#v; I am divergent

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[nostalgia-tblr]

yeah odin should just have left that baby to die. what a CUNT he was.

[shadowgamed]

Magic, the occult, ancient Egyptian spirits and nonsense talk of fate and legacies of the past... it's all nothing but bullshit.

Seto knows that. No matter what, it has to be true. He's not stupid - he knows the things he's seen, but... Seto is a man of science, and he also knows just how unreliable the human mind can be. Perception is a fragile thing, and the mind is easily tricked and influenced by what it thinks to be true... that in combination with the solid vision system he created opens up a great number of explanations, most involving the shock of that system on the mind being far greater than he anticipated.

Deep down, it feels like he's making excuses. But is a far-fetched scientific explanation really any more absurd than a supernatural one? Besides, even if by some miracle the supernatural really was real, there's no way-

-He'd ever be a part of it. Seto's mouth curls into a grimace at the thought. It all comes back to the mind. His own, loathe as he is to admit it, has been a mess lately. Ever since Battle City, when he'd finally thought that Yugi might have been right; that there was more value to friendship than he had first thought... he thought he'd finally been ready to start again with Mokuba, but letting go of the chains of the past is harder than it sounds. It infuriates him. Seto Kaiba is a man of the future - no past can hold him down or stop him from doing what he wants to do!

But he's impatient, and the road before him is a slow one. Still, though - just when he'd felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest, it now feels like a new, different one has replaced it just as quickly. It hadn't been that way at first... he'd been happy with Mokuba, taking steps towards their dream, but it had snuck up on him slowly and with the subtlety of a serpent - so the question is: what changed?

He wants to see Yugi. That's something he knows for sure. The thought that it's something he needs is something that he won't acknowledge, so instead, he tells himself it's to challenge him again. That's the reason he came back to Japan, and yet... right now, faced with him again - all he can manage to muster up is a sneer.

You look like you weren't expecting to see me. Is it really that much of a surprise?"

@nevertem ( starter for atem! )

[marley-manson]

wait are there beejhawk fics where bj is jealous and insecure because i've been looking for shit like that and requesting recs from people and i've never found anything except for like a few excellent beejhawk-y fics written by some of my mutuals lol, and a fic series from a little further back that ends up in poly i think which i'm not into and didn't finish

i don't mind if it's lazy characterization i'm here for angst and especially fucked up porn

[etherbonded]

...She is JUDGING Yoshizawa's taste in men so very hard right now. She loves the kid, don't get her wrong, but why in gods name is she willing to date the person who tried to kill her at some point?

[ireneispunk]

Pride, the Wolf, and the Dragon

Jacaerys Velaryon & Cregan Stark x female reader smut (King's Landing Handmaiden)

You were a sight to behold, merely a handmaiden yet you could command a room. And grasp the attention of a prince and a lord... on the same night?

request: (anon) 'Saw your requests are open, what about dark dom jace x sub brat reader or a threesome with the same as before but with cregan too which they're dark dom but still obsessive I don't know how these too can make sense but I hope you got my point'

w.c: 4537

c.w: canon divergent (blacks won and it is set after the dance, rhaenyra sits the iron throne, basically just did it to have everyone in one place), threesome!!! woop woop, p in v sex, oral (m & f receiving), light choking, spanking, overstimulation, dirty talk, NO use of y/n, as usual no specific features mentioned - let me know if i've missed any!

a.n: i've never wrote for cregan before but im supper happy with this! other requests made are about half done for those waiting ♡

dividers: @v6que ♡

You let out another fake giggle as yet another wealthy man bided for your attention. This type of thing always happened on big occasions, and today certainly was one. Lucerys and Rhaena’s wedding was no small occasion, every lord and lady who had supported Rhaenyra’s claim was here. I mean hells, that’s why you even had the opportunity you did. You weren’t low born, but handmaiden to the queen was a role very much reserved for high born girls. You father had risked his own life, and your families, to help Ser Erryk back into King’s Landing with a secret route he knew through Tumbleton. This job had provided you with a home in quarters you could’ve only dreamed of, and the opportunity to be around the prince. Your fingers grazed across your skin to fiddle with your necklace, you smiled up at the man in front of you, laying on your charm. Despite entertaining his dull conversation and even duller jokes for the past half an hour, you certainly did not care for him. You took advantage of the man’s position in society and every once in a while, you stared beyond his shoulder to see the prince of Dragonstone burning holes into his back. Tonight, however, was different. Not only had you caught they eye of one prince Jacaerys, but his friend from The North, Lord Stark. You could not deny the beauty the two of them shared, handsome, strong features, large frames and eyes that looked as if they wanted to consume you. The few times you looked their way, as to avoid suspicion, they occasionally whispered to one another. A small look caught your eye from your queen, Rhaenyra. You excused yourself from the conversation and walked to the other side of the great hall to where Rhaenyra and Daemon sat. From the opposite side of the table, you felt a gaze upon you, but you did not do the favour of glancing upon them.

You reached Rhaenyra’s side bowing your head before she whispered to you, “Has Lucerys’ chambers been prepared?” She seemed uncomfortable at the request.

You nodded as you said, “Yes, your grace. I can return? And make sure it is still perfect?”. She shook her head, as Daemon placed a hand upon her’s.

“No that won’t be necessary, you have done so much for us today. Feel free to keep enjoying the celebrations,” She paused to look over to her eldest son and the Lord Stark. “Though I believe there are still some who await your acquaintance.” Your mouth formed into a small ‘o’ shape before nodding. You took your leave and turned to face towards the prince and the lord. Both had already been starring at you, Jacaerys averted his gaze whilst the Stark stared you down. Once you stood opposite them at the table you gave the prince a small curtsy, before turning to Cregan and dipping into a deeper curtsey whilst maintaining eye contact with him. He raised his brow, not used to being looked in the eye by such a sweet looking girl. “Your grace. My Lord Stark, I am pleased to meet you.” You spoke confidently, introducing your name and admired the length of his arms that were visible from his rolled sleeves, “It appears the warm climate agrees with you, my lord.” This was one of your favourite hobbies, you couldn’t deny it. Compliment lords see how they respond, speak almost out of turn but not enough to turn any heads. Jacaerys’ grip on his cup tightened at your remark. For weeks since you had worked there you had tortured him. Wearing those barely there handmaiden’s dresses, the obsessive eye contact, compliments unbefitting of a lady he was not courting, drawing his baths, and offering your assistance. Everyday it was a struggle to not rip your dress from you and fuck you in front of everyone like you seemed to desire. He loathed any sort of gathering because he knew your beauty and charm would attract the attention you deserve.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a large smack across the back from his Stark friend. “Where have you been hiding this one Jace?” He exclaimed with a laugh.

You smiled slightly, “Perhaps my lord has not been searching hard enough, enjoy the rest of the celebrations.” You smirked, turning on your heel and stepping down the stone stairs. A bewildered look flashed across Cregan’s face, as Jacaerys shot him a ‘now you know’ look. You were stopped by a rather handsome man on your way past the dancing pairs, you declined his offer to dance and made your way to the other maidens who erupted into quiet chatter, asking you about what the Stark had said.

Your final task of the night had been escorting Rhaena to Lucerys’ chambers. You held her hands in yours and promised her she would be okay, you boasted of Lucerys’ sweet nature and gave her hand a quick squeeze before stepping back behind the corner. You watched as she knocked on the door, before it opened, and she disappeared inside. You smiled to yourself as you turned to head down the corridor before coming face to face with the tall northern man once more. You gasped, raising your hand to your heart. A small chuckle left his lips as he eyed you. He did not know you all that well, but this felt like a rare feat, to catch you off of yours. “My lord, you startled me. Is there something I can help you with?” You looked at him and watched as his eyes shamelessly travelled down your body, lingering on every curve.

“Ah, yes, my lady. I appear to have gotten turned around from my chambers, and I’d hate for those fancy baths these lot make go cold.” You raised a brow at him. Sure, the Red Keep was busy, with windy corridors, but it was a fairly straightforward route from the great hall to the guest’s chambers.

You gestured with your hand to follow him the way he came, “Of course, my lord. Though you do not need to use such honorifics with me, I am not a lady of anything.” He sensed a strange proudness in your lack of title. Cregan was used to people fighting to get the next best thing, yet you were content with your lack of status.

He thought for a moment, before responding. “Then how may I refer to you?”

“However his lord desires.” You spoke with purpose, but never harshly. Every second he had of you intrigued him more.

Once you had reached the familiar door in which Cregan was given a few days prior, you placed your hands behind your back and watched him. He stepped by you and pushed the door open, he leaned against the door frame and eyed you. “So.” You watched him, waiting for him to continue. “Do you have anymore handmaiden duties for the night? Or are you available for me?” A smile tugged at your lips as you thought for a moment.

“Mmm, that depends, why do you wish to know?” Your arms folded over your chest.

He chuckled, “I’ve never had to try this hard to get a pretty girl to have a drink with me.”

You raised your brow, “Most men just ask.” He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed it against the scruff. Just as he was about to respond, someone speaking caught your attention.

“It is getting late your grace is there something you need?” You recognised one of the servants voicing out from around the corner. Out of curiosity, you stepped back to see who it was and there stood the prince himself. He looked away from you when he met your gaze.

“I will come in for a cup of wine. Just one.” Cregan’s face lit up, stepping to the side to allow you to step inside. Your eyes narrowed at the lit fire, the flames still tall. You heard the clanking of a belt and the shuffling of clothes before turning back around to Cregan. You jaw dropped slightly at the sight of him completely nude and making his way over to the bathtub in the room. Your eyes absorbed every inch of him, admiring each defined muscle, every scar, the dark hair that tufted around his chest.

You pulled your gaze away and turned to face the wall. “My lord this is not appropriate.” You voice quivered ever so sightly as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Neither is staring.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “But why waste a perfectly good bath.” You heard water slosh around as he sank into the tub. “Turn around.” Your core lit up at the sternness in his voice.

You turned to face him now that he was submerged, only his upper torso out of the water. He leaned back into the tub, sighing out as he brought his arms to rest on the sides. “Wine?” He questioned. You looked at him with a puzzled look but nodded your head. He gestured over to small table and chairs that had a jug and a few cups upon it. You made your way over, feeling his gaze locked onto you.

“When you invited me in, I thought it might be you fetching the wine.” You grasped two of the cups and the jug before turning to face him.

“Ah, well. It seemed easier to get my own clothes off first.” You raised a brow and walked over to him. You kept your eyes on his face, avoiding what was beneath the water. You used your foot to slide over a cushioned stool towards the side of the bath and sat upon it. You met his gaze once more, now eye level with him. You held out a cup to him and watched his fingers lace around it. Picking up the jug in your hands you steadily poured into the cup, before moving onto your own. You were about to take a sip from yours before he stopped you to clink cups. He did so as if you were another harsh northern man causing the liquid in your cup to slosh backwards and land over your arm and into your lap. You gasped and looked up at him with a shocked look on your face. He laughed heartily at your expression and took a sip of his wine. He heard as your cup clinked against the floor, “You may clean up with me if you wish.” He smirked, placing his cup on the ground, and gesturing to the bath. You stomach tightened at the thought of it but rose to your feet with a hum. He moved slighted and raised his hand up to you. “Stay, please. No more win spilling.” His damned handsome face spread a warmth across your body. You exhaled before taking his hand.

All of a sudden you felt him pull you down, landing bum first into the bath with a big splash that threw water over the sides. You let out a small scream feeling yourself become soaked in water. You yelled at him, splashing his face with the water in annoyance before the door suddenly opening caused his laughter and your screaming to cease. You turned around to see a very angry, then confused, then embarrassed Jacaerys. Your heart dropped as you scrambled to your feet out of the bath, you slipped slightly on the wet floor before stepping towards him. “Y-your grace!” You exclaimed, you felt exposed, the thin material of your dress completely soaked through and clinging to every inch of your body. His eyes darted between you and Cregan.

“I heard a scream, and thought I recognised it. My apologies.” He was about to turn to walk away before Cregan got up out of the tub. Jacaerys eyes widened before hastily shutting the door. Jacaerys kept his eyes firmly on the wall behind you, worrying that if his pants got any tighter it’d be noticeable. For once, you were speechless, unable to form a thought, let alone communicate it. “C’mon Jace, this is exactly how you wanted her. Naked- well almost, needy. I know she’s needy just at the sight of you.” His voice rung out from behind you. “I know you didn’t imagine sharing,” He inhaled sharply through his teeth, as his fingers grazed over your shoulder to pull your hair behind you. “But she’s definitely one who needs two cocks to put her in her place.” You face flushed, as you felt a new wetness in between your legs as Cregan’s hands sat upon your shoulders, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Jacaerys finally brought his gaze to you, he eyed your face before devouring ever inch of your body. His throat bobbed as he walked to face you.

“Tell me what you want.” He spoke as he locked onto your eyes. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, feeling as if you were in a dream.

“I want you,” You spoke softly. “Both of you.” You clarified, looking back over your shoulder to meet Cregan’s eyes.

His large hand rested on your jaw, tilting it up towards him. A shaky breath escaped your lips as his hand trailed down and rested upon your neck, his thumb tracing your throat. Cregan turned your head to face Jacaerys, his jaw was tensed, fists clenched at his sides and eyes filled with hunger. Your body burned hot, Cregan’s body pressed against you, his hard cock pressed above your ass. His grip on your jaw tightened slightly. His lips grazed against your neck up to your ear. “Undress his grace,” Your heart buzzed as Jacaerys’ eyes finally tore away from yours to fleet to Cregan’s for a second before returning to you. You swallowed, feeling smaller and smaller as the seconds passed. “Go on, like a good serving girl.” Cregan’s voice dripped with lust. Your hands made their way onto Jacaerys’ chest, he stiffened under your touch. Your fingers traced along the three headed dragon pin that held his jacket together before unpinning it and letting the jacket fall open at his chest. Cregan’s hands never once left you, tracing up and down your sides of your soaked dress, lips occasionally finding your neck or shoulder. Your eyes travelled down to the belt that decorated his waist and kept you from seeing him. You unhooked it, and pulled it from him, allowing it to clatter to the ground. Your hands pushed his coat from his shoulders and down his arms, revealing a thin cotton shirt. His throat bobbed as your hands traced to his waistband, pulling his shirt up slowly over his head. You hand instinctively touched against his chest, admiring each definition and feeling his skin burn beneath your fingertips. “I told you she’s fucking needy for you.” Cregan’s words flushed your face. Jacaerys eyed you, raising a brow to question him. You nodded lightly feeling overwhelmed with the tightening in your stomach, Cregan’s hands exploring your sides, and Jacaerys watching you like you were his prey. Jacaerys picked up your hand in his and placed a small kiss against it before placing your palm against the bulge in his trousers. Jacaerys’ hand reached your jaw, his thumb traced along your lip as his brows furrowed from your touch.

His fingers were soft, and his touch more delicate than Cregan’s, as he tilted your face to the side as if he were finally able to appreciate every inch of your beauty. His eyes flashed behind yours towards Cregan before you were being led over towards the bed. Jacaerys sat first on the end of the bed, pulling you by your hips to stand between his legs. His palm ran from your stomach, through the valley between your breasts and he rested his fingertips upon your lips while he thought for a moment. “Take off her dress, wouldn’t want the poor thing getting cold.” Your thighs instinctively pressed together. You’d never heard Jacaerys speak in a tone like this, but it was certainly a welcomed surprise. You felt the large hands of the Stark trail up your exposed back to the tie of your haltered dress. One movement later the dress was pulled over your chest and over your hips and dropped to the ground. You felt a cool chill over your exposed skin as Cregan took your hand in is. He pulled you around in a circle, admiring each curve of your form as he did so. A small ‘gods’ mumbled from his lips as he watched you. You gasped as his hands travelled round to your front, taking your breasts into his hands. Jacaerys leaned back slightly to admire you, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing your inner thighs. Your eyes screwed shut as Cregan’s fingers played with your nipples and his lips attached to your neck. “I want her coming on my tongue first.” Your eyes shot open to watch Jacaerys, a small smile playing at his lips. You opened your mouth to say something before Cregan shushed you.

“You heard the prince.” Cregan instructed. You gulped lightly, watching Jacaerys lay back upon the bed, his head of curls hitting the pillows. Cregan held your hand pulling you onto the bed. He watched as you crawled over to Jace, his hand landing on your ass with a harsh slap, causing a yelp to leave your lips.

His hand pushed you closer over Jacaerys until you were straddling his chest. Jacaerys’ hands looped over your thighs to bring your core to his face. His smirk disappeared under your mound as his lips placed small kisses on your thighs. Cregan sat beside you and guided your hand to his cock. He hissed as your hand wrapped around it and began slowly pumping it up and down. You felt as Jacaerys licked a long stripe from your core to your sensitive clit, tasting and collecting your wetness on his tongue. You almost flinched at the sensation, your hand flying up to grip the headboard. A loud moan left your lips as his tongue teased your entrance, before delving in and out of it. Cregan turned your face to him, a groan leaving his lips seeing yours screwed up in pleasure. Your hand continued to pump his cock, enjoying feeling it twitch beneath your hand when your thumb grazed the tip. You jaw dropped at the feeling of Jacaery’s tongue massaging your clit. A flurry of moans left your mouth as his lips latched onto it causing your hips to rut into his face and that familiar tightness to return to your stomach. Cregan’s thumb pulled on your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth and gliding across your tongue. You moans were supressed by Cregan’s thumb as you sucked upon it, a satisfied smirk plastering his face as your eyes fell back behind your lids. His thumb left your mouth with a pop as his hand returned to your throat. Your hand moved quicker on his cock as Jacaerys tongue worked on your clit. “You should thank his grace for his hard work, pleasing you with his tongue like this.” Cregan spoke close to a whisper, well, as close to a whisper as the Northern man could get to.

You whimpered in response, unable to form words being on the precipice of your orgasm. Cregan’s hand squeezed lightly against your throat, his rough fingers grazing your soft flesh. “Use your words when spoken to.” His tone was harsh in a way that flushed your cheeks.

“T-thank you, my prince, for kissing me.” The words fought to escape your lips as all you felt you could do was moan. Your praise causes a groan to fall from his mouth that vibrated upon your clit and fuelled him to massage it at an unbearable pace with his tongue. Your nails dug into the headboard, as your other hand left Cregan’s cock to grip his forearm that held your neck. A flurry of moans left your lips as your orgasm erupted from within you. Your thighs quivered as Jacaerys’ tongue broadly licked you through your high. A large whimper left you lips from the overstimulation causing Jacaerys to place a final kiss upon your clit. You panted as you shuffled down back to straddle his waist. Jacaerys leaned up on his elbows to see you, his hair was dishevelled, his lips plump and coated in your arousal. You leaned forward and tentatively placed a kiss on the side of his mouth, before brushing your lips against his. Your tongue swiped over his lips, tasting your wetness. You gasped as your hips were gripped and you were pulled further down on the bed onto all fours. Jacaerys smirked as you were level with his cock, his pants becoming impossibly tight.

Cregan’s fingers teased the entrance of your pussy as he leaned forward to you, “Gods Jace, she’s soaked.” Your cheeks flushed as you looked away slightly. Jacaerys’ hand found your cheek and turned you to face him.

“I want to watch as he fucks you.” He smiled slightly; his words contradicting the sweet look upon his face. A whimper left your lips as you felt Cregan’s cock rub between your folds and occasionally hitting your sensitive clit. You watched in anticipation as Jacaerys undid the tie of his trousers and pulled them down enough for his cock to spring free. It was huge and dripped with an inviting bead of precum.

Just as your lips were about to touch Jacaerys’ cock, Cregan thrusted into you, bottoming out almost immediately. You clenched at the full feeling, your eyes screwed shut as you let out a half yelp half moan. Once his pace became regular you opened your eyes to see Jace stroking his cock at the sight of you. You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, begging for his cock. He obliged and groaned at the sight and sensation of the tip hitting your tongue. With both of your hands propping you up on all fours you took him into your mouth bobbing up and down on the tip and massaging the underside with your tongue. You couldn’t help but moan onto his cock with the feeling of Cregan pounding into you, his length hitting a soft spot inside of you you’d never felt before. Cregan’s hands went from peppering small slaps across your ass to kneading it with his large hands. Jacaerys’ hand made its way to your hair and took a fistful of it. He was gentle as his guided your mouth further down his cock. He moaned loudly as it glided across your tongue and hit the back of your throat. The familiar pressure began to build up in your stomach, and as if he read your mind, Cregan’s pace quickened. Both of his hands gripped into your hips, snapping into you, and pushing against your sweet spot. One of his hands left you hips to reach under your and rub harsh circles into your clit. Your eyes widened as your moans got choked upon Jacaerys’ cock. You tapped the side of his thigh, and he immediately pulled you from his cock, allowing heavy pants to leave your mouth. You cried out a loud ‘fuck’ as you felt your second orgasm wash over you, your pussy clenching tightly over Cregan’s cock. Just as quickly as your orgasm passed your mouth reattached to Jacaerys’ cock, wanting him to enjoy himself too.

A few moments after your peak, Cregan thrusted a few more times before burying his cock deep inside of you and filling you up with his cum. He groaned loudly as his fingertips dug into your skin. He slowly pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed behind you. Despite the shaking in your legs and your sensitive pussy, you looked up to Jacaerys with an idea. You readjusted to straddle his waist once more and aligned his cock with the entrance of your pussy. Jacaerys looked shocked for a moment before his hungry gaze returned. Your brows furrowed as you slowly slid down onto his cock, trying to readjust for his size. You watched as his head threw back in pleasure as your second cock of the night bottomed out inside of you. You started to move, slowly thrusting yourself upon him. Jacaerys eyes opened to watch you, occasionally looking down to his cock disappearing inside of your pussy that was now overflowing with cum. A loud groan left his lips as he internally cursed himself for not being able to last longer and savour your pussy smothering his cock. He pulled you down by your hair to meet his lips as he kissed you deeply. It was passionate, his tongue leaving little time before it delved into your mouth. You moaned against his lips at the new angle, he was managing to fill you even more. Your thighs shook with overstimulation and Jacaerys noticed before he held your hips at a certain point and began to thrust into you. Your eyes locked with his as you moaned his name. He grunted as his rhythm became erratic before holding your hips down on his cock and as you felt his seed spread within you. You rested your forehead against his as you both regained your breath. His hands ran softly down your back as he pulled his cock from you. You whimpered at the emptiness, before sitting back onto your thighs to relieve the quiver in them as Jacaerys re tied his trousers.

You heard footsteps walk over to the side of the bed, before looking up to see a fully clothed Cregan. You blushed, realising how consumed you had been in the prince to not notice. “Aren’t you both just adorable.” He spoke with a chuckle, as his hand lightly spanked your ass. You shot him a glare, moving to lay beside Jacaerys. “Easy,” Cregan spoke raising his palm. “I though you were the fire breathing dragon.” He smirked gesturing to Jacaerys. Jacaerys, turned his head down to face you, before returning a shrug to Cregan with a smile. Cregan laughed, waving you off before making his way to the door. “Sleep tight, lovers.” He smiled to himself as his hand gripped the doorhandle.

“Wait! But this is your room?” You questioned, leaning up from the bed.

He shot you a grin, “I heard the prince’s chambers have become available.” He shot you both a wink before disappearing into the corridor. You hummed in confusion as Jacaerys just smiled.

“You both confuse me.” You hummed, scanning Jacaerys’ face. He raised his arm up and motioned you to lay beside him. You huffed as you cuddled into him, your head upon his chest. He reached for the blanket that had been tossed aside and threw it over you both. His hand landed upon your side, and softly rubbed your waist.

He planted a small kiss upon your head. “I think we both did a good job at showing you what we think of you.” You could hear the smile in his voice as your cheeks flushed. You definitely knew for sure now.

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — 𝐈𝐈.

༺ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a library on dragonstone, a flight on dragonback, and a tour of aegon’s garden — your growing bond with jacaerys continues to grow amidst the looming shadow of war.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen. I took creative liberties with Dragonstone & if you are interested in reading more about Aegon’s Garden, click here.

༺ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — series, originally a request.

༺ WORD COUNT: 13.1K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, sexual inexperience, risky sex, sex in a public location (the beach), p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, riding (reader on top), lots of kissing and sweeter antics, srisk of getting caught, handjob, vaginal fingering, clit play, hair pulling kink, neck kissing, tiddy sucking, desperate jace, confession of feelings, romantic rides on dragonback, romantic garden strolls. Mild canon divergence. Again, Jacaerys is a sweet lover who is all wrapped up in the reader.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: We’re back! I am so excited to announce that this will now be a series! I am aiming to push out weekly uploads that will follow the storyline of S2. I am so, SO excited to keep writing and delivering Jace content! Next part will definitely be more angsty, and the angst will only ramp up as the series progresses. Thank you to everyone who is reading and supporting my work, it means the world to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, dark curls disheveled and tossed around his head like some halo. The freckles along his back reminded you of a fawn, a tawny hue, hundreds of them smattered across his back.

The warmth of his body nestled to yours, his arm draped across your midsection, fingers idly gripping at your side, as if you might drift away during slumber. He was pretty when he slept, the stress in his face no longer prevalent, muscles no longer coiled with tension.

You didn’t want him to go — you wanted him here, tangled around you, a sight that would be burned into your mind with each passing thought. Yet, duty prevented him from staying, and it prevented you from keeping him here.

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, gently rousing him from his deep sleep. If he were to look inconspicuous, it would be best if he returned to his quarters before the whole of Dragonstone began to awake. “It’s dawn.”

Two words he never wanted to hear — and if the world turned in his favor, he would simply bring you close and fall back asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option for him. He lifted his head, groggy yet happy, smiling at you as he would a lover.

“I wish that I did not have to leave,” He murmured, reaching for your face, thumb tracing the delicate slope of your jaw. You knew that he was earnest, meaningful in his words — you understood his station. “I should get dressed.” Jace sighed, rolling from the sanctuary of your bed.

You watched, enraptured as he redressed himself, clad in the billowing tunic he wore last night, like a gallant prince ripped straight from a fairytale. You slid into the sleek gossamer of your evening robe, feeling the weight of reality weigh heavy upon you.

He turned, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. It was tinged with melancholy, with a longing to stay by your side, yet it wasn’t possible — not now. He held you for a moment longer, basking in your beauty, in the brilliance of your presence.

“I will see you soon, my Prince.”

𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞.

In the humble glow of your chambers, you stood upon the small terrace, one that overlooked Blackwater Bay, far within the distance. It was a brief respite from your duties — the only time that allowed you proper contemplation.

As tensions grew, bubbling into a seething broil, you often noticed the tenuous frustration etched into Jace’s features — he wore it like a shroud, unable to keep from expressing his own disdain. With the Council urging Rhaenyra to act, to thrust the realm into war with the use of dragons, those closest to her felt the sting of her persuasion for peace.

The forlorn turmoil you felt from Rhaenyra came in waves — after Daemon had departed for an uncharted destination in the fallout of his spat with the Queen, you knew the weight of duty she was under. Jacaerys had adapted in Daemon’s absence, attempting to take the reins of leadership, or what was left of it.

It felt as if you were on a vessel without proper direction, being forced into tempestuous waters by a powerful gust of wind. Whatever came next, you could feel the uncertainty, the mounting stress.

You spent much of your morning in the presence of Elinda and Queen Rhaenyra, tending to Aegon and Viserys. The latter half was spent on the spine of Dragonstone, the massive wall of a walkway that led toward the rest of the island.

