#the only two ali's that matter

[sequenceofmind]

need this duo back for another project asap

[fatedroses]

Poor Emmanellain sending this relatively new, silent, stoic adventurer off on a delivery only to realize its going to take twice as long as just delivering it himself.

Zenos gets to deal with both the pain of not being able use Aetherytes and being dramatically stubborn of doing a job he was given regardless of it.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

“What fire joins, none may put asunder,” came the echo, from queen’s men and Thenns and even a few of the black brothers.

Except for kings and uncles, thought Jon Snow.

[...]

“Will my lord be feasting with us?” Mully asked Jon Snow.

“Shortly.” Sigorn might take it as a slight if he did not appear. And this marriage is mine own work, after all.

- Jon X, ADWD

Something that makes me go absolutely feral about the whole Alys Karstark thing is the pure irony of it all. We know that marriages and inheritances are matters that need to be dealt with by the king. We see this play out in ACOK where Bran, in his capacity as Prince of Winterfell, has to deal with such matters: lands, succession, marriage, and justice.

Except now, there’s a terrible lack of kings up North. Robb’s dead, Bran fled, and Winterfell is now occupied by the Boltons who really aren’t the sort to mete out justice; in fact, they’re involved in the very acts of injustice that are presented to us.

So poor Alys Karstark needs to find a helper but the only person available is Ned Stark’s bastard son, Jon Snow. But big problem, he’s sworn to an order that prohibits him from wearing any crowns. Still she goes to him, kneels before him, and begs him to be her aid; she asks him to step in the place of the King in the North/Lord of Winterfell and do her justice. She even asks him to do so in his father’s name.

But here’s the kicker, Jon does have his father’s name: Stark. Jon can step in and be the King in the North. That’s because Robb legitimized him and named him heir. So Alys unknowingly sought her king, knelt before him, and asked him to help her. And he did! Her king gave her the justice she desired. Really, that’s what kings are for: justice. And Jon is already an old hand at that.

[arolesbianism]

unless the printing pods questlog is pulling a bait and switch... i have discovered that the Super Cool Secret Power Source thats been so hyped up is just a geothermal plant :[ klei wont let us have the Infinite Explosion Death Machine

Yeah I found that out during the beta, I might have mentioned it but I was mostly too busy with other new stuff. I mean it makes sense from a gameplay standpoint, but I will admit that it's probably the weakest part of the dlc from a lore standpoint. Now to be fair, the devs have said that they're hoping to make a couple more similar scale dlcs, so there's still a chance they'll say fuck it and throw the temporal bow at us lol. This is also my copium for Calvin dupe not being in the game yet, pls klei release my boy his dupe description is still in the code I see him give him to me klei

[aashiqui-aashiqui]

by the way when i say other cricketers i mostly mean the english players and no offence but i do not get what people see in them…like i know theres english people on here who obviously are gonna post about their own team but like i refuse to believe those players are that interesting

[peachessndreamss]

A Dark & Stormy Night

Summery : A storm rages over Winterfell and the Stark children look for comfort with their parents.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings : None

Word count : 1K

A/N : Short and disgustingly sweet. All my Cregan pieces can be enjoyed alone but are all interconnected and feature the same Lady Stark their children.

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

Night was falling early on the North, and before the final rays of watery daylight had leached from the sky Cregan Stark had looked out from the highest chamber of the Library Tower and seen the tops of the ancient Wolfswood trees disappearing into the great grey swell of clouds that rolled over the land and lay over it like a blanket. 

When the night had fully fallen and an eerie stillness settled over the land. It was the hour of ghosts and Cregan was finally ready to sleep. He closed the heavy tome he’d been reading from and placed it back on it’s shelf, the beeswax candle he’d been using to read by was now spluttering and spitting as it came to the end of its life, he took the candlestick in his hand as he moved from the library, through the halls of the silent castle, to the bedroom he shared with his wife. 

Lady Stark was already asleep, only the top of her head visible from where she’d buried herself so deeply under the furs on their bed. Cregan set the dying candle on the table next to his side of the bed and quickly stripped off his outer clothes and slipped beneath the furs in just his undershirt. He sighed contentedly, finding the bed warm from his wife’s sleeping body and the air heavy with her scent, he pinched out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness and closed his eyes. 

Cregan felt like he'd been asleep for  seconds when he woke suddenly. On first waking he had no idea what had roused him but after a few seconds of confusion the sky outside the window was split by a bright fork of lightning, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Cregan groaned softly and rolled onto his side, slipping one arm over his wife’s waist, and splaying his hand across her warm stomach. 

A second, louder rumble of thunder rolled through the sky and rattled the glass in the Winterfell windows. Cregan sighed quietly, closing his eyes again, ready to sink back into sleep. There were more flashes of lightning that he could see through his closed eyes, and deep rolls of thunder that made the earth shudder. Lady Stark slept on, completely untroubled by the storm that raged outside her window, Cregan was envious of her deep sleep and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

He was almost asleep again when there was a new sound which had him fully awake in less time than it took to blink. The creek of the bedroom door had the Lord of Winterfell sitting bolt upright and reaching for the dagger he kept beside the bed. 

Cregan was just about to demand who was entering their chambers when a flash of lightning illuminated the room and he saw the two frightened faces of his children huddled in the door, clinging to each other. The fear that had gripped his heart vanished and instead of reaching for a weapon he held his arms out to the children. 

“Come here, it’s all right,” he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the dark just enough to see the two small children shuffling toward him. 

His daughter, Aly, led the way, her hand holding tightly to her younger brother who followed behind, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes still full of sleep. 

“We’re scared,” Aly said. 

Cregan rather thought she was the one who was scared and had dragged her younger brother along for moral support. 

“Come up here then,” Cregan soothed as they reached the foot of the bed. 

Aly helped her younger brother, who was still new to walking and unsteady on his feet onto the bed before climbing up after him. Their son made a direct line to Lady Stark, who had finally woken up and rolled onto her back to see what was going on.

“What’s the matter darling?” she asked softly as she reached out to the boy, pulling him toward her. 

“Scared of the storm,” Aly answered as she wriggled up the bed toward the space in between her parents. 

“Would you like to sleep with us then?” Lady Stark asked as the boy settled his head against her chest and closed his eyes. He made a few small noises as he snuggled his face into the crook of her neck and grabbed at a handful of her hair. 

Lady Stark glanced at Cregan who was holding the furs back as their daughter crawled in between them and rested her head down on the pillows. 

“Will you tell us a story papa?” she asked as Cregan relaxed back on his pillow, tucking the furs around his little girl. 

“No my love,” he said softly, “it’s very late so you should just close your eyes,”. 

“What about the storm?” she asked with a pout. 

Lady Stark had relaxed back against her own pillows, the weight and warmth of the child against her chest making her sleepy again. 

“You'll be safe with us,” Lady Stark said softly, kissing the boy's forehead. 

Another fork of lightning split the sky followed by a great roar of thunder, a look of fear crossed Aly’s face and  she cringed away from the window and against her father. He wrapped one arm around her slight frame and pulled the child close. Letting his chin rest on the top of her head. 

“Papa, I'm scared,” she whispered, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. 

Cregan smiled to himself, he dreaded the day when he'd wouldn't be able to protect his children from the things that frightened them, but a storm he could keep them safe from and he gave Aly a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I've got you,” he breathed, “I'll keep you safe,”. 

He wrapped his hand around her tiny fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her tiny fingers as her eyes closed and she started to breathe deeply. 

Cregan glanced over at his wife who was already sleeping with their son curled against her chest. There was another bright flash of lightning but the thunder sounded distant, muted and unlikely to wake the sleeping children. 

When he awoke again the wintry sun was streaming through the windows, the sky clear and bright with no sign of the previous night's storm. He brushed at his face, pushing his daughters hair from under his nose and tucking it back behind her ear as she slept on. He turned his head and caught his wife's eye from the other side of the bed. She gave him a sleepy smile.

“Did you sleep well my love?” She asked softly, stroking their sons back as he slept on. 

“Never better,” Cregan replied with a smile.

PS: Well done on finishing this truly dreadful and worthless piece of fanfic Ten kisses for you.

[hintsofhoney]

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously. 

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?” 

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him. 

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand. 

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair. 

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent. 

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side. 

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong. 

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —” 

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her. 

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt. 

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her. 

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist. 

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time. 

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.” 

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.” 

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest. 

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers. 

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.” 

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true. 

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him. 

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. 

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out. 

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress. 

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there. 

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.” 

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.” 

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it. 

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour. 

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects. 

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity. 

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status. 

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk. 

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air. 

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last. 

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (16/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece •female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, dirty talk, smut, the angst, murder, character death, miscarriage and the trauma associated with it, panic attack, mafia stuff, brutal violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn’t let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father’s mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra’s husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin’s brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She was pregnant.

Although, according to all moral and social norms, she should have been crying in despair, she was happy: touching her belly with her hand, she felt nothing but love for this little being that was slowly growing inside her.

The fruit of their warm, deep, sincere affection.

The knowledge that she was not alone helped her when it was time for her to meet the staff for whom she was to be responsible from now on. Aemond insisted on being with her, fearing for some reason for her and the baby, she, however, knew that this was something she had to do alone.

Their stares when she walked into the VIP room in which she had ordered the meeting told her everything – grown men and women who looked as if they had seen far too much in their lives watched her in disbelief.

She knew they thought with disapproval that she was just a little girl, a whore who had been given this place as a gift by their boss that she wouldn't know what to do with, pestering them with her stupid bullshit.

She sat down in one of the empty armchairs, a few people lit cigarettes and grunted, other than that, complete silence all around her.

"I know what you're thinking and you're right. The fact that I have taken over these premises is a form of security for me. In true, not only for me, but also for you. Aemond will stop the flow of drugs through these and two other places that used to belong to my father. I have no intention of changing managers or leadership, quite the contrary – I want to talk to you about what you need. I want this to be a clean, legitimate business that is profitable. No drastic changes." She said, looking at them expectantly, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

A few people twisted in their seats, others looked at each other.

Silence.

Obviously they didn't trust her.

"Think whatever you want about me. It doesn't matter. Know, however, that my stepfather no longer threatens you, and Aemond will still protect this place. All I ask for is loyalty. If there is a problem with something, come to me with it, not to my uncle, or he will be furious. Now get back to work, I want to stay with the manager." She said calmly.

All but one man who could easily be her father got up from their seats and walked out, leaving them alone.

"This is not a toy you can just pick up and have." He said finally, firing up the lighter, leaning over the flame with his cigarette.

"I don't see it as a toy. We can all gain something if we accept each other. Would you rather keep wallowing in this shit and selling ecstasy to young kids? Don't you have children of your own?" She asked coolly, and the man snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

"I do. Three. Two sons and a daughter. Each of them works here. The sons as security guards and the daughter behind the bar." He said dryly and she swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on her back.

Fuck.

Had she just insulted him?

"You let your own kids do drugs? Do you want them to be arrested with you if the police come by here, as part of family integration?" She asked, and he sighed heavily, taking a loud drag on his cigarette.

"I didn't say that." He replied, letting the smoke out through his mouth.

"And I don't want that either. Help me protect you." She insisted, and he looked at her finally, as if he had made up his mind.

"You're just like your father."

She exhaled loudly, in an involuntary reflex she'd been holding back for the last few hours touching her lower abdomen as soon as the car door closed behind her.

"And how was it? Everything okay?" Her uncle asked, immediately grasping her hand in his, looking at her expectantly, tense.

"They are difficult people. Difficult, but tired. They don't want problems. They get used to it." She said quietly, exhausted and sleepy.

She looked at him, a worry in his eyes but also a tenderness from which she felt warm in her heart.

"Take me home."

The road to the sea was getting terribly long, perhaps because once in a while she felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach, indicative of what was about to happen.

"– no – no, stop the car, stop the car –" She muttered, and he immediately pulled over to the side of the road – she only managed to open the door before she vomited on the grass, panting heavily.

"– oh, baby – why don't you lie down in the back seat? – you'll be more comfortable –" She heard his voice, his broad hand stroking her back.

Ever since they'd found out they were going to be parents he'd been so tender, so good, so sweet.

Exactly like he had been back then.

"– okay –" She mumbled and swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. She unbuckled her seatbelt, climbed out and opened the door in the back, laying down on both passenger seats, closing her eyes.

"– sleep, little one – I'll drive slowly – we're not in any hurry –" He said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, and she nodded.

She flinched when she felt the car finally stop – she heard someone open the door, the fresh air and his familiar hands enveloped her, lifting her up, and she clung to him like a small child. He carried her into the house, to a room that belonged to him, where they had set up their makeshift bedroom for the time of renovation.

She felt him lay her gently on the bed, taking his place beside her a moment later, embracing her from behind.

"– you're tiring your mummy terribly –" He whispered, stroking her belly with lazy, calm motions of his hand. "– you need to let her rest –"

She smiled, allowing herself to fall asleep again, this time in his embrace. Her uncle often addressed their child as if the baby could already understand him – he was making a connection this way, realising that he was really going to become a father.

He was involved in everything about preparing for the arrival of their child into the world – they decided to dedicate the room she slept in that summer holiday to their future offspring and repainted it together, sticking cute glow-in-the-dark stickers on the walls in the shape of various planets and stars.

With some things, they had to wait because they didn't know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl.

"It cost me a lot of money, but I made it. I have written permission from the Archbishop. Rhaenys, we can marry." He said to her one morning, holding a piece of paper in front of him that was to change their lives.

A dispensation for a church wedding.

"We need witnesses." She muttered, gripping his hand in hers. Her uncle nodded, as if he knew she'd said it.

"I know, Helaena agreed. I didn't want to decide about another person for you." He said, and she smiled, feeling grateful.

He became more open, more affectionate, always thinking of her and her needs too.

She knew who she wanted by her side.

"I know I'm asking a lot and that I'm not entitled to it. I know your father will be furious if you say yes, but… you have always been close to my heart. You didn't judge me. I wish I had you with me on this day." She mouthed in a breaking voice, standing alone in the bathroom with her phone pressed to her ear, wiping her face wet with tears.

She heard Baela swallow hard, shocked by her words.

For a long moment, they were both silent.

"– I – God – I've always felt you were in pain – only now I know why and I'm sorry you've been alone with this for so long – I don't want you to not have your bridesmaid on your wedding day – just tell me when and where –" She muttered and she burst out into a quiet sob, feeling relieved.

"– forgive me – forgive me for being such a disgusting person –" She choked out, whooping, feeling that she had finally described herself truly.

She had fucked her own uncle and was going to have a baby with him.

She was sick.

Baela drew in a loud breath.

"– stop – if he was your own birth brother, it would be much, much worse – on the positive side, he's actually only half your uncle –" She said, and for some reason she burst out laughing.

God.

"– right – it's a good thing I didn't choose Jace –" She mumbled, and Baela snorted.

"– exactly – let's stick to that –" She said.

"– it would be funny if the police burst into the church and arrested us –" She sneered, fiddling with the soft towel hanging on the rack, imagining commandos with guns ordering them to fall to the ground.

"– for what? – for drug dealing or for incest? –" Baela scoffed, and she giggled under her breath.

"– for everything – the list of crimes is long –" She said with a smile, for some reason feeling lighter.

It was the first time she had ever talked to someone about it completely honestly.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock on the door.

"Rhaenys? Are you all right?" She heard his concerned voice.

Ever since he had found her in the bath then, he had been afraid if she stayed in the bathroom too long.

"Yes. I'm talking to Baela. She agreed." She called out to him.

"That's great." He said with sincere relief, as if he was afraid she would suffer another disappointment and rejection from her family.

They hadn't planned to invite any guests to the event, have a dinner together or anything of the sort – they knew that most of their family felt there was nothing to celebrate, and for them, as it wasn't a state wedding, it only had symbolic significance.

Helaena helped her choose the right dress – she wanted to look special that day, because even though their nuptials were going to be bittersweet, she was, in the eyes of God, going to be his wife.

"– oh – look – this one is lovely –" Helaena hummed, taking from the rack a long, white gown with a cut-out back and lace at the neckline and the ends of the delicate, long sleeves.

"– you're right – it would match the flowers in my hair –" She said, in her perfect image of herself that day wishing she had daisies woven into her curls.

Helaena dropped her off in the car at a shop near their house and they said their goodbyes – she needed nothing so much as a walk and some fresh air, however, she wanted to cook them dinner too, knowing that her fiancé would be back late.

Since he had started telling her about his affairs, what he needed to do and where he needed to go, she felt calmer and his absence no longer frightened her so much.

Besides, he wasn't leaving her alone anymore, she thought, touching her stomach happily, looking curiously at the shelves full of different kinds of pasta, searching for the perfect one for spaghetti.

