#your god is not my god and your heart is blackened

[birdsareblooming]

evangelicals are a fucking disgrace and none of them are seeing heaven

[novaursa]

Fires That Never Freeze

- Summary: You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins.

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after The Heir of Ice and Ash. To read all parts in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 524

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

You cradle your son, Killian, against your chest, his soft breath a soothing rhythm amidst the storm brewing in your heart. His dark hair is thick for one so young, a stark contrast to your own silver strands that cascade down like a river of moonlight, braided intricately yet now trembling at the edges as you shudder with grief. His violet eyes—your eyes—peek up at you in curiosity, innocent to the world that has been drenched in blood and betrayal. You wish you could preserve this innocence forever, shield him from the horrors beyond these stone walls, but you know all too well that the winds of war spare no one.

The letter lies crumpled beside you, the wax seal of the Three-Headed Dragon snapped in two. The words are still fresh, cutting through you like Valyrian steel, sharper than any sword you could ever wield. Your grandmother—brave, indomitable Rhaenys—is gone. The Queen Who Never Was met her end at Rook’s Rest, where she and Meleys faced the combined fury of Vhagar and Sunfyre. The account is almost too monstrous to believe: how Meleys’ head was severed and paraded as a trophy, how Aegon the Usurper was carried away like a broken thing, sealed in a crate to hide his mangled form. They say he is scarcely more than a corpse now, held together only by pride and the twisted whims of fate.

Your tears fall silently, trailing over Killian’s soft cheeks as he looks up at you, gurgling without a care in the world. He knows nothing of what has been lost, what will never be.

Suddenly, you feel Cregan’s presence behind you—warm and steady like the roots of an ancient tree. He kneels by your side, his grey eyes searching yours with concern. His large, calloused hand rests gently on your back, grounding you in the present. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice soft as the snow falling outside. “I heard. The raven...”

You can’t find the strength to speak, so you only nod. He understands without needing further words; he always has. The Lord of Winterfell was never meant for courtly games or gilded halls, but here in the cold North, his honesty and strength have become your rock amidst all the chaos. Yet even his unwavering strength can’t shield you from this hurt.

“I thought dragons were… unkillable,” Cregan says after a pause, his voice rough with both sorrow and disbelief. “The stuff of legends, creatures older than men, forged in fire. I thought they were eternal.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to blind you and force yourself to meet his gaze. There is no room for illusions, not in this world where even gods bleed. “Anything can be killed, Cregan,” you whisper, voice trembling yet laced with a fierce conviction. “Even the gods. Even kings and Kingmakers alike.” The venom laced in the last words is unmistakable. Ser Criston Cole, the leech in royal armor, the wretched man who enabled this war to take root with his false oaths and blackened soul—how you despise him. The thought of him twisting the fate of nations with his cruelty makes bile rise in your throat

Cregan’s brow furrows as he takes in your words. He knows of your distaste for Cole, for all those who put ambition over loyalty, who would see the world burn if only to rule over the ashes. He moves closer, wrapping a protective arm around you and Killian. “You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice a deep rumble, “but we’re still here, and we’ll fight back for those we’ve lost. For those who remain.”

Killian shifts in your arms, cooing softly, as if sensing the turmoil in your heart. You lean into Cregan’s warmth, letting yourself take solace in the strength he offers. “Rhaenys was always so brave,” you murmur, your voice breaking slightly. “She defied them all her life, never once bending to their will. They feared her because she was a woman who would not be cowed, and now… they parade her death like some kind of victory.”

“They can parade all they like,” Cregan says, his voice turning steely, “but a victory built on treachery and murder will crumble. Aegon’s body may still cling to life, but his cause is already rotting from within. The realm will see it.”

His words, though meant to comfort, bring little ease. The war rages on, and with it, the losses mount like a tolling bell. Your heart aches, both for those who have fallen and for those who must still face what lies ahead. Yet, as you look down at Killian, you feel a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He is a symbol of all you fight for—a future not bound by the horrors of the past, but shaped by those who endure.

“Thraxata will know,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Cregan, your thoughts turning to your own dragon, the Midnight Fury. “She will mourn with me.”

Cregan tightens his grip around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “And when the time comes, she’ll fight with you too, alongside us all. This isn’t over, Y/N. We have something they’ll never understand—a love forged in fire and ice, bound by loyalty.”

You close your eyes and let yourself be held, the flicker of strength in your chest rekindling. The tears still fall, but now, with every drop, there is something else too—a growing resolve. Rhaenys’ death will not be in vain. The world will hear the roar of her legacy through you, through your son, and through every soul that refuses to bow to the false kings who sit on thrones built on blood.

For now, you hold your family close, taking what comfort you can in the warmth of Cregan’s embrace, in the small heartbeat thrumming steadily against your chest. The autumn winds howl outside, but here, amidst stone and fur, there is still love, still life. The storm may rage, but you will not break.

Not yet.

The weirwood stands tall and ancient, its pale bark almost glowing in the dim twilight. The blood-red leaves flutter softly in the breeze, a stark contrast against the gray skies overhead. You feel small before it, like a child gazing up at something vast and unfathomable. The face carved into the heart tree’s trunk stares down at you with those deep, knowing eyes, as if it sees not just you, but every thought, every secret tucked away in the recesses of your soul.

You’ve been standing here longer than you intended, lost in the quiet of this sacred place. Yet, beneath the peace, there’s an unease gnawing at you. The chill of autumn clings to your skin, sharper now, more present. It crawls into your bones, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You’re here, but not truly—your thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind.

For a moment, everything sharpens. You feel the press of the cold more keenly now, and your breath curls in the air like faint wisps of smoke. Then, the world begins to shift. The rustle of the leaves grows distant, muffled, until it’s almost drowned out by something else—a whisper that’s barely more than a breath, carried on the wind. You stiffen, your heart quickening. It’s a voice, faint yet clear as the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.

Y/N.

It speaks your name, though you cannot tell whether it’s a man’s voice or a woman’s. It sounds old, ageless even, and it seems to echo within your mind as much as in the air around you. A rush of images floods your vision—flashes of faces, places, events yet to come or perhaps already past. You see fire and blood, wings spreading wide against a burning sky. There’s the glint of steel, a flash of a crown—someone crying out, their voice lost in a roar of flames. 

Then, as suddenly as it came, the frenzy halts. You stagger back a step, your surroundings snapping back into focus, the world real again. But the cold clings to you, more than it did before. The weirwood watches you, its eyes holding secrets it will never share. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out all else.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back fully to the present.

You turn, dazed, and see Cregan striding toward you, his expression tense with concern. Behind him is Maester Kennet, his gray robes fluttering as he hurries to keep pace. Cregan’s eyes are locked on you, his brows drawn together, the worry evident in his every movement. “What’s wrong? You’ve been out here too long—it’s freezing.” His tone is gentle, but there’s an edge to it, the underlying fear for your well-being.

You blink, still feeling the lingering echoes of the vision, the remnants of those hurried images flickering in your mind’s eye. “I… I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is shakier than you intend, betraying the truth of your unease.

Cregan stops in front of you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one roughened hand, his thumb brushing against your cold skin. “You don’t look fine, love,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the cause of whatever has you so shaken. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit, closing your eyes briefly as you lean into his touch. “The weirwood… I thought I heard something. Saw something.”

Maester Kennet approaches cautiously, his gaze darting between you and the heart tree. “The Old Gods have their ways of sending messages, Lady Y/N,” he says softly. “The weirwoods are their eyes, their ears. It is not unheard of for them to reach out to those who carry their favor.” 

Cregan frowns at that, his grip on you tightening protectively. “She’s been out here too long, alone,” he says, not taking his eyes off you. “Whatever she saw or heard can wait until she’s had some rest.”

But Maester Kennet shakes his head, his face grim as he pulls a folded letter from his robes. “I wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t important. A raven came not long ago—from the Twins. Your brother, Jacaerys, has secured passage for his forces. He’s on his way to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

The words bring a sudden, fierce surge of emotion—relief mixed with dread. Jacaerys is alive, fighting as he always promised he would. Yet with every victory comes new dangers, new battles. And the visions, whatever they meant, linger in your mind like a shadow cast over the joy of the news.

Cregan, ever perceptive, sees the conflict in your eyes and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he promises, his voice a low rumble, the kind that always makes you feel like you’re standing on solid ground, even when the world tilts.

You manage a small smile, nodding. “Yes…”

But as you glance back at the weirwood, its face still and expressionless, you can’t shake the feeling that the Old Gods are watching more keenly than ever. The autumn winds whisper secrets you’re not sure you want to hear, and deep in your heart, you sense that whatever lies ahead, the choices you make will ripple far beyond the snow-covered hills of the North.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the tree, allowing Cregan’s steady presence to guide you back toward Winterfell, leaving the whispers of the gods behind—for now.

The winds bite sharper today, swirling through the bare branches of the godswood and over the snow-covered battlements of Winterfell. You stand beside Cregan at the edge of the courtyard, your cloak pulled tight against the chill. Thraxata looms behind you, her obsidian scales gleaming in the pale winter light. The Midnight Fury’s violet eyes are fixed on the skies above, where your brother is soon to arrive. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes your heart race and your fingers twitch. Beside you, Cregan rests a hand on the pommel of his sword, his gaze as steady as the stone walls that surround you.

“Are you ready?” Cregan’s voice is low, warm like a hearth fire, grounding you in the present moment.

You nod, though the tension in your chest remains. “I haven’t seen Jacaerys in so long. I only hope he’s as safe as his letter claimed.”

Cregan squeezes your hand, a brief but reassuring gesture. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll be stronger than ever.”

You smile at his words, but the edge of worry still lingers. War changes people, molds them into something else—sometimes into something harder, colder. You’ve seen it already in the eyes of the soldiers who have passed through Winterfell, men whose laughter now rings hollow, whose smiles are mere shadows. What has the war made of your brother?

Before your thoughts can spiral further, the distant roar of a dragon echoes through the sky, accompanied by the deep flap of massive wings. All eyes turn upward, and there—emerging from the rolling clouds—is Vermax. His green and bronze scales shimmer with an ethereal glow against the muted grays of the northern sky, his wings outstretched as he circles lower. Your heart lifts at the sight, despite everything.

Thraxata rumbles low in her throat, a sound that’s half-greeting, half-challenge. She shifts, restless, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and leaving deep grooves in the snow. You place a calming hand on her side, feeling the heat radiating from her scales, even in the biting cold. “Easy, girl,” you murmur, though a part of you understands her unease. The bond between dragon and rider is one forged in fire and instinct—Thraxata senses your tension as clearly as you do.

Vermax lands with a powerful thud in the courtyard, snow scattering like dust beneath his claws. Jacaerys dismounts swiftly, his dark curls wild from the wind, his face shadowed with exhaustion and resolve. His eyes—dark brown—search the crowd until they find you. Despite the grimness that hangs about him, a grin breaks across his face.

“Y/N!” His voice is hoarse, but filled with unmistakable affection.

You rush forward, closing the distance between you, and throw your arms around him. For a moment, you’re children again, finding comfort in each other amidst the storms that have always threatened to tear your family apart. But the moment is brief, tinged with the weight of all that has passed. When you pull back, you can see the subtle changes in him—the deeper lines etched into his face, the hardened edge in his gaze.

“Brother,” you breathe, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the scar just above his brow—a mark of a recent battle, no doubt. “You’ve grown into a man of war.”

Jacaerys huffs a quiet laugh, though it lacks the lightness it once held. “It seems the war gives us little choice in what we become.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, landing on Cregan. “Lord Stark,” he greets formally, though the respect in his tone is genuine. “Your hospitality has been unmatched. It’s a comfort to know my sister has found such a strong ally—and husband.”

Cregan inclines his head, his usual sternness softened slightly by a hint of warmth. “Your family is ours now, Jacaerys. Winterfell stands with you, as do the men of the North. We fight together.”

The words, though simple, carry a promise, one that Jacaerys seems to take solace in. He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features before his expression grows serious once more. “The Twins have bent the knee. Their armies are ready to march when we give the word. The Riverlands will rally to our cause, though they’ve suffered much at the hands of the greens.”

You clench your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar fire of rage ignite in your belly at the thought of those who serve the usurper, those who’ve turned against your mother, against your family. “We’ll make them pay for every drop of blood spilled,” you vow, your voice cold with determination. “They’ll learn the price of treachery when fire and blood rain upon them.”

Jacaerys’ gaze meets yours, a shared understanding passing between you. “We will, sister,” he says quietly. “But we must be wise in how we strike. Our enemies are many, and some hide in shadows even we haven’t uncovered.”

As he speaks, the men of Winterfell gather closer, eager to hear news from the South. Thraxata moves to stand beside Vermax, her violet eyes fixed on him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. Vermax, ever the more temperate of the two, remains still, watching her with a calm curiosity. The two dragons are like night and day, one fierce and unpredictable, the other steady and patient—a reflection of the bond shared between their riders.

Maester Kennet steps forward from the crowd, ever the dutiful servant, and bows his head. “My lord, my lady,” he addresses you both, “the men are ready to host your brother and his retinue. Supplies are being gathered for the march south, but it would do you both good to rest and break bread together before the night grows colder.”

Cregan nods, though his gaze remains fixed on Jacaerys. “You’ve traveled far, and winter’s grip grows tighter by the day. We’ll speak of war and plans soon enough. Tonight, we celebrate family.”

Jacaerys glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before he returns his attention to Cregan. “I’d welcome that. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the warmth of kin.” He turns to you once more, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Mother would want us to stand strong, Y/N. For her, for all of us.”

You swallow back the knot in your throat, nodding. “We will, Jace. We will.”

As you walk back toward the Great Hall, arm in arm with your brother and Cregan beside you, the dragons shift close behind ready to take flight, their steps heavy on the snow-covered earth. Above, the first stars begin to pierce the twilight sky, cold and distant. You can still feel the echoes of the weirwood’s whispers, the glimpses of futures yet unwritten. But here, with your family by your side, you draw strength from the bonds that even war cannot break.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of hearth fires. The long table is crowded with Stark bannermen, their weathered faces drawn with the seriousness of the discussion. The banners of the North hang proudly on the walls—gray direwolves on fields of white and gray. The smell of pinewood smoke and spiced wine fills the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats brought out for the evening. It is a scene both warm and solemn, a brief moment of respite before the weight of strategy drags everyone back into the cold reality of war.

You sit beside Cregan at the head of the table, your hand resting on his arm as Jacaerys stands before the gathered lords. He wears his determination like armor, though there is a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of resolve can mask. His voice, strong despite the weariness clinging to him, rings out over the hall.

“Our enemies have grown bolder since my brother’s and grandmother's murders. Aemond has broken the oldest of laws—he’s a kinslayer, and for that, he’s forfeited not only his honor but any right to mercy. The greens think the deaths of Luke and Rhaenys will weaken us, make us retreat into mourning. They’re wrong.” His words are met with murmurs of agreement, grim nods from the assembled bannermen.

Lord Cregan speaks next, his voice deep and measured. “Justice for Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaenys will be served, Jacaerys, but the North is not free of its own burdens. The men and Houses we pledged to your cause will march with you as promised—greybeards and veterans who have survived more winters than most. But the majority of our forces must remain here, at least until the winds shift and winter’s bite eases.”

A rumble of assent follows Cregan’s words. The greybeards, some of whom are gathered here tonight, nod their heads, weathered faces set in stony determination. These are men who’ve lived through harsh winters, wars, and endless trials. They know the cost of every step taken southward, but they also understand the weight of their oaths.

You lean forward, feeling the cold steel of duty and sorrow twisting within you. “The Wall grows restless,” you add, your voice quieter but cutting through the room. “Reports from our scouts say the wildlings stir, and there are whispers of darker things in the woods. The North cannot abandon its duties here, not entirely, not with winter closing in. We fight on two fronts—one for vengeance, and one to hold back the darkness that always comes with the cold.”

Jacaerys’ jaw tightens, though there’s no anger in his gaze, only acceptance. “I know what I ask of you, of the North. I wouldn’t pull you from your duties lightly. But we’re in desperate need of men who’ve seen true battle—men who won’t falter when the greens come for us again.” He looks around the table, locking eyes with each of the bannermen. “Aemond’s murders of Luke and Rhaenys aren't just an insult to my family, it’s a warning of what’s to come. They’ll strike at us all, one by one, until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

Maester Kennet, seated near the fire, clears his throat, his thin fingers wrapped around a goblet. “A measured approach is wise. The North is vast, and winter makes even the shortest march an ordeal. Splitting our forces to both hold the Wall and reinforce the Riverlands is a sound strategy. But we cannot be reckless. The cold is our greatest enemy—aside from the greens themselves.”

A grizzled voice interrupts, belonging to Lord Harwood Flint. “We���ve sworn our oaths to your mother, Prince Jacaerys, and those oaths stand. The greybeards and I will march south, aye, but only as far as the weather allows. If winter deepens, we’ll be forced to retreat—lest we lose more men to frost than to battle.”

Lord Cregan nods solemnly. “The North keeps its promises, Jace, but our duty here is unbreakable. If winter passes, we’ll ride in full force, dragons and all. Until then, you’ll have what men we can spare, the strongest and the most experienced. The rest must remain to guard our lands and prepare for whatever winter may bring.”

You watch Jacaerys as he absorbs their words, weighing them against the urgency of his mission. It’s a hard truth, but one he’s known in his heart. “I understand,” he finally says, though the strain in his voice is evident. “The North has always held its ground when others falter. Your men’s presence in the Riverlands will tip the scales more than you know. We’ll make every sacrifice count, for all of our sakes.”

A silence falls over the hall, filled only by the crackling of the fires and the occasional clink of cups against wood. It’s a heavy silence, the kind that carries the weight of lives yet to be lost, battles yet to be fought. You feel the tension in your own shoulders, the mix of sorrow and determination that has become all too familiar.

Cregan’s voice breaks the silence, firm and resolute. “Then it’s settled. The North will march with you, Jacaerys, and we’ll hold the line here until the time is right to unleash the full might of Winterfell. The Wall must remain guarded, our lands defended. But rest assured—the North remembers, and we will have vengeance for both Lucerys and Rhaenys.”

Jacaerys meets his gaze with a nod of gratitude, his eyes glistening with something more than just determination—hope, perhaps, or at least the stubborn refusal to let despair take root. “Thank you, Cregan. Thank you all. My mother will hear of your loyalty, and when the time comes, I’ll see that those who’ve wronged us pay with fire and blood.”

You reach out, placing a hand on Jacaerys’ arm, drawing his attention back to you. “We’ll see this through together, Jace,” you say softly, yet with unshakable conviction. “For Luke. For our family.”

His lips press into a tight line, but he nods, and in that moment, you see the boy you once knew, the one who would always protect his siblings, no matter the cost. War has hardened him, yes, but it hasn’t broken his spirit. And for that, you’re grateful.

