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dxstopiaa · 1 year

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Impetous Injuries

Synopsis: Caring for an irresponsibly injured man was not on your plan for today, so why was he at your door?

Characters: Morax, Xiao, Childe and Scaramouche x Fem! Reader!

Warnings: Zhongli as an archon and Scaramouche as fatui again, Childe’s part has angst/comfort. description of injuries and trauma. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ [i needed to post something sfw and clear my drafts! <3]

Morax

It wasn’t every day that you’d hear the hasty pummel of closed fists against your front door and even rarer was it to witness one of the Seven requesting for your help— a meagre goddess who tried to live a tranquil, joyous life to the best of her ability.

“I fear i may of overestimated myself, dear.” Morax’s throaty voice could be made out from behind the door, notably lower in volume. Neither was this the first time, yet something felt different than usual. Of course, the archaic god was prone to injury in battle, but upon opening the door, he was more maimed than you had thought.

Brunette strands of hair plastered to his chest and forehead—covered in elemental ichor and sweat. His limbs were littered in a spectrum of wounds, bruises and incisions alike. His robes of ivory reduced to scraps of crimson-dyed fabric, blood from who knows where drenched his torso.

In short, you were responsible for an Archon who had gotten himself too deep into bloodlust. As always. Your lips pressed together before you let out a displeased hum. You just wished he would of cared for himself better.

“Morax…are you even aware of the severity of your injuries? Thank Celestia no one had attacked you on the way here!” You scolded, arms crossed as an attempt to look irked enough for the irresponsible man to come to his long-lost senses.

Though to him, you just looked adorable, he had always been fond of your gentle heart in the midst of a war. Therefore, Rex Lapis knew you valued him too much to leave him isolated in the dangerous depths of the night, entering your abode and placing a bloodstained hand on your pretty face. You didn’t grimace from his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, but you’re the only one i can trust with healing, my goddess.” You felt your knees buckle at the endearment, rather embarrassed that such a high-status being was addressing you as superior. He just never learns, does he?

“Please stop the flattery, my Lord. Instead, follow me so i can actually treat you.” Another exasperated sigh from your lips, you gently held his finger and guided him to the steaming bath, collecting all relevant tonics and herbs in your store room and returning back to the wounded god.

Your heart lept in your chest seeing this he was, quite literally, already fully undressed. Oh, so shamelessness was another quality he lacked? It most certainly didn’t help that he could barely even fit his tall frame into the jade tub, glowing aureate arms casually resting on the outskirts of the container. You felt your mind begin to wander as did your trail of vision.

“Ah, my injuries are starting to sting slightly—Hm? What has you so timid?” Morax’s tone felt unfamiliar to you, seeing the God of contracts so relaxed might of stunned you beyond repair. You dismissed yourself, dampening a medicated towel and wiping it gently over his chiseled chest—as calmly as one could in such a predicament.

Grunts and groans followed with some obscenities of his at the stinging serums painted your cheeks scarlet. Genuine or not, you didn’t think you could hold your composure for another minute. Even worse— the youthful archon wouldn’t remove his piercing critical gaze from your face, analysing every single movement in your expression.

“Admire me and my lips all you’d like afterwards, but i’m in a dire condition at the moment, dearest.”

“It’s not like that, Morax! Halt such talk and stay quiet whilst i treat you! Please!”

Xiao

Stubborn.

The quality that the Yaksha had always been described as. Especially by you. Yet he never listened to your pleads to let you help him.

Xiao hesitantly loitered around the door to your estate, a gloved hand lingering on the doorknob for longer than it should have. He’s been doubting his feelings of just ‘friendship’. He’s seen human couples— so loving and expressive it squeezes his heart in a manner so painful, you deserved better than a man who didn’t even think to enter your home, so he discarded his thought.

Especially one who would turn up with blood around his clothes, a deep wound on his side too.

Just as he contemplated leaving, the wooden barrier inched open. You held a miniature basket, a lengthy list in the other. Xiao was keen to disappear at that moment. Despite this, you were quick to drop them both to encase the adeptus in a tight embrace.

“Xiao!” An excited exclamation from you as you rested your cheek against his shoulder. Had you noticed his injuries at all, or was it pure blinded excitement to greet him? Crimson still trickled down his abdomen, but you had wrapped your arms around his waist.

A surge of pain and discomfort flashed through his body— he couldn’t stop the loud gasp he let out when your arm grazed his injury.

“Agh!” Xiao cried out, causing you to recoil back into place upright upon the doorstep. Your delicate features morphed into a state of horror whilst he stumbled back. Your sleeves were coated with vermillion fluid, eyes fluttering to the yaksha’s expression and back to your stained clothing.

“This isn’t anything major, i’ll leave myself to treat it—” You barely let the usually vigilant adeptus finish his sentence before grabbing his wrist and pulling him close gently, barricading him from vanishing into a flurry of karmic debt.

“No. I can’t let you go until you’ve recovered well, you can barely walk upright Xiao!” You smoothed your thumb over his cheek tenderly, distracting him that you were, in fact, taking him inside into the safety of your abode.

The adeptus’ face was warm— tentatively watching your own lips so close to his. Your kindness was irreplaceable, your heart was too soft for his liking, but he’s never once felt unwelcome in your presence. Xiao had witnesses the false sympathy humans showed off towards him, yet you’ll always be willing to listen.

Now you’re treating his wounds? Why are you doing this?

“I’m running out of my medicine, i’ll visit Bubu Pharmacy later, just have these now, please?” You offered, suddenly noticing the flush over his cheeks. Maybe he has a fever too? He accepted the concoction of herbs, hesitantly consuming the mixture. Xiao, having noticed your obvious staring at his chest, shifted around in his seat.

“Xiao…?” Archons, he just looked so anxious it’s endearing, you’d hate to push him from his comfort zone but he hasn’t got much of a choice.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have to…remove your shirt—” You meekly stated, ashamedly hanging your head down at your lap as he cleared his throat numerous times. That just sounded so disrespectful! What if he took it the wrong way? You resided within the embarrassing realm of overthinking.

“As you wish, but be quick, i’d rather not have you ogling me.”

“I do not!”

Childe

Two in the morning.

That was the time your beloved decided to show up— weak, timid thumps of his open palm across the wooden barrier. Childe knew he had already messed up, clenching his jaw with anxious anticipation. What would you say? Yesterday, tired tears flowed down your cheeks. It hurt him to leave his care in your hands rather than his own. Would you do anything at all? Would you leave him lonely in the cold?

The harbinger’s questions were answered for him. Your body slumped over, distress tugged at your eyebrows. You stared at every injured limb of his.

Merciless splotches of the infamous crimson liquid matched his scarf, ripped and loosely tied against his thigh. A tourniquet, ideal for hiding the severity of the injury below it. His bruised skin was as lifeless as the pale snow cascading to the floor, where his eyes stayed put. A classic snezhnayan man fitting right into his war-strife homeland. If it wasn’t his own blood, it was the metallic scent of other’s. The unpleasant smell was overpowering, that migraine of yours worsening and nausea invading your stomach.

You remained blank and wordless, firmly securing one of his least injured arms over your shoulders and guiding him to the armchair. Childe hated seeing you like this— yet he never changed his ways. He didn’t know what hurt more, the pre-assembled medical kit laying on the side cabinet, or the two cold dishes set upon the dining table that went uneaten from hours ago. He messed up, for sure.

“Darling…Please, say something.” Tartaglia breathily beseeched, clasping a wounded hand over yours. You shook him off. You yourself didn’t know what you were feeling. Shock? Well, this was the third time this week, so no. Hurt? Something deeper than that.

“Say what? Childe, you just never learn!” Your sudden outburst made him flinch, and your heart panged with guilt—yet it was never strong enough to overcome your fury.

“Two days ago you arrived with major burns, the next with a broken wrist and today barely making it alive? Tomorrow will you even come back to me? Or will your coworkers deliver me your death instead?” Your tears swelled up in your eyes, distracting him from you by pressing the antiseptic towel against his stab wounds.

Childe hissed, unsure if the sting was from your harsh words or from the medication. His heart felt as if someone had squeezed it tight, the truth pained him to hear, especially from his wife’s mouth. He had kept you up for so long, losing your rest and throwing you into an abyss of constant worry. He deserved it. How could he ignore you?

“Love, i’m so sorry, i beg you, you can do anything to me. Ignore me, hate me or punish me for all i care, just don’t leave me alone…please.” His cerulean eyes held no lies, staring into your distant ones with desperate longing.

He clinged onto your torso, near sobbing into the crook of your neck. The frantic nature of his words broke your trance, anger dissipating with each tear of your own. Soon enough, your arms instinctively raised to wrap him in your embrace. Staying infuriated with him was futile.

His half-conscious pleads ceased as he calmed down, exhaustion catching up to the young Harbinger. You combed his matted tresses with your fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead to lull him into comfort.

“I’m sorry, Childe, just take better care of yourself, okay?” You reassured, his confirmation in response felt real this time. He rested his heavy head in your lap, enjoying the warmth of your hand on his cheek.

Your husband wouldn’t give up your company for the world—if he had to cease his pursuit of strength for you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Scaramouche

“What, are you just going to stand there staring at me? Let me in.”

A rude introduction from an even more arrogant man. Scaramouche stood lazily upright at the entrance to your estate, somehow expecting you to take him in your arms and nourishment. Expecting you not to question him. Too bad you did just that.

“Yes, i will. Care to explain why you’re here?” You scoffed in an equally aggressive manner. Your eyes trailed up his legs and waist, exposed and bruised— if that was possible for a puppet. Nothing spilled from said wounds, but the Harbinger discreetly winced from the pain. He remained there silent, opting not to share any details.

“Shut up, this isn’t my fault.” Scaramouche almost yelled, his unexpected outrage igniting irritation through your body.

Oh? You clenched your teeth together in frustration. Your grasp on the doorknob was deathly, you were in no mood to deal with his attitude nor his own problems. “Then this isn’t my concern.”

And with that, you forced the door shut— well, as far as you could. Scaramouche pushed the door open with his foot and arm, a look of disbelief and confusion gleamed in his eyes. How dare you? Those words he wanted to spit at you, but all that fell was a single word.

“Wait!” The harbinger exclaimed, forcing his way through the gap in door. He couldn’t believe himself. First, he dared to show up to your house and now he’s begging for your help? He felt pathetic, truly.

Resistance was pointless against him. Letting your ex-boyfriend back into the very same house he’d swear he’d never step into again. But being ruthlessly ignorant was his characteristic, not yours. Scaramouche had obviously forfeited whatever ego he latched onto— you weren’t that cruel as to leave an injured man by himself.

“I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t of been so blunt.” His head, for once, was inclined towards the wooden floor, indigo eyes barely meeting yours. It was an apology nonetheless. “I mean, for everything, even for how i acted before.”

Scaramouche was…genuine? Bewilderment accumulated within your judgement, your heart softened. You knew this feeling— you knew you shouldn’t be feeling sympathetic for the harbinger you used to love so dearly, the man who left you without a valid answer. It couldn’t be helped.

The more that Scaramouche longingly gazed at you, the more he desired to be kept in your arms just like he used. His cold exterior melted away like treaded snow, instead your footsteps trampled over it. He couldn’t justify the guilt-ridden sensation plucking away at each inch of his body. He found himself on that day, emotional, again.

Scaramouche doesn’t act like this. Kunikuzushi does.

If he had to surrender his dignity to take you back as his, he’ll do it, just this once. His fingers, still blistered and scarred from earlier yet appearing so delicate on his porcelain skin grazed your jaw. Soft touches and gestures lulled him into safety within your embrace. An action he missed far too much.

Kunikuzushi latched tightly onto you in his mindless stupor of mental and physical distress, not coming to terms with he consequences of his behaviour later on. You found his conduct abnormal— if it was fear of losing you again, or simple loss of informed conscious, you wouldn’t know.

Raised, superficial gashes of violet and burgundy littered his pained countenance. You never thought that wounds could look as pretty as his. Not a single tear was shed for a vessel such as he, but his grasp on you slipped once the puppet fell into a peaceful slumber.

With your heedful care and more ointments than preferred, he had recovered by the next morning and those surreal memories wafted back to him. Two sentences wavered in his mind.

“Don’t disregard my words from yesterday, i meant it. Whether you accept it, it’s up to you…”

“…If it results in less harm for you, i’ll listen to those words from my mouth thousands of times over.”

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multi-fandom-simp · 1 year

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Forever and always.. or maybe never.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Hanahaki Disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you cannot die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity.

❗️TW❗️: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints to infidelity, mild mature scene, violence, character death, angst

(A/N: Hello, this is my own take on Hanahaki's disease with Aemond! Feel free to comment your thoughts, I am always open to criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father.

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her.

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything.

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond.

“ You dar-”

“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time.

It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were.

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love.

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder.

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench.

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind.

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book.

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck.

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!”

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught.

" Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually.

The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love.

The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now.

“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door.

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it.

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck.

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you, my love. I always will.” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did.

You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood.

Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine.

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you.

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you.

“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them.

“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?

Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently.

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner.

“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat.

“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat.

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.”

“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?

Unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how it was going to be. Everyone else around you had begun to notice the shift in your behavior. The fatigue, the paleness, and the emotions. Alicent first noticed it when she sat in the nursery with you, Helaena, and the children just after supper. She saw the way your eyes refused to leave Aemys as if it would be your last look. The way you held him was the same way she held Aemond when he lost his eye.

“ He’s a clever boy.” Alicent smiled as Aemys recited a word back to one of his cousins.

“ That he is.” You agreed, melancholy ghosting your lips. It hurt the queen to see you this way. You were a part of her almost as much as her children. You came to her as a child she was not forced to love nor conceive. Yet you wormed your way into her heart as if she had carried you. The sight of you so sickly and sad tugged at Alicent’s heart.

“ You’re sick, are you not?” Alicent proclaimed in observation rather than a question.

“ Mhm, In a way I suppose I am.” You hummed out softly. It had gotten to the point where it was hard to speak most days. The petals had begun to come up in thick, dry heaves, with occasional thorns that tore at your throat.

“ Have you told Aemond?” The queen inquired.

“ Aemond is the reason I’m sick in the first place.” You grumbled before sighing in defeat, “ Or I suppose it’s more of my fault. I was foolish to think he would ever actually love me.”

