#this is my version of the haven kiss

[mellidee]

"You change... everything."

(hi i'm in pain and it hurts so good)

[surielstea]

Solstice Special

(SFW version)

Pairing: ACoTaR x Fem!Reader (separately)

Summary: A compilation of drabbles with a theme of Winter Solstice, just an excuse to write fluff really.

Warnings: All fluff! One allusion to smut (rhys), but that’s it!

3.7k words.

Rhys - Mistletoe

I leaned against the archway of the foyer, sighing as I reached down to unbuckle the straps of my heels. The day's weight still clung to me, but the familiar warmth of home promised relief. One shoe off, then the other, I barely registered the soft sound of hurried footsteps until they were practically upon me.

Rhysand rounded the corner from his office, his usual grace momentarily abandoned as he skidded slightly on the polished hardwood floor. My brows furrowed at his urgency. "What's wrong?" I asked softly, my voice laced with curiosity and a hint of concern.

He didn't answer, not with words, anyway. Instead, his hands cupped my face, firm yet tender, tilting my head up to meet his descending lips. His kiss was sudden, warm, and commanding, leaving me breathless before I had a chance to even think.

Still, I kissed him back, my confusion melting into a hum of contentment. When he pulled away, his violet eyes sparkled with mischief, and his lips curled into that devilish smile that always unraveled me.

"Welcome home," he murmured, his voice rich and teasing.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "What was that for?" I managed to whisper, still feeling the lingering heat of his mouth on mine.

His grin widened as he silently pointed above us. My gaze followed the gesture, landing on a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the archway. I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, shaking my head. "Did you hang that up?"

"I did," he replied, looking awfully pleased with himself. His pride was almost endearing, considering I had done all the rest of the decorating. The garlands on the banister, the wreath on the door, the lights twinkling softly in the windows—all my handiwork. And yet, he stood there, so smug about his singular contribution.

I grinned, shaking my head as I leaned up on my toes to press another quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's my favorite of all the decor," I murmured against his mouth.

He hummed his agreement, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. "I know," he said, his tone entirely too self-satisfied. "I'll expect full credit for it."

From that day on, the mistletoe became a tradition—one he refused to let go of. Every day when I walked through the door, he'd be there waiting. His excuse was always the same, a playful glance upward and a husky, "You know the rules."

Usually, the kisses were soft, sweet. A lingering press of his lips against mine followed by a quiet, "I'm glad you're home." Sometimes he'd brush his thumb along my jaw or press his forehead to mine, his eyes saying what words never could.

But on other days—those long, grueling ones when exhaustion was carved into every line of my body—his kisses were different. They were hungrier, more insistent. He'd pin me against the wall, his hands roving over my waist, my back, his touch dissolving every ounce of tension. His mouth would trail to my neck, his voice a low murmur, "Let me take care of you." And he always did, in ways that left me breathless and melting into him.

There were moments when I wondered if the mistletoe had been an innocent gesture at all, or if he'd hung it up knowing it would become something more—a way to anchor us, to carve out a pocket of intimacy amid the chaos of the world outside. If so, I couldn't complain. It was the best idea he'd ever had.

The archway and its ever-present dangling plant became our quiet haven, an unspoken ritual that drew me closer to him every day. And it was the last night of the Solstice Season, meaning all the decorations would go down tomorrow. So when I came home I expected rose petals leading up the doorstep and candles to illuminate our last kiss beneath the dangling plant.

But when I walked inside, I found him waiting for me, not beneath the mistletoe, but by the window, a glass of wine in his hand. The soft glow of the moonlight framed him like some sort of painting, his silhouette a study in elegance and ease. He didn't notice me at first, his attention fixed on the snow drifting lazily outside.

I paused in the doorway, letting the sight of him settle in my chest. He was dressed in more casual clothes—a loose, charcoal-gray sweater and black slacks—and for a moment, I could almost forget he was the High Lord of Night, the most powerful male in Prythian. Right now, he was simply mine.

"Are you going to stand there staring all night?" Rhysand asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. He didn't turn, but I could hear the amusement in his tone.

I rolled my eyes, stepping into the room. "You looked peaceful. I didn't want to ruin the moment."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You could never ruin anything." Setting his glass down, he turned fully, holding out a hand. "Come here."

I hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room and slipping my hand into his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and sure, and he guided me toward the window. "Look," he murmured, nodding toward the snow.

I followed his gaze. The world outside was blanketed in white, the kind of snowfall that muffled all sound and made the world feel smaller, quieter. It was beautiful, but I couldn't focus on it for long. Not with the way he was looking at me.

"You're not even looking at the snow," I accused softly, glancing up at him.

His lips twitched. "Why would I, when you're here?"

I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. "You're shameless."

"Always," he agreed, pulling me closer. His hands settled on my hips, and I found myself instinctively wrapping mine around the back of his neck, head resting on his chest as I stared out the window. We stood there, swaying slightly to a rhythm only he seemed to hear.

After a moment, I tilted my head up to look at him. "You going to kiss me anytime soon?"

"Desperate, are you?" he countered, one brow arching.

I gave him a pointed look. "You're the one who started all this."

He sighed, a dramatic sound, but the way his hands tightened on me gave him away, he couldn't deny me.

He leaned forward, smiling as our lips nearly met but didn't quite touch. I huffed, rising onto my toes and closing that gap to kiss him. It was slow and deep, a silent confession of everything I couldn't say. He responded immediately, his arms tightening around me, grounding me.

His hands ran up my hips, large hands gripping my waist, the warmth of his touch seeping past my clothes as he pulled me closer and deepened our kiss, attempting to pour all his love into this one moment.

By the time we pulled apart, I felt lighter, the weight of my long day dissolving under his touch. "Thank you," I whispered, my fingers brushing over his jaw.

He smiled, that familiar, self-assured curve of his lips. "For the kiss? Or for being perfect?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "For this. For you."

His smile softened, his gaze turning molten. "Always, my love." He pecked my lips once more, slowly pulling away with his forehead against mine. "Always."

Az - Cookies

We had made a mess. Flour clung to the entire front of Azriel's black shirt, standing out starkly against the dark fabric, while dye from the frosting stained my hands in streaks of bright colors. The countertops were a warzone of cookie cutters, unused dough scraps, and piping bags in every color.

But neither of us seemed to care. Azriel focused on his latest creation with the precision of a Spymaster turned confectionery artist, the perfectly golden-brown sugar cookies serving as his canvas. I was still shocked he hadn't devoured the one he was decorating, considering he'd been snatching cookies fresh out of the oven all afternoon.

We weren't officially competing, but if we were, I'd be losing. Horribly. His cookies looked like something straight out of a Winter Solstice display—ornate wreaths, perfect bows, and snowflakes so detailed they might have been drawn by hand. Meanwhile, my snowman looked like he'd been through a blizzard and lost the fight. His crooked smile mocked me from the plate.

With a defeated sigh, I cleared a small space and hoisted myself onto the counter, leaning back on my hands to watch my mate work. I didn't understand how he was so good at manipulating the frosting—it seemed to defy my every attempt.

"Are you pouting?" Azriel asked without looking up, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"Something like that," I replied, unable to keep the pout from my tone.

"This was your idea, might I remind you," he said, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, waving him off. "I remember."

Azriel placed the piping bag down with deliberate care, adding yet another masterpiece to the growing plate of decorated cookies. Finally, he looked up, those hazel eyes warm and alight with quiet humor as they locked onto mine.

Without a word, he stepped forward, settling himself between my legs. His hands, still dusted with flour, rested on either side of my thighs as he leaned in. The kiss was soft, sweet—lingering just long enough to make my breath catch. When he pulled back, his lips curved into a slight smile, dimples appearing as though summoned just for me.

"You taste like frosting," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

A soft giggle escaped me before I could stop it. "You're not entirely innocent either." I poke his chest.

He tilted his head, pretending to think, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes gave him away. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said at last, his lips twitching into a smirk.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the warmth blooming in my chest.

Cass - Snowmen

"Using your powers is cheating," Cassian declared, gesturing toward my much more impressive snowman. His own creation, barely the size of a pre-schooler, leaned precariously to one side, a lopsided grin smeared across its face.

I scoffed, smoothing the snow on mine as I used my magic—honed in the Winter Court—to form the snowman's perfectly symmetrical, smiling expression. "Don't pout," I said, throwing him a smug grin. "It won't make your sad little snowman any better."

His gasp was loud and exaggerated, and he stomped through the knee-deep snow toward me, hands on his hips like a scolding parent. But the rant he was about to give cut off as his gaze flicked upward. He tilted his head back, dark hair dusted with white as fresh snow began to fall.

The soft flakes drifted between us, one landing perfectly on the tip of my nose. Cassian grinned, leaning in to brush it away with his lips before stealing a kiss, his mouth warm against mine. The cold melted away as I wrapped my arms beneath his jacket, hugging his solid torso against me. His hands pressed against my back, pulling me even closer.

But he leaned too far into the embrace, and the next thing I knew, we were tumbling backward into the snow.

I squealed as I landed with a soft thump, the freezing cold biting into me as I flailed. Cassian laughed, his deep chuckle loud and unapologetic as he flopped onto his back beside me.

"You're such a brute," I muttered, trying to brush the snow off my hair.

"And you're such a sore loser." He grinned, turning his head to look at me, dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Thought you liked the cold?"

"I do." I glared, my cheeks flaming as the cold snow beneath me only seemed to grow colder.

"Then stop whining and enjoy it." Before I could argue, he swept his arms wide, his legs kicking out to carve a snow angel. The sight was so ridiculous—Cassian, a massive Illyrian warrior, lying in the snow and making an angel—I couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't need to use your arms, you already have arms," I said, flopping back beside him. "So ridiculous."

But I joined him, moving my arms and legs until a pair of angels stretched between us. He turned his head toward me, his grin softening into something warmer, gentler.

"I like this," he murmured. "Just you and me, acting like kids in the snow."

My heart clenched, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me tighter than his arms ever could. I reached for his hand, our fingers lacing together in the snow.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," I teased, "or I'd bury you in it."

He laughed again, the sound full of unrestrained joy as he tugged me closer. His wings wrapped around us like a shield, keeping the cold at bay as the snow continued to fall. We lay there for a while, watching the snowflakes swirl down from the dimming sky.

Eventually, he whispered, "I'll help warm you up when we go inside—if you admit my snow angel is better than yours."

I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. "Not a chance, general."

Lucien - Ice Skating

"Wait!" I called out to my mate, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to steady myself. My knees wobbled dangerously beneath me, the ice beneath the blades of my skates feeling far less forgiving than solid ground.

Lucien turned, easily as if he wasn't on blades. His golden eye shimmered with amusement, the hint of a small smile tugging at his lips. He looked as though he'd been born on skates, while I felt like a newborn fawn—clumsy, awkward, and certain I was seconds away from disaster.

I took a tentative step forward, my arms stretched out as if I could somehow will balance into my uncooperative limbs. The moment my foot moved, I lurched forward, letting out a squeak of panic.

Lucien was there in an instant. I grabbed his jacket instinctively, clinging to him as though he were the only thing standing between me and certain doom.

"Here," he said, his voice warm and steady, "hold my hands." He extended his palms toward me, his confidence so disarming that it made my own nerves feel a bit foolish. Slowly, ever so slowly, I released my death grip on his jacket and slid my trembling hands into his.

"There," he said softly, his thumbs brushing reassuring circles over the backs of my hands. "Be confident, or you'll fall."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath, glancing down at the ice with a mix of terror and defiance. "My legs are so stiff from the cold I feel like they'll snap in half."

Lucien chuckled, the sound low and rich, like molten honey. "Always so dramatic," he teased, threading his fingers through mine as he took a small step backward, gently pulling me forward.

"Just match my movements," he instructed. His voice was calm, soothing, and so maddeningly self-assured that I almost forgot my fear. Almost.

My brows furrowed in concentration as I tried to follow his lead. My legs refused to cooperate, my body too tense to glide smoothly the way he did. Instead, I felt like a lump of wood teetering on the edge of disaster, certain that at any moment I'd go face-first into the ice.

Sensing my hesitation, Lucien squeezed my hands, and warmth bloomed from where his skin met mine, chasing away the biting chill that had settled in my fingers. The warmth crept up my arms and into my chest, soothing me in a way that only he could.

"See? You're already doing better," he encouraged, his voice laced with pride.

I frowned up at him, catching the faint curve of his lips. "Stop laughing at me," I huffed.

"I'm not laughing," he protested, though his golden eye sparkled with amusement.

"You're smiling," I pointed out accusingly.

"Am I not allowed to smile at my mate?" he countered, his smirk widening.

"No," I shot back, though my voice lacked conviction. "Not when I'm one slip away from breaking every bone in my body."

He laughed then, the sound so genuine and warm that I felt my annoyance melt away. "You're not going to fall," he promised.

"And if I do?" I challenged, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Then I'll catch you," he said simply, his voice steady and certain.

Something in the way he said it—like it wasn't just about ice skating, but about everything—made me falter. I swallowed hard, the moment of vulnerability making me cling to him just a little tighter.

"Now," he said, his tone light and teasing again, "let's try this without you looking like you're walking on hot coals."

I glared at him, but I couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up. His confidence was contagious, and as I let him guide me step by step across the ice, I felt my body begin to relax.

The fear was still there, lingering at the edges, but with Lucien's steady hands in mine and his unwavering gaze fixed on me, I started to believe that maybe I wouldn't fall. And even if I did, I knew he'd be there to catch me.

Eris - Cocoa

I buzzed with excitement as I topped my steaming mug of cocoa with an indulgent swirl of whipped cream, crowning it with tiny marshmallows that spilled over the rim. The warmth of the drink seeped into my hands as I cradled the mug, savoring the simple joy of the moment.

"Love?" Eris's voice, low and laced with sleep, called from the hallway. I glanced up just as he peeked his head around the corner, his copper hair deliciously ruffled, his sharp amber eyes softened by drowsiness.

"Morning, Eris," I said softly, a smile tugging at my lips. He blinked at me, his expression still crinkled with sleep, and shook his head wordlessly before padding into the room.

Before I could ask what he was doing, he closed the distance between us. Gently, his hands slid over mine, tugging me away from the counter and into the hallway with the sleepy drag of his feet.

"Eris," I began, my voice full of curiosity, "what are you—?"

He didn't answer, his silence as warm and grounding as his touch. His hands in mine felt like slipping into a sun-drenched blanket on a crisp autumn morning. He led me to our bedroom, nudging the door open with a lazy kick. Releasing my hands, he turned to face me, his sharp features soft in the early light.

In one swift motion, his hands found my waist, and he pulled me down onto the bed with him. "Eris," I sighed as he reached for the blankets, cocooning us in their warmth.

"It's too early," he murmured, his voice raspy and thick with sleep as he nestled into the crook of my neck.

"My cocoa's going to get cold," I protested half-heartedly, but the argument died on my tongue the moment he tightened his arm around me.

"Just a few minutes," he countered, his words brushing my skin like embers. His fingers began tracing slow, soothing circles along my back, their heat melting away the last of my resistance. He pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck, and I couldn't stop the warmth that bloomed in my chest, spreading like wildfire.

"Fine," I whispered, my resolve crumbling under his touch. "Just a few more minutes."

His only response was a soft hum of approval as I ran my fingers through his unruly hair, combing it away from his face. His quiet breaths and the rhythmic heat of his touch lulled me deeper into the comfort of the moment. Before I knew it, I'd drifted off, enveloped by his warmth.

I woke to the sensation of gentle kisses—one pressed to my forehead, another to my cheek, and then the tip of my nose. I blinked my eyes open, greeted by Eris's amber gaze, glowing with unspoken affection.

"Morning," I rasped, my voice heavy with sleep. "Again."

His lips curved into a soft smile as he leaned in, brushing a kiss against mine. His fingers cradled my jaw, the gesture tender enough to steal my breath.

"Morning, love," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. His thumb traced the curve of my cheek. "Think your cocoa's cold now?"

My eyes widened as the memory hit me. I scrambled out of bed, rushing to the kitchen as Eris's amused laugh echoed behind me. I skidded to a stop at the counter, frowning down at the abandoned mug. Tentatively, I dipped a finger into the drink. Ice cold.

"It's ruined," I said, pouting as I turned to Eris, who had followed me with his usual unhurried grace. "It was the last of the cocoa powder."

He leaned against the counter, his hair still a mess from sleep, and shook his head with a smirk. "You forget who I am."

Taking the mug from my hands, he held it between his palms. Within seconds, steam curled into the air, and the rich scent of cocoa filled the kitchen once more.

I smiled, biting my lip as I looked up at him. "Show-off."

"There," he said with a grin, handing the mug back to me.

Rising onto my toes, I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, savoring the warmth of his skin. "Thanks, 'Ris," I murmured, cradling the mug close as I took a tentative sip. The heat spread through me, as rich and comforting as the male watching me with sleepy affection.

"You're welcome, love," he replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. His amber gaze held mine, filled with warmth, and I couldn't help but think there was no better way to start the day.

NSFW version here -> Link

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[starlostseungmin]

───────　𐙚˙⋆.˚ 　𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.　❞

fanfics listed below are from my reblog account and some are from my main so be mindful of what you read. please reblog to share !!

（ 𖹭 ） : personal favorites.　（ 🍒 ）: 18+ , smut , mdni.

FOR KIM SEUNGMIN　click here ‼️

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 FAKE TEXTS.

it’s because i’m ugly, isn’t it? by @sunboki

you tell him you can’t have kids. (minho only) by @skz317cb97

𖹭 their parents don’t like you. (han, seungmin, jeongin only) by @charmerchannie

bf!skz sneaking out at night to see you. by @biniminisblog

🍒 you texting 'what are we?' (jeongin ft. felix) by skz317cb97

🍒 he accidentally texts you a spicy video. (han only) by skz317cb97

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 HEADCANONS.

𖹭 skz and the reason you aren’t together. by @hyunebunx

show don’t tell with skz. by hyunebunx

𖹭 spin the bottle with skz. by hyunebunx

late night moments with skz. by hyunebunx

'make me' with skz. by hyunebunx

"what are we?" with skz. by hyunebunx

cheek kisses. by @svngcore

skz when you scream their name while they're performing. by @softstraykidshours

asking for a pillow to cuddle with when you stay over as a prank. by ppiri-bahng

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 FAKE TEXTS.

chan drabble. by @nonranghaes

crushing with bang chan. by myjisung

underwater rendezvous. by @stayconnecteed　ー 1.2k words

𖹭 🍒 my wife. by @chrizzztopherbang 　ー 1.2k words

🍒 scented candles. by @hwajin 　ー 3.2k words

queen!reader x peasant!chan. by ppiri-bahng

𖹭 🍒 say yes to heaven. by @hwan-g 　ー 3.2k words ; i’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. it’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. i see no end to it, no relief. only suffering. i did this to you, my heart, and i cannot apologize. i don’t want to. i’m jealous, i’m jealous, i’m wretched.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 LEE KNOW.

𖹭 moonstruck. by @withleeknow 　ー 4.7k words

boyfriend lee know. by @hanjsquokka

𖹭 🍒 get better, okay? by @jeonginsleftcheek

𖹭 🍒 munch lee know. by @dwaekkicidal

🍒 gym sex. by @luvyeni 　ー 0.4k words ; lee know can't take you anywhere without someone flirting.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 SEO CHANGBIN.

college crush!changbin. by @starseungs　ー 1.2k words

only for you. by starlostastronaut

come home. by stayconnecteed 　ー 3.4k words

🍒 changbin nsfw thought #002. by ppiri-bahng

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 HWANG HYUNJIN.

crushing with hyunjin. by myjisung

just love me for me. by @ppiri-bahng

hyunjin drabble. by @sunboki

our love untold. by starseungs　ー 3.1k words ; for those who grew up loved, it eventually becomes a norm to the point that the nuances between its types become untold.

🍒 hyunjin nsfw thought. by @jeongin-lvr

𖹭 🍒 hyunjin drabble. by @hwangskitten

🍒 hyunjin nsfw thought #001. by ppiri-bahng

morning text. by @hyunverse

11:11pm. by starseungs

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 HAN JISUNG.

wednesday — [8:47PM] by @myjisung

boyfriend han jisung. by hanjsquokka

han vs. homework. by @soobnny　ー 1.0k words ; your clingy bf han jisung wants to kiss you.

moonage daydream. by @starlostastronaut 　ー 1.2k words ; every moment in his presence is magical. being alone with the true version of him even more so.

summertime longing. by stayconnecteed ー 2.4k words

how he would take care of you during shark week. by withleeknow

a dream and a dance. by starseungs　ー 2.0k words ; dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid. but maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

distracted gamer. by @seungfl0wer

🍒 jisung nsfw drabble. by @planet-dusk

skate. by hyunverse

𖹭 🍒 inexperienced. by @seospicybin　ー 7.5k words ; one of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too.

˖˙ �� ── 　 FELIX LEE.

crushing with felix. by myjisung

dating him. by soobnny

better places. by @hwangism143

college crush!felix. by starseungs ー 1.1k words

safe haven. by @comet-falls ー 1.1k words

the cuddle cure. by ppiri-bahng

[13:39] by @starlighthan

˖˙ ᰋ ── 　 YANG JEONGIN.

saturday — [3:07AM] by myjisung

college crush!jeongin. by starseungs ー 1.1k words

𖹭 employee discount. by @felixbit　ー 1.5k words ; you've been going to the same coffee shop ever since you moved to busan. you seem to be the favorite of the cute barista, jeongin, because he started giving you the employee discount.

memories. by comet-falls ー 1k words

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　 don’t forget to reblog and leave feedbacks for the writers !! will add more soon. enjoy reading folks !!

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (1/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, kissing, the angst, stalking, woman on the rape pill, drug trade ]

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

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

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he needed to calm down before a meeting with clients or a brutal explanation of certain matters, he would lock himself in some room or his car, close his eyes and return with his thoughts to that summer holiday.

First he would always hear the sound of the sea, and then he would see the beach and the setting sun all around him, somewhere in the distance hearing her laughter.

It was their first and last trip together, which had obviously been his father's idea. He thought it would be a good way to cool a bit of tension in the family and invited his daughter from his first marriage to join them at their summer residence along with her partner, Harwin Strong, her former bodyguard, and their children.

The locals called their house ‘King's Landing’, because in fact the building looked like some kind of modern palace, with a huge garden, a private beach access and a small harbour with their sailboats and scooters.

He had never wondered where his father got money to buy such a great mansion: he thought that he had earned it all and the others had not and that was why they were poor.

Neither he nor his brother were thrilled with the idea: they did not want to share their toys or rooms with the Strongs, which, although they usually stood empty, were sometimes used for playing. Despite their verbal expressions of displeasure, Rhaenyra arrived with her partner and children in a large black Mercedes, disturbing, in his mind, their peace and order.

For the first few days, he simply tried to pretend he hadn't seen them: he would go for solitary hikes along the beach, looking for treasures in the sand, thinking he envied Helaena, who instead of joining them decided to spend her holiday with her friend and could do whatever she wanted.

Their mother allowed them to swim in the sea as long as they didn't swim too far away from the shore, and the smallest children, namely Luke and his sister, wore plastic shoulder pads filled with air to make them float.

Every little thing that made him better than his brother or nephews made him feel superior, so when he noticed that he swam the best out of all five of them, he showed it off by diving underwater once in a while only to emerge somewhere much further away. Their sister was most impressed by this, asking him to teach her how to do it, but he paid no attention to her.

The little squealing girls did not interest him, but Jace's face full of displeasure did.

He grinned in a way that made the eldest Strong's lips pressed together into a thin line and saw him swimming towards him.

He was sure that Jace would just want to hit him or sub him, so he prepared to put up aggressive resistance if necessary, he surprised him completely, however, by pulling his shorts off his legs.

He laughed out loud as he threw himself after him, trying to snatch it from him, fruitlessly, Aegon seeing this, shouted:

"– c'mon, hand it to me! –" He called out and indeed, Jace did so, making his opportunity to retrieve his stolen clothes move away from him towards the shore with them and Luke who also laughed thinking, apparently, that it was a very funny joke.

"– stop it! –" Their sister squealed, being the only one to stay in the water with him.

It was the first time he had felt so humiliated, frightened and lonely – although Aegon often teased him, this time it was something completely different.

His older brother came ashore, waving his shorts.

"Come and get them!" He laughed, throwing them somewhere far out on the sand so that he would have to run naked many metres before he could even reach them. His niece looked up at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

"– wait – wait, I'll get them for you in a minute –" She called out, moving towards the shore, getting out of the water at last and running across the sand – Aegon, Jace and Luke watched her efforts from afar, laughing loudly.

As much as he didn't want to, as much as he tried to stop himself, he burst out into a loud sob, ashamed, sad and bitter, standing in water up to his waist and not moving from his place, wanting to just drown and die.

He finally heard a splash – his niece was swimming towards him with his clothes in her hand, reaching out to him. He snatched his shorts from her in an aggressive, furious motion, whooping with his tears.

"– if you tell anyone about this –" He hissed.

"– no – no, please don't cry –"

"– fuck off –" He growled, pushing her away for some reason, furious that she had seen his outburst of despair, the fact that he was crying like a little girl.

He put his shorts back on and stepped out of the water, heading immediately towards home, paying no attention to Aegon's screams for him to come back, for them to go riding their bikes together, that it was just a joke.

He spent the rest of the day in his room reading history books. He liked to imagine that he was someone else: a great scientist, explorer, king, prince or knight. As he read stories about the great, terrifying dragon Vhagar, he thought he would like to have such a creature for himself, so that he could burn his brother and his nephews.

He answered his mother's questions about what had happened in a perfunctory manner – he knew his brother would take revenge on him if he said too much and he didn't feel like causing any more trouble.

He shuddered at night, roused from a deep sleep when he heard someone's steps in the corridor.

He feared it was them, that they were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose up on his arms, terrified, when the door to his room opened with a loud creak.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet mumble, even barely able to see her silhouette in the darkness he could tell she was crying.

"– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He hissed.

His reply made her draw in air loudly, whooping apparently with her own tears.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She babbled in despair, as if this was the worst day of her life and there were big monsters lurking in the shadows of the room she slept in ready to devour her.

For some reason, what she said made him feel a sting in his heart and sympathy, through which he shifted to the side, sighing heavily, making room beside him.

"– okay, just be quiet already – come here –" He muttered, and she breathed a loud sigh of relief, closing the door behind her.

She surprised him by climbing onto his bed and immediately covering herself with his duvet, breathing loudly as if she was really scared.

"– thank you –"

"– sleep –" He commanded, turning his back to her. "– you are to disappear tomorrow morning – if anyone sees you, I will kill you with my own hands – do you understand? –"

"– yes –" She mumbled out with difficulty.

He heard her turn on her other side, but he could still feel the warmth of her body – his bed designed for one person for two proved a tad too cramped and there was no way their shoulders wouldn't touch.

Although he felt ashamed that he had slept with a girl, on the other hand her presence had a calming effect on him – the conviction that someone was beside him, her warmth and her scent, reminding him of vanilla pudding or cake, made him fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When he woke up, to his relief, she was gone, nor had she told anyone that she had come to him.

What surprised him was that she came to him the next night and jumped into his bed as if it was hers.

"– what are you doing? –" He muttered, looking at her in shock, his favourite book about dragons in his hands.

"– I'm going to bed –"

"– you've got to be joking – go to your place –"

"– I don't have a lamp –"

"– I'll give you mine –"

"– no – this one is too big – for me to sleep it has to be small or someone has to sleep next to me – I swear I'll disappear tomorrow morning –" She mumbled, seeing him tilt his head back, closing his eyes in impatience.

"– I don't want you in my room –" He said finally. "– neither you nor your brothers – I'd rather you never came here –"

It was only when he heard how the words sounded that he thought he had exaggerated, however, he could no longer take it back – he heard her draw in a breath, her cheeks red with sadness, her eyes glazed with tears. She burst out crying, pulled herself up from her seat and ran out of his room.

He thought, returning to his reading, trying to drown out the discomfort in his stomach and the tightness in his throat with the thought that at least she and everyone else would give him a break.

He tried to focus on what he was reading, but then his thoughts returned again to her, alone, in the darkness that had so frightened her.

He remembered Aegon scaring him that there was a great one-eyed monster living in his wardrobe that would come out of there and eat him if he closed his eyes even for a moment.

He cried from exhaustion and didn't sleep for several nights until his mother, when she found out he had fallen asleep in class at school, explained to him that it had been a simple lie.

He thought with shame that she was just a child who was being bullied by them as much as he was, and although he was angry, he decided he would go and see if she had fallen asleep.

Perhaps she was being too dramatic?

He got up quietly from his bed and went out into the corridor, walking slowly to her room, which was next to his. He opened the door and looked inside, noticing to his surprise that her bed was empty; he could, however, hear her raspy, heavy breath.

He stepped inside, looking around the moonlit room, approaching her bed hearing her breathing more and more clearly. He knelt down, bending over and only then did he see, horrified, her silhouette lying on the floor under the wooden frame, her eyes clenched shut, her plump cheeks red from tears.

"– please, don't eat me –" She squealed out.

"– it's me – hey –" He whispered, touching her hand, and she screamed and slammed her head on the bed above her. She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at the spot, and he hushed her by stroking her back.

"– come here – I'm afraid of monsters too –" He whispered, and she, at his words, crawled to him and cuddled into him as if he were a teddy bear, clenching her hands into fists on his back, crying miserably.

He took her into his arms, letting her throw her arms around his neck – when he stood up with her he thought she was unusually light. He laid her down on the bed and slipped under the duvet right beside her, letting her small hands embrace his waist, her face snuggled against his chest.

Only then did he feel her whole body shake.

His hand stroked her hair until she calmed down and they both finally fell asleep in a tender, close embrace.

For the next few days when she came to him, he let her lay her head on his shoulder and read a book with him, which he kept resting on his stomach. They didn't talk then, focused on reading, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

"– can I turn the page? –" He asked, wanting to know if she had managed to read everything.

"– yes –"

She really liked the character of one of the princesses. It was another volume of the story of The Mighty Vhagar and she was the beloved of the Prince who had managed to tame this terrible dragoness. Rhaenys, for that was the heroine's name, also had her own dragon, but a much smaller one, and together with the Prince she flew in the skies.

"I wish I had a dragon like Rhaenys." She confessed to him at last, and he grunted, agreeing with her deep down, not wanting to admit it, however.

The more he got to know her, the more her presence ceased to irritate him: what he liked about her was that she respected his barrier rules. She knew that he liked silence and also that he hated it when someone rearranged or took his things. They sometimes discussed books while sitting on the terrace or walking on the beach pretending to be treasure hunters.

"Kiss your girlfriend!" Laughed Aegon, looking at them from afar, making them both turn scarlet with shame.

His words, however, made him experience a daze.

She was, in fact, a girl, on top of which, in his eyes, she was extremely pretty – her large, bright eyes were framed by beautiful dark eyelashes and eyebrows, her wide smile sweet and comforting. Her voice and touch were also pleasant, tender, her body warm as she snuggled into him at night, seeking refuge in his arms.