She shuddered, having the feeling that someone had rubbed against her by accident, but then she felt that person holding something against her back.

"Be quiet and leave the shop slowly." She heard a cold, unfamiliar voice behind her and froze, feeling her heart leap up into her throat, a cold sweat on her back.

She looked to the side, wondering if she should scream, if anyone would help her, not knowing if this man held a gun or a knife against her body.

"Don't try anything or I'll butcher you like a pig." He said, as if he was reading her mind, and she swallowed hard, feeling burning tears of terror under her eyelids, her body involuntarily began to tremble.

She simply moved towards the exit, and the man she was afraid to look at put his arm around her like he was her boyfriend, clamping his hand firmly on her waist to make sure she didn't try to escape.

As soon as they left she sprang up to throw herself into a run, but the man grabbed her waist and clamped his hand over her mouth – she bit him with a loud squeal, but he only hissed, not letting her go, hiding behind the wall of the shop, two other men got out of the car.

One of them, a blond man with a beard and blue eyes had a scars on his left cheek.

"– come on, what the fuck are you waiting for – faster –" Tyland Lannister growled, and the man who was clearly his bodyguard forced her to bow her head and forcibly shoved her into the back seat, closing the door behind her.

She burst out crying, curling up as Tyland sat down next to her and the two men took their seats in front, driving away with a squeal of tyres.

"– shut the fuck up – be a good girl and no harm will come to you – I need to clear up a few things with your uncle –" He said lightly – only when she looked at him did she notice that he held in his hand a gun pointed towards her.

She pressed her body against the car door, looking at him with big eyes and shook her head.

"– please – please let me out, I'm pregnant – I –" She mumbled out and squealed, leaning forward, feeling a sudden, penetrating pain in her lower abdomen, and then another and another.

She began to pant loudly in terror, and wailed as Tyland slapped the back of her head with an open palm.

"– stop pretending – I told you to fucking calm down, I won't do anything to you – I won't –" He muttered and fell silent, looking with her at the drop of blood that ran down her thigh from under her dress.

She covered her mouth with her hands and screamed loudly, falling into sheer hysteria, the man in front cursed, telling her to shut up, and Tyland just stared at her, his mouth wide open.

"– stop –" He muttered. "– fuck, God, stop, stop, stop –"

"– here? – boss, we're in the middle of a country road –"

"– STOP, I SAID –"

The car stopped at the side of the road with a screech of tyres in a way that made her hit her head on the seat in front of her – Tyland opened the door, grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the car like an animal, leaving her on the grass, then got back inside.

The car drove off.

She just breathed, whooping with tears, looking at the grass around her and the tree trunks, feeling a horrible warm stickiness between her thighs, twitching all over, not having the strength or the will to get up.

After a while some other car stopped beside her, the people inside screamed in terror and got out, a woman who could have been her mother ran up to her and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Good God, I think they raped her."

No, she thought.

They took something much more precious from me.

She heard his loud, frightened breath as she lay in the hospital bed, the policemen standing beside her grunted at the sight of him.

"Are you her family?" Asked one of them.

"Y-yes, I'm her uncle. Good God, what happened?" He mumbled in a breaking voice.

"Your niece was found by a woman on a country road, thrown out of some car. She immediately informed us, suspecting that a rape had taken place, however, the cause of the bleeding was a sudden stress-induced miscarriage. The victim does not speak and does not want to say who did this to her. Could you please…"

The man did not finish as she heard him burst into a loud, mournful sob, felt the touch of his hands on her body, his face pressed into her hair, his broken, heavy breath.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, a single, lonely tear ran down her face.

Daemon had warned her.

The hours, the voices, the smells merged into one for her – she heard her uncle's voice, her mother's voice, she smelled their scent and touch, she heard their weeping and despair, but she herself felt like she was dreaming awake, feeling and experiencing nothing.

She felt herself awake when she heard another familiar voice.

"Did she say something?"

"No. She's silent. There's no contact with her. She's in shock." Her mother muttered, and Daemon embraced her, looking her straight in the eyes.

She felt something – she felt her heart hit harder in her chest, her eyebrows arched in misery, her breath caught in her throat.

"– baby – baby, please, say something to me –" She heard her uncle's whisper and only after a moment did she realise that he had been lying next to her on the bed all this time, that he had been stroking her head, that he had been looking at her, that he had been crying like a little baby.

"– get out for a while – leave us alone –" Daemon said – her uncle opened his mouth, furious, but she spoke up before he could say anything.

"– I want to talk to my dad –"

Everyone around her fell silent – Rhaenyra walked over to her brother and took his hand, explaining to him in a whisper that they would be back soon, that she was no longer in danger, that everything would be all right.

She felt herself quivering all over when Daemon took the chair and sat down beside her bed exactly as he had done then, after she had tried to take her own life.

She looked at him, into his bright, piercing eyes, and thought that this was what he was trying to protect her from.

"I wanted this child, dad. Very, very much." She muttered and closed her eyes, feeling the blissful emptiness she had surrounded herself with begin to crack, the pain that pierced her body, her heart so strong that she sobbed.

"I know." He replied.

"Is the baby…is the baby still inside me?" She choked out with difficulty, whooping with her own tears, feeling like she couldn't catch her breath.

"No. I'm very sorry, but no. It was too early, the baby was not yet formed. Nothing could be done." He said and she clamped her hands on her lower abdomen, thinking she felt like ripping out her uterus and other entrails because they were useless.

She was full and suddenly empty again.

She felt her father's hand on her arm, his fingers strong, his embrace giving her a sense of security.

"I have abandoned you. I chose my own pride. I knew he would want to take revenge on him. If I had given you my protection, it would never have happened. Forgive me." He said, and she closed her eyes, thinking that she wanted to become nothingness and disappear.

Despite Daemon continuing to speak to her, she fell into a state of half-sleep again, unable to think about it – her mind was repressing everything that had happened and waiting, although she didn't know what for.

What was she actually waiting for?

For her baby, she thought.

Little girl or little boy will be born in a few months.

No, she realised.

Not any more.

Tears ran down her face, but no sound came out of her mouth.

She saw him – her uncle stood in the doorway of her hospital room drenched in tears, trembling like a small child, just like she had been when she came into his room then, terrified of the darkness.

Darkness surrounded him, and he was frightened.

She didn't want him to be afraid.

He cried out loudly when she reached out her hand to him – she realised it was already dark around him when his body snuggled against hers, when he embraced her and kissed her cheek, when his face snuggled into her skin.

They lay, just breathing, holding hands – there was something comforting about that – in his silence. The fact that he knew there were no words of comfort, of justification, of absolution for them.

What did exist, however, were their bodies, warm and familiar, clinging to each other to find shelter.

She fell asleep, wrapped in his scent.

"I know you think this is my fault. That you will never forgive me." She heard his voice as if from a distance – she blinked, surprised to see that it was already daylight all around her, that her uncle was sitting beside her in a chair, looking at his hands.

Days flew by between her fingers.

How long had it been since that incident?

Since when had she been empty?

She pressed her lips together, feeling nothing but rage.

"I want Tyland Lannister." She hissed in a cold, shaking voice, and he looked at her in shock.

They stared at each other for a moment – his lower lip twitched when he suddenly realised what had happened, something in his gaze that had always frightened her, but now pleased her.

Aemond

Emptiness.

It seemed to him that he had simply gone through all the phases of grief – from despair, through denial, to a state of complete indifference.

His child, whom he had so desperately wanted, was no longer there.

He thought it would help to give the baby a funeral, even though they had nothing to bury – that's why they put the glowing stickers they had stuck on the walls of the room that was to belong to their child in a small box and buried it under a tree in the garden of their house.

She wanted the thing that would remind her of their loss to be close by, so that she could look at it every morning from her window.

It was an ordeal they lived through together, and although they suffered, they found relief in each other's arms.

She let him take her for the first time two weeks after it happened.

Lying in front of him in his embrace, she took his hand in hers and slowly guided it down under the material of her panties – she surprised him with this, because he was convinced that the vision of him touching her like this would be something disgusting to her – she, however, was wet.

He couldn't hide how much he missed her, and after a moment they were both naked from the waist down, fucking each other like animals with loud smacks of their hips, wanting nothing more than to feel fulfilled and relieved – the release he felt when he finally came inside her was like a revelation, her body hot and sweaty in his embrace, her little cunt pulsing on his erection, sucking his seed.

I'll give you another baby, he thought tenderly, kissing her long neck, not saying it out loud though, not wanting her to think he had already reconciled himself to their loss.

I will give you another baby, and then another and another.

We will be a big, happy family.

If he could say that anything good had come out of this awfully sad situation, it was that their families had begun to talk to each other again – Otto and Daemon couldn't forgive the murder of their grandchild, and Alicent, Rhaenyra, Jace and Baela had watched over his niece in his absence, looking after her.

Even Aegon asked him for a meeting, which was strange and downright comical. His brother put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him in a way from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.

"We're going to catch that son of a bitch."

The only person who was afraid to meet them was Helaena, blaming herself for what had happened despite the fact that neither he nor his Rhaenys resented her.

"She said she wanted to go shopping. Your house and the beach was across the street. I-I had the security guards go and take her dress to your house. She wanted to take a walk, she insisted. I…"

"Stop. You are not the one who did this to her. No one is blaming you." He said calmly, staring dully ahead, sitting in his car, feeling that his heart, his skin, his body, his breath were cold.

I want Tyland Lannister.

He licked his lower lip when he spotted his silhouette in the distance, coming out of one of the clubs surrounded by a few of his thugs, surely for protection.

Jason helped his brother move to another city, hoping they would never find him.

But he was wrong.

"I have to go." He said and hung up, starting the engine, dialing another number.

He never thought that he'd talk to him of his own free will.

And yet.

"He just left."

He followed him for a few streets, driving a few cars behind him, feeling strangely calm and patient – he had the impression that there were no more tears he could cry or screams he could shout.

His persona had come full circle, becoming again exactly who he had been before she had called him that evening for the first time in eight years.

He smiled, seeing that they had realised that someone was following them, trying to change direction suddenly – as he had predicted, they had fallen straight into their trap, and hundreds of loud gunshots rang out around the corner.

He pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car, watching as Daemon's men slaughtered Tyland's men one by one, surprised by the manhunt from both sides, unprepared for such a sudden, merciless attack.

"– please –" Tyland mumbled, crawling on the ground at Daemon's feet – his sister's husband held a baseball bat in his hand, all dirty from his blood.

He thought with amusement that Lannister's face looked like a squashed tomato.

Together with Daemon, he dragged him, moaning and crying, to the boot of his car, locking him in there, and together they set off without exchanging a word.

By the time they reached the house by the sea there was only an hour left until dawn – Tyland had passed out in the boot from a lack of oxygen, and a strong kick to the liver revived him, making him draw in air loudly and cough, spitting up blood.

"– no – no, no, no, no, please, no –" He whined as they began dragging him along the ground towards the door, leaving a trail of his blood on the ground behind them.

When they walked into the house they threw him to his knees in front of her – his Rhaenys looked at his hunched, pathetic figure sitting in front of him on the couch in a white dress he was seeing for the first time, a knife in her hand.

Was this supposed to be her wedding gown?

I have taken away your purity and innocence, he thought with pain, looking at her with adoration.

Kora was no longer there.

Only Persephone was left.

His Queen of the Hades.

He longed to lie down at her feet and simply abide.

"– I lost someting because of you –" She said and raised herself up, touching her lower abdomen. "– my baby didn't even manage to take their first breath –"

He closed his eyes, feeling the squeeze in his throat, the pain he felt in his heart unbearable.

"– I didn't know – I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't know –" Tyland mumbled, because of how swollen his face was his words were indistinct and difficult to understand.

Standing over him, in her white dress, with a knife in her hand and with her beautiful hair loose, she looked like a ghost.

Like Death.

"– you threw me out of the car like an animal – you left me to die and drove away –" She whispered, tears one after another rolling down her beautiful, tired, pale face.

She had waited so long for this.

For relief.

For justice.

But no more.

"– please – please –" He begged, and she took a step towards him and knelt before him, looking straight into his eyes.

"– let me, Rhaenys –" He muttered, not wanting her to burden herself with this, to dream nightmares like him, to suffer like him because of what she had done.

"– no – I want to feel the life drain out of him – as it did out of me, then –" She said, and the knife she held in her hand stabbed into his side like butter.

Tyland wailed, grabbing the hilt, but Daemon held him down, preventing him from moving – he saw her slide the blade out, a huge bloodstain spilling down his shirt, dripping down his leg straight onto the foil-lined floor.

"That's enough. I'll take care of the rest. Take a bath and burn everything." Daemon instructed, laying Tyland's barely alive body on the ground, his breathing shallow until his eyes went blank.

His soul had left his body.

"Come." He said to her, taking the knife from her palm, placing it on the floor. He nodded at Daemon and grabbed her hand, leading her upstairs to the bathroom where the bathtub was.

Her entire dress and hands were in blood.

"Come here, little one. Come, let's wash it all off. It's okay, honey." He whispered, hugging her close, sinking his hands into her soft, smooth curls, and she reciprocated the embrace, sighing, closing her eyes as if relieved.

"Thank you."

Again she lay in the bath red with blood, again she was pale, however this time he felt that the life was not escaping from her, but returning to her – with each passing minute her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide as if her mind had returned to reality.

"Is he dead?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, washing away with his hands any trace of what they had done from her beautiful, innocent body.

"He's no longer here. He's disappeared. He was just a monster from the wardrobe, nothing more, my love." He said quietly and she sighed, her hand touching his face.

"Do you still love me?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he looked at her, shocked.

"You are the love of my life. You need to rest. You are very tired. You haven't slept well in a long time. You're daydreaming." He replied, taking an unruly strand of hair from her face, her gaze warm and tender, meant only for him.

"Are you not disgusted with me? I've done something monstrous. I think I killed someone." She whispered, her eyes full of tears.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, pressing his forehead against hers, stroking her hair as if she were a small child. "– I forbid you to say such things – it will be our secret – mine, yours and your dad's – only we will know about it –"

"– about the monster from the wardrobe? –" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"– yes –"

Rhaenys

"– I'm scared, mummy – can I have my little lamp lit today too? –" Aemma muttered, but before she could answer her anything, she heard a voice from the bed above them, belonging to Visenya.

"– no, I can't sleep then –" Her older sister hissed, looking down at them, the bright curls she had inherited from her father in disarray.

"– I'm afraid of the monster from the television – the one from the horror movie that Aegon was watching –" Her daugther said in a breaking voice, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"– I told you this is not a film for small children –" She said sternly, and Aemma lowered her gaze on the verge of crying.

Vinseya groaned in frustration and climbed down the ladder, lying down under the duvet next to her little sister.

"– move along, coward – I'll kill any monster that disturbs my sleep –" Her daughter muttered, and she smiled and stood up, turning off the lamp.

"– good night –" She hummed and left, closing the door behind her.

She sighed, seeing the light on in his office, and moved lazily in that direction, finding him bent over documents. He glanced at her, then at the silhouette of her naked body hidden only beneath a soft silk bathrobe, and licked his lower lip with his tongue.

"– I'll come soon – give me a moment longer –"

"– talk to Aegon tomorrow – he mustn't let Aemma watch horror movies with himself because she is afraid afterwards – she's too little –" She said.

He shook his head, signing a few things.

"– I'll try, but you know him – he'll find a thousand excuses and explanations –" He grunted, and she laughed under her breath.

"– he resembles your brother –" She said amused, leaning her hip against the doorframe, and he snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth lifted upwards.

"– indeed –" He said and looked up at her, his gaze again escaping down to her breasts and then even lower.

"Come here. Sit on the desk." He said, leaning back in his chair, and she obeyed his command with a smile, walking closer with a lazy step.

He stood up as soon as her buttocks touched the tabletop, spreading her thighs apart, making her have to reach back with her hand to catch her balance.

"– ah –" She gasped as his fingertips sank into her fleshy, warm womanhood, collecting her sticky wetness.

"– since when are you in this state? – hm? –" He hummed, pushing her closer to him with an impatient tug of his hand on her ass, the other digging warningly into her delicate skin, trailing it around her swollen clit.

"– since this morning – since I saw you come out wet and naked from the bathroom in our bedroom – I've needed you, and you haven't touched me –" She mewled regretfully, feeling her walls clench greedily around nothing, craving him inside her.

What he heard was enough for all his foreplay, and with her help he quickly undid the belt of his trousers, his breath heavy and hitched.

"– after all, I fucked you last night – I had to drive Aegon and Visenya to training – you could have joined me in the shower –" He exhaled, impatiently releasing his long, hard erection from his boxers.

She sighed and tilted her head back as, without even waiting for her response, he directed the head of his cock against her slit, opening her wide on his fat length, filling her with himself with one, lazy thrust.