The strolls along the ramparts, the Dragon’s Tail, as you’d come to learn, often gave you much to consider, a place to allow your thoughts a clear sanctuary. Saltwater air, the hum of the beach, the clear horizon of a cloud-speckled sky — there was nothing like it.

Through the growing fog of war, your newfound relationship with Jacaerys had kept you afloat. After your tryst two nights prior, the atmosphere had shifted drastically, from cordial and friendly to romantic and intimate. You stole glances at him whenever you could, fleeting smiles reserved only for his eyes.

You hadn’t been able to kiss him since the morning he left your bed, but you had a feeling that an opportunity would present itself. With Daemon’s absence, you feared to leave Rhaenyra alone, but Elinda had offered to take watch should anything happen.

With your father briefly away to Crackclaw Point in order to amass funds for potential armies as the Master of Coin, it left you with only a handful to speak to. The peninsula that jutted out into the Narrow Sea was across the bay from Dragonstone — a fair distance, but not enough to cause you any worry.

The afternoon was uneventful and dismal at best, with those scurrying about the castle grounds. Shipments from Driftmark came in from several of their vessels, bringing food and supplies to Dragonstone. The obsidian castle was a gorgeous place — and you’d only scratched the surface in terms of exploration.

Jacaerys had spoken of Aegon’s Garden during the night you shared together, vowing to take you there should there be a lull in the chaos. You admired his loyalty to his mother, and you watched him brave the encroaching storm that was the Small Council.

Aimless wandering led you to the library within Dragonstone, an impressive architectural feat of scaling ceilings, with great stone staircases and many walls lined with scrolls and tomes alike. It was quiet when you entered through the doors, the halls illuminated by natural sunlight and the flickering of braziers and torches.

A familiar voice made your heart soar, when you realized that Jacaerys was here, too. He was accompanied by Joffrey and a handmaiden, one that patiently waited by the wayside for the princes to finish their time spent together.

The gentle timbre of Jace’s voice brought you a sense of peace, one that became increasingly harder to find with the inevitability of war. He was reading to Joffrey, hovering over his younger brother like a dutiful scholar. With Lucerys gone, his protectiveness was now clear as day, seeping into every bone within his body.

As soon as your footsteps fell across the stone floor, Jacaerys’s eyes drifted from the mountain of texts surrounding him to you — his smile was unmistakable. Something warm touched his gaze when your eyes locked together, prompting you to approach the table with a spring in your step.

“Lady Celtigar,” If it weren’t for the presence of his brother and his caretaker, he would’ve collected you into his arms for a kiss, even if the setting was somewhat risky. Jace couldn’t stop thinking about you — you occupied his every thought, at the forefront of his mind. “You are welcome to join us.”

Joffrey’s sudden excitement flourished to life when he saw you, and you watched as the little boy rushed out of his seat to come leaping into your arms. “I missed you!” He cried, little fists beating against your shoulders as he clung to you, mop of dark tresses bouncing with each movement.

“My Prince,” You beamed, scooping Joffrey up with ease as you held him close, returning his hug as you kept him aloft within one arm. “I’ve missed you too. What are you and your big brother up to, hm? You should be mindful of his lessons. He is a talented teacher.” Jace’s expression turned crimson at your playful compliment.

“I’m reading,” Joffrey explained as any child would, in a whimsical way that made little sense. Jacaerys was attempting to pass on High Valyrian to his sibling, given that he would be the Prince of Driftmark someday — the blood of Old Valyria lived within him. “Reading about dragons.”

Curious, your gaze flickered toward Jace as you approached the slab of stone, lowering yourself upon the benches beside it. Joffrey hadn’t left your lap, grabbing one of the books as he pointed to an illustration of a massive dragon with black scales.

You weren’t well-versed in the history of House Targaryen, though you suspected that Jacaerys would be capable of filling you in. “Forgive me, but I am not familiar with the history of the Targaryens. I assume that this is an ancestral dragon?” You inquired, mostly to Jace.

“Balerion the Black Dread, mount of Aegon the Conqueror,” Jace replied, palm perched atop the open pages of a dusty tome, parchment old and weathered. He enjoyed reading and the histories just as much as swordplay and dragon-riding. “I suppose that’s another thing I’ll have to teach you about.”

Again, you were smitten, unable to hide your flustered smile as you cleared your throat. “Will it come after your lessons in High Valyrian?” You chimed, sitting idly as Joffrey pulled at your hair and draped his head over your shoulder. The boy was a little restless, not that you could blame him.

Jacaerys shared your sweet sentiments, smiling just as you did before he fell quiet. As much as he wanted to regale you with gallant words and compliments, he wouldn’t dare do it in front of the old maid. Instead, he rounded the table, pressing a hand against Joffrey’s head in a comforting manner. “It seems that you’re overdue for a nap, Joff.”

Joffrey whined in protest, brows furrowing together as he buried his face into your shoulder. He seemed to tighten his hold with defiance, peering up at his brother through the frame of his thick, dark hair. “No.” He protested, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“She won’t go anywhere, brother. I promise.” Jacaerys murmured, gingerly attempting to untangle his sibling from you. He was gentle, ruffling Joffrey’s hair in the process before kissing his forehead. “Next time, you can take her to see Tyraxes.”

A string of mumbled, childish ‘no’s’ escaped him, but before he could do anything rash, the handmaiden retrieved him. “Off to bed with you, little Prince.” She mumbled, taking him out of your arms as she retreated from the library with Joffrey in-tow.

The two of you watched her go, and admittedly, you were rather curious about the amount of books he had around him. “Heavy reading day?” You asked, observing in enraptured silence as Jacaerys moved to sit beside you, relocating his books to adjust to his new place.

“Something to keep me preoccupied,” He confessed, shamelessly keeping close to you. His handsome features were basked within orange firelight, reaching his dark-brown eyes. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose seemed more pronounced than ever. “The tension continues to grow sour as of late.”

You couldn’t help but feel concerned for Jacaerys, who had the weight of a kingdom upon his shoulders, including his mother. “With Daemon leaving, it has put a horrible strain upon your mother. She bares it well, but I know how much it worries her.”

Rhaenyra meant a great deal to you. You had come into her service just before the betrayal committed against her by the usurper, Aegon. House Celtigar had faithfully safeguarded the peninsula and the waters near Dragonstone for several decades, you knew that your father would never betray his oath.

Jace felt a twinge of irritation when you mentioned Daemon. He had taken him under his wing, treated him like a son, but he was also impulsive with a raging streak of arrogance and haughtiness. That recklessness often drained his mother half to death.

“He will return,” Jacaerys exhaled, maintaining an aura of calm despite his inner worry. He didn’t want to be afraid in front of you, but deep down, he knew that you wouldn’t judge him harshly for it. It was in your nature to be kind and without an ounce of anger. “He always does. Daemon loves my mother dearly.”

His devotion to Rhaenyra was twisted in some ways, perhaps, but he would always serve her. He pledged her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms before a host of followers, and it wasn’t something Daemon would toss away. Nevertheless, Jacaerys hoped that he would return swiftly.

With a comforting touch, you squeezed his bicep through his tunic, offering him a kind smile. “Whatever you need, I am here for you. I understand what pressure you are under, with Daemon away.” You could not fully grasp the true heaviness of leadership, but you could certainly try, for Jace’s sake.

How fortunate he was to have you — truly, a blessing sent from the Gods. There wasn’t a woman more thoughtful than you, that much he knew. He looked upon your visage with a sweet ardor, leaning inward to press a chaste kiss against your temple. He missed you in these last few days, missed your warmth.

“You can rely on me for the very same,” Jace uttered, planting another kiss on your cheek. It was oozing with affection, an affection that he solely reserved for you. “My heart belongs with you.” His voice was a feather-light caress, overflowing with adoration.

If it weren’t for your underlying fear of someone seeing you so close with the Prince of Dragonstone, you would’ve kissed him. You’d been thinking about it since your last meeting. “As does mine, Jacaerys.” You hummed, noticing his smile — it reached his eyes.

A comfortable silence lingered between the both of you, one tinged with the warmth of youthful amity. Jace’s brown-hued stare bored right into you, crinkles forming at either corner of his eyes. Every detail of you was unmatched, delicate and sublime.

“Are you aware that you are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms?” He mused, nose wrinkling with amusement when you playfully shoved at his arm. Jacaerys returned to his books, sliding it over for it to sit between the both of you.

A wave of heat flooded through you, reaching your visage as it crawled along your skin. “Jacaerys,” You mumbled, brows knitting together. His softly-spoken compliments were enough to make you swoon. “Just the Seven Kingdoms?” You teased, head canting to one side.

Jace’s lips twitched into a faint grin before he nudged your leg with his knee, his tousled curls bouncing atop his head. “If I must proclaim your allure before the whole of the Realm, I will.” He countered, the atmosphere lighthearted and amiable.

“Be careful, or I might hold you to it.” A fondness crept into your tone, gaze softening as you caught sight of his rose-colored visage. You giggled, leaning over the table to have a look at the book he had strewn about.

“A history of my house, my ancestors,” Jacaerys explained, delighted for you to indulge in all of his old scripts and tomes. He loved to read just as much as he enjoyed swordplay. “It’s easy to become lost in this pile of pages.”

“You do love your histories,” You mused, tapping a weathered image of what Maesters depicted as Aegon the Conqueror. “This is Balerion’s rider, you said?” You inquired, placing a hand beneath your chin.

“Aegon the Conqueror was born here, in this very castle. Dragonstone has seen plenty since the Conquering. Sometimes it amazes me that we sit within the very same halls he once roamed.” Jacaerys’s countenance lit up whenever he spoke of history, something he held a great passion for.

House Celtigar shared the blood of Old Valyria, yet were considered the lowest in nobility from those houses that emerged from the Doom. The power and influence your House held paled in comparison to that of the Targaryens and Velaryons.

“My father used to shower me with tales of our House from before the Doom, to Aegon, and to now,” You replied, flipping through some of the dust-laden pages. The spine rattled in protest, parchment weathered and well-worn from constant use and age. “We are not nearly as noteworthy as dragonriders.”

Jacaerys nearly protested on your own behalf, but you seemed entirely unbothered, smiling to yourself as you roamed through the bulk of the book. Many of the illustrations and ink had faded with time, but you quite enjoyed the content.

He wondered if your father would agree to a betrothal — and his heart immediately sank into his stomach. Jacaerys hadn’t considered how his mother would feel about it, but he couldn’t let that stay his hand from making you his wife.

The thought had crossed his mind a multitude of times since he laid with you, and now, it had taken root, blossoming into more than a dream. It would take plenty of deliberation, but Jacaerys hadn’t felt so certain about anything before.

House Celtigar was of Valyrian descent, but lesser known on all fronts. Dragonriders and masters of the tide overshadowed everything else. “Your House has Valyrian blood,” Jace began, visibly intrigued. “Your father made a point of it during a council meeting.”

A burst of laughter escaped you, nose wrinkling with amusement. “He enjoys reminding everyone with every chance he gets,” You snickered, gaze flickering over the rest of the books present. Many were historical, but one belonged to a Maester — Flowers and Herbs of Dragonstone. “Do not let him tell you any stories, or you may find yourself there all night.”

Jacaerys chuckled at that, pearlescent teeth glittering in the orange light of the library. Little else seemed to matter, save for the both of you — no other soul around to witness your bond. “I will keep that in-mind. My own father liked to tell us sailor’s tales.” He mused, gaze a touch forlorn.

Laenor Velaryon — you knew that Jacaerys wasn’t his trueborn son, but it didn’t matter, not to you. He had mentioned Ser Harwin Strong once during your talks on the ramparts, and from his expression, you knew how much Harwin meant to him.

“You must miss him terribly,” You uttered, brows furrowing together. “Both of them.” The sweetness of your voice aided Jacaerys in not becoming so emotional in regards to his late fathers. They meant much to him in different ways, as equally as important as the other.

“I do,” Jacaerys smiled fondly, as if he were recalling a memory. “Ser Harwin was gentle yet ferocious, and Ser Laenor was humorous and kind. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” Lucerys was quite fond of Laenor — and that little memory jabbed at his heart.

You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, yet you didn’t withdraw. Instead, you kept your hand there, with Jacaerys tracing his thumb across the delicate ridges of your knuckles. He knew that Ser Harwin loved him, just as Ser Laenor had, too.

“Your father returned to Crackclaw Point,” Jacaerys began, knowing that as Master of Coin, obtaining fees to fund a potential war were important. “How have you fared?” He asked delicately, tone wrought with a soft-spoken concern.

“I love my father, but he can be rather narrow-minded when it comes to battle. He’s never fought a day in his life,” You mused, idly playing with some of the frayed binding on a book. “My older brother, Clement, is heir to Claw Isle. I suspect he also went to see him as well.”

You didn’t speak of Clement often, and whenever you did, it sometimes left a bitter taste upon your tongue. Clement was better than you in every way imaginable — but then again, had you been born a man, you might’ve been, too. You tried not to dwell on it.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jace replied, noticing the flicker of melancholy that crossed your features. He cared more for your wellbeing than he did most, and to see you saddened, it hurt him, too.

A soft exhale escaped you before you shrugged, adjusting the velveteen sleeves of your gown. “I’m well enough,” You admitted, mustering up a smile. “I do miss home, but Dragonstone has grown on me. Your mother is a good woman, and you are the very best.”

Jacaerys felt the weight of your words, the genuineness behind them, the feeling of true happiness. If he were to ever ascend the Iron Throne, he hoped that you would be by his side. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss atop your knuckles before holding it close. “I am undeserving of your praise.”

“Don’t,” The last thing you wanted was for Jace to feel unworthy, especially during a time like this. He was perfect to you — better than any man in the realm. “You will make a wonderful King, when the time comes. I could not imagine someone better suited for the position. Your mother will make sure of it.”

“I should hope to live up to your expectations,” He chuckled, and before you could scorn him for being harsh upon himself, he stopped you. “I hope to exceed them, with the help of a strong council and a wise Hand.” Jacaerys finished — and a good Queen.

“I know that you will.” You reassured him, dipping forward to press a kiss against his cheek. It was chaste and kept brief for the sake of propriety, but deep down, the both of you were waiting for a moment of opportunity to arrive. If you were patient, it would be soon.

Again, he flourished beneath your praise, head hanging slightly, dark curls framing his visage. He hadn’t a clue of what he did to deserve you, but he thanked the Gods for it. Jace exhaled, cradling your hand within both of his. “Your hand is cold.” He remarked, and the both of you shared a tender smile.

Jace knew that any amount of time spent with you was beyond worthwhile. Despite his desire to be involved in the action, he was beginning to develop a fear of losing you amidst the chaos. He refused to let your flowering relationship break apart.

With a smitten expression, you dipped your head, feeling his hands work to warm your own. “Thankfully, there is someone here to keep me warm.” Your remark was amiable, yet hushed. Part of you still worried that someone would come along and intrude.

“I’ll hold that position with honor, my Lady.” Jace mused, mirth and merriment reaching his eyes. For many days, they had been so forlorn and dour, especially after Lucerys’s passing. Now, there was a renewed spark, a vigor that touched them once again.

You believed him wholeheartedly, feeling warmth crawl across your skin when he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. Jacaerys gingerly kissed each of your fingertips, continuing to bring heat to your icy flesh.

The look you gave him was nothing short of endearment — the sort of stare reserved only for close lovers. Intimacy was one thing, but you adored Jace’s heart more than anything else. Beneath the stress of war and strife, he was a good man, born to rule the Seven Kingdoms with a just and compassionate hand.

“After supper, I want to show you Aegon’s Garden and the bay.” He broke the fleeting moment of silence, digits dancing along the silky plane of your palm. “Perhaps on dragonback.” Jacaerys attempted to smother the bemused look on his face when your eyes widened.

“On dragonback?” You had expressed your fear of flying many times before, but on a dragon? What if you fell, or what if Jacaerys fell? Perhaps your fears were irrational, but you still remained hesitant. “What if something were to happen? What if I plummeted from the sky?”

A brief huff of laughter escaped Jace, who canted his head to one side. “Do you truly think I’d let that happen? We would be secure, and there are places to hold onto. I promise.” He reassured you, but it did very little to quell the onslaught of worry you were experiencing. “I wouldn’t let you fall — I swear it.”

Apprehension muddled your visage, browns drawn together in a look of concern. “I trust you, Jacaerys, but —“ He stopped you with a kiss. The suddenness of it left you surprised yet aching for more, and you failed to take stock of your surroundings. It was just the two of you.

The hand that had been perched within his lap for so long now found purchase against your face, cupping your jaw with the utmost care. As much as he wanted to let it linger, echoing footsteps caused him to pull away. Your smitten expression gave him a sense of relief.

“Then trust me.” Jace mused, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. He planted another kiss atop your knuckles before releasing your hand. Thankfully, the timing was opportune, considering that a guard had wandered into the warm sanctuary of the library.

“My Prince, my Lady,” He greeted, standing tall with his hand on the pommel of his shortsword. “The council is reconvening before supper.” You recognized Ser Lyonel Bentley as one of the younger members of the Queensguard.

Jacaerys thanked Ser Bentley before turning to you, voice lowering enough so that only you could hear. “Find me tonight at the ramparts.” He murmured, subtly brushing his thumb over your knuckles before he stood, neatly rearranging his many scattered books.

You smiled, giving Jace a nod before standing yourself, rising to offer your farewell with a curtsy. “Good evening, my Prince.” Dropping at the knees, you noticed Jacaerys’s fleeting glance before he departed from the library.

As you watched him depart with the company of Ser Bentley, your heart swelled tenfold — Aegon’s Garden awaited you tonight.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭. The sun began to descend towards the ocean, casting the water in a blanket of fading embers. The black stone of the castle seemed to catch fire with the setting sun, and it was a beautiful sight.

Supper was eerily silent that evening — no one seemed hungry, and conversation dwindled to a mere hum. The halls of Dragonstone began to calm for the evening, and there was no sign of Daemon’s return. Your father had sent a raven from Claw Isle, reporting an influx of coin, ships, and supplies.

Within your chambers, you wrote a letter to home — to Clement, and to your father. He cited that he would return in two days' time, with the assistance of Claw Isle’s small vassal of ships. It comforted you to know that your father would rejoin the fray once more.

You waited for the hum of the castle to come to a lull before sneaking from your bedchambers, grabbing your cloak from the back of an armchair. Dragonstone was wrought with hidden passages and winding corridors that led to the Dragon’s Tail, or the wall.

Sneaking about once everyone had retired for the evening felt daring and exhilarating, but you feared what would happen if you were caught. You hadn’t a clue of what excuse to muster up should you be found, but you elected not to think of such things.

Torchlight guided your path from your chambers to a tunnel that led onto the ramparts. Twilight was still dancing across the skies, with the absence of dusk. As you entered the outside of Dragonstone, unoccupied by the presence of guards, you began your search for Jacaerys.

There wasn’t a shadow of a dragon afoot, or a man — just the saltwater breeze and crashing of the tides upon the bay and upon rock. You wrung your hands together, looking around for Jace. You approached the bannister, gazing off into the sea as you had many times before.

You were filled with the same wistful feeling — a longing for home, yet tethered to Dragonstone, tethered to Jacaerys. A soft beating of wings reverberated within the distance, accompanied by the hushed chirp of Vermax, who made a downward descent towards the ramparts you stood upon.

Jacaerys sat atop the olive-scaled dragon, filled with the excitement of seeing you there, smiling and radiant. As Vermax landed with an unceremonious thud, he dismounted, sliding down the side of the dragon’s shoulder and onto the stone below.

He hastily approached you with a giddy gait, delighted to see your own springing step as he collected you into his arms. Jacaerys spun you around, holding you close as he pressed a myriad of kisses against the top of your head. It was a blissful moment, full of anticipation and a sweetness that simply couldn’t be matched.

“I was worried that Ser Lorent might’ve caught you,” Jace mused, placing you onto solid ground as he kept his hands atop your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles into your sides. His smile was perfect, freckles catching in the fading sunlight. “I didn’t see you at supper.”

Admittedly, you weren’t very hungry and had opted to take supper in your chambers. The raven from your father had left you melancholy and alone with your thoughts, long enough for you to realize that hope lingered still. He would return, safe and sound to Dragonstone.

“I wasn’t very hungry,” You confessed, touched by his worry. Jace held you close, motioning towards the heavier knapsack anchored to Vermax’s saddle. It was almost as if Jacaerys intended on staying the night somewhere in the wilderness, but you knew that wasn’t the case. “Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

Jacaerys chuckled, head canting to one side. “You still don’t trust me, do you?” He teased, knowing fully well that it would make you unbelievably flustered. Instead, he reached for one of your hands, lacing it with his own. “I would never put you in harm’s way, I promise you that.” Jace reassured you, pressing a kiss against your brow.

A soft sigh escaped you, then. “I do trust you, Jacaerys — wholeheartedly. I suppose it is an irrational fear, falling from the back of a dragon.” You mused, and he detected the slightest hint of playful sarcasm within your tone. “In all seriousness, I know that you will keep me safe.”

“As long as I am with you, no harm will come to you. Nothing will hurt you,” Jacaerys murmured, pressing a kiss upon your knuckles. “Vermax possesses steady wings, and the journey will be short.” He spoke gently, guiding you toward Vermax’s lowered wing.

Without hesitation, your hand reached for the front of Jacaerys’s velveteen tunic, stitched and patterned to resemble faux dragonscales. You coaxed him in for a kiss, one that immediately flickered to life with a flurry of sweet passion and affection, now unrestrained.

He cupped your face, thumb tracing along the soft curve of your cheekbone, ensuring that he reciprocated with as much adoration as he could muster. Jacaerys had been waiting — waiting so patiently to share this moment with you since the previous tryst.

A rather noisy growl from Vermax pulled the both of you from the bliss of the moment, prompting Jace to scowl at his draconic companion. You were giggling, unable to keep from finding some humor in it. “Is Vermax the envious sort?” You mused.

“I suppose he is,” Jacaerys sighed, stepping up onto Vermax’s spiked shoulder and wing, using the leverage to pull himself up halfway. He looked at you expectantly, extending his hand towards you, which you took without an ounce of reluctance. “Move towards me.”

Rocking towards Vermax, Jacaerys finally hauled you up, guiding you onto the bulk of the leather saddle, situated in front of him. The handles were large and tall enough to give him leverage, even if you were sitting in between.

You could feel the warmth of dragonscales beneath you, the accelerating breaths of Vermax himself, every movement causing you to lurch forward. It was strange to feel a real, living dragon underneath you, but you maintained your composure for Jace’s sake.

“Sōvegon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, patting just above Vermax’s shoulder before the dragon took flight, leaping from the ramparts and into the cool, dusk air of Dragonstone Isle. Saltwater kisses peppered your cheeks, the mist of the Narrow Sea dancing through the night.

The ground became smaller, no longer close as you took flight, prompting you to hunch forward in order to grab ahold of the saddle. Your heart pounded within your breast, like the beating of a drum. Nervousness swelled within you like the rising of the tide, but Jacaerys kept close, chest snug against your back.

A burst of hysterical laughter tore past your lips, inevitably turning into something genuine. “This is incredible!” You gasped, and the world suddenly seemed so vast from the back of a dragon. Jacaerys laughed with you, guiding Vermax past the ramparts and toward the forested part of Dragonstone.

Aegon’s Garden was shrouded in ancient thickets, a grove that swallowed the shrine whole. “Gīda, Vermax!” Jacaerys ensured that his dragon leveled out, grabbing at the reins as he steered Vermax toward the edge of the island, circling around for you to see. “Put your hands here.” His voice softened for only you to hear as he motioned toward the saddle grips.

With shaky hands, you lifted them to the grips, placing them just underneath Jace’s, your grip ironclad. Jacaerys placed his palms atop yours, reins close enough for him to maintain control over Vermax. “Is this what it’s like to control a dragon?” You questioned, letting out a squeal when Vermax dove to the left.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it? I haven’t let you fall.” Jacaerys mused, pressing a brief kiss against your temple. He smiled when you gave him a playful, pointed look, your tresses billowing behind you with the wind. The sun continued to descend, and the sight was breathtaking.

It was something you would only see once in your lifetime — a sunset in the Narrow Sea upon the back of a dragon, watching as bright orange began to bleed into shades of violet, like dusk reaching up to steal the day away. The first inkling of stars twinkled above, faint yet present.

Anxiousness dissipated into joy and wonder at the world around you, no longer clouded by worry and fear. Jacaerys ensured that you were protected, hovering behind you as any dutiful paramour would. After you circled Dragonstone, he eased Vermax toward Aegon’s Garden, spotting the stone statue in its center.

Jacaerys could see the future, then and there — carrying you on dragonback to King’s Landing, to Driftmark and to the Reach and the Stormlands, seeing the world at your side. There wasn’t any other place for him, and he was satisfied with that.

As Vermax made his descent, the beating of his wings stirring the surrounding brush and flora, you held on tightly, watching as the dragon lowered his body towards the thickets. Towering pine trees, thorny hedges, and a meadow of wildflowers surrounded the massive draconic statue in the very center, wreathed in tendrils of prickly ivy and weathered vines.

It was quiet, the grove hushed with the cover of night. A singular column of torches lined the spiraling statue in the middle, said to be eternal flames lit in Aegon I’s honor, never to die out. Bushes of wild roses bloomed everywhere, in varying shades of crimson and pink, scattered around the stone.

With a soft grunt, Jacaerys moved to dismount, retrieving his thick cloak and a small roll from the back of Vermax’s saddle. He grabbed the thick hide strap that secured the saddle, using its leverage to hop onto solid ground.

He extended his arms out to you, nodding reassuringly for you to jump as he did. “I will catch you.” Jacaerys soothed, ensuring that you were secure within his hold as he assisted you in dismounting.

Through the haze of scaling pine trees and the serenity encapsulating the gardens, you could see the castle of Dragonstone looming in the distance, an intricate alcazar. House Targaryen had its roots everywhere, presence grounded within the very flora and rock you stood upon.

“This is beautiful,” You whispered, tone transcendent with awe as you admired the natural splendor of your newfound environment. It was an ancient place, archaic and from a time long before you. “Can you believe that a place like this still exists?”

Jacaerys had come to Aegon’s Garden on a handful of occasions — twice as a boy, in the company of his brothers and nursemaid. Only recently he’d come here, a place to be alone and contemplate without having a thousand eyes pick him apart.

The smell of damp woodlands and faint wildflowers drifted through the air, accompanied by moss and stone. Pine permeated the air, the scent heavy and verdant. Vermax lowered himself into the thicket, warm breath breaking through a line of ferns and thorns.

“This garden was named for Aegon the Conqueror,” Jacaerys hummed, taking your hand within his as he led you away from Vermax and closer to the statue within the center. It resembled a roaring dragon’s head, black scales winding down a spire, wings outstretched. “It is said that his ashes were scattered here following his passing.”

A trickling noise emerged from the statue, with tendrils of water oozing from the maw of the dragon, pouring into a stone basin below. The sun had nearly faded entirely, giving way to a calm nightfall, covered by large spots of clouds. Jacaerys led you closer to the obelisk, his gait slow and exploratory.

Inching forward, you placed your palm against the carved scales of the statue, feeling damp stone and moss beneath your fingertips. This was a place that was hundreds of years old, untouched by war, untouched by the harsh hand of time. “Is this supposed to be Balerion?”You asked, motioning to the statue.

“From what the records of Dragonstone say, it is Balerion.” Jacaerys replied, following in your footsteps as he stood by your side. He had left his scabbard and sword back on Vermax — he didn’t feel the desire to have it here. “My mother showed me this place when I was young.”