“ You don’t mean-” Alicent’s soft words trailed off abruptly. Alicent Hightower was no stranger to the hanahaki disease. She too had suffered through it once. Except she learned how to get around it.

“ I do.” You answered simply, with no trace of sadness or indifference.

“ There are ways around it my d-”

“ Such as forgoing my love for Aemond, I know. I could live a long life if I cast aside every loving memory I hold of him, but alas it is not that easy. I have tried, if that brings you any comfort. In the midst of the night when my eyes are swollen from tears and the blood in my throat is so thick I cannot breathe, I have tried, and I have failed.” Alicent’s eyes well with tears as you speak, almost as if she’s dared to imagine you in such dismay. You reach out to soothe her hands comfortingly, but she grips onto yours tightly instead.

“ It is not easy, but you must keep trying.” Alicent urges, a wobble to her voice.

“ There is no reason for me to put myself through the agony of erasing my happiness when I am already in physical torment. The sight of Aemond is the very reason I wake up every morning. Hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his warmth are all things that have kept me going. Forgetting those would be forgetting myself.” You reason, a wisp of remembrance in your eyes.

“ If not for yourself, then for Aemys” Alicent argues.

“ Aemys is one of the reasons I have chosen to give up. Every time I look at him I see Aemond. They are alike in everything but the eyes. The mere sight of that boy reminds me of the night he was made, of the love and passion Aemond had for me. Yet he no longer holds in regards to me. I would rather Aemys hear stories of his parent’s love than grow up with two plain parents.” The child in topic bursts into giggles a few inches away, stealing your attention from the queen. Your eyes crinkle with happiness and you move to turn towards him, but Alicent holds firm.

“ Aemys needs his mother.” She argues once more.

“ He does not. Aemys will have a loving father and grandmother by his side. Alongside his aunt Helaena, Uncle Daeron, and three beautiful cousins. Even Aegon cares for the little rascals’ life.” You chuckled.

“ That is n-”

“ Please, I have made my choice. I appreciate your council, but it is too late. I fear after I lay my son to sleep, it will be my last night alive. I thank you for all the love and comfort you have given me in my lifetime. I love you, mother.” You pressed the meat of your cheek against Alicent’s hand in farewell before standing.

“ If you’ll excuse me-” As you stood to retrieve your son, Alicent excused herself from the room hastily. Never did she think she would find herself running through the castle’s corridors, but yet here she is. Alicent’s heels had been long forgotten and the emerald hem of her dress dragged upon the stone as she made haste to the library, where Aemond would be.

“ Aemond! Ae-” The frantic shrill of the queen mother’s voice echoes throughout the shelves.

“ Mother?” Aemond calls out, emerging from a row with a disheveled Alys in tow, “ Is something wrong?”

“ You hide away fondling a wet nurse while your wife withers away! Have I truly raised you this way?” The despair in Alicent’s voice takes Aemond by surprise. He reaches out to hold her arms, but she pulls away.

“ She is not withering away, mother. She has assured me that it is just a small cold.” Aemond speaks calmly, in hopes to ease his mother’s franticness.

“ A small cold!? She has every sign of hanahaki disease and you have not suspected a thing?” Alicent refuted.

“ Because it is not possible! I love her!” Aemond snaps.

“ Not enough!” Alicent sighs, “ In no world should I have had to be afraid of letting her go in fear that I would not see her again. She has accepted her death, Aemond. How far out of love have you fallen with her to the point where your wife greets death openly?”

Aemond doesn’t bother with a reply because he’s already on his way out of the door. His pounding steps reverberate through the empty halls and the tremble of panicked breathing surrounds him. Fear nearly eats him alive as he reaches the door to your marital chambers. Never has he been terrified to open those doors to the sight of you. He had never once feared finding you dead, but now he has. Slowly but surely, Aemond pushes the giant oak open. He spots you knelt on the balcony in your nightdress, looking up at the stars. Lark lay whining at your side until she hears Aemond shuffle forward. Much to Aemond's surprise, the hefty beast that once worshiped him as you did, bared its teeth to him.

"Please.." Aemond wasn't sure if he was pleading to Lark to let him pass or to the gods for your life. Either way, the Hyena was the first to answer him. Lark moved aside slowly so that Aemond may pass, but still kept defense from a ways away.

“I-” Before a word can even escape his lips, you’re lurching forward. Aemond rushes forward and sinks to his knees to hold you. The convulsions of your stomach can be felt as he circles your waist.

“ I’m so sorry, my love, please.” The cold wash of fear grips his spine as blood and flowers paint the floor. He has no idea what to do. You’re not saying anything or doing anything to cease the onslaught of terror, yet you’re not pushing him away either. On the contrary, you’ve tangled your fingers with the hand he has over your stomach.

“ I love you. I’ll always love you.” Aemond croaks helplessly into your hair as you lean back against him. It’s too late, you had once said. It seems that the universe had agreed. Your breathing rattled to a stop and the grip of your hands weakened. “ I love you. Forever and Always. I promise.” Aemond whispered, pressing a salt-soaked kiss to your temple as he felt your heart slow. The thump that once echoed through your back onto his own heart stuttered to a stop, and with it so did Aemond’s world.

Part 2

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon angst #aemond targaryen angst #angst

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hassanatforusmk · 5 months

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181 As families and friends around the world gather to celebrate Christmas, in the land of Jesus' birth, there is no celebration and there are no festivities this year due to Israel's genocide against Palestinians — which is even more dire for the Christians of Gaza.

The few hundred Palestinian Christians left in Gaza after 11 weeks of Israel's attacks are being killed, maimed, wounded and starved by Israel —even inside the few churches left standing by the nuclear armed state, which is using snipers to kill them.

El "It is terrorism," the Pope said on Dec. 17, describing Israel's campaign in Gaza, as he highlighted Israel's sniper attacks at the Holy Family church, which killed a mother, her daughter who rushed to her aid, and wounded at least 7 others who were attacked when they also tried to assist.

In Bethlehem, the city of Jesus' birth, and throughout historical Palestine, all Christmas festivities are cancelled this year and Israeli occupation forces continue to intimidate, harass, abuse and imprison Palestinians who show the Palestinian flag, scenes of ordinary life, or express the slightest dissent against its bloody military campaign, including sympathy for the plight of Gaza, and calling for a ceasefire or peace.

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 1 month

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Knock Before Entering

Chapter 13

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin will have to exercise a great amount of restraint to not maim Kili and Fili, and when it comes time to grace the Wandering Widow with an encore performance you will have to find a way to take the stage with the rest of the company being none the wiser.

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries, mentions of sex work if you squint

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than anticipated so I've broken it up into multiple sections. Which means the next one is already mostly done🥳 Thank you all so much for the love for the previous chapters and the cockblocking nephews😂

Word count: 2505

“Sooo,” Kili tries to suppress a smile as you pull the last shards of glass from the cut on his hand. “How long has this been going on?” He looks over his shoulder at his uncle, who is sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face, Thorin hasn’t said a word since you were cock blocked by his nephews. Instead, he elected to just pull his shirt back on and remain in the room, brooding in the corner while you patched up Kili.

Fili still remains in the doorway, refusing to step foot in the room as if that will help save him from his uncle’s simmering rage.

“You know I have some sewing supplies,” you remind Kili. “If you irritate me enough I could decide this wound is in dire need of stitches.”

“He only wants to know whether we won the bet or not,” Fili sighs from the doorway.

You lift a brow in question, not lifting your gaze as you continue cleaning his brother’s wound. “The entire company placed bets on how long it would take the two of you to jump into bed together.”

Your head snaps up, immediately looking over at Thorin. He doesn’t meet your gaze, he just tips his head back to the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“When did this happen?” you scoff.

“In Bag-end,” Kili winces when you start to apply the salve to his palm. “The others will be relieved to hear the wait is over.”

“The others don’t need to know,” you warn him as you reach for the roll of gauze beside you. As you do you catch Thorin’s gaze. Finally falling back on you, his eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You had expected him to agree with you. But instead, he looks…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to be so adamant about hiding your complicated relationship from the others.

Everything is still so messy and new. You don’t even know what you would call it yet.

You’re certainly not courting. Thorin could never be formally involved with someone from your background. He is a king. And a king is meant to marry a proper lady of good standing. Not a rebellious half-dwarf such as yourself. If there’s one you know, it’s that you are not meant to be his queen.

So does that make you… lovers? The term makes you cringe. It implies a much longer relationship than the situation will allow. This will only last as long as the journey to Erebor. Thorin will marry another and you will be on your way with the mountain at your back once again. This is all meant to be a temporary arrangement. If anything, it feels more like you have stumbled across an alternative way to tolerate each other’s presence.

These days it feels like the two of you only get along when you have your limbs are tangled together in secret.

And Thorin hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make your relationship known to the others. He isn’t the kind of person to indulge in any kind of public displays of affection or to insist on putting a label on whatever it is the two of you have. Perhaps you misinterpreted his desire for privacy as an agreement to keep your relationship a secret.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say Thorin looks hurt that you want to hide it. The look he gives you brings a stab of guilt into your chest. Tearing your gaze from him, you busy yourself with binding Kili’s hand. Whether you misread things or not, Thorin still takes your side regardless.

“What either of us do behind closed doors is no one else’s business,” he grumbles at his nephews. “Let this be a lesson to the both of you on the courtesy of knocking before entering.”

“Did uncle knock before entering you?” Kili whispers with a smirk and Thorin jumps from the chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Fili leaps from his place in the doorway fast enough to block his path to Kili.

You quickly tie off the bandage and rise to your feet, inserting yourself between Fili and Thorin before they can start throwing punches.

“That’s enough,” you hiss at the both of them. Thorin still has murder in his eyes as he towers over you, glaring at his nephews.

“He was only joking,” Fili defends his brother, who’s now come to stand at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear either of you speak about her in such a manner again,” Thorin growls at them.

“Please forgive me,” Kili looks at you with a genuine nod of remorse, before stifling a laugh when he whispers “auntie” under his breath.

Thorin goes to take another step towards him as the two start to snicker. You bring a firm hand to his chest before he can make it past you. “Quit it,” you hiss as you shoot a warning look his way. You can feel the barely suppressed growl in his chest beneath your fingertips, but he does as you say and remains planted firmly in place. Keeping your hand on his chest, you turn to look over your shoulder at the boys.

“We’re done here, so you’re both going to go back to your room and go to bed.” You instruct. “And neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, those eagles will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understand?”

They both nod their heads grimly. Knowing better than to test you when you’re this close to resorting to violence. They silently turn to leave.

You walk them out. Latching the door firmly closed behind them and sliding the lock in place.

Letting your hand linger on the rusted metal, you dread turning to face Thorin now that it’s just the two of you again.

This time being alone together doesn’t carry the same implication. The moment has officially passed. The previous mood dead and buried.

With a steadying breath, you turn to face him. And just as you predicted Thorin is looking at you with an expression you’re all too familiar with lately.

“Care to explain what that was about?” he crosses his arms over his chest again.

“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door,” you deflect as you brush past him to the bed. Beginning to pick up the discarded supplies and tossing them back into your bag.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you want them to tell the others?”

“Why is that so wrong?” you turn to face him again, a hand on your hip. “Are you obligated to keep the company informed on everyone you sleep with?”

“No, but I don’t feel the need to go out of my way to hide it.”

“If you want to be the one to answer the endless tirade of questions about us, be my guest Thorin,” you roll your eyes. “Questions that I’m not sure either of us even have the answer to.”

“Only because we haven’t discussed it,” he reminds you.

“Is that really how you want to pass the time now that they’re gone?” you set a hand on your hip with a scoff. “Talking?”

He clenches his jaw, taking a step closer to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him towering over you.

“I can’t help how much you infuriate me,” he growls, bringing a hand up to run through your hair. “No one drives me as crazy as you do.” His hand slowly comes to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose control.” He starts to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, watching in awe as you wrap your lips around the digit, beginning to suck. He growls as you gently scrape your teeth over his skin.

His other hand wraps around your waist, beginning to pull you in closer to him. You bring your hands to his chest, sliding them up the hard planes of his pectorals.

As your hands slide up, his starts to slide down. He grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, eliciting a moan from you around his thumb.

Knock knock

You both groan and turn to glare at the offending door yet again.

“Not now,” Thorin shouts but the knocking persists.

Reluctantly stepping away from you with a huff, Thorin stalks over to the door. Unlatching it and yanking it open roughly.

Gandalf stands in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption,” he says. Not looking the least bit sorry as his gaze bounces between the two of you in a knowing look.

“Can this wait?” Thorin grumbles at the wizard.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, “we need to discuss the path we’re going to take for the journey ahead. The others are already gathered down in the kitchen for supper.”

“Very well,” he huffs, looking over his shoulder at you. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” Gandalf raises a hand to halt you both before you can head out the door. “Your assistance is needed in the tavern.”

He gives you a pointed look and you sneak a glance out the window behind you. The sun is already going down. You had promised Bertram you would put on your encore performance at sunset tonight.

“Ah yes,” you clear your throat, “I…promised one of the barmaids I would help her with some… lady troubles.”

Thorin raises a brow in confusion. “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss supper.”

“Oh, I’m afraid lady troubles never wait. I’ll join you all later.”

You shoulder your way past the two of them, Thorin looking confused at your abrupt departure.

You shoot Gandalf a pointed look as you head for the stairs and he gives you a small nod in understanding. You can only hope that he fulfills his promise to keep the company occupied long enough for you to secure the night's lodgings

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

“You’re late,” Bertram grumbles from behind the bar. “The crowd’s starting to get antsy.” He nods to the restless patrons filling the dimly lit room. The musicians are already tuning their instruments and drunken folk from the nearby towns gather around the stage impatiently.

Considering it was on such short notice, you’re quite impressed word traveled this quickly. You already recognize many regulars in the audience from when you would take to the stage on a nightly basis.

“Apologies,” you mumble while pulling up the sheer fabric at your chest yet again. “I had some wardrobe troubles.”

Either you’re misremembering how uncomfortable the costume was or it’s somehow become tighter and itchier since the last time you wore it.

There are several loose layers of fabric over your hips and chest that are meant to be removed with a flourish throughout the performance. But it’s the pieces underneath that cling tightly to your body. They cover the only parts that will be left to the imagination so you don't want to risk them slipping off.