"– uncle – o-oh, fuck, uncle, yes, yes, yes –" She cried out, resting her hands behind her back, letting the material of her bathrobe slide off her shoulders, revealing her breasts full of milk, bouncing each time his hips pounded against her buttocks.

"– God, be quiet – shhh, be good or I won't let you come – is that what you want? –" He breathed out and she bit her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at him pleadingly, something in her gaze from which he began to slam into her like mad, himself struggling to restrain himself not to moan.

"– that's what I thought – you come to me – ah – begging with those big eyes for my cock – and then you can't even fucking behave –" He growled and sighed, feeling her struggling to stifle a sob of pleasure when another thrust against that same sweet spot made her fall apart in front of him, panting heavily along with him, the next few loud, sticky slaps of their bodies were enough for him to cum with a sigh of relief.

They knew each other's bodies all too well by now and, with amusement, found more and more that they had trouble holding back from coming too early.

It was just too pleasant.

"– I'm pregnant –" She whispered, and he blinked and looked at her, as if he needed a moment to start thinking soberly after such intense fulfilment.

"– what? – but –" He exhaled.

"– I'm sure – I went to the doctor today –"

"– you lied to me –" He said with irritation in his voice.

"– Criston drove me there – I told you I would go shopping with him and we did after the appointment – no lies –" She said with a smile, touching her belly affectionately.

Her husband sighed, placing his hand on hers, the expression on his face calm and gentle again.

"– it's the sixth – what a big family indeed –" He hummed, and she laughed, nodding her head.

"– yes, my love – another child to drive to training –" She said amused, and he kissed her forehead with tenderness, from which a pleasant warmth spread over her heart.

"– don't sit here too long –" She sighed, jumping off his desk as soon as he slid out of her.

"– I won't –"

On her way to their bedroom, she walked into their youngest child's room and smiled, covering her little son more tightly with the duvet. Aemon's leg immediately pushed the bedclothes off him with his mutter of displeasure, so she gave up and left him alone.

She froze, spotting a silhouette in the corner of the room, thinking it was a man, with bright eyes, blonde hair and a beard, but was relieved when, after a moment, she noticed that it was the only shadow cast by the wardrobe standing nearby.

When she walked into their bedroom, she immediately turned on the lamp by their bed and waited patiently for him to return.

She knew she wouldn't fall asleep anyway.

When she was alone in bed, she saw his face and her hands sticky with blood.

When she heard her uncle's footsteps, when his warm body finally lay down beside her and his lips placed a soft, sticky kiss on her neck, she turned off the light, his whisper next to her ear like the calm hum of the wind.

"– now I will let you moan as much as you wish –"

"– Aegon – don't let her swim out into the deep water – Daeron, Visenya keep an eye on her, after all you can see she can't swim well yet –" He shouted to their children the next day, lying in front of her on a towel on the beach, little Aemon, sitting next to them, was building a sandcastle, the hot sun burning their skin.

"– okay, Dad! –" She heard Daeron voice behind her, lying on her stomach in her black one-piece bathing suit with her back cut out, reading a book, her husband's doctoral thesis on an excavation he had run with her in one of the cities the year before.

"– what do you think? – it's the last time for corrections – I've read it hundreds of times and it already makes me want to vomit when I look at it –" He said disapprovingly, turning his gaze towards the sea again.

"– it's the best doctoral thesis I've ever read – really –" She said softly, turning the page, amazed at how effortlessly her husband wrote.

"– look, mummy – it's a fortress, and here's the moat – and there's a dragon on top –" Mumbled Aemon, forcing the Mighty Vhagar figurine that had once belonged to his father onto the top of the tower.

"– beautiful, darling – it looks like the real thing –" She said with warm approval, and Aemon smiled broadly, satisfied, busying himself with creating a bridge over the moat from sticks.

"– Aemma, don't swim so far away – how many times do I have to tell you? –" Her uncle called out, raising himself angrily on his elbow, and she sighed heavily, throwing him a look full of pity.

"– she has swimming sleeves that are full of air that will float her even if she stops moving her arms and legs – she won't drown –" She said, and her husband sighed heavily, looking anxiously towards their children playing in the water.

"– I prefer to be sure –" He muttered.

She looked at him tenderly for a moment, feeling nothing but warmth in her heart.

He was such a good father.

Such a good husband.

She knew that one day they would have to explain to their children why they only had a church wedding and were not married before the state.

But not yet.

"So let's make sure. We should swim with them." She said, extending her hand to him, and he looked at her, apparently recalling their conversation in his car then, many years ago, when he had described his fantasy to her.

He licked his lips with his tongue and grinned in a way she loved.

"Come."

______

Author's note: The child that Rhaenys lost was Viserys: I decided that this story, because it is so dark, could not end differently, and the decisions of the characters had to lead to tragedy sooner or later. Something dies in Rhaenys, but thanks to this she can finally fully join her husband in their Hades, crossing the border of innocence and naivety, maturing in a kind of cruel way. However, the rest of their children, who appeared in the original series, are born. After losing Viserys (in this version they did not know that it would be a boy), they decided that they wanted to have as many children as God would give them, since he took one away from them (in their eyes one too many). Visenya and Aegon will definitely become mafia bosses in the future, just like their father, lol. Their children have the same characters and looks like in the original series, which you can see here.

[axelsagewrites]

I need more Jace x reader modern au

like maybe enemies to lovers or something and he’s cocky, and smuttyyyy

Jace Velaryon*Studying

Pairing: Modern!Jace x afab!reader

Word count: 2483

Warnings: enemies to lovers, bet, cocky jace, make out, fingering, f!recieving oral, praise, teasing, smut 18+

Masterlist here

The door to your dorm slammed behind you as you collapsed in a heap on your bed. Aly and Helena sat on Helena’s bed, snickering at your rant. “He is such an insecure, brain dead, stuck up, trust fund baby with a god complex and I bet his dick isn’t even that big- “

“Remember he is Hel’s nephew,” Aly cut you off.

You groaned as you flung your head even harder against the pillow. “Don’t worry. I know he sucks,” your roommate chuckled, “You’re lucky you only see him during the term. Family gatherings are like a dick measuring competition with all the guys,”

“I can only imagine,” you said, shuddering at the idea of dealing with more Jace, “I just don’t get what his problem is!”

“What did he do this time?”

-

“So, I think for this part of the project- “you said, pointing at the notes you’d laid out as you tried to ignore Jace’s attempts to annoy you.

He was sat, his chin resting on his hand, facing you, staring at you, “So why don’t we hang out?” he asked, brushing the hair out your face.

You huffed, slapping his hand away, “Because you never do any work,” you scoffed.

Jace grinned, sitting back in his chair, “What so all I gotta do is be a nerd like you and I can take you out?”

Work was clearly not going to get done so you dropped your pencil and turned to face him, “One, I’m not a nerd. Two, it’s not nerdy to not wanna flunk out. and three I don’t go on dates with pompous assholes,”

“You just don’t go on dates sweetheart,” Jace revealed in the way your face flushed and your eyes rolled, “Maybe if you did you might loosen up a little,”

“Please, you’re loose enough for the both of us. Now can we please work on this? I’m not having you bring down my average,”

Jace rolled his eyes but finally sat up to work. He actually began to read the notes you had when suddenly he stopped, “Lets make this interesting,” he smirked.

You face palmed at his words, “Let’s not,” you groaned.

“If I get an A on this we go on a date,” Jace said, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees.

“What so I have to do all the work and also suffer?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Jace rolled his eyes but there was a grin on his face, “Fine. If I get an A on this and the next essay due,”

Your eyes narrowed on him, something not adding up, “Isn’t your average like a C?”

“D actually,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair like it was something to be proud of, “But I can do anything if I put my mind to it,”

“Aw is that what your mommy told you? Yeah, no that’s what the trust funds for,” you mocked but Jace’s gaze was unwavering, “Ugh fine,” you finally agreed, dramatically rolling your eyes for effect, “What do I get when you lose?”

“If I lose,” Jace corrected with a grin, “and if somehow, I do lose then I will do whatever you ask of me. No matter how embarrassing. Scouts honour,” he said, placing his hand to his chest.

You eyed him up, wondering just how good it would be to force him to run through the Greek life street in a frilly pink bikini, “Fine. You’re on,”

-

Heleana and Aly got a kick out of the story and for the rest of the evening you brainstormed embarrassing ideas. However, over the next few days you got a bad feeling. Each time you met with Jace to do the project he actually did the work. One time you walked into the library just to return a book and you saw him sat there studying. There was even a girl trying to flirt with him the whole time sat on the table, but he just ignored her.

“What if he actually wins?” You asked your friends as the three of you walked into the dining hall.

Helana shrugged when she grabbed her tray, “He actually used to be pretty smart. Got mostly As in high school,” You and Aly both stopped in your tracks at this, “What?”

“You didn’t think to tell us this?” you asked, eyes wide but she just shrugged.

Aly however was looking off in the distance, “Is that Jace studying?” she asked, nodding to one of the loudest tables in the room.

Sure, enough he was sat at the end of his frat table that was all a mix of hungover, drunk, or high. All but Jace who sat at the end studying. “I am so fucked,”

-

After handing in your partner project that Friday you did your best to put this whole Jace mess out your mind. That worked great until Wednesday rolled around, and the email blast of results came out.

“Hey study buddy,” Jace said as he flung his arm over your shoulder in the hallway, “You seen this yet?” he asked, shoving the phone in your face.

“Is this your first A or something?” you scoffed.

Jace grinned, his arm staying put on your shoulder as he slipped his phone away, “Nope,” he said, popping the P. “Just excited for our date,” the words made you shudder, or maybe it was the way it seemed everyone was staring, “Do you like Italian food? I know a place- “

“You haven’t won yet you know,” you said, pulling away till you were stood in front of him, arms crossed, “You still need an A in the essay,”

“Pft easy peasey,” Jace scoffed, a smirk returning to his lips as he pushed the hair out your eyes, “Besides, I like a challenge,” he added, his eyes wandering down to your lips, “Start outfit planning sweetheart,” he said as he began to walk away.

“You’re not gonna win!” you called after him despite him already turning his back.

“Not with that attitude doll,”

-

“I never thought id see the day Jace became a nerd,” Heleana mused as you all sat in the dining hall.HA

the essay was due tomorrow and for the past two weeks Jace seemed less like himself. Aka he wasn’t parting every night, “He even skipped the football teams party last night,” Aly, the social butterfly of the three of you said.

“Why did the even have a party? They lost,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I didn’t realise he was gonna take this so seriously,” you muttered.

“Maybe he actually likes you,” Aly teased as her and Hel began making obnoxious kissy noises and love hearts at each other, “Yous would have such cute babies!”

“I hate you both,”

-

The day had come. The marks were out. you got an A and glowing notes from your professor however you also got a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. However, when class rolled around that day there was a new worry. Jace never showed up.

There was no reason for you to be worried. After all he wasn’t your problem. He was probably hungover or skipping to hook up with some girl or out doing something equally stupid. Still, you couldn’t help yourself.

It wasn’t exactly hard to find Jace’s dorm. All you had to do was follow the smell of axe body spray and ask one of his floormates who quickly pointed you in the right direction before wolf whistling. “Assholes,” you muttered under your breath as you knocked on the door and waited.

Jace opened, his eyes widening in shock, but he quickly tried to play it off, “Hey,” he said, leaning his arm against the door in that super obnoxious booktok way that was unreasonably attractive. It didn’t help he was in a half zipped up hoodie with his abs on full display or low hung grey sweatpants, “Cat got your tongue sweetheart?” he teased, smirking when he noticed your eyes had wandered.

“Shut up,” you snapped, rolling your eyes, “You never showed up to class today and I was just wondering you know,” you said, shrugging as you realised how potentially desperate you now looked.

Jace’s arm dropped from the doorway, his hands ending up in his pockets, “Oh yeah. Got a B so you know. Dumb class anyway,” he shrugged, eyes refusing to meet yours.

Your heart sank, “Well it was a really hard one. Apparently, she was really tough this time,”

“What did you get?”

“An A,” you said making Jace roll his eyes, “Only like a low A though. Like barely an A,”

“Cmon, you don’t need to do that,” Jace said, almost sounding annoyed, “You don’t need to dumb yourself down for me. Besides,” he said, leaning in a little with a grin, “Smart chicks are hot,”

You scoffed at that, especially when a smirk cracked his lips, “In your dreams,”

“Every night,” he grinned however it fell away soon after, “So what’s my punishment teacher’s pet? Streak through campus? Run around in a pink mini dress? Sing into a megaphone in the dining hall?”

You weren’t sure why you did. Hell, you didn’t even realise you were doing it. not till you’d grabbed his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Jace was equally shocked at first but soon his arm slipped around your back as he pulled you into the dorm only to shut the door behind you and press you against it, “Not what I’d call a punishment princess,” Jace said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw, “but I’ll take it,”

“You are so infuriating,” you groaned despite your hand moving to the back of his head, tugging on his soft curls.

His lips smirked against the hollow of your neck, “Yeah but you like it,” he said, hands moving to your waist and creeping under your shirt to test the waters, “Now let me earn my A,” hands moving up to squeeze your tits when you didn’t stop him.

You couldn’t take it anymore as your hands grabbed his jaw again, pulling his lips to yours again, “Someone’s eager,” he murmured as your hands tugged the zip of his hoodie down.

“What? You want me to go home?” you asked between kisses as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders.

Jace’s hands quickly moved to your hips, grabbing them firmly as he began walking backwards to the bed, “You’re not going anywhere princess,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you down to straddle his thigh.

Even through your jeans you could feel his hard on poking your thigh. You moved your hips, grinding down on it and making Jace moan into the kiss as his hands squeezed your ass. You gasped when he flipped you over, you’re back hitting the soft mattress as his fingers toyed with the button of your jeans, “Can I get rid of them?” he asked, his fingers ghosting your waist. All you could do was nod making his chuckle as he pulled them off. “Fuck even better than my dreams,” he teased, kissing your inner thigh as he tossed them away.

“What are you doing?” you asked, pushing yourself up on your elbows to see the smirk on his face.

“Well that depends on sweetheart,” he said, hands softly trailing up your legs to your hips, “You’re in charge. What do you want me to do?” he asked, squeezing your hips.

“I- I’m not sure,” you stuttered.

Jace laughed gently and you wanted to hate the affect it was having on you as your stomach fluttered, “Well I could kiss you,” he said, placing another soft kiss to your thigh, “Then touch you a little,” he ran his fingers over your clothed cunt making you almost whimper, “Then kiss you some more,” he teased, hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. “Does that sound good princess?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, entranced by his movements.

“Then lay back,” he said, hand gently pushing your waist down as you laid down and tried to control your breathing, “and be a good girl, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, almost a whisper.

Jace hooked his fingers in your panties, pulling them down painfully slow before finally pulling them off and stuffing them in his pocket. You maybe would’ve said something if he hadn’t just put your legs over his shoulders as he placed an open kiss to your clit.

Your hands went to his hair, pulling at the soft curls as he began to gently lick and suck your bundle of nerves. You felt your hips start to move, grinding against his face desperate for more friction. Jace locked his arms around your thighs, locking your hips in place making you whine. You could practically feel him smirking against your cunt.

You almost screamed when you felt his tongue move down, his nose nuzzling your clit as his tongue began to massage new spots making a tight knot quickly develop in your stomach. “Fuck,” you gasped, back arching at the feeling. Jace chuckled against your cunt, a slow rumble vibrating against it making you moan even more.

Your grip in his hair tightened and Jace loosened his grip around one of your thighs. You whined when his lips pulled away. Jace chuckled as he ran a finger up your wet cunt, placing a soft kiss to your inner thigh as he pushed two in, “Such a pretty girl,” he praised, curling his fingers perfectly inside you, “Making such pretty noises,” he added, his lips moving back to wrap around your clit.

This time he let your hips buck, grinding against his face as he lapped up your cunt while his fingers worked at a perfect pace. Your peak was very quickly approaching as he kept up his pace, his tongue unrelenting. The feeling of your legs tightening around his head almost seemed to spur him on as he moaned against your cunt sending you over the edge.

Jace didn’t stop until he felt your legs twitching and heard you gasping for air. He was wearing that stupid cocky smirk as he flopped down onto the bed beside you as you both tried to catch your breath, “Well?” he asked, nuzzling his nose against your neck, his hand finding your hip so he could rub soft circles on it with his thumb, “What grade did I get?”

You chuckled a little bit at that, his cockiness for once not making you want to punch him, “On this test? A plus,”

“Oh, there’s other tests?” he asked, eyebrow raised with that intoxicating smirk, “Guess I’ll need to study for it. maybe you should tutor me,” he said, kissing you more gently than before.

“Maybe I should,” It was safe to say you wouldn’t be walking for a while.