Jace’s voice grew wistful at the mention of his youth — sometimes, it didn’t feel like much of a childhood at all. The weight of being labeled a bastard for all his life left him crawling to feel a sense of worth, to prove himself whenever he could. No one could be so vicious here in Dragonstone — he’d left King’s Landing behind.

Leaning into him, you kept your chin tucked against his arm, gazing into the tarnished ruby eyes socketed into the statue. It was a piece of history, of a dynasty that Jacaerys was apart of. You wondered what your place was, where you would fit in, in the grand scheme of things.

“Someday, I will show you Claw Isle,” You spoke softly, harkening back to your younger days, just as he did. “Celtigar Keep is full of treasures collected throughout generations. There is apparently a carcass of a magical crab somewhere in the crypts.” You mused, nose wrinkling with amusement.

A soft laugh escaped Jacaerys, whose vibrant brown hues turned themselves to you, oozing with a warm affection. “A magical crab? Is that your equivalent to Targaryen dragons?” He teased, squeezing your hand when you playfully rolled your eyes.

“I would much rather have a dragon,” A steady exhale escaped you as you held his hand, feeling his head rest atop your own, thick curls brushing against your temples. “Crabs are boring unless they’re freshly-caught and used in a bisque.” You replied, your smile prevalent upon your features.

Jace snickered, finding your beratement of crabs to be incredibly amusing. A steaming bowl of crab bisque sounded delightful — it was something commonly served around most seaside castles. He fell quiet, elated to be in your presence as he pressed a kiss against the top of your head.

You clicked your tongue, still holding onto Jace’s hand. His silence gave you pause as you glanced up at him, a twinkle of mirth dancing within your eyes. “Did my talk of crab turn you away completely?” You hummed, prompting Jace to reach for your chin, digits tenderly stroking along your jaw.

“Absolutely not,” Jacaerys replied, leaning in until your foreheads touched. “I fear that you may be anchored to me for the foreseeable future.” He murmured, voice becoming a touch husky and rich. You savored his embrace, pressing a brief kiss against his chin, causing him to smile.

Whatever affection you felt for Jacaerys seemed to swell in that moment, causing your heart to flutter with excitement. Butterflies pooled within the pit of your stomach, dancing around with glee. “I’m quite content with that.” You whispered, and he kissed you, even if it was kept brief.

The scenery was something from a fairytale, cranberry meadows and wildflower patches illuminated by both moonlight and the glower of fire. Balerion’s stony, ruby eyes gazed down upon the both of you, the blood of Old Valyria standing before him.

“I would never leave this garden, if I could,” You sighed, interlacing your fingers with Jace’s own. He kept your hand close to him, thumb brushing along the ridges of your knuckles. “This means a great deal to me. Thank you for bringing me here, Jacaerys.”

Jace smiled, guiding you toward the thicket until you reached the stone surrounding Aegon’s monument in the center of the garden. “Perhaps we could stay here,” He replied, coming to a halt in front of the statue. He turned toward you, reaching for your waist as he pulled you closer. “Stay a thousand years.”

If only duty would make it so — if only.

You chuckled, keeping your hands interlocked as your palm lifted to perch atop his chest, absentmindedly tracing over the silvery stitching of his doublet. “What would we do? Eat berries and use Vermax as shelter?” A giggle escaped you as Jacaerys spun you in a slow circle, forehead dipping to press against yours.

“It sounds like a pleasant life.” His utterance had dropped into a sweet caress, genuine as could be. Jacaerys eased you into a sluggish dance, one reserved for noble lords and ladies, spun about across a great hall. He pressed a kiss atop the crown of your head.

Jacaerys wanted that with you, a life free of vitriolic politics and bloodshed, free of the cruelty of the crown, the viciousness of power. As he gently swayed with you within his arms, he had never felt so strongly about someone before. You were intertwined with him.

The folly of youth — fantasy and whimsy, believing that nothing bad would ever happen. You wished that it were true, and that you and Jacaerys could live happily together somewhere else, but the possibility was nothing more than a mere dream, one that dissipated as quickly as it had come.

Even if such a life with Jacaerys sounded picturesque, it wasn’t what duty commanded of you — what honor demanded. You knew that the relationship between you and Jace would be fraught with danger and trials ahead, but you were prepared to brave the storm with him.

As Jacaerys gently twirled you around once more, the both of you began to laugh, lips clamoring to find one another. It was saccharine, warm like the first inkling of springtime — there was never a more gallant man that existed than Jacaerys Velaryon.

He cupped your face within his palms, cradling you as if you were a delicate object, cherished and precious. Your hands wandered toward his chest, sinking into the velveteen material that clung to him. The dancing light of Aegon’s eternal torch basked the both of you in its still-burning embers.

It was refreshing to feel so liberated here, not having to hide your affections, look over your shoulder with each kiss. The fire that burned within you, your adoration for him — it intensified, continued to grow tenfold whenever you were in his embrace.

It was a tender dance, your lips — you couldn’t have pictured kissing anyone else after Jacaerys had kissed you. The care and caution he often exuded was more than enough to make you elated, body flush against his own as the entanglement continued for a few moments longer.

When you withdrew, you felt hot to the touch, completely and utterly taken by the Prince of Dragonstone. You felt his thumbs caress your cheekbones, stroking downward towards the curve of your jaw. The silence was comforting, something that you didn’t break just yet, careening into Jace’s touch.

Silvery rays of moonlight soon replaced that of the waning sunset, with a blanket of stars to decorate the skies. Of course, your surroundings were still clear enough, and he had been diligent enough to bring a torch with him, stashed away within the roll slung across his back.

“Shall we?” Jacaerys asked, offering you his hand to lead you through the winding gardens. The path that had been placed before was overgrown and trodden into mere dirt, but it was better than wading through tall grass. “There is a path that leads to the bay.”

The gentle, heavy sighs from Vermax signaled that he had fallen asleep somewhere amongst the thicket, tail curled around his larger frame. He was easy to spot, a massive scaled form slumbering within the brush.

“What of Vermax?” You asked, motioning towards the sleeping beast. It was amusing to see a dragon asleep — whenever you’d seen one, they were always so animated, soaring above Dragonstone or drifting above the Narrow Sea.

Jace smiled, nose wrinkling with amusement. “He will find me, if he becomes lost. Dragons are tethered to their riders,” He explained, feeling your hand slip within his as he slowly guided you down the path. Bushes of roses lined either side, thick from many decades of growing wild. “It is a companionship, a bond.”

“You will have to take me riding again,” You mused, nose wrinkling in amusement. “I must admit, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be. You can see much more of the world from the back of a dragon.”

With a teasing grin, Jacaerys dipped down to knock his shoulder against yours. “Is that so?” He jested, your sweet scent filling his nostrils. Your concoction of floral perfumes and honeyed scent was warming, to say the least. “Name the day, and I shall take you with me again.” He promised.

Many of the flowers that blossomed within Aegon’s Garden were native to the island, but something caught Jacaerys’s eye — blooms as pale as snow, sticking out amongst the thorny roses. He released your hand to seek it out, traipsing through the bush.

“Where are you going?” You laughed, head canting to one side as you followed him to the very edge of the path. Jacaerys waded through countless roses to find that clutch of Lady’s Lace. Thorns stuck to his doublet and the tail end of his cloak, not that he minded.

“You’ll see,” He called back, kneeling before the patch of pale, silvery blossoms as he collected them all, smiling to himself as he made his treacherous trek back to the path. When Jacaerys returned, he kept them behind his back, as if you were oblivious to his antics. “It doesn’t grow on Dragonstone.”

Presenting you with the bundle of flowers, you nearly buckled, features blazing with warmth. You were incredibly flustered, charmed to your core as he placed them into your hand. “This is Lady’s Lace,” You murmured, trailing your fingertips across the soft petals. “You are endlessly charming.”

Jacaerys chuckled, bristling at such a compliment as the two of you continued your walk toward the pale beaches of Dragonstone. “Endlessly charming,” He parroted, though instead of opting for humor, he became soft in your presence. “It is reserved only for you.” You believed him wholeheartedly when the words left his lips.

You loved him.

The thought immediately slammed into the recesses of your mind like a heavy stone being thrown, and it nearly shattered your composure. Jacaerys was everything that a man should be — he was everything you’d ever wanted, before you knew what wanting truly was. Your breath hitched within your throat, then and there.

His handsome, gentle features and gallant disposition, the kindness that touched his eyes — he was nothing short of perfection. You envied the woman that would become his Queen, become his wife. They would have only the best — Jacaerys deserved nothing less.

“Everything you do drives me to madness,” You confessed, and before Jace could express his confusion, you pressed a hand against his lips. “You are good — truly good, Jacaerys. I daresay, you are perfect. You cannot begin to understand how incredible you truly are, and your mother would be proud.”

He hesitated, gazing down at you through the haze of moonlight, capturing your doe-eyed stare. Whatever you felt, he did too — only stronger. Jace felt his heart beat again, mirroring the same sentiments he experienced the night he first laid with you.

Jacaerys nearly asked it of you, asked you to be his wife, his future Queen. If it weren’t for the onslaught of boyish nerves that suddenly gripped him, he would’ve asked you — he wanted you to marry him. The advantages of allying two houses of Valyrian descent were vast, but Jacaerys knew to seek the approval of your father upon his return from Claw Isle.

No matter the swiftness of the decision or the reproach it would potentially receive, any repercussions, he didn’t care. How could he, when he had you there to tell him how much he meant to you, how good he was?

He was occasionally quick to anger, desperate to be of some use in his Mother’s fight to regain her crown, but you made him feel more than that. Those flaws dissipated, and he happily drowned within your perfect light, the beacon of beauty that you were.

“Whatever I am, you are so much more.” Jacaerys uttered, politely removing your hand from his lips, but not before he could kiss each of your fingertips. “There is no one in this world quite as perfect as you.” He smiled, and it melted your heart completely.

Your lips parted, a soft exhale escaping you, yet no words emerged, turning to ash upon your tongue. “Jacaerys.” You exhaled, and before you could convey what you felt into words, Jacaerys stepped forward, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss.

It was fiery, far more charged than any entanglement you had before — and it was incredible. Passion, desire, devotion, love — it all began to roll into one sentimental conglomerate that flared between the both of you. Your hand clenched around the stems of Lady’s Lace, the other draping over his shoulder.

Jacaerys felt a tightening within his throat, canting his head to one side, deepening the kiss with a trembling exhale. Anticipation and exhilaration flooded through him, stirred to arousal when your fingers curled into the shoulder of his tunic.

He was the one to pull away first, ardor written all over his handsome features. “Come with me.” Jace whispered, taking a hold of your hand as he led you down the path from Aegon’s Garden. The land turned from towering pines and bogs of cranberries to an endless expanse of pale sands and gentle waves that lapped at the shore.

With a spring in your step, you trailed after Jacaerys, feet sinking into sand instead of dirt. The sight of Dragonstone in the distance was breathtaking — an obsidian citadel, your home. On your end the stretch, rocky formations and jagged cliff sides arching from the island, dark rock imbued with flecks of crystal.

Unveiling the torch from his light knapsack, Jacaerys struck it with flint and steel, enough of a spark to set it ablaze. Along the strand, moonlight touched the Narrow Sea, basking it in a wave of silvery light. The gentle ambiance of saltwater kissing sand made you feel at-ease.

In his time spent exploring Dragonstone, much of it done in his youth, he discovered many natural alcoves and caves, but none so mesmerizing as the one beneath the watchtower. The tower itself sat atop a large rise of rock, but it was rarely utilized, given the lack of military presence.

The soft sand began to run into walls of rock, surrounded by brush upon an incline and scattered pine trees. You stopped close by, gazing out into the ocean, the sight beautiful from where you stood.

Jacaerys joined you, placing the torch and bedroll along the ground as he joined you, finding the view to be nothing short of perfection. Only the ambiance of crashing waves resonated around you, and you reached for his hand, offering him a gentle smile.

You noticed the cozy resting place constructed by Jacaerys, something that caught your attention. Part of you hoped that it meant what you thought, but you never wanted to assume. As you turned to face Jacaerys, he seemed prepared, visibly steeling himself.

“Are you intending on sleeping here?” You murmured, voice tinged with a sweetness to it. His features turned from pallid to rosy, and he seemed to clear his throat and straighten his posture. “Unless you’ve no intention of sleeping.”

It caught him off-guard, features flushing with scarlet. “I would never pretend to assume,” Jacaerys shook his head, thumbs caressing your knuckles. Admittedly, he brought it all with the intention of simply being in your presence along the coastline, but your innocuous comment had planted ideas into his head. “I only thought it would keep you comfortable.”

A smile spread across your features, one that held nothing but affection and tenderness. “We can,” You had thought about it quite often since he last shared your bed. Here, in the gloom of the rock and moonlight, you didn’t need to be so cautious. “Only if it’s something you wanted too.”

Jacaerys blushed, cursing himself for allowing his expression to give him away so easily. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the soft skin there before he cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about you at every waking moment,” He whispered. “I am not ashamed to admit that I want you terribly.”

It transcended want — Jacaerys wanted you conventionally, as a man desired a woman, but it went beyond that. He wanted everything — your heart, your captivating mind, every fiber of your being.

That was love — and it was a dangerous thing, perilous within times of such uncertainty, but Jacaerys was a man of action, and he no longer wanted to wait in the gallows for you. He wanted to love you while there was still time left, while some peace still clung on by a thread.

Before you could speak, he stepped closer, swallowing the growing lump within his throat. He wasn’t a boy — he was every bit a man, and he would make his intentions known like one. “I feel more than just want,” Jace uttered, keeping your hands tethered together. “That is not adequate enough to describe what I feel for you.”

You shivered, feeling goosebumps rake across your spine in the wake of his confession. Knowing that Jacaerys wanted you just as much as you did him was reassuring. “How do you feel?” You whispered, voice barely above a whisper, as if yearning to know the inner machinations of his mind, know exactly how he felt.

“I love you,” Jacaerys felt a bit of a weight lift from his shoulders. He wanted to ask you to marry him — but it felt sudden. This confession needed to linger before he asked something so monumental of you. “I love you.” He said it again, to ensure its meaningfulness.

Words turned to ash within your mouth, and you could think of nothing else to say — only that you loved him, too. “I love you, too.” Those of an older age would label it puppy love, a fool’s errand — but not you, and not Jacaerys. There was no sweeter love than that born of friendship and devotion.

“Kiss me, Jace.”

That was all it took, all it needed to take — he was yours, unconditionally so, and he would be until his last days.

Without hesitation, Jacaerys captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth emblazoned upon yours. The bouquet of Lady’s Lace you held had been placed to the wayside, amongst Jace’s belongings to ensure that you would have it upon your return to Dragonstone.

Everything had seemed so fleeting and cautious before, as if the two of you were caught within a slow dance, hesitant to fully act upon desire. Lust was something different entirely, different from the love you felt for him, the carnal passion. Your arms tossed themselves around his neck, threading against the nape of his neck.

His arm hitched around your hips, bringing you flush against his chest as his mouth tangled with yours. It was a delicate duel of lips and fervor, his hand grasping at the fabric of your gown. He wondered what you would look like, bare and bathed by the gloom of moonlight.

There, on the pallid shores of Dragonstone, your love blossomed yet again. It was similar to the emotions felt the first time, the excitement and anticipation, the flourish of nerves that followed suit, only with the added familiarity. Jacaerys knew what he wanted — he wanted you.

“Are you certain?” Jace asked in between kisses, breathless and wanton as he swallowed the lump within his throat. Despite you having expressed your desire moments prior, establishing clear consent was appreciative on both ends.

“Yes,” You exhaled, eyes glittering through the dusk. “More than anything.” You sealed your statement with a kiss, one that Jacaerys happily reciprocated. He coaxed you closer, leading you toward the thick, furred bedroll atop the sand.

Jacaerys was the first to descend, unclasping the draconic sigil that kept his cloak upon his shoulders, letting it drape across the bedroll. His breath hitched slightly when you crawled into his lap, bringing your hands to his chest, digits sinking into the velvet of his embroidered doublet.

He kissed you tenderly, yet passionately — not an ounce of roughness in his movements, nor a desire to manhandle you. Jacaerys treated you as if you were sacred, a goddess to be worshiped, and he wanted to ensure that he was worthy of you.

It was a beautiful sight, surrounded by the shadowed gloom of pine trees, massive cliffs, and the calm lapping of the ocean’s tides as they swayed into the shore. The flickering of torchlight provided some illumination, but the moon was plentiful.

You were beautiful, prettier when you sat within his lap, gowns pooling around you. Jacaerys brought his hands to the small of your back, finding the ties of your bodice as he loosened them, watching the fabric sag upon your physique. His fingers wandered, curling into the front of your dress.

“May I?” He always asked — you never expected it of him, but the effort he put forth was always appreciated. You nodded, shrugging your arms enough to free yourself from the upper half of your gowns, breasts exposed to the cool, dusk air.

Jacaerys was constantly beguiled by your beauty — he would never tire of it, nor did he want to. He was less shy this time, but reserved about how he touched you, hand skirting along your naked back. The other cupped beneath your jaw, lips colliding with yours once more.

Your hands found purchase atop his broad shoulders, seeking to free him from his doublet. Admittedly, he looked so painfully handsome in it, adorned in the ancient colors of House Targaryen, but you wanted to see him, freckled skin and taut muscle.

Each kiss was like wildfire, spreading with a heat and intensity that threatened to consume you both. Goosebumps cascaded along the length of your spine, body shivering when he gripped you tightly, mouth moving in a blissful tandem with yours.

His lips began to roam, reaching for the soft slope of your jaw, peppering you in delicate kisses as he found your neck. Jace savored your taste, like honey and warmth upon his tongue, skin soft and silky. He wondered how you were real — perfection made living and breathing before him, his heart belonging to you.

“Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, hands carding through his soft, dark curls. They were perfect to trace your fingertips through, giving you something to grip as his mouth traveled lower, showering you in kisses across your collarbone. “Please, I need you.” A groan escaped you as he dipped close to your breasts.

Arousal stabbed at his gut like a hot knife, a good sort of torture as his cock twitched within his breeches. It wasn’t foreign to him — yearning for you was no longer foreign. His hand fell away from your jaw, gathering at the hem of your gowns as he pushed his palm beneath the fabric, fingers dancing along your leg.

Again, you insistently pushed at his tunic, unbuttoning the silvery clasps to the left, situated beneath a layer of embroidery and velvet. He shuddered at your enthusiasm, his own delight present when your soft hands embraced his chest, gliding over bare muscle.

You nudged his doublet into the bedroll, able to feel all of him now. He was so handsome, layered in a smattering of freckles, still growing into himself, not that you minded. Jacaerys was broad-shouldered and lean, muscle defined and glistening with silver from the moonlight.

His hand continued its ascent, gripping your thigh to signal where he wanted to go, and all you could do was encourage him. “Please.” You breathed, parting from his kiss for just a moment. Jace watched you closely, kissing you wherever he could as his fingers dipped into the warm apex between your legs.

Jacaerys deftly pressed his digits against your cunt, tracing the line of your slit with a feather-light embrace. You gasped, faces pressed closely together, breath hot, bodies aching for more. He found himself enticed by your pleasure, brown hues transfixed on the way your body bent to him.

He sometimes wondered how such a thing was even possible, but the logistics mattered little — he was simply delighted to please you. Jacaerys mimicked his movements from the previous tryst, thumb grazing against your clit as the other two stroked around the rest of your cunt.

Gods, he loved you — it nearly overwhelmed him, then and there, but he held his ground through the onslaught of sentiment he felt. Jacaerys pressed another kiss against your mouth, lingering and intense, digits sinking themselves into your cunt.

Your lips clamored for his, breathy and hot as you moaned into his mouth, hips rolling into his hand. His skin felt soft beneath your fingertips, gripping tightly into his shoulder blades as you allowed pleasure to overtake you. He gave you everything you needed, thumb continuing to circle your clit.

There was no greater sight, Jacaerys thought, seeing you half naked on the beach, cast in silver from the moon. Each glimpse rendered him breathless, heart hammering within his chest, afraid that it might simply rip open.

Breathy, warm pants escaped the both of you, lips occasionally reaching for one another, a moment of bliss and pleasure before Jace gently moved away, showing you affection elsewhere. He bent his head as one would in reverence, finding your breast as he pressed strings of kisses all around your pliant peak.

A sweet moan arose from your lips, a cry of delight as your Prince pleasured you. Part of you felt a pang of guilt for not reciprocating, but he was often insistent on letting it all revolve around you, something you would have to rectify in the future. His arm locked around your back, the other still happily wedged between your thighs.

Your fingers found his hair again, holding at the base of his skull as thick, dark curls threaded themselves through your grasp. Jacaerys groaned at the pleasurable sensation, lips drifting from one of your breasts to the other, taking your nipple into his mouth. He kissed and nibbled around the bud, causing you to shiver.

“Will you let me touch you, too?” You asked, in between throaty pants and needy whimpers. You didn’t want him to stop, and simply wanted him to share in your ecstasy. Jacaerys nodded, feeling your hands release his tresses to tug at the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock.

His hips stuttered slightly into your hand, a low groan tearing past his lips as he resumed his focus, allowing two of his fingers to tease your entrance. The warm, soft sensation of your palm closing around his hardened length made him grit his teeth, attempting to maintain his composure.

Just as Jacaerys handled you with adoration, you reciprocated such a notion, stroking from base to tip, finding it somewhat difficult to focus on yourself and him. Nonetheless, the shared bliss was exhilarating to behold, between your pleasured countenance and Jace’s unrestrained grunts and sighs.

The threat of war mattered little, as if it simply ceased to exist when he was in your presence. Duty died then and there, love took its place, like a blossom amongst the rubble — whatever fear he thought he had abandoned had been restored anew.

What was duty compared to that of your touch? What was honor? His honor had been hanging by a thread since your last tryst, and he feared he had lost it altogether by indulging in this, but he was wrong. It was loving you, devoting himself to you, proving to all that he was the heir, the succession.

He kissed you hard, as if he were pouring every ounce of his being into you, as if it would make you both one. Jacaerys savored the feeling of your lips, soft and plump as they returned that passion tenfold. Your ravenous state was born of ardor, and nothing more.

Between the rhythmic rocking of his hand into your cunt, thumb continuing to caress your clit, and the shy strokes of your hand against his cock, the both of you were well on your way to a shared release. He wanted to be inside of you, taste you if he could, but perhaps that would be saved for another day.

You mewled a string of delicate praises, wanting Jace to hear just how perfect he felt. A gentle breeze brought with it the mist of saltwater, peppering itself across your back, a soothing feeling amidst the feverish onslaught of warmth brewing between you and Jacaerys.

“I want you.” He groaned through half-gritted teeth, jaw tensing as his hips jutted forward into your palm. You nodded several times over, adjusting your skirts as you ensured that they wouldn’t be as much of an obstruction. Jace sluggishly removed his fingers from your weeping core, feeling you hover closer.

Aligning his hardened cock with your cunt, you shakily lowered yourself onto him, gasping at the sudden intrusion and stretch. Jacaerys grunted, forehead pushing into yours as one arm encircled you, fingers kneading into the plush flesh of your hips.

The newfound position was unfamiliar to the both of you, but you were so lost within the ecstasy that neither of you voiced any displeasure. It was quite the opposite, in fact. His length throbbed inside of you, aching with a burning want that simply refused to be extinguished.

You were unsure of how to proceed, acting upon instinct and what felt right, rocking your hips back and forth in a rhythmic motion. It was good, but you tried again, finding your pace with uncertainty. When you began to lightly move up and down, thighs stinging with a burning sensation, you knew that was perfect.

“Jacaerys,” You gasped, feeling his hand clamp down into the swell of your hip, guiding you along as best as he could. Each rock of your hips atop him sent him into a sea of bliss, savoring the warmth and tightness of your cunt. His head dipped down, finding the column of your throat. “Jace!” A whine escaped you, needy and wanton.

He pressed needy kisses into your neck, savoring the taste of your skin, sweet and heady. You continued to adapt to the newfound position, gently moving your hips in a rhythmic motion. Your body felt feverish, as if it had been set ablaze, stomach swirling with molten heat as arousal pooled between your legs.

Despite the sight of you, resplendent and glowing atop him, Jacaerys wanted to feel it all — and there wasn’t much that he could do like this. His hand gently coaxed you to the side, wanting to ease you down into the furs beneath you.

Much to your shared delight, you quietly obeyed, breath hitching within your throat as you moved to your back, with Jacaerys reassuming his position between your legs. His veined hand gingerly traced along your thigh, the other rooted near the sand to keep himself afloat.

Carnality festered between the both of you, like a smoldering flame, unable to be controlled. You gazed up at him, doe-eyed and devoted, an intimate look that was reserved only for him. Jacaerys gently pushed your skirts up enough to allow him movement, the head of his cock kissing your entrance.

His chest rose and fell with heavier sighs, and he nearly groaned when you peppered light, fleeting kisses along his sculpted jaw. “Are you alright?” He asked, voice strained with desire, having dropped to a delicate octave that stroked at the back of your mind.

It was bliss and ardor you felt, no longer clipped by the sting of discomfort or the uncertainty of your actions. You knew exactly what you wanted — whom you wanted, who you loved. “I am,” You reassured him, feeling his hand caress the inside of your thigh. “I love you.” Your smile spread quickly across your features, like the first inkling of daybreak.

Jacaerys moved forward then, deliberately sinking his hardened length into you, letting it fill you, bit by bit. The sensation was euphoric, aided by your shared sentiments and declarations of love. “I love you.” He hummed, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth as he dipped down to kiss you.

There was a poignant seriousness about the first time you lay together, and that same feeling was felt here too, only less intense. Instead, you felt the thrill of being with him, the desire, love — perhaps a touch of lightheartedness. He made love to you as if you’d been lovers for a thousand years already.

He began to adopt a passionate pace, one that filled your body with a pleasant buzz. With each thrust, he bottomed out inside of you, withdrawing his cock just enough to make the next movement count. A myriad of husky groans and excitable exhales escaped him, coupled with your own sweet moans.

The hand that had perched against your thigh began to drift toward the warmth between your legs, thumb seeking your clit again as he rolled his hips into you. You sighed with passion, hitching one leg around his hips, the other bumping into his side.

“You’re perfect.” Jacaerys murmured into the hollow of your throat, his tousled mane of curls within perfect reach of pulling and tugging. His lips showered you in untold amounts of affection, traveling from your slender neck to your collarbone, hot breath sinking into your skin.

Goosebumps crawled across your flesh as a brisk, oceanic breeze swept over you, but Jacaerys kept you warm, shielding you with his fire. You traced your fingers over the freckles dusted across his shoulders, one hand gripping at his shoulder, the other tangling into his thick tresses.

Your back arched slightly, careening into him as he circled your clit with his thumb, letting it meld into the rhythm of his thrusts. His cock throbbed with a lustful ache, on the verge of release, losing himself within you. Everything felt so euphoric, as if time stood still, the both of you tangled together on the beach.

A vigor began to take hold, boldening his strokes and furthering his ministrations, driving himself deep inside of you with every breath he drew. It was loving and gentle, the sort of tenderness shown in true acts of intimacy. It was difficult not to become so overwhelmed that he became sporadic — Jace wouldn’t subject you to that.

The feeling of his mouth hungrily swirling across your body made you whimper, arousal sinking like a pleasant weight within your stomach. His thumb caressed your clit, wanting to bring you to a release with him, if he could.