The meeting ends with agreements made, plans solidified. As the lords begin to rise and drift away, you, Cregan, and Jacaerys remain, sharing a moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Thraxata and Vermax can be heard outside, their low growls a reminder that no matter how heavy the burden, you are not alone in this fight.

You glance at Cregan, who offers you a small, reassuring smile, and then at Jacaerys, whose eyes hold the same fire that burns within you. The North may be bound by its duties to the Wall, but when the time comes, it will roar in unison, and the South will tremble beneath the weight of vengeance and justice.

Until then, you steel yourself for the battles to come, knowing that winter is both your enemy and your greatest ally. The North will remember, and so will the world.

The chambers are dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of sage and lavender from the herbs hung above the door. Outside, the cold wind howls, but in here, the warmth is grounding—a cocoon that holds only the two of you.

You stand before the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in the flicker of embers. Thoughts of the day’s discussions linger in your mind, heavy like the weight of armor. You’re still processing the event, the decisions, and the weight of what’s to come. But for now, those thoughts seem distant as you feel Cregan’s presence behind you. His steps are soft as he approaches, yet you can sense the strength in each movement. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, drawing you into his chest, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Y/N,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice a deep rumble. There’s a tenderness there that you’ve come to cherish—an intimacy that only grows with each passing day. You lean back into him, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, grounding you in this moment, away from the burden of duty and war.

His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that never fades, no matter how many times he’s touched you this way. “You’re troubled,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. It’s not a question; he knows you too well.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. About Jace, the war, what lies ahead. But mostly… about what I felt in the godswood.”

Cregan’s hands still for a moment, his grip tightening just slightly. He turns you gently to face him, his eyes searching yours, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. “You saw something, didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, roughened by stubble. “I did, but I don’t want to think about it right now,” you whisper, letting your thumb brush over his lips. “Right now, I just want to feel alive. I want to feel us.”

Something shifts in his gaze, the concern giving way to something deeper, more primal. His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s with a passion that sends a surge of heat through you. The kiss is slow at first, a tender exploration, but it quickly deepens, becoming something more urgent, more consuming.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you press closer, your bodies molding together as if trying to erase any distance between you. His hands roam over you, rough and strong, yet every touch is filled with affection. It’s a contrast that you’ve always found intoxicating—the fierce warrior and the gentle lover, both sides of him intertwined in every caress.

Cregan’s mouth trails down your neck, leaving a line of burning kisses along your skin. “Y/N,” he growls against your throat, his voice thick with desire. “You’re mine.”

You shiver at the possessiveness in his tone, the words igniting something deep within you. “Yours,” you breathe, tugging at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

Clothes fall away with hurried hands, the cold air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before the warmth of Cregan’s body presses against you. You pull him with you, leading him to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down then, his weight a comforting pressure above you.

The passion between you ignites like wildfire. His hands grip your hips as he enters you, and you gasp, arching into him as he moves with a rhythm that feels like a dance, one you’ve perfected together over countless nights. Every thrust is filled with a mixture of desire and love, each one drawing you closer to the edge, making the world beyond these walls fade away until there’s only him—only you.

Your hands roam over his back, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each moan, each whispered word of affection driving you both higher. There’s a desperation in the way you cling to each other, as if the passion is the only thing anchoring you both in a world that threatens to tear everything apart.

“Cregan,” you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as you reach that peak together, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. He groans your name, his voice rough and breathless as he collapses against you, burying his face in your neck, holding you as if he’ll never let go.

For a long while, neither of you speaks, content to simply breathe together, hearts pounding in unison. The room is warm, the glow of the fire casting soft light over your tangled limbs. Cregan’s hand strokes your hair absently, his fingers combing through the silver strands as you lay nestled against him.

But eventually, the silence gives way to the thoughts that have been haunting you. You shift slightly, turning to look up at him. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on his face, but you know he’s awake, lost in his own thoughts.

“Cregan,” you say softly, drawing his attention. His eyes open, meeting yours, and the concern returns as he sees the seriousness in your expression.

“What did you see, love?” he asks, his voice gentle, though the tension in his jaw betrays his worry.

You take a breath, recalling the frenzied images that had flashed before you in the godswood, the voice that had called your name. “It was like a storm in my mind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “I heard my name—felt something pulling at me. And then… I saw flashes of fire, blood, wings beating against a sky that burned. There was steel, a crown, and screams lost in the roar of flames. It was so vivid, so real, but I couldn’t make sense of it. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came.”

Cregan listens, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. “The Old Gods speak in riddles and symbols,” he says quietly. “I’ve heard tales of their whispers, of visions granted to those who stand before the weirwoods. But they’ve never been clear—they show what might be, not what is certain.”

You nod, but the unease still lingers. “It felt like a warning, Cregan. Like something terrible is coming, something we’re not prepared for.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this. The North is with you, I’m with you, and we’ll do everything in our power to protect what we hold dear.”

You close your eyes, letting his words soothe some of the anxiety that gnaws at you. “I know. But there’s so much at stake… and so many unknowns. I can’t shake the feeling that the gods are watching, waiting to see what choices we’ll make.”

“The gods may watch,” Cregan murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your skin, “but it’s our choices that shape the future. Whatever comes, we’ll face it, side by side.”

You find comfort in his certainty, the steady strength he always offers when you need it most. Nestled in his arms, you feel the tension slowly drain from your body, replaced by a sense of peace, however fleeting. For now, the future can wait.

[aemndx]

okay…. but imagine having aemond stuff his cum back inside you, loving to press his seed back inside your overstimulated cunt and breed you every day—

— 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒.

gif credit.

© aemvnd 2022. do not plagiarize, translate, modify or post my content on any other platform.

author’s note: y’all betta know…… i just had to write something for this -- my imagination ran absolutely wild with this one. i didn’t wanna write a lot, just somethin mini for myself to get these sinful thoughts outta my head… im sorry in advance. ♡ if you enjoyed – please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback! thank u & happy reading. :)

warnings: minors dni. smut. breeding kink. p in v sex (slight). fingering. cunnilingus. female pronouns. possessive behavior. dark!aemond. wife!reader. overstimulation kink. pain kink. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own – in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count: 2,3k.

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader (f).

♡࿐ bliss.

true, undying bliss overwhelmed you, completely.

“you’re so perfect for me, my sweet girl,” aemond murmured, leaning down to press a loving kiss against your forehead, lingering there and closing his eye for a moment, breathing you in.

pulling back after a few seconds, aemond observed your face closely, feeling a warm sensation tugging at his blackened heart, feeling it crack into a million little pieces, watching you gaze back up at him in awe.

there was a soft look in your doe eyes, wide and innocent and full of love.

love for him, your husband.

aemond would never admit it, but he was almost certain that the very same look graced his face too, softening his sharpened features with equal amounts of–if not more–love.

with a deep groan, aemond thrusted his cock inside your cunt a few more times, feeling your inner walls tightening around him, wanting to keep him inside and milk him dry.

a faint, little mewl escaped your swollen lips, making aemond lean forward again and capture your lips with his, kissing you slowly and passionately. the wet, warm muscle of his tongue slipped out, licking your bottom lip, before tugging it gently with his teeth, causing you to moan.

you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, pulling him flush against you – his naked, hard chest was pressed against yours, constantly brushing over your sensitive nipples, a whine making its way up your throat.

aemond smirked, reaching one hand up and tangling his fingers into your messy locks of hair, his other hand holding on to your hip to stabilize himself so to not crush you with his body.

“…mmm – gods, you were made to take my cock,” aemond purred against your mouth, slipping his tongue inside, your tongues slowly caressing each other’s sensually, neither of you in any rush.

“i love you,” you whimpered, your mouths molding together as one – perfection.

with one last gentle thrust of the prince’s hips, he squirted his warm cum inside of you, his load entering your womb.

aemond stilled his hips, your fluttering cunt sheathing his cock, making aemond throw his head back with a feral growl.

with his cock still buried to the hilt in your pulsing cunt, aemond squeezed your hip that he was holding, digging his fingertips into the sweaty flesh as he felt his cock twitch inside of you, softening and feeling spent.

immediately, he collapsed on top of you, his face nuzzled into your neck. sleepily, he started leaving little kisses against the salty skin of your neck, sucking on your pulse point, feeling your fingers gently brush through his long hair.

aemond practically purred, the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his scalp, always a sweet comfort. “sweet girl… ‘m gonna try something,” aemond mumbled, though he did not move for a few more minutes, completely relaxed in the safety of your arms.

however, you did not mind – especially the feeling of his large cock still buried deep inside you, making your insides begin to tingle again, your belly tightening at the thought of his royal seed settling in your womb.

gods be good, you prayed silently for a son of your own to give to your dear husband.

you loved aemond more than anything – more than life itself, all that you wanted was to give him everything he wanted… most importantly, you wanted to give him all the love in the world, including an heir of his own.

suddenly, aemond slowly pulled himself out of you with a sharp hiss, not hearing you wince slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of being empty overcame you. you tried to suppress it, making your face remain neutral.

the prince simply leaned back on his knees between your spread thighs, tilting his head back and releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. then, his head looked back down towards you, his one eye sharp and observing you, as usual.

aemond always enjoyed watching you, he liked making you feel uncomfortable, especially when around him, watching the way you’d start to overthink everything about yourself, making yourself think – was there something wrong with you?

it amused him greatly, no matter how many times he’d done it to you.

however, no matter how much the prince could be cruel, he’d never intentionally hurt you. releasing a calming sigh, aemond’s large hands moved to grasp both of your thighs, squeezing them and then shaking them a bit, watching them jiggle slightly with a twitch of his lips.

he adored your thighs.

then, his head snapped back up to look at you, his eye piercing and observing your naked figure, admiring it without shame.

the prince looked at the soft delicateness of your pretty face, down to your neck and collarbones that were littered in love bites from him, to both of your breasts which were swollen from him sucking and biting on them earlier, until you cried out his name.

you watched him trail his eye down further until he stopped at your bare cunt, watching it with an amused glint in his violet eye, his seed dribbling out of you slowly.

smirking, the prince seemed to have thought of a idea.

aemond slowly looked back up at your face, the sapphire that rested in the socket of his missing eye sparkled from the massive fireplace – although, you did not look away from him. if you knew anything about your husband, you knew how he loved a challenge, and you were not going to be the first one to look away.

no, not this time.

chuckling softly underneath his breath, aemond clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, before raising an eyebrow at you.

“will you be a good girl for me?” he asked, his tone flat but there was that hint of amusement hiding somewhere underneath.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the prince was up to something.

you gulped, nodding your head and started fidgeting with your hands, making him tsk at you, slapping your hands away. instantly, you stopped – nervousness eating away at you as you dropped your arms directly by your sides, waiting.

aemond hummed, nodding once before shifting his body so that he was now laying on his stomach, resting comfortably between your spread, open thighs. your cunt glistened beautifully, making aemond’s eye dilate with need and a feverish lust.

as he laid down, he could feel his cock twitch underneath himself, no doubt hardening once again. he couldn’t control himself when he was around you, you drove him nearly insane with a need to have you – always.

“my pretty little wife..” aemond drawled, his hands creeping up to rub up the outside of your thighs, his hands warm and comforting.

“you’re even pretty here, too,” he murmured, no doubt smirking as he heard you take in a sharp breath, his lips connecting to your mound, peppering kisses along the skin and across your hipbones.

he rubbed his warm, large hands up and down the outside of your thighs, closing his eye as he was merely enjoying himself – kissing, sucking, biting your hot skin into his mouth, moving down until his lips wrapped around your swollen, overstimulated clit.

you cried out into your shared chambers, one of your hands reaching up and grasping hold of one of the many pillows–one that happened to have belonged to aemond, since you loved to lay on it since it smelled like him–fisting your small hand into the soft material.

you immediately wrapped a leg around his head, unconsciously pulling him closer against your cunt, wanting more.

always, always wanting more of him.

aemond had made you come so many times tonight–too many times–that you had lost count.

without warning, aemond removed a hand from massaging the meat of one of your thighs and brushed a finger up your dribbling slit, gathering his cum that was leaking out and stuffing it back inside you.

you whimpered, fisting the pillow and the silk sheets below you, your head thrown back and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, feeling him curl the finger inside of you.

aemond hummed, continuously sucking and sending vibrations through your sensitive, little clit – before adding two more long fingers, stuffing them inside and just leaving them there, not moving.

almost like a plug.

minutes had passed, with just him sucking and flicking your clit back and forth with his hot tongue, though he fingers did not move, only remaining plunged inside of you, causing your walls to tighten and flutter, endlessly.

“aemond..!? what.. w-what are you doing?” you heaved, your chest rising and falling quickly, feeling your belly tighten once again, painfully – your muscles sore and aching now as you could feel yourself about to come again.

“please, aemond – i am going to come again,” you sobbed, sweating profusely and your heart feeling like it was about to explode in your chest.

aemond nodded, not missing a beat, “go on, then.”

“no..! no, no, no – please, aemond.. i cannot. it hurts, it hurts so much…” you sobbed, tears now burning your eyes, falling freely. your throat felt like it was on fire, as well as like it was closing from you gasping in too much air, trying your hardest not to come again.

however, aemond continued his ministrations on your clit, not stopping for a moment and evening wiggling his three fingers that were inside of you–keeping his cum from leaking out of you again–and with his other hand dug his fingers into the meat of your thigh that he was still holding, making you yelp in painful pleasure.

you were exhausted.

“p-please.. please,” you sniffled, shaking your head and begging.

aemond growled, pinching your thigh and then slapping it harshly in punishment, feeling you wiggling around too much.

“be sweet, wife – stop moving and come for me again,” he commanded, his words muffled but you could still understand him.

you choked on your own saliva, “oh, gods..” you whined, feeling your muscles tense and tense and tense, before the band inside of you snapped like a violin string and you let out the most earth shattering screech.

you cried your husband’s name over and over again, feeling aemond quickly squeeze in a fourth finger, beginning to curl all four of them inside of you, feeling your walls clamp down around them.

you were honestly afraid – afraid that he would want to see how much you could take and shove his entire fist inside–(you had heard ladies of the court gossip that their husbands had done that to them, and it was the most painful experience)–you never wanted to find out for yourself.

luckily, for you – even in your blissed out mind, you trusted your husband, knowing he liked pushing you to your limits, but knowing exactly how much you could take.

your thighs were quivering, your orgasm washing over you in tsunami waves of endless pleasure, with aemond continuing to gently lick your clit now, barely applying actual pressure – though his fingers remained.

“so, so perfect for me.. you’d done so well for me, my sweet girl.”

a genuine, dopey smile tugged at your lips, feeling relieved that you had pleased him, again.

once your high had calmed down, aemond pulled his mouth away from your clit, resting the left side of his face on your thigh, glancing up at you with a small smirk on his handsome face, watching you try to keep your eyes open.

“enjoy yourself, did you?”

you giggled, nodding your head yes. “i thought i was going to black out,” you confessed, embarrassment flooding your veins.

aemond lightly chuckled, “wouldn’t be the first time.”

you looked down, pouting and making him laugh harder, giving a sweet kiss to your thigh, before locking his violet eye with yours once more.

gods, how he loved you.

“i’m just teasing, my love.”

your eyebrows furrowed, “no, you are not,” you said, knowing he was speaking the truth – in fact, you had blacked out before while he was fucking you, his love for overstimulating you overwhelmed you.. time and time again.

although, you did not mind so much.

nonetheless, you liked to tease him back and pretend you hated it when he teased you – both of you knowing full well that you secretly adored it, just as much as he.

aemond snorted, before lifting his head and leaning forwards again, giving your clit a kiss, feeling you tense up immediately. “relax,” he said, eyeing your face. “i think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

you flushed, feeling his fingers twitch inside of you, before pulling them out slowly and began observing them.. they were drenched in his cum and yours, practically dripping on to your sheets.

aemond felt the corner of his mouth tug up, before opening his mouth and shoving all four fingers inside, sucking both of your mixed essence right off, swallowing with a low hum of approval.

your eyes widened, but then you licked your lips, watching him suck and work his tongue between each of his digits, his eye locked on yours as he put on a little show for you, smirking playfully.

with a pop of the last finger, he smiled, “delicious.”

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t – you couldn’t even begin to describe how unbelievably attractive your husband was… and he was all yours.

“i love you,” you blurted out, but meaning it anyways. you were always more of the sentimental one between you two, but you could see the softness settle over aemond’s face every time you told him those three little words.

those three little words held so much meaning to him, especially coming from you.

aemond didn’t respond – instead, he climbed up your body, being careful not to crush you and settled until he was hovering above you, his face only mere centimeters away from yours. “..i love you, my beautiful wife.”

fin

feel free to send in requests / thots here.

[ane-doodles]

I refuse to create a new au, let's call it "alternate timeline"

Ok so, this is based on this illustration. They were just thoughts that came into my head while I was coloring. I'm bad at narration and good at lists so bear with me...

We are located in the time just before Narinder discovers/creates/idk the way to revive mortals. He is still the bishop of death with his own cult and there are no problems with the rest of the bishops. I want to add a note: since this is set before the whole betrayal thing here Narinder is portrayed as calmer focused on his own thing.

The lamb (we will call her Avan hehe) is part of the cult of the red crown. She is really interested in everything related to spirits and gods and often gets into trouble because of her curiosity.

One day in particular she decides to follow one of the fireflies/devotion lights through the forest and ends up meeting the bishop of death who, thanks to a convenient breeze, ends up revealing his face by accident.

I don't know what happens in this period of time but the lamb ends up visiting the forest often to meet Narinder until it becomes a kind of habit.

Visits in the forest become common company within the cult as well. Avan receives as a gift the red cord that she uses as a belt to match Narinder (thanks to this other cultists believe that she has ascended to a new position and do not usually bother her with questions)

Avan ends up helping Narinder perfect the resurrection method with the knowledge she has of materials (bones, plants, among others) in addition to providing a different perspective and questions to the god of death. In the end they end up achieving the result that we know in the game. [for the ritual to work the summoner gives a small fragment of his life, since Narinder is immortal this does not affect him in any way]

Here the pre-game events take place: the bishops don't like this, they plan a way to stop what Narinder has started and opt to imprison him in the gateway, but first they must kill him (inspired by this post, go check it out )

So Narinder is killed but he is not immediately chained, but rather the bishops decide to first put an end to the cult (to prevent knowledge about the resurrection from being dispersed). Avan's life is spared because "she seemed to be close to Narinder and his memory should not be forgotten" (me to myself: HA FOOLS! they left alive the only one who really knew the resurrection ritual)

As the massacre takes place, Avan (between terrified and confused) decides to do the resurrection ritual on her own. She takes Narinder's heart and hides deep in the forest.

As Avan is a mortal, the ritual affects her quite a bit (you can see her blackened fingers in a sketch). Narinder is brought back to the world of the living as a demigod, as Avan's mortal life was not enough to bring him back fully.