“Pretty sure this is the only profession where wardrobe malfunctions work to your benefit sweetheart,” he scoffs nodding to the musicians on stage to signal your arrival.

“Now break a leg, and make me some money,” he waves you off and you saunter away towards the stage.

The musicians begin to strum the opening of a familiar melody and the crowd starts to hoot and holler as you slowly climb the steps to center stage.

Blowing a kiss and waving to the crowd your feet tread a familiar path as your hips start to sway, seemingly of their own accord.

Muscle memory kicks in as you let yourself get carried away by the music. Swaying and twirling, smiling and winking as the onlookers cheer.

The music rises to a crescendo and with a roll of your neck and a flip of your hair, you begin to ever so slowly slip the fabric off of your shoulders.

It flutters to the ground, leaving nothing but a long strip of fabric covering your upper body.

Everyone cheers, and you lift your arms above your head with a dazzling smile. Maintaining the pose just long enough for them to drink in the sight.

Continuing your path across the stage, familiar patrons start to clamber closer to the edge of the stage. You’ve done this routine so many times they know the grand finale is drawing near.

With another spin, you quickly slip the tie at your hip free. Holding it taut in your hand your eyes quickly scan for a volunteer.

A big burly man with a long beard calls out your name with a cheer, holding his drink high overhead in a toast. You extend the piece of fabric out to him and he gladly accepts.

“Hold on tight,” you instruct with a wink and he does exactly that. Holding the end of the fabric in place, you begin to twirl away from him in a whirlwind, the skirt unraveling around you as you do so.

The crowd goes wild as the rest of the fabric disappears, sliding down your legs to pool at your feet as you strike another pose showing off your now bare legs.

Gingerly stepping over the pile of fabric you resume your dance, twirling to the other end of the stage.

Your next move is to reverse the movement and travel in the exact opposite direction. But before you can, a strong pair of arms reach around your waist from behind, dragging you backwards off the stage.

With a shout, you are abruptly set on your feet in front of the absolute last person you want to see right now.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin growls, keeping a firm grip on you as his eyes take in the very small amount of fabric in such a public place.

“I’m a little busy right now,” you hiss. The crowd has already started to shout in protest and the musicians have stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion.

You’re more than a little pissed they let someone just grab you from off the stage but that’s a conversation for another time.

You try to pull yourself from his grasp, if you get right back up there and finish the performance you’re sure you can remedy the situation.

Bertram is already pushing through the crowd, red in the face with his sights set on you.

Thorin’s grip only tightens on your arms, a muscle in his jaw tensing. He releases you for a brief second, and you foolishly think he's letting you have your way. But before you can climb back on stage, he is suddenly wrapping his cloak around your bare skin and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You and I are going to have a little talk," he growls as he carries you out of the tavern kicking and screaming.

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog

@exhausted-humxn-being @marsmallow433 @sverdgeir

@champagne-glamour@yve-barr @krampus236 @nerdthickly

@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

#thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit #thorin oakenshieldx fem!reader #thorin oakenshield x afab!reader #thorin #thorin fic #thorin x reader #the hobbit fanfic #thorin x fem!reader #thorin oakenshield angst #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin smut #thorin angst #thorin oakenshield x reader angst #thorin x reader angst

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actuallysaiyan · 7 months

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I Wanna Be Adored(Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS!! PROCEED WITH CAUTION, a fix-it fic, mentions of major character death, fluff, angst, mentions of violence/dark themes, lots of sadness, happy ending, flashback scenes are in italics, canon divergent/AU word count: 1.8k pairings: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader a/n: I haven't watched the newest episode of JJK, but I remember the feeling I had when I read that chapter in the manga. Here's for all the ones who hate the canon story in the manga!

The night felt colder than it should have. He knows he shouldn’t have ever let you go off on your own, but everything was just absolute chaos that night. He remembers being with Megumi and Ino and then trying to make a point of getting back to you. Kento wasn’t going to let this night end in disaster when it came to you. You were his shining light, his reason to live. If he’s got to maim or kill to get back to you, he will. He absolutely would do anything to make sure no harm came to you.

The problem was how good of a sorcerer you are. Not that he didn’t believe you couldn’t take care of yourself, but he knows you enjoy throwing yourself into battle so much. He’s seen you with that same smirk Gojo usually sports. The two of you aren’t too far off in terms of personality. The same things that irk him about Gojo, they are so endearing in you. You shine so beautifully. You show him things he’s so long forgotten.

That’s why it was so important to him to find you. Despite the chaos and the destruction, Nanami was going to find you and hold you close. He’d fully confess his feelings to you, though you were already sure you knew he wanted to settle down with you and start a family. But Namami wasn’t going to let this chance pass him by. He curses himself for being so silly for waiting so long to finally spill the beans to you. Still, he knows you won’t judge him.

An uncontrollable rage filled Kento as he found the body of Ijichi lying on the ground. Though he initially believes the man to be dead, Kento is relieved to know that he’s going to be able to help him. The sudden realization of just how intense all of this is hits Kento and he’s suddenly so scared to find you in such a way. He’s scared that you might have gotten a little too cocky with everything and that you jumped head first in a battle that might have been too much for you.

After finding Nobara and Nitta, Kento vows that the next thing he’s going to do is to find you. He won’t do anything stupid or rash. Even after wasting Shigemo, Kento knows he needs to find you. His heart races with every step he takes. His anger is almost overtaking him as he begins to imagine the worst of the worst.

If he found your body on the ground, broken and bruised and bleeding, he’s so sure he’d lose his mind. You are utterly the only thing that matters in his entire life. He needs you more than you’ll ever know. You really mean that much to him, Before you, Kento was a shell of a man. You brought light into his heart and it has never gone out.

Things become even more dire as he meets up with Maki and Naobito Zenin. Not being able to find you makes Kento more nervous. The curses that come next seem to be relentless and he finds himself in the middle of a serious attack. The pain is incredible, but the pain of not being able to see you before he loses his life is even worse. Kento knows this is more than likely the end for himself.

Meanwhile, you’re out of your mind trying to find your lover. You knew you shouldn’t have run off either, but the call of a good fight to protect the people you love is what fueled you to keep going. You were going to fight until your last breath if that’s what it took to protect everyone and keep the world safe. Even after finding out that Satoru was sealed, you still took it upon yourself to take the lead in many of these fights.

You tend to the wounded when you can, but you still can’t stop thinking about Kento. You worry dearly for the love of your life. You look for him everywhere you can, but you’re always stopped by something or someone else. When you aren’t actively defeating curses, you’re on the move to the next battle. And when you’re not battling or moving to another part of the area, you’re helping the wounded or you’re caring for those who are about to perish.

Your heart clenches when you begin to imagine the worst. You think about finding your lover on the ground, broken and cracked like he’s nothing. Discarded pile of flesh and bones for you to discover in horror. It terrifies you to think that you may never get to kiss him again. You may never get to hold him. Never get to see that gorgeous smile of his again. It’s killing you inside to be apart from Kento. He’s always been your rock, your knight in shining armor. Everything about him is perfect in your eyes.

You hold out hope that you’ll be reunited with your lover soon. You’ll do anything to make sure you see him again. This night will be a very old memory one day, one you two will think was crazy and you’ll reminisce about how much you’ve gone through this night.

After the fight with Dagon, Kento wonders truly if this is the end of the road for him. He thinks of your beautiful face, that shining smile. It’s enough to keep him going, but he’s more than ready to let this all end. He knows you’ll be distraught, but you’re strong enough to get through it all without him. It’ll take some time, but you’ll fight through the pain of losing him. With a good support team and some therapy, Kento knows that you’ll make it through this. Once he emerges from the domain, he’s met with the evil curse Jogo. The pain is searing through his body as he is almost completely incinerated. He lays on the ground, writhing in pain. Even if he lives through this, you probably won’t even be able to look at him the same way. Not with his damaged eye and his scars. You’ll probably want to leave him and live a much better life than to have to take care of such a scarred man.

The later it gets, the more terrified you get. You know that you’re probably going to lose the love of your life in this battle. He won’t be returning to you. You’ll find him just as you pictured before, lying in a heap of his own blood and bones. The lifeless body of your lover will be the thing that renders you completely insane. How will you even live on without him? You try to remain calm, but you’re so damn scared. You’re fucking losing it.

You set off on your own, in search of the man who has shown you just how beautiful life is. You go looking for him, knowing this might be your last hope. Maybe you’re both strong enough to get through this. Your eyes are scanning your surroundings as you call out his name. Your heart is wrenching in your chest as you begin to find yourself losing hope. You’re about to turn around and search elsewhere when you spot him. You gasp in shock as you see him.

That voice…

It belongs to the curse Mahito. You shudder as you watch him taunt your lover. You feel like you’re running too slow to reach Kento. You shout his name, and Mahito mocks you as well. He’s yelling Kento’s name in the same desperate tone you are, angering your lover even more. Kento turns to look at you and you get to see just how badly he was hurt. You feel your heart breaking. Your beautiful lover has been so disfigured and all you want to do is reach him and hold him close. Before you can even do anything, you watch in horror as Mahito gleefully sets his sights on your lover.

“Nanamin?” Yuji’s gentle voice can be heard, and Kento turns towards his student. There’s a small smile on his face.

“You’ve got it from here,” Kento tells Yuji, then he turns to you and smiles brightly.

A loud scream escapes you as you watch your lover be killed right in front of you. You collapse on your knees as Yuji becomes enraged. The last thing Kento remembers is the sound of your voice…

“Daddy?” a soft voice is heard from the doorway. Kento opens his good eye, peeking over at the blonde little girl standing there.

Kento stretches lightly, then he sits up on the bed. He’s pretty sure he was dreaming of that dreadful night again. Kento is still not sure how he managed to escape that last attack from Mahito, but he is very glad he did. Kento smiles as he sees his daughter pitter-pattering her way into the room.

“Were you sleepin’, daddy?” she asks as she hops onto the bed. Even though his wounds have healed over the years, she is still very careful not to hurt him on his sensitive side.

“Yeah, I guess I was.” Kento says with a chuckle, pulling his little girl closer to him. She nuzzles her face into his chest, sighing happily as she gets a whiff of her father’s comforting scent. These days, he smells like old books and cozy blankets.

There’s a knock on the bedroom door and Kento’s heart swells with affection when he sees you with a tray of food. You’ve got that same playful smirk spread on your face like you always did, but motherhood has tamed you a little. You set the tray down on the bedside table and you join your two loved ones on the bed.

“Were you having that dream again?” You ask Kento, seeing the dazed look in his good eye. He keeps the other one covered with an eyepatch most times.

Kento sighs and he nods, “Yeah…that was some night, huh?”

Your daughter presses a soft kiss on her father’s cheek, clinging to him by wrapping her arms around his neck. He kisses the top of her head, then he ruffles her blonde curls. He can’t believe just how fortunate he is to have both of you. After that dreadful night, Kento retired and you two moved somewhere calm and relaxing. He got the chance to read all those books he thought he’d never get the chance. And of course, he started a family with you quite quickly.

“I’m so glad I didn’t lose you that night,” you murmur as you lean against him.

Kento laughs, “Me too, sweetheart.”

And for a moment, the three of you cuddle on the bed, enjoying the sensations of being so close to one another. Nothing will ever tear your little family apart…

#bacon.writes #Nanami x you #Nanami x reader #Nanami x y/n #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #Kento x you #Kento x reader #Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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zarvasace · 1 month

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And here are Dire and Madness, dark Twilight and dark Four!

Rambling and more art beneath the cut as has been standard :) only two more left to do and guys I love them

Masterpost

Dire

Dire is dark Twilight.

He and Twilight share one major trait: they are protectors. Not even a process that bastardized Sky’s kindness could take that away. By no means is Dire nice, however. He is a Twilight that has lost all control and doesn't care to regain it, because that would mean facing all he's done. Some part of Dire is aware and suffering, but he purposely buries that part.

But on the surface that he presents and identifies with, Dire lashes out at everything that causes him pain—which is a lot of things. Dire is no different from the other Darks, in that he can't stand the light and gets annoyed quickly. He doesn't often speak, and nobody is really sure how much he really understands of what's around him. He acts more like an animal than a human in a lot of ways, and is often a little more cruel than he has to be. He's unnaturally strong and quick, and his weapons of choice are his nails and teeth. He indulges his brutal urges because the alternative is thinking.

For plans that require destruction and fighting, the Darks let Dire run out first. He could probably fight an army on his own, provided that he has plenty of darkness and an enemy without too much strategy. He's powerful and extremely dangerous. Due to that, the Darks don't let him run free. They use the shackles around his wrists and neck to keep him nearby and out of maiming range. When they do let him out though (to hunt or fight or exercise or whatever), he always comes back…

Because Dire is a protector. He leans more offensive than Twilight, but Dire too knows friend from foe. He doesn't always care, but Dire has sorted the other Darks as “friend” in his head, and he won't let anything hurt them except for themselves, if he can. He's particularly fond of Madness and Nothing, and has been known to grab them and not let them go, even when they start biting.

Dire’s design pulls a lot from the fever dream in Twilight Princess: gray skin, blank eyes. He has longer, more matted hair than Twilight. His claws are wicked sharp, and he wears tattered clothes without shoes. His wolf pelt is the softest thing about him, and it really should be washed. His markings are a bit more dramatic than Twilight’s, extending down his cheeks and arms and legs.

Despite the markings, Dire does not have an alternate form like Twilight. Well, he might, but he was never cursed the same way, and this technically is his dark world form. Some combination of magic might give him the ability to shapeshift, but he doesn't need it. He's bestial as it is.

Madness

Madness is dark Four! There is one big question here: is Madness the same person as Shadow from the manga?

Yes and no! Madness and Shadow do not exist at the same time as separate individuals. They were both made from Four’s darkness, but for different purposes. Shadow really did die when he smashed the mirror, and this isn't exactly a second chance… but it might be. Think of it like this: that body is a computer. Shadow was an operating system there, logging away memories and performing programs. Madness is on the same computer, but is a different operating system (a weaker one, really). However, those memories and personality from Shadow still exist, buried and only subconsciously influencing Madness’s behavior. They act eerily alike sometimes, not that anyone but Four would notice. Perhaps someday, Shadow’s OS will break through and become dominant, but even if he did, he wouldn't be the same. Madness would still be there.