His name fell heavy upon your tongue, an incantation that only you could cry, laced with ardor and reverence. Jacaerys never tired of hearing you say his name — if it were up to him, he would have you say it a thousand times over. You tugged at his curls, coaxing him in for an open-mouthed kiss.

The coil that furled within you began to loosen, bliss following suit as your hips writhed beneath him, rolling into each thrust. Jacaerys groaned at the friction, brow dappled with a sheen of perspiration as he kissed you back, hand curling into a fist within the furs.

It was all tongue, mouths, bodies pressed together, heat — desire laid bare, and you gladly drowned yourself in it. You moaned into his mouth, foreheads pressed together as you shuddered, the dam breaking within your stomach. It all unfurled, reaching your peak in-tandem with Jacaerys.

He buried his face into yours, brows furrowing together, countenance one of sheer bliss as he released, seed spilling inside of you before he pulled himself out halfway through. Jacaerys felt that tide of bliss soon afterwards, attempting to make himself somewhat decent.

He didn’t leave you, composure regaining itself as you rode your release, body shivering with delight. You felt him lay next to you, still damp with inklings of sweat and saltwater mist. You exhaled, your skirts thoroughly ruffled and rucked around your hips.

You sat up, peering at Jacaerys through your lashes, your smile affectionate and smitten. His fingertips traced along the soft plane of your back, drawing delicate patterns there. “I’ll never grow tired of that.” You confessed, and it lightened the moment, prompting him to laugh.

A shade of rose coated his visage, brown hues sparkling with admiration as he caressed along your spine. “Neither will I,” Jacaerys agreed, sitting up enough to help pull your gown back into place. He didn’t know anything about lacing a bodice back together, but he could certainly try. “I cannot get enough of you.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against your shoulder.

A blossoming warmth flooded through you, accompanied with a feeling of pure bliss — he was sweet, and it made you feel incredibly fortunate. You felt his fingers find the ties of your gown, carefully maneuvering them back into place, kissing along your spine as he did so.

“We don’t have to leave.” You crooned, feeling his chin perch atop your shoulder, lips delicately peppering themselves along your neck. Your tone was a touch melancholy, knowing that when the dawn began to spread across the horizon, you would have to return to the realm of being apart again.

You could stay a thousand years, just as he had told you in Aegon’s Garden.

Jacaerys’s jaw tensed slightly — he wanted to ask you. It was opportune, and he wouldn’t have to be apart from you again. It would be so effortless, taking your hand and asking for you to be his wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but he couldn’t.

The silence made you somewhat concerned, and you turned enough to face him, head canting to one side. “Is something on your mind?” You inquired, cradling his face within your palm. You could see the storm behind his eyes, the curtain of contemplation.

Ask — ask her to be your wife.

Jace’s proposal turned to ash within his mouth. It would be a disservice to his mother and to your House if he simply acted. He wanted to ask your father, ease his mother toward the subject, go about it the proper way. This was the right way, asking you out of love and passion, but he couldn’t.

Not yet, at least.

“Nothing,” His lips twitched into a genuine smile as he reached for your hands, cradling them within his own, thumbs stroking your knuckles. “Know that I would go anywhere with you, if I could. I love you,” Jace assured, and you knew it to be true. “I am yours.”

You smiled, wanting to hold onto the moment for as long as you could. It was disheartening to have another wonderful evening shattered by reality, by the duty that bound the both of you elsewhere. “I love you, too.” You murmured, pressing a kiss against his jaw.

His countenance glistened with disdain at the idea of having to return to the castle — to separate rooms, to two different lives. Jacaerys wanted you by his side, and if fate would have it, he would not have to wait for much longer. Temperance and patience would endure.

There would be no staying together until dawn arose — no chance to hold you throughout the night, shield you from any shadows that might harm you. Jacaerys felt the weight of it sink into his stomach, and it made him treasure these moments with you even more.

“We should return to Dragonstone.” You uttered, as if the statement itself was a damnable curse. Your throat tightens slightly, but you maintained your composure, helping to collect his scarce belongings and clasp his doublet back into place.

Jacaerys could see the dismay upon your face, and it only made him ache with yearning, a desire to wipe away all of your melancholy. He pressed a kiss against the top of your head, and when the both of you stood in the sand, gazing at one another with a look of longing, he wanted to prolong your return for as long as he could.

“Not just yet,” Jacaerys uttered, reaching for your hand as he held it within his own, his forehead dipping to rest against yours. “Not just yet.” He whispered, tenderhearted smile reaching his eyes before he leaned in for a kiss.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal or translate my work onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[gojoest]

ENTANGLED ━━━ chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x zenin f! reader

series masterlist┊next chapter

synopsis: you — the daughter of zenin naobito (the head of the zenin clan), born with no cursed energy and therefore deemed to be the disgrace of the clan — have only one dream. to escape from your own blood that’s rejected you ever since birth, even if it means you have to dirty your hands in the process. when simply running away is not an option, for they would indubitably find you and drag you back for worse, you find your getaway in the arms of an enemy clan  

warnings: MDNI, canon divergent, non-linear narrative (a lot of jumping back and forth between past & present, it’s indicated accordingly), female reader, she/her pronouns, reader is a zenin born without cursed energy, discrimination, abuse and bullying during childhood (she gets the toji treatment :/), brief mention of direct maternal death (regarding reader’s mother), childhood friends that fall out but come together, marriage of convenience (but with a twist), eloping, pining, kind of slow burn ngl, ijichi, shoko, geto, naoya + naobito cameo, mentions of food and alcohol, terms of endearment (calls you miss zenin, bride-o-mine, then mrs gojo later on + sweetheart <- so do you but with a lot of sarcasm behind it), sexual tension, male masturbation, although it’s left vague there’s some elements of incestuous behaviors on naoya’s end, wc: 9.3k

chapter one guideline & timeline:

I. The News — takes place in the present time.

II. The Proposal — two weeks prior to The News.

III. Sealing The Deal — two days after The News.

IV. The Past — flashback to the past, mainly from reader’s pov. this part is to be continued in chapter two, from satoru’s pov.

V. The First Night — after Sealing The Deal.

VI. Bad Faith — the day after The First Night.

The News 

Nobody could ever predict what Gojo Satoru was up to, except for one specific behavioral aspect of his — those who’ve spent a fair amount of time around him could easily figure that whatever it was on that man’s mind, it was, without any doubt, unorthodox and crazy. 

Yet every now and then, Gojo Satoru managed to outdo himself and exceed even their wildest expectations. This time — by dropping a bomb nobody saw coming, especially not from him.  

“Gojo-san, there’s an upcoming mission assigned to your students, and you are to supervise them throughout it”, Ijichi hands a document regarding the occasion, but his arms hang in the air as the blindfolded man is absorbed in a rather peculiar activity, patently unwilling to receive the papers. 

“Eeeh”, Satoru drags out a displeased whine, without even bothering to look at Ijichi. Currently seated and mindlessly spinning around in a swivel chair that he rummaged out earlier that day from one of the storage units in Jujutsu High and dragged into the classroom for god knows why. His entire attention focused on keeping his long legs up in the air as he spins as fast as he can without possibly breaking the chair, but still, he shows some semblance of interest. “When? Where? What’s it about?”, the words spoken in slow monotone. 

If you look at the papers, you might know the answer to all these, Gojo-san. Ijichi thinks to himself but, of course, doesn’t dare say it out loud. “It’s in two days from now, the location is—” 

“Stop right there”, Satoru cuts him off, ceasing his childish ministrations with his feet landing a heavy stomp on the floor. He slowly gets up. “In two days?”, he rubs his chin, thinking, “I am afraid, I can’t. I am getting married then” 

Of course, you are. Ijichi thinks in an internal monologue. 

“With all due respect, Gojo-san”, he clears his throat to push back the laughter that’s about to climb up and out his throat. “You could’ve come up with a better excuse than this to, umm—”, after fixing his glasses, he continues, “—ditch your duties” 

“That was not an excuse, Ijichi, nor was it a joke. I can’t believe you think so lowly of me as a teacher”  

For a second there, the evident seriousness in his voice sends a shiver down Ijichi’s spine, which, to be honest, is not entirely caused by the way Gojo spoke to him, but also what he spoke of just now.  “I really am getting married”, he repeats. 

“Oh?”, Ijichi’s eyes widen, unable to utter another word other than an exclamation while processing the credibility of his words. This man is not joking? This man, of all men, is getting married? For real? 

“To be more precise — in two days from now, I will be busy kidnapping this bride-o-mine” 

“Oh?!”, still speechless, another gasp leaves Ijishi’s mouth. “You’re eloping?”  

“That is correct, ten points for you Ijichi!”, Satoru claps his hands. “Keep this a secret for the time being. I know it's a matter of time for everyone to know, but I'd rather they found out after it’s official since prying eyes might get in our way and spoil our plans. Got it?” 

Ijichi only nods in return. 

“Good. As for the mission — let Nanami handle it in my stead, the students will be fine as long as he’s with them” 

After Satoru left, excusing himself with a “oh, so many things to do before the big day, you know?” spoken with his trademark silly chuckle, Ijichi stood there in the empty classroom for a while, frozen. Shocked to his core still, but now also curious. Who was that woman to make Gojo Satoru want to marry her? 

The Proposal 

(two weeks ago) 

“To say I was surprised to get a call from you would be an understatement, Miss Zenin”, Satoru grinned at you, taking off his sunglasses immediately upon your arrival and placing them on the table. 

It’s not that you were late — he was simply early, something quite bizarre for him honestly. Already ordered drinks for the both of you and waiting for you to show up with his legs crossed and fingers nervously tapping on the table — again, being nervous was something quite unusual for him as well. 

“And to ask me to meet you here of all places—”, he sprawled out on the chair, leaning his back against the wooden splat, his long legs reaching the other side of the table from beneath and pushing the chair there with his feet to invite you to sit. He was being a gentleman in his own way, to which you rolled your eyes but made no remark. “Are you going to ask me to kill someone for you?”, a mocking chuckle escaped his lips after he finished his sentence. 

“Not necessarily”, you replied, unamused.  

The day before, you called him. Asking to meet you here, in this secluded spot disguised as a cafe which regular people avoided, since it was a place swarmed by dangerous individuals and illegal activities. Drugs, kidnapping, assassination — whatever shady dealing you could think of. It had to be this place, after all there was no way for a Zenin to meet a Gojo out in the open, considering the bad blood between the two clans since generations ago. Especially not the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the clan head, and Gojo Satoru, the pride and leader of the Gojo clan. It would’ve caused consequences, for you at least. 

“You’ve got some balls to come here alone though, I must admit. As intriguing as always”, Satoru scoffed. “I don’t remember the last time I sat this close to you. Not since we were kids”, his lips slightly curved into a nostalgic smile as he reminisced about old times. “Now you avoid me anywhere you see me, like I’m some sort of disease”, and the smile shifted back to a regular one, although you could tell it was forced, just to keep his usual nonchalant appearance. “Not that we meet outside of clans’ gatherings, but still—” 

“Can we skip the yapping and cut to the chase? I don’t have much time”, you interrupted. “Sure, Miss Zenin”, he shot back. 

Miss Zenin. The way he called you that annoyed you abysmally, and that probably was his intention all along. But you had to ignore it for now, you really didn’t have much time on your hands — you had to go back home before anyone would notice you weren’t around. 

“I have a favor to ask, actually — it’s more of a proposal” 

 “Listening”, his head tilting to the side, eyes locked on your lips, awaiting the words. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Silence. 

It took him a few seconds before he could speak, pondering in his head whether he heard you right. Eventually the only word he could utter was “What?”, to which you said nothing. You figured it was best to give him some time to process the information.  

“What’s the catch?”, he spoke again, eyes now squinting. 

“Glad you asked”, you gave him a knowing smile. 

“Of course. I would say it’s a joke but no way you’d call me out of the blue just to pull my leg” 

“True, it isn’t a joke” 

“I believe it’s not out of love either? Unless... I am wrong? Have you been harboring such strong feelings towards me all these years?”, his tone slowly transitioning back into mocking after the initial shock had faded. 

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You wish. See, that would only happen in your dreams” 

Laughing, he slowly shifted in his seat. Leaning his body forward to rest an elbow on the table and press a cheek against his palm, his other hand playing with the straw of his drink. “So, you want out of the clan, huh? And finally have the courage to do it” 

“You figured?” 

“Well, I grasp things quickly. Considering how the Zenins treat women and especially those born without cursed energy, like yourself, this wasn’t hard to predict. But I am surprised by the choice of your method” 

“And I am surprised you didn’t cut me out by now since this was a shot in the dark”, you eyed him, baffled but pleasantly. 

“Let’s say I am intrigued by your proposal, which turned out to be quite unromantic, but I'll look past it”, a mystifying grin splattered on his lips. "Also, as you already know, there’s a Zenin or two I am willing to help”, he laughed. “So, tell me — what’s in that beautiful head of yours?” 

"Well, as you already guessed — I want to leave the clan. Being a Zenin is not for me, never has been. I’ve been treated like an abomination all my life, looked down upon like I barely fit the criteria to be human in their eyes just because I was not gifted with abilities, and I am done with it”, you paused, trying to hold back the cracking of your voice. All the years of mistreatment washing over you as you spoke. You took a deep breath, “Simply running away is not an option, they will find me and drag me back for worse. You know it. But if you help me—” 

“—their hands will be tied”, he finished your sentence.  

You nodded. “They can’t go against you. Well, there might be a slight commotion, namely coming from my brother, Naoya. But he won’t do anything brash without father’s approval” 

“That lousy brat? I didn’t know the two of you were so close”, Satoru lifted an eyebrow, a bit bothered by this. 

“We’re not, but it’s complicated” 

He got the message — you did not wish to talk about it. And he’d let it slide. For now. “And you think you’ll be free once you become a Gojo?” 

“Not immediately, but eventually — yes. I don’t plan on staying by your side until death do us part, you know” 

“What an eventful meeting this turned out to be — first I get a marriage proposal, and now a divorce, all at once”, he laughed, covering his eyes with a hand. Perhaps to hide something in them that didn’t quite align with his laughter. “What if I get attached and refuse to let you go?”, he spoke, with a tone more serious that it took you aback a bit. “Have you considered this?” 

“Are you a comedian now?”, you brushed it off. “We both know such thing won’t happen” 

“How come you’re so sure?” 

“It’s happened before, you know it” 

“We were kids back then”, he smiled softly, with a sprinkle of regret on his lips. “We used to sneak out to spend time together, but things are different now” 

“But you stopped coming” 

“My training got more intense, didn’t have time for games anymore” 

“You bet. I know you did it to keep me out of trouble. You were aware I was getting scolded and punished for meeting you” 

“Oh?”, he gasped. “You knew?”, a powerless laughter followed the realization that all these years you didn’t just avoid him out of spite. Part of him felt at ease about it, that you always understood him, even without words. Just like back then. Maybe because you were both a mutation of a different breed — a special boy put on a pedestal by many, a monster if you will; and a nonspecial girl looked down upon by her own blood as a disappointment, barely a human — yet the loneliness you carried weighed the same on your hearts. 

“Yea”, you sighed. “Back then you did it to keep me out of trouble, now you’ll do it to get me out of one. When the time comes, we’ll separate but keep it a secret. If my clan finds out, they won’t let it slide. I’ll show up for gatherings every now and then, to dodge any possible suspicions, but that’s all. Treat this like a deal” 

“That’s all good, but deals require an equivalent exchange so both parties benefit from it. You get your freedom. But what about me — what do I get in return?” 

Your lips curved into a scarce smile, delighted that he was willing to negotiate. This could actually work, you thought. “Well, it’s not like your family will be very pleased to have me but still. The most important thing is, you won’t ever have to deal with the blind dates your clan sets you up on, with an arranged marriage in mind. I bet they’re nagging you about it constantly since you’re pretty much of age now” 

“What my clan is concerned about is an heir, marriage is just a stepping stone. How will this temporary thing between us do that? Temporary and fake on top of that?”, he questioned through a scorn. 

“I’ll give you a child”, you shot at him in a heartbeat, voice unwavering. This was part of the plan after all. 

“What?”, he laughed, tilting his head in pure astonishment at your offer. 

“We will lead a normal married life, like a proper wife and husband. I’ll have your child, this secures me even better. That way I’ll be tied to the Gojo clan forever, not the Zenin” 

“You’re aware what we need to do in order for you to have my child, right?” 

You were, but when he put it like that your face got hot against your will, heat burning your cheeks and sizzling on your ears. “I am”, you mumbled, unable to look him in the face. Petrified to meet his gaze. 

“You really are insane”, he covered his face with both hands. Perhaps he was petrified, too. 

“Coming from you that’s rather concerning. Now back to the point — you up for it?” 

“Alright. Let’s do it” 

Sealing The Deal 

(back to present) 

For the past two days Satoru pulled all the strings possible in order to speed up the marriage procedure. He diligently prepared all the needed documents to officially register your matrimony. All that was left was to go to the ward office and submit the marriage application after signing it along with two witnesses. 

With that, today would mark your last day as a Zenin. 

“Do you know who the girl is?”, Shoko asks, leaning against the wall in the ward office hallways, waiting for Satoru and the mystery bride to arrive. 

Geto shrugs from next to her, “Nope, no clue. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is happening — he is actually getting married” 

“You of all people didn’t know he was involved with someone?”, she scoffs, turning her head in his direction. “Strange, maybe he was hiding the love of his life from you so you wouldn’t snatch her away” 

“He wasn’t involved with anyone, if he was — we both would’ve known. Besides, what do you mean by that? I would never break the bro code, come on” 

A semblance of a lazy laugh slips through Shoko’s lips. One can tell she didn’t get much sleep (again) by how lethargic and unenthusiastic her reactions were. “Girls end up falling for you always, so maybe he chickened out to introduce her” 

“That’s because he sucks with girls”, Geto snorts.  

Satoru wasn’t exactly the sweep-you-off-your-feet type of guy. His looks were bewitching, that was a given, and women would latch on him, only to give up shortly after. And all the reviews were unanimous — I want someone that will put me first, but with him — I don’t see it ever happening, his mind is elsewhere.  

“Maybe he finally caved in after years of his family pestering him to get married”, Shoko throws another guess. 

“Satoru caving in to an arranged marriage? Seriously, Shoko... Does he look like the type to listen to what elders tell him to do?” 

“He never looked like the marrying type either, yet here we are” 

“I don’t know”, Geto sighs heavily. “This is way too odd” 

“Hey, hey~”, Satoru’s voice echoes through the hallways. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my bride was barely able to sneak out from the Zenins. You know how the old farts there are” 

Hearing the name Zenin, Shoko and Geto glance at each other with the same perplexed look in their eyes. A Zenin? Sneaking out? 

Forcing a somewhat adequate smile, you shake their hands. You could tell they were taken aback after hearing your name, it was written all over their faces that they didn’t quite endorse this insane whim of Satoru’s. 

“Satoru, can I have a quick word with you”, Geto pulls him to the side after giving you a polite smile as a form of apology. 

“Are you eloping?”, he whispers, although quite audibly, “With a Zenin? Have you actually lost your mind, Satoru?” 

“Suguru”, Satoru lazily drapes an arm over Geto’s shoulder, “Yes to your first question, as for the second — have you ever seen me be normal about anything?”, he laughs. 

“Not the right time to humor your misery, Satoru”, Geto says through gritted teeth all while forcing a smile looking your way, to avoid any awkward impression on your end that the two of them were talking about you (even though that’s exactly what was going on). “There’s existent animosity between your clans already, are you trying to start an actual war all over again?”, he snaps, giving a sharp nudge to his side. 

“Ouch~”, Satoru yelps. “Come on, Suguru. What can they do to me?”, his words brimming with confidence compel Geto to rub the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Do you remember, that one time on the rooftop back when we were still students in Jujutsu High, I told you about a girl from my childhood?”, Satoru continues. 

Geto nods. He does remember it vividly, after all it was the first and last time Satoru has ever talked about a girl of his own accord and with so much passion behind his voice. 

“That’s her.” 

“It’s our turn”, Shoko interrupts. “Let’s go get you married” 

As you all entered the hall, Suguru gave Satoru a soft pat on the back and glanced over his shoulder at Shoko with a validating nod. 

Satoru got a pass from his moral compass. 

-- 

Signatures were inked, rings were exchanged, and vows were made to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part. 

It is said that vows are crucial in a marriage, they set the tone for your relationship going forward and serve as a ground to build your values on. Whatever values could be built on a soil soaked with lies, you thought to yourself as you all walked out. As soon as the ceremony was over Shoko rushed out to get the dose of nicotine her body was yearning for the entire time inside the ward office, leaving you three behind. 

There was nothing holy about your union, it was a lie to begin with. And, naturally, so were your vows. It shouldn’t bother you this much that you were to break the fake promises you just made to the man that handed you a one-way ticket to your freedom. 

“What’s with the face, Mrs. Gojo?”, Satoru softly pokes you in the arm, the unease in your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “We just tied the knot, yet you look like you just walked out of a funeral” 

A funeral. Right. That’s how it felt to you. 

You buried yourself, your past, in there. You got what you wanted, but part of you was terrified of the new person you were to become. Mrs. Gojo, huh? You were not in the right headspace to be snarky about it now. 

“I’m fine. All these formalities are draining, that’s all” 

“Then we’ve got to recharge”, he grins, then turns around and shouts at Geto who’s walking a few steps behind and scrolling on his phone, “Suguruuu, let’s celebrate, shall we?” 

“Geez, you’re loud, Satoruuu”, he cracks an irked grimace, sticking a pinky finger into his ear. 

“There’s no need for that”, you whisper, tugging at the hem of his shirt.  

Satoru’s fingers trace over your knuckles, hesitant to get a proper hold of your hand, but he gives in anyway, “We have to pretend there is”, he speaks in a low voice, and wraps his hand around yours. “Besides, it’s lunchtime. We need to eat” 

You don’t resist, neither his touch nor his words.  

On your way to the restaurant that your (now) husband made a quick call to reserve a table for four, Satoru sat on the driver’s seat — a rare occasion, usually Ijichi drives him everywhere — glancing at you beside him on the passenger seat at every opportunity, studying your features and how much they’ve changed compared to his childhood memories of you. It’s not like he never saw you after that. But you’d never let him take a good long look at you, always running away the moment you noticed him around. Before he could know it, he was smiling, mouth agape — a soundless “ha” passing through the crack of his lips, the sunlight hitting his eyes, yet he couldn’t blink — he had to take you in. He was back to being a child at that moment, wearing his genuine feelings on his face without knowing how to mask them. And you... you were even prettier now. 

The two sitting on the backseat exchanged an astounded look after observing the scene unfolding before their eyes. Who would’ve guessed that their friend had such a hidden, soft spot for someone and could make such genuine faces? 

The Past 

You were born with bad luck. 

That’s what you told yourself. And that’s what others, who felt sorry for you, thought so too. Mostly those unfortunate enough to be servants in the Zenin clan that have witnessed way too many things happen to you. 

First, you were born into the Zenin Clan as the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the leader — that alone was the biggest mishap the heavens bestowed you with. A problematic clan with questionable values, where owning powerful cursed techniques was held in highest regard and considered the measure of your worth as an individual and whether you were fit to be a Zenin. Rejecting, without an ounce of remorse, their own flesh and blood and looking down at them like inferior beings did they deem their ability weak and unworthy. 

With that being said, here comes the second — you were born into that clan, with no cursed energy. You didn’t make the cut ever since the beginning. The clan didn’t even mourn the fact you were lacking, they simply treated you indifferently, and sometimes with disgust, like you were one of the servants — easily replaceable. “It’s not enough that you were born a girl, but you are also lacking the gift. You were never meant to be part of this family to begin with, the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”, your grandmother would often tell you, right before throwing you into the disciplinary pit with curses. Till then, maybe through some miracle you could manifest some cursed energy if she locked you up there for long enough, so you could be at least a little bit useful. 

Wait. There’s a third, too — your mother lost her life giving birth to you. It’s not like you felt any guilt for that, you never knew what parental love was anyway, therefore didn't see it as a burden that weighed on your conscience. In fact, you were partly relieved that there was one person less to mistreat you there. 

Your older brother, Zenin Naoya, would often use this to harass you. Telling you “Maybe you’re not that hopeless after all, since you killed mother. Or maybe that’s even worse — she’s going to be your only kill” with that revolting laugh of his.  

Other kids looked down on you too, avoiding you like you carried some disease. There were rumors even, how childish, now what you think back — that if you came closer to them, you’d rid them of their powers and of their mothers too. Oddly enough, those rumors were started by none other than your brother. Perhaps he wanted to be the only one to pick on you. While he made every woman walk three paces behind him, he’d keep you close, telling you in a condescending manner “How am I to look down on you if you keep walking behind me, little lamb?” 

And you truly were a little lamb. Living and growing only to get the life in you eaten away by the Zenins. A sacrifice for no good. 

But the summer of your sixth year was different. 

You met a boy. 

He looked like winter in the middle of summer. Snow-white hair falling over his face and likewise lashes, sitting like tender snowflakes on his eyelids. The bluest blue in his eyes you had ever seen in your life, and if you stared long enough it’d throw you into a trance. 

There was a sense of loneliness to him akin to winter too. 

How when the cold months came around, people would spend less time outside and instead run to their homes to warm up in front of the fireplace. He was the winter people were hiding from. 

And you figured, you had heard of him. He was the special boy of the Gojo Clan, the first in centuries to inherit both The Limitless and The Six Eyes, whose birth alone shifted the power balance in the world, who had a bounty over his head at such a young age for being a force too great to be kept alive. 

He was the complete opposite of you, yet somehow the same as you. One rejected for being too much, and the other — for not being enough. Both were similarly exhausting, arduous, and lonely. 

You first met during a clans’ gathering. The big three brought together under one roof to discuss some matters you can’t quite recall now, just like you don’t remember the reason you were brought along. Perhaps to carry stuff around, like you always did. 

An exchange of shy glances as you waited outside, sitting on the wooden engawa (veranda) led you both slowly scooching over closer to one another, until the gap between you was small enough that you could see how his heartbeat made the collar of his kimono flutter ever so slightly. 

“Is it sweet?”, the boy pointed at the popsicle in your hand. “It is”, you answered along with a nod. Bringing it up to his mouth — “Want some?” — you invited him to take a bite as he looked at you with uncertain eyes. A blush painting a beautiful cherry hue on the pale complexion of his cheeks. He nibbled on the side of it — “It is!” — his eyes grew wide, a glow in them. 

“You’ve never had one? — surprise in you voice. “Of course, I have”, he lied, scratching the back of his head, a bit embarrassed of possibly seeming uncool in your eyes. 

He had a strict regime when it came to the food he consumed. Whatever he put into his mouth had to be of great value and nutrition, diligently prepared by the best chefs, so his body, or as others saw it — the shell where a god resided in — would grow healthy and strong to be on par with his powers. 

It was the first time you shared food with someone else. You usually ate alone, disgusted by the Zenins surrounding you around the table that your throat felt too tight to swallow anything that you put in your mouth, be it water even. 

And it was the first friend you ever made. While everyone up until now turned a blind eye and avoided you, he didn’t run. He even stayed. 

Introducing himself as “Satoru" only, he deliberately refrained from saying his full name at first. When you never pushed him to reveal it, he turned a bit fidgety. 

“You never asked about my last name” — lips slightly pursed, the muscles on his face fighting off a pout but failing eventually. “Maybe I’m not that interested in you” — tilting your head, you teased, yet — “Just kidding, I know who you are” — you quickly added upon seeing his brows knitting in dejection. “But you can be just Satoru with me” 

From that day onward you’d meet in secret every now and then, whenever both of you could manage to sneak out. For just a little bit. To eat popsicles and other sweet things together. 