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[shixcherie]

Chemistry Better Than Chemistry | Jeong Yunho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆Day 25 : Hate Fucking

↬ [ Synopsis ] : They say your chemistry with Yunho is better than any experiment in the lab, yet all you two do is fight. But with your research paper publication hanging in the balance, a kiss to shut him up, and a wild night in the lab… are these enemies about to become lovers?

☆Word Count : 3.9k ☆Genre : Smut, Angst, Non-idol Au, Student Au. ☆Pairing : Lab Partner! Yunho x F.Reader

WARNINGS : mdni!, Academic Rivals to lovers, childhood enemies to lovers as well, lots of banter, flirting, angst, chem lab setting, lgbtq friendly, lots of teasing, neck kisses, biting and hickeys, love hate relationship, semi public sex ( they do it in the lab), fingering (F.recieving), steamy makeout sess, unprotected sex but Yunho’s pull out game is strong ( y’all wrap it, you don’t have a Yunho with you), petnames (babygirl), a bit fluffy at the end.

NOTE : Dropping Day 25 with my bias Yunho for you all. I am grinding hard to catch up because I was busy with exams so now I am working hard to finish this kinktober on time. Hope y’all enjoy this piece, I loved writing it so much. I love writing banter and this one has loads of it.

The Academic rivals to lovers was a piece I wanted to write after having finished all of Ali Hazelwoods books recently so I hope you guys shower this piece with a lot of love ma chéries.

"Ahh! Why do you have to leave everything unfinished ?" Your lab partner, Yunho yelled from his side of the counter, safety glasses perched on his nose as he mixed the concentrates to complete his part of the experiment.

"I’m done. I finished my part of the experiment ten minutes before submission time. And you, mister, are running late." You pause, giving him a smug smile before continuing, "So why don’t you zip it and finish your work?" With that, you gather your things and make a beeline for your professor, Professor Namjoon.

"Professor! I’m done. I’ve wrapped up my work. Now, pleaseee consider publishing my research paper," you plead to Professor Namjoon, under whom both you and Yunho are working. By the end of the term, he will be publishing the research paper.

The problem? Only one of you gets to publish the paper under him.

And it’s for sure going to be you!

Namjoon gives you an assuring smile. Assuring, but not confirming.

"Professor, I don’t think you should allow someone who leaves everything half-finished to publish a paper under your name. That would tarnish your glorious reputation." Yunho snarks while handling the test tubes and chemicals.

"And sir, you shouldn’t allow someone who’s never punctual with deadlines. Always running late and making a mess." you retort, flashing him a smug smile that only serves to irritate him further.

"Professor! She’s a danger to humanity. At the speed she works, she’s bound to cause an explosion if she doesn’t slow down." Yunho fires back. You scoff but refuse to back down.

"Sir, he’s a turtle... slow and slower, but never steady. At this rate, the experiment might wrap up by 2050. I’m the asset here while he’s the liability." you counter, each line pushing Yunho’s buttons even further.

A loud bang startles you both, breaking the argument as you whip around to see a very angry Namjoon. Uh-oh. Your research paper!

"Three things," Namjoon says, his voice low and authoritative, that dangerous tone he reaches when you and Yunho go too far. "First, stop fighting in my lab like five-year-olds. It’s embarrassing to watch." He pauses, giving you a warning look as you side-eye Yunho. "Second, how fast or slow you work doesn’t matter if the result isn’t achieved. I expect teamwork here, not a hare and turtle race." He directs a sharp look at Yunho. "And last but not least, the paper will only be published if you both show me teamwork, not this petty bickering.So,suck it up both of you, or I’ll give the spot to Jungkook." He takes a deep breath after delivering that scathing speech and sits back down as if nothing just happened.

Blinking away the tension, you sign the register and make your way out. "Have a good day, Professor!" you say with a polite bow before exiting the lab.

After returning to the apartment, you cleaned up, prepped dinner, and sat down to finish more of your research paper.Twirling in your chair, you chewed on a kimbap roll while filling Ryujin in on your argument in the lab. Ryujin was on vacation with her girlfriend, Lia. Damn! These business majors have it easy, while you chem majors have to work extra hours, even during breaks.

“Girl! He’s been getting on my nerves now that the paper’s publication date is getting closer.” You took another bite of roll, huffing as Namjoon’s words echoed in your mind.

“Don’t worry. I believe in you, babe. Your name is sealed on that paper,” Ryujin assured you while Lia fed her noodles. You smiled, thinking of how good things were going for Ryujin, remembering the day she came out to you on Lia’s birthday and how nervous she’d been about confessing her feelings. “Oh, hi, Lia unnie!”

“Hi, Y/n! And as Ryujin said, don’t you worry that spot is yours, babe. You have our good juju.” she cheered, flashing you her signature eye smile.You could clearly see why Ryujin fell head over heels for her.

“Ah! I hope that happens, unnie. I’ll treat you both to the best wagyu hotpot if I secure the spot.” you announced, finally feeling a bit better as the aftershocks of the fight faded away. “I miss you two so much. Come back home soon.”

“I’ll be home in two days, babe. Till then, fighting!” Ryujin reassured you before hanging up.

The clock ticked past 10 PM as you dramatically stretched your arms, ready to hammer out more of the research paper. Shuffling through articles, surveys, and notes, you pieced together a bit more of the paper before your eyes began to burn from staring at the screen too long.

Rubbing your eyes to ease the exhaustion, you leaned back in your chair as Yunho’s face crossed your mind.

Hmm... you clearly remembered the first time the rivalry between you and Yunho ignited—he’d beaten you in a 100-meter race in school and teased you for the rest of the day. From that moment on, you swore never to lose to him again. What started as innocent sports rivalry in elementary school had morphed into fierce debate battles in middle school and then into fighting for the top rank in high school. And if you thought it would end there, you were sorely mistaken my friend. Yunho’s stubborn ass followed you to university, where you both landed with top scores in the entrance exam, entered the same chemistry major, and ended up working under Professor Namjoon. Though Yunho would argue that you were the one following him since you’re “that obsessed.”

Looks like you won’t be shaking him off anytime soon.

Pursing your lips, you pushed thoughts of him out of your mind, refocusing on your paper. You didn’t even remember falling asleep at your desk, face pressed against the keyboard���which was definitely going to leave marks on your face by morning.

When you woke with a start, you quickly dressed, packed your bag, and dashed out the door. You were an hour late. Ahh, that stupid alarm clock! You barely remembered knocking it off the table in your sleep. Sneaking into the lab without drawing attention, you took your station next to Yunho’s. While setting up your workstation, Namjoon passed by.

“An hour late, Y/n. I expect more punctuality from my star student.” he remarked in a calm tone before moving on.

“Sorry, sir.” you mumbled, bowing and blinking away the embarrassment as you returned to work. Surprisingly, Yunho was silent, even though he had plenty of chances to throw an insult your way. Hm... maybe the professor’s speech had finally gotten through that thick skull of his.

Lunch break came by super quick, and you dropped everything as you were starving. No, you were famished, given you’d come to the lab in such a hurry that you skipped breakfast. As you started packing your bag, Yunho spoke up, “Leaving things in the middle again, I see.”

Here we go again. Just when you thought you might actually get a peaceful day, Yunho decided to open his mouth.

Noticing the lab was empty, you realized Namjoon had likely gone out for lunch, and you took full advantage of the moment. “Well, unlike you, I can finish my work at lightning speed. So don’t worry about me, pookie. Focus on your own work.” You took a step closer as you delivered your comeback.

“Yeah! The exact speed at which you’re gonna blow this lab up!” Yunho shot back, carefully setting his test tubes aside and taking a step closer. His height definitely towered over your 5'3" frame, but hey, that’s average height, alright? You’re not tiny..he’s just a giant.

“Why are you always in fight-or-flight mode, Yunho? Go blow off some steam with your girlfriend, honey.” you replied, tossing him a smug smile.

“For your information, I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s just you and your face that pisses me off.” He took another step closer. “Ahh, thanks for the compliment! I know I’m cute.” you said, smiling up at him, noting how the gap between you two was quickly shrinking.

“Yeah? Then why don’t you go blow off some steam with that boyfriend of yours?” Yunho shot back, referring to Ryujin.

“Don’t you dare say a word about Ryujin. Don’t drag her into this fight.” you snapped, taking a step closer yourself. How dare he badmouth your best friend?

“Oh, come on! Like I’d ever be jealous of your sad little love life,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “I mean, what’s a date without the thrill of a lab explosion, right? Besides, I doubt anyone could handle your… fiery personality.”

The tension between you two was electric, a standoff neither of you wanted to break. Yunho leaned down, his face infuriatingly close, that smug look in his eyes daring you to snap. You’d had enough.

Without thinking, you grabbed his collar and pulled him down, pressing your lips to his in a fierce, impulsive kiss that silenced him instantly. For a moment, neither of you moved, his shock clear as his grip on the edge of the counter tightened. Then, as if accepting the unspoken challenge, he responded, his hands finding your waist as he kissed you back, just as forceful and unrelenting as every argument you’d had.

When you finally broke away, both of you were out of breath, eyes locked in a silent battle. Yunho’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of astonishment mixed with something else...something darker, more intense.

“Still want to keep talking ?” you asked, your voice low, giving him a small, triumphant smile as you shifted the bag on your shoulder, ready to leave.

“At least finish what you started instead of leaving it in the middle.” Yunho spoke, referring to your habit of leaving things half-assed, a smug smile creeping back onto his face.

“I’d love to play more with you Yunho, but right now, I am famished, so I’d rather get a proper lunch.” You replied, turning on your heel and stepping toward the door,your hunger pulling you away from the electrifying tension still lingering in the air.

After finishing lunch, you locked in to complete the experiment at hand. With Namjoon taking rounds around everyone’s workstations, the whole room was serious, each person focused on finishing their experiments. Wooyoung, stationed ahead of you and Yunho, was wrapping up his work alongside Seonghwa, while the girls behind yours and Yunho’s were Yeji and Wonyoung who finished their team experiment.

You concentrated, diligently completing your part of the experiment while Yunho silently worked on his. Occasionally, he stole glances in your direction. The kiss still lingered in his mind as he tried his hardest to push away thoughts of the steamy kiss and the memory of your soft lips. You had been his rival since the very first day he beat you in that 100m race, so why was he suddenly experiencing these strange, love-like feelings for his lab partner?

It’s just a kiss, Yunho. Get a grip. She doesn’t even like you to begin with, he thought to himself, stealing another glance at your figure as you worked with full concentration, mixing different concentrates and noting the results down.

The determination with which you worked was infectious; you were fully immersed in the task while the world around you faded away. That was one thing Yunho admired about you, even though you had a habit of leaving things unfinished, you always made a 100% comeback to them and completed them with utmost sincerity, refusing to leave until the work was done. It was also the reason why you were Namjoon’s star student.

“Yunho, finish that up a bit faster. I need it to proceed with the calculations here.” you said, not glancing at him, fully expecting a snarky comeback.

“Okay. Give me a minute.” That was all he said as he wrapped up his part of the work and eventually handed you the concentrate for your calculations. Wow! What in the holy gods of chemistry was this behavior?

Why is Yunho so calm suddenly? Is he planning to kill me with that concentrate? What happened? Was it the kiss? I would have done this way sooner if that’s all it took to shut him up!

Yunho’s strange behavior continued throughout the evening as you both, for the first time, worked as a team, surprising Namjoon, who had no chaos to deal with. The clock hit 9 PM, and everybody wrapped up their workstations, ready to leave as Namjoon approached you and Yunho.

“I’m leaving the keys with you. Lock the lab after you guys are done with the experiments.” Namjoon said, handing you the keys before taking a final look at your experiment, which was coming together nicely, and giving you an appreciative smile. With that, he left, and you and Yunho buckled down to finish the tiny bit of work that was left before you could go home.

Or so you thought, because your lab partner would beg to differ.

While you were fully immersed in the experiment, two hands snaked around your tiny form, trapping you against the counter as Yunho’s hot breath tingled the skin near your ear. “Since we’re alone, babygirl, why don’t you finish what you started during the lunch break? ” he murmured, and you could easily imagine a smug smile on his face.

You tried your hardest to stay composed. “I only finish things I’m actually interested in.” you shot back, smiling as you tested where this might lead, your back still pressed against his chest. No doubt, you felt a little excited after that kiss, knowing Yunho would come back for more.

A low scoff escaped his lips. “The kiss this afternoon said otherwise, babygirl,” he replied, taking the test tubes from your hands and setting them on the counter. Swiftly, he turned you to face him.

He leaned in, his hot breath fanning your face while his lips hovered mere inches away. “So, you were saying…?” he trailed off, his dark eyes filled with unmistakable intent as your gaze flickered between his inviting lips and his intense stare.

“Okay! If we’re doing this, let’s get one thing straight, I still hate you.” you said, tugging him closer by his coat collar to close the distance.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about it.” he smiled, capturing your lips in a hungry, primal kiss. His hands pulled you in by the waist, your bodies now pressed tightly together.

Tugging at his roots, you urged him to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lower lip, asking for entrance. Allowing him in, your tongues intertwined, battling for dominance as Yunho pressed you against the counter. Sucking on your lower lip, he earned a soft moan from you, which only spurred him on. In a hurry, his hands worked to remove your lab coat while you simultaneously slipped his off. He perched you on the lab counter, not breaking the kiss, his hips pressing against your core and you could feel the evidence that this little game of yours had made him hard.

Grinding himself against you, he moved down to your neck, leaving a trail of purple marks along your soft skin. You arched your neck, giving him better access, occasionally tugging at his hair and earning a deep groan in response.

“You know,” you breathed out as he kissed the delicate spot behind your ear, pulling another moan from you, “if I didn’t hate you so much, I might actually think you’re cute.”

If you were honest with yourself, Yunho was driving you crazy with his mouth alone, and the friction of him grinding against your core only heightened your anticipation for what was to come.

“You know I’m too charming for you to resist. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.” he replied, pausing to take in the haze clouding your gaze. He scoffed, clearly pleased with himself for being the reason you were in this state.

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time looking at me.” you shot back, voice low and dripping with desire, loving the thrill of pushing his buttons, knowing it would bring you more of what you craved.

Maintaining eye contact, he let his hands slide down to the waistband of your pants. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.” he murmured, pulling your pants down. His hands trailed down your smooth thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. Kneeling down, his fingers traced the outline of your clothed heat, a proud smile tugging at his lips as he felt the damp fabric.

He rubbed against the soaked cloth, making you throw your head back, legs parting for him. Slipping the material aside with one finger, he let another dip into your wetness. A gasp left your lips, and your head tipped back as he slipped his middle finger inside, your hot, slick walls welcoming him easily.

He pumped his finger in and out, and you quickly unraveled, reduced to a moaning mess on top of the counter. Soon, he added another finger, intensifying the sensation and drawing a whimper from you. “Yunho… morrreeee...” you breathed out, toes curling as his skilled fingers pushed you toward the edge.

“Want more, babygirl? Ask nicely.” he teased, slowing his fingers to a torturous pace that left you whimpering, begging him to go faster.

“Yunho, please, I-I need more..” you begged, lips parted, and, satisfied, he quickened his movements, his fingers pumping into you as his thumb circled your sensitive clit. With a cry, you came around his fingers.

Was Yunho done with you? Absolutely not. His eyes, darkened with lust, met yours with a smug smile that told you you were in for a long night.

Pulling his fingers out of you, he brought them to his mouth, licking them clean as he held your gaze. You swallowed at the sight, wondering how you both had ended up here when just yesterday, you couldn’t stand each other.

Guess this was the steam that needed blowing off.

“Open.” he commanded, tapping his finger against your lips. You obeyed, taking his long digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them as your hands worked to undo his pants. Sucking on his fingers, you watched as Yunho slipped out of his boxers, revealing his large, hard, and thoroughly tempting length. Your mouth watered as he stroked himself, preparing to enter you. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he smirked, tasting the faint trace of you on them as he did.

With a quick tug, he removed your panties and aligned himself at your entrance, your core practically begging for him to fill you. His signature smug smile remained as his eyes held yours, and you gripped his shoulders as his tip pushed through your walls, stretching you deliciously as he finally bottomed out. He paused, letting you adjust to his length, and you gasped before nodding him to continue.

With your permission, Yunho began to move, each thrust slow but steady, reaching deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you. Your vision blurred with pleasure as he drove into you, his pace intensifying, while his lips found yours again. With every thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge, and you could feel another climax building, waiting to crash over you like a wave.

Yunho’s pace quickened, his thrusts growing deeper, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you.His lips pressed against yours, swallowing your gasps as the pressure built up fast, and each movement pushed you closer to the edge until you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, fingers digging into him as the building tension finally snapped, sending you spiraling into release. A wave of pleasure washed over you as you hard around his cock , pleasure consuming you completely as you clenched around him, your body trembling in his arms. Yunho’s name slipped from your lips, mingling with the breathless moans he drew out of you, his hips never faltering as he rode you through the high.