“Still rivers run deep”—to me, this is very much Four. One body, four colors; a deep knowledge of his chosen trade; a rather serious demeanor with a lot of variety and thoughts; plans and ideas backed up with a combination of emotion and logic. He's balanced. In contrast, Madness is a “fast river running shallowly,” an unbalanced amalgamation of too much, all at once, a broad variety with little substance.

Madness is a little… unhinged. He's clearly smart, but he speaks in roundabout ways, making connections that don't exist or are too convoluted for anyone to follow. He stares into the distance a lot, and can be quite unnerving if you try to notice how often he blinks (rarely). Nobody can really decide how much of his behavior is on purpose or just how he is. When let loose, Madness shows unparalleled capacity for complex plans, but he doesn't always know how to hold back and often goes overboard. He'll beat that dead horse, and bomb those charred ruins, and smash that fallen vase… You get the picture.

A lot of these Darks have an odd magical power, and Madness’s is one of the more prominent ones. With a touch, he can attempt to bury a bit of his power in the mind of a sentient being (human, Rito, Zora, Minish, etc) and turn them into a thrall. While a being is a thrall, their eyes turn red and their consciousness goes to sleep. Madness can give them mental commands, and they technically work under his processing power and not their own, so no matter how vague the commands are, they do what he means them to do. Madness can also jump into thralls’ heads to pilot them specifically, seeing from their eyes and speaking from their mouth. He doesn't magically know everything about the thrall, though, so he still has to try to impersonate, and that doesn't usually work well. While he pilots, Madness is still technically in his body, so he will say out loud anything he's commanding the thrall to say, which limits his opportunities to trick the others.

Without commands, the thralls sit in still silence, which means that over extended periods of time, Madness does have to worry about food and rest for them. The more thralls he has, the less effective he is, because his focus is split, even if he isn't directly piloting more than one person at a time. If he lets someone go even for a moment, the connection is severed entirely. He absolutely refuses to use any thralls in a combat scenario, because he feels their pain, even though it's fainter when he isn’t directly piloting. He uses thralls instead to gather information, start rumors, purchase/steal supplies, and often just cause chaos.

Madness is actually rather genre-aware. He knows that their schemes are destined to ultimately fail, because the Darks are the “bad guys” and they will lose. As such, he's hedging his bets and logging away information for an inevitable betrayal to the Lights. He does not intend to be on the losing side when it gets down to it. He has half-baked plans to snatch a few of the other Darks and take them with him, too. Madness absolutely does not take any sort of leadership role, which means that he doesn't feel any responsibility to rein in Nothing, making him Nothing’s favorite. Madness also spends time hanging out with Dire, who he thinks understands more than he lets on. Those two would be his first choices, and he thinks Nothing might know that. (This is not at all related to the fact that Shadow’s memories of betrayal are both sweet and bitter.)

Madness does not get along well with Agony—Madness prefers chaos and mind games over Agony’s stab-first approach. He purposely annoys everyone else. Along with Depth and Shackle, Madness is one of the few Darks who can pass as human, so he's been on a few excursions into towns or groups, and he likes emphasizing his unnerving traits. He'll use a sword if he has to, but prefers bombs and words. He doesn't have any powers from Shadow (shapeshifting, stretchiness, whatever else), but he is very sensitive to light, like most of the Darks.

Madness casts a wide net, putting on an air of randomness with a sprinkle of insanity for flavor. He connects more dots than he appears to, though, and has a few unexpected urges toward the light. Make no mistake, though, he is a Dark, and he has no intention of doing good just to do good. His ultimate goal is to survive the Dark Chain’s fall, and beyond that… traveling? Therapy? Living at home with people he doesn't hate? (Why does he feel an emotional connection to his Light? Why does he want to protect him? Why does he want to exercise his freedom? Why does it feel like he's running out of time until—)

#my art #lu z darks au #linked universe #sorry for the low contrast dire there #had a hard time with some of these colors #ugh tumblr messws up my posts

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delicrieux · 1 month

Text

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 7. year one: up to mid october, 1972

pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x sirius black warnings for this chapter—sum swear & sirius being a prat word count—2.5k

a short awaited confrontation and a new friend.

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

over the course of the month, it seems that the sight of you has become repulsive to sirius. he could not bear to look at you for more than it took to notice you in the crowd or to recognize your voice echoing before the body belonging to it reached him. he’d flee, usually, and refrain, in a completely un-sirius fashion, from making a gigantic scene. this would have been odd to you if only the pain of seeing his hastily retreating back wasn’t too much.

don’t be so harsh with me please, you’d want to tell him, i’ve done nothing but love you.

instead, “what. is. with. you,” and each word punctuated with an angry smack to his forearm. he glares, and he wiggles out the way of your unrelenting pursuit to beat him into submission. his friends watch frozen, stuck somewhere between amusement and desire to pull sirius back into the safe confines of the gryffindor tower. you will not allow them. not this time, at least, “you stuck up, insufferable—“

“piss off,” he nurses his bruises, though you aren’t strong enough to leave any.

you falter in your step, but the anger doesn’t die. he must know how his look wounds. he must. “piss off?” you parrot, and it rings much smaller and fainter than his had, “piss off? that’s all i get from you?”

“expect something different?” he bites, and bites, and bites, and he maims and mars until there is a thread between your hands and his heart thin as ivory wire. his eyes appraise and they dance and they hate, “why don’t you run back to your regulus.”

ah. there it is. the venom.

“sirius-“ james starts, and both of your glares cut him into two.

“shut up,” the both of you, again, together. you mirror his dark look and try to decide which words of the infinite welling quickly are most fitting. they sink with and through you; an anger and a hurt not meant to be felt by someone so inexperienced. when you and sirius argue, it is never as dire, even if it feels like it was. sirius never starts rows he cannot win, even if it’s him that loses most in the end, “family matter.”

james looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else but in the windy courtyard, shadowed by the cold arches of a loggia. peter, cheeks and ears burning, nervously rubs his hands together to dispel the cold. remus, already, is further ways down and watching, waiting for the rest to catch up. you won’t let them, not yet, not till you say your piece and abandon first, because father said the last word is always the winner.

you speak in french because you know he hates to hear it, because it reminds of home and you know he can’t stand home like he can’t stand you now, and it will hurt him, and it will make you happy, “regulus was right about you. you’ve become unthinkably cruel.”

he curls his lip, and it is with so much spite that it makes your teeth ache. his body rolls into itself, ready to explode and spit up his scorn all over your face. the insult must teeter on his tongue. you're more than ready for it. but something cracks and something flips and he reels back a bit, a show of restraint you thought him absent of.

"yeah, regulus, regulus always knows best, doesn't he?" your french mimicked in his mouth is dense, like syrup, "regulus, darling, regulus," a sneer that draws his lip to the high planes of his cheekbones, and a head tilting movement that is patronizing and obscene. it reminds you of his mother, "your regulus, isn't he the fucking best."

"he's not mine," you state tartly.

"hard to believe when he follows after you like a dog," he bites, and bites, and bites, but even through the layers upon layers, the soreness permeates and leaves you stricken into a stupor that only sirius can create, "listens and does everything you say. can't he think for himself. attached to your shoulder like some blithering pest."

you blink back the anger in your eyes. you are not going to cry, you tell yourself. if you do, then he will win, but he always does.

the boys stare at you. you don't know what to say. the feeling of it is tight and burns like an ulcer, "what has gotten into you? why do you hate me? i haven't-" your lips work through their turmoil, "-i haven't done anything to you."

he waves you off, dismissive. his hands tremble with some unspoken rage. "stop bothering me and go back to regulus. he's probably already looking for you."

the end of the conversation hangs heavily between you. sirius sniffs, and turns away in that blasé manner he always has with him, as if all life were a joke. his posture is too stiff and his features are too cold and he joins remus first as james and peter linger. you shake.

"i, uhm," james begins, but your glare silences him again. slowly, carefully, he nudges peter, "c'mon."

they leave, but james looks back. you miss it, head hung in defeat. your emotions threaten to burst free and splinter all over the stone. you think, in a hurry, how could you ever cover them up – with your hands, your body? is it the aftermath already, where everything is too obvious for pretence?

when it rains, it pours. it always has and you suspect it always will.

naturally, you are inconsolable. what a great big joke. no broom closet nor dusty cavern of the castle is familiar enough to hide in, and you cloak, despite its expanse, can hardly protect from sore eyes. the loo it is, locked in some stall and hiccupping. marzipan had mentioned finding a hufflepuff crying not a week in. she thought it amusing, and you did, too – who could ever abate decency and sob in the loo? what a terrible ploy for attention, had the girl expected consolation? no such could ever be found in marzipan, why, she said, and she said it proudly, she laughed quite loud and the crying stopped.

you would die on the spot if someone found you. it would feel like uncovering a horrible secret, being exposed in such a way. aren’t you a grown up? your birthday is soon, on a cold october night. grownups always breathe fine – besides your ditzy aunts – but you find there not being enough air. so much space and so little of it.

you fan yourself, and you heave, and in a tantrum you tussle out your cloak and throw it onto the gleaming white tiles. your cheeks burn and there’s an ache in the apex of your head. crying like this, over a boy, no less? sirius, of all? rabastan would point and laugh, point and laugh, point and laugh.

there’s a knock on your stall’s door and you nearly topple over in a scurry to silence yourself.

“hi, sorry,” the voice is unfamiliar, but it sounds kind, “are you alright?”

perfect, not only have you embarrassed yourself, you’ve aroused the suspicion of an idiot. there’s a gentle creak on the wood, as if a weight has settled. an ear, perhaps, pressed onto the surface, but for what?

you will your shaky hands to settle by your stomach. the fingers pinch and pool on the woollen fabric of your sweater. you gulp, but it gets stuck, and the silence stretches, so still.

“i-yes,” you manage. this won’t do, the tears cling to your mouth, “i’m, i'm okay.”

“do you need some water?”

if you weren’t so distraught, you’d delight at the curtsy. stupidity must be contagious because you shake your head.

“no, no,” you say after a pause.

“a tissue perhaps?”

“i'm fine,” seems you have managed to locate your wits. from some hellish depths, no doubt. swiftly, you retrieve your cloak, “thank you.”

“’s no worries,” the voice pipes. it belongs to a girl, you think, who doesn't budge, and, instead, waits. it seems your dramatics have riled someone. even the staff would scold your sorry condition, all snot and tears and shaking limbs – quite undignified, "can you tell me why you're crying?"

oh, merlin, how wonderful, the prodding and the poking and the horrible sympathy. are you so pitiable? perhaps. in this state. it's still hard to believe a complete stranger has found themselves so comfortable, "if i say i'm not crying will you go?"

the girl laughs, light and tittering. for a moment, it startles you, too, "not very likely."

the air remains stagnant, as if it's thick and spinning. the echoes of your sniffles bounce along the walls. you could tell her to piss off. you've heard it enough in the span of the last hour.

"i had a fight with my friend," you say eventually, "i think he hates me."

"did you do something to make him hate you?"

your forehead grazes the stall door. it leaves a cold spot and it makes you wince, "no."

"hmm," there is a sound of shuffling and more creaking, "well, then i wouldn't be very worried. he sounds like a dick, and what you need friends like that for?"

a great deal, actually. what did you think you were doing these years, clinging to his arm and curling into his bed when it rains? "what am i supposed to do?"

"beat him up, i imagine, and sort his sorry arse out."

you snort, though not very amused, "tried that."

"good start," you imagine her nodding and crossing her arms, "now, if i were you, i'd hex him into tomorrow and we'll never hear from him again."

"sounds wicked," you lament. the thought has crossed your mind, but revenge crumbles into some mushy, pitiful mess if you think on it too long.

"positively evil," she agrees. the silence returns, but it's comfortable, "i’ve got parchment in case you wanna practice curses."

a corner of your mouth quirks. your chest aches, but it's no longer full and painful, "that's alright, thank you."

"always wanted to be an accomplice," you hear the smile in her voice, "no trouble at all."

a final stretch of quiet. it allows you to breathe, really breathe, and pull yourself into order, as it were. it's no pretty sight, the state of you, but it no longer compares to how you first came in, a crying mess. when you open the stall, and face the girl for the first time, a kind face greets you. her brown skin is flush, hair twisted into two plaited horns that are gathered into a half bun, the rest pinned around her head. your nose twitches, itchy.

she grins, "there you are. no longer crying."

the cold from the running faucet burns against your cheeks. the face that peers back at you from the mirror is dishevelled. red-rimmed eyes and wet splotches all over. you grimace, "look like a sordid mess."

"well, yes, but, like a normal sordid mess. like, almost pretty normal," she stands behind. a red lion's emblem is embroidered into her uniform. she tilts her head, "like, i look way worse when i do it. at least you cry prettily."

"oh, you think so?" you turn to her, "no one's ever said that."

her nose wrinkles, but the mirth isn't gone from her eyes, "well, don't suppose you make a habit of sobbing in front of others. lest you wouldn't have barricaded yourself in the stall."

you hum, "quite the excellent point."

she flashes her teeth and nods proudly, "of course, got many," there's a slight silence where she appraises you, "you're lestrange, right? i've seen you in my classes," she asks as though she knows, and extends her hand for you to shake, "i'm dorcas. meadowes. gryffindor.”

“slytherin,” you respond, but shake her hand anyway.

“can tell,” dorcas says, that same lilt of a smile on her lips, “you wear it with pride.”

yes, of course, because that is what lestrange do. her family name is unrecognizable, but you don't think to wonder on it much further. her eyes are friendly and warm, and she takes to fixing the wayward strands of your hair while you dab a bit of tissue paper to your nose. a few seconds go by, and she glances at you from under the hair fallen onto her forehead, "i still have parchment, and we could still get you those curses down."

"haven't the ink to draw any, unfortunately," you reply.

"hm. next time then," dorcas decides for herself, and makes for the door, "think a walk to the kitchens might be in order?" she leaves her invitation open-ended, her gaze expectant, "could use a warm cinnamon bun."

you wonder about her, dorcas meadowes, with the shiny dark eyes and plaits and how well she talks to strange girls who cry in bathroom stalls. "alright," you accept, the smile on your face not as strained, nor sad, nor angry, "lead the way."

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the-secret-keeper · 1 year

Text

Part 2 to the Obey me X Twisted Wonderland / Barbatos X Reader

This was requested by @babyxwolfiex glad you liked the original!

