to bite back a laugh as you recognized that you both pined for someone whose love eluded you. You wondered if this was the life he imagined for himself - a Kingsguard, hopelessly in love with someone who would never love him back.

“In that case,” you began, shoulders rounding as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done wrong, what I’ve done to anger the gods so.” Your voice faded to a near whisper, lost in the wind, and Criston stepped closer to hear you as you continued. “I have no children to attend to, though if I did, there would be a nurse dedicated to them. They would not being to me, but to the realm.”

Another sigh escaped your lips as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes. “My only friends are two members of my own family. The rest of the ladies at court all cower in fear of my goodbrother or regard me with pity because of my husband’s reputation. And my husband…” Another laugh, this one bitter and harsher than you intended, escaped as you shook your head. “My husband drowns in his cups or remains too lost in the streets of silk to even consider wanting for an heir.”

With a hand brought to your cheek, brushing away traitorous tears that fell despite your best efforts, you felt a lump of emotion form in your throat. “Why does he seem so eager to bed every woman in King’s Landing, save his own wife?” Your voice broke, betraying your hurt, and you could see Criston tense beside you - uncertain, though hurting for you. The comment lingered for a moment before you shook your head once more and cleared your throat. “I apologize, Ser Criston,” you sighed, as the realization sank in. “Please forgive my outburst. It was inappropriate and I did not mean to… Perhaps you’re right, it is time for me to retire.”

“Your Grace,” Criston began, hesitant as he always seemed to be where matters of Aegon’s indiscretions were concerned, “it is understandable that you feel this way. Your patience has been impressive. Aegon is… he is young, but he will settle. Just give him time.”

“I’ve given him nearly a year,” you declared, suddenly angry as you turned to face him. “I knew, entering into this marriage, that it was little more than a political arrangement. I am but a pawn in the games of men. But I thought I might at least find a companion in Aegon. Now, I wish it did not feel so obvious that he cares little for me. I don’t want a husband to settle for me,” you declared, stronger than you intended. “I want a husband to want me, to desire me, to care about me. Aegon, I fear, barely knows I exist.”

A moment passed in which you sought to regain control of your own temper, your own tongue, and just as quickly as your anger arrived, it began to ebb. Exhaustion replaced it and you wrapped your cloak tighter around your body as you gave Criston a rueful smile. “Some in the realm consider that a blessing.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and set off in the direction of your chambers.

Criston followed close behind, remaining silent as you stepped through the halls much quicker than you had earlier in the night. It was only when you approached the door of your chambers that he spoke.

“For all your concerns,” Criston began, voice low and wide brown eyes meeting yours as he held the door open for you, “know that Aegon loves you deeply. It may not be visible in the way you wish, but it is there, in his heart.”

It struck you how deeply, how truly, Criston seemed to believe the words himself. There was an earnestness in his tone, a hope that you might believe him, and you desperately wanted to. But the best you could do was offer him a sad smile. “If only that were true,” you hummed. “Goodnight, Ser Criston.”

With the heavy, wooden thud of your door closing, you found yourself blinking back tears and hoping that the coming days would distract your husband enough to give you time to gather yourself. Every whisper convinced you of something different - that Aegon could someday love you, that he had no use for you, that he meant well, that he wished he was married to anyone else - but falling apart would do you no good.

The swirling thoughts in your head, the bitterness gathering in the pit of your stomach, had you on edge but it would only hurt you in the long run. You would have time to try and make sense of it all later, after the tourney ended and the Keep once again returned to its normal state of being.

For the moment, you could only hope that Aegon himself would remain distant.

Aegon was certainly distracted by his responsibility as king. Council meetings, petitions, private meetings; all took up valuable moments he once might’ve spared for you. He wasn’t fond of any of it, though he suffered through at the behest of his mother and grandsire. Like his father, however, he found a certain joy in hosting. Feasts, tourneys, dances; Aegon enjoyed them all in a way that you and his siblings did not. Merriment pleased him as he found himself at the center of attention, amidst happy revelers and praise directed at him.

Though the tourney was being held to celebrate Daeron’s nameday, Aegon still found himself at the center of every conversation. And his youngest brother, like Aemond, allow him to do so without complaint.

And while you would have preferred engaging in conversation with the other Targaryen siblings - or, perhaps, Aegon’s Velaryon nephews, or even the ladies who pitied you - you dutifully remained at Aegon’s side as he drank and laughed and feasted with lords whose names he could barely remember.

The few ladies surrounding you remained polite, though you could see their shared glances every time Aegon’s attention drifted from you. Regardless, he remained as close to his best behavior as he could and kept his hand in yours as Lady Redwyne offered you a smile that even he could see through. Aegon squeezed your hand - in comfort, you supposed, though you refused to read into it, even as your heart leapt - as she opened her mouth.

“How are you faring in the South, Your Grace? I imagine King’s Landing is wholly different from White Harbor,” she declared, taking a sip from her glass as she awaited your answer.

“It has been an adjustment, to be sure,” you returned, as polite and pleasant as you found yourself capable after hours of cordiality with women who openly snickered at your marriage. “But it is nice to experience a change of scenery. There is no shortage of excitement in King’s Landing.”

“An understatement,” Lord Tyrell declared, laughing as he shared a conspiratorial look with Aegon that you didn’t very much like. “Though, one can assume you’re glad of the coming winter,” he continued, gesturing to the gown you wore - a lighter fabric, compared to the warmer gowns the other ladies had opted for in response to the biting chill that settled into the air.

“An understatement,” Aegon parroted, tipping his cup for a cupbearer to fill. “She’d spend all night out in the cold, staring out the water, if she could,” he revealed. “Cole has to drag her in at night,” he continued, and you felt a sharp pang of disappointment as you realized Criston had informed him of your whereabouts.

“A reprieve from the warmth of the Keep,” you agreed, smiling politely - even as you couldn’t help but wonder what else Criston had shared with your husband. “And a marvelous view of the Bay,” you continued, pulling your hand as naturally from Aegon’s grasp as you were able, unwilling to spark any questioning looks.

“A marvelous view, indeed,” Lord Tyrell agreed, a salacious smile curving his lips as his gaze dipped to the curved neckline of your gown. Though your stomach roiled at the way he glanced at you, you kept your expression neutral as he continued. “And a wondrous place to share with a child, if the gods should allow it.” A few heads turned, then, all certain of the direction Lord Tyrell intended to steer the conversation as you reached for your wine. “We are all thankful to be celebrating Prince Daeron’s nameday, but cannot help wondering when we might convene to celebrate the birth of the crown’s heir.”

Luckily, before you were forced to offer a polite response to the inquiry made countless times in such a short timespan, Daeron appeared at your side and offered a brilliant smile. “I would be honored if the queen would grant me a dance,” he declared, glancing first at Aegon for permission before offering a hand when he was granted it.

Eagerly, you grasped Daeron’s outstretched hand and allowed him to lead you into the throng of people - still within reach of the guards and within Aegon’s line of sight. “Thank you,” you sighed, allowing Daeron to take the lead with a practiced ease. “While I’ve enjoyed having so much excitement around the Keep, I’m not quire sure how you deal with all the fine people in the Reach regularly.”

Daeron laughed, violet eyes glimmering in the light and untroubled by life in King’s Landing as he moved gracefully in time with the music. You almost envied his weightlessness, his freedom, as he revealed, “Thank the Seven, my days are spent training. Conveniently, I am exhausted any time there is to be a dinner.”

With a hum, you asked, “Do you think one of the guards might train me, so I could have the same excuse?”

“No.” He twirled you, smile bright as he watched the soft green fabric of your gown shift with each motion, and kept pace with the other dancers easily. “But you’re the queen. You can do as you please.”

“If only that were true, my prince.” Despite your best efforts at levity, the statement sounded as disheartened as you felt, a note of bitterness - acrid and biting in a way you had no desire to be with the youngest of Aegon’s siblings - laced every word. However, before you could apologize, Daeron’s smile softened into something understanding.

“If only,” he agreed with a wistful shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what life is like here,” he admitted, not bothering to pay any attention to the others hoping to cut in. “But I do hope you can find joy in it someday.”

“Tell Aemond and I will adamantly deny I said anything,” you began, smiling conspiratorially at Daeron, “but I do believe you’re my favorite goodbrother.” When he grinned, smile bright and boyish in a way that reminded you of Aegon - painfully similar to the way he smiled at you so early in your courtship when you complimented him - you returned it with a soft smile of your own. “I’m happy Oldtown has treated you so well but very glad you’re here to celebrate with us.”

“I suggested a progress to mother and grandsire,” he announced, grin brightening when you blinked. “Aegon’s never visited the Hightower and grandsire was inclined to agree that he should. While my brother entertains Lord Tyrell and the other fine people of the Reach,” he parroted, laughing as you rolled your eyes at him, “I’ll give you a tour. Perhaps we’ll even find a few new volumes for you to bring back to King’s Landing.”

That anyone - let alone the youngest of your husband’s siblings who’d only been at court a few short days - could see that you needed a respite from the halls of the Red Keep and would advocate for it pressed a weight to your chest in a way that might’ve concerned you had Aegon not become so oblivious to your distress.

For a brief moment, the time it took for the music to change and you both to begin the new routine with practiced ease, you wondered if anyone else could see what he saw so easily or if his distance from the Keep gave him clarity others did not have.

Idly, you wondered if your husband’s family had all become so blinded by the mundane - by their own gilded cages - that your growing discomfort was simply regarded as part of the life you now lead. There was nothing anyone could do about your discomfort, nothing that could be said to Aegon that hadn’t been repeated a thousand times over. This was now your life, as it had always been their’s, so they simply allowed you to suffer in silence, as they did.

Though they tried to placate you, it was often confined to the Keep. They never gave you the freedom to wander, to disappear when the walls of your gilded cage began to close in on you, and you wondered if it was because they never considered leaving.

Regardless, you were touched by Daeron’s considerations. “I no longer believe you are my favorite goodbrother,” you announced, trying and failing to hide the emotion in your voice. “I know it for a fact.”

Daeron’s gaze softened for a moment, violet eyes alight with an understanding wise beyond his years - a kindness, an empathy ingrained in him by Gwayne, you realized - before he leaned in conspiratorially. “Let me further establish my place in your heart by promising to share word that the queen regrets her absence but fell ill with a sudden headache and decided to retire for much needed rest before the tourney begins,” he offered, and it was only then that you realized how close to the door he’d managed to guide you both.

“Well, now you’re just unabashedly courting the favor of the queen,” you teased, the words weak though the smile you offered him was genuine. “Thank you, Daeron,” you whispered, squeezing his arm in a gesture of appreciation.