This is where the story gets a little blurry because my imagination started to run out…

While Narinder fervently desires to take revenge, his powers are truly limited now, and abusing them could kill him and even the lamb. Avan, for her part, prefers to hide at least for a while, scared of the bishops and the idea that they will discover that she was the one who brought Narinder back to life.

How the hell do you hide a cat at least three times your height?

Before the story went totally off track this was supposed to be some sort of Narinder flashback for the CFP Au

I did think about designing a lamb especially for this one, but I prefer to take and adapt Avana, it's more fun and I think the blue suits her well.

Is this a romantic Au? dramatic? Platonic? of friendship? of survival? idk, be creative with your own imagination and enjoy.

[barbieaemond]

A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman? 

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  

PART III

[endlessthxxghts]

For Your Safety

no outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 1.8k

Summary: Your bladder forces you to disrupt your make out session with your boyfriend. Joel seeks out a different way to relieve you.

Content warnings: Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Feminine pet names (baby, mama). Pussy has pronouns (she/her), but reader directly does not. Joel carries reader once. Established relationship. 18+ MDNI!! Porn with very minimal plot. BDSM play/undertones. Exploring new kinks. Slight discomfort/reluctancy (implied safe words in place - Joel will stop if you say the safe words). P in V unprotected sex. Overstimulation. Piss kink. I think that's it! Please let me know if I missed anything!

Author's note: I'M BACK, MY LOVES!!! I'VE MISSED YOU! I've got several things coming your guys' way, but I just wrote this little thing to get my juices (figuratively and literally) flowing again hehehe. Thank you @strang3lov3 for being my second pair of eyes on this little baby and for making this beautiful, perfect fucking moodboard, I appreciate you so much🩶 I hope you guys enjoy xx

masterlist | notifs blog

“Mm, baby, wait,” you mutter, breaking away from the puffy lips of the insatiable man underneath you. 

“You okay?” He breathes into your mouth, a frown already forming that your lips aren’t on his anymore. 

With a kiss to the tip of his nose, “Yes, I’m okay, I just really need to pee.”

Lifting off of his lap, you begin to turn away before Joel’s pawing at your wrist. “Wait.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t go pee yet.”

“Joel,” you giggle. “I’ll literally be two seconds, I know that boner isn’t going away anytime soon.”

“No- I mean…” he trails off. He sits up, his hands finding their way back to your waist. Your body easily begins to give in. 

“Baby,” you lightly scold.

“You trust me?” His gaze never breaks from yours. 

“Always,” you reply immediately. 

Without missing a beat: “Then sit on me.”

“What?” Your eyebrows furrow. 

Without further explanation, his fingers find the hem of your bottoms. He gives you a chance to tell him to stop, but when you never take that chance, he lets your clothing fall into a little pile on your living room floor. He pulls away for a moment after, shedding himself of his belt and jeans, letting his clothes join yours. 

Your heart jumps at the sight of him—his entire length on display, tip red and leaking, eyes blackened with hunger as he devours you with his eyes alone. “Baby,” you whimper, “I swear to God, if I get aroused any further I will not be able to control my fucking bladder—”

A smirk begins to form across his face.

Oh. 

The way Joel’s eyes gloss over as you finally piece it together has your body shuddering. He didn’t say not to pee. He just said not to pee yet. 

“C’mere, baby,” he drawls lazily. His hands are reaching out for you, guiding you to straddle him once more. 

Settling into his lap, Joel wastes no time guiding his length to you, your previous makeout session and the proposition of what’s about to happen providing you already with an ample amount of slick for him to work with. 

The second he fixes merely the head of him in your entrance, a pleasurable flutter erupts through you, starting in your lower belly, shooting up your spine. A breathy yelp of a fuck escapes your throat at the sensation, the feeling of your bladder intensifying tenfold. 

“Joel,” you whine, eyes clamping shut as your hips meet his own, his grip tight and unrelenting. “It- it h-hurts…” you trail off, gasping when he begins moving you back and forth, grinding you against him. 

“It hurts?” He asks, slowing but not to a halt. 

So good, you think, it hurts so fucking good. But already, you’re too turned on and blissed out for any coherent thought to form. Instead, your hands find his chest, using the newfound stability to grind down even harder onto him, whimpers and murmured curses in breathy exhales make his chest—and cock—swell with pride. 

He’s been meaning to tell you about this secret little fantasy he’s had for a while. Joel has never had a piss kink or anything before, but after that time he made you squirt and you literally sprayed him everywhere from his mouth down? Oh, he needed more—needed to feel it happen around him—and he needed it badly. He just wasn’t sure how you’d react. 

Sure, you’re both more explorative in the bedroom than most people, but anything involving pee has always been on the more extreme side. He didn’t want to scare you away—as if you could ever, you’d probably tell him. And he could just make you squirt again, but where’s the fun in that? The fun in making every part of you lose control from him and him alone? 

And now here you are, providing him with the perfect opportunity to show rather than tell you about his fantasies. 

“Oh, my poor baby, ” he taunts, the worry of you being in actual pain dissipating immediately. “Hurts so bad because she need’a cum, huh? That it, baby?” 

His chest is heaving with how fucking good you feel, tight and warm and utterly fucking soaked. It is taking absolutely everything within him to not cum inside you at this very moment, but he needs you to get there first. He’s determined.

With your hips finding a steady, needy rhythm, you nod your head rapidly—thighs shaking, nails stabbing through the fabric of his green flannel. “Please, bab— oh my god,” you groan out as he brings his fingers in between where you two meet, the added pleasure forcing the familiar muscle in your belly to clench, your pussy fluttering out of her mind around him. 

“Oh my god, oh fuck—” you cry. A sense of rationale floods your brain, allowing you a moment to slur something decently audible. “Joel, the couch,” you pant. “I’m gonna— it’s gonna get dirty, baby, please, I can’t—”

Your hips are still driving eagerly despite your spoken protests, and Joel is just having way too much fun with this. “Never had a problem fuckin’ on the couch before, baby, what’s the difference now?” He asks with a grunt, the corner of his mouth upturned. 

“Joel,” you try to bite, but your venom is useless when he has you like this, on the verge of forcing your body into the astral plane with no say in the matter. Still, you try once more. “Joel, I— I’m gonna fucking—” a moan forces itself out, choking you on your words. “Fuck, please, I’m gonna fucking pee, baby, please, I can’t hold it,” you beg, tears pooling into your lash line, the pleasure nearing the territory of overstimulation. 

Joel contemplates. He seriously has no problems deep cleaning the couch later, but your discomfort is more important. If you don’t want to dirty the couch, then you two aren’t going to dirty the couch. 

“Hold tight,” he tells you, and you do despite your face’s confusion. His arms hold you snug against him, and he stands with you on him—with him in you—and makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groan as he walks, the tinge of sex already sticking to the creases of his neck. Each step causes your belly to flutter, bringing you closer and closer to release—closer to releasing your bladder all over the damn house. “Baby, please,” you gasp, your nails digging into the back of his head as you try to hold off on letting go. 

Joel kicks the door open, uncaring in the slightest sound of a crack that should make the contractor in him jump, but it doesn’t phase him. He’s got other priorities.

The main bathroom of your guys’ house has a walk-in shower, and a few months ago, he installed some railings against each of the walls. He may have had ulterior motives, but he was adamant that it was for your safety, baby. 

Smirking to himself at the thought, he steps inside, settling your ass against the wall, perching you against the cold metal for some added support. His arms snake down your body, and he hooks himself underneath the bend of your knees. Gripping onto the rail, he renders you entirely immobile, and immediately, he’s on a mission. 

He pulls out, the tip threatening to slip from your heat, but before you know it, he’s slamming into you, the sheer force of your man stealing all the breath from your lungs. 

“Joel—” you scream out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you moan and gasp for air. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby? Huh?”

“Y-yeah, fuck— I’m gonna—”

“Gonna pee, too, mama? Gonna fuckin’ make a mess ‘a me? I can feel you, baby, feel her fuckin’ grippin’ me,” he snarls, eyes laser focused on his cream-coated, glistening cock as he pierces you over and over again. “Let go f’me, baby, c’mon, I gotcha,” his voice coos, albeit a little muffled to your ears as you finally give in to your body’s desires, your body’s needs. 

Your head thumps against the shower wall as your eyes clamp shut, sweet wails of ecstasy reverberating in the tiny-tiled room. Not only does Joel feel warmth and thick wetness along the length of him, but he feels running hot liquid stream down the front of his body, his legs. Fuck. 

The steady stream he hears and feels is what finally brings himself to his edge, his cock twitching and pulsing, painting every single inch inside you. His movement comes to a reluctant stop, slowly taking away each arm from your leg to let you stand on your own.

“Can you stand?” he asks. 

“Are you kidding me?” you murmur with a weak laugh. “I had these rails installed a bit ago… for my safety,” you smirk, exaggerating the way you hold onto the pipes. “I’ll be fine.”

He jokingly rolls his eyes at you before he leans forward, kissing you on the forehead. “I’m sorry I kind of cornered ya with this one,” he mutters softly. 

“No, baby, no apologies. You would’ve stopped if I said, but it doesn’t matter anyway because I… I really liked it,” you admit, cheeks hotter than a bonfire. 

“Oh,” he says, his cheeks threatening a dopey expression. 

“Just—”

“Yeah?” He cuts off eagerly.

“Just not in places where we’d have people, okay?”

“Deal,” he smirks, catching your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. 

Let’s rinse off,” you squeak into his mouth. You’re fucking exhausted after everything, but you can feel your insatiable body getting worked up yet again with the way his mouth is on you. 

“Yeah, alright,” he pulls away, smacking your ass in the process before turning the shower nozzle to the preferred temperature. Not your preferred temperature—the temperature that his soft, precious, sensitive skin could handle. You test the water underneath your fingertips, laughing to yourself at how cold it is. 

“Oh, also.”

“What’s up?” you ask, prepping the loofah with the vanilla body wash you know he loves but will never admit. 

“Do we have gatorade? Or like, Smartwater or somethin’? Somethin’ with those hydration things— what are they called? Electrolytes?”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“No reason,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I jus’ wanna make sure you’re hydrated. At all times. It’s important to stay hydrated, y’know?”

You look him up and down, calculating your thoughts before you respond. “We can go to the store after this,” you offer. 

“Yeah? Okay,” he leans forward to drop another kiss to your lips. “You know how much your health means to me,” he adds. 

“I thought it was my safety,” you say pointing to one out of the many “safety” modifications he’s added to your shared home. 

“Your health, too, mama. Especially your hydration, hm?” 

“Right,” you say with an exaggerated lilt. “Now turn around so I can scrub your ass.”

Extended note:

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

graphics by @saradika-graphics

[arminsumi]

Could you pls pls pls write a fluffy oneshot of gojo and his fav student? The colour hair dye and the ice cream oneshots have never left my mind 🤭😭

CALL ME SATORU

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

An evening training session with Gojo and his favorite student, ending as a lavish dinner date.

1k

Note : aaa i hope u like this!! hehe so giddy to know my fics are in ur mind 🤭💗 thank u for enjoying them

Mentioned posts : hair dye fic / sweet tooth

Warnings : teacher/student relationship, romantic tension

Playme : heaven and back

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works / oct. reqs open

"Gojo-sensei, I'm tired. We've been practicing for two hours." he listened to you complain, and shook his head.

"Tired? Nah. On your feet, let's go through that motion again. C'mon, up up up — what, do I have to pick you up myself?"

His arms hooked around you and he pressed his chest flat to yours while hoisting you up. Few things get his heart racing, but teaching you martial arts? He may seem very composed, but his heart throbs each time he sees you acting clumsy and amateur.

You had such a long way to go, and he wanted to see these days through until you were just as good if not better than him. Even if it was impossible. He still wanted his favorite student to be considered the second-strongest, at least in hand-to-hand combat.

"Ow, my knee..." you mumbled half-heartedly.

"Don't be a weakling." he smiled cheekily, "Is my star student really too tired to continue? Is a bruised knee really gonna stop you?"

You pouted. "You're the one who bruised my knee..."

Look at that adorable pout. She's taking after me.

"Well, maybe you shoulda dodged it." he cheeked.

"Gojo-sensei, you push me too hard." you said.

"I know, I'm sorry." he smiled.

The two of you finally sat down for a break. Night had fallen, stars were up in the blackened sky. There must have been a cricket in the wood panel of the door Gojo leaned against, because he heard it very loudly in his ear. So he scooted away from the noise and moved closer to you, unaware of how the increased proximity made you buzz.

You and him shared a thoughtful silence. Then his voice penetrated deep and low, his tone serious.

"I push you so hard because I want you to become the strongest."

"Why?"

"Uh, haha... do you want me to answer that as Satoru or as your teacher?"

"...? Huh? Hm... um... I want both versions of your answer."

"Well... as your teacher... I want you to be able to fight for future generations and pass on your skills."

"And... as Satoru...?"

He hesitated, then slowly answered;

"So I don't have to be the strongest all by myself."

He looked at you with a sheepish smile.

"Selfish, huh?"

"It's okay to be selfish to an extent. I hardly ever see you doing anything for yourself."

The crickets continued making louder symphonies.

"Sato— ahm, Gojo-sensei. I will try my best to fill the role you want me to fill. I don't want you to feel alone."

"... I know it's an overwhelming role, I don't really have the right to push this on y—"

"—I will do it for you because I love you."

"What?"

"What?"

"Respect, I meant respect!" you backtracked.

"Hahaha, sure."

"..."

"... love you too." he winked.

"Shut up!"

"What, I can't tell my favorite student that I love her back?!" he teased.

"Th-that's inappropriate, haha."

"But you just told your teacher you love him. That was also inappropriate."

"I— yeah! Well!"

He stared at you for a long, long moment, absorbing the weight of your I love you that lingered in the air between you and him.

"Alright. Let's wrap up practice for the night."

"Really! God... I thought you were gonna make me do the whole thing again out of spite for saying something inappropriate."

He winked, "No, I'll reprimand you tomorrow for that. Come on. We're going out."

"We're going out...? Are you taking me out as your favorite student, or are you taking me out as me?"

He smirked. "Both... I think my favorite student deserves a good reward after practicing so hard today, but I also just... want to selfishly take you out on a date."

Gojo spoiled you on this night out. Really spoiled you. Bought you a dress, put on his best suit ditched his blindfold, took you to one of the most expensive restaurants that he knew of. Indulged in your company not as his student, but as someone he wanted to get to know... someone maybe he was interested in.

He leaned over the table to fluster you with teasingly close proximity, and straightened out his tie because he was sorely aware of how attractive his hands looked when he did that.

"Go on, don't be shy. Tell me about yourself."

"But you already know me."

"I don't know enough." he shook his head.

"Well... I'm lost... I don't know where to start." you chuckled, staring down at your cleared plate of dessert. It was rich and sweet, he said it was his favorite.

"Then I'll ask." he looked at you, and leaned over the table with one elbow, resting his chin on the back of his palm. "What's your love life looking like at the moment?"

You let out a laugh at this, which he half-expected.

"Well, I'm on a date with my teacher..." you said, jokingly.

He chuckled.

"Tell me." he then said seriously, "I want to know."

"Well... my love life is pretty... unsaturated...?"

"Unsaturated...?" he raised a brow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Dull. I mean it's dull. Any time I develop romantic feelings for someone... well they drain out just as quickly as they flood in." you admitted.

He looked at you contemplatively.

"Is that so..."

"Ahah, you seem surprised."

"I am. I thought you'd have a more glamorous love life, like me." he joked.

"Oh? I'm all ears, Gojo-sensei."

He looked at you deeply, "Call me Satoru." he murmured under his breath.

Your heart panged.

"... anyways, uh... haha. Yeah... my glamorous love life... I've been on two dates in my life including this one."

"Just two?!"

He nodded. "The first one doesn't really count, because I was fourteen and it was a boyish crush."

"... so... this one counts...?"

"Well, yes." he said, "Of course it does. This is not a boyish crush, after all..."

You and him stared at each other for a long, tender moment. Got lost in each other's worlds, which were contained in those irises. Suddenly understood each other's deep feelings, revealed by those dilated pupils.

Dilated...?

Yes his pupils always dilated for you, but you never noticed before with that strip of black having concealed his eyes.

"Gojo—?"

"—Just call me Satoru already." he overlapped his hand with yours, both resting midway on the table.

"Why?" you asked. "Why do you want me to call you that?"

He hesitated, wondering if you were asking that rhetorically. The restaurant was dim, the environment slow and luxurious, fancy, expensive... heavenly golden hue, casting over you and him.

"... because I want to hear you calling out my name."

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[silverskye13]

Tha-thump

We considered ourselves to be a people of power. At least, that's what the story-tellers say. They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly. They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh.They say we see only what remains, the ashes of wonders. We were a people of power, and our hands destroyed the world.

There is a tapestry in the old city hall which shows a skyline of ice-capped mountains, the knees and jaws of the world. What remains is only a few scattered hills and an empty sky. 

There is an old, cracked mosaic in the church, which shows gods and their diadems and boons. The colors are faded, and the gilding stripped for it's use in trade. The gods are unnamed and forgotten. They say our people killed them, before they killed everything else. 

There is a mouth where the mountains once stood.

Tha-thump

We considered ourselves to be a people of power, and we must have been, to leave so many footprints on the earth. I have watched as I walked by the river, as the impressions of my passing faded with each sweep of the water's path. But the river leads to a city, whose broken pillars and towers just like the ribs of dragons. Colors I have seen nowhere else on earth linger there, underneath bleached timbers and cracked stones, dyes we can no longer make with nature's bounty, with a brightness that burns the eyes. Pinks and purples more vibrant than violets, blues like crying stars, and greens like spider venom, puddle in the ruins. The blood of a culture whose eyes were lost between the generations somewhere.

There is ice in the vaults of the earth, pointed shards which blacken the fingers that clutch them.

Tha-thump

There is a place where the old world, with it's old dead gods, and it's vibrant blood still flows. There is a maw in the mountains that breathes, and great eyeless windows which stare, rain-streaked balconies leering icicle fangs at any who dare approach. There is a great citadel, with vaulted hauls, and a living, beating, heart. There is a graveyard where the spirits of the hands that built it sleep, and there are the monsters they made to guard it. There is a frozen throat, and a treacherous maze, and a burning dark. There is a malice which riots against the idea of the living, of a world that moves on without it, and a culture which forgets. 

There is a holy place where slain gods dropped pieces of their power, defiled by the hubris of those that buried them alive.

Tha-thump

There is a citadel on the horizon where the mountains once stood, built from the bones and knees of the world. It is a dungeon, a maze, a gateway, a crossroads. It is a place that the storytellers fear, a place that my generation watches like some creeping, stalking thing waiting to pounce in the night, as though watching might keep it at bay. There is a holy place, a powerful place, and a gift of wisdom that sings, even as it's tainted heart rails against any sound that breaks it's solitude. It calls to the brave, to the foolish, to the desperate. To the curious. There is a mouth in the broken ground where the mountains once stood that screams. 