That was, until your brother found out. 

Naoya always kept tabs on you after all. You were a prey to him, and chasing you was like a game. It was only a matter of time before he knew. Or perhaps he did already but let you sneak out on purpose so he could use it to his avail and torment you further. 

Naturally, the time you spent with Satoru fell shorter compared to that spent in the disciplinary pit. “That’s to teach you a lesson, little lamb”, Naoya would say with a twisted look in his eyes as he locked you up in there. 

At times like this, you’d remember your grandmother’s words — “the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”. 

...and an idea brewed in your mind. 

If you could run away right now, you would. But where would you go? What would you do? You were only six. If your own flesh and blood was this cruel to you, how could you expect the outside world to treat you any better? 

You were not that naive. You knew you had to wait. 

You endured the endless hours that felt like days and weeks in that pit, surviving by pure miracle every time. Or was it hope that kept you fighting? Because you knew, by the end of it, as long as you were alive, you’d find a way to meet your friend, the only one you had. And maybe he could save you one day. Maybe, tomorrow you could make a promise to each other — that when the time came and you were both of age, you would take his last name and be freed of the curse you were born with. 

...but Satoru never showed up. 

(to be continued) 

The First Night 

(back to present) 

It was getting late. You spent more time than originally planned at lunch with Shoko and Geto as everyone had already cleared out their schedules for the day to join you on your escapade. 

You thought at first, that the entire time you would have to dodge questions such as How did this happen? When did you start seeing each other? When did you decide it was time? Who proposed? How? Doesn’t the animosity between your clans worry you? Have you considered the consequences even? Are you perhaps pregnant? Is this why all the rush is for?, etc...  

But that never happened. Neither of them pried, nor made you uncomfortable invading your personal space. In fact, they made you loosen up a bit by being warm and friendly, already treating you like one of them, mocking Gojo’s constant mischiefs in front of you. The setting resembled that of a parent-teacher meeting where you were in the role of the parent, and they were the teachers complaining to you about Gojo. It was a rather humbling experience for the whitehaired man who sat there pouting and subtly gesturing for them to cut it.  

But when he heard you laughing at their stories, he ceased. Sucking it up, he let them continue playfully bashing him. He had really missed your laugh. 

“So~ we’re here — welcome to your new home”, Satoru points at the huge mansion after helping you hop out of the car. One of the bodyguards in the yard immediately took the keys from his hand and drove the car away to park it in the garage area. 

To say this thing before your eyes was huge would be an understatement actually. After you quickly scanned the place you noticed there were a few more houses built around the mansion, and perhaps even behind it.  

The Gojo household was located in a huge, fenced area with a single front entrance, for security purposes (so it would always be known who walked in and out under meticulous surveillance), leading to a big yard with a well-kept garden befitting the Gojo Clan. The first house in front, and the biggest, was the main mansion — inhabited by Satoru’s parents and grandparents (from his father’s side), while extended family (like aunts, uncles, cousins — basically the most important members of the clan) resided in the ones around it. 

Satoru, despite being the clan head, did not live in the main mansion. His place was relatively isolated from the rest (ironically resembling the life he led and the powers he had), situated far behind all the houses, right before a path that led to a forest-like area as part of the Gojo property. 

“No way”, you gasp — “Don’t tell me you live with your entire clan?” — as you quickly pad forward, leaving him a few steps behind, to further inspect the place. 

“Not technically but yea, we stick together — clan traditions deem it this way”, he sighs. 

“Never took you as the tradition following guy, to be honest” 

He chuckles, “What can I say — I am full of surprises~ But truthfully, as the clan head I can’t just up and leave, you know? Besides...” — a pause, observing you as your eyes roam around studying the place, head turning from one side to the other in astonishment. Then his gaze shifts to his left hand. Lifting it slightly and spreading his fingers to look at his ring, and then back at you. “...sometimes deeply rooted habits are hard to break. Especially if one holds onto them for too long. It’s hard to let go no matter what kind of person you are” 

“There’s something even beyond you, Gojo Satoru?”, your voice almost mocking but somehow lacking the right tone to it, too distracted by your surroundings. 

He laughs, “Maybe. Just one little thing only” — words mumbled under his breath, too soundless for your ears to catch on. 

-- 

After you made it in, he gave you a full tour around the house. Walking you through each and every room, thoroughly explaining where things were and how you could touch up anything you desired and change it to your liking — this was now your home, too.   

The last stop was the bedroom.  

“Should I carry you in bridal style? That’s how newlyweds do it~”, Satoru smirks at you, arms crossed around his waist, his side leaning against the doorframe. 

You were about to make a face there for a second and give him an eyeroll, maybe even pick on him for watching way too many romcoms, but you held back. 

“Sure, why not”, you mumble instead, looking down. 

After all, before you was the room where certain things were to happen in, according to your deal, and you thought it’s best to let him indulge in this play pretend and carry you in as your feet were frozen in their tracks anyway. Nervous of what was ahead, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. 

“Oh?” — caught off guard, not expecting you to actually go along with it, he gasps, but then — “Right?” — quickly plays it cool. “Alright, bride-o-mine, here we go” 

Charging towards you with a slow step, he leans down so your eyes are on equal level, face an inch away from yours. So close that, as he cracks his lips open to swipe a tongue across them his hot breath feels like steam against your skin. Licking his lips, a habit you were painfully familiar with, it was something he did when he got nervous that seemingly didn’t change from when he was little. 

He scoops you up effortlessly, holding you tight but tenderly at the same time. His fingers clutching firmly around you yet at the same time careful enough to not bruise you.  “Almost there”, he pushes the creaked door open with his foot and carries you in through the doorway. 

Flustered, you turn your head the other way in an attempt to hide the heat eliciting from your face. You were way too close. His scent invading your nostrils, you could almost distinguish his natural body odor from his perfume. 

“Oh, my... If you shy away this easily”, he carefully sits you on the bed — “how are we to make that baby~ Hm?” — and smugly smirks as he plops down next to you right after, his knee scarcely brushing against your leg.  

“Tch...”, you click your tongue, heat still spreading like fire on your cheeks, and even far up to your ears. “Didn’t know you wanted to bed me right away?” — is he really going to jump on you now? Why bring up the baby talk otherwise... 

He gasps in an overexaggerated manner, gluing fingertips to his mouth, “Thought I could give you some time to adjust, but if you insist...” 

“Ugh, Gojo”, you aim a reflex eyeroll his way. 

“What now, are you talking to yourself?” 

“Excuse me?”, you lift a brow. 

“You’re a Gojo too now, you know?”, a grin on his lips, the kind he makes when he’s about to win something. “When you refer to me, you have to say my first name — Sa-to-ru — to avoid any confusion~” 

See, that was his goal all along — to make you call him by name, just like in the past. 

...but two can play this game. You had no intention of losing this battle to him. 

“Sweetheart”, your tone overly delicate on purpose, as you tilt your head, cheek pressing against your shoulder. “Isn’t this better?”, you flutter your lashes at him. 

His reaction comes slow. The full grin from a second ago is now a half, the other half — a surprise, with a sprinkle of a new, unknown to you glint in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game there, sweetheart”, he breathes, scooching closer to you. An arm finding its way around your waist, wrapping itself from the small of your back all the way front, hand stopping at your navel. 

A flinch shudders through your body, but he’s got you still, you can’t pull away. “What happened to giving me time to adjust?”, you mutter, not as feisty anymore. This was a side you haven’t seen to him, which you figured was natural. You knew him as a kid, now — he was a man. And like all men do, he was acting on his urges. 

“You push my buttons”, he’s leaning closer, and closer, and closer, until your noses are brushing and breaths are exchanging. His free hand rolling up and tucking the few strands of hair falling on your face behind your ear, then slowly sliding to the back of your neck. “Trying to get me excited?” 

“If a mere endearment excites you this much, what will become of you when I say your name?” 

He laughs, his breath infesting your mouth. Lips accidentally grazing yours from the action itself, which draws a low, helpless hum out of him. “Care to find out?” 

You jolt — something about the way he was looking at you told you this wasn’t just some simple teasing — and finally bring your hands to use and push him away and get up. “I need a shower” 

“Ah, got all hot and bothered? It’s okay, I am used to it — I have this type of effect on women all the time~”, he chuckles, earning yet another eyeroll from you. Reaching behind to grab a pillow and sit it on his lap, subtly hiding the fact that he got all hot and bothered, too. “You know where the bathroom is, sweetheart” 

He won this round. 

-- 

Satoru is still sitting in the bed, back relaxed against the headboard with one foot thrown over the other on the mattress, as you make your way out of the bathroom. You smell like him now, he thinks — only natural after having to use his shower gel and shampoo — as your freshly showered self approaches the side of the bed your pajamas were carefully folded and placed at. He took it upon himself to buy them for you, along with some clothes, and shoes, and bags, since you couldn’t pack and take anything with you. 

“Can you, umm”, you fidget, “turn around or something? I want to get dressed” 

“There you go again, shying away from your own husband”, he smugly teases. 

“Oh, you want to watch so bad? How perverse of you, sweetheart”, you mock, loosening the belt of your bathrobe so the fabric covering your shoulders slides down a bit, revealing more of your flesh. 

There’s a good chance for this reverse psychology to backfire now, you think, but you just couldn’t make peace with him picking on you like that. 

He shifts in his place, now sitting up on the opposite side, legs touching the ground and his back turned against you. The transition was so quick and instinctive as if he, by sheer luck, dodged a bullet aimed to take his life. “I’d love to stay for the show but, you see...”, he rubs the back of his neck, “I need to check the report regarding my students’ mission from today” 

“I see”, a victorious smirk on your lips as you watch him walk away. 

This round was yours. Now you were even. 

-- 

You were going to be trouble. 

The report was, of course, an excuse. He had to make it out of the room, or he would’ve done something terrible to you. 

His face burning hot as he quickly stripped himself of his clothes in one of the guest rooms downstairs and went straight into the bathroom to cool off. An aching pulse on his groin dragging inaudible curses from his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

A stream of ice-cold water hitting his face, hugging his shoulders, cascading down the rest of his well-built body before washing down into the drain. He stands there still and completely unaffected by the temperature. He was burning inside. 

Eyes shut, he thinks about you — about the way that bathrobe loosely enveloped your frame, about the gap temptingly revealing bits of your cleavage, leaving little to the imagination... about sliding his hands down into that very gap and pushing it open, taking the fabric covering your shoulders in his hands and pulling it down your arms to expose your breasts... about clasping both of your wrists behind the small of your back while his other hand moves to the side of your face and holds your chin before kissing you hungrily... then moving to your jawbone, and then lower, and lower... and lower, kissing and nibbling until he reaches your nipples, and then further below... 

His hand relentlessly stroking his cock to the visual of you in his imagination. Part of him absolutely disgusted by what he was doing right now, thinking how he was tainting the innocent girl from his memories. But then another, the one he couldn’t suppress — shamelessly trying to picture even beyond, making up in his mind what he thought your sweet expressions and obscene sounds would be like under his touch.  

His balls tighten up to him as he pumps himself from base to head with firm strokes, low growls rising from his throat echo through the walls the faster his hand works up and down his shaft. 

The tension soon leaves his body, his cum oozing out from between his fingers and spraying all over the bathroom tiles.  

Oh, you were going to be trouble for sure... 

-- 

“What puzzles me though, is that nobody has called you all day”, he walks into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. “In all honesty, it’s been bugging me for a while now”, a hand brushes back his damp hair. 

“They think I’m staying over at a friend’s place”, trying to ignore the view before you, you avert your gaze from him and his ridiculously lean body and well sculpted six pack that looked way too perfect to be real. He probably came here half naked, on purpose, to get back at you for earlier... Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing — you kept internally repeating to yourself. Play it cool. 

“And they let you?”, he casually saunters over to you, his hand reaching behind you to grab a hold of his nightwear sitting on his pillow. Seriously? He had to walk all the way to your side only to reach for the pajamas placed on his? What a sore loser... 

“Mhm”, you hum, lips tight and eyes looking down at your lap, “I managed to convince father. The odds were in our favor, I guess? — But I have to pay them a visit tomorrow, to deliver the news” 

“We will pay them a visit”, he corrects you. “I’m coming with you” 

“You don’t have to” 

“But I want to”, he insists, his resolve is solid. 

“Okay”, you don’t resist any further. “What about your family? When are we telling them?” 

He makes his way to the bathroom inside the room, while still speaking to you from over there. At least he’s not as shameless to get dressed in front of you.  

“They’re easy, I’ll talk to them some time tomorrow. Might organize a little thing to introduce my wife properly, heheh” 

“How do you think they’ll take the news? I mean, I know they won’t endorse it but — on a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it will be?” 

“What does it matter when it’s fait accompli? Besides, they can’t go against my decisions, so”, he shrugs after making it back, fully dressed now. Thanks god. But wait... 

“Did you seriously get us matching pajamas?”, you look him up. He was wearing the exact same pair in blue, while yours was a light shade of pink. 

“Yea?”, he emits a dorky snicker. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” 

“Ew, cringe”, you fight back a snort. 

What a truly bothersome man... 

Bad Faith 

— (n.) dishonest behavior with the intention of deceiving someone. “bad faith” refers to dishonesty or fraud in a transaction. depending on the exact setting, bad faith may mean a dishonest belief or purpose, untrustworthy performance of duties, neglect of fair dealing standards, or a fraudulent intent 

You slept well for once in your life, despite being in a new place, a new bed — you knew you owed it to the fact you were away from the Zenins.  

The same can’t be said about Gojo though. 

He stayed wide awake all night, restless, turning and tossing, making occasional visits to the shower even, to calm it down. Annoyed to some extent by how he was the only one in turmoil while you innocently slept next to him, unaware of his condition. He felt like an insatiable teenager all over again. How embarrassing, he thought... 

During the whole car ride to the Zenins, he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes from beneath his pitch-black sunglasses that were adeptly hiding his dark sleepless circles caused by none other than you. 

“You can wait in the car”, you try your chance one last time after arriving. 

“I said I’m coming with you, so don’t waste your breath” 

“Fine” 

After you both make it past the gates of the Zenin household, the few of the servants standing in the veranda quickly pad inside — most likely to bring it to your father’s attention, you think. 

All the rest you got the night before instantly leaves your body now that you’re in Zenin territory, your chest filled with unease as you cross the threshold of the place that, despite being so big, could never quite fit you in and be a home to you. 

Your mouth feels too dry, you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it keeps sitting there like an immovable object, growing bigger even the further you step in. 

Unknowingly, you’re grabbing Satoru’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Relax. I am right here”, he leans in to soothingly whisper in your ear, which makes you realize your actions. You pull your hand away, picking up your pace. 

...only to slow down and take a step back the moment your eyes fixate on none other than your brother, Naoya, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Waiting for you. His hair falling on his face, covering the look in his eyes but by the way his teeth bite into his lower lip, you can tell — he’s not thrilled by the view of you together.  

“Well, well”, a loud, hysterical laughter erupts from Naoya’s mouth as he strolls over to you, thumbing the bridge of his nose. “If this doesn’t remind me of good old times when my little sister would sneak out to play with you — are you perhaps falling back into that bad habit of yours, little lamb?” 

You flinch as Naoya’s claw-like hand reaches for your shoulder, ready to hook his grip on you, but with a swift move Gojo stands in front of you and stops your brother, leaving him unable to go any further due to his infinity. “Hello to you too” 

Naoya clicks his tongue, not pleased with the impenetrable intrusion. “Tch... Move, don’t butt in in family matters” 

Satoru chuckles condescendingly, “I am family too now, you know? — Dear brother-in-law" 

A jarring burst of inconsistent, unsettling laughter follows this declaration, each sound leaving Naoya’s lips grows more hectic and twisted, the tone wavering between low and high, and it sends a chill down your spine. 

“Huh... sis... that true?”, the deranged madness in his voice dying down now, but he speaks with a timbre of sinisterness. His eyes wide, unblinking and staring right at you with piercing lunacy in them. 

He had the same exact maniacal aura to him right now, just like years ago when he first confronted you about the secret escapades with Satoru. 

Terrified, you hug your shoulders. Head turned the other way, trying to hide from the sharp daggers in his gaze. 

You only manage a nod, and the sick sound from seconds ago echoes through the hallway once again. 

“You—”, Naoya grits his teeth, trying to draw near you but the whitehaired man before him won’t budge. “How long have you been plotting this for, huh?” 

Irritated at Gojo’s technique that leaves him unable to come any closer and wipe that mighty grin off his face, Naoya takes his frustration out on the wall by punching a hole right through it. “You fucking as—” 

“Naoya”, your father’s voice approaching from behind him interrupts the commotion. “Go cool your head off” 

“Tch...”, it’s not that he feels like complying, no. His arrogant self would never bow down to anyone, not even his own father, the clan head. 

But walking away right now gave him a chance to pass by you — and he’d gladly take it, as there was something he wanted to confirm.  

“Did you let him touch you, little lamb? Answer me — did you?”, he stops right behind you and whispers from over your shoulder. 

You wince, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. Noticing that Satoru’s hand is moving slightly up and getting ready to possibly attack your brother, you gesture at him to stop. Mouthing a silent it’s fine. 

“Don't but in in husband-wife matters, our sex life is off-limits for you, brother”, you mutter over your shoulder. 

“Pfft”, his eyes squint knowingly at you. “Good — I don’t smell foreign residuals on you. Good, little lamb. Good.” 

-- 

“So, you two, huh?”, Naobito, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the tatami room, takes a sip of his sake and wipes the droplets drizzling from the corners of his mouth. 

It was barely noon, yet your father, as per usual, had already started his drinking for the day, most likely during the early hours of the morning at that. 

You hum, but the man beside you, your husband, had something more to say. 

“What can I do, old man — your daughter’s a beauty, I had to go and take her. Pardon my rudeness, I forgot to ask for your approval first” — to which you basically facepalm yourself. 

“If you had done that first, you wouldn’t be sitting here now, you arrogant brat”, Naobito drags out, the alcohol must be getting to him. “But the damage is done already, what can I say”, he adds through a hiccup. 

“—or do, against me — Right, old man?”, Satoru shoots a proud grin, then on a more serious tone, he continues — “She’s mine now. And I don’t quite fancy it when people pry on what belongs to me. So, I ask of you to act accordingly from now on, or there will be consequences” 

“You ask? Yet this sounds more like a threat to me” 

“It could be, depends on you” 

Silence. 

The air in the room is intense and heavy after these exchanges. There’s a calm smile on both of your father’s and husband’s faces, yet the glare in their eyes is as cold as absolute zero. 

“With that being said, glad we’re on the same page and thank you for the half-assed belated blessing~ I will take care of her from now on, don’t you worry”, your husband nonchalantly breaks the silence, then looks at you with a quick shake of his head towards the door. Meaning, our job here is done. Let’s go. 

“You might go, I wish to speak to my daughter, alone” 

Satoru glances at you, looking for consent in your eyes. You nod affirmatively, “Wait for me in the car” 

Before walking out, Satoru gives one last warning. “Old man, if you try anything funny, I’ll make this place one with the ground beneath you”  

-- 

“Make this place one with the ground?”, Naobito laughs uproariously. “You’ve gotten under his skin. Good.” 

He gulps down another cup before proceeding, “He’s always got a soft spot for you. I’ve seen his eyes wander in search of you during clans’ gatherings, but this — this is beyond my expectations even”, he wheezes. “Good job. You’re finally doing something right and being useful to the clan” 

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for my own sake”, you grit your teeth. 

“I don’t care for your purpose so long we sow the benefits of what you reap, just like I don’t care how you do it so long you take him down — poison him or slit his throat in his sleep, I couldn’t care less. Just make sure he’s dead by the end of it — it’s the only way to get that lousy freedom you’ve been babbling about all these years” 

The terms were clear from the beginning, yet your stomach fills to the brim with guilt, threatening to spill out from your mouth the more your father speaks of it. 

And he continues, “If you give him a child too in the meantime — even better. That way the Zenins can take over the Gojo Clan”, a greedy curve on his mouth wet with sake. “But in all honesty, what surprises me the most is you, actually — you’re more of a Zenin now than ever”, an unhinged laughter cracks his lips. 

Your father’s words stab through your heart like a sharp knife. Snapping a few necks for the greater good for yourself, your freedom, shouldn’t be a problem after all you’ve been through. 

But then, why does it feel like he is right? You are more of a Zenin now than ever. Why does it feel like the more you try to run away from the Zenins, the more you become one? 

And why does your heart ache so much for the man you are to kill soon?

[chibsandchill]

Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of. 

Masterlist

My requests are open! 

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption 

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes. 

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.” 

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods. 

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing. 

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there. 

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.  

You shake your head. 

“Liar.” 

“I was already awake. I like to…” 

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are. 

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.” 

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue. 

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.” 

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes. 

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.  

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away. 

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.” 

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch. 

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks. 

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye. 

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin. 

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.” 

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.” 

“As my Queen commands.” 

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night. 

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so. 

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells. 

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.” 

“Prove what?” 

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul. 

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there. 

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone. 

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you. 

He was a dragon playing at being a lover. 

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him. 

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer. 

He could simply be him. 

Aemond. 

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained. 

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?” 

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation. 

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please. 

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying. 

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against. 

Then, 

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard. 

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais. 

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes. 

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping. 

Aemond needs more. 

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head. 

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give. 

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds? 

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire. 

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.” 

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure. 

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip. 

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor. 

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows. 

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure. 

“We match,” you told him once. 

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you. 

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure. 

“Aemond.” You moan. 

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops. 

Aemond pulls away, but not for long. 

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there. 

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest. 

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin. 

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him. 

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again. 

And the next moment he’s burning. 

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds. 

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in. 

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul? 

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it. 

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you. 

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself. 

“I love you,” you pant into his ear. 

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return. 

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.” 

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth. 

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future. 

His beauty may be what gods fought for, 

but Aemond? 

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new, 

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets. 

[savrenim]

I also got into the world of bnha fanfic without any knowledge of canon (I saw a cosplay of some purple haired dude with a mask and I was in love, turns out said dude only shows up in like 3 episodes). There is some great fic out there. For some reason I really enjoy canon divergence fics and that is how I have been able to piece together most of canon (I ran out of space but I'm using a second ask to send a couple of recs, though they might not be what you're looking for)

Multi-Track Drifting by InfernumEquinomin, Frequently Asked Questions by Vaimeta, Complicated Creation by Elemental, landscape after cruelty by ohwickedsoul, Thunder by Hayato (TheLennyBunny), Paper Agency by The Feels Whale (miscellea) <- all fic in ao3

ur my fucking HERO gonna go check all of these out

[nocentis]

Siegrain ┆ Canon-Divergent

Year: x793 Name: Siegrain Fernandes (formerly Jellal Fernandes) Status: Fugitive, Vagrant, Independent Mage Guild Affiliations: None Magic Type: caster, Heavenly Body Magic & True Heavenly Body Magic, Dark Magic Base Personality: neurotic, resentful, conniving, power-hungry, & insecure. Major divergence point: post-Nirvana; during the 7 year time-skip

Background:

After being taken into custody for treason and subsequently imprisoned, Jellal begins to regain some of his memories — the first of which are of being tortured by guards of the R-System. As the prison guards continue to treat him in similar ways, he feels a deeply buried resentment burgeoning. This resentment stains the rest of his memories as they return to him, and rather than feeling appropriately ashamed of his transgressions, he only feels embarrassment at having lost.

When Ultear and Meredy break him out of prison, he is at first grateful. Once Ultear confesses her hand in the Tower of Heaven, how she used him as a decoy at Hades' instruction, and the fact that Zeref was never truly dead, he denounces her entirely. His bitterness consumes him to the point of denial. He refuses to accept that he could've been used in such a way and instead begins to distance himself from the name 'Jellal'.

He does not go on to co-found Crime Sorciere with Ultear and Meredy. Instead, he decides to travel on his own, at first to lick his wounds and then to seek strength, knowledge, & power incessantly. He takes on the name Siegrain and aspires never to suffer such a humiliating defeat so long as he lives.

He continues to carry a torch for Erza, but his feelings are rooted in obsession rather than love. The news of her "death" impacted him greatly and only strengthened his brewing desire to find and kill Zeref. His cause is not a benevolent one, it is founded in anger, hatred, and a dire need to feel superior. Beneath all of this is crushing insecurity.

Upon the return of the lost Fairy Tail guild members, Siegrain paid Erza a visit privately. He did not participate in GMG.

Siegrain participated in the final fight against The Spriggan Twelve, Acnologia, and Zeref for self-serving reasons. He was not pardoned alongside Crime Sorciere and Oracion Seis. He is still living his life as a fugitive and a vagrant, boiling with resentment about not being the one to kill Zeref.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Will you forsake me, my love? And the babe I carry?❞

[ You had made a mistake. A slip up. You had overlooked the extent of Otto Hightower and his greed. Now you must make it right... or pay in fire and blood. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 5,504 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt-wife!reader (aegon's twin sister),

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader— gets darkish but not yet dd:dne - targcest, angsty as fuck, pregnancy - nsfw: p & v sex, oral (male receiving) - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i... actually dunno how i got here tbh. thankfully, this isn't dead dove quite yet, but you, yes you, as jace's manipulative targ wife, almost did, girl, jfc. ahahaha! comments, reblogs & like at will, mwa! 💝 + now that there is a second part, and a third part i'm plotting (uh huh), this is officially a series!! its v loosey goosey, but it'll have a masterlist so... it means it has a taglist! message me to be tagged 💝 & if there are any drabbles/blurbs you wanna see!! message me lmk!! i have so many thoughts about jacey & manipulative reader hehe + dividers by @danowh0re

The only warning you receive is the missive hastily made by your twin.

In his panic, Aegon's scrawl had been barely legible, but the cold sweat that shot through your spine at making sense of the text had you keening over; fingers over your mouth, a dangerous gurgle in your stomach.

The world tilts, the air sucks inward.

Fear... Cold, weightless fear, settles in your heart.

"Princess!" Your maid, Dyana, shrieks, hands grasping your elbows to prevent you from falling. She turns to the door. "Call the maestre back! Now!"

You shake your head rapidly. "No, no. No Ser Addam. I am alright."

"But princess—"

"No, Dyana, I am alright." But you are pale, and a thrum shakes through fingers, rattling your ribcage and trying to yank your heart out of your throat. You have to find your footing or all will be lost. You grab Dyanna's arms and she winces. "Tell me- the prince - where is he?"

"I'm not sure, princess, I can—"

"Quickly! We shan't lose precious more time."

You turn to Meera. You had invested in her from the early age you had taken her in from the orphanage. Loyalty, in its absolution, must be rewarded.

And ease for your own plans can be disguised as a reward.

She steps forward obediently, hands clasped behind her back like a soldier awaiting orders. She is nondescript with plain features, easily able to hide between other common folk; and no one, truly, looks at a maid.

"Go to the Sea Dragon Tower, wait on the Rookery for Johan. Only Johan, do you understand me? Keep the missive that I will dictate to you close to his heart, hidden, and he must depart immediately. Throw extra gold at the captain, I do not care. Meera, no other eyes must touch the paper I will send, tell him of the utter import such a thing. No other than another Spider. We cannot unravel further than this or we will start burning."

Meera's gaze darkens, her posture straightening. "Yes, your grace."