TW: Talk of malnutrition, talk of extortion, though not described in detail the readers leg is messed up in the beginning, and angry demons attempting to maul a crow.

Enjoy!

"Very wisely put." Diavolo complimented, as Mammon moved to help me stand, while Barbatos bent down to properly heal my leg.

"You'll show us, darling?"

"Of course." I nodded to Barbatos. "Plus," I glanced at Satan, "I think he'll be the most interesting to watch react. I can guess how the rest of you will react." Satan raised an eyebrow to me, but said nothing, as they all stood to follow me.

"If you would like a tour of the school, I would be more than happy to-" Belphegor glared at him, causing Crowley to shut up.

"You are all more than welcome to come along as well." I extended an offer to the other Dorm Leaders as I walked towards the door. "But, when we get there, you may want to remain a few paces back." I paused, looking around the room. "You are all, unbelievable." I sighed.

"What?" Leona asked in an annoyed voice.

"For someone with such a presence, you all seem to forget him easily." I shook my head. "We will pick up Malleus before we head to my dorm."

"What?"

"For the heir to the throne of a kingdom, you sure do seem unconcerned that you completely forgot about him, Dire Crowley." I scolded him, causing him to sheepishly back off. "Besides, I want him and Dia to meet. I think they'd be good friends." I brushed off everyone looking at me, before taking the hand of my boyfriend and leading all the demons, dorm leaders, and the headmaster out of the conference room and to the mirror room.

Once we retrieved Tsunotarou, we made our way to the Ramshackle mirror, but I stopped everyone short.

"Look, I need to set some ground rules, because knowing my friends, they're still there." I sighed, glancing at the ground. I looked back up. "They have permission to be there, no you may not act as though they do not own the place, they practically live there with me when I'm not at their dorms. Grim, will be Grim, just appease him, it makes things easier. No he is not named after the money." I pointed at Mammon who had raised his hand. He put it down. "No fire magic, critique the house and you will be given to one of the dorm leaders and they will decide what to do with you. Despite everything, he does have his name on everything, so no you may not kill Crowley." I stated before muttering, "at least not before I can put everything in Crewel or Trein's name."

"Can I violently maim him?" Satan asked, sensing where this was going. I narrowed my eyes for a moment.

"I'll think about it. Oh, and Satan." He nodded. "Don't, run anyone over. Yes, you may take pictures, no, you may not keep him unless Lucifer says yes, anything else you may want to do with him you will need to ask him. Yes he can talk, he can also fly and use fire magic."

"What?" Asmo asked.

"Trust me, it's necessary." I promised before taking a deep breath, and walking through the mirror. "Welcome to Ramshackle dorm." I said, gesturing to my dorm. There was no noise, so I turned, only to see them all in varying forms of shock.

Asmodeus, he seemed to be gripping Satan's arm with all his strength, or at least a lot of it. I couldn't figure out whether or not it was because of the looks, or the condition.

Satan wasn't faring much better, but he was more angry than shocked, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white and I was worried he'd begin drawing blood soon. His pupils were so dilated, I wondered how he could see.

Mammon was seemingly experiencing a mix of emotions. His eyes read as sad and worried, but his body language read as anger. Either way, he had grabbed my hand and wasn't letting go, though he wasn't hurting me.

Lucifer, once out of his trance, immediately began tearing Crowley a new one. Despite his anger, he was being at least somewhat diplomatic about it. Ranting off about health and safety codes, about endangering lives, and about how irresponsible he was being.

Leviathan passed out. Legitimately. Though I shouldn't be too surprised, I guess, since he's so similar to Idia and that's how he reacted the first time he saw my dorm. He probably put together very quickly that, when I have WiFi, it's shitty and isn't very often.

Beel, looked like he wanted to cry out of worry, but he was doing something much more important. Holding back Belphie, who had immediately lunged for Crowley upon seeing my living conditions. Beel has quick reflexes, and is very good at knowing what his twin is about to do, so it makes sense.

Barbatos, is hard to read as always, but judging by the fact that he's clenching his fists and glaring daggers at Crowley, he's furious. He's likely only holding back because Diavolo hasn't let him go loose yet. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, to which he latched onto my shoulders, quietly apologizing for not coming sooner.

Speaking of Diavolo, he was much closer to Beel in reaction, but was handling it more like Lucifer. He wasn't yelling, in fact he was trying to calm Lucifer down, but he was still berating Crowley for how he's been treating me.

"There you are!" I looked at my door.

"Boys!" I smiled. "Guys, these are my friends here. Meet Ace and Deuce, they live in Riddles dorm known as Heartslabyul. Jack is in Leona's dorm, Savanaclaw. Epel is in Pomefiore, which is run by Vil. And Sebek,"

"Is in the same dorm as my Young Master, Diasomnia!"

"I was getting there, Sebek." I sighed. "Boy, these are my friends and boyfriend from where I used to live. Barbatos, Diavolo, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor." I finished introductions.

"Don't forget the Great Grim!"

"I could never, I was just saving the best for last." I assured Grim as he flew to in front of me. Satan, upon seeing Grim, calmed down immensely, and almost grabbed him out of the air. I figured that would happen. "Isn't that right, Satan? Only the best for the Great Grim." He nodded enthusiastically, causing Grim to laugh in a high and mighty tone and fly over to him.

"Good job." Barbatos whispered.

"I knew that would happen, it's why I gave him those extra rules." I whispered back.

"It's like there's 9 more Malleus'." Ace whispered fearfully.

"You are an idiot, Trappola." I scolded. "All of my friends, Tsunotarou included, are amazing. I mean, these nine are probably even more than what you're used to handling."

"They can't be more scary than Overblots." Epel agreed with me.

"Well," I said in a high-pitched tone, remembering the time Lucifer tried to kill me, Satan tried to kill me, Leviathan hurt me, Asmo hurt me, and Belphie did kill me, "I wouldn't, say, that." I laughed awkwardly.

"What are Overblots?" I froze at Diavolo's stern tone. He doesn't usually take that tone with me. I slowly turned, seeing all the demons staring at me. "Mc, what are Overblots?"

"It's, not,"

"It's a monster that forms when a person overuses their magic, becomes overwhelmed by negative emotions, and loses control of their entire being." Riddle surmised. "The Dorm Leaders, aside from Kalim, but including his Vice Dorm Leader Jamil, have all Overblotted. Mc is the one who saved us." The air grew very tense.

"You really are a therapist, huh?" Mammon tried to joke.

"I suppose. If only I got paid like one. Then I wouldn't have to rely on Crowley for food. Though, admittedly, I do often attend dinners and parties at other dorms, so it's not as though I'm completely deprived of food."

"You haven't eaten in three days."

"True, but there weren't any Unbirthday Parties during that time, and I didn't want to intrude on anyones dinner, seeing as I wasn't invited. I spend all of the little money that I do earn fixing this place up and making sure Grim is taken care of." I explained. "He's a very pampered kitty."

I felt Mammon let go of my hand. Mammon picked up his younger brother, still passed out on the floor, and handed him to Asmo, who complained but complied. Now the only demon without something holding him back, he lunged for Crowley.

"Mammon sit!" I commanded, causing him to fall immediately to the ground. I managed to get out of Barbatos's grip and approached Mammon.

"C'mon!"

"Mammon. You and I both know you would've killed him."

"Only a little."

"For most people, death is irreversible, dummy." I flicked his forehead. "I'm fine, really. Besides, knowing you lot, I'll be out of here before morning."

"You're exactly right." Lucifer grabbed my arm.

"Off." I commanded, and he let go.

"You're going to come back with us."

"This will not be an argument." I blinked at Barbatos, before nodding.

"But I will be able to come back, right?"

"Of course!" Diavolo guaranteed. "Now that we know where you went and how to get here, you can come and go as you please."

"Thank you."

"Can we keep him?" I laughed at Satan's question.

"No."

"Can we keep him?" I asked Barbatos, who looked at Diavolo.

"I see no reason why we can't have a marvelous animal such as this at the palace."

"Palace?!" I flinched at the outburst of the dorm leaders and first years.

"Did Crowley not tell you?" I asked the dorm leaders, not surprised by the first years confusion.

"It seems to have slipped my mind."

"Lucifer, please slap him." He smirked, moving towards Crowley, who began running away. "These men are demons, and Dia is Lord Diavolo, the next King of the Devildom. Barbatos is his butler. The other seven are the Seven Deadly Sins and the other seven rulers of hell." Malleus nodded sagely, as though he knew the entire time, though I had never actually introduced him to anyone.

"How did you meet these people?" Deuce asked, his voice going up in pitch as he frantically looked between all of them and me.

"Oh, they kidnapped me and I spent a year in the Devildom as an exchange student! I came back though. Could never really go back to normal life after that, and, of course, I couldn't really be separated from Barbatos for too long." A very loud resounding slap, followed by a thud rang out during the bout of stunned silence that covered the group.

"At this point, nothing about you shocks me. You could tell me you're an angel, and I'd believe it." Jack sighed.

"I'm not an angel, though I am descended from the reincarnated soul of one, and I know three."

"I believe it." He nodded.

"We should have a celebration once we return to the Devildom."

"Ooh! A party!" Asmo dropped Levi, who had begun to regain consciousness. "I'm down! Always ready for some fun!"

"What kind of celebration?" Lucifer asked, adjusting his glove as he returned victorious in his quest to slap Crowley.

"A festival!"

"Sounds fun, can my friends from here come?"

"Of course! The more the merrier!" Diavolo insisted. I beamed.

"You're all going to love hell!"

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multi-fandom-simp · 1 year

Text

Forever and always... or maybe Never (Alternate Ending #1)

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Hanahaki disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you can not die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen, begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity. Will Aemond have enough time to save you, or do you have to save yourself?

TW: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints and mentions of infidelity, mild mature scene, angst, I think that's all of them??

(A/N: Hello, I meant to post this a while ago, but I was struggling to get it to turn out the way I wanted. Even now I'm not sure if I 100% love it. Nevertheless, I give you one out of two of the alternate endings. It may seem similar in the beginning, but small details have changed in the first half, and then the second half is completely new! I would like to state that in no way, shape, or form do I think forgetting things heals wounds. With saying that, the reader does forgo her love for Aemond in attempt to save herself, but in a different way. A way that still keeps Aemond in the loop but makes him suffer. I hope you all like this better than I do. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, I truly love to see them! Anyways, enjoy!)

Word Count: 3,435

Taglist: @libdarkheart (It's been a hot minute so I wasn't sure who else wanted a tag for the alternate endings)

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything.

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond.

“ You dar-”

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love.

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder. He set the lilacs he had brought with him beside you on the bench.

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind.

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book.

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck.

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!”

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught.

" Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually. Aemond had let you down so that you could turn to face him.

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it.

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck.

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you. Starting small with the way you love lilacs and stretching all the way to how you separate the food on your plate. I would never forget anything about you, my love” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did.

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you.

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you.

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.”

Thankfully, the universe wouldn’t let you go that easily. Nor would it let Aemond leave your mind. You had tried it all, from no longer dining with him to pretending he no longer existed. However, it seemed that for every step you took away from him, he took one closer to you. Perhaps it was stupid to think that you could attempt to forgo your love for him in the first place.

“ ābrazȳrys. Ābra-” Aemond’s voice broke you from your thoughts. Bringing you back to chilled window of the library where you sat. Not that the chill affected your ailing body any.

“ How late has it gotten?” Bleariness dripped from your eyes and onto the pages of Aegon I’s story as you came to reality once more.

“ It’s nearly dusk” Aemond chuckled, “ How has the conquerors story gotten you so entranced when you’ve read it nearly a thousand times before?”

“ It’s practically a new story when you read it from a different perspective. I use to only ever understand it from Rhaenys’s point of view, but now-” You swallowed hard, not caring to finish your sentence.

“ ..but now? Whose eyes do you read through this time?” Aemond prompted, reaching to brush a stray hair from your forehead. You flinched away from the comfort, disgusted by the possibility of where those hands had been. If Aemond noticed the reaction then he did not comment on it. Perhaps out of fear that it would start an argument.

You looked back out the window, “ Visenya's. Though I suppose she didn't have as many qualms with her lifestyle as I do.”

Aemond stiffened, “ I don’t see how you would relate to Visenya. Perhaps your bravery is similar-”

“ Visenya was Aegon’s first wife. She bore him a son and then his attention was mainly focused on Rhaenys. For every night he spent with Visenya, he spent ten with Rhaenys” You turned to direct your eyes to his, “ I relate to Visenya in almost every aspect now.”

" I'm not sure I know what you're implying, dear wife" Aemond's eyes narrowed. You hummed in disbelief, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Perhaps you were tired of keeping quite about his affairs.

" You should know. After all you are the Aegon in my story and your dear Alys is Rhaenys" There was no venom in your voice, why would there be? You had long since come to terms with the fact that spite wouldn't cure you.

" That's what your upset over?"

"I am not upset, Aemond. I am in fact long past being upset." You shrugged, " Turbulent emotions will never heal the damage you caused, so why would I waste my time on them?"

" Damage? I have done nothing but love you?! Have you forgotten all of our escapades from the last two months? The library, the council room, the gard-" Aemond's words quickly died when he saw how you recoiled with each place. Realization crashed into his like an icy tidal wave. It was never you. This whole time, he had been making love to Alys and not you.

You had to fight to keep your steely composure and not wretch all over the library floor, " Do I mean so little to you, that you can not even tell whether or not I'm the one you're holding?"

Aemond paled, "Witchcraft. She had to of put a spell on me. I would never-"

Aemond caught your arm when you moved to walk around him, but you refused to hear his excuses," It no longer matters. Your realization has come too late."

" Too late? You talk as if you've asked the king for an annulment"

You let out a hearty laugh, one that might've made Aemond think you were crazy, "Annulment would've been merciful. Anything besides the path I've chosen would've been merciful."

" What are you talking about? What have you done?" Aemond inquired.

" What have I done?!" Your body tremored with laughter, " Perhaps you should ask yourself that question. Better yet ask yourself that question when your tongue is down Aly-"

Aemond watched in horror as your mocking laughter turned into a coughing fit. One that resulted in the bloody flowers that haunted your every waking moment. Aemond's trembling hands latched onto your arms quickly as you began to sway. It wasn't until Aemond pressed his lips to your chilled forehead that the petals ceased. His affection was a momentary bliss that swept the chronic darkness back under the rug in your mind, but moments don't last forever.