“I hope your rest revitalizes you, my queen,” he bade, “so that you might attend the tourney.” His voice carried just far enough to attract the attention of the few lords and ladies surrounding you and, with a nod of acknowledgement, he allowed you to slip through the small group near the door before turning to pass along your regrets to Aegon.

Despite how exhausted you suddenly felt as you left the feast - the noise from the hall fading into a muffled cacophony with every step you took - sleep was the last thing on your mind. Since the arrival of the first lord, your days had suddenly become filled with noise, an endless, mindless stream of sound that deeply unsettled you. Though the Keep was never silent, it was mostly tolerable.

Now, however, you knew that every place you sought solace was like to be filled with lords and ladies from every corner of the realm. The gardens, the courtyard, the entire Keep swarmed with people. There was no solace to be found in your usual perch atop the riverwalk, not tonight - not after Aegon’s laughter - so you opted for a place you knew few would venture.

The library was, even in the bright light of day, usually deserted.

Very few people, aside from the maesters - and a septa or two - set foot in the dim room. Even when the Keep was filled to the brim with people, it was rare to find anyone in the darkness sifting through volumes kept in the royal collection.

As such, you were pleased to find yourself alone for the first time in hours as you lowered yourself into one of the chairs scattered about the room.

For a few long moments, you were left alone with your thoughts. There were very few that many any sense, all jumbled into a cacophony of noise that did, unfortunately, cause an ache to form at your temples. It felt as if each thought was made of smoke, impossible to catch and examine in the way you often felt necessary to make sense of them all, and you released a heavy sigh as you sank deeper into the chair and closed your eyes.

“Quite concerning how quickly your headache appeared, Your Grace. Though this is not the place to sleep it off.”

With a start, your eyes flew open and a hand lifted to your chest as you inhaled sharply.

Aemond stood in the doorway, illuminated by the dim orange glow of candlelight, and studied you with an intense understanding you’d started to grow used to. The green leather he wore looked black in the low light and you sighed as you settled.

“By the gods, Aemond,” you huffed, shooting him a look that might’ve caused anyone else to wither but seemed to have no effect on him, “you frightened me.” As he stepped into the room, moving to sink into one of the chairs across from you, you sighed. “I do have a headache,” you defended, lifting the hand from your chest to your aching temple, “and I did not intend to sleep here. I just needed a moment alone. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to check on my goodsister,” he declared, lips curving into a smirk as you rolled your eyes. “I only wanted to see that you were alright, my queen. And remind you that you shouldn’t leave accompanied. There’s no telling who might be lurking in the darkness.”

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who worries about such things. I doubt anyone else would notice my absence,” you declared, tipping your head to rest on the edge of the chair. “What are you really doing here, Aemond?”

Though your comment earned a frown, thoughtful and calculating, Aemond ignored it for the moment. “The same thing you are; escaping the mindless, drunken chatter of our king and his esteemed guests,” he declared wearily, tipping his head to study you - daring you to deny your true reason for leaving the feast.

There was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise and, besides, you made it a habit not to lie to Aemond. He always seemed to find the truth in the end; it was easier this way. So, instead of playing coy, you simply asked, “How did you know where to find me?” When he raised a brow, you barely refrained from rolling your eyes once more. “Stupid question,” you admitted, sighing as you raked a hand over the intricate fabric of your gown in an attempt to distract yourself.

“Your absence is noticed, by more than me,” he declared, voice quiet in the still of the room.

When he offered no elaboration, you heaved a heavier sigh and asked, “Is Aegon still entertaining Lord Tyrell?”

Pursed lips served as your only indicator of Aemond’s contempt as he hummed. “Hatching a plan to escape the Keep and explore the streets of silk, no doubt,” he declared casually, only pausing to gauge your reaction. When you swallowed, he continued. “Lord Tyrell’s appetites are… notorious.”

“No more so than Aegon’s, I’d wager.” Aemond tipped his head in silent agreement as you sighed and stood. As you began to pace, a slow back and forth across the stone floor, your goodbrother’s violet eye tracked your every step as he waited for you to continue.

“I try,” you began, with a shake of your head, “relentlessly, it sometimes feels, but it all seems so pointless. I heard the whispers before we were married, there is no woman in the real that hasn’t. But I hoped, naively, that he might change when we were wed. Foolish, I now realize, but I still don’t understand why he seems so particularly… displeased with me.”

As you paused, inhaling a shaking breath, Aemond sighed. “Aegon is a fool,” he declared, strong and certain in a way you only wished you could be, “though I believe you knew that when you were wed.” Despite yourself, you cut your eyes at him - discouraging the insult, though you knew it to be true - and he repented with a tip of his head. “But you are as much a fool as he if you think he is displeased with you.”

With a frown, you continued your pacing. “What other explanation is there? I care, more deeply than I suppose I should, that he continues to spend his nights haunting the streets of silk. But it is more painful to hear the whispers at court. Those women who denigrate me, claim it is some fault of mine own that he strays - that there is no heir yet… I know I shouldn’t care, but by the gods, I do. We have lain together only a handful of times while he’s bedded every whore in King’s Landing thrice over by now. Eleven moons have passed and we have no child. I tried, in the beginning, but he’s turned me away at every chance lately.”

Another moment, another beat of silence, as you blinked back the traitorous tears that you refused to allow Aemond to see. You swallowed the emotion settling at the back of your throat and shook your head. “Do you know how humiliating it is, to know that my own husband would rather lie with every whore on the streets of silk than take me to bed? I just wish he would tell me what it is he dislikes, what displeases him, so that I might try and change it.”

Aemond sighed heavily and you could feel his intense gaze burning into your skin. You knew that if you looked at him, you would break - the dam keeping your emotion at bay would burst and tears would flood your eyes - so you kept your gaze cast to your shoes and waited, with an anxious need, for his response.

If there was anyone who might understand, anyone who might offer you the truth, it was Aemond.

As he stood, your breath caught in your throat. With only a few steps, Aemond met you in the center of the room and urged you to lift your head. “There is nothing wrong with you. If anyone needs to change, it is Aegon. You are… formidable,” he declared, unflinching as he took in the way your eyes shimmered in the dim light. “That is a compliment I do not spare lightly. Aegon, despite his foolishness, has never wanted for anything. Except, I believe, to be worthy of you."

The declaration settled over the library with a finality only Aemond seemed to possess, a certainty that nearly made you believe him without question, and the words reverberated in your mind for a long moment. Aemond granted you silence, understanding as your jumbled thoughts began to make even less sense in a desperate bid to make something of his certainty, and you inhaled sharply as you tried to follow a single train of thought for longer than a moment.

However, before you could beg for clarity - for him to speak plainly, as if he were explaining the concept to one of his children - your sister’s voice interrupted. “Apologies,” she began, sparing a glance between you and Aemond with a look you recognized as something akin to regret. “The king has asked for you to visit him in his chambers, sister. He was told you did not feel well,” she announced with a sigh, “but he insists.”

“Very well,” you acquiesced with a sigh of your own. “I can see myself to his chambers. If you could make sure a bath will be waiting for me when I return to my own, you can retire for the night.”

With a pitying look you did not much care for - especially not from your youngest sister - she nodded. “Of course. Goodnight, sister."

As she took her leave, Aemond hummed once more. “And here you thought him displeased,” he teased, lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. “He could be perusing the streets of silk with Lord Tyrell but he wants for his wife. How touching.”

“You are insufferable,” you declared, turning to make the journey to Aegon’s chambers, though there was no heat - save for a fond warmth - in the statement.

“Yet you seek my counsel and company,” he reminded you. “If I am insufferable, it is a burden you willingly bear.”

“Gladly,” you corrected, easily. “A burden,” you confirmed, though Aemond knew you did not truly consider him one, “but one I gladly bear. Goodnight, Aemond. Bid Helaena goodnight for me, as well.”

Despite the growing resentment you felt toward Aegon, the bitter sadness that started to fill your heart, your found a sort of comfort in his family. They all seemed determined that yours would be a happy marriage, no matter the doubt you now felt, and you appreciated their efforts. Though it seemed to be something of a coping mechanism for them, brushing truth aside for something happier - something lighter, even if it was unrealistic - it brightened your considerably gloomy outlook in a way you needed.

Though you were not a Targaryen by blood, they all stood with you - sheltered you from the outside world, even if they could not shelter you from one of their own.

And as you stepped through the halls in the only vaguely familiar direction of Aegon’s chambers, you wondered if he would even be awake to greet you - a cynical thought that once would’ve never crossed your mind as you rushed to Aegon as soon as he asked.

Much to your surprise, however, he was wide awake and waiting near the foot of his bed for your arrival.

“My queen of ice,” Aegon slurred, grinning at you as you entered his chambers. The doors fell closed behind you, the hall and the guard disappearing, and you bit back a sigh as you stepped deeper into the dimly lit room. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight? Green suits you,” he complimented, though the words were broken by a hiccup and a scrutiny that you believed to be his curiosity as to whether the gown was one he’d given you.

“You have,” you assured him, though not a word of compliment had been uttered in longer than you cared to admit - the sentiment in his words now unsettling your stomach rather than setting your skin alight. You also did not bother to remind him that the green you wore was the color of your own house, not Hightower green, as you watched him pour himself another cup. “Perhaps you should rest, Your Grace. It has been a long day, filled with excitement. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Not until I have done my duty as your husband,” he declared, before downing the contents of the cup in a long gulp. “Lost count of how many times I was asked when there might be a feast welcoming an heir to the throne.”

A small sense of satisfaction lingered for a moment - at least you were not the only one facing the repeated question. However, the satisfaction was short lived as conflicting emotions surrounding lying with Aegon began to cloud your mind.

For nearly a year, all you wanted was for him to want you. With each day that passed, you hoped - despite yourself - that he might seek you out and offer some of the affection you once received. You hoped that he might spare you the most fleeting glance, the softest touch, the smallest smile. It made you feel pathetic, but you wanted it so desperately.

Anything Aegon wished to give you, you realized you would gladly take.

However, now that he was offering you something of the affection you dreamt of each night you spent alone, the throbbing in your temples grew greater and the churning in the pit of your stomach nearly overwhelmed you. Thoughts - wondering if he would lay with you and then depart the Keep with Lord Tyrell, anyway; wondering if he might someday slip up, call you the name of one of his favored whores; wondering what might happen if you did fall pregnant, if he no longer had a reason to call for you - swirled so quickly that they stole the air from your lungs.

The room felt as if it were spinning around you and, for a moment, you felt drunker than Aegon seemed. Regardless, you could not bring yourself to deny him.