Yunho’s thrusts slowed as he guided you through the last waves of pleasure, his own breaths turning ragged. After a few moments, he pulled out of you, warmth spilling onto your thighs as he held you close. Your bodies remained tangled as you both caught your breath, hearts still racing.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your hair, Yunho kept his arms wrapped around you, neither of you willing to let go just yet as you came down from the high together.

After a while, recovering from the delicious pleasure, you slipped out of his arms. “Happy? I finished what I started.” you shot at him, smiling as you cleaned yourself with a tissue from the counter.

“Who finished whom? From what I remember, someone was begging me for more.” Yunho replied playfully, taking the tissue from your hand to help clean you up.

“Let’s not get cocky now, baby boy. I might get mad again.” you teased with a pout, and he just grinned back.

“Good thing I like you mad.” he said, flashing you a wicked smile.

After cleaning up, you both wrapped up your work for the night and decided to head home.

The next morning came sooner than expected, and you and Yunho found yourselves standing in front of Namjoon as he reviewed your research papers. They weren’t fully finished, but he wanted to see the progress.

“Hmm… not bad. Not bad at all,” he said, handing the papers back to both of you. “I have news for you both.” he added, and you stiffened, anticipating he might not publish your paper or perhaps had given the spot to Jungkook, your senior who also worked under him.

“Since you both took my advice and decided to work as a team yesterday, I’m allowing two papers to be published this term. And with both of your research being so interesting, I can’t help but let you both publish under me.” he said, giving you both a proud smile.

“Really? Professor, you’re not kidding?” you asked, grinning from ear to ear, thrilled that you’d finally get to publish your paper.

“Thank you so much, Professor.” Yunho said beside you, shooting you a smile.

“Yes! I’m letting my two star students publish, so finish up the papers quickly. The deadline is near.” Namjoon smiled before returning to his seat.

The whole lab erupted in applause, and congratulations were offered to both of you. Returning to your workstation, memories of the previous night crossed your mind. You didn’t notice when Yunho came up beside you, waving two tickets in front of you.

“I have an extra ticket, if you’re free tonight,” he asked casually.

“Jeong Yunho, are you asking me on a date?” you teased, as Wooyoung looked back briefly before smiling and returning to his work.

“Hey, keep it down! And who said it’s a date… I just happened to have an extra ticket,” he paused, then added, “But if you don’t want it…”

You snatched the ticket from his hand, smiling. “I’ll take it. I’ll take it. I mean, it’d be a crime to let someone else suffer in your company!” you teased, grinning at him. Yunho returned the smile before heading back to his work.

As you returned to your own work, you could hear Wooyoung whisper to Seonghwa, “Their chemistry is way better than actual chemistry.”

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

Disclaimer : This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

Tag List : @star-my | @pixie0627 | @astuteataraxy

[targaryen-dynasty]

ZĪRTYS PERZYS. (2/5)

Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, teasing, breeding, size kink, size difference, slight humiliating/gaslighting?, slapping, teasing, mentions of blood, cutting of lips and hands, Valyrian wedding, female reader (no mentions of appearance besides purple eyes)

WORDS: 3.7 K

Maegor had kept true to his words. A sennight had passed until you stood in the Throne Room opposite him, the High Septon carrying out the wedding ceremony. 

But no matter how lavish it all was, how many people attended the wedding and its feast – it was not what you wanted. 

And your husband knew. 

For all the years you had been around Maegor, following him from a very young age, there had been enough occasions where you two had talked about your ancestors and the Doom that came over them. Therefore, you had more than one chance to tell him about your desire to wed in their traditions one day, regardless of whether you and your betrothed would share the blood of Old Valyria or not. 

Your wedding in front of the people of court and the High Septon merely seemed to be a means to an end to keep the smallfolk satisfied. You were wife number four ever since he ascended the throne four years ago, even though you currently were the only wife he had. The women that came before you had been dead for less than a year – something you hadn’t known of until he had told you the morning you followed him and Balerion to King’s Landing. 

And with the bedding following the ceremony and feast, you were officially wed… in the eyes of the Faith. 

But that did not mean it was official to you. 

Not more than nine days had passed since you left the castle of Dragonstone for the Red Keep, but it still felt completely different when you set foot on the island again. 

Many hours had you spent in Aegon’s Garden prior to your father’s death, surrounded by its roses and tall trees and basking in the peace and quiet. The familiar and pleasant scent of pine was enough to calm your fluttering nerves and brought back the memories of when your life had not been plagued by death and war. 

A gentle breeze blew through the tresses of your hair as Grand Maester Benifer led you through the ceremony, acting as an officiant and the third witness to your union – your mother and aunt being the other two. 

The ancient headpiece adorning the top of your head was not heavy, yet your pounding heart made you overly aware of it being there, and you could not wait to be allowed to take it off again. Even though dozens of Valyrian women before you had worn it to their weddings, it merely was a coincidence you had found the traditional marital robes you and your uncle now wore. They had been neatly stored away in a dusty chest in the depths of the Sea Dragon Tower, not even Maegor had been able to find them for his wedding to Alys.

Sitting somewhat tautly around his muscular arms and shoulders, Maegor’s robe did not fit him as well as yours fit, appearing as if it had waited all its life to be worn by you on this special occasion. 

Having read about the ceremony and traditions over and over again, you knew by heart what was to come, yet your eyes still widened a bit as Maegor raised a fine shard of dragonglass, zīrtys perzys in the tongue of your ancestors. Awe and fear alike blazed through the purple of your eyes, whereas you spotted a hint of something different in the gaze of the man opposite of you. Affection? Or even love?

Your hands trembled slightly as Maegor placed the shard in one of them, knowing exactly what was to come and to do since this was not his first wedding in the customs of Old Valyria. Hesitantly bringing it up to his face, the tremors did not ease with you dragging it over his bottom lip. The blood that gathered at the cut was no surprise, however, it still unsettled you to think of your lips undergoing the same procedure just a few moments later.

The gentleness with which he took the shard from your trembling hand was little comfort, and as he cut your bottom lip in return, you wondered how he had endured it without wincing as you did. 

After he had gathered some of your blood from the cut on the pad of his thumb, he dragged it over your forehead, drawing the Valyrian glyph for fire on it. You did the same, the glyph for blood written on his. 

A shiver ran down your spine as you carefully watched him cut his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain, figuring he was just as savage and brutal as everyone around you had said, used to the pain and to worse. But this was not about savagery or experience, it was about your union, to be wed by blood and fire. 

Only then it dawned on you just how much you had longed for this to happen – and how long you had waited for it. 

All the years you had spent cross with your father for not offering Maegor your hand in marriage, and even sending him into exile to Pentos, seemed ridiculous now. If only you had known back then that you were going to end up in his arms anyways. 

“Issa aōha pālegon,” Maegor whispered, his gruff voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves and excited roaring of dragons in the far distance. It is your turn. 

Staring at his cut palm for a bit too long, you examined how the blood gathered in the curvature of it, and how much it actually was. The shard of dragonglass was in his other hand for you to take, and everyone around waited for you to repeat the gesture and cut your hand. 

But you could not bring yourself to do it. 

Every time you thought about your wedding, you had never considered the pain that came with it. And now, it was all that was on your mind. 

Shaking your head, you swallowed thickly, flexing the fingers of your still outstretched hand. “Kostan daor,” you muttered, your voice breaking slightly, causing Maegor’s eyes to widen. Was he afraid? you wondered. “Kessa ōdrikagon.” I can not. It will hurt. 

When he tried to place the shard in your palm, you pulled it back, yet your uncle was quick enough to seize your wrist with a strength he had only rarely displayed towards you before. “Gaomagon ziry,” he warned, a sharp edge to his voice that prompted the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Do it. 

You whimpered, more so as the cold dragonglass pressed against the thin skin of your wrist, close to cutting it. “Gaomagon–Gaomagon ziry syt nyke,” you stuttered, “... kostilus.” Do-Do it for me… please. 

He tilted his head to the side at your words, sizing you up, the grip on your wrist loosening almost at the same time. The slight crease showing between his brows indicated his confusion - or mayhaps even annoyance - yet he still complied. Taking in a sharp breath as the shard sliced your skin, the singing pain did not lessen, especially not when your hands united in a firm grip to make your one bloodline stronger.  

Replacing the shard of dragonglass with a goblet whose content was unknown to you, it was Grand Maester Benifer speaking, while you both took generous swigs of the dark liquid. 

“Let it be known that Maegor of House Targaryen and Y/N of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and the coppery taste on your tongue made you aware that you had licked your nicked lip in anticipation of what was to come. 

“You may speak the vows,“ the Grand Maester continued. 

“Iksan zȳhon se issa ñuhon. Hen bisa tubis, ēva se mōris hen ñuha tubissa,” Maegor said, looking down at you with admiration flickering in his eyes. I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days. 

And then it was your turn. 

“Iksan zȳhon se issa ñuhon. Hen bisa tubis, ēva se mōris hen ñuha tubissa,” you replied, with eyes locked with his. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.

Your husband recklessly threw the goblet aside to snake his arm around your waist, drawing you closer towards him with your cut hands still connected. He briefly looked over to the Grand Master and the Dowager Queens, before focusing his attention back on you. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he cited in the Common Tongue, to which Grand Maester Benifer bowed his head once, and dipped forwards to claim your lips in a kiss that was shy of being reserved. 

Your marital robes and smallclothes lay in a scattered trail from the door to the bed, some still pooling around Maegor’s ankles as he held you tightly in his strong arms with your legs slung around his waist. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, pressed against his lower abdomen and generously coated in your arousal. 

It felt as if your lips had not parted once since your kiss in Aegon’s Garden, still as fervent and demanding as it had been back then. 

Maegor tipped his head back slightly to break the kiss, yet yours tilted forward to chase his lips eagerly. He tsked at that and grabbed your chin to keep your head still, allowing him to press his lips to your jaw before they wandered to the curve of your shoulder. His teeth nibbling your skin, in combination with his tongue dragging over the light marks they left, sent you into a frenzy, distracting you enough from the sudden pressure of his cock prodding at your entrance. 

He had placed a large hand under your arse, effortlessly lifting your body so he was able to grip the base of his stiff member, tugging on himself twice before holding it steady to line himself up with your entrance. 

You felt him slide inside inch for inch at an agonizingly slow pace as if he wanted to make sure you were aware of every vein and ridge of his cock that dragged along your quivering walls. But the tightness of your cunt was practically sucking him inside, eager for him to fill you to the brim

Where you took in a sharp breath to brace for the sting that came with the intrusion, Maegor released a husky groan, slightly muffled with his lips still on your shoulder. You tilted your head back to moan shakily, the grip of your legs around his waist tightening in an attempt to lure him inside quickly. 

Your back arched against him, but the tight squeeze of your arse was enough to stop any further movements, pain and pleasure alike blossoming within your belly. 

“Gods be good,” you whimpered, burying your head in the curvature of Maegor’s neck the moment you spotted him carefully studying your face contort in pleasure. You felt his hand trailing from your arse up your spine with feather-like movements, until it settled at the back of your head, entangling in your hair and tugging on it to yank it back. 

You winced slightly, which probably made him aware that he had used a bit too much of his strength, immediately releasing your tresses. “Do not hide from me,” he crooned, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Let me see how good I am making you feel.”

Swallowing thickly, a meek nod was all you could do in return. It was the admiration in his gaze and the determination in his voice that rendered you speechless. Despite the fervor in his pleasure and the long-suppressed desire he felt towards you, Maegor had never been more careful, rawer and more vulnerable with you. 

He had one arm snaked around your waist and the other hand still buried in your hair, solely relying on them to support your body, keeping you mounted on his cock as he slowly prowled towards the bed. And even though you had adjusted to his size, neither of you moved. 

Carefully laying you down on the bed, it was inevitable for him to slip out in the process, leaving you pouting and yearning for him to fill you again. 

He stood in front of you completely naked, truly a sight to behold, and it still had not fully settled that you were to witness that sight for as often as you wanted from now on for the rest of your lives.

The light the candles granted was dim, yet bright enough for the beads of sweat to highlight his pale skin, accentuating his rippling muscles. His cock stood tall against his lower abdomen, appearing painfully hard as it glistened with your arousal. 

“Stop the sulking,” he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his gravelly voice. 

You licked your lips, your eyes flickering between his and his cock. “Come here and make me.”

Maegor chuckled dryly but was convinced enough to join you on the bed. You scooted further towards the headboard and spread your legs for him, making enough space to accommodate his bulky frame. 

Kneeling between your parted legs, he leaned forward and grabbed the headboard with one hand, towering over your small frame. The other clasped around the base of his hard member, aligning it yet again with your entrance. 

You anticipated him to enter you right away, a little moan of excitement leaving your lips even before you felt him prodding against your cunt. A mocking scoff left his throat once he noticed what had happened, shooting you a knowing glance that had you cowering beneath him from embarrassment.

Mayhaps it was you eagerly anticipating it, just wanting to tease you and keep you waiting a few moments longer, but Maegor instead dragged the tip of his cock through your soaked mound, generously coating it in your slick. As he repeatedly rubbed it over the little bud at the apex of your legs, you couldn’t stifle a whimper from slipping past your lips, your hips rutting against him instinctively. 

A wide smirk was plastered over his features, his gaze wandering down your frame, settling on what was happening between your legs. “Aren't you a naughty one, mh?” he said, making eye contact as he still teased your pearl, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him. 

Heat blossomed on your cheeks, and you looked to the side. “Stop the teasing… please,” you whimpered, coyly. “I-I need you.”

Maegor stopped the teasing to pinch your chin, tilting your head for you to meet his eyes, the tip of his stiff member nestled between your soaked lips but not pushing inside. “But sweetling,” he started, the name spoken in a condescending manner that made your skin crawl. You definitely should not have liked him talking to you like that. “I am not teasing you in the slightest,“ he crooned, “I am simply being affectionate. Do you want me to stop?”

With your eyes wide and lips parted, you meekly shook your head, the intensity of his gaze as he awaited to hear your voice putting your body on fire. “N-No.” You weren’t sure what to expect if you would ask him to stop, somewhat anxious to offend him in any way. 

His cock was so close but also too far away, and while you were certain he could go another hour without being inside of you, you lacked that composure. Trying to angle your hips to the point the tip of his cock was breaching your entrance, Maegor firmly connected his hand with the side of your thigh – not as strong as you had anticipated, but still strong enough to have a hot pain spread from your flesh right to your cunt. A renewed wave of arousal seeped out of your core right onto his cock. 

“My my, would you look at that?” Maegor cooed, bathing you in a sense of feigned safety and calmness. “Who would have thought that my little niece is such a harlot?”

He placed his large hand on the spot where he had slapped you, soothing the stinging flesh with gentle movements. It was a stark contrast to the initial slap, and even though it confused you, you relished in the gentleness. 

“Mae-Uncle,” you mewled, pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a pout. “... please.”

An impish smirk pulled on the corners of his lips. “Please, what?”

“By the Seven,” you whined, balling your hands to fists at your sides in frustration. “Just-Just give me what I desire!”

Maegor raised his brow, seemingly impressed by that little outburst and the lack of coyness with which you said it – completely different from how you had acted before. “Oh, how could I ever say no to you?” he rasped, hungrily licking his lips. His hand wrapped around his cock again, and he kept it in place as he pushed inside in one, swift thrust, forcing himself into your tight heat. 

You forgot how to breathe as you tried to adjust to his size again. It felt as if he was harder than before, if that was even possible, filling you to the brim at once. You clenched down around him, and the choked gasp he released made your heart swell with pride. 

Despite the slight aching of him being a bit too rough and big for you, an immense pleasure started to blossom in your belly, granted by his curved length plunging in and out of you. 

A dip in the mattress next to your head, and Maegor had supported the weight of his bull-like frame on one elbow, inevitably bringing his chest closer to yours. His other hand had long abandoned the headboard to grab your thigh, hoisting your leg around his waist. 

You drowned in the proximity. His weight pinning you to the mattress, the warmth that emanated from him, his scent — it all pushed you into a frenzy. 

Maegor was balls deep inside of you, bullying the spot that had you seeing stars and hiccuped your breathing. As you looked to the side with your eyes squeezed shut, he was quick to cup your chin, tilting it back to force your eyes to meet his. 

“How does this feel?” he asked, uncharacteristically tender. 

You arched your back, arms wrapping around his thick neck to bury your hands in his short hair. “So good,” you whined, the words swallowed by Maegor pressing his lips to yours. 