Aemond pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you."

"You're the reason I'm like this." You scoffed, still resting against him.

" Then let me fix my mistakes-"

" You can not love someone back to life, Aemond. I will fix this myself." Your tone held no malice towards him, rather exhaustion. The last wave of sickness had taken quite a bit from you. Nevertheless, you were strong and independent. You needed to prove to Aemond that you did not need him to save you.

" I shall retire to my personal chambers tonight. Fair well, dear husband." Hearing you say 'husband' rather than ñuha zaldrīzes, My dragon, felt like a hot lashing to Aemond. Even when the two of you fought he was always 'your dragon', but perhaps this was your way of punishing him.

" Fair well, Ñuha prūmia" My Heart, and boy oh boy did your heart stutter upon hearing that again. Regardless of the feeling in your chest you kept walking until you were out of the room. Leaving Aemond to stand in the mess of your blood. In another life that would've been the last time Aemond saw you, but something had changed.

Aemond realized weeks later that it wasn't something that had changed, rather someone, and that someone was you. Your smile had begun to come back, as had your laughter and spirit. If only he knew how many sleepless nights and burning tears you had to fight through to get those things back. Part of Aemond held hope for a moment that he had a helping hand in it. Oh how asinine he was. He should've realized that you only begun to improve after avoiding him. That your eyes would never meet his. Not even now as the two of you occupied the gardens alongside Aemys and the ever dutiful Lark. Aemond had seen the hyena in the shadows quite a bit lately, watching his every move. Almost as if the beast was your eyes.

Your giggle caught him off guard as Lark took a bundle of grapes from your hand and dropped them into Aemys's little lap, "Lark, you traitor! I knew you first!"

~ " Traitor." You had grumbled with a hidden smile as the Hyena trotted over to the pair of you casually. Aemond had let you down so that you could turn to face him.~

Aemond now wishes he would've held you a bit longer, a bit tighter, but we don't all get what we wish for. He knows that you most certainly didn't, and he is the one to blame for that.

" You said the same thing to her all those years ago when she chose me over you" Aemond chuckled, moving to crouch beside you.

You looked to him with genuine confusion clouding your eyes, " I don't remember that?"

"What?" Aemond felt his world stop for a moment.

" I only remember you telling me that you must inspect my journal to be sure that your future wife wasn't hiding any secrets" Your eyes had never held anything other than love for Aemond, but now he couldn't detect anything other than curiosity and confusion.

" Alright...how about our wedding night? What do you remember of that?"

You tilted your head in thought before speaking, " We performed our duty, I know that much."

Aemond felt his throat close up. You had done the exact same thing his mother had done when she dealt with Hanahaki's. Willingly letting go of any memory that pertained his love for you as a way to ease your symptoms. There could be no unrequited love if you didn't remember why you loved him in the first place. In your eyes your friendship had ended long ago and been replaced by a political marriage.

" My love.."

"Hmm?" You peered up at him with a newfound clarity that he couldn't bring himself to destroy. Aemond knew he would have to fight to get things back to the way they used to be. Aemond would have to earn your love and affection. Honestly, it was the least he could do after how he took it for granted mere weeks ago. The journey from friends to lover would have to be rebuilt, and Aemond was willing to do whatever he needed to. He would start in the only way he knew how.

" Would you like to see the lilacs?"

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon angst #angst

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nellyofthevalley · 6 months

Text

bloodlust

astarion x fem!durge

rating: explicit content: dubcon, blood, knifeplay kinda sorta, spanking, fingering, piv, cunnilingus, porn without plot, some feelings, graphic violence in the form of threats summary: ‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

Astarion holds his arm over her head and she opens her mouth in anticipation. He’s watching her as intensely as she watched him, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. Blood drips slowly down his arm, beading at his elbow before dripping into her waiting mouth, around her lips, over her face.

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

She comes to Astarion’s room one night in a panic, ready with rope. The urges have become easier to sense coming on. Most could be sated by a brutal kill of those who deserved it, but she knows a punishment is coming. Kills are never enough for Father, it’s not about the kills. It’s the savagery, the unnecessary cutting, twisting and maiming.

It’s an art form.

She’d gone back for Isobel to sate her urges when they were most dire, a ritualistic offering to Bhaal, pleading for any relief. It sufficed, for a time. It was an honor to lead dozens to their deaths in the aftermath and an absolute delight to watch them be consumed by shadows, their souls ripped from this earth. For weeks, she remembered how they looked as the black possessed their bodies, and how their darkened blood stained the battlefield as far as eyes could see, torn between remorse and a sick fantasy.

‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

She enters his room in a hurry and lets the door shut behind her, finding Astarion in his typical spot; in the chair, reading.

“What’s troubling you, love?” Astarion asks as he looks up. A silly question, he realizes it as soon as he sees the rope in her hand—they’ve been through this once before already. “Ah, you’re here to kill me again, I presume? And here I thought we’d moved past that.”

“It’s punishment,” she says, standing before him and shoving the rope in his hands. “I’ve not served him adequately. Tie me.”

“Eager for this, aren’t you?” he teases, casting the rope aside. She huffs in response, annoyed by his light hearted demeanor. “I’m surprised. I imagined this must be a very unpleasant experience for you, to be restrained and rabid.”

“Don’t be stupid! Tie me, quickly, before I hurt you,” she begs, terrified of herself. She glances down at her hands, as if they may act on their own. She can picture it already, how they’d leap forward and claw into his lovely face, vigilant to spare his piercing red eyes. It’d be a shame to waste those, they’d make for a fine trophy.

“Do you think me so careless? I have all I need to survive you,” he says, pulling her on top of him and leaning back. “Unless you have a hidden blade to slit my throat with.”

No, but the bloodlust inside wishes she did. From the start, she thought he’d be the perfect pretty corpse—what a joy it would be to see the vampire’s essence spill and pool beneath her. A stake is a tired trope, and even a slit of the throat would be too clean for her tastes. She’d adorn him with cuts all over and make him watch her drink the life from him like he drank from her.

She pushes her lips to his and he readily accepts her greedy tongue. Her impatient hands seek cover beneath his shirt, crawling all over his smooth porcelain skin, daydreaming of splitting it. He’s foolish and reckless around her. She could bite, rend, and gorge on his screams, if the urge willed it.

Maybe he enjoys the dance with death, she thinks as she guides the shirt over his head, picturing how his chest would look with slashes all over it.

With a sharp motion, he pulls her back by the hair with one hand. With the other, he restrains her comparatively small hands by the wrists as if to prove he holds more control.

“Take me, when I’m no longer me. Show him what I think of this pathetic display of power,” she says with a fire in her eyes and Astarion feels another flourishing between her thighs. “He won’t own me.”

“You’ll never be his. You’re mine.”

The kindling in her ignites and she rocks her hips against him, smirking when a groan escapes him. Astarion keeps his grip on her hair tight but pulls her forward, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His fangs brush against her skin and she shakes in anticipation, waiting for that familiar, satisfying pierce when he breaks her skin with his teeth; instead, he gives her small, cautious bites that make her heart pound with a fury.

Astarion releases her hair and trails his hands along her thighs, up her sides and lifts her nightshirt up to her shoulders. The chill of his touch clashes with the fire that spreads through her whole body—her cheeks aflame as his fingertips roll over her perked nipples.

“Astarion,” she says. He’s dismantled her resolve so easily, leaving her too weak to argue with him further on the importance of his own safety.

She finishes what he started and lifts her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Cold hands slide down over her ribs and then behind to support her back as he leans forward, pressing little kisses from her shoulder to her collarbone. Her fingers tangle in his white curls, lightly stroking while he continues his work downward, pushing her back further and further until he’s supporting almost all her weight and his lips place a kiss between her breasts.

Astarion rises from the chair, and her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her to the bed, sitting her on the edge and standing between her legs.

“Hands,” he orders; she offers them and he ties them behind her back with rope.

If Astarion cared to be safe, he’d tie her feet and gag her mouth. She’s a dangerous one, but he never feels truly scared of her and he carries enough confidence to toy with his food first. Though she may try to separate herself from the urge, they both know her violent tendencies aren’t solely Bhaal’s ‘punishment’. It’s still her inside—he saw how she fought it before, and she will fight it tonight, too.

Astarion falls to his knees and grabs her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He’s hasty to remove her bottoms, pulling them down over her legs and feet before settling his head between her legs; he drapes her thighs over his shoulders and holds them in place with a tight grip.

“Astarion, I—”

“Quiet, love,” he says, pressing his lips to her inner thigh now—intense, needy kisses that make her jolt, and tomorrow, will bruise her skin blue. “Relax for me.”

She feels sharp tips brush against her, a forewarning; she flinches, but quickly settles down, waiting patiently for his bite.

She groans when he pierces her flesh, loud—her cry and her delectable, hot blood gushing into his mouth elicit a moan of his own and rouse him; her blood traveling straight to his cock. She squirms under him and involuntarily squeezes his head with her thighs, and it’s fucking delicious.

He pulls away, mindful to not drink too much; she’s sure to spill more blood this evening, by both their hands. Arousal glistens on her cunt and leaks onto the bed—her body’s calling him, and it takes all of his self-discipline to not fuck her so hard the urge possesses her right then.

“Astarion, please,” she whines again, pleading with him to touch her. The only thoughts her hazed mind can produce at this point are all pure, unadulterated filth.

“You’re making this so difficult,” he says, drowning her in more soft kisses, everywhere except where she’s craving his mouth most. “Have patience, my dear. I’m savoring my meal.”

Finally, he’s dragging his tongue up along her folds, convincing her he’ll grant her the relief she craves. He’s quick to start, lapping up every last drop of her sweet arousal, but it’s not long before he slows to an absolutely punishing pace that rewards him with a frustrated moan from her mouth and increasing pressure on his ears.

His tongue flicks across her clit, delicate and controlled, expertly drawing out more of her wetness. Her body sings for him with its writhing and whimpering, while her mind starts to wander away from her.

Every part of her hungers for him—her hands rebel against their ties, trying to break free and pull at his hair, push him deeper into her cunt and fuck his face; her drifting mind fantasizes of how she’d suffocate him, if she could. She could crush his head between her thighs, she thinks, picturing his pale face turning ghost white under her, the screams she’d delight in, the crack of his skull; only then would she come for him, desecrating his face and plucking out his eyes.

Blissfully unaware of her rising desire to kill him while she fucks him, Astarion thinks of how he could stay here forever, ruining her and relishing it, but he forces himself to part from her, not allowing her to get too close.

Astarion stands and admires his work: her face flushed red, the dark puddle where he had her. He climbs on top of the bed, grabbing her waist to push her further back and covers her body with his.

“You look positively depraved,” he says before pressing his mouth to hers, ravenous and fierce, the taste of her arousal left on his lips and shared with her. She nips at his bottom lip, then parts hers to welcome his tongue—an invitation, a demand; he holds her face as he obliges, devouring her, like he wants to taste her throat.

She’s left gasping for air by the time he lets her free. He wipes the mess of her mixed fluids from his face with the back of his hand and licks it off as she stares. It’s filthy, it’s primal, and it’s the last she can take before fully losing her mind to her violent whims. Out of breath and lightheaded, she passes out.

When she wakes, bare with her hands and legs tied, she’s furious—she thrashes, tries to kick, screeches obscenities at the pale elf standing before her. She’s not herself. Her vision is clouded and washed with red; her brain repeats grotesque thoughts of brutal murder and horrific fantasies of dining on her victims’ innards.

Not fantasies, she realizes—they’re memories of a better, brighter time, when she was free to kill and maim, and was rewarded for it.

“Darling, you’re awake,” he greets her in a sickeningly pleasant voice. “It’s not been long, but I missed you all the same.”

She imagines reaching her claws deep down his throat and shredding his vocal cords, sure that many would thank her.

She spots a dagger on the table beside the bed. Determined to take it for herself and stab her captor with it over and over until he’s a bloody pile of unrecognizable viscera, she lunges for it. It’s useless with her restraints. Her actions are brainless, reminiscent of a creature driven by pure bloodlust. To anyone else, it would be terrifying; to him, it’s almost humorous.

“Can’t you be nice?” Astarion asks her in a petulant tone, like a parent scolding their child.

He catches her from behind in the midst of her tantrum and presses his body to hers, pushing her forward and trapping her tight between himself and the headboard. He wraps one hand around her throat; a loose but disciplined grip that’s just enough to crane her head towards him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his lips and the warmth of his exhale brushing against her ear. Whether she wants to not in her current state, all the way from her ears to her feet and her face reddens.

He kisses along her ear and down her neck and it only infuriates her that much more; she tries to flail and escape him, but he’s prepared for her fight and the hand around her neck wins. His free hand reaches around her front, exploring every piece of her body he can get his hands on as he continues with his kisses on her shoulders and back.

“Ah, you’re feisty,” he says, laughing when she tries to lunge and bite him. “Good effort, but as you can see, I hold all the power here.”

He moves his hand lower, along her hips and thighs, fingertips lightly trailing further in. Even in this state, arousal pools in her cunt as he touches her and the heat practically radiates off her body, sharing warmth with her lover.

“Even like this, you crave me,” he taunts, fingers running over her folds, wet and sensitive for him already.

He slips a finger in her wet cunt, curling it forward, gently caressing her soft spot; she gasps and moans while he finger fucks her, and Astarion can feel the vibrations of her noises on his hand constricting her neck.

“You’ll look—ah—so much prettier… after I’ve turned you inside out,” she hisses, hitching on her words, struggling between the moans his hand forces from her and the pressure on her throat. “I’ll—I’ll crush your dead heart and… feast on it.”

“I wish you could behave yourself,” he says, giving her throat a quick squeeze, to remind which one of them is in control.“We could have so much more fun that way.”

Astarion pushes another finger inside her, finding pleasure in her increasingly incoherent snarls and ragged breathing. Every time he thrusts into her up to his knuckles, her body twists and quivers; her mouth’s desperate to hurl another threat, but he’s fucking her faster and lazily rubbing his thumb against her clit, reducing her to nothing—she can’t find the words anymore.

“You want me to fuck you so badly,” he purrs, curving the fingers inside her in a deliberate, slow motion. She throws her head back against his shoulder and tries to grind against his hand, feral and frantic, proving his claims.