As pathetic as it made you feel, you grasped the opportunity to be closed to him with both hands.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The acquiescence was soft, spoken in a breathless whisper to keep your voice from breaking, as you stepped deeper into his chambers. Despite the glassy sheen to his violet eyes, a flash of something dark - something angry, all too aware - flashed in them.

“I wish for you to call me anything else,” he sighed, pouring himself another cup of wine. The words were sharper than you imagined he intended, exhausted in a way you’d never heard him sound, and you felt yourself falter.

Breathing his name had once been your greatest joy. Calling him ‘Aegon’ or ‘husband,’ where others addressed him so formally, made you feel as if you had at least one piece of him others did not. Now, however, it brought you little comfort as you knew there was nothing you had others wanted for. You wondered, only for a moment, what the other women called him, before you bit the inside of your cheek to anchor yourself to the present.

There was no longer anything you possessed that was solely yours. No matter how badly your heart ached at the thought, no matter how angry it made you, there was nothing left. The only thing you could even hope for was a child born from your own body, though you knew even that would belong to the realm first, as Aegon’s heir.

With a swallow, you reminded yourself there was no sense losing the moment. Aegon wanted you, if only because he had to, and you would take it. You steeled yourself, willed yourself to remain upright and calm, and resumed your path.

“Very well, my king,” you agreed, stepping closer to the bed - unable to make yourself call him anything but. The possessive ‘my’ seemed to soften the title some, deemed it appropriate somewhere in the recess of his wine-muddled mind, and those violet eyes cooled some. They were beginning to glaze over, beginning to lose their focus, as he beckoned you closer.

Aegon drank deep from the cup, a few drops of wine escaping down his chin, and you sighed quietly as your fingers tugged at the intricate laces of your gown to keep from reaching for him. You wanted to, wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush the deep red from his pale skin, but you were uncertain how he would react.

However, before you could make much progress, Aegon pushed himself away from the bed and closed the distance between you.

Standing so close to Aegon left your heart beating wildly in your chest. You could feel it throbbing in your temples,  in the balls of your feet that ached after spending the day standing to receive guests, thudding heavily against your ribcage. The scent of him filled your nose - the soaps and oils used earlier to prepare him for guests, the heady combination of wine and dragon fire that lingered on his skin - and it brought an ache to your chest.

Though it once might’ve made you swoon, brought a girlish warmth to your skin and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, it was now almost entirely unpleasant. As badly as you wanted this, wanted him, you also wanted to turn and run. But you kept yourself standing and schooled your face into an impassive mask as his fingers tugged at the laces.

Even drowning in his cups, he managed to make quick work of the ties that held your gown together - and, bitterly, the only thought you found yourself capable of forming was a question of how much practice that had taken.

Long ago, the first few times he’d taken you, there was some semblance of effort. Though you knew he did not want you, did not yet love you - though you still had hope then that he someday might - he tried. He kissed you softly, caressed your skin, whispered compliments in the dim of the room.

Now, he could barely keep himself upright as he helped you out of your gown.

Despite his drunkenness, Aegon still managed to remove the gown easily. The laces came undone quickly and it fell to the floor, piled into a heap around your feet. He stepped away, just enough for you to step out of the fabric and climb into his bed, before placing a knee onto the bed to follow.

Only then did he pause, seeming to remember himself. He stepped away for a moment, searching the small table near the privacy screen, and grabbed the oil the maesters had given you in hopes that it might aid the process.

A small part of you resented it - it hadn’t been necessary, in the beginning - while the larger part was thankful. It made the act more tolerable, easier to withstand, easier to pretend that the want was mutual and Aegon was not simply ‘doing his duty.’ 

Aegon tossed the vial onto the bed and peeled himself out of his clothes. The undershirt and breeches were tossed away, along with his small clothes, before he returned his weight to the mattress. He was half-hard, another surprise with how much he drank, and you contented yourself with watching as he reached for the vial and poured a few drops into his palm.

You were conflicted as to whether his refusal to glance at your face should be seen as an insult or a kindness as he worked himself to full hardness.

The man above you was somewhat unsteady, wobbling precariously as he climbed over you, and you had half a mind to reach out and steady him. However, you kept your hands fisted tightly in the sheets as he absentmindedly reached for your thigh with a slick hand and settled between your now spread legs.

Aegon’s eyes closed as he situated the head of his cock at your entrance, brows furrowing, and you followed suit as he pressed forward.

Unable to help yourself, a noise - louder than you would’ve liked - escaped your throat at the stretch. It had been nearly two moons since you last laid together and you couldn’t make much sense of how you felt in the moment as his weight descended upon you.

“Keep your voice down,” he slurred, shushing you - though you knew he would soon grow louder. “There’s still a feast going on.”

None of the guests would hear you, the feast was far enough away. If they did, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing - perhaps they might stop asking when to expect an heir, they might stop whispering that he refused to lie with you. But you relented and kept quiet, as he ordered.

The act itself was not wholly unpleasant, not when you relished in being the center of Aegon’s attention if only for a moment, but it was nothing like you’d hoped.

Aegon did not love you, nor did he desire you. The realization was enough to have you counting down the moments until you were allowed to return to your own chambers.

However, though the moment was less than idea, you held it dear. Despite yourself, as Aegon found a sloppy rhtzhym, you reached for him and held him close. One hand lifted to his hair, clean and soft as he’d been in the presence of so many guests and needed to keep up with appearances, while the other pressed to his chest. You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, rapid but steady - or, maybe it was your own, echoing in your ears - and the way his chest rose and fell in search of breath.

Pleasing you was not his objective, nor was it even remotely on his mind, so you distracted yourself with watching him seek his own release.

Though you hated it, you still felt your heart beat a touch faster at the sight of him.

There was plenty of Targaryen beauty evident in Aegon - his fair hair, his violet eyes, his beautiful features - but there was something else that captivated you. Aemond was angular, fierce, serious; Helaena, soft and bright, with mournful moments of melancholy interspersed; Daeron, a mixture of both, blessed with a lingering, youthful ignorance his siblings were not granted.

Aegon, however, was something else entirely.

Even at his happiest, there was something so sad about him. His eyes, perhaps, where the smile never quite reached - holding a depth you were not privy to understanding - or the frown he wore so often when he thought no one was looking. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders, more so now than ever, but you’d long ago given up the hope that he might someday allow you to cary some of his burden.

Though the entire world had been placed at his feet, he wanted for something. If only he would tell you, you knew that you would provide it without a second thought.

In the pursuit of his own pleasure, Aegon still did not look entirely happy. There was a pinch to his brows that never quite left, a faraway look in his eyes that made your chest ache in the most unpleasant way, and a seemingly never-ending war waging in his mind as to whether he should touch you or not.

Hands, calloused from years of dragon riding - and the occasional session with a sword, though he’d long since given lose up - hovered near your skin. His violet eyes were conflicted, uncertain, and you could see his hands fluttering about before he settled on placing them near you. When he moved, his skin brushed yours and that seemed to be enough for him in his altered state. The weight of your own touch against his skin was something he leaned into, something he accepted eagerly, and you felt as if you could cry as he decided against returning the gesture.

However, you weren’t given long to dwell as his thrusts grew erratic after only a few short moments.

The time you spent together grew less and less frequent, as did the time it took him to ‘do his duty’ as your husband. With only a few thrusts, he buried himself deep and spilled inside of you, pressing himself close enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Disheveled blonde curls filled your vision as he leaned forward. Aegon stared at you, violet eyes clearly and blinking, and, for a brief moment, you felt a sliver of hope that he might kiss you.

It stung only a little when he did not.

“Gods,” he sighed,” leaning forward to press his face into the crook of your neck as he attempted to catch his breath. “You really look just like her,” he mumbled, voice slurring with sleep and wine. “Sound like her, too. And smell like her.”

Aegon breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of your hair and skin - perfumed oil doubtlessly dulled to barely any scent after a long day - as your heart began to beat even faster and your stomach clenched. A part of you had no desire to know who he imagined you were, who he pictured beneath him as he pressed his nose into your skin, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Like who?” If he noticed the shake to your voice, the way your hand trembled in his hair, Aegon said nothing as he hummed.

“My wife,” he answered, lifting his head and blinking bleary eyes at you once more, “the queen. Must be paid well.”

It was a wonder he couldn’t hear the beat of your heart as it threatened to hammer right through the wall of your chest. A thousand conflicting feelings ran through your head all at once. It was you he’d thought of, you he saw, and that was something of a balm for the ache in your heart. However, he thought you were a whore who merely looked like his wife, a whore he’d rather allow warm his bed. 

A question lingered on the tip of your tongue - did he seek out one who looked like you or did he merely find your presence so improbable that he chose the most logical explanation.

Either way, he pulled out and moved away, rolling onto his back beside you. He allowed his head to fall against the pillow and muss his hair. “‘M sure there’re more than I care to imagine that want to fuck her,” he began. “That Tyrell cunt couldn’t take his eyes off her at dinner,” he huffed, eyes closing as he brought a hand up to scrub at his face. “Can’t fault him, though,” he sighed, “she’s beautiful.”

“Then why don’t you lay with her?”

The question escaped before you could consider it, before you could wonder if it was appropriate to ask, but Aegon seemed unbothered.

“Would you fuck me if I didn’t pay you?” Though the question was spoken blandly, meant to prove a point, it made your heart ache. Aegon thought so little of himself and you wondered how much a part you played in his self-doubt.

“I would, my king,” you whispered - you did, you would, if only he wanted you. “Gladly.”

“Don’t deserve it,” he declared, lips parting with a heavy sigh as he reached for the sheets to cover himself. “Leave me,” he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes and spare you another glance. “I want to sleep.”

The question of who he meant, of what he meant - who was undeserving of what? - lingered on the tip of your tongue, but rather than face his ire as he would doubtlessly turn his infamous temper upon you in the moment as he did not recognize you, you climbed out of the bed and pulled your dress on as best as you were able without the help of your handmaidens and slipped out of Aegon’s chambers.

Criston was the only guard lingering in your path - a calculated move, no doubt, to spare you further humiliation - and he dutifully cast his gaze aside as you approached your door. Any other night, he might’ve bid you goodnight, but thankfully, he remained silent as he held the door for you. You were uncomfortable and exhausted and grateful as the door shut with a soft click, plunging you into silence once more.

After bathing - alone, unwilling to allow anyone to see you after spending time with Aegon, too lost in your own thoughts and questioning your own feelings to care about propriety - you climbed into bed and waited for sleep you knew would not come.

The next morning, however,  you awoke with a certain resolve. Following the night you spent with him, the questions that now lingered, you took greater care to keep yourself out of his reach.