You tugged on his silver tresses, walls squeezing him so tight you couldn’t even tell if they had even unclenched before. The kiss was fervent, full of passion, and was all teeth and tongue – unlike any kisses you had shared before. 

It might have been the feeling of your marriage finally being legitimate to the both of you, or you two being completely alone without any prying eyes and ears or people of court, but even the bedding was different from the many times you had shared a bed before. 

“Such a good girl,” Maegor grunted against your lips, rutting his hips into yours. “Mayhaps I shall reward you tonight and put a babe in you. Would you like that?”

Keening at the praise and the significance of his words, your walls started to flutter around him, clenching and unclenching without a rhythm. 

“Yes, please,” you slurred, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Please, give me a child.” You were not sure if it was the thought of being round with his seed or the sensual rolling of his hips, but your mind went fuzzy with pleasure, clouding each thought to the point you could only think of his cock dragging along your walls. 

Where you could have sworn you could have indulged yourself in his proximity just a little longer, your body seemed to act on its own with your peak suddenly washing over you. Your body was taut, convulsing as he fucked you through the sensations, reveling in the way your moans grew louder and wanton. He mouthed along your neck, his hot and heavy breath fanning over your skin. 

In your state of bliss, you had barely noticed the increasing pace and intensity of his thrusts. “I shall give you what you desire,” Maegor rasped to which you merely replied with a breathy ‘yes’. 

The snaps of your husband's hips grew harsh and uneven as he crested the horizon, spilling his seed deep inside of your quivering cunt. His fingers dug harshly into your cheeks now, still cupping your chin while groaning into the crook of your neck. Maegor was relentless as he fucked his seed deep into you, desperately wanting it to take and bear fruit. 

Once the throbbing of his cock became less, he collapsed onto his side, purple eyes squeezed shut and needing a few seconds to steady his breathing. You watched him with a tired smile on your lips, reaching out to scratch your nails over the coarse hairs on his chest. 

“What?” he asked as he opened his eyes to you smiling at him. 

Hesitating to ask the question, afraid of the answer breaking your heart, you licked your lips. “What if I do not give you a boy?”

But it seemed that the failed pregnancies of his wives before you had softened his heart, even if only a bit, because he brought his hand to yours on his chest, lacing your fingers. “I do not care, for as long as it’s healthy.” Bringing your joined hands to his mouth, he pressed his lips to the back of yours while maintaining eye contact. 

The gesture and his words had your heart fluttering with nothing but love and admiration for the man everyone dubbed ‘the Cruel’, yet he was not cruel to you. 

Pulling you close, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Sleep, wife,” he crooned, “we shall reside here just a little longer.”

And sleep you did. The best you had slept in a very long time. 

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, angst, sexual tension

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[arolesbianism]

Funn oddity, both Ellie and Travaldo have the last name Jones. Idk if they're siblings or if it's just a coincidence, but a fun thing nonetheless

[fioiswriting]

Unholy

Summary : During the prestigious Targaryen family's annual charity gala, your boyfriend's stepfather decides to make you pay for the consequences of your actions. Perhaps you should have been more careful before entering this little game.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Daemon Targaryen x Jace’s girlfriend!reader (reader appearance isn’t specified)

TW : p in v sex, dom/sub, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, unprotected sex, size kink, spanking, inappropriate use of the word kepus, cheating, age gap (!!), fingering, mirror sex, pwp, (light angst at the end), modern AU, Daemon being Daemon, not proofread 

Words count : 9379

AN : hi everyone!! I hope you are all doing well! So. Sorry it’s just a 9000 words concentrate of filthy smut. I’m ashamed. But enjoy anyway.  (I need to write for Aemond again but my gf is a Daemon girly so blame her for this smutty thing <3)

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The Targaryen family's annual charity Gala promised to be particularly grandiose this year. More spectacular. More lavish. More ostentatious than ever.  The budget had been spent on decorations, that was certain, and it was only a matter of time before guests began to stream down the stately aisle leading to the reception hall.

It was an annual event that no one could avoid, despite the tensions that were tearing the family apart from within, a kind of routine that had set in year after year. 

And this Gala pissed Daemon off.

He had better things to do than smile at a bunch of assholes, listen to a bunch of idiots talk about their uninteresting lives and pseudo-successes that he couldn't give a shit about. Not to mention the fact that the mere thought of being in the same room as Otto Hightower made him break out in hives. 

Rhaenyra had explained to him that it was for their image, but Daemon thought that was completely stupid. Since when did his reputation and his family's image have to depend on fake polite smiles and superficial bows?

Everything pissed him off, starting with Otto fucking Hightower, with whom he had to share his table for an entire evening. Rhaeyra had slipped away for a moment to prepare to give the opening speech at her father's side, like the heiress of Targaryen Corp that she was.

The interior of the building was large. Well decorated, illuminated by large chandeliers whose light enlarged the room. The designer - Alys Rivers or something like that - had good taste, Daemon had to admit. Waiters circulated among the guests, offering glasses of champagne or cocktails to the wealthy families who had gathered. Prestigious guests, certainly, but most of all a bunch of hypocrites, according to Daemon. He could feel all eyes on him. Spying on his flaws. Spying on his every move. Every scandal that might make the headlines in the morning.  Like he was going to honour them with such a spectacle. He wasn't that stupid. 

It was already scandalous enough that he had married his niece. He didn't know if he could worsen his case.

His older brother's tired voice rang out. His speech, full of the values promoted by the company; family, solidarity, benevolence and all that crap everyone pretended to believe in. After all, a bit of scandal might have spiced things up, a bit of chaos in this ocean of smiles and hypocrisy.  Daemon liked the idea.

He found his daughters in the crowd. They were beautiful, as always, the spitting image of their mother. He took advantage of the end of the speech to compliment them, kiss them on the cheek and take a family photo that would delight the journalists. Proof that he was a good father, or whatever they would write in lines he wouldn't even read. 

But it wasn't them he was looking for. Nor his stepsons.

He scanned the room with his eyes, and finally. Finally he found what he was looking for. The very one he was interested in. Who had aroused his curiosity.

He grabbed two glasses of champagne and approached you like a predator towards his prey. You were alone. That was easy. "Has Jace abandoned you?" he asked in his raspy voice as you turned, obviously surprised to see him. He handed you a glass, which you accepted with your fingertips. He was close to you. Almost too close.

"He went to look for Cregan," you replied, frowning suspiciously. You were on your guard, but Daemon knew you'd be easy to tame. He'd noticed the way you looked at him when your boyfriend Jace brought you home, and the way you strutted by the pool just before his eyes in nothing but your bikini. You'd asked Jace to put sunscreen on your back, but it was him you were looking at as your boyfriend rubbed your back, him. His stepfather.

The dress you wore hugged your body perfectly, revealing the lovely curves you hid underneath the fabric. He had no problem imagining that all the men in the room were probably mentally undressing you. He'd be lying if he said he didn't. 

But the idea that other people, that other men could imagine your body, could picture your shape, could have inappropriate fantasies about you, irritated him to no end. The very thought made his blood boil and every muscle in his body tense.

He couldn't really explain why. 

Or, if he had to be honest, he knew why ; he had an idea in the back of his mind and he was desperate to act on it.

"Don't worry about me, darling," he replied, "I wasn't looking for my wife. Not tonight." He added, lower this time, leaving a deliberate mystery over his words. He saw you hesitate for a moment, your eyes widening before a slight smile curled the corners of your lips.  "'By the way, you look gorgeous,' he continued. "What a pity my stepson decided to leave you alone on an evening like this. There are some ill-intentioned men out there who might take advantage of the situation."

He saw you take a step in his direction, lowering the volume of your voice to make sure no one around you could hear what you were about to say. He also saw you look him in the eye with a kind of self-assurance that proved you hadn't said your last word yet. Fuck, he loved this game. And he was determined to win.

"I'm not afraid of ill-intentioned men, Daemon. I'm not a little girl anymore." Your voice purred against his ear, and he wondered if you really knew what you were doing, if you knew what you were getting into by pretending to be a big girl. 

Men like him could make a meal of fragile little things like you.

So he slowly leaned towards you. Who cared if anyone saw him? At least it would give the paparazzi something to write about in the morning. Daemon didn't give a fuck. They could say what they wanted, only idiots read the piles of shit those so-called journalists wrote in their rags.  "Don't be so sure, little one," he whispered in your ear as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "You don't know what these bad men are capable of." His gaze lingered on your collarbone, the exposed skin of your throat and your cleavage that hinted at your breasts. 

Jace had good taste. You were simply divine.

"Then show me," you retorted, and Daemon's eyes locked with yours again. He had that usual smile, enigmatic and arrogant. But he said nothing. He let out an insolent chuckle, his fingers still wrapped in a lock of your hair, before turning on his heels. 

For once, maybe the Gala would be something other than a meeting of fake smiles and endless, falsely polite conversations with people he didn't even like. For once, maybe the Gala would be exciting. 

The meal had been delicious, and the dinner had gone as politely as Daemon could remain. Despite Rhaenyra discreetly kicking him under the table every time he was about to hurl an insult at Otto Hightower, that omnipresent parasite as tenacious as vermin, he had managed the feat of not provoking a diplomatic incident.  But Otto Hightower wasn't the only thing he was angry about. At the other end of the table, out of the corner of his eye, he could see you and Jace talking, your hand on his, and the thought irritated him. Which was hypocritical of him. But he saw his stepson whisper something in your ear, he saw him slide his hand under the table as you giggled, and a little later he saw him ask you to dance. You had accepted, with your eyes glued to Daemon, and you knew exactly what you were doing, he was sure of it. 

For as you walked past him, you let your fingers brush his shoulder. You knew what you were doing. You knew what you were doing, and you knew he couldn't make you pay for it, at least not in public, not now, not in front of everyone. 

His hand tightened around his glass, and when Rhaenrya asked him if everything was all right, he grunted, barely answering. You wanted to provoke him. You did it on purpose. You were trying to provoke him, like a little spoiled brat, and Daemon was going to show you what happens to girls like you. But for the moment he could do nothing but watch, his gaze clouded with possessiveness and jealousy, as Jace spun you around, as you swayed to the music, as you let your boyfriend press himself against you. 

All the while looking at him. 

And in his head, it was only your name that sounded like an old broken record. He needed to teach you a lesson, to show you what happened to girls who were provocative, to girls who were impertinent, to girls who wanted to tease ill-intentioned men without worrying about the consequences.

He had warned you, but you hadn't listened.

His eyes swept the room once more, but you had disappeared into the crowd. Occasionally you emerged, between two couples. It was like a game of cat and mouse, but Daemon wasn't sure he was in the mood to play any more. He dismissed Rhaenyra with a mumbled apology, and when he saw you slip out of the room, he followed you discreetly.

He found you leaning against the railing with your back to him. Your silhouette stood out in the pale moonlight, and as he approached, the laughter, the loud music and the clinking of bottles mingled like faint echoes in the distance. The fresh air was pleasant. Maybe it would help him think more clearly. Maybe it would make him stop thinking about things he shouldn't. You, you and nothing else.  It was becoming an obsession. 

Without warning, he moved in your direction. He could smell your perfume, a sweet, floral scent wafting towards him. Fuck, he was so close, pressed against you, he could even feel the warmth of your body against his. You didn't move, and Daemon took that as silent approval.  He was behind you. The lower part of his body, pressed against you. Against your lower back. A familiar warmth spread between his loins. You could feel it. You could probably feel the effect you were having on him, and the thought was driving him crazy.

"Daemon."

He didn't back away. On the contrary, he stopped for a moment and slid his hand delicately up your thigh, to the edge of your dress, where his finger traced the hem. It was naughty - you were his stepson's girlfriend. You were much younger than he was.  But he couldn't help wanting more. He couldn't help taking what wasn't his and making it his. 

Fuck. He loved to play with fire, that was for sure. 

Quietly, Daemon withdrew his hand and leaned back against the railing, his gaze resting on you like that of a teacher disappointed with your behaviour. But there was something else beneath his reproachful expression, something else, and it was almost possessiveness - or jealousy - that shone in his eyes. "Look at me," he ordered, lifting your chin with the tip of his index finger, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't want to give in, you didn't want to give him what he wanted, so you looked away to stare at a distant point on the horizon. But he insisted, his fingers bruising your chin. Perhaps he should teach you discipline, since you obviously didn't know what that was. So the two of you stood there for a moment; his dark gaze piercing your deceptively innocent eyes, and he said nothing, his jaw set. When he broke eye contact, it was to study the soft curves of your breasts. His thumb traced the line from your jaw to your throat, then along your collarbones in a sudden excess of possessiveness. His eyes burned with desire. 

He needed to possess you.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing, little one?" Daemon finally asked. You knew exactly what he was referring to. You knew about the pool, you knew about the sunscreen, you knew about the short skirt at dinner the other night, you knew about dancing with Jace, a moment ago, while you devoured his stepfather with your eyes. You knew you were doing it on purpose, and now you were going to pay the consequences. But you weren't ready to give in just yet. You wanted to play a little longer. So you put on your best innocent expression and pretended you didn't understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about.”

He was seething. You were driving him mad. He frowned, but he knew he wasn't going to get you, not like this. His eyes were dark with lustful desire and sheer hunger.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't play dumb," he added again, before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket. He put one to his mouth and lit it with a lighter, his hand bent to shield the flame from the wind. You watched as he took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke.

"I didn't do anything wrong." You bit your lower lip. Deep down you felt almost ashamed, like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but it was a paradoxical feeling - you adored the effect you were having on him. You weren't stupid, you knew jealousy when you saw it. But after all, you hadn't done anything wrong, that wasn't a lie. You had just danced with your boyfriend. With Jace. 

And Daemon was a married man.

"I was just dancing with my boyfriend," you said, putting the emphasis on that word. “You know, Jace."

Daemon handed you the cigarette, which you declined. He turned to face the horizon, leaned his elbows against the railing, his arms almost pressed against yours. He knew he had no right to be possessive with you. He was a married man.  He was a married man and you were young enough to be his daughter. It was hypocritical of him - but who doesn't need a bit of fun? The Gala was a bore.

"You were dancing? Really?" He paused. "Or tell me, are you so desperate for an older man's attention that you'll do anything to get it?" His words cut through the air like a sharp knife. He took another drag and turned towards you, blowing the smoke towards the horizon. Then he crushed his cigarette on the railing, nonchalant as ever. You remained silent for a moment. You stared at him. Who did he think he was?  Who did he think he was, talking to you like that, with that patronising tone, when you were Jace's girlfriend?  With calculated slowness, his fingers found your chin again and he forced you to lift your head towards him. He moved forward, pushing his body against yours until you were pressed against the iron barrier. He didn't care if the metal scraped against your back. He didn't care if it hurt. For the moment he wanted to be in control, and he wanted to remind you of your place.

All that mattered was the closeness of your face to his. 

Your breath grazed his face, light as a feather.

He grabbed your wrist, his thumb squeezing against your skin where he could feel your pulse racing. Fuck, he loved feeling the control he had over you; it made him harder than he already was.

Suddenly you felt bold. Raising your face to his, you let your lips linger on his for a moment without ever sealing the kiss. His whole body tensed, as if he had to restrain himself from tightening his grip on you. "Are you calling me a whore?" you asked in a calm voice, your provocative smile showing your teeth. "You're married, aren't you? I don't see why it bothers you so much what I do with my boyfriend." You'd hit a nerve. But Daemon hated being wrong, he hated being reminded of his mistakes or the hypocrisy of his behaviour. He tightened his grip. Your wrist was so small, seemed so fragile between his broad fingers. 

You had the feeling he could break it at any moment.

Daemon snorted. Now the big words. You played the innocent, you played the model daughter, but he knew exactly what was hidden behind your too well-behaved facade. Maybe he was insane. Wanting to claim you, wanting to keep you for himself, wanting to protect you from other men's eyes.  The sight of someone else's hands on your waist drove him mad. And yet you were just a passing distraction; just a way to add a little fun to his dull days and his dull marriage, just a way to satisfy a burning attraction, a primal need he couldn't satisfy any other way. 

Fuck. You were an impertinent girl with a sharp tongue, but once you were alone, he had no trouble imagining other uses for that divine tongue of yours.  You, kneeling before him, worshipping him in the most sinful way.  It was simply unholy.

But again, he wasn't a pious man. He was nothing but the devil. He didn't want redemption.

"And what about you little games?" He didn't look away, searching your face for a new trace of insolence - or perhaps a trace of sincerity, anything that would betray what you were really thinking. "I know what you're trying to do. When you deliberately bend down in front of me with that short skirt," his voice grew hoarse, covered with a veil of desire. "When you asked me to tie up the top of your swimming suit."  He could go on and on; reminding you of all the times you'd deliberately, innocently provoked him. The sound of his voice in your ear made you shiver. He let go of your wrist, his fingers moving up your body to play distractedly with the strap of your dress, his eyes roaming over your breasts. You let him, the touch of his fingers against your skin raising goosebumps all over your body.  He couldn't think of anything else but how divine you would look once that dress fell to the floor. "You're fucking asking for it," he concluded, turning his gaze to you.