We considered ourselves to be a people of power. This place is our message to all that hear it. This place is not a place of honor. No great deed is remembered here. What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us, and it gets stronger the deeper you delve. The center of all danger is here,  below us. The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours. The danger is to the body, and it can kill. This place is best shunned and left to rot.

At least, that's what the story-tellers say.  They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh. They say we will die like their parents, and their parent's parents, if we, too, enter in.

They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly.

Tha-thump

The dungeon is ready for its next victim

Tha-thump

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 53

part 1 | part 52 | ao3

cw: sex & spit & sadness; period-typical homophobia

They're on each other the second they get through Steve’s front door. Something charged and taut between them; something begging to be snapped.

It's not gentle — Eddie pushes him against the walls as he walks them toward the bedroom, tearing off clothes and palming Steve's cock just enough to get it hard. Shoves him down onto the bed and preps him quick with messy fingers, mumbling praise into the crook of his neck as he spreads him open, one, then two, then, breathless, “Three.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” he groans. “There you fucking go.” Frenzied flicks and thrusts, curling just right at the tip, and when he lines himself up he urges, "Come on, baby, let me in- let me—"

Steve tenses, then lets go. Sets his thoughts to run free in a field of wildflowers, lets himself sink into warm depths where his mind is quiet and his body is in flames and everything is so, so unbearably good. Eddie gives him a second to adjust, and when he moves, Steve moves with him. Earth and moon; tidal force. He plants one foot on the bed to match Eddie's frantic pace, the other leg thrown around his hip, urging him deeper, harder, in in in, and Eddie's fucking him so hard he's sliding up the sheets, so hard he can barely speak, his mouth open on one long, continuous moan.

He can't keep not saying it. He can't keep— he can't— "Eddie," he gasps, whimpering as Eddie angles his hips and strokes in deep, slick skin slapping where their bodies meet. "Eddie, I- unh, oh, fucking god, I lo- lov-"

"Stick your tongue out for me, princess."

Eddie grunts and spits in his mouth. Wet and gross and loud, splashing on Steve’s cheeks and nose, his lips, and he chases it with his tongue; licks over Steve's open mouth and fucks his tongue in deep, then pulls back to slide two fingers in and moan, "Suck my fingers while you come. That's it, honey, that's—" and Steve comes with a hoarse shout.

Eddie follows him right over. Fills him up and stays there; collapses on his chest.

He’s still inside him when the tears start.

Muffled sniffs against Steve’s collarbone, wet and warm and mixing with their cooling sweat, and Steve says, “Hey,” but there's no answer.

Eddie stifles another whimper. Steve drops his arms from his shoulders to his waist. "What's wrong?”

The question feels like putting one foot out over the quarry. Fourteen and tipsy on a dare, smiling real wide as his friends counted down from ten. The cheering, the shoulder grabs, handshakes and pats on the back, and then, and then, alone in the bushes, stomach turning as he realized they had almost let him die.

Eddie shakes his head against him; rolls his forehead back and forth on his shoulder, no and no and no. “I can’t— baby, I’m not… I’m not good.” His voice cracks, and he gives a low moan, pained and drawn out like he’s fighting off a fever. “I’m a fucking black hole.”

There's no fight in his voice — no hint of hysteria, no sing-song sarcasm, no boisterous breath. He goes soft and slips out, and it's just empty. Just dead. Speared through by the ruthless roots of old grief, and now some deep, hollow misery churns ugly truth like solar flares, the words blackened and raw and wholeheartedly believed.

And Steve wants to laugh, because he’s the black hole. He’s the rotten thing sucking Eddie into orbit. Eddie’s the brilliant star stuff spinning past his dark horizon. “No,” he says simply, squeezing his arms tighter around him. “No.”

They lie in silence for a while. Breathing out of rhythm, hearts thudding against each other's chests. Eventually Eddie falls asleep, and Steve rolls him over and tucks them in, cleans them up with a discarded t-shirt.

He stays awake for a long time; stares at the ceiling, a question tearing at his mind — a jagged thumbnail worming under the edge of a too-fresh scab:

What happens when two black holes collide?

He’d asked that once. In middle school. Raised his hand in science class, and Mr. Clarke had called the question intriguing, and Tommy H. had called him a fag. ‘Only nerds care about space shit,’ he’d taunted during recess, ‘I mean, what are we, eight?’

Steve sometimes wishes that he was still.

Wishes things could be that easy.

Wishes, more than anything, that he didn’t wake up alone.

—

part 54

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

happy endings only i promise!!

[weministertomonsters]

Incubus

"Please? Please, please! I'm fucking starving," your incubus whines.

"Crybaby. I told you this was going to be a problem," you sigh, gripping the steering wheel of your rented car.

You had stopped at a gas station ten minutes ago and gotten yourself some food. With your belly full, you're prepared for the next three hours of your roadtrip. Not your incubus though, he's acting like he hasn't had anything in days.

Which might be true. It's been a confusing couple of weeks.

"What was I supposed to do? This is a six-hour road trip," he sighs. "And you said you'd let me."

"Dude, I was drunk and horny," you laugh sheepishly.

He petulantly jams his foot against the glove compartment and tugs his shoe off. The unnatural purple veins in his skin are starting to make an appearance as his glamour wavers.

"Ah, get your demon foot down! What if someone sees it?"

"When was the last time we passed another car on this god-forsaken road?" He pouts. "Besides, my glamour is slipping. I don't have enough energy to keep it up."

"Why don't you sleep the rest of the way? We'll be there soon enough," you reason.

"Fine," he grumbles, tipping his seat back so he can recline comfortably.

Despite all his huffing and whining, he ends up falling asleep. He has one hand draped over his face, sheilding his eyes from the sun. His glamour is in the halfway stage, revealing pointed ears and a body that's now a little too large for the car seat. He twitches in his sleep and moans.

"God no," you mumble in mock horror and stifle a giggle.

The sounds he makes in his sleep are worthy of a porn audio and you feel like you shouldn't be listening. Still, that kind of thing doesn't bother you as much as it did weeks go. You've come a long way. The ride is manageable for a while, until his wings suddenly unfurl like a rebellious umbrella and thwack you in the face. You're forced to pull over.

"Wake up, idiot. You almost made me crash the car." You grab his shoulder and jangle it.

He wakes up with an inhuman growl and grabs you. There isn't much space for either of you to move, so all he ends up doing is pulling you into his lap. Tears spring into your eyes when you hit your elbow on the car door.

"You did that on purpose!" You moan, rubbing the tender spot.

"You can't just touch me when I'm sleeping," he says in exasperation, peering at you with blackened eyes.

He's right. This isn't the first time you've tried to wake him up and he ended up freaking out. It's obvious something happened to him in the past to make him act that way, but he wouldn't let you pry.

"Sorry, I forgot," you admit. "You were moaning in your sleep."

"Was I?" His eyes twinkle. "Look at you, getting all flustered. Hey, don't look away."

To change the subject you say,

"Your glamour is gone."

"It appears so." He flares his wings out as wide as he can, wincing. "I miss flying."

"Soon you'll be able to fly again," you promise, your heart going out to him.

Even though summoning him was an accident, you could have done so much more to make the experience a little less weird for him. You treated him like a literal demon thanks to your religious upbringing. Only when you realized that holy water and crosses and exorcisms were no good did you start to treat him with a modicum of respect. And he endured all of it for you. You've gotten better with your hellish companion since then.

Someone takes the initiative to kiss, but you're not sure whether it was him or you. All you know is that the wall you've built has come crashing down, and all the secret desires you hid away come clamoring forward, demanding attention.

You can't get out of your clothes fast enough, growling in annoyance when you hit your elbow again. You should have rented a bigger car.

"Hold on," he says, ripping his face away.

His lips are swollen and bruised from the heavy makeout session and his pupils are ridiculously dilated, but he still looks aware and a little worried.

"An hour ago you were denying me. Why now..."

"Don't ruin the mood," you tell him, wiggling into the backseat. "I just realized all my little rules are pretty stupid, that's all."

He twists around to look at you in the back.

"You won't regret it later?"

"I will if you made me take all my clothes off only to say you don't want to do it anymore," you say, leaning back and opening your legs. "Come here."

His eyes light up. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. The last of his glamour sheds, and you stare at his ebony-colored horns in admiration. Just a few weeks ago the mere sight of them had you stammering the Lord's Prayer and dousing him with anointing oil in an effort to make him go away. Now you grab one of his horns and drag him closer. The small car means you are both in pretty uncomfortable positions, but you'll complain about your back later.

His licks a blazing trail down your stomach, the purr in his voice muffled as he presses his lips to your body, tracing the red lines where your too-tight jeans aggravated your skin.

"I love this."

"My muffin top?" You snicker.

"All of it. All of you. Goddess," he says reverently before he dips between your legs.

His long, slippery tongue is talented. As he stokes your pleasure higher and hotter, he drinks from the blaze of it. Once he has enough energy to use his glamour again, he glamours his claws away and slides two fingers into you, looking up at you with gleaming, burning eyes.

The way his wings arch makes you think of an eagle protecting its dinner. You dare to touch them, stroking the struts of bone and the delicate membrane stretched between them.

"You're so beautiful," you admit. "And I'm not just saying that because you're so good at this."

He looks amused with the compliment. Maybe he's remembering the time you called him a "vulgar hellion of hell" in a fit of religious indignation.

You jump at the sudden zing of pleasure when he nips your inner thigh.

"Focus on me," he demands. "Let your mind go blank for just a little while."

You nod frantically, clutching the sturdy leather of the car seat. Your hips follow the thrusting motion of his fingers, desperate for more. He gives you what you want. You come when he adds a third finger, the stretch, and the pleasure and the stimulation of your clit throwing you recklessly off a cliff. It feels like he takes some of your energy, crafts it into a gem of pure gold, and passes it back to you in a hard kiss. It's like you've died and gone to heaven.

It's only when he taps your stomach that you remember you have to breathe. You suck in great gasps of air, squinting at him. He wears your cum on his face, his lips glistening as they part into a pretty smile.

"What was that?" You finally ask.

"The best orgasm of your life," he grins. "Please tell me I've ruined you for other people."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you scoff playfully as you tug your clothes back on.

You think he has though.

[slickchickchocolatier]

WARNINGS: This is written in Heethan’s y/n perspective, mentions of ritualistic killings, alternative universes, religious references (some accurate and some fictional), all heeleads, all y/n’s, references to SE7EN, MERMAIDS TALE, MGR/MRE/HHP, THE OTHERSIDE and DOUBLE TROUBLE (I would high suggest reading all these series before reading this), unprotected smut, angels and demons, angels are bad guys, devils are good guys, kidnapping, time and space travel, alternate characters, some cursing, grotesque language, sexual tension, some fluff, and some intermingling moments, (enough to give you some ideas 😏) images and smaus attached, cliche rescue mission, and I think that’s it.

A/N: this was just an idea that came to mind as I was listening to music. A fun read.

Turmoil stirs the middle of the sky, a collection of debris, dust, and smoke circulate within it. The strong current of gravitational force absorbs bits and pieces of man-made features, further expanding its reign of terror.

It was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of evil spirits, angels, and demons combined, formulating an abomination that was neither Heaven, nor Hell. Two worlds of entities unite, all embracing the common ground that humans were a non-sensible creation by God. In their eyes, humans were nothing but livestock for the immortals.

The senior head of this ritualistic army had an idea—a new image for the aged world, where unearthly entities would herd and breed the human race…In preparation for the grand feast. With this process in place, the world would be controlled by themselves, gaining power to extend their influence through alternate space and time. All the parallel universes that were constantly being created, would become restricted, ceasing the expansion of human life.

“My followers…the time has come where we need to take back what is owed to us. WE have lurked in darkness far too long, feeding on the scraps of these scavengers…these HUMANS!” His head contained three faces, one centered and nestled in between the two disfigured profiles. Their mouths remained wide open, agasp with horror while the center focal features did all the talking, carrying all the range of emotions. “WE have been betrayed by both, God and the Devil…the two fathers who should have been nurturing us, ignored our caution instead. They turned their backs on us; made us starve as we craved for sustenance and glory…but no more! Today, we strike and take the blood of the most beloved, the one who carries the light of God, and the blood of Lucifer! This I pray…my demons of carnage, and angels of darkness…do not stop at just the one…take them all! Search through every vortex of this abysmal continent. Go above the universal horizon, far and wide through space and time, and gather your efforts— leave no part of the cosmic galaxy unturned. Raid the entire universes, all worlds, and bring me her adaptations. Bring forth every variation of her current soul, so that we may tear, grind, and feast on that delicate flesh…let us hit them where it hurts most…let us seek to make God cry, and break the heart of the Devil.”

The spawn of angels and demons scatter in mass multitudes, covering the entire sky while they surpass greater heights, surrounding their numbers across every comet and planet.

Finding you in this world was simple. Entirely too easy…

Like any other given day, you sat in class next to h/n, drafting the primary notes as your professor read the lecture aloud. The yelling of a fellow classmate startled the entire classroom, catching everyone off guard.

“What the fuck is that?!”

Everyone turned to view the scenery outside the window. The light blue sky grows dark, as the horizon blackened with a darkened hue. The foliage draping the tree branches suddenly shriveled and died off. The air around the building turned black; everyone became frantic and ignored the professor's false sense of composure. He tried his best but it was easy to see that he too was frightened and didn’t know how to handle the stirring frenzy that took place inside the room.

“What the Hell is going on?! Why did the sky get so dark all of a sudden?” H/n spoke out with tears glossing over her eyes as the girl sitting next to her called home. She hectically informs her mother of the unknowns that were happening outside the campus, all the while you barely spoke, or reacted as you overheard the girl's decree. The shock of it all stunned you; it wasn’t until your phone began buzzing that you came back to your senses.

The moment his own classmates sporadically spiraled out of control, Heeseung wasted no time in getting out. He had to get to you.

You were the first priority on his list. Ignoring his own safety, he bursts through the door— the only one brave enough to kick it wide open before sprinting towards the parking lot. Everyone whispered and spoke harshly as they watched the young man making his way over to you. God help anyone if something happens to you.

In an instant, everything turned upside down. You’re not sure what or how it happened, but it felt as if a group of hands were pulling you from side to side, pushing and tugging at the same time. Looking around, it seemed as if time was at a standstill. The entire class paused in mid motion, gravity lost its effect as students jumping out the window were stationed in mid air, unmoved. What was going on? Were you the only one that could move? The only one that wasn’t affected by this loss of motion? If so….did that mean that Heeseung…

……..

It occurred in a blink of an eye.

What the hell just happened? For a moment, Heeseung felt as if his heart had stopped beating. It happened during mid drive, when suddenly the roaring engine slurred, and the small bit of ash and debris in the air slowed until they froze in place. It wasn’t long before his own movements came to a pause, and before he knew it, he could no longer breathe. It was odd, despite not being able to take in air, the pressure from his chest was fine, almost as if he was holding his own breath.

It held on for two seconds before the distant sound of the engine grew louder and the tires resumed rotation, causing a sudden screeching noise to puncture his ears. What the fuck…!

The only thing that lingered on his mind was you. Shit…y/n! Hold on baby…

By the time he reached the building, merely two minutes after receiving your last text, you had already been taken.

Everyone stood wondering just the same as to what had occurred. They looked around and noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except when h/n pointed out your sudden absence. “Huh?…Anyone seen where y/n went? She was just right…here….”

Her voice subtly pauses as Heeseung silently walks through the double doors, with you nowhere in sight…his heart dropped to his stomach and a total sense of despair hit him. He wanted to die…he wanted to shake the earth to its core and kill off every bit of life that coated the surface. A state of hopelessness and emptiness fills him.

‘Y/n…’

…….

One by one, the entities visited alternate universes and found four more women, conjoining them as prisoners and leaving you all chained in a row. Brought forth, you all were all scanned with a morbid look of satisfaction as an alienated, metallic figure screeched through hundreds of jagged teeth, directing its elongated fingers to a specific direction. It was communicating with its more fleshy counterparts.

They marched you and the remaining maidens into a large bunker, nearly shoving you all down the uneasy steps. Once inside, a single light source allows you to take in the view of the abrupt companionship you were forced to confront.

‘Is…is this for real?’

The strangest phenomenon you ever witnessed. It was as if you were staring into a mirror, or a twin…several twin versions in fact.

These girls…they were…you. Some of them displayed subtle alterations of your appearance such as hair and eye color, even a small difference in age. But make no mistake, you pinched the skin on your arm as you confirmed that indeed, you were seeing yourself in various substitutions.

“I…don’t believe this…are you all….who are you?” One of the girls reflected aloud. Just as lost as you were, each one took a moment to observe the variations of…you.

A terrifying screech sounds off outside the bunker, similar to that of the metallic humanoid creature from earlier.

“What are those things?” The one who spoke, she looked and sounded exactly like you. It was such a surreal experience to see this happening in real time.

She looked more mature. With her sense of style and elegance, she encompassed the very essence of classy feminine virtue, a version that you always saw in yourself in the near future, when you were married and already graduated from college. Her hair and eye color were lighter than yours, but the structure of her face and body, the finer details of her expression and features were an exact match to your own.

“Does anyone know why we are here? What do those things want from us?” another variation of yourself spoke delicately.

Unlike the latter, who had hair that was fair and eyes that sparkled in chromes of light blue, this one had dark forest green hair, and feline eyes, which were both fierce and strikingly beautiful. She had the appeal of one with great wisdom and maturity, a variation of yourself that you never could imagine would exist. She continued to speak, pondering on the forceful monsters that wreaked havoc above and outside the bunker. “The one we saw earlier, whose body looked like metal, was that a...”

A calm voice speaks gracefully, politely inserting into the conversation. Her voice was slightly deeper, and tranquil, but not as twinkling as the one who carried the forest green locks. With those lips, stained blood red and coated with a subtle shine, she answers…“They’re angels.”

Everyone else turned to face in her direction. You all stared and admired the royal grace she portrays in her stance, it gave off an aura that reflected her higher age. It didn’t appear in her face, but it was through her persona and posture. Just like the one with the emerald strands, she displayed elegance in all aspects; her features, tone, and strut. Of all the variations that stood before you, she was the one you became most curious about.

“Angels? As in…from heaven?” Another variation, except this one seemed much more calm—perhaps too much.

Her lids were heavy and she spoke with a monotone voice. Her hair was stained a deep and vibrant color. It looked somewhat fresh, and contained a specific shade of purple, but not just any code of the color. It was not lavender, violet, or even muave, but more like a royal purple…it was as if the color was mixed specifically to match a certain shade. Maybe a particular flower? Perhaps it was made to match a blouse, or a type of fabric, like silk.

Noticing her demeanor, you couldn’t help but feel sorry as you took pity on this image of yourself; one that carried a dark sadness around, yet somehow flared a sense of contentment. It was contradicting, yet there eas something else that you couldn’t pin down about her. Almost as if she was carrying a nightmarish secret, but did it out of protection. Only question was, who is she protecting? Was it herself? Or could it be…?