Keeping away from him wasn’t all that difficult. Aegon had distanced himself enough that your routines were entirely different, living almost wholly separate lives despite sharing the same home. The only times your paths seemed to cross was in the middle of the day and at dinner.

Though, with the entirety of the realm now watching as you were supposed to be together for appearance sake, you were meticulous with your excuses.

The beginning of the tourney was a joyous affair, celebrated loudly by all in attendance.

With any number of events happening simultaneously, you made it known that you wanted simply to experience it all. Northern tourneys were different, you explained to anyone who asked - though all tourneys paled in comparison to those hosted by the king. This was simply an experience you wanted to remember, and Aegon encouraged your wandering.

There were but a handful of Northerners present - a few minor lords and ladies, two knights, and a handful of cavalrymen - and, while you were disappointed that your family was not among them, you were still glad to see familiar sigils. And, instead of sitting with Aegon in the royal box and watching as the tourney began, you made it a point to visit with those you knew, offering your greetings and welcome, and even a favor to the one knight who boldly asked.

Throughout the day, you wandered.

With your sister by your side, you watched the mummers and the archers, the puppets and the poets. You nursed a cup of wine and, when asked why you were not sitting with Aegon, confessed - feigning sheepishness, an emotion that earned you soft coos of delight - that you did not much care for the sport, that you worried for the knights and took no pleasure in watching them be carted off, injured.

In reality, it was Aegon’s act you did not much care for.

Without the attention of the realm placed solely on the pair of you, he might not’ve noticed your absence. It had taken him days, after all, to find you before the guests began to arrive.

However, this time, it took him only hours.

As the day crawled to an end and you found yourself stepping through the crowd to settle into your seat beside Aegon at dinner.

“Where have you been?” He frowned, paying no mind to the lord he cut off in the midst of a story. “I stopped by your chambers to escort you to dinner. You weren’t there,” he added, almost an afterthought - the words softening what he realized could’ve made you defensive, what could’ve made others suspicious.

“The bay,” you admitted, smiling your thanks at the cupbearer before sipping your wine.

Confusion wrinkled Aegon’s brow as he leaned in to get a better look at you - searching your face for any hint of a joke. “The bay,” he wondered, “why? Was the tourney not entertaining enough?”

“Lady Mormont wished to see it,” you answered, smile patient though you wished to roll your eyes. “It reminds us both a little of home.”

“There is water in the North? I thought it all miserable and frozen.”

When you frowned, incensed by the lord’s quip and the laughter that followed, Aegon sighed and reached for your hand. “It was a jest, my queen,” he soothed you. “I’ve heard stories of the beauty of White Harbor. Grandsire suggested a progress - perhaps we can go to the North and you can show it to me.”

“The Conqueror held court at New Castle three times,” you recalled, a fact you read in a book long before you married Aegon. “I’m sure my father would welcome you as my ancestors welcomed your namesake.”

“Alysanne held court there, I believe,” he declared, almost uncertainly as he glanced to you for confirmation. When you nodded, he hummed - pleased to have remembered his own history, something Aemond could have recounted with startling ease.

“A women’s court,” you confirmed, reaching for your cup with the hand Aegon left free. “I grew up hearing stories of how kind she was and how much the women enjoyed the opportunity to speak and have the queen hear them.”

Daeron, who had taken the spot occupied by Lord Tyrell the previous night, turned to you with a smile. “Perhaps it might be worthwhile to use this gathering to your advantage,” he interjected. “I know some women do not much care for tourneys. Perhaps you could hold court with them, afford them an opportunity to speak directly with the queen.”

“A marvelous idea,” Aegon agreed, squeezing your hand and smiling as he tipped his cup in his brother’s direction. “You’ve sat with me, listening to petitions before. You’re well trained,” he teased. 

“Oh, how wonderful that would be,” Lady Baratheon declared, offering you a knowing smile - easily detecting the discomfort your husband so eagerly ignored. “All of the ladies could gather and share, so that you might know more about the concerns around the realm, Your Grace.”

“It’s settled, then,” Aegon concluded, smiling brightly as he nodded. “A women’s court; a perfect opportunity for my queen to become better acquainted with the women of the realm.”

Of the group, only Daeron seemed to sense your discomfort and you could see the pang of regret in his eyes as you spared him a glance. Regardless, you nodded your agreement and offered a smile to the new sets of eyes now turned to you.

“Of course. Tomorrow, then,” you confirmed, “I shall begin holding court for the women who do not wish to watch the tourney.”

In hindsight, the women’s court was, truly, a marvelous idea.

Though it was not something you wished to be put upon you without notice, there was a desire in you to take a more active role as queen. You grew bored easily, tired of needlework and idle gossip. The books you read were a nice distraction, as were the infrequent High Valyrian lessons your husband’s siblings spared you, but you needed something more.

Spending your time learning more about the plight of the women of the realm made you feel as if you were accomplishing something.

The women’s court also gave you a reason to disappear throughout the day, a reason to avoid Aegon entirely without having to explain yourself to anyone. As your mornings were spent working through the previous day’s findings and dinner was eaten alone - exhausted by the very valid concerns shared by so many women - you never needed to flounder for a reason to seek solitude.

However, that did little to stop the whispers.

From your sister - and your cousin - you heard the few whispers, those who correctly deduced your dedication as an excuse to hide from your husband. But you had little reason to believe that Aegon heard, or cared, about the whispers himself. 

Until he sought you out.

On the third day of the tournament, late into the night - after the feast ended and the lords and ladies had retired for the evening - the door to your chambers flew open at the hour of ghosts.

Aegon, doublet undone and hair mussed, stormed in. His eyes were wild, violet darkened by an emotion you found yourself too exhausted to attempt to read, and his cheeks tinted pink as he stared at you for a long moment. “What have I done?”

The door to your chambers had barely swung shut when the demanding question echoed through the room.

Aegon looked less the part of king and more the part of upset husband as he began pacing before you, only pausing to glance at you incredulously when you flipped a page.

“The offense very likely depends on who is chastising you,” you declared, tone detached, uninterested - despite the unsteady beat of your heart and the sharp inhale you took great care to conceal, “your mother, your brother, or the hand. Perhaps you should ask one of them.” Your exhaustion kept you from standing yourself, from reading too deeply into the situation as you knew there would not be a satisfactory answer, but that seemed to only fuel his upset.

“The offense is yours,” he clarified, resuming his pacing as he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “What have I done to offend you?”

With a sigh, you finally placed the book onto the table and leaned into the couch - just as you’d done only a few days earlier. It was clear that he had no plan to leave without an answer, though you found yourself at a loss for why he thought he’d offended you or why he cared. “I take it Alicent chastised you, then,” you deduced, the only logical answer as you finally lifted your gaze to watch as he stepped evenly - without the drunken sway you so often spotted. “Order the Guard to keep your trips to the streets of silk quieter and she might leave you be.”

Violet eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed in frustration - he seemed more upset that you weren’t listening than by the thought of causing offense. 

“This has nothing to do with my mother,” he insisted, stopping to take a seat in the same chair he’d occupied only days earlier. Now, instead of waiting in silence for you to acknowledge him, his intense stare was accompanied by a frustrated frown. “I’ve done something to offend you but I don’t know what. Tell me, so I can fix it and apologize.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, attempting to make sense of his sudden line of questioning, his sudden interest in you - in whether he’d offended you, when you both knew he’d spent nearly a year doing little else. If Alicent had not chastised him, if Aemond or Otto or even Criston hadn’t pressed upon him the importance of soothing your aching heart, why did he seem so rattled?

“If your no one has reproached you,” you finally began, words slow and deliberate, your confusion evident, “what makes you think you’ve done something to offend me?”

Aegon huffed a frustrated sigh as he gestured to where you sat, glass of wine, a stack of papers, and a book on the table. “You’ve been avoiding me. This is the first I’ve seen of you in days.”

With a sweeping glance around your chambers - at the papers and the book, at the gown waiting to be worn for the next day of court - you blinked at him. “I’ve been entertaining the ladies of the realm,” you reminded him, words still  escaping slowly, evenly, even as you raised a brow at the way his knee bounced. “We decided to hold women’s court, like Good Queen Alysanne. I believe you called it a ‘marvelous idea’.” Aegon huffed at the reminder, incensed by your response, and you sighed. “The ladies are glad to spend the day unburdening themselves. I’ve been working through their concerns,” you explained, gesturing to the stack of papers, “discerning which are in need of further attention and which can be solved without the crown’s intervention.”

A moment of silence passed in which Aegon scrutinized the papers before he huffed once more and stood, resuming his pacing. “You’ve been avoiding me long before guests began to arrive,” he declared, nearly startling you as you hadn’t realized he’d noticed. As you blinked, surprised, he shot you a look, something angry - wounded, almost - and shook his head. “Don’t deny what we both know to be true."

“You’ve been busy.” Deflecting blame to him was not how you intended the conversation to go, not when you could see him bristle at the acknowledgement you had, indeed, been avoiding him. So, you added, “I did not wish to add more of a burden.”

Aegon sighed, a defeated sound that you’d never heard, and sat once more. He seemed to consider reaching for the flagon of wine, perhaps even stealing your cup, but thought better of it as he settled into the chair.

Silence enveloped you both for a long moment, thick and unbroken by even the faintest of sounds outside your chambers - by design, you assumed, as Aegon seemed intent on understanding why you’d been avoiding him, for reasons you could not fathom - and you nearly allowed yourself to ask why he seemed so desperate for an answer, when it was he who began the whole ordeal.

Violet eyes studied you, settled on your face and searched for something - anything - in lieu of an answer to an unspoken question, a question even he couldn’t seem to form. You nearly shrank beneath the intensity as Aegon finally uttered, “You are my wife. Nothing about you is burdensome.”

Though the words were soft, sincere in a way you did not expect, you found yourself unable to stop the bubble of laughter that erupted from your throat. “A relief.” The comment was biting, sarcastic in a way you’d never been with Aegon, and he frowned - wounded, violet eyes sad - as he regarded you.

“You do not believe me.” It was not a question and the realization seemed to do little to settle him.

Aegon was not someone you spoke openly with, not someone you shared your feelings with, but you couldn’t help yourself. Exhaustion set in and your desire for propriety was long gone. Instead of feigning acceptance, you simply reached for your wine and offered him a sad smile. “I often feel my presence is little more than a burden your family insists you bear.”

“That’s not true.” A near whisper, though the declaration held far more conviction than you ever imagined Aegon capable of. The hurt was no longer prominent in his sad eyes, replaced, instead, by disbelief - anguish, nearly, that you believed your words to be true. “Surely, you don’t believe that.”