A loud cry escapes her as Astarion withdraws, robbing her of release; a sound that goes directly to the erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

“I could end you right here, you know,” he goads, tightening his grip on her throat. “Crush your pretty neck like it’s nothing. Make you bleed out on this bed. How would you want it, if you had the choice?”

“I’ll gouge out your ruby eyes,” she chokes out. “Wear them as earrings.”

“Romantic. Not what I asked, though,” he says, shaking his head. “A shame.”

Astarion kisses her neck, along her jaw, her face—anything he can reach, loving her, even if she won’t love him back. He frees her from his grasp before he sheds the rest of his clothes, his cock painfully hard and tip dripping with pent-up anticipation.

“Ah,” he exhales as he presses against her, sliding along her sticky wet slit, covering himself in her wetness. “Gods, what have you gotten me into?”

His nails dig into her sides and threaten to draw blood as he enters her with an animalistic and uncontrollable groan. He’s rough with her, snapping her hips toward him with every thrust like he’s performing an exorcism by fucking the violence out of her. The combination of her wet, tight cunt embracing him with the pathetic, needy sounds falling from her mouth render him dizzy.

“I’ll—I’ll—” She tries and fails to speak, overwhelmed by how his cock feels like it could burst through her chest.

How he so quickly reduces her murderous urge to a pitiful, sweaty mess is a pleasure of its own, but fuck—he wants to kiss her, taste her, talk to her.

“You’ll what, my love?”

“I’ll paint the city red with your innards!” she cries, dangerously loud. Astarion covers her mouth with his hand—he would prefer their companions not get the wrong idea and interrupt. “They’ll all see your true beauty and bathe in it.”

“Your blood will paint my mouth red, and I will bathe in your beauty,” he says, a low tone against her ear.

He settles his face in the space between shoulder and neck and gives her harsh, bruising kisses that make her legs tremble and her breath catch before breaking her skin with his fangs and forcing a whimper from her lips. The movement of his hips pauses as he drinks her in, intoxicated by her essence. It sucks every last bit of his senses until all he can hear is her blood flowing onto his tongue; until he tastes, smells, sees, and feelssolely her life’s dark red.

Astarion pulls away from her, wiping away the thick red streaks smeared all over his face, and doesn’t waste a single second before burying himself to the hilt in her again, drunk in the coppery scent that lingers in the air. Her, too—it’s tantalizing, it makes her want to force out all the blood in her body and fucking drown him in it.

“I’ll hold your head by your eye sockets and fuck you until you bleed out,” she growls, and he can’t help but laugh; how comical, for her to lash out at him with her face shoved against the wall, scraping her cheeks with every thrust.

He fucks her until she can’t speak again—until her body is shaking, her voice whittled down to heavy breaths, and he’s close to finishing. She cries such a sad sounding moan when he pulls out, it’s almost sufficiently convincing to make him think she’s come around to the idea and misses him inside her.

“I’ll open your skin and wear you like a coat,” she seethes.

“Sure you will, darling. You’re so very scary with your hands and feet bound,” he says, brushing her off with a hand motion. “Be still, you’re being ridiculous.”

As soon as he backs off, her body falls onto the bed and throws itself around again trying to break free. It’s obvious it’s involuntary—every convulse hurls her against the wall and makes the rope rub her skin raw.

“CHOKE! DIE! YOU’LL BEG ME FOR MERCY!”

“I hoped to avoid this,” he says as he picks up another piece of rope, destined for her mouth. "But you won’t keep your damned mouth shut. And frankly, I’m getting tired of your little outbursts. It’s unbecoming.”

Astarion ties the last bit of rope around her mouth, gagging her. She does her best to spew more obscenities at him, but they come out as miserable, muffled noises that satisfy him in his work.

He pushes her over onto her back and lifts her tied legs up to his face to place soft pecks along her ankle and calf. Her body fights it, kicking her feet as if it tickles so much it’s worth killing over. He spreads her legs to fit his head between them and rest her thighs over his shoulders. The heels of her feet beating at his back are weak and sad, not fazing him at all. It’s cute, really.

“My sweet, sweet love with the dark heart,” he muses, stroking her hair. “What else would it take to get you to behave for me?”

She strikes when he pulls his hand back from her hair—her tied hands claw at him and she manages to swipe his arm just right with a pointy nail, splitting the skin. A decent injury; a cut between his elbow and wrist deep enough to bleed. And she cackles hysterically, even with her voice buried under rope.

“Gods damn it.” Astarion looks it over before lifting his arm and showing it off to her, like it’s a prize she’s won. “Look what you did.”

She loves it. She watches the red run down his arm attentively, hypnotized by it.

He holds her hands firm against her stomach and frees her of the gag. It’s a surprise that she’s too preoccupied by the sight to speak, and her body’s violent spasms have calmed. Perhaps he should wrap his arm, but the cut isn’t that bad, so why not have a bit of fun with it first?

She sloshes it on her tongue and truly tastes it before swallowing; she opens her mouth wider and pushes her head forward, trying to collect as much of it as she can.

Is this how he looked when Cazador made him beg for dead vermin?

“You’re sick,” he says, delightfully scandalized, but he can’t take his eyes off her and he doesn’t stop feeding it to her. “Vile. A true degenerate.”

His insults make no difference to her, she’s lost to the literal bloodlust.

She’s nauseatingly hot like this. The messy streaks of red around her mouth and dripping down the sides of her face, the way she drinks his blood how she tastes his cock, the fact that he can feel her getting wetter and wetter—it’s so fucking good. He can hardly hold back from tasting hers again, his body tense and mind tempted by the view and the aroma wafting in the air.

If only he hadn’t already drank from her twice.

“You’ve had more than enough fun, dear.” Astarion pulls aways as the bleeding slows to a trickle and fits the rope back into her mouth, knowing she’ll refuse to keep her quiet as soon as he’s done indulging her. “I can’t let you go unpunished. I’m sure you understand.”

He moves and turns her until she’s on her knees, face down, his palm pushing on her upper back to hold her there. She looks lovely, he thinks; her head shoved into the pillow, angry eyes staring back at him, sweat running down her face and unable to speak.

With his other hand, Astarion trails his fingertips down the dip in her back and over the curve of her ass. He extends his palm, and with a swift movement, strikes her. She jumps, but tolerates it well—and he can’t have that. Again he hits her, harder and less disciplined, and still she endures in silence, though her hateful glare talks on her behalf: she’s livid. He’s gotten under her skin.

“You’re resilient,” he notes, “but even you can be broken.”

He strikes her more—harsh and with purpose, drawing out dulled wails from her at last, determined to beat the fiend that possesses his love.

Astarion knows very well how it feels to lose your body. To be owned by another. It’s a memory that haunts him and resurfaces old anger—how dare this thing tread upon his lover’s will, rob her of her body and him of her affection?

His next strike lands harder, with an audible slap against supple flesh.

Her skin turns pink and tender as he continues, then red; she’s chewing at the rope in her mouth and her bound hands clench into fists, nails scratching at her own skin–desperate, but her efforts are all in vain. Astarion pauses for a short moment before landing one final, unrestrained smack on her ass that draws out a far louder, far more satisfying cry from her mouth.

A single tear runs from her eye to her nose and into the pillow.

She’s not unfamiliar with pain, far from it; she’d been taken apart and put back together many times. She has no memory of it, but they learned she tried to strangle Kressa with her own intestines, and showed no pain or weakness doing it. Why shed a tear now? Was it wept by his little love inside, gnawing at her brain for escape?

“Don’t cry, my love,” he says, almost mocking her. “I hate to see your pretty face weep.”

Astarion takes the dagger he’d left bedside and waves it in front of her. It may as well be a treat dangling from a stick for his rabid pet with the way her eyes light up and follow it.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster as he penetrates her, pushing in until there’s no room left, struggling to hold his composure.

He holds the blade to her neck, making shallow, trivial cuts as he thrusts into her and she thrashes against him, her will too strong to let a little blood stand in her way. She’d bled rivers over the years, and finds her own just as sweet as her enemies’.

“Watch yourself, love,” he warns. “You can’t soothe your need to kill if I’ve killed you first.”

He wields the blade well, careful to not let it cut too deep, but when her convulsions are too wild for him to keep up with, he’s forced to withdraw the dagger. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he permanently scarred her, even if she is trying to send him to his final death. But he wonders—how animalistic is the urge when it consumes her this way? How far would he have to go to bring her under control?

Would she allow herself to bleed out before she’d beckon to his will?

Astarion brushes his fingers across her neck, collecting the paltry amount of blood weeping from where she’d been cut and licks them clean. It’s delicious and sweet like her, but it’s not enough; it only leaves his taste buds dreaming of more and missing his kinder-hearted lover.

The frustration and anger spreads through his body like a parasite, crawling through his veins and bones until it’s all that’s left. He grips her hips for leverage, pulling her towards him with all he has for every thrust and burying himself in her so deeply, she whines under him. He doesn’t let up; he moves his hands further along her back and up to her shoulders, leaning over her and pulling her in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Astarion’s angry, or furious, rather; he’s fuming that she’s not here with him.

And then—something changes. Her cries become quieter, her eyes stare back at him differently. It’s unsettling. All but exhausted from using her body like that, he wipes sweat collecting on his forehead and stops, watching her intently.

He pulls the gag from her mouth.

“Astarion,” she says, hardly a whisper as she finds her voice again. “Shit.”

He’s practically starstruck, frozen, like he can’t believe this. He didn’t expect it. He pulls out, silent, and she looks right at him. He sees her. He recognizes that face.

“Gods.” He turns her and picks her up, arms around her waist, and brings her into his lap. “I missed you.”

Astarion pushes his lips to hers, holding her face in his hands; he slips his tongue in her parted mouth, finding hers and tasting every piece of her he can until she’s forced to pull away and breathe. He runs one hand through her hair and lingers there, massaging circles into her scalp while she returns to her body, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes half-open.

“I missed you,” he says again, all he can think of, though these three little words pale in comparison to the relief he feels.

She smiles and holds her hands up for him. “Can you untie me?”

He nods and laughs as he cuts through the rope—so distracted by her returning to him, he didn’t think to free her. If she hadn’t already rubbed her skin raw on the restraints, he might’ve told her no.

With her limbs free, she supports herself on his shoulders and spreads her legs to straddle him properly, his cock nudging against her wet cunt.

“More, give me more,” he demands, drawing her closer for him to kiss along her collarbones and down between her breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue. “I want all of you, until I can’t see straight.”

She adjusts and lowers herself onto his length, forcing a low groan out of him. He doesn’t avert his gaze from her for even a moment, eyes feasting on the faces she makes when she starts to ride him. Her body aches, sore from the bloodthirsty beast’s unforgiving temper, but every noise she coerces from his mouth encourages her; she fucks herself on him until her legs shake and she loses her stamina, showering him in apologetic kisses.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises her, kissing along her jawline, her neck, anywhere he can reach. “Beautiful, my love.”

He grips her waist by the sides and arches his hips up into her, moving her body for her. She can’t keep quiet, moans escaping her mouth every time he thrusts back up into her, her warm exhalations pooling against his skin. Astarion’s sure the sound travels past their walls now, but at least no one would dare interrupt.

“Astarion—”

“You’re going to come for me, pet?” he asks, daring her to. “Close your eyes.”

She obeys, giving up sight and focusing all her senses on him. He pauses and she’s tempted to look again, but before she can, she’s being lifted and pushed into the bed, onto her back. She feels Astarion position himself between her legs before entering her wet heat once more, his thrusts impatient and just as relentless as he was before.

Astarion presses two fingers to her mouth and she welcomes them, coating them in her spit; he lingers on her tongue for a moment, admiring how perfect she looks with her mouth open, her disheveled hair, her body splayed and swallowing his cock so eagerly. He rubs her clit with his wetted fingers, his motions frantic and messy as he gets closer and closer to climax.

He leans forward and kisses her, drinking in her every moan and cry as hungrily as he does her blood—like he’s parched, fucking dying of thirst and her ecstasy is the only thing that can quench it. And when she tears into his skin with her nails, her cunt contracting around him and his name leaves her mouth as she comes, it’s divine, sweeter than any heavenly nectar.

She wraps her legs around his back and tugs him towards her until it feels like they’re melted together and there’s no space left. Astarion shuts his eyes and succumbs to the pleasure drowning him, riding the high and spilling inside her; she holds his face as he shudders and curses, praising him with the thoughtful gestures of her hands and her nose grazing his.

He collapses on top of her after her body’s extracted all he can give, spent; exhausted after spending all night fucking the cruelty from her body.

She embraces him, fingertips gently tracing up and down his back, writing signs of her devotion. Her lips kiss his cheek and whisper words of adoration in his ear, so sweet it almost makes him sick. The darling little love he missed so much.

It’s like night and day.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #durge #the dark urge #astarion x dark urge #dub con #my fanfic #bg3 smut

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workersolidarity · 14 days

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[ 📹 Scenes from the bombardment of a Palestinian home in the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the northern Gaza Strip, following a night of intense and violent bombing and shelling across the north of the enclave. The Israeli airstrike in the video was responsible for killing one civilian and wounding at least 6 others. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 225: FLOATING PIER DELIVERING LIMITED AID, 9 NEW MASSACRES AS OCCUPATION BOMBARDMENT HAMMERS JABALIA, BUREIJ CAMP, KHAN YUNIS AND AL-KHUZA'A, DOZENS OF BODIES LITTER THE STREETS OF JABALIA CAMP

On 225th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 9 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 83 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 105 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted, as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

The American floating pier is in place and in operation, with the first trucks loaded with "more than 300 pallets" of desperately needed humanitarian aid rolling off the dock and into Gaza, with the hope of scaling up operations to 150 trucks per day.

That's according to reports in the Israeli occupation media, which quoted US National Security spokesperson John Kirby on the amount of aid to enter Gaza through the American-built pier.

However, it should be noted that prior to October 7th, more than 500 humanitarian aid trucks were entering the Strip everyday, which was barely enough for the needs of more than 2.2 million Palestinians populating the enclave prior to the war.

Presently, the Israeli occupation army has closed the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings, where the vast majority of humanitarian aid was introduced into the Gaza Strip. At least until the occupation's offensive began in Rafah on May 7th, when occupation forces took control over the Palestinian side of the two border crossings, closing them to all humanitarian and medical aid trucks.