You catch yourself drifting in thought when one of the girls asks your age. She inquired by stating that you looked the youngest, which was confirmed correct after you answered. Between you and your alternate state of beings, your ages ranged from eighteen to twenty eight, the latter title of the eldest belonging to the one with the dark burgundy lips.

She gazes up to the cathedral ceiling and crosses her arms, speaking out each word so confidently. Her hair was dark, nearly black with a deep, red hue…like red wine, and nails to match. She radiated a contrasting theme of goth and sensual femininity, like light and darkness combined. Everyone thought the same as they pondered on the mysteriously alluring sense of their alternate identity.

“Angels? How do you know? Have you seen them before?” The eldest one nods in response. Her eyes were heavy, as if she experienced a loss in energy recently. Still, she remained ever so composed and fashionable in Vogue like nature. You couldn’t help but think it, as somewhat narcissistic the thought may have seemed, but you found yourself idolizing what very much was the future outlook of yourself.

“This is so strange…it’s so weird to see…you…or me…I mean….what are we, exactly?” You sputtered as you make eye contact with the seldom one with the royal purple thatch of hair. She smiled softly and was the first one to respond.

“I am almost sure what our names will be, but I’ll be the first to say it…my name is y/n…”

Everyone snapped their heads up and chuckled in delight. Finally, a sense of relaxed humor amongst this terrifying ordeal. “We all have the same name?” The fairer version of you spoke, admitting for all of you to find comfort within each other.

The former y/n continued. “I guess we do.” You smile sweetly as you inquire about her background, to which she gently responds. “I worked as a consultant after graduating college and… “ she pauses, catching her breath. It was evident that the girl had been through a traumatizing experience, or maybe was still going through it all. Yet she displayed some fortitude as she completed her sentence. “I live with my husband…somehow I was brought here and I don’t have any memory of it. It happened so fast.”

“Me too….” The fairer one spoke. Her shiny hair gracefully rested beneath her collarbones as she spoke through her matte rosy stained lips. A beautiful combination. You couldn’t get over this experience, It was miraculous to see yourself with those featured traits. You wondered if variations of those closest to you exist, like Heeseung, Jake, and H/n. The thought of the three suppressed your slight bit of happiness as you wondered if you’d be able to escape with the others.

“I live with my husband too…well…husbands, if we’re being completely open.”

You all perked a brow upon her words. Did those rosy lips just tell you correctly…“Husbands?”

She nods seldomly while interlocking her fingers above the waist, avoiding eye contact and instead, focusing on a spot on the floorboards. “Yes….my husbands are brothers…and through them I have two boys of my own.” She pauses as her eyes welt up. “I…was putting my boys to sleep when something pulled me away from them…it was strange…it almost seemed like time was standing still.”

“Me too!” You spoke out. “I saw the same thing when I was pulled away.”

The fairer one smiled at you. “You are still so young…a younger version of myself.” Her change of topic was so sudden but she could see it in your face, hear it in your voice, and see it in your movements; seeing you in fluid motion made her visit down memory lane. “Yes.” You answered as you returned the smile. “I'm almost finished with my first year at college…I live with my fiance in his dorm.”

You all chuckled.

“His dorm?” The fairer one teases. “Yes well…believe it or not I don’t really have a choice.” You jest, yet the statement held more truth than anything you ever admitted.

It didn’t take time to consider their reaction. Upon hinting at Heeseung’s dark and toxic nature, it soon became evident you weren’t the only one. Unknowingly, you would open up another path that you all shared in common.

“He keeps you there?” You nod as the one with the dark forest green hair spoke. “Ah…” she sighs. “Just like mine…at least he used to. Now…well, I gave up. There wasn’t any point in fighting it.”

She chuckles once more as she rubs her temples, finding the entire scenario ironic. “I too live with my husband…it started just as forcefully as your situation but it’s been over two years now…” she pauses. The rest of the girl’s all related, all but you.

“Well…it is forceful but…he has good intentions, doesn’t he?” You inquired as the one with the dark green hair looks back up. A faint smile dons her lips as her delicate nails caressed her chin. With beauty and truth to her tone, she responded, almost in caution of warning. “Just like your fiance, he has the best…and the worst intentions.”

“What about you? Are you also married to a psycho? Or two?” The one married to dual husbands jokes, stabbing at her own life as she includes the last variant into the conversation. The eldest; she was the most elusive one out of all of you.

Turning her face over, she delivers a soft gaze and looks at each one of you with such nurture in her expression. Through those dark burgundy lips, she spoke gently. “I do.” She lightly chuckles. “I live with my husband, and much like all of you…I didn’t really have a choice.”

Closing her eyes, she reopens with a fresh countenance. Licking her loose she chuckles and tilts her head, taking small steps over to you. She cups your face and displays a saddened look, yet it was paired with a sweet smile. Her gaze hinted that she knew something…or maybe she could see something within your future that made her pity you.

With her intuitional sense, and foresighting ability, she reveals your deepest secret.

“You have another side of you…one that is equal to his darker half.”

Was she referring to Eden and Ethan? But…how does she know?

You slightly gasp as you remained stunned by her words. She looks over to the one with the dark green hair. “You and your husband carry the blood of the ancient gods within you.”

In response, the sea maiden looked somewhat confused. “How could you possibly know that?”

The former admits partial truth to her own secret. “I know all…I can see all….I can see your most inner kept secrets just by looking into your eyes. It was a gift from my husband after we were…” she pauses after catching herself diving down to details to at may be too indiscreet. The image of Heeseung’s devilish form atop of her, probing and thrusting away was not something she wanted the girls to visualize…she rather not think about it herself, despite the progression of her relationship to the aforementioned male. “Married.”

She turns to the fairer one, and continues to prove her capabilities. “Your husbands sired their own twin sons within you, and through those babies, you found true love.” The latter looks down, almost shamefully. Yet the eldest tilts her chin up and whispers, “nothing wrong with that.” She winks and smiles, and watched as those rosy colored lips smirked delightfully. This was, after all, a safe space for sisters who share more than just identical traits. You were all connected, through fate and soul.

She looked to the one with the royal purple hair. “Your husband's deeds have haunted you. With nowhere to turn, you chose to return his love but you are ridden with sadness knowing that you are his cure.”

The purple haired y/n didn’t say a word, she only nodded in admittance while drifting her sight off to the wall.

“As for me…” she pauses as she faces the ceiling once more. “I made a deal with the Devil many years ago. Through it, I lost my mortality, and gained immortality…I am known as the mortal daughter of God, but rebirthed as the bride of Helel...my husband, and father to my son.”

“Helel?” Through her purple strands, the girl spoke out of confusion. Never has she heard such a distinctive name in her life.

Just as the conversation reached pause, the door to the bunker opens. A combination of the hostile angels and demons standby. A disfigured tone emits from their tongue as they point and begin separating you away from one another.

You felt scared upon seeing the fleshy demon grip your wrist, pulling you away as the others were being dragged into sporadic direction. The girls all tried their best to fight off the large swarm, and recollect. Through a shared sense, there was a need to get back to you, the younger version of themselves. The need to protect each other and stay together remained strong, however, the monsters proved too strong as their numbers increased. They found it easier to carry you away into singular, isolated chambers. The echoes of their screams, sounding so much like your own voice, become distant and unheard.

You backed yourself against the cold stone wall and slid down until the tile flooring meets your rear. All seemed hopeless at this point. The terrifying sounds of demonic growls and piercing angelic screeches merge from outside the door, all frenzying as they carry out their next deed, whatever that could be. It was too frightening to think about. What is going to happen? How is Heeseung going to save you this time? Your Heeseung…the one who is always there to bring you back home…how is he going to possibly find you? You don’t even know where you are.

‘Heeseung…I’m scared.’

You wonder if the others felt just as scared and hopeless.

The fear of being lonesome started to eat you alive, it was far worse than when Heeseung carried out one of his punishments, and locked you away for breaking his rules. You hated it more than ever, being secured away in darkness and suffering from desolation. Looking back at it, his method seemed tamed compared to how you were currently being treated.

You also knew, despite succumbing to the harsh effects of being tied to a bed frame, or locked inside a closet, at least the comfort of knowing he was going to be around…that he was always going to come back to get you, whether it was hours or a day later, was something you had lost appreciation for in the past, but yearned for it more than ever. He was always there to make sure you were safe, despite carrying out an act that clearly violated your human rights…it was his way of loving you…his manner of understanding it.

‘I wouldn’t have to do this shit if you’d listen and just do what I tell you. It’s all for a good reason…”

His words from past recollections continue to play in your head.

‘To keep you safe…and to keep you as MINE. Get it through that dumb, pretty little head of yours already. No matter how many times you fight me on this, you’re going to lose.’

You used to scoff at his justification, growing irritated at his own resolve. You always figured he was overreacting.

All those times when you were caught speaking to someone from class outside at the parking lot, didn’t matter if they were boy or girl, he’d always became so possessively evil, and jealous. His handsome smirk goes from dashing to sinister as he lets out the wolf from its cage: Ethan.

But no matter how emotionally tormenting…or mentally abusive he could be…one thing would always remain true, and that was his unyielding love for you…just you.

The door knob twists violently as the door panel rambles, snapping you out of mid thought. You stood up and cornered yourself, completely frightened by what was on the other side. Finally breaking open, it swings wide inward. You swore your eyes were going to fall through the sockets. It couldn’t be… “H-Heeseung?”

Tears balled up and your heart pauses in mid-pulse. He steps closer in towards the light and there you saw, it was Heeseung…but he seemed different. His attire was similar, but his hair…it carried a particularly familiar shade of purple, just like—

“Hmph…” he smirks, daring a bold look as he scans you up and down. “So this is what you looked like when you were eighteen.”

The way his words growled upon stating your tender age sent a shiver up your spine, a familiar sense that you were accustomed to. “Damn, so this is what you were like at eighteen… you were just born perfect, weren’t you?” A snarling wink flashes you.

He reaches and grabs your wrist. “Gotta hurry princess.”

Leading the way and keeping you close behind, he rubs his fingers and gently massages your skin in his hold. His cologne was so different from the Heeseung you knew. It was a musky scent of blue agave and sandalwood.

Luring you around every corner, running past a hall filled with portraits, you finally configured where the entities had been keeping you, it was an old church.

“W-what about the others…the other—“

He calmly interjects as you stuttered, trying to find a way to describe the collection of your alternate self, including the one who you suspected belonged to him.

“We should be seeing them soon.” He spoke as he remained attentive to the surroundings. You were so taken aback by his resemblance that you were ignorant of the weapon he held…a machete?

“H-how did you find us?” You questioned. He tightens his grasp as he leads you down a spiraling staircase, completely made of stone. “Met the others—something about getting all of the you’s and I’s out, and back to our respective universes. There was also something about a demon who wanted to piss off God, and the Devil, blah, blah, blah.”

He spoke carelessly and left out all of the vague details as he remained focused in getting you to safety. Just as you both reached the main cathedral, you witness from across the wide room, all the other variants of yourself were being guided by Heeseung, a few of them. The one right across had ash-blonde hair and….a dark haired one trailing behind…

The y/n with the dark forest green hair stood out as they centered her, providing three-sixty coverage of security. Once they saw you and the Purpled haired Heeseung leading you, they led the other you to rejoin and come to center, surrounding you both in a combative formation.

Also rejoining the group was the one who had the dark purple locks that matched the Heeseung who rescued you; behind her was the alternate version of yourself that carried the red-wine lips. The girls were guided by a version of Heeseung, whose eyes glowed blue and his hair was dark as the ocean.

In the opposite direction, from the corner of your eye you catch on to the fair alternate you, and in front, was him…there he was…Heeseung…your Heeseung, and Ethan.

You could see both entities behind those dangerous eyes. Seeing you safe, along with all the other girls restored life to his gaze as he smiled and felt the weight lifted off his shoulders. ‘There you are…there’s my pretty baby.’

Without stopping, they continued to urge you all to run as they herd each of you to stay centered in their squad position, forming an arrow shape around you and the girls.

Aside from the machete, the other Heeseung’s all bore their own weapons, and from the looks of it, they were most likely found on display in the upper dungeons, which you concluded is where you and the others were being kept prior to being saved.

Your Heeseung gripped on two long swords, while the twins had an ax and a long, steel club, similar to a bat. The other Heeseung with the azure hair skillfully handled a rifle, and had a pistol holstered to his thigh.

The moment of uniting didn’t last pleasantly as the stone tile beneath your feet shook, and the light fixtures rattled above. Something was coming, and it carried enough anger to swell up his size.

Each booming placement of its foot stomping the ground quaked the earth. Just seconds after stabilizing your ground, the grand entrance starts to crack. The arch lining and pillars split apart as an overly muscular frame, with humanoid expressions, enters. He ducked his head in by tucking the chin while the ceiling began to crumble above. When he revealed himself fully, you and the other girls gasped at the horrid sight of the monster before you.

His face was split into three, with six pairs of horns that adorned each head, eluding terrible and frightening expressions. His body was similar to that of a man, with exaggerated muscles that looked to produce enough strength that of an entire army. A long offensive tongue spills out of his evil grin as jagged and serrated teeth flash from the joker wide grin. His eyes resembled that of a goat or sheep, but larger. With both hands containing claws that reached measurement by the foot, you winced at the thought of being grabbed by them. The palms contained numerous spurred teeth that formed hooks, similar to the mouth of a parasite, such as a leech. In fact, his entire body was covered with them, slowly fading as they reached the three facial expressions. There were lacerations that appeared on his chest, opening and closing sporadically. They blinked repeatedly with horrendous teeth and eyes peeking out from beneath the tissue and skin. What on earth was this creature?

Standing in his full glory, he speaks with a diabolical tone. “Leave the women behind, and I shall spare your lives, and bless you with power and immortality. You will become the generals of my league.”

The boys all stood in line, keeping you and the others behind, guarding with their own lives at stake, willing and ready to take on anything. Rather than seeing any bit of you harmed, they all remained solid as they would rather die or be tortured than to see a single scratch on anyone of your bodies. The creature takes their gesture with jests, chuckling before he adds on to his demand.

“You are not the one that I care to gut and split open, yet if you insist, it will be my utmost pleasure to rip all of you apart in front of your precious darlings, and then feast on your corpse afterwards.”

You held on to the girl with the purple locks. Her matured instincts kick in, knocking away the original demeanor she carried before. The troubled and quiet woman feels the need to cradle you, a younger version of herself, and presses you against her chest while she covers your eyes. Peeking out from the corner of her embrace, you saw the purple haired Heeseung peer a faint side eye, noting the comfort she was providing, and the fear that stayed by it. His eyes met with hers, eluding a look of reassurance, as if he were telling her that he wasn’t going to let anything happen. Not him, or his alternate figures.

Heethan also takes in the image of your sheltering. His stern and yet relieved facial expression showed the two sides of his being, Heeseung, and Ethan. He emits a quick nod the moment you make eye contact. ‘Not today…not ever. Nothing is touching a single inch of you, pretty baby.’

The remaining alternate versions of yourself come and join in, grouping you in the center as you all remain behind the boys. The eldest stood right in between, establishing an embrace to shield you and the others as her back was facing the row of Heeseung’s. All five of them stood, readily armed as the creature's patience ran thin. Taking a step forward, the ground cracks, stones protrude inward and wouldn’t hold much longer, nearly collapsing.

The boys step back, urging all of you to back away with caution. You all suddenly halt your movements to safety at the sight of numerous demons and angels suddenly entering from all directions in the cathedral, trapping the entire group to the center beneath the large chandelier.

“It’s useless.” The creature spoke out as his tongue splits into two. “God asked for this…the Devil wanted this.”

The eldest produces a harsh side eye at the creature's mentioning of the latter. Her dark red-wined lips quiver open faintly as she hisses toward the mentioning of his name. The audacity of this creature.

“If only they had heeded our words, and met our demands. We would not be as blood starved. You mortals…you children of the Earth, deserve torture that exceeds the worst kind of death in existence. I should have been granted eternal life in his holy kingdom. It is I, who should have been throned as one of the seven Princes of Hell. Yet both God and Lucifer denied me of what is owed to me. They should have recognized me! The demon Molech! Now…God shall bear witness to the human existence coming to its end, beginning with his only daughter, and the sisters that share her form and soul. Let the heart of the Devil fall into despair upon realizing that his only love would be violated with her innards split, and torn from bone.”

Molech crouches into position, nearly ready to pounce through the boys, and straight to you and the girls. You all could see it in his eyes, the glaring reflection of you and the girls as his primary target. “May all of you scream as I devour you alive, and shit out your guts onto the stones of this very church. I will splatter your organs for all to witness what is coming.”

He lunges forward. It was the last known image that replayed in your head spontaneously as you cringed onto the girls.

The movement happened so fast, and the entire group of you screamed as the boys grit their teeth, yet silence…fills the air. Not a single sound of bone cracking skin tearing, and blood curdling screams sounded off after Molech made his offensive move.

You’re not sure what happened. You were bracing for impact and for the unthinkable to occur, yet moments passed and you realized that everyone stood, remaining whole and without injury. Still warmed by the embrace of the girls, you slowly open your eyes.

From what you could deduce, the figure had pummeled down from above, piercing through the ceiling of the church strategically so as to not fully crumble its structure. With a hand buried deep into Molech’s back, it pierces through the monstrous flesh as the thousands of small teeth that covered his hideous body attempts to cut through the sleeve of his black coat. You admired his beautiful form as large black-feathered wings extend magnificently from his back. He resembled paintings that depicted Heaven’s arch-angels.

Appearing as a Victorian prince, he slowly rises from his crouching stance. Dressed in dark, vintage-goth attire, he stands gloriously, releasing his stabbing hold of the demon beneath the soles of his boots. The thatch of black hair matched that of his feathers, so dark that it contained a blood red hue under the dim glare. As his face comes to light, your breath escapes so suddenly—you swore your heart skipped a beat…it was Heeseung. Another alternate variation of your beloved.

“Helel…” the elder y/n breathes out through her dark stained lips while gazing at her husband. A look of relief accompanies her whispering softness as he shifts a quick look over, feeling much relieved himself after seeing her unharmed.

With a wild smirk, he speaks. His voice was deep and dark, yet soft as he adoringly addressed her. “My queen.”

His eyes matches his tone as they soften; the murderous glare hushes down to a look of tranquility. “Love of my eternal life…I’ve come to bring you back home with me…where you belong.”

The beauty of love and passion between the two is cut short as Molech suddenly strikes, yet misses as Heeseung, or Helel, springs off to the side, levitating from a distance. He was so fast. His speed was inhuman as you and the others watched the demon making many failed attempts to catch him. “You WILL take her back, as you will join her at death by my hand! YOU—are nothing but a failed angel, and a false prince!”

Mech spoke out his poisonous words, yet seeing the calmed expression on the Prince's face irked him as Helel remained unbothered, so long as his darling was safe.