Eager to move on, to keep from sharing your innermost feelings with Aegon in a way that you would surely come to regret when he drunkenly spilled them to the entirety of the realm, you shook your head. “It does not matter what I believe,” you declared, waving a hand to rid yourself of the conversation. “I fear there are more pressing matters at hand than my feelings. Court has been… enlightening.”

For a moment, you feared Aegon may not allow you to move on - that he may dwell on the subject until you broke, shed the tears that stung at the backs of your eyes. He seemed eager to push, to argue, but after a nearly uncomfortable stretch of silence, he finally asked, “What have you learned?”

The question was hollow, detached, and you nearly apologized. Instead, you turned your attention to the stack of notes on the table.

“Every solution the crown offers only seems to create a dozen more problems,” you related, sighing as you poured more wine before nudging the cup across the table toward him. “For every petition answered, a dozen more appear in its place.”

Aegon sighed, momentarily redirected, and reached for the cup with a nod of thanks. “We’re learning the same things, then,” he announced, rubbing at his eyes. “There is not enough grain or land or livestock. The winters are too cold, the summers too harsh, boundary stones are being moved and duels are breaking out over cows grazing on the wrong grass.”

The complaints were similar to the ones you heard, though yours were more nuanced - filled with heartbreaking accounts of cruelty and anger.

“The men are cruel, taxes too high, inheritance laws unfair; I’m sure we’re hearing similar stories.”

“The men are cruel?” Aegon frowned, hand pausing midway to his mouth as he blinked, uncertain as to what you meant.

“Mm. The men share the complaints about taxes, I’m sure, and maybe inheritance laws, but the women have unique concerns,” you explained, brushing a hand across your nightgown in an effort to distract yourself. “Alysanne decreed an end to the First Night but it seems the decree only held for royal or highborn women. Lesser ladies only escape the ritual if they have a kind husband. And inheritance laws mean second or third or even fourth wives are left with nothing if a husband dies, unless she or her husband has kind relatives.” Aegon frowned as he returned the cup to the table and shifted in his seat to get a better look at you. “Marriage is a political alliance for most,” you informed him, though you assumed he already knew. “But, for others, it’s a means of survival.”

“Gods,” Aegon sighed, “what did my father do all those years? Nothing seems to have changed. It’s all fucking miserable.” He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands for a brief moment, before he returned his gaze to you. “They told you all of this?”

“They did,” you confirmed, sighing as you clasped your hands together to keep from reaching for him. “I believe they just wanted someone to listen.” For a moment, you simply studied him - your gaze sweeping across his face, eagerly drinking in the soft look in his eyes - before you laughed, a soft sound lacking mirth. “I suppose I am lucky,” you confessed, standing to begin your journey to Alicent’s chambers for your nightly tea with her, Helaena, and the children.

“You’re married to the king,” Aegon surmised, standing to follow - to head for his own chambers, or perhaps out of the Keep.

“No.” With a shake of your head, you paused to meet his eyes. “I would be just as happy as a lady,” you confessed, watching as he frowned. “I am lucky because, even though you do not love me, you are at least kind to me. That is more than I could have asked for, more than most women hope for.” Aegon blinked, violet eyes going wide as his lips parted in preparation to respond, but you gave him a tight smile. “It’s alright,” you assured him, straightening your robe. “I’ve accepted my fate and am grateful for your kindness. I would not ask more. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

With quick steps and a racing heart, you left Aegon standing in the middle of your chambers with blinking eyes and parted lips. There would be time later to dwell on how much you said, how awful you felt for confessing such a thing, but you did not imagine it would be before the tourney ended.

However, you were surprised to find a request from Aegon the next morning - the king wished for you to join him in his chambers to break fast, as early as you were ready.

The request itself was odd - in the eleven moons you’d been married, you’d only broken fast together once or twice, and always after Aegon woke. Part of you feared you’d offended him, that you might finally become acquainted with his infamous temper, while the other part feared the rats shared your conversation with Alicent and this was her doing. There was little you could do to calm your racing heart as you considered both possibilities, neither pleasant and neither comforting.

Either way, you hurried through your morning routine. A part of you wanted to make him wait, to take your time or even send your regrets with the excuse that you had other plans. The greater part, however, knew it was better to get the whole ordeal over with and pushed you to your way to Aegon’s chambers - skin alight with an unfamiliar warmth as you did so.

Though you half expected to find Aegon still asleep, he was stood - pacing, silver hair clean and brushed - waiting.

As you entered, heart thundering in your chest, Aegon stopped in his tracks. “Good morrow, my queen,” he greeted with a tentative smile and an outstretched hand. “How did you sleep?”

Without thought, you accepted Aegon’s outstretched hand and allowed him to guide you to the table. He pulled out the chair beside his own, one you’d never before occupied, and gestured for you to sit. As you did, you noticed that the table held most of your favorite foods - items you normally requested for your own morning meal - and you nearly forgot the question as you turned to meet Aegon’s gaze.

With a great effort, you attempted to mask the confusion you felt. “Fine,” you assured him, offering a smile you hope he believed real. “And you?”

Undeterred by the obvious concern in your tone, Aegon nodded. “Fine,” he parroted, reaching for the tea to pour you a cup. “No wandering in the night for you?”

A confused curiosity filled you, settling into the pit of your stomach alongside a sinking feeling you couldn’t quite make sense of. There was no reason for Aegon to care - none that made sense to you, anyway - but being at the center of his attention, if only for a moment, sent your heart soaring.

So, with a rueful laugh, you shook your head and decided to humor him. “No, not last night.” Aegon hummed as he offered you a piece of fruit - your favorite, though you weren’t sure if he remembered it from the early days of your marriage or if a servant simply filled the table with things you liked - as you continued. “It seems some of the lords and ladies wished to see the riverwalk after I spoke so highly of it. They are curious what it is that calls to me.”

Aegon winced, his violet eyes flashing with regret as he sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he declared, eyes cast down and lips curved into a frown. “I did not mean to…”

With a tight smile, you nodded. “I know,” you assured him. He’d been drunk, caught up in conversation with Lord Tyrell - who seemed to bring out the worst in him - and you did not blame him. Not entirely. “It’s for the best, anyway,” you continued, shrugging. “Alicent has chided me relentlessly for wandering about alone so late. I do not wish to face another of her lectures. I suppose I’ll just read, instead.”

The pair of you shared an understanding laugh - though your lectures were, doubtlessly, far kinder than any Aegon had ever received - before his thoughtful frown returned.

For a moment, Aegon allowed his searching gaze to sweep across your skin. There was a question written on his face, one he seemed unable to articulate, that he sought an answer to. Finally, he asked, “The reason you wander, is because you can’t sleep?” When you sighed, sipping your tea instead of denying what he now realized to be true, Aegon’s frowned deepened. “Is it the sound of the water or the cool air you seek, on the riverwalk?”

When he affixed you with wide eyes, a look that begged for the truth, you sighed. “The sound is soothing, but I wish for the cool air, more than anything. I leave my windows open when I can but as the air grows colder, someone will catch a glimpse and I am scolded - reminded by the maesters again and again that I could fall ill any time a breeze blows. It’s as if they forget I’m from the North.”

At your indignant huff, Aegon laughed - a soft sound that you’d missed dearly - before his thoughtful frown returned. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Aegon’s concern left you mildly unsettled, confused, as you searched for an appropriate answer.

“We married in winter,” you finally reminded him, shrugging lightly. “I slept well enough then and we haven’t spoken about it since.” We haven’t spoken much at all since went unsaid but Aegon’s wince assured you he heard it, just the same. “It does not matter anyway,” you continued, “as there’s nothing to do but wait for cooler weather. I’m growing used to the heat. I wander a bit, cool off, and return to my chambers. Ser Cole was the only one to notice my absence. If he hadn’t said anything, no one would’ve known.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught you entirely off guard and you found yourself turning to face Aegon with a frown. “What for?” With a laugh, you reached for your cup once more. “You’re the king, but you cannot control the weather. I will just savor the cool air whenever it appears.”

“I did not even know you wandered until Cole told me,” he confessed, swirling the cup of tea in his hand. His brows furrowed in frustration - though, you could tell it was not directed at you as he huffed. “I should’ve known you were not sleeping.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Just as you cannot control the weather, you cannot expect to know my every waking move. There are more important things to concern yourself with.”

“I’m your husband. You are my most pressing concern,” he declared, words soft - guilty. “I should know all there is to know about you.” Before you could argue - something Aegon could see written clearly on your face - he continued. “The next time you find yourself unable to sleep, perhaps I could wander with you. I do not enjoy the cold but I will brave it with you,” he offered, a hopeful smile lifting the corner of his mouth as wide violet eyes met yours.

A spiteful comment lingered on the tip of your tongue - certainly, if you are in the Keep and not lost in the streets of silk - but you swallowed it with a sip of tea. “Of course,” you agreed easily, though you had no intention of seeking him out when sleep inevitably refused you once more.

Sleep would only be harder to find when coupled with disappointment.

Regardless of your intention, Aegon seemed settled by your easy agreement. Assured - of what, you were uncertain - he turned the conversation to the remaining days of the tourney and began to eat as you began to worry.

Though all you’d wanted for nearly a year was Aegon’s attention, having it in spades made you overwhelmingly suspicious. There was little about the situation that brought you joy or comfort. If anything, it set you more on edge than you’d been since stepping foot into the Keep.

There was a part of you - the rational, pragmatic part - that understood. Aegon wanted to keep up appearances. Alicent and Otto had spent much of his life instilling in him the importance of maintaining an image. What happened in the privacy of the Keep when the crowds departed did not matter, so long as they all believed the happy facade put on for their benefit.

It made sense, then, why he insisted on breaking fast with you - so the lords and ladies would see you depart from his chambers - and why he insisted on escorting you to dinner. It even made sense to you why his hand found yours when you were amongst the crowd of revelers at dinner.

The part that worried you, however, was the attention he paid you when no one was looking.

Just as he had in the beginning of your marriage, Aegon’s hand brushed yours in passing as he went his way while you went your own. Throughout the day, you felt his intense gaze on you - searing into your skin across a crowded room, across the field as you spoke with the ladies of the realm when he should’ve been watching the tourney. And when night fell, he escorted you back to your chambers after dinner and sat with you, sometimes without so much as a word shared, until you deemed it time for bed.

For two days, Aegon paid more attention to you than he had over the course of your entire marriage - all without drowning in his cups.

And by the final day of the tournament, you found yourself utterly exhausted.