As a result of the closures, the World Health Organization (WHO) announced today that it has not received any medical supplies in the Gaza Strip since May 6th, leaving Gaza's remaining healthcare centers in dire conditions.

According to WHO spokesperson Tarik Yasarevic, "The closure of the Rafah crossing puts us in a difficult situation with regard to the movement of medical personnel, as well as the rotation of United Nations staff and medical teams."

Speaking at press conference in Geneva, Yasarevic emphasized that "Most importantly, the last medical supplies we received in Gaza were before May 6."

"We were able to distribute some supplies, but the shortage is great, especially the fuel needed to operate hospitals," Yasarevic added.

The WHO spokesperson went on to mention that between 1.4 and 1.8 million litres of fuel were needed every month to fulfill the needs of Gaza's healthcare centers, reporting to the media that "As of yesterday, since the closure of the crossing, only 159,000 liters had entered Rafah for all partners working in the humanitarian field, which is an insufficient quantity."

Out of 36 hospitals in operation in the Gaza Strip prior to October 7th, only 13 remain in partial operation, according to the WHO.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation army continued with its bombardment across various axis of the Gaza Strip, hammering Jabalia in the north, the Bureij Camp in central Gaza, as well as Khan Yunis and Rafah in the south.

In the latest horrific atrocity, at dawn on Saturday, a new massacre was committed by the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) when occupation warplanes bombed the gate of a shelter center for displaced Palestinian families in the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the northern Gaza Strip.

Initially, the local Palestinian media reported that the bodies of at least 11 Palestinians, along with more than 25 wounded civilians, were brought to Kamal Adwan Hospital in Beit Lahia following the strike, while medical sources stated that the bodies of dozens of others killed in the strike still littered the streets near the destroyed displacement center.

Later the figures were revised upwards, to more than 15 civilians killed, and at least 30 wounded, while some sources put the total number of casualties from the occupation's latest war crime at upwards of 100.

At the same time, the Israeli bombardment of Jabalia, including the Jabalia Refugee Camp, continues unabated, with continued airstrikes slamming the area, while Israeli soldiers and armored vehicles continued penetrating areas of northern Gaza for the seventh consecutive day.

According to a spokesperson for the Civil Defense Service of Gaza, more than 300 Palestinian homes have been completely destroyed in renewed operations targeting the Jabalia area, while fierce confrontations continue between the invading Zionist army and the Palestinian resistance factions.

At the same time, another massacre occured when Israeli fighter jets bombed a residential home belonging to Palestinian citizen Safwat Shaaban, in Jabalia al-Balad, murdering some 15 civilians.

Yet another airstrike targeted the Al-Hoja neighborhood of the Jabalia Camp, in which one citizen was killed and others were wounded, while another strike on a gathering of civilians in the area near the university college, south of Gaza City, resulted in the death of another citizen and wounded several others.

Meanwhile, occupation aircraft bombed a residential house belonging to the Al-Talbani family, in the Al-Shati Refugee Camp, west of Gaza City.

Following that strike, the bodies of three civilians, along with a number of wounded, were recovered from the rubble by local civil defense crews.

More civilians were also displaced from the town of Beit Hanoun, also in northern Gaza, following Israeli incursions into the area.

Several occupation missiles were also fired into the Faisal bin Fahd School, west of the Jabalia Camp, killing a civilian and wounding several others.

At the same time, local civil defense crews recovered the bodies of 6 martyrs and several others who were wounded after an Israeli air raid targeted a house in Jabalia, in Gaza's north, while occupation helicopters fired missiles and machine guns into homes in the Jabalia Camp.

Intense Israeli airstrikes and artillery shelling also pummeled the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, resulting in a number of casualties.

Also in Gaza City, Israeli fighter jets bombarded a house belonging to the Al-Talbani family in the Al-Shati Camp, west of the city, murdering three Palestinians and wounding several others.

Elsewhere in Gaza, Israeli occupation soldiers opened gunfire on Palestinian civilians west of the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing two Palestinians, while two others were killed after Zionist soldiers opened fire on civilians near the Wadi Gaza area.

Simultaneously, occupation aircraft bombarded a gathering of civilians near the Martyrs' roundabout in the Bureij Refugee Camp, in central Gaza, killing two and wounding several others, while occupation artillery shelling targeted neighborhoods east of Al-Bureij, and also hammered the Al-Maghazi Camp.

In Gaza's south, the occupation army's mass slaughter of Palestinians continued as artillery shelling targeted neighborhoods east of Rafah, while occupation Merkava tanks and armored personnel carriers penetrated the Brazil neighborhood on the border with Egypt.

There, occupation air forces bombed a Palestinian house belonging to the Abu Hashem family in central Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, resulting in the deaths of two brothers.

In another attack, IOF warplanes fired a missile into the Abu Najm family home in the al-Musabah area, north of the city of Rafah, wounding two civilians and destroying their home.

IOF aircraft further targeted a street adjacent to the Emirati Hospital, west of Rafah, hitting the neighborhood with violent airstrikes.

Additionally, four civilians were killed when Israeli fighter jets targeted a residential home belonging to the Sawalha family, in the vicinity of the Al-Kuwaiti Hospital, and and another bombing on the Al-Hobi family home in the Al-Zuhur neighborhood, north of Rafah.

Another civilian was wounded when an occupation quadcopter opened gunfire near the Internal Security headquarters west of Rafah City.

Israeli bombing further targeted several residential homes in Khan Yunis, murdering a number of Palestinians and wounding far more, while violent airstrikes targeted a gas station east of the village of Abasan, east of Khan Yunis.

An Israeli occupation forces bombardment similarly targeted the Al-Shawut Camp, in central Rafah, south of Gaza, resulting in the martyredom of two Palestinian civilians and injuring several others.

Local medical sources with the Kuwait Specialized Hospital in the city of Rafah said they received several casualties following the occupation's bombing of a civilian residence in the vicinity of the Zoroub roundabout.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among Gaza's native population has risen endlessly, now exceeding 35'386, including over 15'000 children and at least 10'000 women, while another 79'366 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 18th, 2024.

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two-white-butterflies · 2 years

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coaxed you into paradise

Chapter Eight: Playing With Fire Description: Saera Targaryen was her father's forgotten daughter. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her sister and seeks solace in the arms of her uncle. Not realizing that the consequence of their affair is just as dire as her sister's. (SMUT) masterlist

<<previous chapter

SAERA RUBS DAEGON'S BACK affectionately as they both sit down in one of The King's leather chairs. The entire fight in the courtyard had rattled the young lord, and prompted him to hug his mother in fear of it happening again. She glares at Harwin, "You couldn't have avoided it?" she spat as she continued rubbing circles unto her son's back.

She knew that Harwin was easy to anger, but she wasn't expecting him to cleverly maim Ser Criston. "He tried to stain my honor," he argued which earns him another glare from his wife. "He cannot stain what is already tainted. Do you not worry for your son?" she nagged as he rolls his eyes.

After Prince Joffrey's birth, Saera's anger for Harwin seemed to grow even further. Now the wall between the both of them multiplied and quadrupled in size.

Daemon sits beside Saera and attempts to soothe his son. "If Uncle Daemon were not there, one of you could've died." she imagined the worse and he lets out a loud exhale. It was a moment of fury, and it would not happen again.

"And none of us died. Everything was perfectly under control," Harwin asserted as he crosses his arms him a huff. There was a few seconds of silence between them, before the pitter-patter of Alyssa's footsteps drew the conversation to a halt.

"I heard about what happened!" she exclaimed as she runs towards her mother and sits on her lap. Harwin's face softened, before his anger returned once more. "Thank the seven gods that you weren't there. Heaven knows what could've happened." Daemon muttered as he hands Daegon a cup of water.

He rests his hand on Saera's shoulders, and Harwin looks at the both of them — his eyes trailing back and forth between his children, his wife and their uncle. The gears in his head turned slowly, as he comes to a dark realization.

That there had been something going on between his wife and her uncle. And judging from their gazes, it has been going on for quite a while now.

His hands turned into fists, and his palms quickly turned white. "Are you alright, papa?" Alyssa questions as she jumps from her mother's lap and touches her father's hands. But this time his face didn't soften, instead his heart thumped furiously as he notices the exchange between them both.

He clenches his teeth, and realizes that this was what he deserved. Whatever he did ten years ago, had finally come to haunt him. "Are you alright, Harwin?" Saera asked while staring at her husband's dauntless face.

The ringing in his ear stopped — and he nods reluctantly. "Yes," he lied through gritted teeth and she nods her head.

Not believing him one bit. But still deciding on letting him go.

DAEMON REACHES FOR HER HANDS, as he pins her down on his bed. She was beautiful when she writhed underneath him. He presses a kiss on her neck and inhales her lavender scent.

"Your husband is suspicious of us," he whispers as he trails kisses down her bare thighs. She reaches for his head and holds it firmly, "Fuck him." she curses out loud as she stares at him from below.

He was a conqueror — the blood of Aegon runs through both of their veins. He grins and trails his hand down her cunt, and another moan escapes from her lips. She couldn't care about Harwin now — not when a real man was about to fuck her.

"You like riding dragons, don't you?" he jokes and she glares at him. He always knows how to dampen the mood during sex. "Another one of these jokes and I'm going back to my room," she threatens as she flips their bodies. Having her on top, and him in the bottom.

He grabs a hold of her both her ass, and presses her wetness on his bulging dick. "Fuck," she curses loudly as she leans down and gives his lips another kiss. "If only your husband could see you now, a wanton whore — a little slut." he whispers on her ears and she grinds on his clothed cock.

He unbuttons his trousers, and she helps him throw it unto the floor. "I might warn you, I'm not a gentle master" she mutters as she goes down and positions her body to be facing his dick. "Better than no master at all," he replied as she leans down and licks his head.

Allowing her tongue to taste the saltiness of his penis. She allows her hands to rest on his thighs, letting herself dip in and take his cock fully. "Argh," he moans as his hips buck in pleasure.

"Demanding broad," she whispers underneath her breath. "Just get on with it," he exclaims as she chuckles and gives his cock another lick. His eyes closing from the pleasure he was feeling. She goes under for the third time and takes his length fully.

He was big and the girth didn't help — even after years of trying to get used to it. She gags but he keeps her head in place. Her head bobs, and she twists her tongue and gives him more pleasure.

He grunts and clutches the sheets with his left hand. "Fuck," he cursed loudly not thinking about the servants outside who could hear them. She bobs her head once more, and his grasp on her hair grew tighter.

She was a lewd sight, in between his legs and pleasuring him. He bites his lips, as she continues sucking him. "Stop," he commanded as she halted and looked up at him. "What?" she questioned as he reaches for her neck and pulls her up.

"I want to finish inside of you," he exhales as he grabs her neck and pulls her down with a kiss. "Ride me." he orders as she places both her cold hands on his shoulders. She inserts his penis unto her vagina, allowing him to watch the wanton sight.

"Gevie." he whispers as she thrusts down, allowing him to stretch her womb. "Seven hells." she closes her eyes as she tries to adjust to his size. He places both his hands on the small of her back. She thrusts for the second time, allowing his dick to pierce upon her cervix.

She didn't care that it pained her, she only wanted to keep thrusting. She keeps staring at his eyes - hypnotized by its lilac facade. "Daemon," she cries out as she continues riding him. "I love you." she confessed and he smiles.

"I love you too," he replies pressing a kiss on her bare shoulder. A knock interrupts the both of them, and a groan escapes from Daemon's lips. "Keep going." he smirks as she laughs lightly but keeps going.

Making sure that he would be distracted by her work. "Who is it?" he questioned as a servant clears their throat. "Something has happened in The East Wing, my prince. They are currently looking for Lady Laena." the servant announces and Saera stops her thrusting.

"Fuck," she curses as she walks off the bed and begins looking for her robes. "We need to go there, now!" she commands as he stands up from his bed reluctantly. The lust from his body still not dissipating from the news.

"They'll still be looking for her when we get there. Let's finish this ñuha dōna" he pleaded, a notion that earns him a glare from Saera. "Something could've happened to her, kepus." she replies as she desperately tries to fix her hair.

"She'll be fine, she's a strong girl." he whispers underneath his breath as she stands up and begins walking away from his room using a hidden passage.

HARWIN OFFERS HIS HAND TO SAERA, as a frown plays on his forehead. "Where were you?" he interrogated as she smiled at Alyssa who was trying not to fall asleep. "I could not sleep — I was out for a walk. Where is Daegon? Are you alright?" she questioned in return as he looks towards the burning wing.

"I could not find Daegon, but Alyssa tells me that he is with his cousins." he answered, failing to realize that Daemon was trailing behind his wife. But Rhaenyra did, and her suspicion only grew.

Saera and Daemon had always been close, even before her marriage to Ser Harwin — and even before the death of Lady Rhea Royce. Their gazes always lingered, and their jokes always made no sense. Rhaenyra often used to wonder if their father would give Saera to Daemon as bride.

But now she sees clearly. She isn't the only unfaithful one.

Aemond runs into the room clutching his eye, with Ser Criston Cole trailing behind him. "What happened?" Saera takes a step towards them as Criston calls for the Maester to aid the young prince.

"It was Lucerys, he cut my eye!" he exclaimed as he pointed his fingers towards Rhaenyra's children who were now just walking into the room. Saera frowns, this would certainly cost them.

Rhaenyra walks towards her sons and clutches Lucerys' bleeding nose. "What?" Alicent questions as the doors to the keep opened loudly. She walks towards her son and looks accusingly of Rhaenyra and Saera.

"I went to the Dragonpit and claimed a dragon, but they all worked against me." he explained his version of the story while Prince Jace scoffed. "Worked against you? Who?" Alicent interrogated her son and he points his finger at The Strong Children and Baela (Daemon's daughter.)

Alicent stands up in shock while Daemon places a protective hand on his children. "Claimed a dragon? What dragon do you speak of, child?" Saera queried and he crosses his arms in pride. "Vhagar," he smirks and her face falls to the ground.

Rhaenyra walks towards her sister and pulls her away from Alicent. "Vhagar? But that would mean— " she trailed off and stared at the East Wing, which was still burning.

"Oh no."

>>next chapter

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#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #ser harwin strong #harwin strong x oc #harwin strong x reader

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