#this has been weighing on my mind for months

[hellhunde]

This was an illustration requested on my patreon for $5! This was the illustration for December!

homunculushound on Patreon requested "Something About Condor and Crane". There's not a lot I can show without dipping into spoiler territory, so I decided to just go with their meeting!

Instead of a long winded explanation under the cut this time, I wrote a little scene to go with it! My prose isn't the best, but I thought that would likely be more fun than just hearing me talk about it! I'd honestly love to write more little scenes for these illustrations, but we'll see!

--------

Crane was still lost on what to do without her mother. The flock had only lost Goose a couple of days ago to wounds caused by that supposed King. Watching the life drain from her mother’s eyes, hearing her final words rasp out of her mouth—”Keep the colony safe”—it all weighed heavy in Crane’s mind. Crane had been trained and groomed to take Goose’s place since she was a kitten. But now that the time was finally here….

Crane wasn't a fighter. Not many in the Flock really were. While Goose had made the judgement to allow refugees fleeing the King’s conquest to join the Flock’s ranks, many were not battle hardened either. The majority were widowed mothers and fathers with kittens to raise, the elderly, and the already injured. Not much to be able to honor her mother’s dying wish.

The Flock were sitting ducks if she couldn't get her colony in a place to actually defend themselves. She wasn't going to roll over and let that barbarian wipe out Goose's Flock—Crane’s flock—for his own gain. 

“Mother Crane?” Crane’s ear twitched at being called leader’s title. She still was not used to being called it. It was only the original Flock members that used the Mother honorific anyway. She sensed it often made the refugees too uncomfortable. She tilted her head around to see Blackbird, her medic. 

“Yes?” Crane answered.

“Uh,” Blackbird stammered out. “That cat is awake.”

Crane's ears perked. After her mother's passing, she’d taken a walk to clear her head. How convenient then had she instead found the broken body of a muscular cat in a ditch. She thought he had been a corpse, until she saw his body twitch and his eyes train on her. She sent for the medics to treat him only as insurance. She hadn't expected him to actually live. 

“Oh, good.” Crane wrapped her hairless tail around her paws. “What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Blackbird said. “Nothing at all. He just…stares. I think he might be incompetent.”

“Incompetent or not, he must be a strong soul to survive with those terrible wounds,” she said. “And the Flock needs more of those. Take me to him, maybe I can get him to talk.”

Blackbird scoffed. “Don't see what you could do that we haven't already tried.

“You should never doubt the feminine wiles, Blackbird.”

---

Blackbird was right about one thing. This cat sure did like to stare.

His head sat flat with the floor, paws on either side sheltering his muzzle. Without all the blood coating his body, Crane could more easily see the other scars that littered his huge body. This wasn’t his first tussle clearly. Crane winced as she saw the red bandages on the underside of his belly and neck. 

She spared a glance at Blackbird before she walked towards him. His large amber eyes stayed glued on her. In the morning light they showed almost red. 

“Hello, there,” Crane said soothingly, her mother had taught her. He blinked. “I’m Crane and this is the Flock’s base. Or at least a makeshift base. Our old home got ransacked and destroyed by the King’s army.”

The tom blinked again. Crane shot a look over her shoulder at Blackbird. He shrugged. 

“What's your name?” She tried instead, turning back to the tom.

Still no response. In fact, no indication he had understood her at all. Just those same large red eyes looking at her. They reminded Crane of a kitten’s: innocent, curious, scared. What a ridiculous thought. This tom must’ve been several months her senior. 

“See, Mother Crane?” Blackbird called from the entrance. “Incompetent. Can’t understand a word you say to him. We might as well throw him with kittens for all the good he would do in a fighting force.”

Crane sighed. She was about to open her mouth to sadly agree when the tom lifted his head. 

“...mother?” He said, in a raspy voice. His eyes were still blown out wide and staring at her. 

“He can talk—” Blackbird said, trotting inside to stand beside Crane. “Well, why didn’t you speak up before?”

At Blackbird’s scolding, the tom put his head down again. Crane smiled for a moment, thinking it looked like a turtle retreating into its shell with all the neck fluff he had.

Blackbird gave an aggravated huff. Crame ran her tail down his back. 

“Let me speak with him alone,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me. I’ll report anything he says back to you, okay?”

Blackbird hesitated. He eyed the tom once more before nodding. He leaped back out through the entrance, leaving Crane alone with the strange cat. Crane watched his eyes follow Blackbird out of the den, unblinking.

“Now,” she said, sitting down in front of him and getting comfortable. “how about you tell me your name?”

He took several moments to answer. Crane was beginning to worry he had gone mute again when his mouth opened.

“Tiny,” he said. Crane couldn't help but huff a laugh. She was glad to see whoever his mother was clearly had a sense of humor. Tiny’s ears perked at the sound of it. 

“Well, Tiny,” Crane said, laughter still in her voice. “This is my colony, The Flock. We’re the ones who saved you. Can I ask what happened?”

“Got ambushed.” Crane watched Tiny’s claws sheath and unsheath. 

“Now why would they do that?”

“I killed some of them.” The frankness at which he said the words sent a shiver through Crane. That had not been what she expected to come out of Tiny’s mouth. He pouted. “It's not fair to get ganged up on though. It’s mean!”

Something is seriously wrong with this cat, Crane thought. She considered for a moment speaking with Blackbird and maybe killing Tiny themselves. Something painless. That's what Goose would've done. With so many mothers and kittens joining the colony, he might be more of a liability than anything. Though, Goose wouldn't have dragged a shambled almost-corpse back to their base during this desperate time in the first place. 

But something kept her from making that call. For one, Blackbird and the other medics had used so many resources on helping this cat, it would be a waste to just kill him now. And for two… the way he looked at her. While before he had been staring at her non-stop, now he seemed to find anywhere else but her face much more interesting. He spared shy glances at her, seeming to gauge her reaction. 

She’d done the same with Goose several times. Whenever she’d come back with prey after a long day for them to share. Whenever she made an order around the colony that her mother had taught her. Whenever she’d brought Scout back to her mother, claiming him as her mate.

Approval. 

But Goose wasn't around anymore. Crane didn't need to get approval from anyone.

She fixed Tiny with a warm smile, a purr escaping her throat. “That isn't fair. We’re in that same situation now.”

“Really?” Tiny said, genuinely surprised. 

“Yes,” Crane continued. “See, the King’s Army is bullying us small colony cats, it's just not fair. We need as many cats in our corner to hold them back. You seem like a strong fighter, you can join us if you’d like.”

“I can?” Tiny said excitedly. He pushed himself up, before wincing at the pain of his injuries. “I’ve never been in a colony before!”

“Yup. All you have to do is change your name to a bird. That's all.”

Tiny thought for a moment, his lips pursed like an overactive kitten being asked some history fact. While his demeanor was definitely odd, Crane was becoming more charmed by it as the moments passed. Tiny was handsome. His build was much different than Scout’s, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. She felt the burning shame of what her mother would think, but Goose didn’t have a say over her life anymore. Lost it the moment life had faded from her eyes.

“That cat called you mother,” Tiny said, pointing with his muzzle towards the entrance. “A mother is the one that names kittens, so you should name me!”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began before cutting herself off. She didn't think it was worth it to explain to this cat that ‘mother’ was just the Flock leader’s honorific. She wasn't sure he would be fully able to understand it anyway. “...Whatever, sure. I’ll name you. Hmmm, how about Condor? We found you in a bloody heap of yourself afterall.”

At that Tiny—Condor—finally cracked a smile, all teeth. Crane wasn't scared by the sight of them. 

“I love it!” Condor said.

[castellanapologist]

“Bless me Father for I have sinned.”

Luke sat up a little straighter on his side of the confessional, ears perking up at the voice. He recognized it, for it haunted his every waking moment and every dream. The girl who had been sitting in the front pews every Sunday for the last two months. Y/N. He cleared his throat.

“How long has it been since your last confession, my child?” He asks, fingers rubbing at his rosary.

“It has been quite a while Father, I haven’t been in two months. I’ve been so ashamed.” Y/N answers. Luke feels his chest tighten and his eyes strained to see her through the panelling. To no avail, but he pictured her beautiful face distorted in sadness.

“It’s quite alright my child, all that matters is that you’re here now” He soothes. “What sins have you come to confess?”

There’s a beat of silence before she intakes a breath and begins. “I…I have been lustful Father. Having sinful thoughts of a man I cannot have.”

Luke feels the air knock out of him. Lust? A man she cannot have? He felt a heavy jealousy weigh on his heart, but he swallows it down in favor of answering her.

“We all lust for things we cannot have sometimes. It is a sinner's nature.” He pauses before pressing further. “Is this man married?”

This time the silence stretches, and he feels himself getting antsy. His mind floods with possibilities of who it could be. He had seen her talking with couples after Mass before, could it be any of them? He wracks his brain for any man he’s seen her be alone with but comes up empty.

“Not in the traditional sense Father. He…he is married to the church.” She whispers. Luke stills, mind racing with her confession. He speaks slowly as if not to scare her off.

“As in…a priest?”

The air is thick with tension as he awaits her answer. He feels his heart thumping wildly against his chest as his fingers work his rosary over and over. Y/N sniffles before she speaks again.

“Yes. The new priest that’s recently come to our church. I didn’t mean for it to happen, Father!”

Luke feels himself shudder at the revelation that his waking torment has also been haunted by him. The confessional booth suddenly feels too small and cramped.

“What sinful thoughts have you been having of him?” He asks, his voice hoarse. Another beat of silence passes before Y/N continues.

“I’ve dreamt of him k…kissing me” She stutters before continuing. “Of his hands roaming my body and even…” She trails off. Luke inhales deeply.

“Continue.” He demands, voice rough with desire. “Confess your sins.”

“I want him to bend me over the altar” Y/N breathes. “I’ve dreamt of it for so long, even during Mass all I think about is him taking me. I even make sure he’s the one to feed me the body of Christ just to feel his fingers on my tongue.”

Luke feels his dick jump in his pants and he barely surpesses a groan. The rosary shakes in his hand as he processes what she says, the mental images burning in his brain. She describes exactly what he had been dreaming. How he would press the communion onto her tongue with a bit more force just to feel her. Luke takes a shuddering breath as he speaks again.

“It’s alright my child. Lust consumes us all. You just need to fight against it. Pray twenty Hail Marys and Our Fathers then the rosary every night for a week. Do you understand?” Luke’s voice is low, his eyes fixated on her silhouette. He sees her nod before speaking up.

“Yes Father.”

“Go in Peace.”

“Thanks be to God”

As soon as she exits the confessional booth he drops his head into his hands. His length twitches in the confines of his slacks, precum leaking onto his thigh. He tries to breathe deep but only conjures up images of fucking into that temptress in front of the whole church. Fuck. He was so fucked.

Over the next week, he watches as Y/N comes in to pray. He feels like an animal stalking his prey yet simultaneously the prey being stalked. He tries not to notice her heated gaze while he walks around the church. If he ignores this temptation and prays hard enough he knows he can get past it. But a small dark part of him knows he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to move past it. He wants to take her, ravage her. Wants to hear her scream his name while he eats her out in the pews or on the altar.

Sunday is agonizing. Father Michael wanted him to lead service ‘as a way to connect with the youth’. Which meant he was front and center for communion. Luke tried to avoid Y/N’s gaze, seeing her beeline to his line made his dick jump. She kept her head down until she was in front of him. Like usual, she opened her mouth for the body. He thanked the Lord his robes concealed his erection, twitching pitifully as he pressed the cracker on her tongue. Her saliva coated his fingers and just as he was about to withdraw, her lips closed around them. His breath caught as she slowly pulled away, lipstick staining his skin. He thanked God again she was the last in line.

For the rest of Mass, his head swam with desire and shame. What kind of priest was he to be leaking precum while leading his church in prayer? To fist his cock every night thinking of a member from his congregation? He had to put a stop to this. After Mass, he thanked every member individually for coming. As usual, Y/N was the last to leave. When she made her way to him, his dick jolted. The lipstick stain burned his fingers as she glanced down at it.

“Thank you for coming,” Luke said, his voice hoarse. He tried to think of a way to get her in his office. “Did you enjoy the service?”

“Very much so” She breathes. Their eye contact seems to stretch on for hours, the world melting away. He coughs, turning his head away as he felt shame flush his neck.

“Would-” He coughs again to clear his throat. “Would you have spare time for a prayer?”

She studies him for a moment before nodding, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I’m all yours Father.” He swears she purrs his title. Nodding, he leads the way to his office. Like always, he does the sign of the cross at the crucifix on his door, watching Y/N do the same. She sits in the plush chair across from his, the leather squeaking from disuse. Luke takes a deep breath, her perfume invading every sense and making him dizzy.

“Wait here.” He croaks before stepping into the side room he uses for his robes. He quickly sheds the garment, hanging it on the rack. The mirror seems to mock him. There he stood, curls messy and cheeks flushed like some hormonal high school boy. He curses himself, knowing the lust is merely a test. Fixing his clerical collar, he swings open the door to greet her again.

“Thank you for meeting with me.” He says. “I’ve seen you in the church more often. I thought you might want some guidance in prayer.”

Her eyes flicker with slight embarrassment before nodding. “Yes. Any prayer with you is surely to help me on my journey.”

Luke can’t help but feel his ego swell as he sits in his desk chair. His fingers drum on the mahogany as he studies her. He knows what she desires, the sins she wants to commit. But how does he help her resist when he barely can?

“What do you need me to help with? What weighs so heavy on your soul?”

Y/N meets his gaze again, this time smoldering. Luke feels his throat close at the sight.

“Lust, Father.”

It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room when she says, no, purrs those two words. He takes a big inhale, his fingers stopping.

“Right.” Luke croaks. “It’s a normal sin to have.”

“Do you struggle with it Father?”

His cock lurches against his slacks. Nodding slowly, he speaks.

“Yes.”

His confession hangs in the air. The tension palpable in the room. After discreetly adjusting himself, he stands and rounds the desk to stand in front of her. She gazes up at him, eyes swimming with desire. His hand finds purchase on her shoulder, thumb rubbing in a circle.

“The Lord forgives all.” He breathes. To her or himself he does not know. Sliding his hand from her shoulder to her cheek, thumb still caressing her skin. She turns into his palm, kissing it softly while maintaining her eye contact. His control snaps. Surging down, he captures her lips in a bruising kiss. She wraps her arms around him, moaning into his mouth. Their mouths move passionately, deepening by the second. Luke’s hands hoist her onto his desk, scattering his sermons onto the ground.

Her tongue swipes along his lips and he eagerly parted for her. She licks into his mouth greedily as he lays her fully down on the desk. His hands explore her body with reverence, hiking up her dress to expose her creamy thighs. Luke barely can bring himself to pull away but does so anyway, wanting to watch her fall apart. His fingers press against her clit through her panties, watching her eyes roll back and her back arch.

Hooking his fingers against the band of her underwear he yanks them down, desperate to feel her wetness against his palm. He groans feeling her heat, slick coating his fingers just from skimming over her slit. Y/N moans, hips bucking to get more friction. Luke tsks and holds her down.

“Greed is a sin” Luke scolds, his thumb pressing against her throbbing clit. Y/N lets out a choked moan, hands wrapping around his wrist. “You’ll take what I give you.”

With no hesitation, he slips his middle finger into her wet heat growling as he feels her tightness. His hips grind against his desk as he fingers her. One finger turns into two as he leans down to mark her neck. Y/N clamps around him, moaning louder as his teeth sunk into her. Lukes hips stutter as he imagines her around his cock. Unable to take it anymore, he hastily unbuckles his slacks while he fingers her. Panting with relief as his dick springs free.

He adds a third finger, grinding his cock on her thigh. Y/N squirms under his hold, moaning as she gets closer to cumming. His other hand comes to rub at her clit, desperate to see her finish. It only takes a few tight circles before she seized up, pussy clamping down on his fingers as she gushed. He moans watching her soak his hand, rubbing her through her orgasm. Even as it gets too much for her he can’t stop, dragging her hips to the edge of the desk as he drops to his knees. His tongue licks up her arousal, mouth worshipping her as if she herself were God.

Y/N tries to push him away; overstimulated but he doesn’t allow it. His hands hold down her bucking hips, nose rubbing against her clit as he tongue-fucks her hole. He needs to make her cum again. More than he needs to breathe. He doubles down when her thighs squeeze around his head. Y/N’s hand tug at his curls, moaning his name so loud he's almost scared someone will hear. But he doesn’t want to shut her up; her voice rivaling an angels. Finally, finally she cums again, soaking his face. He moans against her, licking up her slick again before pulling away.

Standing, Luke's chest heaves as he stares down at her. She looked like an angel, face glowing as she gasped for breath. His hands wrap around his cock as he jerks himself off to how beautiful she looked. Even as she desperately tries to breathe, her legs spread for her priest. Luke groans deeply, stepping closer to coat his tip in her wetness. Eyes rolling back as he bumps against her clit.

“Fuck me Father Luke. Make a sinner holy” Y/N moans, reaching for him. He leans down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, letting her taste herself. His mind swims in conflict, but as Y/N guides his tip to press against her hole, it goes blank. Luke moans against her mouth as he slowly pushes in. He almost collapses on top of her as her tight heat envelops him. He braces himself on his elbows as he finally hits halfway. Y/N moans as her legs lock around him.

Slowly, so slowly, he bottoms out. Grinding his pelvic bone against her clit, he wills his orgasm back. He can’t let it end here. Pulling back, he pants as she yanks at his hair before he slams back in. His hips set a brutal pace, her wetness making lewd noises as he fucks her. He feels addicted, feeling like he’ll die if he ever stops fucking her. Y/N clenches around him and his hips stutter.

“Such a fucking temptress. Seducing your priest. Telling me how badly you wanted to be fucked at the altar, sucking my fucking fingers in Mass” Luke growls against her mouth as he fucks her harder. Y/N scratches at the back of his shirt, practically tearing through it. He watches as her eyes roll back in revelation she had confessed to him.

“It was you-?” Shes cut off by a moan as he fucks deeper into her. He huffed a laugh, twitching inside her.

“Thank God it was. Been dreaming of this cunt for months” He groans, hiking her leg up to get deeper. His pace gets impossibly faster, chasing his high. His hand reaches in between them to rub her clit, needing to see her fall apart one last time. Y/N convulses on his cock, milking him as she cums for the last time. Luke's hips stutter as he feels release wash over him, slamming into her one last time to cum as deep as he could. He collapses on top of her, both of them struggling for breath.

“I’m guessing this warrants some prayer” Y/N teases. Luke huffs a laugh, squeezing her hips.

“Come by again tomorrow, we can pray together”

[em1989ts]

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.3k

masterlist - based on this request

summary: you and five finally get to live the life you've been fighting for, but he has a hard time adjusting

content: hurt/comfort, death in a nightmare, angst, fluff

author's note: thanks again for the request!! i listened to peace on repeat the entire time i was writing this cause it's just so five, it also happens to be one of my fav taylor songs! my inbox is always open so if you got a request please send it in :) enjoy !!

not proofread!

“Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

~~~

You never thought there’d be the day where you and Five would live together. 

You’ve always pictured getting your own place, maybe even a cat, and living that beloved domestic life, but you didn't think it would actually happen.

It seemed like every single time you thought you were safe, another problem quickly made itself known. 

But it’s been a few months since the universe was reset, so you finally started to let your guard down. 

There seemed to be no apocalypse or assassins following the two of you around in your new lives.

That weight had left your shoulders, yet you could tell it still weighed Five down. 

You were both living normal lives now, blending in with the world around you.

Each of the Hargreeves siblings had gone down their own path in life for the second time, and it was time for Five to have the comfortable, normal life you’d always hoped he would have.

Five worked with the CIA, while you worked at a café a couple blocks away from your apartment.

He initially wanted you to stay home, knowing he could provide more than enough for the both of you, but he knew you wanted to live your own life too. 

Now that you had all the time in the world, he watched as you gradually grew into your best self. 

You explored hobbies, gaining exciting interests you never knew you had, which he admired so dearly. 

All he ever wanted was to see you so happy. 

But the constant fear of allowing himself to be happy and settled only for that to be ripped away from him never left his mind. 

After the universe was reset and the two of you lost your powers, Five grew extremely anxious. 

Sure, the two of you had learned combative skills and you were both excellent at defending yourselves, but what if? 

That question burned through his mind. 

What if the Handler came back? 

What if the apocalypse came back? 

What if someone hurt you? 

What if he couldn’t protect you?

“Ouch-” 

Five looked down at his hand, turning slightly pink after he burned it against his mug. 

“You okay?” you asked from your seat at the island in your kitchen, looking up from your book.

You had noticed he was particularly stressed today, but you could tell he didn’t feel like talking about it. 

He had checked the lock on the door at least four times now. Even the balcony doors were locked with the curtains drawn, blocking the moonlight from entering the mostly dark apartment.

You knew it was hard for him to adjust to a normal life. He had been so focused on surviving for so many years he forgot what it was like to live. 

You had tried to help him, and sometimes it worked. He would dance with you while your Frank Sinatra records played in your cozy living room. He would try out new recipes with you. 

You loved it most when you could just enjoy each other's company, without a care in the world how much time had passed, because it was never a waste. 

The two of you would spend hours together, wrapped up in each other arms or simply leaning on each other. Sometimes you would talk, sometimes you would just enjoy the intimate silence. 

You didn’t like the silence now though, as you watched his furrowed brows and shaking hands. 

You knew it was hard for him to bring up how he felt. His family always shoved his feelings so far down their list of problems he never felt like they would be important to you. 

As much as you reassured him he could always talk to you about anything, he still didn’t want to be a burden. 

“I’m fine,” he picked up his mug with one hand and walked around the island over to you. He held your head and pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“I’m heading to bed,” he said quietly, “Love you.”

You smiled, “Love you, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

As he walked into your shared bedroom, you couldn’t help but worry about the man you cared so much about, and you wish you knew how to help him. 

~~~

It was happening again. 

He was running. 

There was so much smoke. 

So many flames. 

So many bodies. 

He frantically looked around, until his eyes landed on the one body he couldn’t handle seeing in such a state. 

He was too late. If only he ran faster, if only he couldn’t stopped this, if only he could’ve saved you. 

His knees hit the gravel.

He screamed but he couldn’t hear himself. 

He hear your voice calling for him

 Your mouth was undefinable, but he could tell it wasn’t moving. 

The smoke filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe

“Five!” 

~~~

He sat straight up. The cold air hit his sweat covered chest as the sheets flew forward. 

He was still screaming as he tried to pry his eyes open with his hands, scratching the vision out of his head. 

You were still saying his name and you reached for his eyes, grabbing them tightly and bringing them away from his face. 

His eyes were bloodshot and he was shaking intensely, but once his sight focused on you he caged you in with his arms and started bawling. 

You had never witnessed one of his nightmares get so bad. 

Of course, he’d had several ever since you’d moved in together but he’s never been this disturbed by one.

You could feel his tears in your hair and you could slightly make out his muffled chanting. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your heart was breaking just seeing him like this, you couldn’t bear him so distressed.

You tried to calm him down as he held you, with soothing whispers and coos to calm his breathing and heart rate. 

Once he seemed less frantic, you peeled his arms off you and sat in front of him, holding his hands. 

“What happened?” You asked him softly, brushing his hair off his forehead. 

He looked as though we were going to cry all over again but he looked down and said, “I lost you.” 

“It wasn’t real, Five,” you reassured him, “I’m right here, I’m okay.”

You held his face in your palms, looking into his green eyes. 

It pained you to see him so worried.

He held his hand over yours, “I just want you to be safe.”

“I am,” you smiled sadly at him. 

“We don’t have to worry about the apocalypse anymore,” you reassured him, “There’s no more commission. There’s nothing coming after us, we’re safe.” 

He signed, taking your hands off his cheeks and holding them in his lap, tracing the lines along your palms. 

“I want more than anything for you to feel safe, Five. I don’t want to see you so scared to live a normal life, one that we’ve been fighting for so long for.” 

A tear ran down his cheek, which you wiped away with your thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just- I want you to be happy. I don’t mean to bother-”

“Please don’t,” you cut him off. 

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it over the two of you, tucking you both in. 

As you faced him, you said, “You don’t need to apologize.” 

Pulling him in, you felt his face bury into your chest as your fingers combed through his dark hair. His breathing slow, his body warm against you, his heart rate slowing. 

“As long as I get to live this life with you, Five, I’m happy.” 

~~~

[tanhands]

everyone you wanna be

for the klaine valentine's challenge. no content notes yet.

one: my fancy patter

"Hey there, Lone Ranger." 

Kurt looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, knees up and ankles crossed, as Blaine drops down next to him with a commercially pleasant smile -- though that's not indicative of much, since that seems to be Blaine's default expression like Santana's resting bitchface or Finn's perplexed forehead pucker. "Hi," he says shortly, because he'd come to sit in one of the unmonitored halls for a reason and doesn't feel the need to be welcoming. Blaine makes a small, nonspecific sound of commiseration.

"I know something that'll cheer you up," Blaine says, and follows it immediately with, "--this morning's numbers were rough, and I think we're both in the same boat with being down in the polls, but the best thing is to forge ahead instead of letting it weigh us down." 

With an arched brow, Kurt regards the other boy for a long moment, perversely until he sees Blaine's temples start to get a touch damp, the smile start to strain.The momentary spike of mean satisfaction is just that, fleeting, and he sighs inwardly before he says, "What's so fun that it'll take my -- our -- minds off dipping in the viewer polls and potentially getting voted out of the show and sent home covered in embarrassment and failure, the butt of memes and talk shows for weeks if not months if not years?"

Blaine blinks and breathes out a whoooo, barely audible, but recalibrates fast, something Kurt notes with interest. "Finn and Puck figured out how to work the deep fat fryers in the cafeteria," Blaine says. "They're frying everything they can find. Frozen cauliflower, those little round frozen peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, potato chips--"

"They're making fresh potato chips?"

"No, they're double-frying normal potato chips." Blaine pauses, considers. "They're not bad, actually. If you get past the singed taste." 

Kurt huffs derisively, letting his wrists dangle against his knees and thunking his head back against the wall. "A glowing review. I'll pass."

"We could maybe use the pancake batter to coat some candy bars and deep fry those. Better than potato shards?" Blaine starts reaching for Kurt's wrist to coax him up, but stops when Sam and Quinn come down the hallway, hands latched together between them. "Sup," Sam says with a lift of his chin towards them, which Blaine answers while Kurt tucks his own chin a touch lower and watches them go by. Quinn doesn't even look their way, her chilly, brittle smile reserved for Sam only, her posture the envy of dressage horses and hat racks. Their blond hair seems to provide its own source of light as they continue to sail down the hallway and out of sight, a yacht passing by two bobbing sailboats.

Kurt's startled out of his reverie by Blaine moving in closer, turning towards him instead of keeping his back flush against the wall. "They don't even really give a crap about each other," Blaine says, voice dipping lower as it sinks into more secretive levels, and Kurt feels a swirl of unease in his stomach. 

"They've been inseparable since Sam found the only shower room that's still got hot water. They probably bonded over sharing a bottle of highlight-preserving shampoo."

"No," Blaine says more insistently. He has extraordinarily thick, weird eyebrows, Kurt notices for the first time, like circumflex accents over the o's of his eyes. "It's been since they got their numbers and were dipping way below Finn and Rachel. That's when they got together." 

Kurt's teeth clack together in his mouth at Blaine speaking aloud what he's started to get a gnawing feeling about lately. The purpose of what they signed up for, this live reality programme about the making of a show choir through the unusual but attention-grabbing method of a survivalist situation in an unused high school, it wasn't about dating or romance or any of that. The pitch had been for performers, people with talent and moxie and charisma and screen presence, not people who intended to get by with looking pretty and sucking face 

When Rachel and Finn had declared they were together, and they'd immediately soared in the polls, Kurt had talked himself out of it; they were both talented and Rachel's looks were entertainment good, not magazine good. But Quinn and Sam were like Dresden dolls more than any sort of real competition in the talent department, with their adequate singing and dancing that happened to come out of appallingly photogenic faces and figures. Possibly a secret hairstylist they'd secured to give them an advantage.

"This is exactly what I didn't want," Kurt says sharply, drawing his knees in tight now, feet pulled in together. "I told myself that this would be a different sort of show, one based on ability and merit and not just whatever look is hot on social media right now. But no! It's the same old thing, isn't it? The so-called prettiest people get everything without having to try." 

"Hey, now," Blaine says, tilting his head. "You and me are pretty too." He bumps the back of one hand against the crook of Kurt's knee. "You a smidge more, but I think that'll work for us." 

Kurt raises his head slowly from where his chin had sunk down against his chest. "Oh, no," he says, and scoots to the side, watching in gathering concern as Blaine correspondingly scoots closer. His smile is just as commercial as before, but now there's something else to it, something more focused and determined, and that's much worse because damned if Kurt doesn't like being the spotlight of somebody's full focused attention. 

"Blaine -- it's Blaine, right?" Of course he knows the other boy's name, but if they're going to play a game then Kurt's not going in with the weaker hand. Blaine seems unfazed and just inclines his head, smile inching towards amused. "Look, Blaine, while I enjoy romcom tropes maybe more than your average person, to the point where I watch people go about their daily lives and immediately visualize their minor mishaps happening as meet-cutes, this isn't the route I want to take to be part of the New Directions. I want to win my spot through my gift and my hard work and, yes, being pretty, but that's not the main thing people should admire about me. And sure as hell not because I hook up with the flashy prep." 

"Whoa there," Blaine says, smiling full-on now, "hook up? I'm not that easy." He laughs and it's breezy, confident, which is annoying but also takes the awkwardness out of the whole thing, so Kurt un-tenses, just a bit, as Blaine continues with a shake of his head, "It's an advantage. We've obviously got the raw material needed to make it, but this isn't an even playing field, unfortunately, or we'd know the outcome already. It's a show, it's dramatics, it's will-they-won't-they." He sings the last bit, a plummy MGM flourish: "--that's en-ter-tain-ment!" 

"Trying to win me over with show tunes is … well, all right, it's effective. But this still isn't the avenue I want to stroll." Kurt thins his eyes at Blaine, considering, and the other boy takes it as an opening to make his pitch.

"Look, Kurt -- it's just for the cameras, and I'll do all the work. It doesn't have to look as though…" Blaine reconsiders whatever he'd been about to say and reroutes, "I'll woo you as if we're lovers in some silent black-and-white film! Big gestures, romance coming out our ears, I'll be so smitten that the audience is gonna fall in love with you through me, they'll be dying to see where it all goes and if I manage to win your affections. Or at least a duet." Blaine has his hands clasped now, pressed over his heart, and he tips his head in the direction that Sam and Quinn had gone. "One a damn sight better than 'Lucky'."

"Low-hanging fruit," Kurt says, but his heartbeat has tripped into double-speed, and he licks his lips, shifting to cross-legged so he can face Blaine. "I have conditions," he says, and Blaine turns even more towards him to say, "Naturally. We should both come to an understanding so there's no misha--"

"You need to find a KitKat and get it deep-fried for me."

Blaine halts in mid-reasoning, then he hops nimbly to his feet and sweeps a flourishing bow. At the crown of his dipped head there's a wave to his hair, little promises of curls, and Kurt files that away, too, in the moment before Blaine straightens. "Whatever your heart desires," he says in a silky murmur, and then more normally, "--next time we'll do this stuff for the cameras, okay? No point wasting it where nobody can see."

"Okay," Kurt says, and if his answering smile is a touch flat, it's just because he doesn't need to care. 

[fragmentedstarlights]

Shuake to me

[mysaintkitten]

What does it mean if I suspect I’m a lesbian but I’m still attracted to (some) men but I don’t like them as people … thinking 🤔

[itspileofgoodthings]

have had a bit of my crash after flying too close to the sun this past week and you know what, it’s very annoying and also very good for me in a stabilizing way.

[ghosthalf]

its almost been a year since my mom passed. we were estranged but i love her so much and i hope she knew that

[gghostwriter]

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself. 

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth. 

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair. 

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial. 

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself. 

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst. 

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late. 

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps. 

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked. 

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[thetriumphantpanda]

be my Venus of the stars | general marcus acacius

Summary | He's been visiting you for months, fresh off the battlefield, to be cleaned and reborn, but this time, something is different, this time, he might finally touch you back.

Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.8K

Warnings | Set in a bath-house, it is suggested that reader is a sex worker, The General™️ is dirty and needs a bath, as historically accurate as I could make it, use of Latin terms of endearment, explicit smut, handjob, fingering, oral sex (f), unprotected PiV, creampie, marking during sex, mention of ancient roman methods of.... not getting pregnant, no use of y/n, reader is a blank slate but does wear a dress.

Authors Note | Listen, I know we know literally nothing about this man, but what I do know is that he looks like a needs a bath and a nice lady to help him destress... so here we are. Leave it to the archaeologist to fall head over heels for the roman general, right? Whilst my ancient archaeological interest has always been Greece, you best believe this is right up my street. We won't talk about the amount of academic papers I read to make this as historically accurate as possible. I hope you love this, and if you do, please consider reblogging, commenting and screaming with me in my ask box!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

He’s weary, his body drooped from the weight of his armour, but you suspect there are other things that are weighing him down too.

He’s been gone a while, sent away to some far-fought battle, never knowing if the view of his back when he leaves will be the last you ever see of him or not.

As he always does, he drops a coin purse onto the table, sliding it across to the bathhouse owner, before he turns, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Always you, only you, he’s never paid attention to anyone else in this damned place and he never will. His face is covered in dust, dirt and grime, his clothes in no better shape - you know you have your work cut out for you, but you find that when it’s him, you don’t mind at all.

It’s a familiar dance, how he follows a few steps behind you, the clinking of armour filling the hallway as you lead him to the private bath. You do as you always do, and open the door, letting him move inside as you let the door click shut behind you.

The hour is late, candles the only source of light, the sounds from the street below filling the silence as you ready the water for him. Warmed already, you drop a few rose petals into the water and pick out the oil you know he likes. It strikes you then that he’s not undressing, something he normally does himself. Instead, he stands at the window, staring out into the darkness.

“It is ready, sir.” You speak softly, motioning your hand to the bath when he turns around.

“Come,” he all but whispers, “Help me.”

You step closer, following his lead as he starts to undo whatever straps keep his heavy armour in place, dropping his hands when he knows you’ve got the hang of it. You take it off, piece by piece, setting it gently on the ground until he’s just in the under layers he wears.

Night is falling, and the candles in the room and the orange light from outside bathe him in gold as he motions for you to do the rest. Your hands, trailing up his body, lifting the tunic he’s wearing under his armour, over his head. There’s a hiss of pain as he lifts his arm, then a sigh of relief his tunic is gone, and it’s at this moment, that you realise he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

This man, born and bred for the fight, with brown eyes softer than you’ve ever seen staring down at you as you undress him.

“You can touch me.” You offer.

You look at him, eyes through eyelashes, as his roam across your body, draped in cotton and pinned in just the right place to accentuate every inch of you - it was a gift from a wealthy customer many years ago, a traveller who had taken to you, promised to take you with him but left you with nothing but a nice dress.

He goes to reach out, but stops short of touching the material, “It is such a pretty dress,” he muses, stepping back from you to let the final garment he’s wearing drop to the floor, “I must bathe first.’

You aren’t shy in the way you look at him, you’ve seen him without clothes more times than you care to admit, you’ve touched him, made him sigh, made him cum more than once, but he’s never once reached out to you. But there’s something different tonight, something charged, and as he walks towards the bath, muscles in his back rippling as he does, you wonder if tonight might be the night you finally know what it is to be touched by him.

He lowers himself into the warm water, groaning as he settles his back against the metal, warm from the water and from the fire lit to keep it that way.

You do as always and kneel beside it, picking up the small bowl on the table next to you. You scoop some water into it and let it drain across his curls, his head tipped back because he knows this dance. Fingers run through his wet hair, freeing his locks from the weeks of dirt and sand and blood and fight, until the water runs clear.

Then, you move onto his body. It’s arguably your favourite part, letting your hands run across his skin. He rests his arms on the lip of the bath, a well-rehearsed dance now, and lets your pour the scented oil onto his skin. You massage it in, thumbs digging in where his armour has left marks, easing weeks of tension with firm presses. You use the strigel to scrape the oil and the dirt off until his skin is clean.

Only once you have used your hands to rinse him off do you consider moving lower. You always do, run oil soaked hands up and down his legs under the water, feel his muscles tighten when you drag them higher, which is how it always ends up with your firm hand wrapped around his cock. Your fingers dip below the water but his strong fingers grip at your wrist as they go to drift lower to his legs.

You let him guide your hand, your eyes meeting his own chocolate-brown orbs, which are blown wide and dark, as he shows you what he really wants. No preamble this time, as your fingers meet the skin of his semi-hard length.

“I haven’t finished.” You purr at him, letting your fingers close around him anyway.

“I find I don’t care,” He speaks back, tone low, “I have been gone for weeks, this is all I want.”

You watch as his head tips back and his body lowers into the water when you start the languid pumps of your hand up and down his cock, gripping tighter when you reach the tip, loosening when you move down. You’ve seen him for years, you know how he likes it, slow to start with, faster to bring him over the edge.

There’s something different this time though, of all the years he’s seen you, he’s never once touched you, only ever a tight grip on your arm as he comes, or a drag of his thumb across your cheek when he leaves. His grip tightens around your wrist enough to still your movements, then, he’s dragging your hand away. You wonder for a moment if you’ve done something wrong, until he shifts and stands.

You’ve seen him without his clothes enough times to know every dip of his body, ever mark and scar that he’s accumulated, but as he stands now, water dripping from his skin, cock hard and heavy in front of you, he looks nothing short of God-like. All the statues in all of Rome could never compare to this man in front of you.

Standing from your place on your knees, you watch as he steps from the bath, water pooling on the floor as he walks towards you. He lets a hand drape across your waist, palm flat against your back as he pulls your body to his own, wet skin against dry garments, head dipped so his mouth is a whisper away from your own.

“Tell me I can,” He asks, “I want to kiss you.”

You let your hands entwine at the back of his neck, wet curls locked between fingers, so you can drag him closer to you. When his lips finally meet yours, all the years of wondering what it was like prove worth it. They’re chapped, dry from whatever battlefield he’s been within, but it’s perfect, as they slant across yours and he pulls your body tighter to his own. He’s gentle, unlike other men, his tongue is tentative as it drags across your bottom lip, mouth opening against your own as his tongue melds with yours behind your teeth.

There is movement that you only register at the last moment, when the backs of your knees hit the bed in the corner of your room. You tumble down upon it, lying and watching as he watches you, fist tight around his own cock as you start to undrape your dress from your skin. His eyes rove across your body when you finally reveal yourself to him, spreading your legs for him, letting your hands cup your breasts.

“You do this for everyone?” He asks quietly, settling himself between your open legs, his cock resting against your mound.

“Maybe,” You respond, “But you’re the only person I want to do this for.”

“Do they treat you well?” He murmurs, laying his body across your own, the weight on him on top of you making your cunt pulse.

“Some do, some don’t.” You shrug, cupping his face with your hands.

“Any of them make you come?”

You shake your head against the bed, “They come here for their own pleasure, sir.”

“My pleasure is your pleasure,” He whispers against your ear, “Tell me, has anyone ever kissed you here?”

One of his hands drags down your body, his hips lifted enough to let his hand cover your cunt.

“N-no,” You choke, the heat of his hand stifling against you, “They h-haven’t.”

“Would you let me?”

You nod, words failing you, as he lets his mouth drag down the naked skin of your body until his broad shoulders are settled between your thighs, pushing them apart, spreading you obscenely wide for himself.

His mouth is hot as it kisses the skin of your pussy, soft feather-light touches to every inch of skin. His thumbs pull your folds apart, baring every intimate inch of you to him, and then it’s all ecstasy as that wonderful mouth clasps around the bundle of nerves that you know so intimately of yourself, but others seem to forget.

It makes you buck your hips into his mouth, pressing further into the feeling of absolute bliss as the tip of his tongue flicks fast and then slow across it in undeterminable patterns. One of his hands splays across your stomach to keep you still, as he switches from the tip of his tongue to the flat. You can hear the slurping from between your legs, can feel your slick leaking from your cunt at his ministrations, the moans he lets out when his tongue dips lower to taste you - he’s enjoying this just as much as you are, a man committed to making you feel good before anything else.

There a knots twisting in your stomach, a fire that you know only from your own hand spreading across your lower body, you’re close, and you think he knows it too.

He brings his mouth back to your clit, lips enveloping it whole as he sucks it into his mouth, rolling his tongue across it as you feel two of his fingers slip inside your wet cunt, curling upwards almost immediately.

“Gods,” you breathe out, letting fingers tangle in his quickly drying hair, “I’m- oh fuck - so close.”

He continues just as he is as your body starts to convulse. Your eyes clamped shut, sweat pooling in crevices you didn’t know you had, until his tongue flicks just right and you’re snapping, coming undone. Body arched into his mouth as your cunt clamps tight around his fingers, as pleasure bursts across every inch of your skin. His tongue doesn’t let up until you whimper quietly that it’s too much, chest heaving and vision blurry.

His body clambers atop yours once more, hot skin against hot skin, his lips at your neck as he fumbles between your bodies, hand guiding his heavy, hard cock to nudge at your leaking centre.

“Tell me it’s okay,” he breathes against your skin, “Tell me I can have you like this.”

You moan, hips moving upwards into his own, heavy arms wrapping around his neck, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whine, feeling the tip of his cock right where you want it, “Please,” you beg, “Please, put me out of my misery.”

One of his hands grips your chin, turns your face to his. He’s so close, his eyes burning with lust you’ve never seen before, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Look at me,” he begs, shaking your head a little when you close your eyes at the feeling of him starting to push inside, “I want to see you when I do this.”

So you do, eyes open and boring into his own as he slips his cock into you. He’s big, bigger than you think you’ve had before, your mouth drops open as he slowly feeds every inch of himself into your cunt, stilling and sucking in his breath when he can go no further.

“I have dreamt of this,” he speaks softly as he drags himself out of you, “Wondered what you would feel like,” then he pushes back in, all at once this time, “It is nothing like I imagined.”

His face is buried in the crook of your neck now, his hips pulling back only to push back in again, tip of his cock brushing against that spot inside you that makes you keen, fingernails digging into his arms as you hold on.

“Is it better, General?” You ask in his ear, “Am I all your dreams come true?”

He answers with a hard thrust of his cock, causing a shrill shriek from your throat as the tip bruises at the very depths of you.

“It is everything I wanted and more, carrisima.”

He pushes himself back from you, cock still buried deep, and gathers your legs, hooking them over his arms before he presses forward again, bending your body in a way you know will make you ache tomorrow.

His hips pull back, before the slam back into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, as he sets a pace that you’re not even sure the God’s could keep up with. The room filled with nothing but the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, the wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in on every thrust, and the hot pants and moans from the two of you.

You let your arms reach around, palms against the toned muscles of his ass. You squeeze and dig fingernails into skin on each bruising thrust, head thrown back to let him press forward enough to suck at your neck, teeth nipping and tongue soothing. No-one but him would get away with marking you.

“I’m close,” he manages to choke out, “Tell me I can fill you.”

You’ve waited too long to feel him like this to deny him. You would go to the healer in the morning for a cyreniac balm, but all you wanted right now was to feel him claim you, to make you his in every possible sense.

“Fill me, General,” you moan, “Let me feel you, please.”

It does take long, his hips faltering, stilling into your on one final thrust. He growls into the night air, his cock throbbing within you, the feeling of his seed painting your walls makes you hungry for more. He collapses on top of you, softening cock still deep inside you, as you wrap your arms around him, run comforting fingers through his hair as he recovers his breath.

Finally, he slips himself from your heat and rolls onto his back, dragging you with him to drape across his chest, one hand on your lower back, the other placed atop yours on his chest.

“I go back to war soon,” he speaks quietly, mouth pressed to your forehead, “I-“ he stutters for a moment, “I’m not sure I will make it back this time.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his jaw, “You are lucky, Sir,” you speak, “I think the Gods look upon you.”

“I feel a premonition,” he explains, “I couldn’t go back without knowing what it was to have you.”

You move the hand you have on his chest to entwine your fingers with his own, “You must come back, I cannot live without you now I know you like this.”

He smiles a little, shifts the two of you so you are both led on your sides looking at each other. His big palm traces down your side, resting at your hip.

“I will try, mea columba,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose, “But for now,” he rolls you gently to your back, fingers trailing back through your folds, slipping inside you, gathering his come and your slick on his fingers, dragging it up to circle your clit softly, “We must make the most of the time we have left together.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii :33 i literally read all ur works in one sitting omg ur amazing pookieee AND IT GOT ME THINKING-

What if reader and the JJK men had their bodies switched due to a curse??? Like- For example- Nanami Kentos body but readers mind/conscious and stuff like ykwim??? (same with readers body) Also i love how u write sukuna its so BEIFNSKFHKDD ARF👹👹 if u could add some smut and crack in it too pls🥹 tyty

(W/ nanamin toji sukuna n geto pls) ☺️☺️😚😚

JJK Men: Body Swap!!

Summary: Body swapping with your boyfriend? What could go wrong? 😃

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Sorcerer AU), Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, a little crack, body swapping, creampies, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 7,174

A/N: Hi Pookie!! hajsjjdjdthank-you so so much! I lo ove too! Modern Sukuna is one of my favorite boys to write for! I love him so much. (even though I know its OOC). Anyways thanks for being so patient with me. this last month has been insanely busy and I'm just now finding my creativity again!

Fushiguro Toji:

It was supposed to be a simple mission to take out a sorcerer. What you both didn’t know was that this sorcerer had a lot of curses to spirits protecting them. So when you both took him out, one of the spirits attacked you. And you weren't sure what happened. One second, you were standing back to back with your boyfriend. The next second, you were lying flat on your back, staring up at the sky.

While your head was spinning and you felt sick to your stomach, that meant you were alive and well, which was a success in your books. Sitting up, you grumbled out a groan as you blinked several spots away.

“Son of a fuckin’ bitch.” You said, but it wasn't you that said it? When your vision finally cleared, your eyes widened as you stared down at yourself. “I’m telling Shiu we need double the pay for that shit.” A string of vulgar words escaped your lips as you watched your body sit up.

“T-Toji?” You asked, finding your voice several octaves lower.

“Yeah, you good?” your head turned towards you, and that’s when your boyfriend finally seemed to notice something was wrong. Toji, I’ve been told you you were never good at hiding your facial reactions, and seeing a pure panic that crossed your features let you know he was right. “Oh, what the fuck?!”

“I-It’s me! I-I just—uhm—what the fuck happened?!”

After thoroughly researching the files you both refused to read, you discovered that this was one of the side effects of one of the curses you had taken out. It allowed the souls of its victims to switch with each other. The technique was only meant to last a few hours to a few days, which was a blessing, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to see it that way.

Although you both insisted that you could handle a few more jobs, Shiu couldn’t stand the way you were smiling sweetly at him with Toji’s face, and your face was glaring daggers at him from the rearview mirror. So he did the only logical thing he could think of. You were taking your asses back home until this side effect wore off.

Which was something you found yourself longing for. Because you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being in the small confining space of the apartment with your boyfriend who is currently stuck in your body. You were trying to preoccupy your time, attempting to fix dinner with Toji’s sausage fingers, when you could hear your voice and make the most pitiful sounds in the living room.

“My fucking back hurts!” Toji yelled out, stretching his back out.

“Yeah?” you asked, “I told you I wasn’t fucking joking with you. Having breasts can weigh you down sometimes. Why the fuck do you think I ask for a back massage all the time?”

“Because you want my dick.”

“Hardy har asshole, now you know when I ask for a massage and being serious seventy-five percent of the time.”

You tried to focus on cutting onions but found it extremely difficult with the wines emanating from the living room. “Oww, babe, come give me a back massage. Your beautiful tits that I love are causing me immense pain.” Ignore him, you told yourself as you went back to cutting onions. If you just ignored his whining, everything would be okay. “Babe!” Your voice at you from across the apartment. “Baby!” Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife you were holding, fighting the urge to use your newfound strength not to throw it at yourself. For just a moment, the tiniest millisecond, you thought maybe he had given up on calling you forward, allowing you to go back to cooking until you heard yourself cry out a wine that would make any toddler turn their head towards you.

“Oh my god!” You snapped, tossing the knife into the sink. “What?! What do you want me to do for you, Your Highness?!”

“Rub my back,” Toji grumbled as he shoved your face into the couch. “It hurts, and I know how good I am with my hands.”

With a sigh, you plopped down on the ground behind your body, using your boyfriend's hands to rub circles at the knots always in your back gently. Almost instantly, Toji let out a moan that was porn worthy. You could see him sink further into the couch; your fingers dug into the cushions as you continued to use Toji’s thumbs to rub circles into the sore muscles. Toji continued to whimper, squirming under your touch, pressing your thighs together as you worked your hands lower and lower.

And while it seemed like he was finding some relief in your touch, you found his pants a little too tight for comfort sounds that were resonating from your mouth.

“Fuuuck, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, babe, Fuuck.”

The sound of your moans seems to affect your boyfriend’s body. Allowing you to move on impulse, allowing his body to take the lead. “I bet I can make you feel better.” You whisper against the nape of your neck, relishing how your boyfriend recoiled back.

“Oh yeah~? And how do you plan on making me feel even better?”

Your way was fast and hard, much like the way Toji always gave it to you. You wasted no time, ripping your clothes off of your own body, slamming your lips against the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as his hands reached around, groping your breasts, just the way you liked it. Despite being in different bodies, neither of you were at all clumsy. As soon as you started ripping your clothes off, he told you he was tugging his shirt off his own body, turning to face, allowing you to pin him below you.

The kisses you shared were messy teeth clashing against each other as you both worked at your bottoms. Toji pulled your shorts and your underwear to the side. While you yanked his cock out of his sweats. Even though you were in different bodies, sex wasn’t any different. Toji just needed to feel you against him despite being inside your body, and the same for you.

You spit into your hand, rubbing it over your boyfriend's cock before you press it against your entrance. Never once did you break that kiss, the kiss that was full of raw need as if you both were high on an aphrodisiac when, in reality, you were high off of each other. Toji moaned against your lips as you pushed yourself inside of the tight, wet heat. Your breathing hitched at the strange new sensations washing over both of you.

“Oh my fuck,” you grumbled, pressing your lips against Toji’s. “I-It’s so tight and wet, oh, fuck.”

Toji wanted to laugh to make some crude comment about making sure you didn’t come too fast, but that was hard when he was being split open by his cock. “I-I feel s-so full.” He whispered nearly breathlessly against your lips.

“Does it hurt? Do you need a second?”

“No, I’m okay. Keep going, it feels good.”

Not needing to be told twice, you found yourself pulling out slowly before pushing back inside of your tight, wet walls. You both cried out, your head falling forward while Toji arched his back off the ground. You aren’t sure how long you could last like this. Hell, you weren’t even sure how Toji lasted as long as he did when he was inside of you. The man who was like a crazed sex god going for hours upon hours. While your boyfriend was wondering how the fuck you were able to take his cock like this every other night.

The pace you both set was messy and entirely out of rhythm. But despite not having any rhythm you were used to, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel good. Being able to lose control and lose yourself in the passion and sensations of just feeling good was hot. It was so hot that it had you both biting and sucking and clawing at each other. Your fingers dug into your hips while his nails scratched down your back as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being with each other in a way you had never experienced before.

Being with each other in such a raw, more personal way allows you both, in a sense, to know how it feels for the other to know what to do, how to kiss, how to touch, and how to move against each other. This might come in handy for future sexual sessions for you. You knew that when you dug his nails into your upper back, your body trembled with pleasure. And Toji realized that when you angle your hips, a sure way to brush over your g-spot and cervix made your walls clench down so hard. He was afraid he was going to squirt all over you. Neither of you had ever expected it to happen, but both of you were excited that it had. Even if it meant neither of you was going to last very long.

“Oph fuck!” Toji cried out in your voice, his back arching. “B-Baby, I feel weird, like I need to pee!” Your boyfriend stared up at his face, which smirked sinisterly down at him.

“Yeah~? You gonna cum on my cock?” You asked, your voice deep and ragged. “Be good and cum for me.” You growled against his neck, smirking as you released your grip on his hip, rubbing circles over the swollen, sensitive clit.

“Ah! Fuck! Oooh fuck yes, gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Toji~ come on!”

Toji screamed as he came so hard he squirted all over you, his legs shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. As he screamed and squirmed underneath you, you lost yourself in the way your walls tightened around your boyfriend‘s cock. Hugging him, milking him, trying to get him to come inside. Which, fortunately, was far too easy to do. You collapsed forward, fingers digging into your hips so hard you were pretty sure you were going to leave bruises much, much darker than your boyfriend ever left on you. It was just too much, tightening the screaming, the pleasure. There was no way you could’ve stopped yourself.

“C-Cumming! Ooh fuck!”

“Yeah~! Give it to me!”

You thrust fast and hard, pumping your pussy full of your boyfriend's cum. Not stopping until the head of his cock was oversensitive, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself up any longer. You grumbled, somehow collapsing onto your side as your boyfriend giggled, curling up against you.

“Fuck, I understand why you don’t like pulling out now.”

Toji, your nails down his chest. “Yeah, it feels really good, doesn’t it?” You hummed, wrapping your boyfriend's arms around your more petite frame, not entirely used to the size difference. “God, I gotta give it to ya’ you take my dick like a fucking champ. Don’t know how you do it.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead. “I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend to make sure I’m more than ready for his monster of a cock.” He snickered, pulling back to look at me. “And I know I already failed at foreplay, but I couldn’t help myself when you’re making such pretty sounds. I needed to hear more.”

“Yeah, remember that the next time you bitch that I don’t prep you enough after giving you a massage.”

“Toji, I fully understand what you mean, and it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Good, now— are you ready for round two?”

“Round two? Already?”

Toji swang your body over his hips, rocking gently over your oversensitive cock. “Oh yeah, I thought you were fucking with me, but your sex drive is insatiable; hurry up, I’m ready to go.” Maybe this whole body swap thing did have its downsides.

Nanami Kento:

It took five seconds for Nanami to turn away from the curse you were fighting. The curse shot out a green goop that coated you and Nanami in that span. It took five more seconds for your husband to act, blinking away the goop before jumping back into action. It was only when he went to swing his blunt blade that he realized something was wrong. Instead of swinging his typical weapon, he tossed a talisman paper instead.

In that momentary confusion, you and Kento took out the curse before looking at each other. Imagine his surprise when he didn’t find your pretty face looking up at him but his own, looking down at him. The initial shock turned into panic as he watched a look of pure terror and confusion cross his face.

“My love, it’s all right.” The calm manner of speaking sounded so strange coming out of your mouth. “We have to remain calm.”

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Nanami sighed, running a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do? This is terrible.”

Your husband wasn’t sure if you consider this terrible. Both of you were safe, so that’s all that truly mattered. However, he also found himself strangely intrigued by the predicament. He found yourself then. Seeing the expressions on his face, the cute little corpse you had, like picking at your nails, nipping up your bottom, lip, or weighing, looked strange to him, but it also left him longing to see what other reactions he could drop out from you.

Unaware of your husband’s intentions, you try to remain calm. You continued gently rubbing your hands together as Shoko and Nanami looked over your body he was in.

“Any pain or discomfort?” You watched in horny silence as Nanami moved your shoulder again.

“A little pain in my, well, my wife’s shoulder.”

“Let’s get that taken care of.”

You slipped your top over your head alone, you to see your body. The blue lace bra you wore was on display as Shoko's eyes flowed through her hands over your shoulder. Staring at your skin shouldn’t have any effect on you. It was your body. You had seen yourself naked one million times, but Nanami’s body reacted differently. Its bare skin and breasts had his pants feeling much too tight.

“How’s that?” Shoko asked as she stepped away, watching Nanami rotate your shoulder with a sigh of approval.

“Much better, thank you, Shoko.”

“And you?”

When Shoko turned her attention to you, your hands immediately went to cover your crotch. An action that seem to go unnoticed by your best friend but was clearly noticed by your husband. Nanami hummed cocking an eyebrow in your direction, his eyes focusing on his crotch, seeing how the fabric of his cream-colored suit pants with straining.

You cleared your throat, looking away, “I-I’m fine! Totally fine, just eager to get home and wait this out!” You wanted to get away from her and her praying eyes because how embarrassing would that be for you to be popping a boner in your boyfriend’s body at the sight of your tits?

“Alright, sounds good to me. If you need me, I’m just a call away; go home and rest.”

You have never been more happy to hear the words go home and get some rest in your entire life. You held your boyfriend’s hands in front of his crotch before taking his suit jacket to keep it over the prominent tent in his pants. This was perfect. You would be able to get home without anyone noticing. There, you could take a cold shower and sleep this off.

But your boyfriend had another plan.

Before you both could make it down the hall, Nanami grabbed your wrist, tugging you into one of the spare classrooms. “Kento?” You asked, the unsure tone of your husband’s voice sounded foreign. “What are you—nngh!” Your body jolted forward as he slipped his hand down, rubbing at the throbbing erection straining in his pants.

“Shh, let’s make this quick. I can’t have you walking around with an erection like some teenage boy.”

“W-Wait h-here?! If we get caught, that would be worse! At least I can hide a boner with your jacket!?”

At that moment, your husband was undoing the zipper of his pants, allowing you to see the hunger in your own eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes, and you suddenly realized why your husband had told you several times in the past to control your facial reactions. It was a look you only gave him when you were unbearably horny.

“Oh my god, that’s it. That’s the look you always talk about.”

“Mhm,”

“You’re horny?!”

Instead of answering your question with words, he took your hand and slowly slipped it under the waistband of your pants. There, you could feel the wet slick that you were familiar with. Not skipping a beat, your muscle memory kicked in as your fingers began to trace circles over your clit, knowing just how you like to be touched.

“I saw how hard you were and couldn’t help myself. Your body is screaming you need me. I’m so wet, and I’m throbbing; I need you.”

Hearing those words leave your mouth made you realize how your husband felt when he was in your position. When you talk like that in public, it is hard to control yourself at that moment. You had no clue how Nanami managed to do it because you lost your composure the second he opened his mouth.

You slammed your lips against his as you lifted him, pinning him against the wall, his hands worked at the button of his trousers while you slid your panties to the side. Luckily, both of you were so aroused that there was no need for foreplay. Lips moved against each other as you pressed the head of your husband’s cock against your entrance, pushing inside without a second thought. You couldn’t care less if the door wasn’t locked, and you seriously doubted anyone would enter from the moans resonating from both of you.

All that mattered was fucking each other's brains out. Whether it was a factor from the curse or your undying love for each other, you allow yourselves to lose sight of your control. You needed him just as bad as he needed you. And you gave it to him. It’s hard and fast as he gave it to you after he had been pent up from work all day.

Nanami screamed, head rocking back against the wall as you thrust forward, slamming the head of his cock against your cervix over and over, making sure to go as deep as you possibly could. You wanted him to know how good he always left you feeling after a rough session. Your fingers dug into the fat of your hips as you nipped and sucked at your neck, drawing out more moans from him.

You were giving it, your all fucking your husband as hard as he did; Nanami was gripping onto his biceps, staring into your eyes as he took it all in. Every thrust that led to immense pleasure, every kiss, he took in everything you were doing to him. Because the second he was back in his own body, he would make sure he made you feel as good as you made him feel.

And that was a promise he intended to keep.

“Oh, my fuck—” You cried out softly, feeling your orgasm already approaching you. “You feel too good—”

“Yeah, I know that’s how you make me feel every time. But it’s—nngh! It’s—haaah!”

“Hard to not cum?” You answered for him, feeling your walls tightening around your husband’s cock. “Fuck—oooh fuck.”

“C-Cummi—oh m-my god!”

There was no warning, no further words expressed. All that you managed to do was lose yourselves in your orgasms. Nanami cried out tears, picking your eyes as your walls constricted and convulsed around his cock, drawing out your orgasm. You roared a moan loudly into Nanami’s ear as you came inside, fucking his come further inside of you, doing exactly what he did to you every night.

The classroom felt stuffy and hot and reeked of sex. But neither of you cared as you slowly slid to the ground, holding Nanami flush against your chest. You kissed each other deeply, only breaking apart to take a deep breath as all the air escaped your lungs.

“I didn’t think it was possible—” Nanami whispered in your voice, “but I fell deeper in love with you right now.”

“Ken—I love you so much.”

You never made it home that night. Instead, you went to one of the spare dorms and ravished each other all night. Both of you took notes on how exactly your body reacted to certain touches and kisses because the second you were back in your own bodies, you planned on using this newfound information to spice up your marriage even more.

Ryomen Sukuna (JJK Sorcerer AU):

“I hate this!” Sukuna barked out, pacing the floor back and forth. “Ugh!”

“Calm down.” You said from the couch, rubbing your hands down your face. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

When Sukuna turned to give you the dirtiest look in the world, you weren’t met with his tattooed face, but your own instead. “Have you stopped to look at what happened? I am in your body.” That was true. Your boyfriend was in your body, and you were currently inhabiting his body.

“So it’s not like you’ve never been inside me.” You waggled your eyebrows at him, only to win it go to hell look in return. “Okay, shit, sorry for joking, but you heard Shoko. The effects of this curse will only last a few hours.”

“A few hours too many.”

You weren’t sure if it was the testosterone right now feeling in your blood or the very common annoyance you had with your arrogant boyfriend at times. But for some ungodly reason, watching him, he back-and-forth with a scale on your face was irritating, ever-loving fuck out of you. He was acting like a brat over something neither of you could control.

It wasn’t even just the whole situation itself. Shit like this happened when you were a sorcerer. You got hit with different curses, injured, and usually were expected to live not that long of a life. You knew there was always a chance you wouldn’t come home from a mission. You both were hit by a curse, and you manage walked away with minor injuries and a mild side effect. That was something he should be happy about. But for some damn reason, this whole situation only made him angrier than usual.

“This is bullshit; if only my reverse technique worked shit like this.”

“Kuna! Seriously, what is your problem?”

He growled at you, which would usually put you back in your place when you’re back talking to him, but it seems that growl wasn’t as effective when it came from your body. Meaning you were pretty much unaffected by his tactic of intimidating you.

“I feel weak, okay?!”

“Weak?” You asked with a scoff. “You’re seriously calling me weak?”

“N-No! Fuck I mean, I don’t feel as strong as I normally do.” The more he tried to defend himself, the deeper the hole he dug. “I don’t have the power or technique I have mastered through the years. Instead, I am unfamiliar with your technique, and all I have to defend myself with are these stupid papers.” He scoffed, digging into one of the pouches attached to your belt and pulling out one of your talisman papers. “I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this fold origami?”

“You could shove it up your ass when you get back in your own body, and I hope you get a papercut when doing so.”

“No, I—you know how I see you.” He sighed, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’re strong, and you’ve mastered your technique. But I don’t know how to do anything you do. I feel useless, and I’m not saying that you can’t hold your own in a fight you kick ass. I feel weak because I’m unaware of how to use your technique.”

There was a paying of understanding deep inside your chest. You knew what he meant because you felt the same way. There was an immense amount of power coursing through your veins, which could easily be used for evil instead of good. Having such a plethora of cursed energy made you feel as though you were a ticking time bomb, like if you were to sneeze, you would blow up a building.

So, instead of lecturing or giving him even more of a hard time, you draped a tattooed arm over your shoulder, pulling your boyfriend close to your side. “I get it, I guess.” You whispered, tilting your head back and staring up at the ceiling. “Being in your body makes me feel as though I’m destined to destroy things.” Sukuna snickered, turning to look up at you. “But just because I don’t have the same amount of cursed energy doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’m still strong in my ways.”

“Yeah? In what ways?”

“When I’m riding your cock. I feel all-powerful like nothing can stop me. Especially when you’re groaning, grabbing my hips, encouraging me to move faster.”

At that moment, you regretted the words that came from your mouth. Because all you heard was your boyfriend's understanding hum. A hum that led to his hands working at your pants.

“W-whoa, easy there, Kuna. What are you doing?”

“Taking control, to see just how powerful I’ll feel.”

There was no room for protest; once your boyfriend set his mind to something, he made sure to get it done. Even if that means stripping down, straddling your hips, and lowering himself awkwardly on his cock. Watching his wish contort with pleasure left you feeling as though you might be able to take the reins on this. It wasn’t as though your boyfriend would be able to take control, to ride cock like a pro.

But you seem to forget that this was your boyfriend, one of the strongest sorcerers of the modern age, just as strong as Gojo, if not more robust. The man was smart, and despite the facial tattoos and the muscles, he knew how to get shit done.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out as he slammed himself down onto his cock with a satisfied growl. “K-Kuna baby! P-Please slow down!”

His hand clamped firmly over your mouth, silencing your protests. “Shut up, I’m in control.” your voice sounded so dark and sultry, god it was so hot! “Just be good and sit still for me; let me use you.” you couldn’t argue with that, and with the way he slowly lifted himself off his cock, before slamming your body back down onto it, leaving you feeling pussy drunk.

“Fuck!”

You cried out, shaking as Sukuna rode you like there was no fucking tomorrow. “Oh fuck, fuuuuck!”

“Yeah~ I suddenly see why you like to be on top of a lot.” he dug your manicured nails into his shoulders, dragging them down over his chest. “From this position, I can do whatever I want to.” You couldn’t even ask what he planned on doing to you before his hips were rolling in circles and you were seeing stars. “Are You paying attention? This is how I want you to ride my cock from now on.”

“K-Kuna—Kuna!”

“I feel so powerful; seeing that pitiful look on my face should piss me off. But instead, it’s making me wanna draw out more.”

It was a combination of everything that was going on that sent you coming first. It was the way Sukuna was purring in your ear, so how he rolled your hips around his shaft, to the stinging burn left of your nails over his skin. It happens so fast, and your boyfriend's cock twitched inside of your walls as you came first. And it was unusual. Usually, you were the first to finish, but it never happened like this before. Your boyfriend being the first to fill you up rather than you soaking him with your release.

Sukuna wasn’t even upset about it. He swelled with a certain sense of pride at getting you off first and with a body he was unfamiliar with. That left him feeling so satisfied he could feel his ego swelling. Before he could brag over the fact that he was better than you, his head began to pound as his vision blurred. His grip on his own shoulders tightened. Sukuna thought he might black out for a moment before he was blinking the black spots out of his vision. When it cleared, he was no longer towering above you but underneath you.

Much to his relief, he looked up at your beautiful face instead of down at his own.

You barely had a second to process what was going on and how it happened before Sukuna’s strong hands and your hips were holding them tightly. Open your mouth to speak, but before any words had the chance to leave your mouth, your boyfriend was pulling you up the link of his cock before slamming you back down on him. You nearly came again just from that action in itself.

“N-Nngh! K-Kuna w-wa—ahh!”

He holds you up and back back down on his cock again and again and again. “I thought I told you to pay attention while riding you.” His hips thrust up into your dripping wet pussy. “I want you to do exactly what I did. Don’t keep me waiting; show me how strong you are, Kitten.”

Geto Suguru:

“So let me get this straight?” Satoru questioned while sitting across from you and your boyfriend. “You both took out the special-grade curse?”

“Yep.”

“Suguru turned it into a ball and gulped it down as he does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then everything went black, and you both woke up like this?”

He motioned towards the bodies of his two friends, lifting his blindfold to watch as you knotted your head, which was your boyfriend’s head. Satoru got the story right; it was a simple mission, simple enough for both of you to handle. You could take out the curse with no issues, but when Suguru absorbed it, everything took a turn. Everything went dark, and the next second, you were sitting up in your boyfriend’s body with the most unpleasant taste in your mouth after swallowing the curse.

It was a shock initially, but weird things happened whenever your boyfriend absorbed a curse. That just came with the territory of a curse manipulator. Cursed spirits sometimes had different effects on his body and sometimes the body of those near him. Fortunately, you had been near him on this mission. Geto would have hated to be in Gojo’s body, so this was a win-win scenario.

“Yep, for the time being, we’re stuck like this.”

Gojo sat back in his chair, wincing at the situation, you both found yourselves in. “Shit, sorry about that, guys.” Suguru shook his head, stretching your arms above you.

“Eh, it could have been a lot worse.”

“ that’s true, but are you guys gonna—ya’ know?” Satoru jester to the two of you with his hands. “Use the opportunity to your advantage?”

Suguru and you looked at the white-haired man, blinking in confusion. “Advantage? Satoru, what are you even talking about?” you asked, running your fingers through your boyfriend's black hair.

“You know, I’ll get down and dirty?”

“What?!”

“Satoru~” Your voice purred out as Suegro shook her head. “Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Hey, it’s a genuine question. I’m just curious.”

Your boyfriend, who was irritated from the throbbing vein in your forehead. Having sex like this in his body hadn’t crossed your mind. When it initially happened, neither of you had been more concerned with making sure both you and Suguru were okay than about what happened. Besides that, sex wasn’t the only thing on your mind! The thought of doing it like this even occurred to you, and it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but thanks to manifest. It was out in the open, sticking out like a sore thumb.

You shifted, trying to listen to your boyfriend bickering back and forth with his best friend. Suddenly, you were aware of the throbbing inside your boyfriend, thankfully baggy pants. And you had the sudden urge to go home because the only thing you bring could focus on was how your boyfriend‘s dick was swelling. The last thing you wanted to do was pop a Boner in front of your mutual friend after he had just suggested hooking up with each other while in the opposite body.

If he found out how you felt, you wouldn't hear the end of his arrogant comments and encouragement.

Yeah, it was best to keep him out of your bedroom life. Especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take it that far. There was a burning desire deep in your stomach, one that had you itching to touch your body, to kiss your boyfriend, to succumb to the lust that was burning like a fire deep down inside of you. Was this how Suguru felt around you all the time? Or was it just part of the curse?

“Hey,” you looked up from the bed, watching as Suguru brushed your damp hair. “I think I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Suguru stopped turning his focus on you. “Why would you do that?” What could you even say? You were hard as a rock and wouldn't be able to control yourself? That you wanted him, but you didn't want to gross him out or make things even weirder?

“Well—I uhm—I—have a bit of a situation.”

“I know. You’re hard; you've been hard since we left campus.”

Your hands almost instinctively died towards the crotch, trying to cover the erection that was still throbbing angrily within the confines of the boxers. “H-How did you know?” Your boyfriend let out a giggle that sounded so strange coming out of your mouth.

“My pants may be baggy, but they aren’t that baggy.”

You felt yourself turn fifty shades of red as you groaned, covering your face in your hands. “Oh my god, you could tell?! Why didn't you say anything?” Another sweet laugh came across the room as you resisted the urge to summon Rainbow Dragon to eat you.

“I didn't want to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I'm more embarrassed now. Can I manipulate your curses to eat me? To put me out of this misery?”

“Oh, stop, you're fine. I was only able to notice because I know my body.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“Well, it should be because you looked so fucking hot. Seeing you fight against those primal urges has your body reacting just as strongly.”

You perked up, watching as Suguru swayed your hips as he slowly approached you. “Is that so?” Suguru nodded, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.

“Even though we're in different bodies, my soul is crying to be near yours.” He slipped your shorts down next, kicking them off to the side.

You slowly ran a hand down your boyfriend's stomach, grabbing his hard cock through his pants. "Fuck guess I got caught. But can you blame me? This is weird." Your hands slowly stoked his hard cock. "But also strangely arousing at the same time."

Seeing your hand stroking his cock had Geto’s eyes widening as he looked over his body before he was overtaken with the sudden urge to shove you down on the bed, immediately straddling his hips. "Don't mind if I do~"

You moaned, blushing up at Geto as he hummed softly. "O-Oh, holy fuck." You said, grabbing his hips. "Fuck is this what I look like to you?" you were in awe of your body. The curves, softness of your skin, and fuck, the fact your pussy was nearly touching his cock. Making it even harder, which seemed impossible.

“Mhm~” Suguru nodded; he rolled your bare hips as he ran his fingers over your hair. "It's really hot, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, fuck look at my boobs." You said, reaching up and squeezing them. "The way they bounce, it’s so hypnotic."

Your boyfriend giggled, rocking your hips harder before reaching behind him, pulling his own cock from his pants with a moan. "Holy shit.”

"I know it's really hard," You whispered. "I-I holy fucking shit." His cock was so hard Suguru knew it had to be painful.

"I knew I was big, but Fuuck, this put it in a different perspective. Fuck, I'm going to put it inside of your pussy, Princess.” He hummed as he rolled your hips up and down your cock like you had done countless times before.

"Oh, you are?" You asked, licking your lips. "Nah, I don't think so; it’s time I give you a taste of your own medicine.” You growled out while flipping him over onto his side. "I'm going to put it in your pussy." You ground your hips against drenched folds with a snarl.

Suguru gasped, moaning as he felt the head of his cock rubbed against your pussy. Being the one to do it felt much different than being on the receiving end. But it still felt good regardless. He suddenly knew why you begged so pretty; he longed for more than teasing touches. He was about to start praying for more when his whole body seized up as you pressed the head against the tight ring of muscles of the entrance, fighting the need to shove it all in.

“Baby, please—!”

“Oooh, who's a needy slut?”

"Fuck, I am! I want you to fucking destroy me, please.” Suguru moaned, his head slowly rolling back against the pillows.

You smirked, running your tongue over your bottom lip. "Oooh, begging for me already, that’s so cute.” You slammed inside Suguru’s tight pussy. "Fuck—you're so tight~!!"

Suguru gasped before screaming out a moan while you thrust in and out. "F-Fuck yeah!! Just like that, oh god!!~ Princess!!” Hearing such pretty sounds only filled your desire, making you eager to move, to make him feel as good as he did for you.

"Fuck yeah~ what are you always saying? ‘You like me fucking your cunt slut?’”

“Yeah, I see why, fuck you feel so fucking good!!" Suguru cried out, his eyes rolling back. "Fuck! Princess!! Fuck, I'm your slut, god I want your cum so bad!!"

"Cum for me then~!" You commanded, reaching around and rubbing your clit in fast circles just as you knew your body liked it. "Cum all over my cock." Your thrusts were becoming erratic as you felt your balls tighten.

Suguru cried out, his head thrown back as he clenched hard on your cock. "Yesyes-Yes! Fuck, Princess!! Fuckfuckfuck-!!"

You followed immediately behind Suguru; your hips stuttered as you came hard, cum filling your pussy with thick white cum. "O-Oh fuck~!"

"H-Holy shit!!”

"Fuck, oh fuck." You panted roughly, looking down at Suguru, who was still trapped in your body. "That felt s-ao good."

"Holy hell, the cum feels so fucking good—"

“Yeah~ it makes you feel all nice and warm afterward.”

Your boyfriend moaned softly. "You know what feels even better? Fucking you with my cum~ I promise it feels fucking amazing give it a try."

You perked up at that, turning red, but you couldn't just take his word for it. You needed to feel it for yourself. So you slowly started thrusting back inside, moaning loudly.

"Oh god, you're fucking right, feels good.”

“I N-Nngh told you!”

You kissed Suguru eagerly, thrusting faster. Your boyfriend smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing you deeply as he moaned into your mouth. You kissed back just as eagerly, stroking Suguru’s cheek. Your nails dug into his hips as you moved faster than you could think.

"F-Fuck, can't stop—! God, you feel too fucking good!"

Suguru moaned softly, smiling up at you. "F-Fuck~ I love you too, Princess, so cum in me again!”

You groaned, sucking his neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. "I will." You growled, nipping her earlobe. "I'm gonna keep cumming inside your pussy." your hip bucked, slamming against her cervix as spurts of hot cum filled Suguru, the sensation enough to throw him over the edge with you.

“Y-Yeah! Oooh fuck!” He cried out a moan, clawing at your back as he felt himself cum around your cock when you slammed deep into him. "C-Cumming!! Cumming Princess!!"

You gritted your teeth as you came inside your boyfriend again. That’s how you both were. You were just in sync with each other. Despite the fact, you were in each other’s bodies. You knew how to make the other field good; you wanted to keep going because you weren’t sure how long this side effect would last. But your lack of experience having a dick and poor stamina said otherwise.

"M’ sorry baby, I-I do-don't think I can go anymore. I can’t take it.” You feebly cried out before collapsing on top of your own body, winning a satisfied sigh from Suguru, who was underneath you.

“Honestly, I’m okay with that,” he said as he gulped air. “Fuck you’re probably gonna be sore in the morning. And I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it because this was your own doing.”

Your mind felt fuzzy as you just nodded your head nuzzling your boyfriend‘s face into the crook of your neck because you took in the afterglow and the rash of being near him in such an intimate way. Suguru hummed happily, running his fingers through your hair. He was honestly surprised you were able to go two rounds.

“Sleepy?” he asked softly, only receiving a hum in return. “Ooh—my sweet girl. Lay down for a minute, and let's cuddle before we take a shower.”

“Okay.” you finally could form coherent words as you lay down on your side, cupping your boyfriend's cheek. “Can I—”

“Yes, you can be the little spoon.” You weren’t sure how long the curse's effect would last, but as long as you were with each other, it didn’t matter. All that you cared about was coming home safely with Suguru and sleeping soundly in his arms, which made your dangerous job worth it.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[writingouthere]

neighbor!Sukuna x singlemom!reader, you go to check out a potential apartment and Sukuna joins because he is very helpful. Longest one yet so strap in!

cw:Sukuna waving his red flag like a matador while you do your best SZA impression

Sukuna thought you seemed more stressed than usual when he got home. You still talked through dinner and entertained your daughter but he could tell something was weighing on you. While Bug chased some very melted ice cream around her bowl with her spoon, he brought over some dishes to where you had already started washing the pans you'd used to make dinner.

"Thought I was responsible for the dishes since you made dinner," he reminded you, gently nudging you out the way.

"It's really not a bother and besides, you're already doing us such a big favor, letting us stay here," you said and you sounded a little choked up at the end which made him turn the water off so he could give you his full attention.

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't mind?" He couldn't help some frustration edging into his tone which only made you look sadder. He sighed and dried his hands on the towel, a new addition you had gotten, it was covered in sunflowers and it reminded him of you every time he used it.

"What's going on, you seem off today?"

You hesitated and he put his hand on your shoulder. He preened when you put your smaller hand on top of his and squeezed before giving you his full attention.

"I-I went to go see an apartment today and it was just awful." Sukuna barely fixed his face in time for you to look up at him. He had no idea you were even looking at other places. You'd barely been at his place a month and he had thought you had a good routine going on. You both split the household responsibilities and you spent your time not working together. He picked up your daughter twice a week now from daycare and took over Sunday mornings so you had some time to yourself. Someone at the grocery store had cooed over your adorable family and you hadn't even corrected them.

Obviously, you still weren't getting it and Sukuna reminded himself that it wasn't your fault. It was still like pulling teeth to get you to talk about your ex and honestly what he'd heard about your family hadn't really impressed him either. You had been taking care of yourself for far too long and it only made sense that you would be worried about being a burden on him when other people had made you feel like that rather than seeing caring for you as the privilege it was.

"Why was the apartment so awful?"

You bit your lip and he felt some concern that wasn't related to you potentially leaving. "What?"

"It was the usual, you know. It was over my budget and it was too small, I mean Bug is getting bigger every day, she needs her own room too. Then the building looks like it's only days away from collapsing and the guy who showed it, I mean he was just such a creep."

"Creep, how?"

You sighed and squeezed his hand again, but he wasn't sure if it was for your sake or you were trying to calm him down since he was sure his anger was obvious.

"It doesn't matter-

"Of course it matters, you're trying to find a home for you and your kid and some guy is making you feel uncomfortable in the space you might end up living-"

"-well I'm not going to live there, so. Doesn't matter," you say stubbornly and Sukuna hums but doesn't argue.

It's clear this is weighing on you, and while Sukuna has no intention of you moving out, unless it's him along with you, he figures this is a two birds one stone situation. Because fuck him if he was going to let you wander around the city being harassed by some dumb fucks who thought they could take advantage of a single mom.

"Are you seeing any other places," he asked and you bit your lip.

"Well, there was this one other place but after today I'm not sure-"

"Let me go with you," he said and you looked up at him and well, with the tears just beginning to fill your eyes and the little glimmer of hope he could see peaking out, how could he do anything but assure you. "Let me go with you and you can look around the place without worrying about anyone bothering you. Besides, it would make me feel better if I could scope out the place you and Bug might be moving to. I want to make sure you'll be safe."

Of course, you two would be safe because you would be with him but whatever got him to the showing.

"What about Bug?"

"Yuuji can watch her. He's been dying to babysit since he met her."

This was true. Sukuna's brother was suspicious, rightfully, of Sukuna and his intentions towards you, but Bug's cuteness was a great distraction whenever the three of them were together.

"Okay, okay. Tomorrow, could he watch her tomorrow?"

"Let me call, him. Don't worry, I'll take care of you, okay?"

You nodded and Bug started calling for you both. You went over to give your toddler the attention she clearly wanted while Sukuna finished the dishes and thought over how he would handle this situation tomorrow.

-------------------------------------------

The next day, Yuuji showed up bright and early with the two idiots that were always with him these days. Sukuna rather liked the Fushiguro kid but the woman that was always with him still got on his last damn nerve. Her and Yuuji together were a threat to decency laws and his fucking eardrums.

"Morning! Where is my precious baby girl," Yuuji cooed stepping in as if he still lived there as Fushiguro gave him a quick nod and Kugisaki walked in without even a hello.

"She's not your baby," Sukuna said, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

"Well, she isn't your baby either, so."

Before Sukuna could literally murder his brother, you came out with Bug on your hip.

"Uji!!" Your daughter loved Yuuji and you put her down so she could run over and greet her favorite uncle.

"Thank you so much for watching her," you said grabbing your purse off the counter. "Are these your friends from school?"

The two freeloaders introduced themselves while Yuuji started flying your daughter around like he was a plane. At least your daughter would be tired by the time you two got back.

"Let's get going, we got to get there by nine," Sukuna said, putting his hand on the small of your back and directing you towards the door. There were several loud calls of good-bye and good lucks as you two shut the door and made your way to the car.

When you get to the apartment, the super is waiting at the front door of the building. Sukuna sees him shoot you a smarmy grin that abruptly drops off when he takes Sukuna in.

"Good morning miss, I wasn't aware you were bringing your...."

"Partner," Sukuna states firmly and holds out his hand. "Pleasure," he says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. You only look on in amusement as the fucker shakes his hand and then turns his eyes back on you, much more subdued than he'd been at first.

"Right, so the apartment is on the fourth floor. A walk-up but good way to stay in shape..."

He drones on as you and Sukuna follow behind.

"You cannot carry a stroller up four flights of stairs," he says in a tone that the super can definitely hear. "Bug also can't walk up four flights of stairs, especially after a whole day of daycare. Besides these stairs look like they might crumble and drop you to the fucking basement at any second." You smack his arm and the super looks pissed off until Sukuna stomps on a particularly wobbly stair for emphasis and he looks a little nervous. No way he was letting Bug walk up this deathtrap.

He keeps a running commentary of everything he sees, none of it good on the way to the apartment. The cracks in the ceiling, the chipped the paint, the flickering light on the third floor stairwell that makes him feel like they stepped into an 80's slasher flick. On and on he goes and he doesn't stop once they're in the shithole apartment itself.

A one bedroom, not nearly enough space for two, definitely not three which makes him even more irritated at the fact he clearly hadn't factored in at all to the choice in apartment.

He's in the middle of guessing outloud if the shower head would fall on top of you in the first week or the second when you snap.

"I know it's a piece of shit, Sukuna. I'm not an idiot, I'm desperate." You are more irritated than he's ever seen and the fucking creep of a super shoots him a smirk before Sukuna turns the full force of his glare on him. The man mumbles out something about giving them time to take in the space and leaves them alone, the door closing firmly in his haste.

"I don't think you're an idiot," Sukuna says, more calm than he feels because he definitely feels a type of way about all of this. "I just don't think this place is right for you or Bug. Do you expect me to apologize for caring?"

"Is that what this is? You come here to help me and all you've done is shit on the apartment and scare that poor man half to death."

"That poor man was fucking makes eyes at you until he saw me behind you."

"I know, but he got the point when you squeezed his hand so tight I think one of his knuckles popped!"

Sukuna snorted at that and even you seemed a little amused. You sighed and leaned against the wall behind you.

"I can't live with you forever Sukuna, we need a home."

Sukuna wanted to scream, to shake you and say that he was your home. Home for both of you but he knew you weren't ready to hear it and that if he misstepped you might end up living somewhere that seemed a strong breeze away from collapse.

"It's not forever," he finally said and this was true. You would need a new place soon, just not this place. "When I say I don't mind, I mean that I like having the two of you with me." You seemed a little surprised by this admission and Sukuna weighs his next words carefully.

"You're my friend and I care about you even if I have an unconventional way of showing you." You scoff and Sukuna presses on, he can see you softening. "Just wait a little longer. This place isn't good enough for the two of you but another place might be. I'd rather you stay with me longer and find the right place instead of rushing and choosing somewhere shitty because you think you're putting me out or something."

"What guy wants some mom and her kid crashing with him for months on end," you ask and you seem almost genuinely curious.

"You're not some mom, you're you and I happen to really like that kid." You smile and Sukuna knows he's got you. "I mean as we speak she's probably putting Yuuji and his loser friends through the ringer and that's reason enough to keep her around."

"You think anything will be broken by the time we get home," you ask and he feels the clump of blood and flesh that makes up his heart squeeze just a little tighter. Home.

"Oh, definitely but that's why we're not paying them for their services." You laugh and Sukuna walks a little closer to you. You watch him, a little confused but he thinks he sees some anticipation too as he closes in on your space and puts a hand on your cheek. He leans in and he knows he's not making it up that your eyelids flutter as he gets closer.

It's tempting but when Sukuna kisses you for the first time, it's not going to be in a place like this while some scumbag is probably listening through the door.

"Let's go home," he says and he presses a gentle kiss against your cheek. You'd done the same to him many times by now and he can see the appeal when he hears your sharp intake of breath and finds himself surrounded by the smell of your shampoo.

While your quest to find an apartment was unsuccessful, Sukuna thinks that important progress was made today. It fills him with a sense of contentment that manages to sustain him even as the two of you come home to an apartment overflowing with chaos and a spiderweb of cracks across his tv.

When he goes to kick Yuuji's ass, Bug makes sure to lend her support to her poor uncle by clinging to Sukuna's leg and laughing while the two men roll around on the floor to your amusement.

Like he would ever let you leave this.

also people have been suggesting that I make a masterlist or create some sort of tags and while I know what these are(kind of), I'm also not sure the specifics so any advice on how to make this all easier to find would be appreciated! I've been creeping on tumblr for literally over a decade but never written like this before.

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 4 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

there is a mild noncon scene in this chapter. read at your own risk or skip past it.

word count: 5.2k

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In that strange place between waking and sleep- that's where you currently existed. You made a home there, wading through the waters of confusion as the events of last night came flooding back to you. At first none of it felt real. It was all a dream. . . it had to be. 

But there was a foreign warmth beside you and something heavy weighing down on your chest, and while your limbs were numb with sleep you could still register that it wasn’t you. Not your arm. 

Not your warmth. 

So you opened your eyes and joined the land of the living once more. 

The mornings on Caladan were lovely. Light filtered through your curtains regardless of the frequent overcast, the sprawling farmlands vibrant and oh so alive all around you. Your childhood home was all blue-grays and greens. The halls smelled briney- slightly citrus during the spring and summer months. The air was always humid, despite the chill; moisture clinging to your skin and clothes. 

Feyd’s room was slate gray and black, slightly bigger than the one you had been sleeping in since your arrival on Giedi Prime. The air was acrid, the scent of iron so heavy in the air that it almost tasted sweet on your tongue. It was on your palate now, nearly causing you to gag when you took in a deep, steadying breath. 

You had wanted to go home the second you stepped foot on the industrial planet, if only because you despised change. You wanted your family, your horses, your ocean-side view. Now, looking back at how childish your home-sick reasonings were, you couldn’t help but feel naive. 

Not one, but many, had conspired against you. They had hopes that their pale prince would cut his losses and grow bored of you, but took it upon themselves to rid their hallowed halls of your presence. Anger began strumming through your veins, begging for release. 

You did not let the feeling take shape. Acting on hate alone would be your undoing, you knew that. Yes, you were not as strong as some of Geidi Primes weakest warriors, but you made up for it with your. . . inherited gifts. 

Your hand flew to your neck, hissing when your fingertips made contact with the tender skin. You groaned, your larynx screaming at protest. Did this mean. . . 

No. 

No, no, no.

You sat upright in bed, Feyd groaning as his arm was flung off of your chest due to your haste. Unable to process the reality that he had been touching you so casually, you instead focused on the fact that the noise you had just emitted sounded choppy. Garbled. Useless.

“My voice,” You started, eyes widening to the size of saucers as the words reached your ears. It was exactly as you feared. “I can’t use it.” 

You could barely speak normally, let alone be able to manipulate the Voice. How long would it take your throat to heal? A few days? A week? A month? It had only taken two days for a few of the Baron’s men to plan out their attack. Who knew when they would try to strike again? You were a sitting duck and you refused to die like this. 

“You won’t need it.” Feyd’s deep voice sounded beside you, the sheets rustling as his muscled body rolled over on the plush bed. 

You tried in vain not to be distracted by his naked chest- by the planes of perfectly toned abs and the swell of his biceps as he stretched them above his head. It was gross to be attracted to him; disgusting, really. 

Even in the light of day- if you could even call the murky gray that came in through the blinds light- the shadows seemed to pool around the bloodthirsty man. He wore them like a second skin. Had become them and learned to wield them at will. 

His face was once again spotless, no blood to be found on him from last night's activities. He had been utterly soaked just a few hours ago. It had dripped down his sword arm, his nightshirt clinging to his chest and shoulders. . . and he had washed it all away down the drain like the lives he had taken meant nothing. 

And it probably didn’t mean a damn thing to a man like him. Someone so used to reaping souls and shattering lives. 

Your chest swelled as you turned to face him, scooting as far back on the bed as you possibly could. When you had fallen asleep he was lounging on the couch. He must have slipped into bed once you were asleep, outwardly lying about the fact that he would put distance between the two of you. 

“I am not safe here.” You spat out, your broken voice still dripping with venom. 

He seemed bored, as if your worries were unfounded. “I will cleave the heads off of anyone that even looks in your direction.” He said simply. Not a threat but a crimson stained promise.

Gone was the starry eyed girl who saw nothing wrong with the galaxy. Your innocence had been stripped from you the second that the man’s hands had found their way around your throat. Your body finally seemed to register pain now that you were fully awake. Your back felt like hell- a purple bruise no doubt marring your skin where it had connected with the heavy dresser. And your cheek? You brushed your fingers over that spot next. It felt hot under your touch. 

“I can protect myself.” That was a lie. You could taste the horribly constructed fib on the tip of your tongue and it was bitter. Impossible to stomach. 

Feyd sat up on his elbows then, looking over your face. His eyes hardened on your cheek, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when his eyes started to dip lower. How was it possible that anyone expected you to ever grow used to his presence? His eyes on you felt like a hot brand. You attempted to flinch away from him as his hand reached out for your neck, but he touched you anyway. 

“I should have savored that kill. Taken my time.” His voice was still gravely from sleep, but the anger was clear on his face. 

Seeing you like this, for whatever reason, enraged him. You didn’t want to know why. . . at least you told yourself that. A man like Feyd couldn’t possibly care for anyone and you doubted that he would ever be capable of such an emotion. 

“Do you truly take joy in murdering others?” You couldn’t understand him. There was no common ground between the two of you. He was a complete mystery to you. 

They hadn’t even been your deaths, and yet here you were, feeling torn about all of the blood that had been shed. Feyd had killed seven men last night. Were you really worth all of that? 

“I’m culling the herd,” He sat up then, his eyes sparking with a sick sense of delight that had your stomach roiling. This sounded like the ramblings of a madman.“They were weak, body and mind. Disobedient soldiers should always be purged. They were a disease, and I treated them as such.” The corner of his lip tugged up into a small smirk, as if he was reliving the moment that his blade cleaved through flesh and bone. 

“You went overboard on my behalf.” They would hate you more now. Those guards no doubt had loved ones, all of whom would be gunning for you now. 

“Would you rather I left them all alive? Given them a small slap on the wrist?” He was leaning in now, as if being closer to you would give him a better understanding of where you were coming from. 

The sheets wrapped around your limbs, acting like restraints as you tried to back away from him and his intimidating presence. You couldn’t help but feel as though he was sizing you up, questioning whether he could swallow you up in one bite. His eyes, lidded with sleep and hazy with something you couldn’t quite discern told you that he would eat very, very slowly. Your fingers twitched at your sides, his eyes narrowing as though he could smell your fear in the air that the both of you now shared due to your close proximity.

“No,” You hated that you were agreeing with him. “They would have found another way to kill me. I just hate that you had to make such a show of it all.” I hate that I couldn’t kill them myself. 

Who were you to decide if someone lived or died for their crimes? And yet. . . you were glad that they were dead. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel sorry for them. They got exactly what they deserve, so why did you feel so awful about it? 

Because the “old” you would have begged for their lives to be spared. That sweet, innocent girl would have abhorred the blood and gore, which begged the question: who did that make you now? Has this place truly changed you so intrinsically in a matter of days? You hated the idea that you were adjusting to the environment. It terrified you.

Feyd could see the anger churning behind your wide eyes, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. You were beautiful like this, so accepting of his nature. . . and yet you still fought him. Still fought this. He adored you for it. Loved you for it. There it was again- that word. He let the phrase sink into his bones, settle inside of his chest. 

‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Look at what I can do for you. Let me kill again for you. Let me prove my worth. Let me have you. Let me taste you. Let me devour you until there is nothing left.’ 

He was so close now that the heat and smell of him was clouding your mind. Much like the smog outside, he was poisoning the air around you. The sheets tightened around your legs as you tried to kick them off of you, hellbent on escaping the bed and dressing for the day. You were starving, sore, and in desperate need of another hot bath. You still felt dirty after last night, like the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. 

He was looking at you with those eyes. God, his eyes. . . they were blue, bottomless pits and you were sinking. . . drowning. You found it hard to breathe while he was looking at you like that. He was assessing you with a heated gaze that unwillingly set your insides ablaze. His hands were suddenly on the sides of your upper thighs, the insides of his wrists brushing against them. You could feel skin against skin, your thin nightdress doing nothing to shield you from his touch. 

“You wanted them dead, I can tell.” And he smiled at that, a genuine one full of misplaced mirth. 

“I don’t want anyone to die.” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, so heavy that you suddenly found it hard to speak. 

“I didn’t take you for a liar, little Atreides.” His head tilted to the side as he licked his lips. He was so close to you that his tongue nearly brushed against your parted lips. 

And then he was pulling away, his warmth being ripped away from you far too quickly. Feyd left you on the bed as he sauntered over to his closet, unabashed of his half naked body- almost as though he was proud to show it off to you. His broad shoulders, toned back- it was well earned. It was the body of a warrior- of a killer. 

You had to remind yourself that he was a murderer, tearing your eyes from him. It was almost as though you couldn’t get enough oxygen. Your lungs ached as you realized that he had practically siphoned it out of the room with his commanding presence. 

He terrified you down to your very core. It was as though he was seeing your soul for what it truly was. . . 

And it was as black as his own.

The Na-Baron’s hand against the small of your back felt more like a collar than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was how you appeared to others now, like nothing more than a pet. It was a silent show of ownership, as were his hardened eyes as he turned his head to glare at each and every guard that passed in the hall. Their familiar uniform had your knees buckling and your hands shaking. He must have felt those tremors, for his fingers tangled themselves into the fabric of your shirt, like he could anchor you to him. ‘You’re safe with me,’ the gesture seemed to say. 

The floor had been wiped clean of last night's massacre and it was almost as if it had never happened at all. You wished that you could delude yourself into believing that it hadn’t, but your aching bones were a constant reminder. An Atreides did not belong here. 

The distance that you craved was not something that Feyd seemed keen on granting. When you had finished bathing earlier, your skin scrubbed raw, you had found him lounging back against the bed, eyes trained on the bathroom door. His presence was stifling, as were the halls of this strange empire. They appeared to be tightening around you, reminding you of your lack of freedom. 

A canary in a gilded cage. 

“I’ve been filled in on the events of last night,” The Baron said as a way of greeting when the two of you found your way into the dining room. “You had your fun it seemed, nephew.” He didn’t sound angry, which was good you supposed. Then again, he didn’t sound very approving either. 

Feyd paused for a split second in the doorway, his lips pursing in confusion. You recalled him saying that the Baron always ate his meals in his own quarters. Your throat bobbed as Feyd’s hands urged you further into the room. Suddenly you were no longer hungry. Like a child, you wished that you could dig your heels in and refuse to make your way any further inside. While his nephew scared and confused you, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was an absolute waking nightmare. From his pale, unattractive face to his plump, gluttonous build- even his eyes seemed completely void of any light. Your quivering worsened because you knew, even if Feyd wanted to keep you alive for whatever reason, that he would not disobey his beloved uncle. You would never expect that of him. If the Harkonnen wanted you dead. . . then so it shall be. 

“It was very enjoyable.” Feyd said simply, sitting down in the chair directly beside you. 

The Baron, at his spot at the head of the table, felt miles away. He was assessing the two of you, his gaze bouncing from your form and then to that of his nephew. It wasn’t until Feyd placed his arm over the back of your chair that he finally smiled. It looked more like a sneer than anything else, and all at once you wished to punch those teeth right out of his skull. His ill treatment of your father would never be forgotten, forced marriage or not. 

“You two look. . . close.” He concluded, folding his hands in his lap as he sat back. His dark robes hugged all of the wrong places- he was greed in the flesh. 

Feyd didn’t say anything, but he did lean in closer. It occurred to you that he was acting almost like a shield between you and his uncle. All at once your shaking stopped, your eyes flickering up to meet his face for the briefest of moments before you finally looked down at your plate. Again, the food did not appeal to your appetite. There were no fresh fruits or vegetables. Everything was brown, beige and white. The meals here were void of any color or variety and you found it fitting. 

“We slept together last night, as it should have been from the very beginning.” Feyd said, no room for arguments. His tone was final- absolute, even in the face of the one person that he answered directly to. 

Your cheeks were suddenly blazing hot as you realized how easily his statement could be misunderstood. Your lips parted, as though you could defend yourself and set the record straight, but the Baron was already nodding. He didn’t care either way. You were sent here to procreate, afterall. What the two of you did or didn’t do meant nothing to him. As the daughter of Duke Atreides you were nothing more than a pawn- a bargaining piece at best. Your blood boiled as you stabbed your fork into whatever meat had been served. It was all you could do not to brandish the small serrated blade that laid beside your plate and shove it through one of Vladimir’s overly assessing eyes. 

“I just thought that she might have wanted her own space before the ceremony,” He started, gesturing towards you. It was as though you weren’t even in the room at all. “But I’ll make sure that her things are brought to your room.” 

You did want your own space. Desperately. This whole situation felt wrong, and yet you were helpless. A few more days in your own room was nothing, really. Not when the two of you would be sharing a room for the remainder of your lives. 

“It’s our room.” Feyd corrected, using his free hand so that he could take a sip of his drink. 

His arm brushed against the back of your neck as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly so that he could place the cup back down on the table. The brush of his skin against yours sent a chill down your spine. 

“Very well. Your shared room.” And the Baron seemed pleased.

The cogs started turning in your head as you stared at that expression on his face. Was that gloating that you sensed?

He looked as though he had won. 

It would make no sense at all for the Baron to be so concerned with the status of your relationship, and yet there he had been, smiling as if he had bested you. Did he know something that you didn’t? It would be dangerous to voice the thoughts that you were having- unwise. Feyd was sure to take his uncle’s side on everything. At the end of the day you were little more than a warm, wet hole to breed. . . right? 

Your skin crawled, your breathing growing more and more shallow as the seconds passed. What would your mother do if she was put in a situation like this? The urge to talk to her was stifling, and yet you were here alone. You had no allies here. You had been left to your own devices. 

“You aren’t going to beg me to train with you today?” Feyd asked from the open door of the bathroom. 

He’d left it wide open while he changed, as if he was daring you to gawk and stare. You were too busy panicking to even care that he could very well be naked mere feet away from where you sat on the bed. The Baron was guilty of something, that you knew with certainty. You bit down onto your lower lip, staring blankly ahead at the wall as you became more and more consumed by your frightening thoughts. 

“What are you thinking about, little one?” His voice was right beside your ear and you jumped back, staring wide eyed at where he was kneeling before you. 

He stared up at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell him what currently had you so quiet. His uncle had been unusual at breakfast, more so than Feyd was used to. The Baron was a busy man, and the last thing on his agenda was to eat with his nephew and his bride-to-be. He was cautious, and yet he didn’t want you to know. He would handle your safety from now on, even if that meant going against those that shared the very blood that pumped through his own veins. 

The expression on your face had him leaning closer. You were so meek. . . so fearful. The need to protect you was overwhelming. How could someone ever want to hurt you? His eyes flickered over your bruises for the one hundredth time that afternoon, rage settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m thinking. . .” You started, eyes becoming glassy. “That I was sent here to die.” 

Feyd, for the first time in his life, felt helpless. He did not know how to calm you down. The man didn’t know the first thing about comforting someone, but the thought of leaving you to your own devices and panic had a gasp escaping his throat. 

“Do you not believe me when I say that I will protect you? Have I not proved myself?” Actions spoke louder than words, or at least Feyd had always believed that, and yet you didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to say. His actions weren’t enough. 

“You’re protecting me because you have to. I understand that well enough, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t happen. You are the enemy Feyd. My enemy.” You spoke with so much conviction and looked at him like you hadn’t just gutted him. 

Feyd felt as though you had physically slapped him across the face. The chase was fun, but this. . . this wasn’t you acting hard to get. This was you drawing a very clear line in the sand. You didn’t like him and perhaps never would. And maybe it made Feyd even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible, but part of him did not care. You could fight it all you wanted, it did not negate the fact that you belonged to him. It did not negate the fact that he cared for you. . .

Cared so deeply that it had him questioning whether or not he had ever really known joy or a true sense of belonging before now. 

“I am not them.” He rasped out, knowing that you’d understand exactly who he was implying. 

He was not like the others. He never had been. He had a penchant for cruelty and a talent for killing, but he would never hurt you for sport. He knew of Harkonnen men that battered their women simply because they could, but the mere idea of putting his hands on you made him want to sink his blade into his own chest and twist. How could he ever explain that to you? Put his emotions into words when you knew so little about him? How could he tell you that he’d been dreaming of you since he was a child? Vivid, prophetic dreams that left him lonely and impatient. 

“But you are.” There was a strange glint in his eyes that had your words leaving you in a breathy whisper. You were being vulnerable with him. Showing him your worst fears and letting him know that you currently had no more aces up your sleeves. The Voice was useless to you right now, and no matter how skilled you were in combat, it would mean nothing if you were up against an entire planet of people that wished you dead and silenced. You had kept the fear bottled in for three days now, and you had no one to confide in. 

You would regret this, you knew it with a surety that nearly had you choking on a sob. This information could be used against you. He’d make sure that you met your end the second that you birthed him an heir. . . 

So why did he look offended by your words? 

His plush lips parted, blue eyes widening for a second as he fully comprehended what you had just uttered to him. Having you as his would be sweet, yes, but it paled in comparison to the idea that you would eventually care for him in the same way that he did for you. It lit a fire inside of him, and he didn’t understand how to make you see. 

Feyd needed you to open your eyes and understand that he was not your enemy. He was the only person on all of Giedi Prime that was absolutely, without any question or doubt, on your side. He would burn the entire planet to ash if he had to. He’d serve his uncle’s heart on a silver platter and let you eat your fill if it meant that you would come to understand his level of utter devotion. 

You blinked and suddenly you were on your back, a small grunt escaping you as his calloused palm pushed against your chest, too fast for you to even register. He was on top of you, straddling your hips. The weight of him on top of you had your teeth clenching, your traitorous body reacting in a way that sickened you. Civilizations had worshiped at the feet of long forgotten Gods that weren’t half as beautiful and cruel as Feyd-Rautha. 

“You are my wife-” He started to speak, but you were quick to interrupt him, refusing to back down. 

“Not yet.” You seethed. 

Feyd couldn’t help but want to fight you on that, to challenge the unnecessary bite in your tone. If you were so hellbent on treating him like an enemy then so be it. He’d push you to a breaking point. He’d make you love and trust him. He’d show your true enemies such cruelty that you’d have no reason to doubt his convictions. 

And before he could reign in his emotions, before he could feel any guilt, he was lurching forward. Long fingers tangled themselves into your hair as his lips pressed against yours. Unyielding, he dominated your mouth, teeth sinking into your lower lip. He needed to taste you- your mouth, your blood. 

Sweat, tears, slick. He wanted all of it on his tongue. 

The years spent waiting and biding his time had been worse than he realized, for the second his lips pressed against yours he found it hard to stop himself. The need that coursed through him now was more powerful than anything else he had ever experienced. You yelped against his mouth in pain, trying your hardest to flinch back at the sharp pain in your lip. The mattress and his unyielding grip on you kept you from moving even an inch. He took advantage of that small sound, his tongue lapping at the roof of your mouth lazily, the salty iron of your own blood invading your senses. 

And he was everywhere. His weight was on top of you, his arms on either side of your head, his fingers buried in your hair- and you couldn’t get away. You tried bucking him off, hands grabbing at his training shirt so that you could try and pry him off of you. The muscles in your arms strained as you pulled, thighs quivering as you tried your damndest to flip him over onto the bed. You would not kiss him back. 

No matter how badly your instincts were telling you to give in. That voice in the back of your head was loud, but the sound of your own pounding heart in your ears drowned it out. Your body burned as he slid his hips down slightly, changing his angle so that he could grind himself against you. The friction sent a jolt of what felt like lightning shooting up your spine. It took all of your self restraint not to moan into his mouth, which would no doubt motivate him to push this even further. 

You felt him. All of him, even through all the layers of clothing that separated the two of you. He was hard, to what must have been a point of physical pain, over a mere kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft on yours, far softer than the very few men that you had kissed in the past. They moved languidly against yours, and you wanted to be disgusted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. 

You hated the part of you that craved this. You could deny it all that you wanted, but the dull ache between your traitorous legs told you what your mind could not: a sick part of you wanted this. Maybe it was the very same part of you that had wanted those guards dead. 

You should hate him. You wanted to hate him. You needed to hate him. 

And then his hands were sliding down the back of your neck, his lips sliding down the base of your throat- 

“Stop! Feyd, stop!” You finally found your voice, sucking in a breath of air. You felt dizzy, and yet your body was more alive than it ever had been. 

Traitor. You were a traitor to your family. 

He sat up then, eyes glazed over, his thick lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks in the dim lighting. 

“Do you hate me?” He panted out, voice thick with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. It was as if he could read your mind. 

“Yes.” You lied. This lie was even harder to swallow than your last for whatever reason. Maybe it was the heady look in your eyes or your swollen, well kissed lips. . . but Feyd knew you weren’t telling the truth.

“I’ll fuck you until you want me,” And his harsh, horrible words didn’t quite match the tender way he cupped your cheek. “And then you’ll want me so badly that you’ll love me.” 

He got off of you then, forcing himself away from you before he made a mistake. Today was not the day to claim you, not with the previous night so fresh on your mind. He would figure out a way to apologize for his loss of control later. For now he needed a change of scenery, preferably one that didn’t have a bed. . . or a couch. . . or a table. . . or a counter- 

“Pig,” You spat in his direction, quickly fumbling to straighten out your now wrinkled clothing. 

“Your training clothes are in our closet. Put them on.” He was still breathing heavily, pacing around the room with his hands on his hips. His cock was straining against the confines of his pants, begging him to turn around and finish what he started- make good on the promise he just made to you. 

“Are you crazy?” You screamed at him, lurching up from the bed as though you were going to attack him. 

Slowly he turned to face you, his features twisting into something that looked a tad bit like forlorn yearning. 

“Yes,” And he nodded, not denying the fact. “Yes I am.” 

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[hisfavegirl]

Fire and Rose Petals - Daemon Targaryen x Reader

summary : your marriage with daemon is no longer based on duty, but love. you and daemon become more and more inseparable, until good news comes and you both love each other even more.

It’s been nearly a month since you and Daemon married, and you’ve both decided to stay for a while at Dragonstone, where the quiet and solitude allow you both to enjoy each other’s company without the looming pressures of the court. The island feels like a world of its own, a place where the noise of the kingdom fades, and it’s just the two of you.

The bond between you and Daemon has only grown stronger during these weeks. You’ve become inseparable, finding comfort and peace in each other’s presence. Wherever you are, Daemon is there too, and vice versa. It’s as if the two of you were always meant to be side by side. There’s a certain intimacy in this, a closeness that even the eyes of others can’t break.

Today, you find yourselves in the garden of Dragonstone, surrounded by the wild beauty of the island. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow across the sky, and the air is cool, perfect for an evening spent outdoors. You’re seated comfortably in Daemon’s lap, your body relaxed against his chest as he holds you effortlessly.

You’re both at ease, content in each other’s presence. Daemon’s hand rests on your waist, the gentle touch of his fingers grounding you as you chat softly. His presence is warm and protective, and in this moment, there’s no need for words. His eyes are focused on you, but it’s the soft smile he wears that makes your heart flutter every time.

“I never thought I’d enjoy the quiet so much,” you murmur, looking out at the horizon, where the sun dips lower behind the cliffs of Dragonstone. “Back at court, there was always something happening. It feels so peaceful here.”

Daemon chuckles softly, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve always preferred the calm,” he says. “It gives us time to focus on what truly matters.”

You smile and turn your head slightly, catching his gaze. “And what matters most to you?” you ask, a teasing tone in your voice.

Daemon’s eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “You,” he replies simply, his voice full of sincerity. “You matter most to me, always have.”

His words settle in the space between you, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. It’s moments like these that remind you of the strength of the bond between you both, a connection that goes beyond the expectations of marriage or royalty. It’s something entirely your own, something deeply personal.

“You’re quite good at making me feel special,” you say with a smile, resting your hand over his. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Daemon smirks, his confidence never waning. “You didn’t get lucky,” he says, his tone playful. “You chose wisely.”

You laugh softly, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. In this peaceful space, with the sunset casting a soft glow around you and Daemon holding you close, everything else seems far away. It’s just the two of you, and in that simplicity, you find a happiness you hadn’t anticipated.

As you sit there, gazing at Daemon with a soft smile, you can’t help but notice the way his expression shifts. He’s usually confident and calm, but there’s something in his eyes today that seems distant, almost preoccupied. You catch his gaze, sensing that something is weighing on his mind.

“Daemon,” you ask gently, your voice laced with concern. “What’s on your mind? You seem… lost in thought.”

He hesitates for a moment, then sighs, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing,” he begins, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. “It’s just… my father asked me today if you were pregnant yet. If we were expecting.”

You blink in surprise, the words catching you off guard. You’d heard whispers about the expectation of an heir, but to have it brought up so directly by his father feels like an unexpected turn in your still-fresh marriage.

“Your father asked that?” you repeat, trying to process the weight of it. The idea of bearing an heir to the Targaryen name had always loomed over you, but the pressure of it suddenly feels more real.

Daemon nods, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yes. He’s… eager for grandchildren, for the line to continue. And I’m sure he thinks it’s time.”

You feel a flicker of discomfort at his words. It’s clear that Daemon, though he is fiercely independent and unwilling to be controlled by anyone, still feels the weight of his father’s expectations. You can sense the subtle pressure he’s under.

“I see,” you reply, your voice quiet, unsure of what to say next. Part of you feels the weight of this expectation too. While you’ve grown closer to Daemon and found happiness together, the idea of bearing an heir for House Targaryen, and the eyes that would be on you because of it, is daunting.

Daemon catches your eye again, his expression softening as if sensing your unease. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, a hint of his usual smirk returning. “I told him we’ll let things happen when they do. But my father’s… persistent.”

You let out a small breath, relieved by his words, but still, the notion lingers in the back of your mind. The idea of starting a family with Daemon, of continuing the Targaryen legacy, feels monumental in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Daemon leans in slightly, his gaze intense but comforting. “We’ll handle it together, as we always do. Whatever happens, we’ll decide when the time is right.”

His words ease some of the tension in your chest, and you nod, smiling up at him. For now, you remind yourself, you have each other, and that is enough. The rest—whether or not you bear an heir—will come when the time is right.

“You’re right,” you agree, a sense of peace returning. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You gently caress Daemon’s cheek, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face as you move closer, pressing your lips softly against his. A small sigh escapes you as you pull back slightly, your eyes searching his for any hint of doubt. There’s a quiet longing between you both, a shared desire that hasn’t been fulfilled yet, despite your efforts.

“I do want to bear your child,” you murmur softly, the words heavy with meaning. “But perhaps the gods have yet to grant us that blessing.”

Daemon’s gaze softens, his hand moving to cup your face gently, as if to comfort you. “Don’t worry, my love,” he says, his voice steady and filled with warmth. “The gods move at their own pace. We have time.”

You smile faintly, nodding in agreement, but deep down, you can’t help but feel the weight of expectation. While both of you are deeply connected and share a powerful bond, the idea of bearing an heir—especially in the eyes of the Targaryen family—is something that looms over you.

But as Daemon holds you close, his words offering reassurance, you remind yourself that love and patience can make even the most difficult paths seem easier to navigate.

At night, the sounds of passion fill the room, your connection growing stronger with every shared moment, every whispered promise. You know that your efforts are not in vain, and while the gods may have their own timeline, you and Daemon will keep trying. Together, there is nothing you cannot face.

For now, you savor each moment, each touch, knowing that in time, the gods may choose to bless you with the family you both yearn for. And when that moment comes, you will face it hand in hand with Daemon, as you always have.

You position yourself to sit facing him, he quickly hugs your waist and looks at you. You smile and kiss his lips, he who understands your intention then lifts your heavy dress to reduce the distance between you.

His hands began to untie your dress enough for you to let out your chest, he slowly squeezed it which made you moan softly. He broke his kiss and started to kiss your neck, then his mouth went down to your chest and devoured it. you gently squeezed his hair and closed your eyes, "are you sure you want to do it here? now?"

You just nodded and started to untie his pants, daemon smiled and kissed your lips again. You held his hard cock, then you directed his cock towards your wet core. Daemon removed your small cloth and began to insert his cock, you moaned as you felt him enter you completely and fill you. "Gods, how can you still be this tight after all the nights we've had?"

you laughed softly before finally moving your hips, you moaned softly. in this position you could feel him filling you, you could feel his hands on your waist following the rhythm of your hips.

"I want you to fill me up, full of your seed, round with your child" you whispered and bit his ear softly, He growled before finally lifting you up and pinning you against the wall, you moaned as he started pounding into you fast and rough. his mouth found your nipple again and sucked on it, you could only moan at the pleasure he was giving you.

"you want to be filled with my seed? you want to have my child?" you just nodded and moaned as his rhythm got faster and rougher. he growled and choked your neck softly, something inside you woke up and made you hotter. "give me your child daemon, i want you to impregnate me"

He growls and you can feel his cock twitching inside you signaling he's about to peak, “Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “With my cum until you're leaking and breed you until I'm satisfied."

you moaned as he continued to hit your sweet spot, "you take me so well, I never thought my sweet wife could turn into a whore when she was with me" Daemon growled softly and thrust his cock inside you before he finally painted your walls white.

Your breath was still, he pulled out his cock and laughed softly as he saw your juices running down your legs.

He then kissed your forehead and helped you adjust your dress before finally putting his pants back on. "If we do this more often, soon we will see little daemons or little you running around this park" you laughed hearing his words.

You let out a small yelp as Daemon suddenly lifts you off the ground, his arms strong and steady as he cradles you against his chest. Surprise quickly melts into laughter, the sound light and carefree as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Daemon!” you exclaim, still laughing as you glance around. “People are gonna watching!”

He tilts his head to look at you, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let them watch,” he replies, his voice laced with that familiar cocky charm. “Let them see how much I cherish my wife.”

Your cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from the warmth his words bring. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you feel the steady beat of his heart against you. His confidence has always been something you admired, and moments like this remind you of how much he truly doesn’t care for the opinions of others.

The soft murmurs of servants and the subtle glances from guards don’t faze him in the slightest. His focus is on you — only you. His steps are firm and unbothered as he carries you through the corridors of Dragonstone, his gaze unwavering as if daring anyone to question him.

The cool stone walls surround you as he makes his way toward your shared chambers. Every so often, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering longer each time. It’s a gesture so tender, so genuine, that your heart feels as if it might burst.

“You enjoy this too much,” you tease, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes, though your smile betrays you.

“Of course I do,” he says with a smirk, his voice low and smooth. “Carrying the most precious thing in this keep? I’d do it every day if you’d let me.”

You shake your head, your smile never fading. “You’ll spoil me.”

“That’s the point,” he replies, his eyes full of affection.

When you finally reach your chambers, he doesn’t put you down right away. Instead, he lingers in the doorway, holding you close as if unwilling to let go. His eyes meet yours, filled with a kind of devotion that words could never fully express.

“Home,” he says quietly, his gaze unwavering. “Wherever you are, that is home.”

Your breath catches for a moment, but you quickly lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Then don’t ever leave,” you whisper against his mouth.

“Never,” he promises, his voice as firm as the stone around you.

With that, he steps inside, kicking the door closed behind him. No words are needed, only the warmth of his embrace as he carries you deeper into your shared sanctuary — a place where it’s just the two of you, far from the eyes of the world.

You sit comfortably on Daemon’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close. The cool breeze from the sea drifts in from the balcony, carrying the crisp scent of salt and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks of Dragonstone. The night sky is vast and endless, stars twinkling like tiny flames scattered across a sea of darkness. The pale glow of the moon bathes everything in silver light, casting a serene glow over the world around you.

Daemon’s hand moves slowly up and down your back, his touch firm yet gentle, like a constant reminder that he is there — steady, unyielding, and yours. His warmth seeps into you, chasing away any hint of chill the breeze may have brought. You sigh contentedly, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace.

You feel him press a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering just long enough for you to feel his breath against your hair. It’s a gesture so simple, yet it makes your heart feel fuller than you ever thought possible.

“Comfortable?” he asks softly, his voice low and rough from the stillness of the night.

“More than comfortable,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head against his chest. You can hear the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you — a sound that has become more familiar and soothing than any song.

A hum of satisfaction rumbles in his chest, and then, without warning, he begins to hum a soft, low melody. It’s a tune you don’t recognize at first, slow and deep, like a lullaby that’s been forgotten by time. His voice, though unpolished, has a certain rough charm to it — raw and real. The sound vibrates through his chest, and you feel it resonate in your bones, warm and comforting.

You smile to yourself, your eyes still closed, letting the sound wash over you. It feels like the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, perfect moment. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his tunic, your breathing slowing to match the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re humming,” you tease lightly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that a problem, wife?” he replies, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you, a playful edge in his tone.

“Not at all,” you answer with a soft smile. “I like it. I think I could fall asleep like this.”

“Then sleep,” he says, his hand moving up to tangle gently in your hair, fingers combing through it with slow precision. “I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, he continues to hum, his voice low and steady, a melody meant only for you. The stars seem to flicker in time with his tune, and for the first time in a long while, you feel utterly and completely at peace.

No thrones. No expectations. No whispers from the court.

Just you, Daemon, and the quiet song of the night.

The soft glow of the morning sun filters through the heavy curtains, casting golden streaks of light across the stone floor and the plush blankets draped over you. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you remain still, letting the warmth of the bed cocoon you in comfort. But something feels different.

You reach out to the space beside you, expecting to feel Daemon’s familiar warmth, only to be met with cool, empty sheets. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, you sit up, your gaze falling on the small piece of parchment resting on his pillow.

Curiosity sparks in your chest as you reach for it. His handwriting is unmistakable — sharp, bold strokes with a slight flourish at the ends of his letters.

“You looked far too peaceful to disturb. I’ve gone to the training yard. I’ll return before midday. — D.”

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. Typical Daemon. No grand farewell, just a simple note left behind, thoughtful in his own way. Your fingers trace over the ink as if the gesture alone could bring him back to you.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet touching the cold stone floor. The coolness sends a small shiver up your spine, urging you to stand and stretch. The quiet of the room is peaceful, broken only by the distant calls of seabirds outside and the faint rustle of the wind through the cracks of the stone walls.

With a soft sigh, you walk toward the washbasin, splashing cool water onto your face to chase away the last of your sleepiness. You glance at your reflection in the polished metal mirror. There’s a softness in your features that wasn’t there before — a glow, perhaps, born from the love you’ve found here.

After dressing in a simple yet elegant gown, you call for your handmaidens. They enter with quiet efficiency, brushing and braiding your hair with practiced hands. All the while, your mind drifts to Daemon. You wonder if he’s still at the training yard, swinging his sword with that sharp precision that always left you in awe.

Once you’re ready, you take one last glance at the note, your fingers brushing over it once more before tucking it into the drawer of your bedside table. It’s a small thing, but you want to keep it — a reminder of the quiet, thoughtful side of the man you call your husband.

With a final glance at the now-empty bed, you head for the door, ready to face the day. Your thoughts linger on the training yard, and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps you should pay him a visit. Seeing Daemon in his element, confident and in control, always had a way of making your heart race.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d be just as happy to see you there too.

You walk through the long, winding corridors of Dragonstone, your footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. The air smells faintly of salt and ash, a scent you’ve come to associate with this ancient castle perched atop volcanic rock. Around you, servants bustle about, their arms full of linens, trays of food, or buckets of water. They nod respectfully as you pass, some offering small smiles. You acknowledge them with a nod, your thoughts focused on reaching Daemon.

As you descend the staircase leading to the training yard, a wave of dizziness suddenly washes over you. Your vision blurs at the edges, and your breath catches in your chest. You grip the stone wall for support, eyes closing as you take a deep breath. The world tilts ever so slightly, and for a moment, you feel the familiar tug of nausea rising in your throat.

Not now, you think to yourself, swallowing hard to push the feeling down. It’s nothing. Just a little fatigue.

You press a hand lightly against your stomach as you steady yourself. Perhaps you hadn’t eaten enough this morning, or maybe you were simply still recovering from the long nights spent with Daemon. The thought of it brings a faint flush to your cheeks, but you shake your head, determined not to let a little dizziness slow you down.

With measured breaths, you push yourself off the wall and continue walking. The fresh air of the courtyard is close now, and you tell yourself that the open sky will help. As you step outside, the cool sea breeze greets you, brushing against your skin and carrying with it the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. The sun feels warmer than usual, and you lift your face to it, letting the warmth ground you.

Ahead, you spot Daemon. His silver hair catches the sunlight like molten steel, and he moves with the grace of a dragon in flight. Every swing of his sword is precise, every movement calculated and efficient. His tunic clings to him, damp with sweat, and his eyes are focused, sharp as Valyrian steel. For a moment, you stand there, watching him with quiet admiration.

He must sense your gaze because he turns his head toward you, his eyes locking with yours. A grin spreads slowly across his face — that familiar, cocky smirk that he wears so well. He lowers his sword and walks toward you, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he teases, his voice low and playful as he stops in front of you. His eyes scan your face, his grin softening into something more tender. “You look pale, sweet wife. Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” you reply, managing a small smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Daemon narrows his eyes, his gaze lingering on you with quiet concern. He raises a hand to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing your skin softly.

“You’re warmer than usual,” he says, his voice laced with suspicion. “Are you sure you’re not ill?”

“I’m sure,” you insist, placing your hand over his to reassure him. “I just need some air. Watching you swing that sword of yours seems like the perfect cure.”

He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “If you faint, I’m carrying you straight back to bed,” he warns, his tone only half-joking.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to stay on my feet,” you reply with a playful tilt of your head.

He stares at you for a moment longer before letting out a sigh, pulling you closer so you can rest your head briefly on his chest. You can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath the damp fabric of his tunic.

“Stubborn woman,” he mutters into your hair, but his arms tighten around you nonetheless. “At least stay in the shade if you’re going to watch.”

“Yes, husband,” you reply, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

You don’t tell him about the flicker of nausea or the way the world tilted for just a moment. It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d ignored something small, only for it to pass on its own.

But as you rest your head against Daemon’s chest, a quiet thought lingers in the back of your mind. What if it’s not nothing this time?

You keep your eyes on Daemon, watching his swift, controlled movements as he trains. Each swing of his sword is a show of precision and power, his muscles coiling and releasing with the grace of a predator. You smile faintly, feeling the warmth of pride in your chest. But then, it happens again.

A sudden, sharp wave of dizziness hits you harder this time. Your breath stutters, and the world around you tilts. Your heart races as your knees weaken beneath you. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision, but everything around you blurs into swirling shapes and shifting shadows.

Your hand instinctively reaches for the wall, but it isn’t close enough. Panic flickers in your chest. Not here. Not now. You hear the distant clang of steel hitting the ground, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps.

“Hey!” Daemon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?!”

You try to answer, but your lips feel heavy, and your tongue won’t move. The pounding of your heart grows louder in your ears, drowning out the world around you. Your knees buckle, and you feel yourself falling. The ground rushes up to meet you, but before you hit it, strong arms catch you.

“Stay with me!” Daemon’s voice is closer now, urgent, commanding. His hands are firm as they hold you, cradling you against his chest. You feel the heat of his body, hear the rapid thudding of his heart. “Look at me, look at me, love.” His voice is strained, as though he’s fighting back fear.

But your eyelids feel so heavy. Your head tilts against his shoulder, and the world slips further away. His voice sounds far away now, as if he’s shouting from across the sea.

“Call the maester! NOW!” Daemon’s roar echoes through the courtyard. You think you hear the hurried footsteps of servants rushing to obey, but everything is growing quieter, darker.

“Please,” Daemon’s voice cracks, low and desperate. His hand presses against your cheek, his thumb stroking softly, as if willing you to stay awake. “Stay with me, don’t you dare leave me.”

But the pull of darkness is too strong. Your eyes close, and the world fades to nothing.

The world comes back slowly — sounds first, distant murmurs that sharpen into voices. You hear someone shouting, sharp and commanding, a tone you know well. Daemon.

“… If you missed something, I’ll have your head on a spike, Maester!” His voice is laced with barely contained fury, each word like the edge of a blade. “Check her again. Now.”

You blink slowly, your vision still hazy, but familiar shapes begin to take form. The ceiling of your chambers, the soft glow of firelight flickering from a hearth nearby. The scent of lavender and burning wood fills your nose. Your body feels heavy, but warmth surrounds you.

Your eyes shift, and there he is. Daemon stands by the foot of the bed, his eyes wild with barely restrained panic, his jaw set tight as he glares at the old maester hovering by your side. His silver hair is a mess, strands falling over his face, his tunic wrinkled as if he hadn’t cared to fix it. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

“Daemon,” you call his name softly, your voice barely above a whisper. But it’s enough.

His head snaps toward you so fast you’d think he’d heard a dragon’s roar. His eyes lock onto yours, and all the tension in his face breaks at once. His shoulders drop, and his eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re awake,” he breathes, rushing to your side. “Thank the gods.”

He drops to his knees beside you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with the gentleness of a man who thought he had almost lost something precious. His eyes search yours frantically, like he needs to see every part of you to believe you’re real.

“You scared me,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “You terrified me.”

You smile weakly, leaning into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand ground you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“A scene?” he repeats, his eyes narrowing as he huffs a short, incredulous laugh. “You fainted in front of half the courtyard, and you think that’s a scene?” His eyes flicker with something deeper — fear, relief, and anger all tangled together. “You could’ve died.”

The maester, still cautious under Daemon’s watchful gaze, steps forward. “Her pulse is steady, my prince,” he says carefully, his hands raised as if to calm a dragon. “I believe it was exhaustion, perhaps a fever. But with your leave, I will check her once more.”

Daemon doesn’t move at first, his eyes locked on you as if afraid you’d disappear the moment he blinked. But when you nod, he releases a breath and shifts aside, still holding your hand.

The maester presses his hand against your forehead, checks your pulse, and hums thoughtfully. He glances at you, his brow raised with quiet curiosity. “My lady, have you felt any nausea as of late? Dizziness? Sensitivity to certain smells?”

Your eyes dart to Daemon, then back to the maester. The memory of the past few days flashes through your mind — the dizziness on the stairs, the waves of nausea you had brushed off, and the exhaustion that had clung to you like fog. Slowly, you nod.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “I thought it was nothing.”

The maester hums again, his expression shifting into something more knowing. He presses a hand lightly against your abdomen, glancing at you as he does so. “It may not be ‘nothing,’ my lady,” he says with a small smile. “In fact, it may be everything.”

You blink, confusion flashing across your face. But Daemon is quicker to understand. His eyes dart to your stomach, his lips parting as if he’s about to speak but finds himself momentarily speechless.

“You mean…” His voice trails off, his eyes narrowing at the maester. “Say it plainly, old man.”

The maester smiles as he steps back, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “It is still early, my prince, but I believe congratulations are in order. The lady may very well be with child.”

Silence fills the room, thick and heavy. Daemon stares at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt, as if needing to see your reaction before he believes it himself.

“With child,” you repeat, your hand slowly drifting to rest on your abdomen. The realization washes over you slowly, warmth spreading through your chest. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and wonder swirling inside you. “I’m… with child.”

Daemon’s face shifts from disbelief to something you’ve never seen before — pure, unguarded joy. He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes shining with something fierce and untamed. “With my child,” he says, his voice thick with pride and wonder.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he breathes you in. “Our child,” he whispers, his voice trembling just enough for you to notice. “Our blood. Our legacy.”

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world. His lips brush softly against yours, slow and deliberate, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again.

“You’re mine,” he says firmly, as if staking a claim. “You, and now this child, belong to me. No one will ever take you from me.”

His words should sound possessive, but you hear the love behind them — the desperation of a man who has lost too much and refuses to lose again. You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“And you,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You belong to me too, Daemon Targaryen.”

His grin is sharp and wild, full of pride and love. “Always, love. Always.”

You sit by the warm glow of the fireplace, the soft crackling of the flames filling the quiet chamber. Your hands rest gently on your rounded belly, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of your gown. It’s been five months since you learned of your pregnancy, and though the changes to your body were gradual at first, there’s no hiding it now. Your belly is firm, round, and undeniable — the unmistakable mark of a child growing within you.

Daemon sits across from you, his eyes never straying far. He leans back in his chair, legs spread casually, one hand holding a cup of wine, the other lazily draped over the armrest. But his gaze is sharp, focused entirely on you. His eyes soften when they meet yours, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re staring,” you say, your voice carrying the light tease of familiarity.

He tilts his head, his smirk growing bolder. “How could I not?” he replies, his eyes flicking down to your belly. “You’re carrying the future of House Targaryen and House Tyrell in that little frame of yours. It’s quite the sight.”

You huff a laugh, brushing a hand over your stomach. “If it gets any bigger, I won’t be able to stand without help.”

Daemon raises a brow, his grin wicked. “Then I suppose I’ll have to carry you everywhere, won’t I?”

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips. His confidence is relentless, but you know his words aren’t empty. He’d carry you across all of Westeros if you asked.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence. The fire casts dancing shadows on the stone walls, and you feel the gentle thrum of life within you — small movements, faint but unmistakable. You place a hand firmly over the spot and smile.

“Daemon,” you say softly, looking up at him. His gaze sharpens instantly, like he’s ready for anything. “It’s time, isn’t it? We should tell them.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if weighing the idea. “You’re certain?” he asks, setting his wine aside and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Once they know, the whispers will spread. Our child will be at the center of it all.”

“I know,” you reply, voice steady but firm. “But I don’t want to hide it anymore. This is our child, Daemon. They will have to accept it.”

Daemon studies you for a moment, his eyes flickering between pride and protectiveness. Then, slowly, he nods. “Very well,” he says, standing and walking over to you. His hand extends toward you, palm up. “Shall we make them bow to our legacy, my lady?”

You smile, placing your hand in his. He pulls you up gently, one arm curling protectively around your waist to steady you. “They will bow,” you reply, your voice filled with quiet determination. “They always do.”

You and Daemon prepare to leave Dragonstone and make your way back to the Red Keep. The journey ahead seems long, but your mind is focused on the upcoming announcement. You know that today, you will finally share the news of your pregnancy with the royal family and the court. It’s a moment you’ve been anticipating, though a part of you feels a bit nervous about the attention it will bring.

The pregnancy, however, hasn’t been easy. The baby seems incredibly active, a constant reminder of the life growing inside you. At night, when the world falls silent, the tiny kicks and movements keep you wide awake, and though the thought of carrying Daemon’s child fills you with love, the exhaustion from sleepless nights weighs heavily on you. You’ve grown accustomed to his reassuring presence, his hand resting on your stomach as he murmurs comforting words whenever the baby moves restlessly.

Daemon, always attentive, notices your fatigue as you pack. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, concern flashing across his face. He steps closer, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes softening. “You’ve barely slept these past nights.”

You smile up at him, grateful for his constant care. “I’m fine, just tired,” you reply, trying to mask the truth. “It’s just that our little one seems to be more active than expected.”

Daemon chuckles softly, his thumb gently stroking your hand. “A fighter, just like their father,” he says with a smirk. “They’ll be strong.”

Despite his teasing tone, you can see the pride in his eyes. He’s looking forward to being a father, though he won’t admit it outright. You’re sure that, deep down, he’s just as eager for the day when you can finally share this joy with the rest of the realm.

As you prepare to leave, Daemon’s hand finds its place on the small of your back, guiding you through the halls of Dragonstone. His presence is a constant comfort, a solid anchor that helps you feel steady despite the whirlwind of emotions and changes that come with your pregnancy.

“Let’s get to the Red Keep,” Daemon says, his voice a soft command. “It’s time.”

You nod, though your mind is full of thoughts and worries about what awaits you. But for now, all you need is Daemon by your side—just as he always has been. Together, you make your way to the waiting ship, and as you board, you take one last look at the land you’ve called home for so long before turning your gaze ahead, to the future that awaits you both in King’s Landing.

The journey by ship proves to be much more difficult than you anticipated, especially while pregnant. Despite the fact that it’s a relatively short trip, the constant rocking of the boat leaves you feeling nauseous and exhausted. The salty air, though refreshing for most, seems to exacerbate your discomfort, and you clutch the railing tightly as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

Daemon, noticing your discomfort, approaches quickly, his face filled with concern. “You should rest,” he insists softly, his hand on your back as he guides you to a seat. “The sea isn’t kind to those with child.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush off your unease. “I’m fine, Daemon. Just a bit of nausea. It’ll pass.”

But Daemon isn’t convinced. He kneels before you, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for any sign of further distress. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Let me help.”

He places a gentle hand on your stomach, his touch grounding you as he speaks with a soft authority, “Rest, my love. I’ll be here.”

Reluctantly, you lean back against the cushioned seat, allowing yourself to close your eyes and rest. Daemon remains close by, his presence a source of comfort. Though the rocking of the ship doesn’t stop, his soothing words and touch help ease the discomfort. You focus on his steady presence, allowing the steady rhythm of his voice to lull you into a moment of calm.

Time seems to blur as the journey continues, but you’re grateful that Daemon is there, taking care of you. His concern is unwavering, and even though he can’t control the sea, you know he will always do his best to protect you and your child.

After a while, the worst of the nausea passes, and you feel able to sit up again. The horizon begins to show signs of King’s Landing in the distance, and though the trip wasn’t the easiest, the thought of being close to your destination gives you a sense of relief.

“We’re almost there,” Daemon says, his hand gently resting over yours.

You nod, still a bit fatigued but glad to be nearing the end of this journey. “I just hope I can make it through the announcement without embarrassing myself,” you say with a light laugh, trying to push aside the lingering discomfort.

Daemon chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ll do just fine,” he reassures you. “And I’ll be right by your side.”

As the carriage rolls through the familiar streets of King’s Landing, you feel a sense of anticipation building within you. The city is bustling with activity, and though you are returning to a place filled with memories, this time everything feels different. You are not just returning as a member of the family—you’re a wife, carrying Daemon’s child.

Daemon’s hand never leaves yours, his fingers gently gripping yours as if to reassure both you and himself. He occasionally rests his other hand on your growing belly, his touch warm and comforting. Each gentle caress brings you a sense of peace, easing the lingering discomfort from the journey.

You glance at him, a soft smile on your face, and he looks down at you with an expression of quiet affection. His eyes are filled with a rare tenderness as he watches over you, his usual confident demeanor softened by the love he has for you and your unborn child.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly, his voice laced with concern. Though he’s done his best to shield you from any discomfort, you can see the worry in his gaze.

“I’m alright,” you reply with a reassuring smile, “just a bit tired. But I’m happy we’re finally here.”

Daemon gives you a small nod, but his gaze lingers on your face, his thumb brushing along the curve of your belly. “I will make sure everything goes smoothly,” he promises. “You don’t need to worry about anything.

The carriage jolts slightly as it turns toward the Red Keep, and you feel a sudden wave of nerves. The announcement of your pregnancy is fast approaching, and you know that soon, all eyes will be on you. Daemon notices your subtle shift in mood and squeezes your hand gently.

“Whatever happens,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring, “we will face it together.”

You smile at him, grateful for his strength and presence. As the Red Keep looms closer, you feel ready. With Daemon by your side, you know you can face anything the future holds.

You’re taken by surprise as the carriage comes to a halt. Before you can even step down, Daemon swoops you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly. The sudden movement startles you, and you instinctively swat at his shoulder in protest.

“Daemon!” you exclaim, though there’s a mix of laughter and disbelief in your voice. “What are you doing? I can walk on my own!”

But Daemon, with that familiar mischievous smile, simply tightens his hold on you. “You’ve had a long journey. The least I can do is carry you to the Red Keep.” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his words. He doesn’t wait for any further protest before he addresses a nearby guard.

“Go,” he commands, “gather my father and my grandfather in the throne room. It’s time.”

The guard nods quickly and hurries off to fulfill the order. Daemon doesn’t hesitate as he continues carrying you towards the entrance of the Red Keep. You can feel the eyes of the castle’s residents on you, some surprised, others whispering, but Daemon pays them no mind. His focus is entirely on you, and you can’t help but smile at the attention, even though you’re still a little flustered by his boldness.

“Daemon, seriously,” you say, laughing as you rest your head against his chest. “I can walk. You don’t have to carry me like this.”

But Daemon only chuckles softly, the sound rich with affection. “You’re carrying my child. The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable, even if it means looking like a fool in front of everyone.”

You shake your head at his words, but there’s a warmth in your heart that spreads every time he speaks like this. His care for you—and for your child—shines through in everything he does.

As you reach the throne room, Daemon gently places you down, and you both enter, ready to make the announcement you’ve been anticipating. The weight of the moment lingers in the air as the doors close behind you.

When you finally enter the throne room, the air shifts. The room is filled with the sound of conversation, clinking cups, and footsteps echoing on stone. King Jaehaerys sits on the Iron Throne, his wise, tired eyes watching all who enter. Prince Baelon stands nearby, deep in conversation with the Hand of the King — Otto Hightower.

The moment you and Daemon cross the threshold, silence falls. All eyes turn to you.

Daemon’s arm tightens around you as he leads you forward, his steps slow and deliberate, every movement calculated for effect. You lift your chin, refusing to shrink under the weight of their gazes. Every eye is on you, and you meet them all without hesitation.

“Father,” Daemon says as he stops before the king, his voice clear and commanding. “Grandfather.” He looks to Jaehaerys, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken meaning.

The king leans forward, his brows lifting with curiosity. “Daemon,” he says, his voice slow but firm. “What is this interruption? What do you wish to declare before the court?”

Daemon looks at you then — only you. His eyes soften, and the barest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Turning back to face the king, he says loud enough for all to hear:

“We come with news of House Targaryen’s future. My wife,” he says, tilting his head toward you, “is with child.”

A ripple of gasps echoes through the hall, followed by murmurs that spread like wildfire. Your hand rests on your belly, your gaze steady, unyielding as you watch their faces shift from shock to recognition.

King Jaehaerys’s brows rise high, surprise flashing across his face. His eyes flick to your belly, then to Daemon, and finally back to you. Slowly, a smile begins to spread across his face. “A child,” he repeats, his voice growing louder as he leans back into the Iron Throne. “A child of fire and rose petals.” He laughs, a deep, hearty sound. “You have done well, Daemon. And you, my dear, you have done better.”

Baelon grins broadly, stepping forward with a clap of his hands. “A new dragon is always cause for celebration,” he declares, looking between you and Daemon. “The gods have blessed you both.”

But not everyone is smiling.

Otto Hightower’s face remains stone-cold, his sharp eyes flicking between Daemon and you. His fingers tap lightly against his sleeve, his mind clearly working through the implications. He does not congratulate you, but he does not dare speak out either — not here, not now.

As you and Daemon walk toward your old chambers, there’s a comforting quiet between you two. The weight of the announcement has settled, and now, you can feel the moment becoming more intimate, more personal. Daemon helps you sit by the fireplace, his strong presence beside you grounding you in a way only he can.

He watches you carefully, his eyes soft with concern and affection. The crackling of the fire fills the silence for a moment before Daemon speaks, his voice low and steady.

“I will not leave you for a single moment,” he says, his words filled with such intensity that they seem to echo in the room. “Not now, not ever. You’re carrying our child, and I will be here, by your side, through everything.”

You smile gently, touched by his promise. The weight of the world feels lighter when he’s with you, and the thought of raising a child together fills you with warmth. Daemon’s devotion is clear in his words and actions, and you feel a deep sense of peace knowing that, no matter what the future holds, you won’t have to face it alone.

Daemon reaches for your hand, gently intertwining his fingers with yours. “I will protect you, and I will protect our child. You have my word,” he adds, his voice filled with unwavering certainty.

You look into his eyes, and in that moment, you know that you are exactly where you’re meant to be. No matter what challenges come your way, Daemon will be by your side, just as he promised. The love between you both is unwavering, and with that love, you feel ready to face whatever comes next.

You and Daemon turn to see the door open, revealing Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and their daughter, Princess Rhaenyra, who is just 10 months old. The warmth in their eyes is immediate, and you can see the genuine joy as they come forward to congratulate you. Aemma, in particular, seems taken aback when she sees how much your belly has grown.

“Oh, my dear,” she exclaims, her eyes widening. “You’re quite large already! How many months along are you?” She smiles gently as she steps closer, her hand instinctively resting on her own belly. “You may be carrying twins, perhaps?”

Daemon chuckles softly, his hand tightening around yours. He shoots Aemma a playful look, but there’s also a hint of pride in his gaze.

“I don’t think it’s twins, but she certainly makes the pregnancy look easy, doesn’t she?” he responds with a lighthearted grin, though there’s tenderness behind his words as he watches you.

You smile, feeling the love and excitement in the room. Aemma’s question is followed by Rhaenyra, who babbles softly in her mother’s arms, her curious eyes shifting toward you and the growing bump.

Viserys, ever the wise and gentle prince, smiles warmly as he steps forward to offer his congratulations as well. “Congratulations, my dear,” he says, his voice filled with fatherly affection. “It is a joyous occasion for our family, and we are thrilled for you both.”

Daemon gives you a reassuring smile as he squeezes your hand, standing proudly beside you as your family surrounds you with love. The room is filled with joy, and for a moment, it feels like everything is in its right place, the world ahead of you brighter with each passing moment.

After the departure of Aemma and Viserys, you find yourself lost in thought, reflecting on Aemma’s earlier comment about carrying twins. You couldn’t help but wonder if she might be right. The thought lingers in your mind, and the curiosity grows.

You turn to Daemon, who has been beside you, supportive as always, and ask, “Daemon, could you please have the maester check on me? I keep thinking about what Aemma said… could I really be carrying twins?”

Daemon looks at you with concern, but his eyes soften with understanding. “Of course, my love,” he says, his voice gentle but steady. “I’ll send for him right away.”

Not long after, the maester arrives and begins his examination. You hold your breath, waiting for his verdict. After a few moments, he looks up from his work, a slight smile on his face.

“It appears that you are indeed carrying twins, my lady,” he confirms. “Your body is showing signs of it, and the examination has revealed two heartbeats.”

Daemon’s eyes widen in surprise, but there’s an undeniable spark of joy in his gaze as he turns to you. His hand instinctively reaches out to yours, his grip firm, yet tender. “Twins,” he repeats softly, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “Our family will grow even stronger.”

You can’t help but smile at the news, the thought of two little lives growing inside you filling you with a sense of awe and excitement. “Twins…” you whisper, feeling the weight of the news settling in your heart. “It’s going to be quite the journey.”

Daemon nods, his expression one of complete devotion. “Whatever it takes, we will face it together,” he says, his voice firm and full of love. “And our children will be loved beyond measure.”You and Daemon walk hand in hand through the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the soft glow of torches lighting your path. Your heart feels lighter knowing that tonight is a celebration, not just for your safe return but for the lives growing within you. Daemon’s thumb gently rubs the back of your hand, a silent gesture of reassurance and love.

When you reach the King’s private solar, the guards open the doors, revealing a warm, lively scene. The King, Prince Baelon, Princess Aemma, and a few members of the royal family are already seated, their conversation filled with light laughter and the clinking of wine cups. The air smells of roasted meat, sweet honeyed bread, and spices from across the Narrow Sea.

“Ah, there they are!” King Jaehaerys says with a smile, gesturing for you to enter. “Come, sit. We were just speaking of Dragonstone and its rough seas.”

Daemon leads you to your seat, pulling out a chair beside Princess Aemma. She smiles warmly at you, her eyes glancing down at your growing belly. “You look radiant,” she says with a soft voice, leaning in to whisper, “Motherhood suits you already.”

“Thank you, Aemma,” you reply, your cheeks warming at her kind words. You glance at Daemon, who sits beside you, his eyes scanning the room.

Once everyone is seated and the servants have poured wine and served food, Daemon stands, raising his cup with a sharp grin on his face. His gaze shifts from the King to his father, Prince Baelon, before settling on you. His voice cuts through the air with ease, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“I have news to share,” he declares, glancing down at you with a soft smile before turning back to the others. “Not only have we returned safely from Dragonstone, but my wife carries not one, but two heirs of House Targaryen and House Tyrell within her.”

The room falls silent for a moment, then erupts into cheers and applause. King Jaehaerys laughs heartily, his voice echoing through the solar. “Twins! The gods have truly blessed you both.” He raises his cup higher. “To the future of House Targaryen and House Tyrell!”

“To the future!” the others echo, their cups raised in unison.

Aemma turns to you with wide eyes, her face a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Twins? No wonder you look as you do,” she says, glancing at your belly with newfound understanding. “I knew it the moment I saw you. You’re carrying them well, truly.”

“Thank you, Aemma,” you say with a smile, resting a hand on your belly. “They’ve been restless, but I can feel their strength. I suppose it runs in their blood.”

Daemon sits beside you again, his hand resting protectively on your lower back. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “They’ll be strong, like their mother.”

Your heart swells at his words, and as you look around the table filled with smiling faces, you realize that this moment will stay with you forever. The joy of family, the promise of new life, and the unwavering love of your husband — it all fills the room with a warmth greater than any fire.

The moment feels surreal, but there is a deep sense of happiness in the air, and you both know that your lives have just become even more intertwined, not just as husband and wife, but as parents preparing to welcome two new souls into the world.

As you and Daemon sit at the table, the warmth of the fire and the clinking of cups around you create a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Laughter echoes from the king and Baelon as they recall old stories, but your attention is solely on Daemon. His gaze is fixed on you, his lips curled into a sly smile.

“I should have known you were with child the moment Caraxes coiled himself around you,” Daemon says, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leans back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the back of your seat, his fingers lightly playing with a loose strand of your hair. “That beast never lets anyone near him unless I command it, but with you… he acted as if you were his hatchling.”

You laugh softly, remembering that moment. “I thought he was going to eat me,” you admit, shaking your head with a fond smile. “But then he lowered his head and nudged me like I was one of his own. I suppose he knew before any of us did.”

“Dragons always know,” Prince Baelon adds, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “They sense life in ways men cannot. It is why they bond so deeply with their riders.” He raises his cup to you both. “If Caraxes sees fit to protect you, then there is no safer place in the world than by your husband’s side.”

Daemon tilts his head, his grin growing wider. “Safer, perhaps, but not quieter. The twins have made sure of that,” he teases, glancing at your belly. “They’ve been keeping her awake every night with their little war games in there.”

“Already battling for dominance, are they?” Aemma chuckles, resting her chin on her hand. “They’ll make fine Targaryens, then.”

“Or Tyrells,” you add with a playful raise of your brow, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Daemon looks down at you, his gaze softening. His fingers trail from your hair to your shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “They’ll be the best of both,” he says quietly, his voice filled with certainty.

You lean into his side, letting his warmth seep into you. As the conversation flows back into tales of Dragonstone’s storms and your quiet days by the sea, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. These moments — the love of family, the bond you share with Daemon, and the promise of new life — are treasures you will protect fiercely, just as Caraxes had protected you.

You and Daemon asked permission to go to your rooms first, Daemon said that you needed to rest after the journey you took from Dragonstone to here. As you and Daemon walk hand in hand through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the cool night air drifts in from the open windows. The faint glow of torches flickers against the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance with each step. The gentle breeze carries the fresh scent of the sea, a reminder of your recent journey from Dragonstone.

Daemon’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, his grip firm but tender. He glances at you, his eyes filled with quiet concern. “Are you tired, my love?” he asks, his voice low and warm, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace of the night.

“A little,” you admit, resting your head lightly on his shoulder as you walk. “But it feels good to be home.”

He hums in agreement, his gaze fixed ahead, but you catch the slight tug of a smile on his lips. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t have had to sit through all those pleasantries tonight,” he says with a hint of frustration. “The king could have celebrated without us. Your rest is far more important.”

You chuckle softly, tilting your head up to look at him. “You know we couldn’t refuse. Besides, the king was happy to see us.”

Daemon lets out a small, reluctant sigh but doesn’t argue. His free hand moves to your lower back, steadying you as you walk. “I suppose,” he mutters, glancing down at your growing belly. “But from now on, you’ll rest when you need to. No one will dare object, not even the king himself.”

You roll your eyes at his protectiveness but feel a warmth bloom in your chest. He has been more attentive than ever since learning you were carrying twins. No request, no matter how small, was ignored.

As you approach the door to your shared chambers, two guards stationed at the entrance bow their heads respectfully before pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The room is dimly lit with the soft glow of a hearth fire, its warmth chasing away the chill of the evening air.

Daemon steps inside first, his eyes scanning the room before turning back to you. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you step in. “Straight to bed,” he orders softly, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “No arguments.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, your voice laced with playful defiance.

He raises a brow, his eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Hmm, I’ll hold you to that.”

With careful precision, he helps you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you to remove your shoes himself. His touch is gentle, his fingers lingering on your ankles a moment longer than necessary. When he looks up at you, there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your heart ache with love.

“You’ve done enough for one day,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your knee. “Let me take care of you now.”

You smile down at him, your fingers threading through his silver hair. “You already do, Daemon. Every day.”

He tilts his head into your touch, eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. Then, with one smooth movement, he stands and helps you further onto the bed, pulling the covers over you. He joins you a moment later, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“You and the twins,” he whispers, his voice laced with affection. “My whole world."

You sigh contentedly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The warmth of his embrace, the soft crackle of the fire, and the steady beat of his heart lull you into peace. Here, in this moment, with Daemon’s arms around you, the weight of the world feels a little lighter.

Time seems to pass in the blink of an eye. Your belly, once a subtle swell, has now grown large and heavy with the weight of the twins you carry. Every movement feels like a challenge, and walking even a few paces leaves you breathless. Daemon, ever the protective husband, has declared that you are to remain in your chambers at all times. No council meetings, no strolls through the gardens — not even a visit to the balcony without him at your side.

Your mother has recently arrived from Highgarden, her presence as comforting as the scent of fresh blooms in spring. She sits beside you now, her hands expertly braiding your hair as she did when you were a child. Her touch is gentle, but her voice carries its usual firmness.

“You mustn’t push yourself, dear,” she says, her gaze focused on her work. “Carrying one child is hard enough, but two? You need all the strength you can gather for what lies ahead.”

You nod, resting your hands on the curve of your belly, feeling the subtle shifts and kicks of your unborn children. “I know, Mother. But I feel so restless. Being confined to one room all day is maddening.”

She hums in sympathy, securing the braid with a small ribbon. “I know it is. I was much the same when I carried you and your brother. But trust me, you’ll be grateful for every moment of rest when the babes arrive. They will demand more of you than any lord or lady ever could.”

Her words make you smile despite yourself. “I can handle it. I have Daemon, and now I have you.”

Your mother leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, you do. And you are stronger than you think, my sweet girl.”

Just then, the door creaks open, and you glance up to see Daemon entering the room. His armor is gone, replaced with a simple black tunic, his hair slightly damp from a recent wash. His eyes scan the room, and when he sees you sitting comfortably with your mother, his shoulders relax.

“How are my three loves?” he asks, crossing the room in a few long strides. He kneels before you, his hands settling on your belly, his palms warm and grounding. His eyes flicker to your mother, and he offers her a polite nod. “Lady Tyrell.”

“Prince Daemon,” she replies with a small smile. “Your wife is growing restless, as expected.”

Daemon smirks, his gaze locking with yours. “Is that so? I warned you, didn’t I? No wandering about, no sneaking off to see the training yard.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin. “I haven’t stepped a foot outside this room, husband. Not even to the balcony.”

“Good,” he says, his hands tracing gentle circles over your belly. “Our little warriors have been making trouble, I see.” His eyes soften as he feels a strong kick against his palm. “Eager to meet their father, are they?”

You watch him with quiet affection. It’s moments like this, when Daemon’s sharp edges soften with love, that you feel most at peace. Your mother watches the two of you with a knowing smile before rising from her chair.

“I’ll leave you two for now,” she says, smoothing the front of her dress. “But call for me if you need anything, darling.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you say as she departs, leaving only you and Daemon in the quiet glow of the room.

Daemon shifts, sitting beside you on the bed, his arm slipping around your shoulders to pull you against him. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His other hand stays on your belly, feeling every small movement of your children.

“Are you afraid?” he asks softly, his voice a rare whisper.

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “Not afraid. Just… uncertain. I’ve never done this before, and there are two of them.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Stronger than any knight with a sword.” His hand tilts your chin up so he can look into your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll bring them into this world, and I’ll be right here. Every moment. Every breath.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, letting out a soft laugh. “If you cry when they’re born, I’ll never let you forget it.”

Daemon grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “If they have your eyes, I just might.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the warmth of his embrace lulling you into calm. The weight of the world outside the room melts away. Here, with Daemon’s steady presence and the promise of your mother’s support, you feel ready to face anything.

Even the challenge of bringing two little dragons into the world.

The next morning, boredom settles over you like an unwelcome guest. The same four walls, the same view from the window, and the same well-meaning advice to “rest” have begun to wear on your patience. You glance toward the door, a spark of defiance flickering in your heart.

“I just want some fresh air,” you mutter to yourself, running your hand over the curve of your belly. The weight is undeniable, every step a little heavier than the last, but you refuse to let it stop you.

With the help of your ever-dutiful maids, you rise slowly from the cushioned chair, your body protesting with every shift of weight. One of the maids, a kind girl with gentle hands, offers her arm for support. “My lady, should I inform the prince of your walk?”

You shake your head. “If Daemon finds out, he’ll lock me in this room himself.” Your tone is light, but you know it isn’t far from the truth.

The maid hesitates but nods, her grip on your arm steady as you take your first steps. Each movement is slow, deliberate. The hallways of the Red Keep seem to stretch endlessly before you, but for the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of freedom.

Servants pause as you pass, their eyes wide with surprise. Some bow their heads respectfully, while others glance at one another as if silently debating whether to alert Prince Daemon. You ignore them all, your gaze focused forward, step after step.

The cool stone beneath your feet and the faint draft of air are small reminders that you are not a prisoner, no matter how much Daemon worries for you. You walk further, passing familiar banners and tapestries, the clang of distant swords from the training yard faint but comforting.

“She shouldn’t be out here,” you hear a voice whisper behind you. “She’s due any day now.”

You don’t look back, only lifting your head a little higher. Let them whisper, you think. I am no fragile flower.

As you reach a balcony overlooking the training yard, you pause, leaning against the stone railing. Below, you spot Daemon, his silver hair catching the sun like polished steel. He’s sparring with Ser Lorence Roxton, their movements sharp and powerful. Each swing of Daemon’s sword is as precise as it is forceful, a dance of deadly grace.

Your heart swells with pride as you watch him. He moves as if the weight of the world is nothing to him — unlike you, burdened with the weight of two small lives within you. Yet somehow, watching him move with such confidence gives you strength.

He doesn’t see you at first, too focused on his opponent. But then, as if sensing your presence, his head turns sharply in your direction. His eyes narrow.

“Seven hells,” you hear him mutter before he throws his sword to the ground and storms toward the stairs leading up to you.

Your maids glance at each other nervously. “Should we—”

“Stay where you are,” you say calmly, folding your hands atop your belly.

Moments later, Daemon appears before you, his chest heaving from exertion, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. His gaze shifts from your face to your belly, then back to your face, his jaw set in a hard line.

“You were supposed to be resting,” he says, his voice low but firm.

“And I’ve been doing that for weeks,” you reply with equal firmness. “I needed to walk, Daemon. I’m not made of porcelain.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’re carrying my children,” he says, his voice softer now, though still edged with worry. “You’re more precious than Valyrian steel, and twice as fragile right now.”

You raise a brow at him. “Then perhaps you should forge me into a sword, husband. I’m no frail thing to be locked away.”

Daemon stares at you for a moment before letting out a low, amused chuckle. His hand moves to your belly, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. The babies respond with a sudden kick, and he blinks in surprise.

“That one’s a fighter,” he says with a grin.

“Like their father,” you reply, your eyes softening.

He sighs, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. “Fine,” he relents. “But if you feel even the slightest pain, you call for me.”

“Always,” you promise.

Daemon’s arm snakes around your back, and he guides you slowly back toward your chambers. No matter how independent you try to be, you lean into him, letting him bear some of the weight. Just this once.

As you two walk slowly through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, your hand resting lightly on Daemon’s arm, you can’t help but voice your frustration.

“I’ve been cooped up in that chamber for far too long, Daemon,” you huff, your tone carrying a hint of playful defiance. “Is it really so dangerous for me to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on my face?”

Daemon arches a brow, his lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “The sun will still be there tomorrow, wife. You, however, are one slip away from being carried back to that chamber in my arms.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You already carry me enough as it is. Let me walk.”

His grip tightens protectively on your waist, and just as you prepare to argue further, your attention is drawn to the sound of laughter. A soft, innocent giggle followed by the familiar voice of Aemma.

Turning your head, you spot her in the lush green garden just beyond the archway, sitting on a blanket with little Rhaenyra crawling excitedly toward a cluster of flowers. Her chubby hands reach for them, and she squeals with delight when she manages to grab a soft pink petal. Aemma’s face lights up with joy as she guides Rhaenyra gently, careful not to let her crush the delicate blooms.

Your heart warms at the sight, and you slow your steps. You glance up at Daemon with wide, pleading eyes, tugging lightly at his sleeve.

“Please, Daemon,” you whisper, tilting your head like a cat asking for affection. “Let me stay with them, just for a little while.”

Daemon follows your gaze toward Aemma and Rhaenyra. For a moment, he says nothing, his lips pressed into a line as he considers. His eyes flicker back to you, filled with hesitation.

“You’ll sit,” he says at last, his voice firm but not unkind. “No standing, no walking about. If I see you on your feet for more than a moment, I’ll carry you back myself.”

You nod quickly, a grin spreading across your face. “Deal.”

Daemon sighs in defeat, clearly unable to deny you anything. He leads you toward the garden with slow, careful steps. Aemma notices you approaching and waves cheerfully, her face bright with warmth.

“Look who’s come to join us,” she says with a smile. “I thought you’d be resting.”

“I’ve rested more than enough for one lifetime,” you reply as you lower yourself carefully onto the soft blanket with Daemon’s help. Once seated, you let out a contented sigh, leaning back against a plush cushion one of the maids swiftly provides. “I saw you both and couldn’t resist.”

Rhaenyra, curious as ever, turns her wide violet eyes toward you. Her gaze lands on your belly, and she crawls over with surprising speed. Her tiny hands press curiously against your swollen stomach.

“Ba,” she babbles, tilting her head as if trying to understand. She pats your belly again with more determination, her face scrunched up in concentration.

“She knows there’s someone in there,” Aemma says with a soft laugh, leaning forward to adjust Rhaenyra’s hair. “Or two, in your case.”

You glance at Aemma and smile knowingly, placing your hand over Rhaenyra’s. The baby stares at the motion, eyes wide with wonder. Then, as if on cue, one of the twins in your belly gives a strong, sudden kick right where Rhaenyra’s hand rests.

The little girl gasps, pulling her hand back in shock before letting out a delighted giggle. She claps her hands together and points to your belly. “Ba! Ba!”

Aemma laughs, her eyes crinkling with joy. “She thinks they’re playing with her.”

“Perhaps they are,” you muse, rubbing gentle circles over the spot where the kick came from. “These two are as mischievous as their father.”

Daemon snorts, sitting on the edge of the blanket. “They’ll be clever, not mischievous,” he corrects, though there’s a hint of pride in his voice. His eyes flicker to your belly, his hand briefly resting atop it. “They already know how to get attention, after all.”

“Like their father,” Aemma teases, her gaze flicking to Daemon with playful mischief.

Daemon raises a brow at her but says nothing, his smirk betraying his amusement.

The four of you sit together in peaceful silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves and the sweet babbling of little Rhaenyra as she explores the flowers around her. Your eyes drift closed, the warmth of the sun on your skin lulling you into a calm, dreamlike state.

“Are you tired?” Daemon’s voice is close to your ear, soft but attentive.

You hum in response, your head leaning against his shoulder. “Not tired. Just… content.”

He wraps an arm around you, his fingers trailing lightly along your back in slow, soothing patterns. “Good,” he murmurs. “Then stay like this for a while. The world can wait.”

And for now, you believe him.

You tilt your head back to meet Daemon’s gaze, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. His eyes narrow with suspicion, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“I’m not a prisoner, Daemon,” you say lightly, resting a hand on his arm. “Go back to your training. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You’ll stay seated?”

“Yes, I’ll stay seated,” you reply, your tone sweet but firm. “I won’t stand, I won’t walk, and if I need anything, I’ll have the maids or guards fetch you.” You gesture to the maids and guards stationed nearby as proof. “See? Plenty of eyes on me. I’m perfectly safe.”

Daemon stares at you for a long moment, his violet eyes scanning your face as if searching for any sign of deceit. You stare back with innocent determination, unyielding.

Finally, he sighs heavily, running a hand down his face. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“And you love me for it,” you counter with a grin, earning a short, breathy laugh from him.

“I do,” he admits, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment longer than usual, warm and soft against your skin. “But if I see you on your feet, I won’t hesitate to carry you back inside.”

You wave him off, feigning exasperation. “Yes, yes, my fearsome husband, everyone has heard your threats. Now, go.”

Daemon snorts but stands, giving you one last look — a warning glance that says, Don’t test me — before turning on his heel and striding back toward the training grounds. His silver hair catches the light of the sun, and you watch him until he disappears from view.

Satisfied, you lean back against the cushion behind you, letting out a soft sigh of relief. Your hand comes to rest on your belly, your fingers tracing small circles over the taut skin. You can already feel one of the twins stirring inside, pressing against you with a gentle but firm push.

“Yes, little one,” you murmur quietly, gazing down at your belly with a soft smile. “He’s always like that. But he means well.”

One of the maids approaches, holding a cool drink in her hands. She kneels beside you, offering it with a polite bow.

“Shall I call for the prince if you need anything, my lady?” she asks, glancing toward the direction where Daemon disappeared.

“No need,” you reply, taking the cup and sipping slowly. “He’s watching even when he’s not here.”

The maid smiles knowingly, stepping aside to give you privacy.

You recline comfortably, feeling the warmth of the sun, the steady flutter of life within you, and the distant sounds of swords clashing on the training grounds. Even though Daemon has gone back to his duties, you feel his presence as if he’s still right there beside you.

You squirmed slowly in your seat, the pain and discomfort returning. You slowly rubbed your stomach and controlled your breathing. Aemma’s expression shifts instantly from serene to serious, her brows knitting in concern.

"Do you feel uncomfortable ot pain?" you nodded and smiled. "Since earlier, maybe because I was walking to the training yard."

She turns to face you fully, her eyes scanning you carefully. “Since earlier?” she asks, her tone gentle but firm. “Where exactly is the pain? Is it sharp or dull? Does it come and go?”

You take a slow breath, pressing a hand against your swollen belly. “It’s more like a tightening,” you admit. “At first, I thought it was just the babies shifting, but it’s been happening more often. It comes, stays for a moment, and then fades.”

Aemma’s eyes widen slightly, and she sits up straighter, her gaze sharp with experience. “Those sound like contractions,” she says, voice calm but with an underlying urgency. “Did your back start aching too?”

You nod slowly, realization dawning on you. “Yes… I thought it was just from walking too much.”

Aemma reaches for your hand, squeezing it firmly. “That’s how it starts,” she says, her voice gentle but commanding. “We need to get you back to your chambers now. It could be nothing, but if it’s something, you don’t want to be far from the maester.” She glances over her shoulder, waving toward one of the guards nearby. “Fetch the maester and tell Prince Daemon his wife needs him. Now.”

The guard bows quickly and rushes off. You can hear the urgency in his footsteps, and it only makes your heart race faster. You grip Aemma’s hand tightly, your breathing shallow.

“It’s too early, isn’t it?” you whisper, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “They’re not supposed to come for a few more weeks.”

Aemma squeezes your hand again, her eyes meeting yours with a steady, reassuring gaze. “Sometimes babies have their own plans,” she says softly. “But listen to me — you are strong, stronger than you know. You’ll be fine, and so will they.” She places a hand on your belly, her fingers gentle but firm. “Breathe with me, slowly, in and out. We’ll get you back to your chambers.”

Her words steady you, and you nod, exhaling slowly as she helps you stand. Your legs feel unsteady, but Aemma is right there, her arm around you for support. Two more guards approach to help, one on each side.

The tightening in your belly comes again, sharper this time, and you gasp, clutching at Aemma’s arm. “It hurts,” you mutter through gritted teeth, leaning forward slightly as the pain grips you.

Aemma presses her forehead lightly against the side of yours, grounding you with her presence. “I know, I know,” she murmurs. “Just breathe. Slow and steady. You’ll be back in your chambers before the next one comes.”

Your heart pounds as you’re guided back toward the keep. Each step feels heavier than the last, and you’re dimly aware of voices calling for Daemon, the clatter of footsteps on stone, and the worried looks of servants and guards. But your world narrows to Aemma’s calm, steady voice.

“You’re doing so well,” she says, her words soothing even as you feel the panic clawing at the edge of your mind. “Daemon will be there. He’ll be right by your side.”

You nod, your breath hitching as another wave of pain crashes through you. “He… he better be,” you manage to say through the pain, forcing a small smile despite it all.

Aemma smiles back, her eyes filled with pride and quiet strength. “He will,” she promises, her tone unshakable. “He always is.”

The chamber feels warmer than usual, the air thick with the scent of burning candles and fresh linens. You pace back and forth, one hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, the other gripping the edge of a chair for support. The tight, rhythmic pain that pulses through your belly is growing sharper and more frequent. Sweat beads on your brow, and your breaths come in short, strained bursts.

“Daemon!” you call out, voice cracking with urgency as another contraction grips you. Your legs tremble, and you brace yourself against the bedpost, squeezing it so hard your knuckles turn white. “Daemon, now!”

The door bursts open moments later, and Daemon strides in, his eyes wild with alarm. He takes in the scene instantly — the way you’re leaning forward, the strain in your face, and the tremble in your body. He moves to your side in a heartbeat, one arm wrapping around your waist to support you.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice unusually soft but firm. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the worry simmering just beneath the surface. “You should be lying down.”

“No,” you snap, breathing hard as you shake your head. “I can’t — it hurts more when I lie down.” You grip his arm tightly as another contraction rolls through you, and a groan escapes your lips. “It’s too soon, Daemon… it’s too soon.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his gaze darting toward the doorway. “Where is the maester?!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the halls. “Now!”

The sound of hurried footsteps follows his command, and soon Maester Gerardys enters, flanked by two midwives carrying fresh cloths and basins of warm water. Gerardys’s eyes narrow as he takes in your condition. “Her labor has begun in earnest,” he says gravely, stepping forward with calm authority. “We must prepare her.”

“Prepare me?” you hiss, clinging to Daemon as another wave of pain hits. Your nails dig into his sleeve, and he lets you grip him as tightly as you need. “They’re not supposed to come now. It’s too early.”

“Babes come when they wish, princess,” Maester Gerardys replies gently but firmly, moving to check your condition. “The fact that you’re still walking is a good sign. But you must save your strength.”

Daemon presses his lips to your temple, his hand sliding up and down your back in soothing strokes. “He’s right,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Come, love. Sit, just for a moment.”

Reluctantly, you nod, letting him guide you toward the bed. Your legs feel weak, and the moment you sit, another contraction wracks your body. You cry out, head bowing forward as the pain takes you. Daemon is right there, kneeling in front of you, his hands on your thighs, his eyes locked on yours.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain. “Breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He exaggerates each breath, making you follow his lead. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you shake your head, frustrated and exhausted. “I’m scared, Daemon,” you admit, voice barely a whisper. “I’m so scared.”

His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. His violet eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes the world feel just a little less overwhelming. “You’re not alone,” he says, voice low but fierce with conviction. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Another contraction hits, this one even stronger, and you cry out, your whole body tensing. The midwives move to your side, readying fresh cloths and water.

“Steady, princess,” Maester Gerardys says, his tone calm but commanding. “The babes are coming. You’ve done everything right. It’s time now. Let them come.”

Daemon doesn’t leave your side, his hands firm but gentle, his eyes never once looking away from you. “You’ve faced dragons, love,” he says with a faint, crooked smile. “What’s two little babes compared to that?”

His words make you laugh, but it’s short-lived as another wave of pain comes. You grip his hands with all your strength, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I hate you right now,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

His grin widens, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Then you’re doing it right,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “Hate me all you like. But you’ll love me again when you’re holding them.”

With those words, you feel something shift, a pressure that tells you the time is near. Panic threatens to rise again, but you hold on to Daemon’s gaze, his steady presence like a flame in the darkness. You’re not alone. Not now, not ever.

The door swings open with a thud, and your mother rushes in, her face etched with worry and determination. Her gaze locks onto you immediately, and she moves with practiced grace, her skirts swishing as she makes her way to your side.

“My sweet girl,” she says softly, her voice like a balm against the storm raging inside you. She kneels next to you, brushing the damp hair away from your face. Her eyes flicker with both concern and reassurance. “I’m here now. Breathe, darling. Just breathe.”

Another contraction seizes you, sharper and stronger than before. Your back arches, and a guttural cry tears from your throat. Daemon grips one of your hands, and your mother takes the other, both anchoring you as you ride the wave of pain.

“You’re doing so well, love,” Daemon says, his voice low but steady, his forehead pressed to yours. “Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snap, panting as the pain finally subsides, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “You’re not the one being torn in half.”

Your mother huffs a short laugh, though her eyes are misty with unshed tears. “She’s strong, this one,” she says, glancing at Daemon. “Stronger than she knows.” Her eyes return to you, full of fierce pride and love. “You’ve got this, my brave girl. We Tyrell women are made of steel wrapped in silk.”

Her words give you strength, and you nod, tears spilling down your cheeks. “It hurts so much, Mother,” you whisper, your voice cracking with exhaustion.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” she soothes, pressing her cool hand to your burning forehead. “But you’re almost there. The pain means they’re coming.”

Another sharp contraction strikes, and you scream, your body tensing as you grip their hands with all your might. The midwives rush to your side, exchanging quick, knowing glances.

“She’s crowning,” one of them announces, her voice firm but excited. “It’s time, princess. You must push now.”

Your heart races in panic. “I can’t— I can’t do this—”

“You can,” Daemon says firmly, his eyes blazing with conviction. His hands cradle your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at me. Look at me, love. You are fire and fury. You can do this.”

Your mother nods, her grip on your hand tightening. “We’re right here, my darling. You’re not alone.”

With a loud cry, you push, every muscle in your body straining as the weight of the world seems to press down on you. The pain is unbearable, but Daemon’s voice in your ear, your mother’s hand in yours — they ground you, keep you from slipping into fear.

“That’s it, princess,” the maester says, his voice suddenly more urgent. “Again. Push!”

With a scream that echoes through the chamber, you push with everything you have. Time slows to a crawl, your senses overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. Then, at last —

A loud, piercing wail fills the room. A baby’s cry.

“You did it!” your mother exclaims, tears now freely streaming down her face. “You did it, my love!”

Daemon lets out a breathless laugh, his head falling forward in relief as he presses his lips to your temple. His voice is choked with emotion. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with pride and awe.

The midwife lifts the baby high for you to see — a tiny, wriggling form with a head of damp, silver hair. “It’s a boy, princess,” she says, her smile wide as she hands him over to a waiting midwife to be cleaned.

But the moment of relief is short-lived. Another sharp, searing pain cuts through you, and you gasp, clutching at Daemon.

“Another one?” you choke out, eyes wide in panic. “It’s happening again—”

The midwives move quickly, already prepared. Your mother is instantly back at your side, wiping your brow. “Of course it is, darling. Twins, remember?” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You already did it once. You can do it again.”

“You were made for this,” Daemon adds, his voice steady as steel. “One more, my love. Just one more.”

With a shaky breath, you nod, drawing on every reserve of strength you have left. Your eyes meet Daemon’s, and you see nothing but love and certainty in his gaze. You nod again, gritting your teeth.

“Alright,” you breathe. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

“Push, princess!” the maester calls.

With a roar that comes from the deepest part of your soul, you push once more. Every muscle, every fiber of your being strains with effort. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever known, but you don’t give in. Not now. Not when you’re so close.

Another wail fills the room, this one higher, sharper, but just as strong. The sound of it sends a rush of relief through your chest.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife cries, holding up the second babe, her tiny hands waving in the air. “A strong, healthy girl.”

You fall back against the pillows, utterly spent, tears running freely down your face. Daemon’s hand never leaves yours, and his lips press to your knuckles as he lets out a breathless, joyful laugh. “A boy and a girl,” he says, his eyes shining like twin stars. “Our boy and our girl.”

Your mother presses a kiss to your damp hair, her eyes filled with nothing but pride and love. “You did it, my sweet girl. I’ve never been prouder of you.”

The midwives place the two swaddled babes in your arms, one on each side. You gaze down at them, your heart so full it feels as though it might burst. The boy’s face is scrunched in a tiny scowl, while the girl yawns, her tiny hand curling into a fist.

“They’re perfect,” you whisper, tears still falling. “Daemon… they’re perfect.”

He kneels beside you, his face so full of love that it’s almost unrecognizable. He touches the top of his son’s head, then his daughter’s, his fingers trembling as if he can’t believe they’re real.

“They’re ours,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You did this, love. You brought them into this world.”

“We did,” you correct, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We did this.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment as the weight of everything settles in. Your mother watches with a smile full of quiet pride, her eyes fixed on you as though she’s seeing you for the first time.

Your breathing grows shallow as another sharp, searing pain tears through you. Panic surges in your chest, your heart pounding like a war drum. You clutch Daemon’s arm, your eyes wild with confusion and fear.

“Daemon—” you gasp, your voice trembling. “Something’s wrong.”

Daemon’s eyes snap to yours, his face instantly shifting from joy to alarm. “What’s happening?” he demands, turning to the maester. “Why is she still in pain?”

The midwives and maester exchange frantic glances before one of the midwives moves swiftly to your side, pressing a hand to your belly. Her eyes widen, and she glances up with a mix of shock and urgency.

“Another one,” she breathes, eyes darting to the maester. “There’s another babe still inside.”

“What?” you choke out, your breath hitching in disbelief. “No—no, you said two! You said it was twins!”

The maester steps forward, his face pale but resolute. “Sometimes, princess, one can be hidden behind the others. It is rare but not unheard of. This child is presenting breech.”

Breech. The word echoes in your mind, filling you with dread. You’ve heard the stories. It’s dangerous — for both mother and child.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle twitch. “Then fix it,” he growls, his voice like the crack of thunder. “Do whatever it takes. She survives. They all survive.” His eyes are wild, his protective fury ignited like dragonfire.

Your mother moves to your side, her face steady but her eyes sharp with focus. She grips your hand, leaning in close. “Look at me, darling,” she says softly but firmly. “You’ve done this before. You can do it again. This one will be stubborn, yes, but so are you.”

Tears streak down your face as another wave of pain crashes over you, your body tensing against it. You sob, pressing your face into Daemon’s shoulder, clutching him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

“I can’t,” you cry, your voice muffled by his tunic. “Mother, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she insists, cupping your face with both hands. Her eyes burn with fierce, unyielding determination. “You’ve already brought two dragons into this world. You are stronger than you know. This little one is just as stubborn as you, that’s all. Now breathe.”

Daemon presses his forehead against yours, his hand cradling the back of your head. “You’re not alone, love,” he whispers, his voice rough but steady. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The maester kneels between your legs, his hands moving carefully. “Princess, we’ll need you to push as before,” he says, his tone urgent but calm. “This one is turned, but I will guide them as best I can.” He glances at you, his gaze firm. “When the pain returns, you must push as hard as you can.”

“Push?” you cry, a wave of terror threatening to consume you. “I’ve nothing left to give!”

“You do,” Daemon growls, his voice fierce as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You have more. You’re fire, you’re fury, and you are mine. Our dragon needs you now, love.”

His words strike something deep within you — deeper than the pain, deeper than the fear. Your heart thunders with a surge of resolve. You grip your mother’s hand, your knuckles white, and nod.

“Alright,” you gasp, drawing in a ragged breath. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” your mother praises, brushing back your damp hair. “Breathe. When it comes, give it everything you have.”

The next contraction is like a tidal wave, surging through you with a force that takes your breath away. But this time, you don’t fight it. You push, screaming with everything in you, every last shred of will and fury.

“Again!” the maester calls, his voice sharp as steel.

You push again, your vision blurring, the world reduced to the roaring fire of your pain and the steady, grounding weight of Daemon’s hand gripping yours. His voice is in your ear, low and commanding. “That’s it, my love. Again. Again.”

Another push. Another scream. Time loses meaning, the world spinning into a haze of pain and exhaustion. You feel like you’re being pulled apart, but you don’t stop. You won’t stop.

Then, at last—

A cry. Sharp. Strong. Alive.

The room stills for a breathless moment. You fall back against the pillows, sobbing with relief. The weight of it all crashes down on you like a wave, and all you can do is cry, shaking from exhaustion.

“Another boy,” the midwife announces, her voice filled with awe and wonder. She carefully lifts the baby, his tiny fists waving in the air as his loud cries fill the chamber. “A strong, stubborn boy.”

Your tears come faster as you gaze at him, your heart too full to hold it all. Your body feels like it’s been shattered and remade, but none of it matters. He’s here. They’re all here.

Daemon lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you so tightly that it’s as if he’s afraid to let go. “Three,” he mutters, his voice thick with disbelief and pride. “Three dragons. You gave me three dragons.”

The midwives place the third baby on your chest, and you weep as you hold him close, feeling the warmth of him against you. His tiny face scrunches, his cries loud and defiant. Your fingers trace his soft cheek, and you let out a shaky breath of pure, unfiltered love.

Your mother sits by your side, wiping her own tears as she strokes your hair. “Three babes,” she says with a wide, teary smile. “The gods have blessed you greatly, my darling. Greater than most.”

Daemon rests his head beside yours, his gaze locked on the three sleeping babes now swaddled in soft cloth and placed beside you. He shakes his head, his face a mask of awe and disbelief. “They’ll sing songs about you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder. “The woman who bore three dragons at once.”

You turn your head toward him, tears still clinging to your lashes, and give him a tired but triumphant smile. “Only if you tell them,” you murmur, your voice hoarse but filled with quiet pride.

He smiles back at you, leaning in to kiss you softly, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll tell them,” he says, his eyes shining like molten gold. “I’ll tell them every day for the rest of my life.”

With the weight of his love and the warmth of your three little dragons nestled by your side, you finally let yourself rest. The fire in you has not dimmed — no, it has only grown stronger. You are the mother of dragons, and the world will remember.

You lie propped up against a mountain of pillows, exhaustion still weighing down your limbs, but the sight before you fills your heart with warmth. Daemon sits beside you, one arm draped protectively around your shoulders while the other rests lightly on one of the cradles where your three newborns sleep soundly. Their tiny breaths are soft puffs of air, their small hands curled into delicate fists.

The gentle creak of the door draws your attention. Your gaze shifts, and you see King Jaehaerys enter, his regal presence filling the room despite his age. Beside him walks Prince Baelon, his broad smile impossible to miss. Following close behind are Viserys and Aemma, the latter carrying little Rhaenyra in her arms, her chubby hands clapping with excitement at the new faces in the room.

“Three,” Baelon says, his booming voice filled with wonder and amusement. “Three dragons at once. The realm will be talking about this for years to come.” He steps forward, his eyes shining with pride as he approaches the cradles. “Which one is the fiercest?” he asks with a grin, peering down at the swaddled babes.

Daemon snorts, his smirk lazy but proud. “All of them,” he replies, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with unmistakable pride. “They’re mine, after all.”

The room fills with soft laughter. Aemma approaches your side, setting Rhaenyra down carefully before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “You are incredible,” she says, her eyes filled with admiration. “Three at once… I can hardly imagine it.” She sits beside you, gazing down at the sleeping babes with quiet awe.

“Neither could I,” you murmur, glancing at the tiny faces of your children. Your heart swells with so much love it feels as though it might burst. “I only thought I’d have two. But the gods had other plans.”

Viserys steps forward, his eyes gentle as he kneels to get a closer look at the babes. He tilts his head, a thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Do they have names yet?” he asks, his voice soft so as not to disturb them.

Daemon glances at you, his eyes seeking yours for confirmation. You nod, and he speaks with quiet certainty, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. “Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion.”

The names settle in the air like sacred vows. King Jaehaerys nods approvingly, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Strong names,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom. “Names worthy of dragons.”

Rhaenyra toddles forward, her curious eyes fixed on the cradles. She reaches out with her small hands, her face scrunching in concentration as she points at one of the babies. “Bebby,” she says with a little giggle. “Bebby!”

Aemma chuckles, scooping her daughter into her lap. “Yes, sweetling, those are babies. Your cousins.”

Rhaenyra looks from the cradles to you, her wide eyes blinking with fascination. She points at you next. “Mama?”

Your heart melts. A soft laugh escapes you as you reach out, brushing a hand through Rhaenyra’s silver-gold hair. “No, little star,” you say with a smile. “I’m their mama.” You gesture to the cradles. “They’re my little dragons.”

Rhaenyra tilts her head, clearly thinking hard. After a moment, she smiles and points to you again. “Mama dragons!” she declares, giggling to herself as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Baelon bursts out laughing, his voice filling the room. “That’s it!” he says, still chuckling. “The Mother of Dragons herself. That’s what they’ll call you now.”

You glance at Daemon, expecting him to roll his eyes at the dramatics, but instead, you find him gazing at you with that look — the one that makes you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“They’ll call you that,” he says, his voice low but certain. “And they’ll be right.”

The warmth of his words wraps around you like a cloak, stronger than any fire. The exhaustion in your bones suddenly feels worth it. Every ache, every pain, every sleepless night — all of it was for this moment. For them. For him.

The children sleep soundly, the world quiet except for the soft crackling of the hearth and the murmured conversations of family. You lean your head against Daemon’s shoulder, letting his warmth lull you into a peaceful haze.

Three dragons. Three beautiful, strong, fierce little dragons. And you, their mother, are ready to protect them with every ounce of fire in your soul.

The gentle knock on the chamber door draws everyone’s attention. Daemon rises from his seat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder before he moves to answer it. The door creaks open to reveal a Red Keep guard, standing beside one of the dragonkeepers clad in dark leathers lined with scales. The dragonkeeper holds a large wooden box, his stance careful and deliberate as if he were carrying something precious — and he is.

The moment you see it, your breath catches in your throat. The box is unlatched and opened slowly, revealing three dragon eggs nestled in soft layers of blackened ash and cloth. Each egg glimmers with an otherworldly sheen, their surfaces glinting in the warm glow of the chamber’s fire.

Gasps echo throughout the room. King Jaehaerys leans forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the eggs, while Prince Baelon lets out a low whistle of appreciation. Aemma presses a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with wonder. Even little Rhaenyra stares in fascination, her small hands clapping in delight.

“By the gods,” Aemma breathes, awe clear in her voice. “Three eggs… for three dragons.” Her eyes shift to you, full of meaning.

The dragonkeeper steps forward, bowing his head respectfully. “Gifts from Dragonstone, my lady,” he announces. His voice is steady but reverent. “Freshly laid from the hatchery. They are yours by right.”

Your heart swells with emotion. Three eggs. Each one is as beautiful as it is dangerous — a promise of power, legacy, and fire. You glance at Daemon, who is watching you with a fierce pride, his gaze shifting between you and the eggs. He nods, his jaw set with resolve.

“Come,” Daemon says, his voice firm but soft as he walks back to your side. “Let them see.”

Carefully, the dragonkeeper places the box on the small table beside you. You lean forward, your eyes drawn to the eggs like a moth to flame. One egg is a deep crimson red, flecked with streaks of black, like molten lava cracking through stone. Another is a pale silver-blue with swirls of icy white — reminiscent of the sea during a storm. The third is a deep, smoky green, its surface marked with flecks of bronze that shimmer like sunlight on leaves.

You reach out with a steady hand, fingers grazing the surface of the red egg. It’s warm to the touch, alive with subtle vibrations, as though something inside is already stirring. Your gaze flickers to Daemon, and he watches you intently, as if witnessing something sacred.

“They’ll bond with them,” Daemon says quietly, his eyes shifting to the cradles where your three newborns sleep. “They’ll grow together.” His voice is filled with certainty, like it is a prophecy already written in stone.

You glance at the sleeping babes. Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion. Three children, three dragon eggs. Fire and blood. Legacy.

King Jaehaerys rises from his chair, his face thoughtful but pleased. “This is a sign,” he declares, his voice echoing with authority. “The blood of the dragon runs strong in them. They will be great, as their father and mother are.”

Prince Baelon grins wide, his eyes sharp with excitement. “Aegon the Conqueror had three dragons,” he says, tilting his head as he gazes at you. “It seems history has a fondness for repeating itself.”

Aemma steps forward, her gaze moving from the eggs to you. “Have you decided which egg belongs to which child?” she asks, her smile soft but curious.

You look down at the eggs, fingers brushing over each one in turn. It feels as though they call to you, whispering their secrets through the warmth beneath your palm.

For Maegon, you choose the red egg, fierce and untamed, a symbol of strength and fire. He will be a warrior, you think. A flame that will never be extinguished.

For Vaelya, you choose the silver-blue egg, cool yet powerful, like the stillness before a raging storm. She will be steady and wise, but never weak. The sea and sky will answer her call.

For Aerion, you choose the green egg with bronze flecks, vibrant and wild, a reflection of growth, change, and rebirth. He will be a force of nature, ever growing, ever changing.

With each choice, you feel a weight lift from your heart, as if the decision had been waiting for you to realize it all along.

“They are theirs,” you say aloud, gazing at the eggs with quiet reverence. “Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion. Their dragons will rise with them.”

Daemon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his fingers curling softly against you. “They will,” he says, his voice low with conviction. “And the world will never forget it.”

The dragonkeeper bows his head once more before backing away, his task complete. The box is left behind, its contents no longer just eggs but something far greater. The fire crackles softly, casting warm, dancing shadows across the eggs, as if they, too, are dreaming of the future.

You lean into Daemon’s side, exhaustion settling back into your bones, but your heart is full. Your children have their dragons. Your legacy is secured.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

REPRIEVE

PAIRING: emperor geta x empress!female reader

RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY:

when angry, emperor geta seeks reprieve in his empress.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

i managed to write something for the first time in months and it’s for this absolute menace. anyway, big thanks to @pedgito and @kedsandtubesocks for letting me scream about him.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

single pov - emperor geta, no use of y/n, mild angst, established relationship, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dubcon - somnophilia (not discussed but well received), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, possessive behavior.

The stars shine brightly in the night sky by the time Emperor Geta dismisses his generals from his study with an angry shout, frustration coursing through his veins at their inability to come to an agreement for the next campaign. Despite the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, he does not return to his chambers. Instead, he turns down a dark, quiet hall. His footsteps echo on the stone in the silence and when he reaches the wooden doors flanked by guards at the end of the corridor, the men bow to him and allow him entry without question.

Your room is dark, the only light afforded to him being the faint glow of the stars through an uncovered aperture high on the far wall. The thin curtains have been drawn around your bed, shielding your sleeping form from his view. He takes a moment to remove his sandals and strip himself of his heavy robe before finding the gap in the gauzy fabric, pushing it aside to allow himself the chance to join you on the mattress.

Geta takes a moment to gaze upon your sleeping face, appreciating the serenity in your features. When the Senate had first recommended that he wed in order to present a softer image of himself to the people of Rome, he had been furious. An Emperor did not need to be soft or palatable -- he needed to be relentless, strong, and fearsome. Marriage was the last desire in his mind, especially when he had grown accustomed to the company of concubines and whores.

He does not openly admit to his growing fondness of you but he has found that in moments where his anger threatens to swallow him whole, you are the one he will seek out for reprieve, just as he does now. He leans in to kiss the sleep-warm skin of your shoulder, trailing his lips to your neck. You smell of cinnamon, spice with a hint of sweetness, a fitting dichotomy for you.

You stir beneath his attentions and he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you, not yet. When you've settled again, you rest more on your back. Geta drags the sheets from your prone form, exposing the rest of your body to him. Your nipples tighten with the rush of cold air and he takes the opportunity to run his thumb in slow circles over the sweet bud. You arch into his gentle touch, your body responding to his ministrations even while you remain under the spell of sleep.

Geta releases your breast, bringing his attention to where your shift has gathered at the tops of your thighs, exposing the course hair at their apex. He takes your nearest leg in hand and brings it toward him, your knee bending to accommodate the movement. Your cunt is already glistening for him and he bites back a groan at the sight.

His hand drifts down your belly to your center. He watches your face as he runs two of his fingers through your wetness, drawing it up over the spot that pulls moan after moan from you when he lavishes it with attention. In this instance, you gasp, hips twitching involuntarily toward his touch and he does it again, harder this time, reveling in the small whimper it drags from you.

Geta grows bold, dipping one finger inside of your tight heat. The intrusion finally breaks your slumber, your eyes fluttering open and body going momentarily stiff until you realize it is him above you and the tension melts away as fast as it came. He brings his lips to yours, his hunger for you met with an equal fervor.

"My emperor," you sigh when he breaks the kiss for a breath and to press a second finger inside of you. Your words tug at something deep in his chest, something that has blossomed despite his misgivings about the arrangement between the both of you.

"My empress," he replies, voice a deep growl as he curls his fingers and quickens his pace. "Mine."

Your eyes find his and he can't look away, lost to the way pleasure has made your eyes so dark with need. His thumb finds that sensitive nub once more, circling it in tandem with the thrust of his fingers until you're shaking with release and he swallows your moans with his greedy mouth. When your muscles relax, he pulls his hand from you and brings his fingers between your kiss, pressing the digits to your tongue and his in turn.

Geta wastes no time as you catch your breath, crawling between your spread legs and ridding himself of his tunic. His cock stands proud, the tip red and leaking as he positions himself at your entrance and slides forward into your tight heat. You gasp at the intrusion despite his earlier ministrations and wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his skin and making him hiss at the combination of pain and pleasure.

He sets a punishing pace, the wood of your bed creaking beneath his movements. You take him so well, your divine body meant for him and his cock and to carry his children--

His thoughts grow fuzzy at the notion. Your body round with his seed and your breasts full with milk and your arms cradling a small babe with golden hair and eyes that shine like yours. It's enough to make his hips falter in their rhythm, his balls growing tight with the need for release. He's panting into your neck and your hands dig into his hair, tugging at the strands as you cry out from the pleasure.

Geta does not last much longer, too overwhelmed by the feel of you squeezing his cock and the sound of you moaning his name and the thought of filling you bearing his child, the future of Rome and the legacy of his name. He presses deep, warmth coursing through him and into you as you moan his name. When he grows soft and slips free from your body, he collapses beside you, chest heaving with deep inhales of air.

"What brought you to me so late?" You ask. He turns his head and finds you already looking at him.

"Nothing for you to be concerned about," Geta replies. The high of his release wanes, leaving him feeling annoyed. Gone are the rosy images conjured by intimacy and in their place return the reminders of responsibility. He sits up, searching the sheets for his discarded tunic and pulling it on before addressing you again with a murmured, "Goodnight, wife."

"You are welcome to stay, husband."

He considers the offer, but decides against it. One moment of weakness is enough for this evening.

"Goodnight," he says again.

Thanks for reading! For more of my fics, check out my masterlist.

[emmyc0z]

can I request some cute fluff with Astarion - I think something cute would be tav’s never worn a dress and they put one on and Astarion is just mindblow by how good they look? 🥺

maybe he can do some chivalrous acts as well~

She Looks Breathtaking

pairing : astarion x (fem) reader

summary : astarion has never seen you in a dress, you haven’t been in one since you were taken from baldur's gate. you both find it hard to hide your excitement.

warnings : none :)

authors note: I hope you like this anon! (first, i finally played baldur's gate. second, i'm going to try and pump out the requests that I haven't gotten to.)

“Oh! Look how pretty this is!” 

You turn your head to look towards Karlach’s booming voice, much too loud for the small space you were in. She held up a dress, something you hadn’t thought about wearing in months. You hadn’t had any important events to attend.

Walking over to her side, you take the fabric between your fingers. “It’s beautiful..”

“You should get it. I think you’d look great, and I bet Astarion would like it too.” She nudged at your side, teasing. Your face flushed, and you ran your fingers along the hem of the dress, avoiding Karlachs gaze. She likes to poke fun at the obvious crush you had developed on Astarion, and everytime she did you regretted telling her more and more. 

Eventually, you find a small paper attached to the fabric showing the price of the dress, eyes widening at the disgustingly low price. 

“When would I even get a chance to wear it? It would go to waste, just weigh my bag down.” Karlach huffs, taking the price tag and reading it for herself.

“Are you kidding me? Even if you don’t wear it, you’d be a fool to ignore this price. Maybe you will attend some noble party when we get to Baldur's Gate!” She was way too excited but her energy almost made you agree with her, the dress was so cheap even if it went unworn for a long time. And you hadn’t worn one in..you couldn’t even remember.

You thought about it for a moment before moving for your coin pouch, pouring the amount into your hand and handing the coins to the trader. They slip out of your hand much faster than you'd care to admit, hiding your excitement from Karlach proving to be a challenge. “Don’t say a word to anyone, Karlach, I mean it.”

“Fine. But I better get to see you in it, at least try it on for me when we get back to camp!” You shake your head, amused by Karlachs childish antics, but you yourself can’t help but feel a little bit excited by the idea of dressing up. 

When you returned to camp that night you had forgotten about the dress in your bag, slipping your mind amidst the constant thought of being attacked or having to talk your way out of a hostile situation. 

So when Karlach came bouncing over to your side, your tent tucked away in a corner secluded from most of your party to keep your privacy, you could only give her a confused look. She seemed so excited and you had no idea why, and she was beginning to return the confusion.

“You gonna put on the dress or just make me stand here?” Oh! You let your bag fall to the ground, crouching down to rummage through its contents, searching for the dress. 

When you found it you laid it over your bag, standing back up to remove the leather from your body. You could hear Karlachs giggles as you shimmied out of your much too tight leather pants, only to have to pull the dress over your body right after.

Your hair was up, but you untied it and allowed your hair to fall over your shoulders. When you turned back to her, she stared at you with awe. “Woah..”

“What?” 

“You look..nice.” You giggled, which made her laugh along with you, both of you unaware of the approaching footsteps. His eyes trace along your figure, and he allows himself a moment of greediness to take in the full effect you have. You seem so happy, a smile appearing on his cheeks as he watches you smile gleefully and so..so..carefree. You're finally allowing yourself to have fun, and not worrying about protecting everyone else around you. And Gods.. you’re breathtaking. 

He would never admit to a living soul, or a non-living one for that matter, but he had been infatuated with you since the moment you asked him to join your party. You made him weak, and with his newfound freedom he wasn’t sure what the correct way to deal with it was. Obviously he could use his charm to lure you into his bedroll, but he wanted more, he wanted to be the reason you felt giddy enough to show your teeth with a smile. He wanted to be the reason you laughed, and fooled around, the reason you felt safe enough to have fun. 

He takes a deep breath in, to regain his confidence and charm, and he proceeds towards the two of you.  

Until his voice filled your ears and caused your eyes to shoot in his direction, “Well well..don’t you look nice.” 

“Astarion!” He approached the two of you slowly, staring at you and paying no mind to Karlach’s presence. 

“I’m gonna leave you two alone..” Karlach let out an awkward chuckle, making eye contact with you with wiggly eyebrows before sneaking away.

You look back towards Astarion, who is unable to make eye contact with you as his eyes roam along your body, preoccupied. You're certain he doesn't even realise Karlach has left from beside the two of you.

“Where did you get this pretty thing?” He looks back up to meet your eyes, smirk big enough to show his fangs which sends a nervous shiver through your body. A tingle in your neck reminds you of the favour you allowed him. Your arms cross against your chest, suddenly more nervous in his presence than ever before. 

“Just something I picked up from a merchant..” 

“In all the time I’ve traveled by your side , I’ve never seen you look so.. elegant.” 

“Wow thanks..” You roll your eyes with a snort, crossing your arms tighter across your chest.

“Now c’mon darling..you know I mean you no disrespect. Only pointing out the obvious. May I?” At first you're unsure what he’s even asking permission for, but when you see his hands reaching out to touch you, you give him a nod. 

He doesn’t hesitate, hands finding your hips. “See…usually you’re wearing that menacing leather, always so serious.” Your face scrunches up at his words, you’ve never thought your armour to be very menacing nor did you believe you were ‘always serious’. Only when the situation called for it. 

The heat of his skin can be felt even through the fabric. His thin fingers squeeze into the plush of your hips, then run along your waist, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “But right now, in this dress, with your hair undone,” He brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hairs, “You look so free. You’re beautiful darling..so beautiful.” 

You feel your face relax, and it only softens more when Astarions eyes meet yours once more and his pupils are blown . The softest smile blossoms on his face, which turns out to be contagious cause not soon after a cheek burning smile is on your face. Face hot as you look into his eyes, his hands still on your waist, thumbs massaging your skin through your dress. 

“I should take it off, I don’t want to get it dirty.” 

“Could you humor me?”

“Humor you? How so, Astarion?” 

“Keep it on, just for an hour. It’s been a long time since I spent an evening with a woman as beautiful as you..”