Being surrounded by people - those who meant well and those who certainly did not - was enough of a discomfort. The sometimes curious, sometimes accusing, sometimes pitying gazes of the lords and ladies of the realm set you on edge. But attempting to make sense of Aegon’s sudden burst of attention was what kept you awake at night.

Every reason you considered made little sense. 

Initially, you assumed it was Alicent’s doing. However, the moment she expressed her surprise at Aegon’s sudden change of heart, you found yourself more perplexed. She seemed assured, however, certain that her eldest son was finally settling, and rejoiced at the sight of Aegon escorting you to the gathering of women two mornings in a row.

Aemond also seemed surprised, though his was better hidden than his mother’s as he watched Aegon offer you a hand to pull you into the fray of dancing bodies. And your assumption that it was he who’d spoken with his brother vanished into thin air the moment his violet eye met yours - a question of ‘what’s happening’ dancing curiously in it.

All logic failed you, each conclusion vanished as quickly as it arrived, and you found yourself confused and alone - away from the madness so that you might catch your breath and think.

However, you were not left alone for very long.

Without warning, no guard and no crowds of people vying for his attention, Aegon approached you as you sat far from the madness of the tourney.

The Conqueror’s crown glimmered atop his head, silver and ruby shimmering in the sunlight, and he looked the part of king. Royalty suited him, you decided - his features regal, his poise now unencumbered by drink as he’d done his best to remain sober in your presence - though you kept the thought to yourself as you bit back a sigh at his presence.

Aegon had taken to asking you what was wrong - a question he took seriously, as he attempted to remedy whatever it was that bothered you - but you turned to him before he could.

“What does it feel like?” The question was asked in desperation, a deep-seated desire to turn the conversation away from yourself - a need to return to some semblance of normalcy, despite his newfound attention - and Aegon’s brows furrowed. “Riding a dragon,” you elaborated, gesturing to Sunfyre in the distance. His prized dragon had been brought from the Dragonpit to be seen, marveled at; the most beautiful dragon in the realm, the king’s pride. “I’ve asked Aemond and Helaena, even Daeron,” you confessed. “They all say the feeling is indescribable.”

For a moment, Aegon regarded you with a smile - something bright and true, genuinely happy; something you saw little of in him - before he turned to glance at his golden dragon. “Do you want to try it,” he began, stepping closer and tipping his head to meet your eyes, “find out for yourself?”

With a hollow laugh, and a touch of fear at the prospect, you shook your head. “A beautiful thought, to be sure,” you acknowledged, “but if I stepped closer, I fear I would only learn what death by dragon fire feels like.”

Unbothered, Aegon stepped even closer - his arm now brushing yours. “If you stepped closer to Vhagar, surely, but Sunfyre is less inclined to violence,” he teased, sparing his dragon an admiring glance. “He listens well and will take to you, so long as you are with me.” When you frowned, uncertain, Aegon smiled softly and reached for your hand. “I should’ve introduced you sooner,” he hummed, apologetic as he squeezed your hand, “but we will just have to make up for lost time.”

Slowly, carefully - for your benefit, you realized, as Sunfyre seemed entirely aware of Aegon no matter how he moved - your husband guided you across the field to where Sunfyre rested. The keepers offered you both polite greetings before stepping aside to allow Aegon to interact with his dragon, unbothered.

Though his commands were nowhere near as sharp as the ones you’d heard from Aemond, nor as fluid as those you’d heard from Helaena, Aegon’s word still struck a chord with Sunfyre. His High Valyrian was clumsy, almost broken, but Sunfyre still responded just as eagerly as the others - if not more so - as the great beast made a rumbling noise and nudged Aegon in the chest.

Aegon cooed, returning the greeting happily as he offered the dragon a few soft strokes of his hand, and you felt a smile curve your lips - in spite of the thundering of your heart at your proximity to such a fearsome creature.

“Give me your hand,” Aegon urged, turning his head to glance at you when Sunfyre settled and turned a great eye upon you. “He trusts you because I do.”

With a tentative step, you moved closer to Aegon. He accepted your outstretched hand eagerly, tugging you closer, and placed a steady and on your waist. Every inch of your skin felt warm - from the great breaths Sunfyre took, warm air billowing around you; or from the heat of Aegon’s body pressed to yours, unfamiliar and easily stealing the breath from your lungs as his hand stroked your waist to calm you.

Aegon tipped his head to offer you a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Sunfyre once more. With a few quiet words - mostly in Valyrian, though a few words in the common tongue caught your ear - Sunfyre lifted his large head and repeated the affectionate gesture he’d shown Aegon.

A noise resembling a purr escaped the large beast and, with Aegon’s hand still clasping yours, your hand was pressed to his scales.

For a single, nerve wracking moment, you waited - half-afraid Sunfyre might turn on you, temper as unpredictable as his rider - but when he simply leaned into your touch, you exhaled slowly. “He’s beautiful,” you whispered, voice awed as your fingers trailed lightly across the warm patch of golden scales. “And so warm.”

The moment Aegon’s hand released yours, it fell to your waist as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Sunfyre rumbled another pleasant noise, as if he understood the compliment, and you laughed. “See? Nothing to fear.”

“You are well matched, I believe,” you nearly whispered, as if Aegon had not spoken at all. “The most beautiful dragons in all the realm.” The compliment escaped without your notice, unintentional, but Aegon’s hands squeezed your waist gently as he inhaled just a bit too sharp.

“He is beautiful,” Aegon agreed easily, reaching out to stroke the scales just above where your hand rested - thankfully sidestepping your compliment of him. “He’s also quick and loves to soar over the sea, something that reminds me of you.”

Sunfyre released another contented noise, happily basking in the attention, as you hummed thoughtfully. “The view must be incredible,” you whispered, still in awe of the beautiful creature before you. “I’m not sure how you find the strength to return to the ground.”

“It helps to have something worth returning for.” Aegon’s declaration was soft, as was his gaze as violet eyes fell to you. “Do you want to see for yourself? You’ll be safe, I promise. There is nowhere safer, in fact.”

The prospect of riding a dragon set your heart beating overtime once more and brought butterflies to your stomach. It was terrifying - and tantalizing - and you could not understand why Aegon offered. Still, you tipped your head and offered him a playful smile. “Do not let Vhagar hear you,” you teased, voice nowhere near as strong as you hoped it would be. “She might take offense.”

“The old beast is asleep in a field, she couldn’t hear me if I stood right next to her.” Aegon grinned at you - expression brightening considerably when you laughed - before he stepped away. His hands left your waist but grasped your own, fingers intertwining with your own, as he guided you to the rope connected to Sunfyre’s saddle. “Come, my queen. We won’t be missed.”

A lie - his absence would be noticed immediately - but you said nothing.

Conflicting feelings swirled in the pit of your stomach as you allowed Aegon to help you climb into the saddle. There was fear - a natural instinct, when faced with the prospect of riding a dragon - and doubt, uncertainty as to your safety. There was concern, an ever-present wonder as to why Aegon seemed so intent upon getting you to bond with his dragon. There was worry, a curiosity as to why Aegon was acting the part of husband you so desperately wanted.

But, above all else, there was an overwhelming happiness.

Excitement coursed through your veins as Aegon helped you situate yourself in the saddle, despite your dress not being appropriate riding gear. Warmth coursed through your veins as he settled in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and offering you a bright smile as you turned your head to glance at him.

The reason why mattered so little when it felt so intoxicating in the moment.

Though the question danced on the tip of your tongue - more of a demand, a need to know what had changed - you kept quiet as Aegon spared a few words for Sunfyre.

With an eager rumble, the dragon began to stand.

“Ready?”

Before you could answer - nod your agreement or beg to be returned to the ground - Aegon shouted a command you couldn’t understand. The golden beast took a few steps forward before bolting toward the sky, clearly as eager to fly as his rider.

As you hurtled toward the sky, your heart leapt into your throat and making any noise at all seemed impossible.

Though you would’ve agonized over the decision any other time, there wasn’t a single thought in your mind as you reached for Aegon’s arm. You held - perhaps too tight, you realized, as your nails bit into the leather of his riding jacket - and held your breath as the burnt, fading colors of foliage began to give way to the white stone of the city and then the dark water of the bay.

Cool air rushed around you, growing cooler the higher you climbed, and you delighted in the contrast of it biting at your skin as Aegon’s warmth bled into your back.

Part of you wanted to close your eyes, to savor the feeling of weightlessness as Sunfyre began to level out and soar above the water, while the rational par demanded you keep them open and drink in the sight of King’s Landing from above.

There was no guarantee you would have another opportunity to witness the beauty below you.

The city you’d grown to early loathe - the streets of silk that claimed your husband, the stench that sometimes wafted through your open window - was undeniably beautiful atop Sunfyre’s back. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, though none seemed to provide an adequate description of the beauty below you.

Rather than attempt to speak, you simply breathed deeply and reveled in the quiet.

Atop Sunfyre, everything you’d spent nearly a year agonizing over seemed to fade into nothing. It all seemed so trivial, so meaningless, when the world was so vast and beautiful.

For a moment, you understood what your husband’s siblings meant - there was certainly no other feeling in the world that could compare to the experience at hand.

As you caught your breath, lungs filling entirely for the first time since leaving White Harbor, Aegon remained quiet behind you. For the first time, his silence was entirely comfortable - not something to be wary of, not something for you remedy. It was blissful, a shared joy, and you appreciated it.

Aegon’s chin rested atop your shoulder once more, blonde curls brushing your skin, and as you glance out at the dark water, you were nearly convinced it was all just a beautiful dream.

Having Aegon so close, his affection flowing so freely - his attention so rapt, so complete - was al you’d wanted for longe than you cared to admit. However, now that you had it, you were uncertain of what to do with it. You remained suspicious, concerned there was some sort of string attached to his affection, but a he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, you felt your concern begin to melt away.

It had been so long since Aegon kissed you, so long since he offered any kind of affection, that you couldn’t help yourself.

With a turn of your head, your gaze met his. As Sunfyre soared, you felt your heart begin to beat just a touch faster when Aegon leaned to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was soft, nearly chaste, and you could feel the familiar ache in your chest at the gentle nature of it. There was something so intimate about the gesture, something that meant more than all the attention in the realm, and you struggled to blink back your tears as Aegon broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.

Everything around you ceased to exist with those violet eyes trained on yours.

Sunfyre rumbled a pleased noise - something bright and joyful - and Aegon smiled as he tipped his head to glance at the golden dragon. With your husband distracted, you swallowed the emotion lingering in the back of your throat and held tight to the saddle as the flight continued.

Just as you’d imagined, there was little desire to return to the ground - to the life that awaited you both, the crowds of people seeking your company, the expectations that overruled your happiness - but with a single command from Aegon, Sunfyre began to descend all too soon.