You grasp her hands, your mind whirring— so many plots, so many lies, in between them, he flashes in your mind; the dark hair, the warmth of his hand, the sweet, simpered smile and the flicker of rage that dances like a flame. In and out and calmed and wild.

Dutiful. A Perfect Son. A Beloved Prince. Your Lord Husband.

He flashes in between plans and unraveled lies. Along it, Aegon's missive, quickly written, panic seeping in every vowel.

Grandsire had gotten to Aemond's head. Went to Storm's End. Met Lucerys. They are calling him Kinslayer.

Your head is pounding. Kinslayer, Kinslayer, Kinslayer. It churns your stomach, dries your throat. Lucerys dead. Aemond beheaded. Jacaerys' rage. Rhaenyra's. Dark Sister in the Rogue Prince's hand. All your clever threads, your webs and tales, everything you have sacrificed to get here— they are unraveling, the lives you care about, your fondness and love — the fear has moulded and churned; the Stranger now haunting the skies, searching for names, trying to grasp for your neck.

Aemond, You, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, Jaeheara, Jaehearys, Maelor—

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Your baby brother. Marred and disfigured, dutiful and dedicated. Sarcastic and princely; dancing with you if you ask. Reading with him in the library. A flickering hearth, a kind eye, a protective arm.

Your baby brother, beheaded, gaping mouth and bloodred eye.

Justice spun and spun, but oh so corrupted when they had taken his eye and no name step forth to claim.

Disfigured, marred, and dead.

Focus, you think, your mouth moving, words spilling, plans stretching. Focus.

Otto Hightower must die. It is a pressing thought, digging into the centrefold of your mushy, wet brain. Pressing and pressing like a fever as words of instructions, orders, must be sent along one spider to another.

Your hand drifts to your stomach as Meera leaves, in her head the words that must reach King's Landing. That must pass only the cleverest of hands. Your hand curls, your fist tightens enough that blood clots and beads through crescent rings. Clever girl. Clever spider. You have to believe in Meera and the people under your hushed employ.

You have no choice. You have built your webs, you must trust your spiders.

Not when you can't even trust your own fucking blood.

It took a while to get your network going in Dragonstone. As soon as the smell of brimstone and dragon broached your nostrils, the plans for moving what you had started in Kings Landing became the forefront plan. There is only so much movement you can make in a board full of enemies; and with so many more things to do, you cannot be restrained.

People with stakes, with ambitions and wants of their own— be that money, a good future, a house with warmth and love — if you can provide it enough, dash it in enough kindness and care, people, like ants, could move mountains for you.

It took most of hyour life to have what you established in Kings Landing. Most of your free time— feiging afternoon teas, walks along the garden; young lady things that will not arouse suspicion, fit for a pious, devoted daughter of Alicent Hightower — was spent building and building webs.

Thankfully, as a Princess of the Realm— and as the future Heir's wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (the title tingles and throbs, comes alive in gasps and winning hands) — you can have your pick of maids and lady in waitings here too. Connections are important, and Jacaerys did not bereaved you of choice.

In fact, he so encouraged you to make changes to Dragonstone as you so chose fit.

"You are my wife," he sighed, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of your head. When he was wrapped around you like this— arms around your torso, a finger, almost absentmindedly, rubbing just the underside of your breast, and the smell of him, boyish but smoky, like a fireplace and first kiss, swaying you to a rhythm he is fond of, absentminded almost — it reminded you of how Vermax oft like to wrap around small hills and large rocks. A dragon mimicking another dragon; a twin soul so connected.

He sighed again as you run your own fingers against the back of his palm, against the side of his head behind you. "You may do so as you wish," he finished, nuzzling further into you as if he wants no more than to become one with you, flesh and blood. An engorged monster of sorts.

"Just your wife?" you teased. The wedding had only been a few moons ago. The missive had been immediately sent to Kings Landing (under your orders, of course, your new husband none the wiser as he had preferred a few more days of just you), and before lunch, your hand on Jace's thigh, his eyes more than hungrily looking at your lips— Caraxes screech alongside Syrax' wing pattern shook the walls, demanding answers.

Jace had looked nervous for a second, not at all prepared to be facing his mother so soon, his Queen, and his stepfather... whose own daughter he was supposed to marry. Better prepared to face all of them in Kings Landing was his plan.

But you had grasped his hands, had mounted girlish excitement shining in your eyes (an expression so familiar to you to adopt that it so perfectly hides the sharp edges of your excitement; your smugness. It oft reminds you of Aemond)— and Jacaerys had melted.

"My Queen," he reimbursed. You turned as his hands cupped your face. Gentle, possessive in its own way. You sighed, eyes fluttering close with a small, satisfied smile on your lips. "My beautiful queen."

A Maiden in love is not a hard thing to emulate. And he does not make it hard to be.

On some days, you even think it will be easy to actually fall in love with him. You already do so feel his warmth for you permeate your own being. His attention is addicting for one; it is whole and preserving. He makes it known when he is looking at his lady mother, at Baela, his former betrothed (who had given you a meaningful eye when Rhaenyra and Daemon escorted you back to Kings Landing to face the rest of your consequences), and other ladies of the court versus when he is looking at you.

He does not hide his adoration. His so obvious desire.

When you reward him for his loyalty, for private little ticked boxes you keep for him— siding with you in arguments, defending you upon ugly whispers in the Keep, requesting from his mother, a more permanent residence of your own in Dragonstone, in the guise of newly wedded bliss to hide growing your connections far and wide (once Rhaenyra takes the throne, Jacaerys will be named Heir and Prince of Dragonstone; your spiders and people must reach each end of Westeros, and Dragonstone is the perfect central chatter) — you mount him and bask at the lust contorting his features, at his hands gripping your waist in a staccato rhythm of feeling and gasp, each harsh bounce of your hips sending you both to bliss. You feel him inside you so deeply, enjoy his eyes rolling back and exposing his neck for you to sink bruises on.

Most oft, he enjoys mounting you. And you like the alternative of his choice to be buried so deep you feel him in your throat; to hold you down and hold you close, telling you to keep your eyes open for him as you come undone again and again— time and practice can manage his newness to the act. His enthusiasm, both for the act and for you, definitely helps his case, and he is so fond of finding your pleasure, of leading you to the precipe, so addicted to your sounds and writhes.

"There? Is that it, little dragon?" he huffs against your mouth, so attentive as he held your wrist and watch as you gasp, your face twisting as he hits that point inside of you, that sweet, sweet spot of undeniable pleasure buried so deep within— that he laughs. Not meanly, but of pride as he pulls back and hits it again. More insistent. You mewl and scratch his back, your toes curling as you seek the pleasure he so enjoys insisting you into.

"I've found it again, didn't I?" Another snap of his hips, another cry of your lips. "I will fuck your sweetest spot until you- are- crying- my name in that sweet, sweet whine of yours, shall I?"

But it's not really a question privy to an answer, surely not by your own mouth but by your body, as he manhandles you easily and does not stop until you are a quivering, overstimulated mess against wet sheets.

Sometimes, when you can't help but reward him as soon as possible— so excited from his gallant display; the perfect King bowing to his wife — you drag him to shadowy corners and solemnly drop yourself on your knees, unlacing his breeches with deft precision. You place your hot mouth against his manhood, your eyes fluttering delicately, making him reach completion enough times that he is left with a dopey, simpleton of a smile afterward, a soft, chaste kiss against your your head, your nose, your lips. So tender to how he was fucking your mouth not but seconds ago.

"I love you," he whispers against hot skin and cool, salty air.

And it eases, every time he looks at you like that, holds like you that. His love is patient, sweet, kind, and devouring. It overflows and seeps into you that when you whisper back, just as soft, just as troublingly honest, "Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes, I love you, my dragon," the truth of them bleeds further and further into your heart.

Jacaerys.

A warm grief swells within you. Your hands twitch, flattening your grief beneath your chest, deep in your gut. Deep below. You fought hard to be here. You cannot lose him now.

Otto Hightower must die.

A cruel thought, a natural order. With your marriage to Jacaerys meant a relative peace, a truce. Moving to Dragonstone many moons was more than just to establish your position, your future. It was also for your darling sister to take better control of her position back in the centre of power, alongside her husband.

Aged well with a stronger alley who most would not dare defy— a vainglorious guard dog, really, one who isn't afraid to sic people with a mere nod from his master — more than evens out the playing field.

The Queen To Be is prospering. And in her prosper, meant your husband's position more than fulfilled. He was to be King, and with you as his Queen, his reign will want for not.

You should have known it would put Otto on defense, would panic and use your siblings and your poor, nervy mother, to move in unfeasible decisions.

Aegon had taken to calling him grandsire again. Aemond... Your spiders had told you that Lucerys was sent to Storm's End as no more than a casual reminder of Lord Borros' oath. Viserys was in no doubt in worse conditions than he had been the last time you or your husband had visited him. Rhaenyra was settling on her position, reminding the Great Houses which heir was meant to rise soon, so close to the changing of the guard.

And your little brother no doubt was moved in panic.

This was a slip up on your part. Once the King was dead, Otto Hightower would hold no cards; Rhaenyra would never take him as Lord Hand, and his daughter would no longer be a foreground of power. Rhaenyra has her heir. The winning hand is more than ensured on her part.

His only move would be an usurpation, and would ruin your chance at being Queen... it was a good move. Your twin was not made for duty whilst you craved it. He knows you better than you know yourself; you will not be played in his palm. You would be useless to him.

"I should have killed him," you murmur to yourself.

Yna, the last maid in your arsenal, steps forward. She is the youngest of your main three wards, and the newest. She is still learning her letters, but she is young and always eager to serve.

"My lady?"

"I am going to find the prince. Whatever happens, tell them Vermax must not leave with his rider. Make up any excuse you must. My husband must stay in Dragonstone until I say otherwise." You raise your chin, tone icy. "Anyone who dares to defy my orders will be beheaded."

"At once, princess."

Your steps are measured, your breath held between lie and tongue. So many pretty rings on your fingers, twisting and twisting at the idea of the confrontation plagues you.

But you raise your chin. You will not be defeated. All is not lost.

Dyanna had caught you at Aegon's Garden, windblow hair and wide, fearful eyes.

You had braced yourself. "The Prince?"

"The Stone Drum, my princess, he is..."

"Angry," you supplied. She nodded jerkily. "Tell me everything."

"The Prince was talking with Ser Robert, was about the missive sent from Kings Landing says Kevan, not soon after your own." Another spider, one that follows most of your husband's movements. Unassuming and quick on his feet. A good soldier. "Prince Lucerys is alive but badly maimed." The breath you had withheld between grit and fright unrolled, the world slamming back into the ground in a giant's fitful wake. "He still hasn't woken up, says Arrax took most of the damage— one wing torn but is awake. Dunno about recovery for dragons, 'specially against Vhagar. Mournin' the prince, Kevan says. Makin' loud, sad dragon noises."

"But he is alive?" you pressed. Aemond's life hung in its balance. Your sweet, vengeful baby brother who bore his tragedies between muted teeth and rage.

"Yes."

"And Aemond?"

"No word in the missive or between them." It made your throat tight, the convulsion restraining your neck once more.

"It's fine. As long as there no mention of his death. Then that's all I need."

"My lady, there's more. There might be a reason we haven't been getting much word from King's Landing. Or Oldtown. It seems to connect is all."

Your pulse jumped. "Tell me later. I have to see to the prince. No one is allowed in Stone Drum for the time being. Not unless absolutely necessary." You think and you think hard. "Ready to call in a maestre."

Dyanna had looked alarmed when you left her, but you only gave a pensive smile. A soldier's nod.

He is bent over the Painted Table, shoulders so hunched, reminding you of monsters and tall tales. A dragon, really. He may not have Velaryon blood, your husband, but you— nor others — could deny the thrum of fire in his blood. Roiling and boiling, so engulf in his rage, his voice is quiet at the approach of your footsteps.

"You have bound me to Dragonstone," he says calmly with all the quiet rage you can hear in your very soul. It makes you shiver, but you stand resolute.

He is still turned away, away from you, palms flat on the surface. The iron brazier is lit up, and so is the Painted Table itself.

"Can you honestly tell me you won't try and kill my brother if I let you, ñuha valzȳrys my husband?" you say softly. You plead. His refusal to turn to you spikes your madness in corners. The night reaches and you finger your rings as you try not to spill all over the floor; your own madness, your own fears, your quiet, quiet webs. "Aren't you at least satisfied at the thought of your stepfather excelling at planting Dark Sister to his neck? At least cheery at the idea of him suffering inside those dungeons?"

He spins then, rage—white hot and spilling — breathes as he bellows, "He has harmed my brother!"

You calmly met his gaze. "You do not know that for sure."

He laughs without mirth, arms wide and daring. Crazed anger outlandish and wild, while in response you tighten and become small.

But you do not cower. No truth cowers. And you are a princess. A dragon the same as he.

Lest all, he is a mere husband.

"What else could it be? Your brother has called us bastards our entire lives," he spits. "Neither of us are blind to his dark looks. Despite your family's attempted plots, his rage beholds him. His grudge is stronger. He attacked Lucerys, on fucking dragonback— Arrax, a dragon Luke has barely flown against your brother's war dragon — and that makes him a kinslayer."

Your blood leaps, and you cannot control your own fear, your own anger. "Do not throw that word around so carelessly, Jacaerys! My brother has killed no kin!"

"He has tried, " he hisses and it makes your eyes burn because he has never looked at you so before. At his thunderous footsteps to reach you, to aggravate you, you fight the urge to flinch. His anger spills and spoils you. You try not to curdle. You keep yourself braced. Kinslayer is so ugly said aloud. "That is enough of a brand to call him kinslayer."

Your jaw tightens, tears unleashed from your eyes and there's a glimmer there— a spark, of your Jace. Your husband. It is small and short, a comet so faint it is almost nothing, but it is there.

He does not like to see you cry, your Jace. Not if it isn't from pleasure.

You raise your chin. "My brother is no kinslayer. Lucerys is alive. Do not make Aemond what he is not."

He laughs humourlessly against your face, his hand reaching for your jaw, thumb over your chin, but the mock gentleness wounds you worse. "And who has alerted you of the news? Your twin usurper?"

"W-what?" Blood rushes to your head. Something is missing. He knows. He knows about grandsire's plans. Dyanna would have said. Dyanna didn't know. "Aegon is not an usurper," you whisper, faint but firm.

His thumb rubs against your bottom lip, his eyes tracing your face. "Is this the plan all along, then?" he says softly. "While your brother and grandsire plot to usurp the throne from my mother, and your younger brothers raise bannermen from Oldtown to Storm's End, and try to kill my own when they get the chance, I suppose your job is to warm my bed and to ensure I'm out of the fray before you kill me in my—"

His words stutter for you have slapped him. It is not the hardest move on your part, and he stops not from pain but from shock. Tears freely flow down your face now as you push him off you.

"I know nothing of these plots you speak of." That in much is true. These plots are half-assed. Made in panic and fear, and it makes you curse Otto Hightower to the depths of further Hell. "And you may bully me as you wish, husband, but I will not take it as if it does not hurt me. As if- as if I would take pleasure from your death."

He raises his chin, so defiant in his own anger that he clenches his jaw. "Are you telling me you took no part in your grandsire's plans?"

"We have been married for many moons now. I think, out of anyone on this island, amongst our family even, you would know me best. I have only ever truly bloomed in your presence," you say softly. Lies and truths are balanced so precariously; they spin and spin in a tantalising grip that even you don't know where fabrication meets honesty.

If your own lies befuddle you, why not your truths to him?

"If you are doubting me, then you are doubting our marriage, is it not?" You give a mirthless laugh of your own, chin wobbling as you brush your tears away. His eyes track your movements and his brows are furrowed. "Is it ease, that has turned you so from me? Has your doubt been seeded long before you took us to Dragonstone? To affirm your mother that you have wedded me? Yes, Aegon sent me a missive a mere hour ago. He says Aemond had been urged by our grandsire, no doubt played with as he had done so to our mother, as he tries with Aegon. With me."

Jacaerys' eyes darken. Bottomless pits of dark, dark eyes. You've grown to love them you realised.

"I will give you all the violet-eyed heirs you desire," you had purred once in your new marriage bed, having just christened (one to a few times) your new marital chambers in Dragonstone. "But I do so wish I get a babe with your eyes."

"They are hardly exemplary," Jace had said, snorting. His hand rested on your back while you rest on top of him. The air is acrid in sweat and sex, but neither of you mind. "They are not a show of Valyrian blood."

"Who cares?" You reached to dance your finger against his lashes. "A daughter with your eyes... I fear, I would spoil her rotten. She would be an absolute beauty."

"Are you calling me a beauty?" he teased, trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"Your eyes, yes," you teased back.

"If I was such a pawn to him," you say now. "If I was using you as you so callously accused me of, why would I bother with a marriage with you? You are right, they have accused you of not being a trueborn Velaryon—" He flinches. "—So why would Otto decide marrying you was a good idea at all? Any babes I carry would be questioned, and it would serve no benefit at all if the main plot was Aegon usurping the throne. To keep you entertained? Hardly. It would serve him better, as was his earlier plan, if I had married Aegon myself."

He loses his stance, a grit in his teeth gives you way to a slow curl of possession. A renewed sense of anger. His fists clenched at his sides.

You found a thread. You don't just unspool, you decide, you will yank, and you will yank hard.

"Aegon is a firstborn male heir, even as twins. It made sense to anyone who understood Targaryen customs that marrying us would be the natural order. It did not matter any past transgressions he may have had, I keep him better. I am his tether to this world. It was obvious to anybody with eyes that if we were to marry, we would breed good Valyrian stock, our children—"

But he has lurched forward, grasping your face, seething, angry at an idea, at a diverted road.

"He wanted us to marry," you continue, a snake's hiss that it is. "But your mother sent a missive asking for Helaena's hand, and I had already told her I wanted someone else. I wanted you." You grasp his leather, pulling him to you in equal ferocity. Madness meeting a mirror. "From the very start, grandsire could not control me for my blood sung for you. I had done my very best to free my siblings from him, resigned myself to be their forever protector inside that Keep with no real power of my own, but when the Gods gave me the chance to have you, I had been selfish. I abandoned them for you. Because I wanted to be yours for a night, I was willing to have that, if it is the only moment you will grant me."

You are crying again, and lies are spinning with their truths, golden and bloodstained, but you are cracking him.

"But it was you, Jacaerys Velaryon, who had asked for my hand. You wanted to marry, whisk us away to Dragonstone, and I love you too much to blind myself to the idea of becoming your wife would not be a totally selfish act, for what act of ours would be considered selfish if it was borne out of love?" you sob hard, grasping and reaching against him, trying to shake and ruin him. "I thought you loved me, and yet here you are, accusing me of plotting? What? Usurping your mother? Killing you in your godsdamned sleep?"

"Wife, I—"

"No. I am sorry for what happened to Lucerys. But if it is vengeance that is truly what you seek, and in the morrow my brother," my choke out. "My brother would be announced d-dead, I would rather you kill me now for it seems I have not only failed them from my grandsire's clutches, I have also failed at being your wife."

Your hands reach in and pull his dagger out, and he is instinctive, a true swordsman, holding onto the dagger before your own. But you do not give up. You yank him forward so suddenly, the dagger now positioned over your heart.

You keep him there, defiant as you are. As no true dragon is afraid of metal. Metal melt in the face of dragonfire.

The tip of his dagger deepens against your skin as war rages in his own mind. Truths and lies spinning and spinning in his head, but your thread— your thread is Hightower green clung in blood and gold — and it's the brightest, twisting beneath his lids and rage. Rage and grief, the tethering madness is spilling, trying to break into the dragon's clutches—

But your Jace is strong. He holds it at bay with a fury.

It is love, it is love, it is love.

But you are not sure. And you have to be.

You have been betrayed already, your Jace cannot betray you. If you are to have a future with him as King, there must be no doubts.

You step forward, letting the blade sink against your skin. It draws blood. A few beads bloom and slide. Thick red in a string or two. It makes his jaw tighten, and you feel, almost impercibly, the strain in his hand give.

That flash of panic, panic bathed in love, in adoration, is all you need.

You grasp his hands in yours, blade nestled between two grips now, and he gasps, thinking you were going to push him away finally, but no. You hold on tight to his hands, nails digging into his skin, keeping the blade where it is before you push forward once more. The tip sinks into your flesh, blood gushes as pain explodes.

"What are you doing!? Let go!" he roars, but you stare at his eyes, brown, so pretty, framed in featherlight lashes, did he even know there are violet flecks in his eyes?

You will not harm me, you think. You realise. For you have given yourself to me body and soul. Even the Gods know.

"Will you forsake me, husband?" your voice is no higher than a whisper, than a wind's hum. It is hollow and cracking. A siren song. In the silence, it is a whip cracking against petty flesh. Against a beating heart thrumming for you. "And the babe I carry?"

Before the words register in his brain, you yank his hands again with every strength you can muster, the dagger, to hover over your stomach. Your Jace roars, pulling with his entire strength as complete fear in floods his beautiful, brown eyes. The strength propels your force of gravity, and you fall with a hard thud. The dagger is flung in the second as he reaches for you, cold-curdled terror ruining his face as he tries to make sense of where to touch you.

The fall is hard enough that you wince. And your instincts, new as it is, is to curl your hands protectively over your stomach.

"M-my heart? Does it hurt? I-I am so sorry, I-A MAESTRE, CALL A MAESTRE FOR THE PRINCESS NOW!"

Your child is strong, you have always known that in your heart.

The second you held suspicion, pressing against the tender flesh of your breast to the nausea that kicked in out of nowhere, before Maestre Gerardys had confirmed: you are with child. Your firstborn. The heir of heirs. You could not wait to meet him.

"I hope it is a boy," you murmur weakly into the darkened space of your chambers. You don't turn as Jacaerys' head snaps, his hands over your own, sat on a chair by your bedside. Relief, guilt, fear breaks and crashes in waves against him, trying to nudge you, but you don't look. You stare from your position on the bed; forward and into nothingness.

"My love," he breathes, hands against your own warm and tight. "I am so, so sorry. I shall call for a maestre—"

"No need." Your other hand moves to your stomach. An emotion glimmers in his gaze at the movement. "My babe is strong. Blood of the dragon that he is. I know him already in my blood. Call for my maid instead. Any of them. Tell them to move my things to a different room, perhaps the one above Aegon's Garden. By morn, I will fly to Kings Landing to be with my family."

Panic fills and breaks. His hold tightens. "I-If that is what you wish, we can go as soon as Maestre Gerardys says it is alright for you and the—"

You turn to him, finally, your eyes dead of emotion. "I will go for I do not think you would like your would-be murderer to sleep beside you, haunting you with a dagger. This way, I can take advice from my mother about births and the like, and you can sleep comfortably. Do not worry, I will not poison you to your child's mind. You may visit him as you would like. You might even take comfort in knowing your mother would look for him as if he were hers. She is so very motherly, I'm sure she would enjoy a grand..."

Your words drift off as he had fallen to his knees, tears soaking your hand as he presses it to his face. You feel like the Mother, looking down on a penitent. Or the Father. Or the Stranger. You feel complete, as his apologies fall in graceless, shaky exhales and sobs. The axe is in your hand. His neck is exposed.

"—I will do anything, a-anything for your f-forgiveness. Y-You can move rooms if it comforts you, I will not s-shadow your doorway, but please. Please. Do not leave me. Anything. I will do anything."

You, and you alone, is the owner of his absolution.

You smile, despite yourself.

Maybe you should reward your grandsire after all.

TAGGED (bold means I couldn't tag you: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata

[itsharleystuff]

↳ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄

Gif not mine!

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joel Miller x afab!fem reader

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Ellie finds an old chessboard somewhere in Jackson and asks you to teach her how to play. Joel joins and isn’t too happy about losing three times against you.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, Joel is early fifties), sex, p in v, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, use of whore (like once), pet names (darling, sweetheart, angel), multiple orgasms, they do it on the table, cum eating, bit of angst, insecure Joel, canon divergency, probably ooc Joel and Ellie, mentions of death and loss, alcohol consumption, confessing feelings. Let me know if I missed something!

a/n: this one’s a bit rushed but I wanted to post it before my birthday so I apologize if it isn’t great. Anyways, I’m writing a second Javi fic, so if you liked 𝐌Í𝐀 I’m certain you’re going to love the next one:)

no use of y/n

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

"You're cheating." Ellie rambles, standing up to get a better view of the board and analyze it from different angles. You can't help but giggle at her childish attitude, cause it truly brought a certain joy to the dynamic. "Hey! It's not funny."

"How could I cheat? You were watching my game the whole time." You defend you case, raising your hands in a sign of peace but gaining a glare from the girl.

"I don't know, you're the one who's teaching me." In that moment, you hear the crack of the front door opening, but none of you bother to stand and greet the main resident of the house, too busy in your own matters.

"Look, I'm playing fair. I am simply older and more experienced than you." Ellie grimaces and sits back on the chair, both arms crossed over her chest. "But try not to feel too bad. I've always been really good at chess."

Joel enters the dining room and walks right past you, going straight to the kitchen. You guess he's either going for a beer or to pour some whiskey into his favorite glass. Always the same routine every weekend: he would come home late with absolutely no explanations as to where he was, drink something strong and spend some time with both of you before heading to bed.

"You must be a really good strategist, then." She replies, amused. "I’ve heard this game is all about that. Strategies."

When you're about to respond, the man's heavy footsteps get closer as he comes to the room once again and leans back on the wall opposite to you, a glass of whiskey on his hand. His grayish hair is messy and his eyes seem to shine brighter under the warm light hanging over your heads when he looks at you intently. Often, he would appear exhausted after being off all day, but tonight it was different. Something about him was, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Ellie must've sensed a shift in the air, since she changed her approach in a second. "Joel, you're pretty ancient. I bet you know how to play."

You hold back your laughter at her mocking comment, reaching the board to rearrange the pieces. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, straightening his posture nonchalantly.

"I'm more of a poker man," he retorts with a distant air, diverting his gaze to Ellie.

"Poker?" You frown as he comes your way, but doesn't take a sit just yet. "I didn't take you for a gambler, Miller."

He sets the glass down on the table, leaning over the chair next to you with a smirk. "M'not. There’s many ways of playing other than betting your money, f’you know what I mean.”

Your eyes widen at his response, taken aback. So he meant like… The one were you end up naked. “Now, I would’ve expected that from Tommy, but you? That’s a surprise.”

He shrugs, faded smile still on his lips.

You remembered what Ellie once told you, ‘he does that whenever you’re around,’ she had said in a meditative tone, ‘smile, I mean. It’s kind of creepy cause… y’know, he never does.’ Perhaps that’s why she acted differently every time you three were together.

“Yeah, whatever.” The girl grumbles. “Can you play chess or not? I need someone to take revenge for me.”

Joel takes a seat beside you, slowly, glancing over the board before sipping from his drink again. He looks back at Ellie, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement. The man sighs in defeat, well aware that he just couldn’t say no to her. A dad reflex, maybe, but it worked out in her favor and she’d take advantage of it as much as she could.

“Fine. I call black.” You nod in agreement and the younger one leans on her elbows for a better view. “Either way, I know you like making the first moves. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Your first reaction was almost choking on your own saliva. Honestly, how dare he say something like that in front of Ellie? Did he suddenly forget that she was fourteen and terribly clever? Had he lost his mind? Also, he never called you by anything other than your name whenever she was around, so this whole situation felt like a personal attack.

“You okay over there?” Ellie asked, slightly concerned at your incessant coughing.

“Yeah…” you give him a dirty look and press a hand to your chest, making the first move with a white pawn. “Could you bring me some water? I think my soul might’ve left my body.”

“Sure.” She quickly answers, standing up. Joel doesn’t say anything else, his mind focused only on the game now.

It had all happened last weekend.

Thinking in retrospective, your relationship with him had always been ambiguous. You couldn’t quite recall when he actually started talking to you and not just ‘bear with your presence’, nor when his invitations to come over to his place started coming from him and not Ellie.

At first, it was simply you and her. Bonding was easy, despite her sharp character. She looked up to you, for whatever reason that might be, and that smoothed things. Joel was a completely different story. He acted like you didn’t exist, as if you were merely another bug roaming his house. Though when he saw how good your friendship with Ellie was, his brusque behavior started to fade, or at least settle down somehow.

Sooner than later you started coming over to make dinner, or teach the teenager how to bake some of the recipes your grandmother had thought you -more like you’d do everything while she chatted to keep you entertained-. But truth be told, it became more of an excuse to see him.

Honestly, you were doomed since the very beginning. There was undeniably no way you would’ve been able to escape Joel Miller’s silent charm. His presence became a constant need to you, and you’d often find yourself relating certain things to him. Smoke, denim, pills, booze, watches and boots, to mention a few. To you, he was all gray and blue, merging in the best way possible.

You didn’t expect him to thank you for taking care of them. Them. Not just Ellie, him too. Or that he’d suddenly show up to places you would frequent, which made you wonder, could he possibly feel the same way? Sure, it could’ve been a simple coincidence… If it weren’t for the stolen looks you’d often share. Though his face rarely reflected any interest in you, his piercing gaze would frequently burn your skin every time you were hanging out with other men.

Two weeks ago, Maria had been held back from patrol due to her pregnancy, and you were called to fill up her place. The thing is, you were supposed to leave with Tommy, but somehow ended up with his older brother, riding at dawn in utter silence and searching for a prey to hunt. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, yet it allowed you to watch him more attentively: his broad shoulders and sturdy back, the dark graying hair that, in some way, made him more attractive. And then your mind, went to some… Darker places.

How would his big, manly hands feel cupping your breasts? Flashy images of his rough, calloused fingers pinching your nipples meandered your mind. His face buried between your legs, his mustache tickling your…

“You ‘kay there, sweetheart?” He had asked, abruptly taking you out of your freakish daydreaming. “You seem distracted.”

Well, that was a way of putting it. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” you babbled, “I hate the rifle.” Joel glanced back at you with a stiff, confused expression. “If I shoot this thing, I’ll feel the kickback on my shoulders and back for at least two weeks from now.”

The horses were stagnant, waiting by the trees while you took a stroll nearby, keeping an eye for any sort of animal that would serve for dinner.

“Show me.” He said, internally amused by your inquiring expression. “Show me how you hold it.”

“Oh…” You compeled, in spite of the anxiety his stern eyes brought upon you.

“You’re doin’ it wrong.” He grunted, coming to approach you, still holding the position.

You scowled, raising a brow to him but not daring to move a muscle. “Maybe you’re just making me nervous, did you think about that?”

Joel plants himself behind you, staying so close that you could feel the warmth of his body through the many layers of clothing. Your heartbeat races when his hand rearranges the rifle on your elbow, unintentionally wrapping his arms around you.

“You need to hold it like this.” His tone was low but still firm. “Keep it up.” You feel his chest pressed to your back and his face near yours, making it hard to breathe.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, cause if your head turns even a little, you fear the distance between you might as well disappear. His hand holds your wrist steady, the other one going from your elbow to your waist in a tight grip that makes you gasp.

“Do I make you nervous?” He questioned, without letting you go. Paying no mind to the way your nerves buzzed and ears rang at the proximity, you slowly nodded. “Are you afraid of me?”

His doubt made your heart jump and knit your brows together. “No. I trust you.” Joel’s breath hit your temple and it took all the self control in your body not to get rid of the distance.

“You shouldn’t.” Both his hands are on your waist in a firm grasp. He definitely noticed your flushed cheeks, the ragged breathing and constant desire to look at him. Like a damn teenager in love. You gulp, trying to regain composure.

“And why is that?” He didn’t answer, and every second that passed and his hands were still on you only made it worse. You needed to get closer or your lungs would crush under the weight of expectation. “Joel?”

You finally gave in, raising your head to face him. He was already looking down at you, eyes smitten and lost. A reflection of him you’d never seen before. Your gaze goes to his lips and inevitably lick your own before going up to his deep, brown eyes again.

Fucking hell, the man was mesmerizing.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you’re leaning forward, completely forgetting about the rifle and the whole world around you. Your noses touch and your lips merely brush against each other’s. Instinctively, you close your eyes in hopes that he’d go for it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand comes to arrange your posture again, murmuring a lazy ‘easy’ in your ear, that shared moment vanishing in thin air.

“When shooting a weapon this big, you gotta bring your strength from your torso and legs.” And then he acted like nothing happened; nevertheless, he was perfectly aware of the effect he had on you. “That way it won’t hurt after.”

Well shit. Now you had screwed up.

This man was like a father to Ellie and you were not only infatuated with him, but also add to the list that you had purposely tried to kiss him. You were embarrassed, to say the least. Specially since it appeared that whatever feelings you had were one-sided.

Or so you thought, up until last Saturday.

You hadn’t talked with him about it. In fact, you hadn’t even been alone with him ever since. It was probably for the best, though, that way you wouldn’t have to humiliate yourself in front of him any further. Every time you happened to cross paths, he seemed aloof, more indifferent than usual.

It was pretty late, probably past midnight and Joel hadn’t yet arrived. You had spent all day with Ellie and now you were just waiting for his return, but she was growing tired and you didn’t think it was fair for her to stay up for too long.

“Go to bed, okay? I’ll wait for him.” You told her with a smile.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’m not even…” whatever she was going to say got cut off by her yawn.

“Right. You were saying?” She rolled her eyes and snorted at your victorious air.

“Fine. But promise you won’t stay for too long. I’d hate to know you didn’t get any sleep because of me.” You agreed and said everything would be fine, that she had nothing to worry about.

So you waited there on his living room, reading old crappy magazines about celebrity gossip while facing the crackling fire that kept the house warm. It was easy to lose track of time this way, therefore, when the door opened at last, you had no idea how long you had been waiting around. You rushed to his encounter, but you were totally unprepared for what happened next.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. Are you- shit…” the man standing ahead was someone you knew, but could barely recognize. The side of his face was bleeding, a cut going from his temple to the cheekbone and there were bruises scattered around it. He was sweating and you could swear he was about to faint.

You closed the door behind him, tugging his shoulder to drag him inside, all the way to the kitchen. Despite his rumbles of protest, Joel allowed you to do it, putting up no resistance. His mind was screaming at him to tell you that you should leave and that he didn’t need any help. But he was too fucking exhausted and you were being so kind and warm… He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, ignoring the part of his brain that kept telling him ‘you’ll regret this later’. For once in a very long time, he was being irrational, letting another part of him take control; or rather lose it completely.

You sat him down on a chair and took a clean towel, wetting it with cold water to treat the wound. In addition, you also took the bottle of whiskey that he kept locked away where Ellie wouldn’t find it, pouring him a glass. He gulps it down straight away.

Joel observes your every move closely. Your steady hands going to his chin and raising his face to the light, the way your features drown in concern and your dazzling eyes examine the injury. His skin burnt there where you touched him and it was becoming hard for him to keep his mind focused, growing dizzier with pain and intoxicated by your perfume. He really shouldn’t be feeling this way, and it burdens him to know it. Your lovely, young self shouldn’t be an object of his desire; and the fact that you were what he wanted the most was killing him achingly slow.

Because, even if you did want him back, what good could it possibly come from the whole thing? He’d just hold you back. There were plenty of other men in Jackson that could offer you things he certainly couldn’t. Yeah, that was it. He was way too corrupted to be deserving of someone like you.

“Does it hurt too much?” You muttered while getting rid of the blood, careful not to be too harsh.

“S’okay, angel.” The name-calling wasn’t something you usually liked. It sounded condescending coming from other men, but when he did it, your stomach fluttered. “Were you waiting for me?”

You nod vaguely, “I was worried.” His eyes bore into yours and your heart skips a beat. “I mean we. We were worried.”

“Right…” He noticed how your fingers brushed the hair out of his face tenderly, his self-control threatening to crumble under your touch with every second that went by. His hand takes your wrist, preventing you from keeping up your work. For a moment, he says nothing, simply staring at you fixedly. “I think you should leave.” He blurts out, letting go of you.

Oh, there they were. Those mixed signs that you always seemed to misinterpret.

You groan in exasperation, leaving the bloody towel beside the bottle of alcohol. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your pity.” Joel was being petty and his deliver managed to hurt a little. But you would not give him that much power, at least not without putting up a fight.

“It’s not about that and you know it.” You cross both arms over your chest and sit on the edge of the table, determined to get out of that agog that wouldn’t let you sleep. “Why are you pushing me away?”

He rubs a hand over his face, taking his time to retort and avoiding your eyes. “I can’t give you what you want.”

You laugh sardonically, challenging him. “And what is that?” His gaze is disdainful and rude, but you don’t let him intimidate you. “Are you afraid?”

If you were anyone else, you’d be shaking with fear. Joel was tough, to the point where some might call him cynical. But you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. His goal was to scare you off.

“Go. I don’t need you here.” You don’t move an inch, resolved to bring an end to whatever this was and ignoring his vicious glare.

“No,” you huffed.

“I told you to leave.” He was getting pissed, his voice trembling with anger and the cold words slicing the tense air.

“And I said no. I don’t take orders from you.” His lips were sealed in a fine line, eyes feisty. “Be honest with me and then I’ll see myself out.”

Silence again. A more prolonged one in which none of you had the bravery to come forward. Every second that went on and nothing happened was a torture you could not endure. That was it then, you’d made a fool of yourself yet again.

“Fine.” Your voice comes out unsteady from choking down the tears as you stand up straight, set on leaving all these feelings behind.

But right when you walk by his side, Joel’s hand grabs your arm softly. His grip wasn’t strong enough to hold you back if you really wanted to go, kind of like he was unsure about his own actions.

“Push me away.” He pleads. And it sounds desperate, as if the whole situation caused him agony. “Please, push me away.”

Your wet your lips, astonished by how guilty he appeared when practically begging you to stay away, “I can’t,” you respond, “I won’t.”

There was no turning back now. He had trapped himself on purpose and jeopardized everything the moment he laid his hand on you. The minute your eyes found each other’s, he realized he’d just lost all willpower that remained.

Joel pulled you closer and the sudden action almost made you trip, forcing you to place both hands on his chest to stay still. Something flicked in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite comprehend. But you took it as a sign to fully give in to your desires, as long as he’d permit it. You sit on his lap, solely enjoying the moment. His face, despite the beating, was ever so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. If he wanted you too, why did he have make it this difficult? Perhaps he was simply… Insecure.

“What have you done to me, sweetheart?” He asked, voice strained as he looks down at your lips. Your fingertips gently trace the edges of his face.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” One of his hands covers your thigh and the other rests on his knee.

“Do you like playin’ around with an old man like me?” You can’t help but laugh a bit, your thumb going across his bottom lip. “Is this what you want? A sweet thing like you can do so much better.”

“I don’t care for boys, or any other men for that matter.” His chest swells at your words. “I like you, Joel. Is that so hard to believe?” The man swears you can feel his heart thumping against his ribs when he whispers a barely audible ‘yes’. His honesty moved you and grew a weird feeling in your chest that impelled you to prove him wrong.

In response, you lastly get rid of that awful distance, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and feeling the unfamiliar tickle of his mustache. It was stubborn at first, but he caved in eventually, kissing you back slowly. He took his time to relish on your taste before deepening the kiss, manhandling you on top of him. Joel’s hands are on your lower back and the nape of your neck as his tongue explores your mouth in depth, letting go of himself. You moaned in between the kiss, drunken by every light stimulation, which only spurred him on and turned the situation hungrier, more desperate.

“Joel…” you pull back, laying your forehead against his. “I have to go.”

You feel him chuckle at your declaration. “Seriously? Now?” His tone was raspy and faint.

“I don’t want to.” You assure with a pout, “But I fear that if I stay, this won’t end in a simple kiss. And Ellie’s upstairs, remember?” He agreed it was for the best, but still couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself, asking you to stay the night even if he had to sleep on the couch.

That was the night that started everything.

After that weekend, the way he acted changed radically. He remained with that grim, stoic exterior. Yet, he was brighter around you, more beaming. In public, he’d always find a way to touch you, even if it was merely a brief brush of skin. On bolder days, he’d pull you apart from a crown and take you somewhere darker to make out for as long as you could. Which wasn’t much, since everyone always appeared to have some sort of unresolved business with either of you.

Today, however, something was odd. Joel went off, as usual, and you stayed with Ellie, who had found an old, ragged chessboard somewhere in Jackson. A game that, as it turns out, you particularly loved.

That’s how you ended up here.

Three rounds afterwards, you keep winning and increasing his irritation.

“Checkmate.” You say for the fifth time tonight, giving him a triumphant smile, getting up from your seat to pour some whiskey into your glass.

“You’re cheating.” He barks, annoyed.

“See! I told you.” Ellie backed him up and the way they teamed up to bash you almost made you giggle.

“Suck it up, losers!” You shout from the kitchen, entertained by their resentment.

“Spill your secrets then, otherwise I will simply not be convinced.” She replies, glowering.

The drink nearly dissolves on your tongue and you leave the glass on the counter, coming to join them again. You rest both hands on her shoulders in a friendly gesture.

“My grandpa thought me when I was young. Before the outbreak, I mean.” Ellie turns her head to look at you in interest. “He got sick afterwards… Forgetful and amnesiac.” You explain, “Chess stimulated his brain and since I was his only family left, we would spend hours playing.” Joel’s chest feels heavy at the sight of your nostalgic smile. “We had a great time together. He… Passed away a couple years ago.” Ellie takes your hand on her own in a comforting manner, but you don’t feel particularly sad, simply emotional about the past. “Hey, kiddo. Didn’t you have a movie night with Dina today?”

“Shit!” Her eyes widen. “Thanks for the reminder, I totally lost track of time,” she gets up with an apologetic smile, “I’m gonna head out now.” She quickly takes a jacket and ties her hair up. “You guys can keep playing or… I don’t know, just don’t wait around for me.”

And just like that, you’re left alone.

After an entire week of sneaking around and behind everyone’s back, you’re finally alone.

There’s a shift in the air of the room and you narrow your eyes when you gape at him. “You think she knows something?”

He tilts his head to the side and finishes his whiskey. “Probably. Can’t know for sure.” The vague answer made you shrug, deciding to put a pin to it for later.

Now that no one was around, you were determined to have some fun, coming up with a plan that could escalate things between you. And he surely thought so too. It wouldn’t be difficult to get his attention, since he was constantly monitoring your every move. Being that way, you intentionally stand beside him when leaning to reorder the pieces, giving him a very good view of your ass.

“Another round?” You ask tauntingly, “Or are you already tired of getting defeated?”

He grunts, upset by the previous resolutions. “I’d like to play another game.” You turn around with a cheeky smile. “One that I won’t lose.”

“And what would that be?” He gives you a darkened, intense glance, his lips pursed in a smirk.

Joel Miller was a man of few words and he totally lived up to it. Instead of responding, he grabbed your hips and dragged your body to the side, so that you were now standing between his legs, lingering against the edge of the table. You swallow hard, meeting his heavy gaze from above him. It made your pulse raise and blood rush, igniting something that you haven’t quite felt with anyone else yet. He presses a kiss to your clothed abdomen, eyes never wandering from yours as he lowers his lips to your pelvis, lifting your shirt leisurely.

“Look at you, darlin’. All flustered and I’ve barely done anything.” Your chest rises and falls methodically, the atmosphere feeling dense despite the chilly air. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips when he starts laying open-mouthed kisses along your exposed belly, sending shivers through your whole body, “Off,” he motions at your clothes.

You do as told, getting rid of the shirt and tossing it to the floor. His big, warm hands strain your movements as he explores your skin, kissing all the way up to the valley of your breasts.

“Joel…” you take a fistful of his hair and pull at it mildly, just enough to yank his head backwards and bring your lips together, swallowing a whimper from him.

The kiss is ambitious, all teeth and tongue, as if you had been craving each other for long and had just barely given in. He swiftly stands up and sits you at the end of the table, spreading your knees to settle in between your thighs. He parts from your mouth and traces your jawline, neck and collarbones, nibbling and sucking the sensitive skin, lightly scraping it with his facial hair. You were a mess at this point, panting and tugging at him as if you were about to collapse. But then he stops, breathing heavily against your chest and looking up to you with dark, lustful eyes.

“What- Did I do something wrong?” You stutter with uncertainty.

“Ain’t nothing wrong, angel.” His hand rests heavy on your thigh, a mischievous grin painted on his face. “But I told you we’d play a different game, didn’t I?”

This new side of him was exciting in many ways possible and whatever it was he wanted to do, you were certain it was going to be fun. And, possibly, a bit tortuous. You peer at him in expectation.

“Make your move.” He commanded, pointing the board with a succinct head movement. You obligue, choosing a random pawn and moving it with shaky hands while struggling to think straight. The man hums and decides to mirror your tactic. “Keep goin’.”

Next thing you know his fingers unhook your bra and you have to make a quick choice in spite of all the distractions. At the end, you go for a horse, barely capable of register anything other than his hands taking off the piece of clothing. After contemplating your scheme, he moves another pawn in return.

“Shit.” He hissed at the sight of your exposed tits, nipples hard from the cold air and arousal. “Focus.”

You weren’t sure if that last order was for him or for you, but either way the game kept going. He had enough attention span to grope your breasts and tweak your nipples between the pads of his calloused fingers, while also moving the chess pieces around. You couldn’t say the same for yourself; a louder moan escaping your lips when he replaced his fingers with his mouth.

The more ministrations he provided, the harder it became to make strategic moves. But you were determined not to let him win, regardless of the ache between your legs and the growing wetness in your panties that he refused to attend.

“Joel, I…” He takes away one of your rooks, his lips attached to your neck and hands caressing your inner thighs. “I need more.”

He huffs a laugh that vibrates through your lower body. “That right, angel? Tell me what you want.”

You take away his only bishop left and hear him growl at his approaching defeat. “Touch me, please.”

“Where?” His scent fogs your senses, so manly and distinctive of him, growing the need to feel him in any way possible. “Words, sweetheart.”

“I need your fingers in my cunt, Joel.” You spit out, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat and increasing his arousal with your lack of coyness. “Please.”

“Anything for my pretty girl.” He unbuttons your pants and slides one hand inside, palming your pussy over the underwear, altering your breathing pattern and moving the queen with his free hand. “Fuck, you’re drippin’.” You grind against his hand and his grip on your waist tightens to keep you still as he kneads circles on your clit over the thin fabric. “Your turn, darlin’.”

The game carries on at the same time as he moves your panties aside and slides two thick fingers inside your entrance, his thumb still fondling your nub slowly. You can’t keep your moans at low and the stimulation picks up when he curls his digits to hit your right spots. All that can be heard in the room is the cracking wood of the fireplace and the squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Jesus Christ, Joel…” you cry out his name, burying your face on the crook of his neck, grabbing the soft flannel in your fists and spilling all your whimpers into his ear, delighting yourself with the way he smelt. He groans at the feeling of your bare chest pressed to him, his cock throbbing painfully at every sound you’d make.

“You like that, darlin’? You like to fuck my fingers on top of this table like a needy little whore?” You clench around him and throw your head back, a new wave of slick coating all the way to his knuckles. “Ah, so you do like it.”

“Yes, Joel. I-” he speeds up his pace, greedily circling your clit in a way that makes your back arch, giving him a glorious view from his position.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. Been wanting to do this for so fuckin’ long…” He admits, peppering kisses all over your breasts.

“Me too. Thought about you when I-” your voice gets lost at the sudden feeling of heat settling on your lower stomach, building up your crescendo. “When I was alone.” Your confession only manages to prompt him further and make his movements more effective. You squirm under his touch, a hand messing his hair while the other holds his belt to keep him close.

He groans a deep ‘fuck’ at the pathetic sound you made. All because of him. No; all of them for him.

“Joel, I’m- shit, I’m close,” there’s a hotness on the pit of your stomach that extends to your legs.

“I know, angel.” He coos, his free hand brushing the hair out of your face. “Go ahead, do it.” His words are all it takes for your orgasm to hit, shocking every nerve on your body. He helps you come down from it, tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin as your body quivers from elation.

“Joel…” you whisper, both your hands on his belt and going to unbuckle it, watching as he takes both fingers to his lips and licks them clean.

“Sweet” he kisses you again, deeply. You happily return it with the same energy, nibbling at his bottom lip while your palm slides inside his jeans to feel up his bulge over the underwear. He muffles a moan in your mouth, his hot, hard cock twitching under your grip.

Your hand drifts inside his boxers to feel him directly, your thumb rubbing over the tip to spread the surprising amount of precum that oozed there. Joel gasped into your mouth, the sound prompting you further.

“Checkmate.” You tell him, pulling back only when you needed to breathe, guiding your finger to your tongue in order to taste him. “I won.”

His eyes divert to the board in awe, and you admire his mesmerized expression when he confirms that you had, in fact, won again. Joel comes back to dote on your devilish grin, fueled up by a new thrill of excitement.

“Fuck this…” he mutters through gritted teeth, mindlessly tossing the board to the side and letting it fall off the table along with all the pieces, making an absolute mess. It appears like he doesn’t even register any of it, going straight back to kissing you, his hands sliding your pants down your legs.

“Shit, Joel…” You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, encouraged by his sudden passion.

As your lips collide once again, you start to unbutton his shirt and he helps you out of your jeans, along with your very wet panties. He pushes your back against the wooden surface, holding you down with a hand around your neck.

“Winners that boast in their victory are only brats.” He snarls, taking his dick out for you to see. Your mouth waters at the sight of it: thick, bigger than you could’ve expected, the head swollen and glistening. “Brats need to be tamed.”

You whine when he parts your thighs even wider, teasing your slit with his tip, covering it in your slick and intentionally grazing your aching clit, urging you to grab his bicep for support.

“Can’t you just fuck me already?” You blurt out, the sensation only edging you more. “I might just cum again from all the teasing.”

His fingertip sweeps across your bottom lip, an eyebrow raised. “You really that sensitive, angel?” He questions, “Or is it just because of me?”

The inquiry nearly makes you crack up. Damn, the man was totally clueless. “Are you really that unaware of the effect you have on me?”

His stare reflects how pleased he is to hear that. “How many times did you beat me tonight, sweetheart?”

It takes an actual effort for you to recall and muster up an answer when he keeps toying with you so mercilessly. “Three, I presume.”

Joel’s hand slithers to your lower back, keeping you angled for him. “Then I’ll get you off three times.” Your heart jumps at the sentence and you look at him in disbelief. “Can you do that, angel?”

Three fucking times?

When your whole life men had only ever given you… None, practically. One at most, if you were lucky enough. And Joel mother-fucking Miller had the nerve to ask if you could handle three.

“Bet.” The answer is music to his ears, giving in once and for all as he enters you unhurriedly.

He’s so big and you feel him splitting you open exquisitely, the sensation fading any thoughts, beliefs or identities from your mind. Right now, all you know is him. It stings a little and it forces you to screw your eyes shut, letting out a small whine as he bottoms out, your nails digging on his arm.

“You’re doing s’good, baby.” He continues to say in midst of it, talking your way through it, “Taking me so well…” You think it’s somewhat unfair that he’s still fully clothed and you’re naked as the day you came; yet, at the moment your mind can’t even think of anything but his cock, buried deep inside you. “If something feels off or it becomes to much… Let me know and I’ll stop.” You nod, eagerness starting to scratch your insides.

“Yes. Now can you please, please start moving.” He holds back a chuckle, gazing at you from above, barely lifting your hips to feel more of him.

“Atta girl,” he obeys, thrusting his hips sharply and deep. “Look so pretty beggin’ to be fucked.” His big arm travels to the arch in your back, withdrawing and pushing in again, slowly losing his consciousness to pleasure.

“Fucking hell, you fill me up so good…” he moans gruffly at your comment, pulling you down on his cock as he picks up an unrelenting pace, hitting every right spot as if he knew them all by memory.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Joel drags in an out, rejoicing himself in every high pitched moan you’d spill. Your legs wrap around his waist in an effort to keep him as close as you could.

The angle is very intimate, his whole body flushed against yours, warm and firm, while your hand snakes under his flannel to dig your nails on his bare shoulders, the other scratching his scalp delicately and Joel’s hot, erratic breaths hitting your face as you gape at him. It’s like everything else disappeared and it was all about the two of you and this moment of pure rapture. Unable to contain your urge, you search for his lips, kissing him one more time, the mixture of mint and alcohol in his mouth fogging your senses in the best way possible.

His tip nudges your g-spot relentlessly, the stretch his girth provided so satisfying that you clench around him as your second orgasm approaches, causing him to pull apart from the kiss and let out a sinful groan, deep from his throat, that sends a shudder up your spine. It all becomes too much; the friction of your delicate nipples with his shirt, his thick cock dragging against your walls and lastly, Joel’s teeth biting down the soft skin under your ear, his facial hair scraping deliciously. That is your cum button.

“That’s my girl, making a mess on my dick,” he fucks you through it, slowing down his pace and only pulling out when your legs tremble. “Say it darlin’, tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Joel…” he basks in the view of your fucked out self, looking up at him in a delirious state, eyes low, heat soared across your cheeks and lips plumped. “Shit, Miller,” you sit up, arm still hanging around his broad shoulders while his hard, throbbing cock rested against your thigh. “You’re so fucking hot, did you know that? It drives me insane.”

He laughs huskily, his big hand caressing the side of your face in a caring manner. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he speaks softly, “I think I might’ve fucked you so hard I scrambled your brain.”

You actually crack up this time, pressing a kiss to his forehead and muttering an: “Idiot.” He grabs your thighs and methodically swirls your body, flushing your back against his chest. Without warning, he slams into you again, making you yelp at the sudden action.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” he pokes fun at you, “next time we’ll put it to use.” And the promise raises goosebumps on your skin.

This new position gave you the opportunity to feel him deeper, if that was even possible. His thighs and hips firm against yours, every single snap making you feel that delicious stretch he provided as your cunt envelopes him tightly. But you were already far too sensitive and every light touch added to his thrusts made your body feel weaker.

“Joel, I-” he holds you with an arm covering your waist, his fingers pinching your nipples. “Fuck, I won’t last…”

He becomes more vocal, his disjointed moans drifting from his lips right into your ear while the hand on your hip makes its way to rub your clit gloriously, in a way that makes you wonder just how the fuck does he know exactly what your body likes.

“Is my sweet girl gonna cum for me?” you nod, unable to form any words, only capable of reveling on the way his cock throbs inside you. “Speak, remember?”

But you can’t. Nothing comes out of your mouth besides his name, like a constant plea. When the third one finally came, it was simply euphoric; your whole body shudders and your vision goes white, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as you start to feel lightheaded. Joel draws out with a grunt, a string of curses leaving his lips as you spin around to see him. Your hand wraps around his own when he fucks his fist and you take in the sight of him cumming all over your fingers, his forehead laying on your shoulder as you milk him. Inevitably, you lick your fingers to taste his salty load. A sight that would be engraved in his brain for the rest of his days and that could possibly haunt him in his time apart from you.