"And?" You asked, your eyes lifted to his, peering out from under your long, curved lashes. You were indeed going to drive him mad. You bit your lower lip discreetly. He said nothing, the silence hanging over both of you for a moment as he pierced your soul with his icy gaze. Shadows of desire danced in his eyes. "You like to play, don't you?"

That was the spark that ignited the explosion. Something had changed, something in your dangerous games. In testing the limits again and again. In bending them, crossing them just enough to taste the intoxicating forbidden before stepping back behind that invisible protective barrier. You wanted to cross the forbidden line as much as he did, and the tension that had built up between you and him had no alternative but to explode. 

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he pulled you to him, against him.

Fuck the party.

Fuck propriety.

Fuck everyone.

He pressed his lips to yours in an urgent, desperate kiss. His hands moved to either side of your cheeks to keep your lips pressed to his. Like a man gasping for breath, he relied on your mouth, his tongue seeking a passage between your lips. You put your arms around his neck to hold him close. There was no tenderness, no love, just passion and an uncontrollable need to be pressed against each other. The kiss was rough. Unlike Jace, who kissed you tenderly as you lay on his bed, snuggled against him, Daemon wanted to assert his dominance. He wanted to take. He wanted to possess. He wanted to control. 

"We should stop," you whispered between kisses, panting, but it was a lie, you didn't want to stop. Trying to silence you, he slid his hand along your waist, down your hips, his fingers hesitant to slip under your dress - he was already imagining you soaking wet, just for him. You rubbed your thighs as the familiar sensation stirred, sending waves of heat through your core. Daemon caressed the black lace of your panties where your thigh met your centre, and you stifled a moan between his lips.

Anyone could catch you. Jace was nearby. Rhaenyra was nearby. If anyone turned their head, squinted their eyes, decided to get some fresh air on the rooftop, they could catch you by surprise. At any moment. 

People could talk, scandals could break out.  But Daemon didn't care. About his marriage. About the others. About being the centre of attention.

He had no morals, and he did the things he wanted just because he wanted to. 

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, your forehead pressed against his, your lips only inches apart. You knew what you were doing was wrong. You didn't want to think about Jace now - you didn't want to hurt him, but you were in his stepfather's arms and you weren't sure you could put an end to it. For you were like two magnets, inexorably drawn together. 

"We can't." You breathed against his lips, still brushing yours. His eyelids were closed, probably lost in desire, savouring the moment. Were you the only one with a moment's lucidity? Wasn't he supposed to be the most responsible ? He was twice your age. "We shouldn't," you tried to add as Daemon tried to capture your lips again. Behind your facade of trying to push him away, Daemon knew what you really wanted. He could feel it under his fingers; the wetness of the lace on the lingerie you were wearing betrayed your true feelings. 

And he was going to prove it to you.

"They're going to talk -" you began as Daemon pulled you by the wrist across the car park of the luxury downtown hotel. "Then let them talk," he replied coldly, tugging at your wrist to force you to move faster despite your high heels. 

You would be spotted. 

The press would create a scandal; him, cheating on his wife, cheating on the heiress of the Targaryen Corp. 

With you. You, Jacaerys Velaryon's girlfriend.

"Are you afraid?" he sneered, and you rolled your eyes at his immaturity. But you decided to play along. "I'm afraid, with your advanced age, you're not really able to keep up." He didn’t quite find that funny, because he gave you a dark glance. “You’d better watch your fucking mouth, young girl.”

Throughout the ride he had kept his hand possessively on your thigh, playing with the hem of your short dress without ever exploring too far. You bit your lower lip, barely moving your hips, subtly, seeking the warm touch of his fingers. The contact between you was electric. Your attempts at daring earned you the tightening of his grip on your thigh, squeezing your flesh. You had to put an end to it. You had to tell him to stop, to be reasonable, to turn around and take you back to the party before anyone noticed you were gone. But all you could see in Daemon's eyes was coldness and hardness.

You were already too far away. There was no turning back.

And the electric tension between you hadn't diminished - it had increased as the lift carried you up. As soon as the doors had closed, Daemon had you pinned against the wall, your legs wrapped around him, your dress pulled up, to devour your lips. One of his hands was pressed against the wall next to your head, the other firmly gripped around your waist.

Daemon hadn't done things by halves. He'd chosen a luxury hotel, a five-star place that had welcomed only prestigious guests since its opening. But the idea was as exciting as it was indecent; he was going to fuckyou in a suite that offered a panoramic view of all of King's Landing, a private spa with a Jacuzzi, and a bottle of champagne worth thousands.  And above all, in a suite that offered the peace and quiet to spend the night as he wished, with no one around to hear you scream his name.

He had chosen the best for you, nothing but the best. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. All this for a girl half his age, whom he wanted to fuck like some expensive prostitute. But why deprive himself when you, the spoiled brat that you were, were only asking for it? You had some kind of hold over him, some kind of mysterious power that made him lose his mind, but fuck, he loved it. He loved the adrenaline that came with danger, the adrenaline that came with the indecency of taking what wasn't his. 

"So what now?" He heard you mutter. You had regained your insolence as you entered the room, your arms crossed over your chest. What now. As if you didn't know what was coming next. You played innocent, but he knew that underneath your angelic exterior you were anything but naive.  He let out a deep chuckle.

What now? 

Oh, but now the fun was about to begin. Now the evening would take another turn - the one he'd been waiting for. He was going to ravish you.

He approached you with a predatory look on his face. He stood behind you, stroking your shoulders and throat with his fingertips before gathering your mass of hair to one side to free your back and neck. He pushed you forward into the room, close to the large mirror opposite the bed.

"Now you're going to undress." Daemon said, mirroring the words you'd just used in a tone that left no room for argument. He let his fingers slide down the skin of your back to the zip, which he played with, sending shivers down your spine. His lips planted kisses on the nape of your neck and slowly - very slowly - he began to pull the zip down. "I want to see you," he added. His eyes, burning with desire, met yours in the mirror. Each of his words were carefully chosen. Cold and calculated. Authoritative and paternal. You couldn't resist him, and as you slipped the straps from each shoulder, the fabric fell to the floor in a pool of satiny black. 

"You wouldn't want to keep kepus waiting, would you?" You didn't know the word - it was that ancient language for which the Targaryens had a secret. But you could imagine all sorts of meanings, given the context. A whole lot of meanings that sent waves of heat between your thighs, making you wetter than you already were...

You swallowed.

Desire pulsed through your core. It wasn't fair for this old man to have such a powerful effect on you with just a few words.

You shivered. Whether it was the chill of being almost naked in the room or the realisation that you were now at Daemon's mercy, you weren't sure. Because he was in control, he was the master of the situation, and you were now playing by his rules.

In your lingerie you were divine. The black lace hugged your skin to perfection - embracing your rounded breasts, revealing your darker nipples and rounded buttocks. A perfect mix of debauchery and innocence.  It was becoming difficult for Daemon to resist. But he had to make it last. 

Teaching you a lesson in patience and obedience was his mission for tonight.

In the reflection of the mirror, you saw his hands brush against your ribs, coming to rest on your hips. Behind you, he stood a good head taller than you. He was taller, wider too, as if to remind you of your place. What he wanted you to be. An object of his personal desire. One of his fingers slipped lower, playing with the elastic of your lace panties, never venturing beneath the fabric - never soothing the place between your thighs that throbbed too wildly. You moved your hips. You wanted more. More contact. More sensation. His fingers against your bud. 

"Stay still, little one," he replied, holding you in place, a mischievous smile stretching across his lined lips. His deep voice vibrated in the hollow of your ear. His fingers were slow, light. Painful. "I didn't say you could move." You struggled to maintain eye contact, to watch your own reflection, so vulnerable, lost in his arms, with his hands on your body, mean and possessive, when you weren't supposed to belong to him.  "Look at you," he whispered in a soft breath that made the hairs on the back of your neck quiver. Your naked body stiffened against his, still clothed.

His fingers slipped lower. You held back a moan. He stroked the spot between your thighs, finding wetness through the fabric. "Do you need kepus here, little one?" His hungry smile widened. That damn word again, that damn word you didn't know - but which seemed dangerously out of place in this situation.  You closed your eyes, and as if by reflex, your hand closed around his wrist to keep him there. You couldn't utter a word or form a coherent thought. "Looks like you lost your tongue, huh?" he added sternly.

"Shut up, old man," you manage to say in spite of everything - without answering his question. You didn't want to give him that privilege. You would have liked to come up with something else, a clever retort, or something that was so characteristic of you - just to show him that you weren't afraid to bite. But you were so lost in your pleasure that the words died in your throat.

"Old man, really?" He frowned. His fingers stopped moving. He held them against you - his forefinger through the fabric, against your entrance. Forbidding you to make the slightest movement, to move your hips, to search for friction. Forcing you to look at your own image, your reflection that proved you'd been caught playing your own game. "Then use your words like the big girl you are and tell me what you want."

Leaning forward, he let his lips brush your shoulder, one hand pulling the fabric of your panties aside to slip his fingers underneath. He wasn't going to give you what you wanted right away - not when you'd called him old man, not when you'd been insolent. His trousers had become ridiculously tight and his pulse was racing with excitement even as he tried to remain calm.  Then his fingers caressed the side of your folds - running over the soft, tender skin, carefully avoiding the little knob at the top of your thighs that would give you so much pleasure. He traced your slit, gathering irrefutable evidence that you desired him. 

You held back a moan. 

He didn't look away from your reflection as his fingers spread your folds, as he collected your wetness on his middle finger, as he finally let his thumb rest against the small hidden pearl. He could feel you weakening, your legs giving way, but he held you up with his arms, to force you to stay firmly on your feet. He wasn't finished with you. Not yet. He hadn't told you you could sit up or lie down. Nor had he told you that you could look away.

And as long as you continued to misbehave, he'd have to be the one to put you in your place.

"Eyes on me." His sharp voice echoed through the room, between the wet sounds of his fingers against the most intimate part of your body and the moans your full lips gently released. Daemon was merciful; he gave you time to obey. And it was only when you opened your eyes again, when your angelic, pleading gaze met his once more in the reflection of the mirror, that his fingers became bolder. He pressed his index and middle fingers against your entrance, tracing a few small circles before plunging inside you.

You clenched beneath him, against him, around him. 

"Look at you," he murmured, punctuating his sentences with hungry kisses that were sure to leave a purple necklace the next morning. "So wet for me. And I've only just started using my fingers." His other hand slid the strap over your shoulder, then deftly unhooked your bra to explode your chest. You felt his thumbs run over the roundness of your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. Then he withdrew his fingers from your warm den, his thumbs hooked under the elastic of your panties, and the piece of fabric that still separated him from your body fell to the floor. He admired you for a moment, before he found your crotch again, pushing his fingers inside you, curling them against the spot that made you see the stars. Just as you were about to look away, Daemon's strong hand closed around your jaw, holding your face up to your own reflection. " Do you see how well you take my fingers inside you ?".

The image reflected in the mirror was one of debauchery. You, panting, desperately trying to keep your balance. Him, behind you, fully clothed, with his fingers deep inside you.

Daemon relished the flush in your cheeks, the shudder that ran through your body, the sighs that escaped your parted lips. You had that innocent, angelic, look that he was dying to tear apart. 

Looking innocent was your weapon. A weakness you used against him, he knew it.

"Look at you, the model girl acting like a whore." He stared into the reflection where his fingers disappeared between your glistening folds. Your walls tightened - you were close, much too close. The wave of pleasure was about to overwhelm your body, and as you felt the release coming, you threw your head back to welcome it.

Your whole body convulsed.

But Daemon didn't give you time to catch your breath. 

"You're so fucking wet," he whispered as he removed his fingers from your warmth and brought them to your own lips. He spread your wetness all over them, pushing his middle and index fingers against your tongue so you could taste yourself. "So wet, just for the old man I am." 

It was naughty – perfectly naughty. The taste of your own essence permeated your taste buds as you wrapped your tongue around his fingers. 

Daemon lifted you up to throw you onto the bed, face down on the mattress, a little more roughly than he would have liked. His eyes shining with anticipation, he placed a hand on your bottom to caress the curve of it.  He wondered what would happen if it turned red.

You were still trying to catch your breath. To come to your senses after your orgasm. 

You couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"Tell me, young lady. Do you think you've been obedient enough tonight?" he asked as he sat down beside you, his hand stroking your chin in a fatherly way. "Or do you need to be punished as a reminder?"

You widened your eyes. Punished. A ball formed in your stomach - a mixture of anxiety and excitement. 

"I don't see what I did wrong," you huffed, defying him with your eyes. "I always behave well. I'm a good girl."

Daemon raised his eyebrows. "A good girl, really?" He lifted your chin, as if inspecting your face for any trace of genuineness. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Reflecting. As if thinking about the punishment he was going to give you. "Even when you came without my permission?" He paused. "I don't fucking care how good it feels, you'd better not come until I tell you to."

Oh. For that too, you needed his permission. You looked away, embarrassed. But the answer Daemon was waiting for didn't come fast enough. You felt like you'd been swimming underwater for too long - but Daemon was in no mood for patience, not tonight.  He tightened his fingers around the firm flesh of your bottom as if to signal what would inevitably happen. For whatever the answer, Daemon knew there was only one possible outcome. 

And he loved the idea.

His member throbbed with anticipation in the tight confines of his trousers, but he ignored it. His toothy grin reflected the pleasure he felt at being in control, at being the one who determined the events of the evening and their pace. He was the one who would mark you, who would make you yield, who would make your whole body sore and red and tired until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Well?" Daemon added, allowing you the kindness to catch your breath. "With your words." Perhaps he was being too soft on you. Too lenient. But in any case, you could be glad for the brief respite he gave you. Because soon you'd be whimpering again, all weepy and begging. He had a prospect he was looking forward to: reveling in your tears of pleasure and overstimulation.

You had tried to provoke him? Now you had to face the consequences. And Daemon hoped you would be able to.

"I have been exemplary. All evening." You replied, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him with your wide eyes. "And after all, you're not my father. You don't get to punish me."

Daemon's eyes fell on you, his hard face still set in sternness. His gaze still burned with the same intensity of control and danger. But behind that lustful glow, he had his usual look, the one he wore when he was pissed off. It didn't bode well for you.

"You haven't been exemplary." He hissed. "You wanted to act like a whore. So I'm going to treat you like a whore." With that, Daemon stood up. He left you there, on the bed, the product of your desire smeared on your inner thighs. Completely naked. You watched him walk away towards the vanity at the other end of the room in a heavy silence.

You were confused.

You weren't sure you understood what had happened, what was going to happen, but the danger excited you.

Once in front of the vanity, he took the time to slowly unfasten the watch from his wrist and carefully place it on the marble tabletop. He took the time to remove his wedding ring from his finger. He took the time to take off his suit jacket and place it on the back of the chair. He took the time to open the bottle of champagne in the ice cube tray and pour himself a glass. He took the time to do all this - slowly, meticulously.

As if you didn't exist.

Of course, he could feel your gaze on him, your big eyes following his every move with incomprehension. But he wanted to play with his prey, like a cat with a mouse. And it was simply delicious to feel you so unsettled, to feel yourself losing your footing, to see you become a mass of hesitation and insecurity. He was in control and that was a feeling Daemon loved more than anything.

He returned to the edge of the bed and sat down, facing the mirror. He rolled up each sleeve of his shirt over his muscular forearms and finally, he turned his attention back to you. "Come, little one," he said, patting his thigh to entice you to come closer, a ravenous smile stretching his lips. "On kepus' laps." You gulped. You moved forward slowly, like a frightened animal. "Girls like you need to be taught a lesson, don't you think? 

You felt desire grow between your thighs - the familiar tingle at your core. "What lesson, old man?" You countered, your tongue flicking out of your lips as you settled into his laps like a little girl who deserved her punishment.  But wasn't that what you were; a little girl playing in the big leagues?

Daemon took the time to trace the full shape of your ass with a warm gentleness that contrasted sharply with the act he was about to perform. His fingers explored your skin, sliding lower, between the folds that still glistened with the essence of your desire. He let his fingers roam the most sensitive part of you, of your body, gathering the evidence of what you were feeling to soak his own fingers.

"You're going to count with me," Daemon whispered in his hoarse, urgent voice. " Up to ten. You can do it, can't you?"

You mentally prepared yourself for what was about to happen, your body tensing against his. You had lost all your repartee, all your wit. You were no longer the confident, bold young woman who had provoked him all these days - you were a little girl lost in the laps of a man far too old for her. 