The very last bit of his words barely spit out as Helel dives in, like a flash of light. With his much smaller frame, he is enumerated strength that surpasses Molechs as he grips the demon by another piercing hold, this time, it was through the center of his chest. The creature’s internal organs flare up, lighting as if they were being filled with lava. His skin became transparent as you all viewed the spewing of fluids secreting from the burns. He screams in pain as the sores on his body leak liquified tissue, melting the outer layer of skin. “I think your visit here is over-welcomed, Molech.”

Helel’s voice turns dark, with a clenched jaw, he continues to burn the demon from the inside out. “Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you very shortly, and I’ll deal with you then. Be ready…” he narrows his eyes and brings the center face of the demon closer, his lips nearly touching the demon's chin. Smirking, Helel slides the tip of his nose upwards, forcing the demon to look him directly in the eye, all the while he whispers…

“I am going to split you open with my claws—piss on your organs, feed you to those miserable shits at the River Styx, watch as they shit you out, and scatter your remains across the depths of MY Hell. You’ll be nothing but fertilizer for my wife’s pretty little poppy garden, and she will smile every waking moment upon watching them grow from your own demise.”

With the last of Molech’s breath, he extends his middle claw, flicking off his own former master as he shamelessly words out “fuck you.”

Helel only grins in amusement, further aggravating the demon. Whispering, Heeeseung—or Helel, responds back one final time before finishing off the demon. “Nah…nobody fucks with the Devil—except her.” He glances over to his one and only, his own y/n. “She fucks me all the time, sometimes with tears staining her face and her bottom lip clenched between her teeth. She loves fucking with the Devil…” shifting another look over, he directs his tone in bold, over to his wife. “Ain’t that right baby?”

His wife settles a submissive display of affection and obedience as she quietly nods. “Yeah…you fucking love me. And I fucking love the Hell outta you.” His eyes widen entirely too ecstatically as his pupils shrink. Of all the moments you witnessed Heeseung’s most terrifying expressions, nothing surpassed the one his devilish alternate. It was the most terrifying thing you’ve seen, even more so than the dying demon at his hand.

He releases an antagonizing chuckle as you felt a slight shake within your chest, all due to the way he spoke of his love. He was so twisted, possessive, and dementing, but the love and admiration he showered her was above all sorts of love. It was unreal.

“And you know what else Molech? She will be the one to rule over the demons that will fuck your soul for all eternity. THAT…is what it means to obey your fucking queen.” At that, you all bear witness as Helel finishes Molech off.

But things were far from over, the remaining demons and angels who retaliated against their respective masters remained loyal to their desires, despite Molech being gone, and said former master currently present. Despite witnessing Helel kill off their only leadership, they were stubborn enough to follow through, until death stopped them.

“What’s next?” One of the Heeseung twins spoke, gripping his weapon.

“Take the girls and run. Keep going until you reach the end of the bridge.” Helel calmly instructs, eyeballing the swarm that was closing in. “And you?” One of the other Heeseung’s spoke, inquiring Helel’s role during the escape.

“Heh.” With a smirk and the narrowing of his dark eyes, he extends his wings out as he flares off a hand, claws extending and growing in an offensive length before your very own eyes. “It’s time for me to tuck the kids in, and say goodnight.” Leaving no room for response, his super speed causes a mirage of his movements as he levitates up, and like a sparrow, dives down as he takes out numerous demons and angels at once. In doing so, he creates an open path for everyone to escape.

“Let’s go!” Your Heeseung yells out as he grabs on to the dark forest haired y/n, and quickly leads the way. With all the other Heeseung’s following suit, they latch on to each and every single one of you. The purple haired y/n holds onto your hand as she is being led by the blue haired Heeseung.

“Watch out!” The fair one screams, watching as a group of demons head directly towards your direction.

In an instant, they abruptly pause as they reach within one arm's distance. A soothing tune echoes in the air; a semi high pitch voice that reminded you of bells, it sings and creates a euphoric atmosphere. The demons struggle as they try to resist, staggering a myriad of movements before succumbing to the soft sound of mystical and angelic voice.

“Wha-what is that?” The fairer y/n speaks out, when suddenly the blue haired Heeseung tells the boys, “cover your ears and eyes, now!”

You watched as the males covered followed his instruction, patiently waiting for the signal to free their hearing and sight. The one that gave warning stood and provided cover. He didn’t seem so concerned with himself, or so it would appear as he placed no effort in obstructing his vision or hearing. The demons couldn’t resist the soft tone of the woman’s voice, and started to conduct the demands as she spelled out their death sentence.

“Look into my eyes…and hear my voice. Tell me that you love me…” the demons roar in agony as the look of pained lust takes over. “Take out your heart. Rip it from your chests, and present it as a token of your love for me…do it…for meeee.”

Her voice drifts. It was so alluring and other-worldly.

You turned around and bore witness as to who was responsible for the spell-binding act. It was the variant of yourself, the one with the forest green hair. You gasped in magnificence as you saw the transformation of her features darken, becoming seductively bold and eye-catching. Her eyes grew dark, yet glowed. The winged tip lining of her beautiful peepers became more fierce, and her lips grew darker in shade, resembling the color of a Plum. The changed produced a smoldering expression that reeked of every man’s lust and desire. She spoke out terrible things, and yet, each demon did as she bids, meeting a demise by their own hand.

Her counterpart smirks, gazing over to his darling as her expression slowly goes back to its original state. “Siren.” He winked over as he breathed out the name of her lineage.

With a faint smile of her own, she returns the look by flaring a cool attitude out of jest. “Adam.”

Everyone continues on the path as you all make way onto the high bridge, beginning the cross. Up ahead, a swarm of angels swing down, resting near the end of the bridge and form a metallic barricade. They mutate their limbs into active mechanical saws with rotating blades, and unbeknownst to the lot of you, this was a familiar sight for one particular y/n.

“Get behind me.” She tells everyone, and you watch as the Devil’s wife shows you her immortality, and extends her own beautiful wings. “Y-y/n! You have wings!” You and the girls exclaimed, pleasantly surprised by the remarkable sight of the pearlescent white feathers, a stark contrast from her husbands. Barely hidden in the undercarriage of one wing, a small spot resting closest to her body, were black feathers. A part of him.

Extending her angelic feathers, she takes flight just like her husband, and gains unbelievable height before swooping down, taking out the entire offensive line of the angels. Split cleanly in half, they lay restlessly as their limbs twitch and mouths screeched out their dying pains.

The group continues to run, with every alternate variation of you and Heeseung joining hands and intermingling.

A sudden jolt yanks you back, causing you to yelp out in pain. It pulls you back, tearing you from the others.

“Shit!” Heethan breathes out in ultimate fear as a lonesome demon begins to crawl over you. Its tongue glides over your skin, preparing to digest your face when in a blink of an eye, the demon is suspended in the air, and thrown off the bridge. Helel swoops to your side, extending a hand; you take it, joining palms. Feeling your grip, he lifts away and carries you off in flight to rejoin the others.

“Let’s go.” The eldest y/n urges once they witness you safe, much to Heeseung's delight. He swore he felt his heart explode for a second, but redemption came at its finest upon seeing you safe, once again. Guess he has the Devil to thank for that.

Your body reaches unbelievable height as Helel holds you by the waist, and your arms wrapped around his neck. You made the mistake of looking down and felt the hopeless sensation of dangling high above, seeing the group as microscopic figures as they make their way to the end of the bridge. Your grip tightens and by doing so, you pull yourself closer to the former archangel.

“Hmph…” he smirks against your cheek, inhaling your sweet scent as you slowly turn to face him. Staring at him with a wide and an innocent gaze, he reaches up and moves a piece of hair, tucking it behind your ear. “Pretty little thing, you have nothing to fear…”

He leans in closer, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pulls you even closer. His nose meets with yours, and his lips brush against your skin. He looks so much like Heeseung—your Heeseung. Like him, there was a mixture of kindness and malice, producing love and contentment. Whispering against your lips he finishes…

“Whether it be you, or the others like her, I’ll never let any part of my y/n to fall.”

His wings cave in, cradling you to his chest. He places a soft and gentle kiss on your lips, progressing into one that reaches certain depths from inside your mouth. His tongue feeds through and unlike his cold skin, it was warm. You openly invited him to explore further as you couldn’t resist this version of your beloved. He was so powerful, and out of this world, you just had to gain a taste, and prayed that your own Heeseung would never find out what was happening in the sky above.

His hand reaches the back of your neck, pulling you in as he deepens the kiss. He pulls slightly back, much to your dismay, and takes in the sight of your expression. It was full of lust and desire; you stared back with heavy lids and a soft pant escaping. He smirks before licking your bottom lip, and places a smaller peck on your nose. “Good girl.” He whispers, before tightening his embrace, and taking flight— merging you with the others.

Reaching ground, he gently places you down and watches as you run over to your fiance, who embraced you with every ounce of his own life. “Fuck, I was scared I lost you for a second. Are you okay baby?” His voice was hoarse as he ran out of breath from merely speaking. The choke of his emotions got the better of him as he sensationally savored the feeling of your bodies uniting.

He looks at you with relieved eyes. You tearfully nod and embraced him. The others did the same as they rejoined with their respective partners.

Slowly walking over to Helel, the eldest y/n comes within reach. She raises a hand and delicately moves pieces of his hair away from brow and eye. He smirks down at her, and takes her long strands in palm, rubbing them between his claws. Taking in every bit of her presence, he nearly loses himself at the face that took his breath away. Fuck, she was so breathtaking to him.

“Thank you…for saving me and the others.” She whispers out, widening her stare as she rests her hands on his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist.

“I don’t know what I would ever do if I didn’t have you.” He admits, and for the first time ever, she witnesses a side of the devil she never thought she’d see. His look was that of slight guilt, relief, and sadness. He looked down at the ground for a moment, realizing that had he been late, he would have lost the only thing that mattered to him. Meeting her gaze, he leans in with a calmed look in his eye.

In this very moment, y/n felt herself falling for her husband like never before. After bearing Helan, living in Hell, and sustaining his harsh treatments, she finally understood him as a man and husband. Oh, how the tables have turned in his favor.

“My son needs his mother…and I need my queen.” He whispers, before granting a small and tender kiss. Taking her hand, he raises it to chin level, tilting his face as his eyes remain glued to her face. Lavishing her hand, he rolls tongue and cheek across the smoothness of her skin, delicately placing a trail of kisses down to her wrist. Tears begin to form in her eyes. It’s true what they say in Heaven and Hell, the Devil truly loved his wife. His y/n.

A rumbling sound emerges from afar and you all witness as many more demons and angels emerge from inside the cathedral. They run over, crossing the bridge as they head in the groups direction. With the exception of Helel and his y/n, who had the gift of flight, everyone was at a disadvantage of being forced to run on foot, but with speed that was nothing compared to the inhuman entities making their way over.

“We gotta hide or something. They’ll catch us.” The purple haired y/n exclaims while her own Heeseung holds onto her, cooing her as he kisses her forehead.

“No need.” Helel calmly projects. Everyone looked in his direction with a relieved sigh, does he have a plan? “What will you do?” His own bride inquires flirtatiously as she gets a sense of a trick up her husband's sleeve. He smirks as he tells her. “What we do best.” He snaps his finger and instantly, six other figures appear from the sky, shattering the atmosphere as their sudden appearance creates a series of Sonic Booms. One right after another, they dive bombed the bridge, wiping out the army of demons and angels in seconds. With dark feathered wings, and inhuman strength, their lack in numbers could not fool anyone. The angels were no match even when conducting aerial movements. Each dark prince maneuvered the sky and shattered any who tried to escape. It was as if you were watching jets chasing after one another.

They swoon closer, joining the group at the end of the bridge. “The kids are misbehaving I see.” One of them spoke, a young man who had dark hair with wispy silver highlights. His foot reaches the ground as he collapses his wings, leaving them to remain perched in an arch at rest. He was adorned with gold and jewels that had to be worth more than what the world could offer. Joining him was one of the others, who had blonde hair slicked back, and bright blue eyes. A lip ring decorated his bottom lip, and he shared the same aura as the other.

“These little brats…what’s their problem this time? Are they pissed off at us or what?” Seemingly fed up with the offensive entities, he sighs out as the one adorned with jewels responds.

“Eh…Same shit, different day. Don’t know about the angels, but our guys are in need of a spanking…probably need to be grounded.”

The blonde haired angel-figure shoots a glance over to the forest haired y/n. “Huh…first time I’ve ever seen a Siren.”

The Heeseung who held on to her waist tucks her into his chest; he glares over to the blonde male. “Fuck off.” Was all he calmly stated before widening his eyes psychotically.

The blonde male smirks, appearing to do no harm. “Relax. I’m not going to take away your little mermaid.” He switched his gaze back to her. “You and I come from the same waters, Daughter of the Seven Seas. It would appear that your generation is much more tamed than that of your early mothers.” He smirks as he looks back at the one holding her. “An Adam…great distant son of an ancient God. Despite the identical face you display to that of my elder brother, you and I are more alike than anything else.”

Heedam softens his gaze to that of an annoyed glare. “I don’t really care, blondie.”

Jake smirks out a small laugh. “No, I guess you don’t. But it’s all good…” flickering his snake like tongue, he gently coos. “Just tell your sisters, should you ever see them, to be wary of the snake. I tend to look for them from time to time.”

The dark green haired y/n projects a perturbed brow. “You mean…the other sirens? What would you do if you ever found them?”

He winks. “I’d eat them—metaphorically speaking, of course.” He gives off a last smirk before turning his back to the couple. “Snakes need to eat too, you know?”

The two males take flight to rejoin their brothers in air, while Helel remains with you all. After some moments went by, you and the girls inquired on how the boys managed to find you.

“This guy.” One of the twins smirked as he thumb pointed over to Helel. “Got us together after he found out what was happening, and helped us get here before taking off to get his brothers.”

“How did you find out?” The eldest raised a brow as she peeked up to view her husband's face. He smirks as his chin touches her nose. “After the raid and your kidnapping, that little fuck-Molech left no leads. So I had to reach out to an old friend…”

“Who?” One of the y/n’s spoke curiously. The eldest y/n already knew…

“Him?” She spoke in a whisper. He slightly nods in return. You all pieced together whom they were referring to as the subtle hint gave off the showering expression of respect and peace on the Devil’s face.

God.

Not much was divided afterwards. In fact, after Helel explained how he forcefully opened the space and time continuums in each galactic dimension to retrieve the alternate versions of his own soul, and unite them with the plan to bring you all back, things went silent right after.

Reopening those entrances once more, Helel guided each pairing back to their own worlds, and everything was back to normal, other than the major publicity that stirred from the event. Mentions of angels and demons raising the sky, and an apocalyptic end, was all the media could speak of.

………

A few weeks have passed. Schools were shut down for a while due to the incident, and everyone was left to continue their education via online, which Heeseung absolutely loved. Having you in his dorm twenty-four-seven was something that he could get used to…maybe already has.

You lay in bed partially dressed. It was nice to not have to worry about figuring what to wear. Since assignments were assigned and completed on your own schedule, you opted to be lazy as Heeseung went down the store to grab your favorite snacks. All for being such a good girl, and staying by his side.

With only a crop top and a pair of panties on, you embraced the warmth of summer air hitting your skin. Besides, your man loved seeing you nearly nude more than anything else.

The door opens, and you see him walk in. In his traditional and fashionable manner, his hat covers his eyes and the upper bridge of his nose, which complimented the street style he wore. A long shirt with the sleeves partially rolled and straight jeans. So casual yet so appealing, or perhaps it was just him and how he could pull it off so well.

“That was quick.” You quirked as you sit up over the edge of the bedding and sipped on your water bottle.

“I don’t like being away from you for too long.” He spoke out with a deep tone. His bedroom voice.

He didn’t waste any time. He held onto your waist and pulls you up. Catching you by surprise, he dipped down to loop his hands around your thighs, before fully extending you up in the air. Your thighs straddle him as you stabilize yourself, he was so strong. Lifting you like a feather, he buries his face into your neck as your head rests on top of his hat. “Heeseung…”

“Mmhmm…” he mumbles with his mouth filled with your tender skin. He didn’t say much more after, instead, he hooks your panties and pushes them to the side. Up and over your derrière, his forearm rested against the surface of your rear cheeks while he lined himself to your center. It’s to be expected, you both didn’t have sex this morning due to the zoom conference for one of your classes. So of course, now that all of that was done, he could finally have his moment with you.

He slides right in, and it was a familiar feeling that seemed all too new. He stuffs you. Fills you. Pumps into you. It was an incredible feeling that reminded you just how much you loved to get fucked by this man.

His lips remained latched on to your neck. “Fuck.” He whispers. “Mmmph! Heeseung!” You gasped as he picks up the pace and bounces you atop his throbbing cock, holding your under-thighs as leverage whenever he lifted and stabilized your momentum.

He kept going on and on. Your mind was blown away as always; you didn’t even feel present in his room. Everything just took you away as you felt your gut being filled by that hard muscle. Separating your walls and pushing in, he thrusts in a motion that was passionately rough and sensually brutal. It was almost like dancing—it had rhythm and harmony as you both shared juices of love and lust.

You screamed out as you come undone. Splattering your fluids everywhere, he keeps his thrusts going as he goes in harder, faster, and deeper. Right as you reach your second orgasm, he joins in and you both cum in unison.

He gently places you back down on the bed, lovingly. Kissing your entire body, he coolly shushes you after noting your gasping pants for air, and the beads of sweat that coated your skin. “Shhh-sh-sh-sh. Breathe baby, that’s it…thaaaaaats it.”

Once you finally got your breathing stabilized, he kisses your forehead and whispers “good girl.”

Something smacks your senses as you immediately took note of the off-putting manner in the way he whispered his tone. Of course he’s said it many times before but this…this was all too familiar in an unfamiliar way. It was…it was…

He stands upright, you hear the unfolding flaps of the black feathered wings extending past the street attire he donned.

“Oh my God…”

He smirks. “Close…but not quite sweetheart.” With a devilish grin, he leans down and places a sudden peck on your lips, causing you to enhance your already shocked expression. “The Devil is here.”

He kisses you once more before turning away. A slit in the gravitational force of the air appears, and walking in was Heeseung dressed in formal black, Victorian wear. The one who donned his wings, Helel, spoke first.

“Had fun?”

Heeseung—your Heeseung, spoke back in jest. A certain level of verbal jousting that took place between the two as they remained swapped in their attire. “Hope you enjoy my work.” Your Heeseung spoke, flashing his Ethan persona as he smirks towards his devil counterpart.

“I’ll leave you my review. If I’m not satisfied, I will be returning.” He dashed a wink over to you, as your Heeseung responds back. “No returns.”

Helel crosses his arms, and grins. “I won’t be asking for a return, more like a freebie.”