Though the flight had been short, nothing more than a quick trip around King’s Landing, it meant the world to you.

And when you landed, your feet firmly on the ground and Sunfyre returned to the keepers, Aegon’s expectant gaze met yours. “Well,” he began, smile knowing, “what did it feel like?”

“I fear I owe your siblings an apology. It was truly indescribable,” you admitted, heart still pounding in your chest - though you weren’t certain if it was from the adrenaline or the way Aegon was looking at you, bright eyes so intent on your face. “King’s Landing is beautiful from above. And I believe Sunfyre is the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

“Dragon, certainly,” Aegon agreed easily, stepping closer and bringing his hand to your waist. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment was nothing more than flattery, almost certainly untrue - he’d spent his nights with Lyseni women whose beaut was famed - and shattered the moment entirely. Reality crept back in, startling you back into your own body, and drew the tears you’d been keeping at bay since the kiss.

With a shake of your head, you attempted to pull away from him as you lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks. “Aegon,” you whispered, voice cracking as you addressed him by name for the first time in several moons, “please, don’t.”

Like a strong wave, every emotion you’d felt over the course of your marriage crashed into you.

Each feeling was stronger than the last, shattering your resolve with astounding ease, and you could see the flash of panic in Aegon’s eyes as he stepped closer. The nudge you offered in response was weak, nowhere near strong enough to dissuade him, and Aegon ignored the gesture completely as he began to guide you back to the Keep.

Neither of you wanted the moment to be witnessed - Aegon did not wish for his mother’s ire, as she knew your tears were his fault, nor did he wish for more speculation on behalf of the realm; you did not wish for more pitying gazes - so you allowed him to steer you through the halls without complaint.

Aegon guided you through the halls of the Red Keep, stepping without thought in the direction of his chambers. However, before he could turn down the hall leading to his door, he seemed to think better of his destination. Instead, with a few retraced steps, he turned and guided you to your own chambers.

The moment the door shut behind you, effectively sealing you both away from the realm, Aegon did something he’d never before done - he wrapped both arms around your waist and held you tight to his chest.

It was a clumsy gesture, almost uncertain, and crushed your arms to your body, but you appreciated it, just the same. His proximity did little to stop the tears that spilled, though you pleaded with your body to offer you some sort of respite, and Aegon made a broken noise as his own eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” he whispered, voice quiet in the still of your room. “I’m sorry.”

Despite yourself - despite the truth you both saw plainly - you shook your head. “Not your fault,” you denied, reflexively.

Aegon scoffed, wholly disbelieving, as he shook his head. “It is,” he acknowledged, tipping his head to press his forehead to yours the moment you glanced at him. “I have not been the husband you deserve. I have been no husband at all.”

For a moment, he seemed to falter - uncertain, unused to such emotion - before he lifted a hand to cup your cheek.

“I wanted to spare you,” he admitted, so earnest it made your chest ache. “This place, this life; it seems to make everyone fucking miserable. My mother was happier before she was queen, Helaena is happier when she is far from King’s Landing. There is no joy to be found here. I didn’t want to subject you to the same misery.”

The sincerity with which Aegon spoke struck you. He truly seemed to believe it - truly believed that he was sparing you - and you couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that fell.

“As noble as your intentions may have been, I am here,” you reminded him, voice thick with emotion. “There is no sparing me, not when our lives were intertwined in front of the realm and in the eyes of the gods. It might be enjoyable if we sought happiness in one another.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever made anyone happy,” he confessed, voice a pained whisper, “as a son, a king; certainly not as a husband.”

“You have made me happy,” you asserted, brows furrowing. When he frowned, disbelieving, you gestured to the embroidery of Sunfyre adorning his doublet. “Soaring over the city with you on Sunfyre was the most joy I’ve felt in all my time in King’s Landing and I felt it because of you. The first few moons of our marriage, you were kind - affectionate, present - and that made me happy. The past few days, you’ve been kind again, you’ve been with me, and my heart felt as if it might burst. Being with you made me happy, Aegon.”

Aegon’s eyes fell shut, his breath stuttering as he shook his head slightly. “I know less about being a husband than I do about being king,” he confessed, violet eyes glassy as they reopened. “I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you.”

“You’ve never been a husband, nor have you been a king, just as I have never been a wife or a queen,” you reminded him, tone gentle. “I also know little of either role but I want to learn. With time, both will become easier, but learning together would make me happy. I don’t want perfection, Aegon. All I want, all I have wanted, is you.”

“And I you,” he agreed, quickly - easily, his hand squeezing your hip. “I am not too late, then?”

“I’ve spent the last few moons wishing to hate you,” you confessed, lifting a hand to caress his cheek - your heart aching in your chest as he flinched, expecting a blow instead. After a moment, he leaned into the caress and you struggled to keep yourself from crying once more. “I wanted nothing more than to feel indifferent, or even angry, in your presence. But all I’ve wanted is your love. I’ve taken what little of you you would give but I want all of you. I fear it will never be too late, not when my heart belongs entirely to you.”

“How can you love me, after all I’ve done?” Sad violet eyes met yours, downcast and filled with a self-loathing you understood all too well, as he leaned into your touch.

“Because love is irrational. It lives in the heart, not the mind, and my heart has been yours for a long while.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

The whisper sharpened the ache in your chest, made your heart hurt for Aegon, as you caressed his cheek. Your thumb brushed away a few errant tears, brushed the dark circles beneath his eyes, as you studied him. His drunken words, whispered in the dim of his chambers, returned to you and you sighed as you met his eyes. “You do. You deserve love, Aegon.”

The declaration hung in the air for a long moment, lingering between you in a silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, before Aegon moved. He surged forward, eager to press his mouth to yours in another kiss.

This kiss, unlike the soft display atop Sunfyre, was desperate. It brought forth every emotion you both struggled to make sense of and stole the breath from your lungs. It was searching, starving, and you allowed it to consume you completely  as Aegon’s grip on your waist grew tighter and you hand moved to tangle in his hair.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the turn you day would take, for the onslaught of Aegon’s desperate affection, for the sheer force of his kiss, but you surrendered to it without thought.

Even as your lungs burned with the need for air, as your chest ached and your skin felt as if it were blistering, you refused to part from him. And, to your surprise, Aegon seemed just as reluctant.

Each breath was stolen with lips only inches apart, with violet eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Whereas affection had been nonexistent for so long, it seemed as if the dam had broken and you were both desperate for some semblance of the other’s love.

Despite Aegon’s emotional whispers, his open display of concern, you could feel the doubt lingering in the back of your mind as he walked you backward. While he navigated your room with an ease that should’ve surprised you, you wondered what might happen in the aftermath.

How long would Aegon’s affection last before you were left alone again?

As if sensing your hesitation, Aegon broke from the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours as you approached your bed. He took a moment to breathe - to allow you to breathe - before he whispered another apology. “I can’t change what I’ve done,” he acknowledged, “how I’ve treated you. But I can be better. I will be.”

Before you could speak - and say what, you did not know - Aegon recaptured your lips in another searing kiss.

With a practiced ease, he unlaced the ties of your gown - Hightower green, laced with the gold of his dragon - and brushed the fabric from your shoulders.

Unlike the night of the feast, Aegon took a long moment to study you as you stood before him in only your small clothes. And when you attempted to cover yourself - arms stretch across your chest, your stomach, your hips - Aegon gripped your wrists.

“Please, don’t hide from me. I want to see you.”

Wide violet eyes met yours, so sincere in their desire, and you found yourself unable to deny him. With a nod, you relaxed your arms - allowing them to fall to your sides when Aegon released you - and he hummed, a pleased sound that warmed you from within.

Though you only laid together a handful of times, and though Aegon had been attentive in the beginning, no experience compared to the one at hand.

There was a desperation in his touch, an eagerness you’d never before witnessed, and your breath grew harder to catch as Aegon crowded closer. His lips - chapped, but warm and not entirely unpleasant - pressed to every inch of skin he could find; your cheek, your chin, the column of your throat, your shoulder. He inhaled deeply and laughed, a surprised sound, as his gaze lifted to meet yours.

“You stink of dragon,” he teased, eyes glimmering with a mirth you’d missed - a lighthearted joy you hoped would remain - as his words recalled the words you leveled at him in the early days of your marriage. “It suits you, my queen.”

“A worthwhile exchange,” you assured him, hand returning to his hair as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.

“We’ll ride again,” he promised you, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Any time you want, all you need is to ask.”

Aegon pressed you back, then, allowing the backs of your knees to press against the footboard of the bed, and you squealed as he tipped you toward the soft bedding. When you rested on the bed, legs hanging over the end, Aegon followed you down.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low as he ghosted kisses across your skin, “my queen of ice, melting beneath your dragon’s touch.”

Without thought, you heard yourself ask, “Are you?” Doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.

Though his lips pressed to your skin, Aegon responded with a somewhat distracted, “Am I what?”

“My dragon?”

The possessive was clear, easy to hear, and the question was unmistakable. The doubt that lingered shined bright, obvious, and Aegon sighed as he continued to press kisses to your skin.

“I am yours,” he promised, fingers lacing with yours as his lips pressed to the warm column of your throat, “entirely.”

It was not a promise you could yet believe, not a promise that you would allow yourself to fall victim to, and he seemed to understand your reluctance as you whispered, “Aegon…”

“I know,” he confirmed, tone softening as he continued pressing kisses to your heated skin. He trailed down your chest, blazing a path down your stomach and over your hips, and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears nearly drowned out the words he spoke. “I’ve been a terrible husband,” he acknowledged, violet eyes lifting to meet yours. “Worst of all, I’ve not exposed you to the most incredible joy of marriage - pleasure,” he declared, sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed. “But, from now on, I devote myself to seeking pleasure with you.”

A breath caught in your throat. Though your thoughts were muddled, uncertain - rational thought disappearing with each kiss he pressed to your skin - your stomach flipped at the potential weight of his declaration. “Does that… are you…?” The question would not escape, mostly for fear of misunderstanding, but Aegon understood.

“No more streets of silk,” he whispered, lips pressing to the heated skin just above your knee, “no Flea Bottom. You are the only one I want, the only one I need.” There was a certainty in his voice, a desperate need for you to understand, but you were hesitant. And when you blinked, uncertain, Aegon pressed his forehead to your heated skin. “You have no reason to believe me, to trust me, but I will prove myself to you. I will be worthy of you.”

“Oh, Aegon,” you sighed, fingers carding through the silver strand of his hair as he busied himself with pressing eager kisses to every inch of skin he could reach - lighting a fire that burned bright within you. “You are worthy.”