You took a deep breath. And the first blow came. The palm of his hand struck the skin of your bottom with a slap that broke the silence between you. "One," you murmured as he stroked the skin he'd just bruised, his fingers lingering between your folds again. You stifled a moan. "Such a good girl," he whispered into your ear. 

And then again. The touch of his palm against your skin. The pain, red and hot, delicious too, spreading through you.  Two. And again. Three. And again. Four. And again. Five.

The red that now coloured your buttocks made him even harder than he already was. It was always that feeling of control, always that feeling of dominance, always the idea of teaching you a lesson that turned him on so much. He must have been completely sick in the head, but who wasn't, in his family?

He was no ordinary man, he was a Targaryen, and he was above the ordinary people. 

He paused for a moment, his fingers venturing once more into the space between your folds to catch the dripping wetness. "Tell me, is it the thought of being punished that makes you so wet, young girl?" he asked, wiping his fingers over your thigh. You held your breath. 

Your moans grew louder, closer, as his hand met your ass once more, and Daemon knew you were struggling to stay focused. You were losing control of your mind and it was all because of him. It was perfect.

"Up to ten, I said," he pointed out with a mixture of firmness and softness in his voice. "So? How far are we?" You searched for words. How could he ask you to think, to count - even to 10 - when you were incapable of thinking clearly with his fingers there? You were too drunk with pleasure to form a coherent thought. 

But Daemon demanded that you finish the count.  Two more.  Two more, and you had to use your words to count them out loud.

"Your words, girl. Don't make me tell you twice," Daemon repeated as his fingers traced the outside of your folds before parting them, stroking your slit, applying a little pressure to your entrance with the flat of a finger before withdrawing his hand.

But there was no answer, and Daemon sighed. Silly girl, making no effort, weren't you? Perhaps he should be more patient. After all, you had endured your punishment so well, with diligence. "So demanding, and for what?” He asked, his condescending tone seeping into his every word. "Be a good girl. I know you can do it, dear one. We were at eight."

You started counting again, with difficulty. Daemon gave you the remaining two slaps to complete your punishment, and he looked at you with pride.  You had taken them, all of them, with docility. He stroked your cheek. You would no doubt have a mark the next day, judging by the pink colour that now adorned your skin. But such a sight, coupled with the sight of his essence that would soon be dripping from your entrance, was something Daemon was determined to imprint under his eyelids.

"See, it wasn't so hard after all, was it?" he asked, his voice honeyed as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb. "I'm proud of you." Your eyes were brimming with tears - of joy or pain, you couldn't really tell. Probably a bit of both. You felt exposed, you felt like a hot mess, and yet you would have gladly taken more if Daemon had asked. 

You let Daemon guide you into a sitting position, your legs falling to either side of his muscular thighs. Hiding a wince of pain, you wondered for a moment whether to curse or thank him. You couldn't form a single sentence, couldn't utter a single word. So you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring your bodies together and your lips found refuge against his. The feel of his tongue against yours was comforting. Underneath you could feel the fabric of Daemon's trousers rubbing against your bare core. It was too much and not enough at the same time. You weren't satisfied with what he had given you. 

You needed more, you needed him. Inside you.

Daemon tightened his grip on your hip, his jaw clenched. He could feel the pressure building, like a storm ready to break. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders, press you against the mattress beneath him and take what he wanted from you. Without remorse. Without a thought for you, without a thought for your own pleasure. It took all his self-control to tame his impulses. As the kiss grew more passionate, the flat of his hand settled against the nape of your neck. His hand was so large compared to your face. He was so big compared to you. Your hips moved in a long, slow motion and you looked so vulnerable, completely naked against him, spilling your wetness all over his expensive Hugo Boss trousers.

He wondered if you could feel the effect you were having on him, the growing bulge trapped in his trousers.

When you broke the kiss, he gently tucked one of your curls behind your ear. Something in him had softened, maybe a little too much. Fuck. Since when had he become soft? Since when had he become anything other than a harsh and selfish man who cared only for his own pleasure? Deep inside, an inexplicable feeling made him doubt. It was paradoxical. And it irritated him to the bone.

Keeping control had always been a way of protecting himself.

Something sparkled in your eyes, he could barely make it out - but already you were sliding to your knees, in front of him, at his feet. You were already undoing the buckle on his belt to free his hard, angry member. "Let me show you how good I can be," you whispered against the tip of his reddened member. Your fingers wrapped around his cock. It was warm in your hand, heavy. You struggled to close your grip around it. Fuck, he was large.

You brought his member to your lips, the salty taste spreading across your tongue. You traced a vein on the underside with the tip of your tongue. "Am I doing well?" you breathed as you placed a series of kisses along his hard length. It was his turn to have lost all possibility of speech - or thought - as you felt his hand digging into your hair, hardening, forcing you to take him into your mouth, and you grinned. You let him guide you. You let him encourage you to take him deeper into your throat, feeling yourself drool around him. The act was messy, filthy, but delicious. He was heavy on your tongue, and the salty taste became more pronounced as his member throbbed.

Daemon couldn't help but think that this was your place. That he wanted to keep you there for all eternity. "You're doing well," he agreed. "But if you are as good as you say, you will have to take more of it," He paused, and as if to reassure you, he placed a fatherly hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing the space where he had disappeared between your lips. "You can do it, can't you?"

But he wouldn't last long. The feel of your lips, your wet mouth around him, the sight of you on your knees would be enough to make him come. 

"Look at you," he growled. "On your knees, where you belong. Sucking kepus' cock like the whore you are." It was getting harder and harder for him not to just spill out on your tongue. He was close. He would not be long.  But he didn't want to end now, not in your mouth, not when the night was just beginning.

So he grabbed your hair and pushed you back, letting you catch your breath for a moment. You had done well. But he wasn't done with you yet. You stood up timidly, hesitant, and Daemon took his time to study your naked body. You were beautiful. Beautifully young.

"Now, on the bed, young girl," he ordered, "before I change my mind." You complied. A thick tension hovered between the two of you, the result of a forbidden game that was becoming increasingly dangerous. But Daemon loved it. He loved this game. And judging by your reactions, he wasn't the only one.

He stripped completely before joining you. His body was sculpted to perfection - and you couldn't take your eyes off him. With a tap of his index and middle fingers on your thighs, Daemon told you to spread them, which you did. 

You felt even smaller under him. 

"I'm going to enter you and you're going to take all of me." His hand caressed your cheek briefly - always that contradictory combination of softness and firmness that drove you crazy - before wrapping his hand around his own member and rubbing it against your pearl. He didn't seek to penetrate you right away. He teased you. Moving back and forth between your swollen folds. Slowly. Too slowly.

And finally, he pushed into you. The intense feel of him washed over you, stretching your opening nicely as he sank into you. He filled you in a way no one else had - he was wide. He was deep. You closed your legs around him, subtly undulating your hips to let him dive deeper. The sensation was divine.

"Such a tight little cunt," he growled. Your nails dug into his back and he grunted into the hollow of your neck, his pelvis thrusting forward to bury himself further between your walls, to split you open. To go deeper. To hit that spot inside you again and again. "Made for my cock only." You swallowed the rasp that escaped his lips, your hands searching his hair, his skin, every inch of his body.

Suddenly, Daemon emerged from your warmth and deftly flipped you onto your stomach. "On your hands and knees." Moaning, tearful, you tried to cling to the sheets with the desperation of a castaway trying to escape drowning. "Please," you begged, rolling your hips back. "I need you. Demon, please."  He chuckled.

From behind you, he lifted your chin. "Open your eyes," he ordered again, and you obeyed, finding yourself facing your own reflection. "What do you see?" he asked as he plunged into you again, his hands gripping your hips. 

The vision before you reflected nothing but lechery - Daemon moving inside you, from behind, inflicting punishing thrusts. You wanted to look away in embarrassment, your cheeks flushed, but you knew that would be disobeying Daemon's orders. 

So you watched as he ruined you.

"U-Us," you replied with a groan. You wouldn't last long. "Us," Daemon repeated. But your answer wasn't enough - wasn't good enough for him.  "And what are we doing, little one?" 

Your cheeks were on fire. Your whole body was on fire. The words he was waiting for couldn't pass your lips. It was too much. Everything was too much. "We are..." The words were confused. They jumbled in your head. "You're - you're...fucking me," you stammered. Daemon rolled his hips harder, deeper, while his fingers sought out your little bud to accompany his thrusts. "Such bad words for a pretty mouth like yours," Daemon reprimanded you, emphasising his words with a particularly brutal thrust. You closed your eyes.

You were about to –

"No, young girl. Not yet. First, I want you to look at yourself taking me so well." Your eyes met his in the mirror. His movements became jerkier, your breathing more panting. "Daemon, please," you begged, not really knowing what you were asking. You felt his fingers. You felt his member inside you. You felt his warm chest against your back. You felt too much.

"Now you're going to be a good girl and keep everything I'm going to give you inside you," Daemon grunted, between erratic movements that became more and more slippery. Your intimate walls were squeezing him perfectly and he wished the feeling would never end.  “I wonder what your boyfriend would say –“

As your climax washed over your entire body, you collapsed onto the mattress. Daemon quickly followed, pulling your hips up against him to bring your pelvis against his, and he poured himself into you, his hot seed flowing between your warm walls. He lay still for a moment, savouring the bliss of his own release.

You winced as he pulled out and lay back on the bed beside you. "You've made a mess," he said as you felt the combination of your fluids running down your thigh to the sheet. "And whose fault is that, old man?" you grumbled as you instinctively lay down next to him, seeking comfort in snuggling up to him, curled up against his chest. "Yours," he replied.  He put an arm around you to keep you close. 

"Daemon, I wanted to tell you -" you started, but you could feel that he was somewhere else. His body was tense, his jaw clenched, his head full of thoughts that eluded you, and you wanted to ask him what was wrong. 

What had caused this change in his demeanour? 

He'd had you in bed. He'd ruined you. He'd fucked you unholy. He made you feel things even Jace couldn't.

So why did he suddenly seem so distant?

The comfort you sought was short-lived. Daemon was already reaching into his suit jacket to grab his pack of cigarettes. Throwing his shirt over his shoulders, he walked over to the window and took a deep drag. You looked at him, your heart sinking. It was stupid. It was stupid what you were about to say and you immediately put it out of your mind.

He was married and you were young enough to be his daughter, what interest could he have in you other than a forbidden one-night stand?

Daemon didn't look back. He tried to reassure himself that it was just a void he was trying to fill. A fantasy he had fulfilled; corrupting you. He wasn't the romantic type. He wasn't the type to fall in love - his marriage was proof of that. He tired of people easily.  He wasn't a good person.

But perhaps the game between you two had gone too far, and the idea frightened Daemon more than ever. He'd thought he could just take what he wanted - be satisfied with that and then send you back to your routine. But when he saw you in bed, naked between the sheets, his heart skipped a beat. He hated the idea.

Because he wasn't sure he was in control of the situation anymore.

[mediumgayitalian]

The satellite dish at Camp Half-Blood would be better suited as a cereal bowl.

It hardly works. It catches a grand total of nineteen channels, twelve of which are news stations, and the final seven almost never have anything playing that’s actually worth watching. But the DVD player only ever works every third month, and the strawberry plants have to be watered, so on rainy days, the sixteen of them cram into the rec room of the Big House, organised, fight-reduction seating for as long as Nyssa can tiredly maintain it, and squabble over the remote.

“It’s my turn! Give it to me!”

“Quit whining you little twerp —”

“Will! Make her give me the remote!”

“Snitch! Snitch! Sherman, beat him up —”

Nico narrowly dodges Kayla’s dirty sneaker, sniggering to himself as Will and Sherman share, for perhaps the first time in either of their lives, an identical sigh of endless suffering, each grabbing one sibling and yanking backwards. They’ve really dug their claws in, so it takes a couple tries.

“Kayla,” Will warns, both hands clamped around her ankles, “if you don’t let go in three damn seconds —”

“Ellis sucks at picking channels!”

“Everybody sucks at picking channels! We got maybe four to choose from!”

“Seven,” correct several people at once.

Will rolls his eyes. “Forgive me. I forgot about the three toddler channels the rest of y’all babies are so enthralled by.”

“As if you don’t watch Sesame Street with as much childlike glee as the rest of us, Solace.”

“Can it, Diaz. Kayla, remove your nails from his face!”

A hand tugs on his sleeve. Nico glances over to find Austin’s big, pleading eyes, and since he is a massively weak loser, apparently, he sighs, mouth twitching when Austin wiggles happily, and plunges his hand into the nearest shadow.

He digs around for a second, trying to orient himself, and smirks when he sees his hand reappear across the couch, right in between Kayla and Ellis’ heads. He waits, watching for a break. Austin watches carefully next to him, hands still around his other wrist, and when the timing is right — a twitch in Kayla’s knee indicating an oncoming kick that even Will won’t be able to stop — he squeezes. Nico darts between them, snatching the remote for himself. He passes it to Austin with a wink. Austin points it to the TV immediately, clicking it to what everyone has aptly named the ‘Grandma Channel’ — twenty-four-seven footage of gardening set to quit jazz.

Thirteen groans — one cheer by Miranda, their lone ally — sound at once.

“You’re weak as all hell, di Angelo,” Billie informs him, obviously a fake gardener. Shame.

He makes a face at her.

Despite their troubles, the peace of the Grandma Channel does not last. In what can only be a coordinated attack, Nico and Austin are lulled into a false sense of security, entranced by a particularly satisfying timelapse of a grape vine, and when their guards are down, they are ambushed. With a deafening war cry, Harley is flung bodily on top of the two of them, landing with two gleeful elbows to Nico’s shoulder and Austin’s ribs, rendering them breathless and perhaps even close to death.

“No maiming,” Austin protests, wheezing.

“I’m telling Chiron,” Nico agrees, similarly struggling to reinflate his lungs. He glances at his medic boyfriend, also known as Judas, who only shrugs, smirking. His thumb is notably smeared with grease, a consequence of touching Harley no matter how many times Nyssa forces him to shower. Traitor. “No maiming is, like, the only rule here.”

Harley climbs off of them, elbows once again violating the rule on the way off. Nico actually feels his spleen compress into the size of an atom.

“Tough!”

The little twerp hands his prize to his big sister, who points it at the screen gracefully, as if she did not just use said brother as a weapon against two innocent people. Constantly innovative, those Hephaestus children.

Nyssa, on account of having hands like steel wires and a right hook that could make Muhammad Ali fall crying to his knees, is left peacefully alone with the remote. Nico glares at her, as he often does, with equal amount of hatred and awe. His emotions are widely replicated across the overstuffed couches.

She clicks rapidly through the channels, as she always does, fast enough that the sound echoes like static along with the rain.

breaking — jump! — traffic — learn — George — crayon — soil — sale —

She hardly rests in a channel for more than a second, cutting in the middle of sentences and even words, images flashing rapidly across the screen, swirling colour and skipping melodies, steadied by the roll of thunder, the patter of raindrops, the roar of wind and away of bending trees.

kids! — buy — gun — bridge — add — spade — colour — nine — east —

Austin sighs from beside him, sinking into the couch. Nico breaks away from the hypnosis for a moment to glance at the rest of the room and finds everyone else similarly entranced; eyes half-lidded and unfocused against the still-swirling TV, heads tilted back, curled into each other, limbs slow, fingers tapping quietly.

run — neat — rose — pasta — schools — closure — Sola — bumper —

“Wait,” Will murmurs.

gym — roll — climb — bush — accident — bud —

The old couches creak as Will shifts, Kayla pushed gently to the side as he moves forward.

“Nyssa, wait. Go back.”

The rain seems to mute itself. Nico is aware, quite suddenly, of the stiff set to Will’s spine, the odd quality of his voice. Nyssa, too, must recognize it, because she glances over at him, then slowly back to the TV, pressing the channel button once and setting the remote carefully on the coffee table in front of her.

No one grabs it.

“— terrible tragedy,” says a news anchor. “Unbelievably, really, Barbara, and something so sudden —”

“No,” Will says.

“Yes, Dave, always something you read about in old newspapers but never remember happens in real life —”

“No. No.”

He reaches for the remote but misses the first time, patting blindly on the table, and the second time, too, eyes glued to the bright screen. His hand scrabbles, nails digging on the old wood, increasingly desperately, but his eyes won’t move, face won’t pivot. Nico swallows, pushing back the sting of bile crawling slowly up his throat, the dullness in his ear, muffled like his ear is turned to a soundproofed wall. The hands he tells to reach over and hand the remote to Will don’t work.

“— almost makes me think of James Dean. That’s Naomi Solace, for those just tuning in, currently in critical condition from a head-on collision with a semi in Savannah, Georgia —”

Nico’s ears white out completely.

Will’s knees hit the floor.

———

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