Heeseung smirks back as he too, crosses his arms. Both men square off, chest to chest at a one arms distance. “Against my policy. It’s buy one, and get one free. And gimme back my hat.” He snags the cap off from Helel’s head, the latter merely remained undeterred and blinked as he leans his head slightly back, watching as his own counterpart places the hat on his own head.

“Hmph…what atrocity.” Noting his Victorian cloth tainted by the modern piece that your Heeseung displayed, Helel lightly snarled in disgust. “If anyone is going to square off with the Devil…I guess it would be my own damn self, even if you are worlds apart. Too bad I always win.”

He remarks amusingly before exiting, but not without waving back to you as he peeked over the edge of his wing. “See you later, y/n. Try not to spill.” He denotes as he points at the seeping fluid spilling out in between your legs. Heeseung’s brow irked at the symbolic jab.

“Helel…” he calls out right as the devil began to step into the opening.

Raising a brow, Helel looks over to his alternate face. “Say hi to the wife and kids for me.”

Helel’s eyes widen just slightly, expressing a hint of confusion. “Kids?”

Heeseung smirks. “Yeah…kids. A lot of them. Figured your boy could use some siblings.”

Both men stand wide-eyed, smiling sinisterly. They looked as if they were going to kill each other. “Huh…it would be you to show up the devil. I’ll be sure to return the favor.” He steps forward, and with that, the devil takes his leave.

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[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter One}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

Summery- Innocence meant nothing in a place like this. Here, innocence was weakness. It would only get you killed. And yet, it was craved by the most twisted and sinful of demons.

Innocence to them, was something to be tainted, corrupted, and ruined beyond saving. It gave them great pleasure to destroy that innocence.

And he was no different. To him, she was nothing more than a new form of entertainment. But even he, as demented and cruel as he was, could not ignore the feeling that slowly grew deep within his blackened heart.

"What have you done to me?"

I was once a woman of god, my faith unchanging and strong. Because of that, I was granted entry into the kingdom of heaven. However, it would not last.

I awoke in a dirty and dark alleyway, my whole body ached, my mind struggling to keep up. My eyes opened, and I was met with a most horrifying scene. Above me, in the blood red sky, was a giant pentagram that loomed over all. My heart sank upon realizing just where I was. Hell. I had landed myself in hell.

But, how? I was in heaven. I had earned it. I had been good. I've only ever been good. I was faithful and true. So why? I brought myself to a sit, as I did so, a sharp stab of agony shot up my back. I failed to hold back a cry of pain.

Looking back on myself, a gasp escaped me as I found the source of my pain. My wings were still there. Once neat soft white feathers, now messy and dirtied from the ground. But that was not the worse of it. What made my stomach lurch, what caused the horrible throbbing pain I could not ignore, was the broken joint on my left wing.

The bone jutting out from flesh, golden blood dripping down the feathers of my wing. The fact that I had wings at all was proof enough I actually was in heaven. That, and my long white and gold-trimmed dress. However, it only made my confusion grow. If I was in heaven, why am I here now?

I took a shaky breath before attempting to stand, however it would not happen so easily. I hissed out as I felt a sharpness in my legs. Looking down, I saw more of my blood leaking from the various cuts along my legs. One nasty deep gash in particular on my right calf. This wasn't good.

I was bound to be attacked by some loathsome demon if I didn't try to escape. Flying wasn't an option, and neither was walking it seemed. But if I didn't do something quick then-

"Well. What do we have here?"

My breath caught in my throat at the sudden voice. I looked up to see a rather tall, well dressed demon standing before me. His grin, filled with sharp teeth, made my skin crawl. His deep red eyes bore into my own. He looked at me as if I were his next meal, and in a place like this, I very well could be.

I kept my mouth shut, even if I wanted to talk, I couldn't bring myself to speak. So, he filled the silence himself. "I thought I had seen something a bit strange earlier. It's not everyday you see an angel falling from the sky! Well, not unless it's time for the yearly extermination. If that's what you're here for, I'm afraid your a tad too late." He said with a chuckle. Still I kept quiet, he continued.

"Though, you do not look like the usual exterminators. No, I don't think you are. How very interesting." He took a step closer to me. Finally my body reacted, I scramble to move back as he grew closer. My back hit the hard brick wall behind me, I wince at the pain I received by doing so.

My heart was beating out of my chest, tears gathering in my eyes. My reaction seemed to have been amusing to him, as his grin grew wider.

"Afraid?" He leans down, his face inches from my own. "You should be." I shut my eyes tightly as he moved his hand up to my face. Flinching as his clawed finger made contact with my skin. I felt him move a strand of my messily tangled hair out of my face, before his hand left me.

"A creature like you my dear, is just begging to be harmed in a place like this. Though, I don't entirely blame you. You appeared to be heavily injured." I dare to open my eyes, only to be met with his sharp gaze.

His eyes only left mine briefly to meet my broken wing, then down to my injured legs, then back up to my face. "Quite the fall you had." He chuckled. I only nod. That had to be right. I fell from heaven. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Why else would I be here? The demon stood straight again, looking over his shoulder for a moment before turning his attention back to me.

'I doubt I'll ever get an opportunity like this again.' He thought, his grin somehow growing even wider. "Tell me, what do you plan to do now? Surely you intend on leaving this horrid place, yes?" He questions. Of course I do. I don't want to be here any longer that I already have. I nod my head, words still failing me.

"It will be quite the challenge my dear. You can't fly, and no one leaves hell just like that." He says with a snap of his fingers. "What will you do?" An excellent question. What will I do? What could I do? Panic set in quickly as I realized that there was nothing I could do now. I was stuck here. I would never be able to leave this god forsaken place. The tears finally began to roll down my cheeks, my shoulders shook as I cried.

How could this have happened? Why was this happening? Perhaps I've done something wrong? Maybe I've upset god in some way? Is that why I'm here? I'm being punished? Is that it? The demon's voice caught my attention once more as he spoke.

"Oh, how I hate to see a lady cry." I could have sworn there was a hint of sincerity in his tone. But I would be a fool to think a demon could feel sympathy for anyone. "Perhaps, we should make a deal."

I wipe a few tears away before looking at him with a confused glance. "I'll try and find a way for you to return to heaven. And in return..." His expression grew dark and sinister. "All you have to do, is amuse me." Amuse him? My stomach churned at the thought of what a demon would find amusing.

I look up at the sky, the pentagram's glow stinging my eyes. Heaven was out of reach, but I yearned for nothing more than to return. The deal almost sounded tolerable. I look back at the demon and finally, I spoke.

"W-Will you hurt me?" My voice cracked. "Of course not!" The demon waved his hand, as if dismissing the thought. "I'm rather curious about you. And I can't have someone like you harmed. Your value topples almost over all here. Many demons would kill for a chance to obtain an angel such as yourself. That alone is enough for me to keep you in tact as much as possible." His words weren't comforting, that's for sure.

But he said he wouldn't hurt me. I think. I couldn't trust him, but what other choice do I have? I don't want to be stuck here forever. The demon offered his hand. "What do you say?" He asks as a faint green glow engulfed his hand.

I sigh before hesitantly taking his hand with my own. As our hands clasp, the glow engulfed mine as well and a sting could be felt throughout my palm causing me to wince. The glow grew brighter, I shut my eyes tightly to shield my eyes from it.

I missed the twisted smile from the demon, but I felt his hand tightening around my own slightly before the glow finally calmed down and went out. The demon let go of my hand, only to pick me up. I gasp as I felt myself being hoisted up into a bridal style carry.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him, so I kept my gaze down at his chest. "Hold on tight." He warns me. And before I knew what was happening, I felt a rush flow throughout my body. It was almost like the feeling you'd get when going down a steep drop on a rollercoaster. And suddenly, we were in a new location.

I look around and take in my surroundings. There was a rather nice looking home before me. Well, I could consider it nice if it didn't look...haunted. I could have sworn I saw a shadow move in one of the many windows. Surrounding the home was a swamp, the water was infested with gators.

But not normal ones. These gators were far larger, their scales an inky black, multiple sets of eyes glow a deep red, and their teeth abnormally sharp and long, stained with the blood of I didn't know what. The plant life was unnatural as well. While they were alive like normal plants, they were sentient.

Looking for some unfortunate passerby to feast upon. This being proven by a demonic version of a frog hopping by one, only to be snatched up and ripped apart. I look away, not wanting to watch as the sound of crunching and squishing filled my ears. The bugs were abnormally large too, and just as carnivorous as the other creatures of the swamp.

"Home sweet home." The demon sighs before walking up the porch stairs. He walks in, the inside completely dark at first before he steps through the threshold. Like magic, light filled the home. And once again, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, shadows retreating into darkness wherever they could find it.

"Now, let's get you patched up." The demon says as he heads up the stairs. He brings me to his bedroom and sets me carefully on the surprisingly soft and comfortable bed.

I tried to keep still, as not to irritate my wing any further. But nothing could ease the pain, I winced and hissed out sharply as another throb jolted my wing. I could have started crying again it hurt so bad. The demon took note of that before moving to my left. I watched him carefully, wary of what he would do next. He said he would patch me up, while that confused me, I still didn't trust his word.

"This might hurt. But do try to keep still." He says before moving his hand over the broken bone. I move away fearfully, a foolish thing to do. I cried as more pain shot up my wing and back. "What did I just say?" The demon sighed.

"What are you going to do?" I ask sharply. He didn't have anything that could properly set the bone, nothing to ease my pain. Did he intend to force it back? "I'm going to heal it. But I need you to sit. Still." The demon said sternly. Still noticing my hesitation, he rolled his eyes. "I will try to make this less painful as possible. Now, are you going to do as I say? Or are you going to just sit there, still in pain?"

I sighed heavily before doing as I was told. I shut my eyes tightly after I watch him move his hand back. Suddenly I felt a shift in my wing joint, but no pain followed as I had expected. After a moment or two, Alastor moved his hand away.

"There we go. All better." The demon says softly. While I felt no pain, I never felt more light headed. My stress finally caught with me and felt I just might actually pass out. My body began to fall forwards, but the demon caught me before I could fall completely. I go limp in his arms, my eyes lids drooping. I heard him chuckle before I felt him moving my body, he gently laid me on my back.

I look up at him with tired eyes, his grin remained the same. I got the feeling he was enjoying this, it made me more sick to think about it. "Try and relax. I'll work on your legs next." He tells you as he moves his hand down to hover over them. I then heard him laugh, before I could question him he spoke.

"My, how rude of me. I've yet to introduce myself. I suppose I've gotten use to everyone knowing who I am, that it slipped my mind." The demon glances at me, he spoke his name with the most charming of tones.

"My name is Alastor."

Alastor? It was such a nice sounding name for a demon. "And who do I have the pleasure of knowing?" I took a shaky breath before answering with a shaky and cracked voice. "Y/n." Alastor's grin soften for a moment as he spoke my name. "Y/n. What a lovely name."

It felt strange to hear a demon speaking my name. It felt wrong. Though, it wasn't any worse than actually making a deal with him. I close my eyes, and begged god for forgiveness. I hope god could forgive me for what I've done.

I only do this to return to god's light. That's all. Please...please understand. The more I thought about that deal, the worse I felt. I didn't want to think about it, but it would always be there. In the back of my mind, will forever be the guilt of my choice.

And I could only hope that whatever this deal would entail, wouldn't be as bad as I fear it would be.

[attractthecrows]

solavellan this solavellan that. my favorite way to interpret dalish heroes is as mirrors.

you're Mahariel. your life is over because of a mirror.

You are the mirror of Garahel. Tamlen is the blighted mirror of you. You, the hero, are a reflection of what has been and should never have been. The blood spilled and blackened over a millennium in the name of corrupted once-gods.

you're Merrill. your life is forever altered because of a mirror. you are a reflection of the pride and the folly of your Keeper, of what a Dalish mage should be, and should have been all along.

you are Lavellan. you are the Inquisitor, the lynchpin of fate, both a reflection and avenue of change - like an eluvian. you are the reflection of Mahariel. you are the reflection of your clan. you are the reflection of Ameridan. you are a reflection of Corypheus, caught in a cycle older than either of you. you are a reflection of the elvhen heart and soul. you are, unknowingly, the reflection of Fen'harel, and you will drag the world kicking and screaming into it's new fate and future.

you are, more than anything else, a mirror.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Shells

Chapter Five

Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

a/n: i know i said DJANGO chap two would be next but i've wrote over five thousand words for it and lost the train of thought and wraaaaa 😭 a/n2: EVERYBODY STAY CALM OKAY EVERYBODY STAY CAAAAALM I COULDNT HOLD MYSELF BACK ANYMORE OKAY IM SORRRRY

"For now, he's content to just press his body onto yours and cage you in the nest he made just for you."

Shells Masterlist

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut w/plot

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents(chapter specific): wet dreams, masturbation, mutual masterbation(?), somnophilia technically, no actual smut, more plot development mwhahaha

Shells tags: @ddaeing @the-flavour-of-deaths-ass @wnewoo @catwhisk @silentcry329 @dear-dreamie @atinycafe @is4b3ll3s s @stvrfir3

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

The nest is so warm. It feels safe as the thunder rumbles seemingly nonstop. His arms are wrapped around you tightly and squeezing you close protectively as he hears your heart thud in your chest. "Are you scared of the storm, My Precious?"

      A soft nod is his only response, a whimper pressing past your lips as a particularly loud crack of thunder echoes in the cave. "Don't worry, Joongie will protect you." His hand softly rub your stomach and trail down to your bare thighs.

    When did you take your clothes off?

      His hands are so warm and calming as he caresses every inch of skin he can reach before one finally lands on your epicenter. He cups your heat warmly and moans into your ear as he grinds onto your hip, whispering obscenities about how well you'll take his cock one day soon.

     He kneads your plush flesh in his hand for a moment, seemingly basking in the feeling of your juices wetting his palm before he pulls away and crawls down your body, his eyes trained to you like the predator that he is- shining darkly as his scales flush a bright red that rivals his hair. "Will you let me?" He croons deeply as he comes face to face with your wetness.

    "Mmm please, Joongie," your soft moan wakes him with a start, eyes flicking black as he searches the den for any potential danger.

     "Precious? Are you quite alright?" He whispers as he curls closer to you, feeling your head and frowning deeply as he feels your heated skin.

   Is your fever back so soon? It's been three days since your first dosage and you've been fine. Why all of the sudden should you be s-

    "Nngh," another moan stops all of his movements, frozen like a statue as he catches a glimpse of your hips rolling subconsciously. He backs up and off of your body, forcing himself to ignore the small whimper that leaves you as he heat disappears.

    You've got his, and now your, favorite blanket balled up and pressed between your thighs, moving your hips lazily for any kind of friction. "Like that," you purr subconsciously, and that's all it takes for all of his blood to rush downwards, a raging hard on in his sleep shorts in a second flat as his eyes flick up to your blissfully unaware face.

    Your jaw is slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed together as you hump your hips upward clumsily.

     "Oh sweet Huntress," he curses under his breath, slapping a hand over his mouth to cover any noises you may have caught over the storm outside.

   He backs away further, pressing himself to the cool rock wall. He doesn't want you to wake up and think he was the cause of whatever clearly wet dream you're having. And, Gods, is it wet.

     His blackened eyes are trained on the small patch that you rub your core on over and over. You've soaked through the shorts that he made for you to sleep in and are smearing your eagerness on his blanket with continued soft moans trilling off of your tongue.

     He's just about to get up to relieve his hardness elsewhere for your own modesty, knowing full well you can't control this dream your having and knowing even more that if you ever ever knew he had jacked off beside you that he would never so much as get an innocent smile thrown his way.

   But then?

   "Oh, Joongie," it trails off your lips and causes a pang of arousal to hit his gut roughly, biting into his hand with his own sharp teeth as his tip leaks into his shorts.

    Is this his own dream. His mate having a wet dream about him is his wet dream? There's no way. No way.

    "Fuck harder, Hong," you slur and stammer in your sleep, and he has to free himself of his fabrics immediately. Gone is any of his modesty or care for yours. If you're having a wet dream about him, he can just say he had one about you. That's what he's making himself believe is happening even.

     The electric spark he feels when you roll and hike your knee up on his thigh assures him that it's real, however. That he, in fact, is not having the best dream of his life.

    But he chooses to ignore that as he slowly strokes his girth. You look so delicate and beautiful as you smoosh your head deeper into the nest that smells like your mate. He matches his strokes to the way your hips swirl and grind as deep into the balled up blanket as possible. Your body must still be processing his bite too fast. Your horniness is exactly what he was feeling since he bit you, and what he would expect of you in a few weeks if you had been taking his bite normally.

    But he isn't complaining, he's thanking the Huntress as one of your hands seeks out his body heat subconsciously and grips onto his thigh, digging your nails into his skin. "Mate," the word that rumbles off your trembling lips nearly has him cumming on the spot. Five days in, and he's never so much as heard you utter the word besides with disgust. But this time- oh this time. It's laced with honey and desperation and a passion he's never heard from you.

     "Mate," he whispers back as he fists his length roughly, biting his lip to hold back the growls he so badly wants to let out, afraid that he'll wake you before either of you have a chance to relieve the build up of intense hormones that come with the bite he left on your neck.

    He feels an immense amount of guilt for watching you in such a vulnerable state without your expressed permission, but he'll be damned if he lets the opportunity slip away. You'll never know, and he'll never tell. But that doesn't stop his from feeling a bit guilty. What does stop him- what washes away all doubt of his actions is when you lay flat on your stomach and reach your hand under yourself, into your shorts.

     The smell of your sweet, sweet aroma finally hits him full force and he paints his stomach white with his own pleasure, a quiet growl that he can't hold back ripping out of his clenched teeth.

     And even in his pleasure induced delirium, he doesn't dare miss the way that your body seizes up and the wet patch in your shorts grows tenfold before you slump to the warmth of the nest and nuzzle his pillow with a delicate whine.

     "Hongjoong," you murmur through you deep breaths, clearly spent from your unconscious release. He tucks himself back into his own shorts and wipes his stomach on a spare piece of fabric before curling up ontop of you and holding you close securely, ignoring the way that he's still hard. It will go away on its own.

     He's taken more than what you would give in your waking state and for now, he's content to just press his body onto yours and cage you in the nest that he made just for you.

-

     You wake with a newfound pep in your step, metaphorically of course: because Hongjoong refuses to get off of his place on your back for a few hours. He trills happily and holds you close tightly, clicking in the language you don't understand.

   Unbeknownst to you, he's confessing his sins with that sickly sweet tone and bright smile that has you holding back a smile of your own. He tells you exactly what happened with a smile on his face even though he feels like collapsing in on himself a tiny bit. Just to get it off of his chest.

    You fail to notice your dried up arousal until you get up and skip to the separate room to relieve your bladder, and then you're staring down at it dumbfounded. The splash of the water outside of the room lets you know he's gone for a bit.

      He told you, thankfully in the language you understand, that he had some matters to attend to with the tribe.