Aegon hummed, acknowledging he’d heard you, before he returned his gaze to yours. He searched, for just a moment, before he confessed, “I’ve been drinking, waiting while the knights and squires enjoy themselves. I’ve not… The only whores I’ve bedded as of late are the ones that look like you and even that is not enough.”

“The night of the feast,” you whispered, nodding. “You marveled at how much I looked like your wife.”

“Gods,” he huffed with a shake of his head, “I hoped that was you. I wasn’t sure. It felt like a dream, seeing you in my bed. I… I’ve been frustrated, as of late. I thought you would not want me. When you told me you felt as if you were little more than a burden I must bear, I… All I’ve wanted is you. I’m sorry I allowed you to believe otherwise.”

“Then have me,” you encouraged, as an understanding began to creep into your mind. “Take what you need from me, my love.”

Aegon’s fingers dug into the plush of your thigh, grounding himself to the moment for fear it was all a dream - something pleasant he would wake from violently, with his mother ripping the sheets from his body or his grandsire yelling insults at him - before glassy violet eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You are kinder to me than you should be.”

“Love is meant to be kind,” you whispered, your heart aching as he clung to you. “I want to be kind to you.”

For a long moment, Aegon simply stared at you. Words seemed to fail him - all thought lost to the ether as your statement lingered in the silence - but you both knew he preferred action.

Without sparing another moment, he returned his attention to your body, splayed just for him.

In the beginning, though he was attentive - pressed kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your throat - Aegon offered little in the way of true pleasure. Sex was a duty, a chore you shared in an attempt to secure an heir for the throne, but this was something else entirely.

Little seemed to exist outside of the pair of you. All you could find the strength to focus on was the eager press of Aegon’s mouth to your heated skin. 

The warmth you felt was unfamiliar, indescribable, as he pressed his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. He nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh, and you could feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach as his eyes began to darken. 

With each nip of his teeth, with each swipe of his tongue, you allowed quiet gasps to fall from your lips unbidden and each noise only spurred him on.

And as his fingers tugged at the fabric hiding you from his searching gaze, you resisted the urge to cover yourself and, instead, relaxed beneath his touch. Though you felt an overwhelming vulnerability, you were offering Aegon the opportunity to earn the trust he sought. 

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh as he spared you a glance. “I intend to make up for lost time when our guests leave us. For now, I’ll settle for introducing you to pleasure.”

Before you could question him, Aegon leaned in and licked a stripe along the length of your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tugged at his hair as a gasp escaped your lips, and you could feel his mouth curve into a grin as he settled between your thighs. The sensation was new, odd but you hated the thought of losing it as he licked at you leisurely.

Though your absence had doubtlessly been noticed, Aegon was clearly in no rush.

Settled between your thighs, he seemed to struggle to decide whether to close his eyes and enjoy himself or keep them open and watch the bewildered look on your face morph into unabashed pleasure as his hand lifted and his thumb pressed to your clit. As your thighs jerked, fingers gripping his hair tighter, Aegon hummed against you.

“Better than the sweetest wine,” he mumbled, words muffled by your skin a he lapped at your leaking arousal.

Every swipe of his tongue, every press of his fingers, sent shockwaves down your spine. Your skin felt warm, feverish, and you suddenly found yourself understanding the few women who eagerly disappeared with husbands who lavished them with affection.

Pleasure was something foreign - a concept you’d only read about - but the experience was better than you could’ve imagined as Aegon eagerly sank into you. His fingers began searching, gathering the slick that coated his lips and chin, and pressed to your entrance. As you tensed, preparing for the uncomfortable intrusion, Aegon hummed.

“Relax for me,” he whispered, warm breath fanning over your skin and earning him a shiver. “This will feel good,” he promised. “Let me make it good for you.”

With a little effort, you attempted to relax beneath Aegon’s touch. It was difficult, when the only experience you had to call upon was the discomfort of your earlier encounters, but he seemed so earnest. And, as he waited, he continued lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

Throughly distracted by the press of his tongue to your aching cunt, the foreign sensation of warmth in the pit of your stomach, you managed to keep from tensing as Aegon pressed a finger to your entrance.

The ease of his touch was different than the quick, rough thrusts you’d grown used to and you found yourself sighing in a mixture of relief and pleasure as his thumb rubbed circles over the bundle of nerves. As foreign as the entire experience felt, you found yourself enjoying it more with every passing moment.

Until, however, a pressure began to build at the base of your spine.

When you tensed, gasping as you attempted to make sense of the new sensation, Aegon cooed. “Don’t fight it, my love,” he urged, fingers continuing to press into you - touch further igniting the spark blazing across your skin. “Let go for me.”

With a cry of pleasure, a noise you lifted a hand to cover, you felt the blaze swallow you whole. Aegon pressed forward, eagerly lapping up your release, and your vision began to white around the edges as he hummed.

For a moment, everything ceased to exist.

There was only the ragged sound of your breathing and the uneven thump of your heart as you attempted to make sense of the intense warmth you felt. 

All too suddenly, however, a pang of discomfort drew your attention back to Aegon whose teeth sank into the soft flesh of your hip. “That was your peak,” he explained, grinning as his thumb continued to rub soft circles over the bundle of nerves - eyes glimmering with an unrestrained joy with every twitch of your limbs. “How did it feel?”

Unable to make proper sense of your own thoughts, and unable to choose your words with your usual careful precision, you hummed. “Fine,” you whispered, though your twitching thighs and hips chasing his touch as he pulled away betrayed you. He met your lackluster review with a raised brow, waiting for elaboration. “I think I need another to truly understand the joy of it.”

A laugh, genuine and all too pleased, escaped Aegon as he stood. He made quick work of his own clothing, pushing the fabric to the ground without a care, as he shook his head. “I’m afraid you were meant to be my wife,” he teased, climbing onto the bed to join you with a look that only served to bring a reader warmth to your skin. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to spend the rest of my life between your thighs, making up for lost time.”

“You’ve a duty to the realm,” you reminded him, though it sounded weak in your own ears - a flimsy rebuff as he tipped his head to press his mouth to your throat once more.

“Mm, but my first duty is to my wife and I’ve neglected her long enough. The realm can wait,” he announced.

Aegon settled above you and, for the first time, there was no stench of wine - no fumbling hands, no unsteady swaying. He was present, eager, and overwhelmingly affectionate as his mouth pressed to your heated skin. 

Any lingering doubt, any fear that this time might be like the few others, dissipated as his hand explored your heated skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, as his fingers brushed your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You could feel his lips curve into a smirk with every soft noise you made and, as something of a reward, his touch grew steadier the louder your noises grew.

“I want to hear you,” he assured you, his hand dipping between your spread thighs to gather the slick pooling there. “Sound divine, moaning for me.”

As he babbled, words of praise escaping his lips in a near incoherent stream - never once falling quiet, though you found yourself unsurprised - he reached for the base of his cock. The head dragged through your folds, gathering slick, before it notched at your entrance.

Unlike previous encounters, Aegon took his time sinking into you.

With one hand pressed into the mattress near your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you feared it would bruise, he pressed forward slowly - deliberately. There was no rush, no frantic urge to reach the end, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his forehead pressed to yours.

The noise Aegon made rivaled your own and you found yourself lost in him.

Soft silver curls, disheveled from your fingers raking through them; darkened violet eyes, torn between watching your face and eying the way you took his cock; parted lips, swollen and red from kissing you - he looked beautiful, and you wasted no time telling him so as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“So beautiful,” you whispered, voice cracking with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Aegon paused - slow, deliberate thrusts stopping - as he blinked in surprise. His lips parted, however, before he could speak, you offered him a reassuring smile. “My beautiful king,” you continued, fingers brushing his flushed cheeks, “my beautiful husband.”

A strangled noise escaped his throat at your compliment and his cheeks and chest flushed a deep pink, a stark contrast to the fine silver of his hair. In lieu of response, however, he simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand on your hip moved, thumb returning to the bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying the moment.

There was no worry as to whether this would provide the realm the heir they so desperately wanted, no worry as to whether Aegon may leave you wanting - there was no worry at all. Instead, all you felt was a pleasant warmth, the eager press of your husband’s lips to yours and the weight of him atop you, and you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling as the pressure you’d felt earlier began to return.

Aegon seemed to be near his own end, his thrusts gaining speed and force - though it was still far more pleasant than anything you’d ever experienced - and his lips parted from yours as he inhaled sharply.

Time seemed to slow and speed, all at once. Everything blurred into a searing warmth, all-encompassing and overwhelming. The edges of your vision turned white and you felt yourself plunge headfirst into the depths of pleasure as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own release followed yours, the end sweeter than anything either of you had experienced thus far, and you couldn’t help but cling to him as he buried himself deep inside.

For several long moments, Aegon remained above you - more of his weight pressing you into the mattress with every second that passed. You both fought to catch your breath, chests heaving and ears ringing, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your throat as he lifted his head to glance at you.

“I’m dying, and you’re laughing?” He rolled his eyes, though there was a fond warmth in the question as he pulled away to lay beside you.

Rather than placing distance between you, Aegon tugged you into his side - wrapped an arm around your waist and nearly hauled your body atop his - and returned his face to the crook of your neck as you laughed a bit harder. “I just, I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you explained, still marveling at the lingering warmth you felt.

Aegon remained silent for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he sighed and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry. It should’ve been like that all along,” he declared, hand returning to your hip as he attempted to pull you closer. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, or make you unhappy, but that seems to be all I’ve done,” he lamented. “But I promise, that will change.”

“So long as you’re with me, I think I’ll be happy enough,” you assured him, reaching out to cup his cheek once more - smiling as he leaned in to the touch. “I was happy to be betrothed to you, you know. I thought you were handsome and funny, charming.” Aegon leaned in, then, and stole a soft kiss - unable to part from you now, it seemed, now that something had shifted - and you laughed as you sank into him. “Perhaps there will be another tourney come summer,” you hummed, lips barely parting from his, “to celebrate the king’s heir.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, nose brushing yours as violet eyes searched your face. “But heir or no, I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Though a small shred of doubt lingered in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that made you nauseous, you swallowed it with a smile. Aegon’s attention was yours, his love was yours, and that was all you wanted. Certainty would come with time, with practice, and you were glad to spend as much time with him as he wanted.

The only thing you’d ever dreamt of - a husband that wanted you - was finally yours and, despite the rocky start to your marriage, you found yourself glad that it was Aegon.

_________________________________________________________

Author's Note: This may be fanon!Aegon but I just wanted something a little soft. He deserves some love. I was also a little nice to everyone but you know what, why not? It's fiction. Not sure how it got this long but here we are.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo