#the line they walk on is so thin!!!! they know the other is dangerous and they love regardless!!!!!!!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism Boys - Meeting Your Parents

G/N. Headcanons on what your parents would think. Goo, Jake, Gun, Samuel, Ryuhei. Masterlists

Both are absolutely two sides of the same coin. Either way, your parents will be so charmed by Goo or Jake that they wish they were the ones dating him instead.

Goo is hilarious. In a mean bitchy way, that even though he is laughing at other people rather than with - he's laughing with your parents at other people so this slips pass their radar.

They are caught up with his quips and sharp tongue and honeyed words that they happily go along with this ride, trading numerous inside jokes by the end of the meeting, giggling together like a bunch of school children.

It helps that he's also dressed head to toe in hard to miss designer labels, and brings lavish gifts for them too. No, their affection and approval can't be bought but well, it doesn't hurt to try.

Jake is the son your parents wish they had, insult to their actual sons be damned. Or the person they wish they had met if they were twenty years younger, sexuality be damned.

And yes, Jake would pull out the cheesy lines like (gesturing to your mother) "Y/N, you didn't tell me you had a sister!" and dad jokes to your own dad. He would be so insufferably charming about it that it would inevitably work and win them over in no time at all.

Unlike Goo, so what if Jake's finances are tight right now? And his prospects are a little questionable? He clearly loves you and is a Good Guy. You two are young, he can work that out in due course.

There's a powerful aura emitting from Gun and your parents don't know what to make of it. Is it ok that you're seemingly with this dangerous man? With the unusual eyes and scar between his eyes?

This would have put their backs up more but Gun, to your surprise, is capable of showing exceptional manners. He is super respectful in their presence. Deep bows, good etiquette, and formal honorifics. They can't help but be reassured that if he is this respectful of them, then surely he will be of you.

Gun's demeanour is generally stiff and serious. He's quiet and doesn't talk much, though they don't miss the way he softens when he looks at you. Nor his patience when you revert back to being a sulky child when you're in your parent's presence too long.

They approve, mostly. But will always be a little uneasy around Gun.

At first glance, or first meeting, Samuel is clearly a guy that thinks a lot about himself. Unfortunately it shows to your parents too.

To his credit, his ego and confidence is inflated but the way he treats you is surprisingly tender. And despite the pedestal he sometimes likes to put himself on, he puts you on an even higher pedestal. Which can be both positive and negative. To your parents though, it's good that he obviously treats you well.

Sammy does turn on the charm a little, walking the thin line between flattering and smarmy - a bit like how he is with Eugene. Most of all, your parents are impressed with his prospects (something Jake, unfortunately, lacks).

Excellent career prospects, property, assets, finance. Even if he is a bit up his own ass, at least he can look after you.

Ryuhei has never ever met a partner's parent, and it shows with how tense he is. A complete surprise for you to see your happy-go-lucky puppy so anxious.

He relaxes each time you give him a small smile or squeeze his hand in a comforting gesture.

Your parents, to be honest, don't think much of him. Not to say they think he's bad for you, they just don't form much of an opinion of him during the first meeting.

The second meeting, however: 'Poor guy,' your parents think. He is wrapped around your finger and he's too head over heels to even kick up a fuss whenever you're being unreasonable or bratty.

He tries to charm them, which is a bit hit and miss but it's so so obvious how much he adores you and hangs on to your every word that even they become a bit worried about his well being and you taking advantage of him.

Not that you would... maybe.

[urno1luv]

your sana works are soooo… so good 😵‍💫😵‍💫

could you do possessive sana jealous fucking r after finding out one of the other members may have a little crush on r? ><

here it is ♡ hope u like it!!

tags: possessive/obsessive behaviour, cunnilingus (😝), fingering, dubcon? thinly veiled threats towards tzuyu/nayeon (😔)

_________________________________________

The atmosphere in the dorm felt different tonight, tense and charged. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it until Sana walked into the kitchen where you were grabbing a late-night snack. Her expression was anything but her usual bubbly self—her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes sharper than you’d ever seen them.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to keep the mood light. “Want some ramen?”

She ignored your offer, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. “I heard something interesting today,” she began, her tone measured but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head. “Oh? What was it?”

Sana took a step closer, her presence almost suffocating in the small space. “Tzuyu has a crush on you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Tzuyu? She’s just being sweet. It’s nothing serious.”

Her jaw tightened at your response, and she placed her hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you between her and the counter. “It’s serious to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden proximity. “Sana, it’s really not a big deal. I didn’t even know about it until now.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she said, her eyes boring into yours. “You don’t see how people look at you. How they want you.” Her voice wavered slightly, but the possessiveness was unmistakable.

She leaned in closer, her lips just a breath away from yours. “But they don’t get to have you. You’re mine.”

Your heart raced at her words, the intensity in her eyes pinning you in place. “Sana…”

“I mean it,” she continued, her voice softening but no less firm. “I don’t care who it is. No one gets to take you away from me.”

You reached up to gently cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re the only one I want, Sana.”

Her eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, and when she found none, she finally relaxed—only for a moment. Then, a sharper glint returned to her gaze, and her grip on your waist tightened, as she led you to her room.

“Good,” she murmured, her tone dipping into something darker, more dangerous. “Because I’m not just saying this, you know. I mean it. You’re mine. And I’ll make sure everyone—everyone—knows it.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words settle over you like a heavy blanket. “Sana, you don’t have to��”

“I do,” she interrupted, her voice firmer now. “I’ve seen the way they look at you. And now that I know someone in our group thinks they can take what’s mine?” She shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t think so.”

Her hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, until they rested just under your jaw. She tilted your face up to meet her eyes, her thumbs brushing over your skin as if to stake her claim even further.

“I don’t care if it’s Tzuyu, Nayeon, or anyone else,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-growl. “If they think they can compete with me, they’ll find out just how far I’m willing to go to keep you.”

You shivered, unsure if it was from her words or the way her touch sent sparks through your skin. “Sana…”

Her lips finally met yours, urgent and unyielding, cutting off whatever protest you might have had. When she pulled back, her smirk was unmistakable, her confidence radiating off her in waves. She sat you down, rather forcefully, onto her bed.

“Let them try,” she said softly, her voice dripping with finality. “They’ll learn soon enough. You belong to me.”

She leaned forward, pushing you down, the bed creaking with the sudden move. In the dim light, you can only see her eyes glinting, her tongue licking her lips in a slow pace, letting you drink in all the details. Her kisses trailed down, lower and lower, her mouth pressing hot kisses against your soft skin. A whimper escaped you, and you could feel your egotistical girlfriend smirking into your belly, her slender fingers unbuckling the belt on your jeans.

Soon enough, her tongue pressed against your cunt, eliciting a small moan from you. She licked long stripes for a few seconds before plunging deep into you, fucking you with her tongue. You were a hot mess, a thin sheen of sweat covering you, face flushed red from her actions.

She got up and positioned you so you were sitting on her lap, her arm snakes around your waist, her fingers entering you, and you whined into her neck, ready feeling stuffed. Sana only kisses your head, not responding to your pleas to slow down, her wrist already dripping from your slick. "Sana, sto-... stop.. mm.." She narrowed her eyes, only for her to tighten her grip on you, her fingers curling as she fucks you. You stifle your sobbing and moaning, not wanting to stop her but at the same time feeling overwhelmed.

"My love, you're mine. Let me make sure you remember that."

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

(tags from prev reblog)

You.

Very Correct.

You are so unbelievably correct about Animated Megashock. They are completely incapable of being normal about each other and it's the best thing ever.

Me every time one of my cool mutuals tells me I have good opinions

Real talk tho, TFA megashock lives in my head rent free. Megatron as a character is so fucking fascinating to me just because it's so hard to read his actual motives, but the clear, constant throughline you can always pick up is a DEEP distrust of everything and everyone around him. Even in the first episode, before Starscream tries to outright kill him, he tells him straight up that he doesn't want him going after the Allspark. He makes a grab for it alone because he just straight up doesn't trust anyone else with that much power. And then Starscream's bomb happens, Megs wakes up as a severed head with half his bits rearranged wrong, and he's on full alert all the fucking time after. He doesn't trust Sumdac, he doesn't trust anyone on Earth, he doesn't even trust his own Decepticons. He thinks LUGNUT of all bots might be out to get him, if only for a moment.

And the thing that's got me pacing around my fuckin room and scratching up the walls, other than pretty much every interaction megs has with shockwave through the whole series, is this one little detail in the Allspark almanac.

God. It's got me fucked UP.

Does Shockwave realize he's the only thing keeping Megatron from a mental breakdown? Does Megatron??? How close are they on a personal level, exactly? Because you don't just get mr. "I'm surrounded by enemies" to admit that on no uncertain terms in front of Primus and everyone unless he MEANS it, and he's PROUD of it.

That is the one bot he can depend on for certain. Shockwave is his stability, his rock, as reliable as the cannon on his arm (god the juiciness of their weapons being so similar too. Fuck. Just marry each other already). He is the trusty weapon he knows he can conquer with. And that's the closest thing to love Megatron would ever let himself feel.

I like to think Shockwave knows hes a weapon in the eyes of his leader and he wouldn't have it any other way. And a lot of that probably comes from how warframes were treated by the autobots before the whole Decepticon movement kicked up. They were assembled with the intent to be killers. Created to be powerful and terrible, treated as living weapons from the moment they came into existence, and hated for it.

To shockwave, Megatron treating him as a weapon is likely what he's come to expect. It's what EVERY warframe expects. But Megatron doesn't treat him as something dreadful for it. He doesn't look at him with disgust or fear or contempt when he carries out the exact destruction he's told to. He looks at him with pride. With a pleased smile. He's met with praise and tenderness. And after such a long time of being made to fight and destroy, only to be treated like garbage, it's probably pure euphoria to be told he's doing a good job at what he was created for.

He will never be good in the eyes of the autobots that made him to be destructive. He'll never be anything other than terrifying. But to Megatron, he's good enough. With Megatron, there's a right answer. With Megatron, he's okay with being a weapon because it finally feels right, if only because there's finally someone there to tell him he's done a good job.

They're both so fucked up by the system and their own trauma that they don't really know how to love each other in a way that's normal or healthy but that will not stop them from trying to love anyway.

[moonstruckme]

heyy, so this is my first time sending an ask, i dont know if u do repeated themes, but im so obsessed with bodyguard!james, maybe we could have some angst where he puts himself ia a dangerous situation to save reader and she gets mad/upset at him? love your work very much, they brighten my day🙌

Thank you for your request <3

cw: shooting, blood mention

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

James says your name, soft and worn with exhaustion. “Can you look at me, please?” 

No sooner do you oblige than your vision blurs again. There’s a cruel line across his perfect cheek, leaking blood where the glass sliced across it. Your fault. 

James sighs. “Sweetheart,” he says, knuckles finding your cheek. They brush away your tears without intent, less a purposeful act than a byproduct of a caress. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you insist. Your voice burns like fire, and yet you don’t remove his hand. Even furious with him, you crave James’ comfort. 

His expression tightens when you blink more tears down your cheeks. You wonder if it hurts. You wonder why he’s sitting here with you in your room instead of going to get his cut cleaned or patched or whatever he needs to do, but really you know. You’re always the priority. Even when the threat has passed and protocol no longer requires it, James will always take care of you before taking care of himself.

Your voice comes out softer without you meaning for it to, soft but not thin. “You shouldn’t have moved.” 

“It’s my job to protect you,” says James. 

“I was safe!” 

“You weren’t safe.” Now it’s him who’s being firm. James sets both hands to your shoulders, looking you in the eyes. Not angry, but ardent. “Someone was trying to hurt you. You were in trouble, and I needed to get to you.” His lips tilt slightly, not without sympathy. “That’s my job.” 

You chew your lip, tasting salt in the seam. He makes it sound so simple. So innocuous, too, someone was trying to hurt you instead of someone was shooting at you. James always plays things down this way, softening them into something less horrific, less violent. Another way he protects you, you suppose. 

You’d been going down the hallway with James, chatting about something useless, when the large window you were walking beside sprouted a hole. Your next step stalled, perplexed, and in that time two more holes appeared, with cracking sounds and the tinkling of broken glass on the floor. You and James moved at the same time, his hand reaching for your arm a heartbeat too late as he retreated toward one side of the window and you—stupidly, considering it was a greater distance—threw yourself to the other. 

By now, James’ team knows the shooter was likely some sort of sniper; no one with a gun could have made it onto the property and the bullets were fired singularly instead of in a spray. A spray, you probably wouldn’t have survived. 

The shooting stopped when you were both away from the window. You looked at James across it as you pulled your knees in tight, making yourself small between that window and the one behind you. The air in your lungs felt dry and stale. James was looking back at you, eyes wide but face controlled as he scanned you over. 

“I’m okay,” you said. Whispered, though you don’t know why. 

James nodded, standing. “Stay right there,” he told you. 

You only had a second to be concerned about why he’d say that before he was running back across the window. Your body tensed on instinct, but you were too slow to stand as glass sprayed, punctured by another bullet. James landed with his body covering yours. 

You thought he’d been shot. For a handful of panicky, heartbreaking moments, you’d searched for the wound, feeling for wetness at his neck, his side, his heart, until he managed to catch your hands, whispering, It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re okay. 

There’d been no more shooting after that. James had spoken to people in his earpiece, and you’d both stayed hidden, and eventually someone had said back that you were clear to go. Now James is sitting in front of you on your bed, alive but bleeding and looking like he might like to hug you if you let him. You haven’t let him. 

He watches you gnaw on your lip. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

You scoff. “As if you get to talk.” 

James smiles, but you don’t smile back. You’re not ready for that yet. It fades as a new wave of tears crests your cheeks.

“I don’t want you to protect me anymore,” you say weakly. “I don’t like when you get hurt for me.” 

His brows bend, big thumbs moving soothingly, almost absently, over your shoulders. “You can’t get mad at me for that,” he says. “It’s how it needs to be. You know why.” 

You sniffle. “Because it’s your job.” 

“Because it would kill me if anything happened to you.” His eyes bore into yours, deeply earnest. 

“James…”

“It would destroy me,” he says. 

You look back at him. Your heart feels like it’s beating in the hollow of your throat. You’re no less upset with him, but now there’s another feeling in the mix, not new but inconsistent. James’ eyes dip to where you’re still chewing your lip. He reaches for it, thumbing it free from between your teeth. 

“Stop that,” he pleads. 

You swallow. “You can’t just say that.” Can’t pretend he’s here for any reason other than it’s where he’s paid to be. Can’t act like he cares about you half as much as you do about him. 

James looks wounded. “Why not?”

“It’s not fair.” 

“I don’t think you’re being very fair. You were in danger, and I did what I needed to get to you. You can be angry at me if you want, but I don’t see how I earned it.” 

Your face is hot again, emotion prickling just beneath your skin. “Because I’m not the one who gets hurt, James!” 

“I know.” His voice goes soft to counter your loudness, his hand moving back to your cheek. A warm touch over warmer skin. “I can’t be sorry.” James’ lips touch underneath your eye. You tilt up into them, and he turns his face down. “I can’t.” 

You taste your own tears on his lips. James kisses you gently, coaxing, not wanting to take any more than you can give. Your throat closes as you push your hands up his shoulders, wanting to prove it to him; that you can give, and give, and give. He tempers you when you get too frantic, pulling you back with doting touches. 

You open your eyes to run a thumb gently beneath the line on his cheek. Emotion steals your breath. “I’m sorry for this,” you manage. 

James covers his hand with yours to kiss it. “It was my decision.” 

“A stupid one.” 

He makes an amused humming sound, noncommittal. “We’re okay, though, aren’t we?” 

“What, you think you can just kiss me and I’ll instantly feel better?” It’s a bold thing to mock, when your head is still buzzing and your lips feel warm and tingly. 

“No,” says James, sincerely, “of course not. What can I do?” 

You look at him, fighting the urge to take your bottom lip between your teeth again, if only to see if it feels different. “It wasn’t not helping,” you admit. 

The smile that takes James is so overwhelmingly sweet it almost does make you forgive him for everything. Almost. As his lips close over yours again, you think you can find it in yourself to make it all the way eventually.

[corpsekiller]

i have nothing to say for myself, this is just very self-indulgent. despite it all, i still hope you like it <3 though it isn't proof-read yet, so please be kind and ignore any typos!

PAIRING. pro hero!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader (barista)

WARNINGS. language, mentions of blood and scars, katsuki is sorta an arrogant piece of shit

MASTERLIST

currently thinking about pro hero!Katsuki in his early 20s who refuses to fit into social norms — he shows up to press conferences dressed in sleek black clothing, the sleeves of his turtleneck rolled up to show off the tattoos covering his scarred arms, muscles tensing and flexing beneath his inked skin as he reaches for the water bottle his assistant placed next to the microphone.

Silver rings adorn his fingers — heavy jewelry that catches the flashing light of cameras snapping picture after picture with a dangerous glint that matches the sharp smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth when a journalist asks a peculiarly intimate question about his love life. He barks out a laugh, low and rough, followed by a careless fuck off, that's none of ya business — a reply that causes her to blush and scramble back into her seat as the next reporter gathers the courage to speak up.

When he‘s off duty, Katsuki is seen walking down the busy streets of the city in ripped jeans and heavy combat boots still stained with the blood of the villain he fought mere hours ago, the black tank top he wears stretching across his broad back and clinging to his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

Each movement shifts the thin fabric just enough to reveal more of the intricate dark lines of ink that trace his arms, curling up from his wrists to wrap around his biceps, traveling along his shoulders and disappearing under silver chains dangling from his neck to sprawl across his back and up to wrap around his throat.

Blood still seeps from an open cut beneath his exposed collarbone and bruises blossom on the edge of his clenched jaw, tinging the bare skin of his face in deep purple and blue that causes passers-by to gasp in mere horror. Some of them point at him, others only whisper behind raised hands, gaping at him with a hint of fear and admiration.

He only gives them a knowing smirk — the wounds he unashamedly carries from the battle are nothing but a badge of honor to him.

There‘s something so unapologetically captivating about him — a certain kind of controlled violence in every step he takes, an intensity that dares anyone to approach and promises a challenge if they do.

People scramble out of his way without even realizing they‘ve done it. Katsuki deliberately continues his path down the crowded sidewalk, casually adjusting the flannel shirt tied low on his waist before he enters a small coffee shop around the corner and ignores the crowd of fans that follows him soon after, heading straight past the queue as if the entire place belongs to him.

Perhaps it does, judging by the star-struck gazes of every customer he walks by, letting him pass without a single complaint.

"Americano," he says bluntly, voice low and rough, letting his words sound more like a command than a simple coffee order. He doesn‘t tack on a please, merely pierces you with a sharp glare as if he expects you to immediately drop everything you‘ve been doing to make his order.

Of course, he's right.

For a moment, you only stare at him. His hair is tousled, ashen strands disheveled from his fight against another villain you‘ve watched on the news earlier, but now that he‘s standing right in front of you, so close that you can see the small scar that runs along his cheekbone, you notice that his body isn‘t only decorated with blank ink.

No, there are piercings, too many for you to count in this short span of time, but the sight alone causes your knees to buckle. There's a silver barbell going through his eyebrow and two studs glint along the side of his nose, but what catches your attention the most are the delicate rings that adorn his lips, catching the light just at the corners of his mouth that are now quirked up into a devilish smile.

"Uh, coming right up!" Your voice comes out a little shakier than you‘d like and you clear your throat, quickly dropping the task at hand to busy yourself with the espresso machine and make his coffee as fast as possible, because—

Well, it's Dynamight.

You can feel his eyes on you as you work and although you don‘t dare to look up, too focused on not messing up, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the machine — the set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow and the way his piercings glint dangerously when he clicks his tongue in mild impatience.

He leans against the counter, tattooed arms flexing as he adjusts the rings on his fingers and runs a hand through his hair. The fangirls behind him squeal with excitement, screaming incoherent phrases at him that not even you can decipher, though he doesn‘t seem to pay much attention to them anyway. Instead, he‘s solely focused on his order and, briefly, on you.

After a few minutes, you finish up, managing to keep your hands steady as you place the cup in front of him.

"A-Americano... for you," you mumble, trying to keep your tone even as if your pulse isn‘t racing just from standing so close to him.

Katsuki’s gaze drops to the cup, then shifts back to you, something unreadable in his eyes as he lifts it to take a slow sip, watching you over the rim. For a second, you think you catch the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his pierced lips before he carelessly tosses a few bills on the counter — more than enough — and nods, turning to leave without another word, his attention back on the door and the crowd still clamoring for a piece of his time.

Katsuki is nearly out the door when he glances back and offers you a sharp grin, letting his tongue dart out to lick over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes wander over your figure with such intensity that you momentarily forget how to breathe until the coffee shop around you begins to spin from the lack of oxygen.

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you with the faint scent of coffee and leather, and the lingering thrill of an encounter you know you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Taglist: @justwolosers

[rikosseen]

Dad!Gun x Reader: Family

@live-laugh-die006 - A little different from the others ;p

There’s a small fluttering movement that courses through Jonggun’s chest. It makes him twitch. Makes him squirm. Makes him nervous. It’s not unwelcome, however. It’s not a bad feeling at all.

His lips press into a thin line, and his eyes glaze over your sleeping figure before it shifts back down at the small, crying, little thing in his arms.

“Shh,” he coos groggily.

For a time, Gun had been avoiding the infant, disregarding the child’s presence here and there, trying to make the most minimal contact with the baby as possible. The whole concept of family is so utterly foreign to him, and he doesn’t know how to go about it; the tenderness within the household feels overwhelmingly alien to someone like him.

You said-—reassured him that everything would fall into place. But as he’s cradling the little thing in his arms, he feels conflicted, overstimulated, and uncertain. For the first time in his life, he feels somewhat terrified. Terrified at what he might do-—the danger and pain that he might inflict.

As his eyes meet the infant’s, he’s transported to his youth in Japan, to the shadows of his past within the syndicate, and the absence of care he received as a small child. He wonders if the cycle will repeat itself-—how could someone who was never nurtured tenderly offer any such care to another? Jonggun’s head spirals as he contemplates if you’ve ever thought of him as a burden, considering he’s never truly done anything substantial. But the thought ventures too far from his current sanity, and he immediately feels guilty for the doubt.

Fool.

You’re stupid for staying by his side. For wanting this.

The child hiccups, its cries subsiding as Gun continues to rock back and forth, allowing his mind to sink deeper into muddled, tangled strings.

.

The nights repeat themselves, and Jonggun finds himself picking up the crying baby for what seems like the fifth time. Heavy lidded, he pats the child’s back before stopping momentarily to shake off the tired. The baby cries louder, and you stir in your sleep. Gun grunts at this, and trudges around to soothe the infant.

“Needy, aren’t you?” He grumbles, holding the small figure close to his chest.

As he looks down to check on the child, it nestles its face into him. Jonggun’s fingers twitch involuntarily as the cries continue. What on Earth is the issue-?

Sniff

Oh.

Softly sighing, Gun reaches out to grab a clean diaper from inside a cabinet, his hands working quickly and efficiently to clean up his baby’s mess. The cries gradually fade, allowing steady, deep breaths from both you and the little one to fill the room. After gently placing the child down in its cot, Jonggun turns around to join you in bed again. Before he can walk off, however, small fingers wrap around his one large index. Gun freezes and looks down at the unexpected contact, his usual stern expression suddenly faltering. The uninvited fluttering feeling in his chest stirs, and the man stands rooted in place for a good few minutes. Reluctantly, and with another grunt, he sits on the ground next to the crib, resting his head on its wooden frame.

As sleep envelops him, Jonggun considers being the different Shingen this time.

[pearlymel]

Ooo I know! It's just a little thought

What if capitano and y/n had their first fight in front of their kid?

"I told you I'm fine." You try convincing your ever so worried husband for the nth time.

The thing was, ever since you gave birth to your daughter, it's like he had a leash on you, not in a bad way. Capitano only wants to protect you and his daughter, and knowing his position as the fatui Harbinger, it had become difficult to keep an eye on both of you 24/7. So he trusts that you would tell him everything by the end of the day.

Capitano's protective nature was both endearing and infuriating at times, but you often appreciated his care. Today, however, his overprotective streak was starting to get under your skin.

The argument started as a simple disagreement about a minor decision, but had quickly escalated into a fiercer discussion.

"i want to keep you and our family safe." He said firmly, and he wishes you'd stop there to understand him.

"I only brought her with me to the market so she can learn how to socialize with people, and for her to experience picking treats with me."

"You were fine this time." he retorted, his voice taking on a slightly higher tone. "But what about the next time?"

You grit your teeth together in frustration, because really, this is getting ridiculous. "Maybe if you didn't think so much about it—"

He doesn't even let you finish before he speaks back, "How can I not think about it? Every time you leave this house, every time you're out of my sight, I can't help but worry." He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, it's rare that he's ever arguing with you, usually when you're upset with eachother, he usually stays quiet.

"You don't understand. My job has shown me the worst of Humanity, the things they're capable of. I just want to keep you safe." Capitano holds on both sides of your arms, "i trust my men enough to accompany you. But i can never be truly sure that you're safe without me." He's upset, you know it by the way his eyebrows wrinkle together.

But you're not convinced just yet, "our daughter wants to go to the park sometimes. Do you know how many times i had to stop myself from refusing her everytime she frowns at me?"

Capitano's expression hardened again at your words, his jaw clenching tightly. "The park is dangerous," he argued back while applying a bit more pressure on your arms, "It's too open, too vulnerable. There are too many unknowns, too much that could potentially harm you and our daughter."

"It's not like we are going to die." You bluntly respond and it makes his eyes widen, even the sentence makes him shiver. He's one and only fear, not seeing you both because of one mistake.

Just as he parted his lips to answer back, a faint sound—a sneeze coming from the corner of the closet. One you recognise so well that it makes you stiffen in your place, and you notice Capitano pressing his lips into a thin line.

You both turn your heads until met by the little girl attempting and failing to hide on the side of the giant closet.

"she's watching," you whisper, glancing back at him and he nods before sliding his hands off you.

"You can come out," he called gently, his voice softer than the previous argument.

He knelt down on one knee as she stepped out from her hiding spot, his eyes wide with innocence and remorse for the argument she had witnessed. "Come here." He encouraged her, his arms opened slightly for her. And she hesitantly walks at first before taking confident steps towards the comfort of her father's embrace.

You join them after, kneeling down at their level and your husband opens his other arm to squeeze you in with them. Capitano's arm wrapped around her small form, holding her close against his chest.

"I'm sorry you saw us arguing," he murmured, "We didn't mean for you to hear all that." You continue softly.

Your daughter's head turned towards you, her eyes filling with tears as she heard your apologies. She looked between you and Capitano, her lower lip trembling slightly. It's like children can mimick their parents current emotions.

"Your mother and I just had a disagreement. We didn't mean to scare you."

"is everything okay?" She whispers quietly while fidgeting with her fingers together, "Yes." You both instantly respond.

her expression is still uncertain. "We promise," you reassured her again before he gives further more reassurance "Everything's okay, angel. Mama and papa are fine. We're not mad at each other. We're just... going to talk things through, okay?"

She then starts slowly nodding, "that's my brave girl." His lips curl upwards as he strokes the strands of her hair.

"and we will take you to the park."

Your daughter's eyes widened, a small gasp of happiness escaping her lips. She looked up at you, her eyes seem to sparkle even.

Meanwhile, Capitano's eyes narrowed at your declaration. He shot you a warning look, silently reminding you of his previous disagreement.

"... With your father of course." You laugh quietly and his shoulders seem to relax, "fine. We will all go."

"yay! Swings!" The little girl grins while excitedly holding her hands together.

"well, aren't you weak for the little angel?" You whisper to your husband, giving him a small smile, already having forgotten about your argument.

Capitano holds you both closer to him, as if relieved to have this little family in his life, the only thing that makes everything more bearable, "she has me wrapped around her little finger, just like her mother."

The link to my short capitano series :p

[mooooonnnzz]

Dad!ford head canons plzzz

Who Knows How Long I Loved You

Stanford Pines x child/teen!reader

✧ stanford raising you from baby to teen!

✧ takes place in the 80's so its young stanford

✧ gender neutral reader!

✧ 3,1k words

✧ i got so carried away with writing that i deviated from hc and made it to a full blown story so i had to cut it

✧ there will be a part2 and it's gonna be angsty!!

✧ requests are still open!

❤︎ Rapid eager knocks resounded in his shack. Ford jolted awake, completely lost in a sleepy haze. He looked around hurriedly as he slowly woke up, eyes blinking slowly. He let out a low groan as he ran a hand down his face. His hand stopped halfway to get caught in a piece of paper that stuck to his cheek. He grimaced in disgust. He was probably drooling in his sleep and made the mistake to fall asleep on his paperwork. Ripping off the paper off his cheek, he leans back in his chair. With sleep still clouding his mind, he forgot about the knocks on his door. That was until another chorus of knocks rang out. Throwing his head back, he sighed a long sigh. Standing up from his chair, he stumbled out of his office while adjusting his glasses that were lopsided on his face.

❤︎ Approaching the front door, he swung it open. The harsh cold wind of December swooped in the shack. A chill ran down Ford’s body as he hugged himself for warmth. “Hello?” He called out, looking out into the white beyond in search of the person who was knocking on his door. To his surprise, there was no one there. Only footprints that were deeply embedded into the snow that lead out into the woods. Shrugging, Ford began to close the door. A quiet coo of a baby reached Ford’s ear and he abruptly stopped moving. Peeking his head out of the door, his eyes trailed down to his porch and there laid a little baby wrapped in a thin cloth. His mouth hung open in shock. Who would leave a baby out in the middle of a snowstorm? Taking another look around the shack, he couldn’t find or see anyone near. Kneeling down to the floor, he pushed the door to open it a little more. He reached out for the baby slowly. He was so unsure of whatever was happening to him. What is going on? Where is the mother of this child? Who would dare to abandon a baby? Nonetheless, this deep into the woods!

❤︎ His grabs onto the baby and awkwardly shuffles them around his arms. For one last final time, he looks around to again find no one. Closing the door, he looked down to the baby that was cradled in his arms. The baby gave a toothless smile to Ford and his heart melted right then and there. Shaking his head, he told himself he wasn’t going to get attached to you. He had no time to take care of a child and with his line of work, it would be too dangerous as well.

❤︎ That night, he spent his time scanning a book that was filled with every resident’s of Gravity Falls phone number, dialing each number. He asked around, wondering if anyone was in search of a missing baby. Each call led him nowhere. Everyone either had no clue on what he was talking about or didn’t even bother to answer his call. He slammed the phone back down on the receiver, cursing under his breath. Taking care of a child, especially a baby is tough work and Ford wasn’t going to leave this baby on another person’s porch. Rubbing his temples with his thumbs, he could feel the starting aches of a headache brew inside his skull. This is going to stunt his research. Walking over to his room, he saw the baby sleeping peacefully on his bed. “Are babies even allowed to sleep on a bed like this?” He asks himself. Seeds of doubt and concern began to grow in his head and before he knew it, he was researching absolutely everything about taking care of a child.

❤︎ Ultimately, he made the decision to keep you. He trusted no one to take care of you and the only person who was suited to take care of you was your mother and she abandoned you on his doorstep, which practically left him no other choice but to take you in as his own. The first few months were extremely taxing on him. He thought he’d be able to leave and finally take his research outside of the shack once the winter bled into spring, but it was like you knew when he left, because the moment he stepped out of the shack; you were bursting into tears. Your heartbroken sobs could be heard all around the woods! And feeding you was another task, he didn’t know what foods to properly feed you since he had no baby food stocked up in his shelves. He would’ve gone out to get some if it wasn’t for the horrid snowstorm that encased him inside. He resorted to feeding you bland mash potatoes, which took you awhile to warm up to. There many times where you slapped away his hand, splattering potato goo all over the walls. But once the spoon entered your mouth, you were suddenly crazy about the potatoes. Even seeing Ford making the potatoes made you babble excitedly. That held you over and once the winter was over, he was able to go out and get you baby food. Although, he had to get a baby carrier and hoist you on his chest once he learned you hated being left alone.

❤︎ There’d be nights where he would lie awake in his bed, thoughtlessly staring up at the ceiling. The only noise that was heard in his room was the soft deep breaths you took in your sleep and the occasional creek of your crib that Ford rocked with his hand. He laid there, basking in the comforting feeling that blanketed his body. He’s never felt so much peace before. How could a baby change so much in his life in only a matter of a few months? His head turned over to you, eyes landing on you. He felt his heart clench in adoration for you, something he’d never thought he would feel in over a million of years. Kids were never in the equation for him, but the sudden addition of you in his life made the grueling journey of his a little more worthwhile.

❤︎ Teaching you how to speak was such a delightful experience for him. He’d start his lessons by sitting you up on his bed with a few pillows behind you to support you. Then, with a pile of flashcards he made himself, he would point at the object, fruit, ect and sound it out. At first, you’d cock your head to the side curiously, babbling about something before falling to your knees and crawling towards Ford. No matter how many times you’d look at him with a blank confused expression on your face, he would still laugh equally as hard as he did the first time. When you started catching on and attempting to sound the words out with him, Ford would beam so brightly and swoop you in his arms and babble on how you’re so smart.

❤︎ “Okay, kiddo. What does the cow say?” Ford asks. You clapped your chubby little hands together, mouth opening and closing as you stared at Ford with a smile. Ford laughs, motioning to the picture of a cow in hand. “Don’t look at me,” using his pointer finger, he moved your head toward the index card. “Look at the card.” He points at it. “What is that on the card, kiddo?” You look at the card. “C-Cow!” You said. Ford erupted in a gleeful cheer. “Yes! Good job.” He has such a proud dad smile on his face. “You’re such a smart kid, you know that?”

❤︎ He never thought he’d enjoy looking for baby clothes. The prospect of buying kids clothes sounded boring and mundane. He thought he would buy a few articles of clothing and call it a day, but it’s been over an hour since he entered the baby store and he’s been looking at cute clothes and throwing them in the cart. “What do you think, kid? You like the shoes?” He placed the baby shoes on top of your little feet. You mindlessly babbled in response and he took that as a yes. “Great! I like them too.” He put the shoes inside the growing cart full of clothes, shoes and accessories. He would stand in front of a mirror and hold out a onesie and put it in front of you, ask if you liked it and if you responded with incoherent babbles that was a yes, but if you just stared at him that was a no. So far, you’ve been saying yes to everything he showed you. Once the cart started to get overloaded with baby items, he decided to purchase his findings. While putting the clothes down for the worker to scan, they sprouted a conversation with Ford. “First time being a dad?” Ford froze in his tracks, the word Dad circling around his head. Was he a Dad? Does this make him a Dad? He looked down at you and you looked up at him with a smile. He looked over to the cashier. With a hesitant nod, he said, “Y-Yeah. I’m a first time Dad.” The cashier smiled at him. “Enjoy the baby phase while it lasts, they grow up too fast.”

❤︎ And grow up you did. You were no longer a baby who yelled random gibberish. You were now a well renowned 5 year old! Speeding down the halls and causing trouble wherever your child's heart chose to wreak havoc. Ford had to swoop in and take you away from whatever device you were messing with before you broke it. “What did I tell you about messing with things that aren’t yours?” He said, placing you down on the sofa where all your toys and crayons reside. “Not to touch,” You said, grumpily crossing your arms over your chest. “Right, so why do you keep doing the opposite of that?” He crossed his arms over his chest as well, raising a curious brow. “Because I want to be like you! I want to play with them.” You puffed out your cheeks, staring down your shoes with a glare. “But those aren’t toys, kiddo. They’re very dangerous.” He tells you, ruffling your hair. “When you’re older I’ll let you touch my devices,” He says. “And maybe…you can build one of your own?” That piqued your interest and your attitude melted away and turned into happiness. “Really?!” You looked at him with stars in your eyes. “Yes, really.”

❤︎ Adventures out in the forests are way more entertaining now that you’re older. Back then, all you did was sit in a strap on a baby carrier and ogle at the pretty little things. Now, you can comment on things and show off your findings to Ford. “Dad!” You called out, picking up a flower from the ground. “Look at this!” You run towards him, waving the flower up in the air. He smiles, kneeling down to your height. No matter how many times you say it, he could never get used to you calling him Dad. “What is it?” He has his book flipped open to a new page, pencil ready in hand to draw the new discovery and its properties. “It’s a flower that makes you sparkly, look!” You shook the flower over your arm and little twinkling specs of glitter floated down to your arm. “Forever glitter!” You cheered, spinning around in a glittery tornado. Ford laughed at your silly antics, drawing you in the mess of sparkly glitter in his book.

❤︎ There’s books filled with drawings of you and little entries of things you did that Ford thought was worthy to write down to remember. Various cute little photos were plastered on the pages and on nights where he’s busy in the lab, for a quick break, he’d open the books and revisit the memories and photos of baby you to ground himself.

❤︎ The fridge is stamped with many drawings you've scribbled down on a paper with crayons. Even though they're not the best, in his eyes they are masterpieces. Especially the crudely drawn version of you and him holding hands with the words 'Happy Father's Day' messily written on top. He finds your messy writing so cute and he has a small little debate with himself whether he should help you practice your handwriting or keep it the way as it is.

❤︎ Since you were homeschooled, you didn’t have friends really. At first, Ford wanted to build you little robot friends. He was seriously on board with the whole idea but what stopped him was the idea of you going out one day, for whatever reason and being incapable of talking to humans because you were so used to talking to robots. That sent an uneasy chill down his spine. So whenever he’d have the time, he would take you and him out to parks where you were able to socialize with kids. Ford feared you’d be bullied like how he was for being so shy and quiet, but you were carefree and talking to so many kids Ford couldn’t believe it. At the end of it, you made a few friends that stuck around for a quiet long time.

❤︎ "Dad, what is that?" You point to the gnome that stood perfectly still on top of the table. Ford jumps in surprise. He was so wrapped up in his drawing of the gnome, he failed to realize you were creeping up to him. "Hey, sweetie." He greets. "Do you want a closer look?" He looks over to you, jerking his head to the gnome. "Yes!" You cheered. Setting his book and pencil aside, he picks you up and sits you down on the table. "This is a gnome." He tells you. "His name is Schmebulock." You reach your hand out towards gnome. "Can we keep it?!" You eagerly ask, grabbing the gnomes hat. "No can do, kiddo." He flicks your hand away from the gnome. "And be gentle." He softly scolds you. "Can he talk?" You poke the gnome. "Can you talk gnome!" The gnome turns over to you and blurts out. "Schmebulock!" Your head jolts back in shock. "Is he supposed to say that?"

❤︎ Ford never knew when exactly you were born so he decided to celebrate your birthday one the day you appeared on his doorstep. You knew that Ford wasn’t biologically your Dad, but you didn’t have to be related to him by blood to be called your father. Your birthday’s were spent doing whatever you wanted. He’d wake you up in the morning with your favorite breakfast and blast one of your favorite songs. While scarfing down your breakfast, he would ask you what you wanted to do for your birthday and whatever you replied back with was what you and he did. An adventure in the woods? Done! Spending the day rotting away watching TV together? Done! Anything you wanted, he’d grant you. He never truly took account of what that cashier said all those years ago until you turned 17. He would never admit it to you, but he cried a lot more than he’d like to say. In a flurry of tears, he wrote in his journal on how heartbroken he was. The page was stained with a bunch of tears. But who could blame him? His baby was all grown up! If only he cherished those days a little more.

❤︎ Trips to the mall was a frequent outing you an him partook on days off. "What am I spending all my money on today?" Ford may act like he dreads the times where you strip him dry of all his money, but in actuality, he loves surprising you with the things he told you no to. "Dad, can I get this?" And it's a cute little plushie you found while venturing into the store. Ford does his best to play up a very stern Dad act. Pursing his lips into a thin line, he shakes his head no. Defeated and ultimately disappointed you walk back to the shelf with your head hung low. It's not when you come back that you see the very exact same plush in his hands. "Oh!" He feigns shock. "How did that get here?"

❤︎ Another thing he'll never admit is that he doesn't like when you go off with your friends for hours. Up until you reached your mid teenage years, you and him were glued to the hip. Partners in crime if you asked him! And being alone in the shack is so reality shifting that he can't bring himself to do anything but lock himself in the lab until you come back. Anything reminds him of you and all he could do is stare somberly at them before burying his head in a book of his. "Dad?" You enter the shack, closing the door behind you. It's quiet, too quiet. Heading down the shack you found him asleep on a book. You couldn't see much since his head was laying on it, obscuring most of the text but what you were able to see was a drawing of baby you wearing his glasses. "Oh, Dad..." Your hand lays on his back and his body visibly relaxes. Since that day, you vowed to yourself to never stay out for long with your friends.

❤︎ “Being your father has been one of the best things that has happened to me.” Ford randomly admits on one summer evening. “You’re so sappy.” You reply, stretching yourself on the couch you’ve conquered as your own since this morning. Ford grabs you by the ankles and lifts them up, allowing himself to sit down on the couch. “Hey! Who said we were sharing.” You jokingly protested. He gets himself comfortable on the couch and rests your legs on his lap. “I said,” He looks over to you, just like how he always did when you were a baby and were sleeping soundly in your crib. Only this time you were no longer a sleeping baby. “But I mean it, kiddo. You’re one of my greatest achievements.” He says, patting your legs. A wobbly smile pulls to your face. You never truly say it out loud, but everyday you thank whatever force that pulled him to take you in.  “Now what’s on TV?” He asks himself, turning his attention to the TV. “Where did you put the remote?” Before he could begin fully searching for the remote, he gets attacked by a hug. “I love you, Dad.” You whisper, hugging him tightly. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[roses-for-rosalyn]

Cowboys

Ellie x Reader

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Summary: things go right then wrong then right then wrong then right

Wc: 6.4 k

For the ao3 girlies

Cw: cowboy! Ellie x fem! reader, drinking, reader gets drunk, Jesse (again), lesbian touching and yearning, kissin', little fight, cleaning wounds (yea again shh), smut!, inexperienced reader (not innocent tho), oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! and e! receiving), switch! reader and Ellie, and as always no use of y/n

Minors DNI (fr)

a/n: This is months in the making. Thank you for your patience, those of you who kept supporting me through all this time even with my lack of activity I'm giving you a virtual forehead kiss. I really hope you enjoy it, I started to really love these characters, I like making them happy. I highly recommend reading the past chapters, but if you want to jump in I won't discourage you!

before you read! DAILY CLICK

★・・・・・・★

You drunkenly fumble with the buttons of your bodice, biting your lip with intense concentration in an attempt to complete the simple task. Your fine motor skills have reduced to that of a toddler. Thank god tomorrow is Saturday. 

The front door creaks open just as you manage to get to the halfway point. You look up at Ellie as she walks in, she removes her hat and places it gently on the wooden table. She looks down at the floor as she unties the bandanna from her face. When she looks back up you can finally see her sun-kissed cheeks and perfect lips. You missed looking at her. She’s staring right at you with those emerald green eyes, and you stare back, hands frozen on one of the stubborn buttons keeping you from falling into your soft bed. 

You hastily look back down before she can say anything and focus on removing enough clothes so that you can sleep comfortably. You don’t notice her approaching you until you see her boots step into your line of vision. You look up and you suppress a gasp of surprise when you register how close she was. She smells slightly of cigars and pine; it’s intoxicating. Her breathing is a little faster than normal, barely noticeable, but you tend to notice every little thing about her. There’s a nervous look in her eyes, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the windows.

“Need some help?” Your eyes widen a bit in disbelief, you didn’t think she would touch you again after you made her feel your scar. You thought the feeling of her fingertips drifting up and down your skin would simply be something you dreamed about happening again.

“Just gimme a minute, I can do it.” And you focus on your dress once more. As much as you wanted to feel her warm hands against your skin again, part of you felt like you were forcing her into it. Some tiny piece of you was convinced there was something wrong with you for feeling like this. For wanting her to touch you in ways you had been told your whole life should only ever want from a man. 

Her hands gently grab yours and lower them to your sides. She wordlessly begins to unfasten your bodice. She takes her time, you watch her slender fingers work at the buttons one by one. You could feel the heat of her hands through the thin fabric of your chemise. She moves achingly slow like she was afraid you were made of porcelain. Your breathing grows heavier and heavier matching Ellie's as you watch her careful maneuvers. She was so close that her warm presence became magnetic in the cold desert night. You subconsciously lean towards her little by little getting so close that if either of you flinched your skin would meet with the other’s.  

Finally, she got your dress undone. You both stand perfectly still, knowing once you leave this moment everything will be different. 

Maybe you didn’t have to.

You look up at her, she feels you staring, her eyes meet yours. You slowly move one of your hands to cup her jaw, encouraging her to look directly at you. Her gaze flicks from your lips back up to your eyes. You lean into her, pressing your forehead against hers. Your lips are so dangerously close. She looks almost scared. 

“Y-you don’t wanna do this darling.” she’s practically out of breath, as if she’d just run 10 miles. You could feel her soft lips move against yours. 

“I think I do,” you reply. And with that, your lips meet hers. 

This was it; the feeling you had been searching for your entire life, and it felt so much better than you could have ever imagined. You feel her hands cup your face and her featherlight touch gives you butterflies. She had always been so careful with you. You never knew you were missing that gentleness until you felt the way she would hold you, the way her fingers would glide across your skin with such caution. She never touched you without wanting, without purpose. Until these couple days spent with her, you didn’t know that someone could care for you like that. 

You could swear you felt her everywhere. She deepens the kiss a bit, getting hungrier. She laces one of her hands into your hair while the other presses you impossibly closer to her by the small of your back. Your hands snake into her soft auburn hair, earning a quiet groan from the cowgirl. 

Every breath that she releases you breathe back in, becoming completely immersed in her, feeling her, smelling her, seeing her, hearing her all around you. You wanted to stay like this until you knew nothing else, until you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. 

And then she pulls back, taking all of it away. She presses her forehead to yours.

“We should stop.” She says breathlessly, looking at the wooden floor. 

“Why?” you ask with slight desperation in your voice.

“You don’t even know how to keep going from here or what it means if we do. I know that.” She says with defeat. “I can’t do this to you.” She looks up at you with a barely suppressed grin, “Plus you’re a little drunk.”

“But I want you to,” you almost whine, you want her so badly. She gave you a taste just to rip it away, “I promise I do.” You fiddle with the buttons of her shirt in a desperate attempt to convince her to keep going. “Besides, you don’t get to decide what’s best for me.” 

“Alright, alright” she smiles a little at your stubbornness, “we can talk about this tomorrow, but for now you should get to sleep.” As much as you hate to admit it she was right, you could barely keep your eyes open. 

“Ok,” you whisper. You give her a quick kiss on the cheek before you walk toward your bed. You sit on the edge and watch Ellie take off her shoes, then her belt, then her suspenders. You felt something start to flutter in your stomach as you saw her undress. She didn’t notice you staring until she was done, she looked at you, waiting for you to say something. “You wanna sleep in a bed tonight?” You ask, hoping she would at least do that if she wouldn’t keep kissing you. 

Her eyebrows raise in surprise for a moment, “I’m more than ok sleeping on the fl-”

“Please?” 

She must have seen the desperation in your expression because she barely hesitated before saying, “Move over.”  You do as she says and she sits on the edge of the bed. She takes a moment to just look at you, her eyes moving across your body as she allows herself to see you how she’s always wanted to. “Turn around.” You’re confused but you turn onto your side, facing the wall. Then you feel her lay down behind you. She wraps an arm around your stomach and pulls your body to slot perfectly into hers. You’re sure this was the best thing you’ve ever felt- besides the kissing. You’re not sure if you could go back to how you were living before now that you know what it’s like to be held by someone so strong and so, so softly. Her warmth becomes yours and it just feels so nice. 

** **

You wake up feeling a presence behind you. You almost panic until the memories of last night flood your mind. You weren’t used to the feeling of someone wrapped around you. You’re not sure you would ever get used to that feeling. 

Her chest rises up and down against your back and you can feel her breath on the back of your neck. Very slowly you try to turn around to face her, trying your best not to wake her up. The bed frame was squeaky, but thankfully the only sound you made was the rustling of sheets against your skin as you turned towards a sleeping Ellie. 

The sunlight filters through the window, illuminating her delicate features. You’ve never seen sunlight compliment someone so well. Her long eyelashes rest against her cheeks, and you notice they match her hair, a little red tint exposed by the unfiltered sunshine. You haven’t seen her this relaxed before, it almost felt too vulnerable, too intimate. 

You lightly touch a strand of her soft hair to ensure you’re not dreaming. You tuck it gently behind her ear and she stirs a bit. You freeze, feeling caught. Her eyes slowly blink open, a lazy smile forms on her face. You can’t help smiling back at her. 

“Mornin,” her voice is heavy with sleep and the sound of it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Good mornin’, how’d you sleep?” 

“Reeallyy good.” she sounds like she’s still half asleep with how her words lazily flow from her lips. Her eyes haven’t left yours.

“Good.” You can’t help the smile that seems to form on your face everytime she looks at you. before you can blink she’s sat up and looking down at you and your lips. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“Can I kiss you again?” You can’t help but blush and let out a nervous giggle, “Please?” You nod and without missing a beat she leans down and presses her lips to yours. So soft and gentle, she takes a deep breath through her nose like she’s relieving a desperate craving. She cups your jaw and furthers the kiss, you sigh and melt into her. You swear you were made for her. 

She moves so she’s straddling your hips. One hand slowly travels down your body, while the other laces into your hair. Her fingertips graze down your neck, over your breasts, down your stomach, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. 

“Was dreamin about you.” She whispers. Her hand sneaks under your dress, she makes her way up your leg ever so slowly so you can feel the way her skin moves against yours. You sharply inhale through your nose when you feel her fingertips graze the hem of your underwear and she takes it as a sign to tease a little further. 

“Was it a good dream?” You manage to squeak out as she lightly grazes her palm over your clothed center. She continues up your body and lightly grasps your bare waist with her warm hand.  And before you could blink she was back to kissing you hard, like she was starving for it.  

“Mhm realllyy good.” Her voice is still gravelly from sleep. 

She breaks the kiss and just looks at you for a moment. She had this expression on her face you’d never seen before, seemed like a mix of admiration and hesitation. She tucks a stray piece of your hair behind your ear and sighs before her eyes wander from yours. Her hand retracts from under your nightgown, she pulls it down making sure it’s back in its place. The absence of her hands was so jarring. 

You couldn’t help the “what-” that slipped from your lips at the loss of her intoxicating touch. 

“I have someplace to be.” She smiles gently before kissing your forehead and rolling out of bed. 

“Will you tell me where? Where have you even been disappearing to?” 

“I’m looking for someone.” She says simply as she begins to put her clothes back on. 

“Who?” A bit of frustration comes through in your tone, tired of her mysterious behavior. 

“You- uh- you remember what I said about Joel last night?” She clips on her suspenders.

“Yes, you said he was your friend.” You sit up in bed.

“Well, someone killed ‘em,” She sits down and begins harshly putting on her boots, “and I know if it happened to me he would hunt the person down and make sure they paid for their crimes, so-”

“You want to find his murderer and murder them?” 

“Well, I’ll make her pay for what she did in a way that I see fit, so yes.” Her voice becomes tight with frustration at your questioning. 

“Who do you think is gonna come after you for murdering her, Ellie? This isn’t going to help anything-” 

“How the fuck would you know that?” She looks up from her half-laced-up boots, her voice is laced with venom. 

You’re too stunned at her tone to respond, you’d never heard her like this. She’s so blinded by guilt and anger that no one could stop her; that much you could tell. You just watch as she finishes tying up her shoes and leaves, grabbing her hat on her way out. 

An unwelcome silence falls over your small house for the first time in a while.

** **

Maybe she won’t come back. 

You’ve been going back and forth between reading and staring out the window. Hoping you would see her horse appear somewhere on the desert horizon. 

You decide to distract yourself by making a little batch of tea. Each step takes up your entire brain, you carefully calculate every leaf needed, and every muscle movement, making the task take as long as possible. 

You move out to your front porch with your book and a cup of tea and settle in the rickety rocking chair facing the desert landscape. The sun begins to settle in the sky and as it sinks lower, you get angrier. You put your book down and storm inside, making a beeline to your precious bottle of moonshine. You crack it open and fill the teacup to the brim with the foul liquid.

You settle back down on the porch and sip the bitter drink until the sunlight disappears and the words in your book begin to become a little blurry. You trudge inside and settle at the dining room table, wondering what to do to occupy your time. Maybe you were too drunk to make a fire, but it’s worth a shot. You begin piling wood and twigs in your small fireplace, your movements are clunky but eventually, you get a flame going. You giggle in celebration. 

A knock rudely interrupts your accomplishments. You don’t even care who it is anymore, you’re just annoyed you have to get up from the floor. You groan as you move your body to stand up. You manage to walk to the door and open it up. 

It’s Jesse. The alcohol hits you all at once now that you’re standing and you have to lean against the door to keep yourself upright. 

You blurt out a confused, “Hi,” 

“Hi… I thought you had your “bodyguard” staying with you.” Damn, he remembered.

“Yeah sh- he- he uh left.” Jesse just looks at you, confused by your drunken behavior. “What are you doing here?”

“Is he coming back? I- uh just wanted to check on you after last night, make sure you got home ok.”

“Okay, well thank you but I’m fine… a lil’ drunk that’s all. And I don’t know if he’ll come back. Not the best communicator.” You don’t move to let him in, frankly, you don’t want the company right now. 

“I can’t leave you here drunk and alone in good conscience.” He says with feigned concern. He steps closer to you, closer to the doorway.

“Oh, I’ve lived out here alone for a while now I think I’m ok-”

“At least let me stay until your bodyguard comes back.” He’s officially invading your space with his eagerness, you suppose no isn’t an answer he will accept right now.

“Um, alright then.” You hesitantly turn your body to make room for him in the doorway. He walks right through and makes himself comfortable at your small dining room table. You did not like the space he took up in this house. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“What do you have?”

“I’m afraid I’m limited to moonshine at the moment.” 

“Moonshine is fine.” He nods. “You make it yourself?” The last thing you desired right now was small talk. You prayed Ellie would come back at this point simply to get him to leave. She sleeps on the floor whereas he might force himself into your bed. 

“Yes, it passes the time. And does the job better than any whiskey I’ve had.” You turn around, grab a glass from the small cabinet in your kitchen, and fill it a fourth of the way up. This man was a waste of moonshine. 

“Who taught ya how to make it?” 

“My daddy taught me the recipe before I got married.. before he died.” You almost successfully hide the wavering in your voice at the mention of your father. 

“Oh, sorry for bringin’ it up, sweetheart..” You turn around and see him looking down at his hands in his lap in embarrassment. 

“It’s alright,” you fake a smile, “I don’t mind talking about him.” And you really didn’t, you just did not want to talk to Jesse about him. You set the moonshine in front of him and he takes a swig. His face screws up a bit at the flavor but he smiles at you and invites you to sit down across from him.

** **

Jesse’s told about 10 different boring stories about his travels, getting drunker as you sober up. You poured him a couple of glasses of moonshine hoping he would get tired and leave, but he seems to get more and more settled in his chair as time goes on. His mannerisms get more and more outlandish as the minutes pass. 

In the middle of his sentence, your front door bursts open. Moonlight floods into the small house and a familiar silhouette stands in the doorway. Ellie’s eyes meet yours for a split second before she rushes to stand behind your chair. The cowgirl possessively places her hands on your shoulders. She glances at you and greets you with a gentle “Hello darlin’” before she looks down at Jesse with narrowed eyes, “I think it’s time for you to leave.” She says in her deep “male” voice. It takes every fiber of your being not to smile in relief. 

Jesse’s eyes widen as if he’s been caught. He stands up abruptly  “Yes, sir.” He replies in a meek voice, “Goodnight ma’am.” he tips his hat bidding you farewell. One day you’ll have to ask her what she said to Jesse that made him so terrified of her. 

“Goodnight, Jesse.” You keep your voice sickly sweet until he swiftly makes his exit, closing the door behind him a little too hard. 

You both silently watch him clumsily climb atop his horse and begin to ride away. He can barely hold himself up, but he’ll survive. You look at Ellie as her narrowed eyes observe the man-child riding his horse back to town, barely able to hold himself up. Her face had a few scratches and new bruises. A thin layer of dust coated her whole body. Her shirt has specks of blood covering it and you aren’t sure if it’s hers. 

Your hand reaches for her cheek, your palm meeting with the scratchy fabric of the bandana still on her face. You gently turn her to face you and her whole body relaxes at the sight of you. You take your other hand and reach behind her head, loosening the knot of fabric at the base of her skull. You allow the bandana to fall slowly and you realize how sunken and bloodshot her eyes are, her lip is slightly busted, and a small gash lines her freckled cheek, and yet she’s looking at you like a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day. 

You cup her cheek and rub your thumb along her soft skin. She leans her head into your palm, surrendering to you.

She whispers a meek, “I’m sorry, darlin’” as she places a gloved hand over yours. She won’t meet your eyes. You can hear her exhaustion through her voice. God knows what she’s been through today. 

All you can do is smile sadly and say, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You pull your hand away, even though everything in you is protesting against it. You walk over to the small tub you keep by the stove and dip a cloth into the cool water. The feeling of the cold liquid dripping down your arms grounded you. You take a breath as you wring out the excess. Turning around you see Ellie sitting in one of your wooden chairs, hunched over in exhaustion. She takes off her boots and then places her hat and gloves on the table and turns to look at you. You can’t read her expression and you’re not sure you want to. You tentatively walk toward her and pull up a chair across from her. You sit down so close to her that her knee rests between your thighs. You lean forward and begin carefully wiping away the grime from her skin. 

“Feel like you’re always takin’ care of me.” She says softly, slightly wincing when you start cleaning up the gash on her cheek. 

“You’re always givin’ me a reason to take care of you.” You won’t tell her that you didn’t mind being the person she came to to wipe her face clean, the person she trusted to tend to her wounds- big or small. 

“Yeah, but then who takes care of you?” 

“I suppose I just never needed it.” You move the washcloth gently across her forehead.

“Would you ever let me?” Her voice is almost inaudible.

“Let you what?” You pause your movements. 

“Let me take care of you.” She gently lowers your hand from her face, her eyes unrelentingly staring into yours. She forces you to realize how close she is to you, her face is mere inches from yours. 

“But,” She leans even closer to you, her chapped lips brushing yours, causing you to have to catch your breath, “I don’t need it.” Her breath grows heavier, smelling of whiskey and a hint of something sweet.

“I think you do.” You can feel her lips move against yours as she speaks. You linger there for a moment, waiting for her to give in. Her hands thread into your hair, and she pulls you into a desperate kiss. You put your hands on her chest to steady yourself at the impact. Her warm tongue makes its way into your mouth and you let out a little whine at the feeling. The sound seems to motivate her further, she reaches for your bodice and begins fumbling with the buttons, slowly undoing them. You use one hand to unlatch your overskirt as the other remains on Ellie’s chest. As you both stand your clothing practically melts off of you. Ellie encourages your bodice off your shoulders and onto the floor, doing the same with your skirt, leaving you in your thin chemise.

As she inelegantly leads you to the bed you begin undoing her stained button-down. You run your fingers under her suspenders and pull them off her shoulders earning a hungry groan from Ellie. The back of her legs hit the edge of your bed and she sits down. You look down at the disheveled cowgirl and feel something flutter in your stomach at the sight of her. She’s looking up at you like a starved woman, her eyes are dark, her mouth hangs slightly open breathing heavily. You mindlessly bring your thumb to her lips, tracing the plush skin. Her expression grows hungry at your small touch. 

Ellie’s hands grip your waist encouraging you to straddle her lap. You grab her shoulders for stability and kneel on the small bed, settling yourself on her thighs. She gives you a quick peck on the lips before dragging her own gently down the side of your neck.

“You know,” she takes the soft skin into her mouth evoking a gasp from your lips, “I wasn’t gonna ask,” She kisses her way across your collarbone and she’s so gentle until she begins sucking your skin into her mouth, sending a surprisingly pleasurable feeling through your body. She’s ensuring there would be remnants of her left on you- even after this. “But what was he doing here?” 

You snap out of the trance her soft lips inflicted on you at the mention of Jesse. “I-I don’t know,” She won’t stop kissing you, moving the neck of your chemise down to gain more access. Your brain is almost too scrambled to form a response. “He-” She reaches a hand under your nightgown, moving her palm up your thigh slowly. “He said he wanted to check on me.” You take a much-needed breath, trying to get your heart to stop beating out of your chest. 

“Mm,” she murmurs, sounding doubtful. “Sounds like he wanted to catch you alone.” She moves her hand up higher, brushing against your underwear, your hands clutch at the fabric of Ellie’s button down, a futile attempt to ground yourself. 

“Maybe,” you manage to squeak out.

“Looks like I was the one who ended up catching you alone.” She smirks.

“Good,” you breathe out.

Every little thing she does earns a reaction from you. She smirks at you, enjoying your struggle, “You’re pretty sensitive huh darling?” 

“Sounds like more of an observation than a question.” You were like putty in her hands. 

She lets out a short laugh, “You can still talk back though, huh?” She smoothes her hand up your stomach, stopping just under your breasts- she was hesitating. 

But you didn’t want her to stop, you couldn’t take her walking away again. “And?” You place your hand on top of hers and guide it over the plush skin of your breasts. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

“Oh darling,” She moves her fingers gingerly over your nipples, shooting an electric feeling right between your legs. “You have no idea what you're askin’ for.” She grabs both of your thighs and swiftly moves to stand up with you in her grasp. You let out a surprised squeak at her movements. She spins around so your back is to the bed and gently lays you down. The Cowgirl crawls on top of you and slowly drags your chemise upwards. She takes in every newly exposed inch like you were a detailed work of art, taking note of every freckle and birthmark. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You’ve never been this exposed to anyone before. Instinctually you start to move your hands to cover yourself up but she catches them. “Don’t.” She protests with a gentle sternness. She bunches the fabric up on your collarbone, keeping you bare for her. 

She moves impossibly closer, slotting her knee between your legs. She inches it up higher, higher, and then- oh. The pressure was perfect, it relieved the ache between your legs just enough to keep you wanting more. She places gentle teasing kisses between your breasts. You could lay here just savoring the feeling of her lips on your skin for the rest of your life. As if on queue her lips pull away for a moment but then you feel her warm tongue tentatively lick your nipple. She teases around it in circles before taking it into her mouth. 

“Oh god,” You gasp as you lace your fingers into her auburn hair. She lets out a beautiful little whine when you lightly pull. Now you understand why she likes your whines and whimpers. You would do anything to get her to make that noise again, it made your stomach flutter in a way that felt so good. You begin mindlessly moving against her knee as the ache between your legs grows stronger. She moves to your other nipple, teasing it before entrapping the sensitive bud into her mouth. She uses her free hand to pinch and tease the opposite one. Your back arches towards her, your body silently begging for just a little bit more. 

And Ellie obliges. She trails her free hand down your stomach and traces a finger lightly under the hem of your underwear, your stomach jumps at the feeling. Her slender fingers tease you over the thin fabric of your underwear. You quietly moan as she finds the sensitive bundle of nerves desperately craving her attention. She adds just a little more pressure and you tilt your head back as you take a deep breath. All of these new feelings are almost overwhelming- almost. It was the type of overwhelming where you wanted to see how much you could take, see how far the feeling could go. 

You begin to urge Ellie’s shirt off her shoulders exposing her bandaged chest as she continues her pleasurable assault of your nipples. You wanted to be able to see her too. You wanted to memorize the placement of every individual freckle on her body, you wanted to be able to draw her from memory, to know every part of her so well you could know her by touch alone. 

You reach for her belt buckle, blindly attempting to unclasp the metal as she overwhelms your senses. You throw the belt somewhere in the room, the sound of it falling to the floor is drowned out by the mix of your whimpers and Ellie’s labored breathing. You’re about to attempt to unbutton her pants when she halts her movements, “I can’t fucking take this anymore,” she quietly groans to herself.

“What-” You can’t even comprehend her statement-  until she makes her way down your body, dragging her nose down your abdomen, leaving a little kiss above your belly button. She leisurely pulls your underwear down your legs, exposing you completely. Before you can attempt to try and close your legs Ellie settles in between them, wrapping her arms around your thighs like it was second nature. She uses her grip to lift your thighs, forcing you to bend your knees, opening you up further for her. You watch as she litters kisses all over your inner thighs, occasionally marking the silken skin. 

“So perfect for me,” She runs her fingers through your drenched folds, your breath hitching at the foreign feeling. She teases her digits around your entrance before moving back upwards and circling around your sensitive bud. Your hands grasp at the sheets like a lifeline, not knowing how to react to this feeling. It felt so, so good. Almost too much but not enough at the same time. 

“Feel ok, baby?” She asks, seeming a little concerned at your almost panicky breaths. 

“Feels-” she doesn’t stop her movements to allow you to respond, you have to gather your wits to form a sentence. “-feels really, really good.” you say breathily. She seems to enjoy challenging you, she likes watching you stutter as she debilitates you with her expert hands.

“Wanna feel even better?” She challenges with a tinge of mischief in her voice. 

“How?” You barely form the question before Ellie traces her tongue up your slit. Your surprised gasp melts into a moan. Her warm tongue caresses where you crave her most, gradually picking up speed as you get accustomed to the feeling. She proceeds downward circling her tongue around your tight entrance, sliding it in and out of you at a steady pace. You mindlessly moan and buck your hips towards her, needing her deeper. 

You’re sure she can read your mind at this point because she pauses her movements and crawls back on top of you. She kisses you sloppily before encouraging your lips open with her ring and middle finger. “Get them nice and wet for me darlin’.” Your inner walls clench around nothing at her words. You swirl your tongue around her digits until she smoothly removes them from your mouth. 

She sinks back down between your legs and resumes her movements. She circles your dripping entrance with one finger and slides it into you at a painfully slow rate, opening you up for her a millimeter at a time. The pleasurable pressure in your abdomen begins a steady climb upwards. You cry out as Ellie curls her finger to hit the perfect spot. Her tongue and her fingers are turning your brain and body into jelly. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so well for me baby,” she praises. You are completely at her mercy as she sucks your clit into her mouth. Your hand swiftly reaches for her auburn locks, tugging on her hair the way you did before and she whimpers into your cunt, sending vibrations through your lower body.  

Just as you think you are at the height of the pleasure you could ever possibly feel she adds another finger inside of you, sinking her digits deep into your cunt. Pressure builds in your abdomen as she curls her fingers right into that spot that makes stars cloud your vision. The feeling in your stomach grows to an overwhelming peak. 

“You almost there darlin’?” She asks as she continues pumping her fingers in and out of you at a steady pace.

“I-,” She somehow moves her fingers faster, purposefully interrupting you. You knew because she couldn’t even hide her smirk when she did it. “I th-think so,” you mutter, not even really knowing what she means. What you did know is the feeling was getting tighter and tighter and something in you told you that when you finally released it, it would feel like heaven. 

Your moans grow louder as you lose control of your body. Ellie continues pleasuring you as the feeling finally peaks, “Come on baby let go for me,” And you do. Waves of pure ecstasy crash over you, your hips buck against her over and over uncontrollably as the sensation washes over your whole body. Strings of obscenities and Ellie’s name escape from your swollen lips as you ride out the high. 

She doesn’t stop until you're whining from sensitivity, weakly trying to pull her away from your aching center. You stare at the wooden ceiling while trying to catch your breath, processing whatever just happened to your body. You can feel Ellie sit up between your legs before she leans on top of you, placing her hands on either side of you so she doesn’t crush you. 

And of course she’s smiling. 

“You ok?” She asks as she cups your cheek. 

“Mhm, very ok,” you’re almost slurring your words. You nuzzle into her hand, wanting to be closer to her. She gently pinches your chin between her thumb and index finger, urging you slightly upwards so her lips could catch yours. You give in to her like second nature, tasting yourself on her lips. 

Your body is so tired and heavy- but you’re not done yet. 

“You want a turn, cowgirl?” You’re only half teasing. 

“Um, no you don’t have to- I don’t need-” She’s blushing, if you didn’t know better you’d say she was flustered. 

“What if I want to?” 

“Uh, then yes I suppose we could try something.” 

“So shy all of the sudden, baby,” you sit up- slightly startling Ellie, but she follows your movements, “You sure you’re ok with this- we don’t have to do anything I just-”

“No,” she interjects, “no I want you to.” 

“Good,” you smile, cupping her cheek before pulling her in for a kiss. You do as she did earlier and trail down the side of her neck, letting your hand wander downwards to trace mindless shapes along her abdominal muscles. You pick a spot and suck the skin into your mouth, her breath hitches at the feeling. Ellie shifts so she’s straddling your thigh, you feel her softly grinding against it and the feeling gives you butterflies. 

“I’m guessing we’re not getting this off tonight,” you graze your hands over her bound chest, watching it rise up in reaction to your touch. 

“N-no, that would take too long, I need you now,” she grinds against you a bit harder, silently urging you to continue. She nuzzles her face into your neck and whimpers a desperate, “Please,” against you. One day you would get that thing off of her, be able to enjoy her fully, but you wouldn’t make her wait any longer. 

“Just show me what to do, Ellie.” 

She wordlessly responds by unbuttoning her pants and then placing a hand on top of yours, steadily guiding it down her abdomen and underneath the hem of her pants. Your fingers drift past her warm pelvis and slide into her dripping folds. You hold in a gasp at the state of her, she must have been aching for this for so long. “Poor baby,” you mock pout as you look at her, eyes squished shut at the feeling of your fingers finally where she needed them. “You wanted this so bad, didn't you pretty girl?” She can’t even respond, just moves faster against your hand, her whimpers growing louder. You decide to try to give her more, you move your fingers towards her entrance. They slide into her with a surprising ease and she gasps as your digits slide deeper. She continues moving her own fingers in circles around her sensitive bud as you begin to curl your fingers towards yourself as she did to you. 

You watch her thoughtlessly rock back and forth against your fingers, her hair messily framing her flushed face, she looks beautiful. Now she was finally a mess for you, the feeling was addicting. 

You place a hand on her abs, tracing your fingers along the muscles feeling them flex and relax at your touch. She begins moving a bit faster. She whispers a mixture of fuck and your name in a whiny desperate voice that has you dripping down your thighs all over again. 

“Do-don’t stop,” She mewls, her head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, completely lost in pleasure. You feel her walls start to clench around our fingers, she softly moans at every thrust of your digits into her. Suddenly she contracts hard around you, “oh fuck,” she moans. She thrusts hard against your fingers as she reaches her high, you watch her face as she experiences the same ecstasy you just had, you almost came again at the very sight of her. 

You don’t stop until she slows down, practically collapsing onto you. “You are so perfect,” she whispers into your neck. 

You smile, “I know,” you softly comb your fingers through her hair, taming the kinks you created just moments earlier, “so are you.” You lean back, encouraging her to follow. Her head rests on your chest and you run your fingers through her auburn locks until her breathing becomes slow and steady. You count her breaths until your eyes grow too heavy to keep open. 

★・・・・・・★

Tags:

@elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @sakiigami@wishbones999 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @ellabssweetheart @lily-fics-11 @shiimer @spring-sparr0w @doeyedbambi @darlingoutlaw @4ntifanyx @tokiioryuii @hater1sthuman2nd @elliewilliamsblunt

I appreciate you all, it's been a rough couple of months lol. Just had some time on my hands because I got my wisdom teeth removed- gross. I'm sorry if this was bad I promise I tried my best to make up for how long this took and what better way to make up for it than some smut ?😈 <3

[illyrianbitch]

-ˋˏ MASTERLIST ˎˊ-

✨ indicates smut ♡ indicates a series ✰ indicates a one shot ↯ installment of series but can be read as stand-alone ☼ indicates a drabble ❥ are personal favorites last updated: 1/4/25 helpful links for palestinian aid

Azriel

♡ . —One Summer✨ (On-going)

One beach house, one festival, one summer to fall in love.

♡ . —An Education in Malice✨ (On-going)

With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

♡ . — The Anatomy of Dependence (Coming soon)

You and Azriel are drawn together by an unbreakable bond, encountering obstacles and triumphs across the centuries and finding your way back to each other again and again.

✰. —Death and His Reaper ❥

After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

↯. — Back to Our Roots

With the Acheron sisters out of town, you and your family plan for a quiet night in— just like old times.

✰. —Where I Left My Lover

After a brush with death, Azriel makes a difficult decision to protect you.

✰. —What We Make of What We're Made

When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

✰. —When the Heart is Still Longing ❥

Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on

✰. —Pretty Little Shadowsinger

Cassian walks in on you dressing Az in one of your dresses.

✰. —An Evening Reunion

Azriel comes home from a mission. You talk to him about your day, but he’s far more interested in you—and your silk nightgown.

✰. —Memories

While packing some boxes, Azriel is overwhelmed by memories of your relationship.

✰. —What Lies Between Us (On-going)

Azriel has spent years trying to escape the ghosts of his past, retiring into a self-imposed exile despite a promising career as a talented detective. When you turn up at his door asking for help on a recent case, his world is disrupted.

✰. —Body Count

Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

✰. —Safe✨

Azriel's night is troubled by a nightmare. He finds a soothing remedy in the arms of his mate.

✰. —Winner

You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

☼. —Melted

The ice cream is melting and Azriel’s never been more out of his element.

✰. —Accidental

Azriel accidentally likes an old photo while stalking your profile. A spiral into mortification follows.

Cassian

♡ ↯. —And I'm Thinking About Your Lips ✨ ❥

You and Cassian have been best friends since you were teenagers-- just friends. But one night at Rita's changes everything and now you cant breathe when you're around him and he can't stop imagining how you'd taste. ↯ Part One, ↯ Part Two

↯. — A Hobby for Two ❥

Cassian surprises you with a small gift. You spend the night teaching him how to properly enjoy it.

✰. —A Place For Dying

A mission with Cassian goes terribly wrong.

✰. —Words of Affirmation

Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

✰. —Plank You Very Much

Cassian gets roped into a Pilates class by you—and quickly realizes he’s in way over his head.

☼. —Tender

Cassian cuddles with you when you have a migraine

Rhysand

✰. —Insatiable ✨

There are countless reasons why you and Rhysand don’t work… but those reasons don’t seem so important when you’re tipsy in a bathroom with him inside you.

♡ . — Lights, Camera, Love! (On-going)

Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Lucien Vanserra

♡ . — Hidden Things (Coming soon)

Following a cryptic vision from Elain, Lucien finds himself seeking out an enchanted artifact at your shop in the heart of the Day Court. What he finds instead is a profound connection with you—and a version of himself he believed he had lost.

Eris Vanserra

♡ . — A House of Hunger (Coming soon)

Every Autumn court citizen is hungry for something; beasts starved for influence, desperate for control, ravenous for power. Your tastes are no different—albeit a bit specific. It's a deep craving that boils in the pit of your stomach, hot and heavy, all consuming. You’re hungry for revenge.

✰. —Blessed

Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

♡ . —Of Our Own Devices

Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother.

✰. —Handsome as Life and Poison

Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Bat-Boys (Reader x BatBoys)

✰. —Worth It

It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

✰. —A Helping Hand

Even most powerful males in Prythian need relationship advice from their best friend.

Mini-Series

♡ . — Mirthroot Mini-Series

Between dodging death and saving Prythian, its always nice to make time and enjoy one of The Mother's greatest creations: mirthroot. Reader x ACOTAR Characters

[theostrophywife]

toxic! theo who is your sworn enemy.

toxic! theo who struts through the castle halls with the other slytherins who you and your gryffindor friends hate with every fiber of your being.

toxic! theo who you get into screaming matches with, hurling insults left and right, and getting underneath each other's skin like no other.

toxic! theo who fights with you during the day but fucks you desperately at night.

toxic! theo who brings other girls to parties that he knows you'll be at just to make you jealous. leaning over to whisper in her ear and gripping her hips with the same hands that left bruises on your skin last night.

toxic! theo who stares right at you as some girl is kissing his neck, smirking because he knows it'll get a rise out of you as if it's not your marks littered all over his throat.

toxic! theo who clenches his fists and glares as you grind against some hufflepuff quidditch player whose name has long escaped you, smiling innocently as you raise your red cup in his direction and wink.

toxic! theo who licks his lips and feels the front of his pants tightening uncomfortably as you down the firewhiskey, wiping the remnants from the corner of your lips and sucking the juices off of your fingers so innocently.

toxic! theo who watches with barely concealed fury, dead eyes blazing as you place your date's hands on your hips, rolling them to the rhythm of the music and putting on a show for the whole party to see.

toxic! theo who gives you a warning look, danger lurking in his eyes as he curtly nods towards the dark alcove behind him, signaling you to follow. he doesn't look back to see if you've obeyed because he knows that you will. you always do.

toxic! theo who has you pressed up against the stone wall, the hem of your short dress hiked up around your waist so he can watch his cock slide in and out of your pretty little cunt.

toxic! theo who roughly tugs at your hair, fucking into you so brutally as he growls out, “think you can tease me and get away with it? you should really know better than to test me, dolcezza. what would your date say if he knew what a little whore you are for me?”

toxic! theo who tenses as you scoff, never balking at his possessive nature. “i’m the whore? you’re the one looking at me while that girl practically ate your face for the whole castle to see. I hope she likes the way my pussy tastes.”

toxic! theo who smirks, knowing that his cockiness will only further infuriate you. “aw, that’s cute. are you jealous, little lion? maybe I should pull back this curtain, hm? show everyone who you really belong to. do your friends know that you let your sworn enemy fuck you in the middle of their party? that you’re so desperate for my cock that you’d beg to ride me where anyone could see us?”

toxic! theo who levels a a challenging look at you, daring you to step out of line as his fingers curl around the thin fabric that separates you from the rest of the party, determination written all over his face because his threats aren’t empty. theo doesn’t give a fuck, he’d be more than happy to expose the two of you right then and there if it means having you all to himself.

toxic! theo who gets a sick sort of thrill as he watches the fire ignite in your eyes, scorching every inch of him with heat as you laugh humorlessly. “oh please, like you aren’t getting off on this too. you’d probably be thrilled if one of your little friends actually walked in on us. mattheo, maybe. he’s hot. I wanna know if he could fuck me better than you can.”

toxic! theo who grips your throat and slams you back, frustration written all over his expression while you merely smile because he’s giving you exactly what you want, indulging in the rough and hateful sex that you’d come to crave. “how many times do I have to fucking tell you? I don’t share. you can play your little games, but at the end of the day, we both know that you’re fucking mine.”

toxic! theo who you probably shouldn’t push, but you still do anyways because this fucked up little dynamic turns you on so much that you’re dripping, soaking him as he glares at you. “am I? perhaps I need a reminder, nott.”

toxic! theo who thrusts into you so roughly, splitting you apart with his cock and gagging your moans with his fingers as he hisses in your ear. “you’re such a fucking brat. i’ll fuck that attitude right out of you, principessa. now shut the fuck up and take it like the good little slut you are.”

toxic! theo who makes good on his promise, railing you until your eyes roll back, making you see stars as you cum with a cry. rough kisses bruising your lips as his hips stutter, spilling into you and filling you with his cum while he curses in italian under his breath.

toxic! theo who pulls out and stuffs all of his cum back inside of you before licking his fingers and tugging your ruined panties back on. “consider that a reminder. feel free to keep dancing with your little date. though I imagine it might be difficult with my cum dripping out of you.”

toxic! theo who smirks in triumph before you raise a brow, holding your chin proudly as you huff. “yeah? watch me, nott.” with every word, his short lived victory deflates as you straighten the front of his shirt with an innocent smile. “oh and if I were you, i’d cover up. wouldn’t want your date finding the marks I left.”

toxic! theo who panics as you pat his cheek, leaning in to leave another bright red kiss print on his skin. “find me when you get bored of that little ravenclaw of yours. maybe i’ll even let you eat my pussy, if you manage not to piss me off for the rest of the night. I always did like the view of you between my legs. it’s the only time you put that smartass mouth of yours to actual use.”

toxic! theo who is swearing up a storm as he watches you strut off, hips swaying side to side as he drips out of you, biting his lip so hard that he’s nearly bleeding when you toss your glossy hair over your shoulder and glance back at him, flashing a triumphant little smile. “night, nott.”

toxic! theo who knows he’s fucked, who knows that he’s going to keep coming back again and again, because he might be toxic but he’s met his perfect match in you. you’re just as crazy and hotheaded and insane as he is and he fucking loves it. theo couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else.

[rafecameronssl4t]

What is French for priceless? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

GIF by @baocean

Summary: Canon fic based on s3 ep 1 :)

Warnings: swearing, rafe being a dick but what's new lol

Word count: 1,640

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Watching from the balcony, you watch the sleek car come to a halt in the driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the afternoon sun. Rafe had mentioned earlier in the week that he was expecting someone from overseas to look at the cross. "To make a deal," he had said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

You turn on your heel, only to come face to face with Rafe. His tall, imposing figure blocks your path, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face. "You good?" he questions, his voice low and laced with concern. His eyes search yours as you stare at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. Your brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Fine," you reply in a monotone voice, unable to mask the skepticism you feel. The tension between you is palpable. You are wary of Rafe's dealings, especially the idea of bringing someone he barely knows to the house to inspect the cross.

Rafe's eyes narrow slightly as he gauges your reaction. "It's going to be okay," he says, attempting to reassure you. "These people are professionals. They know what they're doing." But his words do little to quell your unease.

You remember the stories you've heard about deals gone wrong, about the dangers of dealing with high-value artifacts in the market. Rafe, with his charismatic but unpredictable nature, often walks a fine line between legitimate business and dangerous ventures.

As you stand there, the man and woman approach the front door, their footsteps echoing on the stone pathway. You glance back at them, then return your gaze to Rafe, who is now watching you intently, as if waiting for you to voice your concerns. "I just hope you know what you're doing," you say softly, your voice tinged with worry. "This seems too risky, Rafe."

He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me," he says, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I've got this." You nod reluctantly, but the nagging doubt remains. As the front door opens to admit the visitors, you can't shake the feeling that this deal, like so many others before it, could lead to trouble.

~

"Again, thank you both for coming. I know it was a long way to travel. But I think what we have is..." Rafe trails off beside you, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that you find hard to match. You watch his profile as he glances at you, seeking your approval or at least some acknowledgment. "Is pretty worthwhile." He smiles charmingly, but you respond with a quiet sigh, unable to shake your apprehension.

"Yes, well, Michel is the most prominent antiquities dealer in the West Indies," the woman begins, her voice smooth and practiced. She is dressed in a sharp business suit, her demeanor exuding professionalism. You cut her off abruptly, your skepticism boiling over.

"How come I've never heard of him then?" you interrupt, your tone sharp. Rafe whips his head toward you, his eyes narrowing into a hard gaze. The tension between you is palpable, but you ignore him, focusing on the woman.

The woman pauses, looking between the two of you with a slight frown before Rafe intervenes. "I'm so sorry, my girlfriend is a bit tired. Still jet-lagged from our travels," he says, chuckling awkwardly. He places his hand on top of yours, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only makes you roll your eyes. The woman nods with understanding before continuing. "Unfortunately, he only speaks French."

"No English," Michel chuckles, a warm, almost apologetic smile on his face. He is a middle-aged man with round glasses and an air of authority. You turn your attention outside, feeling bored and restless.

"Yeah," Rafe chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "What is French for priceless?" His attempt at humor falls flat as you turn your head back at his words, your expression unamused. You observe the three in front of you, feeling like an outsider in this high-stakes game.

When the cross is unveiled, Michel's reaction is immediate and visceral. His eyes widen, and his breath catches as he stares at the artifact, almost awestruck. You watch closely as he steps closer to the gold cross, his fingers twitching with the desire to touch it. His translator, looks on in amazement.

Michel says something in French, his voice filled with reverence. The translator turns to Rafe. "May he touch it?" she asks. Rafe smiles, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Knock yourself out, Michel." As Michel feels the intricate design under his fingertips, Rafe looks to you for some sort of approval. You only glare at him, still skeptical and unimpressed.

"He wants to know where you found it," the translator says. Rafe shrugs, shaking his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We got it. That's all he needs to know. It's here. It's for sale. So, who can we get to buy it?"

Michel takes off his glasses, his face serious as he speaks. The translator translates his words with care. "For a piece of this value, there are very limited buyers. An institution, a museum." Rafe nods along, understanding the implications, but he looks deflated.

"But, he has a client in Barbados who will be interested," the translator continues. You tilt your head at her words, alarm bells ringing in your mind. "Rafe," you say firmly, trying to get his attention. "This is already risky enough."

He, of course, ignores your protests, his focus entirely on Michel. The anticipation in the room is thick, almost suffocating. "This client will have lots of questions. He'll want to meet with you in person," the translator says. At these words, you can no longer contain your frustration.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter under your breath, casting one last look at Rafe before storming out of the room.

~

"Y/n, I don't have time for this, okay?" Rafe says in a dismissive tone, his impatience evident. "I gotta get to Bridgetown, I'm taking the boat." From the first floor, you watch as he places a black duffle bag on the ground with a sense of urgency.

"Come on, Rafe. You don't even know this guy," you reason with him, your voice edged with concern. Rafe removes his sunglasses, glancing at Michel's business card with a nonchalant air. "You can't just go out and try to make a deal, Rafe. That's so risky!" Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he leans against the railing, looking down at you with a smirk.

"I can't?" he retorts in a mocking tone, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. "I know you think you know what you're doing," you call out as he walks back into your shared room, his presence filling the space with tension. "But there are people out there that know your dad is alive—no! Not just people, Pogues." You correct yourself, taking a sip of your drink, the frustration evident in your voice.

"Pogues, Pogues," Rafe mumbles dismissively as he packs a suitcase with determined efficiency. "Listen, they can't prove it, alright? They don't know where we are," he shrugs, walking back into the room again as you rub your forehead, already feeling a headache coming on.

"Your sister does!" you yell, the desperation in your voice growing. Rafe emerges from the room, his expression hardening. "Oh, Sarah does!" he calls out, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Listen, Sarah's not going to do anything, baby. She's too afraid, and if the Pogues show up, I'm just gonna handle it," he says in a calm tone, but his words do little to reassure you. You narrow your eyes at him, the anger bubbling up inside you.

"Oh, you'll handle it?" you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. "When have you ever handled anything for us, for your family? Huh?" Your voice grows louder with frustration. "Rafe, everything you touch turns to—"

Your words are cut off by the sudden sound of Rafe's hand slapping the wooden railing. "Hey! Hey!" he shouts, his eyes flashing with anger. You stare at him, shock evident on your face, as he takes a moment to calm himself down.

"Listen," he says, his voice now calmer but still laced with intensity, "I'm gonna sell the cross that I found, okay? That I saved, and when Dad wakes up—" You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you take another sip of your drink. "-okay," you mutter quietly, barely listening.

"—he's gonna see that I took care of it. Not my fucking girlfriend," he says in a belittling tone, his words cutting deep. You scoff, maintaining a calm composure despite the sting of his words. "Sure, Rafe. Sure."

"So, why don't you go have yourself another Tom Collins?" he shrugs, pushing himself off the railing with an air of finality. "While I go make us all a shit ton of money, okay?" He speaks slowly, his words dripping with condescension.

Your grip tightens on your glass, the frustration boiling over. Without thinking, you hurl the glass toward him, but it hits just below where he was standing, shattering on the wall. Rafe looks down at the broken glass, a smug smile on his face. "You missed."

Your breath quickens, each exhale laden with a mix of anger and hurt. “Get. Fucked. Rafe,” you seethe through gritted teeth, your voice a dangerous whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and stride away, leaving him standing there with that infuriatingly smug expression. “Love you too, babe!” he calls out sarcastically, his voice dripping with mockery.

[kazumist]

THROUGH THICK AND THIN .ᐟ

✩ — in which soshiro had forgotten the lengths of your love for him.

✩ — request: hi, can i pls request an argument with hoshina and how u resolve everything 🥹🥹🥹

✩ — includes: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader. hurt/comfort, angst if u squint. cw: arguments, implications of soshiro being injured but thats just it, soshiro is kinda mean Uhm, ooc!hoshina this is another experimental fic help me. wc: 1440. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

if there was one thing sharper than the blades hoshina soshiro wielded, it would be the words that escaped his lips.

hoshina knows how to sugarcoat his words. he considers himself a good talker—negiotiator, if you would. however, when it comes to more sensitive topics, that’s when it all starts to crumble down. 

he never expected for him to catch feelings, especially with the line of work he takes. it’s too risky. dangerous. worrying. but he fell as deep as the ocean could get for you. you accepted it. him and his line of work. him as a whole.

yet soshiro seems to forget that sometimes.

getting out of a mission unscathed was impossible. he would always have at least one injury planted on him. it was a repetitive game of russian roulette where either his injuries would be severe or light. and unfortunately for him, today was sadly the former. 

a knock was heard at the door of the hospital room he’s staying in. a mission had recently just finished—about three days had passed, and soshiro was unconscious for the first two due to how he overexerted himself. “come in,” he says. and to his surprise, he saw you opening the door.

soshiro hasn’t told you about him being hospitalized yet—so how?

“captain ashiro told me.” oh. so that’s how. well, he was aware that you had also built a friendship with his commander. and that was completely fine with him. it was awkward when you walked over to the bed, pulling out the chair for you to sit on. you refused to make eye contact with him while soshiro just stared at you.

neither of you has an idea of what to say.

“i wish you told me as soon as you woke up. i was worried sick when i heard the news about the kaiju attack and all.” you said, keeping your gaze focused on your fingers as they played with each other. he flinches slightly as guilt starts to bubble up inside of him. it was already five in the afternoon and he’s been awake since ten in the morning. he wishes that he told you as soon as he woke up as well.

however, there’s one thing that has started to creep onto soshiro lately—fear. insecurity, perhaps. he gets haunted by the thought that you would definitely be happier in someone else’s arms and that you would be more happy being bathed in someone else’s affection. being with a man like hoshina soshiro was dangerous, as if it were a gamble to play.

because you never know if you’ll still wake up to him being alive the next day. and believe it or not: hoshina was scared—terrified of that possibility. he doesn’t want you to be sad, he crumbles at the thought of you crying in the first place. so he made it a task for him to push you away. to be distant.

to be someone you would hate.

that’s the only way he could keep you safe.

“sorry. i didn’t want to disturb you.” bullshit.

“why…” you trailed off. soshiro noticed that you werent playing with your fingers anymore and that you were now clenching your fists. “why would you think that? soshiro, your health matters to me.” his heart also clenched when he heard the slight crack in your voice. “why would it matter to you? i could die any day.”

“are you being serious right now?” he hates it. he hates the way that the first time he saw your eyes today, they were filled with such negative emotions. anger. hurt. confusion. “do i look like i’m kidding?”

“soshiro, why are you acting like this? did i do something wrong? i know we haven’t seen each other a lot because we’ve been both busy.” no, you didn’t. this is my fault, but this is also for the best. is what he wanted to say—but he just swallows up his words. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not just ‘nothing.’ tell me what’s wrong, please? so we can fix it. it pains me when we’re like this.” it pains him too—it pains him so fucking bad. but hoshina soshiro is stubborn. so he will find himself accomplishing his task, whether it pains him or not.

because all he wants is the best for you, even if he wouldn’t be able to provide that.

— — — — — — — — 

he doesn’t know how things got so heated between the two of you. and he’s sure that you both might disturb the other patients who are confined in the room next to his.

“why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? i feel like an idiot, soshiro! what am i?! some fucking mind reader on what goes on inside your head?!”

“like i told you, it’s nothing for you to worry about! what can’t you understand with that?!”

“what can’t you understand with me saying it’s not just nothing?!”

“and what can’t you understand with me implying that you shouldn’t care anymore?! dp i have to spell it out for you?”

you weren’t sitting down anymore, and hoshina doesn’t dare to speak anymore. fighting with you was the worst. and this time, he fucked up real bad. “i… it’s getting late. i should get going.” you say, and soshiro could feel a part of him shattering when he heard you hold back a sob.

the next time soshiro saw you, he was on his day off (a day off he didn’t really want to take but captain ashiro forced him otherwise since the doctors told him he shouldn’t be making his body engage in strenuous activities just yet). and the first thing he did? he visited you. he knew you get off work early on fridays, making you free for the rest of the weekend earlier.

he knocks on your door, although hesitantly. he’s nervous as he waits for you to open the door.

and he’s grateful that you still opened the door for him in spite of your last conversation with each other. you didn’t say anything as you opened the door further, inviting him in. the awkwardness gave hoshina a rush of deja vu about the awkwardness in the hospital room.

“i’m sorry.” although these two words don’t just cut it so easily, he thinks.

“do you really mean it? what you said in the hospital?”

his breath hitched as he found the right words to say. if hoshina was going to be honest, he hasn’t thought much about what to do at this point. surely, he had achieved his goal that night, right? “yeah.”

“liar.”

he turns to you immediately, and you were already looking at him to begin with. “you’re lying, and i could tell that because you’re nibbling on your lip. you always do that when you lie. just tell me the truth, soshiro, please.”

why should he? would you accept his reason? would you accept the insecurities that haunt his every waking thought? would you accept him even though he said such mean things to you the last time you saw each other?

would you still love him despite it all?

you would. you always would. 

and so he explains from the very start—when and where these thoughts started in the first place. and you listen to him intently, absorbing every single detail he says. once he was done, you took a deep breath. 

“god, you’re so stupid. did you know that?” soshiro lets out a weak chuckle at that, avoiding your gaze. you cup his face with your hands, making him face you. “look at me,” he refuses. “soshiro, look at me.” he then complies, slowly trailing his eyes across your features before resting them on your gaze.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for me when it comes to this type of thing, okay? i love who i want to love. you don’t get to decide that i’d be happier with someone else. because i love you. i love you more than you could ever imagine, more than you could ever feel. remember that. engrave that inside your mind so you can never forget. you are the one i am helplessly in love with, soshiro.”

i love you. i love you. i love you. it repeats inside his mind. you are the one i am helplessly in love with. it echoes. soshiro feels stupid for attempting to become someone you hated in the first place. there was no way he could ever bear the possibility of you actually hating him.

how could he forget? you had already accepted him as a whole. through thick and thin, you will stand by his side.

[revelboo]

Sheeesh, First Starscream, then Soundwave, now Megatron?? Who’s next, Shockwave? ☠️

Nah, I’d only intended Megs, Star, and Soundwave here. Just wasn’t sure if y’all would be okay with reverse harems in your TF fics 😅

Everything Is Alright Pt 86

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Starscream.” Still following him, still trying to dig around in his head. Rounding on Soundwave, Starscream bares his denta. Seeing the communications officer let his hand fall. Knows that if the other mech dares to touch him, he’ll attack. Because all of this is his fault. Even if he regrets what he did, it’s far too late. Soundwave set him on this course and he can’t turn back. To keep you, he can’t hesitate, can’t waver. Glaring at Soundwave, he waits and the other mech just shakes his head. “Don’t do this.”

• “If you actually care about my mate, you won’t get in my way,” Starscream growls, wings flared. And he can feel the anger, fear, and desperation to protect what he has in the Seeker. Knows Starscream is walking a thin line, that he’s at risk of destroying everything he’s trying to keep safe. And that nothing Soundwave says is going to sway him from that goal. A fully bonded mech stressed past his limits is a dangerous thing, because he won’t stop. Can’t. Starscream brushes by him and he lets him go. Can almost feel the danger closing in. That he might be past the point of stopping this and all he can hope for is to save you from the fallout.

• Striding down the hall, Starscream’s hands won’t stop trembling. Determined even as he wants to grab you and run. To try to escape this even knowing he can’t. That he won’t be allowed happiness. Not as long as Megatron lives. He’s tried so many times to overthrow him, always failing. Always suffering for that failure. This time he has to succeed, because it’s not only him at risk. You’re his to protect, you need him. And he needs you.

• “Attempts to synthesize stable energon alternatives have been so far unsuccessful, but-” Lifting his head when Shockwave trails off, Megatron keeps sliding his servo up and down your back, amusing himself with how uncomfortable you are with his touch as you sit on his thigh, little hands in fists. “Lord Megatron, I realize it’s not my place to question you, but why?” Venting in amusement as Shockwave just gestures weakly with his cannon. Not sure if the other mech is more put off by having a human about or that you’re not in a cage somewhere. Or it could be that he’s touching you.

• “A learning opportunity for Starscream, that’s all,” Megatron says, servos curling around you as you inhale sharply. “Keep up your experiments,” he adds, flicking the servos of his other hand dismissively. All day there’s been a stream of visitors reporting in. Asking for him to mediate arguments, most of which seem fairly petty. As soon as this one leaves, he slumps back against his throne, free hand lifting to rub between his optics. And you’re realizing there’s two faces to Megatron. The intimidating warlord and this exhausted, over it version that disappears as soon as he’s not alone. Apparently you’re not worth keeping up the act most of the time, though. Head falling back, optics shuttered, he vents. “Tell me, pet. Do you really believe that traitorous creature can change?”

• “I think he wants to,” you say, soft voice wavering as he slides a servo up to rest against your throat, tapping idly. “If you’d just let him.” Huffing out a laugh, he glances down at your serious, little face. Amused that you seem to actually believe that. Poor little thing. You still don’t understand Starscream’s ambition. That he can’t help himself, clawing for power no matter the consequences. While he’s not sure what the Seeker saw in you that distracted him temporarily from his goal, he knows it’s just that. Temporary. Freezing when you lay your warm hands on his servo, Megatron nearly pulls his hand away.

• Lowering your head when those angry optics narrow, you hold your breath. “If I let him,” he mutters as your shoulders droop. “You’re loyal to him, I’ll give you that. You’d be better served being loyal to me, though.” That servo against your throat tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his optics. “He cares for you, talks to you. You must hear things.” Pushing at his servo, you realize he’s wanting you to spy on Star. Tell him his secrets.

• “Not happening.” That anger in your soft voice is a surprise, unexpected as those eyes narrow at him. So there is some fire to you. He’d assumed you were all soft and compliant, easily cowed. Why does that little flash of temper twist through him? Because you’re resisting him and he’s so used to his followers never outright disagreeing or refusing him? “I’m not betraying him for you. He’s trying to be better and I love him for-” and you stop short, dropping your eyes and going still. Love? That’s how Starscream wrapped you about his servos? Convinced you that he loved you, cared for you? Because it’s so ludicrous he almost pities you, laughing despite himself as you stiffen.

Previous

Next

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (5/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, drunk sex (with consent), incest obviously, smut, fingering, the angst, panic attack, violence, bad & morally unacceptable 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

_____

When he got up from the pier and moved ahead, he felt like his head was going to explode. He clutched at the left side of his face, his artificial eye, feeling that, as usual when he panicked, his hypersensitive nerves made him feel a stinging discomfort and pain in his eye socket.

"Come. Let's take a walk." He heard a defiant, harsh voice in front of him and raised his gaze, surprised to see Daemon's silhouette heading towards him.

"Fuck off." He hissed, wanting to avoid him, but the man's hand clamped down aggressively on his arm, stopping him in mid-step.

"We need to talk about my daughter." He said, making his heart leap into his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"What do I have to do with her?" He asked coldly, unable to look him in the face, staring dully ahead.

"Clearly too much. So?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, his free hand slowly moving to the back pocket of his trousers, to his penknife.

"– don't –" Daemon said.

He swallowed hard when he let go of him, turning away, moving with a lazy, slow step towards the shore. He followed him, looking around, Jace's concerned face watching them from afar.

"Don't worry. I told him to wait until we were done talking." He said, standing between the trees in such a place to be sure no one would overhear them.

"Something happened between you two eight years ago. I want to know what." He said matter-of-factly, resting the weight of his body on his left leg, looking around as if he was annoyed at being forced to converse with him.

He felt the heat of horror in his stomach at his question, as if he had been caught red-handed.

"My left eye happened to me." He growled, wanting to close the subject and get as far away from this man as possible. "Anything else?"

"My daughter put something on her mouth before we left. It must have had some glitter on it, because it sparkled. But when I saw her just now, she no longer had any lip gloss on." He said wearily, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as if to check his reaction, his gaze piercing and sharp, making his breath get stuck in his throat.

Oh God.

Oh my fucking God.

Seeing that he stood with his lips parted, looking at him like an idiot, Daemon chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.

"I knew she was hiding something." He muttered more to himself than to him. "How long has this been going on?"

What?

"What do you mean?" He asked, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the thought that his feelings, his sickening longing and desire might have been reciprocated by her.

Daemon looked at him with reluctance and sighed heavily.

"This thing between you two. What happened eight years ago?" He asked in a voice that indicated he was impatient and was not going to ask a third time.

He hated him with all his heart and despised him, but his directness, the way he saw what was elusive to others made him think, in a fit of desperation, that he had to get it off his chest.

That maybe when he finally told someone about it, he could move on at last.

"She was afraid of the dark and would come to sleep in my room." He muttered finally.

"You used her?" Daemon asked coldly, and he snorted, feeling a cold, unpleasant shiver run down his spine.

"I think you're completely out of your fucking mind." He hissed, not knowing what to do with his terror and his trembling hands, so he reached into the pocket of his jacket again and pulled out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth with an impatient flick of his hand.

Daemon stared at him wordlessly, watching as he lit it with his lighter.

"But something happened." He finally concluded, making him laugh involuntarily, taking a deep drag.

He shook his head, grinning broadly, not believing that he was having this conversation with this bastard, who was just waiting for his father to die to take over their business.

"Maybe." He hummed, letting out a puff of smoke through his nose, looking away into the complete darkness.

"You know she went to a psychiatrist? When she was in high school." Daemon said and he froze, his hand stopped in mid-motion towards his mouth. He swallowed hard, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

This is when she started posting pictures of herself with these boys, he thought, feeling discomfort in his chest.

"How did she get your phone number?" He asked, snapping him out of his reverie, making his heart stop for a moment.

"What?"

"She called you even though you're not on any social media and you haven't seen each other for eight years. How did she get your phone number?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, taking a drag on his cigarette and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the smoke out through his nose.

"I gave it to her."

"Why?"

"It's none of your fucking business."

"It's my business." He hissed.

Daemon took a step towards him, making him tense all over, ready to reach into the back pocket of his trousers if necessary.

"She's my daughter."

"She's not your daughter." He said coldly making his nostrils quiver in rage.

"You think blood ties are what make people family? Is that what your grandfather taught you? You know I used to work for him?" He asked, taking his cigarette from his hand, to his fury taking a drag on it before his eyes.

He was unable to respond, however, because what he said completely shocked him.

"Bullshit."

"Ask him. He took me in as a young boy, surely for similar tasks as you. Let me guess, you do the dirty work for him? Picking up cash from people who are late with their payment and making sure they will remember your warning well?" He sneered, hitting the cigarette with his finger, the ashes from it flew to the ground.

Daemon looked at him and smirked, seeing that he had turned pale.

Was he bluffing to get him off balance?

Perhaps he had been watching him and was now using it against him?

"You're using Jace for your own ends, and you're going to lecture me?" He growled through clenched teeth, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest, cold sweat running down his back.

Daemon snorted at his words, finishing off his cigarette, then threw it to the ground and crushed it with his boot.

"I gave him a choice: study and have a regular job, or work with me. He chose to work with me. What choice did Otto give you? Did he mention something about how you were already born in this world and will die in it? It would sound like him." He scoffed, putting his hands behind his back, sighing quietly.

He felt ashamed at the thought of feeling tears of humiliation under his eyelids, of feeling like a little deceived boy, someone's pawn, a dog his grandfather had let off the leash to bite someone who happened to get in his way.

It crossed his mind that he was not a human being to him.

"If you want to keep wallowing in this shit, be my guest, but stay the fuck away from my daughter or I'll kill you with my own hands." He hissed dryly and stepped around him, heading back to the building from which the loud music was coming, leaving him alone.

He drew in a loud breath as if he was suffocating and sat down on the sand, inhaling heavily, feeling that his whole body was shaking with fear.

Inhale and exhale, he repeated to himself, trying to calm down.

Inhale and exhale.

When he got up from the ground he just grunted and went back inside as if nothing had happened. His mother approached him, seeing his pale face and wide eyes.

"It's time for presents now. Did you bring what I asked you for?" She asked, clearly having in mind the books they had bought for his father, which he knew he wouldn't read anyway.

"– yes – yes, I'll bring them right away –" He muttered, noticing that his niece was not in the room.

He swallowed hard, heading for his car, escorted by the watchful gaze of his grandfather, thinking that perhaps she had gone home – he was relieved to see that Daemon's Mercedes was standing in the same place.

They were staying in hotel rooms for the night, he thought with disbelief and excitement, from which he felt ashamed.

He cursed under his breath as he closed the boot of his car and turned to see the figure of his grandfather walking towards him. He swallowed hard, correcting the packed set of books in his hands, turning his head away.

"So far there's been no bloodshed, has there? It's not so bad." He chatted him up with good-natured amusement, as if he wanted to make him laugh.

What choice did Otto give you?

Did he mention something about how you were already born in this world and will die in it?

Otto furrowed his brow, seeing the look on his face, and put his hand on his shoulder.

"I know how you feel at the sight of Luke. You want revenge. It's hard." His grandfather said calmly.

He snorted, shaking his head, realising that for the past hour he hadn't thought once about the boy who'd taken his eye from him.

He didn't give a shit.

He was small, scared, pathethic boy, nothing more.

What kind of opponent could he possibly be for him?

"It just so happened that I haven't had a chance to think about him. My head has been occupied by the people I've left behind with a few scars." He said finally in a manner from which Otto blinked, shifting from foot to foot.

"Are you overwhelmed by it? You can tell me." He said making him burst out in loud, unnatural laughter.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, and his grandfather shushed him, looking around.

"Keep your voice down. What's got into you now? We don't know how much time your father has left. We must watch our interests, for his death is coming whether we want it or not, and his passing will weaken us. Aegon would rather focus on running his brothel than real business, and I need you. You will replace me someday." He said, placing his hands on his arms in a way as if he was just giving him his blessing.

He stared at him in disbelief, feeling both horror and emptiness in his mind, convinced that it was Aegon who was about to take over the whole business.

The magnitude of everything that was happening around him so unexpectedly overwhelmed him, making it difficult for him to breathe.

I gave him a choice: study and have a regular job, or work with me.

"I want to study archaeology."

He heard the words leave his mouth, but he was sure it wasn't him who said them: they came out of his throat involuntarily, like the babbling of a small child.

His grandfather's reaction, the way he laughed in disbelief, shaking his head made him simply want to cry.

Otto saw it: saw the tear that ran down his face, saw his tightly clenched lips, saw his nostrils twitching with every breath.

"You're serious." He stated finally and sighed, closing his eyes.

"We'll think about it when things calm down. Maybe we can combine it with some part-time studies or night school. We'll find an understanding." He said, patting him on the shoulder, but he looked at him blankly, not seeing him.

He laughed.

It was his dream, and he laughed at it.

He stepped around him, wiping his cheek, returning to his asylum, his fortress in his mind, one that no one had access to.

His mother took their gift from him, along with a watch from Aegon and a set of fountain pens from Helaena and Otto, standing first in line to give Viserys a gift.

However, instead of focusing on his father, hardly sitting in his chair, his attention was focused on what his sister was saying to her husband behind his back.

"– she went to bed because she was feeling unwell – she said she had a stomach ache –"

"– our rooms are next to each other? –" He heard Daemon's voice.

"– yes – as we agreed – they are all double except hers –"

He swallowed hard at the thought that not only was she staying the night, but she was alone.

He thought, giving his father a gift from himself and his mother, forcing out of himself dry wishes for his health and prosperity, that he needed her like never before, that she would understand him.

She would not laugh at him.

He could still feel her plump, soft lips tasting of strawberries, and even the thought that Daemon knew he had kissed her could not make him give up the idea.

His mother insisted he stay another hour out of courtesy, so he surprised his older brother by demanding he bring them a bottle of whisky.

Aegon did so eagerly, pouring it into their glasses.

"What's the matter, brother? You seem shaken. Has the sight of your nephew roused you so? Or maybe your niece?" He asked, clinking his glass against his, tilting half of it immediately down his throat.

He took a loud sip from his glass, feeling an unpleasant sting in his chest at his words.

He did not answer.

Aegon scratched his chin, seeing the look on his face, the people around them getting drunker and drunker, dancing like it was the best night of their lives.

He couldn't believe how the people shaking this city could look so pathetic from the sidelines.

"Did you really kiss her? Then, eight years ago." He asked finally, and he froze, staring dully ahead.

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

"Well, you know. Then, during our holiday. I yelled at you like some idiot, and now I think, after all, we were just little kids. I was a terrible son of a bitch." He hummed, spreading out comfortably in his chair.

"You still are." He said dispassionately, feeling a black, boundless void in his mind, involuntarily taking another deep sip of his whisky.

Aegon looked at him for a moment in thought.

"I was jealous. You left me alone with those idiots, her brothers, while you ran around and played in the sand by yourself. You didn't even ask me if I wanted to come with you." He muttered, already a little drunk himself, turning his glass in his hands, clearly sunk in his memories.

He sighed at his words and raised his gaze to the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Stop your bullshit. You humiliated me along with them at every turn. She was the only one who didn't do that and you're surprised it was her I ran away from you with? What fucking choice did I have? What do you all want from me? Hm?" He growled finally feeling that he was on the edge, that he was about to explode and something bad was about to happen.

Aegon swallowed hard, looking at him with big eyes, horrified.

"I'm sorry. For that joke with your boxers." He mumbled, lowering his gaze. "I regretted it later. But it was too late."

"Joke? You know what would be a really good joke? If our mother found out now that the club you so bravely run is just a cover for a brothel. That you fuck your own whores and don't even pay them for it." He said coldly with a broad grin, leaning his elbow against the back of the chair.

"Say, brother, wouldn't that be fun?" He asked, and after a moment stood up quickly, cursing loudly as Aegon vomited on the table.

His mother made him help his brother get to his room and together they walked to the reception desk, meeting his step-sister there.

"Reservation for Rhaenyra Targaryen." She said while his mother talked to the other woman about the room reserved for him and Aegon.

The thought that he was to sleep in the same space with him made him sick.

"Room 301, 302 and 303 – the key for room 301 was already handed out two hours ago." Said the receptionist. Rhaenyra nodded her head.

"Yes, yes, my daughter is already in her room, we just ask for the rest of the keys." She said.

He swallowed hard, feeling that his heart was pounding like mad at the dangerous thought that crossed his mind.

Room 301.

He carried Aegon into their room, which he had opened with a card earlier, and threw him on the bed like a sack of potatoes. He covered him carelessly with the duvet and sighed heavily, looking into the fridge, seeing a full bottle of whisky in it.

He pulled it out without thinking, opening the window wide, feeling that he was hot and cold at the same time. He unscrewed the cap from the glass bottle and took a few deep sips from it, sitting down on his bed.

Should he go to her or not?

She was probably already asleep.

Should he bother her after what he'd done to her?

What was he supposed to say to her?

Apologise?

There were no words, no sentences that could make up for the fact that he had not answered her for eight years.

He wanted to express his condolences to her after her father's death, but he didn't.

He was afraid that she would then want to renew contact, to meet up – he knew he wouldn't survive that, that it would all come back to him like a wave, that he would only ridicule himself.

He had never drank alcohol at such a rapid pace before, angry, sad, bitter, heartbroken, exhausted, always having to be the more considerate, cool, calculating brother when Aegon only lived from party to party.

He knew that his older brother, like him, could not cope with what was going on around them, with how brutal and ruthless the world they lived in was. He had witnessed several shootings in which people with whom he had been drinking shots of vodka the day before had lost their lives.

I want to study archaeology.

What the fuck had occurred to him to say that?

He felt an overwhelming shame that he had humiliated himself in front of his own grandfather, that he had shown that he was weak, that now neither he nor anyone else would respect him.

He took another loud, deep gulp of whisky at the thought, feeling the room around him become more and more blurred, his mind seeming to drift away and relax making his thoughts flow through his head like a river.

She tasted so wonderful: her lips. Her kisses were so sweet, tender, warm, moist. She must have kissed with her tongue before. With which boy for the first time? Probably with that fucking Robb, the hollow handsome guy from her year. He certainly didn't treat her well, otherwise she'd still be with him despite that photo on Facebook. Or maybe they were still together, only he didn't know it? She hadn't posted a picture with him in a year. They certainly weren't together. Fuck, how he hated him.

Had he managed to sleep with her before she realised he was a two-faced bastard? Or was she still a virgin? No, what he did to her didn't scare her, she must have had some experience. Was he tender to her? Had he prepared her well, made her all moist and eager? Did he do it slowly, did he make sure he wasn't causing her pain? Was he telling her how much he loved her, how good she made him feel?

He blinked, feeling that his cheeks were wet, that he was breathing loudly through his mouth, whooping with tears, that there were some high-pitched, squeaky sounds coming from his mouth as if he were a little boy.

I want to go to her, he thought.

I want her to hug me.

It turned out that getting out of his room and walking a small part of the corridor proved to be more difficult than he thought, because everything around him was spinning. He had no idea why he had taken his bottle with him, but he thought he felt safer with it.

Finally, he spotted the door with the number 301 in front of his face and knocked far too loudly, swallowing hard for air.

"− Rhaenys − fuck −" He muttered, feeling himself lose his balance and fall to the floor with a loud thud. He hissed, moving to the wall, leaning his head against it.

"− I want to go to sleep −" He mumbled pleadingly, wanting only to fall asleep next to her, nothing more.

He closed his eyes and hummed when he heard a quiet creak, and then her voice.

"Come."

He woke up, looking at her surprised, at her sweet, innocent face, and picked himself up quickly, too quickly, losing his balance again, falling to his knees, dropping the bottle and its contents on the floor.

"− fuck −" He cursed, trying to reach for it, but her hands tightened on his arm.

"− no − leave it − come inside −"

He was delighted to find that as he collapsed on her bed everything around him smelled of her − his erection pulsed happily at the thought, pleased as he was. He murmured when she felt him pull his shoes off his feet, making him spread out more comfortably, and then reached into his leather jacket.

"− you'll be too hot −" She whispered, and when he opened his eyes he saw her face above him in the darkness, the warm look of her gentle eyes.

He involuntarily put his arms around her waist and pulled her close making her squeal, his hand running over her wonderfully soft hair and neck.

"− come here − God, you smell so good −"He muttered with delight, in his original intention just wanting to hug her, spreading his legs apart so she could lie between them, pressed against his chest.

However, out of some natural reflex he kissed her, and as their fleshy lips pressed against each other in a loud, dirty, sticky kiss full of their tongues, his cock bumped against her belly, betraying his arousal.

"− tell me to leave −" He mumbled between one kiss and the next, stroking her fragrant hair, her back and buttocks, thinking that he didn't want to hurt her, that he just wanted to feel her, just like he did that night eight years ago when he kissed her for the first time. "− tell me to stop −"

But she didn't say anything, neither when his hands slid under the material of her panties nor when his fingers tentatively sank into her hot, silky womanhood.

She was leaking.

She whimpered into his mouth, quivering all over in his embrace as he began to play with her throbbing entrance, merely teasing it with the tips of his fingers, feeling her hard nipples pressed against his chest, slowly building hot tension in his lower abdomen.

"− shhh − easy now −" He breathed out into her mouth delighted that she was aroused, that she was all wet and thirsty for him and his caresses. His thumb pressed and stroked her bud in circular motions while the rest of his hand roamed over her hot slit, throbbing with longing.

Instead of pushing him away, she kissed him deeper and bolder, making his swollen erection painfully hard, pushing impatiently against her abdomen. He figured he had to prepare her well first for what he wanted put inside her, so he tentatively slid the tip of his middle finger into her.

She moaned loudly into his throat as he began to tease her, sliding his finger in and out, her fleshy walls soaking wet, warm and rough.

God, how he wanted to feel her.

"− uncle − we can't − we can't, we can't, we can't −" She cried out, against her words rolling her hips back and forth, falling and rising on his finger, making her moisture begin to leak onto his palm with a loud click.

"− we can − we will − we need to prepare you properly − shhh −" He gasped, soothing and hushing her like a small child. He stroked her hair with his free hand, hugging her to his chest, with the other fucking her eager cunt with his finger, rubbing his swollen manhood against her belly.

"− please − it's wrong − God, it's so wrong −" She pleaded, clasping her hands over his turtleneck, her blurry, pretty face red with exertion and desire, her sweet lips parted wide in lust while her eyes remained closed in euphoria.

We're going to fuck, he thought, sliding his finger out of her – he put his hand between their bodies, unzipping his trousers, sliding their material together with his boxers, releasing his long, throbbing erection, dripping with impatience.

"− shhh − I know, baby − I will take care of you − I got you −" He whispered, holding the base of his length with one hand, the other directing her weeping cunt at the pink head of it, opening her wide with a low groan of pleasure, throwing his head back.

She was so warm, enveloping his twitching, fat manhood wonderfully on all sides, his beautiful, beautiful niece.

"− please, Aemond, please −" She mewled into his mouth, spreading her thighs wide before him, letting him sink all the way into her flesh with one deep, slow thrust.

"− let me − I need you −" He mumbled, feeling like his cock was about to explode with arousal, imposing a fierce, violent pace on her at once, slamming into her with sure, greedy stabs of his hips, feeling like he'd lost his breath.

He concentrated only on that natural, primal reflex: thrusting, invading deep into her body, stretching her tight walls on the thick part of his erection, helping himself with his hands that held her plump buttocks in place.

His thrusts into her were more violent, deeper and faster than his slips out of her, slower and full of anticipation, and as his hips began their next movement, he sunk from the uncomfortable coldness of the room into the warm wetness of her spasming pussy again.

They both panted and moaned, trying to find a rhythm together, her hips bucking while her hands found a support on his chest, responding to each of his pushes, pounding into her throbbing cunt, clicking from her moisture, again and again.

"− I − ah − mghmmm − G-God −" She mumbled out, bursting out crying, simultaneously terrified and delighted at what they were doing exactly as he did, her buttocks slapping against his thighs, sinking him into her warmth, giving his cock a sure, thirsty squeezes.

"− thaaat's it − that's my girl − fuck, so good −" He breathed out, finding in his mind's eye that fucking her, being deep inside her, making love to her was a kind of breakthrough of sorts, taking at last what he had always wanted without regard for what he would feel tomorrow.

What he felt now was the only thing he wanted to feel for the rest of his life, and the thought of it made him feel a squeeze in his testicles indicating that he was close to reaching his peak.

He clamped his hands on her buttocks, spreading them apart with her moan of exertion, sinking into her as deeply as he could, thinking that he was about to come inside his own niece and it was going to feel so fucking good.

"− just a little more − please, just a little more − let me cum inside, baby −" He whispered tenderly, pressing her face against his neck as she whimpered loudly, calling his name, her body shook with an orgasm so strong that her pussy began to clench hard around his cock, making his warm semen simply spurt inside her.

"− God − oh my fucking God −" He muttered, closing his eyes, tilting his head back as his body shook with convulsions, experiencing the most powerful fulfilment of his entire life.

"− oh, baby −" He mumbled out, for a moment seeing only darkness in front of his eyes, completely besotted with pleasure, thrusting his hips into her for another moment with loud slaps of her moisture, feeling the remnants of his seed fill her womb.

Her womb.

Oh God.

What if she wasn't on the pill?

His drunken mind decided after a moment that it didn't matter in the slightest.

He was going to end it all, go study archaeology like she did, fuck her every day in his flat and have lots of kids with her.

Yes, he thought, feeling as calm as ever, recognising that this plan was perfect.

He hummed, pulling his leather jacket from under his back, covering their bare hips. He put his arms around her again, pressing his face against her temple, his lungs filled with the scent of vanilla, her sweat and her sweet wetness from which his thighs were all sticky.

The smell of what they'd done, how pleasant it was.

How right it was.

"− sleep − don't worry − I want this baby −" He mumbled and she just hugged him tighter, placing a soft, tender kiss on his neck, apparently not caring that his soft manhood was still gently throbbing deep inside her.

He sighed in relief, recognising that this was her answer, that she wanted to be his girlfriend again and have children with him in the future.

He closed his eyes and after a few minutes fell into a stony sleep, fulfilled and happy for the first time in eight years.

Throughout the night he could still feel the closeness of her body, her scent, her little hands embracing his waist. He pressed her face against his neck with one hand entwined in her hair, the other having slipped under her panties to feel her soft buttocks beneath his fingers, their legs entwined together on her cramped single bed.

It was so peaceful.

He woke up sensing that it was only dawn, not knowing for a moment where he was or what had happened.

The first thing he felt was her scent − he opened his eyes and then he saw it: his hand that was slipped under the material of her underwear, placed on her buttock, his unzipped trousers, her calm face pressed against his chest, sunk into a deep sleep, her hand lying on his heart.

They fucked.

He came inside her.

He had the best orgasm of his life with his own niece.

He swallowed hard, feeling that the remnants of the alcohol were still humming in his head, giving him a terrible migraine. He sighed, closing his eyes, resting his cheek against her hair, recognising that the fact that he felt no remorse after what had happened between them was evidence that he was completely out of his fucking mind.

He heard her murmur as she twisted in his embrace, snuggling her face into his neck. The knuckles of his free hand stroked her plump cheek as his lips kissed the top of her head, causing her to lift the gaze of her bright eyes to him.

They stared at each other for a moment in complete silence − her small fingers rose to his face, her thumb stroked his jaw, responding to his tender caress as he pressed his forehead against hers.

There was nothing they could say, he thought.

No words could describe what they felt, what they were experiencing deep inside themselves, what they wanted.

As she lifted herself on her arm, moving closer to his face, he reached out to touch her, and they soft mouth met in a warm, sticky, lazy kiss. Her moist lips pulled away from his with a quiet click only to cling to him again, again and again, their caresses slow, tender, full of understanding and a desire to comfort.

Their hands stroked each other's faces, her soft breasts hidden under the material of her Tshirt pressed against his chest, her scent filling his lungs completely.

He felt at peace.

He felt at home.

"I know it's wrong, but I don't regret this." She whispered between one soft kiss and the next, closing his lower lip between her mouth, sucking on it for a moment with his gasp of delight.

"Neither do I." He hummed, reciprocating by running the tip of his slick tongue over her palate, his fingers slipped under the material of her panties, digging into the smooth skin of her buttocks.

"Mmm." She purred into his mouth, enclosing his cheeks in her hands, laying on top of him, letting him use her body again to rub it against his throbbing, half-hard manhood.

"One more time?" He suggested, panting quietly, rolling his hips so that he was brushing against the space between her thighs, his hand from her buttock sliding lower again, checking her condition. He grinned under his breath as he felt her warm wetness under the tips of his fingers, sliding one of them slowly into her hot, throbbing flesh.

"− look at you − all sticky −" He gasped in delight between their one messy, loud kiss and another, their desire-swollen lips beginning to devour each other in the chaos of their tongues and teeth, her moans sweet and vulnerable, doomed to give him what he wanted.

"− you − you on top −" She mumbled, and he sighed, immediately turning her onto her back, slipping her panties off her hips in a nimble, quick motion.

He didn't want to take away her sense of security or expose her completely, so he decided not to undress her or himself, for now, just wanting to feel her again.

"− come here − just like that, spread 'em wide −" He praised her, releasing his swollen erection from his trousers, seeing how her thighs instantly opened out to the sides in front of him, showing him her glistening pink folds, from which his pearly semen leaked.

"− what a sight − I will make sure I've filled you properly −" He gasped, and she nodded, her hands clenched on the pillow on either side of her head, her mouth parted wide in a heavy, excited breath.

They both groaned pathetically as, with the help of his free hand, using the other to support his balance, he directed the fat, dripping head of his cock against her throbbing slit, pushing between her hot opening with a soft, slow thrust.

Her walls, hot and leaking with her moisture, made an involuntary resistance to the thickest part of his manhood − she whimpered quietly with effort, throwing her head back, spreading her thighs wider to make the task easier for herself and him, wanting to take it inside.

"− it hurts? −" He muttered, and she shook her head, clenching her eyes, struggling to fit what was just tearing into her body.

He leaned over her, as with a deep, lazy thrust of his hips he slid all the way into her with their sigh of exertion, feeling his erection pulsing all over, embarrassingly close to fulfillment now that he was sober.

"− I'm going to start moving now − okay? −" He asked, and she nodded quickly, raising her hands to his cheeks, pulling him close to her making, together with the movement of his hips, their lips join in a hot, tender kiss.

They panted into each other's throats, their foreheads pressed together as he imposed a sharp, slow pace on her, building the path to their fulfilment with each push, making sure he pounded into her at such an angle as to tease each time a little spot deep inside her, just above her entrance.

"− feels good? −" He exhaled, looking down at her, at her pretty, flushed face, at her hair scattered in disarray around her head, at her puffy, sweet lips parted in deep breaths, swollen from his caresses.

He wanted to make sure he wasn't hurting her, that she wasn't doing it out of fear but because she was just as desperate as he was.

"− yes − yes, Aemond, so, so good −" She mumbled sweetly, tilting her head back, letting him press his lips against her long neck, leaving hot, wet marks on her skin while her eager, slick cunt gave him a greedy, tender squeezes, sucking him deep inside her fleshy core. He moaned low feeling it, involuntarily speeding up, thrusting into her faster and faster with loud slaps of their hips.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her body rocked to the rhythm of his thrusts, coming out to meet him willingly, his swollen, throbbing cock all soaked in their shared wetness, making her little pussy click every time he opened her on the widest part of his manhood.

"− just like that − just a little more − your uncle is close −" He exhaled in delight, feeling the tension in his lower abdomen reach its zenith, his whole body tense, coming closer with each push of his hips to the fulfilment he so needed, the bed beneath them began to creak loudly.

His hands slid under her buttocks, clamping down on her warm, soft skin, squeezing them towards each other so that they pressed down on his quivering erection, making her almost painfully tight.

"− fuckkk −" He cursed, biting his lower lip to keep from making any loud noise, hearing her moans of pleasure, her body quivering in fulfillment as her wetness ran down from her pulsing folds onto the sheet beneath them.

He had to cover her mouth with his hand, hearing movement in the corridor around them, knowing that everyone was getting up to go to breakfast, but he only wanted one thing: to come deep inside her.

He sighed and groaned quietly, surprised how a strong shudder shook his body, his eyebrows arched in pain and pleasure as he felt his seed fill her again, again, again, again, making her his, only his.

"− you are my ruin −" He gasped, rolling his hips back and forth, sinking into her beloved, soaked cunt for a moment longer, feeling wonderful waves of hot fulfilment surge through his body.

He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, together with her just lying there, trying to calm his breathing. He thought, cuddling his face into her welted, sweaty cheek, that being deep inside her felt somehow strangely natural.

Strangely right.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked finally, swallowing hard. He felt her body tense up, her fingers involuntarily clenching on the material of his black turtleneck.

"No."

He nodded, his thumb running over her cheek, wanting to let her feel that he had reckoned with that option when he did what he did.

Twice.

"It's your body. But know that I'd like to be the father of your child. Someday. You decide when. If ever." He whispered in her ear, placing a soft, moist kiss on her cheek.

He heard her swallow hard, clearly completely shocked by his words.

"I…I don't know what I'll do yet. I need to think about it." She finally muttered, obviously not knowing how else she could respond to his confession without offending him. He sighed quietly at her words, feeling a cold squeeze in his chest.

"Let me know when you've made your decision about...you know. Please."

"So that you won't answer me?" She asked in a trembling, breaking voice.

He raised himself on his arm, wanting to look at her face, but she turned her head in the opposite direction, her eyes glazed from tears, her quivering lips clenched into a thin line.

"I'll. I swear I'll. Hey. Hey, look at me." He whispered, cupping her cheeks between his fingers, gently turning her face towards him, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks as her eyebrows arched in pain.

She didn't believe him and he didn't blame her.

"I mean it. I swear. I…" He didn't finish as they both flinched when someone started pounding on her door with their fist.

"Open up." He heard Daemon's voice and immediately slid out of her, fastening his trousers in a hurry, terrified, her eyes big as she quickly grabbed the material of her panties and put them on her thighs.

"Wait a minute!" She called out, handing him his jacket and shoes.

"Hide in the toilet." She whispered to him and he nodded, immediately locking himself in the small room, trying not to make a sound.

Fuck.

After a moment, he heard her open the door, Daemon's voice loud and clear.

"Get changed, we're leaving immediately." He said.

"But why so sudden? I'd like to have breakfast. Has something happened?"

"Viserys is dead."

[hisfavegirl]

Closure - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

summary : Aemond was consumed by his anger and hatred, leaving you alone and lonely once again. You made a risky decision and put your life in danger.

It had been days since you locked yourself away in your chambers. The weight of grief, guilt, and exhaustion pressed down on you like a crushing wave. The once lively space around you now felt suffocatingly silent, broken only by the occasional knock from Alicent or the maids bringing in food you barely touched.

Aemond had yet to return. Each day you glanced at the door, hoping he would walk in, his presence a balm to your frayed nerves. But he never did. You tried not to think about it too much, but the ache of his absence settled deep in your chest.

Then came the news. Whispers of it echoed through the halls, carried on the hurried voices of servants and the low murmurs of guards.

One of the men responsible for Jaehaerys’s death had been captured.

He called himself “Blood.” The name alone made your heart clench with dread. Rumors spread like wildfire — Blood had confessed under interrogation. He claimed he and his partner, “Cheese,” had been hired by none other than Daemon Targaryen. Their orders were clear and cruel: Kill a child of the Greens as payment for the death of Lucerys Velaryon.

The words struck you like a physical blow. Your breath hitched, and your hand flew to your stomach, the phantom ache of your lost child flaring to life. Blood for blood. Son for son. It was justice in the eyes of Daemon, but for you, it was nothing more than horror and senseless cruelty.

Your mind spiraled. Did my mother know? Did she agree to this? The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. Memories of your childhood with Rhaenyra flashed in your mind, of how she used to hold you close, call you her little flower. But that image clashed with the Rhaenyra who had sent assassins after children.

It didn’t matter that it was Daemon who ordered it. Daemon and Rhaenyra were one.

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of anger, sorrow, and betrayal. You pressed a hand against your mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape. You thought of Helaena, of how she cradled her children every night, whispering soft lullabies to them. You thought of Jaehaera’s hollow, haunted eyes after witnessing her brother’s murder. You thought of Maelor, too small to understand but forever scarred.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. This time, it was not a servant. It was Alicent. Her voice was gentle but firm.

“Please, my dear. Let me in,” she said softly, but there was urgency beneath her calm tone. “We need to speak.”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly walking to the door. You unlocked it and stepped back. Alicent entered, her eyes filled with concern, her face weary from sleepless nights. She approached you carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal.

“They caught him,” you said before she could speak, your voice hollow. “He confessed. He said it was Daemon.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Yes. He did.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The weight of loss, of betrayal, of helplessness hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“Do you hate me?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. “For being her daughter?”

Alicent’s eyes shot up, wide with shock. She stepped forward and cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle but unyielding. “No,” she said firmly, her eyes searching yours with fierce determination. “You are not her. You are not her. Do you hear me?” Her thumbs brushed away your tears. “I see you for who you are. A kind, loving girl who has suffered far too much. None of this is your fault.”

Her words broke something in you. You crumpled into her arms, and she held you tight, like she had done so many times before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like she wasn’t just holding you up — she was anchoring you to the world.

You remained for a moment, lost in the embrace of Alicent’s comforting presence, the weight of her words settling in your chest. She was a lifeline, a thread of reassurance in the storm that was your life. But before long, she gently pulled away, her face now etched with determination.

“I must go to the council,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “There are decisions to be made, and I cannot delay any longer.”

You nodded in silence as she made her way to the door, her footsteps heavy with purpose. As the door closed softly behind her, you remained seated, your thoughts racing. The raw pain of everything you had lost, the children, the life you thought you would have — it all felt like too much. But you couldn’t stay in this room forever.

Rising from your bed, you walked toward your wardrobe, your feet feeling heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. Reaching into the cabinet, you pulled out the dark, soft hooded cloak that you had set aside earlier. The familiar weight of it comforted you, grounding you in a way that the endless grief could not.

You paused for a moment, staring at the cloak in your hands. The fabric was rich, a deep shade of black, embroidered with small patterns of silver threads that glimmered faintly in the dim light of the room.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. A moment of clarity broke through the fog of sorrow. You needed to find a way to move forward. To find your place in this world of treachery and shifting allegiances.

Tying the cloak securely around your shoulders, you made your way toward the door, your mind still heavy with questions. What would this council meeting bring? What would the repercussions be for your mother’s involvement in the death of your nephew?

With each step, your resolve solidified. You would not allow yourself to be a passive observer in this game of power. Whatever was to come, you would face it — head held high.

You moved cautiously through the halls, your footsteps light and calculated. The heavy weight of your heart still lingered, but you focused on your goal, trying to push aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you. Your hands gripped the edges of your cloak, tightening the fabric around your face, concealing yourself as best as you could.

You hoped the deep hood would mask your identity, that the shadows would keep you hidden. The last thing you needed right now was to be noticed. The corridors were mostly empty, the soft echoes of your footsteps the only sound that filled the space as you moved with swift determination.

Every corner you turned felt like a risk, but there was no turning back now. You had to get to the gates, to find a way to leave the Red Keep without anyone knowing. The weight of your own emotions mixed with the dangerous path you were now walking.

Soon, you reached the grand doors of the Red Keep’s outer walls, and you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had followed you. The quietness of the moment made your heart race as you stepped toward the gates. You hoped the night would cover your tracks, that no one would question your sudden disappearance.

As you approached the gate, your nerves were at their peak, but you kept your head down and continued forward, trusting the shadows to protect you for just a little longer.

You moved through the dimly lit streets of King’s Landing, each step taking you further from the safety of the Red Keep and deeper into the unknown. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your chest, but your resolve to reach Dragonstone and find your mother. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you ignored it, focusing on the path ahead.

The sounds of the bustling city faded as you neared the harbor, the scent of saltwater and the creak of ships in the distance filling the air. Your heart beat faster, the familiar feeling of uncertainty creeping in, but you pushed it aside. This was something you had to do, for yourself and for the future.

You approached one of the docked ships, a small vessel with a weathered crew. The captain, an older man with a hardened face, eyed you warily as you walked up. You didn’t hesitate, offering him the coins in your hand. “Take me to Dragonstone,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

He regarded you for a moment before nodding, accepting the payment. “Aye, that can be arranged,” he muttered. “But it’s not a short journey, and there’ll be no turning back once we’re out on the water.”

You nodded in agreement, your resolve unwavering. This was your only chance. As you boarded the ship and the crew prepared to set sail, you glanced one last time at the distant lights of King’s Landing, unsure of what awaited you, but certain that this was the right choice.

The ship began to pull away from the docks, and you could feel the weight of the journey ahead, but also a strange sense of freedom, as if, for the first time in a long while, you were in control of your own fate.

You stood at the edge of the ship, gazing out at the vast, endless sea before you. The gentle crash of the waves and the salty breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it a sense of bittersweet calm. For a moment, you closed your eyes and let the wind surround you, as if it could blow away the ache that still lingered in your heart.

Your hand slowly drifted to your abdomen, fingers lightly tracing the place where life had once grown within you. The pain of that loss was still fresh, sharp as the sting of cold sea air, and for a moment, it felt unbearable. You bit your lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Was this punishment? Was this fate? The questions swirled in your mind, unanswered and unrelenting.

Your thoughts shifted to Aemond and Alicent. You could still see Aemond’s face the night he found you bleeding, the way his eyes had filled with something beyond grief—regret, guilt, and something deeper. You could hear Alicent’s voice as she cradled you, whispering words of comfort like a mother soothing her child. They had stayed by your side, and now you had left them with no warning, no explanation. Guilt gnawed at your heart like a slow, unyielding burn.

But your resolve was firm. You had made your choice. You had to see your mother. Why did she send them? you thought, gripping the edge of the ship tighter. Why did she send Blood and Cheese to slaughter children in revenge? You needed to hear it from her own lips. You needed to understand why this bloodshed had been necessary, why your brother’s death had to be repaid with such horror.

The wind howled softly as the ship rocked gently beneath your feet. Your eyes remained locked on the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line as sharp and endless as fate itself. You didn’t know what you would find at Dragonstone. You didn’t know if you would be welcomed or cast aside. But you knew you couldn’t turn back now.

For better or worse, you were no longer just a pawn in this war. You had made a choice, and soon, you would face whatever waited for you on that distant, stormy shore.

Aemond’s boots thudded heavily against the stone floors as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his breathing sharp and uneven. His hair was still tousled from the ride, his face lined with exhaustion, but his pace never slowed. The only thing on his mind was you.

He reached your shared chambers, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. His eye scanned the room quickly, searching for the familiar sight of you — sitting by the fire, resting on the bed, or perhaps simply standing by the window. But none of that greeted him. The room was empty.

His brows drew together, and he stepped inside, his gaze darting to every corner. “Love?” he called, his voice firm but laced with unease. Silence answered him. No warmth of your presence, no reply from your voice.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He strode to the side chamber, then to the dressing room. Nothing. You weren’t there. His breathing grew heavier, his movements faster. He checked behind the bed curtains, even glanced toward the window as if expecting to see you outside, but still, there was no sign of you.

“My love!” he called louder, his voice carrying a sharp edge of frustration. He stepped back into the hallway, his gaze darting left and right. His mind churned with possibilities. Did she go to see Alicent? Did she go to visit Helaena? But doubt crept in. You would have told him if you planned to leave. You always told him.

Aemond’s heart pounded faster as he moved with renewed urgency, his steps now echoing with force. His frustration turned to unease, and unease began to fester into dread. Servants flinched out of his way as he stormed down the corridor.

“You,” he barked at a passing maid. The girl froze, eyes wide with fear. “Have you seen her? Have you seen my wife?”

The girl shook her head frantically. “N-No, my prince. I… I saw her last night, but not since then.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His gaze flickered with cold calculation. He didn’t waste another word on her and spun on his heel, continuing his search. He checked Helaena’s chambers, the sept, the library — each room more frustrating than the last. She was nowhere to be found.

His patience snapped when he returned to the Great Hall. His hand slammed against the table with a loud bang, making the maids jump in fear. His eye was wild now, his mind spiraling with dark thoughts. Did someone take her? Did she run away? No. No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t leave.

Just then, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed from behind him. Alicent entered, her eyes weary from the hours spent in council meetings. She tilted her head in confusion at the sight of her son, disheveled and tense like a lion ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice was steady but curious. “What’s the matter? Why are you in such a state?”

Aemond’s head snapped toward her, his face a mask of barely controlled panic and fury. “She’s gone,” he muttered, his voice low but dangerous. “She’s not in our chambers. She’s not anywhere.”

The words hit Alicent like a slap. Her eyes widened, her calm demeanor fracturing. “What do you mean she’s gone?” she asked sharply, stepping forward. “Did you check the gardens? The library? Perhaps she’s with Helaena and the children—”

“She’s not there,” Aemond cut her off, his voice louder now. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. “I searched everywhere. She’s gone, Mother.”

Alicent’s eyes darted around, her mind racing as she processed his words. Her breathing quickened, panic seeping into her voice. “Did anyone see her leave? Did anyone see her go to the harbor or the gates?”

“I don’t know,” Aemond hissed, his frustration boiling over. He raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as he paced. “If she left, someone would have seen her. Someone had to have seen her.” His words were more for himself than for his mother. He turned to one of the guards stationed nearby. “Find the captain of the gates. Find every guard who was posted today. Now.”

The guards exchanged nervous glances before bowing and running off to follow his orders.

Alicent moved closer to Aemond, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Her eyes were filled with concern, not just for you but for him. “We will find her, Aemond. She could not have gone far.”

But her reassurance did nothing to calm him. His breathing was still harsh, his eye darting back and forth like a trapped animal searching for an escape. His fingers flexed at his sides, hands itching for something to grip — a sword, a throat, anything to release the pressure building in his chest.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eye fixed on the floor. “She wouldn’t.”

Alicent frowned. “Of course not, my son. She loves you.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening anymore. His mind was already moving ahead, calculating every possible reason for your absence. If someone took her, they would pay. If she left, she would be found. If she ran from me… His nails bit into his palms as his fists curled tightly.

“Mother,” he said slowly, lifting his head to look Alicent in the eyes. The weight of his gaze was heavy, filled with something more dangerous than panic — certainty. “If she left… I will bring her back myself.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity in his voice. She knew that look. It was the same look she’d seen in him the night of the incident at Storm’s End. It was the look of a man who had already decided what he would do, no matter the cost.

After a long and exhausting journey, the ship finally reached the rocky shores of Dragonstone. The salty sea air filled your lungs as you stepped off the ship, your boots crunching against the rough stones of the beach. The crash of waves echoed behind you, but it was the sight ahead that captured your attention.

The guards were everywhere. Their sharp gazes followed your every movement as you pulled down your hood, revealing your face. Their eyes widened slightly in recognition, but none of them moved to stop you.

“I wish to see my mother,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

One of the guards nodded, gesturing for you to follow. The path leading up to the fortress was steep, each step heavier than the last. Your heart thudded in your chest, a storm of emotions brewing within you — grief, anger, and something colder, something sharper.

As you reached the main courtyard, you saw them.

Her.

Him.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood at the top of the stone steps, her silver hair glinting like molten silver in the dim light. Her eyes locked onto you, wide with surprise and then something softer, something closer to relief. But she was not alone.

Daemon.

He stood beside her, his presence as commanding as ever. His gaze was piercing, his face unreadable as he watched you approach. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, and his stance was one of ease — as if he had not a single regret in the world.

But you were no longer a child seeking safety. Not anymore.

Your steps quickened, your breath coming faster as anger surged in your chest. Your heart felt as if it would burst from the weight of it all. Your eyes fixed on Daemon, and before either of them could speak, you let your voice ring out like thunder.

“How could you?!” Your words echoed across the courtyard, and the guards turned to look. Your voice was raw, sharp with fury and pain. “How could you be so cruel, Daemon?! To kill Helaena’s children? To kill my child?”

Silence.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her face frozen in shock. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Her gaze shifted slowly to Daemon.

Daemon’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He stood there, unmoving, his violet eyes fixed on you like a predator watching prey.

“What nonsense is this?” Daemon’s voice was calm, too calm, like the eerie stillness before a storm. He tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You come here throwing accusations, but you’ve yet to say anything that makes sense.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Daemon!” you snapped, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Blood and Cheese. Does that sound familiar? Because it should. They said they were sent by you!” Your chest heaved with every breath as tears welled in your eyes. “They said it was revenge for Luke. But it wasn’t just Jaehaerys they took. They took my child too.” Your voice broke on the last word, raw and filled with pain.

Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, her face contorted with shock and confusion. “What child?” she asked, stepping toward you, her voice rising with urgency. “What are you talking about?”

But you didn’t look at her. Your eyes stayed locked on Daemon. “I was pregnant,” you hissed, your nails digging into your palms. “I was going to tell Grandsire that night before he died. But I never got the chance. I lost the baby because of them. Because of you.” Your eyes narrowed into slits, your voice filled with venom. “I hope you’re proud.”

For the first time, something flickered in Daemon’s eyes. It was not guilt. Not sorrow. But something sharper. Realization.

“That child was mine to protect,” you continued, stepping forward until you were mere feet away from him. “It was mine and Aemond’s. And you took it from us.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. Her gaze darted back to Daemon, her eyes narrowing, her mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. “Daemon,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and growing suspicion. “Is this true? Did you—”

“Enough.” Daemon’s voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. His eyes snapped to Rhaenyra, his jaw set in a hard line. “Don’t look at me like that, Rhaenyra.” His gaze returned to you, colder now, sharp as broken glass. “I did what had to be done. Blood for blood.” He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, like a shadow growing larger. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing. “I see a girl blinded by love. Do you know what Aemond sees? A pawn. A piece on the board to be moved at his whim. He doesn’t love you. He loves control.”

His words struck like daggers, but you didn’t falter. Your feet stayed firmly planted, and your eyes met his with unwavering resolve.

“You think this was justice?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. “You think slaughtering an innocent child is justice?”

“Luke was innocent,” Daemon snapped back, stepping closer until you could see the cold fury in his eyes. “Was he not? When Aemond took his life, did you cry for him too? Did you weep for your brother the way you weep for Helaena’s son? No.” His lips curled into a sneer. “You weep now because it suits you.”

Tears streamed down your face, but your eyes stayed sharp as steel. “Luke’s death was an accident, Daemon,” you hissed, your voice low and filled with venom. “Even Aemond didn’t want it to happen. But what you did—” Your voice broke. “You planned it. You watched it happen. You sent monsters to kill a boy and my unborn child. You had no mercy.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Daemon said quietly, his face deadly calm. “I had all the mercy in the world. If it were me in that room, I would have killed them all. Jaehaerys. Jaehaera. Maelor. All of them.” He stepped back, his gaze turning colder still. “Because that is how you win a war.”

“This isn’t war, Daemon!” Rhaenyra’s voice thundered across the courtyard, her eyes filled with fury as she stepped between the two of you. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “This is slaughter! You took my daughter’s unborn child. You butchered my sister children. This is not how we win. This is how we lose.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. He stared at Rhaenyra as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Everything I do, I do for us,” he said softly, his eyes locked with hers. “For you.”

“You did it for yourself,” Rhaenyra spat, her eyes filled with disgust. “Don’t hide behind me, Daemon. If you wanted blood, you could have spilt it yourself. But you didn’t. You hid in the shadows. You sent monsters to do the deed.” She stepped closer to him, her face inches from his. “You will answer for this.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with danger. “You’d condemn me? Me? After all I’ve done for you?” His smile was slow, sharp, and dangerous. “No, my love. You will not.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, she looked every bit the dragon she was born to be. “Watch me.”

Daemon’s gaze shifted to you once more. His eyes were filled with something cold and ancient, like something far older than men. “Be careful, girl,” he said softly, his voice like a shadow brushing against your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game. And in games like these, the innocent die first.”

He walked away, his footsteps echoing across the stone.

Your heart pounded as you watched him leave. Your breathing was shallow, your hands trembling at your sides. You felt Rhaenyra’s hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but gentle.

“I will not let him harm you again,” she said quietly, her voice firm with quiet resolve. “He will pay for what he has done.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed fixed on Daemon’s retreating form, watching him disappear into the darkness.

But one thing was certain.

You would never forget.

And you would never forgive.

You stared at your mother, her figure strong yet filled with a quiet sadness as she stood at the top of the stone steps. Her eyes pleaded with you, her voice soft but firm.

“Stay,” she said, her tone heavy with both authority and love. “Stay here with me. I will protect you. No harm will come to you under this roof.”

Her words hung in the cold air like a gentle lullaby, but they did not bring you peace. Your gaze dropped to the ground, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You shook your head slowly, each movement more certain than the last.

“No,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet her gaze. “No, Mother.” You took a step back, your breath shaky but your resolve unshaken.

Her brows knitted together in confusion, her hands reaching out slightly as if to pull you back. “Please,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t have to go back there. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Your heart ached, the pain of loss and betrayal still fresh in your chest. The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. You glanced away from her, your eyes distant as you stared at the endless sea.

“Maybe the debt of blood was never truly even,” you murmured, your voice hollow, each word sharper than any blade. Your gaze lifted back to hers, your eyes filled with something far colder than before. “You only lost Luke.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her breath hitching as if you had struck her.

“But I…” your voice trembled as you placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the phantom ache where life had once stirred. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you did not let them fall. Your voice hardened like steel. “I lost Jaehaerys. I lost the child I carried in my womb.”

Her lips parted in shock, her face stricken with pain. She stepped forward, but you took another step back, your eyes sharp like broken glass.

“Two lives for one,” you continued, bitterness lacing every word. “How is that justice, Mother? How is that fair?”

Her hand dropped, and for the first time, you saw something break inside her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Guilt, regret, and sorrow warred on her face, but none of it could change the past. None of it could bring them back.

You turned away from her, your feet crunching against the stone as you walked away. Each step echoed louder than the last. The cold wind from the sea whipped at your cloak, your hood falling back to reveal your tear-streaked face. Your steps were heavy, but you did not stop.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra’s voice wavered, thick with desperation. “Please. Don’t leave like this.”

But you didn’t turn around. You didn’t look back.

Not this time.

“Don’t let this hate consume you,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to reach your ears.

Your steps slowed, just for a moment.

“Hate?” you repeated, your voice bitter with a hollow laugh. “You taught me hate, Mother.” Your eyes glanced at the stormy sea ahead. “You taught me that blood must pay for blood.”

Your hands curled into fists, your nails digging into your palms until they ached. “Now I know what that truly means.”

You took another step forward, ready to leave Dragonstone behind.

But then—

“Wait!”

The voice that called you wasn’t Rhaenyra’s. It wasn’t Daemon’s.

It was Jacaerys.

You froze in place, your body going rigid at the sound of his voice. The sound of his footsteps echoed behind you as he hurried down the steps. He was close now, too close.

“Please,” he said, his breath ragged from running. “Please, don’t go.”

You clenched your jaw, your heart twisting with emotions you could barely control. Slowly, you turned to face him.

There he was. Jace.

His face was filled with desperation, his brows furrowed deeply, his eyes fixed on you as if looking away would shatter you like glass. His breath came in sharp puffs, his chest heaving as he tried to catch it.

“Don’t do this,” Jace said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Don’t leave like this. Stay. Please, just stay.”

Your eyes met his, filled with so many emotions that you could barely breathe — grief, rage, love, and the bitter ache of betrayal.

“You want me to stay?” you said, your voice eerily calm. “Did you stay when they killed my child? Did you stay when they killed Helaena’s son? Tell me, Jace. Where were you?”

His lips parted, but no answer came. He looked away, his eyes filled with shame.

“You didn’t come for me then,” you said, your voice cracking. “Don’t ask me to stay now.”

His eyes snapped back to you, his face contorting in frustration. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “I didn’t know what Daemon had done. If I had known—”

“—You would have stopped it?” you finished, eyes narrowing. “You would have saved them? No, Jace. You wouldn’t have. You follow Daemon like a loyal hound, and you know it.” You stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you’re innocent.”

He didn’t move, didn’t push you away. He took it all, his face falling into something close to defeat.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re right.” His voice was low, filled with pain. “I didn’t stop it. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t know.” He took a breath, his gaze searching yours. “But I know now.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. The crashing waves below filled the stillness like thunder.

Jace lowered his head, his eyes closed for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When he opened them, they were filled with something new. Resolve.

“I can’t undo what’s been done,” he said, stepping closer to you. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unwavering. “But I can stop it from happening again. I swear it. I will make Daemon answer for what he did. I’ll stand with you. If you’ll let me.”

His words hung in the air like a fragile thread. You stared at him, searching his face for lies, but all you saw was raw honesty. Guilt. Regret. Shame.

But also something more.

“Why should I trust you?” you asked, your voice hollow but sharp.

Jace’s eyes burned with defiance. “I am your brother.” His voice was hard, fierce, unyielding. He stepped closer until he was only a breath away. “I can’t change the past, but I can fight for you now. I swear it on my life.”

For a moment, you said nothing.

The cold wind tugged at your cloak, carrying the salt of the sea with it. Your heart was heavy with doubt, grief, and anger, but as you stared at Jace, you saw something else.

A part of you still wanted to believe him.

But belief was dangerous. Trust was dangerous.

“Words are cheap, Jace,” you said softly, your eyes hard as steel. “Show me.”

His gaze didn’t falter. “I will.”

You stood there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words settle into your heart. The ache of loss still throbbed in your chest, and your hand briefly hovered over your stomach, remembering what had been taken from you.

Finally, you turned your back on him once more, your heart colder than it had ever been.

“Then show me from afar,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I’m done standing in the shadow of dragons.”

You didn’t stop this time.

Not when you heard Rhaenyra call your name. Not when Jace called after you.

Not when you felt the tears burning in your eyes. You kept walking, your heart as cold as the sea wind.

Because blood had been paid with blood And the debt would never be even.

You walked along the shores of Dragonstone, your steps slow and unsteady as the sand shifted beneath your feet. The waves crashed softly against the beach, the cool sea breeze brushing against your face. Your eyes stayed fixed on the endless horizon, thoughts swirling like a storm within you.

The weight of grief still sat heavy in your chest, but the gentle sound of the sea brought you a fleeting moment of calm. Each step left behind a mark in the sand, only to be washed away by the tide moments later. Just like everything else, you thought bitterly.

But then—

A sound.

A deep, resonating roar that echoed through the skies.

Your heart froze for a moment, your eyes snapping upward. It was loud, sharp, and familiar — a sound you knew better than any song. It rumbled through the air like thunder, causing the guards stationed at the cliffs to turn their heads in alarm.

Your gaze followed the source of the sound, and there, circling the skies, was your dragon.

Its silver-gray scales glinted against the dim light of the cloudy sky, and its large wings stretched wide like the sails of a great ship. The sight of it was enough to draw the breath from your lungs. Your dragon let out another deafening roar before diving downward in a spiral, heading straight toward you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your chest filling with something warm. It wasn’t much — just a spark of joy in the midst of all the pain — but it was enough to make you feel alive again. You were not alone.

The force of the wind swept around you as your dragon landed with a loud thud, its claws digging into the sand. The gust blew back your cloak, and you shielded your face from the stinging grains of sand in the air. Your dragon’s great head turned to you, its sharp eyes meeting yours with an intelligence far beyond that of any beast. It lowered its head, pressing its snout gently against your side.

You exhaled shakily, placing both hands on its warm, scaly snout, feeling the low rumble of its breath beneath your palms. It was like feeling the pulse of the earth itself.

“You found me,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling as you ran your hands over its snout. Your fingers traced the familiar grooves of its scales, the ridges you had touched so many times before. “You always find me, don’t you?”

Your dragon let out a low, soft growl in response, nudging you gently with its head. It was a silent promise, one it had made to you from the moment it bonded with you.

You stepped back, lifting your eyes to meet its gaze.

“Take me home,” you said, your voice steadier this time. There was no doubt, no hesitation. “Take me back to King’s Landing.”

The dragon lowered its body, its wings folding inward to give you an easy path to climb. You didn’t think twice. You grabbed hold of the leather reins and pulled yourself up, settling into the saddle with practiced ease. The warmth of the dragon’s body seeped into you, chasing away the cold that had lingered in your bones.

You took one last glance behind you. From the cliffs of Dragonstone, you could see the shadowy figures of your mother, Daemon, and Jace watching from above. Rhaenyra raised a hand, calling out your name, but you did not answer. You did not look back.

Not anymore.

You tapped the side of your dragon’s neck, and it let out a powerful roar that shook the air. Its wings spread wide, blocking out the gray sky above. With a powerful leap, your dragon launched into the air, the wind rushing past your ears as the ground fell away beneath you. The sea below became a blur of blue and white, the island of Dragonstone growing smaller and smaller behind you.

The cold air bit at your cheeks, the salt of the sea sharp on your tongue, but none of it mattered. The weight on your heart began to ease, replaced by the fierce certainty of purpose.

You would return to King’s Landing.

And this time, you would not be silent.

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind consumed by a storm of fear and rage. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his single eye scanning every shadow, every figure, every face. Servants cowered as he passed, too afraid to meet his gaze.

“Where is she?!” he barked at the guards stationed by the main gates. “Have you seen her?! Speak, or lose your tongues!”

The guards shook their heads, stammering apologies, but none could give him the answer he so desperately sought. His jaw clenched in frustration, his fists curling so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Where could you have gone? Why would you leave without a word? The thought alone was enough to drive him mad.

But then —

A roar.

His body went still, every muscle in him freezing at the familiar, thunderous sound that echoed through the skies. His heart skipped a beat as his head snapped upward. The roar cut through the air like the call of a war horn, commanding attention from all below. He knew that sound better than any other. It was your dragon.

His eye widened with realization, and he spun on his heel, running toward the nearest courtyard with the clearest view of the sky. His gaze locked on the figure above. High in the sky, your dragon soared, its powerful wings cutting through the clouds with ease. The silver-gray scales shimmered under the pale light, a flash of brilliance against the dull gray sky.

But it wasn’t the dragon that seized his attention. It was you.

There, atop your dragon, he saw you. Cloaked and hooded, your figure was unmistakable. His heart squeezed in his chest, equal parts relief and fury. He saw the direction your dragon was heading — not toward the sea, not toward the city — but toward the Dragonpit.

His mind raced. She’s coming back.

Without wasting another moment, he turned and sprinted toward the stables, his boots thudding hard against the stone. His breathing was sharp, uneven, but he didn’t stop. He had to reach you. He had to see you.

When he reached his horse, he barely gave the stable boy a glance, yanking the reins from the boy’s hands and mounting it in one smooth motion.

“Out of my way!” he snarled, spurring the horse forward with a sharp kick. The animal whinnied, rearing for a moment before galloping at full speed. The streets of King’s Landing blurred around him as he rode, his eye fixed on the path ahead. He didn’t care about the crowds he scattered or the shouts of merchants cursing him as they leapt from his path.

His mind was focused on one thing only: you.

The closer he got to the Dragonpit, the louder the sounds became — the roars of other dragons, the thundering of wings, and the growing buzz of people gathering to witness the arrival of a dragon. When he finally reached the base of the hill leading up to the Dragonpit, he dismounted with a reckless leap. He didn’t care that the horse hadn’t stopped moving. He didn’t care that his boots slid on the loose gravel.

He sprinted up the hill, his breathing sharp and harsh, his gaze locked on the entrance to the Dragonpit. His heart was a riot of emotions — anger, relief, confusion, desperation — all colliding at once. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to see you. He had to know why.

When he reached the top, he stopped just short of the entrance, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked around wildly, his eye scanning the pit. The great shadow of your dragon loomed ahead, its massive wings folding in as it settled on the ground. Dust and loose gravel still floated in the air from its landing. The other dragons within the pit roared in recognition, their calls echoing off the stone walls.

And then he saw you.

You slid down from the saddle, your movements slow but deliberate. Your hood was still up, but as you turned, the fabric slipped from your head, revealing your face. His breath caught in his throat.

You stood there, gazing at him with an unreadable expression. There was no anger, no sorrow, no relief. Just a cold, quiet stillness in your eyes.

He took a step forward, his breathing still uneven. His mouth opened, but for a moment, no words came out. His mind was a mess of confusion, worry, and disbelief. Finally, he found his voice.

“Where were you?” His voice was hoarse, his tone hard but not loud. “Where in the Seven Hells were you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze shifted toward the dragon behind you, your eyes softening for just a moment as you reached up to touch its snout. Slowly, you turned your eyes back to him.

“Dragonstone,” you said simply.

Aemond’s face twisted with disbelief, his eye narrowing. “You left?” he hissed, his voice sharper now. “You left without a word — without a guard — after everything that’s happened?” His tone rose with each word, his anger bleeding into every syllable. His eye darted down to your stomach for the briefest of moments, his gaze flickering with something raw and unspoken.

“You could have been killed,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. He took another step forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? To my mother? I scoured the Keep for you, I—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw so hard it ached.

But you didn’t flinch. You stood your ground, your eyes meeting his head-on. The air between you was tense, thick with words that neither of you had spoken.

“I went to see my mother,” you said, your tone even, but there was a cold edge to it. “I wanted to hear it from her lips. I wanted to know if she was the one who ordered it. Aemond’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him.

“I had to know,” you said through gritted teeth. “I had to know if my mother had a hand in murdering Helaena’s son—” Your voice broke for a moment, but you steadied yourself, lifting your chin. “—and our child.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to the ground for a second too long. Guilt hung heavy on his shoulders.

“What did she say?” he asked quietly, barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward your dragon, as if drawing strength from its presence. When you looked back at him, your eyes were cold, harder than he’d ever seen them before.

“She didn’t deny it,” you said, and those words were like a blade through his chest. “Daemon gave the order, but she did nothing to stop it. Nothing.”

Silence fell between you like a chasm, too wide to cross.

Aemond took another step forward, his face filled with something raw, something close to desperation. “You should have come to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not them. Not her.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I would have gone with you. I would have done anything for you.”

Your eyes softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I know,” you whispered, “but I needed to face her myself.”

He let out a harsh breath, his anger still simmering beneath his skin, but he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, stepping forward until there was barely a breath of space between you. His gaze bore into yours, hard as steel. “Don’t leave me like that again. I will not lose you too.”

You searched his face, your eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something that hadn’t been there before.

“Then don’t give me a reason to leave,” you replied softly, placing a hand on his chest, just over his heart. You could feel it beating beneath your palm, wild and uneven.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not harsh. His single eye locked on yours, his jaw set with determination.

“Never,” he promised, his voice rough but certain. “Never again.”

You and Aemond returned to the Red Keep, the familiar sight of its towering walls and sharp spires looming ahead. The weight of everything that had happened pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you stood tall, your gaze steady.

Word of your return had already spread. As you approached the entrance, there she was — Alicent. She stood by the grand doors, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes scanning the distance until they found you. Her face shifted instantly. The sharp worry that had etched lines into her features melted away, replaced by pure, unrestrained relief.

Her breath hitched as she stepped forward, her pace quickening with each step. Her eyes, filled with both love and quiet reproach, never left you. Before you could say a word, she was upon you.

“My sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a firm embrace. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, as if she feared you would disappear again if she let go. Her cheek pressed against your hair, and you could feel her breath tremble as she exhaled.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, her voice strained with a mix of relief and frustration. Her hands moved to cup your face, tilting it up so she could look directly into your eyes. “Leaving without a word, without a guard, after all that’s happened? Do you have any idea what you put us through?”

Her eyes searched yours, flickering between anger, worry, and something deeper — something like fear. She brushed a hand over your cheek, her thumb tracing the faint lines of exhaustion on your face. Her gaze softened even more. “We thought we’d lost you too.”

Behind you, Aemond stood silently, his eye fixed on you both. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back, but his gaze betrayed him. He was watching you intently, every shift of your face, every word his mother spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, glancing away for a moment. “I just… I needed to know.”

Alicent blinked, confused. “Know what?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing.

You glanced at Aemond before returning your gaze to Alicent. “I went to Dragonstone,” you admitted, voice steadier now. “I had to see my mother. I had to know if she had any part in… in this madness.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, but you stood firm, not allowing yourself to falter.

Alicent’s lips parted in shock. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours as if to confirm she had heard you correctly. Her eyes darted to Aemond, who merely lowered his gaze, his face unreadable.

“Did she…?” Alicent’s voice was strained, her breath barely above a whisper, as though she feared the answer.

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to speak. “Daemon gave the order, like that man said” you said, each word cutting like a blade. “But she did nothing to stop it.”

Alicent’s face crumpled with something close to devastation. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them from your face. She turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly, her lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to steady herself.

“I see,” she murmured, her voice distant. She exhaled slowly, her gaze distant as she stared ahead at nothing. Then, she turned back to you, her eyes filled with fierce resolve. “You will not go back there. Not alone. Not ever.”

Her voice was firm, like an order, but it was laced with worry and love. Her hands found yours and gripped them tightly. “You belong here. With us. Do you understand me? You belong here.”

Her words echoed with such certainty that, for the first time in days, you felt the weight on your heart lift ever so slightly. You squeezed her hands back, nodding slowly.

“I understand,” you whispered, glancing briefly at Aemond. He was still watching you, his eye unwavering, his expression softer now.

“Good,” Alicent said, her voice more stable now. She pulled you close for another embrace, resting her chin on top of your head. “You’re home now. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

But deep down, you both knew it wasn’t over. Not yet.

You walked slowly toward your chamber, your steps quiet but purposeful. The soft patter of your feet echoed in the stone hallway, but behind you, there was another sound — heavier, more deliberate. Each step thudded with weight, sharp and tense, like thunder rolling in the distance.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Aemond.

His presence was unmistakable. You could feel the heat of his gaze boring into your back, and the intensity of it sent a shiver down your spine. He followed close, his breaths steady but heavy, as though every step he took required restraint. There was an energy around him, an unspoken storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Anger. Grief. Guilt.

When you finally reached your chamber, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still resting on the doorframe. You could hear him stop just behind you, lingering for a heartbeat longer. Then, with a slow creak, he followed you in and shut the door behind him.

The silence in the room was thick, heavier than before. The air felt stifling. You turned slowly to face him.

Aemond stood there, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His eye locked onto yours, sharp as a blade but flickering with something deeper. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

But his eye told you everything. Anger. Not at you — never at you — but at the world, at himself, at fate. And sadness, deeper than any wound.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything that might ease his pain, but before you could, his face crumpled. His breath hitched, and before you knew it, he sank to his knees before you.

It wasn’t a graceful descent. It was a collapse. A man stripped of every wall he’d built around himself. His hands fell to his sides, and his head bowed as if the weight of it had finally become too much. His silver hair fell forward, hiding his face from you.

Your heart ached at the sight.

You stepped forward, slowly, watching him with wide eyes. You had seen Aemond in battle, in fury, in cold calculation — but never like this. Never so broken.

His shoulders shook. Barely at first, then more violently. The sound of his breaths grew louder, more ragged, and then you heard it — a sob. It tore from his chest like a wound finally bursting open.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. His head tilted forward, and he pressed his hands flat against the cold stone floor, his fingers curling into fists. His whole body trembled, and his breath came in shallow gasps. “I’m sorry… I almost lost you.”

His words struck you harder than any blade ever could.

You knelt down slowly, your movements careful, as if afraid to startle him. Your eyes never left him. Reaching out, you placed your hands on his face, gently cupping his cheeks. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His eye, still wet with unshed tears, met yours, and you saw it all laid bare — fear, love, desperation.

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I’m here. I’m right here, Aemond.”

He squeezed his eye shut, another tear rolling down his cheek and soaking into your palm. His hand lifted slowly, wrapping around your wrist, holding it there as if you were his only tether to reality.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and broken. “When I came back and you were gone… I thought you’d left me. I thought—” His breath caught, and he gritted his teeth, his face twisting in pain. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

Hearing him like this shattered something in you. The man who always seemed so untouchable, so unyielding, was now falling apart right in front of you. And he had fallen for you.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in — his warmth, his pain, his love.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised, your voice unwavering this time. “I’ll always come back to you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stayed like that — two broken souls holding each other together in a world that seemed so bent on tearing you apart. His breathing eventually slowed, his trembling eased. He stayed on his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer.

No words were needed. This was enough. For now, it was enough.

There, in the stillness of your shared grief and relief, Aemond lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eye, red from tears, gazed at you with a raw, unguarded tenderness you had never seen before. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but for a moment, he hesitated. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his breath shaky.

Then, finally, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, he said it.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air like the soft glow of dawn after a long, endless night. Your breath caught in your chest. Time seemed to stop.

You stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. You had known he cared for you, perhaps even loved you in his own way, but he had never said it before. Never like this. Never so openly, so vulnerably.

His eye searched your face, watching for any hint of your reaction, fear flickering in his gaze as if he’d just bared the most fragile part of himself. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you cupped his face with both hands, your thumbs gently brushing away the lingering tears on his cheeks. Slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. Your eyes closed, and you breathed in the warmth of him, steadying your own heart.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice soft as a prayer, but every word was filled with certainty.

You felt him exhale, his breath warm against your skin, the weight of his fears slowly lifting. His arms around you grew firmer, pulling you closer, grounding himself in you. For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t exist. No war. No blood. No grief. Just the two of you, holding on to each other as if the very gods themselves had tried to tear you apart.

No words were spoken after that. None were needed. The truth had finally been spoken.

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