“Checkmate my ass,” he grits between shaky breaths, your hand stroking his hair as he comes down from his high.

“What a sore loser…” you joke. In fact, you plan to say something more, but you feel too tired for anything.

It didn’t really matter, though. Joel took good care of you. He bathed with you, cleaned up the whole mess and gave you one of his shirts for you to sleep with, eventually going to bed with your very passed out self.

Well, if Ellie didn’t know anything before, she surely will now.

[sundrop-writes]

Missing You

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary:

Gar misses his two best friends. When he calls the two of you, he certainly doesn’t expect to find you in such a… compromising situation.

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd. Accidental Voyeurism. Smut. Canon Divergent AU of Season 2.

Word Count: 2,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: there is a lot of Gar/Jason (emotionally and sexually), dubious consent - Gar listens to the reader and Jason having sex without their consent (but they don’t mind when they do find out), invasion of privacy (but again, they don’t mind it), would this be considered eavesdropping?, accidental voyeurism (and then on purpose voyeurism), Gar masturbates while listening to Jason and the reader have sex over a FaceTime call but Jason and the reader don’t know Gar is listening, Gar feels slightly guilty about being horny in this situation, lots of dirty talk, Jason is more dominant, reader is definitely submissive, Gar is (slightly?) submissive (though he is not ‘involved’ for most of the sex act), the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though she is not really the ‘center’ of this fic), Jason has a filthy mouth, p in v sex (between Jason and reader) - actually protected sex this time (which is a surprise for my fics) (it’s my headcanon that Jason is a big proponent for condoms/safe sex), degradation kink (towards the reader), terms used to describe the reader: slutty/slut, cocksleeve, hole, fucktoy/toy, cumdump, good girl; slightly possessive Jason (but it’s clear that he doesn’t mind sharing with Gar), spanking (very light, no severe pain kink) - mention of clit spanking, mention of orgasm restriction, mentions of sexting/sending nudes. I believe that’s everything.

A/N: This is a repost. Again, to complete my Titans Masterlist on this blog. I did some tweaking to it, but it is still mostly the same. So if you have read it before, I hope you enjoy it. And if it’s your first time reading it, I hope you like it again.

...

The concept of butt-dailing was something that still mystified Gar. 

He understood why it was a thing in the 2000s, sure. A time when people’s phones still had tactile buttons on them, when you could sit on your phone in your back pocket and start pressing things by accident. But these days? Why was the term even still used? 

How can you call someone by accident? How can you have an entire phone conversation with someone by mistake? 

On that day, it hadn’t been Jason that called him - no, Gar was the one calling Jason. 

Gar hated to admit it, but he was fucking lonely. He had a soft heart and if he went too long without talking to his friends, without hearing their laughter, then he wilted like an unwatered plant. It wasn’t something that he ever said aloud, but it was something that was very easy to tell for the people who were closest to him. 

So Jason had taken to calling him on a regular basis. And ironically, because of it, the two had actually grown a lot closer in the Robin’s absence. 

Their friendship bloomed because of the long, late-night phone calls where Jason’s tired voice mumbled things to Gar as he fell asleep, admitting things about his past and the pain he sometimes felt that he never would have told anyone else. And they often spent hours on Discord calls as they kicked ass together playing COD or some other stupid game like Mount Your Friends. Even though on that day the Tower was practically empty, Gar found himself missing Jason the most. 

Ever since you had gone to Gotham to visit Jason, Gar’s other closest friend abandoning him, Gar had practically gone mad with loneliness. Rachel was off on a ‘girls trip’ with Donna, Dawn, and Kory, and Dick was attending some kind of ‘League’ business. Hank was leading a ‘be a better you’ sobriety seminar in another city, and Gar still found himself feeling like an outsider when hanging out with Rose and Jericho. 

So where did that leave him? 

Alone in his room, sprawled out on his bed. 

He had thumbed over Jason’s contact in his phone several times before he actually decided to put in his earbuds and give the guy a call. Surely his best friend wouldn’t consider him needy after the three hour long timestamps on their other calls. If Jason was busy, Gar could simply find something else to entertain himself. He could probably best his Resident Evil speedruns. Again. 

But selfishly, he was hoping Jason would pick up and talk to him for a while. Maybe you would be lounging around with Jason and he would get to talk to the both of you. That would be really nice. 

When the FaceTime call was answered on the other end, the screen was dark. Gar thought for a moment that Jason was just busy - that he was pressing his phone to his chest until he could get into another room to take the call. But for a few moments, all he heard was deep breathing, some grunting. The sound of Jason training? 

He was definitely inside Jason’s pocket. 

See, Jason hadn’t even noticed the incoming call. He had his phone on silent, and he had answered it completely by mistake. Turns out, the rapid, rhythmic thrusting of his hips had somehow successfully pressed the ‘answer’ button, even with the phone shoved deep in his back pocket. 

And Jason wasn’t really in a position to have a friendly, ‘let’s chat about COD’ video chat with his best friend. 

He was balls-deep inside of you. With his thick, hard cock out through the zipper of his pants with his phone still inside of his back pocket. He was thrusting into you where you were face down on his bed, on your knees exactly how he wanted you. 

It was a huge part of the reason you had come to visit him. The two of you had been fooling around for as long as you had known each other, and you couldn’t seem to go for very long without fucking the other person. It brought you both relief from your stressful vigilante lifestyle, and it was the best sex either of you ever had. Not that any of your friends knew that you had a ‘thing’ going on, of course. 

Gar was about to hang up the call, believing that he had caught Jason at a bad time and realizing that the guy didn’t even know his phone was on. But he froze completely still when he heard it. 

“Fuck, babe, take my cock.” Jason groaned, his voice absolutely thick with sex. “Fucking take it.” 

It was something that instantly made Gar tremble, made blood rush to his cock as he heard his friend’s voice in a way that he never had before. The sound was rough in his headphones, distant and not nearly as pure as it would have been in person. But it made Gar’s blood run hot in seconds, made him so turned on so quickly that he became dizzy. 

Gar’s hand itched to reach down and grip his cock through his pants, but he knew that he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. He should just hang up the call and hope that Jason never saw it in his call history. The longer he stayed there and listened, the more suspicious the timestamp would look in the call history if Jason ever saw it. 

But Gar was frozen in his tracks when he heard something that absolutely made his head spin. 

“Yes!” It was your voice. “Fuck, I fucking love your cock. I’m just a slutty little cocksleeve for you, Jay!” 

High pitched and needy, moaning out - it was you. You, screaming those entirely pornographic words, followed by a deep grunt from Jason. 

Gar let out a sharp breath. It hadn’t occurred to him who Jason might be fucking. Or that he was fucking someone at all, and that he wasn’t just alone, fucking his own hand. 

Gar almost couldn’t believe that this was happening. The two people that he had been attracted to for so long now, playing out an epic sex fantasy for his own ears. He knew that it was so horribly wrong, but he probably wouldn’t have hung up the call if someone had pointed a gun to his head. 

“Yeah, you are.” Jason replied, his voice slightly obscured from the phone being in his pocket. “You’re my perfect slut. Such a good fucktoy, aren’t you, Y/N?” 

Jason saying your name with such a deep, possessive need, paired with the way he spoke so confidentially - it forced Gar to imagine how long the two of you had been in a relationship like this. How long the two of you had been playing around behind everyone’s backs to know each other’s kinks so well without crossing any boundaries. Even with his brain so lust-clouded, his thoughts flashed through all of the times you and Jason had snuck off together, or made lame excuses to go to bed early when Jason had still been living at the Tower. 

Gar was upset that he hadn’t found out about this sooner. His brain conjured up a fantasy of him sneaking into Jason’s room late at night, and seeing you on your knees for his best friend. He easily imagined Jason inviting him to stay, telling Gar what a slut you were, how much you would love to have two guys at once. Him and Jason passing you around, your wetness making both of their cocks shine. If you were the ‘fucktoy’ that he claimed you to be, it probably wouldn’t be that far from reality. 

There was a wet, slapping sound - Jason fucking into you harder as you moaned and struggled for breath. 

Gar’s cock pulsed with need. 

Something in the back of his brain screamed that it was wrong and that he needed to hang up, but his cock screamed louder. So he untied the string of his pants with haste and racked them down over his aching balls. Just to be safe, he muted his end of the call so that Jason wouldn’t hear any noises he made. 

(If he had been thinking a bit clearer, he would have realized that any noise he made, especially echoing into Jason’s back pocket, would have simply gotten lost in the haze of sweat and sex that the two of you were making in Jason’s bedroom. But - better safe than sorry, right?) 

In his mind, muting the call seemed even more reasonable when he let out a deep moan the second he took his hard dick into his hand. More beautiful sounds from you and Jason came in through his headphones as he began to jerk himself off. 

“Fucking love how you take my cock, fucking love how this slutty pussy gets so wet for me.”

Jason’s dirty mouth continued as Gar’s hand started a steady rhythm. Gar was already leaking precum that easily slicked him up - he was absolutely dizzy at the sound of Jason’s sex-graveled voice. 

“Just a fucking hole for me to cum in.” Jason growled. “You love it, don’t you? You love being my fucking toy. My fucking cumdump.” 

The pure filth coming out of Jason’s mouth surprised Gar, just as much as his own reaction did. The way his dick jumped in his hand and his lungs released a moan, his tip leaking even more precum at the words. He had no fucking idea that you and Jason were so dirty, that you liked being… degraded so much. Because clearly you loved it, with the wailing moan that you echoed back in response. 

“I love it!” You told Jason, your tone desperate and breathy, worn with sex. “I love being your cumdump. I’m just a hole for you to use!” 

Gar tried to imagine what the two of you might look like in that moment. Were you on your back, your legs spread wide for Jason? Were you completely naked with your tits swaying with his every thrust? Were you on your hands and knees, ass out like a bitch in heat for Jason? 

Gar pumped his cock faster at the thought, his precum making it sound absolutely slick, unrestrained grunts coming from his parted lips as he continued to listen you and Jason fuck. He would feel guilty for this later, but right now, he was absolutely dizzy with lust and needed to hear more. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, slut?” Jason’s voice was sharp, demanding. 

It sounded like Jason was holding back the urge to cum himself and he needed you to get there first. There was a sharp sound - skin hitting skin, higher in pitch and less muffled than the constant pounding of Jason into your cunt. Jason had spanked you. Gar’s orgasm swelled in his belly as he imagined Jason’s hand coming down against your skin, making the fat of your ass bounce or - fuck, Jason’s hand blooming against your wet clit. (Gar hated that he would never know which it actually was.) 

“Be a good girl. Cum for me.” Jason demanded, throat strangling his voice as he drowned in his own arousal. 

And just like that, you dissolved into a fury of sounds. Gar caught you chanting ‘I’m a hole! I’m a hole! I’m a hole!’ as though it was the only thing on your mind, increasing in volume as your orgasm overtook you, but it was muffled after a moment and Gar heard Jason grunt the words ‘shut up’ in the most sharp, dangerous voice he had ever heard from his best friend. 

Gar’s mind was immediately struck with the picture of Jason’s hand on the back of your head, shoving you into the bed to quiet your whorish moaning, and this was what sent him over the edge. His stomach curled so hard that it practically made him nauseous, his body drawing up off the bed as he pumped his cock hard and fast. He pumped himself dry as cum splashed up over his (thankfully) naked stomach and dirtied him in hot, white waves. 

Gar’s body was still trembling when he heard Jason rattle out a shuddering moan, a sure sign that he was cumming too. 

Gar should have rushed to end the call. 

But it seemed impossible to move at this point - his bones were practically made out of jelly from the intensity of his orgasm. The hand holding the phone had dropped it against his chest, the sound still coming in clear from his earbuds. He was desperate to catch his breath, and his cum still warm against his stomach when he heard it. 

There was a shifting, a rustling sound - fuck, Jason was taking his phone out of his pocket. 

Gar panicked. 

But his orgasm had been so spectacular that it had knocked all the sense out of him, including his usually good reflexes, so he was slow to pick his phone back up. When he did, his heart jumped in his chest when he found Jason staring at him, wearing a wide smirk. 

In the time it had taken Gar to recover, Jason had taken his phone out - with the original purpose to check the time. Alfred always had a very specific time for dinner, and always became cranky if anyone was late. Jason certainly didn’t need anyone to come looking for you and him, seeing the compromising position that you found yourselves in. 

Jason was surprised when he found the call with Gar going. And once he had checked the timestamp on the still ongoing call, he immediately knew what had happened. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jason said, his voice slightly rough from the sex, but entirely confident, unshaken. 

“Uh - I - I -” Gar stuttered. 

When Jason saw his lips moving and didn’t hear any sound, he quickly spoke up. 

“Unmute the call, dickhead.” Jason told him, giving a small chuckle with the offensive, affectionate nickname. 

Right. Gar had muted it to participate in his perverted voyeurism. 

As Gar reached up to find the button, he realized his hand was still covered in cum. 

Jason licked his lips as he saw substance smeared all over Gar’s palm and saw his friend reaching for tissues off to the side. As Gar raced to clean off his hand, you appeared behind Jason’s shoulder in the frame of the call. You were wearing a bra, your skin slightly slicked with sweat and tear tracks coming off the side of your eyes - clearly from pleasure and not from pain. 

“You had Gar on a FaceTime call?” Your tone was a breathy giggle, clearly not at all upset at the idea that your friend had been listening in on you being fucked and called degrading names. “Kinky. Did you call him while you were putting the condom on?” 

Gar unmuted the call with his now clean(er) hand, but waited in silence for you and Jason to finish your conversation. He was surprised that you didn’t seem to care; that you seemed to think it was some kind of pre-planned kink that Jason had executed. Gar’s stomach twisted at the thought of it, that you and Jason had discussed inviting another person into your sex life and you were more than okay with it being Gar. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Jason told you. “Go get cleaned up for dinner.” 

You simply nodded, and leaned in to give Jason a kiss - a soft, gentle sight that was entirely arousing in contrast to the rough, filthy sex that Gar knew the two of you just had. It was even more arousing when you walked out of frame and Gar heard another spank to your bare skin (clearly you weren’t wearing bottoms) - and heard you let out a delighted squeak in response. 

“Look, I can explain-” Gar began his groveling, but Jason quickly cut him off. 

“Quiet.” Jason said, his tone taking on a kind of authority that made Gar’s stomach jump. “Next time this happens, we get to watch you cum, or you don’t get to cum at all. Got it?” 

Gar’s cock was quickly filling with blood again at Jason speaking to him this way, so boldly, making sexual demands over his body. His mouth was dry and lost for words so he simply nodded in response. He opened his mouth to attempt to speak - to apologize, to ask for clarity, to ask Jason when ‘the next time’ would be. 

But now that Jason had Gar’s simple affirmation, he hung up the call. 

Gar - unable to help himself - stretched an arm out and took a picture of his half hard cock and his shirtless body, still covered in his cum. He hesitated to send it, though. After a long mental debate in the shower, it came back to his phone sitting on his nightstand, and sent it to Jason with a caption that read ‘I really did enjoy the show’. 

It pinged Jason’s phone when he was sitting at the dinner table with you and Bruce. And as he looked at it under the table, he choked on his peas.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

[ecoterrorist-katara]

Hey bestie any zutara fic recs. I feel like I’ve read all the classics.

Hello anon! Oh boy have you come to the right place because I have read several million words of these two dorks falling in love and though I plan to read several million more, I am always down to screech about talented fanfic writers!!! Here are most of my faves, some of which you’ve probably read but my enthusiasm simply needs an outlet. No WIPs to minimize heartbreak.

In the spirit of not recommending too many classics, I’m not including anything from the first page of the Katara/Zuko tag on AO3 sorted by kudos, with one exception. Same rule does not apply to FF.net because nobody visits that site anymore, yet we mustn’t forget our roots!!! 

TL;DR of my Zutara Fic Recs: 

Half Asleep for a Miyazaki-esque adventure romance 

Southern Lights for a sweeping epic where A Song of Ice and Fire meets Middlemarch

Refraction for a swoon-worthy post-war political romance ft. Katara learning how to politick in a patriarchal world 

Stormbenders for a fun undercover romance that is a ZK classic for a very good reason 

Another Word for Alchemy and The Slow Path for hilarious yet emotionally compelling adventures with found family themes 

The Undying Fire for world-building, more Gaang shenanigans, and super satisfying slow canon divergence 

Katara Alone for our fave girl’s post-war Bildungsroman/travelogue/heroic tour

Simple Misunderstanding for a hilarious rendition of Ponytail Zuko capturing Katara and trying to not be a creep

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow for a mostly canon-compliant (so, v angsty) story about the different ways that love can evolve 

And some one-shots and modern AUs I feel like deserve some more love 

Summaries, reviews, and general fangirling under the cut because holy shit this post is long lmao 

Long fics / series: 

Half Asleep, by crushinator | Rating: T | Word Count: 82,335

Summary: Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin's dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams.

My thoughts: this fic, in many ways, is novel quality. The pacing? Immaculate. The action scenes? Exciting and interesting yet super easy to visualize. The characterization? On point. Katara is peak Miyazaki heroine in this, setting out on a quest to the Spirit World to save her boy (who’s not really her boy) from whichever Eldritch horror has him in its clutches. I love the little glimpses we have of the mutual pining between Katara and Zuko, and there are no words to describe how much I love the resolution of Katara and Aang’s relationship in this story. And oh boy, is the climax of the fic super romantic. This is just a really well written, emotionally compelling, tight fic. Deserves to be a fandom classic. 

Southern Lights, by colourwhirled | Rating: M | Word Count: 769,274

Summary: A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

My thoughts: Is it a Bildungsroman? Is it a war story? Is it a politics story? Is it a love story? Is it a friendship story? Is it a story about colonial violence and well-meaning complicity and finding justice in a world where it simply doesn’t seem to exist? Yes to all of the above, because at 700k+ words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL. You know how Virginia Woolf once said that Middlemarch is one of the few novels written for grownups? Well, Southern Lights feels adult, not because of violence or sex or general grimness (looking at you, HBO), but because it’s fundamentally about having the courage to make choices, live with the consequences, and make more choices, and repeat that over and over again. If Katara is a Miyazaki heroine in Half Asleep, she is full on Daenarys (pre-character assassination) in Southern Lights, a heroine who gets put through her paces yet retains her unwavering resilience to find her place in the world. Katara can be pretty frustrating in this and I know a lot of the commenters on this fic wanted to smack her up the head halfway through, but I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs and her decisions make sense to me even when I also want to smack her for them, and isn’t that a symptom of good writing? I count my lucky stars that I joined the ATLA fandom after this fic is finished (which was only last year!) because I got to binge it in a few days and I have not been the same person since. Deserves classic status. 

Refraction, by caroe3725 | Rating: E | Word Count: 215,249

Summary: Making choices after the war was supposed to be the easy part. Her future decided and neatly packaged based on what everyone else wanted for her, what she should want, too. But Katara’s destiny had a funny way of being exactly what she wanted to run from. (As if anyone needed another Zutara post-finale slow burn after 15 years.)

My thoughts: YES WE DEFINITELY NEEDED ANOTHER POST-WAR ZK SLOWBURN OF SUCH IMMACULATE QUALITY. Both Katara and Zuko’s internal monologues are excellent in this, but I particularly love Zuko’s. The writer is so good at capturing his resolve, his earnestness, and his awkwardness. This is a very restrained fic — no great histrionics — but also incredibly romantic. The first kiss scene made me want to both sigh and screech. I’m also just a huge sucker for “Katara learns politics” which this fic has in spades, with a bonus of very thoughtful gender dynamics. Anyway, if you liked AJ Lenoire’s The Summit or andromeda13’s such selfish prayers, you’d probably like Refraction. Zuko and Katara are very much dumb teens in the beginning portions of this fic, which I personally like because it makes me nostalgic. Oh, and Katara is low key chaotic good in this, which is super in-character and hilarious.

Stormbenders, by Fandomme | Rating: T | Word Count: 171,000+ 

Summary: S3 AU from FBM. Deep in the Fire Nation jungle, the Gaang meets a group of rogue water ninja who send Zuko and Katara on a mission to retrieve Ozai's secret battle plans.

My thoughts: I’m aware that if you asked the average ZK shipper ten years ago what the ship classics are, the answers are probably Stormbenders, His Majesty Prefers Blue, and the Sparrowkeet series. The other classics are good (classics for a reason!), but Stormbenders remains my favourite. It’s funny. It’s exciting. It’s WELL PACED. The ZK relationship grows so organically, which is a huge feat considering this fic was started before we even got The Southern Raiders. The events are a little more adult than the show, but the tone remains very ATLA. There’s a lovely little animatic of the beginning of the scene on YouTube to show you exactly what I mean about the tone and the humour. I am always weak for a well-structured adventure romance, and Stormbenders stands the test of time because it’s just such a well-written fic. 

The Undying Fire, by Boogum | Rating: T | Word Count: 534,665

Summary: "He has the eyes, Princess Ursa." They were half-forgotten words, a whisper of fears never explained. Zuko had dismissed it all as nothing to worry about—until he somehow healed the Avatar. Fire healers weren't meant to exist, except he did. He'd saved the kid's life. Naturally, he wanted answers. Too bad finding them wasn't so simple...

My thoughts: This fic is mostly Gen, and Zutara shows up in the latter half of the series. Despite being a ZK shipper I like plenty of Gen fics too, and The Undying Fire gives me the best of both worlds. I love the world building, the humour, and the slow ramp up of the Gaang friendships. I absolutely love how the canon divergence is so subtle at first and gradually unfurls into something super different, yet retains much of its ATLA charm. Boogum’s written some other bangers too, and I have to give honorable mention to Zuko’s Tiny Dilemma (where a spirit transforms ponytail Zuko into his six-year-old self, and Uncle into a teapot, and somehow it becomes an emotionally compelling 100k word saga) and Following Blue (season 2 canon divergent Bluetara with a bigger focus on romance). 

Katara Alone & associated fics by cablesscutie | Rating: T | Word Count: 86,890

Summary: The war is over, and with it goes the only life she has ever known. In this era of love and peace, the world is becoming new, and Katara is unsure of her place in it. That's okay though. Katara has rebuilt her life from scratch before, and she will do it again.

My thoughts: I love post-war “Katara sets out to find herself and also finds Zuko” fics. Katara Alone is a fabulous coming-of-age story with some good old fashioned letter flirting during Katara’s solo travels. The sequel, Lady of the Tides, has some very thoughtful depictions of Katara’s place within the post-war Fire Nation, and the accompanying story from Zuko’s POV, The Fire Lord at Home, hits all my buttons. Like…Zuko is Fire Lord Good Boy! He passes legislation! There is political optimism! Swoon. 

Another Word for Alchemy, by FanPanda 13 | Rating: T | Word Count: 108,000+ 

Summary: Five years have passed since the Avatar defeated Fire Lord Ozai, and the members of the Gaang have all gone in their own direction. But when Aang invites them all to a Peace Summit at the North Pole and tells them of his new project, for which he will need their support, the group comes together again for adventure, fun and romance. AU. Zutara. COMPLETE.

My thoughts: Now this is a fic that thoroughly crept up on me. The first 3/4 is good old fashioned fluffy, funny, fourth wall-breaking Gaang shenanigans with plenty of Zutara. But the last quarter? Oh boy does it come right at you and slam you in the solar plexus with the platonic love and found family feels and the complexities of those feelings when you’re a teenager. The impact of Aang’s loss of the Air Nomads is treated very thoughtfully here, way more so than in the show. 

The Slow Path, by TazmainianDevil | Rating: T | Word Count: 125,723 

Summary: Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind.

My thoughts: This is actually a Taang story with a great ZK subplot. But what I love about it is that the whole Gaang (including Suki ALWAYS INCLUDING SUKI) is superbly characterized. The ZK banter is top notch. I could actually hear their voices in my head in some of the scenes. Their relationship is playful but has plenty of emotional heft. And the plot is exciting and well-developed. My favourite thing, though, is how the author treats Toph’s POV: it’s very thoughtfully written, with consideration towards how she perceives the world.

Simple Misunderstanding, by ShamelessLiar | Rating: T | Word Count: 80,965 

Summary: Katara was captured by Zuko, but there was a lapse in communication. Takes place after The Fortuneteller. Fierce Katara, honorable Zuko, and meddlesome Iroh. Also, music night

My thoughts: Generally I don’t love fics where Katara gets captured, especially by Zuko (just a personal preference, not here to judge). But! I love this one, because…well, the circumstances of Katara’s capture by Ponytail Zuko are simply hilarious. Katara is suspicious and stubborn; Zuko has a one-track mind and doesn’t understand why Iroh is treating his prisoner so nicely; oh, and Aang gets into an amazing side quest with some spiritual animals. The only thing about this story is that it ends a little abruptly since the author was considering a sequel, but it still reads as a standalone fic. The author also wrote His Majesty Prefers Blue and Call Me Katto, two ZK classics, but Simple Misunderstanding is far and away my favourite work. 

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow, by sadladybug | Rating: T | Word Count: 62,026

Summary: It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

Review: sadladybug lives up to the username by creating a sadness so contagious that I have yet to recover from it, and I cope by recommending this fic to other Zutara shippers so that more may suffer like I did. (Stop the cycle? No.) Look — I think there’s something extremely beautiful and poetic about a love that changes in nature and form and expression, but not in intensity and devotion, and that’s what this fic is about. Loved it. Never reading it again. 

One shots: 

There’s a category of canon-compliant Zutara one-shots that are all extremely painful, and I cannot get enough of them: in the next life by we-were-angels, taking place right before Katara’s wedding to Aang; water can heal, water can break by crazyache, about why Katara didn’t attend Yakone’s trial. 

To combat the above, here’s a few funny, fluffy ones that make me cackle: i am older now by ama (who wrote the banger that is The Blackfish and the Dragon), an old!ZK fic that I read to counteract the emotional damage inflicted by psychedelic_aya’s we hold our hearts in silence; all good things start with tea by yodalorian, where Zuko’s hapless Disney sidekick-esque advisors try to get him a wife; And Half at One Another’s Throats by songofhopeandhonor (whose account is deleted), about Zuko’s harebrained proposals to Katara; The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting by bluesunflower44, which is exactly what it says on the tin and the awkward disaster you’d expect. Waiting on a Steady Sun, by nire, is a long version of my favourite tropes: fake marriage + idiots to lovers ft. pining for your spouse. 

I generally don’t love modern AUs, but akaiiko’s talk is cheap (and i’ve got expensive taste), where Katara meets Zuko at a frat party, is a whole damn delight; my old aches become new again by jamesstruttingpotter is a wonderfully indulgent modern AU based on Our Beloved Summer. 

And finally, some season 3 character studies: don’t tell me how to feel by paintingcranes, ft Katara at the Western Air Temple being increasingly incensed at both Zuko trying to be helpful and how other people react to his helpfulness; the other side of mercy by crazyache, where Sokka calls Katara “high-strung and crazy” and that really makes Zuko think; The Silent Garden by romilley (whose WIP The Horizon is also fabulous), where Katara and Zuko avoid their feelings through a reluctant-allies-with-benefits arrangement (ft a way of depicting intimacy and sex that makes me think of Normal People); a deep delight of the blood by eruthros, where Zuko asks Katara to practice bloodbending on him out of pragmatism but also a little bit of guilt (it’s unrated, but that “Kink Without Sex” tag is there for a reason). 

Thank you for asking me for my recs, anon, because I needed an outlet to rave about fanfiction and my irl friends have heard enough. Feel free to ask me questions about specific fics that aren’t on this list: I always love talking to people about fic and I’m always looking for new ones to read!