He thought he'd never met a girl he liked and fancied, and envied Aegon that he'd already kissed a few of his female friends at school.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking along the beach with her, kicking various stones along the way. His niece lifted her surprised gaze to him, distracted from browsing through the white seashells she had found and wanted to take home with her.

"No. And you?" She asked curiously.

It was easier for him to tell the truth knowing that she had never had anyone either.

"No." He muttered.

They were silent for a long time, walking side by side, thoughtful.

He wondered where he was actually going with this question, his heart pounding like mad.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked quickly, feeling himself turn red with embarrassment – he was unable to look at her, afraid of her reaction, so he just looked around pretending to be intrigued by something.

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She replied softly.

He swallowed hard at her words.

"Do you like me?" He asked. He heard her quiet giggle beside him.

"Yes."

"So?" He continued, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, meeting her curious, bright gaze.

"What are you asking?" She asked, cocking her head, a wide smile on her face.

He was unable to get the words out.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said finally making his heart stop in his throat.

"…but only when we're alone." He said.

"Alright." She replied lightly, undaunted, returning to looking through her shells.

He struggled to hold back a smile, feeling hot in his stomach, thinking with relief that it was simple enough and he felt satisfied.

He had a girlfriend.

For the rest of the day they pretended nothing had happened, talking to each other in passing.

What he was looking forward to was the night and the warmth of her body against his.

Indeed, she came to his room as usual as soon as she made sure everyone was already asleep and jumped into his bed making his heart beat harder. He turned off the lamp even though they were usually still both reading together, laying his head next to her on the pillow, startling her.

"– are we going to sleep already? –" She asked quietly and he nodded.

She blinked when his hand rose slowly and tentatively touched her cheek. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft and warm her skin felt under his fingers, even in the darkness he knew she was blushing.

He pressed his forehead against hers feeling their breaths quicken, not knowing how to express what he wanted so as not to frighten her at the same time. He leaned in slightly, stroking her face with his thumb, his fingers running over her neck making her breathless.

"– may I? –" He mumbled and she nodded quickly, her fingers running over his jaw making him feel the heat rippling through his stomach, his heart pounding like crazy in his chest.

He enclosed her cheek in his palm when his lips finally pressed against hers – he was surprised by how soft, fleshy and moist they were. He pulled away from her immediately with a quiet click and grunted, twisting in his place, closing his eyes, feeling like he was about to have a heart attack from excitement.

"– sleep –" He commanded, feeling that it was too much emotions for one time. His niece answered nothing, snuggling up to him as she did every night, and he put his arms around her.

It was his first kiss with his first girlfriend.

He felt grown up, fulfilled and happy.

They spent the next few days on various expeditions, pretending that they were great explorers of scary temples looking for treasures or great tombs of old kings. They did nothing out of the ordinary apart from the occasional quick, embarrassing kiss on the lips or cheek, however, to his surprise his affection towards her grew each day.

He realised that he genuinely liked her.

She shared his passion, she was excited with him about their finds, which were most often old coins, she helped him come up with their new missions and, above all, she didn't laugh at him, but with him.

Her words, though child-like, were full of understanding and empathy, her commitment and fearless nature made her his indispensable companion, and part of him thought with relief that it would stay that way forever.

That he found his haven.

However, their closeness began to frustrate Aegon, who finally pushed him to the wall.

"Why do you keep running after her? Are you kissing her or something?" His brother asked mockingly, and he felt satisfaction at the thought of how he could answer him.

"Maybe." He replied.

Aegon looked at him in disbelief and furrowed his brows in consternation.

"WHAT? Have you gone mad? It's your niece! That's disgusting and on top of that, illegal! You can't kiss your own family!" He said making his heart stop, cold sweat running down his back.

"– after all, she is not my sister –"

"– but you are her uncle! – do you know what our mother would do to you if she found out? – you're a complete moron –"

"– I was only joking – I wanted to annoy you –" He lied quickly, feeling a wave of shame, sadness and horror run down his spine.

That day he turned on his computer quickly and, although the internet was still running very slowly at the time, he managed to read in the Online Encyclopedia that what he had done was called incest and was considered a socially unacceptable perversion, although some countries allowed marriage between an uncle and a niece or cousin.

It didn't change the fact that he burst into loud sobs, feeling like a fool, regretting everything he had done to her, that he had ever met her, that he had ridiculed himself again because of her.

"– I'm breaking up with you –" He told her the same day, making her eyes widen in disbelief and fear.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

It seemed to him that what he said had completely broken her, because instead of saying anything, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hands, trying to calm herself, but they continued to flow.

He felt some natural urge to embrace her, his heart squeezed at the sight of her suffering, but there was nothing he could do about it.

They were not meant for each other.

Wanting to somehow soften his words and what he had done to her, he wrote her his phone number on a piece of paper and slipped it under her door that very evening, so that she could contact him if something bad happened, but she could call only in a life-threatening emergency.

He didn't want anyone to catch him talking to her, much less Aegon.

He thought their brief relationship and break-up would be the worst and most heartbreaking thing to happen to him on this holiday, but it wasn't.

Fueled by rage and aggression that he had no way to deal with, he threw himself at Jace as he started laughing at him, pounding him with his fists, and Luke, wanting to defend his older brother, hit his head with a glass bottle lying on the sand, which smashed into his face.

It turned out that one of the shards damaged his eye, while the other cut the left part of his face.

They all started screaming, which their parents heard – Alicent, panicked, called an ambulance, while Rhaenyra packed up, took her children and left.

The doctors, to his mother's despair, said that an operation had to be performed immediately and that the eye would have to be removed: he remembered very little of this period, not speaking or looking at anyone at the time, as if something in his mind had switched off and he had lost touch with reality.

He thought only about her.

About his Rheanys.

He opened his eyes, returning with his mind to his car – he glanced at the blue-lit display and saw that it was approaching two o'clock in the morning.

They'll be here soon, he thought.

He stepped outside, closing the car door behind him, pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his leather jacket. He took one out and slipped it into his mouth, leaning over the bright, warm flame, the tip of it turning red. He took a drag, closing his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the smoke out through his nose.

Indeed, it wasn't even a few minutes before he heard the screech of tyres – several black cars drove into the square, blinding him with their long lights.

Turn it the fuck off, he thought, covering his face with his hand, taking another drag.

He heard men start to come out of the cars – most of them were tipsy dudes just doing security, however Jason Lannister, who was supposed to hand him part of the money for the contract, was their opposite.

He looked like a hipster in his jumper, with his blonde hair pulled back and beard, a suitcase in his hand.

"As much as I agreed with your grandfather. Next part in two weeks." He said.

"Open it." He ordered, blowing out smoke through his mouth, looking at him with a grin, from which Jason swallowed loudly.

Lannister pulled a key from his trouser pocket and opened the suitcase, presenting him with elegantly stacked, sorted thick files of money.

He nodded and hummed under his breath, satisfied, going around his car, opening his boot. He pulled out a fake bottom made especially for the police, underneath which was a bag containing several kilos of white powder that Jason sold through his club.

They exchanged bags and shook hands, parting without a word, not wanting to tempt fate.

He smoked his cigarette to the end and trampled the butt with his shoe, climbed into his car and started the engine, eager to get back to his flat and sleep for at least a few hours. He set off ahead with a squeal of tyres, driving out of the harbour onto one of the main streets, a complete blank in his mind.

He felt nothing.

Or at least he thought he did, until her name showed up on his dashboard display remotely connected to his phone, the sound around him indicating that she was calling him made him freeze.

Over the years she had texted him, describing her days, asking how he was doing, wishing him a happy birthday, but he had never written her back, thinking it was pointless.

He only associated her with what he could not have and what happened next.

However, the fact that she called was exceptional.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

FUCK.

He wanted to pretend he hadn't seen it, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to live with what he'd done if it turned out the next day that her dead body had been found somewhere in the woods.

His trembling hand rose to the button on the screen with the handset symbol on it – he swallowed hard when his finger touched it and there was silence.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her trembling, breaking voice, his heart pounding like mad – he thought in disbelief that she sounded familiar and foreign at the same time.

"– what is it? –" He asked dryly, feeling the cold sweat run down his back as he tried to focus on the road.

She was probably just drunk and desperate, he consoled himself.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She mumbled with difficulty between sobs, her breath heavy and ragged – he felt his heart stop, his hands involuntarily tightening on his steering wheel.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –"

All he heard for a moment was her shallow breathing and crying, saw with his eyes her face then when he told her they couldn't be together.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered, apparently losing touch with reality.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked desperately, running his hand over his mouth and jaw, thinking with horror that someone might be about to rape her.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She mumbled, and he drew in the air loudly, knowing what she was talking about.

"– Heavenly Beach? –" He asked, turning on his indicator, making a U-turn even though he should have done it at the next crossroads, several cars started honking at him, braking with a screech to avoid hitting him.

"– Rhaenys? – FUCK! –" He shouted, no longer hearing her voice, slapping his hands on the steering wheel, feeling tears burning under his eyelids for the first time in years.

He felt like he was in a panic, only realising after a moment that he was breathing loudly through his mouth.

He had broken many traffic regulations to get to this place as quickly as possible.

The security guards knew him and let him in outside the huge queue, to the fury of the others waiting – he ran quickly down the stairs, hitting several guests on the way who shouted after him to be careful, the loud electric music completely deafening him.

He wondered, what was she doing here?

Walking through the flickering lights and darkness, he headed straight for the toilets, going inside with a loud slam of the door. Several of the girls inside squealed, horrified by the presence of a man in the women's washroom.

"Get the fuck out!" Shouted one of them, stepping in his way, but he pushed her away. The girl fell over and whimpered, her friend, as drunk as she was, began calling him names, threatening to call security.

"RHAENYS!" He called out, opening one cubicle after another until he came across a closed door from behind which no sound came. When hit it with his foot it opened with a loud clatter and then he saw her: she was lying on the tiles sunken in deep sleep, unconscious, her phone by her face.

Looking at her, he remembered with shame that he knew perfectly well what she looked like, because he stalked her Instagram and Facebook accounts almost every evening: at first he just wanted to mock her and her life, then, however, it helped him control which boys she was seeing.

He destroyed his first phone by throwing it against a wall when he saw a picture of her in the arms of some guy when she was in high school, his rage caused by the fact that she was able to move on and he was stuck, still with his mind in that summer.

He knew she had studied archaeology because she sometimes posted photos from excavations, showing unusual finds. He couldn't bear it when he saw a picture of her sitting next to a boy who was putting his arm around her waist, surely going to university with her.

Robb, because it turned out that was his name when he traced his profile through her friends, liked to have a good time: he'd gone a few times to clubs he'd visited, wanting to look at him from afar.

He watched him chat up strange women and, although nothing happened between them, he came to a certain conclusion.

He didn't trust him.

He didn't like him.

That's why he took a picture of him with a woman, who he put his arm around exactly as it was then, in their picture, and then asked the owner of the club, who was buying drugs from them, to post the picture on their official Facebook.

They often uploaded photos from parties, so this was nothing unusual, and the feeling of satisfaction he experienced when he saw that after a few days she had deleted all their photos together was indescribable.

He consoled himself with the thought that it wasn't because he was jealous, but because he wanted to protect her, like the good, caring uncle he had never been.

And now she, the girl he saw every day on his phone screen lay unconscious in the stinky toilet where others came to fuck and snort cocaine, vulnerable and helpless.

"– hey – hey, wake up, kid –" He muttered, trying to lift her up, tapping his palm against her cheek to revive her, with no effect.

She didn't even flinch.

He grabbed her under her hips and lifted her up, rising from his knees with her, walking out of the toilet, the two drunk girls led them away with eyes full of disbelief.

As he walked with her through the club he noticed two men standing at the bar watching him closely – they turned away, pretending to talk to each other when they met his gaze.

Were they the ones lurking for her?

Were they the ones hoping to have fun with her that night?

He felt disgust and rage at the thought, for although he didn't get into any deeper relationships, he only took from women as much as they were willing to give him.

Sex allowed him to vent and not go crazy, but no relationship was an option.

He didn't want any new girlfriends.

With one hand holding her under her buttocks, he slipped the other into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the keys to his car, opening it remotely. He opened the passenger side door and settled her into the seat, fastening her seatbelt. She mumbled something that sounded like no, clearly thinking he was the one who had done this to her.

"– easy – I'll take you home –"

He hated Rhaenyra's new husband wholeheartedly, as he was their biggest rival when it came to drug deals, however, he had no choice: after Harwin was shot, his older sister quickly found comfort in the arms of another man who was far more dangerous.

Perhaps that was what attracted him to her.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his niece's silhouette plunged into sleep, tense, her body completely numb, her bowed head leaning against the window.

He placed his hand on her palm, clamping his fingers on her skin, his throat squeezed at the thought that he felt exactly like then, when he had found her curled up under the bed.

"– you were right to be afraid of sleeping in the dark – you don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows –" He whispered – her body shuddered, but she didn't wake, her fingers tightening on his.

"– uncle –" She mumbled.

He pressed his lips together feeling a single, heavy, warm tear of sorrow run down his cheek at the thought that she was able to recognise his voice after so many years.

He parked in front of Daemon's house and lowered his window, pressing the button to wake up whichever bodyguard was there. He heard a moment later that someone had in fact appeared under the other side.

"– do you know what fucking time it is, man? –"

"– someone gave Daemon's daughter, and my niece, a rape pill – I brought her –" He said dispassionately, his free hand still clenched on hers.

"– oh fuck –" The man mumbled, and the gate in front of him immediately opened.

He pulled into the driveway and parked at the very entrance, Rhaenyra in only a bathrobe, apparently awakened from a deep sleep, walked out of the house with Daemon running up to his car. He turned off the engine and stepped outside, closing the door.

"– what happened? – how did you find her? –" She asked terrified and pale, looking at him in disbelief.

"– Heavenly Beach – she called me – she barely spoke –" He replied coldly, opening the passenger side door. Her mother immediately leaned over her, gently patting her cheeks.

"– my love? – good God –" She mumbled, stroking her hair and shoulders as if she were a small child.

"– what was she doing there? –" He asked Daemon. Rhaenyra's husband threw him a long, frustrated look.

"– she said she would be staying the night with a friend – I am as surprised as you are –" He replied impatiently, taking his niece in his arms exactly as he had before, heading home with her, her face sunken into a deep sleep lying on his shoulder.

He shuddered when Rhaenyra touched his arm, looking at him uncertainly.

"– would you like a cup of tea? – you can stay the night with us –"

After you ran away without a word of apology when your son ruined my life, you stupid whore?

"– no –" He said immediately, turning around and heading for the driver's side door, getting inside his car without bestowing another glance on her. He started the engine and began to back up, turning around, driving out through the gate back onto the dirt road.

By the time he returned to his flat it was morning, but he did not feel tired or sleepy. He was attacked immediately by the paws of a large brown dog – Vhagar, his gift of comfort after losing his eye, looked at him with big eyes and barked with rage that he had left her alone for so long.

"I know. I know. I've had a rough night." He hummed, stroking her head. His dog grumbled for another moment, whining and howling, until she gave up, returning to her sleeping place.

He pulled off his jacket and boots, lay down on his bed and unlocked his phone, going into his messages, clicking on the icon that said Rhaenys.

He scrolled through her messages, imagining as he did so that she was lying right next to him, that everything he had read she had just whispered in his ear, embracing him tenderly as she had then, that summer.

He didn't write her back because he didn't know what he should say.

He was ashamed to admit that if it hadn't been for Aegon, this would probably have gone on for a while until their parents found out and they would be completely humiliated.

He was ashamed to admit that his most beautiful childhood memory was both something disgusting and shameful, something that some part of him wanted to forget.

He was ashamed to admit that his grandfather had told him that he could forget about the University, because once you enter this world, you stay there forever.

He was ashamed to admit that he felt that it had always been too late for him, that there was no moment in his life when he could change something.

He fell asleep in the end and didn't wake up for several hours, tired and shaken; he shuddered when he heard his phone ring and reached for it quickly, thinking it might have been her again.

He swallowed hard, disappointed when he saw it was his grandfather and answered reluctantly, closing his eyes.

"Did everything go according to plan?" He asked.

"Yes."

"What were you doing in Heavenly Beach?"

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad.

Lie or tell the truth?

"Rhaenyra's daughter called me. Someone put a rape pill into her drink."

Silence answered him for a moment, from which he felt a discomfort in his stomach.

"Aemond –" His grandfather began. "– this is the last time you interfere in their affairs. Do you understand?"

He looked ahead, biting his lower lip so hard that he felt the taste of his own blood on his tongue, his throat squeezed so tightly that he felt like he had stopped breathing.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

[lo1k-diamonds]

Closer 💜

GIF by namchyoon

SX Seoul Series | Namjoon's Entry

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: Namjoon and you were friends for years — he was your confidant, protector, and haven. You didn’t want to risk it, no matter what, but some things can’t be kept in the dark.

WORD COUNT: 8.2k

GENRE: friends to lovers, smut (it's lovemaking tbh)

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: reader is shy and introverted, mentions of anxiety, being in the dark in an agitated crowd (reader is safe w/ NJ), fear of losing a friendship, porn w/ plot (lovemaking, or my version of it), unprotected sex (wrap it up), dry humping, riding, they're both shy and idiots in love but they make it 💜

A.N. Is this a slow burn? Am I searingly slowly taking you all on the journey that is kissing and feeling Kim Namjoon? Some could say there was no need to describe it in such detail. They would be wrong 💜

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

Someone called your name and you looked up.

“Come on! Don’t fall behind!”

You gasped mutely and rushed in between the ever-growing crowd to join your friends and coworkers atop the stairs. The line wasn’t too big tonight but you still preferred to stay close to them — no way you wanted to be left alone in a bar street in Itaewon in the middle of the night. You pressed your hands nervously, looking around while your friends laughed about something you didn’t hear. No, you didn’t want that. There could be weird people and drunk people, and you were the designated driver anyway—

“Hey!” 

You blinked at Juhyun through your eyeglasses with big wide brown eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Come along!” She sighed, extending her hand so you’d grab it, and you did with relief.

You gave your coat at the reception with a polite head bow, following closely after everyone. The noise hit your ribcage with the force of an alarm, making you grin with gritted teeth but you took a deep breath and hurried along. It wasn’t like you never went out, or had never been there before. SX Seoul had become the preferred club of people working in the industry, and so you found yourself with a vibrating ribcage and sweaty hands every once in a while. However, you did get anxious in crowded loud places like bars and clubs. An elbow sank into your side as you followed after Juhyun and despite the person’s apology and head bow, which you returned, you smiled with a hint of tiredness. The night had just begun.

You got set on the couches, saying hi to everyone you knew who was already there, and smoothly offered to help everyone get drinks. That was an easy way for you to get an alcohol-free drink early on and successfully avoid being offered drinks for a long while.

“Look who’s DJing tonight!”

You had sat near Juhyun after handing her a drink and smiled happily, engaging in light conversation.

“Didn’t you write his breakout music video?”

“Yeah, I did!” 

You smiled politely, a warm fuzzy feeling settling in your stomach — you might have not liked the constant background house beat that had you all screaming to be heard, but you did feel proud of your work. Of every concept you had written, every storyboard you had designed, and every screening you helped with that led you to where you were now — in a creative atmosphere surrounded by like-minded people who just wanted to bring joy and artistry to the world.

As the night continued, you were more and more comfortable, surrounded by people you knew. You didn’t think it could get better, but as soon as Namjoon arrived, you grinned from ear to ear and chuckled at your silliness.

“Hi everyone!” You instantly scooted over and made space for him to sit beside you and join in the conversation, yet as you tried to keep up, he leaned in, “Driving?”

You turned to him and smiled sheepishly, something he returned with a sweetness of his own. You had been friends forever; he knew the answer to his own question.

“Your hair,” he added. 

You blinked then felt for it over your shoulders and chest, trying to see in between psychedelic blinding lights if something had happened to it or something. 

“No! Just— It’s loose!”

You blinked again, pressing your eyeglasses up the bridge of your nose, “Well, yeah.”

He smirked briefly, looking down before facing you again with a gentle puff, “It looks good!”

Your lashes batted once before someone asked for his attention, and just in time. You could feel the heat spreading from your chest to your cheeks and turned to sip at your drink seemingly absentmindedly.

He noticed? You didn’t know why it surprised you so much; Namjoon was an attentive friend. Caring too, he always noticed when something was going wrong or a project was difficult. He always offered to help you out, and you did the same. You had that kind of relationship — friendly and supportive. Of course, that didn’t mean he had to notice your hairstyle for tonight. You had just let go of your usual braids for something more casual — just loose over your shoulders. And now there you were, playing with the long hair locks over your chest like your heart wasn’t fluttering at the simplest interaction.

“Hey! Let’s dance!”

You nodded at Juhyun and got up with a smile that crumbled just a little when Namjoon got up too. He scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly smiling at you and Juhyun.

“You don’t mind if I join you, right?”

“Of course not!”

She had answered for you because yet again you were pressing your lips. Namjoon wasn’t half as bad a dancer as he thought he was and you had all danced together before. Had you blushed then as you did now? You wondered as you beelined to the center of the dancefloor; you couldn’t remember. In the end, it didn’t matter. You smiled as you turned to Namjoon in that circle of people just randomly facing each other in turns. It didn’t have to be anything much, you were just having fun. All of you. It was absolutely fine.

He grabbed your hand and wiggled it for you to pivot and move around and you just laughed and did as told because it was fun. And not a big deal if he didn’t do it to the others, they were busy shouting in each other’s ears anyway.

You felt light and didn’t think it could get better than this when all of a sudden everything became pitch black. The music shut down and suddenly all you could hear was your ears ringing annoyingly and people either shouting or wondering a bit louder than usual about what was going on. It took you a couple of seconds to realize that it couldn’t be normal for a club to just abruptly shut down like that, and it was enough for your anxiety to instantly spike and sting your chest. Yet a pair of arms circled you lightening fast, pressing you safely to a firm chest.

Your cheeks were squished against his pectorals and you could hear a heart racing equally to yours under your ear. A question never formed itself, you knew exactly who was hugging you. It was safe now. You hugged him back and closed your eyes, using his body like an anchor to keep your anxiety from releasing you into the rowdy sea.

Namjoon could hear people getting agitated all around you two, making him squeeze you harder against him. People got nervous in situations like those. They could start running for the exit, pushing and stepping over people without a care if the panic was big enough. And as the absence of music and light continued, mere seconds felt like minutes cracking under the pressure as people became agitated.

He knew crowded places made you anxious. That was how you justified the way he was pressing his lips to the top of your head. It made your already racing heart jump with a foreign feeling, which mixed with his musky cologne had you sweating and not out of nervousness.

A louder shout not so far from you startled you into pressing your fingertips into his lower back and he immediately hugged you tighter. His lips brushed the top of your head again but the agitation around you was too loud, making it impossible to discern what he had said. Yet, regardless, you were safe. You could feel people shifting around you, voices becoming louder, and the occasional glimpse from people's phones. A wave of appreciation and gratitude flooded you, flowing over your anxiety and you unglued your cheek from his shirt to tell him.

His lips pressed lightly atop your cheekbone and your breath caught. His nose had tapped against your eyeglasses and you instinctively squinted though you couldn’t see. None of it bothered you though, on the contrary. Your lips parted in surprise, his thumb dragging across your jawline as if to make sure of where you were in the dark.

You forgot about the world around you. You were suspended in the air, in a trance, waiting for what would happen next, and it happened unexpectedly. His forehead touched yours and you closed your eyes, letting him cradle you sweetly. Little did he know that you could feel no anxiousness now, you were a blank page waiting to be written on.

Or maybe he knew. He didn’t force your chin but he did mutter something while his lips brushed your jawline, and you turned your head. Curiosity, it was all it was. Because you hadn’t heard him, but as your skins brushed, your lips caught the subtle hint of something plush and wet for the tiniest of moments.

You became dizzy and gripped his shirt at the end of his back. Was that what you thought it was? Was that—?

All it took was a millimeter for him to give you the hint that you took without hesitation. His lips pressed to the corner of your mouth and you sighed, eyes scrunching with the tension inside your chest. You were no mind and all instinct when you parted your lips further to get more, just a bit more. All you were ready to do was react, so when it felt like he was about to break away, you closed in.

You were incredibly aware of everything that involved Namjoon. The way his long fingers supported your jawline with a feather-like touch, his short hair falling just above his eyes tickling you where it got to your skin around your eyeglasses, the softest touch of his plush lips as even his breath eased, the gentlest breeze caressing your face whenever you tentatively parted and rejoined like waves kissing the shore.

You were aware of everything, and yet when the lights and music came back on, you were helpless. Namjoon straightened up to look around, trying to figure out what was going on, while you were just looking up at him, gripping him still, trying to figure things out on your own. What was that? What—

“Are you okay?” Juhyun asked right behind you and you jumped in place, startled. You let go of Namjoon, and it was he who answered.

“Yeah, we stayed cool. Are you?”

“Yeah, they pushed around a bit though, geez,” she complained, running a hand through her hair. “What do you think happened?”

“Good question, I don’t know.”

You didn’t hear anything anymore, you were just staring up at him as he talked. Good question. You had no idea either. What happened? Did you really just kiss—

“Listen, if you’re bummed out, that’s okay,” Juhyun shouted above the music, pressing your arm gently. She looked concerned and you tried a smile.

You could guess you looked as befuddled as you felt, “Yeah, I kind of— But I’m your driver!” You shouted instead, remembering your responsibility with a firm shake of your head.

“It’s okay, we’ll catch a taxi!” She shouted with a nod. She knew you were usually anxious; something unnerving like that was surely too much for you. “I’m just worried about you going alone!”

“I’ll go with her,” Namjoon nodded, unwavering, and before you got to say something, Juhyun agreed.

“Take care, text me when you’re home,” she asked you, squeezing your hand once.

You were frowning, about to suggest staying a bit more so you could take her home too when a firmer hand replaced hers. Namjoon returned your gaze, said a quick goodbye with a wave to everyone else, and then pulled you behind him as he made your way out.

Your mind slowly got back on track with every step you took. His hand was firmly wrapped around yours, and despite his wide shoulders in front of you, sheltering you from the chaos, your anxiety guided your thoughts back to the surface with a forced gasp.

What were you doing? Maybe this would turn awkward. You and Namjoon had been good friends for years, you had always counted on him. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe he would be uncomfortable around you now. You didn’t want things to change, you didn’t want to lose his joyful grins, relaxing bicycle rides, and long quiet reading sessions back at his place.

You bowed as you took your coat at the reception and put it on before stepping out into the cold. He was no longer holding your hand, which was holding the coat’s collar to your neck instead. You swallowed and looked down, freezing atop the stairs while you ran by the options and he stepped down ahead of you. You don’t have to leave earlier because of me. I can get home safely by myself. I’m sorry if that was awkward, I—

“Where’s your car?”

You sucked in a breath and told him before turning to walk intently as quickly as possible. The cold was rough on your cheeks, despite the big round lenses of your eyeglasses. You gritted your teeth not to quiver as you stepped carefully over the slippery sidewalk.

When you got to your car, you got in quickly and turned it on to give it time to warm up a bit. Namjoon had followed you inside in silence and was so quiet that his presence could have been buried under your anxiety.

You brushed your flushed cheeks and tried pulling your long hair free, realizing it was trapped between your blouse and the coat. You were so used to having braids that you forgot you needed to tend to your hair properly whenever you put your coat on and now you were stiff and stuck and—

“Easy,” he rasped, reaching to help you and you froze. You glanced up at him and stayed still as he alleviated the tension of the fabric over your shoulders to gently pull your hair out before leaning to repeat the same action on the other side. By then your eyes had lowered to his hands. The way he was handling your dark threads of hair as if it was the most precious silk, worthy of care and attention. “There.”

Your eyes jumped up in time to see him leaning back, a perfectly blank expression making your chest pang in nervousness. You were overthinking again.

“Thanks!” You squeaked, clearing your voice immediately as you leaned forward to reach the GPS screen, “Now, to Joonie’s…”

The drive was easier than you thought it would be. He commented on the cold, and then on what happened at the bar. He had never seen something like that at a bar, only at festivals or concerts. He wondered if the whole street had a power outage or if it was just that room. You mused that if it had been more than just the room, you’d surely hear about it in the news. 

And just like that the car became quiet. Seoul always had traffic, even at 2:52 AM, it was nothing new. So while you comfortably focused on taking him home safely, your thoughts wandered elsewhere.

His lips were the softest thing you had ever touched in your life. Just the delicateness with which you had kissed, you didn’t think you had it in you. Weren’t kisses supposed to be messy? Powerful and passionate? Then how had you touched the pillowy clouds above?

Just remembering it had your guts burning in excitement, and you pressed your lips. Were you making any sense? But you had really done that; hiddenly in the dark, yes, but really. You had acted on your instinct for the first time and gotten a glimpse of the sky. 

You wondered why now. Your friendship was old and comfortable, and he had always been a gentleman, protective but never overbearing. You thought he saw you as a colleague initially and then a friend with similar tastes. You pressed your lips right as you stopped the car in front of his apartment building. One glance at him and you knew that was the same old Namjoon you were used to. Maybe you had dreamed it. Maybe it was supposed to stay a dream.

“Would you like to come up?”

Your eyes jumped and widened, the shock as evident in your expression as a flashing billboard sign.

“I finished the new Murakami,” he continued swiftly, “so you can take it if you want. Or any other book.”

Your lips instantly twitched into a smile, “You finally finished it, then.”

He smirked as you turned off the engine and reached to get your bag, “Finally. You know how I am with his books.”

You nodded and got out of the car, the negative temperature clashing with your blushing cheeks. Yet you only smiled, locked the car, and teased him while you both went inside. Even the ride up the elevator was lighter; you two were back to your eased friendship where you got to poke fun at his annoyance with the repetitiveness of Murakami’s plotlines while enjoying every other detailed introspection he had to offer.

So when you passed the threshold of his apartment, you were as always. You both got your shoes off, though you kept your coat because you weren’t going to stay long. He offered you a drink despite you insisting that it was a quick visit, and as he disappeared into the kitchen to see what he could offer, you beelined to his reading corner.

That space always brought a smile to your face and comfort to your heart. That corner of the living room had a bookshelf from floor to ceiling separated by squared compartments that combined books and small plant pots in a myriad of colors. His most cherished one, however, was the bonsai on the small table next to the gray reading chair and ottoman. He'd let you take up the chair whenever you would read or work at his place, with him preferring the couch so he could stretch his legs more comfortably. You preferred the reading chair because the setting was a mood changer for you and you could use the different shelves to place your open books, especially when designing or writing ideas. Each square was organized in a particular way: some by authors, others by category, or type of work.

“I don’t have much,” you could hear him returning to you. “But I can make tea.”

You shook your head while you crouched, taking a look at your favorite section, “It’s okay, I won’t stay long. Where’s the Murakami?”

“Right here,” his voice sounded from above your head, and you glanced up to see him towering over you, reaching for the book lying by the ledge on the appropriate shelf. He eyed you and you smirked, pushing your eyeglasses up your nose bridge before looking back down. The corners of his lips twitched as he gripped the book inside his hands; he knew you were just happily skimming through your favorite shelf, and that wasn’t the issue. You weren’t the issue, you were— He took a deep shaky breath, “Oh, right, I have another one.”

He placed the Murakami book on the small table and left your side in the direction of his bedroom, you noticed. You pressed your lips and got up, grabbing the book he was holding just now. Blood was rushing to your cheeks and you took a short breath to ease yourself. You were there just to grab that book. You were alone at Namjoon’s, and that had happened hundreds of times before. Not that you had ever kissed before, but you could be cool. It was in the dark anyway. Conceptually, if you were thinking of the outline of a music video, that meant it was a secret. You could keep a secret. You could pretend it never happened.

Overhearing his steps pulled you from the depths of your thoughts to check what he had in his hands.

“Here,” he grinned, showing it to you. 

It was a book and you gasped before you grabbed it. The cover had the digital drawing of a little girl on her bed, not lying down, but facing the wall behind her that had become an ocean with sparkling rays floating above. The title read, ‘Windows to Worlds: The Art of Devin Elle Kurtz’. You thought the name rang a bell as you opened and skimmed through it. 

“I thought of you,” he smiled, dimples sinking sweetly into his cheeks at your interested demeanor.

“Woah, her use of color and lighting looks absolutely astounding,” you breathed, alternating between gasping and stopping your breath altogether with each new page.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“But why did you get it?” You finally caught up, looking up at him. “Because I was struggling with lighting?”

Your tone was appreciative and almost savvy as if you knew you had guessed his intent correctly. Yet he shook his head once, “Because of the braids.”

You lowered your eyes to the cover again and indeed, the little girl had two braids, much like you usually sported. You smiled, “Do you think she has eyeglasses too?”

“Maybe,” he acceded, nodding with ease.

You looked back down at the cover — the girl had her palms against the glass as if she was staring into a new magical world. It brought warmth to your chest. Not just because it was beautiful or because it was going to help you, but because Namjoon saw some of it in you.

You pressed the books to your chest, facing him to thank him when your smile fell. His expression had lost some of its casualness and you were immediately flooded with apprehension.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

His tone was so gentle it brought tears to your eyes. It was Namjoon. All of it, all of your doubts and anxiety were about one of the most important people in your life. Who cared how you might have felt; you absolutely could not jeopardize your friendship.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed so sincerely your voice shook.

“Oh.”

“I… It was…”

Your gaze was on the floor around his feet on the white carpet as you tried to find words. You half expected him to move or make things less awkward with his spirited humor, but he waited.

So you said what came to mind, “An accident. Right? It was an accident,” you repeated, ignoring the heat making your eyeglasses fog ever so slightly. “It was dark and…”

You sucked in a breath and pushed your eyeglasses up your nose bridge to soothe yourself, and froze when he nodded slowly.

“I… can’t call it an accident.”

Your eyes widened impossibly, “But— But then— I mean,” you blinked, “that would mean…”

You were just stammering and he smiled, “Yes. I don’t just— I wouldn’t just—” He smirked, scratching the back of his head, “I’d be lying if I said—”

His voice got caught inside his throat. You were looking up at him with eyes so big he feared they’d pop or something. He thought he was ready to talk about it and get it out in the open but— Were you even breathing?

“You know what? Never mind,” he shrugged, with a smile that pressed his plush lips too thin.

Your eyes widened even more, “No—” You almost choked from your impulse and instinctively stepped back, and everything went dark.

You held your breath as if you had been caught in a trap. You could have been back at the club, but there was no crowd, no fear, and no pressure. There was light still shining from his bedroom, reassuringly outlining his silhouette. You were safe, just like then. And it formed the words out of your mouth.

“I can't call it an accident either,” you confessed, and instantly your shoulders relaxed. He didn’t move and you couldn’t see him, but you knew him. You knew of his presence and the way he would never judge or hurt you. “I kissed you back.”

The silence continued between you but you found comfort in it. It was as though you had time to process, to put yourself back in your shoes moments earlier when exactly like that, in the dark, you let something from deep within surface.

“I was… curious,” you voiced quietly.

“Curious?”

“What would you… feel like? How would you…” you were getting lost and closed your eyes. You could almost feel him again, his warmth, his scent, the firmness of his arms around you, helping you levitate safely into the clouds. Your eyes opened at the sound of a footstep and you instantly flushed, “I mean, I— I’m sorry, I—”

“No, don't say sorry.” His outline drew closer until he stopped right in front of you. “You were curious about that?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Why was your heart racing so fast? You were so hot that you knew for a fact your eyeglasses were fogging, despite not being able to see it. You swallowed and fanned your face a little, self-conscious about your hands becoming sweaty and dirtying the books.

Yet as you tried to calm down, you realized silence was stretching. He was waiting, of course, gentlemanly as he was. And you were embarrassed but in the dark, you also wanted to be brave.

“I liked it.”

You left it there, your sincere answer to his question. Your heart was thrumming wildly but you were not half as nervous as you thought you’d be.

“I liked it too.”

Your breath caught as you looked up despite barely seeing a silhouette. What?

“Would you do it again?”

“Now?” Your voice pitched.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Your tone was inquisitive, but it was more out of shock that he said yes. You were heating up so much you didn’t think you were processing thoughts logically, and you weren’t. Your head was blank, “Yes.”

It felt like an eternity, but you knew that wasn’t true. You were just too eager to see what happened next, to feel him again and check if your head would be caught spinning as you floated away to the clouds again.

The books in your hands disappeared quickly, only the sound of them hitting the table told you their fate, and not that you cared. His breath was fanning your face and your head instantly fell back, tapping the wall as your lips parted and you waited for what you wanted most.

When it didn’t instantly come, you had no issues soothing his hesitation by guiding his hands to your jaw. You wanted him to know where you were; exactly there, between the wall and his safe embrace, waiting. 

Finally, his breath was so close it fully stopped when your lips locked together in a feather-like touch, and you moved. You pressed yourself closer, brushing his lips so you’d match completely. Your mouth dove into a sweeter taste, fingers tracing up his neck tentatively to grasp that feeling. And he let you, falling in with you, leaning into you as far as you’d let him.

Your lips parted in an invitation that he took promptly, leaving a wet trace on your bottom lip before he committed. You sighed into his mouth, gripping his shirt to pull him closer. He could reach into you and all around you; you were falling. There was an expanse behind and all around you and it reminded you of free falling; it was probably what skydiving felt like. Only you weren’t nearing the ground but going further from it. That sky was about to catch you; a sweet, soft, endearing sky about to clasp you affectionately and carry you into a dream.

You only stopped because he pulled back, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his lips to your cheek. It was when you noticed that you two fit together like puzzle pieces, with your fingers buried in the nape of his neck, his into your lower back, your breaths mixing as your legs intertwined.

His breath was heavy against your warm cheek, “This can stay here. In the dark. If you want.”

You were too far to recognize the concern in his voice, “Is that what you want?”

“No,” his reply was instant, a subtle shake of his head as his lips dragged over your heated skin. “No, I'm curious about way more than this.”

You opened your eyes, eager to see in him what he meant, but the darkness hid his expression. It protected you, yes, but now, it made you uneasy. There was a moment when it had soothed your fears, maybe even made you brave, but now it was enough.

“Would turning the light on bother you?”

You felt his smile before he pulled away, “Not at all.”

His hands were still supporting your waist as you felt the wall behind you until you flipped the switch. You shut your eyes instantly with a grimace and knew he had done the same.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

You couldn’t see it, but he smirked, “I told you you could.”

His eyes opened first, eager to bypass the sudden sensibility so he could look at you as soon as possible. Your eyes and nose were still scrunched, your eyeglasses had fallen lower on your nose than you liked normally, and the top of your cheeks was beautifully blushed. He didn’t resist cupping your cheek to brush his thumb over the red hue and your eyes opened, looking up at him over your eyeglasses. You were so close to each other but you couldn’t look or move away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, eyes set on yours as if he were seeing stars.

“How can you see anything, we’re so close,” you whined with a huff.

He chuckled, “Yeah?”

You pouted; your eyeglasses were falling down your nose bridge again, and he grinned. He was so unbelievably happy right now, and as you pressed the eyeglasses further up, he wished it would never end.

“Is it…” you were quiet, “better like this?”

“Much better,” he assured confidently, looking into your eyes intently. 

Every time you blinked, wherever you glanced, he kept his cool and tried holding his fear in check — what if you suddenly pushed him away, became uneasy, or regretted this? 

Yet your eyes fixed on his as your hand returned gently to the side of his neck, “You said… you’re curious about more?”

He couldn’t breathe, “Yes.”

“What… does that mean?”

Your voice was a thread and he swore he became dizzy, “You. I—” His lips twitched as he found words, “I want to be with you.”

He settled on that simple fact and shushed his racing heart. It was too soon to confess how long he had been thinking about this, how far he had fallen, and how deeply sure he was that there was no one else he wanted. Nowhere else he wanted to go, no other person who could be home, no other soul he wanted to share his time with. Shit, this was not the time for a love confession.

“Not in the dark,” you mused, thinking back. “But here,” you searched his eyes with a light line between your eyebrows. “Do you want that? To be… a moment of—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly, making sure that every point you touched each other conveyed that. “I want more than a moment, than one night, than a place, than— No,” he breathed. “I want so much more.”

You weren’t sure there was any reaction you could have given because you were floating again. His arms were around you, his mouth speaking words you had long wished to hear, and you waited. It felt like the right thing to do; you just waited for him to become so much more.

“And you?” He asked after waiting to hear your thoughts. “How far would you take this?”

You almost choked with your instant answer, “All the way.”

His eyebrows jumped before his expression scrunched into a rapturous smile, and you filled your chest with air. You needed it, you needed a big deep breath before the dive. When his forehead touched yours, you stayed close, eyes half-hooding, waiting, and ready. You had been ready for a while, all there was left to do now was fly.

You were waiting for his kiss when he grabbed your head, both of you eager and gentle in your grip on the other. His lips were as soft as before but now he was pressing harder, searching for something in the depths of your kiss, and you met him halfway. There was the passion you had thought of before, making your skin pucker as your breathing dragged. It was curious how you were so focused on every little detail of his — his jawline moving under your fingertips, the soft skin at the column of his neck, his wide shoulders where your arms found support to press him closer to you — but had no actual thoughts. Every brush of his lips had you sinking further, every lick of his tongue had you immersed until his hands were pulling you to him and barely letting you touch the ground.

When your feet did touch the ground you lost your balance a little and inadvertently fell into him, which had him feeling behind him to make sure he could sit down. Your lips parted and he looked up at you, hands supportive but not pressuring you. He waited for you to decide if you’d follow him or not, and you didn’t hesitate. You raised a knee to his outer thigh and he instantly supported it, helping you to straddle him effortlessly before he leaned back into the reading chair.

You towered over him a little bit and as he hugged you close, you couldn’t help remembering how many times you had sat in that same chair just to read. Now he was there with you, under you, kissing your neck gently, and you kissed his head with the excitement bubbling under your skin. This was really happening, you could barely contain yourself.

He pressed you to sit closer to him and you guided him to look up just so you could dive into his kiss again. His skin was so soft, his touch so gentle as he let you steer your mouths until your head started spinning. You went deeper with every kiss, and with every sparkle, you became daring. Your fingers laced around his hair, your breaths one and the same as your hips moved on their own accord to fuse you two in any way possible. Your instinct was taking over, regardless of how you ground against him or leaned into him as if it would merge you two together.

You were hot and breathless when you felt a hint of his fingertips brushing the skin at your lower back, and instinctively you pulled back. He looked up at you, instantly wary of mistakenly crossing a line, but in a rustle of clothes, your blouse went up and away, thrown on the floor.

You faced him then, the goosebumps forming on your skin wherever his fingertips brushed your back as you seemed to exude heat. Not even for a moment did you wonder if you were going too far, despite being in a bra only in front of him. Rather you eyed his shirt and pouted, and he got it; in a second it was gone too.

Your lips twitched as you stroked down his neck, over his clavicles, and to his wide shoulders. You knew he’d be perfect, you knew you’d go well beyond liking every inch of him, but reality was far sweeter than your imagination. Before you could lean in and kiss every inch, he beat you to it. His pillowy lips grazed over the expanse of your neck before lowering down your chest and you sank your nails on his shoulders. It was the lightness of his touch, the warmth of his breath contrasting with his tongue as he explored everything until he dared lower. He moved slowly, maybe hesitated, and your hand darting to the back of his head to support him eased him.

He kissed and nuzzled every inch of your chest then settled over your sternum, breathing you in between your breasts just above the center gore. You knew why he stopped, but you were riding the shivers and throbs his every breath drew out of you, and you didn’t want it to stop. You reached behind you and unclasped the bra, letting the straps slide off your arms while you held his gaze. Yes, you wanted to do this. Yes, you wanted him to touch you, to know how he—

His hands over your waist raised to cup your breasts and rub your nipples and you shivered, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. The more he brushed over the hardened tips, the less control you had over a deep whine wanting to escape your lips.

You were biting your lip in this sweet struggle when he glanced up at you before leaning in to take one inside his mouth, and you whined. Your hips bucked over him, drawing closer while your cries grew and expanded with every lick of his tongue. You were grinding hard on him now, unaware of how unruly you were being. Your cries just needed to be heard, your hunger satiated as you searched for friction and wondered why it wasn’t as intense as it should be.

Your chest was wet by the time he parted his mouth from the delicate skin, but you didn’t have time to think about it. His hands gripped your hips to press you closer, and you jumped out of his arms in a mix of outrage and eagerness. 

So that was why you couldn’t feel him properly, you concluded, as you unbuttoned your jeans. Of course, how stupid. At least it was easily fixed.

You only stopped when your clothes hit the floor. His eyes locked with yours and you hesitated. You were totally naked in your eagerness, maybe you were going too fast. But his hands guiding yours to his shoulders before he leaned in to kiss over your tummy made you realize you were being silly. His eyes were glistening, looking up at you before closing to enjoy the taste of your skin, his cheeks were red, and despite his pants, the tent was very visible. 

You wanted to be close so you raised your knee again, and once more he guided you to straddle him. He kissed quickly up your chest before eying your mouth, and you obliged. Kissing him like this was more vulnerable, open, and raw, but you wanted to. His fingertips stroked your sides softly downwards and you sighed into his mouth, gripping him closer. You wanted so much more.

His hands settled atop your hips and it made you whine and wiggle so they would move. It didn’t occur to you to separate your mouths and tell him to touch you; in fact, no thoughts were occurring to you. He seemed to hesitate on where to go while palming your hips, and in the end, it was your hand that guided him to where you wanted him. You froze amidst your kiss, mouth agape as your eyes opened when his fingers skimmed your sex. A shiver ran down your spine, your breath halting as you waited for him. His eyes were set on you, carefully taking in your expression as he dared to brush lower, exploring down your mound, around your hooded clit, and gently over your folds before retracing his steps.

A strangled quiet moan had you closing your eyes to get lost. His fingers were drawing circles over your clit, ever so gently, prodding how to please you without hurting you, and you sank your nails into the back of his neck. You could worship that man now — it was all you knew as you looked at him between half-hooded eyes. Every circle brought a spark, a throb, a buck of your hips until the tension inside you made you jump away from his touch. You kissed him hard then, grabbing his head desperately — you wanted him, not just his hand.

You reached between your bodies to cup his bulge and he choked in your kiss. You pressed harder, too curious to let him breathe or get away, and searched for a way to open his pants, but it was difficult without looking. Fortunately, he understood perfectly what you wanted and got to it.

He raised you off his lap for the single moment it took him to squirm and slide his clothes down his legs before settling you over him again. His skin was burning hot against your inner thighs and as you kissed him, you imagined it was because he wanted you the same way.

You reached again for him and this time there were no barriers. You felt his hard length gently, caressing its soft skin carefully before stroking him against your palm.

He grunted into your cheek; your lips had parted so you both could focus on those new sensations. Something wet was making it easier to stroke him and press the head gently, with every movement earning you something, whether a groan, a sigh, a twitch of his fingers over your hips, or more precum.

You loved seeing and hearing every reaction, but you didn’t want to wait. You were tense and overheating, and that hard cock in your hand belonged somewhere else.

You moved on your knees to straddle him closer, positioning yourself with nothing but the intention to feel him, but you paused. Before the sight of the pink swollen tip at your entrance could steal your logic, you looked at him with an implied question. He nodded with glistening eyes, hands gripping a bit more of your ass to convey just how much he wanted this. And so you leaned to touch your foreheads before you guided him inside you.

You were unbelievably wet but still, it took a moment for him to become coated enough to slide in without any attrition. It felt like a trial and error; every time you tried sitting lower, there was resistance, and so you raised yourself and tried again. And again and again, with his fingers sinking into your skin as he hid his scrunched-up expression. Your eyebrows were knitted too, especially when he hit a particular spot, and soon he bottomed out.

You wiggled a little to make room, your tension gripping him inside you so hard that both of you groaned. You bucked your hips over him and sighed before reaching back, taking support on his legs. The hunger in his glistening eyes as he observed you taking your pleasure from him was like straight out of a dream, except he was really there, stretching you to the edge, bubbling a tension up your spine so good you knew you wouldn’t last a minute.

So you leaned forward again, palming the expanse of his chest as you let the fluttering subside for a bit. A smile bloomed on your lips as he reached to kiss your skin, supporting you closely while he grazed up your neck. Yet as it had blossomed, your smile faded when your eyebrows knitted further and your pleasure sunk in your gut. He had taken a firmer grip of you and used his leverage to thrust his hips up and into you, successfully crumbling whatever excuse of a restraint you had.

You moaned unreservedly and as he pulled away to face you without relenting, you met him with glistening eyes. It wasn’t a betrayal but because of him, you couldn’t hold back. He understood; he told you with a nod as he tried keeping the rhythm steady for you. So you hugged him to you and let the pleasure spike once, twice, until a moan burst out of you with the knot in your lower gut releasing the tension.

However long it lasted, it was long. It left you powerless and radiating heat like a furnace, only he was even hotter than you. He was sweaty under your arms and legs as you embraced him, and it mixed with your wetness and cum, but you didn’t care.

He waited for you to pull away and kiss his humid forehead before he asked, “Can I take you to bed?”

“Yes,” you sighed, still up high in your haze.

He could tell how languid you were so he picked you up carefully, hugging your legs around his waist and supporting your lower back. His heart was racing as he carried you, not because he was afraid of dropping you — no way in hell that would ever happen — but because this was really happening. He was really carrying your naked body across his apartment, your sweaty bodies pressed together after you reached your pleasure in his arms only for him to take you to bed and continue to show you how much he cared for you. He sighted the bed when your limbs squeezed him more firmly and he smiled from ear to ear. It was like carrying a koala bear who didn’t want to let go of him, and he loved that.

He sat on the bed with you on his lap before carefully supporting your back so he could lay you down gently while hovering over you and you finally blinked. 

Your senses were coming back; Namjoon was over you, caging you between his biceps while your legs laced around him. He was inside you, and even if you had forgotten, he reminded you when he moved tentatively. Your eyes were set on his, and that was how you saw the concern crossing them, and you blinked again. You and him were connected like you had only ever dreamed, and it was good. You reached to cup his cheeks and guide his mouth to yours; you wanted him to know that. That you knew what you were doing, with whom, and how, and your heart was completely in it.

If he wasn’t kissing your lips, then he was pecking the tip of your nose, grazing your cheeks, or brushing down the column of your neck as his hips gained speed. You raised yours to feel him as deep as possible, and as you held onto him, you let the emotions flood you. The safety of his arms, the completeness as he filled up all the gaps, the nurture of every tender kiss, the shared warmth, tension, and torture of your bodies rocking together. You were meshed inextricably in an ascent that you had never dared to imagine, and you grabbed him even harder, in case the intensity had you floating away.

Your voice had a life of its own; every time he sank further into you, your soul expanded. Every time he buried himself inside you, your moan released into his ear, and over and over again as he hid in your neck, revering you in all the ways he could.

“You feel so good,” he rasped against your throat, and against all odds you heard it in between moans. Maybe because he was slowing down. He pulled away to face you so closely you saw him blurred despite your eyeglasses, “I don't want it to end.”

Your eyes widened and watered but no words came out in time; he pressed your lips sweetly and you buried your fingers in his hair, feeling your heart swelling with every beat. He restarted his hips, guided by your legs pressing him into you, and you thought that nothing else mattered than him knowing. You also didn’t want it to end, you wanted to stay with him forever, linked, safe, accepted, hidden from anything that wasn’t blissful peace, and happiness.

His hips snapping into yours brought groans, moans, and whines out of the both of you, with wet sloppy sounds echoing in the bedroom along with the slaps of skins colliding. It became fast, forcing you to wrap your limbs around him firmly to never miss any sensation he could give you until you tensed unbelievably.

You surrendered to your climax immediately, letting it wash over you as you throbbed and reveled in scream-inducing spasms. He grunted and swore into your neck, but to your surprise, he didn’t come with you. On the contrary, suddenly you could feel his intent to pull out so you crossed your legs behind him and searched for his ear so you could tell him, “Inside me. Stay inside me.”

He groaned and you rocked with him, keen on extending both your pleasure as much as possible when he twitched inside you. You closed your eyes and his lips immediately caught yours. He kissed you with every peak, groaning into your mouth at every turn, making you shudder.

He stilled and you kept petting his damp hair at the back of his head, slowly waiting for both your hearts to calm down. You couldn’t believe what just happened yet at the same time it was as natural as breathing.

Finally, he moved from the crook of your neck and faced you. A single drop of sweat dripped along his nose to the tip and you caught it with your fingertip. He nuzzled you then, recovering his breath with a tender smile, and you smiled back.

[utahimeow]

cw — nsfw content. minors dni. boxer!wriothesley, established relationship, handjob, slight size kink

warm water wraps around you as though a blanket, envelops you as though a coccoon. steam crawls softly into the air, wispy as it winds its way into your lungs and tucks away every last thought in your brain.

the scent of cherry blossom settles into every corner of the bathroom and mingles with the soft vanilla of the candles you lit. tealights glow like little fireflies all around the tub. with your eyes closed, you’re floating along a river in an enchanted forest, until a door clicks and you’re back in your quaint city apartment.

not that that’s a bad thing—after all, the noise signifies the return of your lover.

there’s about a minute of shuffling outside and the heavy thud of his duffle bag hitting the floor. then, the door handle dips slowly and wriothesley slinks into the haven you’ve made of your bathroom.

he crosses the room in one stride, but before you have the chance to open your eyes to examine his face like he knows you will, he cups your entire face in one huge hand and draws you in until his mouth is on yours.

his lips are hot, the bottom one slightly swollen and bumpy in a way that you know in an instant it’s been bruised.

it comes with the job is what he always tells you. you think he’s trying to convince himself more than you. he’s broken your heart a thousand times, coming home with cut cheekbones and blood streaming from his nostrils at least once a week, and still it never gets easier for you to see.

if it were up to you, you would lock him up inside your ribcage and keep him safe, stowed away from the relentless world.

he’s stopped letting you come to his fights. he did a while ago—his version of ‘protecting’ you. he figured it was worth giving up sharing the triumph of his victories with you if it meant you didn’t have to witness the violence he was paid to do, to have done to him. it also meant you were left to stay at home and bask in a pool of your own dread until he came through the front door again.

i fight for you, my dear is what he always tells you. he doesn’t listen when you tell him that you wish he didn’t have to.

wriothesley starts to climb into the spot behind you, but you shake your head no.

“sit in front,” you say, soft.

wordlessly, he obeys.

you continue, “did you win?”

“‘course i did,” he says, like he’s telling you the weather. “it was a rookie though. almost beat my ass. he could be trouble in a couple years.”

you hum. the water sloshes as he settles in the nook created by your thighs, his broad, hulking back facing you.

wriothesley is a mountain. he stands at six foot five, his muscles hard and thick and honed to perfection. he is the personification of raw power, and yet when your thumbs rub tight circles into his shoulder blades, he melts like wax.

your gentle fingers work away the stubborn knots beneath his skin. his breathing bounces off the bathroom tiles, deep and heavy yet full of relief, as your touch helps him slip further and further from the weapon that he becomes in the ring.

the tips of your fingers trace along his spine, sliding over each vertebra. they ghost over his shoulders, gliding forward until they run along his collarbones.

with your arms hooked around his neck, wriothesley allows you to pull him backwards lightly until his back is flush to your bare front, and you hold him. there is nowhere you want to be more than here, with your flesh moulded with his.

you reach for his wrist, lifting his hand out of the water, rubbing your thumbs over his bruised, bloodied knuckles. after you’ve cleansed them, you bring them to your lips and you kiss them one by one. then you reach for his other hand, wipe away his sins, and forgive them with your lips.

moments like this remind you of what wriothesley was like when you first met him. a stray dog in human form— he cowered from your touch, bared his teeth and growled and snapped at you. he had no trust left in him, therefore all he knew how to do was fight.

like all stray dogs, however, he started to let you in, slowly. he started to come to you. he knew he could come to you. quickly he figured out that your lap was his favourite spot.

now, he lays between your thighs, while your lips press wet kisses at the top of his spine, and along his shoulder blade, and in a trail up his neck. he lets you kiss and suck and bite and devour him all you want, mark him up, make him yours. there is nowhere he wants to be more than here, melting into you.

a deep moan, almost inaudible, rumbles in his chest as he breathes out, a sound that makes you throb between your legs and your lips twist into a grin.

you lean in close to his ear, let your warm breath ghost over the skin of his neck. “can i touch your cock?” you ask in a whisper.

“please,” he grumbles, but it’s far from desperate. wriothesley does not beg—his plea is to encourage you.

one of your hands trails down his rigid body until you find his cock, half-hard at the bottom of a dark trail of hair, and your fingers curl around him, but he’s so thick that your fingertips don’t even touch. you thumb at his slit, drawing small circles around his blushing tip, the way you know makes him utterly weak.

the moment you start to move, gliding your hand slowly up and down his cock, wriothesley’s head falls back against your shoulder, his body slumping as he surrenders himself to your touch. he sighs out, like he’s trying to expel the stress that’s within him, relishing in the way you work him.

biting your lip, you start to pick up your pace, jerking him off with a tad more vigour. you tighten your fist around the head of his cock, feeling the muscles of his back stiffen against your chest as you do.

it’s uncharacteristic how pliant he becomes sometimes, so putty in your hands in a way that makes you wonder if this is the same man who can put his opponents in a coma. he batters and beats them bloody, just to come home and fall apart in your arms.

“am i making you feel good?” you murmur into his skin, tugging at his cock steadily.

“fuck yes,” he replies, a low growl. “always do, baby.”

wriothesley’s gravelly voice travels straight to your core, spurring you on, so you flick your wrist just a little faster, again. you squeeze him a little tighter before loosening your grip, going back and forth in a way that makes the man’s head spin.

you’re peppering his neck and shoulder with kisses, lips fluttering over his skin tenderly in hopes of drawing him nearer to his edge. blood rushes to his face, his cheeks and nose burning hot pink, his lips parting slightly as he pants. the one downside to having him like this—you can’t see his pretty face.

he can’t help how his hips buck slightly up into your hand, following the swift strokes of your wrist. you go faster, filled with the urge to help him finish, determined to help him find euphoria.

he’s achingly hard in your hand now, throbbing against your fingertips.

“‘m fuckin’ close,” he mumbles, breathy and low, lifting his head off your shoulder to watch the way your hand drags up and down his cock.

and the sight alone is enough to make him cum—he groans, roaring loud, throwing his head back onto your shoulder, the ridges of his abdomen clenching as his cock twitches and his release dribbles from his tip, warm and thick as it covers your hand.

his body shakes against yours. you’re pressing your lips to his hot skin again while he comes back down from his climax, breathing hard, sinking further into your body now that you’ve loosened him up even more.

“fuck. need a nap now,” wriothesley rasps.

you giggle, full of affection for him. “then do it. promise i won’t drown you.”

“i would, but baby, this bath is not made for people who are six-foot-five. my back’s starting to hurt,” he says, rising out of the water and stepping out of the bath. fully bare, he looks like a greek god. when he turns back around, you’re pouting.

“maybe you’re getting old,” you quip. the way you stare at him reminds him of a cat.

he quirks an eyebrow. you don’t see it coming when he lunges forward and scoops you up out of the bath, and you’re squealing.

“good, so i’ll be dead soon. won’t have to put up with you any longer,” he says, but he’s wrapping a towel around you and patting you dry, and his icy blue eyes are brimming with a fondness reserved for nobody else but you.

[jaebeomsbitch]

Slow (E.M.)

Summary: Only Eddie can cure the blues that cling to your skin like he’s balm made for your soul.

A/N: will publish the extended version later, just needed to get this out. Not edited!

Warnings: MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BURNED AT THE STAKE, eating pussy, depression, cursing, making out

You’d been feeling sad for a while, there’s this unexplainable ache in your chest pressing into your ribs until you feel like they’ll almost crack. Eddie sees the way your eyes have dimmed. How could he not? You’d been living together for over a year now but he’s never seen you like this. So quiet, so demure. Yes you were introverted, sometimes having bouts of energy where you won’t shut the fuck up and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The way your eyes light up, you hands moving wildly.

So when you lay in your bed sheets quietly, no book in your hand Eddie looks at you with this sadness in his eyes. It’s not pity, it’s concern. His girlfriend so quiet, so meek, not eating. Fuck his heart aches seeing you like this. He crawls into bed softly asking what’s wrong but you don’t have an answer. You don’t know what’s wrong but this black cloud looms over you like your own personal rain cloud.

Eddie makes the ache better, he takes some of the pressure of your chest especially when he pulls you into his arms. His nose in your hair breathing in your shampoo, pale arms holding you tight as he rubs your back. He brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear whispering “you’re so beautiful.”

You can’t help the way you automatically mewl under his big brown eyes, hiding in his neck like a safe haven. He holds you tighter against him, nuzzling into your hair again.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly, breath warm against your ear. “I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

You reluctantly relent, cheeks pink as you slowly look up at your boyfriend. There’s a certain vulnerability in your eyes. He gives you a small smile stroking your cheek with his thumb as he grabs your face.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, y’know? I’m here for you no matter what sweetheart.”

“You make me shy when you say stuff like that” you whisper, not trusting you full voice and afraid to break the quietness between you two.

He chuckles softly, the reverberation dancing into your chest straight to your heart. “Then I’ll just have to keep saying it then,” he replies teasingly.

His hands trace gentle patterns on your back, it’s soothing but electric at the same time. Like lightning striking the sea. He leans in close to you, nose ghosting over the bridge of yours as he whispers, “I love you so much, princess.”

“I love you too” you manage to murmur back. It’s like you’re stuck in a trance. Your eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes as he closes the gap. Your lips move against each other in a dance full of love and understanding. Tongues gliding against each other as Eddie strokes your cheek.

“You’re so pretty” you whisper as you pull away from his lips. His cheeks flushed, lips half swollen, big brown eyes boring into yours.

He grins preening at the compliment squeezing you just a little tighter. “So are you, baby” he replies. His thumb stroking your cheek tenderly “you take my breath away,” he whispers pressing a soft peck to your lips. You hum softly, feeling the blues cling to your skin like rainwater but Eddie makes everything better.

He notices the faint hint of sadness still swirling in your eyes despite you trying to hide it, his lips curve into a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” He asked gently moving to stroke your hair tenderly. “You don’t have to pretend for me, y’know. I’m here for you, whatever you need”

“I just want to be here in your arms” you whisper

He nods understandingly, pulling you closer against his chest as he holds you tight. He plants a series of soft kisses along your temple and down your cheekbone, his lips lingering on your skin as he tries to convey his love and support through his touch.

"I'm right here," he whispers softly, his words echoing the sentiment of his actions. "You're safe with me, always."

You sniffle, small tears droplets falling into his tattooed skin as you nuzzle into his neck. He wipes away your tears gently with his thumbs, his heart aching at the sight of your distress. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, rocking you back and forth slightly as he holds you close. "Just let it out, princess. I'm here for you."

“I don’t want to be sad anymore” you whisper, your voice broken. You sound so defeated, you feel like a burden on Eddie.

He kisses your forehead tenderly, his own heart heavy with sympathy for your pain. "I know, baby," he murmurs softly. "And we'll get through this together, okay? You're not alone in this."

He continues to hold you close, offering what comfort he can through his presence and touch. After a few moments, he speaks again, his voice gentle and reassuring.

"Why don't we watch that movie you wanted to see earlier?" he suggests. "Maybe it'll help take your mind off things for a while." You nod but make no effort to move out of his arms. You want nothing but your boyfriend’s warmth and affection.You lay on his chest, legs tangled with his. It’s like he naturally radiates this sense of comfort as he puts on whatever random movie he found.

He feels your body relax in his as you sink further into his embrace. His heartbeat pounding underneath your ear providing a sort of lullaby, lulling you into a peaceful state. He plays with your hair aimlessly just wanting to remind you that he’s right there with you.

“I wish I could sink into you” you whisper unsure if that sounds creepy or not. He smiles down at you, his expression full of love and tenderness. "Me too, baby," he whispers softly, planting a gentle kiss on top of your head. "I never want to let you go."

You trace patterns onto his chest as Eddie pulls the duvet over the two of you knowing how cold you get. The two of you sit like this for a long while until you finally whisper “you make everything better.” You shift your face so you can look at him wanting him to know just how much you appreciate him, that you don’t take him for granted.

He meets your gaze, his own eyes filled with love and something else. "I hope so," he replies softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face tenderly. "Because you mean everything to me, princess."

You lay your head on his chest, your eyelashes fluttering against his T-shirt with every blink. “Baby” you whisper.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly

“I… I wanna feel connected to you” you whisper, cheeks flushing pink.

He feels a wave of tenderness wash over him at your admission, and he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your head. "We already are, princess," he murmurs softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But if you need something more...well, I'm yours for the taking,” he says with a grin on his lips.

“Please” you whisper.

“S’all I want” you murmur pressing a kiss to the underneath of his jaw. His fingers find your face, thumb slotting under your jaw to bring your lips to his. Your lips move against each other as you shift to make the angle less awkward. Humming softly as the warmth of his kiss spreads through your chest.

His arms wrap around your back as he licks at the seam of your mouth. It’s been a while since the two of you had just made out. He presses his weight on his right side making sure to hold you close as he gently lays you on your back successfully flipping your position.

You pull back panting faintly, Eddie swirls around you. His touch, taste, scent, clouding your vision as he crowds you, the soft sounds of his labored breath singing in your ears as he leans down to press wet open mouthed kisses to your neck. You croon pressing your head into the pillow to bare your neck to his mouth. Your fingers brush through the soft curls on his head, mussing the tight ringlets.

“I love you baby” he whispers, husky voice and all like Smokey whiskey injecting straight into your veins.

“Love you too” you say breathlessly as your head spins in a flurry of tenderness.

His fingers trace over your clothes, “can I take these off sweetheart?” He whispers. His index and thumb pinched on the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms.

“Yes” you nod looking down at your boyfriend. His hair sticking in every direction, veined hands pulling down the soft fabric off your hips, big brown eyes drinking in every single detail of your face. You lift your hips as he drags down your pajamas almost agonizingly slow but you’re not in a rush, not even when the tips of his pinkies hook into your panties bringing them down too.

He’s careful when he removes your clothing off your feet, successfully throwing them into the hamper before looking down. His pupils dilating, pink tongue licking his lips like a man starved seeing his meal for the first time in a while. He lays on his stomach, big hands grabbing the backs of your thighs.

“This okay?” He murmur, eyes flicking up towards yours. He needs your permission, wants desperately to give into your whims and quell the sadness that hangs over you. Not that he can see much of it right now. Not when you’re looking at him through half lidded eyes as your chest rises subtly. You nod letting out a breath trying to calm your racing heart down.

He crawls closer pulling your legs open and groaning as you’re exposed to his hungry gaze. He dips his face forward like he’s smelling freshly cut daises, nose pressed to your pussy. Your fingers curl around the sheets with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering closed until Eddie asks you to open them. You swallow hard in embarrassment, Eddie always liked maintaining eye contact during intimacy but you’re still left very raw and vulnerable.

“I’m right here baby” he whispers, fingers finding yours in the crumpled sheets, intertwining his much larger hand with yours. Your eyes flutter open at his tenderness, dark pupils finding your matching ones as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. You squeeze his fingers back as a wordless ‘okay.’

His free hand glides through the fabric with a whooshing noise, thumb and index finger opening up your pussy to his gaze. This time he swallows hard, seeing your pussy wet and attentive for him. Your clit glistening in your arousal like a shiny pearl in an open clam.

He dips his face forward, the familiar feeling of his hair tickling your inner thighs already making your heart race but as soon as his tongue flatly traces up your slick entrance you swear you could die and go to heaven. You squeeze his hand tighter as you moan softly, a grin adorning Eddie’s face as soon as he hears it. He’s fucking elated that you’re letting him take care of you when you’ve been feeling this down.

The tip of his tongue swirls expertly around your clit teasingly, your eyebrows knitting together immediately. You sigh that is until, he applies more pressure to your clit. A small noise escapes your throat as you press your head into the pillow again.

“Taste so sweet, baby” his voice husky and low, cool like amber.

“So fucking perfect” he whispers as he lays his tongue flat against your clit, licking continuous stripes over it until he coaxed out those familiar whines from your lips. His tongue finds its way to your entrance, the tip of it working you open until he’s got his tongue inside the bumpy walls, nose brushing against your clit as he tongue fucks you making sure to go slow and gentle. He wants you to feel how much he fucking loves you.

It isn’t long until your thighs are trembling on either side of his head, more whimpers and moans mixed with broken curse words leave from deep in your lungs. They fill the gap, slowly inflating the ache in your chest until the cavity is smooth and your ribs are back in place. Of course you’re not healed for life but Eddie will be there to fill the gap.

You feel so loved, eyes burning with happy tears as your fingers squeeze his tighter. A final breathless moan leaves your parted lips as your back arches off the bed ever so slightly. It is not dramatic, there’s no screaming, no neighbors banging on the door for you to shut up. It’s your body trembling as your fingers tug on the bedsheets, it’s patient and kind and warm. It’s Eddie, it’s you, it’s your love. It’s everything you need.

[astridselixir]

A/n: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED A DRAFT. I’M ACTUALLY CRYING. I FEEL SO UPSET. It was my first request too :(( This was a request from an anon but I also lost that when I deleted the draft, so anon, wherever you are, I’m sorry 🥹💔 Have this as an apology 😭

Characters: Caitlyn, Vi, Sevika, Jinx

Summary: Hcs when you sleep with them <3

Warnings: none. Just fluff and a bit suggestive ig

ִ ࣪𖤐*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Caitlyn

☆彡 Caitlyn is definitely clingy when you two sleep together. Like she just throws herself on you and she’s not ashamed of it, in fact, she’s proud of it.

She also really loves being held and will never pass up the opportunity to be the little spoon. Especially after a tiring day of work as an enforcer (with her coworkers being an ass to her), one simple hug from you and it’s as if her problems floated away. “Magic” as she would call it.

Her favorite position to sleep in would be wherein her face is all smushed up against your chest/belly. She loves it so much because it’s as close as she can get to you, letting her know that you were there and just within arms reach.

Although you aren’t sure how she gets into this specific position or how she moves without you noticing, but hey, it’s Caitlyn, you would love her even with her strange ways.

And of course, there’s the occasional worry that she might not be getting enough oxygen with her face buried onto you like that. You’ve brought this up to her a few times but she always dismisses that fact and would sometimes retort with something cheesy like: “Why would I need air when I have you, my love?” She’s such a romantic it’s adorable.

But besides that fact, sleeping with Caitlyn is always warm and comfortable. One that you can freely call a “safe haven”. Free from worries and doubts the minute she’s in your arms.

Vi

☆彡 Vi will most definitely not let you go if she doesn’t feel like it. And it doesn’t help the fact that she has an iron grip, so you know damn well there’s no way of resisting once you’re in her hold.

Let’s be real, Vi’s had a rough life so naturally, it would be hard for her to show affection. It’s something she’s ashamed of and tries her hardest to change whenever she’s with you. She’ll always try to be the best version of herself because that’s just how much she loves you.

She’s never been good with words since she’s learned how to solve problems with her fists, so it takes a bit of adjusting when you first get into a relationship together.

Because she’s not good with words, she shows her affection through actions more. These actions can be many things. From walking you home, to giving you meaningful gifts, to always taking care of you. But of course, her favorite is spending time with you and touching you anytime she can. And cuddles is the number one option when it comes down to it.

Vi is also definitely the type to whisper sweet nothings into your ear while giving you featherlight kisses all over your face, hoping to ease any pent up stress within your system as she holds you close to her.

She’s such a big softie when it comes to you and she’s not complaining <3

Sevika

☆彡 Just like Vi, you are trapped the minute Sevika pulls you down on your shared bed. She’s not afraid to cage you in her arms, causing your vision to be obscured by her muscles— which is a heavenly sight by the way. But, she knows you wouldn’t complain. And she also knows you like it too much to do so.

It’s not hard to tell that Sevika is much larger than you. Her tall frame and physique is enough to let everyone know that. You on the other hand, you’re much smaller. Not only in height but in weight too. You’re short and light, something Sevika finds adorable.

Now, let’s get something straight; Sevika isn’t soft, she’s stern and aggressive, which contrasts to your kind and lively personality.

Because of this, she isn’t afraid to tone her emotions down so you’ll be more comfortable, which is also why she’s so careful with you whenever you guys are cuddling or sleeping together— I mean, she doesn’t want to accidentally suffocate you in the middle of sleeping now does she?

Although, cuddling with Sevika either ends up becoming a make out session or her giving you multiple hickies that are impossible to cover. This woman’s libido is just too high and you are living for it.

Jinx

☆彡 Jinx 100% wraps her arms and legs around your body when you two are sleeping. She clings onto for dear life and her grip is always firm, as if not allowing you to leave unless she says so.

And her hair is most definitely just sprawled everywhere; on your face, your body, over the edge of the bed, everywhere.

She’s your unhinged, blue-haired Rapunzel 💙

Jinx is also a tease. You guys could be having such a sweet time cuddling and she’d slip her hands up your shirt and graze the skin of your stomach purposely, just to see your flustered reaction to her touch. She loves how quickly your face turns to a shade of crimson and the momentary panic in your eyes once you realize what she’s doing.

But other than that, Jinx is clingy. Like REALLY clingy.

When you guys sleep together, she would unconsciously nuzzle her face on your neck, smiling in content once she’s sure that you really are there and not just a figment of your imagination.

Because of Jinx’s past, she’s had a hard time accepting and giving affection. She’s so afraid that the minute she let’s her guard down, you’ll just get up and leave her— but you proved her wrong. You were there when Jinx was having her episodes, her breakdowns, practically all of her moments in darkness. You stayed beside her and comforted her through them.

And then and there she knew, she knew it was you she wanted to be with for life.

You were her everything. Her sanctuary, her sun, her life, her lover. She would do anything to keep you beside her, even if it meant needing to kill. But she would only resort to that if someone had badly hurt you. She’s learned to keep her impulsiveness in check since she doesn’t want to scare you off.

She knows she’s too much to bear but you’ve reassured her that she’s your too much.

And Jinx isn’t sure how many times she’s loved you even more.

(A/n: AAA FINALLY DONE. I hope you guys like it! And anon, wherever you may be, I hope you find this 😭 Thank you guys for reading and have a great day!)

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the king's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the dance

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Consider this to be a serious version of A Lion's Leap. I'm not sure where it will fit into my posting schedule. It depends on how well the story is recived.

The quiet of the evening is your only companion as you find yourself wrapped in the warmth of Tyland Lannister’s arms, his breath a whispered heat against your neck. Your pulse is still racing from the sweetness of his kiss, one that lingers with the faint taste of Arbor red wine and the spice of his desire. His hands move over your skin with a certainty, his touch igniting in you a need you hadn’t realized until you found him at the periphery of courtly life. Hidden away from the glare of prying eyes, Tyland is your haven, one of indulgence and escape in a world filled with duty and restraint.

There’s an urgency to his touch tonight, his body pressed against yours as if he can’t bear any distance between you. He captures your face between his hands, his blue-green eyes watching you with that flicker of intensity that only comes when he’s this close.

“You shouldn’t tempt a lion, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr that has you sinking further into him, into this space that is all your own.

“I’ve never known fear,” you reply, your voice a breathless whisper, fingers sliding through his golden hair, the softness of it like silk against your skin.

Just as his mouth descends to capture yours once more, the door creaks open.

“Y/N?”

Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the charged air, her familiar tones suddenly a sharp and shocking reminder of the world beyond this room. You freeze, eyes widening as the unmistakable figure of your sister stands there, her expression a mix of disbelief and something akin to amusement.

Tyland pulls back, releasing you with an urgency that borders on panicked, though he composes himself as he turns, straightening his disheveled tunic. You, however, find yourself momentarily rooted in place, unsure if this is a dream or a waking nightmare.

“Rhaenyra—” you start, scrambling to find words, but your sister only raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest as she observes the two of you with an unmistakable glimmer of surprise.

“Of all men in Westeros…” she says, a hint of laughter in her tone. “Tyland Lannister?”

Her eyes sweep over Tyland, who’s doing his best to look as composed as any nobleman caught in a compromising position could. He manages a polite, if slightly sheepish, nod.

“Princess,” he greets her formally, though you can see the tension in his jaw as he fights to keep his composure under Rhaenyra’s unwavering gaze.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker between the two of you, an unexpected curiosity lighting her expression. “I thought you’d have chosen someone younger,” she remarks with a slight smile. “Perhaps a knight… or a squire. But a Lannister?”

You feel your cheeks burn, heat flooding your face at the implication. “He’s more than just a Lannister, Rhaenyra,” you reply, stepping forward as you gather your courage. “He… he understands me.”

Tyland’s hand reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent show of solidarity, but his eyes are trained on Rhaenyra, calculating the depths of her reaction. He is used to navigating treacherous waters, and he knows that, in this moment, every word counts.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens, her curiosity morphing into something gentler, though her tone remains teasing. “It seems you’ve found yourself an unusual ally, sister.” She pauses, a slight smirk touching her lips. “I suppose there are worse Lannisters than Tyland.”

At this, Tyland inclines his head, his voice as smooth as ever. “High praise from the future queen,” he replies, his eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s without hesitation. “Your sister is…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “remarkable.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts to you, a hint of approval glinting in her eyes. “I’m surprised by the choice, but perhaps I shouldn’t be,” she muses, her voice softening as she takes in the way Tyland’s hand rests protectively over yours.

She sighs, her expression growing more thoughtful. “I always knew you’d find someone who saw you for who you are. Even if he’s… well…” She waves her hand in Tyland’s direction, her smile widening. “A lion.”

Your heart aches with the realization that she does, in some way, approve. Rhaenyra, always the fierce, protective sister, has a flicker of understanding in her gaze that you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll leave you two to… whatever it is that brought you here tonight,” she says finally, smirking as she turns toward the door. She glances back, adding in a tone laced with mischief, “Do try to be discreet. Rumors travel fast in the Red Keep.”

With a final, amused glance over her shoulder, Rhaenyra slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

For a moment, you and Tyland stand in stunned silence, her words echoing in the quiet. Finally, Tyland lets out a low, relieved chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms once more, his lips finding your forehead in a lingering kiss.

“Your sister has a way of surprising people,” he murmurs, his voice laced with admiration.

“She’s always had a knack for the unexpected,” you reply, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace as a balm against the shock.

His thumb brushes your cheek, his voice soft. “Then let’s give them something else to talk about, shall we?”

And as he kisses you once more, the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in a moment that feels like it belongs to no one else but you.

Tyland Lannister sits quietly, his eyes assessing each of the faces present as the King’s Small Council convenes. Viserys, resplendent yet weary, presides at the head of the table, his fingers idly tapping against the polished wood. Otto Hightower sits beside him, his sharp gaze flickering with purpose as he waits for the council to settle.

Clearing his throat, Otto finally leans forward, voice carrying the deliberate calm of a man who measures each word for impact. “Your Grace,” he begins, glancing pointedly at Viserys, “I bring before you a matter of some… importance. As you know, your youngest daughter has now reached an age where the question of marriage becomes both pertinent and pressing.”

Tyland’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and he shifts in his seat, the motion subtle but enough to catch Otto’s eye. The words ignite an unwelcome heat in his chest, but Tyland maintains his silence, allowing the Lord Hand to continue as he carefully considers his next move.

“Many houses have sent petitions for the Princess’s hand, Your Grace,” Otto goes on, his tone professional but carrying a faint undercurrent of ambition. “The opportunity for a marriage alliance is ripe. And House Hightower, already bound in loyalty to the Crown, would be honored to strengthen that bond.”

Tyland clenches his jaw, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. Otto’s words are too familiar, too practiced, as if rehearsed. Of course, the Hightowers would press for another foothold in the Targaryen family. Alicent was already Queen, and now Otto had the gall to suggest another marriage to his kin.

The silence in the room stretches for a moment, broken only by the slight creak of leather as Lord Beesbury shifts uncomfortably, clearly weighing the implications of Otto’s proposal.

Tyland seizes the pause to lean forward, his golden hair catching the light as he speaks. “Your Grace,” he begins, his voice smooth and calm, carefully measured, “while House Hightower’s loyalty is unquestioned, it would be wise to consider the value in expanding alliances beyond what is already secured.” He pauses, letting his gaze sweep across the council, landing on Viserys with a look of respectful counsel. “There are other noble houses, some with ties yet to be strengthened, who could offer their fealty through a marriage bond. The Princess, after all, is a precious jewel to the realm.”

Viserys nods, seeming to take in Tyland’s words, though his weariness is evident. But before he can respond, Otto speaks again, his tone calm but unmistakably forceful.

“With all due respect, Lord Tyland,” Otto interjects, “House Hightower is not simply any house. It is a trusted pillar of the realm, deeply invested in the Crown’s prosperity. My son, Ser Gwayne, holds the princess in high regard, as he has demonstrated with unfailing respect and admiration. Such a match would ensure not only the Princess’s happiness but the Crown’s continued stability.”

Tyland’s mouth sets into a line, his irritation sparking to life at Otto’s boldness. The Hightowers already held the Reach and the Queen herself—did Otto truly believe the Crown needed more from Oldtown?

Clearing his throat, Tyland leans forward again, speaking with an air of practiced calm. “Your Grace,” he says, directing his words pointedly at Viserys, “Otto’s suggestion has merit, yet the needs of the realm go beyond what House Hightower alone can provide. House Lannister is well-known for its loyalty and wealth, resources that could serve the Crown in countless ways.” He lets his words linger, letting the subtle hint of his own interest shine through as he meets Viserys’s gaze. “A match that unites the Princess with a house of the Westerlands might open new avenues of support and loyalty.”

Lord Jasper Wylde’s deep voice cuts through the tension, surprising everyone as he joins the discussion. “Lord Tyland has a point, Your Grace. House Lannister is an influential ally. Expanding alliances to the Westerlands would create a balance among the great houses, preventing any one house from holding undue influence over the Crown.”

Otto’s gaze hardens, his fingers steepling as he speaks again, his voice low and steady. “The King knows the loyalty of House Hightower, and what could be better than family to ensure trust?” He leans forward, his eyes fixed intently on Viserys. “Gwayne is a devoted knight, one who would honor the Princess and protect her with his life.”

The room falls silent as Viserys considers the weight of each suggestion, his brow furrowed. The aged Maester Mellos clears his throat, his ancient, gravelly voice adding a cautious note to the conversation. “Your Grace, while the idea of strengthening alliances is sound, one must consider the Princess’s own wishes in such a matter. She is not without her own mind, and a union should serve her interests as well.”

Tyland nods in agreement, glancing briefly at Mellos before speaking again. “Precisely, Your Grace. The Princess should be given a choice that does not bind her exclusively to those who already wield power within the realm. A broader reach, a different alliance…” He allows the words to hang, his gaze settling firmly on Viserys, silently pressing his case.

Otto remains unyielding, but there is a flicker of tension beneath his composure. “The Crown should value loyalty that is proven, not loyalty yet to be tested,” he insists, glancing briefly at Tyland, a thinly veiled challenge in his gaze.

King Viserys shifts, his fingers rubbing at his temple. “Enough,” he says, raising a hand, his voice weary but firm. “Otto, Tyland… you both have made your points. The decision will not be made lightly.”

Tyland bows his head, the flicker of frustration barely visible beneath his polite expression. He had not anticipated Otto would be so relentless, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. As the council disperses, he lingers, waiting until the others have exited before catching Viserys’s gaze once more.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs softly, “my only wish is that your daughter’s choice brings her happiness and serves the realm.”

Viserys offers him a faint, tired smile. “I know, Tyland. But these matters… they are never simple.”

As Tyland takes his leave, a fire burns within him, one fueled by the prospect of having to contend with the relentless ambition of the Hightowers. But he is a lion of the Westerlands, and he will not yield his pursuit so easily.

The corridor is cool as Tyland makes his way from the council chamber, his thoughts swirling with a mix of frustration and resolve. The weight of Otto's persistence hangs in the air like a heavy mist, lingering and clinging as he mentally reviews their exchange. He is only halfway down the hall when he hears footsteps approaching—a purposeful, measured cadence he recognizes without needing to turn.

"Lord Tyland," Otto’s voice, calm and composed, cuts through the quiet. Tyland pauses, inclining his head politely as he turns to face the Hand. Otto’s expression is unreadable, his sharp, calculating eyes studying Tyland with the intensity of a man who does not often find his decisions challenged.

“Lord Hand,” Tyland replies, his tone cordial but cool. “I gather you have words left unsaid?”

Otto steps closer, his expression calm but firm, hands clasped behind his back. “Only that I find it curious, Lord Tyland,” he begins, voice smooth, almost conversational, “that you seem so… invested in the matter of the princess’s marriage.”

Tyland raises a brow, masking his irritation with a faint smile. “And why shouldn’t I be? She is the King’s daughter and a Targaryen princess. Whoever she marries will wield significant influence over the realm.” He allows his words to sink in before adding, “Surely, it benefits the Crown to consider all its options, rather than binding itself to the Reach alone.”

Otto’s lips curve slightly, though the smile does not reach his eyes. “The Crown has always valued the proven loyalty of House Hightower,” he says evenly, “and a marriage between my son and the princess would only strengthen those bonds. My son, Ser Gwayne, is an honorable man who would care for her deeply.”

“Indeed,” Tyland replies, his tone deceptively mild. “But House Lannister has long been a stalwart of the Crown as well, with a reach that extends far beyond the walls of Oldtown. We bring not only loyalty, but wealth, resources, and alliances across the Westerlands.” He pauses, letting his words settle, before adding, “Surely, even you can see the wisdom in that.”

Otto’s expression remains unmoved, though his gaze sharpens, a flicker of irritation betraying his controlled demeanor. “And yet, Lord Tyland, you speak as though it is the Crown’s duty to court Lannister favor. I assure you, we are quite capable of holding the realm’s loyalty without undue dependence on the Westerlands.”

Tyland’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice steady. “Perhaps, Lord Otto,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “but it would be unwise to dismiss the value of broadening alliances. Overreliance on a single house… can leave one vulnerable.”

Otto’s eyes narrow slightly, a glint of something cold flashing within them. “Are you implying, Lord Tyland, that the Crown is vulnerable with House Hightower at its side?”

“I imply nothing of the sort,” Tyland replies smoothly, though he meets Otto’s gaze with a steely look of his own. “Only that diversifying one’s alliances strengthens a kingdom. Surely, that is something a man of your experience can appreciate.”

Otto regards him in silence for a moment, and Tyland can almost feel the calculations turning behind his gaze, assessing, weighing. Finally, Otto speaks, his voice cool but edged with warning.

“Be mindful, Lord Tyland. Ambition is a potent force, but so is loyalty. My family has served the Targaryens with unwavering dedication, while others… have not always shown the same consistency.” His tone carries a subtle, implicit threat, as if reminding Tyland that House Hightower’s position within the Crown’s inner circle is not one easily challenged.

But Tyland is not so easily cowed. He straightens, his own expression hardening as he meets Otto’s gaze directly. “Loyalty is indeed a powerful thing, Lord Otto. But loyalty should not come at the cost of wisdom. And it would be unwise to assume the King’s daughter would prefer a match simply because it pleases you.”

Otto’s mouth tightens, his facade slipping just enough to reveal a hint of irritation. “The King knows the worth of House Hightower. And Gwayne is a respectable choice—far more appropriate than other… options.”

Tyland inclines his head, offering a slight smile that does not reach his eyes. “And yet, the choice remains the King’s… not yours, Lord Otto.”

The silence between them thickens, charged with a subtle animosity. Finally, Otto’s face smooths, his expression carefully neutral once more as he steps back, as if dismissing Tyland’s challenge. “Indeed,” he says quietly, though there’s a steely edge to his voice. “The choice is the King’s.”

With a curt nod, Otto turns, his robes swishing as he strides down the corridor, leaving Tyland standing alone in the dim light. Tyland watches him go, his fingers curling into a fist as he steels himself. He would not allow Otto to dictate the fate of the woman he cared for.

Tyland continues down the corridor, the distant echoes of his footsteps mingling with the faint whispers of the castle walls. He feels the lingering bite of Otto’s words, flicking like embers. His mind turns toward Y/N, the thought of her lifting the weight of his frustrations, though the path to her chambers is already proving more circuitous than anticipated.

As he rounds the corner, he nearly collides with a tall figure—none other than Ser Gwayne Hightower, resplendent in his polished armor, his posture as upright as his father’s ambition. Gwayne’s brows knit together momentarily before a polite, if strained, smile forms on his face.

“Lord Tyland,” Gwayne greets him, his tone courteous but carrying a faint edge. “A fortunate encounter. I’d hoped to find the princess and offer her my company this afternoon, should she wish it.”

Tyland’s expression remains calm, though a flicker of annoyance rises within him. He bows his head slightly, maintaining the polite veneer expected in the corridors of the Red Keep. “Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice smooth. “The Princess has not been one to lack for company, as I understand it.”

Gwayne’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he regards Tyland with an air of subtle scrutiny. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. “Yet, as one who holds her in high regard, I believe she deserves companionship suited to her station.” There’s a faint emphasis on the last word, his gaze assessing as though to imply that Tyland’s attentions may fall short of that standard.

Tyland’s jaw clenches, though he forces a polite smile. “Indeed,” he responds, his tone even. “I’m certain she values the company of those who see her as more than a stepping stone toward ambition.”

Gwayne’s expression cools, his own smile thinning. “I assure you, my interest in the Princess is nothing less than sincere. She is, after all, a Targaryen—a rare jewel, worthy of reverence.” He hesitates, his eyes flickering as he chooses his words carefully. “Not all who approach her can say the same.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement barely masking his irritation. “The Princess’s worth is evident to anyone who possesses a mind,” he replies smoothly. “Yet, unlike some, I do not seek her company for the approval of others.”

The slight barb does not go unnoticed, and Gwayne’s eyes harden, his polite facade slipping just enough to reveal a hint of irritation. “I wonder, then,” he says slowly, his tone almost thoughtful, “whether your intentions are as noble as you claim. The Princess may find herself the subject of… unwanted scrutiny if certain alliances are encouraged.”

Tyland’s patience wears thin, though he keeps his voice calm. “The only ‘unwanted scrutiny’ the Princess might face would be due to those who believe they have the right to decide her future. She is not a pawn, Ser Gwayne. And if your intentions are as noble as you say, you would know that she deserves respect beyond what can be claimed through marriage.”

Gwayne’s lips press into a thin line, a flash of offense coloring his face. “You speak as if you alone hold her respect, Lord Tyland,” he counters. “Perhaps it is you who misunderstands her station. A Targaryen princess deserves more than whispered conversations and stolen glances.”

Tyland steps closer, his gaze unyielding as he meets Gwayne’s stare. “And yet, I am not the one using her as a bid to curry favor with her father and his council. My respect for the Princess does not hinge on how close it brings me to the throne.”

A tense silence hangs between them, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Gwayne’s hands clench at his sides, though he forces a calm expression, his eyes darkening with a restrained intensity. “Remember, Lord Tyland,” he says quietly, his voice a warning, “the loyalty of House Hightower is not a force to be taken lightly. My father’s position is one earned through unwavering commitment to the Crown.”

Tyland holds his ground, his voice steady as steel. “As is the loyalty of House Lannister. But unlike some, my house does not rely on proximity to the Crown for validation.” His tone hardens, his words pointed. “The Princess deserves a choice, not an obligation.”

Gwayne’s composure falters for a brief moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. He takes a step back, offering a curt nod, though the tension remains clear in his stance. “Then let the Princess make her choice,” he replies, his tone sharp. “And may it be one worthy of her name.”

Without another word, Gwayne steps past Tyland, his shoulders tense as he disappears down the corridor. Tyland watches him go, a sense of satisfaction tempered by lingering annoyance.

With renewed purpose, Tyland resumes his path toward Y/N’s chambers, his steps quickening. He would ensure that Otto Hightower and his son did not shape her future. And, if he could help it, he would be the one at her side, proving his devotion beyond the words of a council chamber.

[mommyownsmee]

SUBMISSIVE VERSION ~6.393 words

DOM/ME VERSION ~3.885 words

[Inspiration] ♡

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, and the first thing I feel is you. Your presence is a quiet hum of comfort, grounding me before my eyes even open. The bed feels impossibly soft, and I’m cocooned in our shared haven—our sanctuary. I barely notice the room around me at first, too focused on the steady beat of your breathing beside me and the faint scent of you lingering in the sheets.

I shift slightly, my body still heavy with sleep, as I hear your voice—low and soothing, wrapping around me like a gentle caress. "Good morning, my love," you whisper, and the sound alone melts something inside me. I murmur something half-formed, instinctively turning toward you, seeking the warmth and safety I know only you can give. I feel your lips brush against my temple, and my heart stirs even before my body fully does.

"Time to get up, baby. I’ve got everything ready for you." Your words are so soft, so assured, and they fill me with a sense of peace I haven’t felt all week. The kind of peace only you can provide.

When my eyes finally flutter open, the first thing I notice is the golden glow bathing the room. The space feels alive with quiet intimacy, like it’s holding its breath just for us. I glance toward the window, the curtains slightly parted just enough to let the morning light kiss the wooden floors. Everything about this room feels like us. The books we’ve shared, the small treasures scattered throughout—a pressed flower, a photo, a painting I made one lazy afternoon. It’s all here, surrounding me with the tangible reminders of the life we’ve built together.

But more than the room, it’s you. You’re the reason this moment feels sacred to me.

I glance toward the foot of the bed and see the clothes you’ve chosen for me: my favorite oversized sweater, the one I always reach for when I need to feel safe, paired with leggings and warm socks. I don’t have to think about what to wear. I don’t have to think about anything. You’ve already decided for me, thought of every detail, just as you always do. It’s a small thing, but it feels monumental—a reminder that I don’t have to carry it all. Not here. Not now.

I look back at you, and you’re watching me, propped on one elbow, your eyes warm and steady. You always look at me like this, like I’m yours and yours alone. It’s in that gaze that I find myself letting go. The tension in my shoulders, the tightness in my chest from a week of being too much for too many—it all starts to slip away under the weight of your care.

I don’t have to be anything but this. Just yours. Just here. Just us.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still thick with sleep but full of the gratitude I feel in every part of me. You smile, leaning in to press another kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes again, savoring it. Today, I’m not running on empty. Today, I’m not running at all. You won’t let me.

Today, there’s no space for me to lose myself in the world. Today, I’ll lose myself in you.

When I walk into the kitchen, the rich, comforting aroma of tea and freshly made food wraps around me like a warm embrace. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows bathes the room in a golden glow, but what draws my attention is you. You're already seated, calm and poised, sipping your tea as though you've been waiting just for me. I hesitate for a moment in the doorway, caught between wanting to stay rooted there and needing to come closer.

You glance up, and the soft smile that curves your lips makes my heart flutter.

"Come here," you say, your voice so soothing, so sure. There's no hesitation in your tone, no room for anything but trust, and I step forward, drawn to you like I always am.

I sit down across from you, my gaze flickering over the table before meeting your steady eyes. I open my mouth to speak, to ask, to say something, but you stop me with a subtle shake of your head. "Set the table for me, baby. No questions. Just do as I say." Your voice is warm but firm, guiding me with that familiar authority that makes me feel safe, even when I'm not sure what you're thinking.

Without a word, I move to obey. My hands work automatically, setting the plates and utensils in their proper places, each movement deliberate and focused. As I do, I can feel your eyes on me, watching every motion with quiet intensity. When you finally speak, your words are soft but powerful. "Good girl."

The praise washes over me, filling me with a quiet pride that feels almost too big to contain. My cheeks grow warm, and I know I'm blushing, but I can't help it. I love being your good girl, love how those words make my heart swell and my body relax all at once.

After breakfast, we move to the living room, the cozy space that feels like a little world we've made for ourselves.

The plush gray sofa, piled high with soft pillows, seems to beckon me. A blanket—our blanket-drapes over the back, always ready for moments like this. The faint scent of lavender fills the air, blending with the gentle hum of music coming from the record player. It's all so perfect, so carefully designed to make me feel calm, cared for, and so utterly yours.

You settle onto the couch and pull me into your lap, your arms wrapping around me in a way that feels both protective and possessive. The blanket comes around us, cocooning me in warmth, and I feel your fingers brushing through my hair. The movie you've chosen is one of my favorites, a story I know by heart, one that lets my mind wander without losing its rhythm. But I'm not paying attention to the screen; all my focus is on you.

Your fingers comb through my hair in slow, soothing strokes, and I melt against you, my body softening with every gentle touch. Your lips press against the top of my head, my temple, the sensitive curve of my neck. Each kiss feels like a quiet promise, a reminder that I'm yours and that this moment is ours.

I can't help the way my hands clutch at your shirt, anchoring myself to you as I feel myself sinking further into this space you've created for me. My gaze drifts to your lips, your collarbone, the graceful lines of your neck and chest. I want to speak, to tell you how much I need this, how much I need you, but the words catch in my throat. It doesn't matter. You already know.

"Good girl," you murmur, your voice so soft it feels like a secret meant just for me. "You're doing so well for me. Just let go."

And I do. The tension l've been carrying all week dissolves into nothingness, leaving me weightless in your arms. My body grows pliant, my breathing slows, and my thoughts fade until there's nothing left but the feeling of you-your touch, your voice, the steady rhythm of your heart.

In this space, there's no need for words, no need for control. There's only surrender, quiet and blissful, and the warmth of knowing I'm exactly where I belong: with you.

The bathroom you later decide to go to with me is warm and inviting, the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off the tiled walls. The air is filled with the soothing scent of vanilla and sandalwood, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. The tub is already filled, steam curling upward, and you’re there, your hands steady and sure as they guide me closer. Every detail feels intentional, like it’s been created just for me, to ease away the tension I didn’t realize I was still holding.

You help me into the bath, your hands firm on my waist, and I feel the warmth of the water envelop me. It’s not just the heat that relaxes me; it’s you. Your presence is grounding, your care palpable in every motion. As your hands follow the water over my skin, I can’t help the way my breath hitches. Your touch is slow, deliberate, reverent. You linger just enough to remind me who I belong to, and I can feel my cheeks growing warm, a blush creeping across my skin. I know you notice—I know you always notice—and when your eyes meet mine, the heat in your gaze only deepens my surrender.

Then you murmur, "Do you want Mommy to dry you off?"

The question catches me off guard, and I gasp softly, my lips parting as the meaning sinks in. My blush deepens instantly, the warmth spreading from my cheeks all the way down to my chest. I can barely find the words, so I nod instead, unable to do anything else under the weight of your gaze. Your smile is soft, knowing, and it makes my heart stutter in my chest.

"You know how to make Mommy happy, don’t you, baby?" you whisper, your voice low and intimate as you wrap me in a towel. The fabric is soft against my skin, but it’s your arms around me that truly make me feel safe. I lean into you, my body sinking into your embrace. Every thought, every worry, every piece of myself that feels too much—you take it all away, leaving only the quiet hum of belonging.

And as the evening drifts on, you lead me to the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a golden hue over the space. The towel is still wrapped around me as I sit on the edge of the bed, the satin nightgown you laid out resting beside me. My fingers brush against the fabric for a moment, but I hesitate. My mind feels so soft, so quiet, that even the idea of dressing myself feels like too much. I glance at you instead, silently waiting, knowing you’ll guide me. You always do.

"Stand up, baby," you say softly, your voice steady and soothing. The command flows over me like water, and I obey without a second thought, rising to my feet with a quietness that feels natural under your gaze. You pick up the nightgown, the silky fabric sliding through your fingers before you lift it over my head. The touch of the material against my skin is cool at first, but your hands are warm as they smooth the gown over my shoulders and down my sides. Your touch lingers just a little longer than necessary, your fingers brushing against my skin, and I shiver, a soft sigh escaping my lips.

When your eyes meet mine, I feel that familiar warmth flood through me again, the blush creeping back as your fingers tilt my chin up. Your lips find mine, soft and commanding, and I melt into the kiss, letting it ground me even further. When you pull back, your gaze holds me steady.

"Perfect," you murmur, the word like a balm against my quiet insecurities. "You're absolutely perfect."

In that moment, I believe you. Because with you, I am.

The bedroom feels warm, wrapped in a quiet intimacy that settles over me like a second skin. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden light across the walls, highlighting the delicate, familiar details of this space we share. The air is a mix of lavender and sandalwood, lingering from the bath we took earlier, but more than anything, it’s the scent of you that grounds me, that keeps me present in this moment.

You guide me to the bed, your hands firm but gentle as you help me settle onto my back. The cool satin of my nightgown clings to my skin, and I can feel your eyes roaming over me, drinking me in. I blush under your gaze, the intensity of it making my body feel both exposed and cherished. The emerald green fabric feels almost decadent against my skin, the way it drapes and clings to every curve making me feel utterly beautiful, even before you speak a word.

The thin straps have slipped slightly from my shoulders, and the cool air brushes against the places where the fabric doesn’t quite cover. My thighs are bare, and the hem of the gown rests just above them, teasingly short, almost too much. I can feel how much you’re taking in, how you’re savoring the sight of me, and it makes my heart race, my breathing shallow.

But then there’s you. You’re still partially dressed, your shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely over your shoulders. My eyes keep flickering to your chest, exposed just enough to make my pulse quicken.

I can feel my chest rising and falling quickly as I lie there, clutching at the duvet like it’s the only thing tethering me to the bed. But it’s not the duvet holding me steady—it’s you. It’s always you.

You lean over me, your palms pressing into the mattress on either side of my head, caging me in with your body. Your lips brush against my ear, and your voice, low and commanding, sends a shiver down my spine. "Look at me, baby," you say softly, and I obey instantly, tilting my head up to meet your gaze. Your eyes hold me captive, and I know I’m completely undone, completely yours. I can’t hide how far I’ve fallen into this space you’ve created for me, how my mind feels hazy, my body soft and pliant beneath your touch. My lips part as if to speak, but no words come. I don’t need to say anything—you already know.

"Look at you," you whisper, your thumb brushing over my bottom lip, and the touch makes my breath catch. "You’re so far gone, aren’t you, my sweet girl? So soft, so obedient, just the way I like you." Your words make my body melt further into the bed, and I nod faintly, trembling under the weight of your attention. Every part of me is laid bare for you, and I can feel your love, your care, in every word, every touch.

"My perfect little plaything," you murmur, your voice like a warm caress, and then your lips find mine. The kiss is soft at first, tender and grounding, but it deepens quickly, turning possessive and commanding. I respond without thought, my hands clutching at your shirt as though holding onto you is the only thing that matters. My breath hitches as you press closer, your body warm and solid against mine.

Your hand trails down my side, your touch featherlight and teasing, and I can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes my lips. The sound feels raw, unfiltered, but you love it—I can see it in the way your eyes darken, in the way your lips curve into a knowing smile against mine. That sound, that surrender-it's all for you.

Everything I am in this moment is for you.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

"You don’t have to think about anything," you whisper against my lips, and the sound of your voice melts through me, soft and commanding all at once. Your hand is slow and deliberate as it trails lower, and I feel every inch of its path, like it’s leaving a mark on my skin. "You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you."

I nod, a trembling motion I can’t quite control, the weight of your words sinking into me, making my body feel impossibly soft and malleable beneath your touch. "That’s good," you murmur, and the way your tone wraps around me, warm and possessive, sends a shiver through my body. It’s a reaction I can’t hide—not from you, not ever—and the way your lips curve into the faintest smile tells me you already know.

Your hand trails down my side, fingers grazing the curve of my waist and teasing the sensitive dip of my hip. It’s so gentle, yet it leaves my body trembling, my breath catching as you linger just long enough to make me ache. When a soft, helpless whimper escapes me, I see the way your eyes darken, your breath catching just as mine does. You lean down, brushing a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then to the hollow of my throat. "I’m so proud of you," you murmur against my skin, and those words, so quiet and so full of meaning, make me feel like I might come undone right there.

"Always so good for me. Always so ready to give me everything."

I feel the weight of your body as you shift, pressing closer to me, grounding me in the warmth and solidity of you. Your hand moves lower, slipping under the hem of my satin nightgown, and I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes my lips. My hands clutch the sheets, twisting them in my fingers as I try to hold onto something—anything—to keep myself steady. But there’s nothing steady about this moment, about the way my body arches instinctively toward your touch, about the trembling breaths that I can’t quite control.

"You’re so soft like this," you whisper, your lips brushing against my ear. Your voice carries that quiet, commanding tone that makes me shiver. "So pliable, so obedient. I could do anything I want to you, and you’d let me, wouldn’t you, baby?"

My cheeks burn as I nod again, the movement small, hesitant, but undeniable. The blush spreading across my skin feels impossibly hot, but your smile—soft against my skin—only deepens the sensation, making me feel even more exposed in the best way.

When your fingers slip away from the hem of my gown, I almost whimper again, my body leaning toward you instinctively, aching for the loss of your touch. But you’re not done with me—of course you’re not. Your fingers glide down my arm, featherlight, teasing, until they catch the thin strap of my nightgown. You tug it down slowly, baring one of my shoulders, then the other, your lips following the motion of your hand. Each kiss leaves my skin buzzing, every touch making me sink deeper into this space you’ve created for me.

"You look so beautiful in this," you murmur, your voice low and full of quiet command. "But I think I’d like you even better out of it."

Your words send a fresh wave of heat through me, and I watch you as you sit back on your knees, your hands moving with deliberate care as you slide the satin down my body. Inch by inch, you expose my skin, and I can feel your eyes on every part of me, taking me in as though this is the first time you’ve seen me like this.

The air feels cooler against my bare skin, but your gaze burns, leaving no room for the chill to linger. I’m completely exposed beneath you now, my body warm and trembling, my thighs pressing together as though I can somehow ease the ache building inside me. But I know there’s no relief—not until you decide to give it to me. I can see it in your eyes, that possessive, unshakable certainty that makes my breath catch.

I glance up at you, my lips parting as though to speak, but the words don’t come. I don’t need to say anything. I know you can see it—the way my body quivers under your gaze, the way I look at you with complete trust, complete surrender.

"You don’t have to hide from me," you say softly, your voice so warm and sure it melts through me. I feel your hands slide down my sides, your fingers grazing those sensitive spots that make me shiver. The way you touch me, the way you speak—it’s like you’re peeling back every layer of me until there’s nothing left but this: soft, open, and completely yours. "You don’t have to think. Just let me take care of you."

Your words ground me, soothe me, and all I can do is nod, letting myself sink further into the moment. When you lean down, your lips press against mine in a kiss that starts soft, teasing, like a question you already know the answer to. But then it deepens, your tongue sweeping against mine with a claiming intensity that leaves me breathless. I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me, my hands instinctively clutching at your shirt, needing something to hold onto. Every touch, every kiss from you feels electric, like my body was made for this—made for you.

Your lips trail lower, leaving a path of warmth and fire along my neck, my collarbone, my chest. My breath quickens, my body arching into your touch as though it has a mind of its own. Your hands are everywhere—firm, deliberate, possessive—as they trace the curve of my waist, the softness of my thighs. When you spread my legs, I feel my blush deepen, the vulnerability of the moment making my chest flutter. But I don’t resist. I could never resist you.

"You’ve been so perfect for me today," you murmur, your voice like a caress as you press a kiss to the inside of my thigh. The sensation sends a shiver through me, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "Always so eager to please. Do you know how much I love you like this?"

I nod, my voice trembling as I manage to whisper, "Yes, mommy." Saying the words makes me feel small and safe in a way I can’t explain, and the way your eyes light up in response fills me with warmth.

"Good girl," you say, and the praise hits me like a wave, making me melt further into the bed. Your voice is low, full of promise and control, and it sends a thrill through me. "I’m going to take care of you tonight. You don’t have to do anything but be mine."

I let out a shaky breath as you lean down again, brushing your lips against mine in a kiss that’s soft but lingering, like you’re reminding me that I’m exactly where I belong. Your hand trails over my cheek, gentle and grounding, and I turn into your touch, unable to stop myself from seeking the comfort you so effortlessly provide.

"Stay here," you murmur, your voice low and commanding, the kind of tone that leaves no room for anything but obedience. "Don’t move. Keep those pretty legs right where they are for me, baby."

I nod again, my body already trembling under the weight of your words, my thighs instinctively pressing together before I stop myself. You smile—soft, knowing, and entirely in control—and I feel the way my body relaxes, giving itself over to you completely. There's no room for thought, no room for hesitation. There's only you, and the quiet surrender that makes me feel so perfectly yours.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest, my breathing uneven as I watch you lean down, pressing one last soft, grounding kiss to my temple. That simple touch steadies me, even as anticipation buzzes through my entire body.

Then you rise, leaving me lying there, small and soft and completely exposed under your gaze. My eyes follow you instinctively, wide and adoring, unable to tear away as you stand above me, the shift in power between us making my pulse quicken. There’s something about the way you look down at me—with that quiet, unshakable authority—that makes me feel utterly yours in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying in its intensity.

You move to the corner of the room, to the dresser, and the sound of the drawer opening fills the quiet space. I don’t move, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I just watch, my body frozen in a mixture of anticipation and need as your hands find the harness and strap. The faint creak of leather as you fasten the buckles seems impossibly loud in the stillness, and my breath hitches as I realize what’s about to happen.

I can’t look away. My eyes are glued to your hands, the way they move over the leather with practiced ease, the way you adjust each strap with deliberate care. I can feel my blush deepening, the heat crawling up my neck and into my cheeks as I watch you prepare yourself. My breathing grows heavier, my chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, and I can feel my thighs shifting of their own accord, trying to press together, though I know it won’t offer me any relief.

The harness wraps around you perfectly, dark leather fitting snugly against your body, framing your hips in a way that feels almost too powerful to look at. The strap is sleek and smooth, intimidating but not overwhelming, and it’s impossible not to be hyper-aware of every detail. You adjust the buckles one last time, making sure everything is just so, and then you turn back to me.

Our eyes meet, and the intensity in your gaze makes me feel like I’m going to melt into the bed. There’s something in the way you look at me—a mixture of power and affection, desire and control—that leaves me trembling. My chest tightens, my breath catching as my thighs press together again without thinking, a futile attempt to calm the ache growing inside me.

You smirk, and the deliberate confidence in that simple expression makes my whole body feel like it’s on fire. I watch, transfixed, as you cross the room back to me, every step slow and measured, every movement exuding a power that leaves me breathless. My eyes can’t stop drinking you in, the way the harness hugs your body, the way you carry yourself with such deliberate authority. It’s overwhelming, and yet, I can’t imagine looking away.

You stop at the edge of the bed, standing over me, and the weight of your gaze makes me tremble. My body feels small, pliant, and completely exposed to you, and I know you can see it—the way I shiver under your eyes, the way I grip the duvet just a little tighter, trying to keep myself from falling apart too soon.

"I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?" Your voice is soft but steady, laced with that quiet authority that makes me want to do nothing but obey. The words make my heart race, my body arching slightly without even meaning to, and all I can do is nod, unable to find my voice.

I nod quickly, my eyes darting between your face and the strap, my cheeks burning with a blush I can’t control. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel utterly exposed, trembling under your steady, knowing gaze.

"You can’t speak, baby?" you murmur, your voice soft but laced with power. I shiver as your fingers trail along the curve of my thigh, the touch light but commanding, pulling a quiet whimper from my lips. "Do you want this? Do you want me to fill you, to remind you who you belong to?"

"Y-Yes," I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible, shaky with anticipation. My body feels like it’s humming, my mind soft and pliant, and your smile sends a thrill through me—a mixture of tenderness and control that makes me melt even more.

You climb onto the bed with deliberate grace, settling between my legs, and I feel the press of the harness against my skin as you lower yourself over me. The weight of you is grounding, the warmth of your body pulling me deeper into this space where nothing else exists but you. Your hands frame my face, your touch firm but gentle as you tilt my chin up so our eyes meet. I can’t look away. The intensity of your gaze holds me completely, and when your lips find mine, the kiss is slow, possessive, leaving no doubt in my mind that I’m yours.

"You’re mine," you murmur against my lips, the words a quiet promise that settles deep in my chest. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

I nod again, the motion small and trembling, and you smile, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. The praise that follows, "Good girl," feels like it wraps around me, sinking into my skin. I let out a shaky breath, surrendering completely as you whisper, "Now, let me take care of you."

I feel you guide yourself against me, the strap sliding along my wetness, teasing and deliberate. My body arches instinctively, my hands clutching at the sheets as soft, desperate sounds escape my lips. The ache inside me is overwhelming, and I can’t stop the quiet moans that rise as you take your time, coaxing every bit of need from me.

"So responsive," you murmur, your voice filled with quiet admiration as your hand cups my cheek. Your gaze meets mine, and the love and control I see there make me feel like I could cry from the intensity of it. "You’re perfect like this, baby. Completely mine."

When you finally push into me, it’s slow and deliberate, every inch a reminder of your ownership, of how fully I belong to you. I gasp softly, my back arching as my body adjusts, the fullness grounding me and pushing me further into surrender. You still for a moment, your hands steady on my hips, your presence calming and reassuring.

"You’re doing so well," you whisper, your voice gentle, like a balm. The kiss you press to my temple makes my chest ache with how much I love you. "You take me so perfectly, my love."

The rhythm you set is slow at first, teasing and deliberate, pulling soft gasps and quiet whimpers from my lips with every movement. Your hands grip my thighs, keeping me open for you, and I feel completely vulnerable, completely exposed—but safe, so utterly safe in your hands.

My chest rises and falls quickly, my breaths uneven as my body responds to you without hesitation. Every motion, every touch, every word you murmur feels like it’s unraveling me, drawing me closer to something I can’t quite name but trust you to lead me to.

"That’s it," you murmur, your voice low and steady, a grounding force in the haze. "Let go for me, baby. Let me take you where you need to go."

And I do. I let go of everything-every thought, every hesitation, every piece of myself that doesn't belong in this moment. My body moves with yours, my breath catching on every gasp, every moan that escapes me, and all I can feel, all I can be, is yours.

As the pace quickens, the room fills with the sound of us moving together, the rhythm of our bodies blending with the heat of your whispered praise. My head spins, my breath coming in shallow gasps as your voice cuts through the haze, grounding me, owning me. Your lips find mine, the kiss possessive and deep, stealing what little breath I have left. One hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place, while the other steadies me, keeping me anchored beneath you.

"You’re so good for me," you whisper against my lips, your voice low and full of intent. "So perfect. My good girl."

The words make my chest tighten, a flood of warmth rushing through me that only fuels the fire already consuming me. My moans spill out louder now, raw and unrestrained, mixing with the steady rhythm of your movements. I feel completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, and yet, I’ve never felt safer than I do in this moment, beneath you, yours.

Your hands slide up my body, your fingers brushing along the curve of my waist, the swell of my chest, before settling on my hips. The pressure of your grip is firm, commanding, keeping me exactly where you want me, holding me steady as you move with deliberate purpose. Every thrust feels like a claim, and my body arches instinctively, desperate to give you everything you ask for.

My head falls back against the pillows, exposing my throat to you, and the moment your lips press there, I shiver, gasping as your teeth graze just enough to leave a spark of sensation behind. Your breath is hot against my skin as you murmur, "I love you," and the tenderness in your voice makes my heart ache, even as my body burns for more. "You’re always so good. Always what I need."

Your words fill me completely, making me tremble with a mix of love and surrender. My hands reach for you, clutching at your back, your arms, anything I can hold onto to keep myself grounded as wave after wave of sensation crashes over me. My fingers curl into you, nails pressing into your skin, and I feel your body respond to my touch, your movements becoming even more deliberate.

Then your hand tilts my chin up, and my hazy eyes meet yours. The intensity in your gaze holds me captive, and the vulnerability you find in mine makes me feel like I might unravel entirely. My chest tightens with love, my body trembling as I try to keep my focus, to give you everything you’re asking for.

"Look at me," you command softly, your voice steady but laced with a quiet power I could never resist. "Don’t look away. I want to see you when you fall apart."

I nod, barely able to manage the motion, my lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. The only sound I can make is a sharp gasp when you adjust your angle, your movements suddenly hitting the perfect spot. My body arches involuntarily, a cry escaping my lips as the pleasure rushes through me.

"There it is," you murmur, your voice filled with satisfaction as your lips curve into a knowing smile. "That’s my girl. Take it for me. Let me see how good I can make you feel."

Your words push me closer to the edge, your touch guiding me, commanding me, as my body responds to you with complete surrender. I don’t think, I don't hold back-there's nothing but this moment, nothing but you. The way you look at me, the way you move, the way you call me yours-it all consumes me, pulling me under, until there's nothing left but the bliss of falling apart for you.

Your breath comes in short, uneven gasps, my hands clutching desperately at the sheets as you push me closer and closer to the edge. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending alive and attuned to you. I can’t stop the way my legs tremble around you, the way your name falls from my lips like a prayer, broken and pleading. "You’re so close, aren’t you, baby?" you ask, your voice low and filled with promise, and the sound sends a fresh wave of shivers through me. "Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart."

Your words tip me over the edge. With a shuddering gasp, I give in completely, letting myself unravel for you, my body and mind wholly yours in this moment. The release washes over me like a wave, overwhelming and all-encompassing, and the only thing grounding me is you. The way you hold me, the steadiness of your presence—it keeps me safe even as I fall apart.

My body tenses for a moment, every muscle tightening under the force of my climax, and then I melt beneath you, soft and trembling. My cries fill the air, raw and unrestrained, and I know you hear them, know they’re for you. You keep your hands steady on my hips, your movements slowing just enough to guide me through the waves of release, letting me ride them until there’s nothing left but quiet, blissful surrender.

"That’s it," you whisper, your lips brushing against my ear, your voice soft and full of love. "So beautiful. So perfect."

Your words make my chest ache in the best way, a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the heat of the moment and everything to do with the way you see me. The way you know me.

When you finally still, I’m trembling, my chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. My body feels soft, pliant, completely spent beneath you, but your touch keeps me grounded. You press gentle kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, and each one feels like a tether, pulling me back to you, back to safety.

"You did so well for me," you murmur, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. Your voice is tender, full of pride and affection, and the words make me feel like I’ve given you something meaningful, something precious. "I’m so proud of you, my love."

You pull out slowly, carefully, your movements so deliberate that even the slight loss feels gentle. I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes me, my body already missing the fullness of you, and my hands instinctively reach for you, needing to feel you close. You smile—a soft, knowing smile that makes me feel so deeply seen-and you gather me into your arms without hesitation.

The blanket comes around us as you settle back onto the bed, holding me against your chest, and I relax into you completely. My head rests on your shoulder, your steady heartbeat grounding me in the aftermath. Your fingers stroke through my hair in slow, soothing motions, your voice soft and reassuring as you murmur, "You're safe. You're mine. You've always been mine."

And I believe you. I always will. In your arms, I know I'm exactly where I belong.

[earthlybeam]

https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/769459260336881664/httpswwwtumblrcomearthlybeam7694011649975091?source=share

Hello. It's great.🥰💕 Is it possible for you to add more elves or characters to this request? (For example, other elves you wrote)

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Legolas, Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor, celeborn Versions are below. At the bottom of this post, I’ll leave link to of the last one featuring Mirkwood elves Feren, Meludir, Galion elros.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

Yandere/Dark Elf Legolas x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖧧 Legolas, with his keen elven senses and deep emotional connection to the world, would find himself utterly captivated by the presence of the fairy reader. To him, you’re not just beautiful—you’re ethereal, a creature of magic that even the most ancient songs of the elves could not capture. His obsession begins quietly, admiring you from afar, but it quickly becomes all-encompassing. Every moment he spends away from you is an eternity, and every word you speak to someone else stirs a jealousy in him that he cannot suppress.

𖧧 Legolas believes the world is far too dangerous for someone as delicate and magical as you. The shadows of Middle-earth, the wars, the greed of men—all of it threatens to tarnish the beauty of your existence. He uses this reasoning to keep you close, never allowing you to stray far from his sight. His words are sweet but laced with unyielding control “The world outside does not deserve your light, meleth nîn. Only I can ensure you are safe.”

𖧧 Isolation as a Form of Love He would gradually isolate you, not out of malice but because he truly believes he is the only one capable of understanding and appreciating you. He would take you deep into the heart of Mirkwood or another secluded haven, creating a sanctuary just for you. Every aspect of your surroundings would be tailored to your liking, but you would find yourself entirely dependent on him.

𖧧 Legolas’s control over you wouldn’t always be overt. He would gently guide your choices, framing his manipulation as concern. If you expressed a desire to explore the wider world, his face would fall, his voice soft and pleading “Do not leave me, my star. The world out there is cruel, and I cannot bear to lose you to it.”

𖧧 Fierce Jealousy if Anyone who dares approach you would feel the weight of Legolas’s jealousy. His calm, composed demeanor would shift into something darker when he feels his claim on you is threatened. His sharp eyes would narrow, and his words would become cold and cutting “You waste your time with others who cannot even begin to understand you. Return to me, where you belong.”

𖧧 Darker Displays of Affection In private, Legolas’s affection would border on suffocating. He would cradle you in his arms, his voice filled with a desperate intensity “You are mine, forever. No one else will ever love you as I do.” He would press fervent kisses to your face and neck, his grip on you firm, as if afraid you might vanish from his grasp.

𖧧 Legolas is deeply skilled at balancing his dark possessiveness with moments of overwhelming tenderness. He would bring you gifts—delicate flowers, shimmering stones, and other treasures he collects during his travels. He would present them to you with soft smiles, but his words would carry an undertone of need “I found this for you, meleth nîn. Do you see how I think of you always?”

𖧧 The Obsession with Your Magic As a fairy, your connection to nature and magic would fascinate and enthrall him. He would often sit silently, watching you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. If you use your magic, he would be in awe, but also possessive, feeling as though your abilities were something he must protect—something no one else should witness.

𖧧 Physical Possession as Legolas’s need to have you close manifests in physical ways. He insists on holding your hand whenever you walk together, his grip unyielding. He loves to touch your hair, often braiding it with flowers he’s picked, whispering how your beauty humbles him. However, his touch can sometimes feel almost desperate, as though he fears losing you if he lets go.

𖧧 Violent Tendencies Toward Threats Should anyone threaten or attempt to harm you, Legolas would shed all pretense of calm. His skill as a warrior would transform into something terrifying. He would eliminate the threat without hesitation, his piercing gaze and unrelenting precision a clear warning to anyone who might think of crossing him again.

𖧧 Emotional Manipulation If you ever challenge his possessiveness or express a desire for more freedom, Legolas would turn to emotional manipulation. His voice would break, his eyes filled with sorrow “Do you not see how deeply I love you? Everything I do is for you. Without you, I am nothing.”

𖧧 Legolas’s dark love for you is a mix of genuine adoration and an overpowering need for control. He cannot fathom a life without you, and his every action reflects this. Whether through tender gestures, whispered promises, or unyielding possession, he is determined to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

𖧧 Legolas would often speak of eternity, of how your souls are entwined and meant to be together forever. He would promise you that even after the world changes, even after the time of the elves has passed, his love for you would endure “You are my everything, meleth nîn. The stars will fade, the forests will wither, but my love for you will never die.” In his dark, yandere state, Legolas’s love is a consuming fire—intense, unwavering, and terrifying in its depth. Yet beneath the darkness, there remains a glimmer of the elf who simply wants to cherish and protect the one he loves most in the world.

𖧧 Legolas would be endlessly fascinated by your fairy wings, treating them as sacred and beautiful. He would spend hours marveling at their colors, texture, and delicate movement. He insists on helping you groom them, using the excuse that they are too precious to be left unattended. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his fingers lingering a little too long as he smooths out the edges or untangles strands caught in your feathers.

𖧧 While he is gentle with your wings, there’s a darker undertone to his care. He sees them as a symbol of your freedom, something he desires to bind to himself. He would often whisper, “These wings are too perfect for the cruel world—they should carry you only to me.”

𖧧 Legolas will often wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling your wings flush against his chest as if claiming them. His fingers would trace the base of your wings where they meet your back, a possessive gesture that sends shivers down your spine.

𖧧 In public, Legolas would be subtly protective but in private, his need for physical closeness becomes overwhelming. He always ensures he is touching you in some way—whether it’s holding your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, or resting his forehead against your shoulder while his arms cage you in.

𖧧 His kisses are deep and all-consuming. They leave no room for doubt about his feelings. His lips would trail from your mouth to your neck, always hovering near the curve of your shoulders where your wings start. He sees this area as uniquely yours and uniquely his to adore.

𖧧 If you’re seated together, he’ll pull you onto his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. If you protest or try to move, his grip tightens slightly. He murmurs, “I cannot let you go. Not now, not ever.”

𖧧 Legolas would weave delicate, intricate braids into your hair, often incorporating small feathers or leaves he finds in the forest, symbolizing his bond with you. These tokens of nature are his way of marking you as his.

𖧧 He insists on sleeping beside you, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand often rests on your wing or the small of your back, a silent reminder of his claim. He sleeps lightly, waking instantly if you shift or try to leave his side.

𖧧 Legolas is highly territorial. He reacts coldly to anyone who even glances at you too long. If another elf expresses admiration for your wings or your beauty, Legolas’s dark side flares. While his exterior remains calm, there’s a burning intensity in his gaze, and he ensures the offending elf is kept far from you.

𖧧 Legolas crafts a special space for you within the forests of Mirkwood, a sanctuary that only he can enter. While it’s beautiful and serene, it’s also a gilded cage. He insists it’s for your safety, whispering, “The world outside is cruel. Here, you’re protected… here, you’re mine.”

𖧧 He carefully watches your every movement, memorizing your habits and preferences. He uses this knowledge to anticipate your needs, always offering what you want before you ask. This might seem sweet at first, but over time, it becomes clear that he’s keeping meticulous control over every aspect of your life.

𖧧 He dislikes it when you interact with others, even your fellow fairies. If you must spend time away from him, he lingers nearby, watching from the shadow , ensuring no one gets too close.

𖧧 Legolas uses physical affection as both comfort and a reminder of his dominance. When you seem restless or distant, he pulls you into his embrace, holding you so tightly it’s almost suffocating. He murmurs sweet nothings in Sindarin, his voice low and soothing, “You belong with me, meleth nîn.”

𖧧 His love for your wings leads him to kiss them often, a possessive act that feels intimate and intense. He trails his lips along their edges, whispering how perfect and ethereal you are, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

𖧧 If you ever try to resist his advances or question his possessiveness, he becomes eerily calm. His voice softens, but his words carry a quiet menace: “You don’t understand, do you? I’m the only one who can truly protect you. The only one who loves you as you deserve.”

𖧧 Legolas sees you as fragile and delicate, despite your own strength. He insists on accompanying you everywhere, even if it’s just a short walk in the woods. He keeps his bow and quiver ready at all times, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threats.

𖧧 If you ever get hurt, no matter how minor, he becomes frantic. His hands shake as he tends to your wounds, his voice breaking as he whispers, “This world is too cruel for someone like you. I won’t let it harm you again.”

𖧧 Over time, his protectiveness becomes suffocating. He starts discouraging you from flying too far, insisting it’s dangerous. He grounds you in more ways than one, using his love as both a shield and a cage.

𖧧 Legolas constantly reminds you that his love for you is eternal. He sees your bond as something that transcends time and space. “We are bound, you and I,” he says, his voice filled with both tenderness and a chilling certainty. “Not even death could part us.”

𖧧 His gestures of love are both beautiful and overwhelming. He carves intricate wooden sculptures of your wings, sings hauntingly beautiful songs about your bond, and writes poems about your beauty. Yet all these acts carry an undertone of obsession—his love is a flame that consumes everything in its path.

𖧧 To Legolas, you are not just a companion or lover. You are his muse, his obsession, and the center of his world. And he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it means clipping your wings to ensure you never leave him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf elrohir x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✧ Elrohir’s fascination with you would begin innocently—his admiration for your ethereal beauty and magical presence would seem pure. However, this admiration would quickly turn obsessive. His deep love and admiration for your fairy-like grace would warp into an insatiable need to possess every aspect of you. Your laughter, your scent, the light in your eyes—all of it would become things he craves, things he believes should belong to him alone.

✧ Unyielding Protection As a dark version of himself, Elrohir’s protective nature would grow extreme. Any threat to you—real or imagined—would spark an immediate and merciless reaction. He would eliminate any potential danger with cold precision, ensuring no harm could ever reach you. To him, even his brother Elladan might seem like a rival or a threat, and his protective instincts would drive him to isolate you from everyone, including family.

✧ Elrohir would see the world as too dangerous for you, your delicate fairy nature too precious and fragile to be exposed to its harshness. He would insist on keeping you close at all times, often in places he deems “safe.” Whether it’s a hidden sanctuary deep in Rivendell or a secluded glade in the woods, these places would become your gilded cage, crafted by him to keep you away from anything he fears might hurt—or take—you away.

✧ Subtle Control Though his love is obsessive, Elrohir would initially cloak his control in kindness. He would subtly manipulate your choices, making you believe that staying close to him is what you truly want. But as his dark tendencies grow stronger, he would begin to exert more overt control, dictating what you wear, where you go, and who you see. He would justify this as “ensuring your happiness” or “protecting your freedom,” while in reality, he’s ensuring no one else can influence you but him.

✧ Elrohir’s jealousy would be as cold and sharp as a blade. If anyone even looked at you with admiration, he would see it as an affront to his claim on you. He wouldn’t lash out openly but would ensure the offender disappears—either banished from his presence or worse. To him, no one else has the right to so much as dream of you.

✧ Elrohir’s love would manifest in overwhelming gestures. He’d shower you with gifts—rare jewels, enchanted items, or delicately crafted things that reflect his adoration for you. But every gift would come with a possessive undertone, a reminder that these treasures are from him, and they symbolize your bond. He’d often remind you that no one else could offer you the love and devotion he does.

✧ Intense Physical Affection His physical affection would be intense and all-encompassing. He’d hold you tightly, almost as if he feared you might vanish if he loosened his grip. His kisses would be deep and consuming, laced with an almost desperate need to reaffirm his claim on you. These moments might feel romantic at first, but they’d quickly take on a suffocating edge, revealing his need to dominate every part of your heart and soul.

✧ Elrohir’s confessions of love would be both poetic and chilling. He’d speak of how you are the light in his otherwise dark world, the one being who gives him purpose. But there would be an undertone of obsession in his words, a belief that you are his alone. He might whisper things like, “You are my starlight, my sanctuary. Without you, I am nothing—and without me, you are lost.”

✧ Consequence of Defiance If you ever tried to resist his control or leave him, Elrohir’s dark side would fully emerge. His normally soft and composed demeanor would vanish, replaced by cold fury and unrelenting determination. He would make it clear that escape is not an option. “You belong to me,” he would say, his voice low and unyielding. “You cannot run from me, for I would find you no matter where you go.”

✧ The Line Between Love and Possession In his heart, Elrohir would truly believe that everything he does is for your sake. He would see his obsessive control and suffocating love as the ultimate expression of devotion. To him, your bond transcends choice or consent—it is fate, unbreakable and eternal. Even as his actions grow darker, he would justify them in the name of love, believing that no one else could ever love or protect you as he does.

✧ Private Intensity Behind closed doors, Elrohir’s affection would be overwhelming. He would pour all of his emotions into your shared moments, whether through whispered words of devotion or intense, consuming embraces. He would cherish every second with you, but his adoration would carry an edge of possessiveness that makes his love feel more like a binding vow than a gift.

✧ A Dangerous Protector While Elrohir’s dark love would often manifest in possessiveness, it would also make him an unrelenting protector. Any true threat to your safety would be met with swift and deadly action. He would not hesitate to strike down anyone who dared to harm or even approach you without his approval. His protective instincts, while born of love, would leave a trail of destruction in their wake.

✧ Elrohir would see your relationship as eternal, unbreakable by anything or anyone. He would frequently speak of “forever,” not as a promise but as a statement of fact. To him, you are his destiny, his one true love, and he would do anything to ensure that you remain by his side for all eternity—whether you want to or not.

✧ Elrohir's physical affection is intense and consuming, always leaving you feeling overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his devotion. He's drawn to your delicate, otherworldly form like a moth to a flame. Your wings-so fragile and luminescent-are his greatest fascination. He's obsessed with their beauty and the way they shimmer in the light, often running his fingers over the edges with a reverence that borders on obsession.

✧ Elrohir makes it his responsibility to care for your wings. He gently brushes them, ensuring they remain pristine and free from harm. If you're ever injured, he's the first to notice, tending to your wounds with a tenderness that contrasts with the dark possessiveness in his gaze. But his care comes at a price: he won't let anyone else even glance at your wings, seeing them as a part of you that belongs only to him.

✧ When Elrohir holds you, it's as if he's trying to fuse your soul with his. His arms wrap around you tightly, his hands tracing the curve of your back with a possessive touch. He's careful with your wings, always mindful not to damage them, but his grip on the rest of you is unyielding. To him, holding you this way is a reminder that you're his and no one else's.

✧ Elrohir worships you with every touch and gesture. He kneels before you, his hands cradling your face or resting on your wings as if you're a divine being sent to him alone. He often kisses the tips of your wings, murmuring words of devotion in Elvish as his lips graze the fragile edges. These moments are both tender and unnerving, as his love feels more like a claim than a gift.

✧ Elrohir insists on being close to you at all times, often resting his head against your shoulder or wrapping his arms around your waist while you sit together. His presence is inescapable, his hands always finding their way to your arms, your hair, or the base of your wings. He craves the warmth of your body, needing the physical connection to reassure himself that you're still his.

✧ Restrained Passion Though his love for you is fiery and consuming, Elrohir is careful when it comes to your wings. He knows how delicate they are and handles them with the utmost care, but this restraint only amplifies the intensity of his affection elsewhere. He kisses you deeply and possessively, his hands gripping your waist or shoulders as though he's trying to anchor you to him.

✧ In private, Elrohir's affection becomes even more overwhelming. He whispers sweet but dark words in your ear, his hands stroking your wings as he tells you how much he loves and needs you. He might say things like, "Your wings are the light of my existence, but it's your heart I crave the most. You were made for me, and I will never let you go."

✧ Elrohir is fiercely protective of you, especially your wings. He refuses to let anyone near you, even if their intentions are innocent. If anyone so much as brushes against your wings, his calm demeanor vanishes, replaced by cold, simmering fury. He'll do whatever it takes to ensure that no one else can touch what he sees as his alone.

✧ To keep you safe, Elrohir constructs a hidden sanctuary just for the two of you. This place is designed to accommodate your wings, with wide, open spaces for you to stretch them and soft perches where you can rest. Every detail is meticulously planned, but it's all done to keep you isolated, away from prying eyes and potential threats.

✧ Possessive Displays of Affection Elrohir loves to touch your wings in public, not just as an act of affection but as a way to assert his claim. He'll run his fingers along the edges or rest his hand on your back, just below your wings, letting everyone know that you're his. These gestures are subtle yet unmistakable, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that you belong to him.

✧ Dark Devotion His care for you borders on reverence, but it's tinged with a dark intensity that can be suffocating. Elrohir sees your wings as a symbol of your beauty and uniqueness, something that sets you apart and makes you his perfect match. He would go to any lengths to protect and preserve them, even if it means keeping you away from the world.

✧ Eternal Love and Possession Elrohir frequently speaks of your eternity together, his voice filled with both love and an unyielding determination. He believes your wings are a part of your soul, and by cherishing them, he's cherishing you.

"You are my starlight," he might say, tracing the edges of your wings with his fingers. "And I will guard this light until the end of time. You are mine, now and forever."

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf Elladan x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

⭒ Obsessive Love and Possessive Tendencies as Dark Elladan’s love for you is consuming and overwhelming, transforming him into a possessive guardian of your existence. He views you as a radiant, ethereal being whose light belongs solely to him. His obsession manifests in the way he watches over you, memorizing every detail about your life. From the tone of your voice to the way your wings shimmer in the moonlight, no aspect of you escapes his intense focus.

⭒ Elladan is convinced that the world is too dangerous for someone as delicate and otherworldly as you. He would use his charm and cunning to gradually isolate you, convincing you it’s for your safety. Whether it’s Orcs, Men, or even other Elves, he sees everyone as a potential threat to your purity. Rivendell becomes your gilded cage, a sanctuary where no one but Elladan and his chosen few can approach you.

⭒ Elladan’s playful, carefree nature from his lighter self twists into a more manipulative version. He decides what you eat, where you go, and who you speak to, all under the guise of ensuring your comfort and security. If you question his decisions, he brushes off your concerns with soothing words or sharp remarks about the dangers of the outside world.

⭒ Dark Playfulness with a Dangerous Edge While Elladan retains his mischievous streak, it becomes laced with a darker intent. He might tease you about how fragile you are or how easily someone else might try to steal you away, but there’s an underlying menace to his words. He enjoys watching you squirm under his possessive gaze, yet his affection never wanes—it only deepens, becoming almost suffocating.

⭒ Elladan’s affection is no longer the lighthearted smothering of his usual self. Now, every kiss, every embrace, feels like a declaration of ownership. He pulls you close, his grip firm, as though afraid you might vanish if he lets go. His kisses are deep and lingering, filled with a passion that borders on desperation. He whispers words like “Mine” and “You belong to me” against your skin, reaffirming his claim on you.

⭒ Jealousy and Ruthless Elimination of Rivals as Elladan is not one to tolerate any form of competition. If someone else dares to show interest in you or even gazes at you for too long, they become a target of his wrath. While his actions are subtle, they are devastating—an Orc ambush on the road, a sudden reassignment far from Rivendell. To Elladan, it’s not cruelty; it’s justice for anyone who dares to challenge his bond with you.

⭒ Calm but Dangerous When Upset If you defy him or try to escape his control, Elladan’s usual calm demeanor turns chilling. His voice drops to a quiet, menacing tone, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes it clear there’s no point in resisting him. “You think you can leave me?” he might say, his fingers brushing your cheek with deceptive gentleness. “You belong here. With me. Always.”

⭒ Elladan’s penchant for banter becomes darker and more pointed. He enjoys teasing you in a way that reminds you of how deeply tied to him you are. Comments like “Where would you go without me? The wilds would swallow you whole” or “Don’t you know I’m the only one who can truly keep you safe?” slip from his lips with a sly smile.

⭒ Elladan’s protectiveness borders on paranoia. He’s haunted by the memory of his mother, Celebrian, being taken and tormented. This trauma fuels his need to keep you close at all times, never letting you venture far without his supervision. Even a short walk alone becomes a battle of wills, with Elladan insisting it’s far too dangerous.

⭒ Tender Moments Turn Intense Though his love is dark and obsessive, Elladan is still capable of tender moments. When you are hurt or upset, he tends to you with a gentle touch, his concern genuine. However, his tenderness often takes a possessive turn as he uses your vulnerability to draw you closer to him. “See?” he murmurs as he bandages a wound. “You need me. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

⭒ Punishment as a Form of Devotion If you ever push too far—attempt to flee, reject his affection, or openly defy him—Elladan’s patience snaps. His punishments are never physical but emotional, isolating you further or withholding his usual warmth to make you regret your actions. He believes this is for your own good, a way to teach you that life without him is unbearable.

⭒ A Deep Fear of Losing You Beneath Elladan’s dark obsession lies a deep-rooted fear of losing you. The idea of you being taken from him, as his mother was, drives his every action. Even in his darkest moments, his love for you remains the foundation of his behavior—twisted, suffocating, and unyielding. “I would burn the world to keep you safe,” he tells you with a fervent gleam in his eyes. And you believe him.

⭒ Elladan’s need to be close to you can feel overwhelming. He insists on sleeping curled around you, his arms and legs tangled with yours while his hands rest protectively on your wings. Even when awake, he stays close enough that his presence feels inescapable, his touch constant and grounding, as if to remind you that you can’t leave him.

⭒ In his darkest moments, Elladan’s love takes on an almost sinister edge. As he strokes your wings, his voice drops to a quiet, unyielding tone: “I would destroy this world to keep you safe, my love. No one else will have you, not while I live. If you ever leave me…” His words trail off, but the weight of his promise lingers, heavy and chilling.

⭒ Elladan is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most beautiful and delicate part of you. They symbolize your ethereal nature and remind him of how different—and precious—you are compared to anyone else. He often reaches out to touch them, his fingers brushing gently against their fragile, shimmering surface, murmuring about how they’re a part of you no one else should dare to admire. He’ll make a habit of preening your wings himself, treating the act as an intimate ritual that only he is allowed to perform.

⭒ Elladan’s physical affection is overwhelming and constant, designed to remind you that you are his. He loves to pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His touch is firm yet reverent, as though he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. When he kisses you, it’s slow and consuming, as if he’s trying to pour all his love—and his claim—into every movement.

⭒ Your wings are delicate, and Elladan uses that as an excuse to carry you everywhere he deems too dangerous for you to tread on your own. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close as if shielding you from the world. “You don’t need to walk when I’m here,” he says softly, brushing his lips against your temple. He particularly enjoys moments where you rest your head against his chest, your wings fluttering faintly as you relax in his embrace.

⭒ Elladan makes tending to your wings his sacred duty. He carefully cleans and smooths them, ensuring they remain unblemished and perfect. These moments are deeply intimate, with Elladan whispering soft words of adoration as he works. “You are a vision of light,” he murmurs, his hands gentle yet possessive. If anyone else even suggests touching your wings, Elladan’s playful nature vanishes, replaced by a cold, territorial glare.

⭒ Elladan’s touch is ever-present, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he’s not holding onto you. Whether it’s a hand resting possessively on your waist, his fingers threading through your hair, or his arms encircling you from behind, Elladan ensures you’re always within his reach. He especially loves trailing his fingers along the edges of your wings, marveling at their beauty and fragility.

⭒ Elladan’s kisses are an extension of his obsession, a way for him to claim you over and over again. He often cups your face in his hands, pulling you into deep, lingering kisses that leave you breathless. When he’s feeling particularly possessive, he’ll press kisses along your neck, shoulders, and the base of your wings, whispering promises of devotion between each one.

⭒ Elladan is fiercely protective of your wings, treating any threat to them as a personal offense. If you’re in danger, he places himself between you and the threat, his sword drawn and his expression deadly. Afterward, he checks your wings meticulously, his hands trembling slightly as he ensures they’re unharmed. If they’re injured, even slightly, his rage is uncontrollable—he’ll hunt down whoever or whatever caused.

⭒ Elladan often uses his strength to keep you close, holding you in place when you try to pull away. If you’re upset or resisting his affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you tightly, murmuring soothing words in your ear. “Shhh, my star,” he whispers. “Don’t fight me. I only want to keep you safe.” His hold is firm but never painful, though the possessiveness behind it is undeniable.

⭒ When you’re frightened or upset, Elladan becomes uncharacteristically gentle, his dark obsession momentarily overshadowed by genuine care. He’ll guide you into his arms, wrapping you in his cloak to shield your wings from any chill. His hands stroke your back and wings with a tenderness that almost feels out of place, his voice soft as he whispers reassurances. “You have nothing to fear,” he says. “Not when I’m here to protect you.”

⭒ Elladan loves to leave subtle marks of his affection on you—not bruises or anything that would harm you, but small, lingering touches that remind you of him. He might braid small flowers into your hair and wings, saying they symbolize how he sees you: beautiful, delicate, and entirely his. He also loves to kiss the base of your wings, leaving the faintest sensation of his presence there.

⭒ When you’re resting, Elladan insists on holding you close, his body curled protectively around yours. Your wings are carefully tucked into his embrace, and he makes sure they’re free of any pressure or discomfort. He’ll murmur soft words of love and devotion as you drift off to sleep, his hand trailing along your back and wings in soothing strokes.

⭒ To Elladan, your wings are sacred, and he treats them as such. He often kneels behind you, tracing their delicate patterns with a mix of awe and possessiveness. “You are beyond anything I could have imagined,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both reverence and obsession. His worshipful treatment of your wings becomes another way for him to express his undying devotion.

⭒ Even in the midst of battle or danger, Elladan finds ways to express his love. If you’re injured, he becomes a whirlwind of deadly precision, cutting down anyone or anything that threatens you before turning his full attention to your wounds. He carefully tends to your wings, his hands steady despite the fury still burning in his eyes. “I’ll never let anything harm you again,” he vows, his voice low and fierce.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

📚𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf erestor x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✎ Erestor’s sharp mind, typically dedicated to strategy and problem-solving, becomes consumed by you. As a fairy, your ethereal nature fascinates him beyond reason. He memorizes your every movement, expression, and habit, cataloging them with the same meticulousness he applies to organizing Rivendell’s library. You become the centerpiece of his thoughts, an intricate puzzle he is determined to solve and possess entirely.

✎ Erestor views Rivendell—and the world beyond—as rife with threats to your delicate beauty and unique spirit. He takes it upon himself to “shield” you, using his influence and intelligence to ensure no one has the chance to get too close. He might subtly undermine relationships or tasks that demand your attention away from him, presenting his actions as logical solutions for your safety and well-being.

✎ Intellectual Manipulation With his dry wit and logical demeanor, Erestor has a way of twisting conversations to suit his ends. If you express a desire for freedom or independence, he’ll counter with rational arguments, using your own words and feelings against you. His tone remains calm and measured, but there’s an underlying intensity to his logic that leaves you questioning your own desires.

✎ Erestor doesn’t overtly forbid you from seeing others but instead orchestrates situations that make solitude—and his company—the more appealing option. He may invite you to the library for long discussions or leave thoughtful notes that demonstrate how deeply he understands you, creating a sense that no one else could possibly connect with you as he does.

✎ Erestor takes control of your surroundings with an almost imperceptible finesse. Your favorite books suddenly appear on your bedside table, your preferred flowers are always in bloom near your window, and your schedules mysteriously align with his. These gestures, though thoughtful, are calculated moves to keep you within his grasp.

✎ Erestor’s reserved nature makes his affection all the more intense when it manifests. His love comes in subtle, possessive gestures: a hand lingering on your shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours a moment too long, or a quiet murmur of your name laced with reverence. Each interaction feels like a promise that you are his and no one else’s.

✎ Dark Humor and Sarcasm When it comes to others who might admire you, Erestor’s dry sense of humor takes on a cutting edge. He might comment on their shortcomings in a way that seems lighthearted but carries a clear warning: they are beneath his notice and yours. His sarcasm becomes a weapon to belittle potential rivals without overt hostility.

✎ Relentless Devotion In private, Erestor’s love borders on suffocating. He insists on knowing your thoughts and feelings, claiming it’s to better understand you. He’ll whisper promises of eternal devotion, his voice a mix of tenderness and quiet intensity: “You are mine, in mind and spirit. No force in Arda could take you from me.”

✎ Anger as Ice, Not Fire When angered or jealous, Erestor doesn’t lash out. Instead, his rage is cold and calculated. He distances himself emotionally, withholding his usual warmth while quietly orchestrating events to punish those who crossed him—or you. His icy demeanor during these times is more unsettling than any outburst.

✎ Erestor expresses his affection through carefully chosen gifts that serve as reminders of his claim over you. A rare, beautifully bound book inscribed with a personal note; a necklace with a pendant shaped like a fairy’s wing; or even a secret alcove in the library filled with items he knows you’ll love. Each gift comes with a sense of unspoken ownership.

✎ Jealousy and Control Even the smallest perceived threat to his connection with you triggers his jealousy. If another Elf or being shows interest, Erestor intervenes with quiet but ruthless efficiency. He may ruin their reputation, reassign them elsewhere in Rivendell, or subtly manipulate circumstances to ensure they stay far away.

✎ Erestor is not one for spontaneous displays of love; every touch, kiss, or embrace is deliberate and meaningful. When he pulls you close, it’s with a firmness that leaves no doubt of his control. He may press you against a library wall, his calm exterior giving way to an undercurrent of hunger as he murmurs, “You are my greatest obsession.”

✎ Punishment through Silence If you defy or upset him, Erestor’s response is cold withdrawal. He won’t argue or raise his voice but will retreat into an icy silence that leaves you desperate for his attention. When he finally relents, it’s with a calculated show of forgiveness that reinforces his dominance: “I can’t stay angry with you, even when you test my patience.”

✎ A Prison Disguised as Paradise as Erestor creates an environment so tailored to your desires that it feels like a dream, but it’s also a cage. He ensures you’re surrounded by comfort and beauty, but every aspect of your life is subtly controlled by him. You may not notice the bars until it’s too late to escape.

✎ Unwavering Devotion to “Forever” as Erestor’s obsession transcends mortal limits. To him, your connection is eternal, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure you remain by his side. His whispers of love often carry a chilling finality: “We were meant to endure together, through all the ages of the world. There is no life for you without me.”

✎ Erestor is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most exquisite part of your being. He often finds excuses to examine them under the guise of “ensuring their safety.” His fingers, cool and deliberate, trace the veins of your wings with reverence, murmuring about their perfection. He is careful, almost tender, but the intensity in his gaze reveals the darker undercurrent of his obsession.

✎ Erestor insists on personally overseeing the care of your wings, providing rare balms and oils to maintain their ethereal glow. However, this “care” often feels suffocating, as he restricts your movements to ensure no harm befalls them. He subtly discourages you from flying, citing dangers that only he, in his wisdom, can foresee. Your wings become both a source of his adoration and a justification for his control.

✎ Erestor’s touches are firm and calculated, designed to leave no doubt that you belong to him. He often places a hand on your shoulder or waist in public, a silent declaration to others that you are under his protection. In private, his affection is more intense—his hands resting on your wings, holding you close as if anchoring you to him.

✎ Affection with a Hint of Dominance When Erestor kisses you, it’s never impulsive. Each kiss is a deliberate act, slow and consuming, as if he’s memorizing the taste of your lips. He often holds the base of your wings gently while he kisses you, a gesture that is both protective and possessive, reminding you of his unwavering control.

✎ Erestor’s acts of service are deeply personal and intimate. He meticulously prepares special resting cushions designed to accommodate your wings, ensuring they are never strained or damaged. He even crafts a private garden filled with soft, flowering vines that mimic the feeling of flight, but only he is allowed to accompany you there.

✎ Erestor often finds ways to draw attention to your wings, praising their beauty in his quiet, intense manner. He might compose poetry comparing their shimmer to the starlight, whispering it to you in the library. However, his admiration is always tinged with a darker possessiveness: “No one else could ever truly appreciate their splendor as I do.”

✎ Under the guise of concern, Erestor controls nearly every aspect of your care. He insists on inspecting your wings after any outing, running his hands over them to “check for damage” while subtly reinforcing your reliance on him. If you resist his care, his calm demeanor falters, replaced by a cold, commanding tone: “You do not understand the dangers, but I do. Trust me.”

✎ Erestor often wraps you in his arms, holding you against him in a way that presses your wings to his chest. These embraces are both comforting and confining, a reminder of his dominance. He murmurs soft, possessive words against your hair: “You are my light in this world. No one else will ever touch you as I do.”

✎ Delicate Worship of Her Wings At night, Erestor’s affection for your wings becomes almost ritualistic. He gently cleans and massages them with rare oils he procures from far-off lands, his touch lingering as he whispers about their beauty. His tone is reverent, but the intensity of his gaze betrays his darker longing to ensure that no one else could ever admire them as he does.

✎ Restrained Passion Though reserved by nature, Erestor’s affection for you occasionally breaks through in moments of unrestrained passion. He’ll press you against the shelves of the library or a quiet alcove, his hands cradling your wings as he kisses you deeply. His careful restraint keeps him from harming your wings, but the intensity of his touch leaves no doubt of his claim over you.

✎ Erestor uses your wings as a justification to limit your interactions with others. He insists that others wouldn’t understand the delicate care they require and that only he is capable of protecting them. If someone dares to compliment your wings, his mood shifts immediately, his sharp wit cutting them down with icy sarcasm.

✎ Erestor ensures you are surrounded by beauty and luxury, but everything is designed to keep you close. He creates a sanctuary where your wings are celebrated but also confined—a private library, a garden only you can access, all spaces where he is your sole companion.

✎ Possessive Words His declarations of love often focus on your wings as a symbol of your uniqueness. He whispers in your ear with a mix of reverence and obsession: “Your wings are a treasure, as are you. No one else could ever deserve their beauty—or yours.”

✎ Punishment through Neglect If you defy him, Erestor’s punishment is subtle but devastating. He withdraws his care, refusing to tend to your wings or offer his usual attentiveness. The absence of his affection leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed, a reminder of how deeply you rely on him. When he finally relents, his touch is more possessive than ever, a silent warning against future defiance.

✎ Erestor’s obsession with your wings reflects his belief that you are a creature meant to be cherished and protected—for eternity. He views his role in your life as sacred, and his dark devotion ensures that he will never allow you to leave his side. His voice is calm but unyielding as he vows “You are mine, for now and always. No one else will ever know your worth as I do.”

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf celeborn x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖣂 Celeborn’s deep love for you, the fairy, would become all-consuming, and in this dark version of himself, it would warp his noble traits. His initial admiration for your ethereal beauty would turn into an obsessive desire to keep you in his domain forever. Celeborn would obsess over every little detail about you—your mannerisms, your voice, the way you flutter through the trees in Lothlórien. Everything about you would be perfect in his eyes, and he’d believe that no one else should ever have the privilege of witnessing your magic.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protective instincts would evolve into controlling behavior. He would keep you close, always by his side, ensuring that no one, not even the wind, could harm you. His realm, Lothlórien, would become your gilded cage. He’d forbid you from leaving the borders of his kingdom, believing that the outside world is too dangerous for someone as delicate as you. Celeborn would justify his actions as love, as an attempt to keep you safe, though you would feel more and more like a prisoner.

𖣂 Manipulative Gentlemen Despite his controlling nature, Celeborn would maintain his composed, dignified manner when interacting with you. He’d charm you with his wisdom, acting as the perfect gentleman, but there’s a darkness lurking behind those kind eyes. His words would be sweet but subtly manipulative. He would speak of your shared future, of forever, constantly reaffirming that you belong to him, even as he limits your freedom.

𖣂 Benevolent Tyranny He would lavish you with gifts, but these gifts would be laced with control. He might present you with beautiful, rare flowers from Lothlórien, but they’d always be in bloom under his careful watch, never allowing anyone else to touch or admire them. His love would feel smothering at times, as every action would be done in the name of keeping you safe and happy, but always at the cost of your independence.

𖣂 Jealousy in Silence as Celeborn’s jealousy would not be expressed in fits of rage, but in subtle, quiet acts of dominance. If another male elf so much as looked at you, Celeborn would appear almost immediately, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder or at your waist. His gaze would be sharp, calculating, silently warning others to keep their distance. Any attempt to talk to you would be interrupted, either by him stepping in or by a sudden, seemingly accidental change in the environment—a leaf dropping, the wind shifting—enough to send a silent, threatening message.

𖣂 Silent Watcher Celeborn would always be nearby, watching you, but never letting you know how closely. When you think you’re alone, he would be hidden, his eyes never leaving you. He’d memorize your every movement, and no action would go unnoticed. He believes that this is his duty, to watch over you, ensuring no harm comes your way. But it would feel less like protection and more like an invasion of your privacy.

𖣂 Possessive Affection When Celeborn expresses his love for you, it would be overwhelming and possessive. His compliments would border on obsessive, telling you that you are his, that you are the only thing that matters in his world. He’d often speak of his undying affection, saying things like, “You are my heart, my only love. I would protect you from all things, even from the world itself.” His actions would match his words—each touch would be tender, but it would feel like he’s marking you as his, ensuring that no one else can claim you.

𖣂 Romantic in the Darkest Way as Celeborn’s romantic gestures would be grand, but dark. He might take you on a walk under the stars in the Golden Wood, but the entire time, he’d be watching you, making sure you don’t speak to anyone else. When you share a quiet moment, he might lean in close and whisper in your ear, “My love for you transcends time. Nothing, not even death, will tear us apart.” His love, though beautifully worded, would start to feel like a trap, binding you to him eternally.

𖣂 Celeborn, knowing the pain of losing loved ones throughout his long life, would project his loneliness onto you. He would convince himself that you are the one being who can fill the void in his heart, the one soul that can stand by him forever. He’d be willing to do anything to keep you at his side—no matter the cost to you. The idea of losing you would break him, and he’d go to great lengths to ensure that never happens.

𖣂 Rejection of Independence While Celeborn would still respect your autonomy in front of others, in private, he would chip away at your independence. He’d express his distaste for the world outside Lothlórien, painting it as dangerous and corrupt, convincing you that the only place you truly belong is with him. Slowly, he’d aim to reshape your entire identity, until you see yourself as part of him—inseparable, bound to his side for all eternity.

𖣂 Manipulating Your Affection Whenever you express affection for him, Celeborn would bask in it, but it would also feed his obsession. He would grow addicted to your love, becoming more desperate each time you return his feelings. He’d want more, wanting to feel the depth of your affection constantly, always ensuring that you are emotionally dependent on him. If you ever tried to pull away or express doubt, he would turn colder, his usually calm demeanor shifting to something more intense, his voice carrying an edge that would make you realize just how deeply he feels about you—his possession, his love, his everything.

𖣂 Celeborn’s loyalty to Lothlórien would extend to you, but in a way that traps you within its borders. He’d say, “Lothlórien is a safe haven, my love. A sanctuary where nothing can harm you, where you will never know pain or loss again.” But in truth, it would be his prison for you both, a gilded cage that he would never allow you to leave. The beauty of Lothlórien, its shimmering woods and tranquil waters, would mask the suffocating isolation that Celeborn would subject you to, all in the name of love. In this darker version of Celeborn, his feelings for you would run so deep that they twist into something darker and more possessive, wrapped in the guise of protection and eternal love.

𖣂 Celeborn’s touch would be both tender and intense, as if claiming you without words. His hands would gently stroke your wings, caressing the delicate membranes with reverence, though always with a possessive undertone. He’d often trace the intricate patterns on your wings, as if memorizing them, his fingers lingering a little too long, his gaze too intense. His touch would be careful yet possessive, making it clear that your wings—so unique and beautiful—are something he holds dear, and no one else should ever admire them the way he does.

𖣂 Shielding Your Wings As a fairy, your wings would be one of your most prized and vulnerable features. Celeborn’s protective instincts would kick into overdrive whenever he’s around you. He would make sure that your wings are shielded from harm, constantly positioning himself between you and potential dangers. In the privacy of Lothlórien, he’d insist on carrying you if you grow tired, gently lifting you in his arms so that your wings are never strained. He’d often delicately fold them around you, wrapping them in his own presence as a way to shelter you from the world outside.

𖣂 Jealousy Over Your Wings If anyone shows even the slightest interest in your wings, Celeborn’s protective nature would flare up. He’d subtly, but fiercely, position himself between you and the observer, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, the touch a silent warning. “Your wings are for me to admire, my love,” he might whisper softly in your ear, making it clear that he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else appreciating their beauty. His obsession with your wings would be all-consuming, as if they were his to care for, to treasure, and no one else’s.

𖣂 When Celeborn gives you affection, it’s always with a degree of control. He would press kisses along the base of your wings, his lips brushing gently against the delicate points where they meet your back. He’d admire the way your wings flutter when he does so, his eyes softening, but there’s always an air of ownership in the way he holds you, as if you’re his to cherish and protect, and no one else’s. While his kisses would be gentle, there’s an underlying tension—a constant reminder that you belong to him, even in these intimate moments.

𖣂 Celeborn, with his love for the natural beauty of the world, would take great care in grooming your wings. He might sit behind you, brushing through the feathers with a careful hand, making sure they stay pristine and perfect, taking a personal interest in your comfort. He’d insist that only he should touch your wings in such an intimate way, brushing away any debris or imperfections that could mar their beauty. The act of grooming would be both a sign of his affection and his control over you—after all, no one else could ever care for your wings the way he does.

𖣂 Soft, Protective Restraints When Celeborn feels a surge of possessiveness, especially in private, he might hold your wings still with an almost imperceptible, yet firm grip, as if reminding you that they are his responsibility, his to keep safe. His hands would run along your wings in a manner that feels both possessive and affectionate—keeping you in place, but always in the gentlest of ways. He would often murmur words of love and protection as he holds you, his voice warm yet intense, reinforcing his belief that your wings, like you, are something precious he must shield.

𖣂 Long, Enveloping Hugs as Celeborn’s affection would manifest in long, enveloping embraces where his arms wrap around you fully, pulling you close to him. His chest would press against your back, and his hands would hover over your wings, gently cupping them to protect them as you lean into him. The closeness would be comforting, but there’s an ever-present feeling of being held too tightly. His love for you, though tender, would never let you go, and every time you try to pull away, his grip would tighten, though not out of malice, but from a need to keep you within his reach.

𖣂 His Own Personal World Celeborn would try to create a world where it’s just you and him, isolated from the distractions of the outside world. He’d make sure to keep your wings safe by building you a secluded sanctuary deep within Lothlórien, a hidden grove where only he could find you. In this space, your wings would be free to stretch and flutter without fear, but always under his watchful eye. He would be there to greet you with soft touches, brushing his fingers against your wings as if marking them as his own. Here, you’d be surrounded by his love—and his control—where you’d feel the weight of both.

𖣂 Celeborn would regard your wings as the most precious part of you, seeing them as symbols of your beauty and grace. When he gives you gifts, they would often be things that reflect the ethereal quality of your wings—silk scarves, fine threads, or precious stones that he’d delicately place on your wings. The idea of you wearing these gifts would please him immensely, and when he sees you wearing something he’s given you, it would feel like an extension of his affection for you, even though it would reinforce the idea that you belong to him.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protection of your wings would be symbolic of his larger desire to control every aspect of your life. When you venture outside Lothlórien, he would go to great lengths to ensure that your wings are always shielded—whether it be with a veil of magic or simply by positioning himself next to you to prevent any accidental harm. His obsession would make him insist on carrying you when you need to fly, always making sure that you’re never out of his sight. He would claim that it’s for your own safety, but deep down, you would begin to feel that it’s just one more way he is tying you to him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

[yeahspider]

SWEET LIFE

A/n- this is so self indulgent. like seriously. maknae line x f. reader fluff yes plz! might get a hyung line version bc I like the concept (maybe if yall want it) but this is just a vibe so vibe with me. nsfw (weed mention) . enjoy and feel free to visit my inbox as I am taking requests. <3

Your apartment was a little crowded today. Considering it was everybody's off day. The boys decided to spend most of it at your place. Your apartment for them was a safe haven away from prying eyes and demanding schedules.

You didn't mind having them all over as you hated when you were alone. The noise they brought provided you a piece of comfort. After grueling rehearsals all week and your never-ending day job, this was a much-needed moment of peace.

“Someone take the scissors out of Jisung’s hand thank you very much!” you say as you prepare yourself for the task of taking down your braids. Your next appointment is in the upcoming week and you wanted to give your hair some time to breathe. With the length they're at, it was going to take a while. But of course, your boys are ever excited to help you out. Well most of them.

I feel like you’re scamming me babe.” says Seungmin as he grabs the scissors from Jisung. No one wanted to risk your wraith if he cut too high.

"I don't know what are you talking about Minnie I'd never scam you beloved," you say in your defense.

"yeah because five dollars is a completely reasonable nonscamming price," he says with a smile. Taking your braids gently out of the bonnet you had them in. Seungmin didn't want to pull on them if he could help it.

Jisung, now scissorless, took a seat beside you on the floor. Setting the blunt wraps on the coffee table in front of you. Preparing to roll for you and himself.

"I wish you would let me help more," he said with a pout on his face. You wanted to kiss it off him.

"you are helping sungie your presence is enough. It keeps me calm. Plus no one else rolls a blunt for me as good as you do." you comfort me as you kiss his now smiling lips. That seemed to satisfy him enough as he started the rolling process.

Felix came bounding into the living room from his napping spot in your room, flopping himself on the couch and picking up the remote to the TV. Channel surfing for something interesting to watch.

"Ugh, nothing is interesting to watch on TV. Felix complained while sliding down the couch to the floor as if he was melting in boredom.

"You could always just hook up the game and play Mario Kart or something. Go see if one of the boys wanna play with you," you suggested. Smiling at his antics as he crawled across the floor to give you a kiss. "You always have the best ideas, babe." He said as he practically skipped out of the room. Making your face flush at his praise. Just waving it off as Jisung teased you for your reaction.

A soft moan left your mouth as Seungmin got to the root of a braid. His hands gently unbraiding and giving your scalp a little rub to loosen up the tension. His hands felt so heavenly on your head after the rough week you had.

Felix took his time dragging a sleepy Jeongin into the room. It seems as if he found his gaming partner, although unwillingly. Going straight to the TV to set everything up, meanwhile, Jeongin sleepily made his way to you. Placing his head in your lap as he pulled himself closer to your stomach. You just laughed softly at his cat-like antics. Reminding you of a certain someone.

"Tell Felix to let me sleep." Jeongin groaned. His warm breath hits the exposed skin on your stomach. Hands hin his hair as you stroking softly.

"Now you know once Lix has his mind set on something there is no telling him anything." you comfort the boy.

"But I'm so tired and you're so warm and comfortable Don't make me go over there to that heathen."

Felix can get kind of crazy while gaming but before you could even suggest a solution the sunshine boy dragged the sleepy one out of your embrace. A groan erupts from the latter. There was no saving him now.

An object in front of your vision distracted you from the two gaming boys. It was the blunt Jisung rolled especially for you. To take the edge off a rough week. Encouraging you to take a hit he placed it right between your lips. Murmurung a "There you go. good girl." as you inhaled. Normally you would correct him for goodgirling you but today you didn't care. So you let him get away with it. Plus he could roll one hell of a blunt. And it was kind of hard to be cross with his hand on your thigh and Seungmin'd in your hair. In fact, you were quite content.

"Chan texted he and the hyungs should be home in a bit," Felix said from in front of the TV.

"Good, that's just enough time for Jisung to roll another one," you suggested. Tugging on the hem of his shirt. Maybe you were too high, because you really wanted him to take it off. Yeah, you were so high.

"Hey, I'm not rolling for those losers! I roll for you, and for you only! They have their own hands." Jisung protested as he offered it to Seungmin to which the younger declined, stating that he had to stay focused on your hair. Something about his statement made your heart swell. It's a nice feeling to be cared for.

Jisung then offered to blunt the other two in the room. They on the other hand accepted his offer. It was often he shared his blunts with anyone other than his girl. He said it was the gentlemen in him.

Time passed as you all waited for the older ones to get home. The more that passed the higher you got, and soon enough everyone in the room was higher than you originally intended to be. You could tell in the way everyone was lying to each other. Felix and Jeongin are a pile of limbs, their game long abandoned. Music is playing from the speakers as they whisper secrets to each other, giggling like school children while watching random videos on their phones. You were still seated between Seungmin's legs. His hands still dutifully unbraiding. Ever dedicated to his craft. But you could tell he was contact high as well. You could tell in the way he would kiss your head ever so often. A gentle reminder of his affection for you.

Jisung was sitting in your lap, playing with random parts of your body. Your face arms legs had all been prodded by him, not that it bothered you in the slightest. His touch left sparks all over you. You were having conversations about whatever came to mind. And finding comfort in one another. The atmosphere is warm and cozy. You wish every day could be like this.

[notyashiro128]

Depressed sick Megumi x reader ~

Fluff/ happy/ nsfw in the end

Megumi is currently unwell with a fever, and to make matters worse, he is also feeling depressed. This is likely due to the traumatic experiences he went through during his childhood, which have left him with a constant feeling of guilt and self-doubt. He believes that his parents left because he is a bad person, and this has made him feel very anxious. Your job here is to take care of your depressed boyfriend

As he sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, he couldn't help but feel miserable as he hoped for a message from you. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening caught his attention and his heart began to race. With a glimmer of hope in his eyes, he saw you walking towards him and his face lit up with a smile. He quickly stood up and rushed towards you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. He whispered softly in your ear, "Babe~" as he held you tightly, savoring the moment.

"how is my sweet boy doing?" You asked while hugging him back

As you called Megumi a sweet boy, his cheeks turned a shade of pink and he smiled softly. He leaned into the warm embrace and whispered, "I'm okay, love. Just feeling a bit down today. But it's nice to see you". His voice was soft and gentle, conveying a sense of vulnerability and trust. The hug seemed to be a comforting embrace for both of you.

"Felling down again?" you asked gently, You took off your jacket and hung it up, Megumi nodded slowly, "mm", his voice barely above a whisper he was sitting on the couch.

You went towards him "It's okay to be not okay and I am here if you want to talk about something bothering you" You sat next to him kiss him on his cheek "here I Got you medicine and your favourite candies"

"who needs medicine when I have you" he said softly as you blushed .

"Mmm here I'll change my clothes" and. As you said you changed into your pajamas

•••••••••••

Now you and Megumi are lying on the bed he Wraps his arms around you tightly and breathes in your scent, smiling softly "You always know how to cheer me up I love you"... Megumi sighs

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening as he takes in your presence "I know it's hard for me to express myself sometimes, but please believe me when I say that I love you more than anything in this world. You're my haven..."

"Awwww. Babe that's so sweet from Youu~" You hugged him

His voice softens and his eyes become misty " I know I haven't always been the best boyfriend, but you're all I have. I promise to work on myself and be better for you. You deserve someone who can make you happy every day. I just-" you interrupted him

"Please don't say that. You are already perfect for me just the way you are," you exclaimed. As you looked at him, you realized that you had fallen in love with him from the very first moment you laid eyes on him.

Tears form in his eyes as he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips "I can't imagine going through life without you by my side. Thank you for being there for me, even when I'm not always the best version of myself. "

""awwww shhh babe it's okay its okay" You hugged him, making sure to put his head on your chest. "You can cry as long as you want, babe. You're the best."

Feeling your warmth and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat, megumi's tears flow freely as he leans into the comforting embrace. He clings to you tightly, taking in the familiar scent of lavender that always seems to surround you.

Sobs into your chest, unable to control the flood of emotions that pour out. He clings to you tightly, seeking comfort and reassurance "I love you so much... You're all I have in this world."

"And I love you more" You put your hand behind his back and started to pat his back gently

Feeling your words wash over him, Megumi's sobs begin to subside. He lifts his head slightly, looking into your eyes filled with tears and love. He smiles weakly, his voice barely above a whisper "Thank you... for everything. You are the only one who understands me"

You kiss his forehead gently, your thumbs brushing away the tears that still cling to his cheeks. "It's okay, baby. I'm here for you," you whisper softly, your heart breaking at the pain etched on his face.

Megumi buries his face in your chest again, his body shaking slightly as he tries to calm down. He holds onto you tightly, feeling the warmth of your skin against his own. After a few moments, he slowly pulls away, wiping the remaining tears from his eye

"I'm sorry for making you worry like that," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... sometimes it all feels too much." He takes a deep breath and forces a small smile.

"babe no need to be sorry for real and I understand everything you feel," you said softly

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace as he feels your tears on his skin. He kisses the top of your head gently, his heart racing with love for you.

Megumi's heart swells with warmth. He holds you tightly, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. His hands roam over your body, pulling you closer as if trying to merge into one being.

"Baby I'm in love with you don't be sad please I wanna see your pretty smile. To be honest, I know that it's hard for you and I can see on your face it was rough but I wish I could do something for you cuz you deserve everything " you said

"I love you too, more than anything in this world. You're my everything." He whispers between kisses, his hands trailing down your back to gently squeeze your rear end before pulling you even closer.Feeling the warmth and love radiating from you,

Megumi couldn't help but smile softly. He held onto these moments tightly, trying to remember them when he felt down again

his hands gently caressing your cheeks. He whispers against your lips, " i wanna make love w you right now princess"

And done give me more requests of any Characters 🐢✨

[katuschka]

Scene Three – My Lover's Hands Are Travelers

My Lover Does All These Things

Series Masterpost Masterlist Taglist

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader (1st person narrative)

2.165 words

My lover is a traveler. He’s seen the world, he’s ventured far. Now when he’s home, his hands don’t rest. When he whispers ‘you are mine’ they like to travel down my spine.   My lover’s hands are travelers. When they travel, they tell stories of dreams that fill his heart. I find comfort in those stories everytime we part.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): tooth-rotting fluff, penetrative sex, oral sex (f!receiving), sweet, passionate and caring Jake, alcohol consumption, some hair pulling, otherwise nothing too crazy, as this should be a comfort read

As I was watching him sitting so peacefully in front of the fireplace, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was playing again, having abandoned the book he had previously read because he got some ideas again. And once again, he was turning them into sound waves that told stories about distant places he just came back from. Strumming and humming, playing and singing, while I listened and chopped onions and celery and carrots to feed my man.

And while his hands and mouth were on the mission to create yet another enchanting tune, I could tell his mind was residing somewhere else momentarily, his eyes gazing into the darkness outside the window. But I didn’t care, as my own mind was also wandering. The sun had already set and the warm glow from the fire and the kitchen lights transformed the room into a fairytale haven. Already cozy when we arrived during daylight, it was now a place I’d happily die in. I might as well be dead already, I thought to myself as I watched how the firelight created a red halo around his crouched form. It was otherworldly. Ethereal. The man was already both my heaven and hell. 

Jacob…a perfect name for both an angel and a demon. 

As if he just sensed what I was thinking, he turned around and smiled at me, and it almost sent me reeling. Jake’s side glances were definitely demonic. I smiled back sheepishly, thinking about all the devilish things he liked doing to me. 

I threw the veggies into the preheated pan as I let my mind travel back in time to the first fall we spent together. He still looked like a boy back then, making me fall for his bashful, toothy grin and indecent jokes. We clowned about in the fallen leaves and when I thought that I couldn’t laugh any more because my side already hurt quite terribly, he took my face gently in his hands and I suddenly stopped as my breath hitched. Back then, everytime our lips touched it felt like the first kiss. He played my heart like a drum. He never stopped, actually. 

I remember how he smelled of lavender soap and cotton, mixed with something that could only be described as a ‘young, virile male’. I remember how his lean biceps flexed when he was hovering above me, gazing right into my soul with his lips parted as if in awe. He was passionate, zealous, and a tad shy everytime I confessed how much he turned me on. We were infatuated, first ravenous and then blushing. Idiots in love. 

He was not that boy anymore. Over the years I watched him turn into a man that was no longer fazed by my demonstration of all the love I had for him. He was basking in it now, making me feel like a confident woman in return. We took this journey together, becoming who we are now, and my greatest wish is that we would grow old together, too. We would still be walking through the sea of fallen leaves, making them crunch beneath our feet or kicking them out of the way. It could be here, at home or wherever our fate would take us. I don’t care. 

But until then, I want to enjoy every minute of our time spent together with our current versions of ourselves. Right now I most enjoy sinking my teeth in his flesh when he pounds me into the mattress and his sweat drips down on my heated skin. 

Sometimes he’s gentle and patient. He cradles my love in his calloused hands tenderly, just like he cradles me in our bed when I had trouble falling asleep, wrapping his strong arms around me, keeping me warm. My Jake…

Such a pleasant feeling, when he buries his face in my hair and whispers that he loves me. My heart calms down and my overworked mind can finally rest. World’s troubles evaporate in the air permeated with the smell of his warm body. Sometimes I just drift off eventually, other times our kisses gradually get more heated, and we prolong the night by becoming one in the darkness until we’re both completely spent…

I closed my eyes, lost in the moment momentarily, before I stirred the fragrant roasted vegetables and added minced meat into the mix. 

I poured red wine over the sizzling meat in the stewpan, before I added some basil and oregano. The effect was immediate. The vapors filled my nostrils and made my stomach rumble. I refilled my glass too, and took a healthy gulp of the crimson liquid to chase the pleasantly dizzy feeling he sparked deep within me everytime he came back to me. Just like this time. He came back to me and my heart doubled in size once again, making it a bit hard to breathe. I was drunk in love. 

As I sipped my wine, I turned to watch him again, lost in the secret corners of my twisted mind, until his soft voice brought me from my reverie: “I think you should add water now, before you burn it.”

Cheeky bastard. But he was eight. Of course he was. 

He didn’t even stop plucking the strings when he berated me for my absent-mindedness. I did not see his face, but I swear I could hear him smiling. He knew…

I turned back to my task. I added tomatoes and water and stirred the mix again. 

The music suddenly stopped and I felt rather than heard his stealthy footsteps behind me. A slight shiver of anticipation ran through my body. It started somewhere between my shoulder blades and traveled down my spine, as well as through my limbs. Only he possesses the power to do that - to make me tremble with anticipation even before I can feel his physical presence on my skin. Even before he utters a single word. One look into his eyes turns my legs to jelly. Sometimes not even that. My lover approaches me like a cold wind, only to burn me with the torch he carries. I’m like a phoenix when he does that. Born again, and again, and again after hundreds of les petites morts. 

I played it cool. Seemingly focused on the task in front of me, I needed him to do more than that. He should try harder, to fight for his prize before he collects it. 

I took another sip of wine and stirred the stew when I felt his fingertips graze the skin under my right ear. He drew small patterns, simple ornaments, hieroglyphics with hidden messages. 

He does this pretty often, using his touch to tell me tales or to make me guess his momentary intentions. My body is yet another instrument, and he makes me sing about the things that haunt him. My body is like the plains of Nazca, gatekeeping the meaning that is created between the creator and the carrier. My skin is like a beach, where he writes stories in the sand at a low tide, only to be washed away and kept a secret later by the power of the Moon. Only the two of us know. And now he did it again. 

I love you.

I cherish you. 

I worship you. 

I need to fuck you…

As his fingers wandered lower and began their slow journey to the curve of my shoulder, he planted a soft kiss to the previously abandoned spot. I smiled softly. “Are you hungry?” I asked innocently. 

His fingers flexed and wrapped firmly around my forearms, as he hissed in my ear. “I’ve been starving.”

It was now time to let the bolognese simmer for a while. My Jake knew that very well. His approach was deliberate and well-timed. His palms slid down to my wrists. Yet another story. He let them travel to my hips and slid his fingers under the hem of my black sweatpants. Well, well, well, the plot thickened. My back collided with his bare chest as I reached behind me to grab a handful of his hair. He groaned when I pulled, and his teeth attacked my neck. Scratching, nibbling, biting. Oh, he was hungry, no doubt. Subconsciously, I reached for the pot lit to cover our future meal.

Turning me around, he pressed my back against the kitchen counter and pulled my pants down with one swift movement as he slid down on his knees in front of me. I stepped out of the bundle of fabric coiled around my ankles and he threw it aside before he stroked my calves.

“This,” he whispered as he kissed the skin below my navel…”is more delicious than ice cream.”

“And this…” He grabbed the underside of my left knee and lifted my leg, judging me to put my foot on his shoulder. “...this is when you scream.” He lunged forward and darted his tongue in between my fold without warning. He was right. I almost screamed. I dared to glance down to see him looking up at me intently, daring me to do what he loved so much. 

I did. Not to oblige, but because I wholeheartedly wanted to. He looked so sinful down there that it always ignited the wicked spark in me. I entangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him even closer to me. I watched as if in slow motion how his eyes rolled up.He turned to my willing servant, literally on his knees. He moaned and started lapping at me hungrily, and I dug my fingernails in the nape of his neck, making him groan again. It reverberated through my groin and sent shivers up my spine. 

He wasted no time, burying his face between my legs. I screamed again when his lips wrapped around my clit and he sucked it in, the tip of his tongue greeting the tip of my most precious spot gently. Jake knew how to ruin me. And he did it again, making the bubble deep inside my underbelly grow until he let it burst, lapping at me as if I was his personal fata morgana. 

I didn’t realize I was floating until I felt my feet hit the ground again and he stood up to kiss me, with my release still on his chin. So deliciously wicked! My fingers promptly set to work, unbuttoning his jeans as I helped him get free from the confines of the stiff denim. He turned me around again and entered me hastily. My walls were tight from the previous orgasm and it stung when he bottomed out. I didn’t mind. I needed that. I wanted that, as I both felt and heard him disintegrate behind me. 

I expected him to be rough, but instead he leaned on to me and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight as if he was afraid I’d run away the moment he’d release me. How silly. I wanted the same thing. I wanted to melt into him. And if I pulled out a handful of his hair in the process, so be it.

I felt the same energy coming from him. The same urge, the same hunger. But even though his thrusts were passionate and frantic, his hands spoke a different language. “Your tits,” he breathed out shakily. “In the whole world, there’s no mountain peak more magnificent than this.” He pinched my nipple demonstratively as he kept on moaning those words. 

“Your cunt…” he panted. “No valley, no deep crevice hidden within virgin lands, with…” It was a whimper now... “...with crystal clear streams can compare to this.” He almost wailed after he finally finished the sentence. My own mind was floating around, too. I tilted my head back, resting it on his shoulder as he rubbed his cheek against mine like a cat. I was no longer aware of my body. He reduced me to a bundle of nerves that responded to every single movement of his own flesh. It was only him and the feeling that he made me feel. 

And so I felt his hands sliding back to my hips… “No meadows lush enough…to…compare…to…this!”

I held onto the counter frantically as the second wave hit me. I could feel myself tightening around him as his movements kept me spasming. That was it for him. His steady rhythm faltered, replaced by a series of jerky thrusts. I could feel his hot breath between my shoulderblades and it made me shiver one more time. He grabbed my hair and spilled the remaining drops of his seed inside me with one last thrust. 

Our knees gave way and we slid on the floor in a much more relaxed embrace just when the timer beeped, telling me I should add passata and a final pinch of salt. 

We laughed shakily, still trying to catch our breath. 

This was not infatuation lust.

No.

This was love-driven desire. 

Hunger. 

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep   @takenbythemadness   @edgingthedarkness @jazzyfigz @lyndz2names @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @hollyco @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickittty @clownstarr @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @sanguinebats @gretasfallingsky @psychedelectable

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (6/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, incest obviously, smut, the angst, injection of a sleeping drug, violence, bad, bad things ]

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

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

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

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She had felt the closeness of his body all night: his arms locked her in his embrace every time she rolled over on the bed, with a murmur of satisfaction finding with her a new position in which he could snuggle into her.

Although he kept his hand on her bare buttock, desperately wanting to feel her skin, she did not perceive this touch as sexual per se: there was a need for physical affection in him that only another living, warm body could give.

He smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, mint gum and intense, masculine perfume. This combination dulled her and relaxed her making her fall asleep again immediately even when she woke up, his touch, his presence, their bodies entwined together soothed her.

She was sure that in the morning he would wake up horrified by everything that had happened, begging her to go to the pharmacy to get the pill that would prevent any unplanned pregnancy, the effects of their ill-considered excess.

He, however, took her again, more tenderly and slowly, making her feel so good, too good, because, after all, it should feel bad, it should be disgusting, it should hurt.

But it didn't.

She was too wet, he slid into her too easily, he was trying too hard to rub against the spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her, making her womanhood twitch with convulsions of sweet ecstasy.

She felt remorse for not standing up to him, for opening her thighs to him twice even though she had promised herself that it would never happen, that it was just her hideous deviation that she would keep to herself forever.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked when it was all over, and she froze, snapped out of her reverie.

"No." She muttered, knowing what he meant, what he was going to say.

She felt like vomiting at the thought.

He surprised her when his lips placed a warm, gentle kiss on her cheek.

"It's your body. But know that I'd like to be the father of your child. Someday. You decide when. If ever." He whispered in her ear and she froze completely, shocked.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Someday.

If ever.

How could he say something like that?

She felt a twinge of regret towards herself that something in his words brought her a strange relief.

He couldn't be her boyfriend, her husband, but he could be the father of her children.

"I…I don't know what I'll do yet. I need to think about it." She mumbled, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, not knowing what she was supposed to respond to his words.

She heard him swallow hard, as if something hurt him in what she said.

"Let me know when you've made your decision about...you know. Please." He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wanted to know what she was going to do.

Whether or not she would buy the pill in the pharmacy.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that even if she complied with his request, it wouldn't change anything.

"So that you won't answer me?" She asked in a shaky voice, hearing him lift himself on his arm at her words.

"I'll. I swear I'll. Hey. Hey, look at me." He said, but she didn't believe him, because she knew he would hurt her again.

They were destined to do so.

It was just a pleasant dream, nothing more.

"I mean it. I swear. I…" He didn't get to finish because they both flinched and pulled away from each other, terrified when they heard a loud banging on her door.

"Open up." Daemon called out and they both stood up as if burned, dressing quickly.

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

"Go to the toilet." She whispered to him, running quickly to the door herself when she heard him lock himself in the room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

She swallowed loudly, trying to control her panic and opened it, looking at her step-father with big eyes. She opened her mouth, but he spoke up first.

"Get changed, we're leaving immediately." He said dryly, looking her over from top to bottom, his brow furrowed.

Did she overlook something?

Could he see what she had just done?

"But why so sudden? I'd like to have breakfast. Has something happened?" She muttered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Viserys is dead." He said, and she froze, feeling her heart stuck in her throat.

With a remnant of her strong will she held herself up from looking behind her, towards the toilet.

God, he'd definitely heard that.

"– what? – but –"

"They called the ambulance, Alicent found him dead in his bed. Who was banging on your door last night?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

She couldn't lie, she had to think of something.

"Aemond. We talked about the past." She whispered, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to leave it alone.

"Is he here?" He asked coldly, stepping inside, looking around the room. His step headed towards the toilet, and she stood in his way.

"Y-yes. He was drunk and fell asleep on the floor. You scared me, we didn't know what to do." She muttered, feeling burning tears of shame and horror under her eyelids, the fear that squeezed her lungs made her breathe with difficulty.

One more time, just this one more time let me lie, she thought.

Please, this one more time.

"Get out of there. Now." He directed his words towards the door, which opened a moment later.

Her uncle came out of there pale, trembling all over, though she had no idea whether from fear or because of what he had heard.

"Go to your mother. She needs you now. Your older brother is completely drunk." Her step-father said, and her uncle passed them without a word and left, not even bestowing a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, clenching her thighs together, feeling his semen begin to flow down her leg.

She took a deep breath, trying not to burst into sobs and to keep up appearances that nothing had happened.

When Daemon's hand touched her head and pulled her to him, making her hit his chest, when his arms closed her in a secure embrace, she burst out into a loud, miserable cry.

She was pathetic, she was dirty, she was worthless, a simple whore, a vessel for his seed.

He did what he wanted with her, and she allowed him to.

"We'll go to the pharmacy. We'll sort it out. Don't worry." He said, and she felt both gratitude and horror at his words.

We'll sort it out.

He knew.

Her distraught mother went with Alicent and her siblings, and she, Daemon and her brothers were to return home together. On her way out of the building she spotted her uncle smoking a cigarette, his gaze blank and absent, directed somewhere in the distance.

He heard their footsteps and turned, meeting her gaze – the way he lowered his head in shame, looking away made her feel tears under her eyelids.

Of course it had ended like that.

It was just a dream, nothing more.

"We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way. Your sister is feeling unwell." Communicated Daemon as they set off, driving out of the car park.

She looked at her uncle again through the window and saw that he was looking at her, his eyebrows arched in pain, his lips parted, as if he regretted letting her go without saying goodbye.

She swallowed hard, resting her forehead against the glass, unable to focus on Jace's or Luke's questions, fearing what would now happen to their grandfather's business.

That's what everyone was wondering now, she thought.

As they drove down to the shopping arcade near their house, Daemon stopped in the parking lot and looked at her over his shoulder.

"Are you going to manage on your own or should I come with you?" He asked, and she felt her heart squeeze with pain.

She was afraid.

"Can you come with me?" She muttered, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her cheeks. Jace touched her shoulder, terrified.

"Do you feel that bad? Did you poison yourself with something?" He asked and she nodded, looking straight into her step-father's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I poisoned myself with something very badly."

The experience of walking into a pharmacy with her step-father to buy a morning-after pill was one of the strangest and most uncomfortable things she had experienced in her life.

The lady pharmacist looked at Daemon grimly, as if she assumed he was responsible for all the fuss, putting her into a state of utter embarrassment.

Even though she tried to stand up to him, Daemon paid up and told her to hide the pack in her backpack as soon as they walked out of there.

"Read the leaflet carefully. Do everything as it says."

"I know." She muttered, for some reason bursting out crying again, wiping her reddened cheeks with her hand, trying not to think about the curious stares of other people around them.

"Everything has consequences. It will be fine. Don't worry. I won't say anything to your mother." He said, and she nodded.

It was the right thing to do, the logical thing to do, the safe thing to do.

This was the right thing to do.

When they got home, she went upstairs to her room and locked herself in, saying she wanted to take a shower. Daemon and her brothers were waiting for a call from her mother, and her stepsisters were in classes, so she had apparent peace and quiet.

For now.

She sat down on her bed and pulled a small packet with one pill inside from her backpack. She unrolled the leaflet and started to read, but couldn't concentrate.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Why did he say that?

Did he want to have a clear conscience?

She swallowed hard, burying her face in her hands, not understanding why she had doubts.

After all, she was so young, still going to university. How would she explain her pregnancy? What would she tell her mother? That it was casual unprotected sex with a stranger, that she could have taken the morning-after pill but was an idiot?

She wanted to call him, to talk to him, but immediately afterwards she thought that he would tell her anything so that he himself would not feel remorse, the end result being that she would be left with a swollen belly, grief and humiliation alone.

She pressed her lips together and took the tablet out of the packet, grabbing for the bottle of water standing on her bedside table and hesitated, wanting to put it into her mouth.

Yes.

No.

I don't want to.

But it's the right thing to do.

I don't want to.

But I can't do it alone.

I don't want to.

I could love this child.

I have always wanted to be a mother.

I'm scared.

No one will understand.

I don't want to.

She closed her eyes, stood up, went into her bathroom and threw the pill into the toilet, flushing it down, letting it flow along with her certainty that what she had done would have no consequences.

It will be what is meant to be, she thought, sitting down with no strength on the cold tiles, feeling an emptiness in her heart.

When Daemon asked her if she had done the right thing she said yes.

She wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he stroked her head anyway before walking out and leaving her alone.

By the time their mother got home it was late in the evening: from what she had managed to overhear it appeared that Viserys was really dead, that he had died in his sleep, that he had not suffered and that she was to go to the notary in two days' time to hear his last will.

That was what everyone was worried about.

What share of the estate would go to whom.

She shuddered, feeling the vibration of her phone in her hand, and froze when she looked at the display.

Aemond.

He was calling her.

She swallowed hard, locking herself immediately in her room, panicked, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She answered the call and put the phone to her ear, hearing a noise on the other end, as if someone was driving a car.

"Yes?"

She heard him grunt, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

"How are you?"

What kind of question was that?

What was she supposed to answer that?

It was great sex, uncle, maybe we'll be parents soon?

"I don't know." She said, walking closer to the window, not wanting anyone in the corridor to hear that she was on the phone.

She heard him swallow hard, feeling involuntarily how difficult it was for him.

Why was she making excuses for him so easily?

"Did you…go to the pharmacy?" He asked finally.

"Yes."

"And?"

"No."

There was silence on the other side for a moment.

"No, what?"

"I wasn't able to do it. I don't expect anything from you." She said in a trembling voice. "I'll manage on my own. If it turns out that…"

She didn't finish, preferring not to say it out loud.

She heard the sound of the key turning on the other side and the silence indicating that he had turned off the engine.

"I want this. If it's going to happen. I want to be a part of it."

"It sounds right only in your head."

"No. I mean it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to tell him first that she didn't need his pity, but reminded herself after a moment that this was the day his father had died.

She sighed quietly, looking out the window at the courtyard of her house.

"And you? How do you feel? With everything that's happened."

"Depends on what you ask." He replied, but his tone of voice changed, becoming cool again.

"About your father."

"We knew he was seriously ill. That this was probably his last birthday."

They were quiet for a moment, however there was something warm in that silence, some kind of understanding and comfort.

"You said you didn't regret it." He said finally, and she drew in a loud breath at the memory of what they had done.

She didn't know what she was supposed to answer.

She was sad, bitter, disappointed, but did she regret it?

No.

"I still think so. But I didn't get my hopes up about anything, if that's what you're aiming for. Daemon won't tell anyone about this. He won't…"

"Why was it so right?"

She froze, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at his question.

"Since it was wrong. So fucking wrong." He continued, as if his darkest, most disturbing thoughts were pouring out of him. "Then why it was so pleasant?"

"The forbidden fruit tempts most." She whispered.

She heard him swallow loudly, drawing in air deeply, as if something in her words pained him.

"Is that what it was for you?"

"I don't know. And for you?" She asked angrily, not understanding what he wanted to hear from her after so many years of silence, after he had come to her room in the middle of the night without a word of explanation and fucked her like there was going to be no tomorrow.

"I wanted…nevermind." He hissed.

"No. Say it." She demanded, hearing him twist in his seat.

"For eight years you pretended I didn't exist, I deserve this." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat so strong that she ran out of breath.

Don't hang up, please don't hang up.

"I want to try." He said at last, so quietly and uncertainly that she barely heard him.

"I don't understand."

"I would like to study archaeology. You wrote me that if I asked you to, you would help me get into university." He mumbled like a small, embarrassed child, startling her completely.

What?

"I…well, but…there are only two months left to submit the documents. What day is today? Thursday. Are you thinking about full-time or part-time studies?" She asked, walking over to her calendar, trying to count in her head how much time they had.

God, there was a desire in him to change something.

She knew that if she discouraged him, she might soon find out that someone had shot him in the head.

"Only part-time classes are an option." He replied finally. "Is it manageable? Do they have any…requirements?"

"Passed final exams in high school, preferably in history or a language." She explained. "There are also entrance exams, but they are not difficult."

"I had the best result in the history final exam in the whole class." He muttered and she nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"Good. That's very good, Aemond. It can be done. If you want, come to my University tomorrow, we can talk to my professor about whether a personal teaching plan would come into play if you got in."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, for students who are working at the same time."

"Really?" He asked, a note of hope in his voice that made her heart clench.

"Yes. Text me when you can be there, the professor has class until 3 p.m. Okay?"

"Okay."

"See you tomorrow." She said and hung up, looking at her phone screen in disbelief.

She didn't know why she jumped up and down with happiness, why she believed that things would change, that she would really get him back.

She wanted so badly to know that there was still hope for both of them.

Throughout the next day she feared he would give up and not come.

She thought with horror that he was, after all, a complete stranger to her.

What did she know about him?

Despite her doubts, he finally wrote to her.

How did he know where he was supposed to arrive?

She figured he might have looked it up on the internet and went out to meet him, intending to pick him up from the car park. When she saw his car pull into the driveway she approached him, keeping a safe distance. He got out of the car and automatically reached into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes.

"There's no smoking allowed on University premises." She said.

He lowered his hand in a gesture of impatience, furrowing his brow.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Let's go. We'll find my professor in the teachers' common room, he's just having a break between lectures." She said, and he moved behind her, looking around at the walls of the large, brick, old building from the 19th century.

"Does he know I'm coming?" He asked uncertainly, clearly tense.

People passing him looked at his face, at his scar.

She felt uncomfortable with the thought, angry for some reason that he couldn't just walk down the corridor in peace.

Was it always like this?

In the shop, in the office, in the restaurant, at school?

Everyone looking at him.

"Yes."

When they got there she knocked on the right door. Her professor, Mr Addams, was a hearty, grey-haired, rather short man with big glasses and a short, elegantly trimmed beard. He was a man of great passion and they immediately found a common language through which he began to take her on his private excavations as a help.

In this way, she managed to collect any savings of her own.

"Professor. This is my friend I mentioned to you." She said, glancing over her shoulder, her uncle's face pale and terrified, his healthy eye wide open.

Good God.

Her professor held out his hand to him, and to her relief he showed any social reflexes and shook it.

"My pleasure. Miss Strong spoke of you in all superlatives. Please, let's go to my office." He said, moving briskly down the corridor with a bundle of keys in his hand, and they moved to follow him.

Mr Addams opened the door to the room and invited them inside into a small study with a high window, all lined with wooden panelled walls, an oak bookcases filled to the brim with books, a desk and several chairs all around it.

The professor sat behind the table, sighing heavily, indicating their seats on the opposite side.

"I'm listening." He said, and she looked at her uncle. He gave her a horrified look, convinced apparently that she would do everything for him.

"So. My friend didn't have the opportunity to study because of his job. I was wondering if there would be the possibility of personal teaching plan or part-time study in that case." She said finally. The man raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin.

"Classes can be studied in part-time, but you have to do a lot of practice hours on excavations, as you know, Miss Strong. They are obligatory." He said.

"Yes, but my friend works at night. He could take part in them during the day. Right?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle grunted, tense, not knowing where to look, his fingers clenched into fists.

His face then when Jace took his boxers from him, his loud sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he stood up to his waist in water.

"Yes. Yes, that would be possible." He replied lowly, trailing his fingers along the armrest.

The professor nodded.

"Well, if that's the case, then please prepare yourself for the exams. Then we'll see what comes of it." He said and rose, nodding at them.

"Is that it?" Her uncle muttered, looking at her with big eyes, as if he expected to be questioned for hours by this man.

"Yes." She replied. "Thank you, Professor."

When they went outside and said goodbye to Mr Addams they stood in awkward silence, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"If you'd like, I'll wait and drive you home." He offered, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, pretending to read something interesting on a poster hanging on the wall.

"No need. Mum will pick me up." She replied.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and grinned under his breath.

"They pick you up and drop you off like a little girl?" He sneered, making her feel an unpleasant sting in her heart.

"Ever since someone put a rape pill into my drink, yes."

His expression changed, filled with sudden shame and discomfort. He grunted and scratched his chin, embarrassed.

"Do you know who did this? I can take care of it. For your comfort." He added, as if to make amends to her for his ill-considered words.

"Larys Strong." She said, and he looked at her shocked as if he didn't believe she had said that.

"What?"

"I already told you. He was telling me about my father."

"But it wasn't him who put it into your drink, it was one of his people, right?"

"He asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no. Then he ordered water for me. I took a few sips from it and struggled to get to the bathroom."

Her uncle stared at her wide-eyed, breathing loudly through his nose, his lips pressed together in a way from which she felt fear and a cold sweat on her back.

"Son of a bitch." He hissed, running his hand over his face, turning his head away, clearly thinking of something she didn't like.

"Don't interfere. Go home." She said impatiently. He looked at her, surprised.

"And when are you going to teach me?" He muttered.

"What?"

"For the exams. I need you to help me. How do I reconcile what I have to do at night with studying if I don't know where to start?" He asked, and she sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I'll pass you the study books somehow." She said finally, giving in, recognising that she had no choice, that whether she wanted to or not, she had to help him get out of this life that was destroying him every day.

She didn't want him to die.

He stood over her and stared at her, his warm breath enveloping the top of her head.

"Can I touch your hand?"

She lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes, one blank, staring dully ahead, the other red with emotion, his full lips parted involuntarily in an accelerated breath.

She held out her hand towards him, and he took his from the pocket of his trousers, grasping her little fingers in his.

There was something frighteningly natural about the way they intertwined, how perfectly they fit together, how right they looked in a tender embrace.

"Walk me out."

And off they went together, walking down the University's sidewalks, holding hands as if they were a couple.

There was something childlike and naïve about it, about how tightly their fingers clasped together, how close the embrace was, how much they needed proof that nothing was over between them.

She thought it was a pathetic attempt to reclaim their lost childhood.

She let go of his hand as they stopped at his car and watched as he got in without a word, only to drive away a moment later without even bestowing a single glance on her.

She spent the rest of the day during class unable to focus on what she was hearing, pondering how she was going to fool Daemon and her mother into thinking she was spending time with someone else while she was actually helping him study.

She concluded, when she saw her stepfather's face behind the wheel and not her mother's, that it might be worth it to just stop lying.

When she got into the passenger side of the car and Daemon set off, she began to speak at once.

"I'm helping Aemond get into University."

Daemon snorted at her words, surprised, frustrated and intrigued all at the same time. She clamped her hands on the fabric of the backpack lying on her lap, dreading his answer.

"Interesting."

Is that all?

"I want to help him prepare for his exams. He has very little time."

"No."

She swallowed hard hearing him say the word coldly and confidently.

"Why?"

Daemon switched on his indicator and turned at the crossroads even though he should have been driving straight, leaving her stunned.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" She muttered, feeling her heart start to pound like crazy with terror.

"You'll see."

They stopped in one of the busiest streets in the city: her stepfather had told her to get off, so she did, moving a moment later right behind him towards one of the pubs.

"Not open yet, mate." Said a tall, stocky man in a black suit stopping him with his hand.

"For me it is. Mate." He scoffed.

The man wanted to say something, but someone from downstairs called out to let them in.

A woman.

They went down the stairs inside: apart from them and the bartender, who was mopping the floor, a beautiful black-haired woman was sitting at one of the tables, bent over a laptop. Seeing her stepfather she stood up and approached them with a smile that was both seductive and disturbing.

Her eyes were unnaturally green.

"Well, well. Fucking Alys Rivers. The world is small." Daemon said and shook her hand in a gesture as if they had once been partners.

"What brings you here?" She asked softly, directing the gaze of her bright eyes at her, her voice melodious and deep.

The woman examined her figure from top to bottom, as if she had just been looking at something tasty.

"I came to show my step-daughter the brutality of life." He explained, glancing at her over his shoulder with some kind of pride, as if he was just about to teach his son some very manly and important things.

Alys Rivers cocked her head at his words, glancing at her with a look that frightened her.

As if she had heard of her before.

"Oh. I see. Well, I won't disturb you. It was good to see you. Give my regards to your wife." She said and returned to her seat, clicking something on her laptop again.

Daemon moved forward and sat a table at the other end of the room. She sat next to him, tense, and after a moment a man came out of the back room who had not noticed them, walking straight towards the black-haired woman.

It was only when she saw his face that she understood why her stepfather had taken her there.

He had three long scars on the left side of his face.

The man only noticed them when the woman pointed her finger at them. He nodded at them and Daemon reciprocated the gesture, looking at her.

"Guess who left him such a beautiful reminder."

On the way back home, she was silent, because that was also the state of her mind: it was empty. No thought, no feeling, no sound or word flowed through her: images from outside the window flashed before her eyes, as if she were watching a film.

A passive observer of someone else's life.

"Robert wasn't the only one. There are seven others. Most recently Tyland. They were in arrears, and Otto is very much on his word. I worked for him, just like your one-eyed uncle." He said, and she looked at him shocked.

"What?" She muttered.

"I slammed them with a baseball bat until they looked like a red tomato. They had all their facial bones broken. They looked like completely different people afterwards." He said, and she lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort, horror, disbelief.

She rarely thought about what they did to people who didn't pay them on time because she knew that if she started doing it, she wouldn't get a single peaceful night again.

"Your uncle is now his dog. The faithful hound he has raised for himself for eight years. Even if some part of him would like to run away, he knows he cannot bite the hand that feeds him. A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise."

"Don't speak about him like that. As if he wasn't human." She exclaimed in pain, looking at him in disbelief. Daemon shook his head.

"You don't understand. He's brainwashed. He's trapped in his big cage and he thinks he's free. But as soon as he tries to take a step too far, Otto will react and you'll get the message from him that he's not going to university and he'll never see you again. If it was just about fucking, I'd be able to understand it. I also did… reckless things when I was your age, but you get involved, naively mistaking his euphoria at meeting you after eight years for affection that could change anything."

Each successive word from him was like needles that, one by one, drove into her heart, a bucket of cold water that made her begin to quiver, red with shame, sadness and regret.

Some part of her knew he was right.

She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the face of a man with three scars.

He had done this to him.

How could the hands that touched her so tenderly, so softly, do such a thing?

A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise.

She knew that the comparison her step-father used was cruel and derogatory, but she understood in a way what he was warning her about.

Her uncle was lonely and manipulated by his grandfather, full of complexes and insecurities that made him cling to what was safe and familiar, which if there was too much risk would cause him to withdraw.

She realised that he would never choose her.

What happened between them was pure coincidence, the result of their collision in a place and time beyond their control.

A desperate attempt to connect again.

She spent the rest of the day in the garden, watering the flowers and weeding around them, trying to calm and soothe herself. The sight of them, those beautiful, vibrant colours of their petals gave her pleasure, comfort in a state where she felt she would never experience any other joys in her life again.

The next day her mother and Daemon went to the notary to hear her grandfather's last will. Everyone was tense and sullen from the morning, knowing what it meant.

A war of influence was looming over what Viserys had left behind, pubs, clubs, businesses, more than half of their entire family's source of income.

Jace and Luke were restless, looking out of the windows once in a while, talking loudly about the fact that whatever their mother was getting, Otto would surely want to take from them by force, and they would never agree to that.

"Stop it." She muttered, sighing heavily. Baela, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand in hers, sensing her uncertainty.

"They're coming back!" Jace called out as he ran out into the driveway and they followed him, looking with big eyes at Daemon's and his security guards' cars.

Her stepfather stepped out of the car with a broad smile as if he was the winner of some world championship, however, her mother was pale and her face expressed horror.

"Everything. Viserys bequeathed everything to your mother in his will." He said spreading his hands as if he had received a blessing from God himself.

Jace and Luke ran up to him and hugged him as if it was the best day of their lives, but she and her step-sisters felt exactly the same as her mother.

Terror.

Everything.

Her uncles, her aunt, his second wife got nothing.

"How can this be?" She mumbled, shaking her head.

"He left them some big estates by the sea and in the city. I don't give a shit. Tonight we're celebrating, my dears, we're having a banquet!" Daemon exclaimed as he walked into their house, but she approached her mother, who was barely on her feet.

"Mom?" She muttered.

Rhaenyra looked at her and shook her head, following her husband into the house.

She knew what she was thinking about.

Otto will never leave it like this.

"Each of you will have a bodyguard assigned to you from today. We are reinforcing the security of our home, each of us can now be a target. You do not speak to anyone from that part of the family without consulting me or your mother." Said her stepfather, holding a glass of champagne in his hand, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, giving her a protracted, uneasy look.

She lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort in her stomach, having the impression that she had forgotten how to breathe.

Taking advantage of the fact that Daemon was in euphoria and he, along the other men who worked with them had made a party, she went back to her room. She lay down in bed hearing their laughter and loud conversations downstairs, not understanding where their reason for joy came from.

Did they love killing each other so much?

She shuddered as her display lit up – she reached for her phone with her hand and unlocked the screen as soon as she saw that he had texted her.

She swallowed hard, looking around, wondering if she should do this.

Everyone was downstairs, the security guards were drunk.

Maybe she could sneak out?

She knew the code to the gate, maybe no one would notice her if she went out the back door.

Uncertainty, fear and trepidation squeezed her heart, but some part of her wanted to believe that he really cared, that in a situation where all seemed lost he was willing to reach for the one thing that gave him hope.

Today he lost everything, she thought.

Can I take more away from him?

So she packed her books from her first year into her backpack and left the room quietly in her sweatshirt and shorts, not even trying to go for her shoes, heading for the stairs. Apart from one drunk, sleeping security guard and two men talking in the kitchen, she didn't see anyone.

She lay down on the floor and began to crawl forward, feeling like a commando on an important mission, seeing from a distance that they didn't hear her. She rose as she entered the dark hallway and quietly opened the door.

She lifted her gaze up to the camera facing the exit and cursed under her breath, stopping halfway.

She had completely forgotten about it.

What now?

She looked around, trying to remember exactly what the image from the cameras she had seen once looked like when she and Daemon were searching for something on the recordings.

One, two, three, four she started counting and spotted an area she was sure the range of none of the cameras included. She ran in that direction, propped a bucket lying next to her feet and struggled to climb the wall, pulling herself up with a groan of effort, leaping over to the other side, almost breaking her legs.

She hissed, falling onto her hands – when she lifted them she saw that she had scraped her skin there and on her knees.

She sighed heavily, recognising that she would survive such injuries and that they would be nothing compared to what Daemon would do to her if he found out she had escaped.

She'll just give him the books and go back home.

She breathed out loud when she saw his car around the corner, its engine and lights on. He opened the door from his side, looking at her with big eyes, and she quickly pulled off her backpack, giving it to him.

"Take this and get out of here." She muttered, but his hand grasped her wrist.

"– come here –"

"– I have to –"

"– come –"

She stared at him, panting hard, knowing involuntarily what he wanted, feeling the squeeze between her thighs at the thought that she wanted it too.

Comfort.

"– I –"

"– it won't take long –"

He closed the door behind her as she let his arm pull her around the waist – she clumsily sat on top of him, trying to make herself comfortable on his lap in such a tight space. She lifted herself up on her knees to slide her shorts off while he looked at her with a misty gaze, unfastening the belt to his trousers.

"– good girl – such a good girl –" He breathed out, releasing his erection immediately, throbbing and dripping with desire, ready to give her what she needed.

There was no time for any other kind of caress, so she positioned herself over him, lowering herself slowly onto his thick, smooth tip, feeling how wonderfully he opened her for himself, stretching her warm, moist walls.

"– fuck – fuck, baby –" He muttered, clamping his hands over her firm buttocks, panting and moaning loudly along with her, sliding into her in one, deep thrust.

The feeling of him deep inside her was full of tension, her interior suddenly stretched to the limit on his throbbing erection, which he began to thrust slowly into her with trembling, tentative slaps full of impatience.

"– ah – G-God –" She mumbled, feeling how her slickness helped him to force his way into her body again and again, filling her so wonderfully.

Why it felt so right when it was so wrong?

Her hands embraced his neck, their foreheads touched each other as his palms on her waist forced a quick, sharp, violent pace on her from which her nipples hardened, the pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen caused by him rubbing her where she needed it made her gasp.

"– Aemond –" She mewled, trying to find a rhythm with his body, rolling her hips back and forth, filling herself again and again with his swollen, hot manhood, feeling pleasant, warm tickle in her belly.

"– do you hear it? – do you hear how well you take me? – only you – fuck –" He gasped, pounding into her with loud, wet slaps of their hips, listening how her twitching cunt clicked with his every push. His hand sank into her hair as his moist lips brushed hers, inviting her into the warm, sticky kiss full of their saliva.

Their tongues licked and teased each other, intensifying their sensation, building a swift path to their fulfilment, their bodies slammed against each other greedily with their embarrassingly loud moans of pleasure.

It seemed to her that they were too ashamed and shocked by the situation, by what they were doing, and how pleasurable it was, how liberating it was, to fuck in his car against everyone and everything, the sticky juices of their forbidden fruit running down their thighs each time his cock sank into her weeping pussy again.

She was terrified that, despite the speed and brutality of his thrusts, his hands caressed her body so tenderly, stroking her hair, her neck, her back, her buttocks, her cheeks, allowing his lips and tongue to join hers in loud, chaotic, wet kisses full of their moans.

She couldn't stop the tension that was growing in her lower abdomen, the pleasant tickling in her fingertips and the clenching deep between her thighs that proved she was about to come.

"– where? –" He mumbled into her mouth, her hands stroking his sweaty, soft cheeks, letting the messy, greedy thrusts of his hips give her the pleasure she so needed, her lips parted wide as the aggressive, stupefying fulfilment full of relief shook her body.

"– here – right here, uncle –" She gasped, feeling only pleasure, only relief, only bliss.

He groaned loudly, helpless, and came hard inside her, throwing his head back, panting heavily along with her. He hugged her face to his sweaty neck, exactly as he had then, that night in the hotel room, his half-hard, pulsing manhood filling her with the remnants of his seed.

"– I think I'm in love with you –" He whispered in a trembling voice, making the sound stuck in her throat with emotion.

She parted her lips, not knowing what to answer him, thinking with embarrassment that she somehow reciprocated his feelings.

His hand slid off her head while the other continued to stroke her bare buttock, his soft erection still throbbing deep inside her as his lips placed a warm, soft kiss on her forehead.

"– forgive me –"

She only drew in the air loudly, shocked, and clenched her hands on his black T-shirt when she felt the needle jab into her neck. Her squeal of horror, grief, and disbelief sounded unnatural, as if she were a small animal being butchered.

Her body became numb, the image around her became blurred and unclear, a heavy, dark sleep descended on her mind as she simply relaxed in his arms, feeling his hand stroke her head again, his cheek nestled against her forehead all wet.

He cried.

[scary-lasagna]

hi if you still do yandere can I have some yandere EJ? your version of him is my favorite !!

Thank you!! :] I like writing for him, he's fun to play around with, just as he does to his victims darlings. It's a little long but you know I love setting the mood.

tw: kidnapping, semi-nekedness, dead bodies, family death, noncon kissing

Yandere!Eyeless Jack

Quivering. Shaking. Only shreds of your clothing remained in tact to cover whatever was left of your modesty.

You sat in a cold, dead corner. There was no light whatsoever. Even if you could move your hand, you'd no doubt wouldn't be able to see it right in front of your face.

It smelled pungently of rancid rotting meat, urine, and what you believed to be the underlying metallic smell of blood.

It was hours ago that Jack climbed in through the basement window, and started dumping dull, heavy, heaps of garbage bags across the floor of this abandoned basement.

You didn't want to think about what was inside them.

Jack didn't eat food, he ate humans. You could only assume this was his calorie income for the next week. But, six bodies? You only hoped he wasn't hosting a party for any other freaky demon friends he might have.

You hoped you weren't next.

Jack had already ripped your clothes to shreds in an effort to get you to shut up about the damp basement. He was the one to ask if you needed anything in the first place. Kindly. Foolishly, you thought he had somewhat of a change of heart.

"Ohhh, I see. The dampness is making you so miserable down here, isn't it? If you had no clothes, you wouldn't be so damp, now would you?"

It taught you quickly not to ask for things.

If his talons could easily shred through the fabric of your denim, there would only be a grim end if he decided your life was making you miserable.

And there it was, the jiggle of the basement window latch. The horrors beyond your imaginative mind terrified you.

This man, no- this creature, this monster, plucked you from your safe haven and dragged you kicking and screaming into an abandoned house in the city.

You didn't know where he received the supplies, or if they were already there and he decided on a whim to tie you to a pipe with a heavy rope.

The rope thickened with both blood and that black tar that leaks down Jack's mask. There was no escape and the only time you tried biting off your restraints, the black tar almost choked you to death, worming its way down your tongue and into your throat.

"Good evening, my precious gem." The bastard cooed, and slithered down the wall. The floor squelched as he paced across it toward you. It was wet over there. Luckily, whatever it was hasn't reached you yet.

You knew it was blood, but deep down you just hoped it was a leaky pipe.

"How are you doing today? Less damp, I hope."

He must be able to see in the start, noting the uneven steps mostly stepping over the garbage bags of dead bodies.

You couldn't manage anything but a fearful sob, choking out past your puffy and cracked lips. Jack's shoes squeaked as he squatted, a small puff of breath ghosting on your face.

"I asked you a question." Jack quickly grasped your jaw, squeezing it with such force you were afraid the bone may snap. You cried out in pain, desperately pulling away from his claws.

"Better, but not exactly an answer. I'm in a good mood today, so I'll let it pass." He coos. His grip softened, but by no means did he let go.

"From now on, I expect a loving kiss when I get home. Let's start now, hm?~" Despite the darkness, you could hear the end of his sentence upturning into a snarky smile. He quickly pinned you down with his weight, sitting on your lap.

That's when you started thrashing.

You weren't even sure if you could stomach the kiss alone. His mouth smelled of rotting meat and blood, but the teeth, those were a problem. One swift bite and you're left choking on your own blood pooling in your windpipe, whenever he decides to bite the bottom of your jaw off.

You kicked, you screamed, you punched, and you even attempted to rip his hair out. It was all futile; This creature was inhuman. Your stupidly weak attempts were no match to this demonic being.

Your head suddenly met the pipe ungracefully, and Jack's lips smooshed against yours in the middle of a curdling scream.

Multiple meaty, fleshy tongues jousted forward between your teeth, assaulting your own tongue, gums, cheeks, and eventually sliding down your throat to trigger your gag reflex.

You punched his collar bone and attempted to bring your knee up hard enough to push him off but to no avail. If anything, you were probably tickling him.

Your chest convulsed as you attempted to breathe, until you realized he was blocking your entire airway with his tongues. You desperately hit him with the last of your remaining strength, and pushed him. Even going as far as shoving your thumb into on of his eye sockets.

It only made him hungrier for you, pressing his body against you and tilting your head upward for a better angle to reach your throat with.

That's when the power to the building finally flickered on. You stopped fighting. A spotted haze worked it's way into your vision, locking eyes with the naked corpse hanging from the ceiling above you.

Dead, yet familiar eyes, of the person that you loved most in this world. Gone.

You gave up. There was no escape. Never will be. The power went out again, or maybe it was the darkness of death finally engulfing you.

You hoped you were dead.