   So you waited for a few minutes to make sure he's truly gone off before you run out in one of your new outfits that he tailored for you in the past days, diving into the nest and shoving your soiled shorts to the bottom of the thick pile of fabrics.

    You also fail to notice that you had shoved it right next to the rag Hongjoong used to clean himself up, copying his exact shameful actions as you tried to hide the evidence of last night's subconscious rendezvous.

     You don't remember exactly what had happened in your dream, but you do remember that it made you want to kiss him when you woke up. And that fact scares you.

So, you distract yourself with the chest of goodies he gifted you on that second day before all hell broke loose. With your ever growing collection of shells, a small knife, and the wires from a discarded ball gown, you sit down by the fire to work: listening to the storm rolling outside.

-

Hongjoong pushes his way all the way to the front of the crowd and up to the small throne, sitting himself down next to the smaller, empty chair.

"Begin." Is all he clicks. And nobody makes a move.

Annoyance is clear on his face as he scans the people, and it's not hard for them to tell that it's because he had to leave you. He's nearly bouncing to get back to your den, and he doesn't try to hide the fact.

"Today!"

One of the lower ranked sirens swims forward and refuses to look up as he communicates in a quiet voice, "Sir, a few of us had heard of your mate's condition. And we were con-"

"Unless you are going to pray for her speedy recovery and wish us luck, I don't want to hear it. Save your breath."

"Sir, we heard you're treating her with Tophra..."

"That we are. Is there a problem?"

"I thought that it was outlawed because of la-"

"It is. Nobody else is to use it. We used it to save your future den mother, does that fact bother you so much, Minjae?"

"No, Sir. We're concerned for her, is all."

"Don't be. Yunho knows what he's doing and so do I." His dismissive tone makes the young siren realize that their cause will be going no where, so he slides back into his place amongst his brothers and gives Angel a sad glance from across the room.

"Next matter of business?"

-

     "Of all the comrades that e'er I had...They're sorry for my going away," your voice echoes in the quiet den, loud enough that it drowns out the rippling of the water as the top of Hongjoongs head emerges. His brown eyes shimmering and scales on his face a light pink as his ears twitch, focusing in on your voice.

    "And all the sweethearts that e'er I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay..." Although the treatment had stabilized your hormones and slowed the progression of you accepting his bite, it hadn't fought off all of your symptoms. Just the most painful ones.

     You sang. Very much, and very well. The past three days in the den have been filled with soft lullabies that you remembered from your childhood. More often than not luring you and Hongjoong both to sleep.

��     You nested- scraps of fabric that he insisted were useless after he finished fixing a garment to fit you, you padded your sleeping area with even more- even if they did little to nothing. Sleeping deeper into the morning despite the fact that you were an early riser back home.

Your bones ached when you were away from him for too long, growing cold and tired on your lonesome.

And above all, you slowly began accepted him as your mate. Though you still preferred the words 'My Hongjoong' instead. Mate sounded too primal.

"So fill to me, the parting glass... Good night and joy be with you all. Good night an- JESUS!" You yelp as he hops out of the water noisily, shorts already on. You hold your project to your chest and muster up a glare to throw his way, only met with a cheeky smile as he joins your side by the fire. He begins skinning an unfamiliar animal, his smile unwavering.

You flatten out your hand over your DIY secretively, which gains a peek from him. "What's that?" You both ask simultaneously, a smile pulling at your lips as he chuckles.

"A secret. What's that?" You turn your body to keep working on it as he works on what is clearly dinner.

"A mammal," he explains shortly, smirk tugging at his lips as he moves to look over your shoulder- pushed away as you place your palm to his forehead and push him back. He laughs and leaves you to it, "okay then, Precious."

You both work separately until he taps your back, a wooden plate of food ready for you to share. "One more minute." You stick your tongue out in concentration, jumping slightly when he places his palm flat on your back and rubs gently.

"Your food will get cold," he pouts and he rests his head on your back, humming softly as he listens to your heart.

"I'm almost..... done!" You turn with your hands cupped together, hiding your project effectively. "Close your eyes," you blush softly as he looks at you with wide and sparkling eyes.

"It's for me?" He asks as he complies, listening to your movements closely as you crawl behind him and latch something onto his neck loosely.

"For you," you whisper as you give into your strange urges and hug him from behind, stroking his bare chest softly, "open."

His eyes flick down to the loose necklace in a millisecond flat, tears welling up as he sees the dark green shell he gifted you on your first night in his care. It's surrounded by littler ones of various colors and shapes, all dangling by his heart. "You-"

    "Mhm, I made it for you. I want you to wear it."

    You don't know the effect that your words have on him. Gifting is a way of courting in his world, and accepting is a way of also accepting the person. This is the first time you've gifted him something, and it's handmade of all the things you've accepted from him.

    "You don't have to but I pricked myself quite a few times so I'd ap-"

    "I'll wear it. I'll wear it every day, I'll never take it off!" His eagerness makes you laugh. A soft and comfortable sound that he cherishes, he gets to hear it so rarely. "I want t-" He cuts himself off as he runs his finger tips on the shells.

     "Hm?" You rest your chin over his shoulder and peek at him, a gently smile on your lips- which he seems to be zeroed in on, his eyes slowly darkening. You let go of him and back away slowly, lowering your eyes.

   "Kiss you." His short, broken, sentence makes you look up as he approaches: slotting himself between your legs and pressing his chest to yours and pushing you down to the cool floor, the necklace resting between you. "Mate."

    "Hongjoong-"

    "Mate. Kiss you," he pants as he rests his forehead on yours, his next word a desperate and drawn out whine, "please?"

    Your head moves to nod, and not even a fraction of the way there his lips are collided with yours as a feral groan rips through his throat. His hands grip at your cheeks, holding your face close to his as yours wrap up in his damp hair. A collection of clicks and purrs come from him as you moan into him softly. He just feels so right. His lips. His warmth. His love. It all feels right now.

He wants to hold you and never let go, but he remembers that you still have to breathe more than he does and pulls away from your lips just enough to let you inhale deeply- still ghosting over your soft skin. "Hongjoong," you coo softly, grabbing one of his hands and blowing on his palm, making him shiver with pleasure as your name shows up once again.

"My (Y/n), I'll always wear your shells."

-

[greenknightofmalachite]

After the Wedding

(Study, The Dedication

Edmund Blair Leighton, 1908)

In the years since, they had never spoken of what happened in the Godswood when she found him with his dagger, but she knew he must think about it constantly. That night changed his life forever. She would never forget the sight of him kneeling in the moonlight. At first she thought he was praying. When she saw the steel in his hand, panic gripped her and she called out to him. After years of not being heard she was surprised when he looked up. Her voice in the darkness saved his life that night. If she had been even a half minute later she would have come upon his blood spilt on the grass and heard his dying words.

Instead, she was there to take his hand and pull him back from the darkness threatening to consume him. She pried his dagger from his tight grip and took his shaking bloody hands in hers. She did not flinch away from Ser Joffrey’s blood even when it was staining her hands as well. When he was done crying she gently wiped away his tears like she did for her children. She knelt in the wet grass with him without a care for her fine dress and spoke to him softly of second chances and forgiveness. After everything he confessed to her, all she knew he had done, he could not believe she found it in her heart to forgive him. But she did so without hesitation. He had thought himself completely lost but she looked upon him and somehow saw a man worth saving. That was the first time they prayed together. They prayed to The Father for the strength to push forward and when they were done, he put away his tears and swore himself into her service.

“I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

“I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

-

It was very difficult to protect him from House Velaryon in the aftermath. Ser Laenor wanted his head, others called for The Wall. Luckily, Viserys had fallen deeply unwell at the wedding and was not in any state to interfere while she scrambled to save Ser Criston’s life. Commander Westerling tried to stop her from taking him into her service but she was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and he could not deny her when King Viserys was not there to order him otherwise. It was the first time she had ever been able to wield her crown effectively towards her own ends.

After speaking with Westerling, she went to see her husband. He was barely conscious from the milk of the poppy and in a great deal of pain. It was horrible to see him in such a state. He might not be the man she would have chosen for herself but he was still the man she swore herself to. She promised she would help him through his illness and she had meant it. She sent Maester Orwyle on an errand and tended to Viserys like a loving wife was supposed to, gently changing his bandages and calming any agitation. Though he was barely conscious he seemed happy to see her and relieved to have her comfort. She gently held his blackened hand and told him everything would be alright. When he had a moment of clarity she seized the opportunity to sway him to mercy. He need not worry, Princess Rhaenyra was safe because of Ser Criston Cole. Ser Joffrey Lonmouth had made threats against her and their Kingsguard had done his job, albeit more brutally than was necessary.

“Do not punish a loyal knight, Viserys. Give him to me to keep our children safe and he will be far from House Velaryon.” She whispered to him. Viserys mumbled in agreement, far too weak to voice a different opinion. She thanked him for his understanding, recalled Maester Orwyle, and quickly left to secure Ser Criston’s safety before Ser Laenor could find him.

But Ser Laenor was already stalking the hallways waiting for Ser Criston to show his face. A confrontation between them could not be allowed. Ser Laenor was a dragon rider and revered warrior but he would not stand against a knight as skilled as Ser Criston. If Cole killed Laenor defending himself from his revenge she would not be able to save him from House Velaryon.

“Ser Laenor…”

“Where is he?” She had never seen him look so discomposed. He was furious, eyes red and raw from his tears. He had cleaned the blood from his face but there was still some under his chin and on his fine clothing. She might have pretended she did not know what he was talking about, a method that helped her deal with Prince Daemon when he had his fun needling her with his distasteful jokes, but Laenor was not playing games.

“Ser Laenor, congratulations on your…”

“Where is Ser Criston Cole?” He nearly shouted. “I know you know. Westerling said as much.” He gestured at the blood on her dress. “Where is he?!”

“Ser Joffrey threatened the princess in front of a Kingsguard, what did he think would happen?” She replied, trying to sound queenly.

“Ser Joffrey would not do that, I know him!” He said furiously.

“Yes, I know how well you know him.” She retorted quietly, tactfully following his lead and not using the past tense. You knew him. “If you drag Ser Criston into a duel or trial much will come to light your father wants hidden.”

“Are you threatening me?” He was hoping for an excuse to escalate but she would not let him. She kept her voice lower than his and spoke slowly and gently.

“I am telling you that pursuing revenge for your friend will bring you only trouble of your own making. Ser Joffrey is gone. He would not want you to bring yourself more pain by laying out all of your family’s secrets to the court.”

“You don’t know what he would want.” He hissed.

“I know that moving forward and facing your duty is more honorable than seeking revenge. Now is a time to make your family stronger, not weaker. You should go and tend to your new wife. My stepdaughter is surely waiting for you.” For a moment he looked bitterly hopeless at the thought of his marriage bed. She briefly felt a twinge of pity for him. She knew that feeling of sickening dread and resignation all too well.

“This is not over.” He glared at her. “Ser Criston Cole will pay for this.”

“Good night, Ser Laenor.” She forced the conversation to a close and politely took her leave, careful not to walk too quickly. She needed to look confident but her heart was hammering in her chest. She took the long way back to her chambers in case he thought to follow her.

-

“Ser Laenor is looking for you.” His face remained ashen, miserable, guilty and disgusted with himself but he did not look surprised.

“I should go and face him…”

“No.” She said at once. “Give it time. At least till tomorrow, he isn’t thinking straight. Let Rhaenyra comfort him first.” He stiffened at the mention of the princess but nodded. She sighed.

“It seems we are both meant to spend our lives here in Kings Landing with no other possible path laid ahead, as much as we might wish otherwise.” she said carefully. “We both are also in need of allies. I can protect you from Ser Laenor and House Velaryon and you can protect me and my children from…everything else.”

“Everything else?” She hesitated a moment but pushed forward. An honest conversation was what was needed here. It was passed due. She had to be clear in what she needed from him. She could not muddy the waters by speaking too cryptically. She kept her voice low, in case there was someone listening in the walls.

“You trusted me with the truth and I will do the same,” she said quietly but frankly and took a step closer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra will one day turn their sights on my children and they will spill their blood to secure the throne. Mine and my fathers as well for good measure. I know that now. They have grown to bitterly hate us. I have no one to help me stop this from happening. I may wear a crown but my influence here is limited, my father is banished and my husband...my husband is willfully blind to the conflict in our family. Only you have defeated Daemon in combat, I fear only you can help us.”

“I am not worthy of your confidence, your grace. I have done…terrible things…why would you trust me with your children?” He nervously wiped his palm on his trousers subconsciously, as if Ser Joffrey’s blood still stained his hands.

“It is only decent people who feel shame, Ser Criston. Only a penitent heart deserves forgiveness. Do you think Rhaenyra regrets anything that she does? Do you think she has shed a single tear for the hurt she has caused?”

“Probably not.” She shook her head in agreement.

“Sometimes I think that must be an easier way to live but you and I are not made that way. I am grateful for that. And I would be grateful to have you in my household. When you told me the truth last week you proved yourself a better man than you believe yourself to be. We all make mistakes but those missteps do not need to define us if we strive to be better.”

“Thank you, your grace.” He still looked sad. She hesitated but then went and slowly sat where she had when he confessed to her. He stood before her and did not sit beside her again.

“I used to think my friendship with Rhaenyra would be enough to protect me and my family.” She said gently. “She was my closest friend, for years and years. I thought she always would be. But we have both seen what friendship means to her. We should have seen it sooner, before she could hurt us. But now we know the truth; we are not important to her. If we are both to survive here we need to protect ourselves and each other.” He nodded miserably. “When you swore yourself to me you did not know what you were stepping into, I apologize for that but my family sorely needs you and your sword.” He nodded again then knelt before her.

“My sword is yours, your grace.”

[veeluvss]

✮⋆˙ christmas cook

WELCOME TO MY 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS SERIES

emily x reader

1131 words

emily tries to cook for you but doesn’t do a very good job ….

The smell of burnt food attacked you as you entered your decorated home. You laughed as you heard Emily Prentiss swear in the kitchen. You laughed harder as the fire alarm began blaring. You left your girlfriend to it. You slipped off your heeled boots, which were mandatory to wear to work, and replaced them with the fluffy slippers Emily bought you last christmas. You had a collection of slippers but these ones had snowmen on them with hats which bobbled as you walked. You found it endearing and felt obliged to bring them back out for the festive season. They were also a lot warmer so helped keep you cosy in the creeping cold weather. You untied the scarf from your neck and hung it over your peg and then covered it with your floor-length trench coat. You heard your girlfriend swear again as the alarm finished.

Smiling from ear to ear, you noticed Sergio, who seemed to be the only one who heard you come home. He tangled himself around your legs, asking to be hugged. You bundled the black- furred baby into your arms before heading into the kitchen. Emily stood facing away from you, hands on the bottom of her back and she seemed exhausted. She had an old rag over her shoulder, which you assumed she used to hit the smoke alarm with. A pungent yet sweet smell lingered in the air and your vision was slightly clouded by the remaining smoke. You saw the black chicken sat on the side, still in its tray. Beside it sat some potatoes, also blackened with burn. You laughed loudly and headed further into your kitchen.

“Babe!” Emily exclaimed, jumping back.

“Hi baby,” You smiled. Sergio dropped from your arms and you embraced Emily.

“You scared me!” She whined slightly and you kissed her pout away. “When did you get in?”

“Just as you set the smoke alarm off. I’m assuminng not for the first time either,” you said, motioning to the food on the side. Emily pouted again and brushed her raven hair from her pink face. She fell into a rant about timings and forgetting and the temperatures and you watched her. You enjoyed watching how her facial expressions matched her tone of voice but also sometimes didn’t. You loved watching how her brown eyes expressed her emotions the most. Her eyebrows furrowed and opened up and looked over the food and over you and you just smiled wider. God you loved your girlfriend.

You leaned over and kissed her, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her closer.

“You talk to much Prentiss,” You whispered, teasing her. She blushed a little, something she’d never admit to, and kissed you back.

“I do, huh?” she murmured.

“Hm but I love your voice.”

“Well I love you,” she said simply. Your stomach folded. You’d been exchanging them words with Emily for almost two years but you’d never, ever get used to them. Hearing her say it, watching the slight smirk on her lips, tasting her lips too. It was all so much. So loving. You didn’t need to reply, you put your head down, blushing and she planted a gentle kiss on your forehead and held you tighter.

It was a few minutes before you pulled out of her arms.

“The kitchen stinks!” You laughed and grabbed the burnt chicken ready to throw it in the bin.

“I’m sorry-” Emily chuckled but you could hear the undertones of guilt behind the smile. She often did that; laughed off her negative emotions with gallows humour.

“Don’t be,” you said. You threw the food out and turned to your girlfriend who was no longer hiding her expression. A glum look sat on her face and you sighed, taking her hands.

“I failed you again,” Emily muttered under her breath and your heart dropped.

“No love, you didn’t fail me at all. You’ve never done that.”

“I’m never home and when I am home, my plans to treat you never work and you always end up disappointed. I told you we were going to have a nice dinner since I’m guaranteed this time off before Christmas! I promised a nice dinner for us to celebrate the holidays and now look at me.”

“Em,” you sighed and stepped closer to her. “A nice dinner doesn’t necessarily mean a home-cooked one. I don’t care if your plans work or not, it’s the thought that matters to me. It’s the effort. Everytime I come home, I can see how much you tried. Christmas or not you are the love of my life and all I care about is spending time with you.”

“But you deserve better.”

“You give me the world Emily Prentiss, I couldn’t give a shit if you could cook or not. Only one of us can be good at these things,” you smiled and the side of her mouth quirked up a little. “I promise you Em. Everytime I come home I feel so lucky to have you in my life. Everytime you come home from a case with a bouquet of flowers for me and a box of donuts for you I fall in love with you all over again.”

“Even though I can’t cook?”

“Especially because you can’t cook. Everytime you burn my kitchen, I’m reminded of how big your heart is and how determined you are to be such an amazing person,” you leaned in closer to her, “even though you’re already the best.” you finished your speech with a soft kiss as Emily wrapped her arms tighter around you.

“I love you,” she whispered softly and butterflies started again.

“I love you Emily, so much.”

“Pizza? Or Indian?” Emily asked. She came to sit beside you on the sofa. You had your feet curled under you with a blanket wrapped all around you - keeping you as warm as can be.

“Pizza,” you replied. You lifted up the blanket and she slid in beside you, remote in one hand and phone in the other. You made sure she was warm too and put your head on her shoulder. She tapped away at her phone, ordering your favourite and her favourite.

“Christmas movie too?” She asked, knowing you too well. She immediately went to your favourite and you smiled widely.

“Yes, that one.” She laughed and pressed the restart button since you’d only finished it yesterday when she was at work. You cuddled in close as the familiar opening tune started and she put down her phone and the TV remote. She held you closer to her, wrapping both her arms around your waist. You snuggled in, for warmth and she kissed the top of your head.

“You make me so happy,” she whispered.

“You make me the happiest.”